By far the greatest interest of old Bridport is centred in its immensely valuable Borough Records. These include a vast collection of old deeds of Plantagenet times more or less connected with the history of the whole county, whilst the copies of sixty-five mediæval wills, ranging from 1268 to 1460, are of unique interest and importance, dating, as so many of them do, before 1383, when the Records of the Prerogative Wills of Canterbury commence. In addition to these, a very complete series of borough charters is preserved amongst these records. Bridport was a self-governing town, with the privileges of a Royal Borough, long before 1252, when its first charter was granted by King Henry III. This was probably soon lost, for the same King, on May 5th, 1270, affixed his seal to another, which recites its predecessor thus:
The King, having inspected the rolls of his Chancery, finds that at the time when Peter de Chacepoler was keeper of his wardrobe, the men of Bridport paid thirty marks, and in return received a charter, etc.
From that time onward each Sovereign seems to have extorted a nice little donation for renewing the charter, each document growing in size and verbosity compared with the one which it supplanted, right down to the reign of James II.
Amongst the books possessed by the Corporation, the most ancient carries us back to old Bridport from a legal point of vision. It is the law-book of Richard Laurence, M.P., who lived from about 1300 to 1361. In it he has recorded copies of all the Acts of Parliament which would be likely to come in useful to him in his legal profession. Beginning from Magna Charta itself, he could turn to this volume, and at a glance see what punishments were enacted against coin-clippers, false measures, brewers of too mild ale, or even against bigamists. Many are the entries referring to nautical affairs, showing how often he must have been consulted by busy Dorset mariners. How many a six and eightpence this worthy lawyer of six centuries ago made out of this book! On one page he records a matter less prosaic—his daughter’s birthday. There were no parish registers then, so he writes:
Laurentia, the second daughter of Richard and Petronel Laurencz, was born on the vigil of Saint Petronilla, being Whitsun Eve, in the 12th year of King Edward III. (1338).
He who so often made other people’s wills at last made his own on July 26th, 1361, which is duly preserved amongst the muniments.
Another volume—the old dome-book of the borough—contains amidst solemn minutes of meetings of the Corporation back in the days of the Edwards, many quaint little quibbles. The writer evidently dotted down on a fly-leaf the following as being a very good witticism which, in the relaxation following a heavy session, some worthy Bridport alderman of old told to beguile away the weariness of his fellow civic fathers: “I will cause you to make a cross, and, without any interference, you will be unable to leave the house without breaking that cross.” This is how it was to be done: “Clasp a post fixed in the house, and make a cross with your extended arms, and then how can you go out without breaking that cross.” Here is another, after the “blind beggar’s brother” pattern: “A pear tree bore all the fruit that a pear tree ought to bear, and yet it did not bear pears. What is the answer?” “Well, it only bore one pear.” Somewhat childish, certainly, but such little “catches” as these delighted the mediæval conversationalist; and do they not show that human nature has ever been the same? An interesting sidelight is thrown upon the clock trade of those days by a document dated 1425, whereby Sir John Stalbrygge, priest, was paid three shillings and fourpence for “keeping the clock on St. Andrew’s Church.” Matters horological in the Middle Ages were almost entirely in the hands of the church. The clergy and monks were the clock-makers and menders; witness the Glastonbury Clock in Wells Cathedral, the Wimborne Clock, and others. Was not Pope Sylvester himself, when a priest, the inventor of an improved timepiece? Hence it appears that for nearly six centuries the townsmen have turned their eyes towards that same spot where still the town clock chimes out the fleeting hours.
A word about the Bridport Harbour and its vicissitudes. In early days there were numerous contentions between the citizens and the monks of Caen, who owned the manor of Burton; at other times they were disputing with the Abbot of Cerne or the Prior of Frampton, who apparently wished to debar them from salving their own ships when wrecked outside the harbour. Vessels were small enough to be beached in those days; when ships were increased in size, the Haven was built, in the year 1385, but it proved not such a success as was anticipated. Apparently during most of the next century every county in the south of England was canvassed for subscriptions towards Bridport Harbour; all sorts of expedients were devised to raise money. In 1446 was drawn up a portentous document, still extant, known as an indulgence, granting pardons to all those who should contribute to this object. It was signed by one archbishop, two cardinals, and twelve bishops. Armed with this deed, John Greve, Proctor for the town, started round collecting. He writes a pitiful letter on May Day, 1448, from Dartford, in Kent, detailing how his sub-collector, John Banbury, “sumtime bellman of Lodres,” had decamped with six weeks’ collections, besides stealing his “new chimere of grey black russet, and a crucifix with a beryl stone set therein.” Nor could he find the rogue, for he says, “He took his leave on St. George’s Day, and so bid me farewell, and I have ridden and gone far to seek him—more than forty miles about—and I cannot hear of him.”
A few interesting survivals of old Bridport have come down to modern times in the shape of place-names. “Bucky Doo” passage, between the Town Hall and the “Greyhound,” is suggestive of the rustic rabbit or the rural roebuck; but it is simply the old name, “Bocardo,” originally a syllogism in logic, which was here, as at Oxford, applied to the prison because, just as a Bocardo syllogism always ended in a final negative, so did a compulsory visit to the Bocardo lock-up generally mean a closer acquaintance with the disciplinary use of “the Bridport dagger,” and a final negative to the drama of life. Stake Lane has been altered to Barrack Street in modern times. Gyrtoppe’s House, in Allington, carries us back to the year 1360, when Sir Nicholas Gyrtoppe was Chantry Priest of St. Michael’s, Bridport. It may be mentioned that a pretty but utterly groundless story of the origin of this name has been told, viz., that King Charles II., when a fugitive from Worcester fight, had to “girth up” Miss Juliana Coningsby’s saddle trappings at this spot in 1652: hence the term “girth up.”
Much could be written of the Civil War days concerning this place. How the Roundheads voted £10 (November 29th, 1642) to fortify (!) the town. How the Corporation met, and voted as follows:—