A wandering saint in London: St Catroe and the great fire of c. 945

London is a city full of people on the move: immigrants, tourists, students and commuters enter and leave the city every day. Many people assume that in the middle ages, things were much more static. In fact, medieval London was a hub for travellers.

Today I want to look at the life of one wandering miracle worker who passed through late Anglo-Saxon London: St Catroe.

The young Catroe:

Catroe was from an aristocratic family in Scotland: one of those for whom the destiny of every member is mapped out for them, before they were even born.

This was very literally true for poor little Catroe: on the day of his conception, an angel appeared to his parents to tell them: ‘God has commanded that you shall conceive, and bear a son, Catroe by name, a future light of the church’, (Life of Catroe, p. 432). When his parents came to pick a nanny for the young child, Catroe’s mother was guided by a vision that a hawk landed on the lady’s shoulder, (Life, p. 432-3).

When his parents were deciding how best to educate young Catroe, a cousin named Bean of Iona burst into the room and declared that God had spoken to him and told him that the boy must become a priest. Catroe’s parents were a bit put out: their only son was ‘the staff of his parents’ age’, they said, the one who would support them as they got old. But immediately afterwards, they conceived a brother for Catroe despite their great age, (Life, p. 433-4). God had spoken. Catroe was going to holy orders.

The remains of the monastery of Iona, home to Bean of Iona. Commons licence, Ray Jones: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abbey_on_the_Isle_of_Iona_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1459438.jpg

Many saints’ lives include heavenly signs and prophecies which point the holy man on to the right path. Most saints accept them gladly. Catroe though was a different sort of boy. He had a rebellious streak. He resented the way that Bean was moulding his life and telling him what he could be.

One day, news came to Catroe that his old nanny and her husband had been seized by Vikings. Catroe ran away from the monastery and armed himself. He pulled together a fleet of boats and pursued vengeance.

A Viking fleet, from a twelfth century manuscript. Public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wikinger.jpg

But Bean tracked the vengeful warrior down and told him: this isn’t God’s will. Catroe wouldn’t listen. Bean produced a copy of the gospels and opened it at a random verse: it read ‘If anyone take from thee what is thine, seek in not again’. The decision belonged to God, not Catroe, (Life, pp. 435-6).

Wandering mind, wandering spirit:

Catroe stayed with the church and worked hard. He was a natural prodigy:

‘all that poet has sung or orator spoken, all that philosopher has imagined, he learned; nothing escaped him. He exhausted everything that has been discovered by any one through number, measure and weight, through touch and hearing; lastly, the hidden movements and courses of the stars he described with compasses more learnedly than Eginus, than whom I doubt if any is more distinguished in the hierarchy of the sky’

Life of Catroe, p. 437).

Catroe established himself as a teacher of teachers: a sort of proto-professor, long before universities existed. His mind wandered far, but his body remained rooted firmly in place.

Armagh Cathedral: Catroe undertook much of his education at Armagh. Commons licence: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Armagh_Cathedral_(Church_of_Ireland).jpg

One night, whilst Catroe was praying, a voice spoke to him: ‘Depart from your land and from your kindred, and from your father’s house, and come into the land which I shall show you’, (Life, p. 438-9). Catroe immediately began to prepare for a pilgrimage.

Unfortunately, half of Scotland was set on stopping him. A mighty throng of people came forward and caught him at the monastery of St Brigit. It was led by Constantine, King of Alba (d. 952), who begged Catroe to stay for the good of the nation. It also included ‘a crowd of nobles and peasants’, who begged him not to leave. Catroe tried to reassure them: ‘I shall not forsake you since, wherever I am I shall keep you in my remembrance’. This wasn’t enough for them. They picked up the holy relics of the church and demanded that he yield to them. But Catroe could not be convinced.

The Book of Kells, which is thought to have been produced at Iona. Iona is one of the places where Catroe would have been educated, and may have taught. Public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KellsFol032vChristEnthroned.jpg

The crowd still had one more trick up their sleeves. From the back of the church emerged Catroe’s own parents. They were not happy that he was leaving. ‘If we cannot prevail with prayers, we shall restrain you with imprisonment and iron chains!’ his father cried.

‘This is in your power’, Catroe replied, ‘but so long as I am in chains, I will by no means drink or eat’.

Constantine II, king of Alba; a portrait of an obviously much later date. Public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Constantine_II_of_Scotland.jpg

Finally, the abbot of the monastery stepped forwards to mediate. Catroe would go but he would take some of the people with him. The king and the nobles would provide him with all that he could need: gold, silver, horses and men. Finally, Catroe could leave!

Catroe in London:

Catroe and his retinue headed south, to London. London must have come as a shock to a man raised in rural Scotland: it would have been far larger and more intimidating than any settlement he had ever seen before.

He stopped over in London with a man called Ecgfrith: the story is rather vague about who he was, beyond that he was powerful and had a hall large enough to host Catroe and his men.

A reconstruction of an Anglo-Saxon interior. A workshop from the West Stow Anglo-Saxon village. Commons licence by Midnightblueowl, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:West_Stow_workshop_interior.jpg

During the night, Catroe would have been awoken by shouts and yells, and by the distant sound of roaring and of collapsing wood. The greatest of all of the urban hazzards had struck: a fire! Our storyteller says:

‘By carelessness, that city was set on fire, and the larger part of it was already consumed; triumphant flame was licking what remained. Then God chose to declare what merit Catroe had in him. He was asked by the old man to rescue by prayer those who were perishing.

Trusting in the Lord, Catroe ran between the fire and the remnants of the city. Turning to the Lord, he said: “Lord, everything that exists obeys you. Bid then the terrors of the raging flames to cease!”.

This he said, briefly, and he raised his hand and commanded the flames to die down. Then one might see the flame bent back as by the force of the wind and, gradually subsiding, die out. Thus, the city was delivered, to the joy of all’.

Life of Catroe, p. 441-2).
An Anglo-Saxon house on fire: detail from the Bayeux tapestry. Public domain, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BayeuxTapestryScene47.jpg

Catroe the wanderer:

Catroe had performed his first true miracle! His fame spread and he was quickly brought to meet the king and the archbishop of Canterbury. They lent him all of the assistance that they he asked for and Catroe was soon ready to set sail.

But at the coast, something strange happened. Catroe loaded all of his men and horses and goods onto ships and set out to sea. But the winds turned against them and drove them back to shore. The heavens were cursing the mission!

‘All were disturbed, but Catroe was attacked by grief’, his biographer tells us (Life, p. 442). He set about fasting until he collapsed, exhausted. As he lay weakly on the couch a voice spoke to him: ‘All those that are with you shall not be able to cross the see, lest they prevent you in God’s way that you have entered. Persuade therefore your men to return; and then, after crossing the see, you shall rejoicing be reach the father shore’, (Life, p. 443).

An image of a ship caught in a storm. Here, St Claudius intervenes and saves the sailors. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Book_of_Hours_of_Simon_de_Varie_-_KB_74_G37a_-_folio_010v.jpg

Catroe was a noble at birth: always surrounded by others, always with a retinue. He always had a powerful relative, telling him what his destiny was. But on that day, he dismissed his men. He stood alone on the beach and looked out at the wider world. He set sail on a voyage into the unknown. And he was alone.

Postscript:

Catroe would go on to travel across Europe. He would become a wandering monk and a miracle worker. Eventually he would settle at Metz in modern day Germany where he became abbot and teacher until his death in 971. At Metz he made a very significant impression on one of his pupils, Reimann, who would later go on to write a biography of his old teacher.

It is thanks to this biography that we know anything at all about Catroe’s adventures. Saints’ lives are an odd genre: the Life of Catroe is a mixture of convincingly realistic social and psychological detail, with some very odd visions and magical happenings.

Gorze Abbey, near Metz: one of the monastries at which Catroe served as a monk. Public domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Eglise_de_Gorze.JPG

Even amongst the medieval weirdness, I think there are some things that can speak through the ages. Many modern migrants would recognise Cathoe’s story of wanderlust. They can recognise both the pain of leaving behind their old life, and the promise that comes from striking out on your own. They can recognise his determination to make his name on his own, and on his own terms.

Catroe was only briefly in London, but I think his story can still speak to many Londoners today.

For further reading:

Alan Macquarrie, ‘Catroe’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, https://ezproxy-prd.bodleian.ox.ac.uk:4563/10.1093/ref:odnb/4312 (2004).

‘Life of St Catroe’, ed. and tr. A.O. Anderson, Early Sources of Scottish History, A.D. 500 to 1286, pp. 431-443 https://archive.org/details/cu31924028144313/page/n589

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All Hallows by the Tower: a window on Anglo-Saxon London

In September 1666, the Great Fire devastated London. In a desperate scramble, the authorities at the Tower of London set about destroying buildings to create a fire block between the city and the Tower of London.

Diarist and man about town Samuel Pepys ran from the flames towards the tower. He stopped off at the church of All Hallows by the Tower, and climbed its steeple. From it, he watched the world burn. He wrote in his diary:

“So I made myself ready presently, and walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson’s little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge; which, among other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah on the bridge.”

Samuel Pepys Diary, September 1666: see here.

Most of the medieval and early modern city passed away on a single day. But the actions of the men at the tower meant that a little pocket of the medieval and early modern city survived in the very east corner of the London.

Today I want to look at All Hallows by the Tower, one of London’s great survivors. Today this little church is a time capsule for two thousand years of London’s history.

Above: All Hallows by the Tower in 1955. The tower, built in 1658, is the same one that Pepys would have climbed. Commons license

The earliest architecture on the site can be found in the basement, where a Roman pavement peeks through the floor. It is thought to be the floor from a second century house.

The roman pavement. Taken from trip advisor, see here

The church was built on top of this Roman layer. Its origins can be dated as far back as 675, when it was founded by the nun and saint, Ethelburgh (Aethelburh) of Barking. On this blog we have met Ethelburgh and her brother Erkenwald bishop of London in other posts.

It was long thought that there were no traces left of this early Anglo-Saxon church. However, in 1940 the church was hit by a falling German bomb. Amid the tumbling masonry some fascinating discoveries were made. Within the walls was hiding an old Anglo-Saxon arch.

Above: The Anglo-Saxon arch of All Hallows by the tower. Taken from the parish website, here.

We can’t date this arch precisely, but one interesting feature is that the top of the arch is made up mostly from recycled Roman bricks and tiles – this probably suggests that it was put up at a time when Roman ruins were still visible and accessible. It probably argues for an early date.

A little later in the Anglo-Saxon period, a crypt was built. This is now the under-croft chapel. There are still some Anglo-Saxon burials here.

The Undercroft chapel. Taken from the parish website, here.

Several other Anglo-Saxon and medieval artifacts can be seen in the church’s museum, including an Anglo-Saxon stone cross with an inscription that states that it was made by Thelvar.

The church also has numerous medieval and Tudor tombs. Perhaps the most remarkable survival is this Tate panel, a late fifteenth century Flemish altarpiece

The Tate alterpiece, from the Parish website, here

All Hallows by the Tower is a building with so many layers of history buried within it. People sometimes think that all of Old London passed away with the great fire. In All Hallows by the tower we can get a little window onto Anglo-Saxon and medieval London.

The main aisle of All Hallows by the Tower. Commons licence.

If you liked this blog post then why not check out the virtual tour of All Hallows by the Tower on the parish website; or maybe listen to this podcast by London Undone.

Trojan Tales: London’s epic (and fake) origin story

Some people suggest that typos are not a big deal, and that we should all relax about spelling and grammar. Today’s blog is a cautionary tale.

Ancient Roman authors tell us that the ancient British tribe that lived in the London area was called the Trinobantes. (If you want to learn more about the real history of early London, I have blogged about it here).

It only took a small typo in medieval manuscript tradition for that to become Troinovantes, which happens to mean ‘New Trojans’.

The first known person to make this spelling mistake was a Welsh monk and historian, Nennius, who was writing in about 830 A.D. He stated that the Britons were New Trojans, but was a bit hazy on the actual details. How exactly had these Trojans got here?

The British Isles was crying out for a historian with enough guts, enough storytelling verve and enough of a disregard for basic facts to tell us more about these Trojans. Finally, around the year 1140, one Geoffrey of Monmouth answered the call.

Merlin dictates his prophecies to a clergyman, who might be a representative of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Public domain.

Geoffrey of Monmouth was a historian who never met a tale he considered too tall. Only Geoffrey of Monmouth could take a small spelling mistake and spin it into a national epic.

His History of the Kings of Britain is best known today for giving us Arthur and his wizard Merlin in some of their earliest recognizable forms. But the earlier parts of his chronicle are, if anything, even more exciting and even more action packed.

Today I want to retell the story of Brutus of Troy, the geographically confused Trojan who allegedly founded London. Throughout the middle ages, London was very proud of its Trojan legend – apparently there was even a proposal in the 1380s to rename the city ‘Little Troy’.

The Beginning

It all began with the Trojan war. So many great storytellers have already covered this topic, and I really can’t claim to do it justice here. The Greeks went to war with the Trojans and fought for ten long years outside the city walls. It was a war so epic that the Greek poet Homer literally wrote an epic about it (The Illiad).

Facing a stalemate, the Greeks gave the Trojans a peace offering of a gigantic wooden horse. The Trojans were happy to accept it: little did they know that Greek soldiers were hiding in its belly. That night, the soldiers escaped and sacked the city. Most of the Trojans were either slaughtered or enslaved

The Trojan horse. Public domain.

The very same night, visions of the dead appeared to Aeneas, prince of Troy. Get out, they warned him, while you still can! Aeneas and his family scrambled to the harbour, which was lit by the fire of the burning city. They took a small boat and sailed sadly onwards. They would go on to have a journey so epic that Roman poet Virgil literally wrote an epic about it (The Aeneid).

Aeneas flees the burning city. Public domain

They found a new home in Italy. There Aeneas married a princess and founded a dynasty of Kings. Decades later, these Italian Trojans would go on to found the city of Rome.

Brutus, the cursed child

We pick up the story with Aeneas’s grandson, Prince Silvius. Silvius had just knocked up a woman, out of wedlock. The royal soothsayers were asked: would it be a boy or a girl.

The reply came: the child would be a boy. But that boy had a terrible fate awaiting him. He would slay both of his parents and live a life of exile. (The royal soothsayers were apparently happy to answer questions that no one had asked).

Silvius didn’t like this message. But the pregnancy proved long and complicated. A boy was born, but his mother perished. The first part of the prophecy had come true.

A medallion of Brutus of Troy, of 1553. Public domain.

He named the boy Brutus. There were whispers in the court about the curse carried by this child. But Silvius ignored them. It had to be a coincidence? Silvius raised Brutus to be a prince and taught him all of the arts of war and princely behaviour.†††

When Brutus was fifteen years old, his father took him hunting in the woods. The two became separated. Brutus sent an arrow whistling through the undergrowth to strike his pray. Unwittingly, he struck his own father dead.

There was no one in Italy now to protect young Brutus. He was driven out, exiled and forced to seek out his fortune and livelihood alone.

Trojan Knights, Trojan Slaves

Brutus was a prince no more. But he still has his training in war, hunting and princely manners. He became a knight errant and wandered the world.

His travels took him to Greece, where he served under the mighty King Pandrasus. Brutus performed great feats of honour and fought in many battles. He built up riches in spoils of war, but then gave them away to the fighting men, ensuring his popularity. He met with wise sages and learned from them. In some ways he was living a charmed life. But there was something troubling him.

A tournament. This is the sort of thing that Knights errant usually do. Public domain.

Wherever he went, slaves flocked to his side. They were the decedents of the Trojans, the once might people brought low by war. The slaves were excited to see one of their own, living life as a prince. They begged him to free them. But he could do nothing.

A squabble erupted at the court of King Pandrasus. One of the nobles, Assacarus, was half Trojan. His enemies argued that Assacarus had no right to be a noble or hold castles and property. Assacarus was being pushed to the edge. He appealed to Brutus for help. This squabble would lead to out and out war.

The Battle for Freedom

Brutus and Assacarus rallied the slaves. Seven thousand flocked to them. They had to turn this rag-tag bunch into a functioning army. They took up station in the woods near Assacarus’s castle and adopted guerrilla tactics.

Brutus delivered a letter to Pandrasus: To Pandrasus, king of the Greeks, I Brutus leader of the Trojans send greetings. Although we are an ancient and noble people, we have chosen to live as if primitive people in the woods. This is because is better to live simply and to be free than to live in palaces as a slave. If this offends your power then please forgive us; but freedom and dignity is what every slave desires. If you can accept this, then let us live out our lives in peace in the secluded glades of the forest; or else let us leave your country. If not, then prepare for war. †

A stealthy man in a medieval forest. Public domain.

Pandrasus gathered his army and marched towards Assacarus’s castle. The Greeks had the siege engines, the wealth and more men. Brutus knew that in a conventional war, the Trojans didn’t have a chance. He had to find a way to even the odds.

Instead the Trojans melted into the woods. They pounced when the Greeks least expected it and pinned them against a river. Some drowned, many were killed. The Trojans took many prisoners, including the king’s own brother, Antigonus.

Archers on the cliff over a river fire arrows on unsuspecting soldiers beneath them. Credit to Biblotheque Nationale de France, here.

The war was now personal for King Pandrasus. He pressed on his remaining forces and besieged the fortress of Assacarus. The Greeks settled in for a siege.

A few days later, something unexpected happened. A Greek noble who had been captured by Trojans showed up. ‘We escaped’, he said. ‘But Antigonus is injured. Come and help me move him’. The noble led the best of the King’s guard into the dark of the wood. And there, Brutus fell on them.

The Greeks were badly weakened. Brutus calculated: one last push and we can win this. In the dead of the night, the Trojans attacked the royal camp from three directions at once. The Greeks were sleeping and barely had time to find their weapons. The king was captured. Victory belonged to the Trojans.

Brutus’s Odyssey

Brutus was now in possession both of the King and of his brother. With these two valuable lives he could buy the freedom of an entire people.

The Trojans had to work out what they wanted to ask for. Some suggested that they should demand a half or a third of the kingdom. Brutus however was sceptical: Trojans and Greeks have fought together so often. If we stay here, won’t we just end up fighting this war again?

Brutus proposed a more radical scheme: the Greeks would give treasure and ships to the Trojans. The Trojans would agree to leave and to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Their agreement with the Greeks was to be sealed with a marriage between Brutus and Pandrasus’ daughter, Innogene.

A ship beset by sirens. Creative commons licence

The deal was signed, and Brutus led the Trojans into exile. Poor Innogene was led away from her people and the land she knew. Geoffrey tells us that she climbed to the highest part of the ship and stared at the horizon. Once Greece passed out of site, she swooned with grief into Brutus’s arms.

A few days later the landed on Lefkada. In ancient times there had been a city here, but now the buildings were fading into the forest. Poking out of the forest was a temple to the Goddess Diana. Brutus made offerings there, and asked the goddess the most important question: where should we Trojans settle? By the magic of the place, the goddess’s image replied. Diana said that there was a place at the ends of the world, the island of Albion, which would be perfect place to build a new Troy.

A medieval image of Diana, being painted by the female artist Timarete. Taken from this website.

Back on the high seas, the crew passed many obstacles – so many that I won’t describe them all. They landed Africa, had a run in with some Sirens, and fought in a civil war in Aquitaine in the South of France.

Only one of these adventures is important to the plot. In somewhere around Italy (Geoffrey’s geography is a bit hazy on geography) they came across a lost colony of Trojans. They were led by Corineus, a man of huge strength and remarkable skill at war. He was in every way Brutus’s equal, and joined the crew as deputy leader.†

The figurine of Corineus in the Guildhall. Public domain.

The Trojans sailed on towards the lands on the edge of the known world. In the year 1136 B.C. they finally reached the shores of the island of Albion. They landed, according to tradition, on the site of the modern town of Totness.

This stone in Totness marks the supposed spot at which Brutus first landed in Britain. Creative Commons licence.

The Giants of Albion

To understand what happened next, we need to backtrack about two and a half centuries and re-locate to Syria. There was a mighty king in that country named Diocletian. He tried very hard to have a male heir. He had thirty daughters instead. Of these thirty daughters, we only know the name of the eldest: Albina.

Diocletian married off his daughters to the greatest and most ambitious men. He hoped to find his male heir amongst the in laws. These princes ended up spending more time trying to curry favour with their father in law than the did trying to impress their own wives.†††

Above: Diocletian introduces some bearded men to his many daughters. Below, Albina leads her sisters onto the shores of Albion, whilst two hairy sex daemons look on. Bodleian Library

Understandably, the thirty daughters were quite annoyed with their men. Less understandably, they decided to mass murder their husbands all in one night.

Diocletian was revolted. He cursed his daughters and had them imprisoned on a boat. He had the rudder and sails cut so that they could not steer, and then set them adrift. They drifted for days until they were wrecked on the shores of an uninhabited island. Albina leapt off the boat first and claimed the land as her own. Henceforth it would always be known as Albion, in her honour.

At first the women lived off gathering nuts, vegetables and fruits. However, after a while they learned to hunt. In medieval thought, meat was closely associated with lust. These thirty women were stranded without the company of men, and were cursed by all mankind. The women took a desperate step: they summoned daemons and had sex with them. Nine month later, this resulted in half-daemon babies. These cursed children became the race of Giants.†††

In the foreground: Albina and her crew land. In the background: 250 years later Brutus and his crew land, whilst two giants look on. Public domain.

This story has really been a long way of telling you that Albion was not abandoned. It was the home of a fearsome race of giants, born of the union between cursed murderesses and spooky sex daemons.

Making Britain, Founding London

The Trojans landed at Totness. Brutus was the first to touch the land. He named in Britain, after himself. They set ashore and drove the shocked giants into retreat. Corineus proved to be a masterful giant slayer.

Brutus lands and battles giants

On the left, Brutus and his party land. On the right, giants are attacked by the Trojans on horseback. Public domain.

The giants were not yet vanquished. They gathered together under the leadership of the greatest and most terrifying of the giants, named Gogmagog. He was so huge and so strong that he could pluck up an oak tree as though it were a stick.

One day, when the Trojans were holding festivities for the Gods, Gogmagog led a part of twenty giants in a sneak attack. At first the Trojans were slaughtered. But Brutus then rallied his men and they turned the tide. Eventually, every giant lay dead save Gogmagog.

Gogmagog would have a different ending. Brutus set up a grand gladiator tournament. Corineus and Gogmagog would wrestle, to the death. If Corineus won, he would become Duke of a province.

The fight was fearsome. At first Gogmagog had the upper hand. He squeezed Corineus so hard that three of his ribs shattered. Corineus bellowed in pain and hoisted up the Giant. Gogmagog was tossed high in the air, over the cliff and was dashed on the rocks in the sea.

Corineus throws Gogmagog into the sea. Original image from Bodleain Laud Misc 733, sourced from here.

The death of the King of the Giants was a momentous occasion. The Trojans were now in charge of the whole island. They could make their new Troy.

Brutus scoured the island for the perfect location. He found it on the Thames river. There he erected a mighty city with a grand palace, which would later (some say) become the London Guildhall. He erected a temple to Diana, which would later be turned into St Paul’s Cathedral. He also raised up the first walls and towers around the city. He endowed the city with all of the rights, liberties and governing structures associated with old Troy.

He named it Troy Novant, or new Troy. But we call it London. By this reckoning, London was founded a little before Rome!

On he left, King Brutus points to where he wants to build the city. Bottom: two masons work on stone. Top right: the new city of Troynovant rises. Public domain.

There, King Brutus and Queen Innogene became the first King and Queen of Britain. They founded a long line of Kings who would rule through to the time of King Arthur.

And I hope, if you’ve reached the end of this blog, that you begin to understand why Londoners though it was worth claiming to have been founded by Brutus of Troy. He was high born, but was rejected by his family. Brutus was a chivalric hero, but one who fought dirty. He was privileged, yet he fought for slaves. He was a sort of valiant mash up of Spartacus, Odysseus, King Arthur and the Mayflower pilgrims.  

Christianising London; or the strange story of St Erkenwald’s corpse

About this series: In the period I work on – fifteenth century London – Londoners had developed all sorts of legends and myths and had lots of ways of retelling their past. These histories fascinate me and are my main topic of research. However, in this series I am investigating the truth or fiction behind some of those myths.

This post concludes a four-part miniseries where I investigate London’s early history, pre 800 A.D.

  1. History of London to 800 A.D.
  2. The Battle for London, 296
  3. Daily life in Anglo-Saxon London
  4. St Erkenwald and the Christianisation of London

Christianising London

We don’t have much good knowledge of Anglo-Saxon pagan religion. We know the names of their principal Gods: Wodin, king of the Gods; Tiw, a god associated with heroic glory, war, and law; and Thunor, the god of Thunder. We assume that their mythology was similar to the better recording legends of the Scandinavians, with Odin Wodin being Odin and Thunor being Thor. Anglo-Saxons didn’t build temples but preferred to worship outdoors. Judging from archaeology they were fond of adopting ancient British and Roman places of worship such as old standing stones, and also liked to worship around trees or at streams.

https://www.essexinfo.net/essex-saints/assets/images/saint-mellitus-3
Above: In a modern stained glass window, St Mellitus clutches Old St Paul’s church. https://www.essexinfo.net/essex-saints/essex-saints/

In 604 a man arrived in the city named Mellitus. He was part of a great mission, authorised by the Pope, sent to convert the people of England. Mellitus set himself up as apostle to the men of Essex, and installed himself as bishop of London. He probably spent a lot of time at the royal court, but the building of a new Cathedral must have provided jobs and stirred interest in the city.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2b/AugustineGospelsFolio125rPassionScenes.jpg
Above: the ‘Gospels of St Augustine’, now at Canterbury Cathedral. Tradition states that this book was the personal property of St Mellitus. Public domain image.

St Paul’s was probably raised on its current site – that is inside the old walls of the Roman city, at a time when most Londoners lived outside of the walls. Mellitus was making a powerful claim that the church was bringing back the Roman glory days. Early Christians would have had to traipse in to the old ruined city, through the old city wall in order to worship – this must have been a daunting experience!

Pagan Reaction

Perhaps it was too daunting, because the first generation of the mission didn’t go very well. In 616 the Christian king, Saebert, died and his three pagan sons took over. Bede claims that burst in on Mellitus whilst he was trying to say mass at his Cathedral:

“And when they saw the bishop, whilst celebrating mass in the church, give the eucharistic bread to the people, they, puffed up with barbarous folly…[said]… to him, ‘Why do you not give us also that white bread, which you used to give to our father Saebert, and which you still continue to give to the people in the church?’

To them, the Bishop answered, ‘If you will be washed in that water of salvation, in which your father was washed, you may also partake of the holy bread of which he partook; but if you despise the water of life, you may not receive the bread of life.’”

(Bede, Ecclesiastical History, Book 2, chapter 5, here )

The pagans were outraged. They wanted the magic bread, and they weren’t going to wash for it! If these quarrelsome Christians were going to make a massive fuss and disobey the kings for something as minor as a piece of bread, then they must be troublemakers! They ran Bishop Mellitus out of town and for thirty years the Cathedral stood empty.

An artist's impression of the tomb
Above: The Princely grave at Prittlewell. This is the grave of an East Anglian ruler from about this period who shows mixed evidence of some pagan and some Christian art. Scholars have speculated that this could be the burial of Saebert, although some evidence suggests it could be a generation earlier. Original image by MONA, taken from this BBC article: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-essex-48203883

Introducing Earconwald

Christianity was down, but it was not out. There were several decades where London could have gone either way, but by the 660s, the Christian King Sebbi expelled his pagan brother and restored Christianity. Sebbi was so pious that later he would abdicate his throne and retire to a monastery. He had a particularly strong partnership with a pious monk named Earconwald. Nowadays you’ll commonly see it spelled ‘Erkenwald’, which is the middle English version of the same name.

Rather handily, Earconwald would later become a saint and have legends written about him. Much of the rest of this blog post relies on the twelfth century life of St Erkenwald written by Arcoid of London: The Saint of London: The Life and Miracles of St Erkenwald, ed. E. Gordon Whatley, (Binghampton, 1989).

With Sebbi’s help, Earconwald set about rebuilding Christianity. He first founded Chertsey abbey for monks. Next, Earconwald’s sister Ethelburga founded Barking abbey for nuns.

Chertsey Breviary - St. Erkenwald.jpg
Above: Erkenwald instructs the monks of Chertsey abbey; from an initial in the Chertsey Breviary. Public domain image, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earconwald#/media/File:Chertsey_Breviary_-_St._Erkenwald.jpg

Finally, in around 675 Earconwald got a promotion and became Bishop of London. He liked to be seen in public and to preach to the people – so much so that, even when he was too old and frail to walk, he had a horse litter built so that he could still preach in the streets. According to a much later (and not very reliable) story, once a wheel fell off his litter but the vehicle carried on travelling smoothly as if nothing had happened! The people apparently appreciated his common touch and his sense of charity, and Christianity flourished under his rule – or at least so his late biographers tell us.

The unlikely tale of the stolen body

He was staying at Barking abbey, with his sister and the nuns, when illness finally took him. His later biographer tells us that “as he passed from among them, a most marvellous fragrance and sweetest odour filled the cell where he lay, as if the whole house were drenched in perfume” (Vita of St Erkenwald, 91).

https://i0.wp.com/www.upbarking.co.uk/uploads/3/1/4/5/31457485/5210121_orig.jpg
Above: Ethelburga, sister of Erkenwald and Abbess at Barking, the Nunnery at which he died. sourced from here

What a sweet end. What came next however, spoiled it. Two separate crowds turned up at the same time to claim the body: one was made up of monks from Chertsey, the monastery that Earconwald had founded. The other was a large crowd of ordinary people from London, led by the canons of St Paul’s. Both sides wanted to take the cold, dead Earconwald back with them to be buried

There was an ugly stand off in the yard: nasty names were called and the Londoners broke into the nunnery. A crowd of laymen grabbed the body and legged it! The monks and nuns set out in hot pursuit, “weeping and wailing for the body of the blessed man” (Vita, 91). The chase was on!

As if there was not enough melodrama in this tale, a storm began to gather. The rain lashed down, the wind “was so violent that people could scarcely stand upright” (Vita, 91). The candles around the body were blown out. As the chase tried to cross the river Hile, also known as the River Roding, the waters surged up and blocked their paths forwards and backwards.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/River_roding_barking_london.jpg
Above: The site of the confrontation on the River Roding. It is perhaps a little less dramatic or romantic than I had hoped. Public domain image

Still the two parties fought each other. But then, from amongst the Londoners stood up a learned and devout man who cried out that they must stop. This ridiculous chase had gone on long enough and was angering God. Everyone had to lie on the floor, pray for forgiveness, and let God decide.

This seemed a sensible enough suggestion and they all did so. Quickly the storm passed, and all of the candles around the body spontaneously lit themselves. The river lowered and presented them with their path back to London. Earconwald was going back to St Paul’s! God had spoken: Earconwald was a Londoner, through and through!

Above: The Shrine of St Erkenwald, as drawn by William Dugdale, History of St Pauls Cathedral in London, (London, 1658), pp. 112-3

The monks and nuns didn’t miss out completely though. Earconwald’s horse litter – the one that did the wheel miracle earlier in the story – was given to Barking. It was quickly found that if an ill person took a ride on the chariot then they would become miraculously better. It quickly became a tidy little money spinner, and the monks took some pieces of the chariot back to Chertsey with them.

Both Earconwald and Sebbi were buried in St Paul’s Cathedral and they quickly became the focus of saints’ cults and pilgrimages. This local mania for miracles and relics is really the first evidence that Londoners were becoming properly enthusiastic about Christianity. The new religion had found its footing.

A Pub crawl with Tudor Poets, part 1: A bawdy ballad of the 1400s

This is part one of a two part blog. You can find part two here

The pub today is at the centre of the social lives of many English communities. It’s a centre of community life, fun and sociability. You can often learn a lot about a local area and its people from its pubs.

So one way that we might try to get to know Tudor London is by visiting one of its pubs. In this blog I want to look at some of the poetry and literature that came out of Tudor England that celebrated the pub and pub culture. By looking at how Londoners had fun and relaxed, I hope we can see humanise the past a bit.

One thing that is surprising about Tudor pub literature is that an awful lot of it focuses on one topic: women! Many modern pubs remain quite manly spaces. This might well have been true for the Tudors too: female pubgoers are portrayed as massive cliques of raucous women, much like modern hen parties. This invasion of a manly space by large groups of women was, of course, ripe for comedy.

So for today’s blog we are going to go on a sort of literary pub crawl with three city poets. Each of them describes a group of women in the pub. All are satirical and humorous; sometimes they are dirty, other times surprisingly sad. Whether they reflect real pub culture or not, they give us an insight into the sort of things that readers in Tudor London found funny.

A talk of ten wives on their husband’s ware (National Library of Wales, MS. Porkington 10, a manuscript of the late 1400s)

The oldest of our three poems is also the one that puts city men’s insecurities most obviously on show.

This poem, rather like the Canterbury Tales, starts with an assembly of people in the pub. In this case though this assembly consists of ten women. As with the Canterbury Tales, our heroines decide to create a competition in which everyone present should tell a tale.

                Leave off, and listen to me

                Two words or three

                And harken to my song

                And I shall tell you a tale

                How ten wives sat at Ale

                with no man them among.

                [The first said:] “Since we have no other song

                For to sing us among

                Tales let us tell

                Of our husband’s ware

                Which of them most worthy are

                Today to bear the bell. (i.e. to win the competition)

Husband’s “ware” here could mean their goods, perhaps suggesting that their husbands are merchants. However, it is also a euphemism. She has actually challenged everyone to tell a tale about their husbands’ penises.

If this poem is to be believed – (hint: it isn’t) – then one thing united wives in the late 1400s: they all had tales of woe to tell about their husband’s penises. Here is a representative example:

                The third wife was full of woe

                And said, “I too have one of those

                That does nothing at time of need

                Our sir’s breech, when it is ajar,

                His pentil peeps out before

                Like a worm’s head.

                It grows all within the hair!

                Such a one saw I never

                Standing upon a groin!

                Yet the shrew is hoodless

                And in all things is useless!

                For that, Christ give him care!

The poem is, as you can see, not very high brow. In fact, it is often both crude and artless. Our poet had a clear taste for “gross-out” humour. Each woman’s woes are pretty similar and overall the poem feels a bit repetitive.

Most of the wives either complain about small penises, or about impotence:

                The ninth wife sat them night

                And held her sausage up high

                The length of a foot:

                “Here is a pentil of fair length;

                But it bears a sorry strength.

                God do him good!

                I bow him, I bend him,

                I stroke him, I wend him;

                The devil may him starve!

                But be he hot, be he cold,

                Though I could tear him twofold

                Yet he may not serve”

By the end of the poem, the wives (and the poet) have quite forgotten that this was a competition and there was meant to be a winner. Then again, the wives probably believe that no husband was worthy to win it. If you take this poem at face value – (and again, you shouldn’t do that) – then married women were having a pretty miserable time in the late 1400s. No wonder they turned to drink!

Men may not come off very well in this poem, but I still think that this is quite a man’s poem. It is built wholly around a penis joke and there is no attempt to characterise the women or show their friendships. When women are left alone, they have nothing to talk about but men and their penises! It strikes me as something that would go down well as a private joke between men in the 1400s, but probably not as a great sample of real tavern talk

If you want to know more about this poem, you can find an edition here

You can see the original poem in its manuscript context on the website of the National Library of Wales. Our poem starts on image 114, here

This is part one of a two part blog. You can find part two here

Chronicle of London

I’ve set up Chronicles of London to blog about Medieval and early modern London. For my research I work on 1400-1550 so expect to see that period well represented. I also want to expand my comfort zone so will range backwards and forwards from 600 to the Great Fire of 1666. I’m especially interested in history, literature and learning.

On this blog I want to try to explore the reality of life in the pre-modern city.

Another particular interest will be the Literature of London. Historians sometimes act as though the Tudors invented the idea of writing about cities. I want to show that there was a long and fascinating tradition of writing about London. I will retell, and where appropriate translate, some of the best literature of London.

I will also do series on Myths and Legends. This will cover what Londoners thought about their own past. It will cover their parades, statues, law books, chronicles, literatur and any other ways that Londoners used to talk about the history of London.