Folklore of Essex

by Sylvia Kent

  By then, however, the venerable oak had gone. Over the years, the surface roots of the tree were damaged by fires lit by the picnickers and revellers, and in 1805 the tree, already suffering from the degradation of time, was seriously damaged by fire. In 1820, the tree, which was by then dead, was finally blown down during a gale. Part of its timber was used by a builder to make a pulpit and reading desk for St Pancras church in Euston Road, London. Despite the loss of its namesake, the Fairlop Oak Festival continued to be held until July 1899.

  The Fairlop Oak, 1790.

  The Fairlop Frigate, from the Illustrated London News, 1843.

  The Fairlop Oak – the new planting in 1992.

  A replacement for the Fairlop Oak was paid for and planted, on 21 February 1992, on the exact site of the ancient oak by Ilford historian and writer Mr Norman Gunby and the East London Soroptomists.

  Colchester’s Famous Oyster Feast

  Essex oysters are famous throughout the world. They have been cultivated around the Thames Estuary, particularly in Colchester, since before the time of the Roman invasion. The Romans found these succulent shellfish so delicious that they set about establishing an industry around the Colchester beds, even exporting them to Rome. Oysters were also cultivated in other places in the county, including Maldon, Pagelsham, Leigh, Canvey and Southchurch. Celebrations take place in some towns; the most famous is the annual Colchester Oyster Feast.

  The Colchester oyster fishery is officially ‘opened’ on the first Friday of September each year. In full civic regalia, the mayor of Colchester, his town clerk and council members take passage on an oyster dredger out into the Pyefleet Channel of the Colne Estuary, off Mersea Island. A flotilla of small boats carrying invited guests follows the mayor out into the channel. Oaths are sworn, pledging devotion to the Queen, and the mayor dredges and eats the first oyster of the season. Gin and gingerbread follow and then there is an oyster lunch on board.

  Colchester Oyster Feast. Colchester’s mayor consumes the first oyster.

  Colchester Oyster Feast. Invited guests at the Moot Hall, Colchester.

  The grand Colchester Oyster Feast is held on the last Friday of October each year. It takes place at Colchester’s Moot Hall and is presided over by the mayor. No one knows when the first Oyster Feast was held but it was an established annual event by the reign of King Charles II. It took place on 9 October, marking the start of the ancient Saint Denys’ Fair. This fair dated from 1319 and was the greatest of all fairs in Essex, with festivities taking place over eight days.

  In modern times, the Colchester Oyster Feast has grown in size and importance and has been attended by many members of the Royal Family and civic dignitaries from around the nation. The mayor also invites Colchester citizens who are active in local charities, civic bodies and good causes. There is a public lottery to ensure that every citizen of the borough has the chance to attend this prestigious event. The arrival of the oysters is greeted by a fanfare of trumpets, signalling the start of the feast. The Town Clerk reads the proclamation, dating from 1256, which states that the oyster beds have belonged to Colchester ‘from the time beyond which memory runneth not to the contrary’, and the feast begins.

  The Whispering (or Lawless) Court

  Until the end of the nineteenth century, an unusual tradition took place annually, around the time of Michaelmas, at Rochford. Following a splendid supper at the King’s Head in Rochford marketplace, provided by the lord of the manor, tenants of the town made their way at midnight to congregate around a white-painted wooden post in the front garden of the ancient King’s Hill Cottage. The lord’s steward whispered the names of the people who owed service to the manor, the tenants replied by whispering their names and the steward concluded with the following proclamation:

  Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, all persons who have appeared at this court for the manor of King’s Hill have leave to depart hence keeping their day and hour on a new summons. God save the King.

  This ended the proceedings. The torches were extinguished and the men left. No one knows exactly when this custom started but it is believed to have originated in the mid-seventeenth century, when the second Earl of Warwick was lord of the manor. His tenants were annoyed at his long absences abroad and complained that he was never present to hear their grievances and land disputes. On arriving home late one night after a long journey, he retired to bed but was awoken around midnight by the crowing of a cock that had been startled by the lanterns carried by the tenants in the courtyard below. Believing that that they were plotting against him, he strode out to meet his men, mistakenly reprimanding them for their treachery. As penance, he commanded them every year thereafter on the Wednesday following Michaelmas Day to assemble around the post to pay homage for their lands – but in hushed voices.

  The cottage in Rochford where the Whispering Court took place.

  In time, the Whispering Court developed into a boisterous annual event, with the village lads carrying flaming torches and ‘crowing’ lustily in keeping with the legend, throwing their firebrands into the middle of the marketplace and chanting the ‘Song of the Lawless Court’. The beginning of the nineteenth century saw the departure of the manorial lords and with them their courts and other interesting but strange customs. The white-painted wooden post still stands today at King’s Hill Cottage, as decreed.

  Boy Bishops

  The ancient tradition of electing a boy bishop into the local church each year was well known in many places, including Essex, during the Middle Ages. St Nicholas is the patron saint of schoolboys and on his feast day, 6 December, an ordinary chorister was chosen to become ‘bishop’ for three weeks, until Holy Innocents’ Day on 28 December.

  During that time, the chosen one was addressed as St Nicholas and treated with reverence by clerics and laymen alike. He was expected to perform most of the duties of an adult prelate. He wore a miniature cope and mitre and carried a crozier, and was assisted by other boys acting as his lesser clergy. He sang Vespers and took a chief part in all the church services, except those which only an ordained priest could celebrate. On his last day as bishop, he was required to preach a sermon and to ride out in procession to bless the people. Henry VIII suppressed this custom in 1541, Mary I revived it in 1554 and Elizabeth I abolished it once more.

  During the nineteenth century, the custom was revived in parts of East Anglia. In 1899, Revd H.K. Hudson reintroduced the Boy Bishop ceremony in the small village of Berden, which is not far from Saffron Walden, and it continued annually until he left the village in 1937. Over the last ten years, the custom has become popular again, in a shortened form, in some church schools in Essex.

  Seeking Sanctuary

  For 1,000 years, the ancient custom of seeking sanctuary, instituted by Pope Boniface V in AD 633, existed in England. This meant that any sinner seeking refuge in a church could remain there safely for up to forty days, free from persecution by his enemies. No doubt the idea was prompted by the Pope’s interpretation of the scriptures that decreed that there was ‘always room in Heaven for the sinner ready to repent’.

  The Thomas à Becket Chapel at Brentwood proved to be a place of sanctuary for Hubert de Burgh, chief minister to King John and later to King Henry III. In 1232, Hubert angered King Henry, who branded him as a traitor and confiscated his home and possessions. Hubert decided to leave Essex and, so great was his haste, it is said he ‘had no time to don his clothes’. With armed soldiers in hot pursuit, Hubert sought sanctuary in the chapel at Brentwood, which had been built nine years earlier. But the soldiers ignored Church law and prepared to drag Hubert from the chapel. Hubert stood bravely before the soldiers, his cross in one hand, but this did not prevent the soldiers trying to force the local blacksmith to make shackles to prevent Hubert from escaping. However, when the blacksmith realised the identity of the prisoner, he refused, saying:

  Do with me as you please: as the Lord liveth I will not make shackles for him, but will rather die the worst death there is. Let God judg
e between you and him for using him so unjustly. Is he not that most faithful and noble-minded Hubert who so often saved England from the ravages of foreigners and restored England to herself?

  The Bishop of London, upon hearing that his monarch had violated sanctuary, threatened to excommunicate all involved. As a result, Hubert was returned to the chapel, where he stayed as a prisoner for thirty-nine days. The soldiers then re-arrested him and ‘sette him on a sorry horse and conveyed him to the Tower of London’. There was a happy ending, as Hubert was eventually pardoned by the King and had his lands restored. He died in retirement in 1243.

  Brentwood Chapel ruins.

  Birthplace of Henry Fitzroy

  Henry VIII’s relationship with Anne Boleyn and the political consequences of his efforts to produce a male heir are well known in national history. However, little space has been given to Henry’s illegitimate son, who was born in the village of Blackmore, where Henry’s mistress, Elizabeth Blount, was living.

  Young Elizabeth had entered the royal court at an early age, serving as lady-in-waiting to the Queen before catching Henry’s eye. She became his mistress a year before giving birth to their son on 18 June 1519. The baby was born at Jericho House, not far from St Laurence’s parish church and the Augustinian priory founded in Blackmore at the end of the twelfth century. He was christened Henry Fitzroy, (Fitzroy means ‘son of a king’). Elizabeth was married off to one of Cardinal Wolesley’s retainers. According to Essex historian Philip Morant, when the King was absent from the court, courtiers would comment that ‘he has gone to Jericho’. The nearby river Can was known as ‘the Jordan’.

  By 1525, it was clear that Queen Catherine would not be able to produce the heir that Henry so desperately needed and young Henry Fitzroy, now his father’s pride and joy, was brought out of obscurity and heaped with honours. On his sixth birthday, he became the Duke of Richmond and Somerset and was elected Knight of the Garter, among other prestigious titles.

  In the spring of 1532, young Henry came to live at Hatfield in Hertfordshire and, although he was often taken to hunt beside the river Lea, it seems he never returned to live in his native Essex. He died in 1536, aged seventeen, at St James’s Palace. The crown on the Blackmore village sign is the only clue to Henry VIII’s amorous connections with the area.

  St Laurence’s Blackmore church

  Henry Fitzroy, born in Blackmore on 18 June 1519.

  The Victors of Tyler’s Common

  A story that is now an Upminster legend concerns Tyler’s Common. In 1939, just before the Second World War, Essex County Council bought part of the land as the Government pressed every piece of spare land into service to grow food crops. The laborious task of clearing and levelling the overgrown common took months but eventually it was brought into cultivation, although it was not particularly productive and many local people, especially those who had worked hard, felt it was a huge waste of time.

  At the end of the war, residents living near the common assumed that the land would revert to its former common land status but officers from Essex County Council erected barbed-wire fences and started offering terms to local farmers for letting the common. When these facts became known, there was considerable indignation from local residents.

  It appeared that the stewards of the manor of the common had sold the rights of land, including the common and roadside waste lands along the neighbouring lanes, to Essex County Council for £210 4s 10d. Local farmers were vexed at the proposal to charge them heavily for the use of land which they had always regarded as being theirs by right.

  A group of local residents launched an attack on the proposals. Among them was a well-known local man, Edward Luther, who lived at nearby Ardleigh Green. In 1951, he led a well-publicised crusade against the injustice of the Essex County Council’s action. He put up posters and drove around the neighbourhood in his small car, liberally daubed with slogans, blasting out the well-known tune ‘Colonel Bogey’ to attract attention to his cause.

  Many people supported Luther, particularly when he put notices on the common threatening those caught stealing the people’s common land with trial at Redden Court and, on conviction, hanging by the neck at Gallows Corner. This attracted nationwide attention and photographs of Luther and the Upminster protesters appeared in several national newspapers.

  Among the group of local farmers and supporters was the local MP, Mr Geoffrey Bing KC, who, as an authority on common law, was able to dispute the activities of Essex County Council. He provided a legally worded form of petition to Parliament. It required 300 signatures; they were obtained within a day and the petition was presented.

  The Luther Stone still stands facing Upminster (Tyler’s) Common.

  Victory celebrations on Upminster Common, 19 July, 1951.

  Accordingly, the Minister for Agriculture announced that it was illegal for any person to fence the common without his consent. As Essex County Council had not sought this consent, they were forced on 19 July 1951 to remove 1¼ miles of wire fencing, much of which had been damaged by protesters. A celebration was held on the common and local farmers drove their cattle on to the common to graze. A victory stone was erected facing the common, which reads:

  The Battle of Upminster Common

  1 June to 19 July 1951

  In the name of King John and the Magna Carta,

  this stone is to commemorate

  the victory of the commoners

  over the Essex County Council

  Geoffrey Bing KC MP

  Edward A. Luther

  Edgar Fordham

  Ben Cunningham

  TWO

  WITCH COUNTRY

  She comes by night in fearsome flight

  In garments black as pitch

  The queen of doom upon her broom

  The wild and wicked witch

  Jack Prelutsky

  Witchcraft has, it seems, always been with us and is entwined within Essex folklore. Some years ago, one of the country’s leading authorities on witchcraft, Eric Maple, wrote: ‘A mere broomstick’s ride from central London – and an even shorter air hop from Stansted and Southend airports, lies the Essex witch country, an extensive, low-lying area between the River Thames and the River Stour, which separates Essex from Suffolk.’

  Many apparently unexceptional Essex towns and villages that are now within London’s commuter belt were coloured by a terrifying fear and superstition. Why Essex in particular became the hub of witchcraft activity 300 years ago is uncertain. During Tudor times, Londoners experienced many bouts of plague and sickness. As some curative ‘white witchcraft’ was believed to be found in some Essex villages – not too far from the capital – many sought relief from the healers and wise women known to live in the county.

  Certainly, Essex seems to have been considered the breeding ground for much sorcery and magic from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries and, in some places, even well into the nineteenth century. Fear and superstition are the twin preoccupations that seem to have started the awful upsurge of witchcraft mania that swept through Catholic Europe like a tidal wave, eventually arriving in England.

  In 1542, Henry VIII declared war on witches by introducing a statute against witchcraft. Almost immediately from that time, poor, simple women began to be persecuted. ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’ was the biblical command. ‘A man or also women that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death. They shall stone them with stones; their blood shall be upon them.’ With that indictment being promulgated nationally, the die was set, although the Act was repealed five years later when Henry died and his son, the nine-year-old Edward VI, was crowned in Westminster Abbey on 20 February 1547.

  Hanging witches.

  During Edward’s six-year reign, the Book of Common Prayer was introduced and the Act of Uniformity passed two years later, which prohibited the use of the Catholic Mass. Removal from churches of the people’s precious statues of the saints and beautiful icons caused much of
fence in many Essex parishes and, from a religious view, there was great uncertainty and confusion among ordinary village folk.

  When Elizabeth became Queen after the death of her half-sister, the devoutly Catholic Queen Mary, the subject of witchcraft was again the talk of Parliament and became the basis of new legislation that entered the Statute Book in 1563. During that year, there was great sickness in London, with more than 17,000 dying of a plague, and in this atmosphere the healing powers of ‘white witchcraft’ was again sought.

  In his book Broomstick Over Essex, Tom Gardiner offers some interesting ideas about witchcraft at that time:

  Elizabeth came to the throne in 1558 and the Church of England was back in business. John Jewel, now appointed Bishop of Salisbury, was given the honour of preaching before Her Majesty in 1560, and used the occasion to sound the trumpet for persecution. ‘Your Grace’s subjects pine away to death,’ he said, ‘their colour fadeth, their flesh rotteth, their speech is benumbed, their senses bereft.’

  It is sensational language, guaranteed to inspire the persecutor. Elizabeth knew, of course, that some of her less attractive subjects had the disconcerting pastime of making models of her and sticking pins in them. She also suspected that those embracing another religion, or not wholly on the side of the Church of England, might just be using this as a cover for revolutionary opinions. It was a time when national stability could not be taken for granted and a religious freak might be a disguised political enemy. Perhaps, therefore, she did not take much persuading.

  It wasn’t until 1563 that witchcraft was made a capital offence. Even then, English law required proof of injury to people or domestic animals. A charge of witchcraft in England led to death by hanging, not burning, as was the case in France and Germany. When Pope Paul VIII issued an edict in 1584 which made witchcraft a heresy, he gave power to the continental Inquisitors to search out and severely punish all witches. The Inquisitors were given elementary and primitive instructions but they soon introduced refinements. A century earlier, two Dominican friars, Heinrich Kramer and Jakob Sprenger, had written a treatise entitled Malleus Maleficarum or The Hammer of Witches. This textbook was considered to be an extraordinary piece of incredulity and sub-pornography and was compiled at the request of Pope Innocent VII. ‘Many persons,’ said the Pope’s letter, ‘unmindful of their own salvation and straying from the Catholic Faith, have abandoned themselves to devil’s incubi and succubi.’ The treatise became a handbook used for guidance by those in authority when searching out witches.