The Paston Wrecks

One family’s involvement in wrecks

Modern colour photograph of recumbent effigy of man in armour lying on a pillow on top of a tomb, seen in side profile view. Below his wife can be seen carved facing right. The image is partly obscured by the blue altar frontal covering the altar to the right, which also demonstrates that Sir Clement was buried as close as possible to the holiest location in the church.
Chest tomb of Sir Clement Paston (1508-1597) at St. Michael’s Oxnead, who features in the story below, navy man whose prior experience of ships was wrecks on his family’s lands.
The church is listed Grade II* in no small part due to this fine alabaster monument, which features his wife as a kneeling ‘weeper’.
Creative Commons CC BY-SA 2.0

One of the key landmarks of surviving English medieval letters is exactly that – a remarkable collection of letters sent to, from, and between members of the Paston family between 1422 and 1509. For such a collection of letters to survive from one family is remarkable enough. For that collection to survive from the Middle Ages makes the collection even more significant. Among the jewels of the collection is the first Valentine in English, sent by Margery Brews in 1477 to her betrothed, one of the Paston family. They illustrate Middle English in current use by real people, not literary English as we might think of it from staple texts such as the Canterbury Tales or Piers Plowman, for example.

Another remarkable aspect of the collection is that it contains the first surviving account of a shipwreck in a letter in English – most of our medieval wrecks are known from official, usually legal or Parliamentary sources, or from material such as chronicles or accounts written by historians, which were often written either retrospectively or at second-hand, or both, sometimes also encompassing hearsay or more than a whiff of legend.

So when we read the words of William Pekoc (Peacock) written ‘in hast’ on 19 November 1477 to his ‘ryth worschepffull master’ [William consistently spells ‘right’, then often riht, ryht as ryth] Sir John Paston (John Paston II, 1442-1479), we see a description in the words of a witness, not couched, as so often, in legalese, by those hearing plaints at one remove. This is a servant speaking to his employer about something he has seen with his own eyes:

Also there is a grete chyppe go to wrekke be for Wynterton, and there came up on your several grownd gret plente of bowe stawys and waynescotte, and clappalde grete plente. [1]

[‘Also a great ship has been wrecked before Winterton, and an abundance of bowstaves and wainscot boards were washed up on your various lands, and also an abundance of cask staves’: translated into modern English by the author]

This brief snippet of information yields a great deal of detail – the cargo of worked timber and tar suggested that the voyage had originated in the Scandinavia/Baltic area. There is a useful parallel in the wreck of Le Cristofre, bound from Gdansk for Bristol with a cargo that included tar, boards, staves, and other goods such as pitch and wax, lost in 1389 near Great Yarmouth, not far from Winterton. What this also tells us is that both the wreck on the Paston lands at Winterton and the earlier wreck of Le Cristofre were also operating within the aegis of the Hanseatic League.

William Peacock hasn’t just seen the wreck for himself, he’s doing something about it, hiring carts to carry away the wreckage into town. He also lets John Paston know that his right to the wreck is being challenged: ‘Mastras [Mistress] Clere hath sent down hyr men’ to carry away the wreckage – as John’s tenant, she is claiming right of wreck, but, as William advises his master, ‘There is no maner in Wynterton but your; lesse your ryth now and lesse it for ever’. The manorial right to wreck was not in question in terms of whether it existed or not, but the question of who benefited was certainly a bone of contention: the tenant or the landlord.

William also urges John to issue a writ of trespass against the men of nearby Scroby who have taken barrels from the wreck, ‘or ellis it wool do yow meche harm here after’. William has also appraised the potential of the timber cargo: ‘The bordes had ben good for wyndowes and dores’.

Two weeks later this faithful servant, writing ‘ryth werey’ [‘right weary’] has sent word again to his master, naming the local men responsible for abstracting wreckage from the ship and exactly how much it was worth. He also appears somewhat – but not unduly – concerned, that there is a potential spanner in the works as there are five survivors from the ship. These survivors made it legally not a wreck, even though physically it was one.

In other words, as there were persons alive who could claim the wreck, or make claim on behalf of others, strictly speaking the wreck and its cargo were neither unclaimed nor unclaimable under medieval wreck law. Therefore, although there were clearly manorial rights to the wreck, neither John Paston nor ‘Mistress Clere’ had any real claim upon the wreckage, or at least not without enquiring further into the matter. It would have been different if there had been no survivors . . . but William Peacock refers to the survivors almost as an afterthought! [2]

Medieval wrecks usually survive in the documentary record because they were contentious in some way, often because of disputes over right to wreck – and this wreck is a case in point, even though it is recorded in private letters and not in official documents. William’s letters have left us a valuable trace in the records and all the more for what is unsaid as well as said – in his time, the vessel would have been easily recognised as a ship from the Hanseatic League, but it takes knowledge of trading patterns to recognise this feature, so typical of historic documentary records, which tell us things that were obvious to the reader at the time and so were not explicitly said. The cargo leads us to the implied voyage and origins of the ship, and the circles in which she was operating, and we recover much more detail.

Though the surviving letters stop in the early 16th century, members of such a literate family jealous of their rights and unafraid to exercise them were also bound to turn up in the official record, and they do. In documents that bring half-remembered history lessons at school to life, we learn that the Pastons and the Cleres resorted to the law over the right to wreck with cases heard in the Court of Star Chamber under Henry VIII. Both documents are undated: just at the point the letters peter out, Henry VIII has come to the throne and the two cases could refer to any time during his reign from April 1509 to January 1547.

The first case is clearer: Sir John Clere (1511-1557) brought a case against Sir William Paston (1479-1554) and others, including Sir William’s son Clement Paston (1508-1597) [4] for ‘forcibly obstructing him from enjoying his rights of wreck in the manor of Winterton’, so it seems that this feud between the two families had spilled over into another generation. [3] Sir John Clere succession to his father’s estates in 1529 seems a reasonable terminus post quem for the date of the incident, thus effectively halving the potential date range of the document: we now know the wreck must have taken place between 1529 and 1547.

If we accept the 1508 date for Clement’s (later Sir Clement’s) birth then he would have been 21 in 1529, so it is feasible for him to have been involved from that date onwards. Some of the later dates discussed elsewhere for his birth may make the 1529 date tricky – it is difficult to see him involved in his early teens but his later teens, perhaps. 1529 onwards seems secure, however, and perhaps a little later, as Sir John would not have mounted a challenge without legal title to his father’s estate.

A second case, this time brought by Sir William Paston against Sir John Clere, does not specify the location of loss, but as the two families had butted heads previously over wreck at Winterton in 1477 and in the other Star Chamber Case, it is reasonable to suppose it concerns right to wreck at the same manor, which is also a well-known location of loss with many wrecks historically documented there. [5] It is clearly a different wreck, as different persons are named outside the two principals (a counter-claim would have involved the same ‘supporting cast’, albeit in reversed roles) and must date to the same period – perhaps, if the numbering for the Star Chamber records is anything to go by, slightly later. This time there was an ‘assault on the plaintiff’s servants, arising out of dispute as to wreck.’ A possible terminus ante quem might be provided by Clement Paston’s biography in that he was at sea in the navy by 1544 and was therefore, no longer in Norfolk. [6]

Framing the chronology for the two wrecks in this way clarifies that Clement’s involvement in the first case has the hallmarks of youth and a young man still knocking around at home, so to speak and that 1529-ish is reasonably secure in the first case, and somewhat later in the second.

We therefore have three securely recorded wrecks involving Paston lands, but there may be more wrecks with a Paston connection – not involving their lands, but possible active involvement in what we would today class as piracy. These wrecks are securely recorded – it is simply that we can’t directly pin them on one of the Paston ancestors.

The Paston ancestry is shrouded in some obscurity, as the family was of peasant stock and worked its way up into the ranks of the gentry through education and marriage alliances. The first securely recorded Paston is William Paston (1378-1444) but the 1904 edition of the Paston Letters references a Constantine de Paston, who, in 1330, was part of a group of people engaged in inter-communal rivalry and piracy between Southwold and Dunwich. In two distinct events, at least, this group attacked at least five ships of John de Claveryng [7] and another ship belonging to a widow, Anastasia But [8], and some of these ships were wrecked or sunk. Anastasia’s was certainly sunk, and a detail in the Anglo-Norman texts of John de Claveryng’s complaint also indicates that his ships were wrecked: the word naufrerent is used – ‘they wrecked’ (cf. naufrage, ‘shipwreck’ in modern French), a detail lost in summarising the records.

It’s impossible to say whether Constantine de Paston was in truth one of the Paston ancestors (if so, he illustrates the Paston talent for controversy!) but these stories illustrate that local rivalry, whether of competing ports or adjoining landowners, enables preservation in the documentary record (and possibly also, in the Claveryng and But cases, causes them!) Of ordinary fishing vessels, ships without lucrative cargoes, or of other significance, or those that simply did not give rise to disputes, during the Middle Ages, we tend to learn very little.

This makes the preservation of a wreck record of 1477 in letters in ordinary everyday English that was neither literary nor legalese all the more precious. Without William Peacock we would know nothing about this particular wreck at all, and in all the cases we discover more when we read between the lines, or go back to the original language to see something ‘lost in translation’.

Footnotes

[1] Letter 807, repr. in Gairdner, J [ed] 1896 The Paston Letters, Vol. III, 1471-1509 [Westminster: A Constable and Co.]

[2] Letter 808, repr. in Gairdner, J [ed] 1896 The Paston Letters, Vol. III, 1471-1509 [Westminster: A Constable and Co.]

[3] Catalogue entry for STAC 2/10/25, Court of Star Chamber: Proceedings of Henry VIII, Folio 50, held at The National Archives, Kew, accessed via https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C7122306

[4] Clement Paston’s life is dated 1508-1597 in the family tree published on the Paston Footprints website, a collaborative endeavour between the University of East Anglia, the Paston Heritage Society, and Collisions Theatre, and represents the most recent available information; his biography in the History of Parliament Online states that he was born by 1523, which must be the earliest secure reference to his life; his tomb monument states that he lived ‘Twice fortie yeares & somewhat more’, which, if true, places his birth as 1516 at the latest. All this has ramifications for the date of the wreck involved in the subsequent discussion.

[5] Catalogue entry for STAC 2/29/121, Court of Star Chamber: Proceedings of Henry VIII, held at The National Archives, Kew, accessed via https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C3978192

[6] Sir Clement Paston, MP for Norfolk, 1563, in History of Parliament Online

[7] Catalogue entries for SC 8/39/1929, in Petitions to the King etc., held at The National Archives, Kew, accessed via https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C9062132 ; SC 8/178/8857, https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C9294725 ; SC 8/256/12800 Petitioners: John de Claveringg (Clavering). Name(s): de Claveringg (Clavering),… | The National Archives; Calendar of Patent Rolls, Edward III, Vol. 2, 1330-34, p199; p235=6; Gairdner, J, (ed.) 1904 The Paston Letters 1422-1509, Vol. II, accessed online via Project Gutenberg

[8] Calendar of Patent Rolls, Edward III, Vol, 2, 1330-34, p62, pp134-5; catalogue entry for SC 8/39/1929 in Petitions to the King etc., held at The National Archives, Kew, accessed via https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C9062132

A mysterious cargo

With this week (31 October 2017) seeing the commemoration of #Reformation500 I decided to have a look at records of German vessels wrecked in England around the time that Martin Luther published his 95 Theses that led to the Protestant Reformation, a legacy which still resonates today.

Black and white print of man with dark hair and dressed in black, facing left and holding a hat in one hand. A badge is in the background beside his head to the right, text to the left, stating his age in Latin, and further text below the image.
Martin Luther, after Lucas Cranach the Elder, etching (1525). NPG D47378. © National Portrait Gallery, London. Creative Commons CC-BY-NC-ND

Records for this period tend to be rather vague. We don’t actually have any wrecks we can firmly date to 1517 itself, although there is a series of records for wrecks 1516-18 in Cornwall, based on eyewitness evidence given to officials, mostly by very old men, which conjures up a wonderful picture and says a great deal about their powers of recollection.

There are many gaps in the record, which is nothing to do with the seas being safer or the weather being calmer in those years, and everything to do with the lack of record survival. The Reformation unleashed by Martin Luther had much to do with that from the English point of view, as records were destroyed in the Dissolution of the Monasteries which characterised the English Reformation – while the passage of time is another factor.

However, we do have a German vessel wrecked on these shores in 1524, so not too long after the 95 Theses that shook Europe. It’s a single standalone reference, lacking the ‘before’ and ‘after’, the background and the ‘what happened next?’, and key details of the ship and her voyage: all of which is completely typical of wreck records until well into the early modern period. It is actually a letter of complaint from Hamburg officials on behalf of certain merchants of that city to Henry VIII himself.

‘The Burgomasters of Hamburg to Henry VIII.

Ask for the restitution of a ship laden with resin, “oszemundt”, wax, ale etc., belonging to Fred. Ostra, Peter Rode, John Hesterberch, Conrad Meyricke, Hen. Statius and Joachim Schernewkouw, citizens of Hamburg, which went on shore on the coast of Norfolk, on the way to London. Hamburg, 16 May 1524.’ (1)

We don’t know the name of the ship, but we can tell that she must have been wrecked some time before 16 May 1524, allowing time at least for the news to reach Hamburg and for the letter to go out again. Communications at the time were, of course, ship-borne, with none of the media or information technology at our fingertips today, nor had newspapers yet been invented.

The vessel came ashore on the North Sea coast short of her destination of London, so it is reasonable to suppose that her voyage was from the eastward, which appears to be corroborated by the involvement of Hamburg merchants.

Ale is a fairly standard product which could originate anywhere. Wax was also widely imported into England, but the cargoes and voyage details of wrecked vessels tend to mirror the ebb and flow of trade routes pretty well. In the Elizabethan period the Baltic was a key source of wax for English buyers, while another wreck of 1582 laden with deals, wax, and copper, also suggests a common Baltic origin for all three cargoes, since deals and copper were characteristic Swedish exports. This suggests that the Baltic may well also have been the origin of the wax aboard the 1524 wreck. (2) Resin may similarly refer to Baltic amber.

This suggests that Baltic goods are in question, either transhipped via Hamburg as an entrepôt, or originating directly from the Baltic, almost certainly from Sweden. It is in this context that we must set the mysterious oszemundt which is not otherwise attested in the wreck record in England, and which the original editor of the Letters and Papers Foreign and Domestic had not explained in a footnote (presumably he was unable to do so!) We find references to this under various spellings in documents from mercantile contexts: one of 1494 (in Swedish) and another of 1532 (in German), suggesting that it was possible, for example, to settle payment of debt for an inbound cargo with osemund as an exchange or return cargo. (3)

A number of sources suggested that it was some form of iron, specifically ‘Swedish iron’, which is certainly consistent with known Swedish exports at that time and with the wrecks in our database laden with Swedish iron. (4) But what form did that iron take? Was it ore, bar, cast or wrought, or pyrites? I finally tracked down a reference explaining that osemund referred to iron cast in balls or spheres, for which Scotland was apparently the principal export market in the Elizabethan period: it was a relatively unusual import for England. (5) No wonder, therefore, it was very difficult to find out what it actually was!

Lump of grey iron on a stand in a museum display, against a brown wooden background.
Lump of osemund, Burg Altena museum. Photographed by Frank Vincentz. Creative Commons CC-BY-SA 3.0

This one mysterious word has illuminated a rare cargo from the past. It also illustrates the reach of the shipping networks of the North Sea, including the Hanseatic League, which at this time traded across the Baltic and North Sea with King’s Lynn and London, and which had a key port at Hamburg. (To this day Hamburg is Freie und Hansestadt Hamburg.) I suspect, therefore, that it is very likely the complainants in the letter were Hanse merchants. So this wreck record is the rarest of the rare: surviving documentation for medieval wrecks in England is sparse, and of these there are only a dozen records with clearly demonstrable links to the Hanse over the period 1377-1546. (6)

Bust-length portrait of a bearded man dressed in black, with white collar and cuffs, facing left, with his hands crossed in the lower register of the image. He is set against a dark green background.
Portrait of a Hanseatic Merchant, Hans Holbein, 1538. Yale University Art Gallery. The German artist Holbein, who spent two extended periods in England, was commissioned to paint portraits of Hanseatic merchants at their London Steelyard guildhall (and indeed also painted the iconic portraits of Henry VIII, with whom the English Reformation is indelibly associated). The artist and subject together suggest the rich cultural and economic connections at this time between England and Germany, a milieu receptive to the exchange of new religious ideas.

It is also a reminder that ideas and texts, as well as cargo and people, were circulated by ship.

One of the most far-reaching changes of the Reformation was the idea that any Christian should be able to access the Bible in their own language, rather than filtered through the traditional language of Latin, which had been the common language of the Christian Roman Empire but had long been accessible only to the educated elite. Vernacular translations were not a new idea, but previous examples, such as the late 14th century Wycliffite Bible, were suppressed and banned. It was in that same year as our wreck from Germany, 1524, that the latest scholar to espouse an English translation, William Tyndale, was forced to set sail for Germany, and produced a translation of the New Testament within the orbit of Martin Luther. Copies of Tyndale’s translation were smuggled into England on board ship, in casks of wine and bales of wool. (7) 

These clandestine consignments must have added the fear of discovery to the constant dread of shipwreck. Did any ever miscarry on their way to England, I wonder? There’s a contemporary parallel for this: it is traditionally held that the rarity of the Complutensian Polyglot Bible is partly owing to many copies perishing in a shipwreck while en route to Pope Leo X in Italy in 1521. (8) So a single wreck in England can be set against the backdrop of an entire cultural, economic, and religious milieu, and its record enhanced, and all because I was intrigued by an unidentified cargo.

I would like to thank my colleagues at Historic England for their help with this article: Angela Middleton, Conservator, and Tanja Watson, Knowledge Organisation Specialist.

Painted image of seated man in black against a dark background. His name, in Latin, is painted in gold to the right of his arm, which holds a Bible. His left hand points to the Bible above a white text. Below the portrait is an inscription in gold lettering, also in Latin..
Called William Tyndale, by unknown artist, late 17th or early 18th century. NPG 1592. © National Portrait Gallery, London Creative Commons CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0

(1) Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Volume 4, 1524-1530, ed. J S Brewer (London, 1875), pp. 139, No.339. British History Online [accessed 1 November 2017].

(2)  Zins, H (translated Stevens, H). 1972 England and the Baltic in the Elizabethan Era. Manchester: University Press

(3) Swedish: Styffe, C. 1875 Bidrag till Skandinaviens Historia ur utländska arkiver. Stockholm: P A Norstedt & Söner. German: Ebel, W (ed.) 1968 Lübecker Ratsurteile, Band III, 1526-1550. Göttingen: Musterschmid Verlag

(4) Heß, C, Link, C, and Sarnowsky, J, 2008. Schüldbücher und Rechnungen der Großschäffer und Lieger des Deutschen Ordens in Preussen. Köln: Böhlau Verlag. For the wrecks in the database: National Record of the Historic Environment, Historic England, as accessed on 1 November 2017.

(5) Zins, H. 1967 “Znaczenie Strefy Bałtyckiej dla angielskiego budownictwa okrętowego w drugiej połowie XVI wieku“, Rocznik Lubelski 10, 125-137; Zins, H. (trans Stevens H) 1972 England and the Baltic in the Elizabethan Era. Manchester: University Press

(6) Source: National Record of the Historic Environment, Historic England, as accessed on 1 November 2017.

(7) There were other, partial, English translations earlier than Wycliffe, including the 10th century Old English interlinear gloss in the Latin of the Lindisfarne Gospels, but its purpose was to assist the reader in their understanding of the Latin text, not act as a substitute for it. For more on Tyndale and his smuggled Bibles: “Melvyn Bragg on William Tyndale: his genius matched that of Shakespeare”, Daily Telegraph, 6 June 2013

(8) García Pinilla, I. n.d. “Reconsidering the relationship between the Complutensian Polyglot Bible and Erasmus’ Novum Testamentum” in Basel 1516: Erasmus’ Edition of the New Testament

No.48: The Cieszyn

Dziękuję ci Kapitanie!

Following a trip to Poland last week, I thought I’d talk about Polish shipwrecks in English waters.

We have at least 69 wrecks of Polish origin, but a number may have been masked by historic former nationalities such as “Prussian”. Without a home port being named, it is difficult to identify just to which modern state incorporated within the former extent of Prussia a vessel belongs. Our earliest reference is in 1389 to the Cristofre of Danzig, while a reference to “Dansk in Prucia” from 1391 is clear enough, at the period when Gdansk was one of the major cities of the Hanseatic League, a trade association which dominated the Baltic and North Sea and became a power in its own right. Richard II and his queen, Anne of Bohemia, surrendered their rights in the wreck and restored the wrecked goods to the merchants involved.

Inevitably language isn’t always much of a clue, since most Prussian names were recorded in German rather than Polish, although occasionally other languages crop up. There is even a Lord Wellington belonging to Gdansk, wrecked off Lincolnshire in 1824, when memories of the Anglo-Prussian alliance against Napoleon were still fresh. The ports of Gdansk and Szszecin continued to be referred to as Prussian Danzig and Stettin until well into the 20th century.

During World War II a number of Polish ships were lost in English waters including today’s featured wreck, the Cieszyn, which was bombed and sunk by two Dorniers off Lowland Point, near Falmouth, 73 years ago yesterday on 20th March 1941.

It was said that the boat carrying the escaping crew also came under attack, as did the lifeboatmen who put out from Coverack to rescue them in the Three Sisters lifeboat. When the Coverack cox’n, Archie Rowe, was featured on This Is Your Life in the days before it became dominated by celebrities, the team tracked down Captain Mikosza of the Cieszyn to express his gratitude.

Her bell was recovered in 1997, leading to the identification of the wreck, which had previously been thought to be a different wreck site, now believed to be the 1942 wreck of the British armed trawler Lord Snowden, lost in collision in the same general area. In turn the last resting place of the Lord Snowden has been reattributed from elsewhere, when the 1940 wreck of another WWII armed trawler, the Comet, was positively identified by her bell, having previously been believed to be Lord Snowden.

The Cieszyn also lives on in literature. As the fictional Bielsk, the Polish novelist Arkady Fiedler, who spent the war years in London, paid tribute to the Cieszyn and other wartime Polish ships in his book Dziękuję ci Kapitanie (Thank you, Captain!) For a picture of her, please see: http://pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plik:SS_Cieszyn_POL.jpg

The Polish wrecks in English waters are thus tangible reminders of the shifting alliances in Europe in times of war and peace.

See also a recent post on the Raphael of Gdansk here.