I am following Penny Dolan and posting about Notre Dame. On Monday evening, we all watched in horror as catastrophic and seemingly unstoppable fire tore through Notre Dame. We were one with the people of Paris, watching hands on mouths, faces wet with tears, as the flames rose above the great medieval structure and we woke the next morning not knowing how much of the magnificent building would be left.  

I was reminded of the past destruction of other great churches and cathedrals. St. Nikolai Kirche in Hamburg, destroyed in the firestorm of July, 1943. Marien Kirche in Lübeck, severely damaged in an RAF raid on Palm Sunday, 1942 and Coventry Cathedral left a roofless ruin by the Coventry Blitz.

After all the photographs and footage of the destruction of Notre Dame, the most powerful image came the morning after as a shaft of sunlight illuminated the cross still standing on the Cathedral's altar. I was reminded of the burnt cross in Coventry, made from two charred beams found crossed on the floor of the cathedral the day after the raid. In this Holy Week, could there be a more potent message of indestructible faith?

Pliny and Roman Knowledge Gathering 

Gaius Plinius Secundas was born in 23AD in northern Italy. Of equestrian class he served in the Roman army in Germany and held the procuratorships of Gallia Narbonensis, Africa, Hispania Tarraconensis and Belgica. We know of seven works that he wrote thanks to the letters of his nephew Pliny the younger, but the only one to survive to modern times is The Natural History.
The Natural History is in essence an encyclopaedia of 1st Century Roman knowledge. A glance over subject headings gives you a clue of the breadth of what Pliny was trying to achieve:

• The Universe and the World
• Zoology 
• Botany 
• Medicine 
• Mining and Minerals 

Pliny is unequivocal in his statement that the Earth is a sphere. Of the planets he names Mars, Venus, Mercury Saturn and Jupiter. He states that Saturn is cold and frozen (which it is). That Mars only rotates every two years (which is correct, Mars has a 687 day orbit). That Saturn has a 30 year orbit (which is so nearly right as to be considered right, it has a 29 year orbit). That Jupiter has a 12 year orbit (another one we will let him have. Jupiter has an 11 year orbit). 

Elsewhere he cites Britain as being 800 miles long (sooooo close. It’s 874 miles). He also talks about the weather as being thoroughly divorced from the Gods. In fact Pliny is not at all God minded: “To believe in either an infinite number of deities corresponding to men’s virtues_ plumbs an even greater depth of foolishness”

All this makes it all the more surprising when Pliny comes out with ‘knowledge’ such as this on Indians: “it is known that many inhabitants exceed seven feet in height.”
He sees no reason to doubt the accounts of previous travellers’ tales on this sub-continent: “On many mountains there are men with Dogs’ heads who are covered with wild beast skins; they bark instead of speaking.”
In the mountains of Eastern India, Pliny tells us, there are satyrs (though my translation has a footnote that suggests these might actually be monkeys). Near the source of the Ganges were a tribe who had no mouths and who were all completely covered in hair. Apparently most Indians lived to between 130 and 200 years.

Yes, India is very far away. And no, Pliny had never been there. He’s relying on past sources which, to his credit, he quotes extensively. But it’s worth remembering that trade between India and Rome was fairly busy. Particularly since sailors had discovered how to use the monsoon winds to make sea crossings to India rather than travel the long arduous silk road.
Therefore there must have been traders knocking about the docks in Rome who were current travellers to India and who surely, at a bare minimum, could have sorted out the satyr/monkey confusion. 

This embassy had come about following the adventures of a certain tax collector’s freedman. Pliny declines to name the freedman, instead naming his master (who did not have the adventures and was not there) as Annius Plocamus. This unfairly anonymous freedman was sailing around the coast of Arabia when his ship was caught in a terrible storm. Hopelessly thrown off course he was shipwrecked on the island of Tarpobane.
Here he somehow managed to ingratiate himself enough with the king for the ruler to offer him hospitality. Stuck for 6 months waiting for the monsoon winds to change direction and thus get him home, this anonymous freedman shows us something of his character by learning to speak the language thoroughly. The charming tongue that had sweet talked his way into a royal residence is clearly in full flow. The Tarpobanian king is so impressed by what the freedman tells him that he is moved to: ‘adopt a friendly attitude to the Romans and sent four envoys to Rome, led by Rachias.’

Rachias is Pliny’s source for his list of facts surrounding Tarpobane. Clearly a better one than the 300 year old Greek accounts that Pliny relies on for other sections. Or is he? For Rachias tells the Romans about the Chinese, whom his father had personally met.
They: “are above average height, have golden coloured hair, blue eyes and harsh voices.” 
Hmmm.


Chapter Headings.

Aside from “On Cabbage” there are so many other great chapter headings that I defy anyone not to read further on. Such as:

The evil eye.
A short but glorious paragraph on the Illyrians amongst who can ‘kill those they stare at for a longer time, especially if it is with a look of anger.’  I’m picturing a Paddington hard stare.

Pliny describes a number of exotic trees. 
Yes, he does. I like something that delivers on what it promises. It’s satisfying.

Pliny gives a brief but entertaining description of apes.
Yes he does give a brief but entertaining description of apes. Best line: they “look like persons who understand they are being congratulated.”

The decay of morality is caused by the produce of the sea.
A political treatise that demands an instant read. It’s the sea sponges, isn’t it? I’ve always harboured suspicions about them. 

Famous wines of antiquity.
Which is followed by:

The physiological effects of wine - much in the manner of a disclaimer.

Mistaken ideas about olive trees.
I wasn’t aware I had any ideas floating about in my brain about olive trees. Yet I felt personally accused by this chapter heading and read on to see where I'd been mistaken in not thinking about olive trees.

Unrelated people sometimes look alike.
Yes, Pliny they do. But I suddenly have an overwhelming need to hear your take on the obvious.

The shortness of active life and the signs of impending death. 
OK. I might skip this one.

Pliny’s People

Amongst these fabulous chapter titles are some great stories relating to named people. Some are very famous, such as Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar, Pliny tells us, "used to dictate to his secretaries four letters at once when dealing with important matters, or, if not busy with anything else, seven letters at a time."

If that makes you feel inadequate treat it as a warning against multi tasking. Had Caesar not been writing seven letters at once he might well have noticed that his best mates all loathed him and were plotting his murder. 

Most people in The Natural History you will have never have heard of, and never would have heard of, had Pliny not immortalised them for history. And not always for a reason they would have liked.

• First up Cornelius Gallus and Titus Hetereius, who Pliny records for all time as two men who died whilst having sexual intercourse with women. I’m presuming Pliny has in his head men who died whilst having sexual intercourse with men, else why distinguish it? Clearly he thought better of recording that, for it is never mentioned and we shall never know who they were. A thing that I never knew would annoy me. But it does.

• A Praetorian Guard named Vinnius Valens who was able to hold up a cart loaded with wine-skins until the cart was emptied. He could also stop a wagon by grabbing it one hand whilst it’s horses pulled and pulled to go forward. Which is the kind of showing off that clearly indicates he had far too much time on his hands during guard duty.

• The orator Marcus Corvinus who, in a chapter devoted to feats of memory, Pliny cruelly singles out as a man who could not remember his own name.

• Marcus Sergius who was wounded 23 times in two campaigns, including a wound that severed his right hand. No matter. He had a replacement hand fitted made of iron and in his next campaign captured twelve enemy camps in Gaul.

• Marcus Salvius Otho who taught the Emperor Nero to perfume his feet. Not to be outdone on the beauty treatment front, Nero’s wife Poppaea bathed in asses milk to aid with wrinkle reduction. “For this purpose she was always accompanied by a string of asses.” Pliny tells us, unforgivably failing to make a joke about this.

• Sergius Orata, as well as being the first to introduce oyster farming, made his financial fortune from being the inventor of the “shower-bath, and then from selling country houses fitted with showers.” 

What Pliny likes

“Their hygiene is amazing!” he cries.
“They note the idleness of slackers, reprove them and later even punish them with death.” He repeats with admiration.
“After such considerations let us evaluate their natural intelligence.” Err alright Pliny we’ll do that, if we must.
And just when you think there is nothing further to learn about bees, here comes another chapter heading: Further Observations about bees.

Conclusion. Pliny likes bees.
We might expect a similar appreciation of ants. After all ants have a similarly industrious life and organisational structure as bees. Ants get no mention. Probably because they don’t make “the sweetest, finest, most health-promoting liquid.” Lazy ants.


What Pliny doesn’t like.
Unnecessary expenditure and luxury. It is of a recurrent annoyance to him. He is annoyed that the extravagant colour purple is now the standard covering for dining-room couches.
He’s furious that, “Men have not been ashamed to adopt silk clothing in summer because of it’s lightness.”
He’s disgusted that people are spending money on perfume: “Perfumes are the most pointless of all luxuries.” He fumes of the story of someone, “with no Imperial connections [who] gave instructions for the walls of his bathroom to be sprinkled with perfume.”
And raving mad that:  “This extravagant behaviour has found it’s way even into our military camps!”
He simply cannot contain himself on the subject of perfumes and I’m afraid begins a sentence with a rather strong expletive. “But heaven’s alive – at the present time some people add perfume to their drinks and consider the bitterness worth it so that their body can enjoy the strong scent inside and out.”

Though actually I’m with Pliny on this one. You what? Drinking perfume? What is wrong with you?

He also holds strong views on drinkers. “Careful investigation reveals that no activity takes up more of a man’s life than wine-making, as if Nature had not given us a perfectly healthy liquid to drink – namely, water – of which all other animals avail themselves!”
Much like the perfume rant above, this seems just a personal dislike of other people’s pleasures. But then it has another kicker of a final line. “We compel even our beasts of burden to drink wine!”
Do we? Or rather who does? Who is inebriating their pet dog or chicken? In the context of a city of animals keeling over in the street, vomiting into shop doorways and generally being a pest, Pliny’s dislike of drinking seems justified.

“Because of wine thousands of crimes have been committed, and drinking occasions so much pleasure that a huge section of mankind knows no other reward in life.” 
There we were thinking of the Romans as industrious, conquering types. When in reality Pliny knows them to be pissed half the time and the other half getting their pets pissed.

Strange but true?
These are all bits I’d file under a miscellaneous of, are you sure that’s right Pliny?

Such as, “That women have changed into men is not a myth.”

Which might elicit an instant shake of your head but Pliny has eye witnesses. He does. And one of those eye witnesses is himself:  “In Africa, I myself saw someone who became a man on his wedding-day.".
A line that for anyone else would be the starting point of one great anecdote. The sort that gets you drinks brought in the pub. Not Pliny though. No, that’s it. No further explanation offered. YOU CAN WRITE 14 CHAPTERS ON BEES BUT.... words fail me

Onions... “When used as a suppository they disperse haemorrhoids.” There is but one question here: sliced or whole onions? This is not something you want to get wrong. 

“All other animals derive satisfaction from having mated: man gets almost none.” Which does make you wonder whether Pliny is doing it right.

There’s also this, “Man is the only animal whose first experience of mating is accompanied by regret.”
Now we know that Pliny has clearly spent a lot of time happily watching bees, gathering fourteen chapters worth of material. I can only assume he has dedicated a similar amount of time observing a variety of animals at it in order to reach such a firm conclusion.

Pliny is very clear that Rome is the most perfectly situated city. Particularly because of the climate which is a perfect mix of what is needed. “In the middle earth, because of a healthy mixture of fire and water, there are tracts that are fertile for all things_they are able to comprehend the whole of Nature.” 

And they have governments. Unlike those, “white, frosty skins with flaxen-coloured hair that hangs straight.” who have never had government because ”they are detached and solitary in keeping with the savagery of Nature that oppresses them.”
Which is as good a way of describing Britain as any.


The End
No piece on Pliny the Elder is complete without some mention of how he died, because it is the most well known thing about him. He was killed during the most famous volcanic eruption of all time, that of Vesuvius in 79 AD. How he came to die is so very Pliny. Fascinated by the strange plumes of smoke he witnessed from his villa, he ordered a boat to be launched so he could get nearer and see it for himself:

Cut off in a bay and unable to escape by sea, Pliny overcome by sulphur fumes and smoke, collapsed and died.

“Inspirational homes” might suggest a strapline blazoned across the front of a glossy décor magazine. But the sort of inspiration I’m talking about here is where real-life ancient buildings “inspire” me in my descriptions of the homes of the characters in my novels, which are set in 14th century southern England.

Last month, I discussed two buildings, found at the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum in West Sussex, that are my inspiration for the homes of rural peasants. Today, I am going to discuss two houses of somewhat higher standing: one the home of a well-to-do farming family and the other that of a wealthy Southampton merchant.

Both of these wealthier homes have two storeys, with a main “hall” downstairs and a “solar”, a private area for the family, upstairs. Both have additional rooms and, by comparison with the cottages, are really very spacious. Yet such homes would still be draughty and cold underfoot, the hearth might still be in the middle of the floor (though chimneys were beginning to be installed in wealthier homes), and the windows might still be pretty small and were almost certainly unglazed.

The Bayleaf Farmstead, again at the Weald and Downland Museum, is a reconstruction of an early 15th century hall-house, and is typical of “Wealden” houses, common in the Weald of Kent and East Sussex, which were mostly built by prosperous yeoman farmers or well-off craftsmen and tradesmen in towns.

Bayleaf comes from Chiddingstone, about 10 miles (16 km) north-west of Tunbridge Wells in Kent. The house is timber-framed with a tiled roof, and is constructed with four bays, two of which form the central hall, full height to the rafters. The outer bays are both two-storey, and the upper rooms have “jetties” to the front of the house. To one side of the central hall is what is referred to as the “parlour”, with a solar upstairs. On the other side of the hall are ground floor service rooms, with a large chamber on the first floor.

The main door of the house opens into a cross passage, which separates the central hall from the service rooms, and has a door at its other end leading to the rear of the house.

The central hall is significantly bigger than the two peasants’ cottages I described last month. It is open to the rafters, and has a rather grand double-height – but unglazed – window, with hinged and folding internal shutters, that provides good light for the dining table. Overall the effect is impressive. Nonetheless, this hall does still have a central hearth, shown as a rectangle of bricks more or less in the middle of the floor. Because, I suppose, the room is bigger than the halls in the peasant cottages, the smoke from the fire – which was burning nicely when I visited – did not seem quite so unpleasant. The smoke was rising upwards (rather than billowing), escaping perhaps through the small gabled opening in the roof ridge, although, as I have read elsewhere, it is possible that much of the smoke simply finds its way out through gaps between the roof tiles.

While this central hall is still the main living area, there are other “living rooms” (in contrast to the peasant cottages): the parlour to one side of the hall and the solar above it. The family was not obliged to spend their whole lives in this one room, grand as it is. It would certainly be the dining room, and where the family would receive guests, and where everyday domestic tasks might be carried out. But sleeping would be done elsewhere – probably upstairs – and perhaps family members could escape from each other occasionally to the parlour.

It is thought that initially some cooking may have taken place on the fire in the hall but, by the 16th century, the kitchen, used for brewing and baking as well as cooking meals, would have been in a separate building, for safety’s sake.

The furniture and furnishing in Bayleaf’s hall reflects the relative wealth of the occupants. The wide trestle table is laid with a cloth, the bench and stools are well made. There is a decorated cupboard, with pewter ware displayed, and a solid storage chest. Curtains hang on the walls behind the table, presumably for decoration but also to combat draughts.

On the other side of the cross passage, doors lead into the service rooms: the buttery, used mainly for storing vessels and utensils, and the pantry, used for storing food. A stairway at the back leads up to the chamber above, its original use being unknown, but perhaps used as a bedchamber for servants and/or the older children of the family.

At the other side of the hall, an opening by the high table – closed with a curtain rather than a wooden door – leads to the “parlour”. The downstairs room may have been used for sleeping, storage and work, such as spinning for the lady of the house and accounts for the master. The room upstairs, the “solar”, was probably where the family slept, that is, the master, his wife and their younger children. Older children might have slept in the parlour or perhaps in the service chamber at the other side of the house.

Interestingly, the upstairs solar is shown with its own privy. The museum says that the reconstruction of this privy is conjectural, but it is not unlikely. A small jetty at the back of the room indicates where the privy might have been. Typically, the latrine emptied onto the midden heap or into an open cesspit or a covered conduit. Sometimes such privies were installed in a room referred to as a “garderobe”, essentially a wardrobe, on the principle that the odour of urine kept pests away from valuable clothing. This doesn’t seem to be the case here. However, if the reconstruction is anything to go by, this privy was exceedingly draughty, but perhaps preferable to finding your way outdoors to the privy in the garden!

   

The furniture in the parlour and solar reflects the rooms’ most likely use, with beds and storage chests. The “best” bed in the solar chamber is a wonderful robust four-poster, with a ceiling (a “tester”) and curtains for privacy and to keep out draughts. The bed in the parlour is of a simpler design without the posts or hangings. The principal bed is shown with a truckle, a bed on wheels that slides underneath the larger bed, often used by the younger children.

Bayleaf is a beautiful house. I often have it in my mind when I’m thinking about the homes of the more well-to-do in my novels.

I also love the late 13th century Mediaeval Merchant’s House in French Street, Southampton, managed by English Heritage. The shape and style of this house sometimes merges with that of Bayleaf in my head when I’m thinking about the homes of my wealthier characters, although this merchant’s house is clearly more of a town house than Bayleaf.

The house was built in about 1290 by John Fortin, a prosperous merchant, and has survived largely intact. The main walls of the house were built of limestone but the overhanging bay at the front of the house is timber-framed. The roof is of Cornish slate.

This house does have some similarities with Bayleaf: it is spacious, has private family rooms and its furniture is well-made and relatively elaborate. But this house also acted as business premises for the owner, for it has a shop at the front and a room at the back that was probably used as an office, as well as an undercroft beneath the house for the storage of the merchant’s goods: barrels of wine! A wooden sign in the shape of a wine barrel hangs from the projecting upper chamber, alerting potential customers to the goods on offer here.

The front door beside the shop front leads into a narrow passage, with a door off it into the shop, and a door ahead leading into the private accommodation. The shop has unglazed windows but also shutters which can be let down to form a shop counter to the street. The shop itself is kitted out as a wine store, but I think that customers probably did not enter the shop, making their purchases from the counter.

Beyond the inner passage door, the passage leads on to an opening to the central hall, which, as with all the other houses, was the main living room, where the family ate and entertained, and carried out their everyday tasks. As with all the houses, the room is open to the rafters. It has relatively large windows, unglazed but protected by shutters. It has a 14th century chimney, although when the house was first built it would have had a central hearth. But wall fireplaces were becoming more common by the mid-14th century, perhaps particularly in towns. Relatively spacious as this room is, one cannot help but wonder at the inconvenience of having a fire in the middle of the floor, especially for the mistress of the house, as she swept past it with her long skirts, never mind the unpleasantness of the smoke! The arrival of chimneys must have seemed a wonderful innovation.

The passage continues on to a private room, probably used by the merchant as his office, which also has a fireplace. It is thought that a door led from this room to an external latrine.

The furniture in the hall consists of a long trestle table, a grand, painted throne-like chair for the master of the house, and a bench for his family. There is an elaborately carved and, surprisingly perhaps, brightly painted, cupboard, together with a couple of storage chests, hangings on the walls and an array of jugs and utensils on display. In the “office” is another table with stools, and yet another decorated cupboard and a chest.

Rising from the central hall, a substantial staircase takes you upstairs to the solar, where there are two chambers, located either side of the open hall and connected by a gallery that overlooks the hall below. The room at the back of the house is probably the bedchamber for the family, the one at the front for guests and perhaps also used as a day room by the women of the family, where the light from the relatively large window would be good for spinning or sewing.

The back bedchamber is furnished as a place for the whole family to sleep. The beds have testers and curtains, like the principal bed in Bayleaf, there is a very sturdy rocking cradle, a stool and elaborately carved and painted storage chests. There might have been a door leading to the external latrine tower.

So Bayleaf and the merchant’s house in Southampton represent the homes of comparatively wealthy mediaeval people. They afforded a little more privacy for their occupants than the peasant cottages, although children still slept with their parents, or perhaps with servants, so privacy remained limited. These two houses are also much lighter than the peasant cottages, with their larger windows, but the windows were still unglazed and therefore draughty until the shutters were closed, plunging the rooms into gloom. Heating in the merchant’s house, with two fireplaces downstairs, would no doubt have seemed a great improvement over the smoky central hearth of Bayleaf. But there was no heating in any of the upstairs rooms and I assume that all the downstairs rooms would have had floors of beaten earth so I am sure these houses must have been pretty chilly for all their relative sophistication. 

Nonetheless, they surely represented luxury compared to the peasant cottages we saw last month. Next month, I will look at one house that represents the homes of the gentry – a manor house, if a fairly grand one. True luxury, perhaps?

The first thing that is difficult to comprehend about Sachsenhausen strikes you before you get to it: this is no isolated space tucked away from prying eyes. The camp is situated in the small town of Oranienburg, 22km or less than an hour's train journey from the centre of Berlin. High-ranking officers lived in mansions around the perimeter and a large SS housing estate bordered the camp - local girls married the men who served there and families lived backing onto the walls and within earshot of the camp's brickworks and shooting gallery. Prisoners were marched through the town between the camp and forced labour details and there are accounts of the residents closing their doors and shutters at the sound of marching feet. The Camp Commandant's office was landscaped with trees and a duck pond and the barracks for the guards were surrounded by gardens. It is almost surreal how much part of the local fabric the camp was and how much of a village feel was created for the men who ran it. 

Sachsenhausen was established in 1936 and was initially used to imprison "undesirables" during the prettifying of Berlin that formed the background to the 1936 Olympics. Between then and 1945, over 200,000 people were interned there, including Jews, Sinti and Roma, homosexuals, “career criminals” and “antisocials”. By 1944, about 90 % of the internees were non-Germans, primarily citizens of the Soviet Union and Poland. The camp quickly became the model of what the National Socialists believed a concentration camp should be: an expression of absolute power. The barracks' triangular placement, fanning out from the parade ground, means that every aspect was overlooked by a huge machine gun set on top of the gate. If the prisoners faced the other way they were confronted by a gallows and the roll-call area is bordered by a running track where shoes were tested on a variety of materials, including cinders and cracked stones, by men carrying heavy packs of sand on their backs. Few survived this treatment for more than a matter of days. Visitors (including the industrialists who used its forced labour) were offered tours, the SS were trained there and, in 1938, the “Inspection of the Concentration Camps”, the central administrative office for all concentration camps in the territories controlled by Germany, was moved here.

Due to its proximity to Berlin, Sachsenhausen was a key

Memorial to the dead

forced labour camp. As well as the details in the camp itself, prisoners made up the workforce for the massive Klinkerwerk brickworks on the nearby lock, as well as the munitions factories operated by AEG and Siemens. By 1942, more than 100 satellite details and satellite camps worked out of Sachsenhausen. Tens of thousands of internees died from this forced labour, or from hunger, disease, and the medical experiments which were a feature of the site. In addition many were deliberately murdered, either in a specifically-built  “neck shot unit” (the fate of 13,000 Soviet POWs in 1941) and, from 1943, in a purpose built gas chamber. When asked at his trial why he introduced the mass extermination facility, Commandant Anton Kaindl responded "because it was a more efficient and more humane way to exterminate prisoners." On a busy day with school parties everywhere on site I have never been anywhere so silent as the remains of that chamber.

In 1945, with the war nearing its end, Sachsenhausen,

Prisoners, Sachsenhausen

along with the rest of the camps, was cleared. In February an SS special unit headed by Otto Moll murdered 3,000 internees who were considered dangerous (which could mean because they had military training) or were declared unfit and another 13,000 were taken to be killed at Mauthausen and Bergen-Belsen. On the 21 April more than 30,000 remaining internees were marched off on Death Marches towards the north-west, the intention, according to Kaindl's trial transcripts, being "to drive them onto barges out to sea and let them sink." The number who died remains unknown. On 22 April 1945, units of the Soviet and Polish armies liberated the 3,000 prisoners left behind due to sickness. 300 of the camp’s former inmates did not survive their liberation and died, and are buried, there.

This, however, was not the end of Sachsenhausen's story. From August 1945, Sachsenhausen became Special Camp No 7: an internment camp for German officers and political prisoners held by the Soviet Union. By 1948, the site, by now renamed Special Camp No.1, was the largest of three special camps in the Soviet Occupation Zone which together held over 60,000 prisoners. Information at the site describes the conditions during this period as inhuman: "Hunger and cold prevailed in the Special Camp. The inadequate hygienic and sanitary conditions and the insufficient nourishment led to disease and epidemics." By 1950 when the camp closed, another 12,500 men were added to the role of Sachsenhausen's dead.

The first memorial at Sachsenhausen was inaugurated in 1961

The red triangle memorial

by the pre-reunification East German government. In line with their thinking, the main emphasis then was on the role of political resistance. An obelisk was erected in the middle of the site which carries 18 red triangles, to commemorate the 18 nationalities of the political prisoners held there between 1936-45. Post reunification, along with other sites of this nature, the emphasis was on the victims who suffered and died. That two systems remembered Sachsenhausen in different ways caused problems for the site and how it was to be used and there are still visitors today who find the juxtaposition of Soviet and German memorials complicated. It is, I think, to the site's credit that the question of what it exists for is still under scrutiny. The historian Gunther Morsch, a previous director of the Sachsenhausen memorial and museum, has been very vocal about the need to re-examine how we approach these places, particularly in a political climate which is seeing a rise in populism and the right. "We want to keep honoring the victims. And most exhibitions are about their fate. But it has become clear that the emphasis must be shifted to the perpetrators' motives and the structures that enabled these crimes to be committed. More and more visitors were rightly asking, "How could such a thing happen?" and "Is it possible today?" Unfortunately, the second question had to be answered in the affirmative, because "National Socialism actually showed in its most radical form what people are capable of – even today." 

Sachsenhausen does not shy away from exploring the systematic extermination policy of the Nazis and its impact on individuals. The site is full of personal testimony which makes the numbers real and an art exhibition by former inmates which is both heart-breaking and hopeful. It is a brave place to visit - both for what it is trying to tell and what it demands from its visitors. If you go, don't take a tour - they'll whisk you through and serve you a potted version. Get the train from Berlin and walk from the station, it's horribly close. I spent a day there, too much in some ways, not enough in others. I wish I could go back and drag everyone who doesn't get the need for humanity and a united Europe with me. I defy even the toughest nut not to crack.

The image neatly demonstrates two major elements of the early treatment of the mentally ill. Firstly, that the emphasis lay with custody rather than cure and secondly that sufferers were dehumanised and treated as ‘freaks’ to be viewed for the frisson of shock, pity or sheer amusement. When the hospital was rebuilt in the 1670s, galleries were constructed partly ‘lest such persons that come to see the said Lunatickes may goe in danger of their Lives’. Physical restraint through the ages included manacles, chains, head collars and strait jackets. Although restraint was said to be used to stop patients tearing their clothes or harming themselves or others, it was also for the convenience of the keepers who performed a role that was more custodial than medical. A regime that commonly included cold baths, purges to induce vomiting and ‘voiding of the bowels’, bleeding and blistering seems as likely to have originated in a desire to cow and exhaust inmates into submission as to treat or cure them.

It was against this background impression of brutality and voyeurism that I began to research the treatment of John Clare’s madness for my novel, The Poet’s Wife. What I discovered was a complete surprise.

 
In 1841, John Clare entered what was then known as ‘Northampton Lunatic Asylum’, where he was to live as a patient until his death in 1864. I was fortunate enough to be able to visit what is now known as St Andrew’s Hospital and to be given a tour by its superintendent. The building was brand new when John Clare was brought there; it is built of white stone in a symmetrical  style and is set in extensive gardens. Clare’s maladies included hallucinations (he is reported to have seen ‘devils in a ceiling’), delusions (he believed he was married both to his real wife and to his childhood sweetheart) and at times a fragmentation of personality (adopting the persona of Admiral Nelson, Byron or Shakespeare). In general, his condition was harmless, although occasionally he would see himself as Jack Randall, a prize fighter of the day, which made him a little pugnacious. Yet, far from being restrained, Clare was allowed to wander down into the town where his favourite spot was a seat in an alcove of All Saints church. Here he would write verses in return for a drink of ale or a twist of tobacco to chew upon.

The superintendant explained that during the nineteenth century a large scale change in the care of the mentally ill occurred, thanks to the work of various reformers who, since the late eighteenth century had been championing a new approach that came to be known as ‘moral treatment’. The Enlightenment had brought a new focus of social welfare and individual rights. Perhaps by treating patients as rational beings who could make choices, interventions could be made that would be therapeutic; perhaps, for some patients, a cure might be possible after all.

A founding father of this approach was William Tuke, a Quaker, who created a small community of 30 patients in York in a quiet country house. Patients were given manual work to perform to provide a sense of purpose. His grandson, Samuel Tuke, wrote a treatise on the method, which involved close supervision by staff who were more nurses than ‘keepers’. Good behaviour was rewarded and patients who behaved badly were distracted or lost privileges.

Latterly, John Clare’s illness worsened and sadly disorderly behaviour led to his freedom to roam in the town being curtailed. John struggled with this. He wrote to his sons warning  them not to visit him in case they were 'captured'. Erroneously believing that the superintendent could ‘see’ for a three mile radius all around, he didn’t attempt to escape as he had from an earlier stay at an asylum in Essex but complained volubly that he lived ‘amongst the Babylonians’ where ‘people’s brains are turned the wrong way round’.

 

By W.W. Law - Bonham's, Public Domain

However, moral treatment offered other freedoms. He was allowed to work as a gardener, a role that would have suited him well as he had a great love of nature and the outdoors. (Close scrutiny of the image of the asylum above, reveals a man trundling a wheelbarrow downhill). 

Even more importantly, both for his wellbeing and for posterity, he was given pen, ink and paper and encouraged to write. We would not have the great body of his poems today if the superintendent had not followed the tenets of moral management and supported him. John Clare wrote perhaps his most famous poem ‘I am’ during his time at the Northampton Asylum – a poem that expresses his feelings of bewilderment and exhaustion with his illness and which cannot fail to touch the heart.

It is debatable how much of this actually took place in the manner stated as the Histoire is the only source and it may well have been exaggerated as artistic license. A Histoire is both a history and a story - rather like a historical novel. So it's probably best to sit on the fence and enjoy the tale for what it is rather than taking it as the literal truth.

William continued to exert his charm on his royal jailer, at one point playing a game with the king in his tent.

One day he was sitting in his tent,strewn with grasses and flowers in a variety of colours.William looked at the flowers, examining them from top to bottom.Happily and cheerfully he went about gathering the knights growing on the plantain,with its broad pointed leaves.
When he gathered enough to make a good handful,he said the King: ‘My dear Lord,would you like to play knights?’‘Yes.’ He said ‘my little friend.’The child immediately placed some on the King's lap, then he asked:’Who has the first go?’ ‘You, my dear little friend,’ replied the King. So he then took one of the knights,and the King placed his own against it.But it turned out that in the contest the King's knight lost its head which made William overjoyed.’

William survived to return home and grow up. A few years down the line the Histoire tells us that:

William had grown into a tall boy.
His body was so well fashioned
that, even if he had been created by the sculptors chisel,
his limbs would not have been so handsome. Etc etc. The chronicler puts in all the usual stock in trade descriptions of the ideal medieval man. However there are a couple of personal moments here. We are told that he had brown hair and an outdoor swarthy complexion.

In his teens William was sent to train with a family relative William de Tancarville, Chamberlain of Normandy and  ‘as is fitting for a nobleman setting off abroad to win an honourable reputation.’

Once in Normandy William started his training, but at times was a typical teenager. As the mother of two sons I can so identify with some of the habits of a rapidly growing adolescent youth.

People thought is a great pity that he stayed up so little at night and yet slept so late,that he ate and drank too much,and those scoundrels would laugh at him behind his back,asking of one another‘this greedy gorger William,in God's name, what good is he doing here?’ And they asked William de Tancarville his Lord ‘just how are you being served by this troublesome fellow, this devil of a glutton, who's always sleeping when he's not eating? The man is a fool who feeds him.’… The Chamberlain was much displeased with such words but he smiled and kept quiet, and then replied with a few well chosen words: ‘You will see, he'll set the world alight yet… You have no idea of the quality of the man I'm keeping.’

William became a knight at around the age of 21 and was girded by William de Tancarville with a sword and presented with a fine, expensive cloak.   From the start he was very eager to join in the fray and prove his worth. And when the town of Drincourt was attacked by the French and the Chamberlain and his knights came out to defend, William was determined to be at the forefront and had to be told not to be such a hothead. He did as he was told for a while, but then pushed forward again.

 Whatever happened, if there was to be a skirmish or battle,if knights were going to be locked in combat, he would make sure he was up there at the front.

He lost his horse in that battle and had to sell his fine knighting cloak for 22 shillings to buy a new one, although it only bought him a common soldier's mount.  The Histoire observes that It is well-known that poverty has brought dishonour on many a nobleman and been the ruin of them.
So William had to deal with the harsh realities of life. It was all too easy to fall into poverty  if you did not have the support of a patron, or if you did not shift for yourself. I think what happened in his early years had a bearing on how shrewd and clever he was with money in his later years as a great magnate and Regent of England. He knew how to spend it, but he was no spend thrift and he knew how to make it too.

His bacon was saved as a youngster when the Chamberlain wanted to attend a tournament with all his household and provided horses for the young men. William was last in the queue when it came to dishing out the animals and so found himself with a rum beast that no one else wanted.

‘The horse was brought out, a horse fine and valuable, had it not been for one flaw that was a terrible drawback: the horse was so wild that it could not be tamed. The Marshal mounted it. Not once did he use his elbows; instead he pricked it with his spurs and the horse, flying faster than a hawk, bounded forwards. At the point where it should have been reined in, it turned out that it pulled incredibly hard: never had it had a master able to make it pull less, even if he had had 15 reins to restrain it. The Marshal gave the matter thought and came up with a brilliant scheme: he let out the bridle at least three fingers’ length from the bit and so released the lock of the bit that it went down into its mouth so it had far less to bite on than was usual. For no amount of gold or other riches could he have reined him in any other way. He considered that he had been very clever. The horse was so improved by this new bridle that he could have been ridden around in half an acre of land as if he were the tamest on earth.'


William's horse Blancart, rendered as a herbacious arrangement at Cartmel Priory

William clearly understood horses and was a master of adapting to adversity. He did the best with what he had and sought to turn it to his advantage.

William went on to gain experience in the tournaments and did very well for himself. However, his time with the Chamberlain was over. De Tancarville had enough knights to fulfil his quota and William was basically made redundant. He returned to England and joined the service of his uncle, Patrick Earl of Salisbury who was preparing to go to Poitou as its governor. Once more employed, William headed to the South of France, where, while in his uncle's entourage he came into contact with Eleanor of Aquitaine, and saved her from ambush when she was attacked by members of the rebel de Lusignan family. His uncle was killed in this skirmish in front of William's eyes by being speared through the back. Eleanor managed to escape but William was wounded in the thigh, captured after putting up a tremendous fight and taken for ransom. At the time of the attack Eleanor's escort had not been wearing their armour. Later in life William always stayed close to his armour, and would put it on long before a battle situation arose, and I think it was something that was impressed on him that day in Poitou when they were attacked. This is from later in his life as an example:

The King said: ‘Go on, take that Armour off, Marshal. Why are you armed?’
The Marshal replied: ‘If it's so please you, sire, so much will I say, that I am very happy to be armed and my arms don't cramp my style in the slightest. I shall not remove my armour for the rest of this day until I have discovered what burden we shall have to shoulder. An unarmed man cannot last out in a crisis or a grave situation and we don't know what their intentions will be.’

In gratitude to William, Eleanor paid his ransom and gave him horses, arms and money and took him into her service. Two years later he became the tutor in chivalry to her eldest son, Henry. His father Henry II, had him crowned King in his own lifetime to assure the succession of the throne and William’s star continued to rise as he became established as young Henry's Marshal and one of his senior household Knights.

William remained in the Young King's household as a career knight for more than a decade and in that time entered full manhood. Young Henry although charming and handsome, was not always an easy master to serve. His father refused to relinquish any real power to him or keep him occupied in a a satisfying manner that suited his status. Frustrated, the young man  sought succour from his father in law Louis VII and the French, and asked William, to knight him.

Before the assembled counts and barons, and before other men such high rank, he girded the sword on the King of England and yet he had not one strip of land to his name or anything else, just his chivalry.

Matters were patched up for a while between father and son and William and his young charge took the life of the tourney with a vengeance. Sometimes William went off jousting of his own accord, and on one such occasion which is often mentioned in the biographies he managed to get his head stuck inside his helmet because of all the blows he'd received in the fight. The people of the tournament had adjudged him the man of the match and came to find him to presented with the prize which happened to be a large pike on a platter as in the fish!

They came to the forge, where they saw him with his head on the anvil. It was no laughing matter, far from it, for the smith with his hammers, wrenches and pincers, was going about the task of tearing off his helmet and cutting through the metal strips, which were quite staved in, smashed and battered. The helmet was so tight around his neck that it was freed with great difficulty. Once the helmet was prized of – and it was pulled off with great difficulty – the knights who had come to forge greeted him graciously.

 I am sure that back in the day William was delighted to receive the honour of being champion of the tourney, but my imagination furnishes me with a picture of a red-faced William gasping for fresh air and rather sore around the ears, being faced with a crowd of people bearing a large fish on a plate and it makes me smile.

William certainly seems to have enjoyed his life on the tourney field and to have been ideally suited to it. The Histoire is so joyous at this point and really gives a feel for the sites sounds and smells of the tourney round. Professor Crouch remarked that the tourneys must have had the ambiance of a large Gymkhana! We know the one year between Lent and Whitsuntide William and a companion took 103 knights prisoner. And when one took a knight prisoner on the tourney ground one was entitled to a ransom payment for having done so. It's basically a contact sport for prize-money.

While William was in service to the young King, jealous enemies at court accused him of having an affair with the young King's wife Marguerite. William staunchly denied this, but nevertheless he was banished from court. I don't think for a minute he did have an affair with the young King's wife. The result of the discovery of such a liaison, would not only have brought shame upon the Marshal, but would have cost him his life for it was treason. Given William’s morality compass which was generally one of honour, duty and truth, I personally don't think he would have done this. As it was just the accusation almost cost him his career and he was ousted from court. He took the opportunity to go to Cologne and visits the shrine of the three Kings there, who were particularly responsible for hearing the prayers of he falsely accused. He was offered employment by various magnates throughout Europe, but declined. He only had one Lord, the young King. As it happened young Henry and his father fell out again for various detailed political reasons and William was recalled to serve his master.

This was not a particularly happy time in Williams life. He was now well into his 30s, and perhaps approaching a crossroads. The behaviour appropriate to a younger man, now no longer sat so lightly on his shoulders. His young Lord, had taken to robbing churches and shrines to gain money for his war, including the shrine of our lady of Rocamadour, and although it does not say so in the Histoire, I gain the impression that William was very unhappy with such a state of affairs. Indeed when he founded the Priory at Cartmel, he had a curse written into the foundation charter that was to fall upon anyone who did anything to the detriment of the priory. Although many priories and abbeys have this type of clause written into their foundation charters, I do wonder if William was thinking of Rocamadour when he had this one put in.
Shortly after the young King had robbed the shrine, the dysentry from which he had been suffering, took a turn for the worse and it became obvious that he was going to die. William was with him on his deathbed and the young King had a particular request to make of him.

When it came to the reading of his will, he said this: ‘Marshal, you have ever been loyal to me, a staunch supporter in good faith. I leave you my cross so that on my behalf you can take it to the holy sepulchre and with it pay my debts to God.’ The Marshal replied: ‘sire, I give you my most grateful thanks! Since that is your provision in your will and you have chosen me for this task, I shall certainly do it, for that man is no loyal friend who is found wanting in help in a great moment of need.’

I think this visit to the Holy Land was the moment at the crossroads he had been travelling towards. I think he went there in some sort of spiritual crisis and whatever happened, he came home not exactly a different man, but one who had grown in all areas of his life. The Histoire tells us very little about his time there. Indeed, only circa 20 lines in the 19,000 line poem mention William Marshal's time in Outremer, although there is one very important occurrence that emerges much later in his life. Basically he obtained his own burial shrouds while abroad, and showed them to no one. He also vowed his body to the Templars at his death and made that vow during his pilgrimage.
I have written an article on my own blog about what William may have done in the Holy Land.  You can read it here. What Happens in the Holy Land stay in the Holy Land

William spent from the summer of 1183 to the spring of 1186 on pilgrimage to and from Outremer.
Once home, he took up service with Henry II again, who was pleased to see him and gave him lands  in Cumbria, and the wardship of Heloise, heir of William of Lancaster, Lord of Kendal.

The lady of Lancaster, he gave to the Marshall, and the Marshall did her high honour and kept her from dishonour for a long time, as his dear friend, but he never married her.

William Marshal's famous scarlet lion blazon

William could indeed have married her and made his life in this area as a baron, certainly with the same standing as his father, but he preferred not to. However he did come to spend time in Cumbriaon his return from the holy land, perhaps to recuperate from all the travelling, and to settle himself spiritually.
He seems to have enjoyed travel in different places, and Cumbria was certainly a new experience for him. It was while here that he began his plans to found a Priory on the land that King Henry had given him, although building did not start until after his marriage to Isabelle de Clare.

In 1188, William left Cumbria to go to Henry II who had need of him in Normandy, and it's here that he was promised an even greater heiress and Heloise of Kendal.
The King promised the Marshal in return for his service, the hand of the maiden of Striguil, a worthy, beautiful girl. 
Isabelle de Clare, was heiress to lands in Normandy, in Berkshire, the Welsh borders, Wales and Leinster in Ireland. She was just about of marriageable age and immensely wealthy. Not that it was certain William was going to claim his prize, because Henry was on the back foot. He was fighting both the King of France and his son Richard the Lionheart who was in rebellion against him. It was a vicious, bitter campaign, that saw the burning of Le Mans, Henry's birthplace. Henry himself, sick and distraught, fled the town as Richard entered through the gates. Riding rearguard, William sought to defend his ailing Lord, and showed what he was made of, when it turned out that those pursuing were led by none other than Richard the Lionheart

Like the prudent and wise man he was, he took up his shield and his lance, and spurred straight on to meet the advancing count Richard. When the count saw him coming, he shouted out at the top of his voice: ‘God’s legs, Marshal! Do not kill me, that would be a wicked thing to do, since you find me here completely unarmed.’ The Marshal replied: ‘Indeed I won't. Let the devil kill you! I shall not be the one to do it.’ This said, he struck the count's horse a blow with his lance, and the horse died instantly; it's never took another step forward. It died, and the count fell to the ground. It was a fine below, which came at an opportune moment for those riding ahead.

Henry was seriously ill, and died soon after. His body was born to the Abbey of Fontevraud by his household Knights, and while they were hold vigil there, Richard came to view his father's body, and talk to the men who were with him. The last time he had seen William, had been at the other end of a lance, and the Histoire gives us this conversation between them at the church.

‘Marshal, fair Sir, the other day you intended to kill me, and you would have, without a doubt, if I hadn't deflected your lance with my arm. That would have been a bad day.’
He replied to the count ‘My Lord, it was never my intention to kill you, never did I put my effort into that: I am still strong enough to direct my lance when armed and even more so on that occasion, when I was unarmed; if I had wanted, I could have driven it straight through your body, just as I did with that horse of yours. And I do not consider it a wicked thing for me to have killed it, nor am I sorry for doing so.’

Richard did not bear William a grudge for this. To the contrary he valued his steadfastness and loyalty and to that end, granted him permission to take Isabelle de Clare to wife. William went immediately to London. Isabelle was being kept in the Tower of London because she was such a great prize. William knew that although Richard was King, the situation wass volatile and he made haste to marry her straightaway. It was a political match. As far as we know they had never met. He was in his early forties she was eighteen at the oldest. What they thought on first seeing each other is not recorded, but they seem to have made a strong and affectionate marriage that lasted for 30 years. William set the tone of their marriage from the beginning. It was celebrated in London at the house of his good friend Richard FitzReinier, who provided what was necessary: Being a merchant too, FitzReiner probably had an eye to future profit with a man who had just become extremely rich in right of his wife!

Following the marriage, William and Isabelle took a month off to get to know each other.

 Once that fine, splendid wedding ceremony had taken place, in a manner that was fitting, I know that the Marshal took the lady to stay with Sir Engelram D’Abernon at Stoke, a peaceful spot, well appointed and a delight to the eye.

At this point in his life, William also took a moment to think of his proposed foundation at Cartmel, and sent a colony of Augustinian monks from the mother house at Bradenstoke Priory, to be the founder colony at Cartmel. The first prior of Cartmel was called Daniel and had charge from around 1194 until 1204.

Cartmel Priory

William and Isabelle were blessed with children almost straightaway. Their first son William was born probably in April 1190 possibly at Longeville in Normandy. Richard, their second child arrived probably about 18 months later, and this set the pattern. William and Isabelle would have 10 children- five boys and five girls because William believed in balance after all. William and Richard came first, then their daughter Mahelt or Matilda, then Gilbert, then Walter, then Isabelle, Sybilla and Eve, followed by Ancel and Joanna. (there is some debate about the timing and order of the middle children). By the time Joanna was born William was around 64 and Isabelle into her 40s. None of the boys were to have legitimate children, but all the girls had sons and daughters whose descendants are scattered round the world.

Chepstow Castle, One of William Marshal's Welsh Border fortresses. Below the doors commissioned by William Marshal in the 1190s at Chepstow. .

Williams spent the reign of King Richard bringing up his growing family, serving Richard in a military capacity, and also helps to rule the country during Richard’s absence on Crusade. He spent most of his time in Normandy, with short occasional returns to England. When, in 1199, Richard died from an arrow wound sustained at a siege in the Limousin, William was in Rouen and one of the first to receive the news. In fact he was on his way to bed but but ‘he put his boots back on’ and went to consult with Hubert Walter the Archbishop of Canterbury about what to do. The men had a long discussion about whether they should back John to be King, or offer the throne to his teenage nephew Prince Arthur. In the end William Marshal persuaded the Archbishop that they should sign up for John. The Archbishop agreed but with caveats. He supposedly said 'You will never come to regret anything you did as much as what you're doing now.’ ’
In hindsight perhaps William did wish that he hadn’t argued for John, but be that as it may, John was offered the crown, and for his aid in the matter, William was awarded the Earldom of Pembroke and custody of the Castle.


Pembroke Castle

John's reign proved to be a tricky one. John had inherited political difficulties from Richard, not particularly of Richard's doing, but the result of general political pull and push throughout Europe, and it has to be said that John's personality did nothing to mitigate circumstances. The Histoire says "The King's pride and arrogance increased; they so blurred his vision that he could not see reason indeed, I know for a fact that as a result he lost the affection of the barons of the land before he crossed to England." 
John did not have an easy character. His biographer WL Warren says of him that he had the mind of a great King and inclinations of petty tyrant, and as a form of shorthand that statement says it all. He was suspicious of everyone including William. Another suspicion was exacerbated during the fight for Normandy. Seeing the French overrunning Normandy, knowing that his own lands were under threat, William made a pact with the King of France and did him homage for the Norman lands. John not surprisingly took exception to this. William claimed that John had given him permission to give his oath to the French king for his Norman castles. One suspects at that point in his life William was sailing close to the wind. John decided to take one of William sons hostage as security for William’s good behaviour. William gave his eldest son willingly saying that "a man who bandages his finger when it is whole will find it so again when he chooses to take the bandage off."
William dug himself into a deeper hole by seeking permission to go to Ireland and sort out his land there. John had interests in Ireland and didn't want William meddling. However, he told William he could go, but then asked for his second son as a hostage too. Isabelle was very reluctant to give another boy into John's custody, but William was prepared to hand him over because that was the only way he was going to get to Ireland without being adjudged a rebel. So William handed over Richard too. At the same time he arranged a marriage for his eldest daughter Matilda with Hugh Bigod, eldest son of Roger Bigod Earl of Norfolk. This kept Matilda safe in England under the protection of a powerful family, lords of almost half of East Anglia. The marriage was a most suitable one and pleased both families involved,’ The Histoire tells us.

William duly sailed to Ireland with his family all but his hostage sons and his newly married daughter. Once there he set about organising his lands, and founding the town of New Ross on the River Barrow. The family stayed there for the next five years and William’s last two children were to be born in Leinster. King John had been hoping that the demand for the second son would keep William in England. He summoned William back to court to answer to him, along with the Justiciar of Ireland, Meilier Fitzhenry who was William's enemy. Indeed Meilier had instructions that the moment he and William sailed from Ireland, his men were to start making war on William's interests there. The Histoire says of a meeting held before William departed:

'They greatly feared the King’s sending for him was a trick and that he was acting more with a view to harming him than for his good. This view was expressed in the presence of the Countess, who had every fear as regards the King's word. The Marshal knew very well and was very aware that the King had not sent for him for his good and he had no doubt once he had left the land there would be strife and war.'

William made contingency plans, but when his men suggested that he himself should take hostages against the behaviour of men whom he was uncertain, William refused and very strongly and said that their oaths would be sufficient. This is perhaps is a leftover from William himself being taken hostage, and what he felt inside about having to give his sons to John.

William duly sailed to England where King John proceeded to give him the cold shoulder and treat him with suspicion and contempt. He told him a concocted lie about William’s best men having been defeated and killed in battle and Isabelle (who was pregnant at this time) being left alone and without help. William was very surprised at the news because at the time the weather was bad and no ships were sailing between England and Ireland to bring such details to the court. However he said: ‘I can tell you in truth that the death of those knights is a loss. There is nobody here, be here full wise, who does not know, in a word, that they were your own worthy men, and for that reason this business is an even sorrier affair.’
This put John in his place, and later the news arrived that William's men had actually prevailed over the aggressors, although the town of New Ross had been burned to the ground.

John's anger with William lowered to a simmer and he allowed him to return to Ireland, where William set about putting things to right and dealing with men who had risen against him. It was not all over in a day, and John had not finished with William or with Ireland. The King came there himself to deal with rebels, and take a grip on the country and show his authority. William played the game cannily and did all that the King asked. Around him he saw other barons falling because of the King's displeasure, most spectacularly, William de Braose. He too had been asked for hostages. In his case, his wife had refused to give up her sons, saying she would not give them into the presence of a King who had murdered his own nephew. This was a reference to Prince Arthur who have mysteriously vanished while in John's custody Rouen. Few knew what had happened to him – although de Braose may well have been one of them, and so might William who was de Braose’s friend. It's something we will never know.  De Braose ended his life in impoverished exile and his wife and heir were starved to death in one of John's dungeons, a fate that William adroitly managed to avoid for himself and his own family.

door column at the Temple Church

William did manage through diplomacy and sound political decisions to weather the King's displeasure, and settled down with his family in Ireland. However, John summoned him back to England because the political situation was dire. The Pope had excommunicated John over a long-running dispute concerning who should be Archbishop of Canterbury. In some ways it was reminiscent of the Becket crisis of his father's reign, in that the King wanted one thing and the church wanted the other. The barons had taken John's excommunication is a general sign to rise up against him - they had a lot to be discontented about, including the marrying of heiresses to John's favourites, the bad behaviour of his mercenaries, the fact that he was selling justice for a fee to name just a few. William was put in a predicament because once he swore his loyalty, he kept it, but he too had fallen victim to royal caprice and tyranny. When summoned he came, but the Histoire shows us the balance of the man.
He was sorely grieved by the outrages committed by both sides, once he had been informed of them: he had no wish for them, nor did he agree to them. The Histoire also says when the King ran out of resources, very few of the men stayed with him who were there for his money; they went on their way with their booty in hand. However, the Marshal at least, a man of loyal and noble heart, stayed with him in hard and difficult circumstances; he never left him, he never changed that steadfast heart of his, serving him in good faith as his Lord and King… What ever the King had done to him, he never abandoned him for anyone. That absolute loyalty and honour was one of the the underpinning characteristics of William Marshal's personality.

Williams eldest son had joined the rebels. What William thought of this, we don't know. Unless it was a deliberate political move, it must have caused some ructions in the family. The Histoire is silent on the matter. What we do know is that the barons involved in working out the details of Magna Carta, and designated as sureties to see that its terms were carried out, included William Marshal senior and junior, their relatives by marriage William Earl of Salisbury, and Roger and Hugh Bigod, the latter of whom was married toWilliam Marshal's daughter Matilda. William was honour bound to take John’s part in these negotiations, but through family ties he had a foot in each camp.

John died in October 1216, leaving a country in turmoil. There was Civil War, the French had invaded and had control of London, were threatening Dover, and had taken several other important towns. John's eldest son was only nine years old, war had brought the country to the brink of bankruptcy, and there were deep divisions between people would want to be friends and allies. The barons who had stayed loyal to John, including William brought his son the nine-year-old Henry to Gloucester Abbey. The high-ranking men there carried him between them to the Abbey, where the gift of succession was passed on through the anointing and the coronation.’

The matter of who was going to rule the country had to be discussed. There were only two men in the running; William Marshal, and Ranulf Earl of Chester. The latter was known to be a bit prickly, and not everyone was willing to follow him even though he had the ability to lead. In the end the vote went William who was by now around 70 years old. Having been voted into the job of Regent, William retired to his chamber and the enormity hit him.

He called his closest advisers, and then leant against one of the walls... He said to them ‘Give me your help and advice, for by the faith I owe you, I have embarked upon the open sea, where no man, where ever he sails or where ever he sounds the depths, can find bottom of sure, and from which it is a miracle if he reaches port and a safe haven. But may God if it please him, sustain me! I have been entrusted with this task, which is already close to coming to grief, as you know and sense. And the child has no wealth, which is very damaging and a source of grief to me, and I myself am an old man.’ Then his heart became full to overflowing and his eyes began to fill with tears. Tears streamed down his face, and those present there, who loved him and were entirely devoted to him, began to weep out of pity for him. And he, after looking up, said: ‘Have you no more to say than this?’


As it was his former Squire and now fellow baron and companion Jean D’Earley comforted him, and did the equivalent of giving him a stiff drink and encouragement. And William shook himself , squared his shoulders, and went to get on with the task of governing England and putting things right. By various hand to mouth methods, including breaking up the Kings treasure what was left of it, he managed to keep control the troops and maintain the economic functioning of the country. He got people talking to each other even though many barons did not change sides quite yet, but he had opened up avenues of debate and issue pardons and truces. He would fight if he had to, but diplomacy came first.

Fortune then played into his hands. The French army had split up, and one division had gone up to Lincoln to try and take the Castle from its doughty castellan,  Nicola De la Haye. William seized the moment, and swept his army up to Lincoln to take on the French. By this time William's son William  the Younger had returned to the fold, as had the Earl of Salisbury. It seems that with John's death, the matter of rebellion was finished for them. William wanted the enemy to think that his army was larger than it was and be intimidated, so one of the things he did was to have all the noncombatants in the baggage train brandish spears and shields on high, so that as they approached they looked to be massive numbers. The French troops chose to stay behind Lincoln's walls and not come out and fight, so William had his trebuchets batter down a sealed up doorway in the town walls, and brought his army into Lincoln itself. His life has come full circle. As a young knight he had fought his first battle in the streets of Drincourt. Now an old man, his final big engagement was to be in the streets of Lincoln. He was so eager to enter the fray that he forgot to put his helmet on, and had to go back for it. Once it was on his head the Histoire says ‘He appeared more handsome than all the rest. As swiftly as if he were a bird, a sparrowhawk or an eagle,he pricked the horse with his spurs.’ Once again the cry of ‘God is with the Marshal!’ was heard on the battlefield.

Temple Church

The French were utterly defeated at the Battle of Lincoln. William’s own cousin the Count of Perche was leading them and was killed when a sword pierced his brain through the eye- slit of his helm.

The final victory was a sea battle in which William took no part save to watch from the shore at Sandwich, as the French supplies, that would have bolstered the other half of the French army at Dover, were either seized or destroyed by English ships at the Battle of Sandwich. Many ships full of riches were captured, and great lords taken for ransom. William used some of the booty to build a hospital dedicated to St Bartholomew.

Prince Louis who was leading the French troops and who at one time had hoped to be King of England, now sued for peace. Negotiations were opened, and he agreed to leave England, although he had to be paid to go away. Some barons protested at this, but William deemed it a necessary sweetener to diplomacy, and with the French gone, putting the country to rights would go much more smoothly.

William continued with the task of being Regent for another couple of years, and although there were still choppy seas to be negotiated, at least the ship was no longer in danger of sinking. However the effort involved had taken its toll on William. 'Two years from the feast of St Michael, when Louis left the land, and it was no longer than the following Candlemas when the Marshal began to be plagued by an illness and pain which resulted in his death.’


He had physicians come to tend him in London, but there was nothing they could do and he decided to go home to his favourite manner at Caversham near Reading to die. His view was that he could more easily put up with his affliction on his own ground if, in the nature of things, death was to be his lot, he preferred to die at home than elsewhere. So he was put in a boat and rowed upriver to Caversham. Once there he set about making his will and putting his estate in order. He made plans to hand over the country to some of the other people he had been working with, and he sent for the young King Henry, now 11 years old.

When the boy was brought before him, he said ‘I can tell you in truth that I have served you faithfully and to the best of my ability in safeguarding your land, when it was a difficult task to do so, and I would serve you, if I could, if it please God that I had the capacity to do so, but there is no man can plainly see that it does not please him that I should be in this world any longer.’
He also spoke to the boy, warning him against behaving like his father King John. Sire, I beg the Lord our God that, if I ever did anything to please him, but in the end he grant you to grow up to be a worthy man. And if it were the case that you followed in the footsteps of some wicked ancestor, and that your wish was to be like him, then I pray to God the son of Mary, that he does not give you long to live and that you die before it comes to that.’ Despite having served John and his son in full loyalty and to the end of his tether, Williams feelings on the matter come through strongly here.

The matter of the country sorted, Williams turned to his own concerns. He sent his good friend and companion Jean D’Earley on a mission to bring him two lengths of silk cloth that he had stored away in one of his Welsh castles. Jean duly fetched the cloths and brought them back to William’s bedside.
William took them and showed to another of his knights.
'He said to Henry Fitzgerald ‘Henry, look at this fine cloth here!
‘Indeed my Lord, but I can tell you that I find them a little faded, unless my eyesight is blurred.’
The Earl replied ‘Unfold them, so that we might be in a better position to judge.’ And, once the lengths of cloth had been unfolded, they looked very fine and valuable, choice cloths good workmanship. He called for his son and his knights to come before him, and once they had all appeared he said :‘ My Lords! I had these lengths of cloth for 30 years; I had them brought back with me when I returned from the holy land, to be used for the purpose which they will now serve; my intention has always been that they will be draped over my body when I am laid in the earth; that was the destination I had in mind for them.’
‘My Lord,’ said his son’there is one thing we are wondering about which is a closed book to us we cannot tell it what place you wish to be laid to rest.’
‘My dear son.’ He said’I shall tell you, with out a word of a lie: when I was away in the holy land, I gave my body to be buried by the Templars at the time of my death, in whatever place I happened to die. That is my wish, that is where I shall be laid to rest.’

William continued to give detailed orders about what he wanted to happen after he had died. His illness was such that he had time to organise this and make his farewells. As well as having kept his burial shrouds for 30 years, he had been planning more recently for the matter of the end of his life. He had had a Templar cloak made in secret a year before and stored in his wardrobe and now he had it brought out for all to see, because he intended now to take the vows of a Templer knight.

'The Earl, who was generous, gentle and kind towards his wife the countess, said to her; ‘Fair Lady kiss me now, for you will never be able to do it again.’ She stepped forward and kissed him, and both of them wept. The good folk present there also wept out of affection and compassion.’

Even amidst the moments of terrible grief and preparing to leave the world, there were still moments of joy and comfort. One day towards the very end of his illness William declared to Jean D’Earley that he had a sudden desire to sing, but that he would feel foolish doing so. Henry Fitzgerald who was also with him suggested that he send his daughters to sing to comfort him and William agreed. The girls arrived, and William perked up a bit.

‘Matilda, you be the first to sing,’ he said. She had no wish to do so, for her life at the time was a bitter cup, but she had no wish to disobey her father's command. She started to sing, since she wished to please her father, and she sang exceedingly well, giving a verse of the song in a sweet clear voice.
’Joanna you sing as best you can!’ She sang one verse from a rotrouenge, but timidly.
‘Don’t be bashful when you sing,’ said the Earl, ‘for if you are, you will not perform well and the words will not come across in the right way.’ So the Marshall taught her how to sing the words. Once the song was finished, he said to them ‘My daughters go in the name of Christ, for God protects all who believe in him; I pray to him to grant you his protection.’ As was fitting they took their leave:

Another incident involved the supernatural. William was being attended by Jean D’Earley and said to him. ‘Can you see what I can see?’
‘My Lord, I don't know what we're looking at.’
‘Upon my soul, there are two men in white here, one of them here by me on my right and the other on my left; I never saw more handsome anywhere.’
‘My Lord, the company of Angels has come to you, and if it please God, will come again to be by your side. God has sent his company to you to lead you along the right path.’
The Earl then said:’blessed be the Lord our God, who has given and imparted his grace to me here.’

William died at Caversham on a May morning 800 years ago, with the windows open and his grieving family around his bed.  As per his wishes, he was buried in the Temple Church.
The Histoire says: 'Here ends the story of the Earl's life, and may God grant that his soul rest in eternal glory in the company of his angels! Amen

Elizabeth Chadwick laying a tribute on the Marshal's effigy in 2004.

But the story doesn't end there, and in a way it was another sort beginning, because William’s memory has lived on down the centuries. His name has become a byword for honour and chivalry, for loyalty, for decency and compassion. He was a great man in his time, and he remains a great one even now, perhaps even more so because there are so many more people in the world than there were in his day, and in reading about him, they can reach out and be inspired by his values. Some may say it's a romanticised view, but I would say that it's shining the light to bring out the best facets in a complex jewel.
 In writing my own novels about his life, I hope I have done him justice. William Marshal. The Greatest Knight, and the finest man.

This time last year I had more or less completed the first draft of the novel but I was still not entirely happy with its location, which I had placed closer to where we live, in some unnamed destination along the Riviera between Nice and Italy. I am one of those writers who use location almost as another character. If the geographical context of the story does not feel right, I am not happy. And so it was with this novel, something was not quite falling into place, until my husband took me on a jaunt to Cassis, to the area known here as Les Calanques. The Creeks. I had visited here before but not since several years and certainly not with a novel in gestation.

It was love at first sight, you might say. I knew almost instantly that I had found the setting for my story and even more so when I began to learn about the neighbourhood. This region is a National Heritage site. For many months of the year it is fairly deserted. The tourists visit in their droves during the summer months. The landscape is very dramatic, even more so when a storm blows in. It boasts the highest maritime cliff in Europe.

The first of May has been important in our family ever since my grandmother Rachel Gurney was born on that day in 1886. Two years later, her sister Richenda was also born on 1 May. Both survived into their 80s and enjoyed many shared birthday parties.
For over 30 years I have lived in Oxford, where May Morning has been celebrated since mediaeval times with garlands of greenery,the antics of  mummers, dancing and music.
The new growth of Spring has been celebrated in Europe since ancient times: the Romans celebrated Floralia, the Celts observed Beltane, and Germanic peoples had Walpurgisnacht. The early Christian church incorporated the lively pagan traditions involved in  bringing in the May, but by 1250, the Chancellor of Oxford University felt the need to  forbid ‘alike in churches, all dancing in masks or with disorderly noises, and all processions of men wearing wreaths and garlands made of leaves of trees or flowers or what not.’ However Spring is Spring and not easily repressed, so by 1550 in Thame, the churchwardens had again bought fifteen yards of green and yellow fabric and bells to make coats for their Morris dancers. In Abingdon in 1566, the churchwardens‘paid for setting up Robin Hood’s bower, eighteen pence.’ ‘Church ales’, or festivals, were often used as  fund-raising events. The church financed the amusements and sold the ale. Profits then paid for the maintenance of the parish church, and  alms to the poor.
Philip Stubbes’ Anatomie of Abuses (1583) describes how hundreds of people of all ages ran into the woods on May Eve and made merry all night. At dawn they returned with branches of trees, pulled by twenty or forty yoke of oxen, each with a sweet nose-gay of flowers placed on the tip of his horns. ‘Their chiefest jewel they bring home from thence is their Maypole (this stinking idol rather) which is covered all over with flowers and herbs, bound round about with strings, from the top to the bottom, and sometimes painted with variable colours, following it with great devotion. And thus being reared up with handkerchiefs and flags streaming on the top they straw the ground about, bind green boughs about it, set up summer houses, bowers and arbours hard by it. And then fall they to banquet and feast, to leap and dance about it, as the Heathen people did at the dedication of their Idols.’

St. George's Kermis with the Dance around the Maypole', detail,  Pieter Breughel the Younger, 16th century.  Note  the drinking bower  on the right

In 1598 there was a May Day clash between Town and Gown in Oxford when youths, including the mayor's son William Furness, fought the University authorities. Nineteen years later, a group of  young men were found guilty of insulting the Mayor by dressing up on May Day.  William Stevenson an apprentice, Frost the cobbler, Peter Short the cutler, Tilcock the painter and Pigeon the chimney sweep were held in the stocks for two hours the next market day, with paper notices pinned to their hats describing their offences.