A Hard Day's Night: Medieval Women at Work

The roles played by medieval women in society were many and varied. Socially, they were defined by their marital status and ability to produce healthy children, but it appears that many were engaged in useful work of the type more associated in the modern mind with their male counterparts. It is well known that women were involved in assisting childbirth and running the home but beyond that, their activities encompassed a range of tasks from the physical to the intellectual. The types of work undertaken by the medieval woman has often been underestimated but studies made by the economic historian Elieen Power, at Cambridge in the 1920s, began to challenge such assumptions. As part of my ongoing research in this area, I wanted to share some of the images I have found which give a flavour of the types of employment women were engaged with, alongside men.

It is difficult to differentiate though, exactly what status this work afforded women. It is quite likely that much of it was undertaken on an informal basis, as seasons dictated or as part of a family business: how many were considered professionals or received a salary outside the home is unclear. Midwives were one distinct female role and other waged women were engaged in the businesses of brewing and hospitality. Most were widows or married women, whilst the unmarried were to be found engaged in tasks such as spinning, cooking or sweeping within the home, although this was also done by the majority of women. Widows could inherit businesses and apprentices, whom they often went on to marry, or else could remain financially independent, even entering a few of the London guilds. Social class obviously played a key role in their labour. Leisure was a luxury: upper-class women also performed tasks in the home as various contemporary images and manuals make clear but these were directed more towards the luxury end of production, such as the making of special dishes and medicines, as well as the overseeing of accounts and organisation of servants and hospitality. Poorer women had little choice but to roll up their sleeves and help with the harvest or in the workshop.

There was a clear division between those working professionally and those engaged in labour within their own home about daily tasks, often alone.

 

 

 

Other women clearly accompanied their men to work, or else worked in close proximity with them where workshops were established within the home. This was common for many urban businesses, where the front room or ground floor of a house was given over to trade and the back, or upstairs (or cellar) was the family's living space.

 

 

 



 

It appears that groups of women collected together to engage in tasks such as spinning and weaving. This was more likely to have been for the benefits of their family, charity and friends rather than a collectively owned female business, as the manuscript images depict almost exclusively upperlcass women in this way, suggesting it was more of a leisure activity.

 

 

 

Other upper-class leisure activities included music:

 



 

Poorer women feature most commonly in the images of work outside, particularly engaged in harvesting or tasks to do with the seasonal cycle. The necessity of their involvement is highlighted by the presence of the heavily pregnant woman in the second image.

 

 

 



The lowliest appear in images of the most physical work, perhaps earning money in areas their social superiors had rejected:

A few appear to have penetrated what could have been considered traditional male areas of work: here, teaching geometry, sculpture, medicine, portraiture and writing.

 

 

There are so many manuscript images of women engaged in work during the medieval period that it was clearly an everyday occurrence for women of all classes. What they did and where and why, were factors determined by their status and need, but employment was clearly desireable even when it was not necessary. The involvement of women in male industries is apparent, although less well represented: the polarisation of "men's" and "women's" work was not as clear cut in the medieval period as might have been assumed.

Don't Get Your Medieval Knickers in a Twist!

 

 

What did medieval and Tudor men and women wear under their clothes ? For a large percentage of the population, clothes were laboriously handmade and passed down in wills and bequests. Few people outside the aristocracy had extensive wardrobes, which suggests early forms of underwear were also fairly homely and plain. Given the strength of the English wool market in the fourteenth century, spinning and knitting were very common; such garments could be easily made and repaired at home. Much depends upon climate too; while wool would be suitable for cold, wet winters, lighter fabrics such as linen would be more suitable for warmer times and affordable for the wealthy. Even for royalty, though, keeping themselves clothed could be pricy: Elizabeth of York paid 6d for a pair of socks in 1502, when a labourer might earn a daily wage of 4d. However, while the twenty-first century bra with all its technology and varieties seems strikingly modern, may be considerably older than we think.

Excavations in an Austrian castle in 2008 turned up a vault filled with medieval textiles, including what appear to be some early examples of underwear. Many were made from linen but some also had outer layers of colourful wool. The bras comprised shaped cups and straps, with decorated borders of a form of lace and a possible back strap. Another had a longer body section, giving it the appearance of a modern corset with eye-holes to be laced together with ribbons. Radio-carbon dating has confirmed these items came from the fifteenth century. Larger breasts may have been bound, as Shakespeare has his cross-dressing heroines do, although this was likely to have been more practical when manual labour was being undertaken. With many working women of childbearing years breastfeeding though, this would have been impractical and suggests the existence of long-perished garments in the model of those discovered at Lengburg Castle.

 men's pants from Lengburg Castle

Knickers were quite a different matter though. In the late medieval and Tudor periods, they were more likely to have been worn by men! A pair found recently in Austria resemble a modern white bikini bottom, with ties at the hip. These old pants were considered to be signs of dominance and power; men required them for support and protection, emphasising their superiority over women, who wore layers of skirts but no other underwear. This must have made life difficult during menstruation, which was absorbed by the traditional rags. Some sort of early girdle or belt must have been required to hold these in place!

The thirteenth century Maciejowski Bible depict both men and women in hose and the exclusively male braies or breeches. These come close to a baggy sort of long knickers, loose about the bottom and rolled over at the waist, while hose were three-quarter length stockings which were tied up to a waist band. Manuscript illustrations show workers stripped down to this bottom layer when labouring. Women’s hose and socks are far less visible in these images, with usually just the foot showing, although these are often striped. They could be tied in the same way as the men’s, creating a complicated system of knots under the outer layers of clothing, although many were shorter and held in place by garters. The quintessential codpiece, from “cod” or scrotum was originally a soft flap or pouch, again tied in place, which may have been an integral part of the braies or else a separate attachment. With this as the only covering, male genitals were left vulnerable and exposed as hem lines rose; correspondingly, the cod piece became more substantial. By the time of Henry VIII’s famous groin-centric portrait of 1537, it was a symbol of potency and virility. They were shaped and padded for emphasis, with some even made of metal but died out towards the end of the sixteenth century.

 

                                              Men in braies from the Maciejowski Bible

So little early underwear survives that any comprehensive theory on its use and existence must be ruled out. For women, with their long dresses, the situation is even less certain, although practicality, budget and climate must have dictated whatever solutions they found for everyday wear. No doubt what appears elusive and fascinating now was commonplace then; is it too hard to imagine scholars in the twenty-fifth century getting excited over the lingerie of the present? At least there will be plenty of documentation.

                                                     Henry VIII's codpiece

Fifty Shades of Lady Jane Grey

Sexual Pleasure, Opportunity and Pornography in Tudor Times.

                                        A surviving selection from Raimondi's I Modi

What did the Tudors get up to in bed ? Or out of it ? While the answer may seem obvious, the sexual practices of five centuries ago were not necessarily the same as those today. The basic act remains the same, as testified by the proliferation of Tudor births and continuation of the human race, but the choice of partners, location, timing and issues of sexual etiquette, may indicate historical differences.

As might be expected also, experiences in England did not necessarily match those in Europe. The court of Francis I of France, Henry VIII’s great rival, was renowned for its debauchery, while Henry himself was consistently discreet and secretive about his liaisons. In 1524, the Italian Marcantonio Raimondi published “I Modi,” an explicit, illustrated manual of 16 different sexual poses. These were based on a series of paintings for a Mantuan palace but provoked condemnation because they were publicly available, rather than confined to the privacy of the walls of the Palazzo Te. It provoked such a scandal that Raimondi was imprisoned by the Pope and almost all copies were destroyed. This highlights key aspects of sixteenth century sexuality, in terms of its acceptability, exclusivity and the survival of printed material. In England, lewd images appear to have been used more as a deterrent, coupled with a religious message, as in sexual depictions of naughty pilgrims, or a literary satire, as found in Chaucer, rather than for overt sexual purposes. Arguably, the evidence of a culture of temporary sexual images, is unlikely to have survived anyway and, then as now, the discrepancy between the idealised and the reality, is difficult to measure.

One key difference between past and present views of sex was that of pleasure. Technically, this was defined at every level by men. Of course, we are looking back through the feminist lens, but that does not mean that women in the past were not sexually active or fulfilled. That fulfilment may have come about within specific perimeters, though. Women were considered to be desirous of sexual activity at all times; to deny them it could cause them extreme ill-health and even prove fatal. Virginal females would suffer the terrible green sickness alluded to by Shakespeare,  with vapours rising from the womb and causing dizziness or fitting; the obvious cure was marriage, as an end to lawful sexual satisfaction. In the modern mind, it creates a comic impression of rampant predatory females seeking to alleviate their symptoms whenever or wherever possible. Some of the contemporary cures outlined in leechbooks and medical works of the era suggest that for some medieval and Tudor males, this was considered a real danger. It also sheds light on the nature of medieval and Tudor attacks upon unpopular or transgressing women; slurring their sexuality, often in connection with witchcraft practices, was a predictable method of  attack.

 The exercise of female sexuality lay within male hands, metaphorically and literally. A man had to be wary of women using witchcraft or subtle means of seduction in order to get them into bed. The reason for this was partly religious, derived from their inheritance from Eve but also physiological. As "imperfect men", their wombs required the balancing presence of a male member and seed in order to be complete; their imperative was to produce children and this necessitated the sexual act. It was up to the man to resist and control these impulses in their wives and dependent females. Suitable marriages should be made for daughters, sisters and other relatives, for the benefit of their health. The female orgasm was understood in the context of this “completion” of a woman by a man; female pleasure was deemed essential for conception to take place. In this sense, the Tudors appear more enlightened than the Victorians, in promoting the enjoyment of both parties, even if the patriarchal definition and control of the act appears rather draconian to a modern reader. However, the reverse side of this could produce dire consequences for women. In cases of rape, men could claim to be “incited” to act by a desperate female, while any act of violation that resulted in pregnancy immediately invalidated itself. If a woman had conceived, she must have enjoyed herself, therefore no rape had taken place. Few cases of rape appear in the late Sixteenth century Assize court records and these are usually of minors or spinsters. Successful convictions for the violation of a married woman, or of a man’s own wife, hardly ever appear. In the 1558 case heard by the East Greenwich Assizes, William Norris was indicted for the rape of Edmund Dalton’s wife Joan, but frustratingly, the verdict is illegible!

The age of consent in Tudor times was fourteen for girls and twelve for boys, although this was not enforced by any law. Few eyebrows were raised when the children of the aristocracy were betrothed at the ages of three or four, or were raised in the households of their in-laws. Consummation would not take place until the pair had reached puberty, although this, like fertility, could differ vastly. Equally strange partnerships were made at the other end of the age bracket: one of Elizabeth Wydeville's brothers married a wealthy Duchess in her eighties, when he was only in his twenties. History does not record what happened on their wedding night. Question marks also surround the consummation of some notorious teenage marriages. Did Catherine of Aragon sleep with her first husband, Prince Arthur ? Some historians are convinced she did, while others are equally convinced otherwise. Only two people knew for sure. The closest we can come to the truth is Catherine’s later admission that they shared a bed on about seven occasions but that “full” consummation had not taken place, assuming the virginal fifteen-year-old was fully versed in these areas. Perhaps there was some sort of foreplay or fumbled teenage attempts at intercourse that barely constituted the act. After all, they had reason not to believe they had time on their side: neither could have known Arthur would die only six months later and Catherine would go on to marry Henry VIII.

Lady Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley, two other naïve teenagers, were married on 21 May 1553. Jane was then pronounced Queen on 9 July, hardly giving them any time to discover their sexuality, if the marriage was consummated at all. There is also the first marriage of Anne Neville, Queen of Richard III, which was probably consummated when she was left a widow at fourteen in 1471, as was the match of Henry VIII’s illegitimate son Henry Fitzroy to Lady Mary Howard in 1533, also aged fourteen. Then there was the widowed virgin Christina of Denmark, whom Henry VIII wanted to marry in 1538. The teenager refused him, rumoured to have said that if she had two heads, she would gladly spare him one. However, as a rule, remarriage for those widowed in their teens was considered vital for their health. Christina took a second husband at the age of twenty and bore him three children.

Sex was also dictated by the cycles of the year. For the religious Tudor, certain dates were off limits, such as Sundays, saints’ days and the forty days of Lent: those who transgressed were supposed to do penance and not receive communion. But just how could a priest know, looking out over the faces of his flock, exactly what they had been up to the night before? Sex during menstruation was frowned on as this was supposed to produce children who were red-haired and puny and “depraved” practices between man and wife could result in birth abnormalities. Restraint was counselled, but in reality, withdrawal and folkloric methods of birth control were employed, although as the baptismal records attest, restraint was often thrown to the wind! The relaxation of the usual routine could promote sexual encounters.

Fairs and festivals provided many couples with an opportunity for intercourse, when the carnival attitude and possible higher consumption of alcohol fuelled behaviour. Listed in the Essex Assize court records, in 1582, the promiscuous and pregnant Susan Babye lay with a John Fletcher at Witham fair and a William Dagnett on Lady Day. She then went on to sleep with Richard Howe at Midsummer, when the warm longer nights allowed for outdoor encounters. In 1589, Alse Mathews had sex with a servant named Davie Cox at a gate in a field, at the Feast of Pentecost. Agnes Parette and John Eavens of Earl Colne slept together twice at the start of the harvest season; by the end of it they were probably too tired ! Parish records in Essex confirm that fewer live births took place nine months after the harvest period, during May and June. The peak time for conception was early summer, with the highest percentage of births following next spring, in March and April. The cycles of the church and land certainly had an impact on when the Tudors had sex!

For the unmarried, finding the opportunity posed a problem. Sleeping habits were determined by class and dictated sexual practices. Tudor spouses of high class did not usually share beds. It was a sign of status that a Lord and Lady had their own household under the same roof, which meant separate bedrooms. The Lord would usually take the initiative and visit his wife in her chamber for sex, before returning to his own bed. However, this seems rather formal and it is pretty unlikely that the rule was always followed; encounters must have taken place in other locations such as hunting lodges, inns or whenever opportunities arose. Perhaps they were even initiated by women and perhaps some men even enjoyed this!! The high concentration of servants in Tudor households made for little privacy but lower down the social scale, there may have been fewer prying eyes.

Undoubtedly sex took place in shared spaces, such as the dormitories of apprentices and servants, such as in the early teenage experiences of Catherine Howard., resident in the large household of her grandmother. In another story from the Assize Courts, Joan Collen was a travelling servant who sold butter in the 1590s. Drinking one day in the King’s Head tavern at Limehouse, she met a William Rothman, who desired her and wanted to take a room in the inn in order to bed her but the time and place “would not serve.” Later, they slept together in a field, an orchard and a stable. This came to light when she conceived an illegitimate child. Among families sharing bedrooms and small houses, the couplings of adults must have been a routine matter of biology, just as communal and public as washing and defecating. The act must have taken place with less embarrassment, than in our post-Victorian era.

Servants often slept in their masters’ or mistresses’ rooms on truckle beds, or outside their doors, in kitchens, halls, corridors or wherever space dictated. These were purely for sleep and were stored away during the day, forcing their occupants to find other opportunities for intercourse while their employers were out. In 1600, Joan Loveday conceived a child after a single encounter with a fellow servant Richard Bettes, in her master’s chamber, which was a common location for illicit sex. Sometimes masters made complaint against their servants for lewdness, as Martin Skynner did against his man Thomas Yeldham in 1582, supported by his other employees. On some cases, the master was to blame. In 1591, Bridget Hide described how her master came to her bed intent on “abusing” her although she managed to repel him; however, he later “won her to his will.” Lower class women were supposed to be more “earthy” and sexually gratifying than their high-class rivals; aristocratic women were often “off-limits” due to pregnancy and considered essential for procreation whilst short-term mistresses and casual encounters for pleasure were made with “base” women. Henry VIII may have had a number of these, now lost to history, procured by Sir William Compton in his London home. One anecdote survives from 1537, listed in  the Court Rolls, when he took a fancy to a young woman out riding with her sweetheart and established her as his mistress. Edward IV was reputed to have shared his mistresses with his son-in-law Dorset and best friend Hastings, especially the notorious “Jane Shore.”

With imperfect contraception, pregnancy was an inevitable and frequent outcome. For those who wished to become parents, contemporary manuals suggested that the best time for conceiving children was in the middle of the night, between the recommended first and second sleeps, so some must have taken a chance whilst others around them slept. However, illegitimacy may have been higher than we suspect. Examinations of parish records from the 1530s through to 1600 indicate only a couple of cases a year but the real figure, including abortions and stillbirths, must have been higher. Some women clearly took steps to ensure the pregnancy did not come to term or that the baby was abadnoned or killed. Cases of infanticide are frequent in Assize court rolls, often resulting in conviction and the passing of the death sentence upon the mother. Her only plea was pregnancy, which could delay her sentence, although justice still needed to have been seen to be enacted.

Unlawful sexual behaviour and its outcomes were considered to be the business of the whole parish. Some Tudor couples openly lived together or attempted it in secret, like the widow Rebecca Purkas and William Hyde of Thaxted, who were only "discovered" in 1592, when Rebecca gave birth. Thomas Lynwood confessed in 1576 to deserting his three children and wife of seventeen years to live “a wicked and incontinent life” with a widow named Agnes Cawsey. In many few cases, villagers, gathered together in tithings, accused such couples before the justices; the punishment was often a fine or public whipping. Immorality was not acceptable once it became public knowledge or the arrival of a child necessitated funds from the parish coffers. Financial considerations often outweighed condemnation out of prudery. The Tudors were most certainly not prudish or precious when it came to sex and bodily functions.

Pornography has been around since ancient times; fine Roman examples are particularly abundant on the walls of surviving buildings. Beyond Raimondi’s attempt in 1524, very few images of this type appear to have survived from the sixteenth century. It is unclear whether English Tudor pornography existed in the form we would understand although nudity and depravity were commonly depicted. Many images of the naked female form graced artwork, tapestries, carvings and sculptures, but were often illustrative of moral, religious or historical tales, rather than as direct titillation. When “lewd” images occur, of males and females, the individuals are usually being punished in some circle of hell and are intended as a religious warning. The very real fear of damnation would probably have put a dampener on any excitement such pictures may have aroused. Yet they clearly depict the extremes of contemporary practices, or artistic perceptions of them in the brothels and stew houses along the South bank of the Thames. The advent of the printing press, set up by Caxton in the precincts of Westminster Palace in the 1480s, could have allowed for the greater distribution of images and made them more accessible, immediate and private.  This would have allowed for the development of pornography, although almost nothing of this type survives; instead, sexual and misogynistic jokes, poems and puns appear to fill this gap, along with their illustrations of wanton or semi-clad females. The thrill appears to have been found in female naughtiness and the need for chastisement. Little changes there. Graphic descriptions in works by Chaucer, Mandeville, Boccaccio, Aretino and others, point to a culture of sexually provocative language; it was an oral rather than a visual tradition of pleasure. Otherwise, the history of surviving English pornographic imagery appears empty until the seventeenth century.  

Whilst certain codes of sexual conduct prevailed among the Tudors, it is clear that their behaviour did not always neatly conform. Where and when they gave in to their natural urges and the resulting consequences were very much a function of their class and gender. Where their practices may most differ from modern behaviour, is in the lack of privacy that must have affected attitudes towards copulation. Sex was likely to have been as commonplace in many communities as other bodily functions, although once the results of it became apparent, the participants were called to account. However, it is indicative of the Tudor attitude that this was usually in order to provide for an illegitimate child rather than to punish those engaged in the act.

Women as Angels and Devils: Every Sixteenth Century Man's Nightmare

Check out my guest blog on On the Tudor Trail.


Read how women were depicted in literature in the medieval and Tudor period and how this may have affected perceptions of queens like Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard, Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I.

http://onthetudortrail.com/Blog/2012/08/30/tudor-women-as-angels-or-devils-every-sixteenth-century-mans-nightmare/

While you're there, explore Natalie's fascinating "On the Tudor Trail" blog. Her forthcoming book "In the Footsteps of Anne Boleyn" will be published by Amberley in 2013.

Tudor Women United: Birth, Misogyny and Female Space.

                                           “Gossips are frogs, they drink and talk.”[1]

Tudor men were deeply suspicious of Tudor women. What they did and said, particularly behind their husband’s backs, caused considerable concern and gave rise to a degree of misogyny that permeated all aspects of popular culture. The dialogue exchanged in the birth chamber, at the market place and in the tavern constituted a supportive female culture, which was in turn, reduced to the status of damaging gossip by men. After all, what else could Tudor women have to talk about except the failings of their husbands ?

The rituals, practices and superstitions of birth remained a traditional female preserve throughout the Tudor period. This automatically made it suspect, a source of fear and insecurity amongst those excluded from its secrets. Placed within the wide-spread mistrust of women, childbirth highlighted the tensions that permeated every aspect of women’s lives, although it provided one of the few opportunities where female supremacy was grudgingly acknowledged. Irrepressibly, women found outlets for expression and mutual reliance in those domestic spheres that punctuated their days and life-cycles. That is not to suggest any sort of proto-Feminist consciousness in Tudor England, rather a solidarity forged through common experience or suffering. Women did band together to share chores and objects such as nursing duties and childcare, childbed linen and medicinal herbs, as well as emotional support. When some were mistreated by their husbands, others stepped in to offer shelter and even physically interposed themselves between husband and wife. Female identities were a complex function of their relations with other adults, their children, the church, the neighbourhood and its social codes. As such, there seems to have been an almost floating, oral female culture invoked whenever occasion arose, in and out of which women moved, dependent on need.

The childbirth month was the epitome of male exclusion from the female sphere, involving friends, relations and neighbours from the pregnancy stage through the lying-in, to the subsequent ceremonies of upsitting, gossips’ feasts and churching. In urban centre and larger networks of villages, birth would have been a regular event, with its associated practices and perils forming a backdrop to the lives of girls growing into adulthood. Birth could overturn usual social demarcations between mistress and servant, nobility and yeomanry: frequently ladies of the manor were present as a social courtesy, bringing cordials, medicine and advice. The role of the gossips during lying-in and labour were to cheer the mother and keep up her spirits, to distract her from boredom and pain, whilst bringing whatever maternal wisdom they possessed from experience and traditional wisdom.

Tudor women were also denigrated in oral and printed forms of popular culture, where they formed a very clear underclass as the subjects of jokes, fables and scorn. Criticism about them, associating women with animals, appear in ballads, songs, epigrams and pamphlets, identifying them with noisy, silly geese, deceitful and insatiable cats, slippery eels, angry wasps and inflexible swine. It is clear that not all women deplored this subjection: the reverse was also true; women could be each other’s closet allies or their bitterest enemies, as the courts attest. Some were active participants in the perpetuation of the worst female stereotypes by making their enemies the targets of attack. Such cases arise in the social disputes over sexual immorality and paternity which appear in Tudor Assize court records when women are called to vouch for each others’ reputations or “common fame”. Gossip was thus elevated to the level of legal evidence. Women did play a part in this self-denigratory culture, by retelling stories, jokes and anecdotes that reaffirmed their low status, perhaps as a way of distancing themselves from the worst extremes of femininity, aligning themselves more with male than female characteristics as a way of rejecting those stereotypes. It was a form of self-protection in a society with a high level of permitted patriarchal violence.

In the eyes of the law, most Tudor women were powerless. Their social definition came through marriage, yet ironically it was the spinsters and widows, the femme seul, who had most autonomy, exercising control over their lands and goods and running their own businesses. Providing they had the necessary funds though, these remained the minority. In comparison, the married woman or femme couvert was considered to be little more than an extension of her husband’s possessions. Women did not even have control over their own bodies, with husbands allowed to use physical “discipline” and rape wives without repercussions. Religious debate continued to rage through the sixteenth century as to whether women even possessed souls and any signs of intelligence were repackaged as “cunning”. They were considered to have a particular talent for being subversive: feminine intelligence was often presented proverbially as deception: “women in mischief are wiser than men,”[2]they were “necessary evils” and were “made perfect by men.” The fear of female disobedience to male authority was apparent in popular maxims: “a woman does that which is forbidden her,” “women are always desirous of sovereignty” and “all women are ambitious naturally.” A group of women was greatly to be feared, when they could share ideas and plan ways to deceive their menfolk, as do the women in “Wives in the Tavern.”

Male fears concerning the malevolent power of collective female gossip could take disturbing turns. “Scolds,” denounced by husbands, were fined or punished for their inability to keep quiet and undermining of male authority. The grisly metal bridles that survive in medieval castles and dungeons were illegal by this time but the ducking of women in ponds survived into the 1560s, although rare. It provided an opportunity for a man to reassert his dominance and regain a little social credence in the public eye. One court roll of High Roding in the early Sixteenth century, requested the removal from the village of a woman named Agnes for being a “common scold” and “disturber of the peace to the great annoyance of her neighbours.”[3] At Barking in 1581, the wives of Edmund Body and Geoffrey Wood were reported as common scolds,[4] as was Matilda Glascock of Becontree in 1575,[5] although no punishment was recorded. Bald’s Leechbook, an early medieval collection of recipes, contained a cure for men against a woman’s chatter. The advice was to eat a radish at night whilst fasting and one the next day, to ensure the chatter cannot harm you, suggesting a real belief in the possibility of tangible harm being done through speech to a man’s reputation. The potential overlap of female disobedience, secrecy and witchcraft becomes even more apparent in the pseudo-religious advice of receipt books and almanacs. Men might make a salve against women with whom the devil copulated, using hops, wormwood, lupin, vervain, garlic, fennel and other ingredients. They should place these in a vat under an altar, sing nine masses over it, boil it in butter and sheep’s grease, add holy salt and strain the liquid through a cloth into running water. The man who anointed himself with this salve would be saved from evil temptation.

Tudor misogyny was exacerbated by the difference between the lives of men and women. Given the constant threat of death and disease, poor medical understanding of female conditions, the rigours of childbirth, child rearing and infant mortality, coupled with the similarity of daily experience, it is little wonder that women sought each other’s help and support. Without the modern labour saving devices and opportunities that later transformed domestic duties, greater amounts of women’s time were spent in regular social activities. Networks of women came together at female-dominated locations such as the market place, dairy, bake-house, laundry and in childbed, churching and christenings. Through their work routine and life-cycle events, an oral female culture flourished, giving rise to male suspicion about subversive gossip. Men feared the contents of their wives discussions, believing them obsessed with their husbands’ sexual performance and constantly critical of their behaviour; husbands would complain of wives deliberately broadcasting arguments to draw in female neighbours. In their absence, though, women could supposedly enjoy unregulated freedom of speech, abandoning decorum and good taste when the boundaries came down.

Undoubtedly, then as now, when a group of women talked together, men might be discussed, but male fears about the dominance of women suggests insecurity and arrogance. What else could their wives find to talk about but the men ? No doubt they were comparing notes, broadcasting men’s misdeeds and performances. The doggerel poem “Tittle-Tattle, Or, the Several Branches of Gossiping,” was a satire on women’s idle and continuous chatter, although it also highlighted the regular formation of female groups at the moments of key events and rites of passage. Women were an unruly force that men had to tolerate for their role in essential social ritual such as childbirth.

Nor did the association of female gossip and defamation end with the Tudor period. In fact, it has remained a feature of gender division until the present day, although the potential harm of “gossip” has undergone a shift with the advent of differing forms of media. Well into the seventeenth century though, gossips were still targeted as manifestations of masculine fears; in a 1674 ballad “The Gossip’s Meeting,” a man overhears women in a tavern criticising their husband’s sexual prowess:

“My husband doth sit like a Mome (mummy?) all the day

And at night in the bed he is cold as the clay

I would rather he would go and drink a pot or two

And come home and night and do what he should do.”

As if this was not enough to stir up trouble, they plan to deceive their husbands and use their pregnancies to explain their absence from home:

“Pretending our Burthens hath tired us sore

As if we were ready to fall on the flore

And so by that means they will patient remain

And pitty us too, when they hear us complain.[6]”

Such depictions, typically by male authors, exploit and fan masculine suspicions of women’s rapacious sexuality, allowing them to uphold the common stereotypes with some sense of justification, according to this “evidence” from the mouths of fictional characters. The women’s manipulation of their pregnant condition in order to deceive, emasculates their husbands and equates childbearing with familial disharmony.

Many common elements to women’s lives excluded men, not least their domestic space, work and bodily experiences. Female spaces within houses were demarcated by gendered roles, by the routines and tasks of the average day. Their work of cleaning, washing, cooking, caring and nursing, created small safe pockets of personal space within the wider male preserve of the household; female self-definition was enhanced through the creation of locations and tasks from which men were barred. The derogatory term “cotquean” was applied to a man who meddled in women’s domestic concerns but certain females were also excluded:  not even high status could fully assimilate a childless woman into the rituals of motherhood, although women of all ages and experiences participated in the sharing of domestic objects, clothing, linen and knowledge.

Many tensions existed between Tudor men and women, exacerbated by an imperfect understanding of each other. The polarised expectations of their lives contributed to this, by excluding males from key areas which created suspicion. This was apparent in many areas of popular and legal culture, which was used by both men and women to perpetuate these stereotypes. Yet in a pre-Feminist world, little sense of organised female solidarity existed; men were essential to women and vice versa. Whilst many women shared their experiences and resources, many others opposed each other within this tradition. By the end of the sixteenth century, the rule of Elizabeth would go some way to challenging these ideas but women would have to wait many hundreds of years before any sense of female equality and rights began to emerge.

---

[1] Herbert. G “Outlandish Proverbs” 1640

[2] Tilley

[3] ERO D/DU 886/3

[4] ERO Q/SR 79/95

[5] ERO Q/SR 55/1                 

[6] Anon, “The Gossip’s Meeting,” or “The Merry Market-Women of Taunton” 1674.

You are what you eat: Food and Status in Tudor Times.

What people ate in Tudor times depended on who they were. Every aspect of the process, from the formal to the informal, was indicative of status, even before any food was actually consumed. The ceremony of service, with its rituals and strict protocol, was vital to royalty and the nobility, as were the behaviour and appearance of those who served. Elaborate manners and rules often took priority over the actual process of consumption, posing the question whether the Tudors were more aesthetes than gourmands. When it came to the food itself, the ingredients, presentation and quantity of dishes consumed varied vastly, from the labourer with a bowl of boiled vegetables, to the King at a three course banquet, his food cooked in exotic spices and decorated with gold leaf. What, how and where you ate, denoted exactly where you stood in society.

The basic ingredients marked perhaps the greatest difference. For those on the lowest rung of the social ladder, meals comprised mostly seasonal vegetables, supplemented with oats, bread and pulses. Onions, leeks, pumpkins, spinach and garlic were the most common “worts” grown, with almost all Tudor households dependent on their own small plot of land, even those living in cities. Leeks were so popular among the poor that the kitchen garden often came to be known as the “leek garden”. Peas and beans were grown in larger, field crops and formed the basis of many people’s diet throughout the seasons. Many of the herbs the Tudor housewife would have relied upon are unrecognised now and no longer used, such as herb-mercury, sorrel, wormwood and mallows. Meat would have been an occasional treat, perhaps weekly or monthly, depending on the family’s resources. Apples, quinces and pears were stewed and preserved, baked in pastry or thickened with oats or bread crumbs to make a sort of pottage, or stew. Nuts were also harvested and stored as ingredients of pies and puddings; walnuts and hazelnuts were also eaten at the end of meals, to “close” the stomach. Many of these would have been available in season across England in Tudor times, although people were rather suspicious of fresh fruit, thinking it could upset the stomach and preferring dried or preserved alternatives.

Central to the diets of rich and poor were fish and bread. Both had religious connotations and their use varied hugely by class. As a Catholic country before the 1540s, fish was prescribed in England for fast days and afterwards, was still eaten to promote the industry. As Andrew Boorde wrote in his “Dyetary” in the 1540s, the country was well served by “sea-fysshe… fresh-water fysshe and …salt fysshe.” While the rich enjoyed shellfish, turbot, whale, porpoise and sturgeon, the poor made do with salted herring or dried cod. Storing and transporting it was a problem, so the best, freshest fish could be found at the coast, although medieval monasteries were famous for their carp ponds. The bread they ate varied in colour, with the shade of it literally equated with status. The finest, white flour was baked into hand-sized loaves for the richest tables while the poorer ate brown or even black bread, made up from the flour of ground acorns, peas and beans. Bread was a staple for everyone, with even the stale crumbs used in other recipes. It formed the basis of the breakfast consumed by labourers early in the morning, to get them through until the first formal meal of the day.

 

The yearly consumption of the household of George, Duke of Clarence (d 1478) was recorded in detail in the late fifteenth century. Wheat topped the list of supplies, coming in at over £205 for the year’s consumption, then wines were listed, at £206 for everyday drinking plus £20 for exotic imports such as malmsey, bastard (a Portugese sweet wine), romany and others. Ale then took up the largest proportion of income so far, with £486 spent on it annually. Twelve sheep were consumed daily, either powdered or fresh and £8 was spent on “boars.” Veal and pork were also popular, to the tune of £30 and £42 respectively. Fish days were well provided for, with the high status sturgeon and salmon eaten alongside eels, stockfish, sprats and herrings. As the brother of the King, Clarence’s consumption gives an idea of the amounts required to maintain a household at the highest end of the scale.

Spices were included in many dishes, not only to improve the flavour but to demonstrate a host’s wealth. London was the centre of the spice trade, where mixtures of ginger, cloves, saffron, almonds, cinnamon and pepper could be bought from the merchant or grocer, made up to different levels of heat. Among those listed in Clarence’s account are mace, nutmeg, liquorice, green ginger, raisins, currants and rice. Spices were used in all manner of dishes, sweet and sour, from tarts and pies, to plates of meat and savoury puddings. Sugar also arrived from Cuba and Jamaica, sold in large cones or loaves and sprinkled over dishes, rather like salt. Food was highly coloured on the richest tables too, with ingredients dyed brightly to catch the eye: green colouring came from spinach, yellow from egg yolk or saffron, red from sandalwood and blue from indigo. On special occasions, dishes were presented in rainbow stripes of colours and sweets were adorned with gold and silver leaf. The wealthy could also enjoy imported treats from Spain, Italy and Portugal; marmalade, oranges, figs, walnuts, lemons and pine nuts. All these expensive ingredients were kept carefully locked away in the kitchen, to prevent their theft by unprivileged hands. They were issued in small amounts by the cook, for the kitchen staff to use in recipes. Served up with in all their glory, they must have proved a real visual feast.

 

The feasts of the wealthy comprised many dishes and courses. One fifteenth century banquet, to celebrate the appointment of the Bishop of Ely, had three courses including dishes of venison, swan, pheasant and peacock all cooked in thick, spiced sauces, mixing sweet and sour. Custards and jellies were served alongside meat, which seems odd to the modern palate but typical of the fruit and meat combination that prevailed in many surviving dishes such as mince pies. Subtleties, carved from marchpane (marzipan) or sugar, came after each course, sometimes also before, when they were called “warners:” for the bishop of Ely, an impressive white lion was carved, as well as a scene of the nativity of St.John, God as a shepherd and various saints. Hours of labour must have gone into these, merely for the pieces to be briefly on show. Huge quantities of supplies were called for, running to thousands of deer, sheep, pigs, chicken and other varieties of meat. One Cardinal’s installation feast at Canterbury in the fourteenth century called for 36 oxen, 200 pigs, 100 hogs, 200 sheep, 973 capons, 1,000 geese, 9,600 eggs, 600 rabbits and 24 swans, all to feed 6,000 guests! The kitchens at Hampton Court, which Henry VIII obtained from his minister Wolsey in the late 1520s, give an impression of the scale of the operation, with the separate departments for baking, boiling, brewing and cooking, along with the sections dedicated entirely to the making of waffles and storing of spices. Different forms of food were kept in the wet or dry larders and large pieces of meat turned on spits in the huge fireplaces. Servants were often paid in kind; Clarence’s spicer received no fee except boxes of comfits and green ginger, while those in his scullery and saucer were allowed to keep the “garbage” of swans!

Since before the advent of the Tudors, kings had been regulating when and how they should eat. The fifteenth century saw a rash of household books on this, epitomised by Edward IV’s Black Book ordinances inspired by the Burgundian model. Manuals outlined the behavioural expectations for children and those in service: the right table manners could take you far while the wrong ones could ruin your chances! Henry VIII ruled in 1526 that his meals should be taken at eleven in the morning and six in the evening. All those in attendance needed to be clean and tidy, well-mannered and skilled at their jobs: the carver of meats was one of the highest respected positions and required knowledge of an exact science. The King and Queen sat on a raised dais in the Great Hall, looking down over their court and used the best gold plate, eating with spoons and knives encrusted with jewels. A set featuring rubies and pearls belonging to Henry VIII survives. Richard III dined off silver and gold at his 1483 coronation and drank from a cup of gold, covered in cloth of the same colour. At Henry VIII’s coronation feast in 1509, the King’s champion rode through the hall on horseback, wearing a plume of ostrich feathers, to challenge any who disputed his claim. At other times, royalty might dine quietly alone in their chambers, or invite special guests to join them in their apartments; in summer, or on special occasions, feasts were often eaten out of doors in huge tents and arbours. Not everyone was so fortunate.

 

One anonymous fifteenth poem, “Good Ale,” exposes the practices of those providing bad quality food for the poor. The narrator rejects brown bread as being made of bran and beef as being full of bones. Bacon is too fat for them, while mutton is too lean and tripe is “seldom clean.” Their eggs are full of shell and their butter contains hairs. The flesh of capons is too expensive while ducks are rejected because they “slobber” during life. Instead, the poem insists the only safe thing to consume is ale!

The poor man at his table, or eating in the fields as he worked, would have used his fingers and perhaps, one sharp knife of his own. At home, he would have eaten from iron, brass or pewter dishes; the wills written by lower class Tudors are full of bequests to friends of such tableware, as are accounts of their theft. Court records list how such items were often a target, giving an indication of what the average household possessed. In 1593, a Christopher Wood of East Ham, stole four pewter pots and eight pewter dishes from one Thomas Harrold. In 1600, two men were hung for stealing two dozen pewter dishes worth 10s from the house of Thomas Patch. Such items were clearly prized by the poor. They would have laid their table with them as proudly as the King with his gold and silver. If he was eating at home, there would be no one to serve the poorer Tudor man, except his wife and family. Etiquette must have given way to hunger and necessity, as the family dined in a room that was probably multi-functional. Pieces of dried meat were often hung from the ceiling in poor homes to smoke and herbs as well as other items were stored in main living rooms, high up, out of the reach of animals. To own and use a room specifically for eating was a significant social step up. Meals among the poor were more likely to fit in around working hours and take less time than the hour-long banquets enjoyed by the monarchy.

By the Elizabethan era, food had become even more impressive for the rich. The discovery of the New World and opening up of new trade routes brought more produce to England. The consumption of sugar rose. Noble women used their still room to create jams, jellies and “suckets” or candied pieces of fruit or flowers. Cordials were also popular as were preserved treats that could last through the long winter months. Elizabeth’s own teeth were supposedly blackened by her sweet tooth and the range of dishes available at her court reflected this. The main meal was often followed by a banquet consisting entirely of sweet foods, wafers, fruit and other delicacies that showed the expense the host had gone to. The more luxury and waste incurred by such a banquet, the greater the status displayed. Luckily for the poor, many of the left-overs were passed on to the Almoner, whose job it was to redistribute them among those who came to beg at the gates. This made the gap in status even more apparent, with the poor waiting for the scraps from his lord’s table.

The Tudors were very status-conscious. Throughout the period, food was a powerful visual tool used to re-enforce social position, along with clothing and housing. The diets of the rich were varied and exciting, both to eat and to look at. Eating was a ritual, with food on display to assembled guests, dressed in expensive sauces and spices. However, the meals of the poorer Tudors, eaten informally, with their emphasis on vegetables, were probably healthier and far closer to today’s ideal.

 

A Prince’s Household in life and death: the worldly goods of Henry Fitzroy, England's illegitimate Tudor heir.

 

 Henry VIII is well known for his desperate attempts to father a son. His first two wives failed in this respect; Catherine of Aragon’s short-lived Prince Henry died at six weeks old in 1511 and Anne Boleyn’s promised “son” turned out to be a daughter, in spite of what the prophets predicted. It was only with his marriage to Jane Seymour that the King finally became the father of a boy, Prince Edward, born after a difficult labour in October 1537. It was a Pyrrhic victory for his mother though, who paid with her life only days later. However, through the years of his long wait for a male-child to inherit the throne, Henry already had a son.

Some time in the second decade of his reign, while he was still young, athletic, chivalrous and attractive, young Henry’s eye was caught by a young, blonde gentlewoman in the household of his first wife, Catherine of Aragon. Her name was Elizabeth Blount, or Bessie, and she was probably aged between 12 and 14 when she first came to court, in around 1514. The chronicler Edward Hall describes her as winning the King’s heart by exceeding all others in “syngyng, daunsyng and all goodly pastimes.” Accomplished in many fields, she became Henry’s lover and fell pregnant with his child in the autumn of 1518, retreating from court soon after. She was not his first mistress but was the first to conceive out of wedlock and proved to the already anxious king that he was capable of fathering sons. Henry’s capable minister, Thomas Wolsey, oversaw the arrangements for Bessie’s lying-in, which took place at a priory known as Jericho, near Chelmsford, in Essex. In the summer of 1519, probably in June, her son was born. He was named Henry Fitzroy, both names alluding to his royal parentage. For the duration of his life, he would be the King’s only son and as such, a potential heir and King of England, even though he was illegitimate. When he died in 1536, at the age of seventeen, his household accounts showed that he lived a life equal to that of his royal sisters, as befitted a future monarch.

Elevated to the Dukedom of Richmond in 1525, when he was only six years old, Fitzroy was based in the North of England, resident at Sheriff Hutton and Pontefract Castles, with a significant staff to attend his every need. The list of servants for his kitchens alone numbered over sixty people, based in the pantry or cellar, the boiling house and scalding house, the spicery and wafery, or simply turning the spit over the fire. Henry took his son’s education seriously, engaging a series of impressive tutors, one of whom, the chancellor of Durham, William Frankeleyn, described the boy as “ a chylde of excellent wisdom and towardnes… good and quyk capacitie, retentive memorye, vertuous inclinasion to all honour, humanitie and goodness.” It seemed Fitzoy had all the qualities of an excellent future king. Later, he attended Parliamentary sessions and was at Henry’s side on state occasions; he was also with his father during personal tragedy. The King notoriously wept before Fitzroy in May 1536, claiming he had feared that Anne Boleyn was attempting to poison the youth. Ironically, Fitzroy did die about two months after Anne’s execution, on July 22 or 23. This may have taken place at Collyweston, once home to Margaret Beaufort, his paternal great-grandmother, whose property he had inherited along with his title, or at St James’ Palace. His funeral was held in Westminster and his body transported for burial to Thetford Priory, Norfolk. During the eighteenth century it was reinterred at Framlingham.

On July 25, an inventory was made of Fitzroy's worldly goods. It gives a fascinating insight into the life of this pampered Prince, whom Henry clearly considered as his possible heir in the event of his failure to produce a legitimate son. It gives us as record of his lifestyle, as if he had simply gone out and left his possessions as they were, as if we were able to enter his home and have a sneaky look around while he was out!  Among his clothes were gowns made of crimson damask, black and gold velvet, green and yellow satin and white velvet. These were decorated with Venice gold, a silver fringe, “swelling welts” and embroidery. Touchingly, one purple velvet gown was sewn with “grete buttons of golde,” one of which was missing. Fitzroy also owned a “rich dagger” trimmed with silver and gilt and a gold brooch featuring a naked woman. His dining table must have been splendidly decked out, with expensive ceremonial pieces; a number of golden salt cellars feature on the list, decorated with pearls and sapphire, in the form of dragons and unicorn horns. His golden spoons were engraved with roses and pomegranates, ironically the symbol of Catherine of Aragon, whilst his cup of gold was topped with a red flower, possibly another allusion to his parentage. An impressive array of jewels is included in the lists. He had golden ceremonial garters set with diamonds, bracelets of gold set with rubies and pearls, diamond rings, enamelled white roses and a chain of gold and black enamelled Paris work. Particularly poignant though, were the pair of slipper he left behind, which did not merit any further description.

As a Catholic, Fitzroy owned a large amount of religious artefacts, including chalices and other items necessary for the celebration of Mass. His ceremonial crosses were decorated with images of Mary and John, the Virgin, St.Peter and St. Dorothy, as well as other saints that he particularly favoured. A number of heavy gilt candlesticks were listed, to light an altar, as well as altar cloths and other vestments of velvet and cloth-of-gold. He also owned a “grete Mass book” with silver clasps and hangings for his chapel, depicting the Passion. Other, secular hangings for his household bore the images of the Lady Pleasaunce and the Virtues, Moses, Paris and Helen and hawking and hunting scenes.

The thirteen great beds to be found in Fitzroy’s home were dressed appropriately. The young man may have slept under a tester of gold, green tinsel and red velvet, with a multi-coloured fringe made of silk. Alternatively, he may have lain awake looking up at a tester of yellow and blue damask, with a panel of crimson velvet down the middle, fringed again with silk. His cushions were of quilted damask cloth-of-gold and he would have walked on three great carpets and twelve smaller ones. His royal status is made explicit with the existence of a chair of estate, under a cloth of gold, fringed with red silk, among other gold items of soft furnishing that speak of luxury and expectation.

A glimpse behind the scenes of his life is given in the items listed from the kitchens and stables. Simple described as “kechen stuffe,” Fitzroy’s meals would have been cooked in one of three brass pots bounded by iron and eaten off one of seventeen dishes. Pans, racks, gridirons and mortars were listed, common to most households of the time. On venturing out of his home, the youth would have travelled in style, on saddles made of green or black velvet, trimmed with buff leather and gilt work studs or great gilt buckles. He owned four large horses, six geldings, a little mule, three more mules for his carriage and three “nags,” some of which had already been given away.

The inventory of Friztroy’s goods, taken only three days after his death in 1536, allows us the closest possible opportunity to peep through the keyhole of his home. It is rather like a little time capsule of a Tudor household in its descriptions of colours, fabrics and quantities, which enable us to picture his goods and chattels in detail. It indicates a life of luxury, status, ceremony and devotion, quite representative of the upbringing expected of a Prince, even an illegitimate one. Up until his premature death, either of the lung complaint that had laid him low that spring, or of consumption (TB), he could potentially have stepped into his father’s massive shoes. By all accounts Henry was proud of his son, even introducing him to the French, King Francis I. He must have felt his loss keenly.

A further irony in Henry’s quest to father a son followed. Only six months after the youth’s death, Henry’s third wife, Jane Seymour fell pregnant. The following October, she was delivered of her son, the future Edward VI. He was also to die young, at a similar age to Fitzroy but Henry could not have known this; he finally had the legitimate male heir he had so longed for. It was some compensation for the loss of Fitzroy, whose death was another of those turning points in Tudor history at which one possible future vanished and another materialised. What sort of king would Henry IX have made, if events had turned out differently ? We can never know. The details of his splendid household, however, can serve as a sort of imagined mausoleum to a reign that never was.