Southwark was also notorious for its prisons—the King’s Bench, the Marshalsea, the White Lion, the Borough Compter and the Clink. The last-named was on the Bankside, so intimately associated from the earliest times with the rough sports of the Londoners, and in Elizabeth’s reign the chief home of the dramatic displays of that great period. The “Bank” was then a long straggling street, extending from the manor of Paris Garden on the west to the liberty of the Clink on the east. Near Paris Garden was the Falcon Inn, which was once supposed to have been the resort of Shakespeare. This apparently is an error, for at the time of the great dramatist’s death there appears to have been no inns on the Bankside. Little or nothing actually exists now that was there in the sixteenth century, but the contour of the street and nearly every name have lasted in their integrity, and probably will last for many a long year more.
Although during the reigns of the Tudor sovereigns the Renascence became triumphant, the men and women of London still continued to live in a town which retained its mediæval characteristics.
Two striking scenes in the history of London during the reign of Mary I. may be alluded to here.
When the Queen made known her intention of marrying Philip of Spain, the discontent of the nation found vent in the rising of Sir Thomas Wyat, and the city had to prepare itself against attack. Wyat took possession of Southwark, and expected to have been admitted into London, but finding the gate of the Bridge closed against him and the drawbridge cut down he marched to Kingston. Having restored the bridge there, which had been destroyed, he proceeded towards London. In consequence of the break down of some of his guns he imprudently halted at Turnham Green. Had he not done this he might have obtained possession of the city. He planted his ordnance on Hay Hill, and then marched by St. James’s Palace and Charing Cross. Here he was attacked by Sir John Gage with a thousand men, but he repulsed them, and reached Ludgate without further opposition. He was disappointed at the resistance which was made, and after musing a while “upon a stall over against the Bell Savadge gate,” he turned back. His retreat was cut off, and he surrendered to Sir Maurice Berkeley.
To picture another striking scene, we must move from the west side of London to the north. Outside Cripplegate was built a barbican or watch-tower, as an outwork for observance, and the little village, with its Fore Street, which grew up outside the walls, was sheltered behind it. The care of this important position was naturally given to trustworthy persons. Edward III. appointed Robert Ufford, Earl of Suffolk, Keeper of the Barbican, and from him it descended, in course of time, to Catherine, daughter of William Lord Willoughby de Eresby, who married, firstly, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk; and secondly, Richard Bertie. Bertie and his wife were Protestants, and in Queen Mary’s reign their lives were in such danger that they were forced to arrange in secrecy for their flight.
Between four and five o’clock in the morning of 1st January 1554-1555 the Duchess began her adventurous journey in a thick fog. She could place no confidence in the bulk of her dependants, and there was great difficulty in arranging for company and baggage. As she was leaving, one Atkinson, a herald, issued from the house bearing a torch in his hand, and evidently bent on discovering the cause of the unusual bustle at this early hour. Fearing to be discovered as she stood up under a gateway, she moved on quietly and left her baggage at the gatehouse. Finding that the herald still followed, she bade her servants to hasten onwards to Lion Key, where she proposed to embark. Taking with her only two servants and her child, “she stept into Garter House, hard by.”[384] She dared not pass into the city through Cripplegate but walked on to Moorgate. Thence she proceeded across the town to the port of embarkation. Eventually she joined her husband, who had preceded her, in Flanders. Soon after her escape she gave birth to a son at Wesel. He was named Peregrine, from the circumstance of his being born in a foreign land and during the wandering of his parents. This name was long continued in the family. The child grew up to be one of Queen Elizabeth’s greatest generals, popularly known as the “brave Lord Willoughby.”
“But the bravest man in battel
Was brave Lord Willoughby.”