... still reading chronicles.
Being a monk in an Anglo-Saxon abbey could be tough. Here's just one example of why.
After the death of King Cnut in 1035, there was danger of war between the supporters of his two sons Harold and Harthacnut, rival claimants to the throne. The chronicler of Crowland Abbey in Lincolnshire describes how this affected the monks:
"A vast multitude of men and women, smitten with alarm, together with their children and all their moveable property, took refuge at Croyland, being attracted... to the slimy retreats of the marshes, and the alder-beds, and the mud of the lakes, as though to some very strong castle of refuge. These newcomers everlastingly disturbed the whole monastery with numerous quarrels and bickerings, and rushing all day long into the cloisters, continually occupied themselves, either through the servants of the monastery or in person, in plying the ears of the monks; endeavouring, by means of winning words, to gain over the masters of the place, and so induce them to look favourably upon their state of indigence. The consequence was, that the monks abandoned the cloisters, hardly ventured to descend from the dormitory to the choir for the performance of divine service, and were scarcely able to meet the refectory for the purpose of taking their food at the common table."
Poor things.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Lammas
August 1st is Lammas Day, the first day of autumn. Now when so many people take their holidays in August, this month is usually treated like the height of summer, but there is already a distinct chill of autumn in the air - at least where I am in Kent. I'm sitting by the door into my garden, looking out at the rain falling on a lawn littered with crisp dead leaves. It could be November!
Lammas is also the beginning of harvest; the first part of the word comes from the Old English hlaf, 'loaf'. It was the day on which loaves of bread made from the first corn were blessed at the harvest festival, and it was one of the quarter-days observed in Scotland and northern England until a few centuries ago. But what intrigued me when I looked it up was the third entry under 'Lammas' in the OED:
3. latter Lammas (day), a day that will never come. at latter Lammas: humorously for ‘never’.
1567 GASCOIGNE Instruct. Making Verse Posies (1575) Many writers..draw their sentences in length, & make an ende at latter Lammas.
1576 GASCOIGNE Steele Glas. This is the cause (beleue me now my Lorde)..That courtiers thriue, at latter Lammas day.
1642 FULLER Holy State. IV. xv. 316 This your will At latter lammas wee'l fulfill.
a1734 NORTH Lives of Norths (1826) I. 4 The very expectation of them puts me in mind of latter Lammas.
1805 W. TAYLOR in Ann. Rev. III. 244 This convocation was some~what unbecomingly postponed to latter Lammas.
1857 KINGSLEY Two Years Ago vii, A treatise..which will be published probably..in the season of Latter Lammas, and the Greek Kalends.
I'm very fond of quaint expressions for 'a day that will never come'. My favourites include when two Sundays come together and not in a month of Sundays, as well as St Tib's Eve and the twelfth of never. The OED has now added to this list on the Greek Calends which it explains is "humorous for Never; since the Greeks used no calends in their reckoning of time". That's donnish humour, I suppose. At the opposite extreme, expressions meaning 'for ever' also tend to have an unearthly ring to them, like 'forever and a day' or the fantastic phrase 'world without end', which is such a stroke of genius as a translation of in saecula saeculorum.. Although it's most familiar from the King James Bible, it also makes me think of Shakespeare's Sonnet 57: "nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour / Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you..." Waiting for a lover who would only come, perhaps, at latter Lammas.
Lammas is also the beginning of harvest; the first part of the word comes from the Old English hlaf, 'loaf'. It was the day on which loaves of bread made from the first corn were blessed at the harvest festival, and it was one of the quarter-days observed in Scotland and northern England until a few centuries ago. But what intrigued me when I looked it up was the third entry under 'Lammas' in the OED:
3. latter Lammas (day), a day that will never come. at latter Lammas: humorously for ‘never’.
1567 GASCOIGNE Instruct. Making Verse Posies (1575) Many writers..draw their sentences in length, & make an ende at latter Lammas.
1576 GASCOIGNE Steele Glas. This is the cause (beleue me now my Lorde)..That courtiers thriue, at latter Lammas day.
1642 FULLER Holy State. IV. xv. 316 This your will At latter lammas wee'l fulfill.
a1734 NORTH Lives of Norths (1826) I. 4 The very expectation of them puts me in mind of latter Lammas.
1805 W. TAYLOR in Ann. Rev. III. 244 This convocation was some~what unbecomingly postponed to latter Lammas.
1857 KINGSLEY Two Years Ago vii, A treatise..which will be published probably..in the season of Latter Lammas, and the Greek Kalends.
I'm very fond of quaint expressions for 'a day that will never come'. My favourites include when two Sundays come together and not in a month of Sundays, as well as St Tib's Eve and the twelfth of never. The OED has now added to this list on the Greek Calends which it explains is "humorous for Never; since the Greeks used no calends in their reckoning of time". That's donnish humour, I suppose. At the opposite extreme, expressions meaning 'for ever' also tend to have an unearthly ring to them, like 'forever and a day' or the fantastic phrase 'world without end', which is such a stroke of genius as a translation of in saecula saeculorum.. Although it's most familiar from the King James Bible, it also makes me think of Shakespeare's Sonnet 57: "nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour / Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you..." Waiting for a lover who would only come, perhaps, at latter Lammas.
Friday, 30 July 2010
Not about St Olaf
Unfortunately for a person whose plan for the summer was “write as much as possible”, I’m finding myself largely unable to write anything – academic, fiction, or even blog posts. I couldn’t even muster up anything intelligent to say yesterday about St Olaf of Norway (whose feast day it was) although he's interesting to me for any number of reasons: chiefly, being a Scandinavian saint who was culted in medieval England (there are several churches named after him, including a good number in London), being both an ex-Viking and a royal saint, and being one of the opponents whom awesome badass Cnut comprehensively routed on the way to acquiring his empire. Oh well; perhaps another time.
Instead, here's a picture of a medieval priest. It's from the church of Brookland in Kent, which also has an interesting thirteenth-century wall painting of the murder of Thomas Becket and an unusual Norman font, but I'll post about those when I can put complete sentences together.
I think this is a priest rather than a monk, but to be honest I'm not sure; my knowledge of medieval vestments is limited...
Instead, here's a picture of a medieval priest. It's from the church of Brookland in Kent, which also has an interesting thirteenth-century wall painting of the murder of Thomas Becket and an unusual Norman font, but I'll post about those when I can put complete sentences together.
I think this is a priest rather than a monk, but to be honest I'm not sure; my knowledge of medieval vestments is limited...
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Just Pretty
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
A Rather Amazing Cloud...
This isn't funny so much as it's just cool. Matthew Paris, who included this story in his Chronica Majora under the year 1254, was a monk of St Alban's himself, so he probably heard the story from the monks who witnessed it.
"About midnight of the day of our Lord's circumcision [January 1], the moon being eight days old, and the firmament studded with stars, and the air completely calm, there appeared in the sky, wonderful to relate, the form of a large ship, well-shaped, and of remarkable design and colour. This apparition was seen by some monks of St. Alban's, staying at St. Amphibalus [a nearby shrine] to celebrate the festival, who were looking out to see by the stars if it was the hour for chanting matins, and they at once called together all their friends and followers who were in the house to see the wonderful apparition. The vessel appeared for a long time, as if it were painted, and really built with planks; but at length it began by degrees to dissolve and disappear, wherefore it was believed to have been a cloud, but a wonderful and extraordinary one."
Later he observes "the apparition was believed at the time to be a sign of coming tempestous weather, and was followed by such a deadly disease among sheep and wild beasts, that the sheepfolds were void of sheep, and the forests of wild beasts".
"About midnight of the day of our Lord's circumcision [January 1], the moon being eight days old, and the firmament studded with stars, and the air completely calm, there appeared in the sky, wonderful to relate, the form of a large ship, well-shaped, and of remarkable design and colour. This apparition was seen by some monks of St. Alban's, staying at St. Amphibalus [a nearby shrine] to celebrate the festival, who were looking out to see by the stars if it was the hour for chanting matins, and they at once called together all their friends and followers who were in the house to see the wonderful apparition. The vessel appeared for a long time, as if it were painted, and really built with planks; but at length it began by degrees to dissolve and disappear, wherefore it was believed to have been a cloud, but a wonderful and extraordinary one."
Later he observes "the apparition was believed at the time to be a sign of coming tempestous weather, and was followed by such a deadly disease among sheep and wild beasts, that the sheepfolds were void of sheep, and the forests of wild beasts".
Monday, 26 July 2010
Love
More Rupert Brooke. I'm not sure he quite knows what he's doing in this poem, especially the second verse, but it's rather sweet all the same.
Love
“Oh! Love,” they said, “is King of Kings,
And Triumph is his crown.
Earth fades in flame before his wings,
And Sun and Moon bow down.”—
But that, I knew, would never do;
And Heaven is all too high.
So whenever I meet a Queen, I said,
I will not catch her eye.
“Oh! Love,” they said, and “Love,” they said,
“The gift of Love is this;
A crown of thorns about thy head,
And vinegar to thy kiss!”—
But Tragedy is not for me;
And I’m content to be gay.
So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady,
I went another way.
And so I never feared to see
You wander down the street,
Or come across the fields to me
On ordinary feet.
For what they’d never told me of,
And what I never knew;
It was that all the time, my love,
Love would be merely you.
Love
“Oh! Love,” they said, “is King of Kings,
And Triumph is his crown.
Earth fades in flame before his wings,
And Sun and Moon bow down.”—
But that, I knew, would never do;
And Heaven is all too high.
So whenever I meet a Queen, I said,
I will not catch her eye.
“Oh! Love,” they said, and “Love,” they said,
“The gift of Love is this;
A crown of thorns about thy head,
And vinegar to thy kiss!”—
But Tragedy is not for me;
And I’m content to be gay.
So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady,
I went another way.
And so I never feared to see
You wander down the street,
Or come across the fields to me
On ordinary feet.
For what they’d never told me of,
And what I never knew;
It was that all the time, my love,
Love would be merely you.
Monday, 19 July 2010
And you thought Gregorian chant was controversial now...
An event which took place in the year 1083, as told by the chronicler Roger of Hoveden:
'A disgraceful quarrel took place between the monks, and Turstin, the abbot, of Glastonbury, a man unworthy to be named, and possessed of no prudence... Among other doings, in his folly, he treated the Gregorian chant with contempt, and attempted to compel the monks to leave it off, and learn the chant of one William, of Pesehamp, and sing it; this they took to heart, because they had, both in this particular and in the other offices of the church, grown used to the practices of the Roman Church.
Upon a certain day, when they did not expect it, he rushed into the chapter-house, with an armed body of soldiers, and pursued the monks, who in their extreme terror had fled into the church, even to the altar; and there the soldiers, piercing the crosses, and images, and shrines of the Saints with darts and arrows, even went so far as to slay one monk while embracing the holy altar, who fell dead pierced with a spear: another also fell at the verge of the altar, transfixed with arrows; on which, being compelled by necessity, the monks stoutly defended themselves with the benches and candlesticks belonging to the church, and, though grievously wounded, succeeded in driving all the soldiers beyond the choir. The result was, that two of the monks were killed and fourteen wounded.'
'A disgraceful quarrel took place between the monks, and Turstin, the abbot, of Glastonbury, a man unworthy to be named, and possessed of no prudence... Among other doings, in his folly, he treated the Gregorian chant with contempt, and attempted to compel the monks to leave it off, and learn the chant of one William, of Pesehamp, and sing it; this they took to heart, because they had, both in this particular and in the other offices of the church, grown used to the practices of the Roman Church.
Upon a certain day, when they did not expect it, he rushed into the chapter-house, with an armed body of soldiers, and pursued the monks, who in their extreme terror had fled into the church, even to the altar; and there the soldiers, piercing the crosses, and images, and shrines of the Saints with darts and arrows, even went so far as to slay one monk while embracing the holy altar, who fell dead pierced with a spear: another also fell at the verge of the altar, transfixed with arrows; on which, being compelled by necessity, the monks stoutly defended themselves with the benches and candlesticks belonging to the church, and, though grievously wounded, succeeded in driving all the soldiers beyond the choir. The result was, that two of the monks were killed and fourteen wounded.'
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