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CHAPTER II

MONASTIC INNS

Rural England, during the two centuries after the Conquest, was practically under martial law. The hardy Men of Kent and the Vale of Holmsdale were strong enough to retain some of their ancient rights and privileges. Beyond these districts local government was suppressed and a military despotism took its place, administered often by half-civilized chieftains. One influence alone was formidable enough to modify and soften the crude tyranny of the feudal system—that of the Monasteries.

The religious orders were the only class who had directly profited by the new regime to increase their power. Hitherto merely national they now became, in a way, part of an international system. Not that they ceased to be patriotic. In the combinations against regal misrule which produced the Great Charters, Bishops and Abbots threw in their lot heartily with the lay barons. But in themselves they formed at this time an almost independent authority with special privileges dangerous to meddle with, because behind them was the Universal Church and its temporal head the Pope, now just reaching the zenith of his authority.

It was the religious orders that saved England from barbarism. Each monastery was a kind of impregnable city within which all the graces of civilization were fostered. Here learning, literature and art were diligently studied; rich and poor, bondman and free, were welcomed as scholars if only they proved their ability to profit by the tuition. A certain number of manors were allotted to the Church, and this number was constantly being increased by royal or private benefaction. The tenants of ecclesiastical manors, more especially the villeins or serfs, were in these early times much better treated than those subject to the secular lords. The tenures were generally easy, labour customs could be commuted for a small sum of money, and the serfs could acquire freedom on very moderate terms. Enlightened forms of lease were introduced.

The monks were the great agriculturists of the Middle Ages, and so were concerned in the maintenance of facilities for traffic. Apart from this their one duty to the State was to satisfy the trinoda necessitas, particularly the care of roads and bridges. This was considered a pious and meritorious duty often rewarded with special indulgences; such undertakings were a work of mercy, in that they befriended the unfortunate traveller. The roads adjoining a monastic estate were usually kept in fair condition, as compared with those in other districts. The first London Bridge was built by the Prior of St. Mary Overie; another great endowed bridge, that over the Medway at Rochester, owes its origin to the great St. Dunstan. Nearly all the picturesque gothic bridges which still survive were the work of the monks. Travelling was in many other ways directly fostered by the monasteries. Communications were constantly passing between the various houses of an order, many of which were on the Continent. Authority for the election of a new abbot or a change in the statutes would have to be obtained from Rome. The two centuries after the Conquest witnessed a continual rebuilding and beautifying of the Abbey Churches. Materials had to be brought from a distance, skilled artists engaged, rich plate, metal work, and ornate vestments procured for the altar-service. All this was a great stimulus to trade.

The doors of the monastery were open to all comers, and there were many reasons why hospitality would be sought at a religious house in preference to the manorial inn. Rich people resorted to them because of their comfort and security; the poor because there was nothing to pay. No unpleasant questions were likely to be asked; so we find Quentin Durward (in the novel of Sir Walter Scott, which gives us such an excellent idea of the period he describes,) always avoiding the public inns and taking refuge at the monasteries in order to minimize the risk of his secret mission being betrayed. Most of these houses had been endowed by the king or nobles, and their descendants considered themselves at home within the precincts.

These noble guests, especially when they were accompanied by a miscellaneous retinue, were apt to be rather too roisterous and turbulent for the cloister. A statute of Edward I forbids anyone to lodge at a religious house without the formal invitation of the Superior, unless he be the founder, and then he must conform closely to the rules and regulations. The poor alone were to retain the right to the grace of hospitality free of charge. Numerous later statutes were enacted with the same end in view. The monks of Battle rebuilt their Guest House outside the Abbey Gate where it still remains a most beautiful example of fifteenth-century half-timber work. Long before this time, however, another expedient had been devised to cope with the increasing crowd of travellers needing rest and refreshment.

Whenever we come across an inn bearing the sign of the Bull it is worth while to inquire whether there was formerly a religious house in the neighbourhood. We have examined into the history of upwards of a hundred “Bulls,” and even where definite proof has not been forthcoming, the circumstantial evidence has always been sufficient to arouse suspicion. It is especially a common sign in connection with a nunnery. Thus the inns of this name at Dartford, Barking and Malling, all three very ancient, belonged to the local abbeys. At Hythe, on the Medway, a manor of Malling Abbey, there is a Bull Inn; and another at Theale in Berkshire, which was the property of the prioress of Goring. Elfrida, the mother-in-law of Edward the Martyr, founded a nunnery at Reading in expiation of the base murder of that prince. This nunnery was abolished owing to scandals in the twelfth century, but a Bull Inn still flourishes near the site of the Abbey Gate. At Newington, next Sittingbourne, the prioress was found strangled in her bed and the nuns were removed elsewhere, but the Bull remains as the chief inn to this day.

The Bull, Sudbury

In deeds of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries relating to the Bull at Barking, this house is referred to as “tectum vel hospitium vocatum le Bole.” Bole is the old French equivalent of the Latin bulla, a seal from which it is clear that no bovine connection is implied by the sign, but merely that the inn was licensed under the seal of the Abbey. Some antiquaries have suggested that such inns were tied houses where ale of monastic brewing was sold, reminding us of the current explanation of the xx and xxx marks on barrels of strong ale, as having been originally the seals guaranteeing the quality in the days when the monks were the leading brewers. It is true that the peculiar virtue of the wells at Burton-on-Trent was known at a very early period, and that the ale brewed in the local Abbey was an article of commerce when Richard I was king. Tied houses were not uncommon in the Middle Ages, witness the Bear Inn in Southwark, leased in 1319 by Thomas Drinkwater, wine merchant to James Beauflur, on condition that he purchased all his liquor from the said Thomas Drinkwater, who agreed to furnish all needful flagons, mugs, cutlery and linen. On the other hand, very few collegiate houses brewed ale beyond the needs of their own consumption, and we have not yet come across any lease binding their tenants.