To the staff and volunteers who have made
my visits to National Trust properties, over
fifty years, fun and informative.
PA
I have not been in such an unusual situation since I once fell into a cesspit whilst escaping an angry deer1. (Accidentally, of course, as if anyone would do such a thing on purpose.) I am now officially a spy and have been instructed to keep a diary, should England’s spymaster, Lord Severn, require information from me at a later date.
My uncle, Lord Snoop, an advisor to the young king2, hath been a friend of Lord Severn for many moons, though they are rarely seen together, and it is he who suggested Lord Severn approach me for this task. I am honoured that my uncle thinks me worthy and that Lord Severn agrees! My sister, Beth, sees me as bobolyn!3
My quill skills4 are far from perfect, and my fingers are already as black as an inky crow5, so I do expect the occasional blot, blob and splatter to accompany my all-important words. Not only that, I must write everything in this special code6.
The code was provided to me by none other than Lord Severn himself, in case this record of events should fall into enemy hands.
If it were to do so, my writings would make about as much sense as a man bridging a river without a pole.7
It is honour enough to be working as one of the king’s youngest spies – I am aged just three years and ten8 – but to be trained by Lord Severn in person is beyond my wildest of dreams (and my dreams have been mighty wild upon occasion, such as the one I had about the tiny blacksmith and the giant pelican9). I have much to be thankful for.
Though I have yet to receive my final instructions, I have been ordered to start this diary today so that I might practise writing in this confounded code. I confess that I have not yet fully mastered it, so suspect that I shall make the occasional [cake]10.
My name is Thomas Snoop and I have been tasked in helping the fight against fellow Englishmen who are plotting, hand in glove, with a foreign power: The Spanish! Shocking I know, but true! (Gloves are optional.)
I am a good true Protestant11 which meaneth that my greatest enemies are the followers of Rome12, whether they be at home or abroad. There are Catholics in this country who hide their true faith and pretend allegiance to our protestant King Edward and the Anglican Church13. For them I may have some sympathy, though I voice it not aloud14, for – once upon a time – we Christians were all Catholic also.
The real danger lies in those Catholics not content in simply carrying on the religion behind closed doors, but in plotting with foreign allies, such as those from Spain. Their shocking aim? To have a Catholic King back upon the throne of England! What TRAITORS!
Not a day doth pass without rumours or intelligence15 about certain seemingly respectable [hobble hen]16 holding secret talks with envoys from Spain. Lord Severn hath received information that two such traitors will be amongst the many noblemen and noblewomen soon to be residing as guests of William de Grieff17, Earl of Drayshire, at his most beautiful manor house, Goldenhilt Hall. My mission is to find out who they are and what evil plans they have afoot! (Feet optional.)
Even the name Goldenhilt soundeth beautiful, hilt being the name for a handle of a sword and golden being all – well – golden, as in gold! (And who doth not like a bit of gold?) ’Tis said to be one of the most spectacular houses in all England!
Lord Severn hath somehow arranged for me to be assigned the position of assistant to Master Tundy, the steward18, who is charged with running all aspects of the Goldenhilt Hall household. As far as I am aware, no member of the household knows the true purpose of my employ19.
Even Master20 Tundy believes that I will simply be arriving to assist with the arrival of noble personages. He is most obviously a man used to being privy to most of what happens under Goldenhilt Hall’s roof (which, I am informed, is beautifully decorated).
I am currently residing in the home of Lady Margaret P—, a close confidant to Lord Severn, which I suppose maketh her a form of spy also. I am to begin my journey to the Hall on the [marrow]21. I call her Lady Margaret P—not to hide her true identity but because I find her name unspelible unspelable unsp impossible to spell! I think it rhymes with kirtle.22
1 There were plenty of deer around in Tudor England, and large male deer with big antlers could kill a person. And people drowned in cesspits too!
2 King Edward VI, son of Henry VIII, came to the throne aged nine. He had two much older half-sisters – each was born to a different mother – but he became monarch because he was male.
3 A splendid Tudor word for an idiot!
4 Quills were pens made from feathers – with a nib cut into one end – and dipped in ink.
5 No, we don’t know what he was on about either.
6 Fortunately, it has recently been decoded, which is why the language is not QUITE as actual Tudor English would have been written or spoken. In fact much of it is FAR more modern… but easier to read!
7 Many smaller rivers and streams out in the countryside had no bridges built across them. Locals would pole-vault across them instead!
8 3+10 = 13, so he’s twelve-and-a bit.
9 In Tudor times, the pelican represented self-sacrifice and a charitable nature.
10 I suspect the word he intended to write here – in code, remember – was not ‘cake’ but ‘mistake’… but he made one.* (*A mistake that is, not a cake and, anyway ‘cake’ meant ‘loaf’ in Tudor times.)
11 A Christian who does not follow the Roman Catholic faith.
12 Not a football club, or even the Romans in the Julius Caesar sense of the word, but the Roman Catholic Church with the Pope at its head. (Protestants are non-Catholic Christians.)
13 The Anglican Church is the Church of England, founded by Henry VIII.
14 And probably shouldn’t have mentioned in his diary, either!
15 The collection of information of military or political importance by spies, etc.
16 By ‘hobble hen’, I suspect he meant to say ‘noblemen’.
17 Noble English families often had French-sounding names because William the Conqueror – who became King of England back in 1066 – was from French-speaking Normandy and gave English lands and titles to his Norman knights.
18 The Steward of the Household was the most important servant in a grand Tudor house. He – always a he, like most servants – was in charge of all the servants and carried out his master and mistress’s wishes.
19 In other words, no one there will know what he’s really up to.
20 A term for ‘Mister’. A sign of respect.
21 I think he meant ‘on the morrow’ which simply means ‘tomorrow’, rather than ‘marrow’ which is a vegetable a bit like a VERY fat cucumber.
22 Rather confusingly, a kirtle was either a woman’s gown or a man’s cloak.
This morning, Lady Margaret P—(whose name I cannot spell, but which rhymes with myrtle23) – summoned me to her chamber and dismissed her ladies in waiting, who surround her like a pack of hunting dogs surroundeth the master of the hounds24. Some are pretty and some more like horses25, but all smell of sweet herbs26 and of powders. Lady Margaret smiled as they left. The minute the great door was closed behind them, however, her expression changed to that of a stern preacher who hath not heard a good joke in a long while, or hath fallen victim to a bad smell.
“You are ready, Thomas?” she enquired, leaning forward in her fine chair, the only one
in the room27. “The guests begin to arrive at Goldenhilt Hall over the next few days, and you must be our eyes and ears.” She hath nice ears. And her two eyes be nice also.
I said with
much honesty.
She nodded. “Good,” she said. “You know the code?”
“I have almost mastered it, mistress,” I assured her. “I’m a fast [burner]28.
“That is good,” she said. “Lord Severn hath trained you well. Now find you my man Rowan and make haste to the Hall,” she instructed. “He hath with him all the provisions you will need.”
“Yes, mistress,” said I, and made to walk towards the door. Rowan is her trusted servant, but even he does not know of my spying or my mission.
“Wait!” she instructed. “Take this.” From her flowing sleeve she produced a pendant strung on a piece of leather to place around my neck. I studied it. It was carved of bone in the shape of a rabbit poking its head out of a gap between parted grass. It had a toothy smile that reminded me of my father’s servant, Hogg. “For luck,” she explained.
“Thank you, my lady!” I said, accepting the talisman.
“God’s speed!” she replied.
I found Rowan preparing two horses in the stables. He is a stocky Welshman of some eight-and-twenty years, with dark hair and eyes as black as night (on a particularly black night). You could not find a man more loyal to our noble Tudor king.
With provisions slung in saddle-bags across our two horses, we set forth for Goldenhilt Hall, watched only by the Yeoman of the Horse.29 Who knows what [trenchers]30 lie ahead?
23 A type of shrub/bushy plant.
24 Hunting with hounds was a very popular pastime for wealthy Tudors.
25 Henry VIII, a Tudor king, described his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, as ‘the Flanders Mare’; Flanders being a country and ‘mare’ being a female horse. This unkind comment was made because she’d looked beautiful in her portrait, and it was on that basis that he’d agreed to marry her, their never having met.
26 People rarely washed and the rich disguised their body odour in many ways. Dried lavender was a popular choice.
27 People usually sat on stools or even cushions on the floor. Chairs were for important people: a sign of status.
28 He must, surely, have meant ‘learner’?
29 In charge of the stables.
30 Adventures? Challenges? Or maybe he did mean trenchers after all!
After a day’s uneventful riding, in which little occurred beyond my acquiring a tender behind31, we spent our first night in a tavern situated near one of the King’s Posts.32 Two of the posts’ men responsible for delivering communications had already had too much to drink when we arrived. They were laughing and joking. By the time we had each been served and eaten a most acceptable umble pie33, they were barely able to sit without slumping their heads upon the table, where sat their discarded meal and yet another flagon of ale. One had his head in a plate of gravy. Neither he nor the gravy seemed to mind much.
I suspect that they – the two men, not the one man and his gravy – might be somewhat delayed on the morrow, and that the letters may take a little longer to be delivered!
Rowan and I shared a bed and his snoring kept me awake much of the night, which is odd for he complained that my snoring had kept him awake, so one of us must have been lying.34 After a breakfast of bread and ale,35 we began our journey once more.
Much of the morning’s riding took us through forest36 where a tree root was to be my downfall. Literally.
My horse, a mare by the name of Nimblefoot (Ho! Ho!), caught one of her hooves in a root jutting out from the mossy ground and, as she lurched forward, I took the plunge.
My pride was hurt at least as much as my bottom.
“Are you unharmed, Master Thomas?” asked Rowan, sliding from his horse in one easy movement and helping me to my feet.
I rubbed my bottom. “I’ll live,” I said and smiled sheepishly.
At that moment, a man appeared between the trees. He was the size of a small village and about as wide. I exaggerate of course, but to say that he was a mountain of a man would not do his physique justice. He was the biggest human being I have ever seen and ever expect to see. I did not dream that such LARGENESS could exist in human form! If I were to see him often, I might require bigger eyes.
“And what have we here?” he said, his voice as deep as a well and loud enough to startle a flock of birds from the trees. How do I know? Because, when he spoke, he startled a flock of birds from the trees. (See? My recording of events is most methodical.)
I pulled myself to my fullest height, which did little more than further emphasise the difference in size between us, like an ant standing upon tip-toe next to a carthorse, or a wren trying to impress a falcon37!
“We are mere travellers passing through,” said Rowan, “and who, pray, are you?” Rowan sounded both calm and relaxed, as though he talked to giants in forests every day but weekends.
The mighty man laughed. “Were you not warned that it is best to remain on the more oft-ridden roads?” he said. “Who knows what dangers lie within?”
“I have ridden this path many times,” said Rowan, “and am well aware of the dangers and where best to tread.” This might have sounded more impressive had Rowan’s treading not just resulted in his stepping in some boar’s38 dung, which he was now busy trying to wipe off on a tufty tuft of grass.
The man came a step closer, casting a huge shadow over the pair of us. I saw now what he was holding in his hands. I had, at first, mistaken it for a furry coat or blanket or sack, or even a spare beard. I could see now that it was a dead wolf39.
He threw it upon the ground before us.
“It is fortunate for the pair of you that I walked this path before you,” the stranger continued, “for I do not imagine either of you has the strength to kill such a beast with your bare hands.”
“Most fortunate,” said Rowan, sounding unconvinced. “Might we know your name?”
The ogre looked at us with his slate-grey eyes. “My name is Green,” he said.
I thought of the Wild Man of the Woods carved into the woodwork of our churches40, nestling amongst the saints and holy people, bearded and surrounded in foliage: a pagan symbol predating Christ’s words in this land.41
And I thought of the men dressed in leaves and green who head up processions in the towns and villages, wielding big sticks and throwing firecrackers to attract attention and clear the way. But these are merely men in costume, whereas Green did look very much like the real article!
“I am Rowan,” said Rowan. Well, he would would he not? “Named after Mountain Ash.”42 Rowan put his hand in his pocket and produced a sprig cut from a branch. “’Tis a fine protector against witchcraft and the like.43” He looked hard at the giant as though he were just the kind of magical being from whom we needed [nosebags]44. “But we must be on our way again,” he said. “Good day to you.”
The giant of a man nodded.
I had decided by now that if this man were planning to rob and kill us or even kill and rob us – whichever he found the easier and most convenient – he would have done so by now.
I had not spoken throughout our brief encounter – no one can accuse me of being a jangler!45 – but I gave a nod in return before turning to Nimblefoot. I slightly lost my dignity when attempting to remount her. She must still have been skittish from becoming entangled in the tree root and decided to step forward just as I was swinging my leg over her. I am still unclear as to how I found myself to be facing the wrong way. For a moment, I was puzzled as to what had happened to her neck and head…
… until I realised that they were behind me!
Once both Rowan and I were aback our mounts, and facing in the right direction, we bade the giant Green farewell and resumed our journey to Goldenhilt Hall.
The rest of the day was without event.
31 A sore bum.
32 This was a part of remarkable network set up by Henry VIII whereby letters could be delivered across the country by horse, stopping to collect and deliver mail at various posting stations, where the riders could also stop and rest. This is why letters and parcels are still referred to as
‘post’ today, why we have a ‘postal service’, ‘post offices’ and ‘postmen’ and ‘postwomen’. All because of these Tudor posting stops along the original routes.
33 Umbles were the heart, liver kidney and lungs of an animal, so that’s what an umble pie contained. Today, these are often thought of as the cheaper, less-nice bits of meat – and is where the phrase ‘eating humble pie’ comes from, meaning being submissive – but tastes change. In Tudor times, the umbles were often seen as the best bits!
34 It was common for people to share beds when travelling.
35 Water was often unclean and tasted unpleasant, so ale was a better choice.
36 Much of England was still covered in woodland at this time.
37 Falconry – the hunting of smaller birds with birds of prey – was a popular pastime amongst nobility in Tudor times.
38 Wild boar – a kind of tusked pig – lived in many British forests. They were hunted for sport and boar’s heads were a specialty dish in nobles’ houses.
39 Wolves were also common in England at the time. The last wolves died out in around the seventeeth century.
40 Today, such carvings in churches are referred to as The Green Man, and he is seen as a symbol of fertility and growth.
41 Christianity was first brought to Britain by the Celts in around AD37. It was later spread by the Romans in the third and fourth century. The man later known as St Augustine was sent over to England by the Pope in 595 and became the first Archbishop of Canterbury in 597.
42 Mountain Ash is a popular folk name for the Rowan tree.
43 Tree lore – the folklore of trees – attributed different powers and attributes to different types of tree.
The Secret Diary of Thomas Snoop, Tudor Boy Spy Page 1
