English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (XIVth Century)

by J. J. Jusserand

Enriched by so many offerings, protected by the trinoda necessitas, and by the common interest of the landed proprietors, these bridges should have been continually repaired, and have remained sound. But there was nothing of the sort, and the distance between legal theory and actual practice was great. When the taxes were regularly collected and honestly applied, they usually sufficed to support the building; even the right of collecting them, being in itself profitable, was, as has been seen, strongly contested for; but the example of Godfrey Pratt and of some others has already shown that all the wardens were not honest. Many, even in the highest positions, imitated Godfrey. London Bridge itself, so rich, so useful, so admired, was in constant need of repairs, never done until danger was imminent, or even a catastrophe had happened. Henry III granted the farm of the bridge revenues “to his beloved wife,” who neglected to maintain it, and appropriated to herself without scruple the rents of the building; none the less did the king renew his patent at the expiration of the term, that his said beloved might benefit “from a richer favour.” The result was not long awaited; it was soon found that the bridge was in ruins, and to restore it the ordinary resources were not enough; it was necessary to send collectors throughout the country to gather offerings from those willing to give. Edward I, in January 1281, begged his subjects to hasten; the bridge would give way if they did not send prompt assistance. He ordered the archbishops, bishops, all the clergy, to allow his collectors to address the people freely with “pious exhortations,” that the subsidies should be craved without delay. But nevertheless the supplies arrived too late; the catastrophe had already happened, a “sudden {62} ruin” had befallen the bridge, and to repair this misfortune the king established a special tax upon the passengers, merchandise and boats (February 4, 1282), which tax was imposed again and the new tariff afore mentioned was put into force on May 7, 1306. What this sudden ruin was we learn from Stow’s “Annales”; the winter had been very severe, the frost and snow had caused great cracks in the floor of the bridge, so that towards the Feast of the Purification (February 2), five of the arches fell in. Many other bridges, too, in the country had suffered damage, Rochester Bridge had even entirely fallen.[46]

It may be imagined what fate awaited unendowed country bridges. The alms from the passers-by proved insufficient, so that little by little, nobody repairing them, the arches wore through, the parapets were detached, not a cart passed but fresh stones disappeared in the river, and soon carriages and riders could not venture without danger over the half demolished building. If moreover a flood should occur, all was over with the bridge and often with the imprudent or hurried travellers who might be crossing late in the evening. An accident of this kind was brought up for his justification by a chamberlain of North Wales, from whom Edward III claimed a hundred marks. The chamberlain averred that he had duly sent the money by his clerk, William of Markeley; but, alas, “the said William was drowned in Severn, at Moneford bridge, by the rising flood of water, and could not be found, so that he was devoured by beasts; thus the said hundred marks chanced to be {63} lost.”[47] At that time there were still wolves in England, and the disappearance of the body, with the 100 marks, though even then wolves did not feed on marks, would appear less unlikely than at present.

In those days neglect attained a degree now impossible and which we can scarcely imagine. The Commons of the counties of Nottingham, Derby, and Lincoln, and of the town of Nottingham, declare to the Good Parliament of 1376, that there is near the town of Nottingham a great bridge over the Trent, called Heybethebridge, “to the making and repair of which nobody is bound and alms only are collected, by which bridge all the comers and goers between the north and the south parts should have their passage.” This bridge is “ruinous,” and “oftentimes have several persons been drowned, as well horsemen as carts, man, and harness.” The complainants pray for power to appoint two bridge wardens, who shall administer the property that will be given in view of its maintenance, “for God and as a work of charity.” But the king did not accede to their request.[48]

Or maybe it happened that the riverside proprietors let their obligation fall into oblivion, even when it was at the beginning formal and precise enough. The legislator had, however, taken some precautions; he had inscribed bridges on the list of the articles for those inquiries periodically opened in England by the justices in Eyre, sheriffs and bailiffs, as we shall see further on[49]; but those concerned found means to defraud the law. People had been so long used to see ruin menace the edifice, that when it actually did give way no one could say who ought to have repaired it. It then became {64} necessary to apply to the king for a special inquiry, and to seek on whom lay the service. Parliament thus decides in 1339, on the demand of the prior of St. Neots: “Item, let there be good and true men assigned to survey the bridge and causeway of St. Neots, whether they be broken down and carried away by the rising of the waters, as the prior alleges, or not. And in case they are broken down and carried away, to inquire who ought and was used to have it repaired, and who is bound of right to do it; and how the bridge and roadway may be re-made and repaired. And what they[50] find they shall return into the chancery.”

In consequence of such inquests the persons charged with the maintenance being determined by the findings of a jury convened on the spot, a tax is levied upon them for the carrying out of the repairs. But they often protest and refuse to pay; they are sued, they appeal to the king; horse, cart, anything that may come to hand and which belongs to them is promptly seized to be sold for the benefit of the bridge; the dispute drags on, and meanwhile the edifice gives way. Hamo de Morston, for example, in the eleventh year of Edward II, complains that his horse has been taken from him. Called to justify themselves, Simon Porter and two others who have made the seizure, explain that there is a bridge at Shoreham, called the Long bridge, which is half destroyed; now it has been found that the building ought to be restored at the expense of the tenants of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Hamo, who is one of them, having refused to pay his part of the contribution, Simon and the others took the horse. They acted by order of a bailiff, and their conduct is vindicated. Another case of the same period is that of the Abbot of Coggeshall who, after a similar inquest, refused to execute any {65} repairs to a bridge near his lands under pretext that within memory of man there had been no other bridge over the river “than a certain plank of board,” and that at all times it had been found sufficient for horsemen and pedestrians. Innumerable are the examples of inquests of this sort and of the difficulties in executing the measures decided on.[51]

Owing to these several causes the chronicle-history of even the most important English bridges, when it is possible to trace it, is a long tale of crumblings into the river, rebuildings, and repairs, and ever-recurring catastrophes. Sometimes when the damage was great, and much money was needed and was not forthcoming, a ferry was established as a substitute for the late bridge, and remained in use for years and years together.

Such a series of events is offered by the history of the bridge on the Tweed at Berwick, which was one of the longest in England. The first time we hear of it is in the year 1199, and the news is that it gave way at that date, owing to a rise of the river. It was rebuilt and gave way again. Sometimes it was rebuilt of wood and sometimes of stone; occasionally it fell altogether from end to end, and then a ferry was established, and was maintained for a long period. This was the case in 1294, when great harm was done by the inundations. “Where the bridge fell at this time,” says the latest historian of Berwick, “there it lay for many years. The only method of crossing was by ferry boats, worked from both sides of the river; while the ferry in times of danger was defended by soldiers. Thus, in Sir Robert Heron’s (the controller) ‘Book of Bills’ for 1310, there is allowed one half quarter of pease to each of six crossbowmen (one of them being John Sharp Arewe) guarding the ferry of the Tweed at Berwick.”[52] The ferry {66} follows vicissitudes scarcely less numerous than the bridge itself, and disputes arise as to the right of working it, or rather of collecting its tolls. The revenues of the bridge, now that there is no longer any bridge, are also a matter of difficulty, and the king has to interfere to settle the question of the rents of houses and of fisheries belonging to the ruined monument.

In 1347 at last the citizens of the town began to think seriously of rebuilding their bridge, and the king granted them the right of collecting towards the expenses a toll of sixpence on every ship entering their harbour. The bridge was then rebuilt, but not in such a way as not to fall again, which has since happened to it many times.

Not less doleful is the story of the bridge on the Dee at Chester, of which we hear in the chronicles for the first time in 1227 and 1297, on account of its being carried away by the water,[53] and the same may be said of many of the bridges of mediæval England, especially the longer ones.

When rebuilding had to be done people generally did not care to remove what remained of the old monument, for which reason, when a bridge has broken down in our time, it has been often found that it was made of an accumulation of superimposed bridges. Of this the bridge over the Teign, between Newton Abbot and Teignmouth, rebuilt in 1815, is an example. It became, in this case, apparent that four successive bridges at least had been at various times erected with or over the remains of previous constructions. Mr. P. T. Taylor, who investigated the matter at that time, gave as his opinion “that the last or upper work was done in the sixteenth century, and that the red bridge had been built on the salt marsh in the thirteenth century; since which time there has been an accumulation of soil to the depth of ten feet. He supposes the wooden bridge to be as old {69} as the Conquest, and the white stone bridge to have been a Roman work.”[54]