by Peter Hill
John Spigurnel, the riding forester of Brigstock park, presented that as he came from the swanimote of Stanion on the Wednesday next before the keeper of Ackwellsike, they saw two evildoers to the forest with bows and arrows, who shot three arrows at them; and they went towards the thicket of Aybriotheshawe. And they say upon their oath that one of those two evildoers was Dawe, the son of Mabel of Sudborough; and that the other had a mask over his head, wherefore they suspected that he was William of Drayton, and more especially because he was accused before of an evil deed in the forest. The said William of Drayton is with no one constantly, and is sometimes in one place and sometimes in another. And therefore the aforesaid Dawe was attached, and he found twelve pledges of making answer before the justices.
William was obviously a very difficult person to pin down in movement and thought. Thereafter, there is no more mention of him in the records and he seems to vanish altogether, as suddenly as he appeared, seemingly never caught – perhaps like Robin Hood.
Robin Hood needs no introduction of course, his fame having spread far and wide over the years, whether he ever existed or not. Not mentioned in writing until 1262 but of older origin, his surname Hood was then a common surname and in such a large forest area, particularly in the north of the county, it was inevitable that a certain Robin Hood would be around, attracting outlaws and other outcasts.
Outlaws were certainly a common feature of the countryside in the medieval period. If an offender against Forest Law failed to appear before a forest court, called an eyre, after being attached, or bailed, to do so, he would be deemed to be an outlaw. A good example, one of many in Rockingham Forest, is the following from the court records of 1255:
The sheriff says that Robert, son of Godfrey, and Geoffrey were convicted of theft and by judgment were hanged. Robert of Corby now comes and is detained in prison for trespass to the venison. And Richard does not come and he was attached by Roger of Benefield. Therefore let the said Richard be exacted and outlawed.
Intriguingly, a ‘Robyn Hode’ was imprisoned at Rockingham Castle in 1354, for ‘trespass of vert and venison in the Forest’. At other times, there were supposed sightings of him in Corby and Brigstock. He is said to have secretly visited Brigstock some time during the reign of Henry III, who was King between 1216 and 1272. He entered the church of St Andrew but some of the villagers betrayed him and Ralph de Hanville, a royal official of the manor, sent soldiers to lay siege to the church. During the attack, he managed to escape but the priest, who was standing by the altar, was killed by an arrow. No historical evidence exists to verify that the incident did take place, but it makes a good story! The tale is told by Charles Montagu-Douglas-Scott in his Tales of Old Northamptonshire and appears to be based on one of the original medieval tales, ‘Robin Hood and the Monk’ – written around 1450 but much older in its oral form – with the action and characters transferred to this county:
Rockingham Castle, where a ‘Robyn Hode’ was held in 1354 for ‘trespasses against vert and venison’.
Bold Robin Hood to Brigstock came,
In the Farming-woods he lay,
And he feasted himself on his sovereign’s game,
So long as he chose to stay,
For the sheriff was dead, and the verderer fled
At the sight of bold Robin away.
Bold Robin he entered the Church one morn –
’Twas Blest Saint Mary’s Day –
And the people they stared at his bow and his horn,
As kneelèd him down to pray;
And there by the door knelt fully a score
Of his merry men keen and gay.
The dark-eyed priest the Mass intoned,
(A buck in his larder lay)
And up in the belfry a little wind moaned,
As a little wind moans today;
When sudden, without was a stir and a shout,
And Robin was up and away.
The arrows came rattling onto the walls
As Robin he rushed outside;
Thro’ a window one flew – and the good priest falls
At the feet of the Crucified;
The women they scream and the men blaspheme
And each and all would hide.
But Robin he marshalled his own merry men
With a blast of his bugle horn,
And he fought his way to the woods
Thro’ the stooks of the golden corn
And the arrows around him lay thick on the ground
Like a harvest of ills forlorn.
And lo! an armed knight was down,
Who in swift pursuit has led:
‘Now carry me back to Brigstock town’,
Sir Ralph de Hanville said,
‘So sore am I hurt thro’ my stout mail-shirt,
That I fear my days are sped’.
‘And carry me into the Church’, said he,
‘Full soon I must confess;
The priest will be there devout in prayer
For the sum of our success,
Since I promised him well o’the red monie
If Robin we should possess’.
Straight into the Church Sir Ralph they bore;
He moaned at the least delay;
On the Altar steps in a pool of gore
The dark-eyed rector lay:
‘A judgement, and right’, said the wounded knight,
And he passed unshriven away.
Such was the popularity and widespread knowledge of Robin around the kingdom, that certain topographical features were honoured with his name. In the case of Northamptonshire, two prehistoric standing stones on a slope overlooking the River Nene at Ferry Meadows, near Peterborough, were known as Robin Hood and Little John. Both are still discernible, though they now officially lie outside the county boundary.
Of all officials appointed to maintain Forest Law in any of the county’s royal forest areas, no role was more hazardous than that of the forester. Acting as a kind of gamekeeper and policeman, he had to patrol the forest either on foot or on horseback, looking out for poachers and trespassers, whom he had to pursue and arrest. He could be recognised by his green tunic and a horn, his symbol of office. The foresters were very unpopular with local folk, not only because they enforced Forest Law but because they could legally demand certain fees, as well as food and drink for themselves or their beasts, calling at a home at any time when on duty! They were often involved in illegal money-making practices, such as impounding villagers’ beasts and forcing the owner to pay a small fee for their return. They also aroused the wrath of villagers by removing the ball of the foot of dogs in addition to the permitted three claws – and charging an exorbitant fee for the unwanted task.
Inevitably, some foresters suffered injury or death in the course of their duty. Such an example was Matthew of Thurlbear. He was patrolling the area of Beanfield Lawn in Rockingham Forest with his brother James and other foresters, when they were alerted to the presence of five poachers with greyhounds chasing deer. The poachers saw the foresters coming and stood their ground, shooting arrows in their direction. Two arrows struck Matthew, killing him; the poachers fled into ‘the thickness of the wood’ and escaped.
However, the story does not end there: three weeks later, James was invited to dine with the abbot of Pipewell Abbey. As he dismounted, he saw a greyhound with a distinctive, unusual tawny colouring, the same one that had been with the poachers who had killed his brother. The dog’s owner, Simon of Kilsworthy, a guest of the abbot, was subsequently taken into custody at Northampton Castle.
The story still does not end there, for two years later it was alleged that James was frequently seen ‘assembling eighteen armed men in all the bailiwicks [administrative areas of the forest], to wreak destruction to the venison of the lord king.’ A case of if you can’t beat them, join them!
In another incident in Rockingham Forest, a sinister ‘magical’ rite took place at Bullax wood near Lowick in 1255. In a gesture of ultimate contempt, the
antlered head of a buck was stuck on a spindle – a version of the stang or pole used in social disapproval rituals – like a menacing two-fingered snub against authority and as a souvenir of the poachers’ activities:
On a stake in the middle of a clearing which is called Harleruling, placing in the mouth of the aforesaid head a certain spindle and made the mouth gape towards the sun, in great contempt of the lord king and of his foresters.
The forest officials, after ‘raising the hue’, gave chase but were further humiliated by a shower of arrows aimed at them and had to flee, unable to resist the onslaught. All the poachers were eventually caught, except two who failed to appear at a court and were declared outlaws.
In the Gesta Herwardi (The Deeds of Hereward), a mid-twelfth-century book by an Ely monk known simply as Richard, a list is given of Hereward the Wate’s band of outlaws, which includes at least four men from Northamptonshire: Tostig and Godwin of Rothwell, Godfricus of Corby and Villicus of Drayton, all ‘among the most renowned knights in the kingdom’. After the fall of Ely in the autumn of 1071, Hereward officially disappeared ‘into the remoter parts of the Northamptonshire forests to summon more men to his aid’, initially passing through the forest of Bruneswald (Bromswold), a portion of which spilled over into the county from Huntingdonshire and Bedfordshire and then formed a link with the three county forests of Rockingham, Salcey and Whittlewood. The village of Lutton was formerly known as Lutton by Bromswold and Newton Bromswold, near Higham Ferrers, still retains the name.
A tradition states that at one stage Hereward and his men got lost in Rockingham Forest but thanks to the intervention of St Peter in a vision, a wolf appeared to lead them out of their predicament. And as a bonus, and a further sign of approval from the saint, when darkness drew in, burning candles appeared on all the trees to provide a trouble-free passage through the gloom. Hereward was eventually caught by William I’s soldiers and placed in gaol at Bedford before being escorted to Rockingham Castle with a heavily-armed guard. However, Hereward’s men lay in wait in the forest, surrounded the guard, slew them and rescued their leader.
Whether out of necessity for food, for adventure or for leisure, poaching was always a part of life – deer in the Middle Ages, rabbits and other game thereafter. There was always an element of danger or risk involved, as landowners zealously guarded what was on their property. For the men of some villages it became a specialist pursuit, some groups even being ‘professional’, working their way up the scale, initially with rabbits and pigeons (both of which were seen as a nuisance by some farmers and as small fry to the poachers themselves), to the more tricky method of catching hares, and then on to pheasants, partridges and other game.
Poaching gangs had set rules and conditions for their members, which in many cases had to be meticulously adhered to. Mrs Simpson of Corby described the gang in her village, and its leader in particular:
John James was his name and he was captain of the ‘Corby Gang’. When a new member was admitted to the gang, the captain would present him with an Ash plant about five feet long, known to the old inhabitants of the village as the ‘Corby Stick’. It was quite straight and extended a fair piece from where it was held in the hand. If a member of the gang failed to use it when he was in danger, he was expelled from the gang.
Rivalry between gangs from different villages and towns would often lead to heated confrontations if another’s territory was encroached upon. Jack Robinson of Great Oakley recalls:
A gang would come from Kettering, and later Corby, armed with nets to catch rabbits, which could be worth sixpence or ninepence each depending on size or who was paying, a lot of money then if enough were captured. A group of the villagers would wait for the offenders at night, and the encounters would often get violent, with the use of sticks, resulting in wounds and bruises.
Until guns came into use, a basic way to catch rabbits was either by using a large net known as a ‘haynest’, or a ‘flan’, which was a small round net placed over the hole of their burrow. Other methods used for catching their quarry were more innovative, especially those for catching pheasants, one way being to soak raisins and corn in whisky overnight and then sprinkle the doped food on the ground for the birds to eat as they emerged from their night roost. This was a process which only took a few minutes, as the alcohol soon began to take effect, after which they would not be able to run or fly, making their capture an easy task. Another trick was to mix some carbide and water (to form acetylene) in a can, which was then placed among the branches of a tree or bush where the birds were roosting, the inflammable gas quickly bringing them down. Smaller numbers of poachers liked to creep up slowly to a thick hedge where they would normally be inconspicuous to a gamekeeper a few hundred yards away. If by chance they were seen, however, a heavy stone known as ‘a poacher’s stone’ would frequently be aimed at their adversary.
A rebellious county
Beginning in the middle years of the fourteenth century, when enclosure of the land was taking place, many peasants were deprived of their livelihood because the land they had worked on for generations was suddenly converted to profitable sheep farming by the landowners, some of whom showed little consideration about the effect such an action would have on their tenants. English wool was highly prized in Europe and sheep, apart from being more profitable, did not need paying and did not have any grievances. Pasture also needed less work than arable land.
One serious regional incident occurred in 1607, when groups of alienated peasants entered the county from neighbouring Warwickshire and were joined by several local people who sympathised with their plight, many of whom were similarly affected. The main culprits were the Tresham family, who had deprived peasants of land at Haselbech, Pytchley and Rushton and nearly succeeded at Orton and Great Houghton, before turning their attention towards the area around Newton – not the village itself but land some distance away, near Little Oakley, known as The Brand. This was not Tresham land but common land for other villages, though Thomas Tresham thought otherwise and began to illegally enclose it and build a lodge, causing a popular outcry.
The Levellers (not be confused with the Civil War rebels), or Diggers as they called themselves, headed for The Brand and on 8 June 1607 began uprooting and digging up the newly planted hedges of the enclosed fields. Their leader, John Reynolds, was known as Captain Pouch because of a distinctive bag he wore on his belt, which contained a piece of green cheese as a charm and protective amulet, a common superstitious practice in Tudor and Stuart times in the face of adversity. With the charm, Reynolds believed he was empowered and claimed:
I have authoritie from his majestie to throwe downe enclosures and that I am sent of God to satisfie all degrees whatsoever.
Tresham, alarmed at the sudden course of events, sent out an appeal for help from his fellow landowners, all of whom declined either out of sympathy for the peasants or because of a lack of interest or perhaps dislike of the family. However, he did enlist the help of two prominent county men, Sir Anthony Mildmay of Apethorpe and Edward Montagu of Boughton. The peasants with their tools and makeshift weapons were no match for the trained militia that was sent and in the ensuing mêlée at least fifty of the rioters were killed, with several more injured.
At a subsequent inquest, it was recorded that several ‘townships’ – including Weldon, Corby, Kettering, Benefield, Desborough and Thrapston – had been involved. The rioters were not only farm workers but also butchers, tailors, smiths, carpenters, weavers and shoemakers. In spite of only protecting their livelihood and traditional rights, all had to sign or make their mark on a document which read:
We submit ourselves to His Majesty’s Mercy, confessing our heinous offences in the late seditious insurrection and rebellion upon the pretence of depopulation and unlawful inclosure.
James I showed magnanimity and duly pardoned all except the ringleaders of the rebellion. They fared less well: having been found guilty as traitors, they were executed and their remains put on publi
c display in county towns as a warning and deterrent to any more insurgents.
At Grafton Underwood, a dispute between two influential, single-minded men – the lord of the manor, Sir Edward Montagu, and the newly installed rector of the church, John Williams – arose over the forthcoming annual feast of St James. Both Sir Edward and his neighbour and fellow magistrate, Thomas Brooke of Great Oakley, with whom he shared strong Puritan beliefs, issued a set of stringent regulations which were to be read out by the rector to the congregation in the churchyard in advance of the preparations for the feast, as follows:
No unlicensed beer to be sold.
Fiddlers not invited by the villagers, or who play music different to that pre-arranged with village leaders, ‘to be treated as rogues’.
Unlawful recreations before the end of Sunday church service: offenders to be presented and punished.
Other invited outsiders are not to linger at the end of the festivities but to depart straight away.
John Williams, however, objected very strongly. He read out in the churchyard the order obtained from the village constable and at the end, after asserting that no Puritan influence would prevail during the occasion, issued what he considered a fairer and more fitting set of rules for an occasion that should be joyful and meaningful, without restriction. These included the freedom for alewives to sell their brew without licence and for fiddlers to play what they wanted without hindrance. He decreed that the village should ‘use any sportes or exercises which are not prohibited by the lawes of the land’. Sure enough, excesses did prevail including the use of cudgels by three fiddlers – one from the village, one from Oundle and another from Desborough, during which ‘some had their heads broke and the blood did run down’. Despite an appeal by Sir Edward to higher authority about the rector’s actions, John Williams won the day, later becoming the Dean of Salisbury, Dean of Westminster and holding the prestigious office of Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.