In terms of church graffiti the most
obviously non-religious symbols we come across is the 'Merchants Mark' - a
device or motif supposedly unique to an individual merchant that acted in much
the same way as a logo does for a modern company. A symbol that was easily
recognised by both the literate and illiterate alike, and one that was
associated with one particular merchant. Merchants used these marks to mark
their goods, to sign documents and even to adorn their houses. For those that
made it in to the ranks of the very rich these same marks are found adoring
their own memorial brasses or alabaster tombs. A small but proud mark of the
humble trading origins of a merchant of note. They were, in effect, a type of
heraldry for those of too low a class to be entitled to have their own coat of
arms. Until very
recently it was believed that all these symbols were most probably related to
individual merchants or trades people. Each mark may perhaps have been passed
down a generation or two, with minor changes and differences, but they still
related to an individual, family or merchant dynasty. However, recent
discoveries at a number of sites have meant that the traditional view is now
open to question.
To anybody visiting Carlisle Cathedral today the most
notable point of interest, which will undoubtedly be pointed out by one of the
well informed volunteer guides, is the runic inscription located near the south
door. One of two such inscriptions in the building, the other being high up and
not on public display, it is now safely protected behind a glass frame.
However, if you take a short walk in to the choir of the cathedral you will
soon come across some other inscriptions that are certainly just as
interesting, and potentially just as significant. Here, carved into the
woodwork of a very fine set of late medieval stalls, complete with the most
wonderful (and sometimes disturbing) misericords, can be seen one of the most
extensive collections of merchants marks anywhere in England. All of them
appear to date to the very last years of the sixteenth century, a time when
Carlisle was an important regional trade centre near to the English Scottish
border, and most of the marks date to either 1591 or 1597. What is
extraordinary about them is that, although most of them are of slightly
different dates, and all of them carry differing sets of initials, they all
have the same, or almost identical, merchants marks at the centre.
The Carlisle merchants marks are intriguing. Over a dozen
distinct and separate marks, all with the same symbol at the centre, but
different sets of initials, and mainly dating from the years 1591 and 1597. Although
they certainly look like merchant's marks found elsewhere it would appear that
they are probably not. Merchant's marks were meant to be easily recognisable,
allowing people to quickly identify the person they related to. The fact that
these marks all look basically the same would suggest that these had another
purpose entirely. This isn't just a problem that relates to Carlisle alone. In
many other churches and cathedrals what appears to be the same mark is repeated
many times, either with or without initials, and the same marks can be seen in
churches scattered across an area or region. The fact that so many of these
marks were almost identical, therefore rather defeating the object of a
merchant's mark in the first place, was even noted by F. A. Girling writing
upon the subject back in the 1960s as something that he could not easily
account for.
It is much more likely that these markings all relate to
these individuals membership of a common organisation, most likely a trade
guild of some sort; and that the central symbol is in fact the mark of that
specific guild. Such trade guilds were the social and economic backbone of most
medieval and Tudor towns. They drew their members from specific traders, such
as the glovers, merchants or butchers, and would have regulated the trade
activities within the town, acted as a quality control board and even regulated
prices. In addition these guilds also had a social role, settling disputes
between members, helping those who became too sick to work and even assuring a
decent turn out in the event of a guild members funeral. Before the reformation
many of these organisations operated as supposedly religious guilds, supporting
activities in their parish church and often contributing quite large sums of
money to the maintenance of certain church altars or parish lights. However,
these overtly religious guilds were swept away during the Edwardian reformation
in the middle decades of the sixteenth century. Some were dissolved, their
goods either taken by the crown or illegally redistributed locally, whilst
others simply changed their names and structure to continue much as they had
done before.
Late sixteenth century Carlisle is known to have been home
to eight major guilds - the merchants, butchers, skinners, shoemakers, tanners,
tailor, smiths and weavers - all of whom met at the Guildhall in the city,
which still survives to this day. It would appear likely that this particular
symbol repeated across the choir stalls of the cathedral was actually the
symbol of one of these guilds, although we may never know precisely which one,
and that the letters are the initials of individual members. What then is the
significance of the two dates - 1591 and 1597? With respect to the 1591 date,
which is the least common on the carvings, no specific link is known. The 1590s
were not a happy time in England generally, with continuing foreign
entanglements acting as a drain on manpower and a number of exceptionally bad
harvests making famine a very real possibility on several occasions. However,
we do know that 1597 was a particularly significant year for Carlisle and the
surrounding area; a bad year that has gone down in history as one of the most
dreadful on record for those living in the north west.
Early in 1597 the first victims of dreadful plague were
reported in the Richmond area of North Yorkshire, and within a few weeks this
epidemic had exploded westwards along the dales, leaving in its wake a trail of
bereavement and empty small holdings. The casualties, even by plague standards,
were astronomically high and its spread was sudden and erratic. That autumn the
disease hit the towns of Kendal, Penrith and Carlisle almost simultaneously,
with devastating results. In Penrith over six hundred souls, nearly half the
population, were dead in the matter of a few months; with bodies quickly buried
in hastily dug graves, local authority at the point of collapse and houses
lying empty. It was the same story in the city of Carlisle itself. Local
records for the period are unsurprisingly incomplete, but suggest an epidemic
that outstripped even the Black Death of the mid thirteenth century in its
speed and ferocity, leading some modern biologists to actually rule out bubonic
plague as the culprit. Although nobody can as yet be entirely certain exactly
what this disease was, with Anthrax even being seriously considered at one
point, it was most certainly the most virulent disease to have ever hit Carlisle,
and as the autumn moved in to winter the city began to suffer.
The city authorities did their very utmost to halt the
spread of the disease and limit its impact, but with varying degrees of
success. The city all but sealed itself off from the outside world, ejecting
vagrants and strangers from the gates and refusing entry to those who came from
areas where the plague was already known to be. Infected households were placed
under a strict quarantine and bodies were quickly removed from houses where all
had perished, leaving city employees to cleanse the dwellings as best they
could to try and prevent further infection. Regular inspections of households
were instituted, to try and identify those who might be suffering from the
illness, and isolation hostels were established outside the city walls. The
city also instituted a poor relief fund, to help those who simply couldn't help
themselves, and made sure that medical treatment was free for those who
couldn't afford to pay for it. The richer townsfolk were also called upon to
support the city authorities in their efforts, and the city council made funds
available from the city chest - but all sadly to little avail. Modern studies
suggest that the incubation period of this particular disease, whatever it may
have been, was relatively long; meaning that by the time the city had put
measures in place to stop its spread it was already too late. Their walls had
been breached many weeks beforehand. A census of the townspeople taken in late
December, before the plague had really started to bite, shows that, of the 323
households in the city, 242 were reported as being infected - with 149 deaths
already having taken place. As the winter dragged on the death toll grew.
There is no consensus on the exact number of deaths that
took place in Carlisle during the last months of 1597. The city's population is
believed to have been somewhere in the region of 1300 souls, and a plaque in
Penrith church which states that 1196 people died in Carlisle is most certainly
an overestimate. The real figures were undoubtedly lower, and some records
suggest that recovery from the disease was not entirely unheard of, but it
appears likely that the winter of 1597 saw the deaths of about 40% of the
city's inhabitants - at the very least. Perhaps then this is the answer to the
puzzle of the merchant's marks all bearing that date in Carlisle cathedral? If
these carvings are meant to represent individual members of one of the city
guilds then perhaps they relate to this period when death stalked the streets
of the city? A time when the role of a guild, to support individual members in
life and to ensure their respectful and honoured passing from the world, simply
wouldn't have been possible. A time when bodies were quickly removed to hastily
dug graves that would leave no time for ceremony, no time for remembrance and
no time for memorials. Are these then the memorials to those guild members who,
in the dark and cold of the winter of 1597, were caught in the claws of a
plague that was stripping their city to the bare bones? Their fellow guild
members, shuttered in the dark cathedral and awaiting either death or
salvation, carving their friends initials in to the oak of the choir stalls, to
stand testament forevermore.
Abridged extract from Medieval
Graffiti: the lost voices of England's churches by Matthew Champion (published
by Ebury Press, 2nd July 2015)
ISBN: 978-0091960414
