Chapter IV: THE SECULAR USES OF THE CHURCH FABRIC (continued) (1)

For the practice of holding judicial and civil courts in churches there is, as we have seen, a sufficient explanation in the necessities of the time, and in the simple outlook which our forefathers took concerning human affairs. But the further problem arises: at what stage in the early history of the Church must we look for the germ of this custom? It has been shown that the open-air court lingered on after secular assemblies had begun to flock into the church. Yet, in the broader sense, it seems clear that civil business, to a greater or lesser extent, had been transacted in the church ever since churches were founded. All analogy points in this direction, but where is the actual evidence to be found? Some have sought it in the word “church” itself. We must therefore turn our thoughts to philology for a few moments. We shall find ourselves engrossed in an alluring, but, at the same time, a tantalizing study. Unfortunately, we cannot yet reach a final decision, and we shall have to be careful to set aside such conjectures as betray perverse ingenuity. Philological testimony is very helpful where its voice is certain; where indistinct, it may lead us far astray.

The word “church,” and its variant “kirk,” present us, in fact, with an unsolved problem. Let us attempt to summarize what is known on the subject, and so prepare the way for a startling hypothesis. First, then, both _church_ and _kirk_ were once believed by lexicographers to be purely Saxon words, but recent research has disproved this theory. After the scholarly labours of Professor Skeat, and the exhaustive analysis prepared by Sir James Murray, we are able to assert that the word _church_, though appearing in a somewhat different form, was known in West Germanic speech so early as the fourth or fifth century of our era. Moreover, there is now general agreement among scholars in referring _church_ to the Greek κῡριακόν. This word is strictly adjectival (neuter of κῡριακός) and means “of the lord,” i.e. dominical (from κῡριος = lord). The term, however, is found to occur substantively, from the third or fourth century at least, in the sense of “house of the Lord,” meaning a Christian place of worship. Writing on this phase of the subject, Sir James Murray declares that there is no other derivation, except that from κῡριακόν, which will bear scientific statement, much less examination.

The Greek origin of _church_ has, nevertheless, been assailed, but without success. The counter-argument runs thus: the ordinary Greek name for _church_ was εκκλησία, and this word, or βασιλική (_basilica_), was the name which passed into Latin and all the Romanic, as well as all the Celtic languages. In the last-named group we find, for example, the Irish and Gaelic _eglais_, and the Welsh _eglwys_. Hence there is “an _a priori_ unlikelihood” that any other Greek equivalent (e.g. κῡριακόν) should have passed into the Teutonic languages. And, as a matter of history, we know that εκκλησία was actually adopted in Gothic, though only to represent a society or an assembly, not a place or building. So far, then, there is no convincing proof against the co-existence of a Gothic representative of κῡριακόν. Moreover, it seems clear that the other Teutonic tribes did not accept _ecclesia_ on their conversion; yet one would suppose that this word, or its counterpart _basilica_, would have been adopted naturally. What was the reason for this non-acceptance? The answer is, that a Teutonic form of κῡριακόν, namely _kirika_, had already obtained a firm hold, and could not be dislodged. A minor argument against the proposed derivation is the rareness of the Greek word, but this objection has not much weight.

The objections against the early introduction of _kirika_ are mainly historical. We do not know the actual circumstances in which _kirika_, as the representative of the Greek κῡριακόν, became so powerfully entrenched as to resist all the influence of Latin Christianity to supplant it. The word may have been picked up by Teutonic invaders of the Roman Empire before those invaders had become Christianized. Curiously enough, this very question is discussed by a writer of the ninth century. But whatever may have been the cause of the transfer, the word _kirika_ (church) was brought to England by the Angles and Saxons[353].

It is of some interest to find that the Latin equivalent, _dominicum_, of the two Greek words, was employed in the sense of “house of God,” by the middle of the third century. To a certain extent this word was adopted in Old Irish, since _domnach_ (mod. Irish, _domhnach_) is frequently used to denote a church[354].

Another detail, worth noting as we pass along, is the existence of a group of place-names which appear to contain _ecclesia_ as a prefix. Out of a goodly list, we may mention Ecclesfield, Eccleshall, and Eccleston. It has been plausibly argued that these names could not have been given by the Saxons, who would have handed down words compounded with _church_, instead of _ecclesia_; that in fact, the group has an earlier history, dating from the days of Roman or Celtic Christianity. Only in this way, it is thought, could the Graeco-Latin term have formed part of a place-name. The objection to this theory--and it is a grave one--lies in the inability of its defenders to prove that the place-names possess the element _ecclesia_ at all. Most, if not all, of the names, break down under examination. In brief, Professor Baldwin Brown, who has investigated the subject, declares against the pre-Saxon origin[355].

The remarkable theory to which allusion has been made, and towards which the reader has been gradually led, was propounded by Mr Sidney O. Addy, upon whose pages toll has already been freely levied. Starting from the accepted etymological data, which have just been outlined, Mr Addy produces a striking chain of testimony. He notices that, since βασιλική, like κῡριακόν, means a king’s or lord’s house, the words _church_ and _basilica_ are virtually identical terms. Searching for evidence from North-West Spain, he found that the local council was summoned by the church bell, on Sundays, that is the _dies dominica_, or lord’s day. The Spanish custom, moreover, “is only an accidental survival of what was once the universal practice in Western Europe[356].” In addition, the facts show that the Spanish court, which is now convened by the sound of the church bell, was formerly held in the church, and was originally analogous to the old Greek ἐκκλησῖα,--the meeting of citizens assembled by the crier (ἐκκαλεῖν = to call out)[357]. In Western Europe such a court was summoned by the bell or moot-horn. Thus, the bell in the campanile of old St Paul’s Cathedral--an independent structure--summoned the citizens of London to the folk-moot[358]. The next link in the chain is supposed to be furnished by certain ancient English churches, which have apsidal terminations, and which possess, or formerly possessed, crypts. Of these churches, Brixworth, in Northamptonshire (cf. p. 9 _supra_), and Repton, in Derbyshire, are taken as types[359]. Mr Addy institutes comparisons between these old churches and the Roman basilicas, and again, between the crypts and the subterranean chambers of those basilicas. And undoubtedly the analogy is a very close one. From the harmony of design which the examination reveals, he infers that Roman and British structures alike were reared for the administration of public business and the dispensation of justice. His main conclusion is, that a new church “was the nucleus of a new liberty or free community.” It was the “house” or public hall of a new lord, or chief (the lord of the manor), who presided over that community[360]. Another valuable line of evidence may be noted. Professor Baldwin Brown has called attention to the “coenacula,” or upper chambers, which are found over the Western choir in some continental churches. These council chambers of the territorial chiefs prove, at least, the strong hold which the lord possessed over church affairs.

Several minor features are held to support the theory. A fresh interpretation is tendered of the much-discussed “squints” or hagioscopes in churches. Respecting these curious apertures, folk-memory tells us nothing. Antiquaries have never secured complete unanimity on the subject, though it is usual to say that the openings were made to allow persons standing near the door or in the transept to see the elevation of the Host at the high altar. The “squints” sometimes pass through two or three walls in succession, and they very commonly point directly to the South, or main door of the building[361]. Mr Addy, however, conceives that the openings were so arranged in order to allow the doorkeeper (_ostiarius_)--the door-ward of Middle English times--to see the president of the assembly sitting in the chancel, and thus, directly or indirectly, to take orders from him. The chancel was the tribunal (βῆμα), where, behind a screen of lattice-work, sat the lord and his assessors. Since the altar, in the oldest English churches, such as those mentioned, was situated on “the chord of the apse,” that is, just under the chancel arch, it is argued that the squints could not have been intended to enable persons to see the elevation of the Host[362]. It is also noted that the old name for the choir was the presbytery, or seat of the elders. The very word πρεσβύτερος was often applied to the “headman” of a village.

Furthermore, so early as A.D. 685, as shown by an inscription of undoubted authenticity, referring to the Saxon church at Jarrow, the English parish church was, in one instance, termed a basilica[363] (_Dedicatio basilicae_). The earliest reference in English literature, however, as given in the _New Oxford Dictionary_, is A.D. 1563[364].

Now Mr Addy’s theory, which he supports with abundant details and illustrative comparisons, is surpassingly attractive to the archaeologist, especially to one who has grasped the fact of the former unity of secular and religious movements in the village commonwealth. The conclusions are, nevertheless, open to some criticism. At the outset, the theory seems to assume that the Roman secular basilica was the immediate prototype of the Christian church, and this assumption, as will be shown in a later chapter, runs contrary to the teaching of very good authorities. Again, though Mr Addy has adduced several examples of crypts connected with buildings in the basilican style of architecture, we have just seen that the word “basilica” itself, as applied to Christian churches, cannot be traced earlier than the seventh century. One would have rather expected to find the name given to the first Romano-British churches of the country. This absence of the term, it is true, is not a fatal objection. Nor does it lie in the mouth of those who believe, that, as in the case of fortress-towers, defensive designs outlasted their real use, to deny that the provision of crypts continued after their first purpose was forgotten. Hence, one is not disposed to cavil at the example adduced from Hornsea in the East Riding, where the present building dates no earlier than the fourteenth century. There was a church in Hornsea at the time of the Domesday survey, and there may have existed a crypt before the Norman Conquest.

A more serious objection is the anachronism, for so it seems, which makes English assemblies meet indoors at the early period when open-air courts were the rule. For we are not dealing with the Norman or the Plantagenet periods. That the old Greek assemblies were held in the basilicas may be true, but the earliest moots of which we have records in Britain were held out of doors. Little can be inferred from comparing the customs of peoples who occupied different social and political levels. The British open-air gatherings were doubtless in vogue before the days of the feudal lord, or even his pre-manorial prototype. From what has gone before, it will be readily supposed that the church built near the stronghold of the feudal chief was dominated by the lord or his representative. In this special sense, the church was, indeed, the “lord’s house,” because, if necessary, it was utilized as a court-room[365]. But that the “Lord’s house” in England was ever primarily and essentially the “lord’s house” (κῡριακόν), may be doubted. Leaving aside the question of origins, we require to know by what process that particular transition from the political to the religious use was made; if it were ever effected in this country at all. The English evidence rather shows that a reverse development took place: the “Lord’s house” gradually became the “lord’s house” in the limited sense just indicated. At any rate, before the time when churches began to be commonly used as secular trysting places, that is, in the late Saxon and the Norman periods, the word “church” itself was established in popular speech. And it remains to be proved that “basilica” ever was, to any appreciable extent, an alternative term. Expressed otherwise, we may say that the word “church” would, by the time of the introduction of Christianity to Britain, have lost its primary Greek connotation, and this would scarcely be revived and transferred to Christian churches reared under a new set of conditions.

With respect to the squints, is it claimed that the early basilicas possessed similar apertures, or that these familiar skew openings were the rule, even in those churches which are most closely connected with the moated fortress? One does not overlook the abundance of squints in the churches of such a district as that around Tenby, nor forget that these buildings exhibit defensive features (p. 113 _supra_). Were the problem concerned with South Pembrokeshire as a self-contained country, the theory of the lord and his door-keeper would seem more plausible. As the facts stand, however, it is more reasonable to rely on the old, if incomplete, explanation that a line of squints permitted the door-keeper to see the altar and to ring the Sanctus bell at a given moment. Numerous minor difficulties are involved in Mr Addy’s theory. The squints are often on the North side of the building, and are not in the line of communication with the Southern door. Again, they are frequently seen in chantries and transepts, where they point to the interior of the sanctuary, if not to the altar itself, as at Whatley, in Somerset, or Leatherhead, Surrey (Fig. 36). Still further, the squints, on the whole, belong to the post-Norman period of architecture, when constructional decoration, as well as utility, was kept in view by the builders.

In the light of comparative custom, the theory of the “lord’s house” may, at first sight, appear tenable. Indeed, there may have been a time in the history of Greece when this hypothesis corresponded to the facts. Applied to this country, however, and tested in details, the theory seems to fail, and can only be countenanced with great qualifications.

FIG. 36. Squint in East wall of North transept, Leatherhead church,
Surrey. Persons sitting in the portion of the transept shown in the
illustration can see the altar through the squint.
]

In the last chapter, allusion was made to the church porch as a centre of public life, and this part of the building has just come under notice again in connection with the door-ward. A few further remarks may now be added. The church porch was often of great size (Fig. 37). The practice of holding schools in the porch is well attested. In Derbyshire villages, such as

FIG. 37. Stone porch, Wotton church, Surrey. The inner doorway
dates from c. A.D. 1200, but the porch itself belongs to the 13th
or 14th century. Internal measurements, 14 ft × 11 ft approx. The
outer doorway and the inside arcade are modern restorations. The
barge board is of the Decorated period.
]

Hope and Tideswell, the former existence of the porch-school rests on tradition alone. But John Evelyn, referring to the year 1624, says definitely that “one Frier taught us at the church porch at Wotton,” in Surrey[366]. The Surrey historian, William Bray, writing in A.D. 1818, asserts that the village schoolmaster of Wotton taught over the porch, and considers it “not altogether incurious to observe” that the son of a man of very considerable fortune should receive his first rudiments of learning in such a school. There was another school during the sixteenth century over the porch of St Sepulchre’s, London. A few more instances may be given where porch-schools existed. St Michael’s Loft, in the Priory Church, Christchurch, Hants; the parish church, Cheltenham; Selby Abbey (in a room over a chapel); Berkeley, Gloucestershire (until 1870); and Malmesbury (until 1879, or later). An interesting expression, of which little note has been made, occurs in _Twelfth Night_, Act III. Sc. 2. Maria, referring to Malvolio, says, “He’s in yellow stockings.” “And cross-gartered?” queries Sir Toby Belch. “Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school in the church,” runs the disdainful reply. Schools held in the body of the church have also been known in our own time, for they usually survived the porch-schools proper.

It is suggested that the stone seats often found in the porch were used as benches for the children who came to be taught or catechized. Setting aside the fact that wooden seats are also met with, it is not inherently improbable that stone ledges should have been used, particularly when we remember the chilly, comfortless fittings so familiar in monastic cloisters and chapter houses. These benches, too, may have been covered with straw or rushes. But it is more likely that the schools were held in those rooms which are constantly seen built over the porch. Here, in some parishes, the ostiarius (from _ostium_=door), who was to develop into the “usher” of the public school, probably taught his little flock of pupils[367]. The ostiarius, it may be recollected, belonged at first to one of the minor orders of the church. Occasionally a chantry priest had this duty of teaching allotted to him. It will be remembered that Roman schools were held in a verandah partly open to the street. Some of the upper chambers of porches are fitted with fireplaces. When provided with a squint, the room may have been intended to lodge a priest, whose duty it was to keep alight the sacred fire on the altar, or to house a watchman who had to guard the treasure. Often the porch-chambers have degenerated into lumber rooms. At times, as we shall see later, armour was stored in them. In many porch-chambers libraries existed[368], and, in others, documents were preserved. When employed for teaching purposes, the chamber was proportionately large[369]. In place of the overhead chamber, a gallery of oak or stone is sometimes found around the inside of the porch. Galleries of this kind, to which access is obtained by staircases, either in, or passing up the wall, are to be seen at Bildeston, Suffolk, Weston-in-Gordano, Somerset, and several other places. These “eminences” are usually believed to have accommodated the singers at weddings and festivals, and, more especially, on Palm Sunday[370]. In passing, we are obliged to notice the term “parvis” or “parvise” which is commonly used to describe the room above the porch. The usage, though fixed, is erroneous, for a parvise is strictly the enclosed space before the door of a church or cathedral. The application of the word to a porch-chamber has no precedent earlier than the nineteenth century[371].

That much informal business was carried on in the porch has been previously noted (p. 143 _supra_). Under this sheltering pent-house the layman met his fellows to arrange slight matters of public interest. In Saxon days, the finder of a stray beast would bring it to the porch, and there, in the presence of the priest and the reeve of the tun, would exhibit the animal to all possible claimants[372]. The church porch has, in fact, always been a favourite resort for the performance of certain business. In 1610, we hear of mortgages being paid off in the South porch of Ecclesfield church, near Sheffield. Welsh instances prove that rent for lands was sometimes brought to the church porch. Mrs C. King Warry, who has made a careful study of the folk-customs of the Isle of Portland, describes a practice which helps us to realize the business methods of our ancestors. The practice, which exists to-day, is a survival of the old pre-feudal mode of conveyance by “church-gift.” A father, wishing to bequeath his paddock (i.e. a small enclosure of land, with the freedom of quarrying stone therein) to his four daughters, let us suppose, proceeds in the following manner. He divides the property by means of partition walls into the requisite number of shares. Then, after the church service on Sunday evening, he conveys the property by word of mouth in the church porch. An old manuscript describes the ceremony: “The churchwardens, and some of the best inhabitants” assemble in the porch, when the testator thus expresses himself: “I, A----, desire you, my neighbours, to take notice that I give to each of my daughters an equal share of my Paddock, called----, and bounded----, as it now lys divided into four parts.” “Wherefore,” continues the manuscript, “the assembly rises and blesses (by name) the daughters[373].” It is necessary only to add that the Portland custom can be paralleled from other parts of the country.

Students of English literature will have noticed that marriages in the church porch were once common. Chaucer makes the “Wife of Bath” speak thus: “Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve[374].” The allusion to the church-door is not mere rhetorical licence. According to the Sarum service, the marriage ceremony was performed in the porch (_ante ostium ecclesiae_), the nuptial benediction being pronounced at the altar afterwards. It was only when the first Prayer Book of Edward VI. was issued that the rubric was thus settled: “The persons to be married shall come into the body of the Church,” and this version has been retained to the present time[375].

Several minor details might be noted to illustrate the secular uses of the porch. Frequently the parson used the porch as a temporary stable for his horse, and, although such action is now held to call for interference on the part of the churchwardens[376], we may confidently say that public opinion has not always discountenanced the practice. Occasionally, one meets with old “stirrup stones” or “jossing blocks,” placed in such positions as to show that no prohibition could have been effectively in force against the horseman who brought his steed to church. One of these stoops still remains at the gate of Duddington churchyard, near Edinburgh, while at Edlington, Lincolnshire, the mounting block is actually fixed on the North side of the porch[377]. Doubtless, a careful search would show that many more examples remain.

Only when we have fully recognized the vitality of ancient superstitions and customs, shall we appreciate certain lingering practices connected with the porch. John Aubrey saw, in the porch of a Suffolk church, a horseshoe fixed on the wall to keep away the witches. The numerous authenticated cases of portions of human skin having been found nailed to church doors also bear on the point. Such instances carry us back, not simply to the period when the secular and the religious were combined in one mode of thought and action, but to a still earlier time when the Christian teachers could not, or would not, repress the savagery of paganism. The fragments of skin served to warn sacrilegious robbers that they, too, ran the risk of being flayed alive.

It was casually mentioned, in a preceding paragraph, that armour was sometimes stored in the porch-chamber. The subject will repay a little further examination, because it has not yet received the attention which it merits. Nor, even now, have we sufficient material available to give very positive decisions. From the time of Edward I. onwards, every parish was bound to keep in readiness an amount of armour in proportion to its population. By the time of Henry VIII., as already stated (p. 142 _supra_), this obligation was vested primarily in the churchwardens. The churchwardens were evidently the deputies of the constables, and these, in turn, were the representatives of the sheriff, who was ultimately responsible, both for the parish arms and for the training of the soldiers. Yet, before this period, the clergy, as well as the laity, were assessed for arms. Whoever was answerable for the observance of the law is a question which does not greatly concern us for the present. The most interesting part of the problem touches the storage of the armour. The subject was discussed in a valuable article by Miss Ethel Lega-Weekes in _Notes and Queries_ for 1909[378]. Was either the nave or the porch used as an armoury? or were the weapons housed elsewhere? These are questions to which one would fain get an answer.

The writer of the article which has just been cited considers it an open question whether the expression “church armour,” occurring in old documents, means the same as “town armour,” or “parish armour.” With respect to storage, it is admitted that arms may have been deposited in the church, though there has not been discovered any law or regulation enforcing this practice. It is argued that the church would be damp and unsuited for the keeping of armour: arms may have been deposited in churches, but it was such as had fallen into disuse or become obsolete. At once we may grant that iron weapons and body-coverings needed to be carefully treasured. Professor Vinogradoff pertinently observes that, in the eleventh century, well-forged helmets and swords were scarce and expensive[379]. Yet one imagines that, down to the end of the Wars of the Roses, at any rate, there was little chance for either arms or armour to rust away. The monumental armour which is found in churches is rusty and half-perished, but how many times has it been taken down since it was first suspended over the tomb? It is said that the churches of the fighting period possessed no snug, weather-proof vestries, where arms could be safely protected. But there existed chantry chapels, as well as porch-chambers, both of which might have served. Again, is it so certain that the church was markedly damp--less dry, shall we say, than the outbuildings of a feudal castle, where doubtless considerable quantities of armour were once preserved? We shall shortly see that the church was not deemed unfit for the storage of goods. If any building were kept in a weather-tight condition, surely the church was that building. In villages where no “church house” or tithe barn existed, one is inclined to think, for several reasons, that some of the armour, when not in use, was placed in the church. The clues which lead to this opinion will be gathered together in the next few lines.

We may leave out of the discussion the mouldering helmets and crumbling swords which hang derelict over many an altar tomb, and which were oftentimes specially made for purposes of commemoration. These arms, “undertakers’ properties,” as someone has well called them, are irrelevant to the general question, and are apt to prejudice an examination. Fortunately, we possess a little definite evidence as to the housing of the “town’s armour” in churches. A large equipment of such armour, of which Dr J. C. Cox gives a detailed inventory, was kept in a room over the South porch of Repton church, Derbyshire, down to the year 1840[380]. This collection comprised “corsletts,” “pickes,” “calevers,” halberds, swords, a flask and touch-box, with many other requisites. The parish books distinctly speak of the store as the “Townes Armore.” In the steeple of the parish church of Darley, also in Derbyshire, “harness and weapons” were, during the first year of Elizabeth, kept in readiness for one bill-man and one archer[381]. The poverty of this store excites a little surprise, and the explanation is not immediately forthcoming. But doubtless the population of Darley was then small, and the assessment would be proportionately low. A hoard of old armour was lighted upon accidently at Baldock, Hertfordshire--again in a chamber above the porch, which had been closed for many years. The available space was nearly choked up with armour and helmets, as well as with pikes and other weapons. Although the local historian considers that the chamber was merely the lumber room for arms removed from tombs, Dr Cox, with more reason, perhaps, considers that the relics were representative of the old store of the town’s armour.

Quite recently, in the early part of the year 1910, a discovery of great corroborative value was made at Mendlesham church, in Suffolk. Over the South porch of the church is a remarkable room, locally known as the “Priest’s Chamber.” The ceiling and walls are lined with oak planks, the windows are strongly barred, and the iron-plated doors are fitted with “log locks.” Hidden within this chamber was found a fine collection of parish armour, consisting, in all, of twenty-three “lots.” The hoard contained several rare specimens, such as the “gusset” of a breast-plate, two pairs of arm defences, and an early pauldron, or shoulder-guard. Mr Seymour Lucas, who inspected the armour, stated that the earliest portions belonged to the closing years of the fifteenth century. There can be little doubt that here, at any rate, we have a genuine instance of the storage of armour in churches, and that these decaying relics belonged to the fighting men of Mendlesham[382].

There are numerous scraps of evidence which tend incidentally to support the theory. We may look for some of these when we come to discuss the churchyard yew (Chap. IX.). More directly bearing on the point, however, is the former existence of societies, in close connection with the church, known by such names as “Robin Hood guilds[383].” These clubs appear to have been occasionally formed to promote skill in archery, though, in some instances, they may have consisted of mummers and morris dancers (cf. p. 184 _infra_). Nevertheless, in the case of the Abbots Bromley horn dancers, shortly to be noticed, it is the cross-bow man, not the “hobby horse,” who is called Robin Hood.

It would be a great exaggeration to say that the church was the only place which was likely to be used as an armoury. Here and there, tithe barns and “church houses” would be available as storehouses. The squire’s mansion or the constable’s farmhouse--for that official would usually be a yeoman--were possible repositories. But the church was, after all, the centre of parish life, so that any reasons against the storage of weapons in the sacred building would be of a practical, not a religious kind.

There is a curious passage in a treatise written by the old Swedish historian, Olaus Magnus, titular Archbishop of Upsala, which deals with a side-question relating to our subject. Writing in A.D. 1555, under the section entitled “_De secura positione armorum in atrio Ecclesiae_,” and alluding to Northern nations generally, he says, “_Templa, seu Ecclesias parochiales ingressuri ruricolae Septentrionis, ante valvas, sive in atrio absque ulla furti suspicione praedicta arma donec divina absolvuntur, praecipue tempore pacis deponunt, rursusque ad propria reversuri resumunt_[384].” We may translate this as follows: Before the countryfolk of the North enter the temples or parish churches, they place the aforesaid arms in front of the door or in the porch, with no suspicion of theft, until the service is finished, especially during times of peace, and take them up again when about to return to their own affairs. Of what did the “aforesaid” arms consist, and what was the motive of bringing them to church at all? These questions are explicitly answered by the writer. When these Northern folk came from remote villages to be present at baptisms, they were allowed to bring three kinds of weapons, the bow, the sword, and the axe, and nothing besides (_praeter ballistam, gladium, et securim_). It was foreseen, and admitted, that the wayfarers would need a sword and a bow to keep wolves at bay and to defend themselves against robbers, while an axe would be necessary to lop off branches of trees which were obstacles in the way, or to repair bridges which had broken down[385]. Clearly, then, we have here a limitation of privileges. The old volume has a quaint illustration of arms piled up under an arch or in a vault. Why were the arms restricted in kind and number? Without doubt, to prevent brawling and quarrelling within the precincts of the church. However, storage in the church was allowed, and to this extent we have a profitable analogy. The only difference was that, according to English usage, the weapons were stowed away for a time more or less indefinite. In the Northern solitudes permanent storage in the church may have been both inconvenient and dangerous. The inhabitants were probably unruly and undisciplined. The great point of likeness between the British and Scandinavian cases lies in the tacit acknowledgement that arms did not defile a church.

It is not easy, indeed, to imagine why the history of customs should be different from that just presented. If we look at the factors aright, we find ourselves witnesses of the supremacy of the doctrine of social convenience. The priesthood, at times, no doubt, rebelled against the grosser intrusions of the laity, but for the most part there was acquiescence, if not partnership, in what would now be called sacrilege, or at least improper use of the church. The needs of the community over-rode all theoretical scruples. Did the villager wish to tell the hour of the day? Then the church-dial met his needs. From the earliest times, sundials were probably attached to churches. A portion of such a dial, bearing a Runic inscription, and belonging to a date somewhere between A.D. 1063 and 1065, was unearthed at Skelton churchyard, in Cleveland[386]. The well-known dial at Kirkdale church, Yorkshire, belongs to a slightly earlier period. Pre-Conquest mural dials, or at least, dial-stones, exist at Warnford, and Corhampton, in Hampshire, Stoke D’Abernon, in Surrey, Bishopstone, in Sussex (Figs. 38, 39), and other places. When the dial was gradually being superseded by clocks, these were set up in the church tower. The new timekeepers long remained scarce, but even when they had come to be generally used by private persons, the public clock held its own. The weathercock, too, was found to be of great utility, and was rarely lacking on tower or spire. As with the vane, so with the cresset, or fire-pan, in which tar or tow was burnt to guide the traveller, or to arouse the countryside. The old iron cresset on Monken Hadley tower, in Middlesex, which directed the lonely wayfarer across Enfield Chase, may still be seen. Another cresset, placed

FIG. 38. Pre-conquest dial-stone, Bishopstone church, Sussex. The
porch, as a whole, is believed to be of Saxon date; it contains a
little long-and-short work. The chevron ornament, under the
pediment, is evidently the later work of Norman artificers (c. A.D.
1120). An enlargement of the dial is given in Fig. 39.
]

above an angle of the chancel at Alnwick, in Northumberland, was employed to signal an alarm[387]. The branks, or scold’s bridles, barbarous relics of an earlier time, of which some thirteen are still believed to exist in Cheshire alone, seem to have been occasionally stored in churches. At least, the famous specimen at Walton-on-the-Thames, Surrey, is to be found in the vestry of the church. In several churches one may notice the old manual fire-engine placed under the church tower, and we may feel sure that its valuable aid was not confined to fires which broke out in the church. In short, we can scarcely limit the possible conveniences which were centred around the church fabric. Chained books and libraries, which were particularly numerous; records of charitable bequests; the registers with their details of the lives of individual villagers; the churchyard monumental records; nay, the reputation of the curative simples of the very walls--pellitory, whitlow grass, and spleenwort; who shall tell of all these? There is no doubt that decorative or symbolical considerations were often uppermost in the minds of later designers. The gilded weathercock was given a religious significance, though its origin may have been pagan; the dial bore an appropriate motto. But no ulterior purpose, either artistic or symbolical, is connected with the village stocks or the pillory. These instruments were severely practical.

FIG. 39. Bishopstone dial, enlarged. The five principal Day Hours,
6, 9, 12, 3, 6 o’clock, are shown by slightly prolonged lines with
cruciform terminations. The first and last radii are drawn at a
slight angle with the diameter. The upper semicircle contains a
cross, and is surrounded with an ornamental border, usually
described, and figured, as a fret; close examination seems to show
that it is billet work in low relief. It is not known to whom the
name Eadric refers: he was probably an ecclesiastic.
]

Seeing that courts were formerly held in the church, it must have been expedient to have the stocks fixed near the place of trial, so that prisoners might quickly be placed where village life was busiest. One cannot go so far as to assert, with some writers, that the churchyard was the usual situation for these instruments. If the statement were amended so as to read, “in or near the churchyard,” it would command assent. In the majority of instances, the stocks which remain seem to be in the village street, or on the village green, though generally not a stone’s throw from the church. At Brading, Isle of Wight, they are housed in a building near the entrance to the churchyard. At Hessle and Kirk Ella, in Yorkshire, and at South Harting, in Sussex, they are placed by the church gate; in the Surrey villages of Alfold and Shalford, as well as at Brent Pelham, in Hertford[388], they occupy a like position. The weather-worn stocks of Shalford are shown in Fig. 40. The specimen at Kilham, Yorkshire, stands against the churchyard wall; while about 100 yards away, the old bull-ring may be seen[389]. Haveringatte-Bower, in Essex, has its stocks set up by the side of the green under an immense hollow elm, opposite to a whipping-post. In the following places the stocks are also adjacent to the churchyard: Abinger, Surrey (on the green); Walton-on-the-Hill, near Liverpool[390]; Waltham Abbey, Essex[391]; Weston-under-Redcastle, Salop[392]; and, formerly, Prestbury, Gloucestershire[393]. Within the churchyard itself we have examples at Burnsall, Yorkshire; Mottistone, Isle of Wight; and Crowle, in Lincolnshire. The stocks at Mottistone are very dilapidated; those at Crowle have been used within living memory[394]. Formerly stocks were kept in the Minster Yard at York, and there was a movable pair in the yard at Beverley Minster[395]. Lastly, to conclude this fragmentary list, we notice the stocks of Northorpe, Lincolnshire, which were kept in the church tower[396].

Most of the stocks which remain are perhaps not remarkably ancient. The institution, however, has a long history. Stocks are referred to in a priory charter, dated A.D. 1324, under the name of _cippi_. In the statute 25 Edward III. 1350, they appear as _coppes_; while by 7 Henry VI., c. 17, every village or town is to provide itself with a pair of stocks[397]. We can easily picture for ourselves the Mediaeval village with its institutions massed together as closely as possible around a central spot. Castle, church, court-house, tithe-barn, playing green and archery ground; the cross and the yew; the stocks and pillory; the pound and the maypole, were complementary to the usual group of farmsteads and cottages, and helped to relieve a landscape which in the pre-enclosure period was often quiet and bare. We may see baron and priest, representing the civil and the ecclesiastical powers, sitting side by side, to arrange feudal services, tolls, and holidays, to allocate tithes and settle disputes, to assess fines and declare sentences; while ever at hand waited the instruments of punishment.

Here we may make reference to a very curious relic of the old courts. Chained to the wall of the vestry in Wateringbury church, in Kent, is an official mace known locally as the “Dumb borsholder” (_pr._ buzzelder) of Chart. This wooden staff, which is a little over three feet in length, is surmounted by an iron ring, while the lower end is tipped with a square iron spike. At the annual court leet, the head man of the tithing of Pizein Well, in the manor of Chart, appeared before the meeting bearing this staff. Thus armed, and provided with the necessary warrant, he might search for goods unlawfully concealed. The tradition runs that he was empowered to break in, by means of the iron spike, the doors of those who resisted his authority. The Wateringbury mace, which is probably the symbolical successor of the more warlike clubs employed in the old Saxon moots, was in use down to A.D. 1748[398].

In speaking of the so-called parvise, it was incidentally stated that documents were sometimes preserved in that chamber. The storage of deeds and documents in churches has a history both ancient and continuous. The scope of the underlying principle is much wider than the needs of any particular social or political system, whether the framework of that system be manorial or extra-manorial. From the foundation of the Christian church in Britain the priest seems to have been a kind of banker, just as, in an informal manner, he was the village notary. An attenuated survival of the old order of things is seen in the rubric appended to “The Order for the Visitation of the Sick,” in our modern Prayer Book. The minister is told to admonish the sick man to make his will. More than this: men are often to be “put in remembrance” to settle all such business “whilst they are in health.” On the fly-leaves of the ancient altar-books were written various kinds of memoranda referring to sales and other transactions. An appeal to an entry in a “Christ’s Book,” or a “Gospel Book,” as representing a genuine legal record, was considered decisive[399]. Again, the manumission of slaves, an act of a semi-legal character, was probably performed at the altar, and an entry of the proceedings was made in the “church-book[400].” Of the preservation of Court Rolls in churches, we have numerous instances, ranging from the time of Canute onwards. The latest record at hand is that of the Manor of Howden, Yorkshire, the rolls of which were retained in the parish church so recently as A.D. 1809[401].

There can be little doubt that some of the old oaken church chests (Figs. 41, 42, 50) strongly clamped with iron, each furnished with an exceedingly elaborate, though clumsy, arrangement of locks, were utilized for keeping, not only the church books, registers, and vestments, but many of the parchments and manuscripts of which we are speaking. It is asserted that the ordinary parish church possessed two or three chests; where one alone has been preserved to hold the registers and other documents, it is usually the least attractive and valuable. The specimen from Llanelian in Denbigh (Fig. 41) is hewn from a single block of wood. The chest from Rainham in Essex (Fig. 42) is

FIG. 41. Church chest, Llanelian, Denbigh. Hewn from a single block
of timber. The dog-tongs, seen on the left, are made on the
principle of the compound lever. Initials, and the date, 1748, are
cut in the bars of the tongs.
]

handsomely carved with ornament of the Perpendicular period. It was not the provision of locks and bolts alone which gave security: stronger far was the acknowledged repute of the building itself, and the dread of the consequences of sacrilege. Behind the high altar of St Paul’s Cathedral there was formerly such a chest, in which deeds were protected[402]. Some of the remaining church coffers are skilfully carved and afford good examples of the decorative art of the architectural period to which they belong[403]. The subject merits separate examination, but the most that can be done here is to remind the reader of the broad outlines. The fact that wills were commonly deposited for safety in ecclesiastical buildings, is too well known to require emphasis. The huge collections of wills in the cathedrals of Gloucester and York, for example, at once spring to memory. We may also recall the right of sanctuary, which was vested in the church and the churchyard. Again, the Synod of Westminster, A.D. 1142, granted certain immunities, probably freedom from seizure for debt, to ploughs and other agricultural implements placed in the churchyard. All these details agree well with the theories of social convenience and unwritten religious compact.

We commenced our survey by inspecting the towers of certain churches, and afterwards, it will be remembered, we began to discuss the secular uses of the nave. This has led us to examine some historical facts connected with the church porch, which, ecclesiastically, as well as architecturally, is an integral part of the building. Indeed, it was this very inability to separate the porch from the fabric as a whole which compelled us to linger by the way. We must now retrace our steps in order to garner some further details respecting the nave, and to substantiate the assertion that the body of the church was not devoted to worship alone. One cardinal fact to be borne in mind is, that the nave was essentially the property of the parishioners, who were liable for its repair, in the same way that the rector was responsible for the upkeep of the chancel. This proposition is well attested by the canons of the church, and by all ecclesiastical writers of repute. Partly as a consequence of this separation of interests, and partly in deference to the accepted ethics of both the pre-Norman and post-Norman periods, the nave was allowed to be put to a variety of uses. In the words of Jeaffreson, “The Mediaeval nave, by turns, or simultaneously,

FIG. 43. Fourteenth century barn, Barton Farm, Bradford-on-Avon,
Wiltshire. From the South-West. The barn exhibits numerous Gothic
features of the period; angle buttresses, transept-like porches,
gable crosses, &c. The windows, of which those at the ends are
cruciform, are narrow slits, with wide splays internally. The
Glastonbury barn is one of the finest in the country; the parochial
tithe-barn was a much smaller building.
]

was a public-hall, a theatre, a warehouse, a market, a court of justice, and a place of worship; but the chancel was rigidly reserved for the mysteries and sublime offices of priestly service[404].” Already we have glanced at the judicial and legislative aspects of the question; we may now consider the remaining features. Serving the purpose of a warehouse, the thirteenth century church was sometimes used for the storage of corn and wool, a small fee being paid to the clergy for the accommodation[405]. The practice may not have been usual, but it does not seem to have been rare. For the reception of the grain and fodder which was paid to the church in kind, there was, as we know, the spacious tithe-barn (Figs. 43, 44). But other persons besides

FIG. 44. Interior of barn, Bradford-on-Avon. The windows, which,
viewed from the outside (Fig. 43), were narrow slits, are here seen
to have a wide internal splay. The timber roof is remarkably fine.
Internal measurements 85 ft × 25¾ ft.
]

abbot or priest were often anxious to store goods temporarily--perhaps against the time of the village fair or feast--and hence the nave of the church became, for the time, a granary or barn. Bread was stored in churches so recently as A.D. 1665[406]. The English village possessed few buildings, other than the church, which were both capacious and weather-proof. Previous to the Reformation, it must be observed, fixed pews were not often found in churches; at the most, the worshippers were supplied only with movable benches. These benches could be cleared away in times of emergency, and the nave was thus admirably fitted to receive merchandise, such as sacks of wheat, wool-packs, and boxes of treasure. Comparatively large quantities of produce could be packed in the space thus set free.

The evidence that the nave was extensively used as a market-hall is not abundant. In view of the repeated attempts to enforce the Scriptural principle respecting the House of Prayer, we have some difficulty in distinguishing between what was considered lawful and what profane. Manifestly, it would have puzzled the bishop or priest to justify the use of the nave as a mart or bazaar, save on special or urgent occasions. Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln (d. A.D. 1253), expressly forbade markets to be held in sacred places (_ne in locis sacris habeantur mercata_)[407]. Frequently, the habit, after having been denounced, crept in again unawares. In one village, pleading necessity or stress of weather, and, in another, advancing no plea whatever, hucksters coming to the parish wake or the annual fair would boldly set up their stalls for the sale of victuals within the church[408]. And what was done without let or hindrance in the village was contrived craftily in the city. In old St Paul’s, and other cathedrals, stands were erected for special occasions, and were afterwards allowed to remain as centres of bargaining[409]. When driven out of the nave, the dealers could still find a harbour in the porch. The York Fabric Rolls record the fact that pedlars sold their wares in the porch of Riccal church (A.D. 1510)[410]. Even the Reformation did not bring these customs to an end. Barnabe Googe’s _Popish Kingdome_ (1570)--a translation, or adaptation, of the Latin work of Thomas Naogeorgus (Kirchmayer), contains, among other complaints, a bitter lament over the sale of “carpes and pykes and mullets fat,” in the church on St Ulrick’s Day (July 4th). Both Googe and Naogeorgus wrote as strong Protestants, hence there is a possibility that their pictures are too highly coloured. But it is more likely that they branded as irreligious what was an acknowledged custom. Whether they exaggerated the evil or not, their statements are supported by another Protestant, William Harrison, who wrote only a few years later (A.D. 1577). Harrison’s doleful story runs thus: “But as the number of churches increased, so the repair of the faithful unto the cathedrals did diminish, whereby they now become, especially in their nether parts, rather markets and shops for merchandise than solemn places of prayer, whereunto they were first erected[411].” In Norwich, he tells us, the church was turned into a barn, while the people, himself among them, heard service further off, on a green. There, a bell was suspended from an oak, for want of a steeple. “But now,” says he, “I understand that the oke likewise is gone[412].” Like Googe, Harrison was such a strenuous Reformer, that he ignored the antiquity of some of the customs which he condemned. Had he been able to take a detached view, he would have seen that the excesses which he witnessed had not sprung up in his day, but that they were extravagances arising from the abuse of a once recognized practice. The Mediaeval citizen, who sauntered into the church to cross himself and to utter a momentary prayer, might often be tempted to stay a full hour to converse with his fellows. The church was a hall for social intercourse, a comfortable shelter for the poor. It was a museum of sculpture and painting, an academy of music. But, running through all these arrangements, there was a current of salutary religious influence. To judge the Mediaeval condition of affairs by the standard of the eighteenth, or the early nineteenth century, as one might be hastily led to do, would be a grievous error. The broken windows, once “richly dight,” the defaced carvings, the bare, whitewashed walls and the concealed fresco, the demolished rood-loft, the font out of position, the memorial brass at the back of the kitchen fireplace, the registers torn up by the village shopkeeper--these are features which do not belong to the period when the nave, perchance, was used as a storehouse and a market. Such treatment was left to a generation of which eye-witnesses can still speak. We must discriminate between the theoretical principle that all secular matters are bound up in religion, and the lukewarmness which engenders sheer indifference to desecration. If we learn to make this distinction, we shall put a different construction on such queer survivals as the distribution of doles and charities in church, or the scrambling for loaves in the churchyard. They are not acts of wanton irreverence; commendable or not, they are genuine relics of the older legitimate tradition.

From the sale of commodities in the nave we pass to the question of guilds and festivals. The English guilds, which once played an important part in Church history, largely owed their origin, if Dr F. A. Gasquet be correct, to the revival of the religious spirit after the desolating effects of the Black Death in A.D. 1348 and 1349. It will be remembered that the bells of Newcastle summoned the members of the local guild to church three times annually (p. 131 _supra_). These guilds or brotherhoods were in the habit of holding feasts and banquets. For example, the churchwardens’ accounts for the village of Chagford, Devon (A.D. 1550-99), show that a society known as the “Young Men’s Wardens” were responsible for getting up the “Church-ales.” These “Ales” we shall describe in a moment. At South Tawton, in the same county, the “St George’s Wardens” undertook the duty[413]. Frequently, the entertainments would be provided in the parsonage-house (Figs. 45, 46), or the church-house