The Archangel Gabriel's Stone and other Relics William Haute's search for Salvation in the Fifteenth Century Kent

311 THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS: WILLIAM HAUTE’S SEARCH FOR SALVATION IN FIFTEENTH-CENTURY KENT SHEILA SWEETINBURGH In recent years there has been a considerable interest in late medieval piety and the ways men and women conducted their devotional lives. Among the various social groups investigated have been members of the religious orders, the aristocracy, merchants and other leading citizens, and the gentry. In part this has been a product of the nature of the evidence, whether letters, extant devotional literature such as books of hours, household and other accounts, chantry foundation records and the large body of last wills and testaments which during this period were almost exclusively made by members of the ‘better’, and more occasionally ‘middling sort’. The sheer volume of such studies and their continuing production is testimony to a fascination with medieval religion and its concrete manifestation in the building and rebuilding of parish and other churches and chapels, their decoration and refurbishment, and other expressions of religiosity such as membership of fraternities, the undertaking of good works and the study of devotion literature. Many of these studies have confined their investigation to periods within the Middle Ages, the late medieval period receiving the greatest attention, though other eras have not been neglected.1 One of the reasons for this concentration is the increasing availability of testamentary materials, allowing researchers to conduct large scale surveys which may indicate particular trends or the local/regional prevalence of certain devotional interests, such as support for the Jesus Mass. Other studies, while drawing conclusions about late medieval piety among the group under examination, have also looked forward to the Reformation as part of the continuing debate concerning the ‘origins of Protestantism’, and thus how such changes could have occurred in sixteenth-century England. From this latter group for the late medieval gentry two scholars have emerged who, from their respective studies of Warwickshire and the East Anglia of the Pastons, have espoused very different conclusions in their national surveys. For Christine Carpenter the evidence of Warwickshire SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 312 gentry involvement in parish church refurbishment, support of chantries, endowment of almshouses and other good works is indicative of the strength of late medieval lay piety and a deep belief and fear in the perils of Purgatory.2 She sees these responses as utterly conventional, for her the gentry are following a predictable path and even where they espouse a new devotion, she envisages it as a part of the continuum of the growth of Western Christendom which had managed to change in earlier centuries without tearing itself apart. Colin Richmond’s work suggests that he is not convinced by such displays.3 Even though he considers the beautification of parish churches can be viewed as indicative of concern for the community, as well as for the self, he seems far less sure that such giving implies heart-felt religious convictions, especially among the nobility. Thus he believes the conventional forms noted by Carpenter denote complacency and propriety not enthusiasm and devotion. They may also indicate proprietary attitudes, and for Richmond the nobility were masters of appropriation, seeing the parish church as an extension of their domain from a private and inward-looking perspective, rather than as an extension, the public face of lordship in the community, as Carpenter appears to envisage. Such differences in interpretation are useful indicators of the divergence within medieval, and early modern scholarship, concerning how the religious changes of the sixteenth century could – and did – take place, but they also reveal the problems of trying to understand religion in the fifteenth century. The difficulties of ascertaining attitudes from actions, and in some cases intentions (were all the testator’s bequests really carried out?) should not be underestimated, but Richmond is probably right to look to anthropology for ways of seeing which may enlighten our twenty first-century understanding. One way forward is to adopt a case study approach that places its chosen subject in context. Thus ideas about the norm can be explored, but equally any differences. Taking as its starting point the will of William Haute, esquire, the case study used here examines the aspirations of one member of the Kent gentry in his search for salvation and commemoration. Haute was linked by marriage, royal service and friendship to others among the County gentry and beyond, and the pious strategy revealed by his testament will be compared to those of his peer group in Kent.4 This use of qualitative and quantitative elements within the investigation seems an appropriate approach, though the resulting analysis must in part remain speculative because it is impossible to know what Haute intended or what responses his post-mortem gifts evoked. However such reservations do not invalidate the attempt, and it is the apparent inter-play between the ‘conventional’ and the ‘particular’ which may be significant. Moreover, Haute’s will is especially interesting because it reveals his ownership of several relics, and the ways in which he bequeathed these items, in THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 313 particular, may indicate ideas about Haute’s piety, and how he may have seen himself in Carpenter’s/Richmond’s terms vis-à-vis society.5 Even though there are certain methodological problems regarding the use of wills for the study of piety in the late Middle Ages, they continue to provide one of the most useful and abundant sources.6 Furthermore, in the absence of materials such as churchwardens’ and other accounts, they may offer the only known record of the pious aspirations of individuals. Many were produced on the death bed which presumably meant the perils of purgatory were uppermost in the testator’s mind, yet the bequests may also reveal other concerns and taken as a complete text the will often provides valuable insights covering attitudes towards society. Close reading of individual wills, therefore, has proved to be a fruitful approach, especially where the findings have been set in the context of that person’s peer group whether measured in local, regional and/or national terms. By so doing it is possible to investigate ideas about the pursuit of salvation and ways of seeking commemoration through the testator’s employment of gift-giving strategies within the spiritual economy. For example, will-makers might specify how their funeral was to be conducted, the provision of further services, as well as bequests to the parish church, religious houses and others. They might also make bequests covering aspects of the Seven Corporal Works of Mercy, their charitable benefaction an integrated aspect of their pious giving. Kin, friends and neighbours, as well as the nuclear family, were sometimes among the beneficiaries, their continuing welfare of importance to testators.7 Thus, in the case of William Haute, what was given, to whom and how this was to be carried out are considered in the context of Peter Fleming’s study of the Kentish gentry. William Haute’s last will and testament8 William was the eldest son of Sir Nicholas Haute and a leading member of the gentry in Kent.9 His thirteenth-century ancestors had held property in Canterbury and in the parishes of Petham and Waltham to the south of the city, and, following a number of judicious marriages in the fourteenth century, the family acquired further estates in the area, as well as the manor of Ightham Mote. The family’s east Kent estates included the manor of Hautsbourne in Bishopsbourne, leased from the archbishop of Canterbury, which William inherited from his father in the early fifteenth century. As a young man he served in Humphrey of Gloucester’s retinue during Henry V’s first campaign, though not as a member of his father’s party. His father may have died on campaign because William was in possession of the paternal lands in Kent and Sussex by April 1417. Almost immediately he became involved in County affairs, elected to Parliament for the first time in 1419, he would again attend in 1429, SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 314 1432 and 1450. However, his position had already brought with it official duties; he had been appointed as a commissioner of array in Kent in April 1418, and thereafter he served on numerous royal commissions until the early 1460s. In addition, he was a Justice of the Peace for almost thirty years and he served one term as sheriff between November 1420 and May 1421.10 In 1429 William Haute was a widower, his wife, Margaret Berwyk having provided him with further landed interests outside Kent and a daughter. Richard Woodville, his future father-in-law, may have seen him as a suitable husband for Joan, but for William the match was extremely important. Indeed he was so keen to receive Joan in matrimony that he was prepared to disinherit his own daughter, though he refused to force her into a convent. As part of the Woodville circle, Haute seems to have enjoyed the confidence of his new kinsmen and he was asked on several occasions to act as trustee and executor. He also seems to have been on good terms with his father-in-law, both serving the king at home and abroad before Woodville’s death in 1441. How far Haute was involved in the growing factional disputes of the 1440s and particularly the 1450s is unclear, but Linda Clark does not believe he followed his brother-inlaw’s lead. Instead she considers he was hardly affected by the political changes during Henry VI’s later years until he sided with the Yorkist earls in the summer of 1460.11 By this time he was an elderly gentleman and even though he was apparently still involved as a crown officer, it was his sons who would gain from their royal connections. The careers of William’s sons are outside the remit of this article but it is worth noting that after Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville the Hautes received considerable royal favours.12 For example, William’s eldest son and namesake [William ii] was knighted as part of the coronation festivities of his cousin in 1465 and he served Edward IV loyally as a senior member of the County administration throughout the remainder of that monarch’s reign. His loyalty to Edward and his family brought him into conflict with Richard III, and after the unsuccessful rising of October 1483 he became a wanted man. Fortunately for the family this was only a temporary setback because he returned to royal favour following Henry VII’s success as Bosworth.13 In addition to their rural holdings, the family had property in Canterbury including tenements which they held from Canterbury Cathedral Priory.14 Such assets were important commercially but also helped men like Haute to establish links with senior churchmen and certain leading citizens.15 Indeed, William’s personal connections may stem from his receiving the gift of confraternity at the Priory at about the time he came of age.16 Yet he seems to have had a particular affection for the Austin friars at Canterbury, which may be linked to his ancestors’ reputed involvement in the friary’s foundation.17 The Austin friars were the last of the mendicant THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 315 orders to settle there, having moved in the early 1320s from a peripheral site on the west side of the city to a prominent location near the main street in one of the more prosperous parishes.18 Though frequently claiming poverty as was their due, the friary had become an extensive complex of elaborately decorated buildings by the mid fifteenth century. Recent archaeological excavations have shown that the friary church was immense, dwarfing the local parish church, its chapels and altars richly furnished from the gifts of Canterbury citizens and others.19 Thus the friary seems to have been seen as a valuable ecclesiastical institution, but its value was not confined to the religious life of the city because the corporation also viewed it as a suitable venue for the dispensing of civic hospitality.20 William Haute wished to be buried in the Austin friars’ church when he made his will in 1462, his grave to be sited near those of his two wives and before the image of St Katherine.21 The presence of both his wives may imply a shared devotion to this virgin saint, especially since he owned a piece of her hairshirt. He intended that at his death this relic should be given to the Austin friars, as well as a bone of St Nicholas, and the friars were also to receive the remainder of his relic collection after the death of his son William, the custodian of the relics after his father’s death. In total only four relics from his collection were named in this way, an indication of the great value William attached to these particular items. Such sacred and therefore precious objects were presumably prominently displayed, though whether for the sight of the friars alone is not clear, but it seems likely that the piece of hairshirt would have been placed in a reliquary near St Katherine’s image where it might be the focus of the faithful on her feast day, and possibly on the day of William’s obit, which was to be celebrated for twenty years by the friars employing masses and other good works. The friars also received twenty marks for repairs to their church, and William also remembered the prior there. John Godewyn was to receive a silver-gilt maser with a cover. Another Canterbury friar, though from the local Franciscan house, Brother Thomas Cok, was similarly remembered, being given a silver-gilt maser with a handle. Of the other relics named in William’s will Waltham church was to receive a bone of St Bartholomew, the parish patronal saint, but possibly the most interesting was to be given to his parish church of Bishopsbourne. The relic is described as the stone onto which the Archangel Gabriel descended when he saluted the Virgin, and it was to be placed under the feet of the statue of the Virgin Mary in the church. Traditionally the image in question is supposed to have stood in a recess above the capital of a pillar in the middle aisle, in the south wall, and opposite the pulpit.22 Yet there must have been several statues of the Virgin Mary in the church including the patronal statue, another at the nave altar of the Blessed Mary and St Nicholas and a third at the SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 316 rood.23 Regarding these alternative locations, Bishopsbourne church was considerably remodelled in the fifteenth century and it has been suggested that this occurred in the latter part of the century because William left 3s. 4d. towards repairing the rood light and four marks for repairs to the stalls and other work.24 He also bequeathed 20s. to the high altar for tithes forgotten and a further 20s. to the light of Our Lady there. A slightly later addition to the church was a sumptuous alabaster reredos at the high altar depicting events, including the salutation, from the earthly life of Our Lady. Edward Mynot, a prominent and extremely prosperous Canterbury citizen, was the donor, and he stipulated in his will that William [ii] Haute’s advice should be sought concerning the bequest.25 Mynot’s parents may similarly have aided St Mary’s church, providing themselves and later their son with a suitable burial place before the altar of the Blessed Mary and St Nicholas in the nave.26 Though conjecture, Mynot’s gift and his desire for Haute’s involvement might imply that the patronal statue behind the high altar was especially significant for both families but the other images presumably would have provided equally suitable resting places for Gabriel’s stone. His other pious bequests were predominantly directed towards the religious houses of Canterbury, but he did give small sums to the Carmelite Fig. 1 The Interior of Bishopsbourne Church from a Nineteenth-Century Print. THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 317 friars at Sandwich and the canons at Langdon Abbey. Of the Canterbury houses, he left ten marks each to the great Benedictine monasteries of Canterbury Cathedral and St Augustine for repairs, with smaller sums to the two houses outside the city walls: the nunnery of St Sepulchre and St Gregory’s Priory. The Franciscan and Dominican friaries in Canterbury similarly benefited from his largesse in the form of monetary gifts, as did the involuntary poor at all of the city’s hospitals, except for the pilgrim hospital of St Thomas, an omission that was common among the testators of Canterbury.27 In terms of the seven corporal works of mercy, William similarly remembered the prisoners at the castle and at Westgate. He also made a number of bequests of varying sums of money. The recipients included some local farmers, possibly his tenants, and may also have included members of his household. Yet it was his large family who were the major beneficiaries. He named four sons and five daughters in his will, and each was to receive household furnishings and silverware.28 In addition, three of his sons and his son-in-law were each to be given a furred garment. Searching for salvation and commemoration William Haute’s testamentary gift giving was directed towards three main groups: his community: his social inferiors and the recipients of his good works (the poor, the sick, prisoners); his family: his children, a son- and daughter-in-law, and his grandson; and his church: those within the parochial system at his parish church of Bishopsbourne and nearby Waltham, all the local friaries of east Kent, but especially those at Canterbury, and the city’s monastic houses. Through his giving to individuals in each of these groups he was initiating or reinforcing the relationship between donor and recipient (patron and client), a relationship that carried with it the notion of reciprocity by the grateful beneficiary. The bequests he used varied among the different groups. Cash was the medium employed in his gift exchanges with his community, whereas family members were to receive personal articles and he chose a combination of cash and objects in his post-mortem dealings with the Church. Such choices were presumably extremely important, providing him with opportunities to try to maintain bonds from beyond the grave. Turning first to his community, William intended that some of his poorer neighbours should receive cash donations of between 12d. and 20s., though most were bequeathed 6s. 8d. or 3s. 4d. Such bequests are unlikely to represent the paying of debts, final transactions enacted by executors to ensure the testator could not be accused of misusing the wealth God had entrusted to him.29 For some it is difficult to establish their connection with William, but men like John Savage and John Kember lived in the neighbouring parish of Bridge, Savage’s lands SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 318 bordering those of Haute, and John Stephen may have been a tenant on the Haute estate at Bishopsbourne.30 These men were his social inferiors but they were probably respectable peasant farmers and senior members of their parish, while others may have been trusted servants. Consequently, they would be seen as worthy recipients of his largesse, offering William an opportunity to display his concern for particular individuals among the local community and to demonstrate his and his family’s position within the locality. His gift giving may have achieved these aims because a decade later John Savage wanted William [ii] to act as overseer of his will, indicating a continuing hierarchical relationship of patron and client between the two families.31 Whether these men and women were required to attend his burial at Canterbury is unclear, yet it may have been understood implicitly that this was part of the gift exchange between their patron and themselves because there are no specific references in his will to the presence of the poor at his funeral days.32 In addition, he presumably intended that these individuals would remember him in their prayers, thereby continuing to keep him in the social memory of the various communities of which he had been a part, and in which he hoped to remain a member forever.33 This emphasis on charitable works as the route to salvation meant that William, like many of his contemporaries, included bequests to different groups within the poor. On the understanding that the poor were a permanent feature of society and that their presence provided a means of redemption for the rich, post-mortem gift giving offered the final chance for the wealthy to establish bonds between themselves and the poor. Thus at its simplest, but nevertheless of supreme importance, William would expect such links to encourage the ‘poor’ and ‘sick’ at hospitals and prisons to pray for his soul, beneficial acts that would reinforce his own good works as he sought to limit his soul’s time in purgatory.34 Yet, even though his cash bequests may have helped him in his search for salvation, and to a lesser extent his commemoration as a charitable Christian, he may have believed his bequests of objects would enhance the connections he wished to foster. Like almost all of his contemporaries, William Haute bequeathed personal possessions to members of his immediate family. However, even within what might be seen as a culturally prescribed system, his choices may indicate ideas regarding his sense of identity. As an elderly widower, his gift giving was not exclusively addressed to the next generation but also looked to his grandson. Although possibly in part an accident of survival, his choices suggest that he was contemplating the future of his family, especially its continuance and that of his name (Christian and surname).35 For William this might be a vital consideration at a time of still high mortality and political uncertainty because even though the early 1460s offered considerable opportunities for his family’s future prosperity through the THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 319 affinal connections he had established, the turbulent world of the court may have meant William wished to draw his own family together.36 The post-mortem distribution of his silverware among his offspring was apparently carefully arranged, his gifts delineated by type and decoration, the pieces acting as memorials in which memories of use, place, and most especially of William himself were embedded. For example, Johanna was to be the beneficiary of William’s piece of silver gilt in the shape of a pineapple and a silver powder box, whereas Alice, her sister, was to receive their father’s piece of silver gilt with images. Such ideas might equally be attributed to William’s bequests of clothing, but may have been even more significant concerning his gifts of beds and bedding. Of these probably the one of greatest consequence to both donor and recipient was the bed and its furniture in the parlour (or great chamber) given to William’s eldest son because it – like the others – was described in terms of colour, material and furnishings but was the only one located within the house. The use of place seems important; William [ii], like his siblings, would be able to picture the bed in this high status room, and such an important, semi-private space, had the potential to remind him and them of their father, especially if William Haute had been lying there when he made his last will.37 Furthermore, as the eldest son William [ii] would inherit the manor and house at Bishopsbourne, so that he, like his father before him, would presumably continue to occupy the bed as head of the family and household. Thus, William may be seen as employing these bequests as a way of highlighting ideas about family continuity as well as providing visual images of himself, a device used in memory theatres, the object and the space it had inhabited in William’s life acting not just as a reminder of William but in a sense embodying and depicting the knowledge it represented.38 Consequently he remained a part of his family, the living living with the dead. Yet such memories could also be reshaped over time, a consequence of the disappearance of William’s successors perhaps, thereby underlining the potential fragility of the family to safeguard the memory of their distinguished ancestor.39 The Church, therefore, might have been seen as offering the ultimate chance of achieving his aims of salvation and commemoration. Through his gift giving William, had entered into a covenant with the religious at the various monastic houses to pray for his soul, the mendicant religious perhaps seen as especially valuable petitioners on his behalf.40 This appears to have been the view of Haute’s peers among the Kentish gentry, especially during the latter part of the fifteenth century.41 Such gift giving would also be particularly efficacious with regard to the deceased’s status in this world, and William Haute might have expected that his name would be added to the list of benefactors at the monasteries he supported, the recitation of his name acting as a continual public reminder of his place among the living and the dead.42 SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 320 The funding of his obit to be heard at the Austin friars’ church for twenty years after his death was in keeping with those employed by many of his peers in Kent. Rather than establish perpetual chantries, the funding of limited prayer foundations was far more common among the Kentish gentry. Fleming believes expense may have been a significant factor, and also that earlier generations had established such chantries, which meant their descendants could offer limited funds to provide large numbers of masses for the immediate post-mortem period.43 William’s twenty-year obit might reflect a longer period than the norm but may also indicate that his ancestors had already established a bond between the family and the friars. This might be articulated publicly through prayers and masses, a relationship which he was reinforcing through his own provisions for the friary. Furthermore, his bequests to both mendicants and non-mendicant houses are in keeping with Flemings’ findings for the Kentish gentry.44 Yet it is interesting that William did not seek masses for his soul at the family chantry in Waltham parish church which his great grandfather, Henry Haute, had established in the mid fourteenth century.45 The chantry was in the Lady Chapel and during his life William acted as patron, overseeing the appointment of the chantry priest on several occasions. Though conjecture, William may have believed the mendicants and his home parish of Bishopsbourne (acquired by the Haute’s through his grandfather’s marriage) offered greater spiritual gifts than his ancestral parish of Waltham and its chantry served by the Augustinian canons of St Gregory’s Priory. Nevertheless, he did bequeath one of St Bartholomew’s bones to the church but whether it was placed in the Lady Chapel or at the high altar is unknown.46 The Relics As noted above, William seems to have looked to his community and his church in his search for immortality, his cash bequests part of his strategy for commemoration and salvation. Such an approach was open to and used by many of his contemporaries; however, unlike them William had further and greater opportunities as his relic collection provided a source of powerful sacred objects.47 There is nothing to indicate the provenance of his collection but the sack of Constantinople in 1204 seems the most likely source. This event brought vast quantities of relics to western Christendom, including numerous pieces of the true cross, and also arms, fingers and other limbs of the saints, many of which were placed in jewelled or gold rings and pendants. Consequently, by the late Middle Ages the exotic had come to be seen as particularly valuable and Haute’s collection apparently contained at least one such item.48 Gabriel’s stone, even though it was not a body part of the archangel, was presumably desirable, especially through its link to the Virgin. The piece of St THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 321 Katherine’s hairshirt may not have been in the same league, yet it was very unusual and devotion to the virgin martyr was widespread during this period.49 Thus the post-mortem distribution of his prized relics was a matter of considerable importance, requiring William to make careful choices for the safeguarding of his soul. For Haute, his gift of the piece of St Katherine’s hairshirt to the Austin Friars enhanced his relationship with his favoured mendicant house, a position reinforced by his other gifts to the friary and the prior there. By so doing he was emulating his ancestors, extending the bonds between his family and the friars which had developed over more than a century. In addition to this long standing relationship, William seems to have been drawn to them for personal reasons, through his acquaintance with certain senior friars, possibly as his confessor, his knowledge of their spirituality and their prestige, matters similarly recognised by certain leading citizens.50 Moreover, the friary church was already acting as a mausoleum for his two wives, and by seeking burial between them he was further appropriating this sacred space as well as re-establishing his place with respect to his immediate family. His choice of burial place was not in keeping with many of his peers, the vast majority favouring their parish church.51 Carpenter believes such choices are indicative of the family’s confidence in its standing in the neighbourhood; this was important in terms of political power, but possibly also with regard to the intercessory prayers of the local community.52 Yet Haute’s decision might also suggest that earlier ideas about the value of monastic communities as the most appropriate guardians of the memoria of the family had not disappeared completely. Although Patrick Geary is referring to the Cluniacs, it is possible that for William Haute four hundred years later the Austin friars of Canterbury would have displayed the same characteristics of faithfulness, reliability and efficacy. This is also in keeping with David Postles’ findings for the thirteenth century concerning lay burial at mendicant houses.53 As well as indicating a certain continuity of ideas, the friars may have been seen as especially efficacious because of their voluntary poverty.54 Furthermore, through his donations to the friary William presumably expected the friars to provide ongoing acts of commemoration, a symbiotic relationship that benefited both parties.55 In terms of the location of his burial vis-à-vis the image of St Katherine and her position in the church, it seems likely her statue was sited prominently, thereby enhancing his status and reflecting his role as a wealthy benefactor.56 For William, it may also have reflected his spirituality. As an apparent devotee of St Katherine he may have used the relic in his own devotional life, possibly in the privacy of his closet, the piece of hairshirt contained within a locket, ring or other reliquary.57 Furthermore, he may have been drawn to her as an exemplum of the ‘mixed life’, her hairshirt a physical reminder of her vita, but also her SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 322 passion.58 Her self-inflicted suffering, like the torture she received at Maxentius’ command, brought her near to Christ. The former presumably experienced during her early life when as a young Christian woman she received the education that equipped her to organise her household and to defeat the pagan philosophers. Thus her fortitude and faith, coupled with the wisdom she showed, would, as Katherine Lewis suggests, have made her a fitting exemplum for men and women, her royal blood making her especially attractive to members of the nobility.59 For William the opportunity to practice the mixed life may have been severely limited by his official duties, particularly during service abroad, but, as Jonathan Hughes has indicated, there were members of the nobility in Yorkshire who owned religious books which they presumably read or had read to them.60 Unfortunately it is not known whether Haute had a library. Yet it seems probable because at least two of his sons were keenly interested in the arts, and they may have received their early education at Bishopsbourne.61 Whatever emphasis he had placed on St Katherine during his life, he was deeply concerned to continue his relationship with her after his death. It seems likely that the relic would have been placed on or near to the saint’s image in the friary church and so close to his corpse. Through his proximity to her image and his gift giving, William may have hoped that St Katherine would adopt an intercessory role on his behalf.62 As a source of spiritual power for the friars and their visitors who attended her altar, William might have expected these people, in addition to their own intercessory needs, to pray to her for his soul and those of his wives and ancestors. The friars were to do this at his obit and he presumably hoped that they would be joined at these services of remembrance and commemoration by his family and other guests; such days being special times of intercession. Furthermore, it seems conceivable that William would have hoped that the friary might become a minor cult site for St Katherine through the juxtaposition of the image and his relic, a shrine to add to the one at the Carmelite friary at Sandwich which seems to have gained a wide-reaching reputation during the late fourteenth century.63 Thus in providing a stimulus for the pious: friars, their visitors and possibly pilgrims, William Haute seems to have been demonstrating his understanding of, and sympathy for, the use of relics in people’s devotional lives as well as signalling his own piety and his desire that all would remember him appropriately after his death forever. William’s gifts to his parish church are equally interesting. His various bequests were presumably intended to enhance the spiritual and social life of the parish, as well as reinforcing the bonds based on feudal ties that he and his family had developed locally. Furthermore, his patronage of the parish church would have increased the status of Bishopsbourne, a mutually advantageous relationship that would have continued to position THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 323 his family at the heart of the local community. As noted above, the parish church underwent extensive structural changes during the mid fifteenth century and Haute’s interest in the stalls and other work seems to imply a personal knowledge of these activities and a desire to influence what was carried out. In addition to modifications to the aisles, the west tower was rebuilt and William’s bequest presumably contributed to this work. Yet he was specifically concerned about the aggrandisement and beautification of the choir stalls, a part of the church that was the responsibility of the incumbent, not the parishioners, which may suggest a degree of exclusivity.64 However, such gifts and those designed to ensure the provision of lights at the high altar and at the rood would have aided the liturgical life of the parish, part of the seasonal pattern of devotion that at Bishopsbourne may have placed particular stress on the role of the Virgin Mary.65 This focus would have been especially demonstrable through William’s gift of his precious relic to the Virgin’s statute, the ‘new’ image available on a communal and personal level. Its availability provided the potential for it to become a minor pilgrimage centre because there were large numbers of these cult images in late medieval England, ranging from the internationally famous Our Lady of Walsingham to the locally known (but extremely poorly documented) Our Lady of Poulton.66 The specific nature of the relic seems important. Relics of the Virgin Mary herself were impossible because of her assumption into heaven, leading instead to the centrality of images, some of which came to prominence through their weeping, bleeding or speaking.67 These images were intrinsically linked to their place of residence which meant that there were growing numbers of location specific cults. For William his possession of a relic associated with the Virgin Mary, and one that also connected her to the Archangel Gabriel at one of the momentous events during her life, was presumably significant; not only might it signify his devotion to Our Lady, but his gift giving was the act of a pious benefactor. In its new position under the Virgin’s feet the relic and statue might have been seen as having become intertwined, thereby adding to the efficacy of the image. Through his action the relic’s use had become the prerogative of the parish as guardians of the image, yet its inalienable ownership continued to belong to William and his descendants, what Annette Weiner has called ‘keeping while giving’, which may have affected how it was viewed by his family and others.68 For them it may have functioned as a mnemonic marker of William’s personal devotion to Our Lady, his past actions recalled by his family, household and neighbours as having formed part of the spiritual life of the parish.69 This interlinking of personal and communal may have been important to both William and Bishopsbourne, the image further emphasising the centrality of the Virgin in parish worship, the feast of the salutation of Our Lady thereafter celebrated more extensively, perhaps.70 Thus Gabriel’s stone SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 324 after William’s death became a sacred article for public consumption, his prestige probably enhanced in spiritual and secular terms through his gift giving. This seems to be in marked contrast to Richmond’s assessment because he sees the use of relics as part of the ‘privatization of religion for the gentry’.71 Yet any assessment of the function of the image, and therefore its likely role in William’s search for salvation, needs to take into consideration its position within the church. As Richard Marks states, images held different meanings according to their location and design.72 Those placed in the nave, whether on pillars, on altars or in niches, were more accessible compared to those in the chancel or in chantry chapels. They could be seen easily and maybe even touched, offering the beholder an intimate experience in spatial terms and also through the humanised form of the image.73 Assuming the image denoted by William was in the nave and not the chancel, the statue and relic would have been in full view of the congregation, though too high to touch. Nevertheless, this apparent emphasis on seeing would not have been viewed as a handicap; instead it would have confirmed the contemporary idea of the primacy of sight among the senses. In addition to its role in the liturgical and communal life of the parish, the image was available for private meditation. William may have deployed the relic in this way in the privacy of his chamber, and his gift had the potential to encourage others to undertake such spiritual exercises in the parish church. For centuries the value of images in devotional practice had been recognised by the Church and many of William’s contemporaries would have been conversant with the literature of religious writers such as Hilton, Rolle and Love.74 For the beholder of the image its power showed itself in various ways, and for those particularly skilled spiritually might produce visionary experiences.75 In medieval terms, ways of seeing with respect to vision and cognition are extremely complex, but it is worth making a few points regarding the power of images. According to contemporary theory, objects, through the power (light) within themselves, transmitted their likeness to the eye of the beholder.76 From the back of the eye such likenesses in the form of luminous colour passed by nerves to the optic chiasma, and thence to the visual spirit and animal spirit (brain). What was seen depended on the object, because objects presented themselves in various ways (levels); and on the process of seeing, the increasing complex levels of ‘understanding’ of the object in the brain, that is from perceptual representation (‘imagination’) and perceptual association (‘phantasy’) to conceptual representation, and to memory, a storehouse of images.77 On a basic level this meant that the image of St Christopher was believed to have the power to protect for that day those who had seen it.78 Thinking about this in terms of affective meditation, it meant that the viewer was stimulated by imagery, and through the act of imagining the mind and THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 325 soul selected the most appropriate images stored in the memory.79 When seeing with the ‘bodily eye’, the image would inspire a visualisation of the spiritual signified (the divine), and the late medieval focus on the humanity of Christ in images and paintings provided a more accessible approach.80 In particular, those contemplating images of the holy family and the passion were expected to focus on those aspects likely to inspire an empathetic emotional response. They were to feel (and cry), to stand with Mary and John at the foot of the cross, for example; or at Bishopsbourne they could share with Mary in her response to the arrival and message from Gabriel. Furthermore, by providing the relic for the Virgin’s statue William had increased the special nature of the image, and also its specific nature, which presumably would have aided those engaged in private contemplation.81 This might be extended by viewers to meditate on one of the five conditions within the Annunciation, especially the first and fourth (disquiet and submission).82 Whether the relic and statue at Bishopsbourne were employed by individuals in their devotional lives will never be known, but William’s gift seems to indicate his pious disposition and the likelihood that he appreciated its value as a source of affective piety. Thus this elderly member of the Kentish gentry who had served the crown at home and abroad for most of his adult life appears to display religious orthodoxy in his will-making. There are no last-minute pleas to be forgiven by those he had apparently wronged ten years earlier; instead his will in Carpenter’s terms is conventional.83 Yet in his search for salvation he may provide some clues concerning how he wished to portray himself. In his quest for immortality he seems to have wished to convey a message and influence in varying degrees memories, attitudes, perceptions and future actions of those around him from the other side of the grave. To do this he deployed gifts in which were embedded memories, repositories of knowledge about William Haute constructed by donor and recipient, acts of mental collaboration that he hoped would provide salvation and commemoration, but like all such constructs they remained open to remoulding and reshaping. How successful he was in his own terms is difficult to judge but within three generations his tomb had been destroyed and his relics would have been the target of local image-breakers. His great grandson and namesake may be said to have followed William’s example in his concern for Bishopbourne church but in 1538 the church roof was to be retiled using tiles taken from St Sepulchre’s Nunnery.84 Consequently, returning to the debate between Carpenter and Richmond, this assessment of William Haute’s piety seems to place him closer to Carpenter’s gentleman than Richmond’s; yet like his great grandson it is his very complexity that makes him so interesting. SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 326 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Different versions of this paper have been presented at the graduate medievalists’ research seminar at the Hilton Shepherd Centre, University of Birmingham (2003) and to the Fifteenth Century Conference, held at Royal Holloway, University of London (2004). The writer would like to thank those who attended for their helpful comments and ideas, and those of an anonymous reader. As always, they bear no responsibility for the inadequacies of the eventual result. ENDNOTES 1 Some examples from this large corpus of work (not referenced elsewhere in the article): Barron, C.M., ‘The parish fraternities of medieval London’, in The Church in Pre- Reformation Society. Essays in honour of F.R.H. Du Boulay, C.M. Barron and C. Harper-Hill (eds) (Woodbridge, 1985), 13-37. Brown, A.D., Popular Piety in Late Medieval England: The Diocese of Salisbury 1250-1550 (Oxford 1995). Burgess, C., ‘The benefactions of mortality: the lay response in the late medieval urban parish’, in Studies in Clergy and Ministry in Medieval England, Borthwick Studies in History, D. Smith (ed.), vol. 1 (York 1991), 65-86. Burgess, C., ‘London parishioners in times of change: St Andrew Hubbard, Eastcheap, c.1450-1570’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 53 (2002), 38-63. Cullum, P. and P.J.P. Goldberg, ‘Charitable provision in late medieval York: ‘to the praise of God and the use of the poor’’, Northern History, 29 (1993), 24-39. Dinn, R., ‘Death and rebirth in late medieval Bury St Edmunds’ in S. Bassett (ed.), Death in Towns. Urban Responses to the Dying and the Dead, 100-1600 (Leicester 1992), 151-69. Duffy, E., The Stripping of the Altars. Traditional Religion in England c.1400-c.1580 (New Haven and London 1992). Heath, P., ‘Urban piety in the later Middle Ages: the evidence of Hull wills’, in The Church, Politics and Patronage in the fifteenth century, B. Dobson (ed.) (Gloucester, 1984), 209- 34. Hicks, M., ‘Chantries, obits and almshouses: the Hungerford foundations, 1325-1478’, in The Church in Pre-Reformation Society. Essays in honour of F.R.H. Du Boulay, C.M. Barron and C. Harper-Hill (eds) (Woodbridge, 1985), 123-42. Hicks, M., ‘Four Studies in conventional piety’, Southern History, 13 (1991), 1-21. Lee, P.J., ‘Monastic and secular religion and devotional reading in late medieval Dartford and west Kent’, Ph.D. thesis, Kent University (1998). Rosenthal, J.T., The Purchase of Paradise: Gift Giving and the Aristocracy, 1307-1485 (London 1972). Rosser, G., ‘Communities of parish and guild in the late Middle Ages’ in S. Wright (ed.), Parish, Church and People: local studies in lay religion, 1350-1750 (London 1988), 29-55. Rosser, G., ‘Parochial conformity and voluntary religion in late-medieval England’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 1 (1991), 173-90. Thomson, J., ‘Piety and charity in late medieval London’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 16 (1965), 178-95. Vale, M.G., ‘Piety, charity and literacy among the Yorkshire gentry 1370-1480’, Borthwick Papers, 50 (1976), 1-32. 2 Carpenter, C., ‘The religion of the gentry of fifteenth-century England’, in England in the Fifteenth Century. Proceedings of the 1986 Harlaxton Symposium, D. Williams (ed.) (Woodbridge, 1987), 53-74. Carpenter, C., Locality and Polity. A study of Warwickshire Landed Society, 1401-1499 (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 222-43. 3 Richmond, C., ‘Religion and the fifteenth-century English gentleman’, in The Church, Politics and Patronage in the fifteenth century, B. Dobson (ed.) (Gloucester, 1984), 193- 208. Richmond, C., ‘Religion’, in R. Horrox (ed.), Fifteenth-century attitudes: perceptions of society in late medieval England (Cambridge and New York 1994), 183-201. 4 Fleming, P.W., ‘Charity, faith and the gentry of Kent 1422-1529’, in A. Pollard (ed.), Property and Politics: Essays in Later Medieval English History (Gloucester 1984), 36-58. THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 327 5 It is difficult to get a clear idea about the level of ownership of relics among the nobility. Among such owners was Thomas de Vere Earl of Oxford. He made his will in 1371, leaving all his relics to his wife, plus other goods. None of the relics is described, except for a cross containing a piece of the true cross; Lambeth Palace Library, Register Whittlesey, ff. 118v-119 (reference kindly provided by Dr Jennifer Ward). Another piece of the true cross was in the possession of Richard Poynings of Sandwich, the son of Robert, Lord Poynings. He, too, bequeathed it to his wife, though a piece was to be broken off and given to his step-son; Fleming, P., ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 43. Sir John Fastolf was the proud possessor of several relics, again including a piece of the true cross but also an arm of St George and a finger of St John the Baptist; Richmond, ‘Religion and the English gentleman’, 197. 6 The problems and advantages of using testamentary materials have been debated by a number of scholars; for different approaches, see Burgess, C., ‘“A fond thing vainly invented”: an essay on Purgatory and pious motive in later medieval England’, in Parish, Church and People, S. Wright (ed.) (1988), 56-84. Burgess, C., ‘Late medieval wills and pious convention: testamentary evidence reconsidered’, in Profit, piety and the professions in later medieval England, M. Hicks (ed.) (Gloucester, 1990), 14-33. Lutton, R., ‘Heterodox and orthodox piety in Tenterden, c.1420-c.1540’, University of Kent Ph.D. thesis (1997), 3-18. 7 Interestingly, Carpenter considered relatively few of the Warwickshire gentry looked beyond the immediate family; Carpenter, Locality, pp. 211-4. 8 Centre for Kentish Studies [CKS], PRC 32/2, f. 79. 9 For details about William and his family; Woodger, L.S., ‘Sir Nicholas Haute’, in The History of Parliament. The House of Commons, 1386-1421, J.S. Roskell, L. Clark and C. Rawcliffe (eds) (Stroud, 1993), 323-4; Woodger, L.S., ‘William Haute’, in The History of Parliament. The House of Commons, 1386-1421 (Stroud, 1993), 324-7. Fleming, P.W., ‘Haute family’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: from the earliest times to the year 2000, H.C.G. Matthew and B. Harrison (eds), xxv (Oxford, 2004), 843-4; Fleming, P.W., ‘The Hautes and their ‘Circle’: culture and the English gentry’, in England in the Fifteenth Century, D. Williams (ed.) (Woodbridge, 1987), 85-102; Fleming, P.W., ‘The character and private concerns of the gentry of Kent, 1422-1509’, University of Wales Ph.D. thesis (1985); Webster, B., ‘The Community of Kent in the reign of Richard II’, Archaeologia Cantiana, C. 1984, 219, 220, 222, 223-4. 10 Woodger, ‘William Haute’, 325. 11 Ibid., 326. 12 Fleming, ‘Hautes and their ‘Circle’’, 86, n. 6. 13 Fleming, ‘Haute family’, 843; Mercer M., ‘Lancastrian Loyalism in Kent during the Wars of the Roses’, Archaeologia Cantiana, CXIX, 1999, 233-5. 14 Canterbury Cathedral Archives and Library [CCAL], DCc/Rental 155. 15 William’s eldest son and his son-in-law, Sir John Fogge, were heavily involved in Canterbury politics in the late 1460s and 1470s, having both become freemen of the city in 1467; CCAL, CC/FA 2, f. 106v 16 Woodger, ‘William Haute’, 325. 17 Hasted, E., The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent, xii (Canterbury, 1972 [1801]), p. 112. 18 CCAL, DCc/Register A, f. 426v. 19 Bennett, P., ‘The Canterbury Whitefriars excavation’, paper given at the University of Kent (2002); CCAL, CC/FA 2, f. 295. 20 When the city authorities were in dispute with the abbot of St Augustine’s the arbitrators, senior royal officials, were accommodated at the friary at the corporation’s expense; CCAL, CC/FA 2, ff. 180-1. 21 Haute died in the autumn of the same year, five months after making his will; Woodger, ‘William Haute’, 326-7. SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 328 22 Castle, A., amended and ed. R. Eliott and M. Mitchell, The Church of St Mary, Bishopsbourne, Kent (1992 [1980]), p. 1. 23 Like many churches in Kent, Bishopsbourne Church was dedicated to Our Lady. 24 Tatton-Brown, T., ‘Canterbury Diocese: Historical and Archaeological Survey, Bishopsbourne, St Mary’s’ (1991). 25 CKS, PRC 17/5, f. 67. 26 Richard Mynot sought burial in the nave before the altar of the Blessed Mary and St Nicholas in 1477; CKS, PRC 17/2, f. 378. Johanna Mynot; CKS, PRC 17/3, f. 48. 27 There was an almost total absence of bequests to this hospital; S. Sweetinburgh, The Role of the Hospital in Medieval England (Dublin, 2004), p. 118. 28 The four sons were: William, Richard, James and Edmund; the daughters: Anne, Johanna, Margaret, Elizabeth and Alice. Alice was married to John Fogge and William [ii]’s wife was called Johanna. This couple had at least one son in 1462, also named William. 29 Fleming, ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 37. 30 CKS, PRC 17/2, f. 236; 17/11, f. 60; 17/17, f. 340. 31 CKS, PRC 17/2, f. 236. 32 Fleming believes that the Kentish gentry, Haute’s peers, had similarly moved away from indiscriminate alms giving to one focused on the parish and designated groups; Fleming, ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 44-6. 33 Fentress, J. and Wickham, C., Social Memory (Oxford, 1992), pp. 201-2. 34 Swanson, R.N., Church and Society in Late Medieval England (Oxford, 1989), 301-3; Sweetinburgh, Role of the Hospital, pp. 13-15. 35 Though referring to an earlier period, Geary’s ideas may also be appropriate here; Geary, P.J., Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca and London, 1994), pp. 88-9. 36 He had been part of the duke of Gloucester’s affinity and Gloucester’s fall from favour and subsequent death presumably meant William was acutely aware of the instability of the court; Clark, ‘William Haute’, 325-6. 37 Richardson’s work on the perceptions of domestic space, though for the late sixteenth century, also seems valid here; Richardson, C.T., ‘The meanings of space in society and drama: perceptions of domestic life and domestic tragedy, c.1550-1600’, University of Kent Ph.D. thesis (1999). Also useful in this context; Grenville, J., ‘Houses and households in late medieval England: an archaeological perspective’, in Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts in Late Medieval Britain, J. Wogan-Browne, R. Voaden, A. Diamond, A. Hutchinson, C. Meale and L. Johnson (eds) (Turnhout, Belgium, 2000), 309-28. 38 Fentress and Wickham, Social Memory, p. 13. 39 Geary, Living with the Dead, pp. 90-1. His concern was not totally unfounded because his grandson and namesake did not outlive William [ii], and instead Thomas, born after his grandfather’s death, was William [ii]’s heir in 1492; CIPM, Henry VII, 2, no. 145. 40 Swanson, Church and Society, pp. 303-4. 41 Fleming, ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 48. The townspeople of Canterbury were similarly drawn to the local friars, one in four of the city’s testators providing at least one bequest, and they were even more supportive of the local monasteries (one in three testators). Among their peers this was in marked contrast to most of the rest of the county; Sweetinburgh, Role of the Hospital, pp. 118-19. 42 Interestingly, only one Canterbury citizen is known to have specifically sought inclusion in the institution’s bede roll: John Whytlok at both St John’s and St Nicholas’ hospitals; CKS, PRC 32/7, f. 70. However, several did use objects to achieve the same result, including William Benet, a leading Canterbury citizen who gave a beaker with his name on it ‘to be had more in mind’ among the monks when it was used in the frater of the cathedral priory. He was equally concerned that the canons at St Gregory’s would THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL’S STONE AND OTHER RELICS 329 remember him; his gift to them was to be recorded at the end of the mass book belonging to the house; CKS, PRC 17/1, f. 114. A few members of the gentry wished for a more intimate connection to their chosen institution through the gift of confraternity; Fleming, ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 49; Dobson, B., ‘The monks of Canterbury in the later middle ages, 1220-1540’, in A History of Canterbury Cathedral, P. Collinson, N. Ramsey and M. Sparks (eds) (Oxford, 1995), 146-7. This latter gift also seems to have been available to those of more humble status. Agnes Vyncent bequeathed her best girdle to the prior and convent of Canterbury Cathedral Priory so that they would admit her as a sister to their chapter; CKS, PRC 32/12, f. 132. John Russhelyn was even more direct in his dealings with St Augustine’s Abbey, his bequest of 40s. towards rebuilding the steeple was conditional on his and his wife’s acceptance into the monks’ chapter house and that the abbey bells should be rung for the couple as would be done for a brother or sister of the house; CKS, PRC 17/8, f. 135. 43 Fleming, ‘Faith and the Gentry’, 40. 44 Ibid., 49. 45 Hussey, A. (ed.), Kent Chantries, Kent Records, vol. 12 (1932), pp. 316-18. 46 Of the wills examined so far there is nothing to indicate its resting place. 47 As Geary notes, in themselves relics had no intrinsic worth, their value a product of their social and cultural transformation from ordinary objects to venerated mementos of a saint; Geary, P., ‘Sacred commodities: the circulation of medieval relics’, in The Social Life of Things, A. Appadurai (ed.) (Cambridge, 1986), 174-7. 48 Geary, Living with the Dead, pp. 174, 228-9. 49 Of the relics Lewis lists for St Katherine, her fingers and phials of oil were the most common, though York Minster did have unspecified relics of the saint and Jean de Berry and his brother Charles V did have pieces of her tomb; Lewis, K.J., The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 72, 106. 50 For the popularity among the nobility of friars as confessors, Hughes, J., Pastors and Visionaries: religion and secular life in late medieval Yorkshire (Woodbridge, 1988), p. 49. This recognition can be seen at a personal and corporate level. For example, Michael Denne, Amelia Gobion and Richard Pargate each contributed substantial bequests to various building projects at the friary; CKS, PRC 32/1, f. 7; 32/1, f. 15; 17/1, f. 20. Although the first known reference is later, the Canterbury guild of shoemakers, curriers and cobblers celebrated their patronal services at the Austin friary church; CCAL, CC/Woodruff’s Bundle LIV/2. 51 Fleming found that over 76% of the knights and over 96% of the esquires during the period 1422-1529 sought burial in parish churches. Mendicant houses and cathedrals were the next favoured places, each favoured by 9.5% of the knights and 1.3 % of the esquires; Fleming, 51. 52 Carpenter, Locality, pp. 231-2. Postles, D., ‘Monastic burials of non-patronal lay benefactors’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 47 (1996), 621. 53 Postles, ‘Monastic burials’, 622. 54 Hughes, Pastors, p. 50. 55 Even though Geary is referring to land grants as a means of gaining remembrance, it is possible Haute’s gift of a relic, another object capable of generating income long term, might have the desired effect; Geary, P.J., Phantoms of Remembrance: memory and oblivion at the end of the first millennium (New Jersey, 1994), pp. 68-9, 78-9. 56 Marks, R., Image and Devotion in late medieval England (Stroud, 2004), pp. 173-4. 57 Lewis, Cult of St Katherine, pp. 118, 190. Hinton describes a number of personal reliquaries that have been found in archaeological excavations; Hinton, D.A., Gold and Gilt, Pots and Pins. Possessions and People in Medieval Britain (Oxford, 2005), pp. 244- 6. As yet the writer has not found any evidence to suggest that Haute had an oratory at Bishopsbourne. SHEILA SWEETINBURGH 330 58 The ‘mixed life’ was seen as an attempt to avoid spiritual and social extremes, which meant that members of the nobility should neither be completely absorbed in active affairs, nor ignore their households in the pursuit of a spiritual life; Hughes, Pastors, pp. 256-7. 59 Lewis, Cult of St Katherine, pp. 79, 194-6, 207-8. 60 Hughes, Pastors, pp. 293-7. Carpenter considers the Warwickshire gentry probably owned far more books than the rare testamentary bequest seems to imply; Carpenter, Locality, 205. 61 Fleming, ‘Hautes and their ‘circle’’, 90, 94-5. 62 Lewis, Cult of St Katherine, pp. 87-8, 94. 63 Sweetinburgh, Role of the Hospital, p. 203. 64 Castle, Church of St Mary, p. 1. Tatton-Brown, ‘Bishopsbourne’. 65 Marks, Image and Devotion, pp. 176, 180-1. 66 The church at Poulton belonged to the neighbouring abbey of St Radigund; Hasted, History of Kent, ix, 450. Such images might become thaumaturgical sites for the Virgin. 67 Marks, Image and Devotion, p. 208. 68 Weiner, A.B., Inalienable possessions: the paradox of keeping-while-giving (Berkeley, 1992), pp. 6-19. 69 Marks, Image and Devotion, p. 139. 70 Ibid., p. 164. 71 Richmond, ‘Religion and the English gentleman’, 198. 72 Marks, Image and Devotion, pp. 21-2. 73 On the role of objects, particularly those in human form, as links in the relationship between worshipper and worshipped; Freedberg, D., The Power of Images. Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago and London, 1989), pp. 59-60, 65. 74 Though referring to the Yorkshire gentry, his findings may also be applicable more widely; Hughes, Pastors, pp. 284-92. 75 Hamburger, J., ‘The visual and the visionary: the image in late medieval monastic devotions’, Viator, 20 (1989), 170, 174, 181-2. 76 Lewis, S., Reading Images: Narrative Discourse and Reception in the Thirteenth- Century Illuminated Apocalypse (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 6, 8-9. 77 Smith, A. M., ‘What is the history of medieval optics really about’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 148 (2004), 183-5, 187-9. 78 Lewis, Reading Images, p. 8. 79 Ibid., 6. 80 Marks, Image and Devotion, p. 17. Hughes, Pastors, pp. 339-40. 81 Freedberg, Power of Images, pp. 166-74. 82 Baxandall, M., Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy (Oxford, 1972, 1988), pp. 51, 55. 83 Woodger, ‘William Haute’, 326. Carpenter, ‘Religion of the gentry’, 58. 84 Haute had bought the lease of the nunnery from William Spillman; http://www.ken tarchaeology.org.uk/Research/Libr/ Wills/Bk61/page%203.htm PCC wills trans. by L.L. Duncan.