A FAMILY GROUP
Claud MS., B. 4. (11th cent.).
London has always been a City of great plenty. As yet the stretches of foreshore and marsh all down the river were uninhabited, as most of them remain to the present day. All these marshes abounded with birds innumerable: the river was full of fish—fish of all kinds; the supplies of cattle and of sheep and swine came from the meadows belonging to Westminster Abbey, and from the farms of Middlesex. The forest of Middlesex, which began at Islington, stretched north over an extensive tract; the forest of Essex was a continuation to the east, covering what were afterwards Epping and Hainault Forests; the villages of Essex and Middlesex were clearings in the forest. I suppose that the people bred horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs for the London markets.
If the north part of London, where the craftsmen worked, was picturesque with the cottages among the trees, the south part was also picturesque, for the houses of the merchants were there, each with its hall and its garden. Churches stood everywhere. Most of them were quite small, plain village churches; here and there a Saxon church, like that at Bradford on Avon, narrow and dark, no glass in the windows, no pavement on the floor; and down the narrow lanes we could watch the river with the ships going up and down, the Yeo heave Ho! of the outward-bound, and the hymn to the Virgin for safety on the voyage from those who worked their way up with the flood tide to deep anchor below the bridge.
As for the people of the City, I venture to quote my own words from another book (London, p. 68):—
“It is an evening in May. What means this procession? Here comes a sturdy rogue marching along valiantly, blowing pipe and beating tabor. After him, a rabble rout of lads and young men, wearing flowers in their caps, and bearing branches and singing lustily.
The workman jumps up and shouts as they go past; the priest and the friar laugh and shout; the girls, gathering together, as is the maidens’ way, laugh and clap their hands. The young men sing as they go and dance as they sing. Spring has come back again—sing cuckoo; the days of light and warmth—sing cuckoo; the time of feasting and of love—sing cuckoo. The proud abbot, with his following, draws rein to let them pass, and laughs to see them—he is, you see, a man first and a monk afterwards. In the gateway of his great house stands the Norman earl with his livery. He waits to let the London youth go by. The earl scorns the English youth no longer; he knows their lustihood. He can even understand their speech. He sends out largesse to the lads to be spent in the good wines of Gascony and of Spain; he joins in the singing; he waves his hand, a brotherly hand, as the floral greenery passes along; he sings with them at the top of his voice—
Sing cuccu—cuccu—nu sing cuccu;
Sing cuccu; sing cuccu nu!
Presently the evening falls. It is light till past eight; the days are long. At nightfall, in summer, the people go to bed. In the great houses they assemble in the hall; in winter they would listen to music and the telling of stories, even the legends of King Arthur. Walter Map or Mapes will collect them and arrange them; and the French romances, such as ‘Amis et Amils,’ ‘Aucassin et Nicolette,’ though these have not yet been written down. In summer they have music before they go to bed. We are in a city that has always been fond of music. The noise of crowd and pipe, tabor and cithern, is now silent in the streets. Rich men kept their own musicians. What said Bishop Grossetête?—
Next hys chamber, besyde hys study,