I recently posted a picture of an unusual font bowl from St Leonard’s church in Bengeo, Hertford, (pictured below). This bowl had been dug up in a neighbouring garden in the 19th century, and it’s thought that it was hidden during the Commonwealth period. The concealment of church furnishings and objects by their parishioners at times of religious upheaval was by no means unusual, and the people of the parish were often very creative when choosing these hiding places.

So why did fonts survive the Reformation of Henry VIII only to be destroyed or hidden in the Commonwealth period, when so many other church objects, particularly altars, were destroyed under Henry VIII, and later under his son, Edward VI?

The Ten Articles of 1536 were the first official statement of church doctrine set out after England’s break with Rome. The Ten Articles acknowledged only two of the seven sacraments, Baptism and the Eucharist, as having been directly ordained by Christ. The remaining five sacraments continued to be valued, but were stripped of their sacramental status.

Fonts were more likely to have survived the Tudor Reformation, simply because every parish continued to need one. However, they may not have survived intact or undamaged at this time, and It’s impossible to know exactly when the font pictured below, was defaced. There is no doubt that the carved imagery would have made it a target for iconoclasts. Objects carved with figures of saints and angels would have been considered Catholic iconography, and a distraction from the word of God, which was the prime concern of the Protestant reformers.

St Mary’s Church, Ware, Herts. C. 1390s

It was during the Civil War and Commonwealth period (1640s to 1660) that extremely aggressive iconoclasm was carried out. William Dowsing, a Puritan nicknamed "Smasher or Basher Dowsing," was appointed by the Earl of Manchester to be "Commissioner for the destruction of monuments of idolatry and superstition." To say that he went about his task with enthusiasm is a gross understatement of the relish with which he set about his work.

Dowsing damaged and defaced over 250 churches, chapels and Cambridge colleges across the East Anglian region. Religious pictures, crosses, crucifixes, memorial brasses, altar rails and stained glass were all targeted. Dowsing kept a journal of his activities which lists what he destroyed in each place he visited. The journal was published in 2001. It’s a hard read for anyone who is interested in pre reformation church history and church buildings, and who likes to spend time seeking out what has survived.

St Mary’s Church, Walkern, Herts. Late 14th century.

Fonts could have been destroyed, repurposed, or, in the case of St Leonard’s, buried. Some communities could have recovered their old fonts after the Restoration of 1660 or commissioned replacements. My guess for St Leonard’s is that it was buried, and the location forgotten, or that it was too much work to retrieve and therefore replaced by a new one. St Leonard’s was abandoned in 1855 when a new church was built to replace it. It was completely stripped of internal fittings and left to decay. It remained abandoned until 1879, when the Gosselin family of Bengeo saved the building and restored whatever they could. I live in hope that the font pedestal is also buried nearby and may turn up when someone is digging their veg patch.

St Leonard’s is now greatly treasured and well maintained by the local community. It is open to visitors at weekends in the summer (with tea and cake) and holds services, musical events, and retreats. Once more, it is a hugely valued local link to the past.

Notes

Dowsing, William. The Journal of William Dowsing: Iconoclasm in East Anglia during the English Civil War. Edited by Trevor Cooper. Woodbridge: Boydell Press for the Ecclesiological Society, 2001.

The Journal of William Dowsing of Stratford, Parliamentary Visitor... 1643–1644. Edited by C. H. Evelyn White. Ipswich: Pawsey & Hayes, 1885

Many historic manor houses had a private gate and pathway, sometimes known as the manorial gate or squire's gate, leading directly into the churchyard. This gave the lord of the manor and his family convenient access to the church while also reflecting their prominent status within the parish. As principal landowners, lords of the manor were often important patrons and benefactors of their parish churches. In many churches the manorial family occupied a private pew or chapel, and the separate entrance reinforced their close association with the church while underlining their higher social standing than the ordinary parishioners making their way up from the town to worship.

St Nicholas Church in Stevenage stands beside The Old Bury, where the gate and pathway into the churchyard are still preserved. The church tower was built around 1125, and the original manor house was constructed shortly afterwards. In the fifteenth century it was replaced by the timber-framed hall house that survives today. The pathway provides a tangible reminder of the close relationship between the manor and the parish church that shaped village life for centuries. Similar manorial entrances survive elsewhere in Hertfordshire and across England, although many have disappeared as rural estates were broken up, manor houses demolished, or roads and boundaries altered.

Today, two north doorways survive, raising the possibility that one may once have provided direct access for the lord of the manor and his household from the private pathway. Although the exact location of the manorial pew has long since been lost, the surviving route between The Old Bury and the church still hints at the close relationship between manor and parish.

Private pews and family monuments were often positioned within the chancel or as close to it as circumstances allowed. If that was the case at St Nicholas, the second doorway pictured is perhaps the more likely candidate for use by the manorial household, as it lies nearest the chancel. However, this can only be suggested rather than proved. The doorway had been blocked for centuries before being rediscovered during the restoration of the chancel in 1841, when layers of plaster and later woodwork were removed to reveal the medieval opening once more.

The surviving gate, pathway and north doorways are more than simply convenient routes into the churchyard. They are reminders of a medieval society in which social rank, patronage and worship were woven into the very fabric of the parish church. What is interesting though is that in the 21st century, when the churchyard is otherwise left in its wild state, the path from the ‘big house’ is still maintained.

The most significant damage was inflicted on the faces of the saints. Fortunately, however, the iconoclasts only did half the job, managing to deface only those figures facing the main door, presumably so the damage would be immediately visible to those entering the church. Their intention was to discourage parishioners from praying to the saints, a practice that was strongly condemned during these periods of religious reform and iconoclasm.

The Eight Figures

• St Catherine of Alexandria, carrying her wheel and a large sword.

• St Christopher, carrying the Christ Child across a river.

• St Margaret of Antioch, patron saint of women in childbirth, shown spearing a dragon.

• St George, spearing a dragon.

• The Virgin Mary, holding a lily, the traditional symbol of her purity and virginity.

• The Angel Gabriel, carrying a wand and a scroll.

• St James, patron saint of pilgrims.

• St John the Baptist.

The village of Walkern in Hertfordshire, like so many English villages, has a fascinating past. Last weekend, however, the village witnessed another important event that will itself become part of that history.

On Sunday 12 July, the Bishop of Hertford unveiled a memorial plaque in St Mary's Church to Jane Wenham, who in 1712 was accused of witchcraft after a local servant, Ann Thorne, claimed that Jane had bewitched her. A local jury found her guilty, but the presiding judge was deeply sceptical of the evidence. Dismissing claims that Jane had flown on a broomstick, he famously remarked that there was no law against flying—a surprisingly enlightened observation for the time. He subsequently secured a royal pardon, sparing Jane from execution.

Jane's case is historically significant because it is regarded as England's last formal conviction for witchcraft. She spent the remainder of her life living quietly in Hertfordshire under the protection of sympathetic benefactors, including William Cowper, 1st Earl Cowper, at Panshanger.

This is, of course, only the briefest outline of Jane's life, which has already been researched and written about brilliantly by the Walkern History Society. I have included links below and would encourage everyone to read their work, as it provides invaluable insight into both Jane's story and the appalling treatment endured by those accused of witchcraft.

Although exact figures are impossible to establish, historians estimate that between the Witchcraft Act of 1542 and the repeal of the witchcraft laws in 1736, somewhere between 2,000 and 3,000 people in England were accused of witchcraft. Of these, between 1,000 and 1,500 were brought to trial, with around 500 ultimately executed. Around 85–90 per cent of those executed were women. These figures are horrifying enough, yet they were still considerably lower than those recorded in many parts of continental Europe.

The changing laws introduced under Henry VIII, and later strengthened during the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I, increased the level of persecution in England. The deadliest period came during the turmoil of the English Civil War.

The River Beane which flows through the village

It was then that Matthew Hopkins, the self-styled "Witchfinder General", operated across East Anglia. Between 1645 and 1647, accusations rose dramatically, with an estimated 200 to 300 people executed during his campaign. East Anglia became the epicentre of English witch hunting. Although my home county of Hertfordshire experienced far fewer executions than neighbouring Essex, it nevertheless witnessed its own share of accusations, trials and suffering.

Jane Wenham's trial took place only a generation after the East Anglian witch hunts, but by then attitudes were beginning to change. The emerging Enlightenment, with its emphasis on reason, empirical evidence and scientific enquiry, meant that many judges had become increasingly suspicious of accusations founded solely on superstition and hearsay.

The legal framework for prosecuting witchcraft still existed, but confidence in it was beginning to weaken. Many accusations reflected the vulnerable position occupied by women in early modern society. If misfortune struck a community—a child died, livestock became ill or the milk turned sour—it was often easier to blame a difficult, outspoken or marginalised neighbour than accept that no explanation existed. Women who lived alone, depended upon charity, lacked family support or earned a living as healers or wise women could all find themselves vulnerable to suspicion and, in the worst cases, prosecution.

Yet this was also an age shaped by fear. Political upheaval, civil war, plague, failed harvests and high infant mortality created an overwhelming desire to explain suffering and misfortune. For some communities, identifying and punishing the person believed to be responsible seemed the only answer.

The Walkern History Society has placed Jane Wenham at the heart of its excellent "Women of Walkern" project, which explores the lives of women from the village across the centuries and seeks to restore their voices to local history.

Last Sunday, after years of dedication and determination by the vicar and the people of Walkern, that work received lasting recognition. The memorial plaque to Jane Wenham was unveiled by the Bishop of Hertford inside St Mary's Church as both a remembrance of Jane herself and an acknowledgement of the injustice she suffered. Bringing the project to fruition required considerable effort, including obtaining the necessary approvals from the church council and the Church of England.

I visited the church this morning to see the plaque for myself. I had the chance to reflect, not only on Jane Wenham, but also on the hundreds of women who suffered similar accusations and persecution at the hands of those whose power over their lives was immeasurably greater than their own.

Perhaps that is why this new memorial matters so much. It does not simply commemorate one woman; it acknowledges a chapter of our history that should never be forgotten.

Notes

https://walkernhistorysociety.co.uk/jane-wenham-the-witch-of-walkern/

https://www.hertsmemories.org.uk/content/herts-history/towns-and-villages/walkern/jane-wenham-of-walkern-1712

https://www.hertsmemories.org.uk/content/herts-history/topics/witchcraft/witchcraft-in-hertfordshire

https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/podcasts/the-rise-and-fall-of-matthew-hopkins-witchfinder-general/

Saint Mary’s Church, Walkern Facebook Page.

While staying in Norfolk recently I was able to visit St Margaret’s Church in the village of Paston to view this huge wall painting which depicts St Christopher carrying the Christ child. This wall painting was uncovered in 1922 when a patch of St Christopher’s beard began to show through the worn plaster. Medieval murals of St Christopher were typically painted on the north wall of the church, right opposite the south door. Medieval people believed that seeing an image of St Christopher at the start of the day would protect them from sudden death before nightfall.

Nobody could have missed this powerful image when entering the church and that is still the case today. He makes a big Impact.

St John the Baptist Church, Cottered, Hertfordshire.

On returning home I decided to visit a local church that I knew also had a mural of St Christopher dating from the 15th century. The mural in St John the Baptist Church in Cottered, Herts was revealed from beneath layers of whitewash in 1886.

Unfortunately the figures of St Christopher and the Christ child have faded to outlines and it’s very difficult to make out how they were placed on the wall. This was initially a little disappointing after seeing the clear images at Paston, but the Cottered mural certainly has other strengths.

The background shows a village scene which I like to think is the Cottered of long ago, showing high status dwellings, a castle, churches, roads, trees, hedges and a few village inhabitants, including a hermit in his hermitage, dressed like the parish priest.

The detail below shows two figures having a sword fight, but how long before this scene fades away for good? Many of these paintings were whitewashed or destroyed during the Reformation in the 16th century because they were deemed "superstitious" by iconoclasts. Although several have been painstakingly uncovered and restored over the last couple of centuries, the Cottered mural I am informed has faded considerably in the last few decades. Some of the figures visible previously have now disappeared.

This Grade 2 listed building in Stevenage High Street is now occupied by a very modern dental practice, but one past occupant brought great fame to the building, not during his lifetime, but after his death.

Henry Trigg was a well respected but eccentric resident of Stevenage. Born c.1667 he ran a successful business as a grocer and property owner. Henry was also a church warden at his local church of St Nicholas set on a hill above the town. In Henry’s lifetime the Great North Road ran through the broad Stevenage High Street which at that time was becoming an important stopping place for coaches travelling with their passengers to and from London. The many inns being built at this time to cater for the passengers meant that this was an excellent location to have a business like Henry’s.

St Nicholas Stevenage where Henry was church warden.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about Henry that we know of, but that was about to change. When he sat down to write his will he included a very unusual clause. Burial in consecrated ground in St Nicholas Churchyard was not him. Henry ordered that once his corpse was placed in his coffin it was to be stored in a barn behind his house. The coffin was to remain there for 30 years, and presumably after that period he imagined he would be able to leave it as he ordered a key to be placed in the coffin with him.

Henry died in 1724 and it’s interesting to consider what made this god fearing man choose such an unusual and likely scandalous way of dealing with his earthly remains? It is possible that as a church warden he was aware of the work of grave snatchers and wanted to avoid this fate for himself. This is certainly a local legend. He also seems to have had a very specific period of time in mind after which he seemed certain he would be leaving his coffin after a bodily resurrection. A literal interpretation of religious belief. Maybe he was worried about being declared dead and buried alive before his actual demise. A resident of the Hertfordshire village of Braughing had a narrow escape in 1571. As his coffin was being carried up the church path for his funeral, the pallbearers slipped in some wet leaves, dropped the coffin, and in so doing woke the unfortunate occupant. In Henry Triggs case however a period of 30 years seems excessive to make extra certain he was actually dead!

Henry’s coffin was placed in the rafters of the barn and when the building eventually became an inn it was a very popular tourist attraction. Over time visitors to the inn took some of the bones as souvenirs. By the 19th century the coffin had deteriorated and had to be replaced, and by the last century only part of the skeleton remained. After several changes of use the building eventually became a branch of Nat. West Bank. In 1999 the building was renovated and it seems uncertain as to whether any remains were found and reinterred, or if they had all completely disappeared.

The coffin still survives in the building today but access is not allowed at the current time.

AnemoneProjectors • CC BY-SA 4.0

Notes

Hertfordshire Memories, ‘Henry Trigg’s House: Buried in the Roof’, accessed 27 April 2026.

Stevenage Museum, local history collections relating to Stevenage, accessed 27 April 2026.

A copy of the Will is held at

Hertfordshire Archives and Local Studies, County Hall, Hertford.

Churches can be wonderful bolt-holes away from the noise and bustle of modern life, and this summer in particular they can provide a welcome respite from the heat. Spending some time in a church setting can be just what is needed, but at St Mary’s, Walkern, as with many other churches, this now tranquil place has in centuries past been anything but peaceful.

In a previous article I wrote about the controversy that broke out at Christmas 1636 in the village of Walkern, when Thomas Humberstone and his wife refused to approach the altar rail for communion, choosing instead to kneel on the chancel steps. The vicar, John Gorsuch, refused to administer the sacrament to them from that position. Between priest and parishioners stood the newly erected altar rails.

By 1636, King Charles I was well into his controversial Personal Rule, the eleven-year period during which he governed without Parliament. Throughout these years Archbishop Laud acted as the King’s chief religious enforcer, determined to impose strict uniformity and ceremonial worship throughout the Church of England. His policies sought to suppress Puritanism, restore traditional ritual, and reinforce a highly structured and hierarchical church.

Among the most controversial of Laud’s reforms was the instruction that communion tables should be moved permanently to the east end of churches, treated as fixed altars and enclosed by altar rails. Although such rails had never disappeared entirely from England’s churches, many congregations served by Puritan clergy had removed them as symbols of what they regarded as lingering Roman Catholic practice. To many Puritans, the rails represented an unnecessary barrier between clergy and congregation — a visible reminder of the hierarchy they wished to dismantle.

In my last article we left Thomas Humberstone and his wife refusing to kneel at the altar rail at Christmas 1636. Their protest continued, and at the following Easter they again refused to kneel at the rail. We know of a number of comparable incidents across the country. The parish of St Gregory by St Paul’s in the City of London, for instance, became one of the earliest and most famous disputes. Parishioners resisted moving the communion table to the east end, and the case eventually reached King Charles I, who ruled in favour of Laud’s policy, establishing an important national precedent (Spraggon, 2000).

One Suffolk parishioner, Thomas Woolwich, declared that he was perfectly willing to kneel; it was the altar rails themselves that he objected to, arguing that they had no authority in canon law or the Prayer Book. Like Woolwich, the Humberstones seem to have been willing to kneel, but unwilling to do so at the rails.

After being refused communion at Easter, the Humberstones complained to the Archdeacon. John Gorsuch was interviewed about the affair, and the Archdeacon wrote to the Humberstones a “persuasive letter to reform their carriage”. The matter did not end there. They then petitioned John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln. Williams, who was sympathetic to many Puritan concerns, ordered Gorsuch to administer communion “to all who presented themselves kneeling in any part of the church, under pain of suspension”.

Unfortunately for the Humberstones, this was not the end of the affair. Archbishop Laud soon gained effective control over the diocese during Williams’s suspension and loss of influence, and Gorsuch found himself supported by the Archbishop. On 28 October 1637 a bond was filed against Thomas Humberstone requiring him “to exhibite a true and full certificate of his due frequenting of his parishe church of Walkern and divine service…”.

What did this mean for the Humberstones? The ecclesiastical courts possessed a range of penalties that could be used against religious dissenters. They could impose substantial fines, sometimes severe enough to threaten a family’s finances.

An attendance bond might be required, compelling the Humberstones to pledge a sum of money as a guarantee that they would attend church and conform to the religious laws. Persistent refusal could ultimately lead to excommunication, which carried serious civil consequences, including exclusion from many aspects of public life. Some religious dissenters elsewhere were imprisoned, though imprisonment was not automatic.

In the most extreme cases of the period, nonconformists could suffer public humiliation and corporal punishment, including the stocks, whipping, branding, or the cropping of ears. Such penalties were usually associated with more serious or persistent offenders and with proceedings in other courts, notably the Star Chamber.

As significant residents of the village, the Humberstones may have feared that continued resistance would bring increasingly severe consequences. In the end they appear to have conceded, and no further action was taken. Their decision was no doubt made at considerable cost to their conscience, as was the case for many English men and women during the religious tensions of the 1630s.

This was not, however, the end of the story for the vicar, John Gorsuch. His later career would prove equally controversial — and that is a story for the next article.

    Notes

• Peter Lake, Laudian and Royalist Polemic in Seventeenth-Century England.
  

• Julie Spraggon, Puritan Iconoclasm during the English Civil War (2000).
  

• Sir Henry Chauncy, The Historical Antiquities of Hertfordshire.
  

• Victoria County History: Hertfordshire (Walkern parish and clergy entries).
  

https://walkernhistorysociety.co.uk (Accessed 07/07/2026

https://archive.org/details/nonconformityin01urwigoog/page/n4/mode/2up (Accessed 07/07/2026

Anyone with an interest in the history of England's churches will know that centuries of use have brought about enormous change. Successive generations have endured war, disease, failed harvests, political upheaval and religious change, each leaving its mark on these ancient buildings. Much has been lost, defaced or altered to suit the tastes of the day, or because of changing patterns of worship and liturgy. We are fortunate, therefore, that it is still possible to encounter something truly remarkable that has probably survived simply because later alterations to the building inadvertently protected it.

One such example is the mutilated Anglo-Saxon rood pictured above, which can be seen in St Mary's Church, Walkern, Hertfordshire. This monumental depiction of Christ is one of only a handful to survive in its original location anywhere in the country. The rood is carved into what was once the outside wall of the Anglo-Saxon church, above the original south doorway. Later Norman enlargement of the church enclosed the rood within the building, but at some point—perhaps when the roof was raised and the arch heightened between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries—the figure was damaged.

The original external wall is marked in pink on the plan above.

The robed figure dates to around AD 950–1000, stands approximately five feet tall, and is situated some twelve feet above the present floor. Its facial features are still striking and clearly visible from below, although I was unable to detect the moustache that has been described by those who have examined the carving more closely. The figure wears an alb in low relief, tied at the waist, with a cross on the front. Although the ankles remain visible, the arms and feet have sadly been lost. Even so, we are fortunate to have as much of the carving as survives.

Today only the bare chalk remains—we have plenty of that in this part of Hertfordshire—but the figure was almost certainly brightly painted and would have formed a striking presence above the church door. Comparable Anglo-Saxon roods elsewhere in the country preserve traces of their original colour. Particularly interesting is the fact that Christ wears a crown, presenting him not as the suffering Christ but as Christ the victorious King. Together with the moustache, this reflects a conventional Anglo-Saxon representation of Christ.

The figure must have made a powerful impression on those entering the church through the south doorway. It may have served as a reminder that they were entering Christ's kingdom under the protection of a triumphant and victorious Saviour. It is also possible that the image was believed to have a protective role over the church, the village and its people.

So how did the rood survive the destruction of the Reformation in a church that experienced its own share of religious upheaval some six hundred years later? Ironically, it was earlier destruction of a different kind that ultimately ensured its survival. Although part of the carving was lost, the damage had made it an integral part of the fabric of St Mary's. Positioned high above the floor and embedded within the wall, it was neither easily reached nor easily removed. Unlike a wooden rood, it could not simply be dismantled, nor could it be carried away and destroyed as happened to so much medieval church furniture. In a country where so much has been lost, it is heartening that remarkable survivals such as this continue to speak to us across the centuries. Sometimes the greatest treasures are not those preserved by careful planning, but those that survived almost by accident.

Walkern Church

I vividly remember an iconic scene from the 1970 historical drama Cromwell (starring Richard Harris). Cromwell is seated in his family pew in the village church. Slowly he looks up and, to his horror, sees that the altar has been adorned with candles and church plate, while newly installed altar rails divide the sanctuary from the congregation. He protests loudly to the vicar, who explains that he is merely obeying the orders of the Archbishop, acting on the King's authority. The Puritan Cromwell storms from his pew and violently destroys what he denounces as "popish idolatry."

It may be a dramatisation, but there is more than a grain of historical truth in that scene, as I discovered while researching one of our own Hertfordshire churches.

It is Christmas 1636 in the tiny parish of Walkern. The congregation has gathered at St Mary's Church to celebrate Holy Communion, but as the service unfolds, it becomes clear that all is not as it should be.

Thomas Humberstone and his wife refuse to join the rest of the congregation in approaching the altar to receive communion. Instead, they kneel at the chancel steps. The vicar, John Gorsuch, refuses to administer the sacrament to them from that position. Between priest and parishioners stand the newly erected altar rails.

In that moment, a quiet Hertfordshire village became a participant in one of the great religious controversies of seventeenth-century England, as the sweeping reforms of Archbishop William Laud reached this small rural parish.

By 1636, King Charles I was well into his controversial "Personal Rule", the eleven-year period during which he governed without Parliament. Throughout these years, Archbishop Laud acted as the King's chief religious enforcer, determined to impose strict uniformity and ceremonial worship throughout the Church of England. His policies sought to suppress Puritanism, restore traditional ritual, and reinforce a highly structured and hierarchical church.

Among the most controversial of Laud's reforms was the instruction that communion tables should be moved permanently to the east end of churches, treated as fixed altars and enclosed by altar rails. Although such rails had never disappeared entirely from England's churches, many congregations served by Puritan clergy had removed them as symbols of what they regarded as lingering Roman Catholic practice. To many Puritans, the rails represented an unnecessary barrier between clergy and congregation—a visible reminder of the hierarchy they wished to dismantle.

John Gorsuch was an enthusiastic supporter of Laud's programme. He became the local representative of the Caroline Church in Walkern. As events would show, however, not everyone in the village shared his convictions.

Thomas Humberstone and his wife were prepared to make their opposition public. Their refusal to receive communion at the altar rail was more than a private act of conscience; it was a deliberate protest that may well have caused divisions within both the parish and the wider community.

The Humberstones were no ordinary villagers. They were substantial landholders, well represented in parish records, and their impressive monuments still survive within the church. They were a family of influence whose opinions carried weight.

Nor were they alone. Across Hertfordshire, other clergy and parishioners found themselves in conflict with Laud's reforms. Charles Chauncy, vicar of nearby St Mary's, Ware, faced disciplinary proceedings for his Puritan beliefs, including his opposition to altar rails, before emigrating to New England in 1637. John Rudd of Stevenage, meanwhile, attempted to steer a careful course between conformity and Puritan sympathy, as did many clergy who found themselves under increasing pressure to obey Laud's demands or face serious consequences.

As we can see from the memorial stone below, Charles Chauncy did very well for himself after his emigration to America.

Hertfordshire records preserve considerable evidence of the tensions created by the Laudian reforms during the 1630s. Although outright violence was relatively uncommon, churchwardens' accounts, ecclesiastical court records and diocesan papers reveal widespread passive resistance and growing Puritan discontent.

Elsewhere in the county, however, opposition became far more dramatic. At Rickmansworth in 1640, Captain Aylee and a group of soldiers "did riotously and suddenly pull downe and breake in peeces the rayles about the Communion Table, and breake down and defaced part of the cover of the font." Aylee later boasted that he had personally destroyed communion rails in seventeen other Hertfordshire churches. Whether this was true or simply military bravado is impossible to know.

Not everyone of influence in Walkern sided with the Humberstones. The Capel family, Lords of the Manor of Walkern, stood firmly behind the established church. Arthur Capel, 1st Baron Capel of Hadham, became one of Hertfordshire's leading Royalists and worked hard to protect conformist clergy within his sphere of influence.

Yet Laud's reforms also alienated many members of the county gentry. Some resisted any suggestion that former church lands should be restored, while others resented the growing influence of bishops and clergy within the machinery of government, believing that such positions properly belonged to the lay elite.

As the 1630s gave way to the 1640s, the political tide began to turn. The dispute over altar rails moved beyond individual parishes and into the national arena. Parliament increasingly challenged the King's religious policies, while local acts of resistance, such as that of the Humberstones, reflected a much broader movement gathering strength across England.

Some parishioners remained seated during services, refused to bow towards the altar, kept their hats on, or, like the Humberstones, declined to receive communion at the altar rail. Others objected to the expense of erecting elaborate cedar or oak rails, arguing that scarce parish funds should support the poor rather than what they regarded as "popish" ornamentation.

The village of Walkern lying in the valley

By refusing to conform, the Humberstones were doing far more than challenging their parish priest. They were openly resisting a programme of religious reform backed by both King Charles I and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Their protest demonstrated the depth of their convictions and illustrates how profoundly national religious policy could shape life in even the smallest rural communities.

The dispute over the altar rails was only the beginning in Walkern. Behind it lay a bitter struggle involving some of the most powerful families in Hertfordshire, one that mirrored the divisions that would soon tear the kingdom itself apart. That is a story for a future article.

Notes

Primary Sources

• Dowsing, William. The Journal of William Dowsing: Iconoclasm in East Anglia during the English Civil War. Edited by Trevor Cooper. Woodbridge: Boydell Press for the Ecclesiological Society, 2001.

• The Journal of William Dowsing of Stratford, Parliamentary Visitor... 1643–1644. Edited by C. H. Evelyn White. Ipswich: Pawsey & Hayes, 1885

Secondary Sources

https://walkernhistorysociety.co.uk  Accessed 25/06/2026

https://www.ubbw.org.uk/Churches/Gorsuch.html Accessed 24/06/2026

https://www.harpenden-history.org.uk/harpenden-history/brief_history_of_harpenden_general_articles/overview-of-harpendens-history/the-civil-war-in-hertfordshire-1642-1647 Accessed 24/06/202

https://archive.org/details/bim_early-english-books-1641-1700_the-historical-antiquiti_chauncy-sir-henry_1700/mode/2up Accessed 24/06/2016

• The English Civil War: A People's History, by Diane Purkiss

• Victoria County History of Hertfordshire.

• Hertfordshire Record Society publications

• C.M Spicer. Tyme out of Mind.

  Self published 1984

Images my own.

When my family moved to the village of Bramfield in Hertfordshire in the 1970s, one of the first things we were told was that the parish had once been the first living of Thomas Becket, later Archbishop of Canterbury and martyr. The claim appears again and again in county and parish histories, and even on the Church of England’s website, A Church Near You.

There was (or still is) said to be a pond near the church that was associated with Thomas Becket known as ‘Beckets Pond’, and if it still exists is likely to be in the grounds of the old rectory. This was where local tradition says his monks brewed their beer.

Bramfield has clearly cherished this remarkable tradition linking it to one of England’s most famous saints. But is there any truth in it? And if it were true, could this quiet village ever have become a place of pilgrimage after Becket’s martyrdom?

It’s hard to imagine. Bramfield lies just three miles from the county town of Hertford and no longer even has a village shop. The idea of it once being crowded with pilgrims seems unlikely — but the story is intriguing enough to deserve a closer look.

What is the evidence for a Bramfield connection?

Thomas Becket was born around 1120 in London. As a young man he entered the service of Theobald of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury. During the 1140s, while serving as a clerk in Theobald’s household, Becket began to receive small ecclesiastical benefices to support his clerical training and career.

According to a long-standing tradition recorded by the chroniclers of St Albans Abbey, one of these early livings was the rectory of Bramfield — said to have been Becket’s first benefice. The connection was noted by medieval writers and later repeated by Hertfordshire antiquarian Robert Clutterbuck in History and Antiquities of the County of Hertford (1821). “The rectory is said to have been the first preferment of Thomas à Becket, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury and martyr; and the tradition is in some degree confirmed by a piece of water in the rectorial garden, which still retains the name of Becket’s Pond.” (See note below).

However, no presentation charter or contemporary record survives to confirm the appointment. There is, as yet, no solid documentary evidence linking Becket directly to Bramfield, and Clutterbuck was simply reporting local tradition. Even so, the tradition endured and became an established part of the parish’s local memory.

So could Bramfield have become a small centre of devotion?

After Becket’s martyrdom in 1170, Canterbury Cathedral became one of Europe’s greatest pilgrimage shrines. Across England, churches and chapels associated with him seem to have attracted local devotion and St Andrew’s Church, Bramfield, appears to have been among them. While there is no firm evidence that Bramfield ever developed into a recognised pilgrimage centre on a large scale, it is likely that local people visited the church in honour of Becket and so the story of Bramfield being his first living has come down to us in the present day. Whether Becket ever lived in the village or even visited is of course open to speculation. It’s lovely to imagine that he did.

Legacy

The present St Andrew’s Church, with its medieval tower and peaceful setting, stands as a reminder of this tradition. Even if the documentary proof is uncertain, the association between Becket and Bramfield has survived for centuries — a fragment of England’s vast web of Becket tradition that stretched from Canterbury to this small parish.

Notes

Clutterbuck, Robert, The History and Antiquities of the County of Hertford, vol. II (London, 1821), p. 244.

Historic England, Listing entry for St Andrew’s Church, Bramfield (accessed 2026)

Church of England, 'A Church Near You' – St Andrew, Bramfield (accessed 2025)

Shephall Church where many of the Nodes family are interred.

Wills can tell us a great deal about a family and the times in which they lived, and the will of Charles Nodes of Shephall Bury, Hertfordshire, is no exception. Proved in 1651, it set out in minute detail his wishes for his family, in what was clearly an attempt to guide their future long after his death.

Searching through wills can sometimes involve ploughing through a great deal of mundane detail—depending on your field of interest, of course—but occasionally they reveal real gems that provide valuable insights into families as people, complete with their own human stories. One such example appears in the will of Charles Nodes.

The following extract outlines how his estate was to be managed after his death:

• Burial in the chancel of Shephall Church, if convenient.

• To his wife Frances: £50, a silver basin, and half the household linen.

• To his daughter Jane, in addition to the legacy left to her under the will of the testator's father: £2,000 if she marries Augustine Earle, Esquire, with whom the testator had made articles of agreement concerning a marriage settlement; otherwise £1,500.

• To his second son Edmund: all lands and tenements, freehold and copyhold, purchased from Thomas Hanscombe in Holwell and Shillington, together with a legacy of £2,000.

• To his youngest daughter Elizabeth: £2,000.

• To his youngest son, recently born and to be named John: £3,000.

• To his eldest son George: all plate, linen and household goods not previously bequeathed.

The will further directed that these legacies should be paid from the personal estate if possible, with any surplus divided equally among the younger children. If insufficient funds were available, the sums were to be raised from rents, profits and real estate.

The wealth that Charles was distributing had its origins in the remarkable rise of the Nodes family during the Tudor period. The manor of Shephall had originally belonged to the Abbey of St Albans. Following the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII, former monastic lands were redistributed to lay owners. George Nodes, Charles's uncle, was among the many royal servants who benefited from these changes.

George served as "Sargyaunt of ye Bucke Houndes" to Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I and Elizabeth I. As a trusted royal servant, he received both a pension and grants of property in Shephall and neighbouring villages. In 1542 he acquired substantial holdings and became the first member of the Nodes family to possess the manor of Shephall. The family's ownership would continue for more than two centuries.

Memorial brass to George Nodes and his wife Margaret. Shephall Church

George Nodes was precisely the type of capable Tudor servant whose loyalty and service enabled political upheaval to become family advancement. The determination to acquire, preserve and transmit property remained a defining feature of the family in later generations, and it is clearly visible in Charles Nodes's will.

Charles died in 1651, only two years after the execution of King Charles I and during the early years of the Commonwealth. I have not been able to find any definite clues regarding the family's political sympathies, perhaps the family were divided on this issue. The obvious theory would be that the Nodes family supported the King, especially as their privileged position came from loyal service to the crown. Indeed there are recurring appearances of the name Charles in the family tree—and a notable absence of Olivers. However, marriage alliances at that time may tell a different story, as one member of the Nodes family married into a prominent parliamentarian family in Bedfordshire. Nevertheless, like many gentry families, the Nodes’ almost certainly found their lives shaped by one of the most politically turbulent periods in English history.

From a human-history perspective, the most intriguing entry in the will concerns the proposed marriage of Jane Nodes to Augustine Earle, Esquire. Arranged marriages between gentry families were by no means unusual during the seventeenth century. Jane's marriage was not simply a personal matter; it was also a dynastic and financial agreement between two families. By including specific provisions in his will, Charles was effectively attempting to manage the future of his family from beyond the grave. The substantial marriage portion offered to Jane suggests that the match was considered particularly important. Marriage among the gentry was expected to preserve or enhance social status, protect family property and inheritance, and ensure that daughters were adequately provided for.

The reference to marriage articles is especially revealing. It indicates that the proposed match was sufficiently advanced to require a formal legal agreement. Such agreements typically specified the size of the dowry, the settlement of land or income upon the couple, and provisions for any future children. Unfortunately, the surviving records leave us wondering what Jane herself thought of the arrangement. Was Augustine Earle a welcome suitor or merely a suitable one? Did the marriage proceed as planned, or were the reduced financial terms intended as a form of pressure to ensure compliance with her father's wishes? The will cannot answer all the questions, so I had to find out what happened to Jane and Augustine.

Jane followed her father's wishes and married Augustine Earle. The inscription on the memorial to Augustine's mother in Sturton-le-Steeple church, Nottinghamshire, tells us a little more about the family Jane married into:

Here lieth the body of Dame Frances Earle daughter of Sir Edward Hartup of Buckminster and relict of Sir Richard Earle of Cragglethorpe in the county of Lincoln, Bart., by whom she had twelve children, of which nine dying infants, only three lived to be married, viz. Augustine, Richard, and Elizabeth. Augustine her eldest son married Jane Nodes, and had issue Richard who died unmarried. Richard, the second son, married Eleanor Welby by whom he had only one son Richard, who also dying unmarried, the aforesaid Elizabeth is the only heir at law remaining; who married John Thornhagh of Fenton in the county of Nottingham, Esqr., by whom she had eight children of which six only are living, viz. Elizabeth, Frances, St. Andrew, Mary, Sarah and John. Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, married Oswald Mozley, son of Oswald Mozley. Elizabeth, wife of the above-mentioned John Thornhagh, erected this monument in memory of her mother who died . . . . . . aged 80.

Jane and Augustine had a son, Richard. It was undoubtedly a good match for Jane, who had married into a titled family. However, their time together was brief. Jane died on 25 May 1654, only three years after her father's will was proved, and Augustine followed her ten days later, dying on 4 June 1654. Both were buried at Braughing in Hertfordshire.

I have not found any record of a monument or tomb to Jane and Augustine in Braughing church that might provide further clues about the circumstances of their deaths. The fact that they died within days of one another immediately raises the possibility of an infectious illness. The 1650s saw recurrent outbreaks of smallpox, ague and other diseases, and it is certainly possible that both succumbed to the same infection.

Charles Nodes had put considerable effort into securing the future of his family through the detailed provisions of his will. Yet, as the memorial to Dame Frances Earle demonstrates, life in the seventeenth century was often fragile and uncertain. Infant mortality remained high; Dame Frances lost nine of her twelve children in infancy, while her grandson Richard, the son of Jane and Augustine, grew up without either parent.

Richard eventually became the fourth Baronet, but died unmarried in 1697 at the age of twenty-five. With his death, the direct line from Jane Nodes came to an end, and he left his estate to his great uncle, William Welby.

Bibliography

Primary Sources

• Will of Charles Nodes of Shephall Bury, proved 1651. The National Archives, Prerogative Court of Canterbury.

• Parish Registers of Braughing, Hertfordshire.

• Monumental inscription of Dame Frances Earle, Church of St Peter and St Paul, Sturton-le-Steeple, Nottinghamshire.

• Baronetage records relating to the Earle family of Stragglethorpe, Lincolnshire.

Published Primary Sources

• The Visitation of Hertfordshire.

• The Visitation of Nottinghamshire.

• The Visitation of Lincolnshire.

Secondary Sources

• The History and Antiquities of the County of Hertford.

• The Victoria History of the County of Hertford

Online Resources

• The National Archives Discovery Catalogue

• British History Online

• Internet Archive

• FamilySearch

Every year the town of Stevenage holds its Charter Fair. It takes place on 22nd and 23rd of September, unless one of those dates falls on a Sunday, in which case adjustments are made. The fair has been held annually in Stevenage for more than 700 years and, although today visitors are more likely to win a teddy bear or enjoy a ride on the dodgems than trade in wool, cloth or grain, it remains one of the town's most popular events. Many people walk down the High Street every day without realising that it preserves the medieval shape of Stevenage's market.

On 5 June 1281, King Edward I granted a Royal Charter to Stevenage at the request of the lord of the manor. The charter officially gave the town the right to hold a weekly market and an annual fair "for all time". The fair held today is therefore an echo of a tradition stretching back more than seven centuries. It has been held every year since the charter was granted. In difficult times the fair has occasionally had to be scaled down, but it has always been considered important to hold the event in some form so that the town does not lose its charter rights. The original 1281 charter granted by Edward I is held by The National Archives.

So what was Stevenage like before the charter was granted in 1281?

The supposed location of the market cross. Sadly no trace remains though the name of one of the buildings in Middle Row gave a clue to its whereabouts in the 1800s.

Before the thirteenth century, Stevenage was a small and largely unremarkable agricultural community centred on the higher ground around St Nicholas Church. During the early 1200s, however, the main centre of population shifted down into the valley, aligning itself with a well-used Roman trackway. What became the High Street formed part of the Great North Road between London and the north of England—a perfect location for trade to flourish, as indeed it did before the charter was granted.

The lord of the manor was the Abbot of Westminster, who in the early thirteenth century laid out a planned market town along the Roman road, creating the burgage plots that still influence the layout of the Old Town today. This medieval arrangement remains clearly visible in the High Street. Once the market had been established, the population grew rapidly. The first recorded market in Stevenage was held in 1223, and the Charter of 1281 gave it official and permanent status.

The picture below shows Middle Row, a pedestrian lane running parallel to the High Street. It is all that remains of what was once a central block of market stalls and buildings occupying the middle of the marketplace. A market cross, proudly signifying the official status of the market, stood at one end of what is now Middle Row. For centuries this area formed the commercial heart of medieval Stevenage, with traders and customers gathering beneath rows of shops and stalls that stood between the two carriageways of the High Street.

Middle Row

So how did the establishment of a market and annual fair affect the people of Stevenage? Was the granting of the charter a generous gift from the King? In reality, it was largely about money, control and order, and formed part of a wider transformation taking place across medieval England. The Crown could encourage economic growth, but charters also reinforced legal authority and regulated trade. It was a period in which ordinary people became increasingly connected to wider economic influences.

At the beginning of the thirteenth century, a Stevenage villager lived within a largely subsistence-based agricultural economy, with few opportunities to travel or encounter influences from beyond the local area. By 1300, that same individual—or their descendants—might be selling produce for cash, paying monetary rents, purchasing goods brought from distant regions and selling surplus grain in the market rather than exchanging it with neighbours. There would also have been opportunities to meet travelling merchants bringing not only goods, but news, ideas and information from further afield. The world had opened up.

Undoubtedly, the establishment of markets and a fair stimulated the local economy of Stevenage in the thirteenth century. The population grew, the town prospered and, although the market stalls have long since disappeared and traders now sell coffee, beauty treatments and antiques rather than wool and grain, the shape of medieval Stevenage remains surprisingly easy to read for those who know where to look.

Notes

https://www.stevenage.gov.uk/documents/planning-policy/examination-of-our-local-plan-2011-2031/examination-library/a-review-of-the-stevenage-conservation-areas.pdf

(Accessed 11/06/2026)

https://www.stevenage.gov.uk/stevenage-museum/history-of-stevenage/articles-about-the-towns-early-history/the-lost-landscape-of-stevenage

(Accessed 11/06/2026)

"Here under lyeth the bodye of Margaret Nodes ye wyfe of George Nodes late of Shephall berry sargyaunt of ye Bucke houndes unto kynge Henry, kynge Edward, Quene Marye & Quene Elizabeth, which Margaret deceased the 6th daye of January in the year of our Lord God 1582."

On a recent church crawl I came across this particularly interesting memorial brass in St Mary's Church, Shephall. Although it officially commemorates the death of Margaret Nodes, it arguably tells us even more about her husband George and the important role he played at the Tudor court under four successive monarchs. Another brass commemorating both George and Margaret can also be seen in the church, recording much the same information, although it is rather difficult to photograph.

The inscription records that George served as "Sargyaunt of ye Bucke houndes" to King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary I and Queen Elizabeth I. The fact that he managed to retain such an important position throughout the reigns of four Tudor monarchs is remarkable in itself. It suggests that he was a trusted royal servant who successfully navigated the religious, political and personal upheavals that accompanied the frequent changes of monarch and policy during the sixteenth century.

Intrigued by the brass, I decided to find out more about George and his long career, and what his duties would actually have involved.

A buckhound was used for hunting smaller breeds of deer, particularly fallow and roe deer. As Sergeant of the Buckhounds, George would have served under the Master of Buckhounds, an office usually held by a high-ranking nobleman. During the Tudor period the post was held by figures such as Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who succeeded his elder brother John Dudley, Viscount Lisle.

George's role would have been far more hands-on. He would have been responsible for managing the royal hunting dogs and kennels and helping to organise the monarch's hunting expeditions. Hunting was enormously important to the Tudor monarchs, particularly Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. It was far more than a leisure activity; it was a display of power, status and physical prowess, as well as an opportunity for political discussion and entertainment. George would have travelled extensively with the court, which was frequently on the move. Horses, hounds and hunting equipment had to accompany the monarch or be sent ahead to the next destination on a royal progress so that everything was ready at a moment's notice.

Shephall Church, Hertfordshire.

Before the English Reformation, the manor of Shephall belonged to the Abbey of St Albans. Following the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII, former monastic lands were redistributed to lay owners. George Nodes was one of the many Tudor servants and courtiers who benefited from these changes. In 1542, in addition to receiving a pension, he acquired property in Shephall and neighbouring villages. He became the first member of the Nodes family to hold the manor of Shephall, and the family's ownership continued over two centuries. In 1544 George was called on a muster of the army for King Henry’s invasion of France and the capture of Boulogne, so was probably expected to provide local men for the army. (Spicer 1984).

The story of George Nodes illustrates how dramatically fortunes could change in Tudor England. Beginning as a local farmer, he rose through loyal service to the Crown to become a significant landowner and a member of the royal household. His memorial brass therefore commemorates more than the death of Margaret Nodes; it preserves the story of a man whose career spanned the reigns of four Tudor monarchs and whose family prospered through some of the most transformative events in English history.

Sources

Chauncy, Henry. The Historical Antiquities of Hertfordshire (1826), p. 415.

'Parishes: Shephall', in A History of the County of Hertford, Vol. 2, edited by William Page (1908), pp. 443–446.

The National Archives, PROB 11/47, Will of George Nodes.

Spicer, C. M. Tyme out of Mind (1984). Self Published

Philip's side of the inscription provides a fulsome biography. We are told that his family was of "great antiquity", and details are given of his marriage, his lack of children, and how he substantially increased his sister's fortune upon her marriage.

His sister's side of the memorial, however, reveals almost nothing about her life. Despite living twenty-eight years longer than her brother, she is dismissed in just a few lines. At first, I thought the final sentence reflected poorly on her character, but it apparently means that, on the day of resurrection, when all are raised to eternal life, her true virtues will be revealed for all to see.

It does, however, leave me wondering about Philip's wife. We are told about her family background and informed that she was childless, yet she is not commemorated on the monument, or anywhere in the church that I have discovered. Perhaps both Philip's wife and sister died without children, as the estate passed to a cousin following his death, though it looks as if only an heir from the male line was acceptable to inherit the title and estates.

The memorial raises almost as many questions as it answers — which is often the case with church monuments. It is an excellent example of how memorials were carefully constructed statements about status, family, inheritance, and reputation, rather than what we would really like to see, a straightforward account of a person’s life. Their inscriptions tell us what the family wished future generations to remember, but sometimes what is omitted can be just as revealing as what is recorded.

Hertford Castle Gatehouse. (15th Century)

One fine day in 1973, our teacher announced that my school year would be helping at the Synod celebrations taking place in the grounds of Hertford Castle. I remember being tasked with selling programmes for the commemoration of an event I knew very little about, though it did mean an evening out and a new dress.

In 673, Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, called the first national council (or synod) of the English Church. It brought together bishops from the different Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. Bede recorded the event in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People:

“In the year of our Lord’s incarnation, 673… a synod of the English Church was held… on the twenty-fourth day of September, at the place which is called Herutford.
There met together many bishops of the English nation, desirous to enjoin the observance of such things as were agreeable to the unity and the peace of the church.
Theodore, the most reverend Archbishop of Canterbury… presided over this synod, being the first of the archbishops whom all the English Church consented to obey. In this synod we treated of ten articles, which we judged to be necessary for the church, and all the bishops unanimously subscribed to them…”

(Source text from the Fordham University Medieval Sourcebook.)

Theodore of Tarsus (Public Domain)

In 664, the better-known Synod of Whitby had been summoned to debate disagreements between Roman and Celtic church practices. The decision at Whitby was that the English Church should follow Roman rather than Celtic customs, particularly in calculating the date of Easter.

The Synod of Whitby brought much-needed unity to the Church in England, but it achieved little more than agreement in principle and lacked the detail needed to put its decisions fully into practice. Nine years later, the Synod of Hertford was called by Theodore to work through those details and to ensure that what had been discussed and agreed upon was implemented across the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms.

This was the event we were celebrating in the summer of 1973. A pageant was held in front of the castle gatehouse, with local residents dressed in suitably Anglo-Saxon costume. The 7th-century Synod was brought back to life 1,300 years later in 20th-century Hertford. Two commemorative stones were unveiled to mark the occasion, and it became a celebration for the whole town.

Hertford Museum Copyright

However, according to some historians, we may have been celebrating the Synod a year too late — and perhaps even in the wrong town. Bede’s evidence for dating the Synod appears to conflict with other evidence he himself records. He gives the year of the Synod as 673, but also states that it occurred in the “first indiction”, an indiction being a fifteen-year tax cycle used during this period. The text of the Synod, however, claims that the bishops met on 24 September, which in the first indiction would actually have fallen in 672. Bede also states that the Synod met in the third year of the reign of King Ecgfrith, yet by September of that year Ecgfrith was already in the fourth year of his reign. This raises the possibility that we were commemorating the event a year late.

The other contentious issue is location. Were we celebrating in the wrong Hertford? Was there sufficient evidence to be confident that the Synod took place in “our” Hertford? Bede states that the Synod was held at “Herutford”, and most historians believe this refers to Hertford in Hertfordshire. Not everyone agrees, however. Four different versions of “Herutford” are mentioned in the Domesday Book, although historian Catherine Cubitt argues that Hertford in Hertfordshire remains the most likely location.

Hartford in Cambridgeshire has also been suggested as a possible site because of its central position for attendees and because the Synod was led by Bisi, Bishop of the East Angles. Yet Hertford in Hertfordshire also had important advantages. It lay close to the Roman road of Ermine Street, stood on the River Lea, making it accessible for travellers, and occupied a position near the boundaries of several kingdoms. Some historians have argued that there is little evidence of a settlement there in the 7th century of sufficient importance to host such a significant national gathering. However, I had the privilege of being involved in the Foxholes Farm archaeological dig on the outskirts of Hertford town centre in the mid-1970s. This multi-period site revealed evidence of buildings and pottery dating from the 7th century.

Hertford Castle Postern Gate

The differing interpretations of those who study this period show just how fragile the evidence can be. Limited sources, together with copies of copies of original manuscripts, make certainty impossible. Yet for those of us celebrating an important event in the history of our town, the finer details mattered very little.

Bibliography

Primary Sources

• Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, translated by Leo Sherley-Price, revised by R. E. Latham (London: Penguin Classics)

• Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church, Volume I: A.D. 871–1204, edited by Dorothy Whitelock, M. Brett and C. N. L. Brooke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981).

• Domesday Book, Hertfordshire section.

Secondary Sources

• Catherine Cubitt, Anglo-Saxon Church Councils c.650–c.850 (London: Leicester University Press, 1995).

• Nicholas Brooks, The Early History of the Church of Canterbury: Christ Church from 597 to 1066 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1984).

• Frank M. Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, 3rd edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971).

Local and Archaeological Material

• Hertford Archaeological Society publications on the Foxholes Farm excavations.

• Hertfordshire Historic Environment Record (HER), entries relating to Foxholes Farm and early medieval Hertford.

• Hertfordshire Archaeological Society journals and transactions relating to early Hertford.

The Benefaction Board in St Mary’s Church, Shephall, Stevenage.

A benefaction board was usually a painted wooden panel placed in a prominent position in the church which recorded the names of donors, the dates of the gifts or wills, the amount of money or land donated, and how the charity was to be distributed.

It is easy to deduce that once a benefactors name and charitable donation was on the board for all to see it would have been a timely reminder to the benefactor, as well as to the church wardens and overseers who administered the donations, of their various obligations to the poor of the parish. It also meant that the benefactors were memorialized for their charitable deeds for generations to come. Inclusion on the board was possibly a sign of status for some as it would indicate they had sufficient wealth to help those less fortunate. The board may have also served to encourage others in the parish to contribute.

The amazing church roof beams at St Mary’s, some dating from the 14th century.

Before the welfare state was set up, these charitable gifts were central to survival for many poor people. The church was the administrative heart of the parish, and as such was tied to the life of the community for more than just religious purposes.

Benefaction boards can provide us with a wealth of information about the parish in the past, and as such can be a useful resource for family history, and for the names of people in the parish long forgotten and not otherwise recorded. They are also useful for examining how poor relief operated at the time, the social set up of the church and parish, land ownership and rents. They can also provide useful information on the lives of women, who may otherwise have never been named in parish records. Women often left money to parish charities in their wills.

Some of the names and land holdings mentioned on the board pictured at the top of the article are now only visible in areas and roads of the new town of Stevenage which now surrounds the village of Shephall. The church, the village green and some of the older houses survive as a reminder of its more rural past.

The board was erected early in the 19th century and shows the types of bequest typical of a rural parish at this time and in previous centuries. The local landed family had left bequests to the poor and the money invested in land holdings. On the board can be seen examples of land or cottages whose rents went to support poor relief. One entry on the board, that of the will of Thomas Chapman, dates from as far back as 1666 and was obviously still providing poor relief when the board was erected and probably for long after.

The final entry allowing grazing rights from Lammas Day until Candlemas Day would have been a vital lifeline for the poor of the parish and essential for survival.

Notes

Tyme out of Mind by CM Spicer

Self published

1984 ISBN 0 9509907 0 1

This beautiful round tower church is dedicated to St Margaret and is situated in the village of Witton in north east Norfolk. St Margaret’s dates from the Saxon period, has a 11th century nave, and had a south aisle and chancel added in the 14th century. It has 2 Saxon windows in the north wall. Witton is situated 2 miles inland from the coastal village of Bacton and is a ‘must see’ for anyone who loves churches and finds themselves in that area.

With Good Friday approaching I thought it might be interesting to consider what this solemn and reflective day was probably like for the clergy and congregation of St Margaret’s in the medieval period, and how it differs from the Good Friday experience of a modern congregation in the church I attend. I found there were many similarities and a few  important differences.

Just as today, Good Friday was a day of reverence, penance, fasting and abstinence. Mass was not celebrated and instead there was a service of readings, prayers and a passion narrative. The clergy would be wearing black, and the atmosphere in the church would have been one of mourning and contemplation. The church would have been stripped of any ornamentation.

Today we strip the altar and surrounding area at the end of the evening Maundy Thursday service, which is followed by a simple supper. The church is lit by candles after the service and there is a vigil until midnight. This is very like the Tenebrae (Latin for darkness or shadows) service that would likely have taken place in the evening at St Margaret’s.

Veneration of the cross would have been an important part of the day for St Margaret’s medieval congregation. A crucifix would have been displayed and the clergy and congregation would have approached it barefoot to kiss or touch it. In some places people crept on their knees to venerate the cross. This act became known as “creeping to the cross”. The cross was approached reverently and in silence. In our church today a simple wooden cross is situated next to the altar throughout the season of Lent. Each Sunday it is adorned with items associated with the crucifixion, and prayers of veneration are said at the beginning of each service.

Dave Hitchborne / Interior of St Andrew, Heckington / Easter Sepulchre

CC BY-SA 2.0

Another Good Friday practice in the medieval church in England was the Easter Sepulchre ceremony. The consecrated host and a crucifix were placed in a special structure called an Easter Sepulchre. Usually located on the north side of the chancel, this practice symbolised Christ being laid in the tomb. An Easter Sepulchre could be constructed of wood or be built as a niche in the wall. Some were highly decorated. The sepulchre would be opened in a ceremony on Easter morning. Many medieval churches have surviving examples of this important structure.

Away from all the church ceremony other devotional practices took place at this time in the medieval period. Some towns staged mystery plays which told the story of the passion. It was a time for giving alms to the poor. This charitable giving is commemorated in a service on Maundy Thursday held each year in different parts of the country when the monarch presents Maundy Money to nominated citizens of the area.

An important Good Friday event in our town is the Good Friday Walk of Witness. Congregations from all the town churches congregate with crosses and banners and process to the town square. When the procession reaches its destination, a service is held and hymns sung. A solemn service known as ‘the last hour of the cross’ is held on Good Friday afternoon.

It is interesting to observe that life in our modern post reformation church still retains so many of the traditions from centuries ago. After the reformation however some of the practices so vital to Good Friday for a medieval congregation were abolished or simplified. The practices of ‘Creeping to the Cross’ and the Easter Sepulchre largely disappeared. Good Friday was, and still is however, a day to challenge the faithful visually, physically and emotionally. A day for the congregation to participate in and experience at every level.