England in the Days of Old

The mace as a weapon may be traced back to a remote period, and was a staff about five feet in length with a metal head usually spiked. Maces were used by the heavy cavalry in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but went out of use in England in the reign of Elizabeth. It is not clear when the ornamental maces came to be regarded as an ensign of authority. Their first use may be traced back to the twelfth century. At that period and later spikeless maces were carried by the guards attending princes, as a convenient weapon to protect them against the sudden attacks of the assassin. Happily their need passed away, and as a symbol of rank only they have remained. In civic processions the mace is usually borne before the mayor, and when the sovereign visits a corporate town it is customary for the mayor to bear the mace before the monarch. We learn from history that when Princess Margaret was on her way to Scotland in 1503 to be united in marriage to James IV., as she passed through the city of York the Lord Mayor shouldered the mace and carried it before her. The mace was formerly borne before the mayoress of Southampton when she went out in state. A singular custom connected with the mace obtained at Leicester. It was customary for the newly-elected mayor to proceed to the castle, and in accordance with a charter granted by James I., take an oath before the steward of the Duchy of Lancaster, “to perform faithfully and well all and every ancient custom, and so forth according to the best of his knowledge.” On arrival at a certain place within the precincts of the stronghold the mayor had the great mace lowered from an upright position as a token of acknowledgment to the ancient feudal earls within their castle. In 1766 Mr. Fisher, a Jacobite, was elected mayor, and like others of his class was ever ready when opportunity offered to show his aversion to the reigning dynasty. He purposely omitted the ceremony of lowering the mace. When the servant of the mayor refused to “slope the mace,” the Constable of the castle or his deputy refused to admit the mayor. The ceremony was discontinued after this occurrence, and the mayor went in private to take the oath.

The following ordinances were in force at Kingston-upon-Hull about 1450, and point their own moral.

“No Mayor should debase his honourable office by selling (during his Mayoralty) ale or wine in his house.”

“Whenever the Mayor appeared in public he should have a sword carried before him, and his officers should constantly attend him; also he should cause everything to be done for the honour of the town, and should not hold his office for two years together.”

“No Aldermen should keep ale-houses or taverns, nor absent themselves from the town’s business, nor discover what is said in their councils, under heavy penalties.”

An entry in the annals of Hull in 1549 states that three of the former sheriffs of the town, named respectively Johnson, Jebson, and Thorp, were fined £6 13s. 4d. each “for being deficient in the elegance of their entertainments, for neglecting to wear scarlet gowns, and for not providing the same for their wives during their shrievalties.” Ten years later a Mr. Gregory was chosen sheriff, and he refused to accept the office. The matter was referred to the Queen in Council, and he was ordered to be fined £100, to be disfranchised and turned out of the town. We are told that the order was executed.

We gather from the ancient records of Canterbury that, in 1544, it was decided “that during winter every dark-night the aldermen, common council, and inn-holders are to find one candle, with light, at their doors, and the other inhabitants are to do in like fashion upon request, and if any lantern be stolen, the offender shall be set in the pillory at the mayor’s discretion; the candles are to be lighted at six, and continued until burnt out.”

In 1549 the sheriff of Canterbury paid a fine of three shillings and fourpence for wearing his beard.

Another quaint item in the Canterbury records under the year 1556 is an order directing the mayor every year before Christmas to provide for the mayoress, his wife, to wear one scarlet gown, and a bonnet of velvet. If the mayor failed to procure the foregoing he was liable to a fine of £10.

At Nottingham the new mayor took office on the 29th September each year. The outgoing mayor and other members of the corporation marched in procession to St. Mary’s Church. At the conclusion of divine service all retired to the vestry, and the retiring mayor occupied the chair at the head of a table covered with a black cloth, in the middle of which lay the mace covered with rosemary and sprigs of bay. This was called burying the mace, and no doubt was meant to denote the official decease of the late holder. The new mayor was then formally elected, and the outgoing mayor took up the mace, kissed it, and delivered it to his successor with a suitable speech. After the election of other town officials the company proceeded to the chancel of the church, where the mayor took the oath of office, which was administered by the senior coroner. After the mayor had been proclaimed in public places by the town clerk, a banquet was held at the municipal buildings; the fare consisted of bread and cheese, fruit in season, and pipes of tobacco! The proclaiming of the new mayor did not end on the day of election: on the following market-day he was proclaimed in face of the whole market, and the ceremony took place at one of the town crosses.

We learn from the Report of the Royal Commission issued in 1837 that the election of the Mayor of Wycombe was enacted with not a little ceremony. The great bell of the church was tolled for an hour, then a merry peal was rang. The retiring mayor and aldermen proceeded to church, and after service walked in procession to the Guildhall, preceded by a woman strewing flowers and a drummer beating a drum. The mayor was next elected, and he and his fellow-members of the corporation marched round the market-house, and wound up the day by being weighed, and their weights were duly recorded by the sergeant-at-mace, who was rewarded with a small sum of money for his trouble.

In the Gentlemen’s Magazine for 1782 we find particulars of past mayoral customs at Abingdon, Berkshire. “Riding through Abingdon,” says a correspondent, “I found the people in the street at the entrance of the town very busy in adorning the outside of their houses with boughs of trees and garlands of flowers, and the paths were strewed with rushes. One house was distinguished by a greater number of garlands than the rest. On inquiring the reason, it seemed that it was usual to have this ceremony performed in the street in which the new mayor lived, on the first Sunday that he went to church after his election.”

At Newcastle-on-Tyne still lingers a curious custom which dates back to the period when strife was rife between England and Scotland. It has long been the practice to present the judges attending the Assizes on their arrival with two pairs of gloves, a pair to each of their marshals and to the other members of their retinue, also to the clerks of Assize and their officers. The judges are entertained in a hospitable manner during their stay in the city. At the conclusion of the business of the Assizes the mayor and other members of the Corporation in full regalia wait upon the judges, and the mayor thus addresses them: —

“My Lords, we have to congratulate you upon having completed your labours in this ancient town, and have also to inform you that you travel hence to Carlisle, through a border county much and often infested by the Scots; we therefore present each of your lordships with a piece of money to buy therewith a dagger to defend yourselves.”

The mayor then gives the senior judge a piece of gold of the reign of James I., termed a Jacobus, and to the junior judge a coin of the reign of Charles I., called a Carolus. After the judge in commission has returned thanks the ceremony is ended. Some time ago a witty judge returned thanks as follows: “I thank the mayor and corporation much for this gift. I doubt, however, whether the Scots have been so troublesome on the borders lately; I doubt, too, whether daggers in any numbers are to be purchased in this ancient town for the protection of my suite and of myself; and I doubt if these coins are altogether a legal tender at the present time.”

The local authorities are anxious to keep up the ancient custom enjoined upon them by an old charter, but they often experience great difficulty in obtaining the old-time pieces of money. Sometimes as much as £15 has been paid for one of the scarce coins. “Upon the resignation or the death of a judge who has travelled the northern circuit, we are told the corporation at once offer to purchase from his representative the ‘dagger-money’ received on his visits to Newcastle, in order to use it on future occasions.”

It was customary, in the olden time, for the mayor and other members of the Banbury Corporation to repair to Oxford during the assizes and visit the judge at his lodgings, and the mayor, with all the graces of speech at his command, ask “my lord” to accept a present of the celebrated Banbury cakes, wine, some long clay pipes, and a pound of tobacco. The judge accepted these with gratitude, or, at all events, in gracious terms expressed his thanks for their kindness.

The Corporation of Ludlow used to offer hospitality to the judges. The representatives of the town met the train in which the judges travelled from Shrewsbury to Hereford, and offered to them cake and wine, the former on an ancient silver salver, and the latter in a loving-cup wreathed with flowers. Mr. Justice Hill was the cause of the custom coming to a conclusion in 1858. He was travelling the circuit, and he communicated with the mayor saying, “owing to the delay occasioned, Her Majesty’s judges would not stop at Ludlow to receive the wonted hospitality.” We are told the mayor and corporation were offended, and did not offer to renew the ancient courtesy.

The making of a “sutor of Selkirk” is attended with some ceremony. “It was formerly the practice of the burgh corporation of Selkirk,” says Dr. Charles Rogers, the social historian of Scotland, “to provide a collation or dejeûner on the invitation of a burgess. The rite of initiation consisted in the newly-accepted brother passing through the mouth a bunch of bristles which had previously been mouthed by all the members of the board. This practice was termed ‘licking the birse:’ it took its origin at a period when shoemaking was the staple trade of the place, the birse being the emblem of the craft. When Sir Walter Scott was made a burgess or ‘sutor of Selkirk,’ he took precaution before mouthing the beslabbered brush to wash it in his wine, but the act of rebellion was punished by his being compelled to drink the polluted liquor.” In 1819, Prince Leopold was created “a sutor of Selkirk,” but the ceremony was modified to meet his more refined tastes, and the old style has not been resumed. Mr. Andrew Lang, a distinguished native of the town, has had the honour conferred upon him of being made a sutor.

The Mayor of Altrincham, Cheshire, in bygone times was, if we are to put any faith in proverbial lore, a person of humble position, and on this account the “honour” was ridiculed. An old rhyme says —

“The Mayor of Altrincham, and the Mayor of Over,The one is a thatcher, and the other a dauber.”

Sir Walter Scott, in “The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” introduces the mayor into his pages in no flattering manner. Mr. Alfred Ingham, in his “History of Altrincham and Bowdon” (1879), has collected for his book some curious information bearing on this theme. He relates a tradition respecting one of the mayors gifted with the grace of repartee, which is well worth reproducing: – “The Mayor of Over – for he and the Mayor of Altrincham are often coupled – journeyed once upon a time to Manchester. He was somewhat proud, though he went on foot, and on arriving at Altrincham, felt he would be all the better for a shave. The knight of the steel and the strop performed the operation most satisfactorily; and as his worship rose to depart, he said rather grand-eloquently, ‘You may tell your customers that you have had the honour of shaving the Mayor of Over.’ ‘And you,’ retorted the ready-witted fellow, ‘may tell yours that you have had the honour of being shaved by the Mayor of Altrincham.’ The rest can be better imagined than described.”

We learn from Mr. J. Potter Briscoe that a strange tradition still lingers in Nottingham, to the effect that when King John last visited the town, he called at the house of the mayor, and the residence of the priest of St. Mary’s. Finding neither ale in the cellar of one, nor bread in the cupboard of the other, His Majesty ordered every publican in the town to contribute sixpennyworth of ale to the mayor annually, and that every baker should give a half-penny loaf weekly to the priest. The custom was continued down to the time of Blackner, the Nottingham historian, who published his history in 1815.

The mayor of Rye, in bygone times, had almost unlimited authority, and if anyone spoke evil of him, he was immediately taken and grievously punished by his body, but if he struck the mayor, he ran the risk of having cut off the hand that dealt the blow.

As late as 1600, at Hartlepool, it was enacted, that anyone calling a member of the council a liar be fined eleven shillings and sixpence, if, however, the term false was used, the fine was only six shillings and eightpence.

Bribes for the Palate

In the days of old it was no uncommon practice for public bodies and private persons to attempt to bribe judges and others with presents. Frequently the gifts consisted of drink or food. In some instances money was expected and given. It is not, however, to bribery in general we want to direct attention, but to some of its more curious phases, and especially those which appealed to the recipients’ love of good cheer.

Some of the judges even in a corrupt age would not be tempted. One of the most upright of our judges was Sir Matthew Hale. It had long been customary for the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury to present to the judges of the Western Circuit six sugar loaves. The gift was sent to Hale, and he directed his servant to pay for the sugar before he tried a case in which the donors were interested. On another occasion while he was on circuit, a gentleman gave him a buck, hoping by this act to gain his favour in a case that was to be tried before him. When the trial was about to commence, Hale remembered the name of the gentleman and inquired if he was the person from whom the venison had been received. On being informed that such was the fact, he would not allow the trial to proceed until he had made payment for the buck. The gentleman strongly protested against receiving the money, saying that he had only presented the same to the Chief Baron as he had done to other judges who had gone the circuit. Further instances might be mentioned of presents being offered and refused by Hale, but the foregoing are sufficient to show the character of the man.

Newcastle-on-Tyne municipal records contain many references to presents of sugar loaves. There are for example gifts to noblemen who called at the town on their way to Scotland. In January 1593, we find particulars of 23s. 7d. for sugar and wine “sent in a present to my L. Ambassador as he came travling through this towne to Scotland called my L. Souch.”

The charges are as follow: —

A little later the Earl of Essex was bound for Scotland and received a present at the hands of the local authorities. The town accounts state:

In the following month the Earl of Essex, in company of my Lord Wharton, returned from North Britain and received sugar and wine costing the town £4 14s. 10d. The details of the amount are as under: —

The Bishop of Durham was not overlooked. In February, 1596, we find an entry as follows: —

“Mr. Maiore and his brethren” enjoyed sugar and sundry pottles of wine.

It is satisfactory to find that the ladies were not neglected at Newcastle-on-Tyne. Here is an entry referring to the entertainment of the Mayoress and other ladies: —

In the same month is an entry far different in character. It is a charge of 4d. for leading a scolding woman through the town wearing the brank. Payments for inflicting punishment on men and women frequently occur.

The accounts of the borough of St. Ives, Cornwall, contain an item as follows: —

The records of the city of Winchester include particulars of many presents of sugar loaves and other gifts. On March 24th, 1592, it was decided at a meeting of the municipal authorities to present the Lord Marquis of Winchester with a sugar loaf weighing five pounds, and a gallon of sack, on his coming to the Lent Assizes. The accounts of the city at this period contain entries of payments for sugar loaves given to the Recorder for a New Year’s present, and for pottles of wine bestowed on distinguished visitors.

At a meeting held in 1603 of the local authorities of Nottingham, it was agreed that the town should present to the Recorder, Sir Henry Pierrepoint, as follows: – “A sugar loaf, 9s.; lemons, 1s. 8d.; white wine, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; claret, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; muskadyne, one pottle, 2s. 8d.; sack, one pottle, 2s.; total, 20s. 8d.”

A year later the burgesses of Nottingham wished to show the great esteem they entertained for the Earl of Shrewsbury, and it was decided to give to him “a veal of mutton, a lamb, a dozen chickens, two dozen rabbits, two dozen of pigeons, and four capons.” This is a truly formidable list, and seems more suitable for stocking a shop than a gentleman’s larder.

The porpoise in past times was prized as a delicacy, and placed on royal tables. Down to the days of Queen Elizabeth it was used by the nobles as an article of food. In the reign of that queen, a penny in twelve was the market due at Newcastle-on-Tyne, when the fish were cut up and exposed for sale. The heads, fins, and numbles were taken in addition. The seal was subject to the same regulations. The porpoise was deemed suitable for a present. In 1491 it is recorded that a large porpoise was sent from Yarmouth as a gift to the Earl of Oxford.

The annals of Exeter furnish particulars of several gifts of fish. In 1600 it was decided by the local authorities to present to the Recorder of the city, Mr. Sergeant Hale, annually during his life, eight salmon of the river Exe. The Mayor for the time being had a like quantity allowed. It was resolved on the 10th January, 1610, to present, at the cost of the citizens, to the Speaker of the Parliament, in token of good will, a hogshead of Malaga wine, or a hogshead of claret, whichever might be deemed most acceptable, and one baked salmon pie.

Sir George Trenchard in 1593 received from the Mayor of Lyme a box of marmalade and six oranges, costing 7s.

Six months later the municipal accounts of Lyme include an entry as follows: —

Mr. George Roberts, in his “Social History of the Southern Counties,” has an interesting note respecting the potatoes named in the foregoing entry. He says: – “The sweet potato (Convolvulus Batatas) was known in England before the common potato, which received its name from its resemblance to the Batata. This plant was introduced into this country by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins in the middle of the sixteenth century. The roots were, about the close of the reign of Elizabeth, imported in considerable quantities from Spain and the Canaries, and were used as a confection rather than as a nourishing vegetable.”

We will close this paper with particulars of a present which may be regarded more of an example of esteem than an attempt at bribery. Hull, in the days of old, was noted for its ale. The Corporation of the town often presented one or two barrels to persons to whom they desired to show a token of regard. Andrew Marvell, the incorruptible patriot, represented the place in Parliament from 1658 until his death in 1678. He was in close touch with the leading men of the town, and wrote long and interesting letters, detailing the operations of the House of Commons, to the Mayor and Aldermen. In one of his epistles to the Burgesses of Hull he refers to a gift of ale. “We must,” says Marvell, “first give thanks for the kind present you have been pleased to send us, which will give occasion to us to remember you often; but the quantity is so great that it might make sober men forgetful.” Marvell’s father was master of the Hull Grammar School, and it was there the patriot was educated.

Hull ale finds a place in proverbial lore, and is named by Ray and others. Taylor, the water poet, visited the town in 1622, and was the guest of George Pease, landlord of the “King’s Head” Inn, High Street. In Taylor’s poem, entitled “A Very Merrie Ferry Voyage; or, Yorke for My Money,” he thus averts to Hull ale: —

“Thanks to my loving host and hostess, Pease,There at mine inne each night I took mine ease;And there I got a cantle of Hull Chesse.”

The poet, in a foot-note, says: – “Hull cheese is much like a loaf out of the brewer’s basket; it is composed of two samples, mault and water in one compound, and is cousin german to the mightiest ale in England.” Ray quotes the proverb, “You have eaten some Hull cheese,” as equivalent to an accusation of drunkenness.

Rebel Heads on City Gates

The barbarous custom of spiking heads on city gates, and on other prominent places, may be traced back to the days of Edward I. His wise laws won for him the title of “the English Justinian,” but he does not appear to have tempered justice with mercy. In his age little value was set upon human life. His scheme of conquest included the subjugation and annexation of Scotland and Wales.

David, the brother of Llewellyn the Welsh Prince, had been on the side of the English, and at the hands of Edward had experienced kindness, but in return he showed little gratitude. In 1282 he made an unprovoked attack on Hawarden Castle. Subsequently his brother Llewellyn joined in the rising, and undertook the conduct of the war in South Wales, while David attempted to defend the North of the country. In a skirmish on the Wye, Llewellyn was slain by a single knight. David soon fell into the hands of the English, and was sent in chains to Shrewsbury. Here he was tried by Parliament, consisting of “the first national convention in which the Common had any share by legal authority, and the earliest lawful trace of a mixed assembly of Lords and Commons.” Guilty of being a traitor was the verdict returned, and David was condemned to a new and cruel mode of execution, viz., “to be dragged at a horse’s tail through the streets of Shrewsbury, and to be afterwards hung and cut down while alive, his heart and bowels burnt before his face, his body quartered and his head sent to London.” The head of Llewellyn was also to be sent to London, to be spiked on the Tower encircled with a crown of ivy.

On the gates of old London Bridge have been spiked the heads of many famous men – not a few whose brave deeds add glory to the annals of England and Scotland. The heroic deeds of Sir William Wallace have done much to increase the dignity of the history of North Britain. After rendering gallant service to his native land, he was betrayed into the hands of the English by his friend and countryman, Sir John Menteith, at Glasgow. He was conveyed to London, was tried and condemned as a rebel, and on August 23rd, 1305, suffered a horrible death, similar to the fate of David, Prince of Wales. His body was divided and sent into four parts of Scotland, and his head set up on a pole on London Bridge. Edward I. degraded himself by this cruel revenge on a patriotic man. In the following year the head of another Scotch rebel, Simon Frazer, was spiked beside that of Wallace.