And it came to pass that joy and indiscretion were frowned upon by all the quarters that held power and influence in England.
One might blame this straight-laced attitude on Oliver Cromwell and his round-headed cronies; but I have stumbled upon two references which indicate it goes back much earlier. It is possible we have always been a po-faced nation, gazing glumly at glamour from the outside in, brandishing a rare strict judgement.
The first hails from the most enchanting document concerning a peer’s generosity to the College of Physicians, by a gentleman called Francis Steer.
The peer is John, Sixth Baron Lumley, a chap full of levity and substance who, no sooner was he brought into the world than the silver spoon was whipped from his mouth. He was the son of George, the fifth baron, who was executed for high treason, robbing his son of his blood line.
So John petitioned Parliament, and got his silver spoon back.
Lumley was a spectacularly prolific judge. He sat on many state trials including that of Mary Queen of Scots. He was seen in all the right places, and was an official at the coronations of both Elizabeth I and James I. It seems, like all the best people, he did a spell in the Tower of London after plotting to restore the Catholic Religion: but it seems it did not have any lasting effect on his ascendancy, and he inherited vast resources from the Earl of Arundel on the Earl’s death.
He even joins one of the recurring leitmotifs of this blog: he inherited Nonesuch Park, with its short-lived state-of-the-art castle built to Henry VIII’s specifications.
He owned a library of such splendour it was bought by King James I, and now lives at the British Museum.
The story of his life, I think, is worth the preamble. Even his biographer notes how outstanding he was: and what a serious expression he sported.
His endowment, jointly with a Richard Caldwell, to The College of Physicians is a must-read. Granted, it leaves one cross-eyed and ties one up in cerebral knots: but the rise and fall of Elizabethan English, and the ebb and flow of Elizabethan thinking, are worth the travail.
Surgery, the legislation asserts, has gone to the dogs.
The Act of Henry VIII written in 1511 says it is too often practiced by ‘common artificers’ like smiths, weavers, and – God forbid – women.
It adds they “boldly and accustomably take upon them great cures,and things of great difficulty, in the which they partly use sorcery and witchcraft, partly aply such medicines to the disease as be very noious,and nothing meet therefore,to….the grievous hurt, damage,and destruction of many of the King’s liege people, most specifically, those who cannot discern the uncunning from the cunning. ”
But it is a later act which introduces the words which have rung through my mind today. Common artificers must be kept out at all costs. Instead, the surgeons must be “only those persons that be profound, sad, and discreet, groundly learned , and deeply studied in physick.”
It seems it was very important to be sad and discreet.
So important was it that it seems to have permeated every corner of the Elizabethans’ working lives: including clothes. Even, dare I mention it, stockings.
From 1463 onwards there had been a bit of a clothes dictatorship going on: the “Sumptuary Laws”.
These essentially kept the hoi polloi in their place. There were certain materials which could be only worn by the nobility: and ‘excessive apparel’ could get you banged up in jail.
Thus, as they explained to me at the Globe in an Elizabethan clothing demonstration today, Olivia the noblewoman would be permitted to wear a scarlet shade of red: but her servant Maria could face penalties if she did the same. She must be content with russet.
And stockings were the same: the only people permitted to experience the cool comfort of silk stockings were nobles.
But who can police a preposterous law like that? The practicalities must render it almost unenforceable.
Not, it seems, if one is sad and discreet.
There was a system* which seems droll indeed to our 21st century ears.
It happened at the gate to the City of London: that bottleneck where all comers must appear, great and humble, at one time or another.
Four dour observers were hired, some time in 1566, for the express purposes of checking people’s stockings. Solemnly, they appraised both styles and fabrics of hosiery to ensure that absolutely no-one got above their station.
It was expressly stipulated that these four stocking-sergeants have two essential attributes: they were sad, and discreet.
Poor old common artificers. While nobles wore scarlet silks and feasted, weavers and woman wore farthingales stiffed with hay and itchy stockings, and there were officials to make sure it happened.
It makes the 21st century – with all its indiscretion and elation – seem a veritable Utopia.
*Source:NB Harte, ‘State Control of Dressand Social Change in Pre-Industrial England:Coleman and John (Eds) Trade, Government and Economy in Pre-Industrial England:Essays Presented To FJ Fisher. Weidenfield and Nicholson, 1976
Kate Shrewsday 
I’m guessing that they would have embraced the Eeyores of the world . . . while viewing the Tiggers as members of the hoi polloi!
BTW: Our college pub at The College of William and Mary . . . the Hoi Polloi. I worked there as a bartender. I was neither sad, nor discreet 😉
I’m thinking we’re both joyful, indiscreet Tigger types, Nancy 😀
To this day, it would appear that misery is celebrated by the self-styled devout. Their claims to discretion, though, all seem singularly ill-founded.
It seems that was an age, though, when apparent discretion was certainly the better part of valour.
It seemed to guarantee one kept ones head, Col, certainly 🙂 As Thomas Cromwell found to his cost…
Re Cromwell: As an old Yankee American Presbyterian knowing the English roots of the faith I am deeply saddened and ashamed of how the history of non Anglican Protestant reform took on the character of Cromwell’s wars. Although reform may have had pure and genuine motives the implementation in political intrigue and intolerance and war are not sanctioned by Jesus and I wonder how such Christian men(alleged) could not see their own hypocrisy.
One’s own construct of the world is one’s castle, Carl: it is interesting that The Protectorate lasted less than a decade, so he was dispatched with a fair amount of haste.
I read this with great enjoyment in my scarlet velour dressing gown. At no time was I sad. As for discretion, well now … it is the better part of velour ;p
😀 So I have heard, Cindy! LOL!
(But watch out for those clothes police)
It is hard to believe today that such, to us, ridiculous rules and regulations could have existed, and in all seriousness too! Isn’t that an excellent example of how much the world has changed.
My father’s parents’ address was 240 Bloomfield Road, Blackpool. I have checked it out on Google Maps, but couldn’t see it.
I’ll get straight onto it, Denise: my mother in law may well remember it, even if it’s not there any more.
. . . and here, we romp, with no stockings at all. Utopia, indeed.
Wonderful post, Kate.
Thanks Penny 🙂 It is wonderful to live in a time when we can dress in comfort. Apparently in those days clothes took up a substantial part of on’s income. SOme employers would provide clothes and a tiny stipend as payment.
Ah, the good old days… 🙂
….when stockings were stockings….
When we were waiting for our flight recently, Hubby mentioned that everyone looked as if they were about to wander down to the beach, not catch a plane. I mentioned this to my son, and he said, “well, I expect that probably was their destination”.
LOL! Nice to hear everyone was a little more relaxed and less dour, Rosemary….
Said stocking checkers in our “modern” world would get a slap upside the head – any mention as to the gender of these officials?
None whatsoever from this source, although I haven’t managed to get hold of the original papers.
I could hazard a guess, though, Bandsmoke 😀
Lovely to have you around. And you make tweeting much more interesting for us beginners.
The stocking police! Sidesplitting from my safe, modern viewpoint, but they must have been very annoying in their time. I cringe at thought of hot, itchy wool stockings…
I know, I know….life in those times must have been such a daily grind…..but I would have given anything to see the stocking police at work, Elizabeth 😀
I have been reading around a little and admit that some of the terms are confusing… one place said this
Clothing and Fashion – Elizabethan Breeches
/…. The confusion regarding the terminology arises because the word breeches was previously applied to both outer garments and underwear. During the early Medieval period breeches meant “drawers”, “hose” or “underpants”. By the 16th century hose, or hosen, had separated into two garments: upper hose or breeches and nether hose or stockings.”
http://www.elizabethan-era.org.uk/elizabethan-breeches.htm
Just think of all those layers in all this heat!
Brilliant additions as usual, Pseu, thank you 🙂 The reason I thought about stockings was because the two kinds were showcased at the Globe wardrobe demo yesterday. The silk stockings looked cool and smooth and the woollen ones….oh gracious….
How fascinating, Kate (you have a knack!) – goodness only knows what went on behind closed doors in this era of repression – no wonder salacious tabloid journalism found such a voice there
Indeed: the woolen-stocking-wearing classes had to find a little joy somewhere…
A(nother) really interesting read, Kate. Informative, funny, surprising and, above all, enjoyable.
Thanks Earlybird. Lovely to have you back home again.
its a funny old world, no doubt about it
and it’s filled with funny pepople
funny customs and laws
but you have to stand a bit away in time and space to appreciate it all and be amused and lightheaded, not serious and glum
🙂 Plenty of time and space between us and them Sidey – thank goodness!
Oh yes, Kate, please bring on the indiscretion and elation 😀 Scary stuff all that sadness and discreetness!
Thank goodness we live now and not then, Naomi!