There was nothing clandestine about the closeness of Freemasonry and the Church, and on a day of thanksgiving for the recovery of George III from his latest bout of insanity in 1789, one West Country newspaper covered the Freemasons’ procession to St Andrew’s Church at Stoke in Plymouth:
Thursday morning, at ten o’clock…between two and three hundred of Free and Accepted Masons, of this neighbourhood, assembled at Brother Lockyer’s, at the King’s Arms, properly clothed, with standards flying, wearing sashes and cockades, embroidered on white sattin, with ‘Long Live the King’, preceded by a band of music; they marched in procession to Stoke church, attended by thousands of spectators; they were received at the church door with an Anthem suitable to the occasion.10
Louis Simond was ‘struck with the smart appearance of the English clergy…A well-brushed suit of black forms the essential of their establishment.’11 By contrast, William Holland, who despised Methodists, criticised the appearance of his neighbour William Poole: ‘he looked like a Methodist parson, thin, pallid, tall, dressed in black with a curled yellow wig, walking very demurely, gravely and sententiously, and with a broad rimm’d hat, and every now and then turning up his head sideways as if he defied all the owls in the neighbourhood to compare with him for solemnity and wisdom’.12 This description of wig and clothing could equally have applied to many Anglican clergymen, who often wore black with a white cravat (there was no distinctive clerical collar), as well as a wig.
For church services clergymen put on cassocks and surplices, and for more important occasions their university gowns. In March 1805 Holland was at Chelsea in London and attended Sunday service at the old riverside parish church: ‘A fine morning but cold and keen. Went to church and Mr Sturges in his gown and cassock but he did not do duty. His curate Mr Rush did the whole, a pleasing young man whose father I knew very well formerly at Heckfield near Reading. The church is old and too small for the congregation.’13 Sturges, who was sixty-six years old, died the following month. Holland also wore a gown for services, as on Christmas Day 1806: ‘I had a new gown from Oxford which I put on to day, prince’s stuff [a type of fabric], and it cost me a fine sum almost eight pounds.’14 He refused to wear it at one funeral in September 1810: ‘in the afternoon we had the funeral of Molly Selleck, where there was a great concourse of well dress’d, respectable people. But as they neither sent me a hatband or gloves I did not think I had occasion to show much respect to them and did not wear my gown.’15
The rector (literally, ‘governor’) was the incumbent of a parish church, eligible to receive all tithes and responsible for the upkeep of the chancel, while the parishioners were responsible for the nave. In the medieval period monasteries had controlled numerous parish churches and took their tithe rights. In place of rectors at those churches, the monasteries appointed vicars (from vicarius, a ‘substitute’). After the dissolution of the monasteries during Henry VIII’s reign, many of these monastic tithe rights were bought by local lords and gentry, putting approximately one-third of church income in secular hands. These lay rectors had the same responsibilities as clerical rectors and installed vicars in their churches to provide the services. How vicars were financed varied, but the layman owning the tithe rights generally took the great tithes such as those on cereal crops, hay and wood, leaving the small tithes for the vicar. Rectors therefore tended to be wealthier than vicars. Originally, all tithes were collected in kind, when the produce was stored in huge tithe barns, but by the end of the eighteenth century most tithes were paid in money after negotiations between the farmers and rector or between the lay rector and his vicar.
The way church organisation and finance evolved, with lay landowners and sometimes clerical rectors appointing vicars, produced anomalies. In some cases the right to collect tithes was leased to the highest bidder, as seen in the Sussex Advertiser in 1795:
TITHES.
To be Lett by private Contract, the Great and Small Tithes of the Rectory of Isfield, near Uckfield, in the county of Sussex. Proposals to be made to the Rector of the said Parish on or before the 14th February, 1795, and the lease to operate from Michaelmas preceding.16
Leasing of tithes was not straightforward, as demonstrated by Woodforde’s comments when he was a curate in his native Somerset in 1772: ‘Mr. Thos. and Seth Burge talked with Mr. Wickham about the tithe of Cary [Castle Cary in Somerset]. And Mr. Wickham agreed that if one Chaffin who has contracted for the tithe, will be of[f] from his agreement, Mr. Wickham will let it to them for 3 years for £130 per annum. N.B. If hay is proved to be a vicarial tithe to be excepted out of the agreement, the present tithe being only contracted for in the agreement.’17
A parson who held several livings could enjoy a good income from tithes, provided he could collect them, and Nelly Weeton described one clergyman she encountered as having ‘that wolf-like keenness in his eyes, as if he knew which was the best method of taking tithe’.18 Both clergymen and parishioners invariably saw the annual payment of tithes as a battleground. In 1803 William Jones, vicar of Broxbourne in Hertfordshire, gave his opinion: ‘I am confident that I am defrauded by many of my parishioners of various vicarial dues and rights, to which the laws of Heaven and earth entitle me…for the very word “tithe” has ever been as unpleasing and odious, to farmers especially, as “cuckoo” to the married ear. Those who pay them, pay them very partially, and I may add– “grudgingly and of necessity.”’19 Clergymen like him clearly felt they were owed a living by God-given right.
In Somerset William Holland was no less determined to receive everything owing to him. When trying to persuade a farmer to pay him a tithe of his apple crop, he pointed out that ‘a tithe is but an acknowledgement of the providence of God over you and your affairs, a tribute offered in support of his worship to whom you owe everything’.20 He encountered similar resistance on another occasion: ‘I met old Ragged Ware [Thomas Ware] this day. “Well Ware,” said I, “how is it not an apple have you brought me though you had many? Some acknowledgement I expect by way of paying respect to your Minister.” “Sir, my wife talked of bringing some.” “Talked – but that is not enough.” “She shall sartainly come.” “Only some acknowledgement, some mark of respect like touching your hat.” “She shall sartainly come.” And so we parted.’21
The parishioners remained reluctant to pay for the high standard of living many clergy enjoyed and resented losing one-tenth of their income on top of all the other taxes. Woodforde eased any discontent of the Weston Longville farmers by inviting them to what were evidently enjoyable ‘frolics’, as on one occasion in December 1776:
My frolic for my people to pay Tithe to me was this day and I gave them a good dinner, surloin of Beef rosted, a leg of mutton boiled and plumb puddings in plenty. Recd. to-day only for Tithe and Glebe of them 236.2.0. Mr. Browne called on me this morning and he and myself agreed and he paid me for Tithe only 55.0.0 included in the above, he could not stay to dinner. They all broke up about 10 at night. Dinner at 2. Every person well pleased, and were very happy indeed. They had to drink wine, punch, and ale as much as they pleased; they drank of wine 6 bottles, of rum 1 gallon and half, and I know not what ale. Old Harry Andrews, my clerk, Harry Dunnell and Harry Andrews at the Heart all dined etc. in kitchen. Some dined in the parlour, and some in the kitchen. 17 dined etc that paid me Tithe…There was no supper at all provided for them. We had many droll songs from some of them.22
The most noticeable duty of a parson was conducting the church services on Sundays, and Woodforde frequently recorded his clerical duties. Nearly two weeks earlier he was well satisfied with the service:
I read prayers, preached, churched a woman, and christned two children by name Christopher and John this afternoon at Weston Church. A large congregation at church, Mr. and Mrs. Carr there. All people well pleased with the alterations at the church. This afternoon was the first time of my using the reading desk and pulpit, since its being removed, and also of a new Common Prayer Book in my desk. I can be heard much be
tter than where it was, and easier.23
The main church service comprised prayers, singing of psalms and hymns, reading from the Bible and a sermon preached by the parson. When he was at Nettlebed in Oxfordshire in 1782, Carl Moritz attended a service at St Bartholomew’s church:
I resolved to stop…for the day, and attend divine service. For this purpose I borrowed a prayer-book…It being called a prayer-book, rather than, like ours [in Germany], a hymn-book, arises from the nature of the English service, which is composed very little of singing; and almost entirely of praying. The Psalms of David, however, are here translated into English verse, and are generally printed at the end of English prayer-books…At half past nine the service began. Directly opposite to the inn, the boys of the village were all drawn up…to wait the arrival of the clergyman. At length came the parson on horseback. The boys pulled off their hats, and all made him very low bows. He appeared to be rather an elderly man, and wore his own hair, round and decently dressed.24
It was time to enter the church:
The bell now rung in, and so I too, with a sort of secret proud sensation, as if I also had been an Englishman, went with my prayer-book under my arm to church, along with the rest of the congregation; and when I got into the church, the clerk very civilly seated me close to the pulpit…Under the pulpit, near the steps that led up to it, was a desk, from which the clergyman read the liturgy. The responses were all regularly made by the clerk, the whole congregation joining occasionally, though but in a low voice.25
Moritz endured the entire service, but considered it exhausting for the parson: ‘The English service must needs be exceedingly fatiguing to the officiating minister, inasmuch as, besides a sermon, the greatest part of the liturgy falls to his share to read, besides the psalms and two lessons. The joining of the whole congregation in prayer has something exceedingly solemn and affecting in it.’26 He was impressed by the singing, which a church band accompanied:
The clergyman now stopped, and the clerk then said in a loud voice, ‘Let us sing to the praise and glory of God, the forty-seventh psalm.’ I cannot well express how affecting and edifying it seemed to me, to hear this whole, orderly, and decent congregation, in this small, country church, joining together, with vocal and instrumental music, in the praise of their Maker. It was the more grateful, as having been performed, not by mercenary musicians, but by the peaceful and pious inhabitants of this sweet village…The congregation sang and prayed alternately several times; and the tunes of the psalms were particularly lively and cheerful, though, at the same time, sufficiently grave and uncommonly interesting. I am a warm admirer of all sacred music; and I cannot but add, that that of the church of England is particularly calculated to raise the heart to devotion. I own it often affected me even to tears.27
The musicians and singers were usually located in the gallery or loft, and their standard of performance must have varied considerably. Like Moritz, John Byng was an admirer of good church music but also critical of bad, such as when he attended a service at Folkingham in Lincolnshire in June 1791: ‘Here were a numerous, and decent congregation, with a singing loft crouded…but the bassoons, and hautboys, were too loud and shreiking…Much singing before the service; likewise the Magnificat, and two psalms.’28 While visiting Knutsford in Cheshire the previous summer, he decided to stay for the Sunday service because the church was relatively new and dry – it had been consecrated in 1744. The church, he said, was ‘a neat, well pew’d building; and was well fill’d with well dress’d company, many of whom came in their coaches; and there was one sedan chair.– –The service open’d with a psalm, accompany’d by an organ [installed in 1773], and the Te Deum, and—were chaunted; so these with two other psalms, gave me singing enough: as for the sermon, it had the merit of being short. The bells are very tuneable, and they practise ringing.’29
On entering Aisholt church in Somerset, William Holland was met by the unpleasant noise of one musician: ‘A disagreeable fellow was playing his fiddle in church when I came in, without tune or harmony intending I presume to accompany the psalm singers. I however ordered him to stop his noise, which he hardly would do and then he began trying his discordant hautboy. I had a good mind to order him to be turned out.’30
Apart from the services, the parson was required to perform any baptisms, burials and other duties, for which he charged fees. Often, the clergyman was given a gift of money as well, but in 1783 a stamp duty tax was also imposed on the registration of marriages, christenings and burials, as Woodforde noted in his diary in October: ‘I rode down to Mr. Howletts this morning and christned a child of his, born last night, by name William – and it being the first child that I have christned since the Act took place concerning the duty to be raised on christnings burials and marriages, and therefore recd the duty of 0.0.3.’31 Such a tax discouraged the poor from marrying in church or christening their children, and the law was repealed the following year on the grounds that it adversely affected public morals.
Some clergymen spent considerable time visiting the poor and sick in their parish and frequently made charitable donations. Woodforde regularly gave a shilling to passing beggars who appeared deserving, as in February 1797: ‘To a poor French emigrant woman, very short, who came to my house this morning to ask charity, being in great distress, gave 0.1.0 and also a mince pye and some beer. She told me as far as I understood her (as she talked but little English) that her husband with 2 or 3 children were killed in the late bloody commotions in France.’32 At certain times of the year he favoured specific elements of his congregation, giving money to the poor housekeepers and single people of the parish on St Thomas’s Day (21 December), and on Christmas Day he liked to invite the poor for a meal:
This being Christmas Day, I went to Church this morn’ and then read prayers and administered the Holy Sacrament. Mr. and Mrs. Custance [the squire and his wife] both at Church and both received the Sacrament from my hands. The following poor old men dined at my house to day, as usual, Js. Smith, Clerk; Richd. Bates, Richd. Buck; Thos. Cary; Thos. Dicker; Thos. Cushing; Thos. Carr – to each besides gave 1/0 – in all 0.7.0. I gave them for dinner a surloin of beef rosted and plenty of plumb-pudding. We had mince pies for the first time to-day.33
Of the thousands of parish churches across England, many were centuries old, built from the medieval period onwards and often originally for the Catholic religion. High on the Quantocks, Holland encountered a parishioner, Jack Hunt, working in his garden and asked him why he did not cut down one hedge for a better view: ‘Ah that is Mr Buller’s hedge,’ came the reply, ‘but I can see twelve parish churches from my door.’34 John Byng also admired seeing numerous churches in Lincolnshire:
Within view, at short distance, are several churches…I am of a very superstitious turn; and must think that the same Providence which urged great and pious people formerly, to build these houses of God still guards and preserves them. Who would, or could build them now? The expence would be enormous…How beautiful does our land now look, from the spires and steeples; and what useful land and sea marks they are; numbers are gone to ruin, and yearly suffered to fall down: how happens this? Have we no bishops, or do they not visit their dioceses?35
By the late eighteenth century few new churches were being constructed, even though there was a pressing need in the expanding towns. Elsewhere, churches were all too often in some state of disrepair, as well as being damp and cold (they had no heating), and their congregations were dwindling, particularly with the rise of Methodism.36 Most churches were not intended as places of private prayer and were kept locked, so the first task of an interested visitor like Byng was to locate a key or find the clerk so as to gain entrance. Very often these buildings were in a sorry state, such as All Saints Church at Dodington in Somerset, where Holland officiated on a general fast day in February 1809:
The weather dark and full of snow at last Mr. Huggins appear’d, and so I begun the service and two or three more came, finish’d the service and made s
ome strong observations to Mr. Huggins on the state of the church, a torrent of rain pour’d in on one side so as to make one side quite black, one window half gone, and pains of glass in abundance wanting and the roof full of holes that the sky was visible in many places. I told Huggins that I could not do duty in the church in this state.
Why sir replied he if next Sunday should be bad you need not come.
You know the wind blows on from all quarters, answered I.
Cant get a glazier and mason, return’d he not immediately.
Church work said I, shaking my head, must be done without delay.37
Those attending church services in winter must have felt the biting cold, as is evident by Holland’s remarks the following year, yet again at Dodington:
The most foggy, frosty, dark morning I ever knew, the ground is glazed over and the twigs everywhere cover’d completely with a white hoar frost…I could not ride. It was so slippery and so walked to Dodington and with difficulty made up a congregation. Yet three of the Miss Hugginses came and Mrs. Farthing, but the great Mr. Farthing himself was not there, the churchwarden. Neither did I see my old friend John Mogg’s red nose there which I lament the more as it might have warm’d the church on so very cold a morning.38
During the eighteenth century the medieval bench pews were often replaced by enclosed box pews, which provided some privacy and protection against draughts. Inside the church, differences in social class were reflected by the size and quality of a family’s pew and its position in the nave. Wealthy families could rent a pew or build their own, while the poor shared the common pews provided by the church at the back, or sat in a gallery. Pews were built to whatever shape and size their owners desired, and the curate Gilbert White at Selborne wrote that ‘nothing can be more irregular than the pews of this church, which are of all dimensions and heights, being patched up according to the fancy of the owners’.39 One newspaper in 1789 advertised a desirable pew for sale: ‘To be SOLD, A PEW, in the West Gallery of the Parish Church, at Leeds, well situated for both Hearing and Seeing, and containing Sittings for Five People.’40
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