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.