The Commune of London, and other studies

by John Horace Round

Let us take some instances in point. Kemble deduced the existence of the Brightlings (‘Brightlingas’) from Brightling in Sussex and Brightlingsea in Essex. Nothing, at first sight, could seem clearer. And yet, on turning to Domesday, we find that the Sussex Brightling is there entered as Brislinga—suggesting that Somerset Brislington from which Kemble deduced the Brislings—while Brightlingsea appears in the Essex Domesday as ‘Brictriceseia,’ and in that of Suffolk as ‘Brictesceseia,’ from which forms is clearly derived the local pronunciation ‘Bricklesea.’ So much for the Brightlings. Yet more striking is the case of an Essex village, Wormingford. Kemble, of course, detects in it the name ‘Wyrmingas.’ Yet its Domesday name is Widemondefort,’ obviously derived from ‘Widemond,’ the name of an individual.[39] Here the corruption is so startling that it is well to record the transition form ‘Wiremundeford,’ which I find in the 13th century.[40] Now, as I have often to point out in the course of my historical researches, however unpopular it may be to correct the errors of others, those errors, if uncorrected, lead too often to fresh ones. Thus, in this case, the ‘Wyrmingas,’ wrongly deduced from Wormingford, have been claimed by scholars as sons of the ‘worm,’ and, therefore, as evidence that ‘Totemism’ prevailed among the Anglo-Saxons. It would take me, I fear, too far afield to discuss the alleged traces of Totemism; but when we find Mr. Grant Allen asserting that “the oak has left traces of his descendants at Oakington in Cambridge” (shire), one has to point out that this place figures in Domesday as ‘Hochinton(e)’[41] in no fewer than five entries, although Kemble derives from it more suo the ‘Æcingas.’ But a few more instances of erroneous derivation must be given in order to establish clearly the worthlessness of Kemble’s lists. How simple it seems to derive, with him, the ‘Storringas’ and ‘Teorringas’ from Storrington, Sussex, and Tarrington, Herefordshire, respectively. Yet the former, in Domesday, is ‘Storgetune’ or ‘Storchestune,’ while the latter is ‘Tatintune’ in both its entries. It might be suggested that the error is that of the Domesday scribe, but in this case I have found the place entered in several documents of the next century as Tadinton or Tatinton, thus establishing the accuracy of Domesday. Indeed, in my experience, the charters of the 12th century prove that Domesday nomenclature is thoroughly deserving of trust. The climax of Kemble’s derivations is reached perhaps in Shillingstone, from which Dorset village he duly deduces the ‘Scyllingas.’ For, as Eyton has shown, its name was ‘Acford,’ but, from its Domesday tenant, Schelin, it became known as Ockford Eskelling, Shilling Ockford, and finally, by a yet bolder corruption, Shillingstone.[42] As if to make matters worse, Kemble treats ‘Shilling-Okeford’ and ‘Shillingstone’ as two distinct places. Could anything, one asks, be more unfortunate than this? Alas, one must answer Yes. The great clan of the ‘Cypingas’ is found in eight counties: at least so Kemble says. I have tested his list and discovered that the names which prove the existence of his clan are Chipping Ongar, Chipping Barnet, Chipping Sodbury, Chipping Campden, Chipping Wycombe, Chipping Warden, and Chipping Norton. Even the historical tyro would avoid this wild blunder; he would know that Chipping was about as much of a clan name as is Cheapside. After this final example, it can hardly be disputed that Kemble’s lists are merely a pitfall for the unwary.

Yet we still follow in his footsteps. Take such a case as that of Faringdon, which Mr. Grant Allen, we have seen, selected as a typical instance of the ing patronymic in place-names.[43] If we turn to Domesday, we find in Berks a ‘Ferendone,’ in Northants a ‘Ferendone’ or ‘Faredone,’ in Notts a ‘Ferendone’ or ‘Farendune,’ in Hants a ‘Ferendone.’ These names were all the same; and yet they have become ‘Farndon’ in Notts and Northants, ‘Faringdon’ in Berks, and ‘Farringdon’ in Hants. Farringdon, therefore, is no more a clan name than is the Essex Parndon, the ‘Perenduna’ of Domesday. But, indeed, in Essex itself, there is an even better illustration. We learn from Canon Taylor that “the Thurings, a Visigothic clan, mentioned by Marcellinus ... are found ... at Thorrington in Essex.” Kemble had previously described them as “likely to be offshoots of the great Hermunduric race, the Thyringi or Thoringi, now Thuringians, always neighbours of the Saxons,[44] and claims the Essex Thorrington” as their settlement.[45] Now Thorington in the first place was not a ton, and in the second place had not an ing. Both these forms are corruptions. In Domesday it occurs twice, and both times as ‘Torinduna.’ With this we may compare ‘Horninduna,’ which is the Domesday form of Horndon, and occurs frequently. Therefore Thorington and Thorndon, like Farringdon and Farndon, were both originally the same name and destitute alike of ing.

As to the names ending in ing, with no other suffix, I prefer, for the present, to reserve my opinion. Kemble’s hypothesis, however, that they were the parent settlements, and the hams and tons their filial developments, seems to me to have little support in the facts of their actual distribution. If in that distribution there is a feature to be detected, it is, perhaps, that the ings are found along the foot of the downs. This, at least, is often observable. Another point deserving of attention is that, in its French form, igny, this suffix seems as distinctive of the ‘Saxon’ settlement about Bayeux as it is absent in that which is found in the Boulogne district. But these are only, as it were, sidelights upon the problem; and this, as I said, is nothing more than a ‘pioneer’ paper.

I close with a point that appears to me of no small importance. To the east of Sussex and the south of Sussex there lay that so-called Jutish land, the county of Kent. As I pointed out years ago, in my ‘Domesday Studies,’ the land system of Kent is found in the Great Survey to be essentially distinct from that which prevailed in other counties. It was not assessed in ‘hides,’ but in ‘solins,’ that is, the sulungs of the natives, the land of a suhl or plough. The yokes, or subdivisions, of this unit are also directly connected with the plough. But the hide and virgate of other counties are, as I pointed out, not connected in name with the plough.[46] Now if we work through the land charters printed by Professor Earle, we find that this Domesday distinction can be traced back, clear and sharp, to the earliest times within their ken. We read in an Anglo-Saxon charter of “xx swuluncga,” while in Latin charters the normal phrase is the land of so many ploughs (‘terra trium aratrorum,’ ‘terra decem aratrorum,’ etc.); we even meet with the phrase, “decem aratrorum juxta æstimationem provinciæ ejusdem.”[47] In another charter “v aratra” equates “fifsulung landes.” But in other counties the normal terms, in these charters, for the land units are “manentes” and “cassati,”[48] which occur with similar regularity. A cleavage so ancient and so clear as this, in the vital sphere of land division, points to more than a separate rule and confirms the tradition of a distinct origin.

II
Ingelric the Priest and Albert of Lotharingia

In my paper on “Regenbald, Priest and Chancellor,”[49] I was able to trace, by combining the evidence of Domesday and of charters, the history of a “priest” of Edward the Confessor, who became the “priest” of his successor also, and held of him rich possessions in churches and lands. Another churchman who flourished both before and after the Conquest, and must have enjoyed the favour both of the Confessor and of the Conqueror, was Ingelric, first dean of the house of St. Martin’s-le-Grand, whose lands had passed before Domesday to Count Eustace of Boulogne. Mr. Freeman was interested in Ingelric as a “commissioner for redemption of lands,” but only knew him as a layman. Nor indeed is there anything in Domesday to suggest that he was other. To Mr. W. H. Stevenson belongs the credit of proving that he was a priest by printing “an old English charter of the Conqueror,” confirming the foundation of St. Martin’s-le-Grand, in which the “cujusdam fidelis mei Ingelrici scilicet peticioni adquiescens” is equated by “æfter Ingelrices bene mines preostes.”[50] It was similarly as “minan preoste” that William had described Regenbald.

The charter I shall now deal with was not known to Mr. Stevenson, and has not, I believe, been printed. It is of real historical interest, apart from the fact that among its witnesses we find Ingelric “the priest.”

Mr. Freeman held that the reconciliation between the Conqueror and the Abbot of Peterborough—Brand, the Englishman, whose election had been confirmed, even after the Battle of Hastings, by the ætheling Eadgar—was one of the earliest events after William’s coronation.[51] To that episode I do not hesitate to assign a charter entered in the Peterborough ‘Liber Niger’ belonging to the Society of Antiquaries. It is a general confirmation of the abbey’s possessions, “petente abbate Brand,”[52] and is witnessed thus:

Huic testes affuere: Aldredus Eboracensis archiepiscopus; Wlwinus Lincoliensis episcopus; Merlesuen vicecomes; Ulf filius Topi; Willelmus comes; Willelmus Malet; Ingelri[cus] presbyter.

Here we have first Ealdred, by whom William had been crowned; then Wulfwig, bishop of Dorchester, here described as bishop “of Lincoln.” The mention of Mærleswegen is of special importance, for this great English noble had been left in charge of the North by Harold on the eve of the Battle of Hastings, and rose in revolt against William in the summer of 1068. Here we have evidence of his presence at William’s court, when his movements were unknown to Mr. Freeman. We see, moreover, that he was still sheriff (of Lincolnshire). “Ulf filius Topi,” who appears in other Peterborough charters, had given “Mannetorp,” Lincolnshire, and other lands to the abbey.