Harold's Town and its vicinity

by Freeman Bunting

The greatness of the Abbey.

Having feasted the eye and the mind on the many beautiful and interesting features of the ancient fane, one may rest beneath the aged elm tree in the churchyard, and meditate upon the circumstance that this magnificent edifice is but a third portion of Harold’s minster, and that only a fragment of the old monastery which grew up around it in mediæval times, forming a vast congregation of stately buildings, now remains; that just as the physical characteristics of the Abbey and its minster were vast and important, so were its landed possessions, which stretched out far and wide on all sides; that the immensity of its wealth was such that at the time of the Dissolution the gross revenue amounted to £1,079 12s. 1d., representing about £15,000 at the present day; whilst the potency of the abbots, who were mitred and sat in Parliament, was great, and the splendour of their respective establishments was upon a generous scale. Some of these abbots, of whom there were thirty in all, were great in the best sense of the word, and exercised their potency for the good of the Abbey and the community towards which they stood in the joint relation of spiritual and temporal overlords.

A Feudal Abbot.

One of these particularly was a man of vigorous character and determined spirit, who, “in asserting the rights and privileges of the monastery during his rule, came into collision with parishioners, neighbours, pope, and king.” First, differences appear to have arisen between the parishioners and the abbot as to the former having right of access to the central tower and bells, which they had enjoyed under Harold’s foundation. The abbot accordingly shut out the people from this and the choir (the monastic part of the church) by erecting a stone screen or wall immediately behind the altar of the parish church (the present nave). This wall is clearly observable from the outside beneath the Rose window at the east end, and in this will be seen traces of two doorways with which it was pierced to allow the dean or parish priest to enter and minister to the people. There would seem to have been reprisals on the part of the parishioners, for a little later they disputed the abbot’s rights of grazing on the marsh, and, resorting to violence, severely assaulted the keepers and killed the abbot’s horses. For this the offenders suffered the double penalty of being heavily fined by the justices of the King’s Bench and excommunicated by the abbot. The latter, however, did not enforce either, and forgave the erring ones. Next Abbot Simon was at war with the lord of the manor of Cheshunt, Peter, Duke of Savoy, who claimed all the land west of the main stream of the Lea—called the King’s stream—whilst the abbot contended that his jurisdiction extended to the smaller stream half a mile further west. The lawsuit which ensued was, as old Fuller says, “as long lived as any in England,” by reason of “the greatness of the clients”; but it was finally concluded in favour of the abbot. This occurred in 1248, and three years later the doughty abbot was setting the pope at defiance by protesting against the persecution, oppression, and robbery of the conventual churches by the bishops and legates. Twice also Abbot Simon successfully resisted the extortionate demands of the king, and stubbornly refused to enrich the royal treasury at the expense of the monastery.

I am afraid I have rather digressed from the main purpose of this little work in relating some of the deeds of this sturdy abbot, but I think the brief relation of these may be of some interest as an illustration of the social and religious conditions of Waltham in mediæval times and of the wonderful power wielded by these old ecclesiastical potentates.

A Conventual Relic.

Now to resume the broken thread. The remaining fragment of the conventual buildings to which I have alluded above consists of a beautiful little chamber, often spoken of as “an architectural gem,” which stands in the Abbey gardens. It is locally known by the undignified appellation of the “potato cellar,” due to its irreverent use in modern times. It consists of a small longitudinal apartment, with a beautifully groined ceiling and quadripartite vaulting. It is 29 feet long, running north and south, and has two doorways, one of which is blocked up. It is considered to have been either the fratry or an antechamber to the abbot’s mansion, in which the monks assembled preparatory to the procession to the church.

One passes from the churchyard to the market-place—another interesting corner of the old town—by an ancient lych-gate, adjacent to the Harp Inn, which is peculiarly interesting as being probably the oldest existing relic of domestic architecture directly connected with the Abbey, and has from very early times formed the main entrance to the church.

Turning sharp to the left, into Sun Street, one is soon in the old main road that runs from London, by Walthamstow, Chingford, and Sewardstone, to Nazeing, Roydon, etc. To the left, round by the New Inn, the fine old wall of the Abbey gardens comes into view, and midway along its extent will be noticed the sign of the cross and a lozenge (probably a sign indicative of the Trinity) inserted in black brick. The remains of the moat, which, with the mill stream, completely surrounded the Abbey, will also be seen.

Retracing our steps towards London, a few yards beyond the entry of Sun Street, will be noticed an old house jutting upon the street, with stucco and “roughcast” exterior, the entrance to which is by a gate in the adjoining garden wall. This was the home of John Foxe, the martyrologist, and here he wrote the famous “Book of Martyrs.” It is said that Cranmer also occupied this house when resident in Waltham. Its interior presents many interesting features. In the garden is a tulip tree, which is probably a descendant of a fine specimen of this arboreal rarity, which flourished for centuries in the old Abbey gardens. This tree is said to have been one of the largest and finest of its kind in all England. Its fame is perpetuated by two finely carved chairs, made out of the wood of the old tree, which stand within the sacrarium of the Abbey church.