Hic jacet d'na Emma mater venerabilissimi patris et domini D'ni Joh'is Stafford dei gra' Cantuariensis Archiepi' que obiit quinto die mensis Septembris anno d'ni Millesimo ccccmo quadra's'mo vio cuj' anime p'piciet' de' am'
On the outside, the Chapel is very noticeable, on account of its height and rich character as compared with the main fabric of the church. The corner buttresses have pinnacles at their stages, and the space below the north window is filled with quatrefoiled panels, and lozenges, traceried, with plain shields in their centres. A remarkable peculiarity is observable,—the carved ornamentation of the Chapel was never finished, the pinnacles on one buttress are completed, the crockets on the other only roughed out, and the cusps of the panel work above the tomb inside, still display the pencil marks of the intention of the carver, which his chisel never gave form to. The shields also are all perfectly plain and uncharged, and no trace of the armories of Stafford are at present visible anywhere on the Chapel, either within or without.
When Aubrey visited the Chapel in 1669, he notes,—
"By the north aisle is a peculiar chappell of excellent worke, the roof of wood curiously carved. I guesse the worke to be about temp: Henry VI. about which time this kind of Gothique architecture was at the height. This was as noble a Chapelle as any in the county, now, in the windowe, like a great bay windowe is only one scutcheon left entire; viz: Stafford,—Or, a chevron gules. Another was quarterley, now broken: another thus Stafford, imp: Beville. At the bottom thereof is a flatt gravestone of freestone well worked, lineally with the figure of a lady in a Gothique niche. In the limbe thereof this inscription "Hic jacet d'na Emma, &c."
The old antiquary gives the inscription fairly correct as it now is found, but at the end he adds these further words,—"O Deus trina me John conserva ruina,"—(O triune God, save me, John, from perdition). But such never could have existed on the face of the gravestone, as the inscription, without this addition completely fills the ledger-line around its edge. Probably he saw it in one of the windows. He then goes on to say,—
"In the limbe of the windowe are these fragments "Emme matris d... d'ni Joh'is Archiep...r...dicti." In the top of this windowe, and also of the other, in scrolls,—"Gnothi seauton: Nosce te ipsum." The other windowe is all broken, but the scrolls aforesaid: only the picture of the archbishop, except his head, remains, of curious painted glass, he in his formalities, with pall, crozier, &c., in a cope of sky colour. In a limbe of this windowe "hujus capelle ... Archiepi Cantuar." In the carved wood work of the roofe are several little hunting figures, as of men carrying a deer, shooting a deer in the wood. One scutcheon of Hungerford in wood. This chapell is built outside the church, as Hungerfords at Sarum, but the scutcheons of stone are not charged."
A review of the circumstances attending the origin and career of John Stafford, Archbishop of Canterbury, furnishes a subject of peculiar interest. Born, as we have observed, outside the legal pale, and as a consequence, subject to all its worldly disadvantages, this drawback appears to have found no hindrance to his advancement on the path of life, which ultimately led—short of sovereignty—to the highest station it had to offer. This result exhibits another striking instance of those marvellous careers, that have so often waited upon these natural children of mankind, who bearing down all obstacles in their way, and contemptuous of the goody-goody frowns and askant glances of their more piously-bred neighbours, by the force of their character, and the self-reliance engendered by what is termed misfortune of birth, have achieved the position of standing among the leaders and rulers of their race.
Examined by the light of common sense, the cause of this innate distinction is perhaps not far to seek. In its highest and truest sense, such have received their being under the strongest impulses that animate the human heart, knit by the influence of attachment often so powerful, that no present consequence, or after consideration received at the time a moment's parley, and Nature in the result asserts the aristocracy of her lineage; whereof the life of the Archbishop is a notable example. Proscribed doubtless, then as now, by the social world from assuming equality with them, and unable therefore to pursue any of the usual worldly professions with equal chances of success, it is refreshing to find the highest human vocation, the office of the Christian minister, was at his acceptance,—the Church opened her door to the human waif,—who was destined afterward to become her chief pastor. From his presumed father—as usual—he received scant help, but five years before his death, Sir Humphrey bestowed on him a costless gift, by presenting the future Archbishop to the family living of Farnboro', in the diocese of Bath and Wells,—a See he afterward presided over.
The close affection also that evidently existed between the Archbishop and his mother, cemented doubtless by the circumstances of his birth, and her consequent comparative isolation from society, is a delightful trait in his character; and it may be fully surmised caused him to take her to Canterbury, there to become a Sister of the religious house, of which fraternity he was a Brother, in order that she might be well cared for, and be near him, and where she probably passed the last twenty years of her life. She lived long enough to see her distinguished son ascend the Archiepiscopal throne, and as Lord Chancellor also to the reigning sovereign, King Henry VI., become at once the first citizen of his native land, both in Church and State; a remarkable privilege, that few mothers indeed,—no matter what distinction of birth or station they inherited,—have been destined to witness.
At her death in 1446, the Archbishop had her body conveyed back to North-Bradley, of which place she presumably was a native, and where probably her son was born. There he deposited her remains in the mortuary chapel attached to the parish church he had specially built to receive them, under a tomb whereon he caused her form to be depicted, and surrounded it with the simple inscription that still remains to bear witness of his filial affection.