29 October, 2008

Pictures of Yorkshire (6)

Jervaulx Abbey was founded in 1156 as a daughter house of Byland Abbey, and was one of the four great Cistercian abbeys of Yorkshire, with Byland, Rievaulx and Fountains.
Edward II stayed at Jervaulx (which I pronounce as 'Jair-voh', though I'm not sure if that's correct) on 16 and 17 October 1323.

In 1536, the last abbot of Jervaulx, Adam Sedbergh, joined the Pilgrimage of Grace, a massive uprising in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire triggered by the start of the Dissolution. (I think that's the best name for a rebellion I've ever heard.) Sedbergh was hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn on 2 June 1537, and as punishment for his actions, Jervaulx was mostly destroyed. Today, it's an atmospheric, romantically overgrown ruin, privately owned but open to the public. (How come some people are lucky enough to own a twelfth-century abbey? Why can't I have one?)

(Below) The nave of the abbey church, taken from behind the high altar.

(Right) The effigy of Henry Fitzhugh, a great benefactor of the abbey, which stands in front of the high altar. He died in 1307, the year Edward II became king.

More pics of Jervaulx:

21 October, 2008

Edward II, For Once, Is Competent

In 1320, Edward II, thirteen years after his accession and at the age of thirty-six, finally learned how to be a king - which, not surprisingly, amazed his contemporaries.

In June 1320, Edward travelled to France to perform homage for his French lands in Gascony and Ponthieu to his overlord and brother-in-law, Philip V. Some of Philip’s councillors demanded that he take an oath of fealty as well. A chancery clerk of Edward’s, an eyewitness, gives this account of what followed:

"And when some of the said prelates and nobles leaned towards our said lord [Edward II] and began to instruct him, our said lord now turned towards the said king [Philip V] without having been advised," and announced

"You will well remember that the homage which we did at Boulogne [in 1308] was done according to the form of the agreement between our ancestors, and according to the form in which our ancestors performed it, and your father [Philip IV] agreed to this form, and we have his letters regarding this, and we have now done homage in this same form. One cannot properly demand another form of us, and we will not recognise the validity of doing it. And as for this fealty, we are certain that we will not do it, and nor should it be demanded of us at a later time, and we are unable to believe that this fealty should be given as you demand of us."

The clerk continued "And then the king of France turned to the men of his council, and none of them could say anything to contradict the response of our said lord." [The clerk's account is my translation from the French.]

Edward’s articulate defence, spoken spontaneously without the benefit of any advice, had reduced them to stunned silence, and the question of fealty was quietly dropped. This shows that Edward was - or could be - a fluent, persuasive public speaker, that he could think on his feet, that he could marshal and enumerate facts and arguments, and that he well understood the issues at hand and the history behind them.

Parliament opened at Westminster on 6 October 1320. The opening speech – who gave it is not known – said that Edward had summoned it "in his great desire and wish to do all the things which concern a good lord for the benefit of his realm and of his people." (Apparently he'd finally realised that he was meant to be 'a good lord' to his people.) Thomas Cobham, bishop of Worcester, wrote approvingly - and, it has to be said, condescendingly - about Edward's behaviour at the parliament, in a letter to Pope John XXII:

"Besides which, Holy Father, your devoted son, our lord the king, in the parliament summoned to London bore himself splendidly, with prudence and discretion, contrary to his former habit rising early and presenting a nobler and pleasant countenance to prelates and lords. Present almost every day in person, he arranged what business was to be dealt with, discussed and determined. Where amendment was necessary he ingeniously supplied what was lacking, thus giving joy to his people, ensuring their security, and providing reliable hope of an improvement in behaviour."

Cobham also wrote to Cardinal Vitale Dufour: "Besides which, father and chosen lord, since you are looking for favourable news about the posture and bearing of our lord the king, let me tell you that in the parliament assembled in London…he bore himself honourably, prudently and with discretion. All those wishing to speak with reasonableness he listened to patiently, assigning prelates and lords for the hearing and implementation of petitions, and in many instances supplying ingeniously of his own discernment what he felt to be lacking. On that account our people rejoice greatly, there is considerable hope of an improvement in his behaviour and a greater possibility of unity and harmony."

From which we learn that Edward was actually getting up early for once (GASP!), and that he could be patient, wise, judicious, clever and capable. The chronicler Nicholas Trevet agrees with Thomas Cobham, saying that Edward "showed prudence in answering the petitions of the poor, and clemency as much as severity in judicial matters, to the amazement of many who were there." The Scalacronica of the 1350s - written by Sir Thomas Gray, whose father was taken prisoner at Bannockburn in 1314 - calls Edward, uniquely, "wise, gentle and amiable in conversation."

All of this goes some way to demonstrating that Edward II was far more capable than he's usually given credit for. People who have called Edward II stupid - for example, the early twentieth-century historians T. F. Tout, who described him as "a brutal, brainless athlete" and "incompetent, idle, frivolous and incurious," J. Mackinnon, who declared "a greater ninny never sat on the English throne,"* and H. Vickers, who called him "a scatter-brained wastrel" - entirely miss the point. Edward was not stupid or even close to it, and neither was he incompetent. He had ability in spades when he chose. Most of the time, though, he just couldn't be bothered.

[* Or words to that effect; I don't have the exact quote in front of me.]

Needless to say, this sudden burst of competence didn't last. On 26 October 1320, the day after the Westminster parliament ended, Edward ordered the Gower peninsula in South Wales to be taken into his own hands, prior to awarding it to his favourite Hugh Despenser and trampling over the rights of the Marcher lords. This foolish act led inexorably to the Despenser War a few months later, and, ultimately, to Edward's downfall and deposition.
Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.


- Cobham's letters: Roy Martin Haines, King Edward II (2003), p. 45.

- Trevet: The Parliamentary Rolls of Medieval England, Introduction to the October 1320 parliament.

- E. Pole Stuart, 'The Interview between Philip V and Edward II at Amiens in 1320', English Historical Review, 41 (1926), pp. 412-415.

- The Scalacronica of Sir Thomas Gray, ed. Herbert Maxwell (1907), pp. 74-75.

16 October, 2008

Pictures of Yorkshire (5)

The village, or rather hamlet, where we stayed for a week: Old Byland, about three miles from Rievaulx Abbey and five from the town of Helmsley.

All Saints, Old Byland
All Saints church dates back to Anglo-Saxon times, and was rebuilt in the 1140s – that is, during the Anarchy, when King Stephen and his cousin the Empress Maud duked it out for control of the kingdom.

The font, which dates from the era when the church was rebuilt, and has been used to baptise inhabitants of Old Byland for the last 870 years.

Looking down the nave. The chancel arch is 12th century.

Human faces with rams' horns, carved on the arch.

15th century beams, rediscovered in the 1980s - having presumably been plastered over before that.

An Anglo-Saxon sundial, shoved in upside down by a mason, probably in the 1140s.

And finally, a cottage near Rievaulx Abbey, which I think I'd kill to own. Look at that gorgeous garden!