Chapter V: Surnames of Occupation. (town) (2)

Another surname we must consider here is that belonging to ‘Ketel le Mercer’ or ‘Henry le Mercer,’ now found also as ‘Marcer.’ We see in the very title that the term has engrossed a sense not strictly its own, and that, though we visit the mercer’s shop for silken goods, he was originally a dealer in every kind of ware. He represented in mediæval times, in fact, the storekeeper of our colonies. Indeed I believe that to this day in some of our more retired country parts the mercer will supply his customers with haberdashery, drugs, draperies, hardware, and all general wants, saving actual comestibles. Mr. Lower quotes an old political song against the friars, in which this more correct sense of the word is conveyed—

For thai have nought to live by,
They wandren here and there,
And dele with divers marcerye
Right as thai pedlars were.

Our ‘Chaloners’ and ‘Challenors,’ representatives of such old names as ‘Peter le Chaloner,’ ‘Jordan le Chaluner,’ or ‘Nicholas le Chalouner,’ originated in a foreign but most useful manufacture. Chalons-sur-Marne, at this time one of the most thriving towns of the Continent, was chiefly renowned for its woollen and worsted stuffs, and a peculiar coverlet of this sort, called by the special name of a ‘chalon,’ became celebrated over the more civilized world. In the ‘Reves’ Tale’ we are told of the miller that—

In his owen chambre he made a bedde
With shetes, and with chalons fair yspredde.[362]

Any importer or manufacturer of these was a ‘Chaloner.’ In a public solemn pageant held in 1415 in the City of York, at the end of a list of trades to be represented, there follows this: ‘It is ordained that the Porters and Coblers should go first, then, of the right, the Wevers and Cordwaners: on the left, the Fullers, Cutlers, Girdellers, Chaloners, Carpenters, and Taillyoures: then the better sort of citizens,’ etc. (‘History and Antiquities of York,’ vol. ii. p. 126.) The trade name seems to have died out about the end of the fifteenth century. How corrupted a word may become in the lapse of time may be seen in the modern ‘shalloon,’ a term used for a species of worsted cloth. In such a name as ‘Hugh le Shetare’ or ‘Roger le Shetere’ we recognize him who provided that other portion of the bed gear which is referred to in the extract from Chaucer. This name is now extinct. Not so, however, our ‘Quilters,’ who still thrive in our midst hale and hearty, and need never fear obsoletism. Doubtless, as the cold of winter set in, and its warm padded qualities began to be appreciated, the quilters would be busy enough in providing such a coverlet as this. ‘Quiltmaker’ (‘John le Quyltemaker,’ H.) is also found as a variation of the above: an old poem mentions among others—

Quyltemakers, shermen, and armorers;
Borlers, tapestry-work makers, and dyers.

Such a name as ‘Christiana le Heldere’ or ‘Robert le Holdere’ must, I doubt not, be set here, both forms being still in existence. They belonged, I think, to the craft of upholdsters or upholders, at this time confined, it would seem, entirely to the manufacture and sale of mattresses, bolsters, pillows, and quilts, anything of a padded nature connected with bed furniture.[363] The insertion of flocks and feathers and the stitching together of such would seem to be a woman’s work, and this is the clue, I suspect, to the fact of our now using the feminine form of upholdster. There is a curious complaint made to Parliament in 1495, by the metropolitan upholders, that ‘Quyltes, mattres, and cussions (were) stuffed with horse hair, fen downe, neetis here, deris here (deers’ hair), and gotis here, which is wrought in lyme fattes and by the hete of mannys body the savour and taste is so abhomynable and contagious that many of the King’s subgettis thereby been destroied.’[364] It is prayed, therefore, that only one kind of stuff be allowed to be inserted in any one of these articles (‘Stat: of Realm,’ Henry VII.). In ‘Henry le Canevacer’ or ‘Richard le Canevacer’ we are carried back to a class of now all but entirely decayed trade. The canvaser, of course, turned out canvas, and this more especially for bags for the conveyance of the raw wool, or for tapestry purposes. In an old poem relating to German imports, it is said at the close—

Coleyne threde, fustaine, and canvase,
Carde, bokeram, of olde time thus it wase.

Tapestry work would engage much of this. Hangings of this kind, ere wainscot came into use, were the ordinary decorations of the baronial apartment, covering as they generally did the entire length of the lower wall. In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ we are told of the duties of one officer—

Tapetis of Spayne on flore by side
That sprad shall be for pompe and pryde,
The chambur sydes rygt to the dore
He hangs with tapetis that ben fulle store.

The name of ‘Tapiser,’ for one who wove this article, is familiarized to us as that of one of the immortal company who sat down together at the ‘Tabard’ in Southwark. Our modern ‘Tapsters,’ I doubt not, afford but another example of a surname engrossing what have been originally two separate and distinct titles. In an old sacred pageant given in York in 1415, amongst other trades represented we find coupled together the ‘Couchers’ and ‘Tapisers.’[365] Our ‘Couchers’ and ‘Couchmans’ are thus explained. They were evidently engaged less in the wooden framework, as we might have supposed, than in the manufacture of the cushions that covered it, and doubtless, like the broiderer mentioned above, worked in gold and silver and coloured threads the raised figures thereon.[366] Thus we must ally them with such names as ‘Robert le Dosier’ or ‘Richard le Dosyere,’ makers of the ‘doss,’ a technical term given at this time for cushions or stools worked in tapestry.[367] Thus the same book which I have just quoted says of the groom’s duties—

The dosurs, curtines to hang in halle,
These offices needs do he shalle.

As a specific name for productions of this class the word is now quite obsolete, though familiar enough in early days; tapestry indeed, in general, has ceased to be popular, and is now all but entirely confined professionally to the weaving of carpets, and as an amateur art among ladies to those figured screens so much in vogue not more than one or two generations ago, traces of which still remain in the framed embroideries yet lingering in many of our drawing-rooms—embroideries of cats with grizzly whiskers and tawny terriers—embroideries which as children we heard with bated breath had been worked by our grandmothers when they were little girls, and thus we realised for the first time, not so much that they had done these wonderful things as that they had once been small at all, like ourselves.

We have no surname to represent the weaving of carpets, as this was an introduction of much later date than most of our other household comforts in the way of furniture. In Brand’s ‘Popular Antiquities’ an interesting quotation is given from Hentzner’s ‘Itinerary,’ who, describing Queen Elizabeth’s Presence Chamber at Greenwich, says, ‘The floor, after the English fashion, was strewed with hay.’ The strewing of church pews with rushes was common until recent times, and in the North of England the peculiar customs attaching to the ‘Rush-bearing,’ a kind of ‘wakes,’ are not yet extinct. It is fair to add, however, that carpets were in course of introduction at the beginning of the sixteenth century; an old poem of that date mentions—

Broudurers, strayners, and carpyte-makers,
Spooners, turners, and hatters.

Before proceeding any further we had better introduce our ‘Lavenders,’ or washers, for be it linen or woollen stuff, be it garment for the back or covering for the bed, all needed washing then as now. The contracted feminine ‘laundress’ is still in common use. That the masculine form, however, was early applied to the other sex is proved in the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ where we are told—

Envie is lavender of the court alway,
For she ne parteth neither night ne day.

The gradation from ‘lavenderie’ to ‘laundry’ is marked by Stowe, who in his ‘Chronicles’ writes it ‘laundery.’ By similar contractions our ‘Lavenders’ are now found also in the other forms of ‘Launder’ and ‘Lander.’ An old poem says—

Thou shalt be my launder,
To washe and keep clean all my gere.[368]

‘Alicia la Lavendar’ figures in the Hundred Rolls. Doubtless, like our more Saxon ‘Washers,’ she was a professional washerwoman. The stiffening process, of infinitely more consequence then than now, has left its mark in such a name as ‘Ralph le Starkere,’ or even in that of ‘William Starcman,’ starch and stark being once but synonymous words. Whether it were the carefully pinched wimple or the kerchief, whether it were of silk or lawn, both alike required all the rigidity that could be imparted to them, would the head be befittingly adorned. Employed, therefore, either in the sale of the starch itself or in the work of stiffening the dress, we find men of such a title as the above. Doubtless they are referred to by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ where he speaks of—

Butlers, sterchers, and mustardmakers,
Hardeware men, mole seekers, and ratte-takers.

From the outer we may now naturally and fitly turn to the provision for the inner man. Nor are we without interesting relics also in this respect. We have already described the process by which the flour was provided. The agencies in the towns for the sale of this, and the uses to which it was put, are all more or less well defined, and well established also in our present directories. I do not know whether French rolls had obtained celebrity so early as this, but the name of ‘Richard Frenshbaker’ would seem at least to give some kind of credence to the supposition. There can be no doubt, however, that he dealt in a fancy way, for in solid bread-baking the Saxon ‘Baker’ has ever kept his hands in the kneading-trough, and need never fear, so far as our nomenclature is concerned, being ousted therefrom. The feminine form has become almost equally well established among us, ‘Bagster’ or ‘Baxter’[369] or ‘Backster’ (the latter spelling found in Foxe’s Roll of Marian martyrs) being among other forms of the old female ‘bakester.’ Piers Plowman speaks of—

Baksteres, and brewesteres,
And bochiers manye;

and such good folk as ‘Elias le Baxter’ or ‘Ralph le Bakster’ or ‘Giliana le Bacster’ are very plentifully represented in our olden registers.[370] Still the foreigner did not give way without a struggle. We have ‘Pollinger,’ ‘Bullinger,’ ‘Bollinger,’ and ‘Ballinger,’ as corruptions of the ‘boulanger’ or ‘Richard le Bulenger,’ as he is recorded. In our ‘Furners’ we see the representatives of such a name as ‘William le Furner’ or ‘Walter le Fernier,’ he who looked to the oven, while in the all but unaltered form of ‘Pester’ we may still not uncommonly meet with the descendants of many an old ‘Richard le Pestour’ or ‘Herman le Pestur,’ who had spent the best of his days in the bakehouse. Such a name as ‘John Pastemakere’ or ‘Gregory le Pastemakere’ or ‘Andrew le Pyebakere,’ which once existed, reminds us of the pastrycook, a member, as he then was, no doubt, of a by no means unimportant fraternity—that of the ‘Pastelers’ or ‘Pie-bakers.’ An old poem speaks of—

Drovers, cokes, and pulters,
Yermongers, pybakers, and waferers.

Best known, however, to most people would he be under the simple professional name of ‘cook.’ I need not remind any student of olden English records how familiar is ‘Roger le Coke’ or ‘William le Cook’ or ‘John Cokeman,’ nor will he be astonished at his being so well represented in all those forms in the directories of the nineteenth century. I could give endless references to show that this term was not confined to the kitchen servitor. The ‘City Archives’ give us an ordinance passed 2 Rich. II. (A.D. 1378) by the ‘Cooks and Pastelers,’ as an associated company, and Piers Plowman speaks of

Punishing on pillories,
Or on pynnyng stools,
Brewesters, Bakers,
Bochers, and Cookes,
For these be men upon molde (earth)
That most harm worken
To the poor people.

‘Cook’ or ‘Coke’ certainly holds a high position in the scale of frequency at present, and, as I have had occasion to notice in another chapter, is one of those few tradal names that have taken to them the filial desinence, ‘Cookson’ being by no means uncommon. Of all these we might have said much, but to mention them must suffice, and to pass on. Solid bread-baking, however, as I have just hinted, was not the sole employment of this nature in early days. A poem I have recently quoted speaks of ‘waferers.’ Our ‘Wafers,’ relics of the old ‘Simon’ or ‘Robert le Wafre,’ seem to have confined themselves all but entirely to the provision of eucharistic bread, though they were probably vendors also of those sweet and spiced cakes which, under the name of ‘marchpanes,’ were decidedly popular. Among other gifts that Absolom the clerk gave Alison, Chaucer hints of—

Wafers piping hot out of the glede,[371]

and the ‘Pardoner,’ in enumerating the company of lewd folks of Flanders, speaks of ‘fruitsters,’ ‘singers with harps,’ and ‘waferers.’ Piers Plowman puts them amid still more disreputable associates. No doubt, true to the old adage, ‘near the church, never in it,’ they were wont to hang about the sacred edifice abroad and at home, offering their traffic to the devouter worshippers as they entered in. We ourselves know how searing to heart and conscience is such a life as this. That all were not of this kind we are reminded by the will of an Archbishop of York of the thirteenth century, who therein bequeaths a certain sum to two ‘waferers,’ evidently on account of their exemplary conduct while conducting their trade at the Minster door.

Chaucer, describing the prioress, says that—

With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede,

she fed her small hounds. Cakes of wastel were of the purest flour and most careful bake, and were only second to the simnel in quality. Wasteler, found in such an entry as ‘John Wasteler,’ is extinct, but the shorter ‘Wastel’ still exists in our midst. Probably, in the latter case, it was originally but a sobriquet affixed to a baker of this peculiar kind of bread. It is in a similar manner, I doubt not, arose such early nicknames as ‘William Wytebred,’ or ‘John Holibread,’ or ‘Roger Blancpain,’ or ‘Josce Barlibred,’ or ‘Matilda Havercake,’ or ‘Lambert Simnel,’ the latter a name familiarized to the youngest student of English history. Strange to say, ‘Barlibred’ is the only one of this list that has disappeared from our directories, although ‘Barleycorn’ was in existence, I believe, but a few years ago. But to keep more strictly to tradesmen: I have no doubt myself it is here we must place our ‘Mitcheners,’ as makers of the ‘mitche’ or ‘mitchkin.’ The diminutive was the modern cracknel, while the larger seems to have been a small loaf of mixed flour. Chaucer, in his praise of contentment, says—

For he that hath mitches tweine,
Ne value in his demeine,
Liveth more at ease, and more is rich
Than doeth he that is chich (niggardly),
And in his barne hath sooth to saine,
A hundred mavis of wheat grain.

I have, however, no proof of the connexion I deem exists, so I merely mention it and pass on. We are more certain about our rare ‘Flawners’ and ‘Flanners,’[372] once the manufacturers of the ‘flaon’ or ‘flawn,’ so popular as to have left its mark in our ‘Pancake Tuesday.’ Caxton, in his ‘Boke for Travellers,’ says, ‘of mylke and of eggs men make flawnes.’ In the story of Havelok the Dane, too, mention is made of—

Brede an chese, butere and milk,
Pasties and flaunes.

A ‘Roger le Flaoner’ comes in the London Corporation records, A.D. 1307, while much about the same time I find a ‘Walter le Flawner’ in the Parliamentary writs.

I have kept our ‘Panyers’ and ‘Panniers’ till the last, because there is just a shade of doubt as to whether they owe their name to the manufacture of the basket so called or to the hawking of bread, the very practice of which custom, so familiar as it was then, has given us the term. The original meaning of ‘pannier,’ the French ‘panier,’ was bread-basket, and the word seems to have acquired a peculiar prominence from the fact that in mediæval times bakers, through being the subjects of a careful supervision, were forbidden to sell their bread anywhere but in the public market—nay, so particular were the authorities with regard to this that an officer was specially appointed to watch the ‘hutches,’ boxes, or baskets in which the loaves were exposed. A surname ‘Robert le Huchereve’ is even found in the Guildhall records as a relic of this. We can thus readily understand how hawkers of these portable covers or baskets would acquire the sobriquet of ‘panyers.’ Certain it is we find such entries as ‘Simon le Pannier,’ ‘Robert le Pannere,’ ‘Amiscus Panarius,’ or ‘Geoffrey Panyman,’ while in another register the occupation of ‘panyere’ is distinctly mentioned. We can equally readily understand how from this the term itself would, in course of time, obtain a wider and more general sense. That it has done so the donkey’s panniers are a proof. It is, however, somewhat strange, when we reflect upon it, that perhaps the last thing we should expect to see borne in this fashion in the present day would be that very article to which the receptacle itself owed its name.

It is somewhat remarkable that while our directories possess many records of the early manufacture of and traffic in cheese, yet there are no names whatever in the present day, I believe, and barely any in the past, which are associated with the most important of all country produce—butter.[373] The most satisfactory clue to the difficulty will be to suppose that the cheese-merchant of that day, as often in the present, dealt in both articles. This is the more likely, as the many sobriquets given to dealers in cheese in the fourteenth century would appear to give that edible, important as it was and is, a greater prominence than singly it deserved. Thus we find such names as ‘Edward le Cheseman’ or ‘Robert le Chesemaker,’ ‘John le Chesewright,’ or ‘William le Cheswright,’ or ‘Alen le Chesmongere,’ as representatives of the Saxons, figuring somewhat conspicuously in the registers of the period.[374] For the foreign element, too, cognomens were not wanting. ‘Benedict’ or ‘Michael le Casiere’ may even now be living in our ‘Cayzers,’ if they be not but another form of ‘Kaiser,’ and ‘Wilkin le Furmager’ or ‘William le Formager’ in our ‘Firmingers,’ is in no risk of immediate oblivion. The majority of the Saxon forms, I need scarcely add, are also thriving in our midst.

It may seem somewhat strange that ‘grocer,’ of all trades the most important, so far as the kitchen is concerned, should be so rarely represented in our nomenclature. But the reason is simple enough. To sell in the gross, or wholesale, was a second and later step in commercial practice. A ‘John Guter, Grossarius,’ appears in the London City Rolls so early as 1310, but it had scarcely become a familiar name of trade till the close of the fourteenth century.[375] In 1363 a statute of Edward III. speaks concerning ‘Merchauntz nomez Grossers,’ so termed because they ‘engrossent totes maners des marchandises vendables,’ and then enhanced the price on each separate article. Before this they had been known as the Pepperers, or Spicers Guild, such names as ‘John le Espicer’ or ‘Nicholas le Espicer’ occurring not unfrequently at this period. Spice, indeed, was the then general term for all manner of drugs, aromatic and pungent, which were brought into England by foreign and especially Venetian merchants from the East. These were carried up and down the country again by the itinerant traders, so many of whom I have already referred to in a previous chapter. An old song, written against the mendicant friars, relates that, among other of their vagaries—

Many a dyvers spyse
In bagges about they bear.

As I have just stated, however, the term ‘Grocer’ superseded that of ‘Spicer,’ and as such seems to have confined its dealings to the modernly received limit at an early date. As we must have already seen, each want had always hitherto been met by its own special dealer. With us now the Cutler would supply all the ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ then separately furnished; while our ‘Ironmongers’ or ‘Hosiers’ or ‘Upholdsters’ would each swallow up half-a-dozen of former occupations. Thus it was here. Our ‘John le Saucers’ or ‘Ada la Saucers’ provided salt pickle.[376] As with the ‘Frankelein,’ so with many another there—

Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were
Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gear.

‘Peter le Salter’ or ‘Hugh Saltman’ furnished forth the chloride itself; ‘William le Mustarder’ or ‘Peter le Mustardman,’ or ‘Alice Mustard-maker,’ the mustard; ‘Thomas le Pepperer,’[377] now spelt ‘Pepper,’ the pepper; ‘Ralph le Soper’ or ‘Adam le Savonier,’ the soap. Each set before his customers’ eyes those peculiar articles of household consumption their names severally represent. All these, having flourished in the earlier age, established for themselves a better place in our register than our rare ‘Grosers’ or ‘Grossers,’ who in this respect only appeared in time to save themselves from oblivion, though they have long ago revenged themselves on their humbler brethren by swallowing up entire the occupations they followed. It is curious to note that in later days, through the various accessions of luxury, the result in well-nigh every case of foreign discovery, even ‘Grocer’ has failed to comprehend all. In our country villages we all but invariably find added ‘and licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, &c.’ In our towns, however, this addendum has been dropped, and a ‘grocer’s shop’ is the place we turn to, without thought of refusal, for these modern introduced luxuries. What changes in our domestic resources are here presented for our notice! In my previous chapter it was the over-abundance of certain rural and primitive surnames which told the story of the times in which they sprang. The contrary is here the case. It is in the absence of particular names, some of which I have already noticed, we have the best guide to the extraordinary changes that have taken place in our household economy. Look at our tea-table. Already in the two short centuries from its introduction this article has given its name to a special meal, having thrown the once afternoon supper into a nocturnal repast. Even Shakespeare could only say—

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep.[378]

How strangely would it have affected our nomenclature had this and other like novelties been brought in earlier. We should have had ‘William le Coffyer’ giving us endless anxiety in the endeavour to separate it from the actual ‘Godfrey le Coffrer.’ We should have had, too, such folk as ‘John le Riceman,’ ‘Walter le Snuffer,’ ‘Ralph le Tobacconer,’ shortened into ‘Bacconer,’ and the still more awkward ‘le Potatoman,’ almost as inconvenient as ‘Garlickmonger,’ though doubtless it would have been quickly curtailed into ‘Taterman’ or ‘Taterer’ or ‘Tatman’ and ‘Tatter,’ and later on again into other forms too obscure to contemplate. The very recounting of these changes, which are strictly on a par with other names of a less hypothetical character, serve to impress us with the difficulties we have to encounter in the task of deciphering many of our surnames after the wear and tear they have undergone through lapsing generations.

But I must not wander. The sale of vegetables and fruits left its mark in our former ‘John le Fruemongers’ and ‘Ralph le Frueters,’ and ‘Hugh le Fruters;’ ‘Richard le Graper’ testifying seemingly to a more specific dealing. Our ‘Butchers’ of course have been busy enough from the day that the Normans brought them in. The variety of spelling which is found in olden records of this name is so great that I dare not attempt a list, but I believe there still exist, _sans_ the article, such of the old forms as ‘le Bouchier,’ ‘le Bowcher,’ and ‘le Bowsher,’ while ‘Botcher’ is at least not altered in sound from ‘le Bochere’ of the same period—‘Labouchere,’ which preserves this article, is of more modern introduction from the Gallic shore. But the Norman was not without his rivals. Such names as ‘Walter le Fleshmongere,’ or ‘Eudo le Flesshemongere,’ or ‘Richard le Flesmongere,’[379] prove that the Saxon did not give up even this branch of daily occupation without a struggle, and in the two isolated cases of ‘William Fleschour’ and ‘John Fleshewer’ that I have lit upon we are reminded that Scotland, with its still flourishing ‘flesher,’ is but the asylum where this truly Saxon term found its latest retreat. Even yet in England with the country folk the butchers’ shambles are the ‘flesh-market.’ That ‘Fleshmonger’ was the colloquial term, we may prove from a list of tradesmen mentioned in ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ a poem I have already quoted several times; reference is there made to—

Woolemen, vynterers and flesshemongers,
Salters, jewelers, and haberdashers.

The ‘Pardoner,’ too, in the same poem, thus begins his roll—

Here is first Cocke Lorelle the Knyght,
And Symkyn Emery, mayntenaunce agaynz ryght;
With Slyngethryfte Fleshemonger.

But if not in the common mouth, yet in our rolls there were two other names of this craft, which we must not pass over unrecorded. They were those of ‘Carnifex’ and ‘Massacrer,’ both representing the slaughter-house, I doubt not. The existence of the former would lead us to suppose that the old Roman hangsman was settled in our midst, but it was merely a mediæval Latinism for a butcher.[380] After the fashion of the time nicknames were affixed upon everybody, and our ‘Butchers’ and ‘Slaughters’ did not escape. The Hundred Rolls alone register the names of ‘Reginald Cullebol,’ ‘Henry Cullebulloc,’ ‘William Cullehare,’ and ‘William Culle-hog,’ or in more modern parlance ‘Kill-bull,’ ‘Kill-bullock,’ Kill-hare,’ and ‘Kill-hog.’ The original and more correct ‘poulter,’ he who dealt in ‘poults’ or poultry, as we now term it, has bequeathed his name to our ‘Poulters’ and ‘Pulters.’ Such names as ‘Adam le Puleter,’ or ‘Bernard le Poleter,’ or ‘William le Pulter,’ by the frequency with which we come across them, show how much did the farmyard help to provide in these days for the supply of the dining-table.

I have no peny,
Poletes to bugge (buy),

says Langland, showing that in his time they were commonly exhibited for sale. Indeed, the fact that in the York Festival of 1415 the ‘bouchers’ and ‘pulterers’ walked in procession together clearly proves their importance at the period in which the surname arose.

We have already mentioned the fishmonger, or what was practically the fishmonger, the fisherman, in our last chapter while surveying rural occupations. Our rare ‘Pessoners’[381] as representative of the Norman, and common ‘Fishers’ of the Saxon, lived in a day when under Roman ecclesiastic influences fish was of infinitely more importance than it is in this nineteenth century, when it is merely used as a go-between or mediator to soothe down the differences betwixt soup and beef. Then the year was dotted with days of abstinence, or strongly indented with seasons like Lent. Among the higher circles it mattered but little. So much had the culinary art excelled in respect of fish that such periods as they came round only brought to the epicurean mind visions of gastronomic skill that put the sterner and weightier joints utterly in the background for the time being. Pasties of herrings, congers, or lampreys were especially popular, and, judging from the lists of courses contained in some of our records, that only one of our mediæval monarchs should have succumbed to the latter is simply an historic marvel! Dishes too were prepared from the whale, the porpoise, the grampus, and the sea-wolf. ‘It is lamentable,’ says, facetiously, a writer in ‘Chambers’s Book of Days,’ referring to these viands as Lent repasts, ‘to think how much sin they thus occasioned among our forefathers, before they were discovered to be _mammalian_.’

A curious name is found in the Hundred Rolls, that of ‘Symon Haryngbredere.’ In what particular way he carried on his occupation I do not know. ‘Richard le Harenger’ is more explicable. Our ‘Conders’ were partners in the fishing excursions of the above. A full account of their duties may be found in Cowel’s ‘Interpreter,’ published in 1658. The conder stood upon the higher cliffs by the sea coast in the time of herring fishing, and with a staff or branch of a tree made signs to the boatmen which way the shoal was going. It seems there is a certain discoloured aspect of the water as they pass along, which is more apparent from an elevation than from the level of the sea.[382] In mediæval times the plaice was a very favourite dish. The term it usually went by was that of ‘but.’ Thus it is, I doubt not, we meet with such entries, as ‘William le Butor’ or ‘Hugh Butmonger.’ From some fancied resemblance to this fish, too, it would be that such humorous sobriquets as ‘Walter le But’ or ‘John le But’ would arise.

But while good and solid food could thus be purchased on every hand, we must not forget drink, for our forefathers were great tipplers. I have already mentioned our ‘William le Viners’ or ‘Roger le Vinours,’ in most cases, I doubt not, strictly cultivators of that plant on English soil. None the less certain, however, is it that our many early ‘John le Vineturs’ or ‘Alexander le Vineters’ were also, as merchants, employed in the importation of the varied wines of the Continent into our land. How abundant and how diverse they were an old poem shall tell us—

Ye shall have Spayneshe wyne and Gascoyne,
Rose colure, whyt, claret, rampyon,
Tyre, capryck, and malvesyne,
Sak, raspyce, alycaunt, rumney,
Greke, ipocrase, new made clary,
Such as ye never had.

The entry ‘Adam le Wyneter’ reminds us that in all probability it is to our early wine-merchants also we owe our ‘Winters.’ ‘Walter le Brewers,’ or ‘Emma le Brewsteres,’ or ‘Lawrence Beerbrewers,’[383] abound on every hand. We are reminded of the last by ‘Cocke Lorelle’—

Chymney-swepers, and costerde-mongers,
Lodemen and berebrewers.

The Norman equivalent for our ‘brewer’ was ‘bracer,’ and thus it is we meet with such a name as ‘Stephen le Bracer’ or ‘Clarissa la Braceresse.’ Latinized forms are found in ‘Reginald Braciator’ or ‘Letitia Braciatrix.’ Brewing was at first entirely in the hands of women. We have here ‘brewster,’ ‘braceress,’ and ‘braciatrix,’ and such phrases as ‘alewife’ and the obsolete ‘brewife’ (though it lingered on till Shakespeare’s day) show the ale-making and ale-selling business to have been mainly hers. ‘Malter’[384] and ‘Maltster’ or ‘Malster’ both exist, but the latter has ever denoted the avocation.[385] ‘Tapper’ and ‘Tapster,’ too, are both occupants of our directories, but as a term of industry the latter has ever held its own.[386] It is the same with several other occupations which we have already noticed. It is so with ‘bread-baking,’ manifesting a woman’s work. As we have already seen, the familiar expression in olden times was ‘bakester,’ now represented by our ‘Baxters.’ It is so with weaving. Our nomenclature, as I have previously shown, still preserves the ‘Webster’ and the ‘Kempster’ from being forgotten. In the winter evening, as the logfire crackled on the hearth, and while the good man was chopping wood, or tending his cattle, or mending his outdoor gear, who but his wife should be drawing woof and warp in the chimney nook? Whose work but hers should this be to clothe with her own thrifty fingers the backs of them who belonged to her? But, as with the others, her work in time became less a home occupation than a public craft, and thus it got into the hands of the male creation. While ‘Spinner’ still flourishes as a surname, the feminine ‘spinster’ never obtained a place in our nomenclature.[387] This is no doubt to be attributed to that early position it took in regard to female relationship, which it still holds. This would naturally prevent it from losing its strictly feminine character.[388]

A vintner went commonly by the name of a wine tunner, tunner itself being the ordinary term for one engaged in casking liquor. ‘Tun’ rather than ‘barrel’ was in use. In the ‘Confessio Amantis’ it is said of Jupiter that he—

Hath in his cellar, as men say,
Two townes full of lovedrink.

Thus have arisen such words as ‘tunnel’ or ‘tun-dish,’ the vessel with broad rim and narrow neck, used for transferring the wine from cask to bottle. That our nomenclature should possess tokens of all this was inevitable. We find such names as ‘Edmund le Tonder’ (F.F.),[389] ‘William Tunder’ (F.F.), ‘William le Toneleur’ (H.), ‘William le Tonier’ (H.), ‘Richard le Tundur’ (T.), ‘Hugh le Tunder’ (A.), or ‘Ralph le Toneler’ (A.) Till the close of the fifteenth century wine of home-production was the common drink, for, though beer was not by any means unknown to us, it was not till the Flemings brought us the hop that it became a familiar beverage. We all know the old couplet—

Hops, Reformation, baize, and beer,
Came into England all in one year.

Previous to this various bitter ingredients had been admixtured, chiefly, however, wormwood. ‘John de la Bruere’ or ‘William de Bruario’ are the local surnames met with in early records.

But we have been wandering. The Mayor of York in 1273 was ‘John le Espicer, aut Apotecarius’[390] (so the record is put), and while the two trades were distinct in character, there can be no doubt at the period referred to there would be much in common between them. The one would sell certain spices and drugs as ingredients for dishes, while the other disposed of the same for medicinal uses. Our ‘Potticarys,’ of course, represent the latter. The term itself, professionally speaking, is fast becoming obsolete, having been forced into the background by our ‘chemists’ and ‘druggists.’ But in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries it was the one name for all such. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ the abbreviated form[391] is familiarly used—

And forth he goth, no longer would he tarry,
Into the town unto a Potecary,
And praied him that he him wolde sell
Some poison, that he might his ratouns (rats) quell.

Such men as ‘John le Chirurgien’ or ‘Thomas le Surigien’ are occasionally found, but through the fact of the craft being all but entirely in the hands of the barber, they are rare, and I do not see that they have surnominally bequeathed us any descendants. Even so late as the reign of Elizabeth this connection seems to have commonly existed. In the orders and rules for an academy for her wards the following passage occurs with respect to the teaching of medicine:—‘The Phisition shall practize to reade Chirurgerie, because, thorough wante of learning therein, we have verie few good Chirurgions, yf any at all, by reason that Chirurgerie is not now to be learned in any other place than in a Barbor’s shoppe. And in that shoppe most dawngerous, especially in time of plague, when the ordinary trimming of men for clenlynes must be done by those which have to do with infected personnes.’[392] That ‘Thomas Blodlettere’ and ‘William Blodlettere’ should be conspicuous by their absence in modern rolls is not surprising. Their former existence, however, reminds us how in the past the fleshy arms of our forefathers were constantly exposed to this once thought panacea for all physical ills. It has long ceased, however, to be the resortment it was, and science, by taking it out of the tonsor’s hands, has left it to the wiser discretion of a more cultivated and strictly professional class. We have no traces of the dentist, as he too was absorbed in the barbitonsorial craft. Some lines, quoted by Mr. Hotten in his interesting book on ‘Signboards,’ remind us of this—

His pole with pewter basons hung,
Black, rotten teeth in order strung,
Rang’d cups that in the window stood,
Lined with red rags to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.

Here, therefore, we see one more explanation of the plentifulness of our ‘Barbers,’ ‘Barbours,’ ‘Barbors,’ and more uncouth-seeming ‘Barbars.’ The old records give us an equal or even greater variety in such registrations as ‘John le Barber,’ ‘Richard le Barbour,’ ‘Nicholas le Barbur,’ ‘Thomas le Barbitonsor,’ or ‘Ralph Tonsor;’[393] while feminine skill in operating upon the chins of our forefathers is commemorated in such an entry as ‘Matilda la Barbaresse.’ It is just possible, however, that she kept an apprentice, although such things are still to be seen, I believe, as women-shavers. But the one chief sobriquet for the medical craft, and the one which, excepting our ‘Barbers,’ has made the deepest indenture upon our nomenclature, was that of ‘Leech’—_was_, I say, for saving in our cow-leeches it is now, professionally speaking, obsolete. In our many ‘Leeches,’ ‘Leaches,’ and ‘Leachmans,’ however, its reputation is not likely soon to be forgotten. With the country folk it was the one familiar term in use. Langland, while speaking of—

One frere Flaterie,
Physicien and surgien,

makes mention also of—

Conscience called a Leche
That could well shryve,
To go salve those that sike ben,
And through synne y-wounded.

‘Le Leche’ is the general spelling of earlier times, and it is that of the lines just quoted.[394] The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘Hugh le Leche,’ while ‘Robert le Leche’ figures in the Parliamentary Writs.

Having just referred to the barber, we may here introduce an obsolete surname somewhat connected with his craft, that of ‘le Loveloker.’ In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the lovelock was as familiar as the chignon is in the nineteenth, only that the former was worn alike by men and women. They wore curls or plaits of hair, oftentimes adorned with bows or ribbons, and hung in front of the ear and about the temples. If false, the hair was fastened by means of adhesive plaster. In the ‘Affectionate Shepherd’ it is thus alluded to—

Why should thy sweete love-locke hang dangling downe,
Kissing thy girdle-stud with falling pride?
Although thy skin be white, thy hair is browne;
Oh let not then thy haire thy beautie hide.

How long this custom existed, and how commonly the exquisites of the period wore these pendants, we may judge by the fact of a ‘Walter le Loveloker’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of the fourteenth century. Probably he added to this the craft of peruke-maker, and between the two, I doubt not, throve and grew fat—for wigs too were an early institution. The surname of occupation has been long obsolete, but the simpler ‘Lovelock’ is firmly set in our registers.

In a day when the luxury of gas was unknown, and the hearth, burning more generally with wood than coal, would throw but a chequered light athwart the room, we ought not to be surprised to find the chandlery business to be somewhat demonstrative, and so it is. In such a name as ‘Michel le Oyneter’ or ‘Hointer,’ we are reminded of the old melter of grease, and of the equally old English term ‘to oint,’ for to ‘anoint.’ With him, therefore, we may associate such of his confrères as ‘William le Candelmaker,’ ‘Roger le Chaundeler,’ ‘Richard le Chaundler,’ ‘William le Candeler,’[395] or ‘Thomas le Candleman,’ names all in existence formerly, some of which still abide with us. In ‘William le Cirgier’ we are once more reminded of the earlier religious rites of our Church and its many vigils, from a performance of which he who dealt in wax tapers, or _cierges_, as they were then styled, would derive no doubt a steady gain. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ we are told—

The nine thousand maidens dere,
That beren in Heaven their cierges clere,
Of which men rede in church and sing,
Were take in secular clothing.

With these latter then it is we must associate such a name as ‘John Wexmaker.’

While, however, we are dwelling upon such and similar wants in the domestic consumption, we are naturally led to make inquiry concerning the utensils in fashion at this period, and of those who provided them. Of drinking vessels we have many, for, as we have previously hinted, this was a decidedly drinking age. Chief of all was the ‘Mazerer.’ No word could be in more familiar use in the day we are speaking of than the ‘macer’ or ‘maslin,’ carved from the maple. It was the favourite bowl of all classes of society. By the rich it was valued according as it was made from the knotted grain, or chased and rimmed with gold and silver and precious gems. We are told of Sire Thopas how that—

They fetched him first the swete win,
And made eke in a maselin,
And real spicerie.

There is scarce a record of any magnitude or importance which has not its several surnames derived from the occupation of carving this cup, and as the term itself was variously pronounced and spelt, so did the name vary. For instances the Hundred Rolls give us ‘Adam le Mazerer;’ the Close Rolls, ‘William le Macerer;’ the Warranty Rolls, ‘William le Mazeliner;’ and the London Records give us again a ‘John le Mazerer.’ Besides these we have ‘Mazelyn,’ ‘Maselyn,’ and ‘Mazarin,’ probably sign-names, the latter familiarised to us in the celebrated Cardinal of that name. Strange to say, ‘Maslin’ and ‘Masser,’ or ‘Macer,’ all rare, are now the only relics we possess of this once well-known surname and occupation. No instance I can furnish more clearly demonstrates the uncertainty of descent in our personal nomenclature. Such a name as ‘Geoffrey le Hanaper’ or ‘William Hampermaker’ bequeaths us a strange story of changed circumstance. The shorter appellation, common enough at this time, still lives in our ‘Hampers.’ While the macer was invariably of maple, the ‘hanap,’ or two-handed goblet, might be of wood or metal. From the fact of a ‘hanaper,’ Latinized in our archives into ‘hanaperium,’ being the crate where these hanaps were kept, it acquired a secondary sense of a repository for things of a more general character. Thus has arisen the ‘Hanaper Office’[396] in Chancery, where writs were treasured up in a basket; and thus also it is that we now talk of a ‘hamper,’ a term so delightfully familiar to schoolboys about Christmas time. Our common ‘Bowlers’ represent such olden personages as ‘Robert le Bollere’ or ‘Adam le Boloure,’ they who made the cheap wooden ‘bowl’ or ‘boll.’ The old spelling still survives botanically in such a phrase as we find in the Authorized Version, where it speaks of the ‘flax being bolled,’ that is, the seed vessel was forming. It is always so spelt with our mediæval writers. Thus Glutton, in the ‘Plowman’s Vision,’ after sleeping away his last drunken bout, wakes, and—

The firste worde that he warpe
Was, ‘Were is the bolle?’

‘William le Cuppere’ and ‘Richard le Kuppere,’ while engaged in the same occupation, are, speaking surnominally, absorbed, I doubt not, by our ‘Coopers’ and ‘Cowpers.’ ‘Copper’ may be but another antique form of the same. Langland speaks of—

Coupes of clere gold
And coppes of silver.

I shall have occasion almost immediately to mention Chaucer, as speaking of ‘turning cups,’ which would seem to infer that they too were often made of wood.

Another name once existing was that of ‘Doubler,’ a maker or seller of the ‘doubler’ or ‘dobeler,’ or dish; a term derived from the French ‘doublier.’ The word is still in use in the North of England,[397] and both ‘Doubler’ and ‘Doubleman’ are in our directories of to-day. The name of ‘Scutelaire’ must be set here also, though when we think of our modern coalscuttle we might imagine it somewhat of an interloper. A change, however, has come over the stricter meaning of the word. A ‘scutel’ was formerly nothing more nor less than a wooden or metallic dish or platter used on our early dressoirs for culinary purposes. It seems ever to have had its place in the dining-hall, for in the household expenses of Bishop Swinfield (Camden Soc.) we find the entry, ‘xv. scutellis, xvii. salsariis.’ The learned editor of this book, commenting upon this passage, says, ‘“scutella” is a word of somewhat extensive application to dishes or platters, saucers or salvers, and it is retained in our present English “scuttle.”’ I doubt not with him that while ‘scutum,’ a shield, is the root, the term is here intended to refer to the large flat spoons or plates used for the sauce-dishes. It is from his resemblance to these that some wide-mouthed country bumpkin is set down in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Arnold Scutelmuth,’ while the occupation of making them finds its memorial in the Rolls of Parliament in such a sobriquet as ‘James le Scutelaire.’ Speaking, however, of the dining table, we may here mention the cutler. Of such a name as ‘Henry Knyfesmythe’ I have already had occasion to hint. The cutler enjoyed, or perhaps I ought to say was the victim of, a very uncertain orthography in mediæval times, and some of the forms found are extremely curious. I may cite such personages as ‘Richard le Cutyler,’ ‘John le Cotiler,’ ‘Peter le Cotyler,’ ‘Henry le Coteler,’ or ‘Solomon le Cotiller’ as representative of those which were then most in vogue. All are now content, it would seem, to be absorbed in the simple ‘Cutler.’ Strange to say, I cannot find a single ancestor of our familiar ‘Spooner.’ A mediæval rhymester, however, speaks of ‘sponers, turners, and hatters.’ With many of these names I have just mentioned the ironmonger would have much to do. The uncertain form of the term used for this material gave rise to three familiar words, those of ‘iron,’ ‘ise,’ or ‘ire.’ Trevisa speaks of England as being plenteous in ‘veynes of metayls, of bras, of yre, of leed, of tyn, of selver.’[398] Thus while ‘Henry le Ironmonger’ dealt, as no one of my readers will doubt, in vessels and utensils of the material his name suggests, it is not to be supposed that ‘Geoffrey le Iremonger’ or ‘William le Irremongere’ was but a cant nickname for one of splenetic temperament; or that in ‘Isabel le Isemonger’ or ‘Agnes la Ismongere’ we have traces of any disposition for those frozen creams which in the hot summer time we of the nineteenth century are so glad to seek on the confectioner’s counter. All alike were hardware manufacturers. The present forms are ‘Iremonger,’ ‘Irmonger,’ and ‘Ironmonger.’

It may seem strange that wood should hold such a conspicuous position in work of a culinary nature, but it is with good reason. We must remember all our ornamental fictile vessels were unknown to our forefathers. It was not till the close of the sixteenth century they came into any settled use. It is to this circumstance we must doubtless refer the extraordinary prevalence of our ‘Turners.’ Not the least important articles of their workmanship would be the vessels they turned off from the lathe. That Jack-of-all-trades, the Miller of Trumpington, could, according to Chaucer, amongst his many other achievements, ‘turn cuppes.’[399] When wood, however, was not used, the utensils were of the roughest character—mugs, jars, and such like vessels, formed of the common baked and glazed clay, and reserved for the ruder requirements of the household. Our ‘Stephen le Crockers’ and ‘John le Crokers’ (P. W.)—for both forms then as now are found—made simply the glazed crock, or ‘crouke,’ as Chaucer has it, used for holding butter or milk or such like store—vessels, in fact, reserved for the scullery or the pantry rather than the parlour or hall. John de Trevisa, writing in 1387, says in his description of Britain: ‘There is also white clay, and red for to make of crokkes, and steenes (stone jars) and other vessels.’ The same may be said of our ‘Jarmans.’ Most of our domestic utensils, therefore, if not of wood or clay, were made of metal, and this generally of a mixed kind. ‘Henry le Brasour’ or ‘Robert le Brazur,’ now ‘Brazier’ or ‘Brasher,’ worked in brass; ‘Thomas le Latoner,’ or ‘William le Latoner,’ in latten or bronze;[400] while a mixture of lead and tin fully employed the wits and hands of our ‘Pewters,’ ‘Pewtrers,’ and ‘Founders.’[401] We must not suppose therefore, that ‘John le Discher’ or ‘Robert le Disshere’ (with their once feminine partner, ‘Margaret la Disheress’), and ‘Ranulf le Poter’ or ‘Adam le Potter’ or ‘Thomas Potman,’[402] laboured after the modern style. The ‘disher’ all but invariably worked in pewter,[403] and the ‘potter,’ if not in the same, could only resort to common clay as an alternative. ‘Calisher’ is probably the old ‘le Calicer’ or ‘Chalicer.’ The more modern spelling is found in the London Records, in 1310, where mention is made of ‘Ralph de Chichestre, Chalicer.’ The ‘chalice’ has now, however, allied itself so entirely with the sacramental office of our Church that it is hard to regard it in the light of an ordinary utensil. As a trade-sign a chalice would be readily conspicuous, and to this we owe, no doubt, our ‘Challis’s’ and ‘Challices.’

While speaking, however, of drinking vessels, I must perforce allude to the horner. I need not remind my reader how many are the descendants of such a man as ‘Richard le Horner’ or ‘John le Horner,’ but it may not equally have struck him how all-important would be his trade at such a period as this. That his chief manufacture was that of the musical horn I cannot doubt, so used as it was officially or ordinarily, at fair and festival, at dance and revelry, in time of peace and in time of war. The ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ describes it as ‘hornare, or horne-maker.’ Still this would not be all—far from it. Windows were commonly made of this material, frames were constructed of it, the child’s horn-book being but a memory of this; lanterns were formed of it, cups of all sizes were fashioned from it, chessmen were manufactured out of it. In the ‘Franklin’s Tale’ descriptive of Winter it is said—

Janus sits by the fire with double berd,
And drinketh of his bugle-horn the wine.

As a sign-name ‘at the horn’ would be a common expression, and certainly we have had plenty of ‘Horns,’ if not the ‘horn of plenty,’ at all times during the last six hundred years.

Turning for a moment to vessels of a more general character, our ‘Coopers’ or ‘Cowpers’[404] or ‘Coupers’ have ever flourished extensively. Such forms as ‘Thomas le Cuper,’ ‘Warin le Couper,’ or ‘Richard le Cupare’ are found on every side; while even such entries as ‘Richard Cowpeman’ or ‘Roger Cowperese’ may be occasionally alighted upon. The term ‘coop’ is not in itself in common use now—indeed, saving in composition, as in _hencoop_, for instance, it is all but obsolete. The Norman and more correct ‘cuve’ gave us such early names as ‘Ralph le Cuver’ or ‘John le Cover,’ or ‘Adam le Covreur’ or ‘Robert le Coverur,’ the latter being one more example of a reduplicated termination.[405] Our modern ‘Covers,’ however, preserve the earlier and more simple form. Our ‘Cadmans,’ once written ‘Cademans,’ framed the cade or barrel, the sign-name of which gave us the notorious Jack Cade of early insurrectionary times. Shakespeare facetiously suggests a different origin when he makes Dick the butcher to insinuate that it was for—

Stealing a cade of herring.

In either case the same word is used, and the derivation in no way impeached. Our ‘Barrells’ are either sign-names also, or but corruptions of such an old entry as ‘Stephen le Bariller.’ ‘Alexander le Hopere’ and ‘Andrew le Hopere,’ now ‘Hooper,’ explain themselves.[406] Doubtless they would be busy enough at this time in strengthening these several barrels, cuves, coops, and cades with pliant bands, whether of wood or metal. Speaking, however, of wooden bands, reminds us of our ‘Leapers,’ ‘Leapmans,’ and ‘Lipmans.’ A ‘leap’ was a basket of flexible, but strong, materials, its occurrence in our old writers being so frequent as to need no example.[407] The ‘maund’ was similar in character, but made of more pliant bands, probably of rushes, for we find it in common use by our early fishermen. Our ‘Maunders’ and ‘Manders’ are, I think, to be set here, therefore, either as manufacturers or as wayside beggars, who bore them as the receptacles of the doles they got. Another supposition is that they were beggars who acquired the sobriquet because they maundered out their petition for alms. I cannot but think the former is the more likely derivation, our Maundy Thursday itself having got its name from the practice of doling out the gifts for the poor from the basket then so named.