44 The word should probably be ‘saving’.
45 Chatter-box.
I cannot state how eager I am to reach Goldenhilt Hall, not just in excitement of my actual mission but because of reports of the house itself. It is said to be one of the very finest in all England, with much of it built in the very latest style, with grand windows and doorways and high chimneys. Small wonder that many people of the greatest [poor ants]46 have accepted the Earl of Drayshire’s invitation to stay there.
I was pondering all this last night, whilst studying a rough layout of the gardens47, at a table in another tavern, even less reputable than the last. The mistress – a boss48 – who served us wine and ale looked as though she could wrestle a bear49 and win. She turned a man from his lodgings so that we might have a bed for the night.50
We stumbled upon the poor man the next morning when claiming our horses51. He was fully clothed, lying face-down in the stable. He was either inspecting something on the ground very close-to, or was still sleeping where she had dropped him.
The day’s riding was uneventful. At one stage we passed the home of my late uncle, Lord Alfred Carp, my mother’s elder brother. Having no son and heir, his lands and title passed to a cousin, Geoffrey, who will, in turn, pass it on to his son.52
“It was Uncle Alfred who taught me our island’s history, when I was a boy of eight,” I told Rowan.
“And did he tell you that our great English kings are from Welsh stock?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow and a smile.
I do, indeed, know our country has been ruled by members of the Tudor family since Henry Tudor53 won the throne from bad King Richard.54 And I do know that Henry had ruled the principality of Wales55.
It is evening now and we have pitched tent. I am writing by firelight. All being well, tomorrow we should reach the Hall.
46 I think he must have meant ‘importance’.
47 Formal Tudor gardens were a maze of beautiful patterns and designs of plants and shrubs and hedges, often including an actual maze.
48 Not a boss as in ‘someone in charge’, but Tudor slang for a large woman.
49 There were no wild bears left in England by Tudor times, but there were captive bears used for ‘entertainment’.
50 With the existing occupant drunk, and Snoop and Rowan obviously wealthier, the chance to make more money by giving them the room would not have been uncommon in less reputable establishments!
51 In 1557, a visitor to England from continental Europe was surprised by just how many people road horses. Not just the rich and nobles, as was often the case in other countries, but also, he commented “there is no male or female peasant who does not ride on horseback.” More people were injured by horse than any other animal, wild or domestic!
52 This was common practice. The oldest male child inherits the nobleman’s title. If there is no son, the title moves sideways to the oldest remaining brother, or failing that, a nephew or even cousin. With royalty, it was slightly different. If there was no son to inherit the crown, it could pass to the oldest daughter. As in the case of King Edward VI, the son could be younger than all his sisters, though, and still be the first in line to inherit. This has now changed with the UK monarchy. Now the oldest child of any king or queen will inherit the crown, regardless of whether they are male or female.
53 Who became King Henry VII.
54 Richard III. Snoop would say that Richard was bad, of course, because those who win wars can rewrite history.
55 The royal household had divided into two warring factions, the Yorks and the Lancastrians, each fighting for the crown under the emblem of their rose; the Yorks’ rose being white and the Lancastrians’ red. Henry Tudor was a Lancastrian but, on becoming King Henry VII, married Elizabeth of York, thus uniting the two houses and forming a new rose, of both white and red: the Tudor Rose.
This evening, we finally reached Goldenhilt Hall at dusk without incident. As we rode up the sweeping driveway, we did not get to see it in its full glory. I look forward to the morning, and am too tired to write anymore now. My bed is calling me like a rock might call a crow to perch upon it, if rocks could talk and liked crows sitting on them. See? I am so tired I am making little, if any, sense!56
56 This paragraph was PARTICULARLY difficult to decode!
Upon our arrival last night, Rowan and I stabled our horses ourselves and I was shown to my chamber by a kitchen lad named Peter. (He is small and grubby with big eyes and the smile of a naughty imp. I like him!)
Despite rising at an early hour, Goldenhilt Hall was already teeming with people. With so many guests of great import arriving at the Hall this week, many have sent their representatives and servants ahead of them to ensure that all is to their satisfaction upon their arrival. The most important guests expect the best rooms.
The hall is every bit as glorious as I imagined! More so, even. It has a forest of chimneys of every shape and design, patterned in brick. Every archway and every window, every flagstone and downpipe has been perfectly proportioned with an artist’s eye. It cries out modernity and sophistication!57
“The problem,” said Master Tundy, the steward, when I was taken to meet him this morning after breakfast, “is that how important a person considers himself to be in the order of things and how important others may consider him to be can be two separate matters all together!”58
Master Tundy was sitting behind his enormous desk in his office. He is a large man; not particularly in height but in girth. He hath no gorebelly59 but is, rather, round like a ball! In sooth,60 he is about as round a man as I could ever expect to meet, but he is imposing with it. He hath a kindly face with neat-trimmed beard, but also the manners of a man used to being obeyed and taking NO nonsense.
“How do you mean, sire?” I asked.
“Without a doubt, the Most Noble61
Thomas62 Casement, Duke of Hampton, is the highest ranking guest and will be afforded the finest quarters,63” the steward explained, “and no one would contest that, but after his grace, there are many who feel that they should be awarded the next-best quarters!” He then proceeded to give me instructions to pass on to others regarding the airing of the bedrooms in the less-often-used east wing.
“Yes, sire,” I nodded.
After issuing many an instruction on Master Tundy’s behalf and reporting back to him whether things had or had not been done at his insistence, I caught sight of a familiar face in a basement corridor.
It belongeth to Mark Tollman, a friend who used to live upon an estate bordering my uncle’s lands, whom I have known since birth. He is here, it transpires, as the advance party to his master, one Lord Mulberry. He was surprised to find me working here at
Goldenhilt Hall. I was surprised to see that he had a swollen face and a black eye.
“Were you attacked on your way here?” I asked with much concern. “Are there robbers abroad?”64
He shook his battered head and told me an extraordinary tale, which I went away and committed to paper from memory, in note form, as soon as I was able. I will now retell it here:
BEING AN ACCOUNT BY MARK TOLLMAN OF HIS JOURNEY TO GOLDENHILT HALL, TOLD TO ME, THOMAS SNOOP, IN AS MANY OF HIS OWN WORDS AS I CAN RECALL
On our second day of riding, John Rider and I drew near the village of Hamble Hooe. I was surprised by how few other people there were about the place. The windmill stood idle65 and there was a sign of neither the miller nor his apprentices.66 The village square was clear of any market stalls.
John and I dismounted and he led the horses to a trough of rainwater from which they began to drink.
It was then we heard a distant roar. I have never heard anything like it, Thomas. What could it be? A rumble of thunder? A giant wave dragging a thousand pebbles in its undertow? For one fleeting moment, I even considered the possibility of it being the roar of a dragon, that beast of folklore and of heraldry67.
A moment later, the horses bolted; galloping off the way we came, nostrils flared and eyes wide with
fear.
And then they appeared. Hundreds of them. Shouting, charging, jeering, cheering, running, falling, tripping, hobbling, squalling, calling, frightening, appalling people.
One of them threw something in our direction and instinctively, thus without a moment’s contemplation, I ran forward and caught it.
If only I had let it lie, things might have taken a very different turn.
As it was, I looked down in horror as realisation dawned. I had in my hands a pig’s bladder stuffed with beans and peas.
A moment later, the mob was upon me.
We had found ourselves in the middle of a game of mob football68.
If you have never been in a position to witness such a game, Thomas, let me explain a little more.
Firstly, in a game of mob football, the word game is somewhat inaccurate. The teams are made up of two villages, so the word ‘battle’ or ‘war’ might be more appropriate. When I say villages, I mean villages, or the entirety of their inhabitants at the very least. There is no set number of people to a team. Each and every inhabitant of a village who is willing and able to take part may do so.
The pig’s bladder ball may be kicked or carried or thrown. Those trying to gain control of the ball may also kick or carry or throw or punch or tackle the person with the ball… or any person in the way, come to that. Or any person in the opposite team they may wish to kick or carry or throw or punch or tackle. Or in their own team, if they bear a grudge and wish to settle old scores when no one is looking or does not care.
Weapons are not allowed, but who is to say that a walking stick or staff is a weapon, or a tool one has about one’s person in the line of work, or a knife which one always carries in one’s belt? To put it simply, the rules are few and far between, and may vary from village to village, referee to referee.
The two teams meet midway between the two villages. The referee declareth the game begun and the first team to land the ball back at an agreed place in their own village is declared the winner.
Now, this may well sound violent enough but imagine yourself in my position. Holding the ball as the villagers from Hamble Hooe and Hamble Stour descend upon me as one. What should I do? What DID I do? I threw the ball to John Rider.
I am not proud.
Do not judge me, Thomas.
An hour since, I tried telling myself that as instinctively as I’d caught the ball in the first place, I instinctively passed it on to John (who’s catching of it was mighty fine, I might add). But, the truth be told, the reason for my ridding myself of the pig’s bladder ball was plain and simple:
FEAR
No one may judge me unless they too have been faced by mob footballers. I suspect I could not be more afeared of a Spanish army armed to the teeth with the latest weaponry.
Not so good for poor John though.
With the villagers of Humble Hooe victorious, a celebration took place which included the defeated team of Humble Stour. Whereas, only hours before, nothing in the world seemed more important than each beating the other village at the game, now all is friendly once again. No one seems to bear a grudge.
It seems that the most common injury of a serious nature was broken limbs and there were plenty of these: arms, legs, fingers and toes. Then there were the noses. Few people escaped bruising, some badly, and there were people with gappy-toothed smiles, cuts and lumps and bumps.69
Unfortunately, one of the people with a broken arm and leg and bruises and lumps and bumps and cuts and yet MORE lumps, was none other than poor John Rider.
He is now in the care of a Mistress Cartwell, Humble Hooe’s Wise Woman, who is well-known in the village for her herbal medicines and healing powers. Apparently, her mother was a Wise Woman70 before her, as well as a botcher71. Most fortunately Mistress Cartwell’s apothecary’s box contains a piece of rope that was used to hang a man which she assures me, when applied to poor John’s head, will help to ease the pain.72
“How bad do you consider Master John’s condition to be?” I asked the old lady. I suspect that she may be as much as forty, Thomas!73
“I was fortunate enough to get a sample of your friend’s urine but an hour ago and have studied it closely,”74 she replied.
“And?” I asked, trying to keep the worry from my voice.
“Having tasted it, I would say that I am hopeful he’ll make a full recovery, given time.75”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “I have important matters to attend to, Miss Cartwell,” I said, “but I would be extremely grateful if I could leave him in your care. I will, of course, pay you for your trouble.” I produced a coin and handed it to her.
Her eyes widened when she saw that it was half a crown76.
“It will be my honour to look after your friend for as long as is necessary,” she assured me.
I said my goodbyes to John, who groaned a great deal but wished me luck by name. We had managed to retrieve one of the horses – his stallion, Star – and Mistress Cartwell hath assured me that, should my mount return in my absence, she will be fed, stabled and watered until my return.
And so ended Mark’s remarkable account.
57 Thomas may be getting a bit carried away here, but he’s right in that such houses were built by the very wealthy as status symbols to show of just how rich they were and how many guests they could house and servants they needed. They could also show off how fashionable and up-to-the-minute they were with the latest architectural fads.
58 There was a very particular hierarchy – order of importance – in English aristocracy in Tudor England.
59 Paunch.
60 Truth.
61 Master Tundy isn’t just being respectful – a duke really is titled ‘the Most Noble’!
62 Thomas was a very popular name in Tudor England amongst very powerful men.
63 Best bedroom/nicest suite!
64 Not ‘abroad’ as in a foreign country. It simply means out and about.
65 The Tudors used both wind and water power – windmills and watermills – to operate machinery to turn huge mill stones, between which grain was ground into flour.
66 A person would learn a trade by being apprenticed to his master. In this case, the miller would feed and house the boy, who would work without pay but learn a trade in return.
67 Heraldry is a study of the coats of arms; the emblems of various important families, including the shield, crest and helm, supported either side by supporters (such as the lion and unicorn on the British royal family’s coat of arms).
68 Football was played in Tudor England in a variety of different ways. Mob football is sometimes also referred to as village football or Shrovetide football, the latter being named after Shrove Tuesday, on or around when the game was often played. The game had been around for hundreds of years by then, the early rules being that – as long as you didn’t commit murder or manslaughter – just about anything goes! In some versions, the winners were the team that got the ball to their own village. In another version, the winners were the one whose team kicked the ball into the other village’s church! The balls were usually made of stuffed pig’s bladder or of wood.
69 In 1543, the following injuries after a game of football were mentioned: “Sometimes their necks are broken, sometimes their backs, sometimes their legs, sometimes their arms, sometimes one part is thrust out of joint, sometimes the noses gush out with blood.”
70 Wise Women were local healers. Their remedies were a mix of genuinely useful herbs and concoctions, common sense and superstition.
71 A mender of old clothes.
72 Tudor medicine hadn’t advanced much from medieval medicine and was still very basic. Pressing a hangman’s rope to your head was, indeed, supposed to help head pain. If you had rheumatism, the recommended cure was to wear the skin of a donkey!
73 Only around 10% of people in Tudor England lived to be forty-years-old or over.
74 Tudor ‘doctors’ and ‘healers’ believe much could be told about a patient’s condition just by looking
at their urine.
75 Yes, as well as looking at and smelling urine, some healers also drank a little. Yerch!
76 Eight half-crowns made a pound (£) and many farm labourers would only earn between five and ten pounds a year.
More people arrive daily and Master Tundy now hath a piece of parchment laid out upon his impressive desk of carved oak. He is aware that I can read but not, I suspect, just how well. I have also been trained in the art of reading items upside-down, should I only glance them from the wrong side of a desk. Lord Severn trained us well, whatever age we may be.
Master Tundy hath written a series of columns, listing the name of each guest, whether he hath his wife accompanying him, and the name or number of those he hath to attend him (if known). He also had letters and numbers allocated to each group.
“The numbers,” said the steward, carefully watching my gaze, “refer to the bed chambers I have allocated them.” The chambers themselves do not have numbered doors. “The letter, refers to the wing of the house. ‘E’ for east, ‘W’ for west…”
“And the ‘C’, Master Tundy?” I asked, not aware of there being a letter C anywhere upon the points of a compass.
“The main house, Thomas. The original house, where we are now. Where Lady Drayshire77 herself hath her chamber.”
I wasn’t aware that ‘main’ or ‘original’ began with ‘C’ either, and I am exceeding well educated for a boy of my age.
“For Central,” said Master Tundy, as if he’d read my mind. “The ‘C’ is for ‘central’.”
I must be careful with the steward. He seemeth to be very good at understanding what people may be thinking!
The Secret Diary of Thomas Snoop, Tudor Boy Spy Page 2
