Licence to Crenellate - Medieval planning permission

  If you have lain awake at night for weeks on end waiting for planning permission for a new extension to your house, you might be in the same tense frame of mind as a Medieval knight wishing to add some battlements to his stately home. From the 12th to the 16th century, anyone wanting to add castle-like fortifications to his pile was required to have permission, usually from the king. A normal enough longing, one might think since these features almost define our sense of what a castle is, but the matter was more complex than that, which is why Sir Edsomething de Whatever had to apply for a licence.
You might ask why someone would want these costly embellishments: crenellations, drawbridge, portcullis. murder holes etc. and, in some cases, it was probably for show and to astonish the neighbours. An Englishman's home was not his castle without battlements. True fortification may have been the reason in the earlier part of this period but later there is reason to believe that the motive was to keep ahead of society and make the interior as sumptuous as possible also.
  The king, however, had strong motives to be careful and choosy. No ruler, particularly one in times of trouble - and these were turbulent years in many areas - wants rich and influential men adding to their power and becoming capable of attacking him or defending themselves more efficiently. Such licences had to be carefully vetted and the nobleman had a better chance of approval if he could claim that his new fortifications would help him to support the king's interests against enemies of the crown.

Bodiam Castle, everyone's notion of a prototypic castle. is a good example of military additions as semi-ornaments. Its features would not have been invulnerable to attack: it was built 10 miles from the river Rother which was not particularly open to hostile forces; its moat could be drained quite easily; the windows are larger than usual for defensive purposes; the battlements are rather small in places; the gatehouse, though boasting machicolations, could have been avoided by forces who could nip round and enter at the back and - wait for it - there is no keep. The owner, Sir Edward Dalyngrigge, received permission, however, from King Richard II, to "strengthen with a wall of stone and lime, crenellate and make into a castle his manor house at Bodiam, next to the sea, for the defence of the adjacent country and resistance to the king's enemies." Clearly Sir Edward had glossed over a few matters (such as a 10 mile march) in his application (which did not include a clause about that ghastly bunting.)

  Richard's secretaries were men of few words compared to those who wrote the licence from Edward IV in 1482 to Sir Edmund Bedingfield of Oxburgh in Norfolk which repeats the phrase "embattle, kernel and machecolate" like some magic charm throughout and is a precursor to modern official waffle. Yet, surprisingly, there was often no fee and, if one were demanded, it would be a mark at most. Usually it was knights who applied in order to enhance their status and move up the social ladder, but 11 women are mentioned in the surviving licences and 4 were granted directly to women. Although most applicants were individuals, 28 licences relate to town defences and 44 to churches, abbeys and cathedrals. Of the 1500 castles in England, the surviving licences refer to only 500 sites - did some aspiring noblemen sneak in their battlements, a few at a time, hoping no-one would notice?

I actually find this bureaucratic aspect of Medieval life fascinating and have written a poem about the knight dreaming of his newly endowed abode: I place a bet of a large slice of CAKE that no-one else has versified this topic.

He dreams of stones, of castles - not in air
But grounded, rooted sternly on his land,
Flaunting his prowess, trumpeting his flair.

He'll lord it over neighbours. He has planned
Apartments, chambers, warmed and richly hung
With tapestries, endowed by his strong hand.

His vision grew the windows, crystal lungs
Of this great body; now his rapid heart
Beats at its cords. They throb, too tightly strung.

This grand design, this mental work of art
Must pause or stop as he waits for his king.
A regal nod could crown his hopes: "Now start ...

... The statement of your power, the scaffolding
Of wealth, supremacy" - but everywhere
The villeins chafe. The tail. The hidden sting.

For more on Bodiam Castle click here. If you enjoyed this poem and would like to read more of my work - on less arcane topics such as love - click here for my Formal Poetry website.

Davy Gam: hero or traitor?

If the name Davy Gam seems vaguely familiar to you, it may be because you actually concentrated during the part of Shakespeare's Henry V where the king reads out the names of those killed in the battle of Agincourt (more correctly Azincourt.) After a list of French noblemen with dashing Gallic titles, he turns to a second paper, handed to him by the herald, and notes the deaths of 4 men, the last of whom is Davy Gam, esquire. To the monarch, he is amongst those "of name", meaning that the rest were squaddies, a mere "five and twenty" of them. Perhaps this seems a little snobby for a king who, before the battle, when egging them on, claimed that they were all a "band of brothers" - but even then he was aware that this group included each of the men, "be he ne'er so vile." (Hal, as prince, frequented the ale houses but dropped his drinking mates as soon as he donned the crown). Yet he did go around, in disguise, chatting to the ordinary soldiers the night before. Davy Gam was clearly an aristocrat and, interestingly in this literary connection, some believe him to be the model for Fluellen, the slightly comic but knowledgeable military supporter of the king, who praises him and claims common kinship as a Welshman.  He has read all about the glorious battles of Edward, the Black Prince of Wales, Henry's great-uncle.

Who was he - and why do we want to know?
In case you thought you were getting off lightly pronunciation-wise, part of his full name was Sir Dafydd ap Llewelyn ap Hywel and he lived from approximately 1380 to 25th October 1415. "Gam" is one of those merry Medieval nick-names which draws attention to some physical flaw such as short legs (Curt-hose) and probably means that he was lame. We still have the expression "gammy leg." Rather mysteriously the Dictionary of Welsh Biography thinks it means that he squinted or had only one eye but I find it difficult to fathom how he managed to be a successful warrior with that defect.

  He was a prominent opponent of Owain Glyn Dwr and a supporter of the English king, which made him a traitor from the Welsh point of view. Bearing in mind the destruction that Glyn Dwr's rebellion caused in Wales, it is easy to see why some men were hostile to him. Dafydd could add to the pedigree already mentioned "Fychan ap Hywel ap Einion Sais" but probably told people "just call me Gam." His background locates him round Llanover in Monmouthshire and Pen Pont near Brecon.  Some think he was previously in service to John of Gaunt and had to leave Wales after killing a rival in Brecon High Street. Rumour also places him in Hen Gwrt, near White Castle.

Hen Cwrt

Dafydd Gam was previously paid annually 40 marks (a large sum) by the royal estate and the family's loyalty to the king caused their lands near Brecon to be attacked by the rebels. Another local point of interest is that he was named, by the Scottish Chronicler Walter Bower, as the leader in the critical and crushing defeat of Glyn Dwr's men at the battle of Pwll Melyn near Usk. His local knowledge may have helped the English victory and attracted Welshman to his cause. When captured in 1412 he was quickly ransomed for somewhere between 200 to 700 marks, a large sum indicating the regard in which he was held. He had made a forced promise to Glyn Dwr never to oppose him but, on release, he told King Henry where the rebel was and attacked him, suffering reprisals such as the burning of his house. Another less likely story is that he attacked Glyn Dwr's parliament in Machynlleth in 1404.

Agincourt
  He probably fought with Henry V prior to the French battles but certainly served with three-foot archers (that disposes of the squint theory in my opinion) in the Agincourt campaign. Several chroniclers noted his death in that encounter but no-one agrees as to whether he was knighted then or posthumously. There is a legend that he saved the king's life during the counter-charge of the Duke of Alencon (whose name appears on Shakespeare's death roll of the French) when Henry was fighting hand-to- hand with him. The Frenchman lopped an ornament from Henry's crown with his sword and Dafydd led a group of Welsh knights to intervene. Some believe he killed the Duke before being killed himself.
  In the 19th century George Borrow wrote of him: "he achieved that glory which will for ever bloom, dying, covered in wounds, on the field of Agincourt after saving the life of the king, to whom in the dreadest and most critical moment of the fight, he stuck closer than a brother." Borrow also quotes descriptions of him, supposedly included in satirical englyn (you don't want to know, really you don't) written by Glyn Dwr: "he was small in stature and deformed in person. though possessed of great strength. He was very sensitive of injury, though quite as alive to kindness, a thorough-going enemy and a thorough-going friend." There is a stained glass window commemorating him in the church at Llantillio Crossenny, where the Latin inscription calls him a golden-haired knight. He is also a chief character in the novel Owen Glendower by John Cowper Powys.

If you DO want to know about englyn (and you have only yourself to blame for asking), here is the Wikipedia definition: "... it uses quantative metres, involving the counting of syllables, and rigid patterns of rhyme and half rhyme. Each line contains a repeating pattern of consonants and accent known as cynghanedd." That clarifies that, then. Oh yes - and the plural is "englynion".

My thanks to Wikipedia for much of this information and two of the images.
Hen Gwrt is now a small moated ruin and very atmospheric, quite near the equally charismatic White Castle, one of the Three Castles in the area. Grrr  - you do need a car to get to both but there is excellent walking nearby to earn you your CAKE. You can, however, visit the site of the crucial battle of Pwll Melyn by travelling to Usk by bus and walking up past the castle which you can look at en route.