Chapter 21

Pavyers, belle-makers, and brasyers,Pynners, nedelers, and glasyers.

Pavyers, belle-makers, and brasyers,

Pynners, nedelers, and glasyers.

The Norman form ‘le Agguiler,’ or ‘Auguiler,’ still lives in our ‘Aguilers’ if not ‘Aguilars.’ A ‘Thomas le Agguiler’ represented York in the Parliament of 1305. Chaucer uses ‘aguiler’ in the sense of a needlecase—

A silver needle forth I drew,Out of an aguiler quaint ’ynow.

A silver needle forth I drew,

Out of an aguiler quaint ’ynow.

But if pins and needles were valued more highly then than they are now, none the less did ‘buttons’ fulfil their own peculiar and important use. ‘Henry le Botoners’ or ‘Richard le Botyners’[347]may be found in most of our records. I do not see, however, that their descendants have preserved the sobriquet, unless, after the fashion of several other words in our vocabulary, they are flourishing secretly among our ‘Butlers,’ and thus helping to swell the already strong phalanx that surname has mustered. While, however, all these representatives of so many though kindred occupations seem to have flourished in their separate capacities, I do not doubt but that ‘Richard le Haberdasher’ would have been able to supply most of the wares they dealt in. His was a common and lucrative employment in a day when, to judge by the contents of a shop of this kind as set down in the London Rolls, he could offer for purchase such a wide assortment as spurs and shirts, chains and nightcaps, spectacles and woollen threads, beads and pen-cases, combs and ink-horns, parchments and whipcords, gaming-tables and coffins (Riley’s ‘London Memorials,’ p. 422). There seems to be little doubt, however, that in the first place he dealt simply in the ‘hapertas,’ a kind of coarse, thick cloth much in vogue at this time, and that it was from this he acquired the name he bore.[348]

The now, I fear, obsolete ‘Camiser’ made the ‘camis’ or chemise, or linen underdress—he was the shirtmaker, in fact. The former spelling lingered on to Spenser’s time, who writes of a

Camis light of purple silk.

It is with him we must properly associate our ‘Smockers,’ ‘Smookers,’ and anachronistic ‘Smokers,’ who, though their chief memorial remains in the rustic smockfrock still familiar in our country districts, were nevertheless chiefly busied with the ‘smok,’ such as the patient Griselda wore. Of one of his characters Chaucer says—

Through her smocke wroughte with silkeThe flesh was seene as white as milke.

Through her smocke wroughte with silke

The flesh was seene as white as milke.

Such phrases as ‘smock-treason,’ ‘smock-loyalty,’ and ‘smock-race,’ and the flower ‘Lady-smock,’[349]still remind us that the word was once generally understood of female attire. Of the flower Shakespeare makes beautiful mention when he says—

And ladysmocks all silver white,Do paint the meadows with delight.

And ladysmocks all silver white,

Do paint the meadows with delight.

The word slop is now well-nigh confined to the nether garments of our youngsters, but though, in this pluralized sense, it can date back to the time when the bard of Avon said of one of his personages that he was—

From the waist downwards all slops,

still, singularly used, it was in vogue far earlier. A ‘slop’ in Chaucer’s day, and even up to the fifteenth century, was a kind of frock or overmantle.[350]In the ‘Chanon Yemannes’s Tale,’ the host expresses his surprise that the Chanon, a ‘lord of so high degree,’ should make so light of his worship and dignity as to wear garments well-nigh worn out. He says—

His overest sloppe is not worth a mite.

Our ‘Slopers’ still remind us of this. Our ‘Pilchers,’ relics of ‘Hugh le Pilecher’ or ‘Nicholas le Pilchere,’ are equally interesting. In his proverbs on covetousness and negligence, the writer I have just instanced thus speaks—

After great heat cometh cold,No man cast his pylche away.

After great heat cometh cold,

No man cast his pylche away.

A ‘pilch’ was a large outer tippet made of fur, and worn in winter. The modern ladies’ ‘pelisse’ is but another form of the same root. Speaking of furs, however, we must not forget our ‘Furriers,’ and once common ‘Pelters’ and ‘Pellipers.’ They were engaged in the preparation of the more furry coats of the wilder animals. In the Hundred and other Rollsmention is frequently made of such names as ‘Geoffrey le Pelter’ or ‘Reyner le Peleter.’ A ‘pell’ or ‘pelt’ was any undressed skin. The ‘clerk of the Pells’ used to be the guardian of the rolls of the Exchequer, which were written upon a coarse parchment of this kind. As a general term of dress it was once of the most familiar import. Wicklyffe, in his complaint to the king, speaks of the poor being compelled to provide gluttonous priests with ‘fair hors, and jolly and gay saddles and bridles, ringing by the way, and himself in costly cloth and pelure.’ An old song written against the mendicant friars, too, says—

Some friars beren pelure aboute,For grete ladys and wenches stoute,To reverce with their clothes withoute,All after that they are.

Some friars beren pelure aboute,

For grete ladys and wenches stoute,

To reverce with their clothes withoute,

All after that they are.

Among the many ordinances passed to curtail the subject’s liberty in regard to his attire, much is written on the fashion of wearing furs. It seems to have been the great mark between the higher and lower classes. In 1337 it was enacted by Edward III. that no one of those whom we now term the operative class should wear any fur on his or her dress, the fur to be forfeited if discovered. The names I have mentioned above still remain in fair numbers as a memorial of this period.

Such a name from the ‘Rolls of Parliament’ as that of ‘John Orfroiser,’ although now obsolete, reminds us of an art for which English craftsmen obtained a well-nigh European reputation in mediæval times, that of embroidery. ‘Aurifrigium’ was the Latin word applied to it, and this more clearly betraysthe golden tissues of which its workmanship mainly consisted. In the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ it is said of the fair maid ‘Idlenesse’—

And of fine orfrais had she ekeA chapelet, so seemly on,Ne wered never maide upon.[351]

And of fine orfrais had she eke

A chapelet, so seemly on,

Ne wered never maide upon.[351]

The term ‘Broiderer,’[352]however, was the more common, and with him all textures and all colours and all threads came alike. The Hebrew word in our Bible, variously rendered as ‘broidered work,’ ‘needlework,’ and ‘raiment of needlework,’ was translated in a day when this would be of the most familiar import. Our ‘Pointers’ and ‘Poynters’ manufactured the tagged lace which fastened the hose and doublet together. In Shakespeare’s ‘1 Henry IV.’ there is a playful allusion to this where Falstaff, in the act of saying—

Their points being broken,

is interrupted by the response—

Down fell their hose.

It has been asserted that the presence of this name in our modern directories is entirely the result of later French refugee immigration; but such registered forms as ‘John le Poyntour,’ ‘Robert le Poynter,’ or ‘William Poyntmakere’ are found in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with sufficient frequency to justify the belief that it was a much earlier denizen than many suppose.[353]In the former ‘Henry le Lacer’ or ‘Richard le Lacer’ we have, too, but a fellow-manufacturer. Lace, it is true, is now rather a delicate fabric of interwoven threads; once, however, it was but the braided string for fastening the different articles of dress together. Thus, the ‘shoes-latchet’ mentioned in Scripture is a mere diminutive of the word as thus used. The hose and doublet were invariably so attached. The verb ‘to lace,’ I need not add, is still entirely employed in this its literal sense. There were other means, however, of holding the several garments together, and not a few of which are still brought to our remembrance in our nomenclature. ‘Adam le Gurdlere’ or ‘Robert le Girdlere’ speaks for himself. It was for the girdle our former ‘Agnes Pouchemakers,’ ‘Henry Pouchers,’ ‘Robert le Purseres,’ and ‘Alard le Bursers’ (when not official) made the leathern pouch carried thus at her side for greater readiness by the careful housewife.Chaucer, whose sharply-cut descriptions of the dress of his company are invaluable to those who would study more closely the habits of the time, tells us of the Carpenter’s wife that—

By her girdle hung a purse of leather,Tasseled with silk and pearled with laton.

By her girdle hung a purse of leather,

Tasseled with silk and pearled with laton.

The Norman equivalent of Girdler was ‘le Ceynturer’ (‘Nicholas le Ceynturer,’ A.) or ‘le Ceinter,’ but I have failed to find any traces of it beyond the fourteenth century.[354]Our decayed ‘Brailers’[355]and ‘Bregirdlers’ represent but the same occupation in more definite terms. The old English ‘brayle’ (from the Norman ‘braie’ or ‘braye,’ meaning ‘breeches’) was a waistband merely, a kind of strap, oftentimes attached to and part of the trousers themselves. The nautical phrase of ‘brailing up sails’ is, I fear, the only relic we possess conversationally of this once useful term. A ‘brailer’ (‘Roger le Braeler,’ A., ‘Stephen le Brayeler,’ X.) or ‘bregirdler’ (‘John le Bregerdelere,’ X.) was, of course, a manufacturer of these. Maundeville, in his ‘Travels,’ speaks of a ‘breek-girdille’ (p. 50). The now almost universal suspender was a later introduction, the names of ‘Bracegirdler’ and ‘Bracegirdle,’ which are not yet extinct, denoting, seemingly, the process of change by which the one gradually made way for the other. A ‘brace,’ from the Latin ‘brachium,’ the arm, encirclesthe shoulder as a ‘bracelet’ does the wrist. It is quite possible, however, they may be but a form of ‘breek-girdle.’ ‘Ivo le Glover’ or ‘Christiana la Glovere’ have left descendants in plenty, but they had to fight a hard battle with such naturalized foreigners as ‘Geoffery le Ganter’ or ‘Philip le Gaunter.’ At one time these latter had firmly established themselves as the nominees of the manufacture, and the only wonder to me is how we managed to prevent ‘gants’ from superseding ‘gloves’ in our common parlance. The connexion of the ‘gauntlet’ with military dress, however, has preserved that form of the term from decay. Both ‘Ganter’ and ‘Gaunter,’ I need scarcely say, are firmly set in our midst.

And now we must descend once more till we come to the lower extremities, and in a day of so much tramping it on foot we need not feel surprised if we find many memorials of this branch of the personal outfit. The once common expression for a shoemaker or cobbler was that ofsouter.[356]It is of constant occurrence in our olden writers. Thus the Malvern Dreamer speaks of—

Plowmen and pastours,And othere commune laborers,Sowters and shepherdes.

Plowmen and pastours,

And othere commune laborers,

Sowters and shepherdes.

Elsewhere, too, he uses the feminine form when he makes mention of—

Cesse the souteresse.

The masculine term, I need not remind Scotchmen, is still in colloquial use across the Border, and that it was once so in England our many ‘Souters,’ ‘Sowters,’and ‘Suters,’ and ‘Suitors,’ misleading as these latter are, are sufficient evidence. Such entries as ‘Andrew le Soutere,’ ‘Robert le Souter,’ or ‘Richard le Sutor’ are common to old registers. In the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ ‘sowtare’ is defined as a ‘cordewaner’ or ‘cordynare,’ and this at once brings us to our ‘Cordwaners,’ ‘Cordiners,’ and ‘Codners.’ They were so termed because the goatskin leather they used came, or was supposed to have come, from Cordova in Spain. In the ‘Rime of Sire Thopas,’ that personage is thus described:—

His hair, his beard was like safroun,That to his girdle raught adown,His shoon of cordewane;Of Brugges were his hosen brown,His robe was of ciclatoun,That cost many a jane.

His hair, his beard was like safroun,

That to his girdle raught adown,

His shoon of cordewane;

Of Brugges were his hosen brown,

His robe was of ciclatoun,

That cost many a jane.

In the ‘Libel on English Policy,’ too, we find it said of Portugal—

Their londe hath oyle, wyne, osey, wex, and grain,Fygues, reysyns, honey and cordwayne.

Their londe hath oyle, wyne, osey, wex, and grain,

Fygues, reysyns, honey and cordwayne.

In the Hundred Rolls it is represented by such a name as ‘Hugh le Cordwaner’ or ‘Ranulph le Cordewaner.’[357]‘William le Corviser,’ from the same records, or ‘Durand le Corveser,’ held a name which struggled for some time for a place, but had finally to collapse.[358]‘Cobbler’ (‘Richard le Cobeler,’ A.), though it has existed as a name of occupation fully as long as any of the above, has, I believe, never been able so far to overcome the dislike to the fact of its being a mere mending or patchwork trade as to obtain for itself an hereditary place in our nomenclature. ‘Cosier’ has fared better, as have ‘Clouter’ and ‘Cloutman,’ relics of the old ‘John’ or ‘Stephen le Clutere,’ why I do not know. We all remember how the inhabitants of Gibeon ‘did work wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old and rent, and bound up, and old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them.’ Another name we may notice here is that of ‘Patten-maker,’ a ‘James Patyn-makere’ being found enrolled in a Norwich guild of 1385. Cocke Lorelle mentions among others:—

Alys Easy a gay tale-teller,Also Peter Patynmaker.[359]

Alys Easy a gay tale-teller,

Also Peter Patynmaker.[359]

A patten seems in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to have been very similar to our clog, only that the former was more easily put on and off. It was of a wooden sole, rimmed with iron. We find in 1464the Patynmakers of London presenting a grievance in that the fletchers alone were allowed to use aspen-wood, whereas it was the ‘lightest tymbre to make of patyns or clogges.’ (Rot. Parl. iv. 567.) Mr. Way, in his Notes to the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum,’ says they were worn much by ecclesiastics to protect the feet from chill when treading the cold bare pavements of the churches, and he quotes a Harleian MS. dated 1390 regarding an archiepiscopal visitation at York: ‘Item, omnes ministri ecclesie pro majore parte utuntur in ecclesiâ et in processionepatensetcloggescontra honestatem ecclesie, et antiquam consuetudenem capituli.’ The patten-maker was evidently of some importance at this time.[360]

Perhaps fashion never went to such an absurd extreme as it did in the fourteenth century with respect to wearing peaked shoes. An old poem entitled the ‘Complaint of the Ploughman,’ says of the friars, and alluding to their inconsistencies, that they wear—

Cutted clothes to shewe their hewe,With long pikes on their shoon:Our Goddes Gospell is not treweEither they serve the devill or none.

Cutted clothes to shewe their hewe,

With long pikes on their shoon:

Our Goddes Gospell is not trewe

Either they serve the devill or none.

Piers Plowman, too, speaks of a knight coming to be dubbed—

To geten him gilte spursOr galoches y-couped.

To geten him gilte spurs

Or galoches y-couped.

This last reminds us that they were commonly styled ‘copped shoon.’ Such a sobriquet as ‘Hugh le Coppede’ or ‘John le Copede’ would seem to refer to this. Probably the owner had carried on the practice to an even more extravagant length than his neighbours, andvery likely he was one of those who caused a law to be passed in 1463 forbidding any knight, or any one beneath that rank, to wear any shoes or boots having pikes passing the length of two inches! Even this curtailment, I imagine, would astonish the weak minds of pedestrians in the nineteenth century. Of a similar craft with the shoemaker came ‘the hosier’ or ‘chaucer,’ the latter of which has become, surnominally, so famous in English literature. Though now obsolete, such a name as ‘Robert le Chaucer’ or ‘William le Chaucier’ was anything but uncommon at this time. Like ‘Suter,’ above-mentioned, it has a Latin source, its root being ‘calcearius.’ Chausses, however, were not so much boots as a kind of leathern breeches worn over mail armour. There is probably, therefore, but little distinction to be made between them and the ‘hose’ of former days, though it is somewhat odd that leather, which once undoubtedly was the chief object of the hosier’s attention, should now in his shop be conspicuous by its absence. While ‘Chaucer’ has long ago become extinct, ‘Hosier’ or ‘Hozier’ is firmly established in our nomenclature. Thus we see that clothing is not without its mementoes.

A curious surname is presented for our notice in our ‘Dubbers,’ not to be confounded with our ‘Daubers’ already mentioned. To ‘dub’ was to dress, or trim, or decorate. Thus, with regard to military equipment, Minot says in one of his political songs—

Knightes were there well two scoreThat were new dubbed to that dance.

Knightes were there well two score

That were new dubbed to that dance.

It is thus we have acquired our phrase ‘to dub a knight.’ The term, however, became very general inthe sense of embellishing, rather than mere dressing, and it is to this use of the word we owe the surname. Thus, in the ‘Liber Albus’ we find a ‘Peter le Dubbour’ recorded, whose trade was to furbish up old clothes; he was a fripperer in fact. In the York Pageant, already referred to more than once, we see the ‘Dubbers’ walking in procession between the ‘Bookbinders’ and ‘Limners,’ and here they were evidently mere trimmers or decorators externally of books. In another register we find a ‘dubbour,’ so called because as a hawker of fish he was in the habit of putting all the fine ones at the top of his basket, a trick still in vogue in that profession, I fear.[361]In all these cases we see that ‘adornment’ or ‘embellishment’ is the main idea. I need not remind my more North-country readers how every gardener still speaks of ‘dubbing’ when he heaps up afresh the soil about his flowers and plants. The old forms of the name were ‘Jordan le Dubber,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ and ‘Ralph le Douber,’ which last most nearly approaches its root, the old Norman-French ‘adouber,’ to arrange.

A curious occupation is preserved from oblivion in our somewhat rare ‘Raffmans.’ We have the root meaning of the word in our ‘reft’ and ‘bereft,’ implicative of that which is snatched away or swept off. Thus we still use ‘riff-raff’ in regard to the off-scouringof the people. A raff-merchant was a dealer in lumber of any kind. In the Guild of Saint George, Norwich, 1385, we find not merely the name of ‘John Raffman,’ but such entries as ‘Robert Smith, raffman,’ or ‘John Smith, rafman.’ The term ‘raff’ for a low fellow is not yet obsolete, and Tennyson, when he says

Let raffs be rife in prose or rhyme,

is only using a sobriquet which, until recently, was a very familiar one in the mouths of our peasantry. I have placed the surname here because I doubt not the occupation whence it sprung was chiefly in respect of trimmings, and the shearings of cloth, wool, and such like articles of merchandise.

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

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

For thai have nought to live by,

They wandren here and there,

And dele with divers marcerye

Right as thai pedlars were.

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

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

In his owen chambre he made a bedde

With shetes, and with chalons fair yspredde.[362]

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

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

Quyltemakers, shermen, and armorers;

Borlers, tapestry-work makers, and dyers.

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

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

Coleyne threde, fustaine, and canvase,

Carde, bokeram, of olde time thus it wase.

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

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

Tapetis of Spayne on flore by side

That sprad shall be for pompe and pryde,

The chambur sydes rygt to the dore

He hangs with tapetis that ben fulle store.

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

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

The dosurs, curtines to hang in halle,

These offices needs do he shalle.

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

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

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

Broudurers, strayners, and carpyte-makers,

Spooners, turners, and hatters.

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

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

Envie is lavender of the court alway,

For she ne parteth neither night ne day.

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

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

Thou shalt be my launder,

To washe and keep clean all my gere.[368]

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

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

Butlers, sterchers, and mustardmakers,

Hardeware men, mole seekers, and ratte-takers.

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

Baksteres, and brewesteres,And bochiers manye;

Baksteres, and brewesteres,

And bochiers manye;

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

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

Drovers, cokes, and pulters,

Yermongers, pybakers, and waferers.

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

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

Punishing on pillories,

Or on pynnyng stools,

Brewesters, Bakers,

Bochers, and Cookes,

For these be men upon molde (earth)

That most harm worken

To the poor people.

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

Wafers piping hot out of the glede,[371]

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

Chaucer, describing the prioress, says that—

With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede,

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

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

For he that hath mitches tweine,

Ne value in his demeine,

Liveth more at ease, and more is rich

Than doeth he that is chich (niggardly),

And in his barne hath sooth to saine,

A hundred mavis of wheat grain.

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

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

Brede an chese, butere and milk,

Pasties and flaunes.

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

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

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

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

Back to Index Next