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Dolly Jørgensen considers why the pig was so vital to urban life in the Middle Ages
They killed children, exhumed dead bodies and caused an almighty stink. So why, asks this Long Read written by Dolly Jørgensen, were our medieval ancestors so dependent on the urban pig? HistoryExtra Long Reads brings you the best articles from BBC History Magazine, direct to your ears. Today’s feature originally appeared in the October 2024 issue, and has been voiced in partnership with the RNIB.
Stretched, crushed and impaled: 10 shocking torture methods from medieval history
Medieval torturers knew what they were doing when it came to inflicting pain. In fact, their reputation has seen them credited over the centuries with devices that are more mythical than medieval. From the rack to the rat, discover the most gruesome torture methods…
So, you’re a person living in the medieval period and you find yourself on the wrong side of the law, or simply on the wrong side of the powerful. What worries you most: being locked up in a cell, being fined or being publicly humiliated in the stocks? Or none of the above. There are punishments that are far more troubling – with brutal and deadly consequences. During this period, an appalling assortment of torture methods and devices were used to punish, extract confessions (regardless of the truth) and, perhaps most importantly, instil fear. They inflicted unspeakable horrors on their victims, so much so that we still feel their legacy to this day. Yet, contrary to popular belief, these methods were not ubiquitous forms of punishment in the medieval period. "I think torture is much less prevalent than we so often believe," explains Dr Hannah Skoda, speaking on an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast. “There’s a really horrible phrase in the legal records where it says someone was ‘put to the question’, which means that they’re going to be tortured. But even there, there’s a strong sense that this was something problematic and to be avoided if possible.” What’s more, some of the most notorious devices known today were never used in the medieval period at all. Still, when torture was employed it would be horrific for those ‘put to the question’ as they were stretched, crushed, or impaled. Let’s explore 10 of the most infamous medieval torture methods… The rack Arguably the most infamous of them all, the rack was introduced to England in the 15th century by the Duke of Exeter. As Dr Hannah Skoda explains, he was the constable of the Tower of London so the device became known as “The Duke of Exeter’s Daughter”. Read more | The clever medieval trick that destroyed the last stand of stubborn paganism in Europe Victims were laid out on a rectangular frame and their wrists and ankles tied with ropes at the top and bottom. The ropes were attached to a mechanical crank, which, when turned, stretched the body and pulled the joints beyond breaking point. As the interrogation process continued, the strain was increased, inflicting agony and forcing the victim to relent and spill their secrets. This relentless tension dislocated joints, snapped ligaments, and could even tear limbs from the body. The Judas cradle Just to look at this pyramid-shaped device is enough to make you wince. In medieval times, the threat of it alone could inspire people to confess to whatever the torturers wanted. The victim would be perched above the Judas Cradle, also known as the Judas Chair, and lowered – often by ropes – on to the spiky top. Their weight eventually forced the tip of the pyramid into their body, causing it to rip through the pelvis. There is much evidence in historical accounts that though this device varied in design, it was used across medieval Europe, but has been most associated with the Spanish Inquisition. The pear of anguish As the name suggests, this handheld metal contraption was in the shape of a pear – and allegedly caused a lot of anguish. It consisted of four ‘leaves’ that were joined at the base and unfurled, like a flower, with the turn of a screw. The pear was inserted into the victim’s mouth – or other orifices – and the leaves were opened to inflict excruciating pain and cause internal damage. While not typically fatal, it could cause enough pain for a confession or as a precursor to more lethal forms of torture. But the pear is not without its controversy, with some historians questioning whether it was a medieval torture device at all. The presence of springs in the design suggest that it might actually date to the early modern period. The brazen bull Legend has it that the brazen bull was invented long before the medieval period. In ancient Greece, Perillus of Athens came up with the idea and proposed it to the tyrant Phalaris as a form of execution. It did not go well, as Skoda explains: “Phalaris told Perillus to get inside to demonstrate it, which he rather stupidly did. And then he died a hideous and terrifying death by means which he had invented himself.” The hideous and terrifying death in question was to be roasted alive. The condemned would be placed inside the hollow metal bull and then a fire lit beneath, which gradually heated the metal and turned the bull into an oven. It is said Phalaris commanded Perillus to design the bull so that smoke rose in the form of incense. More grotesque additions to the spectacle were the pipes inside the bull, which channelled the victim’s scream to create a sound mimicking the bellowing of a bull, and how the thrashing of the suffering within caused the bull to appear alive. Famous for its Greek origins, was this device used in the medieval period, if at all? Historians have argued that knowledge of the brazen bull, like other torture devices, was kept alive as a cautionary tale – or as a means of showing the tyranny of rulers. Rat torture Unlike the more complicated pieces of apparatus in this list, the idea of the rat torture was elegant in its simplicity, but no less brutal. The aim was to force a hungry and desperate rat to eat its way through a victim’s body. The unfortunate recipient would be laid down and restrained, before the torturer trapped the rat on their stomach (possibly under a bucket). The trap was then heated until the rat, now panicking, desperately sought any way out they could. The best way would be down, through the stomach. This led to a drawn out and extremely painful death as the victim’s insides were eaten. The tongue tearer <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2024/09/GettyImages-1911056911-84073ad-e1726058155162.jpg" width="619" height="413" alt="The torture of Hans Bret, an Englishman captured in Antwerp in 1576. Bret sits chained to a rock where his tongue is removed with hot tongs. He was later he is burned at the stake." title="The torture of Hans Bret, an Englishman captured in Antwerp in 1576. Bret sits chained to a rock where his tongue is removed with hot tongs. He was later he is burned at the stake." /> The purpose of this tool, which resembles a pair of gardening shears, was as straightforward as the name suggests. The tongue tearer, which would be heated over a fire first, was designed to be clamped onto a person’s tongue and rip it out. The executioner twisted and pulled – whatever worked, and caused the most pain. This ended up being a useful way of dealing with those accused of blasphemy or spreading heretical ideas: silencing them in the most literal way possible. The wheel Also known as the breaking wheel or Catherine wheel, this especially gruesome form of execution device for criminals was used from antiquity up until the 19th century. Nothing more than a large wheel, like from a cart, it was a versatile tool to cause suffering. The victim could have it dropped on their limbs, almost certainly breaking them, or they could be tied to the spokes and beaten. Or both, of course. The wheel could be turned over a fire or pushed down a rocky hillside, while some versions included spikes that impaled the back. To conclude the horrific display, the wheel could then be hung as a warning to others. This was due to the belief, similar to crucifixion, that this prevented the deceased from the transition to resurrection. The thumbscrew Another simple yet brutally effective device, the thumbscrew is supposed to have originated in the Russian army before making its way to Europe. A person’s thumbs (or other digits) were placed between two metal bars that formed a vice, which would then be closed when a screw was tightened, crushing the bones. Variations included pointed spikes or nails to pierce the flesh. While not typically fatal, the thumbscrew was a wicked method of extracting confessions or punishing minor offences. The iron maiden Despite its reputation as one of the most recognisable of medieval torture devices, there is no evidence of the Iron Maiden being used during the period. According to Skoda: “The earliest reference [of it being used] seems to be 1802.” As the story goes, the victim was enclosed with an upright iron coffin with an interior lined with spikes, which were driven into the body when the doors were shut. This did not mean instant death, though. The spikes were of specific lengths to pierce vital organs while prolonging the suffering, with it taking hours for the victim to bleed out. It gets worse. Two spikes in the Iron Maiden were positioned to pierce the eyes. The heretic’s fork Used during the Spanish Inquisition, the heretic’s fork looked like a double-ended fork, each with two prongs, held by a leather strap that went around the victim’s neck. One end went under the chin and the other against the breastbone. Once on, the wearer could neither speak nor sleep, as any movement would drive the forks into their flesh. Intended to punish and extract confessions from those accused of heresy, the method was not meant to kill, but torment – pushing the victim to the brink of madness. Want to learn more about medieval torture devices and methods? Listen to Dr Hannah Skoda on this episode of the HistoryExtra podcast.
HistoryExtra Academy video lecture: faith and worship in late-medieval England
HistoryExtra Academy late-medieval England course
In her first lecture Professor Hannah Skoda explains how religion sat at the heart of medieval life, and explores the cult of John Schorne, the humble Buckinghamshire rector credited with forcing the Devil inside a boot
View Green Video on the source website Explore more learning from week one of our course on late-medieval England Black Death facts: your guide to "the worst catastrophe in recorded history" – reading time 9 mins The winter storms that rocked medieval Europe – reading time 6 mins The medieval church calendar: a guide to the holy days – reading time 5 mins Podcast episode: Margery Kempe: medieval mystic – listening time 53 mins The medieval church: your guide to religion and worship in the Middle Ages – reading time 8 mins
The Decameron: sex, plague, and a medieval Love Island
With the release of a new Netflix drama based on Boccaccio's The Decameron, Rebecca Bowen explains why this text was a medieval bestseller, which helped people come to terms with the horrors of the plague
What would you do if your home town was ravaged by plague? Would you lock your doors and hide? Run for the hills? Or accept that the end was nigh and party? Boccaccio's The Decameron - a medieval bestseller written during the Black Death - considers all these options. With the launch of a new Netflix series based on the pivotal work, David Musgrove chats to historian Rebecca Bowen to find out more – and uncover why its author thought that risqué stories could help people come to terms with the horror of the plague. You can hear our podcast on medieval keep fit here
Anne Curry traces the story of Joan of Arc, the medieval peasant girl who took war-torn France by storm
Joan of Arc has gone down in history as the virgin saviour of France – a patriotic martyr who was unjustly burnt at the stake at the hands of her Anglo-Burgundian opponents. But there's more to the story than that. Speaking to Emily Briffett, historian Anne Curry charts the extraordinary rise and fall of the young peasant girl from Domrémy, whose visions and prophecies brought her face to face with King Charles VII and led to her spiritual leadership over the armies of France before ending in her unfortunate demise.
The Capetians: everything you wanted to know
Everything you wanted to know about history (podcast series)
Justine Firnhaber-Baker answers listener questions on the long-standing and influential medieval French dynasty
How did the Capetian dynasty hold on to the French throne for such a long time during the Middle Ages? How did deep-seated religious beliefs shape their rule? And what was the ‘Capetian miracle’? Speaking to Emily Briffett, Justine Firnhaber-Baker answers listener questions on the influential French dynasty – from how they popularised the name 'Phillip' and the iconic fleur-de-lis, to their religiously-inspired 'royal touch'.
Plague, leprosy & murder: unlocking the secrets of medieval bones
Broadcaster and academic Professor Alice Roberts explores what the study of human bones can tell us about disease and violence in medieval Britain
What secrets can medieval human remains unlock? With exciting new developments in the science of palaeopathology, researchers are able to glean much more from human bones than ever before. Speaking to David Musgrove, Professor Alice Roberts explores what the study of these bones can tell us about disease and violence in medieval Britain – considering how learning about historical diseases, like the Black Death and leprosy, can help us to understand and tackle modern diseases too. Alice Roberts is the author of Crypt: Life, death and disease in the Middle Ages (Simon & Schuster, 2024) Buy now on Bookshop.org Buy now on Amazon Buy now on Waterstones
The medieval church: your guide to religion and worship in the Middle Ages
Professor Nicholas Orme answers key questions about religion and worship in the Middle Ages
Why was the Church so important in medieval England? The Church in the Middle Ages was more than just a way of connecting with God; it was a whole belief system. Christianity in medieval times didn’t just focus on people’s relationship with God. It also set out to explain history, science, ethics, how one should behave, and so on. Whole areas of study that we would now separate into science or sociology or politics, fell under religion in the medieval centuries. What’s more, the Church was responsible for many things which, nowadays, we would look to the government to care for, such as education, morality, and charity. The Church also had an important role in medieval life, which it has somewhat lost today. Nowadays, there are lots of different things you can be doing on a Sunday morning rather than attending church services. In a rural community of the Middle Ages, the local church would have been a major place to meet and socialise. Many churches developed social organisations of maidens (girls aged from 12 up to marriage), young men of similar ages, and married women or ‘wives’. So church was not just a place where people worshipped on a Sunday; it was a place where friendship groups could gather, too. Read more | What was life like for a medieval housewife? Where and how did the Church get its wealth? The Church was not a single body, so you cannot say that it was rich any more than you can say that British society today is rich. There were enormous variations of wealth within the Church and its various institutions. At one extreme, there were archbishops and bishops who received huge salaries, although they had to pay the costs of their administrations out of their own pockets. At the other end of the scale, poor chaplains and curates earned about £3–£5 a year, which wasn’t much different to the annual income of artisans and labourers. Monasteries, too, might be rich or barely able to survive. There were huge variations in wealth. Did you know? The Church was one of the main distributors of charity during the medieval period and gave out alms – such as money or food – to the poor and needy. Hospitals, run by religious orders, cared for the sick and poor, and gave shelter to travellers. As to where the money came from, the Church possessed endowments. Individuals over the centuries gave lands and money, particularly to support monasteries since monks could not go out into the world and earn money for themselves. The clergy of the parish churches were supported by tithes and offerings. Tithes were the most important part of their income, allowing them to receive a tenth of agricultural production – corn, barley and rye, and one tenth of newborn animals – calves, piglets, lambs, as well as honey, milk, cheese and so on. Offerings of money formed a smaller part of clergy income. They were made four times of the year and at baptisms, marriages and funerals. Parish sizes and wealth varied hugely from one to another, so being a parish priest didn’t indicate what income you might receive. Incomes could vary from as much as £80 or £100 a year to as little as £3 or £4. What would the sensory experience of a medieval church have been like? Ideally, churches were to be neat and colourful, with hangings of coloured fabric on the altar. Clergy wore coloured vestments for mass and some other services. But it all depended on how much a church could afford. It is often thought that the inside walls of all medieval churches were decorated, and they were up to a point, but sometimes the decoration would have been quite simple – imitation brickwork, plaster or stencil patterns, for example. There are many records of churches lacking watertight roofs, window glass and satisfactory furnishings, and some would have looked rather shabby. Read more | Dan Jones on the surprisingly modern Middle Ages Inside, churches would have smelt of damp, candle smoke, incense and possibly the bodies of dead worthies buried beneath the floor. At a well- attended service you would also have sung in royal and noble chapels, from which it spread to cathedrals, monasteries, and the wealthier parish churches. Many lesser churches can have heard it only from visiting singers on special occasions. Was attending church compulsory? From puberty you were expected to go to church on Sundays and for religious festivals. There were about 40 or 50 important festivals in the church calendar, so for about 90 days of the year, you would be expected to be in church, at least for mass in the morning. However, the Church had to accept that it could not impose complete attendance and exceptions had to be made for shepherds, fishermen and servants. In practice, making people attend church was difficult. A priest could refuse to hear their confessions or report them to the church courts where they might be fined or made to do public penance, but it was a long-winded process. There were always some people in a parish who did not go to church very often. Attending church on Easter Sunday was absolutely compulsory for all adults, however, so almost everyone would have been there on that festival. Were children required to attend church? Small children were often taken to church because they could not be safely left at home. Equally, there are records of accidents that happened when parents left them at home, possibly in the care of an elder sibling. As mentioned, children did not have to attend church until puberty: indeed 15th and 16th-century congregations could be unforgiving about the restlessness and noise of younger children in church. Read more | The clever medieval trick that destroyed the last stand of stubborn paganism in Europe There were no services specially for children except on Saint Nicholas Day (6 December) and the Feast of the Holy Innocents (28 December), when a boy would be dressed as a bishop, with a mitre and staff, and preside over the service with a retinue of other boys. When the Reformation came, however, the first Book of Common Prayer – in English – in 1549, decreed that parish priests should hold regular classes in church to provide religious instruction. What happened during a medieval church service? We know little about how churches were used before 1300. Until then, the likelihood is that there were not many seats, except for the nobility and gentry who sat in the chancel with the clergy. Instead, the congregation may have mostly stood, unless they brought their own stools, and knelt at significant points in the mass. The most important of these was the point at which the bread and wine of the Eucharist was consecrated and held up by the priest to be venerated. Read more | Social mobility in the Middle Ages: could medieval people improve their station? Seating seems to have become more common during the 14th century, and normal during the 15th. Congregations wished to imitate the seated nobility, and people wanted seats that recognised their social rank. Parish church authorities were eventually obliged to put in general seating and grade it accordingly. The wealthy would sit (or stand or kneel) in seats at the front, with their inferiors further back. Seating was allocated by the churchwardens, the lay officers who looked after the church fabric and furnishings, and fees were usually charged for seats. As for the religious experience, services were conducted in Latin mand took place in the chancel at the east end of the church, which had a big screen separating it from the western nave where most of the congregation were placed. People were not expected to follow the text of the service or say responses as they would do today. That role was performed by the parish clerk, with the congregation watching from a distance. If you were pious, you might bring a rosary or a prayer book with you and say quiet prayers, so there would have been a subdued murmur of voices in the nave alongside the service itself. What most people do not realise is that, by the 15th century, the Latin mass included some material in English. At the beginning, all were sprinkled with holy water, and heard an English verse reminding them of their baptism. Then, in the middle of the service, there were announcements, and prayers for the pope, the king, the crops and individuals in need. There was sometimes (but not necessarily often) a sermon. At the end of the service, an ordinary loaf was blessed and divided up, another English verse was said, and everyone was given a fragment of the bread. Medieval congregations were not given the communion bread and wine at mass, hence the ‘substitute’ of the holy loaf. Only at Easter did the congregation receive the communion bread, and even then not the wine. Were men and women separated during church services? This is hard to answer. Sometimes they were, and sometimes they weren’t. Wealthy people do not seem to have been separated according to sex because we hear of nobility, gentry and merchants sitting with their wives in the chancel or side chapels. The rest of the congregation may well have been separated, but the practice probably varied from church to church. At times when they were separated, women would usually have been placed on the north side of the church, and men on the south side. The reason for this is that the north side was considered to be the ‘safe’ side, while the south was considered ‘unsafe’. The rood – the figure of Christ on the cross set above the entrance to the chancel – always faced west. A figure of the Virgin Mary was placed at his right (north), with Saint John the Evangelist to his left (south). The north side, the side presided over by the Virgin Mary, was considered to be the side of the saved, and women were seated here because they were deemed to be more open to temptation. Men were placed on the ‘unsafe’ side because they were reckoned to be better able to stand up to evil. But equally there were other customs that dictated where you sat, such as certain seats being tied to particular properties. Going to church was a very different experience from what it is today. It centred on ceremony not on instruction. Yet through regular attendance, the form and much of the meaning of services could become understood, and for literate people, at least, services could be supplemented by reading instructive books at home. Nicholas Orme is emeritus professor of history at the University of Exeter. His most recent book is Going to Church in Medieval England (Yale University Press, 2021) Interview by HistoryExtra content director Dr Dave Musgrove. Words by BBC History Revealed editor Charlotte Hodgman This article was first published in the Christmas 2021 issue of BBC History Revealed Explore more learning from week one of our course on late-medieval England Video lecture: Faith and worship in late-medieval England – watching time 19 mins Black Death facts: your guide to "the worst catastrophe in recorded history" – reading time 9 mins The winter storms that rocked medieval Europe – reading time 6 mins The medieval church calendar: a guide to the holy days – reading time 5 mins Podcast episode: Margery Kempe: medieval mystic – listening time 53 mins
Eggs, bunnies and Jesus Christ: the history and origins of Easter
How does Easter relate to Jesus? Where does the word ‘Easter’ come from? And when did we start eating Easter eggs? Historian Emma J Wells explores the origins of this springtime celebration…
Easter was originally a celebration of Ishtar, the Babylonian goddess of sex, fertility, war, and religiously-sanctioned prostitutes, right? Wrong. Well, bunnies and eggs can’t possibly have anything to do with this most holy festival commemorating Jesus Christ’s resurrection from the dead, then. Actually… they do. Like its festive and spooky cousins, Christmas and Halloween, Easter evolved over centuries, blending Christian and non-Christian elements together. Hence the origins of the springtime celebration are far more complicated than you might expect, due in part to misconceptions which continue to circulate. So, let’s put the bunnies, eggs and all other frivolities in one basket in search of an explanation. This, in a nut-, or should I say, eggshell, is how the festival of Easter evolved… Where does the word ‘Easter’ come from? The term seemingly derives from the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring, Eostre, who was celebrated as she escaped Winter’s harsh clutches. But Eostre wasn’t quite the pagan deity who, we are commonly told, transformed a bird into an egg-laying hare companion, e.g. the forerunner to the Easter bunny. In fact, the only actual surviving mention of Eostre comes from 8th-century monk the Venerable Bede, whose writings suggest the English people called the fourth month Eosturmonath or Eostre-Month (marking the spring equinox) after the goddess, and feasts were celebrated in her honour. Where did the Anglo-Saxons come from? The Northumbrian monk clearly had some influence, as the name stuck – at least in the English-speaking world. Many cultures, however, refer to the season by terms translated from ‘Pesach’ (Hebrew) or ‘Passover’: the Jewish celebration of the liberation of the Children of Israel from Egypt by Moses as told in the book of Exodus. Passover was celebrated on the first full moon after the vernal (spring) equinox, therefore on the 14th day of the seventh Hebrew month of Nisan. The Christian calendar was also constructed around Passover, as Jesus, its own Messiah, similarly freed humanity from bondage, sin and evil. Listen | Historian and author Tom Holland discusses the history of Christianity – he argues that it has had a transformative and enduring impact on the western mindset How does Easter relate to Jesus? When was the Last Supper? The Last Supper was the final meal Jesus shared with his disciples before his Crucifixion, when the bread and goblet of wine were dispersed as elements of his own body on the day now known as Maundy Thursday, named from the Latin ‘commandment’ which Jesus gave to his disciples at the meal. The New Testament gospels are clear that Jesus held the Last Supper; was crucified at Golgotha (Calvary) in Jerusalem (on Good Friday from the Old English ‘guode’ meaning ‘holy’) and resurrected three days later from the tomb in which he had been interred (on Easter Sunday) during preparations for Passover. The synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) actually present the Last Supper as a Passover Seder (Jewish ceremonial meal), though some items appear missing. Christ was therefore perceived as the New Pascha (Latin for ‘Passover’), and the celebration of his resurrection became the first Christian feast. In turn, Easter was referred to as the ‘Paschal month’ for Christ as the paschal or sacrificed lamb (of God). A history of the Bible: who wrote it and when? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2020/04/JesusLastSupperEaster-aa2c150-scaled.jpg" width="2560" height="1620" alt="The Last Supper" title="'La Sagrada Cena' (The Last Supper), 1562 (c1934), commissioned for the high altar of the church of San Esteban of Valencia. Jesus sits with his apostles consecrating the sacred host at The Last Supper and final meal shared with his Apostles in Jerusalem before his crucifixion. (Photo by The Print Collector/Getty Images)" /> When is Easter celebrated? Easter is held on the Sunday after the first ecclesiastical full moon (which keeps, more or less, in step with the astronomical Moon) following the vernal (spring) equinox (on or around 21 March) of the northern hemisphere, when the sun is exactly above the equator, and day and night are of almost equal length. Listen | What might have happened to Jesus’s body following his crucifixion in the first century AD? Historian and author Tom Holland investigates on this podcast. Who decided that Easter would be celebrated on this day? As Jesus was crucified during the Passover festival and resurrected thereafter, it was logical to commemorate these events in close proximity. But when, exactly? Passover was celebrated according to the Jewish lunar calendar which didn’t correlate with the Christian Julian solar calendar, thereby causing confusion. In 325 CE, Emperor Constantine, the first Roman emperor to convert to Christianity, decided to take charge of the matter. He convened the Council of Nicaea and decreed that Christ’s resurrection was far too important to be connected with the festival of another faith. Since the days following the winter solstice gradually became longer and lighter, this provided ideal symbolism for the rebirth of Christ, “the light of the world”, as clarified in John’s Gospel. When did Christianity first arrive in Britain? Constantine thus ordained that Easter was to fall in close proximity to a similar significant time in the solar year: the Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox. So, did the issues surrounding the calculation of the Easter date end with the Nicaea decree? No – confusion rumbled on. Nicaea only confirmed the date, not the method of calculation. So, on which Sunday should they celebrate? Disagreements emerged as differing methods – associated with the calendars of the Roman and Irish Christian missionaries prevalent in England’s Northumbrian kingdoms – resulted in Easter being celebrated twice (after elaborate tables known as ‘Computus’ were constructed by each in hopes of correctly identifying the important date). Strife over the differentiation led Oswiu, king of Northumbria (654/55–670), to call upon all leading churchmen and nobles in 664 to the double monastery of Streaneshalch at Whitby, governed then by the Abbess Hild, in an effort to head off any further divisions within his kingdom. The Synod of Whitby, as it became known, favoured Rome’s calculations for Easter. Of course, complications didn’t exactly end there, but there was some consensus – and, ever since, Easter has been held on the first Sunday following the full moon (Paschal Moon) on or after the vernal equinox. Listen | Archaeologist David Petts and Lisa Wilkins of DigVentures discuss an extraordinary Viking-era discovery that’s been made on the monastic site of Lindisfarne in Northumbria Why do we go to church at Easter? When did Easter church services first begin? In the northern hemisphere, each year the end of winter’s darkness was met with excitement over the coming of spring’s light. By the Middle Ages, it was only natural to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus at this seasonal time, with religious services mirroring the changes. During the three days of Holy Week leading up to Easter Sunday – named the Triduum – the medieval populace would spend a vast amount of time attending church, and for the duration of this most holy period in the Christian calendar. The midnight/early hour offices of Matins and Lauds (essentially, morning prayers) were combined and pushed to a more convenient time on preceding evenings so that worshippers could attend an unforgettable liturgical event named Tenebrae (Latin for ‘darkness’ or ‘shadows’). What is the oldest church in England? Tenebrae services were a solemn affair: they centred around the gradual extinguishing of candles set upon a candleholder known as a hearse, in commemoration and prolonged meditation of Christ’s suffering – only the central candle remained lit, representing Christ as the light of the world. Easter Sunday service then commenced at dawn, with the congregation gathering outside the church for hymns before entering for a joyful Mass. Dismissed in grace and forgiveness, worshippers filed out to begin celebratory feasting. What do Easter eggs represent? One of the primary tropes associated with this season of renewal was the egg from which life bursts forth. This was no Christian invention – the symbol had been used by Anglo-Saxon pagans to celebrate spring, and likely even earlier. Identifying exactly when the connection between Easter and the empty shell as a metaphor for Christ’s tomb began is difficult, though such links abound in medieval England. Eggs were one of the foods forbidden during Lent, the 40-day fasting period of reflection and penitential preparation leading up to Easter. In the medieval period, any eggs laid during Lent were boiled for preservation so that when Easter Sunday rolled around, eggs were back on the menu. And eggs weren’t just used as a food source: a rural practice known as ‘pace-egging’ (after ‘paschal’) was common, where costumed groups roamed villages for eggs then given as gifts (similar to ‘mumming’) to the church as Good Friday offerings and to the lord of the manor. Historical recipes: how to make Russian Easter sweet bread Kulich And many of these eggs were brightly painted; a practice truly ancient. Red was used to symbolise the blood of Christ, first by early Christians then the Orthodox Church; while in Germanic regions, they were coloured green and hung on trees on Maundy or ‘Green’ Thursday. In England, they were often boiled with onions for a golden patina, though at Easter 1290, King Edward I purchased a colossal 450 eggs to be decorated with colours or gold leaf for distribution amongst his household. Eggs then seemingly found their way into party games. There are suggestions that 16th-century German Protestant reformer Martin Luther organised egg hunts for his congregation, primarily to teach the lesson of Christ’s resurrection in emulation of the disciples discovering the risen Christ in the tomb on Easter morning. Somehow, the idea formed between bunnies or hares and the laying of those eggs. Both were ancient symbols of rebirth in the spring, and hares were particularly associated with seasonal rituals and even the Virgin Mary because of their astonishing powers of fertility – hares are, of course, known for being immensely fertile, hence the phrase “at it like rabbits”! Sex and the (Vatican) City: a brief history of clerical celibacy Where did the Easter bunny originate? And when did we start eating chocolate Easter eggs? As explained above, hares became associated with Easter because of their powers of fertility. But the entire concept of the ‘Easter Bunny’ is much more recent. He likely became the large colourful rabbit we know and love today due to American influence, but 17th-century Heidelberg-based physicians Georg Franck von Franckenau and Johannes Richier in De ovis paschalibus (‘About Easter eggs’) did describe hares hiding baskets of brightly painted eggs for children to find. Yet there is an earlier reference (from 1572) to an Easter ‘Hare’ which appeared at night to ‘lay’ eggs, again for children to search. This continued as German settlers came to America and continued the tradition, thereby spreading it throughout the nation. It is also from them that our beloved Swiss-made ‘chocolate bunnies’ derive, after they fashioned Easter cakes in the shape of a hare which was shown ‘laying' (or should that be, excreting) its egg-shaped droppings. But it was not until the Victorian era that Easter eggs and hunts became popular in England. Historic traditions and religious celebrations infiltrated the new concept of ‘family time’ owing to a higher disposable income. So as Queen Victorian was seen to hold Easter egg hunts for her children around her many palaces, the population followed suit. Eggs were sold more as toys and novelty gifts – some containing dolls – before they turned edible, first in France and Germany, then crossing the channel in 1873, when Fry’s (J S Fry of Bristol) produced the first chocolate Easter egg in the UK. Read more | When women tied up men for Jesus: why Henry VIII tried to ban the medieval festival of Hocktide Emma J Wells is an ecclesiastical and architectural historian at the University of York
How naughty was the past? The hidden depths of the medieval church
Hidden messages and tongue-in-cheek depictions were widespread throughout medieval churches. But was the medieval world simply rife with satire or did these etchings and carvings hold deeper meanings? Here, Dr Emma J Wells from the University of York explores seven of the most curious examples
Monkeying around In the north nave aisle of York Minster is the famous Pilgrimage Window (dated c1330). The window is named after the depiction of the crucifixion in its main lights, which is sited above male and female pilgrims flanking St Peter. St Peter is portrayed not only with his usual attribute of the key [of heaven] but also by the less familiar image of a church held within his hand – very fitting considering he was the patron saint of the cathedral. Structured much like an illuminated manuscript page, the most intriguing element of the window’s composition is the amusing animal imagery in the lower margins. Among these scenes is a funeral procession of monkeys with a bell-ringer; cross-bearer; four pall-bearers carrying a bier to which another monkey clings and a monkey doctor examines his sick ape patient; while along the vertical borders are further squirrels and monkeys, some investigating urine flasks. There is also a fox preaching to a cock; a parody of a hunt with a stag chasing a hound; a fox stealing a goose pursued by a woman, while an archer and other animals complete the border scene. But, as Bernard of Clairvaux asked in 1125, “to what purpose are those unclean apes?” And how should they be ‘read’? Animals in medieval art need to be seen within their wider context, instead of ascribing each single motif with a meaning. Not only in stained glass, but more commonly in manuscripts, borders were decorated with exotic animals, grotesque hybrids, animals mimicking humans, humans in animal form, and mythical creatures performing lewd and humorous antics. In fact, animals are used throughout medieval art as iconographical representations or portraying allegorical qualities. Many, including lions, were used because of their proximity to people. This could be due to their bestial human nature. An example of this can be found within the presbytery of Exeter Cathedral where a 14th-century roof boss depicts a lion standing on his rear legs, twisting his head around to face a male figure, likely Samson from the biblical tale, who is forcing the jaws of the creature apart. Lions were also employed as representations of Christ and as the evangelist, St Mark. A great example of Mark and his winged lion attribute can be found in the 12th-century ‘Worms Bible’, housed at the British Library. One of the more curious marginal motifs was the use of monkeys. Monkeys were often represented doing human-like activities, including playing instruments and games, hunting, eating and drinking, but the overall purpose was to suggest the folly of man. In the Christian tradition apes were seen as thoughtless, compulsive imitators of human actions, parodies of humanity, displaying gluttony, vanity and foolishness – powerful reminders of the potential within all medieval men and women to engage in depraved acts and sin. The inclusion of monkeys in the Pilgrimage Window, then, was therefore both a deliberate and conscious choice by the York stained-glass artist. It was believed that apes were so-called as they were said to ‘ape’ the behaviour of human beings – hence the scene is thought to be an apocryphal story or parody of the funeral of the Virgin enacted by monkeys. The monkeys are included to make a serious point and a connection to the broader iconography on the window. The monkey’s funeral ‘apes’ the humility and charity of St Peter overhead, as the devotee’s eye travels between ‘the world’ in the lower margins (that filled with man and sin) and the devotional space of the main lights above (the kingdom of Heaven). The monkey physicians also mimic the medical profession, combining satire with a serious underlying moral – they echoed the widespread suspicion and disdain for ‘Doctours of Physik’ because it was felt that ultimately only Christ could cure the souls of man. The fox stories, too, have similar allegorical meanings, most commonly highlighting the consequences of lapses in devotion and often appearing in bestiaries and art as a symbol of the sly and sophisticated devil. The Mooning Man The 12th-century Parish Church of All Saints in Easton-on-the-Hill, just outside Stamford in Northamptonshire, features a wealth of architectural styles from Norman through to neo-Gothic. Yet, as you approach the south porch you may be shocked by the 15th-century stone gargoyle perched on the side of the tower: a ‘mooning’ man! Local legend has it that his proud posterior is pointing in the direction of the stonemason of Peterborough Cathedral, in protest at not being paid. These types of carvings can be found adorning the exteriors of churches across the country in the form of gargoyles, grotesques and also as ornamental frieze fixtures. Before continuing, here is a short explanation of the differences between their functions: though the word ‘gargoyle’ is often misused as a generic term for grotesque carvings on churches, a true gargoyle is a decorative waterspout that preserves stonework by diverting the flow of rainwater away from the roof and walls of a church to the ground below. On the other hand, ‘grotesques’, while they are similarly stone carvings or sculptures, serve only an ornamental or artistic function, and do not include a spout. Although it is not entirely clear when this bold ‘artwork’ first emerged, it appears to have coincided with the emergence of the Gothic style or, more specifically, the Perpendicular era (1375–1530), with the majority dating to the 14th century – these include several other examples of male contortionist gargoyles, such as those at Lyndon (Rutland), Colsterworth and Sleaford (Lincs), and at Glinton (Cambs). Several other mooning grotesques can be found across the British Isles, again dating from the same period. The example at Easton features a rather brazen pose: bent over, bottom in the air, legs spread apart but with his head peering round from the right and the strategically placed hole inserted for the practical purpose of diverting rainwater, rather than to illustrate any anatomical features (of course!), and so his proud posterior officially serves its purpose. It is hardly surprising that mischievous masons could not resist the urge to use such orifices for this purpose and that, by the time of the Easton carving in the 15th century, they were certainly embracing the humour of the secular world without feeling affront. Yet, explaining the general purpose of these impish figures is a rather tricky task. There is certainly ample evidence that people mooned each other during the Middle Ages as a sign of insult – for example, in ‘The Miller’s Tale’ from Geoffrey Chaucer’s late 14th-century Canterbury Tales, characters Alison and Nicholas trick Absolon into kissing her behind – though admittedly this gesture is not quite the same as mooning. Many therefore believe the Easton carvings to be ultimately protective or apotropaic – to reflect the contrast between a world outside the church beset by the devil and sin as opposed to the sanctity contained within its walls. The idea is that they were placed to deflect the evil spirits by drawing their attention to these insulting characters. So, perhaps the mooner is proudly cocking a snook at the Devil, though he may equally be intended to shock, amuse, or act as a counter and balance to the religious. Kiss me quick! Among the 14th-century misericords at Chichester Cathedral is an energetically captured carved scene of a musician with a citole (an instrument popular between the late 13th and 14th century, formerly known as a gittern, later remodelled as a violin) who is in the midst of stealing a kiss from a dancing woman or posture maker. Misericords are the carved timber (usually oak) undersides or ledges of tip-up seats on which ecclesiastics could rest their bottoms in the choirs of English cathedrals and collegiate churches during the Divine Office (this particular seat at Chichester was reserved for the Prebend of Somerley). They first appeared in churches in the early 13th century, with the majority dating from the mid-13th to the late 15th centuries. From the Latin word meaning pity, the name literally translates to their function: a demonstration of mercy, as they were designed to support the sitter in an upright position. The undersides depict an assortment of figural carvings that could be displayed or concealed depending on the position of the seat. This may explain why, although only seen by medieval clerics, the carvings seldom displayed sacred images of Christ, biblical scenes or the saints, but rather vernacular subjects – scenes from daily life, customs, humour and beliefs that included some crudity but also a great sense of fun, freedom and vigour. Subjects vary widely, but we again see many of the same ‘naughty’ yet allegorical representations occurring here as elsewhere in this article, such as temptations of lust, apes with urine flasks, the Green Man (usually a carving or sculpture of a man’s face surrounded by or made from foliage), birds and beasts, abstract foliate designs and medieval folk tales and legends. What’s more, many scenes can be interpreted as sermons ‘come to life’, used to instruct common folk on principles of doctrine. While certain figural scenes may at first appear secular, they were actually reminders to their ecclesiastical viewer of his professional responsibility to educate the masses against temptations to sin. The profane and debauched images of the sexual lives of laypeople would prompt the medieval cleric to shun women, have self-control and fear the wrath of God. Full-frontal exposure Although the 12th-century Church of St Mary and St David at Kilpeck, Herefordshire, comprises fairly typical architecture, it also hides some extraordinary carvings including writhing snakes and mysterious beasts. But, most extraordinary of all, is one of England’s best-preserved examples of a Sheela-na-gig. Sheela-na-gigs are figurative stone carvings (occasionally appearing in wood-form on misericords) depicting a naked woman in a seated position with her legs wide, openly exposing her genitalia. The name likely derives from the Irish to mean ‘Sheela of the breasts’. Examples are most often found above doorways and windows on medieval churches and castles in northern Europe, predominantly Ireland and Britain, but also in a few locations elsewhere in Europe, such as the contortionist capital example at the monastery of San Pedro de Cervatos in Cantabria, Spain. Determining their date and place of origin has proved difficult, with many scholars disagreeing over the origins of the figures, as many are believed to have been reused from previous, older structures. However, they appear on churches across the 11th to 17th centuries and were likely first carved in France or Spain. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/01/Sheela-na-gig-2-eeab4b7-e1636639498865.jpg" width="406" height="336" alt="An architectural grotesque of a woman displaying her vulva" title="Sheela-na-gigs are figurative stone carvings (occasionally appearing in wood-form on misericords) depicting a naked woman in a seated position with her legs wide, openly exposing her genitalia. (Photo by Poliphilo, via Wikimedia Commons)" /> A fairly strange image to find on a church, you might suggest? Well, though Sheela-na-gigs may seem erotic in nature, it is doubtful these carvings were ever intended to arouse and were actually pagan symbols of fertility as well as warnings against lust and warders or protectors from evil – hence their positions over entranceways. Other opinions are that, given their crude form, Sheela-na-gigs were produced by local amateur carvers and therefore represent folk deities that were associated with life-giving powers, birth, death and the renewal of life. Even so, throughout the past, embarrassed or high-minded churchgoers and clerics often removed, covered or destroyed what they viewed as offensive carvings. Word vomit Known as the greatest medieval graffiti church in England (and it is, at least, the most extensively studied), the 14th-century Church of St Mary’s at Ashwell in Hertfordshire contains an etching that is believed to be one of the only surviving depictions of Old St Paul’s Cathedral. It records the arrival of the Black Death and Peasants’ Revolt, but it is the Latin inscriptions scrawled across the pillars to which this entry refers. Varying from popular sayings to pithy comments, one seems likely to have been written by a disgruntled architect: Cornua non sunt arto compugenta sputuo (‘The corners are not jointed correctly. I spit on them’) and seems to date to between 1350 and 1400. Another is a less-than-flattering view of the local archdeacon: Archi(di)aconus Asemnes (‘The Archdeacon is an ass’). Finally, no doubt in a spate of sobriety, a wise-old drunk etched: Ebrietas frangit quicquid sapienta tangit (‘Drunkenness breaks whatever wisdom touches’). Modern visitors are often captivated by these ‘naughty’ writings on the wall because we expect the medieval era to be more conservative when compared to our own society – but do the things that make us chuckle ever really change…? “Look out below – men at stool!” The Church of St Mary in Redcliffe, Bristol boasts a remarkable collection of more than 1,100 ceiling bosses dating from 1330 to 1446 (when much of the vault had to be rebuilt after the spire collapsed) and features a variety of symbolic and mythological subjects including the famous ‘maze’ boss that is actually a model of the church’s transept roof. Ceiling or roof bosses are carvings crafted in wood or stone specifically to cover the intersection between the stone ribs of vaulted ceilings or where the roof timbers join or meet at an angle. Again, this medieval art form depicts many of the contemporary craftsmen’s favourite subjects: biblical scenes, animals, leaves, flowers and heraldry, but with crude humour often casually sited alongside scenes of everyday life. Curiously, though, very few bosses actually carry a date. The boss sited under Redcliffe’s tower is the most fascinating of all: it depicts a rather bizarre male exhibitionist with his posterior waving in the air, proudly defecating on all who walk beneath him. Their purpose was to signal the especially holy parts of the church such as the position of important altars, shrines or chapels. Due to the fact that they are located among the less immediately visible parts of the church building, some scholars have argued that these unseen areas became dens of artistic iniquity for marginalised subjects – they certainly offer a curious commentary on the mentality of medieval craftsmen! Accordingly, there is little doubt that the Redcliffe ‘man at stool’ was located closer to eye-level than some of the other bosses for shock value – to inspire reflection, the withholding of temptation and to illustrate that the repetition of such incongruous behaviour would lead to one’s own spiritual distortion. Reader, take note! Drinking with the enemy Situated above the chancel arch of the Church of St Thomas and St Edmund in Salisbury is a powerful mural that catches the eye of visitors immediately upon entry. Executed in 1475 as an offering of thanks for a safely returned pilgrim, this depiction is believed to be the largest Doom in England. Doom or Last Judgment paintings were the most commonly painted subject of the medieval parish church and are thought to have once adorned the wall above the chancel arches of most churches across the entire country from the late 11th century. The reason for this was that they were sited at the symbolic point at which the nave of the laity, sphere of the parishioners and world of sin met the holy and consecrated sanctuary reserved for the priest. They present the final judgment of humanity, drawing on imagery from a range of scripture, particularly the Parable of the Sheep and Goats. A most interesting feature of the Salisbury composition is down in the right-hand corner where a dishonest alewife with a jug in hand hugs a demon, leading to her serving short measures. As a result, her ‘naughty’ act has doomed her to hell for all eternity. It was believed at the time that alewives encompassed a multitude of sins: encouraging idleness and overindulgence, tempting with provocative clothing, and overt displays of wealth, greed and excess, not to mention corruption – ie over-charging customers and watering down the ale (sinful!). They occur on many doom paintings, often giving their tormentors seductive glances, as if looking forward to a diabolical party. They were also standard characters of the medieval mystery plays – again, figures of ridicule, the buxom wench. An obvious yet literal interpretation of the scene is to emphasise that rank or position counts for nothing on the day of judgment, as all are judged equally according to our sins in the eyes of God. A scroll towards the bottom of the painting reads: Nulla est Redemptio or ‘There is no escape for the wicked’/ ‘There is no redemption’. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/01/Fig.207.20Salisbury20Alwife-4005dc3.jpg" width="1100" height="730" alt="A painting showing an assortment of naked people being assaulted by various monsters" title="Executed in 1475 as an offering of thanks for a safely returned pilgrim, this depiction is believed to be the largest Doom in England. (Photo by Amanda’s Arcadia)" /> Dr Emma J Wells is associate lecturer and programme director in parish church studies at the University of York and an historic buildings consultant. She is the author of the forthcoming Pilgrim Routes of the British Isles (Robert Hale, out 11 October 2016). To find out more, visit www.emmajwells.com or follow her on Twitter @Emma_J_Wells. This article was first published on HistoryExtra in 2016