It is commonly understood the old monastic order in England confronted the King's Reformation unreformed: the houses of the Benedictines, Cistercians and Cluniacs were seemingly untouched by the spirit of renewal that charged continental congregations in the conciliar era, and their conventional patterns of observant life persisted in the face of a fast-changing world beyond the precinct walls. This paper reexamines this view. There was no formal process of congregational reform in England and the effectiveness of the order's governing bodies faltered over the course of the fifteenth century. Yet the responsiveness of the monks to contemporary trends in learning and teaching and in patterns of personal and corporate devotion may be traced in many of their manuscript records. This is indicative, certainly, of the lively engagement of individual brethren but in a number of instances it can be read as part of a collective impulse for reform that animated the house as a whole, and perhaps even networks of houses. It was an impulse that owed much to a generation of (generally, graduate) monks that rose to prominence against the background of the great church councils; their influence allowed it to flourish, albeit briefly, in the triennial sessions of the Benedictine chapters. Their interest in humanism passed to the next generation of superiors, some of whom appear to have transformed their conventual curricula. Their pioneering work perhaps also stimulated a refined conception of the monastic profession which blossomed in the half-century before the suppressions, one suffused with a sharp, one might say, antiquarian sense of the heritage of early English monasticism, and the scholarly calibre and spiritual purity of its celebrated fathers. The energy that emanated from a number of these houses in the reigns of Henry VII and his son attracted like-minded seculars into collaborations that were not necessarily claustral in focus but certainly reformist in tone. Of course, such extra-mural interest and interaction did little to defend the monastic redoubt from the assault of the Cromwellian commissioners.

Indulgences have long been studied as a contributory factor to the Protestant Reformation. The present essay focuses attention upon their origins in the eleventh century, and the changes that affected both the theology and the practice of indulgences in the period before 1215. The indulgences issued by English bishops tell us much of the role played in the English Church both by Parisian theology and by post-Gregorian theories of papal monarchy. They shed light upon the `birth' of purgatory, and upon twelfth-century penitential practice. The present essay also explores the relationship, previously ignored, between the indulgences advertised by pardoners, and the relics of the saints which pardoners were accused of mishandling.

The material upon which this paper is based is largely confined to the unpublished records of a single Norfolk manor. The aim of the paper is to sketch so far as possible the conditions that within this manor effected and accompanied the decay of serfdom.

In the reign of James I, Sir Walter Ralegh, a prisoner in the Tower and under sentence of death, occupied some of his leisure in writing a History of the World. Unfortunately, he never got beyond 130 B.C.; but in his Introduction he did pause to comment on more recent history. Now that Elizabeth I was dead, he felt able to speak quite freely about her father:

IN 1965 a very distinguished Bentham scholar read a paper to this society on Bentham and the French Revolution. During the period dealt with by that paper Bentham became an honorary citizen of France (largely through his friendship with Brissot), but he remained little known either in Britain or on the Continent. Thirty years later, he was world-famous. In 1825 members of the Colombian Congress in Bogot were quoting Bentham at each other much as eighteenth-century Englishmen had quoted Cicero in the House of Commons; and among the leaders of the Decembrist mutiny of the same year in St Petersburg were men who confessed to having been influenced by Bentham's works. In 1829 a weekly newspaper was appearing at Boston, Massachusetts, which carried his phrase the greatest happiness of the greatest number as its motto, while a journal called L'Utilitaire was being published at Geneva to propagate his ideas. This paper will not tackle the large and controversial subject of the extent and significance of Bentham's influence. It will address itself to questions that are more limited, though they have some bearing on the larger topic. These questions are: how did those outside the circle of his followers react to his ideas, and what attempts were made to challenge or refute them?

The concessions presented by Archbishop Warham and representatives of Convocation to Henry VIII on 16 May 1532 have been the subject of endless controversy, while the background and circumstances of the enactment have received remarkably uniform treatment from later generations. Despite the proliferation of Reformation and Convocation histories since the eighteenth century, historians have, by and large, been content to repeat or elaborate an outline of the event first found in Wake's The State of the Church (1703). According to this interpretation, the King and Cromwell employed the Commons Supplication against the Ordinaries presented in March 1532 to compel the clergy's approval of the articles of 16 May.

In the 1850s, school policy enjoyed very high priority in the fight against the revolution. The elementary school was to be brought back to simple subject matter, firmly grounded truths and to an education stressing authority; above all the teachers were to be given as simple a training as possible.

From Hildebrand to John Stuart Mill is a far cry. Yet there is a common element in the thought of the two. Both held the same purely secular theory of the civil State. Both were jealous of State interference and would have narrowed the scope of governmental action. Both held that there are limits, especially in religious matters, which the State may not over-step, and both, though in different ways, would admit the right of an oppressed people to rebel against its sovereign. Their horizons were different, and their objects looked at in one point of view are even opposed. For Mill believed in the Divine right of the individual, or something like it, while, if Hildebrand would have bound kings with chains, it was only that he might forge more enduring fetters of iron for their peoples. Yet I believe that there are links of connection between the two; and of these the earlier Jesuits were not the least important. From the days of Hildebrand down to our own time there appear to me to have been two mutually opposed theories of the State, taking different shapes according to the needs of different ages, and defended by controversial methods and arguments which changed with the facts to which they owed their force. Indeed, so Protean were their manifestations that they commonly meet with nothing but contempt from us who owe much to both theories, and have entered into the heritage prepared for us by conflicts of which we have forgotten the meaning.

A feature of English social life in the sixteenth century which aroused the curiosity of foreigners and the bitterness of Englishmen was the royal right of wardship and marriage. Since 1540 this right had been safeguarded with the full apparatus of a specially constituted court of law under the direction of a high official as its master and judge. Twenty years after the creation of the Court of Wards and Liveries, William Cecil, later Lord Burghley, became its master; and he held that office from January 1561 until his death in August 1598, a period of more than thirty-seven years. The court itself remained in existence, in spite of an increasing volume of criticism, until the Civil War, when it was formally abolished by the Long Parliament in 1646. Thus, for more than a third of its existence of 106 years Burghley was its master; and since, after an interregnum of nine months, he was succeeded by his son Robert, the Cecil family in effect controlled its destinies for more than half a century. In the process they, and the court they directed, left their mark upon the society and economy of their age.

WHEN the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (D) s.a. 1066 described the submission ‘out of necessity’ of many of the most important members of the English nobility to duke William at Berkhamstead, which followed extensive ravaging by the invading army, the chronicler lamented the fact that it was only at this stage that the English did so ‘… after most of the damage had been done—and it was a great piece of folly that they had not done it earlier, since God would not make things better, because of our sins…’, implying that the spoliation of the countryside would have ended with a submission and acceptance of the new ruler inflicted as a punishment by God. He continued, ‘And they gave hostages and swore oaths to him, and he promised them that he would be a gracious liege lord to them, and yet in the meantime they ravaged all that they overran.’ The chronicler is clearly shocked by this behaviour on the part of William and his forces, which only seems to end, in his account, with the coronation. Well he might be, for when dates of coronation for English kings in the previous two centuries can be firmly established, they usually occur some considerable time after a constitutive royal accession. Thus, for instance, Edward the Elder, Æthelstan, Æthelred, and Edward the Confessor6 were all crowned in the following years.

THE Scandinavians came to Britain first as raiders, then as settlers. The length of the periods of raiding, the form of raids, the character and duration of settlement and the speed with which Scandinavian influence was lost, varied considerably in the different regions. In simple terms the Viking Age lasted from 790 to 1070, but within and beyond these dates is infinite variety. In England the first settlements are not recorded before 876, eighty years or more after the first raids; in Scotland, however, there is fairly firm evidence of settlement in the first half of the ninth century, while in some parts of Scotland settlement may not even have been preceded by raids. It is clear too that Guthrum's conquests are of an entirely different character to those of Knut the Great. Guthrum was a petty chief. Knut a great ruler, was accepted as such by his royal contemporaries and his power achieved imperial proportions. In Ireland, where they settled in very limited areas, the Scandinavians lost most of their political power in the late tenth century. Their commercial importance there, however, grew by leaps and bounds, but even in this role they lost all semblance of influence after the Norman conquest of Ireland of 1169. Norse power was broken in western Scotland after the battle of Largs in 1263 (although Norse earls held sway in the Isles until 1331). The Isle of Man was transferred to the Scottish crown in 1266, while Orkney and Shetland remained Norwegian until the impignorations of 1468 and 1469.

It is time to reexamine craft and small-scale manufacture within our histories of industrialisation, both West and East, and to reflect on the long survival and adaptation of artisanal production even within our globalised world of production and consumption. Historians since the 1950s have addressed craft, skill and labour-intensive production in historical frameworks such as ‘the rise of the factory system’, ‘proto-industrialisation’ and ‘flexible specialisation’. More recently, they have devised other concepts which include labour and skill-intensive production such as ‘industrious revolution’, ‘the great divergence’, ‘knowledge economies’, ‘East Asian development paths’ and ‘cycles of production’. This paper surveys this historiography of craft and skill in models of industrialisation. It then reflects on small-scale industrial structures in current globalisation, emphasising the continued significance of craft and skill over a long history of global transitions. It gives close examination to one region, Gujarat, and its recent industrial and global history. The paper compares industrial production for East India Company trade in the eighteenth century to the recent engagement of the artisans of the Kachchh district of Gujarat in global markets. It draws on the oral histories of seventy-five artisan families to discuss the past and future of craft and skill in the industry of the global economy.

Feminist thought and activism was a feature of Irish political life in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Because the women's suffrage campaign coincided with and was at times influenced by wider debates on the national question, it has often been understood almost entirely in relation to Irish nationalism and unionism, and usually in the specific context of acute political crisis such as the third Home Rule. The Irish suffrage movement should instead be understood both in terms of wider political developments and in particular Irish contexts. This paper surveys aspects of feminist political culture with a particular emphasis on the way that nationalist Irish women articulated and negotiated their involvement in the women's suffrage movement. It argues that the relationship between the two was both more nuanced and dynamic than has been allowed, and that opposition to women's activism should be understood in structural and cultural terms as well as in broadly political ones. The relationship should also be understood in longer historical terms than is usual as it also evolved in the context of broader political and social shifts and campaigns, some of which predated the third Home Rule crisis.

This paper starts from the proposition that historians of identity in the early modern period have paid insufficient attention to the significance of occupations and work. It demonstrates one possible approach to this topic by exploring the social identity of a particular occupational group – tradesmen – through a study of a particular source – printed broadside ballads. A number of important conclusions result: it argues that historians have overstated the dominance of craft-specific consciousness in the formation of early modern work-based identity (a term that is offered as a more helpful alternative to that of occupational identity), and suggests that broad-based identifiers such as ‘tradesman’ had a real purchase in contemporary discourse. It also considers the extent to which broader changes in the seventeenth-century economy – especially growing commercialisation and the increasing complexity of credit relations – affected the identity of the tradesman. Although the tension between the hard-working tradesman and the prodigal gentleman in ballad portraits suggests a growing social confidence on the part of the former, the marketplace is depicted to be as much a threat as an opportunity for tradesmen given the fragility of credit relationships. Moreover, the paper examines the gender dimensions of this occupational identity, arguing that a ‘female voice’ was central to ballad discussions of masculine ideals, and that the tradesman's patriarchal authority was generally portrayed as insecure. At its heart, the paper is an exploration of the intersection of class, gender and occupational identities in a period of economic change.

On 25 May 1785, a M. Lousteau arrived at the police station in Port Louis, Isle de France (now Mauritius) to complain that his slave Jouan had been abducted. He described Jouan as an ‘Indien’, ‘Lascar’ and ‘Malabar’, and said that he had learned that he had been smuggled on to the royal ship Le Brillant, bound for Pondicherry in southern India, by one Bernard (whom Lousteau describes as a ‘creol libre’ but who later is described as ‘Malabar, soi-disant libre’ and ‘Topa Libre’). The story of the escape had been told to him by a ‘Bengalie’ slave called Modeste, who belonged to the ‘Lascar’ fisherman, Bacou. A number of people had apparently assisted Jouan's escape in other ways—most importantly his trunk of belongings had been moved secretly from hut to hut before being embarked with him. Lousteau was a member of that ever-growing professional group of eighteenth-century France and its colonies: the lawyers. He was clerk to the island's supreme court, the Conseil Superieur. He supported a large family, he said, and the loss of Jouan represented a serious loss to their welfare. Jouan, it turned out, was no ordinary slave. He was a skilled carpenter who earned his master a significant sum every month; he was highly valued, and Lousteau had refused an offer of 5,000 livres for him. What is more, he could be easily recognised, for he was always exceptionally well turned-out and well-groomed. To facilitate in the search for his slave, Lousteau provided the following description of him:

He declares that his fugitive slave is of the Lascar caste, a Malabar, dark black in colour, short in height, with a handsome, slightly thin face, a gentle appearance, with long hair … that he is very well dressed, abundantly endowed with clothes, such as jackets and shorts … wearing small gold earrings, a pin with a gold heart on his shirt, and on the arm a mark on the skin which he thinks reads DM.

The desire for booty was a motive in all medieval warfare. The preoccupation of the soldier with spoils, with prisoners, horses, equipment and movable wealth in general, is, however, less evident in the surviving sources of early medieval history than in the records of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Even a cursory knowledge of the period of Anglo-French hostilities between 1337 and 1453 leaves one under no illusions as to the overriding importance to the combatants of the winnings of war. Spoils mattered equally to the rank and file soldier, to the magnate and to the crown. The depredations of the chevauchee in Languedoc in 1355 benefited everyone in the Black Prince's army. ‘Chevaliers, escuiers, brigants, garchons’ were loaded with ‘leurs prisonniers et leurs richesses’.1 Froissart makes Gloucester in 1390 object to a peace with France because of the ensuing discouragement of the ‘poor knights and squires and archers of England whose comforts and station in society depend upon war’.2 And he tells us also how the Sire d'Albret looked back over his military career and regretted the peace which alliance with France had given him. ‘I'm well enough,’ he told an enquirer, ‘but I had more money, and so did my retinue, when I fought for the king of England.’ An army on the move, he explained, often gave the chance of capturing a rich merchant; hardly a day passed without its prize; thus one could afford the ‘superfluitez et jolitez.…Maintenant nous est mort.’

Recent discussions about Mediterranean trade in the early Middle Ages have tended to be based on two main assumptions. First, trade has been regarded as trade between ports in the eastern and western parts of the Mediterranean. Secondly, as a result of this view, the attention of historians has concentrated on the advance of the Arab fleets in the seventh and eighth centuries, which disrupted regular commerce and temporarily diminished the importance of the trading cities of Italy and Provence.

In 1657 two small bodies of British troops stood opposed to each other in Flanders. One consisted of English, Irish, and Scottish royalists following the fortunes of Charles II., and serving with the Spanish army. The other was composed of 6,000 English soldiers raisedby the Protector to assist the French against the Spaniards, and to secure England a foot-holdon the Continent. The object of this paper is to show how the two forces were raised, of what regiments they consisted, and by what officers they were commanded. The history of the regiments composing these two little armies will be traced up to the Restoration, and it will be shown how the remains of the Cromwellian contingent and the remains of the royalist force were amalgamated to form the garrison which held Dunkirk for England from 1660 to 1662. Finally I shall endeavour to trace the fate which befell the different regiments of that garrison after Charles II, sold Dunkirk to the French.

Eighteen years ago F. W. Maitland edited for the Selden Society the first volume of the Year Books of Edward II. In his introduction to that volume, moved by a pardonable enthusiasm, he wrote-perhaps not altogether advisedly— “It will some day seem a wonderful thing that men once thought that they could write the history of mediaeval England without using the Year Books.”. Since then that sentence has been frequently repeated, although it is to be feared that for the most part historians have turned a deaf ear to its warning: and lately Mr. W. C. Bolland, who has himself edited several volumes of Year Books for the same Society, has reiterated Maitland's plea and, going further, has drawn a damaging comparison between the Year Books and the Plea Rolls. The Year Books, we are told, “are the living body, acting and speaking and thinking and wrangling and changing its mind on the pressure of the moment”: while the Plea Rolls present “the skeleton, the dry bones of the bare facts.” It is true that Mr. Bolland is careful to explain that the Year Book and the Roll each contain matter which is absent from the other, and that for historical purposes neither is complete without the other: but there is no doubt that the general impression left by Mr. Bolland's lectures is that the Year Books are of high historical value, that they contain, in his own words, “innumerable matters of interest, legal, historical, constitutional and social, about which the record is entirely silent.”