I’m planning to finish my Winter in Windsor series of posts while it’s still winter, but in the meantime here are some links:

• Skulking in Holes and Corners is a relatively new blog by Jamel Ostwald, who has written a book about Vauban and is writing another about Marlborough. The blog ‘hopes to facilitate communication between the rarest of beasts, early modern European military historians (EMEMHians – but please give me a better idea for a name)’. He’s made a very good start, so go and read it, comment on it and link to it.
• My book is going to be published on 21 August 2012, and you can already read the blurb. Just proofreading and indexing to go.
• Andrew Hickey has written a brilliant short story about Shakespeare which skewers the snobbery of Oxfordian conspiracy theories.
• Ben Brumfield reports on the 2012 American Historical Association conference from a software developer’s perspective.
• History SPOT has a podcast of Ben Worthy’s IHR seminar paper on the impact of the Freedom of Information Act.
• Zotero 3.0 has been released. It can now run as a standalone program as well as a Firefox extension and has lots of new features. I couldn’t have written my book as quickly (or at all?) without Zotero to manage my bibliography and citations.
• The latest version of the Spotify client crashes whenever I search for Kim Carnes. Bug or feature?

Previously I wrote about how Henry Marten criticized the Earl of Essex for keeping his army in winter quarters at Windsor in December 1642. It took a whole post just to establish what Marten (probably) said. But did he know what he was talking about, and was the criticism fair?

Henry Marten had no military experience before the outbreak of the First Civil War. That didn’t automatically mean that he was going to be inept. Oliver Cromwell had no previous experience of war either, and he turned out to be very good at it (as I pointed out here, not a super-special genius, but he could hold his own against professional soldiers of similar rank). Marten seems to have been strongly opposed to the monarchy and the House of Lords from very early in his political career, and in 1642 he was a very active supporter of the parliamentary war effort. He used his inherited wealth to pay spies, which along with his extravagant personal spending eventually bankrupted him (Barber, Revolutionary Rogue, 4-5, 36, 39-40). His first military command was as governor of Reading but he abandoned the town without fighting when the King’s army approached in November 1642 (Waters, Henry Marten, 17). This fact alone makes it look a bit hypocritical of him to complain about Essex not fighting, but that wouldn’t undermine the point if it was a good argument.

Marten’s basic facts were correct: there was action in Yorkshire and Devon while Essex’s army was inactive at Windsor. But he wasn’t comparing like with like. Most of the forces which were fighting in the north and west were very new. Cornwall wasn’t secured for the King until the Cornish rising in early October, and Hopton’s first (failed) attempt to invade Devon was only made in November (Stoyle, Soldiers and Strangers, 40, 43). Lord Fairfax, Parliament’s commander in the West Riding of Yorkshire, had agreed to a neutrality pact in September and didn’t start raising his army until October. Newcastle’s ‘popish’ army didn’t invade Yorkshire until 1 December (Hopper, Black Tom, 26-8, 36). These forces were only just starting their first campaigns when Essex had finished his. Parliament had started raising its main army in June 1642 and appointed Essex as general in July. He set out with the army in September, advancing to Worcester and fighting a cavalry skirmish at Powicke Bridge. On 23 October Essex’s army fought the King’s main army at Edgehill in the first major battle of the First Civil War. After a few days of rest at Northampton, Essex rushed his army south to block the King’s approach to London. He arrived just in time, and although some of his infantry were wiped out by Prince Rupert at Brentford, the main body of the army linked up with the London Trained Bands at Turnham Green. The King decided not to fight when the weight of numbers was against him and retreated to Oxford. It was only after this that Essex settled at Windsor. His army had been on campaign for three months, fighting battles before the northern and western forces had done anything, or even before they existed. A period of rest and recovery in a safe place was probably necessary.

Even when they were completed, the armies fighting in Yorkshire and Devon were significantly smaller than the main armies in the Thames Valley. The best recent calculations put both armies at Edgehill at similar strengths with about 10,000 infantry and 2,500 cavalry each (Graham, ‘Earl of Essex‘, 282, 288-9). They also had large artillery trains. Newcastle’s army was the most comparable, but at 8,000 men in total was still only 2/3 the size. The remaining forces were even weaker. Hopton’s Cornish army was only 3,000 strong, and Lord Fairfax had only 2,000 men (Stoyle, Soldiers and Strangers, 43; Hopper, Black Tom, 36). Moving and quartering were much easier with a small army than with a big one, especially when rain made the roads muddy and cold made it more necessary for soldiers to sleep indoors. Transporting heavy artillery was a particular problem if there was too much mud. So why not leave it behind? Essex and the King had both made their winter quarters in strong defensive positions. Essex’s headquarters were at Windsor castle, and the King was at Oxford, safely situated between two rivers. If either army advanced it would need heavy artillery if the other wouldn’t come out and fight in the open. Since advancing, especially with an artillery train, was very difficult it made sense for both armies to stay in their winter quarters and prepare for the next year, which is what they did. It’s also possible that Essex’s army was suffering from desertion and shortages of money and horses (although the jury is still out on Parliament’s financial situation after Edgehill), but even without that there was no good reason to expect the army to advance in the middle of winter.

The Horse as Cultural Icon: The Real and the Symbolic Horse in the Early Modern World is a new collection of essays about early-modern horses edited by Peter Edwards, Karl Enenkel and Elspeth Graham, and published by Brill. It should be out next week and it’s already available for preorder on Amazon US (if you’ve got loads of money) but I can’t find it on Amazon UK yet.

I’ve got a chapter in it about the military and social value of horses, mostly in early-modern England but it also touches on the middle ages and the First World War. It’s basically exploring Bruce Boehrer’s idea that horses were socially devalued in early-modern England. It includes an alternative narrative of cavalry warfare, a discussion of how horse ownership and cavalry service were (or weren’t) related to elite social status, and a look at the cultural myths of cavalry and chivalry in literature.

The full contents are:

1. Greg Bankoff, ‘Big Men, Small Horses: Ridership, Social Standing and Environmental Adaptation in the Early Modern Philippines’, pp. 99-120.
2. Pia F. Cuneo, ‘Visual Aids: Equestrian Iconography and the Training of Horse, Rider and Reader’, pp. 71-97.
3. Louise Hill Curth, ‘‘The Most Excellent of Animal Creatures’: Health Care for Horses in Early Modern England’, in pp. 217-40.
4. Peter Edwards, ‘Image and Reality: Upper Class Perceptions of the Horse in Early Modern England’, pp. 281-306.
5. Amanda Eisemann, ‘Forging Iron and Masculinity: Farrier Trade Identities in Early Modern Germany’, pp. 377-402.
6. Jennifer Flaherty, ‘‘Know Us by Our Horses’: Equine Imagery in Shakespeare’s Henriad’, pp. 307-25.
7. Elspeth Graham, ‘The Duke of Newcastle’s ‘Love For Good Horses’: An Exploration of Meanings’, pp. 37-69.
8. Ian F. MacInnes, ‘Altering a Race of Jades: Horse Breeding and Geohumoralism in Shakespeare’, pp. 175-89.
9. Richard Nash, ‘‘Beware a Bastard Breed’: Notes Towards a Revisionist History of the Thorough bred Racehorse’, pp. 191-216.
10. Gavin Robinson, ‘The Military Value of Horses and the Social Value of the Horse in Early Modern England’, pp. 351-76.
11. Elizabeth Anne Socolow, ‘Letting Loose the Horses: Sir Philip Sidney’s Exordium to The Defence of Poesie’, pp. 121-42.
12. Sandra Swart, ‘‘Dark Horses’: The Horse in Africa in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, pp. 241-60.
13. Elizabeth M. Tobey, ‘The Legacy of Federico Grisone’, pp. 143-71.
14. Andrea Tonni, ‘The Renaissance Studs of the Gonzagas of Mantua’, pp. 261-78.
15. Elaine Walker, ‘‘The Author of their Skill’: Human and Equine Understanding in the Duke of Newcastle’s ‘New Method’’, pp. 327-50.

From now until 31 October 2011 Ashgate publishing are having a sale. That means that you (unless you’re in North or  South America) can buy lots of Ashgate, Gower and Variorum books through their website for only £22.50 (normal price is usually between two and three times that). Obviously my book isn’t in the sale because I haven’t finished it yet, but these are some titles that might be interesting:

• Jason Peacey, Politicians and Pamphleteers: Propaganda During the English Civil Wars and Interregnum
• Stefania Tutino, Thomas White and the Blackloists: Between Politics and Theology during the English Civil War
• David Booy (ed.), The Notebooks of Nehemiah Wallington
• Lien Bich Luu, Immigrants and the Industries of London, 1500-1700
• Mark Philp, Resisting Napoleon: The British Response to the Threat of Invasion, 1797-1815

Meanwhile there’s a post-it note on my desk which says ‘THE DOER IS NOT JUST A FICTION BUT A HISTORICALLY SPECIFIC FICTION’. Make of that what you will…

A couple of weeks ago I posted about a building (or buildings) called the White Bear in Cornhill, London. This post is about one of the people who lived and worked there. It starts with the same entry in the list of horses contributed to the Earl of Essex’s army (TNA: PRO SP 28/131 part 3 f. 55r, 16 August 1642):

Valentine Stuckly of the white Beare in Cornwall vint[ner] listed one browne bay geldinge, his rider John Courtnye armed wth Carabine a Case of pistolls a buffe Coate and a sword valued in all at £21

I’ve found that his name was spelled lots of different ways, but he seems to have preferred Valentine Stuckey. This narrative of his life is still hypothetical because the record linkage isn’t absolutely certain. I might well have conflated details of two or more men with the same name, but what I’ve written seems probable, and at the very least it makes a good story.

Let’s start in the parish of St Clement Danes in the western suburbs of London. The parish registers record these events (I’ve taken all baptisms, marriages and burials from IGI unless otherwise stated):

• 27 Feb 1602: Androw Stucky married Elsabeth Boyse
• 24 Sep 1609: Vallantyne Stukye son of Androw Stukye baptised
• 18 Nov 1610: Androw Stukye son of Androw Stukye baptised
• 15 Oct 1617: John Stucky son of Andrew Stucky baptised

That could be our man baptised in 1609. Of course it might not be, but the case gets stronger as it goes along. Next there’s a marriage licence:

May 26 1637 Valentine Stuckey, of St Michael’s, Cornhill, Linen Draper, Bachelor, 27, and Anne Cowrtman, of St Bennet’s Gracechurch, Spinster, 21, daughter of Andrew Cowrtman, of the same, Linen Draper, who consents; at St Leonard’s, Bromley, Middlesex

He’s the right age to have been baptised in 1609, and he lives in St Michael Cornhill, so it’s looking good. The only problem is he’s a linen draper, not a vintner, but that’s not necessarily a problem at all. George Willingham was described in the horse list as a painter stainer, but that was his livery company and he was actually trading as a merchant.

Luckily the parish registers of St Michael Cornhill were published in print in the nineteenth centur and are now on the internet archive, so I don’t have to rely on IGI for this bit.

• p. 127, bap 8 May 1638: ‘Wallentin Stupke [Valentine Stuckey], son of Wallentin Stvpke [Valentine Stuckey] & Anne his wife’
• p. 129, bap 26 July 1639: ‘Edward Stukee [Stuckey], son of Wallentine Stvkee [Valentine Stuckey]& Anne his wife’
• p. 130, bap 6 Aug 1640: ‘Elsabeth Stokke [Stuckey], dau. of Wallintine Stokke [Valentine Stuckey] & Anne his wife’
• p. 237, bur 28 Dec 1640: ‘Edward Stukee, son of Walletine Stukee [Valentine Stuckey] & Anne his wife’
• p. 131, bap 13 Sep 1641: ‘Anddro Stokkee [Andrew Stuckey], son of Waulertin Stokkee [Valentine Stuckey] & Anne his wife’
• p. 132, bap 2 Sep 1642: ‘Ann Stkke [Stuckey], dau. of Waulintine Stkke [Valentine Stuckey] & Ann his wife’

So they lived in St Michael Cornhill for a few years, including the date covered by the horse list, and had at least five children, at least one of whom died in infancy. Note the variety of weird spellings. If the nineteenth-century editor hadn’t added regular versions I probably wouldn’t have found this information so easily, or at all.

On 16 April 1649 a Vallentine Stuckye married Mary Charlewood at St Clement Danes. Valentine junior who was baptised in 1638 is still much too young to be getting married so I’m assuming this is his father’s second marriage. It would help if I knew whether this groom was a bachelor or widower. This is the kind of crucial information that’s often entered in original parish registers but routinely missing from IGI. The other problem is that I can’t find a burial for Anne anywhere. She definitely wasn’t buried in St Michael Cornhill, but it’s hard to be sure about other parishes because IGI seems to have particularly poor coverage for burials. But my hypothesis is supported by a couple of other entries for St Michael Cornhill:

• p. 137, bap 6 July 1650: ‘Daniell, son of Valentine Stuckey & Marye his wife’
• p. 243, bur 8 July 1650: ‘Daniell, son of Valentine Stuckey & Marye his wife’

The fact that the baby was called Daniel could have some significance later…

In 1652 some forfeited land of the Earl of Derby at Isleworth was given to a Valentine Stuckey (Lancashire Record Office). On 17 September 1662 Samuel Pepys mentioned meeting ‘Mr. Stucky, of the Wardrobe’.

Meanwhile the surviving children from Valentine’s first marriage were growing up. Here’s another marriage licence:

March 13 [1664] John Johnson, of St Martin’s in the Fields, Middlesex, Carpenter, Bachelor, about 23, & Anne Stuckey, Spinster, about 22, daughter of Valentine Stuckey, of St Anne Blackfriars linen draper, who consents; at St Benedict Pauls Wharf

This pretty much has to be the Anne who was baptised in 1642. It also shows that Valentine had moved away from Cornhill by 1664.

Now let’s move on to Mary’s family. Daniel Charlwood, a gentleman of Egham in Surrey, made his will on 31 August 1671, and it was proved on 12 April 1672 (I haven’t transcribed this one yet, and the PDF has a page missing, but it does contain the information I needed). He left huge tracts of land to his grandson Charlwood Lawton and his daughter Mary Stuckey. This makes it very likely that she’s the Mary Charlewood who married Valentine in 1649. There were also bequests to Mary’s daughters, Jane and Hannah. The link with Egham is an important lead. Charllwood Stuckey, son of Valentine and Mary Stuckey, was baptised there on 17 February 1672. There seems to be a family tradition of the daughters keeping the surname going by turning it into a christian name.

Valentine made his own will on 20 September 1687 and it was proved on 8 March 1688. He didn’t give an address but described himself as ‘Cittizen and Vintner of London’, which is clearly referring to his company membership. He made his wife Mary sole executor and residual legatee. The will also mentions these people:

• sons:
  • John Stuckey
  • Charlewood Stuckey
• daughters:
  • Jane Berenger
  • Hannah Stuckey
• relationship not stated:
  • Elizabeth Daintry
  • Anne Johnson
  • Susan Noggins

I haven’t found any other record of John, but Jane and Hannah tie in with Daniel Charlwood’s will, and Charlewood Stuckey was born after it was made. Anne Johnson is probably the daughter from Valentine’s first marriage who was married in 1664. Elizabeth could be the daughter who was baptised in 1640, but I’m not sure. Susan Noggins is a complete mystery. Valentine junior must have been dead by this time, and I’ve found no record of him after his baptism (unless I’m wrong about the record linkage and this is actually his will, but I don’t think that’s likely because he was too young to marry Mary Charlewood).

The really interesting things about the will is the revelation that Valentine was owed £5,700 by Charles II. At first I thought he must have been fabulously wealthy, but actually he had already assigned £3,800 of it to his own creditors which suggests that his financial situation wasn’t too good. He carefully divided the remainder among his family, but did they have any hope of getting it?

Mary Stuckey made her will on 26 November 1688, when she was living in St Martin in the Fields, and it was proved on 3 January 1689. She didn’t mention the royal debt but named her children as Charlewood Stuckey, Hannah Stuckey and Jane Berenger, married to Simon Berenger. She left lands in Egham and in Middlesex. Charlewood was made executor but as he was a minor, Gilbert Wharton was appointed as overseer. Hanna Stuckey married John Wharton on 4 February 1689 at Saint Bride Fleet Street. There’s a will from 1692 for Gilbert Wharton, apothecary of St Paul Covent Garden, which mentions a son called John.

That’s not the end of the story, because the Calendar of Treasury Books shows that Charles II’s debt continued to cause trouble for the next generation of the family. Charlwood Stuckey petitioned the Lord High Treasurer on 23 December 1702 asking for payment, but nothing much seems to have happened. In 1714 there was another petition from ‘Charlewood Stuckey, son of Valentine Stuckey, linen draper to Charles II, praying employment in the Queen’s service on the merit of a debt of 20,074l. 14s. 3d. to his father stated in the Wardrobe and in view of the necessity of selling an estate of 400l. per an. to pay his father’s debts’. Charlewood died without being paid, and in September 1723 his widow Sarah sent in another petition, which was rejected. Charlewood and Sarah had at least two children (again with some weird spellings in the parish register):

• Elizabeth Steeckley daughter of Cheriwood and Sarah Steeckley born 27 Apr 1705 and baptised 15 May 1705 at St. James, Westminster
• Charlwood Stuckey son of Charlwood Stuckey baptised 13 May 1708 St Luke Chelsea

So that’s as much as I know about the long life of Valentine Stuckey. There’s a kind of symmetry here: by contributing to Parliament’s army in 1642 he helped to bring down Charles I, but in turn he was ruined by Charles II.

Nick Poyntz is right about the serendipity of digital searches. This weekend chasing up a fairly minor point for my book took me on a web search adventure with lots of interesting tangents. It all started with an entry in the lists of people who contributed horses to the Earl of Essex’s army, dated 16 August 1642 (TNA: PRO SP 28/131 part 3 f. 55r):

Valentine Stuckly of the white Beare in Cornwall vint[ner] listed one browne bay geldinge, his rider John Courtnye armed wth Carabine a Case of pistolls a buffe Coate and a sword valued in all at £21

I’ve always assumed that it means Cornhill in London, not the county of Cornwall, but some proof would be nice. These days names like the White Bear are associated with pubs, but in the seventeenth century pretty much any kind of business premises could be identified with a sign like this. Kathleen M. O’Brien has compiled a list of sign names from seventeenth century tradesmen’s tokens, including ones which combine a colour and an animal. The list mentions three White Bears, but not in Cornhill. It seems to be a very common name: the horse lists also include White Bears in Bread Street, Fenchurch Street, Distaff Lane and Lombard Street. The one in Lombard Street apparently later became the famous Lloyd’s coffee house.

The earliest record I can find of a White Bear in Cornhill is in the early 1620s, when the printer Thomas Jenner was based there (and he sometimes spelt it Cornewall). By 1624 he had moved to the Royal Exchange, at the west end of Cornhill on the north side of the street. The exchange was destroyed by fire in 1666 and 1838 but the current version was rebuilt on the same site and with the same layout. Jenner still sometimes called his new premises the White Bear, or sometimes just gave his address as the ‘South Entrance of the Royal Exchange’ (perhaps it was on the very spot where Agent Provocateur now stands). Jenner stayed at the exchange until his death in 1673, after which John Garrett took over the business and premises.

The idea that Jenner moved out of the original White Bear could be supported by an Ordinance of Parliament passed in 1649, which lists property confiscated from the dean and chapter of Westminster Abbey. Under Birchin Lane in the parish of St Michael Cornhill it lists:

George Dawson, for the White Bear, Two shillings six pence.

Birchen Lane runs from Lombard street in the south to Cornhill in the north, coming out just to the east of the exchange. Even if this building wasn’t actually on the street called Cornhill, it was in the parish of St Michael Cornhill and in Cornhill ward, so could plausibly be described as ‘the White Bear in Cornhill’. And as I found with George Willingham, early-modern London addresses could be quite fuzzy. The entrance of the exchange would probably have been a more desirable location, which could explain why Thomas Jenner would want to move his business around the corner.

Samuel Pepys wrote in his diary for Saturday 8 October 1664, ‘after dinner abroad, and among other things contracted with one Mr. Bridges, at the White Bear on Cornhill, for 100 pieces of Callico to make flaggs’. From internal evidence it’s not clear whether Bridges had his premises there or whether they met in a tavern to discuss the deal, but it doesn’t seem to be Thomas Jenner’s print shop. Specifying ‘on Cornhill’ could imply that it’s not the same as the White Bear in Birchen Lane (unless it was on the corner), or it could be referring to the actual hill rather than the street named after it.

A collection of documents in the Buckingamshire archives includes a marriage settlement from 1781 which mentions the ‘Pensilvania and Carolina Coffee House (formerly the White Bear) in Birchin Lane, Cornhill, London’.

That’s all I’ve found so far. There could be up to three buildings called the White Bear in the same parish at the same time, and there was almost certainly one other than Jenner’s new address at the exchange. If only they’d had geocoding in the seventeenth century…

Coming soon: a brief biography of Valentine Stuckly, which will raise as many questions as it answers. Also on Sunday 10 July I’ll be posting an interview with Andrew Hickey about his experiences with self-publishing.

I’ve just started to appreciate another advantage of taking digital photos of documents in the National Archives (a.k.a. PRO): comparing original signatures. That’s not exactly a revolutionary discovery, but I actually used it this week and it was quite exciting. I’ve mentioned John Gower before in posts about my work on saddlers. I had two collections of facts which I thought probably refer to the same person, but I hadn’t conclusively proved it.

The archives of the London Saddler’s Company show that a John Gower was a freeman of the company, and was admitted to the livery in 1640. The will of John Gower, citizen and saddler of London, was written on 18 October 1644 and proved by the Prerogative Court of Canterbury on 9 May 1645. This will mentions that John’s wife was called Jane, and that they lived in the parish of Saint Katherine Creechurch. Jane Gower went on to sell saddles to the New Model Army in 1645.

Financial records of the Essex county committee and the committee of the Eastern Association at Cambridge show that they bought lots of saddles from a John Gower. He is sometimes described as Captain Gower, and in at least one case money was received on his behalf by his ensign. It’s quite likely that this is the same Gower who commanded a company in the Earl of Manchester’s foot regiment.

On the balance of probabilities and assumed that these records all related to the same man but I wasn’t absolutely certain. This week I was sorting out some photos from my last research trip, including warrants issued by the Essex committee (SP 28/227). I noticed that John Gower had signed receipts on some of them. I already had photos of his original will (PROB 10/648) so it was easy to compare them.

This is a receipt for money for saddles bought by the Essex committee:

And this is part of the will:

They look pretty similar to me so now I’m fairly certain that it is the same man. The signature on the will looks very shaky, presumably because he was terminally ill when he wrote it.

As well as the practical benefits of record linkage, this is also a way of connecting with the reality of the past. If the same signature appears on two different documents belonging to different organisations and created at different times, the most parsimonious explanation is that John Gower was a real person who signed the documents in the course of his life. His home must have been destroyed in the great fire, if not before or after, and as far as I know none of the saddles that he made survives today. Saddlers Hall was destroyed by fire on more than one occasion, and nearly all of the company’s 17th century plate was sold or lost. These signatures are probably the only remaining physical traces of John Gower.

I’ve just finished writing an essay for a collection called The Horse as Cultural Icon: the Real and Symbolic Horse in the Early Modern World, edited by Peter Edwards and Elspeth Graham, which will be published by Brill (I’m not sure exactly when, but probably within the next twelve months). My chapter is called ‘The military value of horses and the social value of the horse in early-modern England’. It’s quite eclectic, mixing numbers from empirical research with words like semiotics and simulacrum, ranging from Milton and Shakespeare to anonymous scatological poems and cheap woodcuts. I took Bruce Boehrer’s essay ‘Shakespeare and the Social Devaluation of the Horse’ as a starting point and worked outwards, looking at how the middling sort appropriated the horse and how the elite tried to make it more exclusive. Although it’s mostly about the 16th and 17th centuries I went back into the middle ages and forward to the First World War to show how the social and cultural roles of horses aren’t necessarily related to the reality of war. I’ve cited Stephen Badsey and David Kenyon for proof that cavalry were still useful in the 20th century and that there was and is an awful lot of prejudice against them; and I’ve cited Michael Prestwich and Anne Curry to show that 14th and 15th century men-at-arms were flexible all-rounders and that only a minority of them were knights. By taking a longer view than most previous works on early-modern horses I’m trying to break out of a vaguely Marxist master narrative in which The Transition From Feudalism To Capitalism and the increasing use of gunpowder doomed the knight on his charger and gave the aristocracy an identity crisis, and in which social, economic and military base determines cultural superstructure. Rather than marking a turning point, Shakespeare’s treatment of horses and chivalry in Henry V seems to be part of a debate which was already going on in the 14th century, was still going on throughout the 17th century, and is perhaps still going on now. Cultural beliefs that cavalry were useless seem to be independent of how useful cavalry actually were.

The best thing is that I’ve used the phrase “order of magnitude” correctly and appropriately. I shouldn’t feel so pleased about this, but I get so annoyed by other historians misusing it to mean “quite a lot”.

Meanwhile I’m taking a break from posting here for a month or two (or maybe three) while I finish the first draft of my book. Before too long I’ll have made the inevitable transition from “oh no, I won’t be able to write enough” to “oh no, I’ve written too much”.

1. Bruce Boehrer, “Shakespeare and the social devaluation of the horse,” in The Culture of the Horse, ed. Karen L. Raber and Treva J. Tucker (New York; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). 
   

From the Journal of the House of Lords, 19 December 1644:

Whereas some Doubts have been raised, whether the next Fast shall be celebrated, because it falleth on the Day which heretofore was usually called The Feast of the Nativity of our Saviour: The Lords and Commons in Parliament assembled do Order and Ordain, That Public Notice be given, that the Fast appointed to be kept on the last Wednesday in every Month ought to be observed, until it be otherwise Ordered by both Houses of Parliament; and that this Day particularly is to be kept with the more solemn Humiliation, because it may call to Remembrance our Sins, and the Sins of our Forefathers, who have turned this Feast, pretending the Memory of Christ, into an extreme Forgetfulness of Him, by giving Liberty to carnal and sensual Delights, being contrary to the Life which Christ Himself led here upon Earth, and to the spiritual Life of Christ in our Souls; for the sanctifying and saving whereof, Christ was pleased both to take a human Life, and to lay it down again.

And from an affidavit given to Parliament on 7 January 1647:

That, in Pursuance of the Directory and the National Covenant, your Petitioner acquainted his People, the Lord’s-day before, that they should not observe Christmas-day, because a Penalty is laid on those Ministers who do not observe the Directory, and by it Holidays are not to be continued;

Meanwhile, the Church of Scotland had no official Christmas or Easter celebrations for nearly 400 years from 1560 to 1958 (Cambridge Companion to Puritanism, p. 179).

So there was a time when Christmas was banned in Britain, but it was done by British Christians who didn’t think the traditional festivities were Christian enough. It wasn’t changed to Winterval because of political correctness.

Nehemiah Wharton was a servant from London who joined the Earl of Essex’s army at the start of the English Civil War. From August to October 1642 he sent a series of letters addressed to his master, George Willingham, a merchant at the Golden Anchor in St Swithin’s Lane. These letters have survived (although how they ended up in the State Papers is anyone’s guess) and were published in the 19th century (no free online version available, but the British Library has published a reprint as part of their digitization project). I’ve been looking at them for evidence of horses and social status. Wharton mentions another of Willingham’s servants, usually referred to as Davy (or Barry in one place, but I’ve assumed it’s the same man), who was serving in the army with a horse. The letters don’t give any further details of the man and horse, but it seems likely that Willingham had voluntarily contributed a cavalry horse under the scheme known as the Propositions and sent his servant to ride it. The UK National Archives have an account book of cavalry horses listed on the Propositions (SP 28/131 part 3), and as it’s a very important source for my work on horses, I’ve made a transcript of it. There is an entry for George Willingham, on 15 July 1642 (folio 19):

George Willingham of Londonstone painter stainer entred one gray horse, his rider David Avyes armed wth a Carbine, a case of pistolls a buffe coate and a sword all valued by the Commissaryes at 27 – 00 – 00

This is close but there are a couple of potential problems because the address and occupation don’t quite match. This doesn’t rule him out completely. London stone was just around the corner from St Swithin’s Lane in Cannon Street, so they could be referring to the same place (see the Agas map). Although London citizens tended to be identified by occupations, their trades could change, and the company through which they were admitted to the freedom of the city didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the trade they were pursuing. George Willingham could be a freeman of the Painter Stainers Company and trading as a merchant. What we need is another source to confirm or deny the link between Wharton’s letters and the Propositions list.

British History Online has a published list of London citizens from 1638, but it doesn’t cover St Swithin’s parish, which is where St Swithin’s Lane and London stone were. But the National Archives do have a will for a George Willingham, Painter Stainer of Saint Swithin, City of London, proved in 1651. That looked very promising, so I downloaded it (if I’d known I was going to need this last time I was at Kew I could’ve printed out there and saved £3.10). I’ve put a transcript of the whole thing on the Your Archives wiki. In the will, Willingham describes himself as “Cittizen and Paynter stayner of London”, so he was free of the Painter Stainers Company, but not necessarily following that trade. He mentions having children called John, Samuel, Ebenezer, Hannah and an unnamed daughter married to John Colyer. Wharton mentions Elizabeth, Anne, John, and Samuel in his letters, which roughly coincides with the children in the will. According to IGI, George Willingham married Anne Eaton at St Dunstan, Stepney, on 21 September 1624. They had these children baptised at St Swithin’s London Stone:

• John Willingham, 28 February 1629

• Ana Willingham, 24 June 1627
• Ebenezer Willingham,11 October 1642

Therefore Ebenezer wasn’t mentioned in Wharton’s letters because he hadn’t been born yet (the last letter is dated 7 October 1642). I can’t find a baptism for Samuel, but IGI isn’t complete. Given the wild variations in 17th century spelling, Ana and Hannah are probably the same person. The will also includes a bequest to “Mr Abraham Moline my deere and approved freind”, who could be the Mr Molloyne mentioned in Wharton’s letters.

The details in the will are enough to link the letters to the Propositions list and resolve the ambiguities. On the balance of probabilities, all three documents relate to the same person. Without the will it would be hard to link the other two documents together and reconcile the differences between them. This all adds up to proof that David Avyes was a servant and that his horse and arms were supplied by his master. (It doesn’t prove that he was decayed, or that royalist cavalry were any different. See my post about Cromwell and Balfour for some problems with the “decayed serving men and tapsters” myth.) Willingham must have been very rich. He bequeathed £700 to each of his three sons and left the residue of his estate to his daughter Hannah, explicitly stating that he intended her to have at least as much as the boys. That kind of wealth is consistent with trading as a merchant. He could easily afford to give away a horse and arms worth £27. The value of his contribution and the early date (July was a long time before contributions became compulsory) suggests that he was quite enthusiastic about the parliamentary cause. His will has some strong hints of puritanism. He asked for his body to be “decently buried without pompe and ringeing”, and bequeathed a book of sermons and a confession of his faith to his daughter. There’s no mention of any servants in the will, so it doesn’t help to solve the mystery of what happened to Nehemiah Wharton. Since his letters stopped in October 1642 he could have been killed at the battle of Edgehill, but as far as I know there isn’t any definite proof.