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Title: English Surnames - Their Sources and Significations
Author: Bardsley, Charles Wareing Endell
Language: English
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                           ENGLISH SURNAMES.


                           LONDON: PRINTED BY
                         AND PARLIAMENT STREET


                           ENGLISH SURNAMES:


                     _SOURCES AND SIGNIFICATIONS_.


                     CHARLES WAREING BARDSLEY, M.A.



                     CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.



                               MY FATHER.




                          THE SECOND EDITION.

I accept the early demand for a new edition of my book, not so much as
proof of the value of my individual work, as of the increased interest
which is being taken in this too much neglected subject. In deference to
the wholesome advice of many reviewers, both in the London and
Provincial press, especially that of the ‘Times’ and the ‘Athenæum,’ I
have re-arranged the whole of the chapters on ‘Patronymics’ and
‘Nicknames,’ subdividing the same under convenient heads. By so doing
the names which bear any particular relationship to one another will be
found more closely allied than they were under their former more general

My book has met with much criticism, partly favourable, partly adverse,
from different quarters. To my reviewers in general I offer my best
thanks for their comments. The ‘Saturday Review’—and I say it the more
readily as they will see that I have not been insensible to the value of
their criticism—has not, I think, sufficiently understood the nature of
my work. I am well aware that praise is due to them for having for some
length of time strenuously advocated the claim of our language to be
English through all its varying stages. I do not see that in the general
character of my book I have lost sight of this fact. An ‘English
Directory’ is not an ‘English Dictionary.’ The influences that have been
at work on our language are not the same as those upon our nomenclature.
Every social casualty had an effect upon our names which it could not
have upon our words. The names found in Domesday Book, casting aside the
new importation, were, in the great majority of cases, obsolete by the
end of the twelfth century, and of those which have survived and
descended to us as surnames, well-nigh all are devoid of diminutive or
patronymic desinences—a clear proof that they were utterly out of
fashion as personal names during the era of surname formation. The
Norman invasion was not a conquest of our language, but it was of our
nomenclature. The ‘Saturday Review’ may still demand that we shall view
all as English, and obliterate the distinctive terms of Saxon and
Norman, but in doing so let us not forget facts. The language which
preceded the Norman Conquest is still the _vehicle_ of ordinary
converse. The nomenclature of that period went down like Pharaoh’s
chariot, and like Pharaoh’s chariot, which for all I know lies where it
did, was never recovered.

A review in the ‘Guardian’ demands a brief notice on account of the
mischief it may do. The end kept in view by the reviewer is as
transparent as his inability to reach it. Surely the day is past for any
further attempt to make out that we have no _metronymic_ surnames. The
writer is evidently unaware of the fact that the use of ‘ie’ and ‘y,’ as
in ‘Teddy’ or ‘Johnnie,’ in the nineteenth century, does not prevail to
as great an extent as that of ‘ot’ and ‘et’ from the twelfth to the
fifteenth. As ‘Philip’ became ‘Philipot,’ now ‘Philpott’; as ‘William,’
‘Williamot,’ now ‘Wilmott’; as ‘Hew’ (or Hugh), ‘Hewet’ and ‘Hewetson’;
as ‘Ellis’ (or Elias), ‘Elliot’ and ‘Elliotson’; so ‘Till’ (Matilda)
became ‘Tillot’ and ‘Tillotson’; ‘Emme’ (Emma), ‘Emmott,’ ‘Emmett,’ and
‘Emmotson’; ‘Ibbe’ (Isabella), ‘Ibbott,’ ‘Ibbett,’ and ‘Ibbotson’;
‘Mary,’ ‘Mariot’ and ‘Marriott’; and ‘Siss’ (Cecilia), ‘Sissot’ and
‘Sissotson.’ ‘Emmot,’ the writer says, is a form of ‘Amyas,’ I suppose
because he saw ‘Amyot’ in Miss Yonge’s glossary. According to him,
therefore, Emmot is a masculine name. How comes it to pass, then, that
Emmot is _always_ Latinised as Emmota, or that in our old marriage
licences ‘Richard de Akerode’ gets a dispensation to marry ‘Emmotte de
Greenwood’ (Test. Ebor. iii. 317), or ‘Roger Prestwick’ to marry ‘Emmote
Crossley’ (ditto, 338)? How is it we meet with such entries as
‘Cissot_a_ West,’ (Index) or ‘Syssot that was _wife_ of Patrick’ (69)?
How is it again that Mariot is registered as ‘Mariot_a_ in le Lane,’ or
‘John fil. Mariot_æ_,’ and Ibbot or Ibbet as ‘Ibbot_a_ fil. Adæ,’ or
‘Robert fil. Ibot_æ_,’ (Index)? The fact is, we have a large class of
metronymics many of which doubtless arose from posthumous birth, or from
adoption, or the more important character of the mother in the eyes of
the neighbours than the father, others too from illegitimacy.

Amongst other errors for which I have been called to account, the oddest
is that of attributing to Miss Muloch the authorship of Miss Yonge’s
most useful and laborious work on Christian names. I do not know to
which lady I owe the deepest apology—whether to Miss Yonge for robbing
her literary crown of one of its brightest jewels, or to Miss Muloch for
appearing to insinuate that hers was incomplete. This and several other
mistakes of less moment I have rectified in the present edition.

I have to thank the authoress of ‘Mistress Margery,’ etc., for the names
in the index marked QQ., RR. 1, RR. 2, and RR. 3. Such entries from the
registry of St. James’s, Piccadilly (QQ.), as ‘Repentance Tompson’
(1688), ‘Loving Bell’ (1693), ‘Nazareth Rudde’ (1695), ‘Obedience Clerk’
(1697), or ‘Unity Thornton’ (1703), may be set beside the instances
recorded on pp. 102–104. To these I would take this opportunity of
adding ‘Comfort Starre,’ ‘Hopestill Foster,’ ‘Love Brewster,’ ‘Fear
Brewster,’ ‘Patience Brewster,’ ‘Remembrance Tibbott,’ ‘Remember
Allerton,’ ‘Desire Minter,’ ‘Original Lewis,’ and ‘Thankes Sheppard,’
all being names of emigrants from England in the 17th century. (_Vide_
Hotten’s ‘Original Lists of Persons of Quality.’)

    _February 1875._




                           THE FIRST EDITION.

As prefaces are very little read, I will make this as brief as possible.
It is strange how little has been written upon the sources and
significations of our English surnames. Of books of Peerage, of
Baronetage, and of Landed Gentry, thanks to Sir Bernard Burke, Mr.
Walford, and others, we are not without a sufficiency; but of books
purporting to treat of the ordinary surnames that greet our eye as we
scan our shop-fronts, or look down a list of contributions, or glance
over the ‘hatches, matches, and despatches’ of our newspapers—of these
there are but few. Indeed, putting aside Mr. Lower’s able and laborious
researches, we may say none. Tracts, pamphlets, short treatises,
articles in magazines, have at various times appeared, but they have
been necessarily confined and limited in their treatment of the
subject.[1] And yet what can be more natural than that we should desire
to know something relating to the origin of our surname, when it arose,
who first got it, and how? Of the feebleness of my own attempt to solve
all this I am conscious that I need not to be reminded. Still, I think
the ordinary reader will find in a perusal of this book some slight
increase of information, and if not this, that he has whiled away, not
unpleasantly, some of his less busy hours.

During the last seven years I have devoted the whole of my spare time to
the preparation of a ‘Dictionary of English Surnames.’ But about two
years ago it struck me that perhaps a smaller work dealing with the
subject in a less formal and more familiar style might not be
unacceptable to many, as a kind of rudimentary treatise. In the course
of my labours I have come under obligations to several writers and
several Societies. To long-departed men, whose works do follow after
them, I must give a passing allusion. Camden was the first to draw
attention to this subject, and though he wrote little, and that little
not of the most correct kind, still he has afforded the groundwork for
all future students. Verstegan, who came next with his ‘Restitution of
Decayed Intelligence,’ wrote quaintly, amusingly and incorrectly; and,
with respect to surnames, his definitions rather teach what they do not
than what they do mean. Passing over several archæological papers, and
with a wide gap in regard to time, we come to Mr. Lower’s studies. He
was the first to give a real compendium of English nomenclature. Of his
earlier efforts I will say nothing, for the ‘Patronymica Britannica’ is
that upon which his fame must rest. The fault of that work is that the
author has confined his researches all but entirely to the Hundred
Rolls. These Rolls are undoubtedly the best for such reference; but
there are many others, as my index will show, which not merely contain a
large mass of examples not to be met with there, but which, by varieties
of spelling in the case of such names as they share in common with the
other, afford comparisons the use of which would have made him certain
where he has only guessed, and would have enabled him also to avoid many
false conclusions. This I would say with all respect, as one who has
benefited very considerably by Mr. Lower’s labours. Others I must thank
more briefly, though none the less heartily. To Mr. Halliwell I am under
deep obligation, for to his ‘Dictionary of Archaisms’ I have gone freely
by way of quotation. To Mr. Way’s notes to his valuable edition of the
‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ I am also indebted for much interesting
information regarding mediæval life and its surroundings. Miss Yonge’s
‘History of Christian Names’ contains a large store of help to students
of this kind of lore, and of this I have availed myself in several
instances. In conclusion, I have to acknowledge much valuable aid
received from the publications of the Surtees Society, the Early English
Text Society, the Camden Society, and the Chetham Society. It is in the
rooms belonging to the latter that I have had the opportunity of
consulting most of the records and archives, a list of which prefaces my
index, as well as other books of a more incidentally helpful character,
and I cannot allow this opportunity to pass without tendering my hearty
thanks to Thomas Jones, Esq., B.A., F.S.A., for his courtesy in
permitting me access to all parts of the library, and to Mr. Richard
Hanby, the under-librarian, for his constant attention and readiness to
supply me with whatever books I required.


        _December 1873_.



                                 TO THE

                          INDEX OF INSTANCES.

There are several matters which I deem it advisable to mention to the
reader before he turns his attention to the Index of Instances (pp.

I. I have not, in the various chapters that form the body of this book,
in all cases drawn particular attention when any name happens to belong
to several distinct classes. In the Index, however, I have tried to
remedy this by furnishing instances under the several heads to which
they have been assigned in the text.

II. While ordinarily adhering to my plan of giving but two examples, I
have set down three in some instances that seemed more interesting, and
in exceptional cases even four. To the majority of the appended surnames
more illustrations of course could have been added had it been expedient
or necessary. There are several names, however, which, though evidently
of familiar occurrence in early days, as they are now, are yet, so far
as my own researches go, without any record. For instance, I cannot find
any Arkwright or Runchiman previous to the sixteenth century. The origin
is perfectly clear, but the registry is wanting. Of several others,
again, I can light upon but one entry. Still, in a matter like this one
must be thankful for small mercies, and it was with no small amount of
rejoicing that in such a simple record as that of ‘John Sykelsmith’ I
found the progenitor, or one of the progenitors, of our many
‘Sucksmiths,’ ‘Sixsmiths,’ ‘Shuxsmiths,’ etc.

III. There has been a difficulty with regard to Christian names also,
which I have not attempted to overcome because it was impossible to do
so. With the Normans every baptismal name, masculine or feminine as it
might originally be, was the common property of the sexes. Thus by
simply appending the feminine desinence, ‘Druett’ became ‘Druetta’ (_v._
Drewett), ‘Williamet’ became ‘Williametta’ (_v._ Williamot), ‘Aylbred’
became ‘Aylbreda’ (_v._ Allbright), ‘Raulin’ became ‘Raulina’ (_v._
Rawlings), and ‘Goscelin’ became ‘Goscelina’ (_v._ Gosling). Any of
these surnames, Drewett, Willmott, Allbright, Rawlings, or Gosling,
therefore, may be of feminine origin—nay, if the reader has studied my
chapter on ‘Patronymic Surnames’ with any care, he will see that this is
fully as probable as the opposite view. Leaving thus undecided what
cannot be solved, I have placed both masculine and feminine forms under
the one surname to which one or other has given rise.

IV. There has been another difficulty also in respect of Christian
names. These, as has been shown in the chapter thereupon, were turned
into pet forms, and these shortened forms commonly came to be the
foundation of the surname. In all the more formal registers, however,
these surnames were never so set down. ‘Hugh Thomasson,’ ‘William
Thompson,’ and ‘Henry Tomson’ might come to have their names enrolled,
and up to the beginning of the sixteenth century at least they would be
set down alike as ‘Hugh fil. Thomas,’ ‘William fil. Thomas,’ and ‘Henry
fil. Thomas.’ Thus, again, ‘Ralph Higginson’ or ‘John Higgins’ would be
‘Radulphus’ or ‘Johannes fil. Isaac.’ This has prevented me from giving
so many instances of these curter forms of the patronymic class as I
should have liked. When they are given, the reader will observe that
they come from less punctilious and more irregular sources, such as for
instance the Surtees’ Society’s collection of Mediæval Yorkshire Wills
and Inventories. Where I have given such an instance as ‘Elekyn’ (_v._
Elkins) by itself, it must be understood that this is the Christian
name, and that the owner when his or her name was registered did not
boast a surname at all.

V. By way of interesting the reader I have occasionally given the Latin
form of entry. Thus ‘Adam the Goldsmith’ is set down as ‘Adam Aurifaber’
(_v._ Aurifaber), ‘Henry the Butcher’ as ‘Henry Carnifex’ (_v._
Carnifex), and ‘Hugh the Tailor’ as ‘Hugh Cissor’ (_v._ Cissor). Latin,
indeed, seems to have been the vehicle of ordinary indenture. Thus under
‘Littlejohn’ the reader will find extracted from the Hundred Rolls
‘Ricardus fil. Parvi-Johannis,’ and under ‘Linota,’ ‘Linota Vidua,’
_i.e._ ‘Linota the Widow.’ In the recording of local names,
Norman-French and Saxon seem to have fought for the first place, and
even in our most formal registers they had the precedence over Latin.
Thus if the latter can boast the entry of ‘Isolda Beauchamp’ as ‘Isolda
de Bello Campo’ (_v._ Beauchamp), still, if we come to such generic
names as Briggs or Brook, we find the entry is all but invariably either
‘Henry Atte-brigg’ or ‘Roger del Brigge’ (_v._ Briggs), or ‘Alice de la
Broke or ‘Ada ate Brok’ (_v._ Brook). As respects nicknames or names of
occupation, the Norman-French tongue had them to itself. ‘Roger le
Buck,’ ‘Philip le Criour,’ ‘Thomas le Cuchold,’ ‘Osbert le Curteys,’ or
‘Thomas le Cupper’—such is their continuous form of entry. Such a Saxon
enrolment as ‘Robert the Brochere’ (_v._ Broker) is of the rarest
occurrence—so rare, indeed, as to make one feel it was an undoubted
freak on the part of the registrar, whoever he might be.

VI. In some few cases I have set down surnames which are not treated of
in the text. I have done this either because the name seemed worthy of
this casual notice, or because, though not itself mentioned, it happened
to corroborate some statement I have made regarding a particular name
belonging to the same class.

In conclusion, I will not say there is no mistake in the Index—that
would be a bold thing to state; I will not say that I may not have given
an instance that does not rightly belong to the surname under which it
is set; but I can asseverate that I have honestly attempted to be
correct, and I believe a careful examination will find but the most
occasional error, if any at all, of this class.



               PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION          vii
               PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION          xiii
               PREFACE TO THE INDEX OF INSTANCES     xvii
               INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER                     1

                               CHAPTER I.

               PATRONYMIC SURNAMES                      9

                              CHAPTER II.

               LOCAL SURNAMES                         107

                              CHAPTER III.

               SURNAMES OF OFFICE                     172

                              CHAPTER IV.

               SURNAMES OF OCCUPATION (COUNTRY)       243

                               CHAPTER V.

               SURNAMES OF OCCUPATION (TOWN)          317
               APPENDIX TO CHAPTERS IV. AND V.        415

                              CHAPTER VI.

               NICKNAMES                              423


               INDEX OF INSTANCES                     515

               FOOTNOTES                              711


                           ENGLISH SURNAMES.

                         INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

To review the sources of a people’s nomenclature is to review that
people’s history. When we remember that there is nothing without a name,
and that every name that is named, whether it be of a man, or man’s
work, or man’s heritage of earth, came not by chance, or accident so
called, but was given out of some nation’s spoken language to denote
some characteristic that language expressed, we can readily imagine how
important is the drift of each—what a record must each contain. We
cannot but see that could we only grasp their true meaning, could we but
take away the doubtful crust in which they are oftentimes imbedded, then
should we be speaking out of the very mouth of history itself. For names
are enduring—generations come and go; and passing on with each, they
become all but everlasting. Nomenclature, in fact, is a well in which,
as the fresh water is flowing perennially through, there is left a
sediment that clings to the bottom. This silty deposit may
accumulate—nay, it may threaten to choke it up, still the well is there.
It but requires to be exhumed, and we shall behold it in all its simple
proportions once more. And thus it is with names. They betoken life and
matter that is ever coming and going, ever undergoing change and decay.
But through it all they abide. The accretions of passing years may
fasten upon them—the varied accidents of lapsing time may attach to
them—they may become all but undistinguishable, but only let us get rid
of that which cleaves to them, and we lay bare in all its naked
simplicity the character and the lineaments of a long gone era. Look for
instance at our place-names. Apart from their various corruptions they
are as they were first entitled. So far as the nomenclature of our
country itself is concerned, England is at this present day as rude, as
untutored, and as heathen as at the moment those Norwegian and Germanic
hordes grounded their keels upon our shores, for all our place-names,
saving where the Celt still lingers, are their bequest, and bear upon
them the impress of their life and its surroundings. These are they
which tell us such strange truths—how far they had made progress as yet
in the arts of life, what were the habits they practised, what was the
religion they believed in. And as with place-names, so with our own. As
records of past history they are equally truthful, equally suggestive.
One important difference, however, there is—Place-names, as I have just
hinted, once given are all but imperishable. Mountains, valleys, and
streams still, as a rule, retain the names first given them. Personal
names, those simple individual names which we find in use throughout all
pre-Norman history, were but for the life of him to whom they were
attached. They died with him, nor passed on saving accidentally. Nor
were those second designations, those which we call surnames as being
‘superadded to Christian names,’ at first of any lasting character. It
was not till the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, or even fourteenth
centuries that they became hereditary—that is, in any true sense

Before, however, we enter into the history of these, and with regard to
England that is the purpose of this book, it will be well to take a
brief survey of the actual state of human nomenclature in preceding
times. Surnames, we must remember, were the simple result of necessity
when population, hitherto isolated and small, became so increased as to
necessitate further particularity than the merely personal one could
supply. One name, therefore, was all that was needed in early times, and
one name, as a general rule, is all that we find. The Bible is, of
course, our first record of these—‘Adam,’ ‘Eve,’ ‘Joseph,’ ‘Barak,’
‘David,’ ‘Isaiah,’ all were simple, single, and expressive titles, given
in most cases from some circumstances attending their creation or birth.
When the Israelites were crowded together in the wilderness they were at
once involved in difficulties of identification. We cannot imagine to
ourselves how such a population as that of Manchester or Birmingham
could possibly get on with but single appellations. Of course I do not
put this by way of real comparison, for with the Jewish clan or family
system this difficulty must have been materially overcome. Still it is
no wonder that in the later books of Moses we should find them falling
back upon this patronymic as a means of identifying the individual. Thus
such expressions as ‘Joshua the son of Nun,’ or ‘Caleb the son of
Jephunah,’ or ‘Jair the son of Manasseh,’ are not unfrequently to be met
with. Later on, this necessity was caused by a further circumstance.
Certain of these single names became popular over others. ‘John,’
‘Simon,’ and ‘Judas’ were such. A further distinction, therefore, was
necessary. This gave rise to sobriquets of a more diverse character. We
find the _patronymic_ still in use, as in ‘Simon Barjonas,’ that is,
‘Simon the son of Jonas;’ but in addition to this, we have also the
_local_ element introduced, as in ‘Simon of Cyrene,’ and the
_descriptive_ in ‘Simon the Zealot.’ Thus, again, we have ‘Judas
Iscariot,’ whatever that may mean, for commentators are divided upon the
subject; ‘Judas Barsabas,’ and ‘Judas of Galilee.’ In the meantime the
heathen but polished nations of Greece and Rome had been adopting
similar means, though the latter was decidedly the first in method.
Among the former, such double names as ‘Dionysius the Tyrant,’ ‘Diogenes
the Cynic,’ ‘Socrates the son of Sophronicus,’ or ‘Hecatæus of Miletus,’
show the same custom, and the same need. To the Roman, however, belongs,
as I have said, the earliest system of nomenclature, a system, perhaps,
more careful and precise than any which has followed after. The purely
Roman citizen had a threefold name. The first denoted the ‘_prænomen_,’
and answered to our personal, or baptismal, name. The second was what we
may term the _clan-name_; and the third, the cognomen, corresponded with
our present _surname_. Thus we have such treble appellations as ‘Marcus
Tullius Cicero,’ or ‘Aulus Licinius Archeas.’ If a manumitted slave had
the citizenship conferred upon him, his single name became his cognomen,
and the others preceded it, one generally being the name of him who was
the emancipator. Thus was it of ‘Licinius’ in the last-mentioned
instance. With the overthrow of the Western Empire, however, this system
was lost, and the barbarians who settled upon its ruins brought back the
simple appellative once more. Arminius, their chief hero, was content
with that simple title. Alaric, the brave King of the Goths, is only so
known. Caractacus and Vortigern, to come nearer home, represented but
the same custom.

But we are not without traces of those descriptive epithets which had
obtained among the earlier communities of the East. The Venerable Bede,
speaking of two missionaries, both of whom bore the name of ‘Hewald,’
says, ‘pro diversâ capellorum specie unus Niger Hewald, alter Albus
diceretur;’ that is, in modern parlance, the colour of their hair being
different, they came to be called ‘Hewald Black,’ and ‘Hewald White.’
Another Saxon, distinguished for his somewhat huge proportions, and
bearing the name of ‘Ethelred,’ was known as ‘Mucel,’ or ‘Great,’ a word
still lingering in the Scottish _mickle_. We may class him, therefore,
with our ‘le Grands,’ as we find them inscribed in the Norman rolls, the
progenitors of our ‘Grants,’ and ‘Grands,’ or our ‘Biggs,’ as Saxon as
himself. Thus again, our later ‘Fairfaxes,’ ‘Lightfoots,’ ‘Heavisides,’
and ‘Slows,’ are but _hereditary_ nicknames like to the earlier
‘Harfagres,’ ‘Harefoots,’ ‘Ironsides,’ and ‘Unreadys,’ which died out,
so far as their immediate possessors went, with the ‘Harolds,’ and
‘Edmunds,’ and ‘Ethelreds,’ upon whom they were severally foisted. They
were but expressions of popular feeling to individual persons by means
of which that individuality was increased, and, as with every other
instance I have mentioned hitherto, passed away with the lives of their
owners. No descendant succeeded to the title. The son, in due course of
time, got a sobriquet of his own, by which he was familiarly known, but
that, too, was but personal and temporary. It was no more hereditary
than had been his father’s before him, and even so far as himself was
concerned might be again changed according to the humour or caprice of
his neighbours and acquaintances. And this went on for several more
centuries, only as population increased these sobriquets became but more
and more common.

In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, however, a change took place. By
a silent and unpremeditated movement over the whole of the more
populated and civilized European societies, nomenclature began to assume
a solid lasting basis. It was the result, in fact, of an insensibly
growing necessity. Population was on the increase, commerce was
spreading, and society was fast becoming corporate. With all this arose
difficulties of individualization. It was impossible, without some
further distinction, to maintain a current identity. Hence what had been
but an occasional and irregular custom became a fixed and general
practice—the distinguishing sobriquet, not, as I say, of premeditation,
but by a silent compact, became part and parcel of a man’s property, and
passed on with his other possessions to his direct descendants. This
sobriquet had come to be of various kinds. It might be the designation
of the property owned, as in the case of the Norman barons and their
feudatory settlements, or it might be some local peculiarity that marked
the abode. It might be the designation of the craft the owner followed.
It might be the title of the rank or office he held. It might be a
patronymic—a name acquired from the personal or Christian name of his
father or mother. It might be some characteristic, mental or physical,
complimentary or the reverse. Any of these it might be, it mattered not
which; but when once it became attached to the possessor and gave him a
fixed identity, it clung to him for his life, and eventually passed on
to his offspring. Then it was that at length local and personal names
came somewhat upon the same level; and as the former, some centuries
before, had stereotyped the life of our various Celtic and Slavonic and
Teutonic settlements, so now these latter fossilized the character of
the era in which they arose; and here we have them, with all the
antiquity of their birth upon them, breathing of times and customs and
fashions and things that are now wholly passed from our eyes, or are so
completely changed as to bear but the faintest resemblance to that which
they have been. To analyse some of these names, for all were impossible,
is the purpose of the following chapters. I trust that ere I have
finished my task, I shall have been able to throw some little light, at
least, on the life and habits of our early English forefathers.

The reader will have observed that I have just incidentally alluded to
five different classes of names. For the sake of further distinction I
will place them formally and under more concise headings:—

    1. Baptismal or personal names.
    2. Local surnames.
    3. Official surnames.
    4. Occupative surnames.
    5. Sobriquet surnames, or Nicknames.

I need scarcely add that under one of these five divisions will every
surname in all the countries of Europe be found.


                               CHAPTER I.

                          PATRONYMIC SURNAMES.

It is impossible to say how important an influence have merely personal
names exercised upon our nomenclature. The most familiar surnames we can
meet with, saving that of ‘Smith,’ are to be found in this list. For
frequency we have no names to be compared with ‘Jones,’ or ‘Williamson,’
or ‘Thompson,’ or ‘Richardson.’ How they came into being is easily
manifest. Nothing could be more natural than that children should often
pass current in the community in which they lived as the sons of
‘Thomas,’ or ‘William,’ or ‘Richard,’ or ‘John;’ and that these several
relationships should be found in our directories as distinct sobriquets
only shows that there was a particular generation in these families in
which this title became permanent, and passed on to future descendants
as an hereditary surname.[2] The interest that attaches to these
patronymics is great—for it is by them we can best discover what names
were in vogue at this period, and what not, and of those which were, by
their relative frequency, in a measure, what were the most popular.
Certainly the change is most extraordinary when we compare the past with
the present. Some, once so popular that they scarce gave identity to the
bearer, are now all but obsolete, while numerous appellations at present
generally current were then utterly unknown. There are surnames familiar
to our ears whose root as a Christian name is now passed out of
knowledge; while, on the other hand, many a Christian name now daily
upon our lips has no surname formed from it to tell of any lengthened
existence. The fact is, that while our surnames, putting immigration
aside, have been long at a standstill, we have ever been and are still
adding to our stock of baptismal names.[3] Each new national crisis,
each fresh achievement of our arms, each new princely bride imported
from abroad—these events are being commemorated daily at the font. This
is but the continuance of a custom, and one very natural, which has ever
existed. Turn where we will in English history during the last eight
hundred years, and we shall find the popular sympathies seeking an
outlet in baptism. Did a prince of the blood royal meet with a hapless
and cruel fate? His memory was at once embalmed in the names of the
children born immediately afterwards, saving when a mother’s
superstitious fears came in to prevent it. Did some national hero arise
who upheld and asserted the people’s rights against a grinding and
hateful tyranny? His name is speedily to be found inscribed on every
hearth. The reverse is of equal significance. It is by the fact of a
name, which must have been of familiar import, finding few to represent
it, we can trace a people’s dislikes and a nation’s prejudices. A name
once in favour, as a rule, however, kept its place. The cause to which
it owed its rise had long passed into the shade of forgotten things, but
the name, if it had but attained a certain hold, seems easily to have
kept it, till indeed such a convulsion occurred as revolutionised men
and things and their names together.

There have been two such revolutionary crises in English nomenclature,
the Conquest and the Reformation, the second culminating in the Puritan
Commonwealth. Other crises have stamped themselves in indelible lines
upon our registers, but the indenture, if as strongly impressed, was far
less general, and in the main merely enlarged rather than changed our
stock of national names. Thus was it with the Crusades. A few of the
names it introduced have been popular ever since. Many, at first
received favourably, died out, if not with, at least soon after, the
subsidence of the spirit to which they owed their rise. Some of these
came from the Eastern Church, of whose existence at all the Crusader
seems to have suddenly reminded us. Some were Biblical, associated in
Bible narrative with the very soil the Templars trod. Some, again, were
borrowed from Continental comrades in arms, names which had caught the
fancy of those who introduced them, or were connected with friendly
rivalries and pledged friendships. This era, being concurrent with the
establishment of surnames, has left its mark upon our nomenclature; but
it was no revolution.

The period in which these names began to assume an hereditary character
varies so greatly that it is impossible to make any definite statement.
As a familiar custom I should say it arose in the twelfth century. But
there are places, both in Lancashire and Yorkshire, where, as in Wales,
men are wont to be styled to this very day by a complete string of
patronymics. To hear a man called ‘Bill’s o’Jack’s,’ ‘o’Dick’s,’
‘o’Harry’s,’ ‘o’Tom’s,’ is by no means a rare incident. A hit at this
formerly common Welsh practice is given in ‘Sir John Oldcastle,’ a play
printed in 1600, in which ran the following conversation:—

‘Judge: What bail? What sureties?

‘Davy: Her cozen ap Rice, ap Evan, ap Morice, ap Morgan, ap Llewellyn,
ap Madoc, ap Meredith, ap Griffin, ap Davis, ap Owen, ap Shinkin Jones.

‘Judge: Two of the most efficient are enow.

‘Sheriff: And ’t please your lordship, these are all but one.’

This ‘ap,’ the Welsh equivalent of our English ‘son,’ when it has come
before a name beginning with a vowel, has in many instances become
incorporated with it. Thus ‘Ap-Hugh’ has given us ‘Pugh,’ ‘Ap-Rice,’
just mentioned, ‘Price,’ or as ‘Reece,’ ‘Preece;’ ‘Ap-Owen,’ ‘Bowen;’
‘Ap-Evan,’ ‘Bevan;’ ‘Ap-Robert,’ ‘Probert;’ ‘Ap-Roger,’ ‘Prodger;’
‘Ap-Richard,’ ‘Pritchard;’ ‘Ap-Humphrey,’ ‘Pumphrey;’ ‘Ap-Ithell,’
‘Bethell;’[4] or ‘Ap-Howell,’ ‘Powell.’[5] ‘Prosser’ has generally been
thought a corruption of ‘proser,’ one who was garrulously inclined; but
this is a mistake, it is simply ‘Ap-Rosser.’ The Norman patronymic was
formed similarly as the Welsh, by a prefix, that of ‘fitz,’ the modern
French ‘fils.’ Surnames of this class were at first common. Thus we find
such names as ‘Fitz-Gibbon,’ ‘Fitz-Gerald,’ ‘Fitz-Patrick,’
‘Fitz-Waryn,’ ‘Fitz-Rauf,’ ‘Fitz-Payn,’ ‘Fitz-Richard,’ or ‘Fitz-Neele.’
But though this obtained for awhile among some of the nobler families of
our country, it has made in general no sensible impression upon our
surnames. The Saxon added ‘son,’ as a desinence, as ‘Williamson,’ that
is, ‘William’s son,’ or ‘Bolderson,’ that is, ‘Baldwin’s son,’ or merely
the genitive suffix, as ‘Williams,’ or ‘Richards.’ This class has been
wonderfully enlarged by the custom then in vogue, as now, of reducing
every baptismal name to some curt and familiar monosyllable. It agreed
with the rough-and-ready humour of the Anglo-Norman character so to do.
How common this was we may see from Gower’s description of the
insurrection of Wat Tyler:

     ‘Watte’ vocat, cui ‘Thoma’ venit, neque ‘Symme’ retardat,
       ‘Bat’-que ‘Gibbe’ simul, ‘Hykke’ venire jubent:
     ‘Colle’ furit, quem ‘Bobbe’ juvat nocumenta parantes,
       Cum quibus, ad damnum ‘Wille’ coire volat—
     ‘Grigge’ rapit, dum ‘Davie’ strepit, comes est quibus ‘Hobbe,’
       ‘Larkin’ et in medio non minor esse putat:
     ‘Hudde’ ferit, quem ‘Judde’ terit, dum ‘Tibbe’ juvatur
       ‘Jacke’ domosque viros vellit, en ense necat—

Or let the author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speak. ‘Glutton’ having been
seduced to the alehouse door, we are told—

         Then goeth ‘Glutton’ in and grete other after,
         ‘Cesse’ the souteresse sat on the bench:
         ‘Watte’ the warner and his wife bothe:
         ‘Tymme’ the tynkere and twayne of his ’prentices.
         ‘Hikke’ the hackney man and ‘Hugh’ the nedlere,
         ‘Clarice’ of Cokkeslane, and the clerke of the churche;
         ‘Dawe’ the dykere, and a dozen othere.

In these two quotations we see at once the clue to the extraordinary
number of patronymics our directories contain of these short and
curtailed forms. Thus ‘Dawe,’ from ‘David,’ gives us ‘Dawson,’ or
‘Dawes;’ ‘Hikke’ from ‘Isaac,’ ‘Hickson,’ or ‘Hicks;’ ‘Watte,’ from
‘Walter,’ ‘Watson,’ or ‘Watts.’ Nor was this all. A large addition was
made to this category by the introduction of a further element. This
arose from the nursery practice of giving pet names. Much as this is
done now, it would seem to have been still more common then. In either
period the method has been the same—that of turning the name into a
diminutive. Our very word ‘pet’ itself is but the diminutive ‘petite,’
or ‘little one.’ The fashion adopted, however, was different. We are
fond of using ‘ie,’ or ‘ley.’ Thus with us ‘John’ becomes ‘Johnnie,’
‘Edward,’ ‘Teddie,’ ‘Charles,’ ‘Charley.’ In early days the four
diminutives in use were those of ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and the terminations
‘ot’ or ‘et,’ and ‘on’ or ‘en,’ the two latter being of Norman-French

1. _Kin._—This Saxon term, corresponding with the German ‘chen,’ and the
French ‘on’ or ‘en,’ referred to above, and introduced, most probably,
so far as the immediate practice was concerned, by the Flemings, we
still preserve in such words as ‘manikin,’ ‘pipkin,’ ‘lambkin,’ or
‘doitkin.’ This is very familiar as a nominal adjunct. Thus, in an old
poem, entitled ‘A Litul soth Sermun,’ we find the following:—

                      Nor those prude yongemen
                        That loveth ‘Malekyn,’
                      And those prude maydenes
                        That loveth ‘Janekyn;’
                      At chirche and at chepynge
                        When they togadere come
                      They runneth togaderes
                        And speaketh of derne love.
                      Masses and matins
                        Ne kepeth they nouht,
                      For ‘Wilekyn’ and ‘Watekyn’
                        Be in their thouht—

Hence we have derived such surnames as ‘Simpkins’ and ‘Simpkinson,’
‘Thompkins’ and ‘Tomkinson.’

2. _Cock._—Our nursery literature still secures in its ‘cock-robins,’
‘cock-boats,’ and ‘cock-horses,’ the immortality of this second
termination. It forms an important element in such names as ‘Simcox,’
‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Wilcock,’ or ‘Wilcox,’ and ‘Laycock’ (Lawrence).

3. _Ot_ or _et_.—These terminations were introduced by the Normans, and
certainly have made an impregnable position for themselves in our
English nomenclature. In our dictionaries they are found in such
diminutives as ‘pocket’ (little poke), ‘ballot,’ ‘chariot,’ ‘target,’
‘latchet,’ ‘lancet;’ in our directories in such names as ‘Emmett,’ or
‘Emmot’ (Emma), ‘Tillotson’ (Matilda), ‘Elliot’ (Elias), ‘Marriot’
(Mary), ‘Willmot’ (Willamot), and ‘Hewet,’ or ‘Hewetson’ (Hugh).[6]

4. _On_ or _en_.—These terminations became very popular with the French,
and their directories teem with the evidences they display of former
favour. They are all but unknown to our English dictionary, but many
traces of their presence may be found in our nomenclature. Thus ‘Robert’
became ‘Robin,’ ‘Nicol’ ‘Colin,’ ‘Pierre’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Richard’ ‘Diccon,’
‘Mary’ ‘Marion,’ ‘Alice’ ‘Alison,’ ‘Beatrice’ ‘Beton,’ ‘Hugh’ ‘Huon,’ or
‘Huguon’; and hence such surnames as ‘Colinson,’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Dicconson,’
‘Allison’ (in some cases), ‘Betonson,’ ‘Huggins,’ and ‘Hugginson.’[7]

I have already said that the Norman invasion revolutionised our system
of personal names. Certainly it is in this the antagonism between
Norman and Saxon is especially manifest. Occasionally, in looking over
the records of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we may light upon
a ‘Godwin,’ or ‘Guthlac,’ or ‘Goddard,’ but they are of the most
exceptional occurrence. Were the local part of these entries foreign,
explanation would be unneeded. But while the personal element is
foreign, the local denotes settlement from the up-country. Look at the
London population of this period from such records as we possess.
There is scarcely a hamlet, however small, that does not contribute to
swell the sum of the metropolitan mass, and while ‘London’ itself is
of comparatively great rarity in our nomenclature, an insignificant
village like, say Debenham, in Suffolk, will have its score of
representatives—so great was the flow, so small the ebb. It is this
large accession from the interior which is the stronghold of Saxon
nomenclature. It is this removal from one village to another, and from
one town to another, which has originated that distich quoted by old

                In ‘ford,’ in ‘ham,’ in ‘ley,’ in ‘ton,’
                The most of English surnames run.

And yet, strange as it may seem, it is very doubtful whether for a
lengthened period, at least, the owners of these names were of Saxon
origin. The position of the Saxon peasantry forbade that they should be
in any but a small degree accessory to this increase. The very villenage
they lived under, the very manner in which they were attached to the
glebe, rendered any such roving tendencies as these impossible. These
country adventurers, then, whose names I have instanced, were of no
Saxon stock, but the sons of the humbler dependants of those Normans who
had obtained landed settlements, or of Norman traders who had travelled
up the country, fixing their habitation wheresoever the wants of an
increasing people seemed to give them an opportunity of gaining a
livelihood. The children of such, driven out of these smaller
communities by the fact that there was no further opening for them, poor
as the villeins amongst whom they dwelt, but different in that they were
free, would naturally resort to the metropolis and other large centres
of industry. Not a few, however, would belong to the free Saxons, who,
much against their will, no doubt, but for the sake of gain, would pass
in the community to which they had joined themselves by the name
belonging to the more powerful and mercantile party. In the same way,
too, some not small proportion of these names would belong to those
Saxon serfs who, having escaped their bondage, would, on reaching the
towns, change their names to elude detection. These, of course, would be
got from the Norman category. But be all this as it may, the fact
remains that throughout all the records and rolls of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, we find, with but the rarest exceptions, all our
personal names to be Norman. The Saxon seems to have become well-nigh
extinct. There might have been a war of extermination against them. In
an unbroken succession we meet with such names as ‘John’ and ‘Richard,’
‘Robert’ and ‘Henry,’ ‘Thomas’ and ‘Ralph,’ ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Jordan,’
‘Stephen’ and ‘Martin,’ ‘Joscelyn’ and ‘Almaric,’ ‘Benedict’ and
‘Laurence,’ ‘Reginald’ and ‘Gilbert,’ ‘Roger’ and ‘Walter,’ ‘Eustace’
and ‘Baldwin,’ ‘Francis’ and ‘Maurice,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Cecil,’—no
‘Edward,’ no ‘Edmund,’ no ‘Harold’ even, saving in very isolated cases.
It is the same with female names. While ‘Isabel’ and ‘Matilda,’
‘Mirabilla’ and ‘Avelina,’ ‘Amabilla’ and ‘Idonia,’ ‘Sibilla’ and ‘Ida,’
‘Letitia’ and ‘Agnes,’ ‘Petronilla’ or ‘Parnel’ and ‘Lucy,’ ‘Alicia’ and
‘Avice,’ ‘Alianora,’ or ‘Anora’ and ‘Dowsabell,’ ‘Clarice’ and ‘Muriel,’
‘Agatha’ and ‘Rosamund,’ ‘Felicia’ and ‘Adelina,’ ‘Julia’ and ‘Blanche,’
‘Isolda’ and ‘Amelia’ or ‘Emilia,’ ‘Beatrix’ and ‘Euphemia,’ ‘Annabel’
and ‘Theophania,’ ‘Constance’ and ‘Joanna’ abound; ‘Etheldreda,’ or
‘Edith,’ or ‘Ermentrude,’ all of the rarest occurrence, are the only
names which may breathe to us of purely Saxon times. In the case of
several, however, a special effort was made later on, when the policy of
allaying the jealous feelings of the popular class was resorted to. For
a considerable time the royal and chief baronial families had in their
pride sought names for their children from the Norman category merely.
After the lapse of a century, however, finding the Saxon spirit still
chafed and uneasy under a foreign thrall, several names of a popular
character were introduced into the royal nursery. Thus was it with
‘Edward’ and ‘Edmund.’ The former of these appellations was represented
by Edward I., the latter by his brother Edmund, Earl of Lancaster.
Previously to this, too, an attempt had been made to restore the British
‘Arthur’ in that nephew of Cœur de Lion who so miserably perished by his
uncle’s means, and thereby gave Lackland a securer hold upon the English
throne, if not upon the affections of the country. The sad and gloomy
mystery which surrounded the disappearance of this boy-prince seems to
have inspired mothers with a superstitious awe of the name, for we do
not find, as in the case of ‘Edward’ or ‘Edmund,’ its royal restoration
having the effect of making it general.[8] On the contrary, as an effort
in its favour, it seems to have signally failed. Of all our early
historic names I find fewest relics of this.

The difficulty of subdividing our first chapter is great, but for the
sake of convenience we have decided to preserve the following order:—

  1. Names that preceded and survived the Conquest.
  2. Names introduced or confirmed by the Normans.
  3. Names from the Calendar of the Saints.
  4. Names from Festivals and Holy-days.
  5. Patronymics formed from occupations and officerships.
  6. Metronymics.
  7. Names from Holy Scripture.

          I.—_Names that preceded and survived the Conquest._

The peculiar feature of the great majority of such names as were in
vogue previous to the Norman Conquest, and which to a certain extent
maintained a hold, is that (saving in two or three instances) they did
not attach to themselves either filial or pet desinences. If they have
come down to us as surnames, they are found in their simple unaltered
dress. Thus, taking Afred as an example, we see in our directories
‘Alfred’ or ‘Alured’ or ‘Allured’ to be the only patronymics that have
been handed down to us. Latinized as Aluredus it figures in Domesday.
The Hundred Rolls, later on, register an Alured Ape, and the surname
appears in the Parliamentary Writs in the case of William Alured. It is
hard to separate our ‘Aldreds’ from our ‘Allureds.’ The usually entered
forms are ‘Richard Alred,’ ‘Hugh Aldred,’ or ‘Aldred fil. Roger.’
Besides ‘Aldred’ there is ‘Alderson,’ which may be but ‘Aldredson.’
Aylwin is met by such entries as Richard Alwine, or Thomas Ailwyne:
‘Adelard,’ as ‘Adlard’ or ‘Alard,’ and ‘Agilward’ as ‘Aylward,’ are of
more frequent occurrence; while Aldrech, once merely a personal name, is
now, like many of the above, found only surnominally.

The Teutonic mythology is closely interwoven in several of these names.
The primary root ‘god’ or ‘good,’ which stood in all Teuton languages as
the title of divinity, was familiarised as the chief component in not a
few of our still existing surnames. ‘Godwin,’ the name which the stout
old earl of Danish blood has given to our Goodwin Sands, seems to have
been well established when the great Survey was made. The French ‘Godin’
seems scarcely to have crossed the Channel, but ‘Godwin’ and ‘Goodwin’
have well filled up the gap. ‘Hugh fil. Godewin,’ or ‘Godwin de Dovre,’
represent our registers. Our ‘Godbolds’ are found in the dress of
‘Godbolde,’ our ‘Goodiers’ and ‘Goodyears’ as ‘Goder’ or ‘Godyer,’ and
our ‘Goddards’ as ‘Godard.’ The Hundred Rolls give us a ‘John fil.
Godard.’ The Alpine mountain reminds us of its connection with
‘Gotthard,’ and Miss Yonge states that it is still in use as a Christian
name in Germany. ‘Gottschalk,’ a common surname in the same country, was
well known as a personal name in England in the forms of
‘Godescalde,’[9] ‘Godescall,’ or ‘Godeschalke,’ such entries as ‘Godefry
fil. Godescallus,’ or ‘Godeskalcus Armorer,’ or ‘John Godescalde,’ being
not unfrequent. The latter name suggests to us our ‘Godsalls’ and
‘Godshalls’ as the present English surnominal forms. ‘Gottschalk’ in our
directories may always be looked upon as a more recent importation from
Germany. Goderic was perhaps the commonest of this class—its usual dress
in our registers being ‘Gooderick,’ ‘Goderiche,’ ‘Godrick,’ and
‘Godric.’ An early Saxon abbot was exalted into the ranks of the saints
as ‘St. Goderic,’ and this would have its influence in the selection of
baptismal names at that period. ‘Guthlac,’ not without descendants, too,
though less easily recognisable in our ‘Goodlakes’ and ‘Goodlucks,’ and
‘Geoffrey,’ or ‘Godfrey,’ whom I shall have occasion to mention again,
belong to the same category.[10] The last of this class I may mention is
the old ‘Godeberd,’ or ‘Godbert.’ As simple ‘Godeberd’ it is found in
such a name as ‘Roger Godeberd,’ met with in the London Tower records.
Somewhat more corrupted we come across a ‘John Gotebedde’ in the Hundred
Rolls of the thirteenth century; and much about the same time a ‘Robert
Gotobedd’ lived in Winchelsea. In this latter form, I need scarcely say,
it has now a somewhat flourishing existence in our midst. Some will be
reminded of the lines:—

               Mr. Barker’s as mute as a fish in the sea,
                 Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
               Mr. Gotobed sits up till half-after three,
                 Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.

Still, despite its long antiquity, when I recall the pretty Godbert from
which it arose, I would, were I one of them, _go to bed_ as such some
night for the last time, nor get up again till I could dress, if not my
person, at least my personality in its real and more antique habiliment.

‘Os,’ as a root-word implicative of deity, has made for itself a firm
place in our ‘Osbalds,’ ‘Osberts,’ ‘Oswins,’ ‘Oswalds,’ ‘Osbornes,’ and
‘Osmunds’ or ‘Osmonds.’ Instances of all these may be seen in our older
registries. We quickly light upon entries such as ‘Osbert le Ferrur,’
‘Osborne le Hawkere,’ ‘Oswin Ogle,’ ‘Nicholas Osemund,’ or ‘John
Oswald.’ Nor must ‘Thor,’ the ‘Jupiter tonans’ of the Norsemen, be left
out, for putting aside local names, and the day of the week that still
memorialises him, we have yet several surnames that speak of his
influence. ‘Thurstan’ and ‘Thurlow’ seem both of kin. ‘Thorald,’
however, has made the greatest mark, and next ‘Thurkell.’ Thorald may be
seen in ‘Torald Chamberlain’ (A), Ralph fil. Thorald (A), or Torald
Benig (A); while Thurkell or Thurkill is found first in the fuller form
in such entries as ‘Richard Thyrketyll,’ or ‘Robert Thirkettle,’ and
then in the contracted in ‘Thurkeld le Seneschal,’ or ‘Robert Thurkel.’

We have just referred to Thurkettle. ‘Kettle’ was very closely connected
with the mythology of Northern Europe, and is still a great name in
Norway and in Iceland. The sacrificial cauldron of the gods must
certainly have been vividly present to the imagination of our
forefathers. The list of names compounded with ‘Kettle’ is large even in
England. The simple ‘Kettle’ was very common. In Domesday it is
‘Chetill,’ in the Hundred Rolls ‘Ketel’ or ‘Cetyl’ or ‘Cattle.’ Such
entries as ‘Ketel le Mercer,’ or ‘Chetel Frieday,’ or ‘Cattle Bagge,’
are met with up to the fifteenth century, and as surnames ‘Kettle,’
‘Chettle’ and ‘Cattle’ or ‘Cattell’ have a well-established place in the
nineteenth. Of the compound forms we have already noticed ‘Thurkettle’
or ‘Thurkell.’ ‘Anketil le Mercir’ (A), ‘Roger Arketel’ (A), ‘William
Asketill’ (Q), and ‘Robert fil. Anskitiel’ (W. 12) are all but changes
rung on Oskettle. The abbots of England, in 941, 992, and 1052, were
‘Turketyl,’ ‘Osketyl,’ and ‘Wulfketyl’ respectively. The last seems to
be the same as ‘Ulchetel’ found in Domesday.[11] In the same Survey we
light upon a ‘Steinchetel,’ and ‘Grinketel’ is also found in a Yorkshire
record of the same period.[12] Orm, the representative of pagan worship
in respect of the serpent, has left its memorial in such entries as
‘Alice fil. Orme,’ or ‘Ormus Archbragge.’ The descendants of these are
our ‘Ormes’ and ‘Ormesons.’ More local names abide in ‘Ormsby,’
‘Ormskirk,’ ‘Ormerod,’ and ‘Ormes Head.’

A series of names, some of them connected with the heroic and legendary
lore of Northern Europe, were formed from the root ‘sig’—conquest. Many
of these maintained a position as personal names long after the Norman
invasion, and now exist in our directories as surnames. Nevertheless, as
with the others hitherto mentioned, they are all but invariably found in
their simple and uncompounded form. Our ‘Sewards,’ ‘Seawards,’ and
‘Sawards’ represent the chief of these. It is found in England in the
seventh century, and was a great Danish name. Entries like ‘Syward
Godwin’ or ‘Siward Oldcorn’ are found as late as the beginning of the
fourteenth century. Next we may mention our ‘Segars,’ ‘Sagars,’
‘Sahers,’ ‘Sayers,’ and ‘Saers,’ undoubted descendants of such men as
‘Saher de Quincy,’ the famous old Earl of Winchester. The registrations
of this as a personal name are very frequent. Such entries as ‘John fil.
Saer,’ ‘Saher Clerk,’ ‘Saher le King,’ or ‘Eudo fil. Sygar,’ are common.
Nor has ‘Sigbiorn’ been allowed to become obsolete, as our ‘Sibornes’
and ‘Seabornes’ can testify. I cannot discover any instance of ‘Sibbald’
as a personal name after the Domesday Survey, but as a relic of
‘Sigbald’ it is still living in a surnominal form. Though apparently
occupative, our registers clearly proclaim that ‘Seman’ or ‘Seaman’ must
be set here. As a personal name it is found in such designations as
‘Seman de Champagne,’ or ‘Seaman de Baylif,’ or ‘Seaman Carpenter.’ With
the mention of ‘Sebright’ as a corruption of ‘Sigbert’ or ‘Sebert,’ I
pass on; but this is sufficient to show that a name whose root-meaning
implied heroism was popular with our forefathers.

The popular notion that ‘Howard’ is nothing but ‘Hogward’ is not borne
out by facts. We find no trace whatever of its gradual reduction into
such a corrupt form. As we shall have occasion to show hereafter, it is
our ‘Hoggarts’ who thus maintain the honours of our swine-tending
ancestors. There can be little doubt, indeed, that ‘Howard’ is but
another form of ‘Harvard’ or ‘Hereward.’ That it had early become so
pronounced and spelt we can prove by an entry occurring in the Test.
Ebor. (Surt. Soc.) where one ‘John Fitz-howard’ is registered. Our
‘Hermans’ and ‘Harmans’ represent ‘Herman,’ a name which, though in
early use in England, we owe chiefly to immigration in later days. Such
entries as ‘Herman de Francia’ or ‘Herman de Alemannia’ are occasionally
met with. The fuller patronymic attached itself to this name; hence such
entries as ‘Walter Hermanson,’ and ‘John Urmynson,’ ‘Harmer,’ and
‘Hermer,’ seem to be somewhat of kin to the last. The personal form is
found in ‘Robert fil. Hermer,’ and the surname in ‘Hopkins Harmar.’
Besides ‘Hardwin,’ ‘Hadwin’ is also met with as a relic of the same,
while ‘Harding’ has remained unaltered from the day when registrars
entered such names as ‘Robert fil. Harding’ and ‘Maurice fil. Harding;’
but this, as ‘Fitz-harding’ reminds us, must be looked upon as of Norman
introduction. Nor must ‘Swain’ be forgotten. We find in the Survey the
wife of ‘Edward filius Suani,’ figuring among the tenants-in-chief of
Essex. This is of course but our present ‘Swainson’ or ‘Swanson;’ and
when we add all the ‘Swains,’ ‘Swayns,’ and ‘Swaynes’ of our directories
we shall find that this name has a tolerably assured position in the
nineteenth century. ‘Swain’ implied strength, specially the strength of
youth; and as Samson’s strength became utter weakness through his
affection, so I suppose it has fared with ‘Swain.’ The country shepherd
piping to his mistress, the lovesick bachelor, has monopolised the
title. As a personal name it occurs in such registrations as ‘Sweyn
Colle,’ ‘Swanus le Riche,’ or ‘Adam fil. Swain.’

          II.—_Names introduced or confirmed by the Normans._

Of names specially introduced at the Conquest, or that received an
impulse by that event, we may mention ‘Serl’ and ‘Harvey.’ ‘Serl,’ found
in such names as ‘Serle Morice’ or ‘Serle Gotokirke,’ or ‘John fil.
Serlo,’ still abides in our ‘Searles’ and ‘Serles,’ ‘Serrells’ and
‘Serlsons.’ ‘William Serleson’ occurs in an old Yorkshire register, and
‘Richard Serelson’ in the Parliamentary Writs. The Norman diminutive
also appears in Matilda Sirlot (A) and Mabel Sirlot (A).[13] ‘Harvey,’
or ‘Herve,’ was more common than many may imagine, and a fair number of
entries such as ‘Herveus le Gos’ or ‘William fil. Hervei,’ may be seen
in all our large rolls. The Malvern poet in his ‘Piers Plowman’ employs
the name:—

                        And thanne cam Coveitise,
                        Can I hym naght descryve,
                        So hungrily and holwe
                        Sire Hervy hym loked.

‘Arnold,’ now almost unknown in England as a baptismal name, made a deep
impression on our nomenclature, as it did on that of Central Europe.
‘Earn’ for the eagle is a word not yet obsolete in the North of England,
and this reminds us of the origin of the name. This kinship is more
easily traceable in our registries where the usual forms are ‘Ernaldus
Carnifix,’ or ‘Peter Ernald.’ Besides ‘Arnold,’ ‘Arnison,’ and the
diminutive ‘Arnott’ or ‘Arnet’[14] still live among us. ‘Alberic,’ or
‘Albrec,’ as we find it occasionally written, soon found its way into
our rolls as ‘Aubrey,’ although, as Ælfric, Miss Yonge shows it to have
existed in our country centuries earlier.[15] ‘Albred,’ probably but
another form of the lately revived ‘Albert,’ is now found as ‘Allbright’
and the German ‘Albrecht.’

‘Emery,’ though now utterly forgotten as a personal name, may be said to
live on only in our surnames. It was once no unimportant sobriquet.
‘Americ,’ ‘Almeric,’ ‘Almaric,’ ‘Emeric,’ and ‘Eimeric,’ seem to have
been its original spellings in England, and thus, at least, it is more
likely to remind us that it is the same name to which, in the Italian
form of Amerigo, we now owe the title of that vast expanse of western
territory which is so indissolubly connected with English industry and
English interests. Curter forms than these were found in ‘Aylmar,’
‘Ailmar,’ ‘Almar,’ and ‘Aymer,’ and ‘Amar.’ The surnames it has
bequeathed to us are not few. It has had the free run of the vowels in
our ‘Amorys,’ ‘Emerys,’ and ‘Imarys,’ and in a more patronymic form we
may still oftentimes meet with it in our ‘Emersons,’ ‘Embersons,’[16]
and ‘Imesons.’ ‘Ingram’ represents the old ‘Ingelram,’ ‘Engleram,’
‘Iggelram,’ or ‘Ingeram,’ for all these forms may be met with; and
‘Ebrardus,’ later on registered as ‘Eborard,’ still abides hale and
hearty in our ‘Everards’ and ‘Everys.’ The latter, however, can scarcely
be said to be quite extinct as a baptismal name. ‘Waleran,’ an English
form of the foreign ‘Valerian,’ is found in such an entry as ‘Walerand
Berchamstead,’ or ‘Waldrand Clark,’ or ‘Walran Oldman.’ We see at once
the origin of our ‘Walronds’ and ‘Walrands.’ The name of ‘Brice’ begins
to find itself located in England at this time. Hailing from Denmark, it
may have come in with the earlier raids from that shore, or later on in
the more peaceful channels of trade. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with
‘Brice fil. William’ and ‘Brice le Parsun,’ while the Placita de Quo
Warranto gives us a ‘Brice le Daneys,’ who himself proclaims the
nationality of the name. The Norman diminutive is met with in ‘Briccot
de Brainton’ (M M). ‘Brice’ and ‘Bryson’ (when not a corruption of
‘Bride-son’) are the present representatives of this now forgotten
name.[17] All the above names I have placed together, because, while
introduced or receiving an impetus by the incoming of the Normans and
their followers, they have, nevertheless, made little impression on our
general nomenclature. The fact that, with but one or two exceptions, the
usual pet addenda, ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and ‘ot,’ or ‘et,’ are absolutely
wanting, or even the patronymic ‘son,’ shows decisively that they cannot
be numbered among what we must call the popular names of the period.
Introduced here and there in the community at large, they struggled on
for bare existence, and have descended to us as surnames in their simple
and unaltered form.

We now turn to a batch of personal names of a different character, names
which, with a few exceptions, are still familiar to us at baptismal
celebrations, and which have changed themselves into so many varying
forms, that the surnames issuing from them are well-nigh legion. Most of
these are the direct result of the Conquest. They are either the
sobriquets borne by William, his family, and his leading followers, or
by those whom connections of blood, alliance, and interest afterwards
brought into the country. Many others received their solid settlement in
England through the large immigration of foreign artisans from Normandy,
from Picardy, Anjou, Flanders, and other provinces. The Flemish
influence has been very strong.

I will first mention Drew, Warin, Paine, Ivo, and Hamon, because,
although they must be included among the most familiar names of their
time, they are now practically disused at the font. ‘Drew,’ or ‘Drogo,’
occurs several times in Domesday. An illegitimate son of Charlemagne was
so styled, and, doubtless, it owed its familiarity to the adherents of
the Conqueror. Later on, at any rate, it was firmly established, as such
names as Drew Drewery, Druco Bretun, or William fil. Drogo testify. That
‘Drewett’ is derived from the Norman diminutive can be proved from the
Hundred Rolls, wherein the same man is described in the twofold form of
‘Drogo Malerbe’ and ‘Druett Malerbe.’ The feminine ‘Druetta de Pratello’
is also found in the same records. ‘Drew’ and ‘Drewett’ are both in our
directories.[18] Few names were more common from the eleventh to the
fourteenth century than ‘Warin,’ or ‘Guarin,’ or ‘Guerin’—the latter the
form at present generally found in France. It is the sobriquet that is
incorporated in our ancient ‘Mannerings,’ or ‘Mainwarings,’ a family
that came from the ‘mesnil,’ or ‘manor,’ of ‘Warin,’ in a day when that
was a familiar Christian name in Norman households. A few generations
later on we find securely settled among ourselves such names as ‘Warin
Chapman,’ or ‘Warinus Gerold,’ or ‘Guarinus Banastre,’ in the baptismal,
and ‘Warinus Fitz-Warin,’ or ‘John Warison,’ in the patronymic form,
holding a steady place in our mediæval rolls. Two of the characters in
‘Piers Plowman,’ as those who have read it will remember, bear this as
their personal sobriquet:—

                           One Waryn Wisdom
                           And Witty his fere
                           Followed him faste.

And again—

                        Then wente Wisdom
                        And Sire Waryn the Witty
                        And warnede wrong.

‘Robert Warinot,’ in the Hundred Rolls, and ‘William Warinot’ in the
Placita de Quo Warranto, reveal the origin of our ‘Warnetts;’ while our
‘Wareings,’ ‘Warings,’ ‘Warisons,’ ‘Wasons,’ and ‘Fitz-Warins’—often
written ‘Fitz-Warren’—not to mention the majority of our ‘Warrens,’[19]
are other of the descendants of this famous old name that still survive.
A favourite name in these days was ‘Payn,’ or ‘Pagan.’ The softer form
is given us in the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’—

               The Constable, and Dame Hermegild his wife,
               Were payenes, and that country everywhere.

We all know the history of the word; how that, while the Gospel had made
advance in the cities, but not yet penetrated into the country, the
dwellers in the latter became looked upon with a something of contempt
as idolaters, so that, so far as this word was concerned, ‘countryman’
and ‘false-worshipper’ became synonymous terms. In fact, ‘pagan’
embraced the two meanings that ‘peasant’ and ‘pagan’ now convey, though
the root of both is the same. The Normans, it would appear, must have so
styled some of themselves who had refused baptism after that their
chieftain, Rollo, had become a convert; and hence, when William came
over, the name was introduced into England by several of his followers.
In Domesday Book we find among his tenants-in-chief the names of ‘Ralph
Paganel’ and ‘Edmund fil. Pagani.’ The name became more popular as time
went on, and it is no exaggeration to say that at one period—viz., the
close of the Norman dynasty—it had threatened to become one of the most
familiar appellatives in England. This will account for the frequency
with which we meet such entries in the past as ‘Robert fil. Pain,’ ‘Pain
del Ash,’ ‘Pagan de la Hale,’ ‘Roger fil. Pagan,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ or
‘Elis le Fitz-Payn,’ and such surnames in the present as ‘Pagan,’
‘Payne,’ ‘Payn,’ ‘Paine,’ ‘Pain,’ and ‘Pynson.’ The diminutive also was
not wanting, as ‘John Paynett’ (Z) or ‘Emma Paynot’ (W 2) could have
testified. Thus, while in our dictionaries ‘pagan’ still represents a
state of heathenism, in our directories it has long ago been converted
to the uses of Christianity, and become at the baptismal font a
Christian name. ‘Ivar,’ or ‘Iver,’ still familiarised to Scotchmen in
‘Mac-Iver,’ came to the Normans from the northern lands whence they were
sprung, and with them into England. It was not its first appearance
here, as St. Ives of Huntingdonshire could have testified in the seventh
century. Still its popular character was due to the Norman. Such names
as ‘Yvo de Taillbois’ (1211), mentioned in Bishop Pudsey’s ‘Survey of
the Durham See,’ ‘Ivo le Mercer,’ ‘Walter fil. Ive,’ ‘William Iveson,’
‘Iveta Millisent,’ or ‘John fil. Ivette,’ serve to show us how familiar
was this appellation with both sexes.[20] Nor are its descendants
inclined to let its memory die. We have the simple ‘Ive’ and ‘Ives;’ we
have the more patronymic ‘Iverson,’ ‘Ivison,’ ‘Iveson,’ and ‘Ison,’ and
the pet ‘Ivetts’ and ‘Ivatts,’ the latter possibly feminine in origin.

‘Hamo,’ or ‘Hamon,’ requires a paragraph for itself. It is firmly
imbedded in our existing nomenclature, and has played an important part
in its time. Its forms were many, and though obsolete as baptismal
names, all have survived as surnames. Of these may be mentioned our
‘Hamons,’ ‘Haymons,’ ‘Aymons,’ and ‘Fitz-Aymons.’ Formed like ‘Rawlyn,’
‘Thomlin,’ and ‘Cattlin,’ it bequeathed us ‘Hamlyn,’ a relic of such
folk as ‘Hamelyn de Trap’ or ‘Osbert Hamelyn.’ Another change rung on
the name is traceable in such entries as ‘Hamund le Mestre,’ ‘Hamond
Cobeler,’ or ‘John Fitz-Hamond,’ the source of our ‘Hammonds’ and
‘Hamonds;’ while in ‘Alice Hamundson’ or ‘William Hamneson’ we see the
lineage of our many ‘Hampsons.’ But these are the least important. The
Norman-French diminutive, ‘Hamonet,’ speedily corrupted into ‘Hamnet’
and ‘Hammet,’ became one of our favourite baptismal names, and towards
the reign of Elizabeth one of the commonest. A ‘Hamnet de Dokinfield’ is
found so early as 1270 at Manchester (Didsbury Ch. Cheth. Soc.).
Shakespeare’s son was baptized ‘Hamnet,’ and was so called after ‘Hamnet
Sadler,’ a friend of the poet’s—a baker at Stratford. This man is styled
‘Hamlet’ also, reminding us of another pet form of the name. We have
already mentioned ‘Richard,’ ‘Christian,’ ‘Hugh,’ and ‘Hobbe,’ as
severally giving birth to the diminutives, ‘Rickelot,’ ‘Crestelot,’
‘Huelot,’ and ‘Hobelot.’ In the same way, ‘Hamon’ became ‘Hamelot,’ or
‘Hamelet,’ hence such entries as ‘Richard, son of Hamelot’ (AA 2), and
‘Hamelot de la Burste’ (Cal. and Inv. of Treasury). Out of fifteen
‘Hamnets’ set down in ‘Wills and Inventories’ (Cheth. Soc.), six are
recorded as ‘Hamlet,’ one being set down in both forms as ‘Hamnet
Massey’ and ‘Hamlet Massey’ (cf. i. 148, ii. 201). If the reader will
look through the index of Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ he will find that
‘Hamlet’ in that county had taken the entire place of ‘Hamnet.’ Amid a
large number of the former I cannot find one of the latter. It would be
a curious question how far Shakespeare was biassed by the fact of having
a ‘Hamlet’ in his nursery into changing ‘Hambleth’ (the original title
of the story) to the form he has now immortalized. An open Bible, and,
further on, a Puritan spirit have left their influence on no name more
markedly than ‘Hamon.’ As one after another new Bible character was
commemorated at the font, ‘Hamon’ got crushed out. Its last refuge has
been found in our directories, for so long as our ‘Hamlets,’ ‘Hamnets,’
‘Hammets,’ ‘Hammonds,’ and ‘Hampsons’ exist, it cannot be utterly

‘Guy,’ or ‘Guyon,’ dates from the ‘Round Table,’ but it was reserved for
the Norman to make his name so familiar to English lips. The best proof
of this is that the surnames which it has left to us are all but
entirely formed from the Norman-French diminutive ‘Guyot,’ which in
England became, of course, ‘Wyot.’ Hence such entries as ‘Wyot fil.
Helias,’ or ‘Wyott Carpenter,’ or ‘Wyot Balistarius.’ The descendants of
these, I need scarcely say, are our ‘Wyatts.’ But the Norman initial was
not entirely lost. ‘Aleyn Gyot’ is found in the ‘Rolls of Parliament;’
and ‘Guyot’ and ‘Guyatt’ testify to its existence in the nineteenth
century.[21] ‘Ralph,’ or ‘Radulf,’ of whom there were thirty-eight in
Domesday, has survived in a number of forms. Our ‘Raffs’ and ‘Raffsons’
can carry back their descent to days when ‘Raffe Barton’ or ‘Peter
Raffson’ thus signed themselves. The favourite pet forms were ‘Rawlin’
and ‘Randle;’ hence such entries as ‘Raulyn de la Fermerie,’ ‘Raulina de
Briston,’ or ‘Randle de la Mill.’ To these it is we owe our ‘Rawlins,’
‘Rawlings,’ ‘Rawlinsons,’ ‘Rollins,’ ‘Rollinsons,’ ‘Randles’ and
‘Randalls.’ Other and more ordinary corruptions are found in ‘Rawes,’
‘Rawson,’ ‘Rawkins,’ ‘Rapkins,’ and ‘Rapson.’ The reader may easily see
from this that ‘Ralph,’ from occupying a place in the foremost rank of
early favourites, is content now to stand in the very rear.

There are a number of names still in use, although not so popular as
they once were, which were brought in directly by the Normans, and which
were closely connected with the real or imaginary stories of which
Charlemagne was the central figure. Italy, France, and Spain possess a
larger stock than we do of this class, but those which did reach our
shores made for themselves a secure position. ‘Charles,’ by some strange
accident, did not obtain a place in England, nor is it to be found in
our registers, saving in the most isolated instances, till Charles the
First, by his misfortunes, made it one of the commonest in the land. In
France, as Sir Walter Scott, in ‘Quentin Durward,’ reminds us, the pet
form was ‘Charlot’ and ‘Charlat.’ This, as a surname, soon found its way
to England, where it has existed for many centuries. The feminine
‘Charlotte,’ since the death of the beloved Princess of that name, has
become almost a household word. Putting aside ‘Charles,’ then, the
Paladins have bequeathed us ‘Roland,’ ‘Oliver,’ ‘Robert,’ ‘Richard,’
‘Roger,’ ‘Reginald,’ ‘Reynard,’ and ‘Miles.’ We see at once in these
names the parentage of some of our most familiar surnames. ‘Oliver’ was,
perhaps, the least popular so far as numbers were concerned, and might
have died out entirely had not the Protector Cromwell brought it again
into notoriety. ‘Oliver,’ ‘Olver,’ ‘Ollier,’ and ‘Oliverson’ are the
present forms, and these are met by such entries as ‘Jordan Olyver,’ or
‘Philip fil. Oliver.’ ‘Roland,’ or ‘Orlando,’ was the nephew of the
great Charles, who fell in his peerless might at Roncesvalles. Of him
and Oliver, Walter Scott, translating the Norman chronicle, says—

                 Taillefer, who sang both well and loud,
                 Came mounted on a courser proud,
                 Before the Duke the minstrel sprung,
                 And loud of Charles and Roland sung,
                 Of Oliver and champions mo,
                 Who died at fatal Roncevaux.

‘Roland’ was a favourite name among the higher nobility for centuries,
and with our ‘Rolands,’ ‘Rowlands,’ ‘Rowlsons,’ and ‘Rowlandsons,’ bids
fair to maintain its hold upon our surnames, if not the baptismal list.
Old forms are found in such entries as ‘Roland le Lene,’ ‘Rouland
Bloet,’ ‘William Rollandson,’ or ‘Robert Rowelyngsonne’! We must not
forget, too, that our ‘Rowletts’ and ‘Rowlets’ represent the French
diminutive.[22] ‘Robert’ is an instance of a name which has held its
place against all counter influences from the moment which first brought
it into public favour. It is early made conspicuous in the eldest son of
the Bastard King who, through his miserable fate, became such an object
of common pity that, though of the hated stock, his sobriquet became
acceptable among the Saxons themselves. From that time its fortunes were
made, even had not the bold archer of Sherwood Forest risen to the fore,
and caused ‘Hob’ to be the title of every other young peasant you might
meet ’twixt London and York. A curious instance of the popularity of the
latter is found in the fact that a tradesman living in 1388 in
Winchelsea is recorded under the name of ‘Thomas Robynhod.’ The
diminutives ‘Robynet’[23] and ‘Robertot’ are obsolete, but of other
forms that still thrive among us are ‘Roberts,’ ‘Robarts,’ ‘Robertson,’
‘Robins,’ ‘Robinson,’ ‘Robison,’ and ‘Robson.’ From its shortened ‘Dob’
are ‘Dobbs,’ ‘Dobson,’ ‘Dobbins,’ ‘Dobinson,’ and ‘Dobison.’[24] From
its equally familiar ‘Hob’ are ‘Hobbs,’ ‘Hobson,’ ‘Hobbins,’ ‘Hopkins,’
and ‘Hopkinson.’ From the Welsh, too, we get, as contractions of
‘Ap-robert’ and ‘Ap-robin,’ ‘Probert’ and ‘Probyn.’ Thus ‘Robert’ is not
left without remembrance. Richard was scarcely less popular than Robert.
Though already firmly established, for Richard was in the Norman ducal
genealogy before William came over the water, still it was reserved for
the Angevine monarch, as he had made it the terror of the Paynim, so to
make it the pride of the English heart. Richard I. is an instance of a
man’s many despicable qualities being forgotten in the dazzling
brilliance of daring deeds. He was an ungrateful son, an unkind brother,
a faithless husband; but he was the idol of his time, and to him a large
mass of English people of to-day owe their _nominal_ existence. From the
name proper we get ‘Richards’ and ‘Richardson,’ ‘Ricks’ and ‘Rix,’
‘Rickson’ and ‘Rixon,’ or ‘Ritson,’ ‘Rickards,’ and ‘Ricketts.’[25] From
the curter ‘Dick’ or ‘Diccon,’[26] we derive ‘Dicks’ or ‘Dix,’ ‘Dickson’
or ‘Dixon,’ ‘Dickens’ or ‘Diccons,’ and ‘Dickenson’ or ‘Dicconson.’ From
‘Hitchin,’ once nearly as familiar as ‘Dick,’ we get ‘Hitchins,’
‘Hitchinson,’ ‘Hitchcock,’ and ‘Hitchcox.’ Like many another name, the
number of ‘Richards’ now is out of all proportion less than these
surnames would ascribe to it some centuries ago. The reason of this we
shall speak more particularly about by-and-by. Roger, well known in
France and Italy, found much favour in England. From it we derive our
‘Rogers,’ ‘Rodgers,’ and ‘Rogersons.’ From Hodge, its nickname, we
acquired ‘Hodge,’ ‘Hodges,’ ‘Hodgkins,’ ‘Hotchkins,’ ‘Hoskins,’
‘Hodgkinson,’ ‘Hodgson,’ and ‘Hodson,’ and through the Welsh ‘Prodger.’
The diminutive ‘Rogercock’ is found once, but it was ungainly, and I
doubt not met with little favour. Reginald, as Rinaldo, immortalized by
the Italian poet, appeared in Domesday as ‘Ragenald’ and ‘Rainald.’ Our
‘Reynolds,’ represent the surname. ‘Renaud’ or ‘Renard,’ can never be
forgotten while there is a single fox left to display its cunning. The
story seems to have been founded on the character of some real
personage, but his iniquities did not frighten parents from the use of
the name. ‘Renaud Balistarius’ or ‘Adam fil. Reinaud’ are common
entries, and ‘Reynardsons’ and ‘Rennisons’ still exist. Our ‘Rankins,’
too, would seem to have originated from this sobriquet since ‘Gilbert
Reynkin’ and ‘Richard Reynkyn’ are found in two separate rolls. Miles
came into England as ‘Milo,’ that being the form found in Domesday. It
was already popular with the Normans, and, like all other personal names
from the same source, we find it speedily recorded in a diminutive
shape, as ‘Millot’ and ‘Millet.’ ‘Roger Millot’ occurs in the Hundred
Rolls, and ‘Thomas Mylett’ in a Yorkshire register of an early date. The
patronymics were ‘Mills,’ ‘Miles,’ ‘Millson,’ and ‘Mileson,’[27] all of
which still exist.

The great race for popularity since Domesday record has ever been that
between ‘William’ and ‘John.’ In the age immediately following the
Conquest ‘William’ decidedly held the supremacy. This is naturally
accounted for by its royal associations. There was, indeed, a ‘John’ in
the same line of descent as the Bastard from Richard I. of Normandy, but
the name seems to have been forgotten, or passed by unheeded, till it
was revived again five generations later in ‘John Lackland.’ ‘William’
enjoyed better auspices. It was the name of the founder of the new
monarchy. It was the name of his immediate successor. Whatever the
character of these two kings, such a conjunction could not but have its
weight upon the especially Norman element in the kingdom. We find in
Domesday that while there are 68 ‘Williams,’ 48 ‘Roberts,’ and 28
‘Walters,’ there are only 10 ‘Johns.’ A century later than this,
‘William’ must still have claimed precedence among the nobility at
least, as is proved by a statement of Robert Montensis. He says, that at
a festival held in the court of Henry II., in 1173, Sir William St. John
and Sir William Fitz-Hamon, especial officers, had commanded that none
but those of the name of ‘William’ should dine in the Great Chamber with
them, and were, therefore, accompanied by one hundred and twenty
‘Williams,’ all knights. By the time of Edward I. this disproportion had
become less marked. In a list of names connected with the county of
Wiltshire in that reign, we find, out of a total of 588 decipherable
names (for the record is somewhat damaged), 92 ‘Williams’ to 88 ‘Johns,’
while ‘Richard’ is credited with 55; ‘Robert,’ 48; ‘Roger,’ 23; and
‘Geoffrey,’ ‘Ralph,’ and ‘Peter,’ each 16 names. This denotes clearly
that a considerable change had taken place in the popular estimation of
these two appellations. Within a century after this, however, ‘John’ had
evidently gained the supremacy. In 1347, we find that out of 133 Common
Councilmen for London town first convened, 35 were ‘Johns,’ the next
highest being 17 under the head of ‘William,’ 15 under ‘Thomas,’ which
now, for obvious reasons we will mention hereafter, had suddenly sprung
into notoriety; 10 under ‘Richard,’ 9 under ‘Henry,’ 8 under ‘Robert,’
and so on; ending with one each for ‘Laurence,’ ‘Reynald,’ ‘Andrew,’
‘Alan,’ ‘Giles,’ ‘Gilbert,’ and ‘Peter.’ A still greater disproportion
is found forty years later; for in 1385, the Guild of St. George, at
Norwich, out of a total of 376 names, possessed 128 ‘Johns’ to 47
‘Williams’ and 41 ‘Thomases.’[28] From this period, despite the hatred
that was felt for Lackland, ‘John’ kept the precedence it had won, and
to this circumstance the nation owes the sobriquet it now generally
receives, that of ‘John Bull.’ Long ago, however, under the offensive
title of ‘Jean Gotdam,’ we had become known as a people given to strange
and unpleasant oaths. It is interesting to trace the way in which
‘William’ has again recovered itself in later days. Throughout the
Middle Ages it occupied a sturdy second place, fearless of any rival
beyond the one that had supplanted it. Its dark hour was the Puritan
Commonwealth. As a Pagan name it was rejected with horror and disdain.
From the day of the Protestant settlement and William’s accession,
however, it again looked up from the cold shade into which it had
fallen, and now once more stands easily, as eight centuries ago, at the
head of our baptismal registers. ‘John,’ on the other hand, though it
had the advantage of being in no way hateful to the Puritan conscience,
has, from one reason or another, gone down in the world, and now has
again resumed its early place as second.

The surnames that have descended to us from ‘William’ and ‘John’ are
well-nigh numberless—far too many for enumeration here. To begin with
the former, however, we find that the simple ‘Williams’ and ‘Williamson’
occupy whole pages of our directories. Besides these, we have from the
curter ‘Will,’ ‘Wills,’ ‘Willis,’ and ‘Wilson;’ from the diminutive
‘Guillemot’ or ‘Gwillot,’ as it is often spelt in olden records.
‘Gillot,’ ‘Gillott,’ and ‘Gillett;’ or from ‘Williamot,’[29] the more
English form of the same, ‘Willmot,’ ‘Wilmot,’ ‘Willot,’ ‘Willet,’ and
‘Willert.’ In conjunction with the pet addenda, we get ‘Wilks,’
‘Wilkins,’ and ‘Wilkinson,’ and ‘Wilcox,’ ‘Wilcocson,’ and ‘Wilcockson.’
Lastly, we have representatives of the more corrupt forms in such names
as ‘Weeks,’ ‘Wickens,’ ‘Wickenson,’ and ‘Bill’ and ‘Bilson.’ Mr. Lower,
who does not quote any authority for the statement, alleges that there
was an old provincial nickname for ‘William’—viz., ‘Till;’ whence
‘Tilson,’ ‘Tillot,’ ‘Tillotson,’ and ‘Tilly.’ That these are sprung from
‘Till’ is evident, but there can be no reasonable doubt that this is but
the still existing curtailment of ‘Matilda,’ which, as the most familiar
female name of that day, would originate many a family so entitled.
‘Tyllott Thompson’ is a name occurring in York in 1414. Thus it is to
the Conqueror’s wife, and not himself, these latter owe their rise. It
is not the first time a wife’s property has thus been rudely wrenched
from her for her husband’s benefit. The surnames from ‘John’ are as
multifarious as is possible in the case of a monosyllable, ingenuity in
the contraction thereof being thus manifestly limited. As ‘John’ simple
it is very rare; but this has been well atoned for by ‘Jones,’ which,
adding ‘John’ again as a prænomen, would be (as has been well said by
the Registrar-General) in Wales a perpetual incognito, and being
proclaimed at the cross of a market town would indicate no one in
particular. Certainly ‘John Jones,’ in the Principality, is but a living
contradiction to the purposes for which names and surnames came into
existence. Besides this, however, we have ‘Johnson’ and ‘Jonson,’
‘Johncock’ and ‘Jenkins,’ ‘Jennings’ and ‘Jenkinson,’ ‘Jackson’ and
‘Jacox,’ and ‘Jenks;’ which latter, however, now bids fair, under the
patronage of ‘Ginx’s Baby,’ to be found for the future in a new and more
quaint dress than it has hitherto worn. Besides several of the above, it
is to the Welsh, also, we owe our ‘Ivens,’ ‘Evans,’ and ‘Bevans’ (_i.e._
Ap-Evan), which are but sprung from the same name. The Flemings, too,
have not suffered their form of it to die out for lack of support; for
it is with the settlement of ‘Hans,’[30] a mere abbreviation of
‘Johannes,’ we are to date the rise of our familiar ‘Hansons,’
‘Hankins,’ ‘Hankinsons,’ and ‘Hancocks,’ or ‘Handcocks.’ Nor is this
all. ‘John’ enjoyed the peculiar prerogative of being able to attach to
itself adjectives of a flattering, or at least harmless nature, and
issuing forth and becoming accepted by the world therewith. Thus—though
we shall have to notice it again—from the praiseworthy effort to
distinguish the many ‘Johns’ each community possessed, we have still in
our midst such names as ‘Prujean’ and ‘Grosjean,’ ‘Micklejohn’ and
‘Littlejohn,’ ‘Properjohn’ and ‘Brownjohn,’ and last, but not least, the
estimable ‘Bonjohn.’ Do we need to go on to prove ‘Jack’s’ popularity,
or rather universality?[31] Every stranger was ‘Jack’ till he was found
to be somebody else; so that ‘every man Jack of them’ has been a kind of
general lay-baptism for ages. Every young supernumerary, whose position
and age gave the licence, was in the eye of his superiors simply ‘Jack.’
As one instrument after another, however, was brought into use, by which
manual service was rendered unnecessary and ‘Jack’ unneeded, instead of
superannuating him he was quietly thrust into the new and inanimate
office, and what with ‘boot-jacks’ and ‘black-jacks,’ ‘jack-towels’ and
‘smoke-jacks,’ ‘jacks’ for this and ‘jacks’ for that, no wonder people
have begun to speak unkindly of him as ‘Jack-of-all-trades and master of
none.’ Still, with this uncomplimentary tone, there was a smack of
praise. A notion, at any rate, got abroad that ‘Jack’ must be a knowing,
clever, sharp-witted sort of fellow, one who has his eyes open. So we
got into the way of associating him with the more lively of the birds,
beasts, and fishes; such, for instance, as the ‘jack-daw,’ the
‘jack-an-apes,’ and the ‘jack-pike.’ But ‘familiarity,’ as our copybooks
long ago informed us, ‘breeds contempt;’ and so was it with ‘Jack’—he
became a mark for ridicule. Even in Chaucer’s day ‘jack-fool’ or
‘jack-pudding’ was the synonym for a buffoon, and ‘jackass’ for a dolt;
and here it but nationalises the ‘zany,’ a corruption of the Italian
‘Giovanni,’ or ‘merry-John,’ corresponding to our ‘merry-Andrew.’ ‘Jack
of Dover’ also existed at the same period as a cant term for a clever
knave, and that it still lived in the seventeenth century is clear from
Taylor’s rhyme, where he says:—

            Nor Jacke of Dover, that grand jury Jacke,
            Nor Jack-sauce, the worst knave amongst the pack,
            But of the Jacke of Jackes, great Jack-a-Lent,
            To write his worthy acts is my intent.[32]

Altogether, we may claim for ‘John’ a prominent, if not distinguished,
position in the annals of English nomenclature. Nor must we forget
‘Joan,’ until Tudor days the general form of the present ‘Jane.’ Then
‘some of the better and nicer sort,’ as Camden saith, ‘misliking the
former, turned it into “Jane”;’ and in testimony of this he adds that
‘Jane’ is never found in older records. This is strictly true. There can
be little doubt that when the fair queen of Henry VIII. gave distinction
to the name it became a courtly fashion to give it a different form from
that borne by the multitude, and thus ‘Jane’ arose. Thus ‘Joan’ was
left, as Miss Yonge says, ‘to the cottage and the kitchen;’ and there,
indeed, it lingered on for a long period.[33] Of many another could
Shakespeare have sung:—

                  Then nightly sings the staring owl,
                  To-whit, to-who, a merry note,
                  While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Previously to this, anyway, both queens and princesses had been content
with ‘Joan.’ I doubt not, with regard to several of the surnames
above-mentioned, ‘John’ must, if the truth be told, share the honours of
origination with ‘Joan;’ nor do I think ‘Jennison’ peculiar to the
latter. What with ‘John’ and ‘Jean’ for the masculine, and ‘Joan’ and
‘Jenny’ for the feminine, I do not see how the two could possibly escape
confusion. ‘Jones’ and ‘Joanes,’ and ‘Jane’ and ‘Jayne,’ to say nothing
of ‘Jennings,’ seem as like hereditary from the one as the other.[34]
Two feminines from ‘Jack,’ viz. ‘Jacquetta’ and ‘Jacqueline,’ were not
unknown in England; ‘Jacquetta Knokyn’ (AA 3), ‘Jackett Toser’ (Z). The
latter was the more common, and bequeathed us a surname ‘Jacklin,’ which
still exists. It is found on an old bell:—

      This bell was broke and cast againe, as plainly doth appeare,
      John Draper made me in 1618, wich tyme churchwardens were,
      Edward Dixson for the one, who stood close to his tacklin,
      And he that was his partner there was Alexander Jacklin.
                                          (_Book of Days_, i. 303.)

The peasant’s leather jerkin, corresponding to the more lordly coat of
mail, was a _jack_ whence the diminutive _jacket_. The more warlike
dress gave rise to the name of ‘Jackman,’ of which more anon.

The Angevine dynasty gave a new impulse to some already popular names,
and may be said in reality to have introduced, although not altogether
unknown, several new ones. The two which owe the security of their
establishment to it are ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Fulke.’ The grandfather, the
father, a brother, and a son of Henry II. were ‘Geoffrey;’ and still
earlier than this, ‘Geoffrey Grisegonelle,’ ‘Geoffrey Martel,’ and
‘Geoffrey Barbu’ had each in turn set their mark upon the same. Apart
from these influences, too, the stories brought home by the Crusaders of
the prowess of Godfrey, the conqueror of Jerusalem, must have had their
wonted effect in a day of such martial renown. Such surnames as ‘Jeffs,’
‘Jeffries,’ ‘Jefferson,’ ‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Jeffkins,’ ‘Jephson,’ and ‘Jepson’
still record the share it had obtained in English esteem. ‘Fulke,’ or
‘Fulque,’ though there had been six so early as Domesday Book, when it
came backed as it was by the fact of having given title to five Angevine
rulers, got an inevitable place. Few Christian names were so common as
this in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But it was an ungainly
one, difficult to pronounce, and difficult to form into a patronymic.
Thus, ‘Faxson’ and ‘Fawson’ are the only longer forms I can find as at
present existing, while the variously spelt ‘Fulkes,’ ‘Foulkes,’
‘Fakes,’ ‘Faux,’ ‘Fawkes,’ ‘Faulks,’ ‘Fowkes,’ ‘Folkes,’ ‘Foakes,’ and
doubtless sometimes ‘Fox,’ serve to show how hard it was to hand it down
in its original integrity. The entries in our mediæval registers are
equally varied. We light upon such people as ‘Fowlke Grevill,’ ‘Fowke
Crompton,’ ‘Fulk Paifrer,’ ‘Fulke le Taverner,’ ‘Foke Odell,’ ‘Faukes le
Buteller,’ ‘Nel Faukes,’ and ‘John Faux.’ As an English historic name it
has given us two miscreants; the hateful favourite of John, outlawed by
Henry III., and the still more sanguinary villain of James I.’s day, in
whose dishonour we still pile up the blazing logs in the gloomy nights
of November. Henry, again, or more properly speaking Harry, owes much to
the Plantagenets, for but three are to be found in Domesday. With its
long line of monarchs, albeit it represented a curious mixture of good,
bad, and indifferent qualities, that dynasty could not but stamp itself
decisively on our registers. Thus, we have still plenty of ‘Henrys,’
‘Harrises,’ ‘Harrisons,’ ‘Hallets,’ ‘Halkets,’ ‘Hawkinses,’ and
‘Hawkinsons;’ to say nothing of the Welsh ‘Parrys’ and ‘Penrys.’[35]
(‘Thomas Ap-Harry,’ D. ‘Hugh Ap-harrye,’ Z.) The Norman diminutive was
early used, as such folk as ‘Alicia Henriot,’ ‘Robert Henriot,’ ‘Heriot
Heringflet,’ ‘Thomas Haryette,’ or ‘William Haryott’ could have borne
witness. ‘Harriot,’ or ‘Harriet,’ has been revived in recent days as a
feminine baptismal name. ‘Hawkin,’ or ‘Halkin,’[36] however, was perhaps
the most popular form. Langland represents Conscience as saying:—

                      Thi beste cote, Haukyn,
                      Hath manye moles and spottes,
                      It moste ben y-wasshe.

Baldwin had already appeared at the Conquest, for an aunt of William’s
had married Baldwin, Earl of Flanders, and he himself was espoused to
Matilda, daughter of the fifth ‘Baldwin’ of that earldom. No doubt the
Flemings brought in fresh accessions, and when we add to this the fact
of its being by no means an unpopular Angevine name, we can readily see
why ‘Balderson,’ ‘Bolderson,’ ‘Balcock,’ ‘Bodkin,’ and the simple
‘Baldwin,’ have maintained a quiet but steady position in the English
lists ever since. Thus, the Plantagenets are not without memorials, even
in the nineteenth century.

             III.—_Names from the Calendar of the Saints._

It is to Norman influence we owe the firm establishment of several
names, which had already got securely settled on the Continent on
account of the odour of sanctity that had gathered about them. The
Reformation threw into the shade of oblivion the memories of many holy
men and women who in their day and generation exercised a powerful
influence on our general nomenclature. Many of my readers will be
unaware that there were three St. Geralds and three St. Gerards held in
high repute previous to the eleventh century. The higher Norman families
seem to have been attached to both, though ‘Gerard’ has made the deepest
impression. ‘Gerald’ and ‘Fitz-Gerald’ are the commonest descendants of
the first. As respects ‘Gerard,’ such names as ‘Garret Widdrington,’ or
‘Jarrarde Hall,’ or ‘Jarat Nycholson,’ found among our Yorkshire
entries, serve to show how far the spirit of verbal corruption can
advance; and our many ‘Garrets,’ ‘Jarrets,’ ‘Jarratts,’ and ‘Jerards,’
as surnames, will probably testify the same to all ages.[37] As there
were twenty-eight ‘Walters’ in Domesday Survey, we cannot attribute the
popularity of that name to St. Walter, abbot of Fontenelle in the middle
of the twelfth century. But, as Miss Yonge shows, it had been spread
over Aquitaine in the earlier part of the tenth century, through the
celebrity of a saintly Walter who resided in that dukedom about the year
990. Few sobriquets enjoyed such a share of attention as this. In one of
its nicknames, that of ‘Water,’[38] we are reminded of Suffolk’s death
in Shakespeare’s _Henry VI._, where the murderer says—

                      My name is Walter Whitmore.
      How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright!
        _Suffolk._ Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
      A cunning man did calculate my birth,
      And told me that by _water_ I should die.

University men will remember a play of another kind upon its other form
of ‘Wat,’ in the poems of C. S. C., whose power of rhyming, at least, I
have never seen surpassed, even by Ingoldsby himself. He thus begins one
of his happiest efforts—

                  Ere the morn the east has crimsoned,
                    When the stars are twinkling there,
                  (As they did in Watts’s Hymns, and
                    Made him wonder what they were.)

This, too, it will be seen, as well as ‘Water,’ still abides with us in
its own or an extended guise, for our ‘Watts’ and ‘Waters,’ ‘Watsons’
and ‘Watersons,’ ‘Watkins’ and ‘Watkinsons,’ would muster strongly if in
conclave assembled. Our ‘Waltrots,’ though not so numerous, are but the
ancient ‘Walterot.’ As a Christian name Walter stands low now-a-days.
‘Tonkin,’ ‘Tonson,’ and ‘Townson’ (found in such an entry as ‘Jane
Tounson’) remind us of ‘Anthony,’[39] a name previous to the Reformation
popular as that possessed by the great ascetic of the fourth century. A
curious phrase got connected with St. Anthony, that of ‘tantony-pig.’ It
is said that monks attached to monasteries dedicated to this saint had
the privilege of allowing their swine to feed in the streets. These
habitually following those who were wont to offer greens to them, gave
rise to the expression, ‘To follow like a Tantony-pig.’ Thus, in ‘The
good wyfe wold a pylgremage,’ it is said—

                   When I am out of the towne,
                     Look that thou be wyse,
                   And run thou not from hous to hous,
                     Like a nantyny grice.

The connection between St. Anthony and swine, which gave the good monks
this benefit, seems, in spite of many wild guesses, to have arisen from
the mere fact of his dwelling so long in the woodlands. As Barnabe Googe
has it—

                   The bristled hogges doth Antonie
                     Preserve and cherish well,
                   Who in his lifetime always did
                     In woodes and forestes dwell.[40]

It must have been this connexion which made ‘Tony’ the common sobriquet
for a simpleton or a country clown. It lived in this sense till Dryden’s
day, and certainly had become such so early as the thirteenth century,
if we may judge by the occurrence of such names as ‘Ida le Tony,’ or
‘Roger le Tony,’ found in the Rolls of that period.[41] If, however, St.
Anthony was thus doomed to be an example, how great may be the drawbacks
to saintly distinction: ‘St. Cuthbert,’ who, in the odour of sanctity,
dwelt at Lindisfarne, may even be more pitied, for, owing to the
familiarity of his name in every rustic household of Northumbria and
Durham, he became as ‘Cuddie,’ a sobriquet for the donkey, and is thus
known and associated to the present moment. Our ‘Cuthberts,’
‘Cuthbertsons,’ and ‘Cutbeards,’ however, need trouble themselves
little, I imagine, on the question of their connection with the animal
to whom we usually ascribe the honours in regard to obstinacy and
stubbornness. Our ‘Cuddies,’ perhaps, are not quite so free from
suspicion. Our ‘Cobbets’ undoubtedly spring from ‘Cuthbert.’ A ‘Nicholas
Cowbeytson’ occurs in a Yorkshire register of the fourteenth century
(Fabric Rolls of York Minster: Sur. Soc.). From ‘Cowbeyt’ to ‘Cobbet’ is
a natural—I might say an inevitable—change. This name, however, owes
nothing to the Normans. Not so ‘Giles.’ Everyone knows the story of St.
Giles, how he dwelt as an anchorite in the forest near Nismes, and was
discovered by the King because the hind, which daily gave him milk,
pushed in the chase, fled to his feet. The name is entered in our rolls
alike as ‘Giles,’ ‘Gile,’ and ‘Egedius’ (Gile Deacon. A. Jordan fil.
Egidius, A). St. Lawrence, put on a gridiron over a slow fire in the
third century, made his name popular in Spain. An archbishop of
Canterbury, raised to a saintship in the seventh century, made the same
familiar in England. Besides ‘Lawson,’ we have ‘Larkins’ and ‘Larson.’
In the lines already quoted relative to Wat Tyler’s insurrection, it is

               _Larkin_ et in medio, non minor esse putat.

The French diminutive occurs also. An ‘Andrew Larrett’ is mentioned by
Nicholls in his history of Leicestershire, and the surname may still be
seen in our directories. ‘Lambert’ received a large accession in England
through the Flemings, who thus preserved a memorial of the patron of
Liege, St. Lambert, who was martyred early in the eighth century.
Succumbing to the fashion so prevalent among the Flemings, it is
generally found as ‘Lambkin,’ such entries as ‘Lambekyn fil. Eli’ or
‘Lambekin Taborer’ being common. The present surnominal forms are
‘Lambert,’ ‘Lampson,’[42] ‘Lambkin,’ and ‘Lampkin.’ Thus our ‘Lambkins’
cannot boast of the Moses-like disposition of their ancestor on
philological grounds. With the mention of three other saints we conclude
this list. The legend of St. Christopher had its due effect on the
popular taste, and it is early found in the various guises of
‘Cristophre,’ ‘Cristofer,’ and ‘Christofer.’ ‘Christophers’ and
‘Christopherson’ represent the surnames of the fuller form. To the pet
form we owe our ‘Kitts’ and ‘Kitsons.’ St. Christopher’s Isle in the
West Indies is now familiarly St. Kitts. It was of the indignity offered
to Christopher Marlowe’s genius in calling him so generally by this
brief sobriquet that Heywood spoke when he said—

             Marlowe, renowned for his rare art and wit,
             Could ne’er attain beyond the name of Kit.[43]

The same writer has it also in one of his epigrams—

         Nothing is lighter than a feather, Kytte,
         Yes, Climme: what light thing is that? thy light wytte.

We have already mentioned one abbot of Fontenelle who influenced our
nomenclature. Another who exerted a similar power was ‘St. Gilbert,’ a
contemporary and friend of the Conqueror. A few generations afterwards
brought the English St. Gilbert to the fore, and then the name began to
grow common, so common that as ‘Gib’ it became the favourite sobriquet
of the feline species.[44] In several of our earliest writers it is
found in familiar use, and in the Bard of Avon’s day it was not
forgotten. Falstaff complains of being as melancholy as a ‘gib-cat’—that
is, an old worn-out cat. Hamlet also says—

             For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
             Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
             Such dear concernings hide? (iii. 4.)

‘To play the gib’ was a proverbial phrase for light and wanton
behaviour.[45] Thus ‘Gilbert’ has been forced into a somewhat unpleasant
notoriety in feline nomenclature. But he was popular enough, too, among
the human kind. In that part of the ‘Townley Mysteries’ which represents
the Nativity, one of the shepherds is supposed to hail one of his
friends, who is passing by. He addresses him thus:—

                 How, Gyb, good morne, wheder goys thou?

The surnames formed from Gilbert, too, prove his popularity. Beside
‘Gilbert’ himself, we have ‘Gibbs,’ ‘Gibbins,’ ‘Gibbons,’ ‘Gibson,’[46]
‘Gibbonson,’ and ‘Gipps,’ to say nothing of that famous citizen of
credit and renown, ‘John Gilpin,’ who has immortalized at least his
setting of this good old-fashioned name.

Having referred to Gilbert and Gib the cat, we must needs notice
‘Theobald’ and ‘Tib.’ ‘St. Theobald,’ if he has not himself given much
prominence to the title, nevertheless represents a name whose
susceptibility to change was something amazing. The common form with the
French was ‘Thibault’ or ‘Thibaud,’ and this is represented in England
in such entries as ‘Tebald de Engleschevile,’ ‘Richard Tebaud,’ or
‘Roger Tebbott.’ A still curter form was ‘Tibbe’ or ‘Tebbe;’ hence such
registrations as ‘Tebbe Molendinarius’ or ‘Tebb fil. William.’ In this
dress it is found in the Latin lines commemorative of Tyler’s

         _Hudde_ ferit, quem _Judde_ terit, dum _Tibbe_ juvatur,
           _Jacke_ domosque viros vellit, en ense necat.

Among other surnames that speak for its faded popularity are ‘Tibbes,’
‘Tebbes,’ and ‘Tubbs,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Tibbald,’ ‘Tibble’ and ‘Tipple,’
‘Tipkins’ and ‘Tippins,’ and ‘Tipson,’ and our endlessly varied
‘Tibbats,’ ‘Tibbets,’ ‘Tibbits,’ ‘Tebbatts,’ ‘Tebbotts,’ and ‘Tebbutts.’
Indeed, the name has simply run riot among the vowels. ‘Hugh’ I have
kept till the last, because of its important position as an early name.
It was crowded with holy associations. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Abbot of
Cluny, in 1109. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Grenoble, in 1132.
There was ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Lincoln, in 1200, and above all there
was the celebrated infant martyr, ‘St. Hugh,’ of Lincoln, said to have
been crucified by the Jews of that city in 1250. This event happened
just at the best time for affecting our surnames. Their hereditary
tendency was becoming marked. Thus it is that ‘Hugh,’ or ‘Hew,’[47] as
it was generally spelt, has made such an indenture upon our
nomenclature. The pet forms are all Norman-French, the most popular
being ‘Huet,’ ‘Hugon,’ and ‘Huelot,’ the last formed like ‘Hamelot,’ and
‘Hobelot.’ The second of these was further corrupted by the English into
‘Hutchin’ and ‘Huggin.’[48] Hence our rolls teem with such registrations
as ‘Hewe Hare,’ ‘Huet de Badone,’ ‘William fil. Hugonis,’ ‘Houlot de
Manchester,’ ‘Walter Hughelot,’ ‘John Hewisson,’ ‘Simon Howissone,’
‘Roger fil. Hulot,’ or ‘Alan Huchyns.’ Among the surnames still common
in our directories may be numbered ‘Huggins,’ ‘Hutchins,’ ‘Hutchinson,’
‘Hugginson,’ ‘Howlett,’ ‘Hullett,’ ‘Hewlett,’ ‘Huet,’ ‘Hewet,’
‘Hewetson,’ ‘Howett,’ ‘Howson,’ ‘Hughes,’ and ‘Hewson.’ All these
various forms bespeak a familiarity which is now of course utterly
wanting, so far as our Christian nomenclature is concerned. Indeed,
after all I have said, I still feel that it is impossible to give the
reader an adequate conception of the popularity of this name four
hundred years ago. It is one more conspicuous instance marking the
change which the Reformation and an English Bible effected upon our

            IV.—_Names chosen from Festivals and Holydays._

We may here refer to a group of appellatives which are derived from the
names of certain days and seasons. I dare not say that all I shall
mention are absolutely sprung from one and the same custom. Some, I
doubt not, were bestowed upon their owners from various accidental
circumstances of homely and individual interest. Neighbours would
readily affix a nickname of this class upon one who had by some
creditable or mean action made a particular season remarkable in his
personal history. But these, I presume, will be exceptional, for there
is no manner of doubt that it was a practice, and by no means a rare
one, to baptize a child by the name of the day on which it was born,
especially if it were a holiday. We know now how often it happens that
the Church Calendar furnishes names for those born upon the Saints’
days—how many ‘Johns’ and ‘Jameses’ and ‘Matthews’ owe their
appellations to the fact that they came into the world upon the day
marked, ecclesiastically, for the commemoration of those particular
Apostles. This is still a custom among more rigid Churchmen. In early
days, however, it was carried to an extreme extent. Days of a simply
local interest—days for fairs and wakes—days that were celebrated in the
civil calendar—days that were the boundaries of the different
seasons—all were familiarly pressed into the service of name-giving.
These, springing up in a day when they were no sooner made part of the
personal than they became candidates for our hereditary nomenclature,
have in many cases come down to us. Thus, the time when the yule log
blazed and crackled on the hearth has given us ‘Christmas,’ or ‘Noel,’
or ‘Yule,’ or ‘Midwinter.’ This last seems to have been an ordinary term
for the day, for we find it in colloquial use at this time. In Robert of
Gloucester’s ‘Life of William the Conqueror,’ he speaks of it’s being
his intention

                              to Midwinter at Gloucester,
          To Witesontid at Westminster, to Ester at Wincester.

‘Pentecost’ was as familiar a term in the common mouth as ‘Whitsuntide,’
and thus we find both occurring in the manner mentioned. ‘Wytesunday’
is, however, now obsolete; ‘Pentecost’ still lives.[49] ‘Paske,’ for
‘Easter,’ was among the priesthood the word in general use; old writers
always speak of ‘Paske’ for that solemn season. Thus, ‘Pask,’ ‘Pash,’
‘Paschal,’ and ‘Pascal’[50] are firmly set in our directories; as,
indeed, they are on the Continent also. It is the same with ‘Lammas,’
‘Sumption,’ and ‘Middlemas;’ that is, ‘Assumption’ and ‘Michaelmas.’
Each as it came round imprinted its name at the baptismal font upon the
ancestors of all those who still bear these several titles in our midst.
It would be an anachronism, therefore, to suppose Mr. Robinson Crusoe to
have been the first who introduced this system, as even ‘Friday’ itself,
to say nothing of ‘Munday,’ or ‘Monday,’ and ‘Saturday,’ and ‘Tuesday,’
were all surnames long anterior to that notable personage’s existence.
Nor, as I have said, are the less solemn feast days disregarded.
‘Loveday’ is one such proof. In olden times there was often a day fixed
for the arrangement of differences, in which, if possible, old sores
were to be healed up and old-standing accounts settled. This day, called
a ‘Loveday,’ is frequently alluded to. That very inconsistent friar in
Piers Plowman’s Vision could, it is said—

                                      hold lovedays,
                    And hear a reves rekenyng.

The latter part of the quotation suggests to us the origin of ‘Termday,’
which I find as existing in the twelfth century, and probably given in
the humorous spirit of that day.[51] Nor are these all. ‘Plouday’ was
the first Monday after Twelfth Night, and the day on which the farmer
began his ploughing. It was a great rural holiday at one time, and the
ploughmen as a rule got gloriously drunk. Similarly, we have
‘Hockerday,’ ‘Hockday,’ and perhaps the still more corrupted ‘Hobday,’
the old English expression for a ‘high-day.’ The second Tuesday after
Easter was especially so termed, and kept in early times as such, as
commemorative of the driving out of the Danes in the days of Ethelred.
This was a likely name to be given on such a high day in the domestic
annals as that on which the first-born came into the world. Happy
parents would readily seize upon this at a time when the word and its
meaning were alike familiar. Our ‘Hallidays’ or ‘Hollidays’ throw us
back to the Church festivals, those times of merriment and jollity which
have helped to such a degree to dissociate from our minds the real
meaning of the word (that is, a day set apart for holy service in
commemoration of some religious event), that we have now been compelled
by a varied spelling to make the distinction between a ‘holyday’ and a
‘holiday.’ Thus strongly marked upon our nomenclature is this once
favourite but now well-nigh obsolete custom.

               V.—_Patronymics formed from Occupations._

We may here briefly refer to a class of patronymics which, although
small from the first, took its place, as if insensibly, among our
hereditary surnames. It is a class of _occupative_ or _professional_
names, with the filial desinence attached. There is nothing wonderful in
the fact of the existence of such. The wonder is that there are not more
of them. It must have been all but as natural to style a man as the son
of ‘the Clerk’ as the son of ‘Harry’ in a small community, where the
father had, in his professional capacity, established himself as of some
local importance. Hence we cannot be surprised to find ‘Clerkson’ in our
registers. It is thus the ‘sergeant’ has bequeathed us our
‘Sergeantsons;’ the ‘kemp,’ or soldier, our ‘Kempsons;’ the ‘cook,’ our
‘Cooksons,’ or ‘Filius Coci,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it; the ‘smith,’
our ‘Smithsons;’ the ‘steward,’ our ‘Stewardsons;’ the ‘grieve,’ _i.e._
‘reeve,’ our ‘Grievesons;’ the ‘miller,’ our ‘Millersons;’ and the
‘shepherd,’ our ‘Shepherdsons.’ Of other instances, now obsolete, we had
‘Masterson,’ ‘Hyneson,’[52] ‘Hopperson,’ ‘Scolardson,’ and ‘Priestson.’
Nor were the Normans without traces of this practice, although in their
case all the examples I have met with have ceased to exist amongst us.
‘Fitz-Clerk’ but corresponds with one of the above; while the warden of
the woods gave us ‘Fitz-Parker,’ and that of the college,
‘Fitz-Provost.’ Thus, those who yet possess names of this class may
congratulate themselves upon belonging to a small but compact body which
has ever existed amid our more general nomenclature.


We have already mentioned Joan as having bequeathed several surnames. We
did not then allude to the somewhat difficult subject of metronymics; we
shall first prove by examples that there are a large number of such. We
shall then briefly unfold their origin from our point of view. The
feminine of Peter, ‘Petronilla,’ was a name in familiar use at this
time. St. Petronilla, once much besought as a help against fevers, would
no doubt add to its popularity. Barnyby Googe says:—

                   The quartane ague and the rest
                     Doth Pernel take away,
                   And John preserves his worshippers
                     From prison every day.

In the above stanza we are supplied with the common sobriquet taken from
his name. As ‘Pernel’ or ‘Parnel’ it held a high place among the poorer
classes. From an ill-repute, however, that attached to it in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it is now all but extinct as a
Christian name, and it is only among our surnames that it is to be met
with. It is curious how associations of this kind destroy the chances of
popularity among names. ‘Peter’ was forced into familiarity. ‘Pernel’
lost caste through its becoming a cant term for women of a certain
character. ‘Magdalen’ is another case in point. The Bible narrative
describes her briefly as a penitent sinner. Legend, adding to this,
portrayed her beauty, her golden tresses, her rich drapery. Art added
touches of its own in the shape of dishevelled hair and swelled eyes,
but all to make this centre scene of penitence the more marked. This,
and the early asylums for penitents, of which she became the forced
patroness, prevented her name being used as a Christian name at this
time—I have never, at least, found an instance. But as a proof how early
it had become a term for what I may call mental inebriety, a connection
which of course it owes to the portrayals alluded to above, I may
instance the name of Thomas le Maddelyn, found in the twelfth century
(H.R.), and an evident nickname given to one of a sickly sentimental
character. Our present ‘Maudlins’ and ‘Maudlings’ may be descended from
one so entitled, or locally from some place dedicated to the saint.

Among other female names, ‘Constance’ bid fair to become very popular. A
daughter of William the Conqueror, a daughter of Stephen, and a
daughter-in-law of Henry II. were all so called. Chaucer in his ‘Man of
Lawes Tale’ calls his heroine by this title—

               But Hermegild loved Custance as her life,
               And Custance hath so long sojourned there
               In orisons, with many a bitter tear,
               Til Jesu hath converted, through his grace,
               Dame Hermegild.

This must have been its favourite form in the common mouth, for we find
it recorded in such names as ‘Custance Muscel,’ ‘Custance Clerk,’
‘Robert fil. Custe,’ or ‘Cus nepta Johannis,’ with tolerable frequency.
The diminutive ‘Cussot’ is also to be met with. I need hardly say that
in our ‘Custances,’ ‘Custersons,’ ‘Cuss’s,’ and ‘Custs,’ not to say some
of our ‘Cousens,’ as corruptions of ‘Custson,’ the remembrance of this
once familiar name still survives. Of late years the name proper has
again become popular. ‘Beatrice’ is another instance of a name once
common sunk into comparative desuetude. The Norman ‘Beton’ was the most
favoured pet form. Piers Plowman says (Passus V.):—

               Beton the Brewestere bade him good-morrow,

and a little further on,

         And bade Bette cut a bough, and beat Betoun therewith.

Thus it is we frequently light upon such entries as ‘John Betyn,’ ‘Betin
de Friscobald,’ ‘Robert Betonson,’ ‘John Bettenson,’ or ‘Thomas
Betanson.’ These latter of course soon dropped into ‘Beatson’ and
‘Betson,’ which, with ‘Beton’ and ‘Beaton,’ are still common to our
directories. ‘Emma,’ too, as a Norman name has left its mark. By a pure
accident, however, as Miss Yonge points out, it had got a place previous
to the Conquest among the Saxons, through the fact of the daughter of
Richard I. of Normandy marrying first Ethelred, surnamed the Unready,
and then Canute the Great. Thus, though it has not unfrequently been
claimed as of Saxon origin, it is not so in reality. The general
spelling is ‘Emme,’ and the pet ‘Emmot’ or ‘Emmet’ is found in such
names as ‘Emmota Plummer’ or ‘Emmetta Catton.’ This at once guides us
into the source of our ‘Emmots,’ ‘Emmetts,’[53] ‘Emmes,’ ‘Emsons,’
‘Empsons,’ and ‘Emmotsons.’[54]

Almost as equal a favourite as ‘Emma’ was ‘Cecilia.’ This was a name
introduced at the Conquest in the person of Cecile, a daughter of
William I., and it soon found itself a favourite among high and low as
‘Cicely,’ or still shorter as ‘Cis’ or ‘Sis,’ although the latter seems
to have been the more general form. In Piers Plowman, however, is
preserved the more correct initial. I have already quoted him when he
speaks so familiarly of

                          Cesse the souteresse.

In all the ballads of the seventeenth century, on the other hand, it is
always ‘Sis,’ ‘Siss’ or ‘Sys.’

                  Long have I lived a bachelor’s life,
                    And had no mind to marry;
                  But now I would fain have a wife,
                    Either Doll, Kate, Sis, or Mary.

Our ‘Sissons,’ ‘Sysons,’ and ‘Sisselsons’[55] are of course but the
offspring of this pretty appellative, while one more instance of the
popular diminutive may be met with in such a name as ‘John Sissotson’ or
‘Cissota West’ found in the ‘Testamenta Eboracensia,’ or ‘Bella
Cesselot’ in the Hundred Rolls.[56] Our ‘Dowses,’ ‘Dossons,’ and
‘Dowsons’ represent the once popular ‘Douce,’ ‘Duce,’ or ‘Dulce,’ more
correctly ‘Dulcia.’ Hence we find such entries as ‘John filius Dousæ,’
‘Douce de Moster,’ and ‘John Dowsson.’ Diminutives are found in ‘Richard
Dowkin’ (F), and in ‘Dowsett,’ ‘Doucett,’ and ‘Duckett.’ The Norman was
the more familiar form, all the more so perhaps because in the baronial
kitchen a course of sweets was called _dowcetts_. An instance will be
found in the Rutland papers, p. 97 (Cam. Soc.). This is but another form
of our ‘dulcet.’ That the more literal form was not lost, such names as
‘Dulcia le Draper’ or ‘Dulcia fil. William’ will show, not to mention
our still existing patronymic ‘Dulson.’ The later ‘Dulcibella’ underwent
the same change and became ‘Dowsabell.’ This also attained the rank of a
surname, for beside such entries as ‘Dowzable Mill’ (Z) and ‘Dussabel
Caplyn’ (Z) we light upon a ‘Thomas Duszabell’ (M). Thus familiar was
‘Dulcia’ in former days. ‘Dionisia del Lee’ or ‘Dionisius Garston’ are
common entries, both masculine and feminine forms being popular.
‘Dennis,’ ‘Denot,’ and ‘Dyot’ were the pet forms. Piers Plowman styles
one of his characters ‘Denot.’ Hereditary forms are found in ‘Dennis,’
‘Dennison,’ ‘Dyott,’ ‘Diotson,’[57] and ‘Dyson.’ I cannot but think that
‘Tenison’ or ‘Tennyson’ is but a corruption of ‘Dennison,’ as also
‘Tyson’ of ‘Dyson.’ That they are patronymics of Antony (Tony) is the
only alternative, and this I fear is unsatisfactory. Mabel, although now
somewhat out of fashion, was very popular four hundred years ago as
‘Amabilla,’ hence such entries as ‘Amabella la Blund,’ or ‘Amabil fil.
Emme.’ The surnames descended from it are sufficiently numerous to
testify to this. Besides ‘Mabell’ simple, we have ‘Mabson,’ ‘Mabbs,’
‘Mabbes,’ ‘Mabbott,’ and perhaps ‘Mapleson.’[58] Catharine, always
called ‘Catlin’ in the North, reminding us of the Irish ‘Kathleen,’ is
the source of several surnames. Entries like ‘Eleonore Catlynson’ (W.
12) or ‘Thomas Katlynson’ (W. 11) are common, and the shorter ‘Cattlin’
is found in every Yorkshire roll.

There is a certain quaint prettiness about ‘Hilary,’ ‘Lettice,’ and
‘Joyce,’ three acceptable cognomens in mediæval times. The Normans liked
their women to be, however modest, none the less lighthearted, gay, and
spirited, and in the synonyms of ‘mirth,’ ‘gladness,’ and
‘sportiveness,’ they would delight in affixing on their newly-born
children that which they hoped would be in the future but the index of
the real character. ‘Hillary’ when not local is therefore but the fuller
‘Hilaria.’ ‘Joyce,’ sometimes the result of the mere nickname, is
nothing more than ‘Jocosa,’ and ‘Lettice,’ ‘Letts,’ and ‘Letson’ are
sufficiently numerous to preserve the memory of ‘Lætitia.’ Thus, in one
of the Coventry Mysteries already alluded to, mention is made of

                 Col Crane and Davy Dry-dust,
                 Lucy Lyer and Letyce Lytyl-trust,
                 Miles the Miller and Colle Crake-crust.

‘Letson’ is met in the fourteenth century as ‘Fitz-Lettice.’
‘Theophania’ was anything but unpopular, but its length made it
unavoidable but that it should be mutilated, or at least put in an
abbreviated or nickname form, and thus it is has arisen our ‘Tiffany,’
whence of course the surname of to-day. Thus, in the Coventry Mysteries,
it is demanded that

               Both Bonting the Brewster and Sybyl Slynge,
               Megge Mery-wedyr, and Sabyn[59] Sprynge,
               Tiffany Twynkeler fayle for no thynge.

Thierry in his history of the ‘Conquest of England’ quotes an old
writer, who has preserved the following lines of a decidedly doggrel

                        William de Cognisby
                        Came out of Brittany
                        With his wife Tiffany,
                        And his maid Manfras,
                        And his dogge Hardigras.

We must not forget to mention ‘Eleanor,’ or ‘Alianora,’ as it is more
frequently registered, a name of suffering royalty, and therefore to a
portion of the English people, at least, a popular name. Its forms are
too many for enumeration, but ‘Alianor,’ ‘Annora,’ ‘Annot,’ ‘Alinot,’
‘Leonora,’ ‘Eleanor,’ ‘Elinor,’ ‘Ellen,’ ‘Lina,’ ‘Linot,’ and ‘Nel’ were
the most common. All of these were either surnames themselves, or became
the roots of surnames. Thus we find among other entries such
registrations as ‘Alicia Alianor,’ ‘Alianor Busche,’ ‘Annora Widow,’
‘Annora de Aencurt,’ ‘Anota Canun,’ ‘John Annotson,’ ‘William
Annotyson,’ ‘Hugh fil. Elyenore,’ ‘William Alinot,’ ‘Alnot Red,’ ‘Lyna
le Archer,’ ‘Linota ate Field,’ or ‘Linota Vidua.’ This list will
suffice to prove the place occupied by ‘Eleanor.’ I have not mentioned
such entries as ‘John fil. Nel’ or ‘Elisha Annyson,’ or ‘Richard
Anyson,’ for though in these particular instances we see the origin of
some of our ‘Ansons’ and ‘Nelsons,’ both are more generally referable to
a different source. ‘Neal’ or ‘Neile’ was very common in this day, and
‘Neilson’ would easily be corrupted into ‘Nelson.’

‘Julian,’ the abbreviated form of ‘Juliana,’ as a Norman-introduced name
became very popular, and its after history was a very curious one. Such
appellations as ‘Gillian Cook,’ or ‘Gilian of the Mill,’ found in the
Hundred Rolls, or that of the well-known ‘Dame Julyan Berners,’ whose
work on household management I shall have occasion to quote by-and-by,
only represent in fuller forms the ‘Gill’ or ‘Jill’ who is so renowned
in our nursery literature as having met with such a dire disaster in the
dutiful endeavour ‘to fetch a pail of water’ from the hill-side. I have
already mentioned ‘Cocke Lorell’s Bote,’ where allusion is made to

                  Jelyan Joly at signe of the Bokeler.

The shorter and curter form is given us in Heywood’s Epigrams, where the
following marital dialogue occurs:—

            I am care-full to see thee carelesse, Jylle:
            I am wofull to see thee wytlesse, Wyll:
            I am anguisht to see thee an ape, Jyll:
            I am angry to see thee an asse, Wyll:
            I am dumpyshe to see thee play the drabbe, Jyll:
            I am knappyshe to see thee plaie the knave, Wyll.

But ‘Gill’ at some time or other got into evil odour, and this brought
the name into all but absolute disuse. As a term for a wanton flirt or
inconstant girl, it was familiarly used till the eighteenth century. It
would seem as if the poet I have just quoted were referring to this
characteristic when he writes:—

                All shall be well, Jacke shall have Gill;
                Nay, nay, Gill is wedded to Wyll;[60]

or where in another place he says:—

         How may I have thee, Gill, when I wish for thee?
         Wish not for me Jack, but when thou mayest have me.[61]

The diminutive ‘Gilot’ or ‘Juliet’ is used in the same way. In an old
metrical sermon it is said—

                       Robin will Gilot
                         Leden to the nale,
                       And sitten there togedres,
                         And tellen their tale.

This at once reminds us of the origin of our ‘jilt,’ which is nothing
more than a relic of the name for inconstancy the sobriquet had
obtained. In our ‘Gills,’ ‘Gilsons,’ and many of our ‘Gillots,’ a
further remembrance is likely to remain for all time.[62] Such names as
these, however, offer no kind of comparison with that of ‘Margaret.’
This is the only rival that ‘Gillian’ had to fear, and had the
misfortunes of Margaret of Anjou occurred two, or even one century
earlier, it would easily have taken precedence, so far as our surnames
are concerned. Apart from its being found in several royal lines, it had
the advantage of undoubted prettiness both in sound and sense. Every
one, too, knew its meaning, for ‘margarite’ and ‘pearl’ then, and until
the seventeenth century even, were interchangeable terms. Every early
writer so uses it. ‘Casting pearls before swine’ is with Wickliffe
‘margaritis.’[63] The pet names too were pretty, important in a day when
the full name was rarely if ever used.[64] The Norman-French ‘Margot’
seems to have been quite as familiar as ‘Marjorie.’ Thus the homely
‘magpie’ was at first styled the ‘maggoty’ or ‘magot-pie.’ Many will
remember that Macbeth so uses it—

                             Blood will have blood:
           Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak,
           Augurs and understood relations have
           By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
           The secretest man of blood.—ii. 7.

‘Madge-owlet,’ too, from its occasional use by writers of this later
period, seems to prove that the still more homely owl of the barn owed
an appellation to Dame Marjorie. Her issue, as we should expect, is
large. We have ‘Maggs,’ ‘Maggots,’ and ‘Magotson;’ ‘Margots,’
‘Margetts,’ and ‘Margetson;’ ‘Margison,’ ‘Margerison,’ ‘Meggs,’ and
‘Megson.’[65] It will be surprising to many that we cannot place ‘Mary’
in the first place among female names, as it is now among those of
either sex, but such was far from the case. Edward I.’s daughter ‘Marie’
seems to have been the first instance we possess of its use among the
higher families of the realm; and doubtless its presence at this time
must be referred, as in so many other cases we have mentioned, to the
Crusades. Mariolatry, we must remember, was not yet an article of Romish
belief. Indeed, the name is still of the rarest for generations after
this. Maid Marion, the mistress of Robin Hood, seems to have made that
diminutive popular, and either from the acted plays in which she
frequently afterwards figured, or the little ornamental image of the
Virgin worn by women, is come our _marionette_. The one only form in
which it can be said to occur in our English records is that of
‘Mariot,’ such names as ‘Mariot Goscelyn,’ or ‘Mariota Giffard,’ or
‘Mariota Gosebeck,’ being found as a very occasional registry. Thus our
‘Mariotts’ and ‘Maryatts’ are explained. With regard to another batch of
names said to have sprung from this, I find a difficulty sets in. We
have the clear statement of the author of the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’
that ‘Malkyne’ in his day was the sobriquet of Matilda, that is,
‘Mawdkin.’ On the other hand, I find Halliwell has a single quotation
from a manuscript in which Maid Marion is styled Malkyn also.[66] All
modern writers, saving Mr. Lower, who has come to no decision at all,
have comfortably put it down to this latter. I have no hesitation
whatever myself in deciding differently, or at least in qualifying their
conclusion. There can be scarcely any doubt, I think, that Malkin was
originally the pet name of Matilda; then, as that favourite name
gradually sunk in estimation, and Mary proportionately advanced, but
this much later on, it was transferred. Thus, if I am correct, our
‘Makinsons’ and ‘Makins,’[67] our ‘Meakins’ and ‘Meekins,’ and our
‘Mawsons’[68] will be sprung from Maud, rather than Mary. In
confirmation of this, I may quote ‘Malkin,’ the early cant term for a
‘slut,’ a word as old as Chaucer himself, and one that Mary could not
have possibly acquired in his day, as barely familiar. ‘Mawdkin’ or
‘Malkin,’ on the other hand, would be the ordinary term for every
household drudge. It is only those who have carefully studied early
registers who can realize the difference of position ‘Matilda’ and
‘Mary’ relatively occupy at such a period as this. There were six
‘Matildas’ of royal lineage between William I. and Henry II. alone. It
greets one at every turn; the present popularity of the latter is
entirely the growth of a later and more superstitious age.[69]

Speaking of Mary, we must not forget Elizabeth, known, generations ere
Queen Bess made it so popular, as Isabella. It was in this form it came
into England with that princess of Angoulême who married John Lackland.
But it was not a favourite; pretty as it was, its connexion with our
most despicable monarch spoiled all chance of popularity, and while on
the Continent it gained friends on every hand, it was only with the
higher nobility of our own land it got any place worth speaking of.
Still it has left its mark. As Elizabeth[70] at a later stage became
‘Lib’ and ‘Libby,’ so Isabel was fondled into ‘Ib’ and ‘Ibby.’ Thus we
come across such entries as ‘Henry Ebison,’ ‘Thomas Ibson,’ or ‘John
Ibson.’ But a foreign name without the foreign desinence would be
impossible. With the introduction of Isabel came in the diminutive
‘Ibbot’ or ‘Ibbet.’ Registrations like ‘Ibbota fil. Adam,’ ‘Ibote
Babyngton,’ or ‘Ebote Gylle,’ and as surnames ‘Walter Ibbot,’ ‘Robert
fil. Ibote,’ ‘Francis Ibbitson,’ or ‘Alice Ebotson’ are of common
occurrence.[71] Another form of the same diminutive was ‘Isot,’ hence
‘Isotte Symes,’ ‘Izott Barn,’ or ‘Ezota Hall.’[72] But even with this we
have not completed our list. One more pet form, and one still common
amongst us, that of ‘Bell,’ left its mark in ‘Bellot,’ ‘Bellet,’ and
‘Bellson,’ all of which are still to be found in our directories.

The preceding pages will be sufficient proof that our metronymics are a
considerable class. Many have not hesitated to affirm them to be wholly
of illegitimate descent. We cannot doubt that in some instances this is
the case. Nevertheless, we must not be led astray. ‘Polson’ is Paul’s
son, ‘Nelson’ is Neil’s son, Neil or Nigel being at one time a familiar
name with us. And even when the name is unquestionably feminine, as in
Mollison, Margerison, Marriot, Emmett, or Annotson, illegitimacy is
anything but established as a matter of fact. Adoption of children by
women, posthumous birth, and other peculiar circumstances would often
cause a boy or girl to be known in the community by a metronymic.
Especially, too, would a child be thus styled in a family where the
mother was notoriously, and in an emphatic sense, the better half, in a
family where the husband was content to sit in the chimney nook, and let
the bustling Margery, or Siss, or Emmot take, whether in or out of
doors, the lead in all that concerned the domestic relationship. Thus, I
doubt not, a large mass of them have arisen.

               VII.—_Names Derived from Holy Scripture._

We have incidentally referred to several Bible names, such as John,
Mary, or Elizabeth. We shall find a certain characteristic appertaining
to these. It is only those personages who prominently figured in the
Scripture narrative who made any mark upon our nomenclature. The others,
I doubt not, were unknown. It is even uncertain whether the clergy
themselves had any but the faintest knowledge of the Bible. Indeed, such
names even as were in use bear no testimony to the fact that they were
given as the direct result of familiarity with the sacred pages. If from
the New Testament, they were names that figured in the calendar as
saints and martyrs, names to whom shrines and chapels had been
dedicated. If from the Old, they were just those like ‘Adam,’ or
‘Isaac,’ or ‘Joseph,’ or ‘Samson,’ or ‘Daniel,’ or ‘Absolom,’ whose
stories, told in the monkish performances or miracle-plays, were thus
forced into the acquaintance of the popular mind. In a word, there is
not a trace of anything beyond a mere superficial knowledge of the very
outlines of the sacred narrative. Thus was it with ‘Adam,’ already
mentioned. That he and Eve should be remembered at the font was
inevitable. The Hundred Rolls give us an ‘Adam fil. Eve.’ Mr. Lower has
been tempted to refer our ‘Atkins’ and ‘Atkinsons’ to Arthur, but there
can be little doubt, I imagine, that these are but sharper forms of
‘Adkins’ and ‘Adkinson.’ The record alluded to above registers the same
person twice as ‘Adam le Fullere’ and ‘Adekin le Fuller.’ With them
therefore we must ally our ‘Addisons,’ ‘Adcocks,’[73] and ‘Adamsons.’
Eve left us ‘Eveson’ as a metronymic, and ‘Evetts’ and ‘Evitts,’ as the
diminutives, are firmly set amongst us.[74] ‘Abel’ was equally popular.
The Norman desinence is found in such entries as ‘Abalotta de la Forde,’
or Richard Abelot, whose descendants now figure as ‘Ablett’ and
‘Ablott.’ As will be seen, these may be feminine in origin. The
reverence of the despised Jew for Abraham prevented this from becoming
acceptable to Christians, but Isaac’s sacrifice was too popular a story
not to leave an impression. It would be frequently represented by the
monks. I have already quoted Langland where he speaks of

                          Hikke the hackney-man
                          And Hugh the nedlere—

an abbreviation now more generally known and spelt as ‘Ike.’ Gower also
has it—

        _Watte_ vocat, cui _Thoma_ venit, neque _Symme_ retardat,
          _Bat_-que _Gibbe_ simul, _Hykke_ venire jubent.

From him then have arisen our ‘Isaacs’ and ‘Isaacsons,’ our ‘Hicks’ and
‘Hicksons,’ our ‘Higgs’ and ‘Higsons,’ and with the Norman-French
diminutives appended, our ‘Higgins,’ ‘Higginsons,’ ‘Higgotts,’[75] and
‘Higgetts.’ ‘Sarah,’ in the dress of ‘Sarra,’ had a fair number of
admirers. ‘Sarra le Commongere,’ ‘William fil. Sarra,’ ‘Nicholas fil.
Sarre,’ is the usual entry. The origin of our ‘Sarsons’ would thus be
certain, were it not that this name, as will be shown elsewhere, has got
confused with ‘Saracen.’ Moses also failed to be accepted among
Christians, nor was Aaron much more fortunate, such registration as
‘Aaron le Blund’ or ‘Aron Judde’ being rare. ‘Samson’ or ‘Sampson,’ as
it is more generally recorded, was of course popular enough, and many of
our ‘Sampsons’ are rather the simple ‘Samson’ than the patronymic of
‘Samuel.’ ‘Samms,’ ‘Samuels’ and ‘Samuelson’ are generally of Jewish
descent. ‘David,’ with its ‘Davies,’ its ‘Davidsons,’ its ‘Dawes’ and
‘Dawsons,’ its ‘Dawkes’ and ‘Dawkins,’ or ‘Dawkinsons,’ its ‘Dayes,’
‘Daysons,’ and ‘Dakins’ (when not ‘Deakin’), would be equally sure of
remembrance; though doubtless, as the patron saint of the Principality,
and as a favourite among Scottish kings, it owes much to these outer
chances. Here, too, we are reminded of Piers Plowman, with his—

                           Dawe the dykere
                           And a dozen othere.

This nickname seems to have had a long reign in the popular mouth, for
we find, towards the close of the sixteenth century, Haywood writing the
following epigram:—

          To a justice a juggler did complaine,
          Of one that dispraised his legerdemain.
          What’s thy name? sayd the Justice: Dawson, sayd hee:
          Is thy father alive? Nay, dead, sir, pardee:
          Then thou shalt no more be Dau’s son, a clere case,
          Thou art Daw thyself now in thy father’s place.[76]

Passing by ‘Absolom,’ ‘Solomon,’ or ‘Salamon,’ ‘Job’ and ‘Jobson,’ the
story of Daniel would of course be common. This has bequeathed us itself
in _propria persona_, and ‘Dancock,’ ‘Dankin,’ ‘Danett,’ and ‘Dannett.’
With regard to ‘Dans,’ ‘Dance,’ ‘Danse,’ and ‘Danson,’ there is a little
difficulty. We have to remember that ‘Dan,’ like ‘Dame,’[77] figured
prominently in early days as a simple title of respect. They were but
the ‘Don’ and ‘Donna’ which, in one form or another, still exist in
Italy, France, and Spain. ‘Dame,’ from domina, meant ‘mistress.’ ‘Don,’
from dominus, meant ‘master.’ To rank and age the two terms were equally
applied. A ‘dame’s school’ still preserves this connexion of ideas. ‘As
with the mistress so with the maid,’ is in early Bibles ‘As with the
dame so with the maid.’ Thus there seems to be little doubt that our
‘Dames’ and ‘Damsons’ are so sprung. Why then should not ‘Dans’ and
‘Danse’ and ‘Danson’ be the masculine form? Chaucer, in his Canterbury
Tales, represents the host as asking the Monk—

               But, by my trothe, I cannot tell your name:
               Whether shall I call you my lord Dan John,
               Or Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon?

Thus he speaks also of ‘Dan Constantine,’ and jestingly of the ass as
‘Dan Burnell.’ Thus, Lord Surrey in one of his poems speaks of ‘Dan
Homer;’ Spenser of ‘Dan Geoffrey;’ Thomson of ‘Dan Abraham.’ The best
way will be, as in many another case, to divide the honours between the
two; and leaving it thus undecided, I pass on.

Nor is the New Testament without its instances. Let us look at the
Apostles first. We have already spoken at some length about ‘John,’ but
we purposely kept for the present opportunity the explanation of its
popularity in England. There can be little doubt that it owes much to
its religious aspect. It was the name not merely of the beloved
disciple, but of the Baptist. New and close associations with the latter
were just coming into being. We must remember this was the time of the
Crusades. It was the custom of all pilgrims who visited the Holy Land to
bring back a bottle of water from the Jordan for baptismal purposes. A
leathern bottle was an inseparable adjunct to the palmer’s dress. We all
remember Walter Scott’s description—

                 His sandals were with travel tore,
                 Staff, budget, _bottle_, scrip he wore:
                 The faded palm-branch in his hand
                 Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land.

Early scenes with regard to the river in which the Baptist specially
figured would thus be vividly brought to their notice, and in the
ceremony of baptism at home nothing could be more natural than to give
to the infant the name of the baptizer of the Holy Child Jesus. This is
strongly confirmed by the fact of the name taking precedence at this
very period. It was thus ‘Jordan’ itself as a surname has arisen. I need
not remind students of early records how common is ‘Jordan’ as a
Christian name, such cognomens as ‘Jordan de Abingdon’ or ‘Jordan le
Clerc’ being of the most familiar occurrence. The baptismal soon became
surnominal, and now ‘Jordan,’[78] ‘Jordanson,’ ‘Jordson,’ ‘Jurdan,’
‘Judd,’ and ‘Judson’[79] are with us to remind us of this peculiar and
interesting epoch.[80] We have a remarkable confirmation of what I am
asserting in the fact of the Baptist’s other name of ‘Elias’ springing
into a sudden notoriety at this time. If ‘John’ became thus so popular,
it was inevitable ‘Elias’ should be the same; and so it was. Indeed,
there was a time when it bid fair to be one of the most familiar
sobriquets in England. For it was not merely the second Elias and the
Jordan that had this effect. As the armies lay before Acre, remembrance
of Elijah and the prophet of Carmel must have oft recurred to their
minds. Out of many forms to be found in every early roll, those of
‘Ellis,’ ‘Elys,’ ‘Elice,’ ‘Ellice,’ ‘Elyas,’ ‘Helyas,’ and the
diminutive ‘Eliot’ or ‘Elliot,’ seem to have been the most familiar.
Numberless are the surnames sprung from it. It is thus we get our
‘Ellises’ and ‘Ellices,’ our ‘Ellsons’ and ‘Ellisons,’ our ‘Elkins’ and
‘Elkinsons,’ our ‘Elcocks’ and ‘Ellcocks,’ and our ‘Ellicots,’[81]
‘Elliots,’ and ‘Elliotsons.’ In the north ‘Alis’ seems to have gained
the supremacy. Thus it is we have our many ‘Allisons’ or ‘Alisons,’[82]
‘Allkins’ or ‘Alkins,’ ‘Allcocks’ or ‘Alcocks,’ and ‘Allots.’ ‘Alecot,’
as a synonym with ‘Elicot,’ I do not find to be at present existing, but
as a Christian name it occurs at the same period with the above.[83]
‘Fitzellis,’ as the more aristocratic Norman form, is not yet, I
believe, extinct. Thus the prophet at Carmel and the forerunner at the
Jordan have made their mark upon our English nomenclature.

Peter claims our attention next. When we consider how important has been
the position claimed for him it is remarkable that in an age when, so
far as England was concerned, this respect was more fully exacted than
any other, his name should be so rarely found, rarely when we reflect
what an influence the ecclesiastics of the day themselves must have had
in the choice of the baptismal name, and what an interest they had in
making it popular. It is to them, doubtless, we must refer the fact of
its having made any mark at all, for ‘Peter’ was odious to English ears.
It reminded them of a tax which was the one of all least liked, as they
saw none of its fruits. It is to country records we must look for the
‘Peters’ of the time. The freer towns would none of it. Among the rude
peasantry ecclesiastic control was well-nigh absolute; in the boroughs
it was proportionately less. I have already quoted an instance of 133
London names where Peter is discovered but once to 35 Johns. In the
Norwich Guild already mentioned, the proportion, or rather
disproportion, is the same. To 128 Johns, 47 Williams, 41 Thomases, 33
Roberts, and 21 Richards, there are but 4 Peters. On the other hand, in
Wiltshire, out of 588 names, we find 16 Peters to 92 Johns. This wide
difference of ratio I find to be fully borne out in all other groups of
early names. Thanks then to the ecclesiastics it did exist, and its
relics at any rate are numerous enough. It is hence we get the shorter
‘Parr,’ ‘Piers,’ ‘Pierce,’ ‘Pears,’ ‘Pearse,’ and ‘Peers.’ It is hence
with the patronymic added we get our ‘Parsons,’ ‘Pearsons,’ ‘Piersons,’
and the fuller ‘Peterson.’ It is hence once more with the pet desinences
attached we get our ‘Perrins’ and ‘Perrens,’ our ‘Perrets,’ ‘Perretts,’
‘Parrots,’ and ‘Parrets,’[84] our ‘Peterkins,’ ‘Perkins,’ ‘Parkins,’ and
‘Parkinsons,’ besides our ‘Perks’ and ‘Perkes’ innumerable.

‘Simon,’ or ‘Simeon,’ is represented by at least sixteen different
personages in the Scriptures, so we may well expect to find that it has
also impressed itself upon our own registers. The usual forms of the
name in mediæval rolls is ‘Sim,’ ‘Simkin,’ and ‘Simonet.’ Thus we find
such entries as ‘Simon fil. Sim,’ ‘Simkin Cock,’ ‘Symkyn Edward,’
‘Simonettus Mercator,’ or ‘Symonet Vaillain.’ The French diminutive does
not seem to have been so popular as that which the Flemings made so
common, for I find no ‘Simnets’ in our directories, while a whole column
has to be set aside for our ‘Simpkins’ and ‘Simpkinsons.’ ‘Simcock’ must
have existed also, as our ‘Simcocks’ and ‘Simcoxes’ can testify. Other
forms are found in ‘Sims,’ ‘Simms,’ ‘Simpson,’ ‘Simmons,’ ‘Simonds,’
‘Symonds,’ ‘Simmonds,’ and ‘Symondsons.’ This latter is met with in the
Rolls of Parliament in the guise of ‘Symondesson.’ ‘Philip,’ as another
of the Apostles of Jesus, was also popular. As with ‘Simon,’ most of the
nursery forms are still found as the chief components of its surnames.
Skelton, the poet-laureate—in lieu of a better—of Henry VIII., reminds
us of its chief contraction, ‘Philp,’ or ‘Phip,’ in his lines on a dead
sparrow, named Philip:—

                    Many times and oft,
                    Upon my finger aloft,
                    I played with him, tittle-tattle,
                    And fed him with my spattle,
                    With his bill between my lips.
                    It was my pretty Phips.

Thus we derive our ‘Phelps,’ ‘Philps,’ ‘Phipps,’ and ‘Phipson.’ Adding
to these our ‘Philips,’ ‘Philipsons,’ ‘Philcoxes,’ ‘Philpotts,’ and
‘Phillots,’ we see that we are not likely soon to be quit of Philip. He
is now, however, out of fashion as a Christian name. ‘Philpot,’[85] I
need scarcely say, was very popular as the representative of the
Norman-French ‘Philipot,’ found in such entries as ‘Thomas Phylypotte,’
or ‘John Philipot;’ but endeavours to deduce his origin as well in
spelling as in sound from the characteristics displayed by the renowned
Toby Phillpot are not wanting, for I see him figuring in the ‘London
Directory’ as ‘Fillpot.’ Archbishop Trench quotes from one of Careless’s
letters to Philpot the following passage, which serves to show that
three hundred years ago at least the name had been played upon in
similar fashion: ‘Oh, good Master Philpot (he says), which art a
principal _pot_ indeed, _filled_ with much precious liquor—oh, pot most
happy! of the High Potter ordained to honour.’ Some years ago, when a
Philpott was appointed to the episcopal chair of Worcester, Dr.
Philpotts being yet at Exeter, the following lines got abroad:—

                ‘A good appointment?’ ‘No, it’s not,’
                  Said old beer-drinking Peter Watts;
                ‘At Worcester one but hears “Phil-pott;”
                  At generous Exeter, “Phil-potts.”’

‘Fillpot’ as well as ‘Fillip’ are both found in mediæval registers in
the cases of ‘Roger Fylpot’ and ‘Walter Felip.’ An old song, quoted in
‘Political Poems’ (i. 60), says of the defeated soldiers at Halidon

                  On Filip Valas fast cri they,
                  There for to dwell, and him avaunce.

The ‘Fillpots’ of our present directories may therefore have thus spelt
their names for four or five hundred years. Anyhow they have precedent
for the form.

‘Matthew the Publican’ seems to have been a favourite alike in England
and France. ‘Matt’ was the homely appellative, and thus besides
‘Mathews’ and ‘Mathewson,’ we meet with ‘Matts,’ ‘Matson,’ ‘Mattison,’
and ‘Mattinson.’ Our ‘Mayhews’ represent the foreign dress, and can
refer their origin to such personages as ‘Adam fil. Maheu,’ or ‘Mayeu de
Basingbourne.’ ‘Bartholomew,’ for what reason I can scarcely say, was a
prime favourite with our forefathers, and has left innumerable proofs of
the same. ‘Batt’ or ‘Bett’ seems to have been the favourite curtailment.
The author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speaks of ‘Bette the Bocher’ (Butcher),
‘Bette the Bedel,’ and makes Reason bid

                                  Bette kutte
                        A bough outher tweye,
                        And bete Beton therewith.

‘Batty,’ ‘Bates,’ ‘Batson,’ ‘Batcock,’ ‘Badcock,’ ‘Batkins,’ ‘Badkins,’
‘Betson,’ ‘Bedson,’ and ‘Betty’ are relics of this. ‘Bartle,’ and the
Norman-French ‘Bartelot,’ found in such entries as ‘Bartel Frobisher,’
‘John fil. Bertol,’ ‘Bartelot Govi,’ or ‘Edward Barttlette,’ at once
bespeak the origin of our ‘Bartles’ and ‘Bartletts.’[86] Nor was this
all. Another favourite sobriquet for this same name was ‘Toly’ or
‘Tholy,’ hence such registrations as ‘Tholy Oldcorn,’ or ‘Robert Toly,’
or ‘William fil. Tholy.’ Our ‘Tolleys,’ ‘Tollys’ and ‘Tolsons’[87] are
thus explained. None of these could have been the offspring of any old
‘Ladye Betty,’ as Mr. Lower seems to imagine, since that name, as I have
shown, did not exist in England at this time, nor in fact can it be said
to have been known till rendered fashionable by Elizabeth Woodville, the
bride of Edward IV. What an influence a single individual may wield over
our personal nomenclature may be thus seen, when we remember the
enormous preponderance of this latter name during the two centuries that
followed the reign of the imperious but ‘good Queen Bess,’ and the
glorious scattering of the Spanish Armada. This, too, escaping the
withering influences of the Puritan era, continued through all, and now
holds the fourth place in English esteem.

In the poem I have just quoted, Reason

                       Called Caton his knave
                       Curteis of speche,
                       And also Tomme Trewe-tonge.

Thus we see that ‘Tom,’ as the popular form of ‘Thomas,’ has been in
vogue for many centuries. ‘Thomas,’ like some of the above names,
received an increased impulse from the Crusades. But another
circumstance also befriended it. In its numerous progeny may be read
again the story of the feud that arose between the haughty Archbishop
and Henry II., a feud that terminated so fatally for the former, and
made the spot where he fell hallowed for centuries by the pilgrimages of
shrine-worshippers. Piers, in Langland’s poem, says,

                        I nolde fange a ferthyng
                        For seint Thomas shryne.

The surnames whose origin we must undoubtedly attribute, in the majority
of cases, to the notoriety given to the sobriquet possessed by this
murdered prelate are many. The patronymic is clearly marked in our
‘Thomasons,’ ‘Thomsons,’ and ‘Thompsons.’ The favoured Norman diminutive
is equally assured of perpetuation in our ‘Thomasetts,’ ‘Thomsetts,’ and
‘Thompsetts;’ the Saxon being as fully popularised in our ‘Thompkins,’
‘Tompkins,’ ‘Tomkins,’ and ‘Tomkinsons.’ The softer termination is also
firmly settled in our ‘Thomlins,’ ‘Tomlins,’ and ‘Tomlinsons.’[88] More
abbreviated patronymics are to be met with also in our ‘Thomms,’
‘Thoms,’ and ‘Toms.’ With so many representatives in the list of
rational beings, we need not be surprised to find the lower order of
creation under obligations to this title. It was with the death of St.
Thomas of Canterbury, and the consequent popularity of his name, arose
so many sobriquets of which the same name became a component part. The
cat became a ‘tom-cat,’ a simple-natured man a ‘tom-coney,’ a silly
fellow a ‘tom-noddy’ or ‘tom-fool,’ a romping girl a ‘tom-boy,’ and a
wren a ‘tom-tit.’ Andrew has made little impression on English
nomenclature, but in Scotland he is universal,[89] for not only is St.
Andrew the patron saint, but some of his relics are said to have been
brought thither in the 4th century. ‘Andrew,’ ‘Andrews,’ and ‘Anderson’
are its surnames, but nearly all belong to the north side of the Tweed.
‘James,’ too, has failed to be popular in England, but ‘John’ in the
shape of ‘Jack’ has robbed him, as we have seen, of nearly all his
property. Such entries as ‘James le Queynt,’ or ‘Ralph Jamson,’ or
‘William Gimmison,’ were occasionally registered, and in the form of
‘James’ ‘Jameson,’ ‘Jimson’ and ‘Jimpson’ they still exist.[90]
‘Jamieson’ is Scotch. Of the Gospel writers we have already noticed
‘Matthew’ and ‘John.’ In ‘Mark’ we see the progenitor not merely of our
‘Marks’ and the Latinized ‘Marcus,’ but of ‘Marcock,’ ‘Markin,’ and
‘Marson’ also. The mention of ‘Luke’ recalls such names as ‘Luckins,’
‘Luckock,’ ‘Lucock,’ or ‘Locock,’ ‘Luckett,’ and perchance ‘Lockett.’ It
is in the form of ‘Lucus,’ however, that he is generally known. The
author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speaks of ‘Marc,’ ‘Mathew,’ ‘Johan,’ and

Of the later period of New Testament history, few names were better
represented than ‘Nicholas,’ but it was ‘St. Nicholas’ of the fourth
century who chiefly gave it its position. Owing to several well-known
legends that connected themselves with this famous Archbishop of Myra,
he became the patron saint of boys, sailors, parish clerks, and even
thieves. Two of the most favoured curtailments of this name were ‘Nicol’
and ‘Nick.’ From the one we have derived our ‘Nicholls’ and
‘Nicholsons;’ from the other our ‘Nixs,’ ‘Nicks,’ ‘Nixons,’ ‘Nicksons,’
and ‘Nickersons.’ Judging from our surnames, ‘Nick’ was the more
favoured term. In the old song ‘Joan to the Maypole,’ it is said:

                    Nan, Noll, Kate, Moll,
                Brave lasses have lads to attend ’em;
                    Hodge, Nick, Tom, Dick,
                Brave country dancers, who can amend ’em?

But the most popular form of all was that of ‘Cole’[91] or ‘Colin,’
which came to us through the Normans. ‘Colin’ is one more instance of
the diminutive ‘on’ or ‘in.’ Thus we derive our ‘Collins,’ ‘Collinsons,’
and ‘Colsons.’ The more usual desinence still lives in our ‘Colletts’
and ‘Colets.’ This is the form found in one of the ‘Coventry Mysteries,’
where allusion is made to

                     Kytt Cakeler, and Colett Crane,
                     Gylle Fetyse, and Fayr Jane.

Miss Yonge mentions a ‘Collette Boilet’ who, in the fifteenth century,
caused a reformation of the nuns of St. Clara, and Mr. Lower has a ‘St.
Colette,’ whose parents had given him the name out of respect to ‘St.
Nicholas.’ ‘Coletta Clarke’ is found in Clutterbuck’s ‘Hertford’
(Index). St. Nicholas, it is clear, was not neglected.

The proto-martyr Stephen has left many memorials in our nomenclature of
the popularity which his story obtained among the English peasantry. The
name proper is found in such entries as ‘Esteven Walays,’ or ‘Jordan
fil. Stephen,’ and their descendants now figure amongst us as
‘Stephens,’ ‘Stevens,’ ‘Stephenson,’ and ‘Stevenson.’ More curtailed
forms are met with in ‘Steenson’ and ‘Stinson,’ and the more corrupted
‘Stimson’ and ‘Stimpson.’ The Norman diminutive was of course ‘Stevenet’
or ‘Stevenot,’ and this still remains with us in our ‘Stennets’ and
‘Stennetts.’ Nor do Paul and Barnabas lack memorials. Traces of the
former are found in our ‘Polsons,’[92] ‘Pawsons,’ ‘Powlsons,’ and more
correct ‘Paulsons.’ In one of these, at least, we are reminded of the
old pronunciation of this name. Piers Plowman styles it ‘Powel,’ and
even so late as 1562 we find Heywood writing the following epigram:—

             Rob Peter and pay Poule, thou sayst I do;
             But thou robst and poulst Peter and Poule, too.

This at once explains the origin of our more diminutive ‘Pauletts,’
‘Pouletts,’ ‘Powletts,’ and ‘Pollitts.’[93] ‘Barnabas’ has left his
impress upon our ‘Barnabys,’ and when not local, ‘Barnbys.’ Miss Yonge
mentions an epitaph in Durham, dated 1633, commemorative of one of the
proctors of the chapter—

                         Under this thorne tree
                         Lies honest Barnabee.

A century later we find it in one of D’Orsey’s ballads—

     Davy the drowsy, and Barnaby bowzy,
       At breakfast will flout and will jeer, boys;
     Sluggards shall chatter, with small beer and water,
       Whilst you shall tope off the March beer, boys.—Vol. i. 311.

This name is now entirely out of fashion.

With five Alexanders in the New Testament it did not need the celebrity
of the great commander nor that of more fabulous heroes to make his name
common. In Scotland it obtained great favour, both in palace and
cottage. The softer form was always used. Chaucer says—

                     Alisaundre’s storie is commune;

and Langland, among other foreign places of interest, speaks of

                         Armonye and Alisaundre.

This was no doubt the popular pronunciation of the time, except that it
was usually abbreviated into ‘Sander,’ or ‘Saunder.’ Thus, in ‘Cocke
Lorells Bote,’ it is said—

             Here is Saunder Sadeler, of Frog-street Corner,
             With Jelyan Joly at sign of the Bokeler.

Hence it is we find such entries as ‘Thomas fil. Saundre,’ ‘John
Alisaundre,’ ‘Edward Saundercock,’ or ‘Sandres Ewart,’ and hence again
such surnames as ‘Sandercock,’ ‘Sanderson,’ ‘Saunderson,’ ‘Sanders,’ and
‘Saunders.’ ‘Timothy,’ saving in ‘Timms,’ ‘Timbs,’ ‘Timson,’ and
‘Timcock,’ seems to have been overlooked, and yet Glutton in ‘Piers
Plowman’ is followed into the tavern by

             Wat the warner, and his wife both,
             Tymme the tinker, and twain of his ’prentices.

But, however unfortunate Paul’s spiritual son may have been, the same
cannot be said of Clement, his fellow-labourer. Raised to high
distinction as the title of one of the greatest of the early fathers, a
popular name among the Popes (for no less than fourteen were found to
bear the sobriquet), Clement could not fail to meet with honour. Its
usual forms were ‘Clement,’ ‘Clemence,’ and ‘Clemency.’ Diminutives were
found also in ‘Clem’ and ‘Clim.’ Of the noted North English archer it is
said, in one of the Robin Hood ballads—

               And Clim of the Clough hath plenty enough,
                 If he but a penny can spare;

and in the old song of the ‘Green-gown’ a rhyme is easily secured by the
conjunction of such names as—

                       Clem, Joan, and Isabel,
                       Sue, Alice, and bonny Nell.

The chief surnames whose paternity is traceable to ‘Clement’ are
‘Clements,’ ‘Clementson,’ ‘Clemms,’ ‘Clemson,’ and ‘Clempson.’
Archangelic names are found in our ‘Gabbs,’ ‘Gabbots,’ and ‘Gabcocks,’
from ‘Gabriel;’ and in our ‘Michaelson,’ ‘Mitchels,’ and ‘Mitchelsons,’
from ‘Michael.’

But let us somewhat more closely analyse these names. As I have said
before, from the most casual survey one thing is evident, they
represent the Church’s Calendar rather than the Church’s Bible. They
are the extract of sacred legends rather than of Holy Writ. There is
not a single name to betray any internal acquaintance with the
Scriptures. Nor could there well be. An English Bible was unknown, and
had there been one to consult, the reading powers of the nation were
too limited for it to have been much used. Many of the clergy
themselves could not read. Thus the Bible, so far as extends beyond
the leading incidents it contains, was a sealed book. This had its
effect upon our nomenclature. We cannot find a single trace of
acquaintance with its rarer histories. What a wide change in this
respect did Wicklyffe and the Reformation effect! With an English
Bible in their hand, with the clearing away of the mists of ignorance
and superstition, with the destruction of all forces that could
obstruct the spread of knowledge, all was altered. The Bible, posted
up in every church, might be read of all—and all who could probably
did read it. This at once had its effect upon our nomenclature. Names
familiar enough in our own day to those ordinarily conversant with the
Scriptures, but till then absolutely unknown, were brought forth from
their hiding-places and made subservient to the new impulse of the
nation. Names associated with the more obscure books, and with
personages less directly confronting us in our study of the Word,
begin now to be inscribed upon our registers. The ‘Proceedings in
Chancery’ is the best evidence how far this had affected our
nomenclature towards the close of the reign of Elizabeth. We come
across such names, for example, as ‘Ezechie Newbold,’ ‘Dyna Bocher,’
‘Phenenna Salmon,’ ‘Ezekiel Guppye,’ ‘Dedimus Buckland,’ ‘Esdras
Botright,’ ‘Sydrach Sympson,’ ‘Judith Botswain,’ ‘Isachar Brookes,’
‘Gamaliel Capell,’ ‘Emanuel Cole,’ ‘Abigaill Cordell,’ ‘Reuben Crane,’
‘Amos Boteler,’ ‘Philologus Forth,’ ‘Zabulon Clerke,’ ‘Archelaus
Gifford,’ ‘Gideon Hancock,’ ‘Seth Awcocke,’ ‘Abacucke Harman,’ or
‘Melchizedek Payn.’ The ‘State Papers’ (domestic) of James I.’s reign
are still more largely imbued with the new influence. We are now
brought face to face with entries such as ‘Uriah Babington,’ ‘Aquila
Wykes,’ ‘Hilkiah Crooke,’ ‘Caleb Morley,’ ‘Philemon Powell,’ ‘Melchior
Rainald,’ ‘Zachæus Ivitt,’ ‘Ananias Dyce,’ ‘Agrippina Bingley,’
‘Apollonia Cotton,’ or ‘Phineas Pett.’ So far, however, the change was
of a certain kind. These new names did not clash with the old
nomenclature. There was a greater variety, that was all. Both romance
and sacred names went together, and in the same family might be seen
‘John’ and ‘Ralph,’ ‘Isaac’ and ‘Robert,’ ‘Reuben’ and ‘Richard.’ But
a new spirit was being infused into the heart of the nation, that
spirit which at length brought about the Puritan Commonwealth. We all
know how this great change came. It is neither our intention, nor need
we enter into it here. Sufficient for our purpose that it came. This
revolution marvellously affected our nomenclature. It was not simply
that the old and, so to speak, pagan names ‘William,’ ‘Roland,’
‘Edward,’ ‘Ralph,’ ‘Aymon,’ and a hundred others, once household
words, were condemned to oblivion, but even the names of the Christian
saints were ignored. ‘Cromwell,’ says Cleveland, ‘hath beat up his
drums clean through the Old Testament—you may know the genealogy of
our Saviour by the names of his regiment. The muster master hath no
other list than the first chapter of St. Matthew.’ The Old Testament,
indeed, seems to have been alone in favour.[94] The practice of
choosing such designations borrowed therefrom as ‘Enoch,’ ‘Hiram,’
‘Seth,’ ‘Phineas,’ ‘Eli,’ ‘Obadiah,’ ‘Job,’ ‘Joel,’ ‘Hezekiah,’
‘Habbakuk,’ ‘Caleb,’ ‘Zeruiah,’ ‘Joshua,’ ‘Hephzibah,’ or
‘Zerubbabel,’ has left its mark to this very day, especially in our
more retired country districts. Self-abasement showed itself, at least
externally, in the choice of names of bad repute. ‘Cains,’ ‘Absoloms,’
‘Abners,’ ‘Delilahs,’ ‘Dinahs,’ ‘Tamars,’ ‘Korahs,’ ‘Abirams,’ and
‘Sapphiras,’[95] abounded. Nor was this all. Of all excesses those of
a religious character are proverbially most intemperate in their
course. Abstract qualities, prominent words of Scriptures, nay, even
short and familiar sentences culled from its pages, or parodied, were
tacked on to represent the Christian name. Camden mentions, as
existing in his own day, such appellations as ‘Free-gift,’
‘Reformation,’ ‘Earth,’ ‘Dust,’ ‘Ashes,’ ‘Delivery,’ ‘Morefruit,’
‘Tribulation,’ ‘The Lord is near,’ ‘More trial,’ ‘Discipline,’ ‘Joy
again,’ ‘From above’—names which, he says, ‘have lately been given by
some to their children, with no evil meaning, but upon some singular
and precise conceit.’ ‘Praise-God-Barebones’ is but another specimen
of this extraordinary spirit. The brother of this latter could boast a
still longer sobriquet. He had chosen for himself, it is said, the
title, ‘If-Christ-had-not-died-for-you-you-had-been-damned-Barebones,’
but his acquaintances becoming wearied of its length, retained only
the last word, and as ‘Damned-Barebones’ left him a sobriquet more
curt than pleasant. The following is a list of a jury said to have
been enclosed in the county of Sussex at this time, and selected of
course from the number of the Saints:—

              Accepted Trevor of Norsham.
              Redeemed Compton of Battle.
              Faint-not Hewit of Heathfield.
              Make-peace Heaton of Hare.
              God-reward Smart of Fivehurst.
              Stand-fast-on-high Stringer of Crowhurst.
              Earth Adams of Waketon.
              Called Lower of the same.
              Kill-sin Pimple of Witham.
              Return Spelman of Watling.
              Be-faithful Joiner of Butling.
              Fly-debate Roberts of the same.
              Fight-the-good-fight-of-faith White of Emer.
              More-fruit Fowler of East Hadly.
              Hope-for Bending of the same.
              Graceful Herding of Lewes.
              Weep-not Billing of the same.
              Meek Brewer of Oakeham.

The above list may be thought by many a mere burlesque, and so I doubt
not it is, but a similar category could be quickly put together from
more reliable sources, and some of the names therein set down did
certainly exist. The following entries are quoted by Mr. Lower from the
registers of Warbleton:—

                       1617. Be-stedfast Elyarde.
                         —   Goodgift Gynnings.
                       1622. Lament Willard.
                       1624. Defend Outered.
                       1625. Faint-not Dighurst.
                         —   Fere-not Rhodes.
                       1677. Replenish French.[96]

The ‘Proceedings in Chancery’ furnish us with ‘Virtue Hunt,’ ‘Temperance
Dowlande,’ ‘Charitie Bowes,’ and ‘Lamentation Chapman.’ The ‘Visitation
of Yorkshire’ gives us ‘Fayth Neville,’ ‘Grace Clayton,’ ‘Troth
Bellingham,’ and ‘Prudence Spenser;’ and amongst other more general
instances may be mentioned ‘Experience Mayhew,’[97] ‘Abstinence
Pougher,’[98] ‘Increase Mather,’[99] ‘Thankfull Frewen,’ ‘Accepted
Frewen,’[100] ‘Live-well Sherwood,’[101] ‘Faythful Fortescue,’[102] and
‘Silence Leigh.’[103] The more extraordinary and rabid phases of this
spirit have now passed away, but the general effect remains. It is from
this date, I have said, must be noted the declension of such a familiar
name as ‘Humphrey,’ or ‘Ralph,’ or ‘Joscelyn,’ and of the romance names
generally. From this date we perceive the use of some of our present
most familiar and till then well-nigh unknown baptismal names.

With the restoration of Charles II. much of the more rhapsodic features
of this curious spirit died out, but it is more than probable it was fed
elsewhere. The rigorous persecution of the Nonconformists which marked
and blotted his reign, the persecuting spirit which drove hundreds to
seek beyond the seas that asylum for religious liberty which was denied
them at home, could have none other effect than to make these settlers
cling the more tenaciously to the new scheme of doctrine and practice,
for which they had sacrificed so much. Thus the feeling which had led
them at home to allow the Written Word to be the only source from which
to select names for their children, or to make substitutions for their
own, was not likely to be suppressed in the backwoods.[104] Their very
life and its surroundings there but harmonized with the primitive
histories of those whose names they had chosen. A kind of affinity
seemed to be established between them. This spirit was fanned by the
very paucity of population, and the difficulty of keeping up any
connexion with the outer world. They were shut up within themselves, and
thus the Bible became to them, not so much a record of the past as that
through which ran the chronicle of the present. It was a living thread
interwoven into their very lives. Their history was inscribed in its
pages, their piety was fed by its doctrines. Its impress lay upon all,
its influence pervaded all. All this has left its mark upon
Anglo-American nomenclature—nay, to such a degree do these influences
still exist, that, though derived from the same sources, the American
system and our own can scarce be viewed otherwise than as separate and
distinct. Rare, indeed, are the early romance and the Teutonic names in
those tracts where the descendants of the primitive settlers are found.
All are derived from the Scriptures, or are of that fancy character, a
love of which arose with their Puritan forefathers. Appellations such as
‘Seth,’ or ‘Abel,’ or ‘Lot,’ or ‘Jonas,’ or ‘Asa,’ or ‘Jabez,’ or
‘Abijah,’ or ‘Phineas,’ or ‘Priscilla,’ or ‘Epaphroditus,’ abound on
every hand. Sobriquets like ‘Faith,’ and ‘Hope,’ and ‘Charity,’ and
‘Patience,’ and ‘Prudence,’ and ‘Grace,’ and ‘Mercy,’ have become
literally as household words, and names yet more uncouth and strange may
be heard every day, sounding oddly indeed to English ears. There would
seem to have been a revulsion of feeling, even from such of the Biblical
names as had lived in the earlier centuries of our history, as if the
connexion of ‘Peter,’ and ‘John,’ and ‘James,’ and ‘Thomas’ with others
of more pagan origin had made them unworthy of further use; certain it
is, that these are in no way so familiar with them as with us. Such are
the strange humours that pass over the hearts of men and communities.
Such are the changes that the nomenclature of peoples, as well as of
places and things, undergo through the more extraordinary convulsions
which sometimes seize the body corporate of society. Truly it is a
strange story this that our surnames tell us. ‘What’s in a name?’ in the
light of all this, seems indeed but a pleasantry, meant to denote how
full, how teeming with the story of our lives is each—as so they are.


                              CHAPTER II.

                            LOCAL SURNAMES.

In well-nigh every country where personal nomenclature has assumed a
sure and settled basis, that is, where a second or surname has become an
hereditary possession in the family, we shall find that that portion of
it which is of local origin bears by far the largest proportion to the
whole. We could well proceed, therefore, to this class apart from any
other motive, but when we further reflect that it is this local class
which in the first instance became hereditary, we at once perceive an
additional claim upon our attention.

I need scarcely say at the outset that, as with all countries so with
England, prefixes of various kinds were at first freely used to declare
more particularly whence the nominee was sprung. Thus, if he were come
from some town or city he would be ‘William of York,’ or ‘John of
Bolton,’ this enclitic being familiarly pronounced ‘à,’ as ‘William a
York,’ or ‘John a Bolton.’ For instance, it is said in an old poem anent
Robin Hood—

                  It had been better of William a Trent
                  To have been abed with sorrowe;

where it simply means ‘William of Trent.’[105] This, of course, is met
in France by ‘de,’ as it was also on English soil during early Norman
times. If, on the other hand, the _situation_ only of the abode gave the
personality of the nominee, the connecting link was varied according to
the humour or caprice of the speaker, or the relative aspect of the site
itself. Thus, if we take up the old Hundred Rolls we shall find such
entries as ‘John Above-brook,’ or ‘Adelina Above-town,’ or ‘Thomas
Behind-water,’ or ‘John Beneath-the-town.’ Or take a more extended
instance, such as ‘Lane.’ We find it attached to the personal name in
such fashions as the following:—

                          Cecilia in the Lane.
                          Emma a la Lane.
                          John de la Lane.
                          John de Lane.
                          Mariota en le Lane.
                          Philippa ate Lane.
                          Thomas super Lane.

‘Brook,’ again, by the variety of the prefixes which I find employed,
may well be cited as a further example. We have such entries as these:—

                         Alice de la Broke.
                         Andreas ate Broke.
                         Peter ad le Broke.
                         Matilda ad Broke.
                         Reginald del Broke.
                         Richard apud Broke.
                         Sarra de Broke.
                         Reginald bihunde Broke.

These are extracts of more or less formal entries, but they serve at
least to show how it was at first a mere matter of course to put in the
enclitics that associated the personal or Christian name with that which
we call the surname. Glancing over the instances just quoted, we see
that of these definitive terms some are purely Norman, some equally
purely Latin, a few are an admixture of Norman and Latin, a common thing
in a day when the latter was the language of indenture, and the rest are
Saxon, ‘ate’ being the chief one. This ‘atte’ was ‘at the,’ answering to
the Norman ‘de la,’ ‘del,’ or ‘du,’ and was familiarly contracted by our
forefathers into the other forms of ‘ate’ and ‘att;’ or for the sake of
euphony, when a vowel preceded the name proper, extended to ‘atten.’ In
our larger and more formal Rolls these seldom occur, owing to their
being inscribed all but invariably in the Norman-French or Latin style I
have instanced above, but in the smaller abbey records, and those of a
more private interest, these Saxon prefixes are common. In the writers
of the period they are familiarly used. Thus, in the ‘Coventry
Mysteries,’ mention is made of—

               Thom Tynker, and Betrys Belle,
               Peyrs Potter, and Watt _at the_ Well;[106]

while ‘Piers Plowman’ represents Covetousness as saying—

                         For some tyme I served
                         Symme _atte_-Style
                         And was his prentice.

It may not be known to all my readers, probably not even to all those
most immediately concerned, that this ‘atte’ or ‘att’ has fared with us
in a manner similar to that of the Norman ‘du’ and ‘de la.’ It has
occasionally been incorporated with the sobriquet of locality, and thus
become a recognised part of the surname itself. Take the two names from
the two poems I have but just quoted, ‘Watt at the Well’ and ‘Symme atte
Style.’ Now we have at this present day but simple ‘Styles’ to represent
this latter, while in respect of the former we have not merely ‘Wells,’
but ‘Attwell,’ or ‘Atwell.’ These examples are not solitary ones. Thus,
such a name as ‘John atte Wood,’ or ‘Gilbert atte Wode,’ has bequeathed
us not merely the familiar ‘Wood,’ but ‘Attwood’ and ‘Atwood’ also.
‘William atte Lea,’ that is, the pasture, can boast a large posterity of
‘Leighs,’ ‘Leghs,’ and ‘Lees;’ but he is well-nigh as commonly
represented by our ‘Atlays’ and ‘Attlees.’ And not to become tedious in
illustrations, ‘atte-Borough’ is now ‘Attenborough’ or ‘Atterbury;’
‘atte-Ridge’ has become ‘Attridge,’ ‘atte-Field’ ‘Atfield;’ while such
other designations as ‘atte-Town,’ ‘atte-Hill,’ ‘atte-Water,’
‘atte-Worth,’ ‘atte-Tree,’ or ‘atte-Cliffe,’ are in this nineteenth
century of ours registered frequently as mere ‘Atton,’ ‘Athill,’
‘Atwater,’ ‘Atworth,’ ‘Attree,’ and ‘Atcliffe.’ Sometimes, however, this
prefix dropped down into the simple ‘a.’ The notorious Pinder of
Wakefield was ‘George a Green’ according to the ballads regarding Robin
Hood. ‘Thomas a Becket,’ literally, I doubt not, ‘Thomas atte
Becket’—that is, the streamlet—is but another instance from more general
history. The name is found in a more Norman dress in the Hundred Rolls,
where one ‘Wydo del Beck’t’ is set down. In the same way ‘atte-Gate’
became the jewelled ‘Agate,’ and ‘atte-More’ ‘Amore’ and the sentimental
‘Amor.’ I have said that where the name proper—_i.e._ the word of
locality—began with a vowel the letter ‘n’ was added to ‘atte’ for
purposes of euphony. It is interesting to note how this euphonic ‘n’ has
still survived when all else of the prefix has lapsed. Thus by a kind of
prosthesis our familiar ‘Noakes’ or ‘Nokes’ stands for ‘Atten-Oaks,’
that is, ‘At the Oaks.’ ‘Piers Plowman,’ in another edition from that I
have already quoted, makes Covetousness to say—

                       For sum tyme I served
                       Simme atte Noke,
                       And was his plight prentys,
                       His profit to look.

‘Nash’ is but put for ‘atten-Ash,’ or as some of our Rolls records it,
‘atte-Nash;’ ‘Nalder’ for ‘atten-Alder,’ ‘Nelmes’ for ‘atten-Elms,’
‘Nall’ for atten-Hall,’ while ‘Oven’ and ‘Orchard’ in the olden
registers are found as ‘atte-Novene’ and ‘atte-Norchard’ respectively.
That this practice, in a day of an unsettled orthography, was common, is
easily judged by the traces that may be detected in our ordinary
vocabulary of a similar habit. In the period we are considering ‘ale’
was the vulgar term for an ‘ale-house.’ We still talk of the
‘ale-stake,’ that is, the public-house sign. Thus ‘atten-ale’ got
corrupted into ‘nale.’ Chaucer, with many other writers, so uses it. In
the ‘Freres Tale’ we are told how the Sompnour—

                   Maken him gret festes at the nale.

An old poem, too, says—

                        Robin will Gilot
                          Leden to the nale
                        And sitten there togedres
                          And tellen their tale.

Thus our forefathers used to talk alike of ‘an ouch,’ or ‘a nouch,’ for
a jewel or setting of gold. Gower has it—

                  When thou hast taken any thynge
                  Of love’s gifte, or nouche, or rynge.

Even now, I need scarcely remind my readers, we talk of a ‘newt,’ which
is nothing but a contraction of ‘an ewt’ or ‘eft,’ and it is still a
question whether ‘nedder,’ provincially used for ‘an adder,’ was not
originally contracted in a similar manner. ‘Nale,’ or ‘Nail,’ thus
locally derived, still lives in our directories as a surname.[107]

While ‘atte’ has been unquestionably the one chief prefix to these more
familiar local terms, it is not the sole one that has left its mark. Our
‘Bywaters’ and ‘Bywoods’ are but the descendants of such mediæval folk
as ‘Elias Bi-the-water,’ or ‘Edward By-the-wode,’ and our ‘Byfords,’
‘Bytheseas,’ and ‘Bygates,’ or ‘Byatts,’ are equally clearly the
offspring of some early ancestor who dwelt beside some streamlet
shallow, or marine greensward, or woodland hatchway.

In this pursuit after individuality, however, this was not the only
method adopted. Another class of names arose from the somewhat contrary
practice of appending to the place-word a termination equally
significative of residence. This suffix was of two kinds, one ending in
‘er,’ the other in ‘man.’ Thus if the rustic householder dwelt in the
meadows, he became known among his acquaintance as ‘Robert the Fielder,’
or ‘Filder;’ if under the greenwood shade, ‘Woodyer,’ or ‘Woodyear,’ or
‘Woodman’—relics of the old ‘le Wodere’ and ‘le Wodeman;’ if by the
precincts of the sanctuary, ‘Churcher’ or ‘Churchman’ in the south of
England, or ‘Kirker’ or ‘Kirkman’ in the north; if by some priory,
‘Templer’ or ‘Templeman;’ if by the village cross, ‘Crosser,’ or
‘Crossman,’ or ‘Croucher,’ or ‘Crouchman;’ if by the bridge, ‘Bridger’
or ‘Bridgman;’ if by the brook, ‘Brooker,’ or ‘Brookman,’ or ‘Becker,’
or ‘Beckman;’ if by the well, the immortal ‘Weller,’ or ‘Welman,’ or
‘Crossweller,’ if, as was often the case, it lay beneath the roadside
crucifix; if by some particular tree, ‘Beecher,’ once written ‘le
Beechar,’ or ‘Asher,’ or ‘Hollier,’ or ‘Holleyman,’ or ‘Oker,’ and so

A certain number of names of the class we are now dwelling upon have
arisen from a somewhat peculiar colloquial use of the term ‘end’ in
vogue with our Saxon forefathers. The method of its employment is still
common in Lancashire and Yorkshire. The poorer classes still speak of a
neighbour as dwelling ‘at the street end;’ they never by any chance use
the fuller phrase ‘the end of the street.’ Chaucer uses it as a familiar
mode of expression. The Friar, in the preface to his story, says

                   A Sompnour is a rener up and doun
                   With mandments for fornication,
                   And is beaten at every tounes ende.

In the ‘Persones Prologue,’ too, the same poet says—

                 Therewith the moons exaltation
                 In mene Libra, alway gan ascende
                 As we were entring at the thorpes ende.

How colloquial it must have been in his day we may judge from the
following list of names I have been enabled to pick up from various
records, and which I could have enlarged had I so chosen:—

                        John ate Bruge-ende.
                        Walter atte Townshende.
                        John de Poundesende.
                        Margaret ate Laneande.
                        William atte Streteshend.
                        John atte Burende.
                        Adam de Wodeshende.
                        Martin de Clyveshende.
                        John de la Wykhend.
                        William de Overende.
                        John de Dichende.
                        Thomas atte Greaveshende.

Besides these we have such a Latinized form for ‘Townsend,’ or
‘Townshend,’ as ‘Ad finem villæ,’ or ‘End’ itself without further
particularity, in such a sobriquet as ‘William atte-Nende.’[108] The
several points of the compass, too, are marked in ‘Northende,’
‘Eastende,’ and ‘Westende,’ the latter having become stereotyped in the
fashionable mouth as the quarter in which the more opulent portion of
the town reside, whether its aspect be towards the setting sun or the
reverse—but an exaggeration of this kind is a mere trifle where fashion
is concerned.

But these Saxon compounded names, numerous as they are, are but few in
comparison with the simple locative itself, without prefix, without
desinence, ‘Geoffrey atte Style,’ ‘Roger atte Lane,’ ‘Walter atte
Water,’ ‘Thomas atte Brooke;’ or in the more Norman fashion of many of
our rolls, ‘John de la Ford,’ ‘Robert del Holme,’ ‘Richard de la Field,’
‘Alice de la Strete:’ all these might linger for awhile, but in the end,
as we might foresee, as well in the mouths of men as later on in the
pages of our registers, they became simple ‘Geoffrey Styles’ and ‘Roger
Lane,’ ‘Walter Waters’ and ‘Thomas Brookes,’ ‘John Ford’ and ‘Robert
Holmes,’ ‘Alice Street’ and ‘Richard Field.’ Here, then, is an endless
source of surnames to our hands. Here is the spring from which have
issued those local sobriquets which preponderate so largely over those
of every other class. To analyse all these were impossible, and the task
of selection is little less difficult. But we may give the preference to
such leading provincialisms as are embodied in our personal
nomenclature, or to such terms as by their existence there betoken that,
though not now, yet they did then occupy a place in the vocabulary of
every-day converse. For it is wonderful how numberless are the local
words, now obsolete saving for our registers, which were used in
ordinary talk not more than five hundred years ago. That many of them
have been thus rescued from oblivion by our hereditary nomenclature is
due no doubt to the fact that the period of the formation of the latter
is that also during which our tongue was settling down into that
composite form of Saxon and Norman in which we now have it, and which in
spite of losses in consequence, in spite of here and there a noble word
crushed out, has given our English language its pliancy and suppleness,
its strengths and shades.

We have mentioned ‘de la Woode’ and Attewoode.’ ‘De la Hirst’ is exactly
similar—its compounds equally numerous. The pasture beside it is
‘Hursley’—if filberts abound it is ‘Hazlehurst;’ if ashes, ‘Ashurst;’ if
lindens or linds, ‘Lyndhurst;’ if elms, ‘Elmhurst.’ If hawks frequented
it we find it styled ‘Hawkhurst;’ if goats, ‘Goathirst;’ if badgers or
brocks, ‘Brocklehurst;’ if deer, ‘Dewhurst’ (spelt Duerhurst, 1375). The
‘holt’ was less in size, being merely a coppice or small thicket.
Chaucer speaks of ‘holtes and hayes.’ ‘De la Holt’ is of frequent
occurrence in our early rolls. Our ‘Cockshots’ are but the ‘cocksholt,’
the liquid letter being elided as in ‘Aldershot,’ ‘Oakshot,’[109] and
‘Bagshot,’ or badgers’ holt. A ‘shaw’ or ‘schaw’ was a small woody shade
or covert. An old manuscript says:—

                   In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
                     And leves be large and long,
                   It is fulle mery in feyre foreste
                     To here the foulys song.

As a shelter for game and the wilder animals, it is found in such
compounds as ‘Bagshaw,’ the badger being evidently common; ‘Hindshaw,’
‘Ramshaw,’ ‘Hogshaw,’[110] ‘Cockshaw,’ ‘Henshaw,’ and ‘Earnshaw.’ The
occurrence of such names as ‘Shallcross’ and ‘Shawcross,’ ‘Henshall’ and
‘Henshaw,’ and ‘Kersall’ and ‘Kershaw,’ would lead us to imagine that
this word too has been somewhat corrupted. Other descriptive compounds
are found in ‘Birkenshaw,’ or ‘Denshaw,’ or ‘Bradshaw,’ or ‘Langshaw,’
or ‘Openshaw.’ As for ‘Shaw’ simple, every county in England has it
locally, and every directory surnominally. Such a name as ‘Richard de la
Frith’ or ‘George ate Frith’ carries us at once to the woodland copses
that underlay our steeper mountain-sides—they represented the wider and
more wooded valleys in fact. We find the term lingering locally in such
a name as ‘Chapel-en-le-frith’ in the Peak of Derbyshire. The usual
alliterative expression of early days was ‘by frith and fell.’ We have
it varied in an old poem of the fourteenth century:—

                  The Duke of Braband first of all
                  Swore, for thing that might befall,
                  That he should both day and night
                  Help Sir Edward in his right,
                  In town, in field, in frith and fen.

Our ‘Friths’ are by no means in danger of obsoletism, to judge by our
directories—and they are a pleasant memorial of a term which was once in
familiar use as expressive of some of the most picturesque portions of
English scenery. Such a name as ‘De la Dene’ or ‘Atte Den,’ of frequent
occurrence formerly, and as ‘Dean’ or ‘Den’ equally familiar now, is
worthy of particularity. A den was a sunken and wooded vale, where
cattle might find alike covert and pasture. Thus it is that we are
accustomed to speak of a den in connexion with animal life, in such
phrases as a ‘den of lions’ or a ‘den of thieves.’ See how early this
notion sprang. We have a remembrance of the brock in ‘Brogden,’ the wolf
in ‘Wolfenden,’ the fox in ‘Foxden,’ the ram in ‘Ramsden,’ the hare in
‘Harden,’ and the deer in ‘Dearden,’[111] ‘Buckden’ or ‘Bugden,’
‘Rayden’ and ‘Roden,’ or ‘Rowden.’ The more domesticated animals abide
with us in ‘Horsden,’ ‘Oxenden,’ and ‘Cowden,’ ‘Lambden,’ or ‘Lamden,’
‘Borden,’ and ‘Sugden,’ or ‘Sowden;’ ‘Swinden,’ ‘Eversden,’ and ‘Ogden,’
at first written ‘de Hogdene.’ With regard especially to this latter
class it is that our ‘Court of Dens’ arose, which till late years
settled all disputes relative to forest pannage. The dweller therein,
engaged probably in the tendance of such cattle as I have mentioned
last, was the ‘Denyer’ or ‘Denman,’ both surnames still living in our
midst. While the _den_ was given up mainly to swine, the _ley_[112]
afforded shelter to all manner of domestic livestock, not to mention,
however, some few of the wilder quarry. The equine species has given to
us ‘Horsley;’ the bovine, ‘Cowley,’ ‘Kinley,’ and ‘Oxlee’ or ‘Oxley;’
the deer, ‘Hartley,’ ‘Rowley,’ ‘Buckley,’ and ‘Hindley;’ the fox,
‘Foxley;’[113] the hare, ‘Harley,’ and even the sheep, though generally
driven to the scantier pastures of the rocks and steeps, has left us in
‘Shipley’ a trace of its footprint in the deeper and more sheltered
glades. Characteristic of the trees which enclosed it, we get ‘Ashley,’
‘Elmsley,’ ‘Oakley,’ ‘Lindley,’ or ‘Berkeley.’ Of the name simple we
have endless forms; those of ‘Lee,’ ‘Legh,’ ‘Lea,’ ‘Lees,’ ‘Laye,’ and
‘Leigh’[114] being the most familiar. In the old rolls their ancestors
figure in an equal variety of dresses, for we may at once light upon
such names as ‘Emma de la Leye,’ or ‘Richard de la Legh,’ or ‘Robert de
la Lee,’ or ‘William de la Lea,’ or ‘Petronilla de la Le.’ Our ‘Atlays’
and ‘Atlees,’ as I have already said, are but the more Saxon ‘Atte Lee.’

In some of these surnames we can trace the early cuttings amongst the
thickly wooded districts where the larger wealds were situated. Our
‘Royds,’ or ‘Rodds,’ or ‘Rodes,’ all hail from some spot _ridded_ of
waste wood. Compounds may be found in our ‘Huntroyds,’ that is, the
clearing for the chase; ‘Holroyds,’ that is, the holly-clearing; and
‘Acroyds,’ that is, the oak-clearing, the term ‘acorn,’ that is,
‘oak-corn,’ and such local names as ‘Acton’ or ‘Acland,’ reminding us of
this the older spelling; ‘Ormerod,’ again, is but Ormes-clearing—Orme
being, as we have already shown, a common Saxon personal name. Our
‘Greaves’ and ‘Graves’ and ‘Groves,’ descendants of the ‘de la Groves’
and ‘Atte Groves’ of early rolls, not to mention the more personal
‘Grover’ and ‘Graver,’ convey the same idea. A ‘Greave’ was a woodland
avenue, graved or cut out of the forest. Fairfax speaks of the—

                    Wind in holts and shady greaves.

’Tis true we only ‘grave’ in stone now, but it was not always so. Thus
in the ‘Legend of Good Women’ mention is made of—

                           A little herber that I have
                That benched was on turves fresh ygrave.

We still call the last resting-place of the dead in our churchyards a
_grave_, though dug from the soil. I have already mentioned ‘de la
Graveshend’ occurring as a surname. Our ‘Hargreaves’ hail from the grove
where the hares are plentiful; our ‘Congreves’ representing the same in
the coney. Our ‘Greeves’ we shall have occasion in another chapter to
show belong to another and more occupative class of surnames. Our
‘Thwaites,’ too, belong to this category. Locally the term is confined
to Cumberland and the north, where the Norwegians left it. It is exactly
equivalent to ‘field,’ a _felled_ place, or woodland clearing. The
compounds formed from it are too numerous to wade through. Amongst
others, however, we have, as denotive of the substances ridded,
‘Thornthwaite,’ ‘Limethwaite,’ ‘Rownthwaite,’ and ‘Hawthornthwaite;’ of
peculiarity in position or shape, ‘Brathwaite’ (broad), and
‘Micklethwaite;’ of contents, ‘Thistlethwaite,’ ‘Cornthwaite,’ and
‘Crossthwaite.’ The very dress of the majority of these compounds
testifies to the northern origin of the root-word.

Our ‘Slade’ represents the ‘de la Slades’ of the Hundred Rolls. A slade
was a small strip of green plain within a woodland. One of the
numberless rhymes concerning Robin Hood says—

               It had been better of William a Trent
                 To have been abed with sorrowe,
               Than to be that day in the greenwood slade
                 To meet with Little John’s arrowe.

Its nature is still more characterised in ‘Robert de Greneslade,’ that
is, the green-slade; ‘William de la Morslade,’ the moorland-slade;
‘Richard de Wytslade,’ the white-slade; ‘Michael de Ocslade,’ the
oak-slade, and ‘William de Waldeslade,’[115] the forest-slade (weald);
‘Sladen,’ that is, slade-den, implies a woodland hollow. As a local term
there is a little difference betwixt it and ‘launde,’ only the latter
has no suspicion of indenture about it. A launde was a pretty and rich
piece of grassy sward in the heart of a forest, what we should now call
an open wood, in fact. Thus it is we term the space in our gardens
within the surrounding shrubberies _lawns_. Chaucer says of Theseus on
hunting bent—

               To the _launde_ he rideth him ful right
               There was the hart wont to have his flight.

In the ‘Morte Arthur,’ too, we are told of hunting—

                  At the hartes in these hye _laundes_.

This is the source of more surnames than we might imagine. Hence are
sprung our ‘Launds,’ ‘Lands,’ ‘Lowndes,’ ‘Landers,’ in many cases, and
our obsolete ‘Landmans.’ The forms, as at first met with, are equally
varied. We have ‘atte-Lond,’ ‘de la Laund,’ and ‘de la Lande,’ while the
origin of our ‘Lunds’ shows itself in ‘de la Lund.’ ‘De la Holme’ still
flourishes in our ‘Holmes,’ while the more personal form is found in our
‘Holmers’ and ‘Holmans.’ An holm was a flat meadow-land lying within the
windings of some valley stream. Our ‘Platts,’ found in such an entry as
‘Robert del Plat,’ are similarly sprung, but in the ‘plat’ there was
less thought of general surroundings. As an adjective it was in common
use formerly. For instance, in the ‘Romaunt of the Rose,’ when the God
of Love had shot his arrow, it is said—

                    When I was hurte thus in stound
                    I fell down plat unto the ground.

Our ‘Knowles,’ ‘Knowlers,’ and ‘Knowlmans’ carry us to the gently rising
slopes in the woods, grassy and free of timber, the old form of the
first being ‘de la Cnolle’ or ‘atte Knolle.’ Our ‘Lynches,’ once written
‘de Linches,’ I should surmise, are but a dress of the still familiar
_link_ across our northern border—the flatland running by the river and
sea-coast, while our ‘Kays’ (when not the old British ‘Kay’) represent
the more artificial ‘quay,’ reminding us of the knitting together of
beam and stone. It is but the same word as we apply to locks, the idea
of both being that of securing or fastening.

Though it is to the more open plains and woodlands we must look for the
majority of our place-names, nevertheless, looking up our steeps and
into the fissures of the hills, we may see that every feature in the
landscape has its memorial in our nomenclature. ‘De la Hill’ needs no
remark. ‘De la Helle’ and ‘atte Helle’ are somewhat less pleasant to
look upon, but they are only another form of the same. ‘De la Hulle,’
again, is but a third setting of the same. Gower says—

                   Upon the hulles hyhe
                   Of Othrin and Olympe also,
                   And eke of three hulles mo
                   She fond and gadreth herbes sweet.

‘Mountain’ is the ‘de la Montaigne’ of the twelfth century, but of
course of Norman introduction. This sobriquet reminds us of the story
told of a certain Dr. Mountain, chaplain to Charles II., who, when the
king asked him if he could recommend him a suitable man for a vacant
bishopric, is reported to have answered, ‘Sire, if you had but the faith
of a grain of mustard seed, the matter could be settled at once.’ ‘How?’
inquired the astonished monarch. ‘Why, my liege, you could then say unto
this _mountain_ (smiting his own breast), “be thou removed to that
_see_,” and it should be done.’[116] Our ‘Cloughs’ represent the narrow
fissures betwixt the hills. From the same root we owe our ‘Clives’ (the
‘de la Clive’ of the Hundred Rolls), ‘Cliffes,’ ‘Cleves,’ and ‘Clowes,’
not to mention our endless ‘Cliffords,’ ‘Cliftons,’ ‘Clifdens,’
‘Cliveleys,’ ‘Clevelands,’ ‘Tunnicliffes,’ ‘Sutcliffes,’
‘Nethercliffes,’ ‘Topliffs,’ ‘Ratcliffes,’ or ‘Redcliffes,’
‘Faircloughs,’ and ‘Stonecloughs.’ Any prominence of rock or earth was a
‘cop,’ or ‘cope,’ from the Saxon ‘cop,’ a head.[117] Chaucer talks of
the ‘cop of the nose.’ In Wicklyffe’s version of Luke iv. 29, it says,
‘And thei risen up and droven him out withouten the cytee, and ledden
him to the coppe of the hill on which their cytee was bilded to cast him
down.’ We still talk of a _coping_-stone. Hence, from its local use, we
have derived our ‘Copes’ and ‘Copps,’ ‘Copleys’ and ‘Copelands,’ and
‘Copestakes.’ From ‘cob,’ which is but another form of the same word, we
get our ‘Cobbs,’ Cobhams,’ ‘Cobwells,’ ‘Cobdens,’ and ‘Cobleys.’ Thus,
to consult the Parliamentary Writs alone, we find such entries as
‘Robert de Cobbe,’ ‘Reginald de Cobeham,’ ‘John de Cobwell,’ or ‘Godfrey
de Coppden.’ As a cant term for a rich or prominent man ‘cob’ is found
in many of our later writers, and ‘cobby’ more early implied a
headstrong nature. Another term in use for a local prominence was
‘ness,’ or ‘naze.’ ‘Roger atte Ness’ occurs in the thirteenth century;
and ‘Longness’ and ‘Thickness’ and ‘Redness’ are but compounds, unless,
as is quite possible, they be from the same root in its more personal
relationship to the human face, the word _nose_ being familiarly so
pronounced at this time. Our ‘Downs’ and ‘Dunns,’ when not sprung from
‘le Dun,’ are but descendants of the old ‘de la Dune,’ of the hilly
slopes; our ‘Combs’ and ‘Combes’ representing the ‘de la Cumbe’ of the
ridgy hollows, or ‘cup-shaped depressions’ of the higher hillsides, as
Mr. Taylor happily expresses it. It is thus we get our terms
‘honeycomb,’ ‘cockscomb,’ ‘haircomb,’ &c. Few terms have connected
themselves so much as this with the local nomenclature of our land, and
few have made themselves so conspicuous in our directories. The writer I
have just mentioned quotes a Cumberland poet, who says—

               There’s Cumwhitton, Cumwhinton, Cumranton,
                 Cumrangan, Cumrew, and Cumcatch,
               And mony mair Cums i’ the County,
                 But nin wi’ Cumdivock can match.

Of those compounds which have become surnames we cannot possibly recite
all, but among the more common are ‘Thorncombe’ and ‘Broadcombe,’
‘Newcombe’ and ‘Morcombe,’ ‘Lipscombe’ and ‘Woolcombe,’ ‘Withecombe’ and
‘Buddicom,’ and ‘Slocombe.’ We have already mentioned ‘Amore.’ The
simple ‘More,’ or ‘Moore,’ is very familiar; ‘atte Mor,’ or ‘de la
More,’ being the older forms. This has ever been a favourite name for
punning rhymes. In the ‘Book of Days,’ several plays of this kind have
been preserved. When Dr. Manners Sutton[118] succeeded Dr. Moore in the
Archiepiscopal chair of Canterbury, the following lines were written:—

                  What say you?—the archbishop’s dead?
                  A loss, indeed! Oh, on his head
                    May Heaven its blessings pour!
                  But if with such a heart and mind,
                  In _Manners_ we his equal find,
                    Why should we wish for _More_?

When Sir Thomas More was Chancellor, it is said, his great attention to
his duties caused all litigation to come to an end in the Court of
Chancery. The following epigram bearing upon this fact was written:—

                When More some years had Chancellor been,
                  No more suits did remain;
                The same shall never more be seen
                  Till _More_ be there again.

Our ‘Heaths’ explain themselves, but our ‘Heths,’ though the same, and
from the first found as ‘atte Heth,’ are not so transparent. Some might
be tempted to set them down in a more Israelitish category as
descendants of the ‘children of Heth,’ but such is not the case.
Somewhat similar to ‘Cope,’ mentioned above, was ‘Knop’ or ‘Knap’—a
summit.[119] Any protuberance, whatever it might be, was with our old
writers a ‘_knop_.’[120] Rose-buds and buttons alike, with Chaucer, are

                    Among the knops I chose one
                    So fair, that of the remnant none
                    Ne praise I halfe so wel as it.

North in his Plutarch says, ‘And both these rivers turning in one,
carrying a swift streame, doe make the knappe of the said hill very
strong of its situation to lodge a camp upon.’ To our hilltops, then, it
is we owe our ‘Knaps,’ ‘Knappers,’ ‘Knapmans,’ ‘Knopps,’ ‘Knopes,’
‘Knabwells,’ and ‘Knaptons.’ Our ‘Howes’ represent the smaller hills,
while still less prominent would be the abodes of our early
‘Lawes,’[121] and ‘Lowes,’ or ‘de la Lawe’ and ‘de la Lowe,’ as they are
found in the Hundred Rolls. Our ‘Shores’ need no explanation, but our
‘Overs’ are less known. An old poem, quoted by Mr. Halliwell, says:—

                    She come out of Sexlonde,
                    And rived here at Dovere,
                    That stondes upon the sees overe.

It seems to have been used generally to denote the flat-lands that lay
about the sea-coast or rivers generally—what we should call in Scotland
the links. I have already mentioned our ‘Overends’ as similar to our
‘Townsends;’ ‘Overman’ doubtless is but the more personal form of the

Coming gradually to more definite traces of human habitation, we may
mention some of our tree names. Of several, such as ‘Nash,’ and
‘Nalder,’ and ‘Nokes,’ we have already spoken. Such a name as ‘Henry
atte Beeche,’ or ‘Walter de la Lind,’ or ‘Richard atte Ok,’ now found as
simple ‘Beech,’ and ‘Lind,’ and ‘Oake,’ reminds us that we are not
without further obligations to the tree world. Settling by or under the
shade of some gigantic elm or oak, a sobriquet of this kind would be
perfectly natural. As our ‘Lyndhursts’ and ‘Lindleys’ prove, ‘lind’ was
once familiarly used for our now fuller ‘linden.’ Piers Plowman says:—

                          Blisse of the briddes
                          Broughte me aslepe,
                          And under a lynde
                          Upon a launde
                          Leaned I.

Were the Malvern dreamer describing poetically the birth and the origin
of the future Swedish nightingale who four hundred years afterwards was
to entrance the world with her song, he could not have been more happy
in his expression. Our ‘Ashes’ and ‘Birches,’ once ‘de la Byrche,’ need
little remark, but ‘Birks,’ the harder form of the latter, is not so
familiar, though it is still preserved in such names as ‘Birkenhead,’ or
‘Birkenshaw,’ or ‘Berkeley.’ A small group of trees would be equally
perspicuous. Thus have arisen our ‘Twelvetrees,’ and ‘Fiveashes,’ and
‘Snooks,’ a mere corruption of the Kentish ‘Sevenoaks.’ Mr. Lower
mentions ‘Quatrefages,’ that is, ‘four beeches,’ as a corresponding
instance in French nomenclature.[123]

A common object in the country lane or by-path would be the gate or
hatch that ran across the road to confine the deer. The old
provincialism for this was ‘yate.’ We are told of Griselda in the
‘Clerkes Tale’ that—

                       With glad chere to the yate

she is gone

                        To grete the markisesse;

and Piers Plowman says our Lord came in through

                  Both dore and yates
                  To Peter and to these apostles.[124]

Our ‘Yates,’ written once ‘Atte Yate,’ by their numbers can bear
testimony to the familiarity with which this expression was once used.
‘Byatt’ I have just shown to be the same as ‘Bygate,’ and ‘Woodyat’ is
but equivalent to ‘Woodgate.’ Other compounds are found in the old
registers. In the ‘Placitorum’ of the thirteenth century, for instance,
we light upon a ‘Christiana atte Chircheyate,’ and a ‘John atte
Foldyate;’ while in the Hundred Rolls of the same period we find a
‘Walter atte Lideyate,’ now familiarly known to us as ‘Lidgate.’ Our
‘Hatchs,’ once enrolled as ‘de la Hache,’ like our before-mentioned
‘Hatchers’ and ‘Hatchmans,’ represented the simple bar that ran athwart
the woodland pathway. We still call the upper-deck with its crossbars
the hatches, and a weir is yet with the country folk a hatch. Chaucer
speaks of—

                 Lurking in hernes and in lanes blinde.

Any nook or corner of land was with our forefathers a ‘hearne,’ and as
‘en le Herne’ or ‘atte Hurne’ the surname is frequently found in the
thirteenth century.[125] ‘De la Corner’ is, of course, but a synonymous
term. A passage betwixt two houses, or a narrow defile between two
hillsides, was a ‘gore,’ akin, we may safely say, to ‘gorge.’ Our
‘Gores,’ as descendants of the old ‘de la Gore,’ are thus explained. ‘De
la Goreway,’ which once existed, is now, I believe, obsolete. One of the
most fertile roots of nomenclature was the simple roadside ‘cross’ or
‘crouch,’ the latter old English form still lingering in our ‘crutched’
or ‘crouched Friars.’ Langland describes a pilgrim as having ‘many a
crouche on his cloke;’ _i.e._ many a mark of the cross embroidered
thereon. A dweller by one of these wayside crucifixes would easily get
the sobriquet therefrom, and thus we find ‘atte Crouch’ to be of early
occurrence. Our ‘Crouchmans’ and ‘Crouchers’ I have already mentioned. A
‘Richard Crocheman’ is found in the Hundred Rolls, and a ‘William
Croucheman’ in another entry of the same period. As for the simpler
‘Cross,’ once written ‘atte Cross,’ it is to be met with everywhere.
‘Crosier’ and ‘Crozier’ I shall, in my next chapter, show to be official
rather than local; so we may pass them by for the present. The more
Saxon ‘Rood’ or ‘Rudd’ is not without its representatives. ‘Margery atte
Rudde’ is found in the ‘Placitorum,’ and our ‘Rudders’ and ‘Ruddimans,’
I doubt not, stand for the more directly personal form. Talking of
crosses, we may mention, in passing, our ‘Bellhouses,’ not unfrequently
found as ‘atte Belhus’ or ‘de la Belhuse.’ The founder of this name
dwelt in the small domicile attached to the monastic pile, and, no
doubt, had for his care the striking of the innumerable calls to the
supply of either the bodily or spiritual wants of those within. Our
‘Bellows,’ I believe, are but a modification of this. The last syllable
has undergone a similar change in several other instances. Thus the form
‘del Hellus’ was but ‘Hill-house,’ ‘Woodus’ is but the old ‘de la
Wodehouse,’ ‘Stannus’ but ‘Stanehouse’ or ‘Stonehouse,’ ‘Malthus’ but
‘Malthouse,’ and ‘Bacchus’ is found originally as ‘del Bakehouse.’[126]
The old ‘Atte Grene,’ a name familiar enough without the prefix, may be
set beside our ‘Plastows,’ relics of the ‘Atte Pleistowe’ or ‘de la
Pleystowe’ of the period we are considering. The ‘play-stowe’ (that is,
‘playground’) seems to have been the general term in olden days for the
open piece of greensward near the centre of the village where the
may-pole stood, and where all the sports at holiday times and wake tides
were carried on.[127] Our ‘Meads’ or ‘Meddes’ hail from the ‘meadow,’ or
‘mead.’ ‘Ate Med’ is the early form.[128]

A ‘croft’ was an enclosed field for pasture. Besides ‘Croft’ it has
given us ‘Meadowcroft,’ ‘Ryecroft,’ ‘Bancroft’ (that is, _bean-croft_),
‘Berecroft’ (that is, _barley-croft_), and ‘Haycraft’ (that is,
_hedged-croft_). It seems, however, to have been freely used, also, in
the sense of garth or yard, the enclosure in which, or by which, the
house stood. Thus, in the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ Satan is represented as
calling to the depraved and vile, and saying—

                       Come to my crofte alle ye.

With the humour of the period, which was ever largely intermingled in
even the most sacred themes, one of the characters, acting as a demon,

                  Souls come so thyk now late unto hell
                                   As ever
                  Our porter at hell-gate
                  Is holden so strait,
                  Up early and downe late,
                                   He rests never.

There is little distinction to be drawn between ‘garth’ and ‘yard’ in
the North of England, and in reality there ought to be none. Such names,
however, as ‘Nicholas de Apelyerd,’ or ‘Robert del Apelgarth,’ or
‘Richard atte Orcheyerd,’ the descendants of whom are still in our
midst, bespeak a former familiarity of usage which we cannot find now.
We have just mentioned ‘Haycraft.’ This reminds us of our ‘Hayes.’
Chaucer, in his ‘Troilus,’ says—

              But right so as these holtes and these hayes,
              That han in winter dead been and dry,
              Revesten them in grene when that May is,
              When every lusty beast listeth to pley.

A ‘hay’ was nothing but a ‘hedge.’ In the Hundred Rolls we find such
names occurring as ‘Margery de la Haye’ or ‘Roger de la Hagh,’ or in a
compounded form ‘Richard de la Woodhaye,’ or ‘Robert de Brodheye.’ Of
the simple root the forms most common now are ‘Hay,’ ‘Hayes,’ ‘Haighs,’
‘Haigs,’ and ‘Hawes.’ The composite forms are endless. ‘Roundhay’
explains itself. ‘Lyndsay’ I find spelt at this period as ‘Lyndshay,’ so
that it is not the islet whereon the lind or linden grows, but the hedge
of these shrubs. Besides these we have ‘Haywood’ or ‘Heywood,’ ‘Hayland’
and ‘Hayley.’ From the form ‘hawe,’ mentioned above, we have our
‘Hawleys,’ ‘Haworths,’ and ‘Hawtons,’ or ‘Haughtons,’ and probably the
longest name in the directory, that of ‘Featherstonehaugh.’ We still
talk of the _haw_-thorn and haw-haw. Chaucer uses the term for a
farmyard or garth—

                And eke there was a polkat in his hawe
                That, as he sayd, his capons had yslawe.

This at once explains such a name as ‘Peter in le Hawe’ found in the
Hundred Rolls. But Chaucer has a prettier use of it than this, a use
still abiding in our ‘Churchays,’ relics of the mediæval ‘de
Chirchehay.’ He speaks twice of the ‘Churchhawe,’ or graveyard. How
pretty it is! almost as pretty as its Saxon synonym ‘Godsacre,’ only
that is more endeared to us, inasmuch as since the acre always denoted
the sowed land (Latin ‘ager’), so it whispers to us hopefully of the
great harvest-tide to come when the seed thus sown in corruption shall
be raised an incorruptible body. Our ‘Goodacres’ are doubtless thus
derived—and with such names as ‘Acreman’ or ‘Akerman,’ ‘Oldacre’ or
‘Oddiker,’ ‘Longacre’ and ‘Whittaker’ (or ‘Whytacre’ or ‘Witacre,’ as I
find it in the thirteenth century), help to remind us how in early days
an acre denoted less a fixed measure of land than soil itself that lay
under the plough. But this by the way. I have just mentioned ‘Hayworth.’
A name like ‘William de la Worth’ (H.R.) represented our ‘Worths’ in the
thirteenth century. Properly speaking, any sufficiently _warded_
place—it had come to denote a small farmstead at the time the surname
arose. ‘Charlesworth’ is the ‘churl’s worth,’ the familiar metamorphosis
of this name being identical with that of the astronomic ‘Charles Wain,’
and with such place-names as ‘Charle-wood,’ ‘Charlton,’ ‘Carlton,’ and
‘Charley.’ Our various ‘Unsworths,’ ‘Ainsworths,’ ‘Whitworths,’
‘Langworthys,’ ‘Kenworthys,’ ‘Wortleys,’ and others of this class are
familiar to us all. Surnames like ‘Roger de la Grange,’ or ‘Geoffrey de
la Grange,’ or ‘John le Granger,’[129] remind us that _grange_ also was
commonly used at this time for a farmstead, it being in reality nothing
more than our _granary_.[130] Piers Plowman portrays the good Samaritan

                    His wounds he washed,
                    Enbawmed hym, and bound his head,
                    And ledde hym forth on ‘Lyard’
                    To ‘lex Christi,’ a graunge
                    Wel sixe mile or sevene
                    Beside the newe market.

Our ‘Barnes,’ I need not say, are of similar origin. The Celtic ‘booth,’
a frail tenement of ‘boughs,’ whose temporary character our Biblical
account of the Israelitish wanderings so well helps to preserve, has
given birth to our ‘Booths’ and ‘Boothmans,’ once written ‘de la Bothe’
and ‘Botheman.’ They may possibly have kept the stall at the fair or
market. Comparisons we know are ever odious, but set beside the more
Saxon ‘Steads’ and ‘Steadmans’ the former inevitably suffer. The very
names of these latter betray to us the well-nigh best characteristics of
the race whence they are sprung. To be _steady_ and _sted_fast are its
best and most inherent qualities—qualities which, added to the dash and
spirit of the Norman, have given the position England to-day occupies
among the nations of the world. Our ‘Bowers’ and ‘Bowermans,’ when not
occupied in the bowyer’s or bower’s craft, represent the earlier ‘de la
Bore’ or ‘atte Bore,’ and have taken their origin from the old ‘bower,’
the rustics’ abode. It is the same word whence has sprung our bucolic
‘boor.’ An old English term for a house or mansion was ‘bold,’ that
which was _built_. The old ‘De la Bolde,’ therefore, will in many cases
be the origination of our ‘Bolds.’ Our ‘Halls’ explain themselves, but
the older form of ‘Hale’ (once ‘atte Hale’ or ‘de la Hale’) is not so
easily traceable. ‘De la Sale,’ sometimes also found as ‘de la Saule,’
was the Norman synonym of the same.

                       Soon they sembled in sale,
                       Both kynge and cardinale,

says an old writer. ‘Sale’ and ‘Saul’ are still extant. Names still more
curious than these are those taken, not from the residence itself, but
from particular rooms in such residence. They are doubtless the result
of the feudal system, which, with its formal list of house officers and
attendants, required the presence of at least one in each separate
chamber. Hence the Norman-introduced _parlour_, that is, the speaking or
reception room, gave us ‘Henry del Parlour,’ or ‘Richard ate Parlour;’
the kitchen, ‘Geoffrey atte Kitchen,’ or ‘Richard del Kechen;’ or the
pantry ‘John de la Panetrie,’ or ‘Henry de la Panetrie.’ But I shall
have occasion to speak more fully of this by-and-by, so I will say no
more here.

There is a pretty word which has been restored from an undeserved
oblivion within the last few years by Mr. Tennyson, in his ‘Brook,’ as
an idyll perhaps the distinctly finest thing of its kind in the English
language. The word referred to is ‘thorpe,’ a village, pronounced
‘throp’ or ‘trop’ by our forefathers. Thus in the ‘Clerkes Tale’ we are

                Nought far fro this palace honorable,
                There stood a thorpe of sight delitable,
                In which the poor folk of that village
                Hadden their bestes and their harborage;

while in the ‘Assembly of Fowls’ mention is prettily made of

               The tame ruddocke and the coward kite,
               The cock, that horiloge is of thorpes lite.

This diversity is well exemplified in our nomenclature. Thus the term in
its simple form is found in such entries as ‘Adam de Thorpe,’ or ‘Simon
de Throp,’ or ‘Ralph de Trop,’ all of which are to be met with in the
one same register; while compounded with other words, we are all
familiar with such surnames as ‘Gawthorpe,’ ‘Winthrop,’ ‘Hartrop,’
‘Denthorp,’ ‘Buckthorp,’ ‘Fridaythorp,’ ‘Conythorp,’ ‘Calthrop,’ or
‘Westropp.’ Our ‘Thrupps,’ too, we must not forget as but another
corrupted form of the same root.

There are two words whose sense has become so enlarged and whose
importance among English local terms has become so great that we cannot
but give them a place by themselves. They are those of ‘town’ and
‘borough.’ Such registered names as ‘William de la Towne’ or ‘Ralph de
la Tune,’ now found as ‘Town’ and ‘Tune,’ represent the former in its
primeval sense. The term is still used in Scotland, as it was used here
some generations ago, to denote a farm and all its surrounding
enclosures. In Wicklyffe’s Bible, where we read ‘and went their ways,
one to his farm, another to his merchandize,’ it is ‘one into his toun.’
In the story of the Prodigal Son, too, it is similarly employed—‘And he
wente and drough him to one of the cyteseynes of that cuntre, and he
sente him into his toun to feed swyn.’ Let me quote Chaucer also to the
same effect—

                     Whan I out of the door came,
                     I fast about me beheld,
                     Then saw I but a large field,
                     As farre as ever I might see,
                     Without toune, house, or tree.

It is thus a name I have already mentioned, ‘de la Townshende,’ the
parent of our ‘Townsends,’ ‘Townshends,’ and ‘Townends,’ has arisen.
Another entry, that of ‘Robert Withouten-town,’ has, as we might have
expected, left no issue. Such names as ‘Adam de la Bury,’ or ‘Walter
atte Bure,’ or ‘John atte Burende’ (the latter now extinct, I fear),
open out to us a still larger mass of existing nomenclature. The
manorial residence is still in many parts of England, with the country
folk, the ‘bury.’ To this or ‘borough’ we owe our ‘Burys,’ ‘Boroughs,’
‘Borrows,’ ‘Buroughs,’ ‘Burkes,’ ‘Broughs,’ ‘Burghs,’ and even ‘Bugges,’
so that, though Hood has inquired—

                                If a party had a voice,
                 What mortal would be a Bugg by choice?

still the possessors of that not exactly euphonious cognomen can reflect
with pride upon not merely a long pedigree, but lofty relationships.
Another form of the same word, familiar, too, to early registers, was
‘de la Bere,’ and to this we owe our ‘Berrys,’ ‘Berrimans,’ ‘Beers,’ and
‘Beares.’ It is wonderful how the strict meaning of ‘shelter’ is
preserved in all the terms founded upon its root ‘beorgan,’ to hide. Is
it a repository to guard the ashes of the dead?—it is a _barrow_, the
act of sepulture itself being the _burial_. Is it a refuge for the
coneys?—it is a _burrow_, or _beare_, as in ‘Coneybeare.’[131] Is it a
raised mound for the security of man?—it is a _bury_, _borough_,
_brough_, or _burgh_. How altered now the meaning of these two words
‘borough’ and ‘town.’ Once but the abiding-place of a scattered family
or two, they are now the centres of teeming populations. Of these, while
some are still extending their tether, others have passed the middle age
of their strength and vigour, and from the accidents of physical and
industrial life are but surely succumbing to that dotage which, as in
man so in man’s works, seems to be but premonitory of their final decay.
How true is it that the fashion of this world passeth away. Even now
this ever restless spirit of change is going on. We ourselves can scarce
tell the spot upon which we were born. We need not wait for death to
find that our place very soon knoweth us no more, and when we talk of
treading in the footprints of the generations that have gone before, it
would seem as though it were but to blind ourselves to the sober and
unwelcome truth that we are rather treading upon the _débris_ of the
changing years.

But there is another class of surnames we may fitly introduce here,
which, I doubt not, forms no small proportion in the aggregate mass of
our nomenclature—that of sign-names. We in a cultivated age like that of
the present fail, as we must, to realize the effect of these latter upon
the current life of our forefathers. We now pass up and down a street,
and, apart from the aid of the numbered doors and larger windows, and a
more peculiar frontage, above the door we may see the name of the
proprietor and the character of his occupation in letters so large that
it is literally a fact that he who runs may read them. But all this is
of gradual and slowly developed growth. The day we are considering knew
nothing of these. It was a time when the clergy themselves in many cases
were unable to read, when such education as a child of twelve years is
now a dunce not to know would have given then for the possession of like
attainments the sobriquet of ‘le Clerke’ or ‘le Beauclerk.’ And if this
was the case with the learned, what would it be with the lower grades
and classes of society? We may, therefore, well inquire what would be
the use of gilded characters such as we now-a-days may see, detailing
the name of the shopkeeper and the fashion of his stores? None at all.
They could not read them. Thus we find in their stead the practice
prevailing of putting up signs and symbols to denote the character of
the shop, or to mark the individuality of the owner. In an age of
escutcheons and all the insignia of heraldry, this was but natural. All
manner of instruments, all styles of dress, all kinds of ensigns rudely
carved or painted, that a rough or quaint fancy could suggest, were
placed in a conspicuous position by the hatch or over the doorway, to
catch, if it were possible, the eye of the wayfarer. Even the name
itself, when it was capable of being so played upon, was turned into a
symbol readable to the popular mind. Nor was it deemed necessary that
the device should speak directly of the trade. Apart from implements and
utensils, Nature herself was exhausted to supply sufficiently attractive
signs; and what with mermaids and griffins, unicorns and centaurs, and
other winged monsters, we see that they did not stop here—the
supernatural also had to be pressed into this service. The animal
kingdom was, however, specially popular—the hostelries peculiarly
engrossing this class from the fact that they so often had emblazoned
the recognizances of the family with which they stood immediately
connected. Thus we still have ‘Red Lions’ and ‘White Lions,’ ‘Blue
Boars’ and ‘Boars’ Heads,’ ‘White Bears’ and ‘Roebucks,’ and ‘Bulls’
Heads.’ Relics of the more special emblems remain in the barber’s pole,
to the end of which a bowl was once generally attached, to show he was a
surgeon also—the pawnbroker’s three balls, the goldbeater’s mallet, or
the shoemaker’s last. Of the more fanciful we have a capital idea given
us in the lines from Pasquin’s ‘Nightcap,’ written so late as 1612—

             First there is maister Peter at the Bell,
             A linen-draper, and a wealthy man;
             Then maister Thomas that doth stockings sell;
             And George the Grocer at the Frying-pan;
             And maister Timothie the woollen-draper;
             And maister Salamon the leather-scraper;
             And maister Frank the goldsmith at the Rose,
             And maister Philip with the fiery nose;
             And maister Miles the mercer at the Harrow;
             And maister Mike the silkman at the Plow;
             And maister Nicke the salter at the Sparrow;
             And maister Dick the vintner at the Cow;
             And Harry haberdasher at the Horne;
             And Oliver the dyer at the Thorne;
             And Bernard, barber-surgeon at the Fiddle;
             And Moses, merchant-tailor at the Needle.[132]

More than three hundred years previous to this we find such names
figuring in our registers as ‘John de la Rose,’ ‘John atte Belle,’
‘Roger Horne,’ and ‘Nicholas Sparewe,’ while ‘Cow’ is met by its Norman
equivalent in the instance of ‘Richard de la Vache.’ Of the rest, too,
contained in the above lines, all are found in our existing nomenclature
with the exception of ‘Fryingpan.’ Still more recently, the ‘British
Apollo’ contained the following:—

                       I’m amused at the signs
                       As I pass through the town,
                       To see the odd mixture—
                       A ‘Magpie and Crown,’
                       The ‘Whale and the Crow,’
                       The ‘Razor and Hen,’
                       The ‘Leg and Seven Stars,’
                       The ‘Scissors and Pen,’
                       The ‘Axe and the Bottle,’
                       The ‘Tun and the Lute,’
                       The ‘Eagle and Child,’
                       The ‘Shovel and Boot.’

A word or two about these double signs before we pass on, as I cannot
but think much ingenious nonsense has been written thereon. There can be
no difficulty in accounting for these strange combinations, some of
which still exist. A partnership in business would be readily understood
by the conjoining of two hitherto separate signs. An apprentice who, on
the death of his master, had succeeded to his business, would gladly
retain the previous well-established badge, and simply show the change
of hands by adding thereto his own. I cannot but think that such
ingenious derivations as ‘God encompasseth us’ for the ‘Goat and
Compasses,’ or the ‘Satyr and Bacchanals’ for the ‘Devil and
Bag-o’-nails,’ or the ‘Boulogne Mouth’ for the ‘Bull and Mouth,’ are
altogether unnecessary. A clever and imaginative mind could soon produce
similar happy plays upon the conjunctions contained in the above lines,
and yet the originations I have suggested for them all I think my
readers will admit to be most natural. There is no more peculiarity
about these than about the ordinary combinations of names we are
accustomed to see in the streets every day of our lives, denoting
partnership. Thus the only difference is that what we now read as ‘Smith
and Wright,’ in an age when reading was less universal was, say, ‘Magpie
and Crown.’ Partnerships, or business transactions, often bring peculiar
conjunctions of names. So early as 1284, I find a ‘Nicholas Bacun’
acknowledging a bond to a certain ‘Hugh Motun,’ _i.e._ Mutton. (Riley’s
‘London,’ p. 23.) I have myself come across such combinations as
‘Shepherd and Calvert’—_i.e._ ‘Calveherd,’ or ‘Sparrow and Nightingale,’
or ‘Latimer and Ridley.’ During the early portion of my residence at
Oxford the two Bible-clerkships connected with my college were in the
hands of two gentlemen named ‘Robinson’ and ‘Crusoe.’ They lived on the
same staircase, and their names being (as is customary) emblazoned above
the door, the coincidence was the more remarkable. ‘Catchem’ and
‘Cheetham’ is said to have been the title of a lawyer’s firm, but I will
not vouch for the accuracy of the statement. A story, too, goes that
‘Penn, Quill, and Driver’ once figured over a scrivener’s office, but
this is still more hypothetical.

But to return. We may see, from what we have stated and quoted, that up
to a comparatively recent period the written name seems to have been
anything but customary even in the metropolis. Any one who will look
into a book printed up to the seventeenth century will see on the
titlepage the fact stated that it was published or sold at the sign of
the ‘Stork,’ or ‘Crown,’ or ‘Peacock,’ or ‘Crane,’ as the case might be.
How much we owe to this fashion I need scarcely say. The Hundred Rolls
contain not merely a ‘Henry le Hatter,’ but a ‘Thomas del Hat;’ not only
an ‘Adam le Lorimer,’ but a ‘Margery de Styrop.’ It is to some dealer in
earthenware we owe our existing ‘Potts,’ some worker in metals our
‘Hammers,’ some carpenter our ‘Coffins,’ once synonymous with ‘Coffer,’
some osierbinder our ‘Basketts,’ some shoemaker our ‘Lasts,’ some
cheesemonger our ‘Cheeses,’ some plowright our ‘Plows,’ some silversmith
our ‘Spoons’ and ‘Silverspoons,’ and some cooper our ‘Tubbs’ and
‘Cades,’ our ‘Barrills’ and ‘Punshons,’ and so on with endless others.
It was perfectly natural that all these should become surnames, that the
same practice which led to men being called in the less populous country
by such names as ‘Ralph atte Townsend,’ or ‘William atte Stile,’ or
‘Henry atte Hatch,’ or ‘Thomas atte Nash,’ should in the more closely
inhabited city cause men to be distinguished as ‘Hugh atte Cokke,’ or
‘Walter de Whitehorse,’ or ‘John atte Gote’ or ‘de la Gote,’ or ‘Richard
de la Vache,’ or ‘Thomas atte Ram,’ or ‘William atte Roebuck,’ or
‘Gilbert de la Hegle,’ or ‘John de la Roe,’ or ‘Reginald de la Wonte’
(weasel). Our only surprise would be were the case otherwise.
Nevertheless, as we shall see in another chapter, many of these
animal-names at least have arisen in another manner also.

And now we come to what we may term the second branch of local surnames,
that branch which throws a light upon the migratory habits and roving
tendencies of our forefathers. So far we have touched upon names
implying a fixed residence in a fixed locality. We may now notice that
class which by their very formation throw our minds upon that which
precedes settlement in a particular spot, viz., removal—that which
speaks to us of immigration. Such a name in our mediæval rolls as ‘Peter
le Newe,’ or ‘Gilbert le Newcomen,’ or ‘Walter le Neweman,’ declares to
us at once its origin. The owner has left his native village to push his
interests and get a livelihood elsewhere, and upon his entrance as a
stranger into some distant community, alone and friendless, nothing
could be more natural than to distinguish him from the familiar
‘Peters,’ ‘Gilberts,’ and ‘Walters’ around by styling him as Peter, or
Gilbert, or Walter the ‘New,’ or ‘Newman.’ This it is which is the
origin of our ‘Stranges,’ descendants as they are of such mediæval folk
as ‘Roger le Estrange’ or ‘Roger le Straunge.’ There was ‘Roger the
Cooper’ and ‘Roger the Cheesemonger’ round the corner close to the
market cross, and ‘Roger atte Ram,’ so, of course, this new-comer as
distinguished from them was ‘Roger the Straunge’ or ‘Strange,’ and once
so known, the more familiar he became, the more ‘Strange’ he became,
though this may seem somewhat of a paradox. Thus, too, have arisen our
‘Strangers’ and ‘Strangemans.’ These, however, are the general terms. To
quote a name like ‘Robert de Eastham’ or ‘William de Sutton’ is, as it
were, to take up the plug from a never-ceasing fountain. We are thrown
upon a list of sobriquets to which there is no tether. Take up a
subscription paper, look over a list of speakers at a farmers’ dinner,
scan the names of the clergy at a ministerial conference, all will
possess a fair average of this class of surnames, early wanderers from
one village to another, Saxons fresh escaped from serfdom seeking a
livelihood in a new district, Norman tradesmen or retainers pushing
forward for fresh positions and fresh gains in fresh fields. It is
through the frequency of these has arisen the old couplet quoted by

                In ‘Ford,’ in ‘Ham,’ in ‘Ley,’ in ‘Ton,’
                The most of English surnames run.

There is probably no village or hamlet in England which has not
subscribed in this manner to the sum total of our nomenclature. It is
this which is so telltale of the present, for while a small rural spot
like, say ‘Debenham,’ in Suffolk, or ‘Ashford,’ in Derbyshire, will have
its score of representatives, a solitary ‘Richard de Lyverpole,’ or
‘Guido de Mancestre,’ or ‘John de Burmyngham’ will be all we can find to
represent such large centres of population as Manchester, or Liverpool,
or Birmingham. Mushroomlike they sprang up but yesterday, while for
centuries these insignificant hamlets have pursued the even tenor of
their way, somewhat disturbed, it may have been, from their equanimity
four or five centuries agone, by the announcement that Ralph or Miles
was about to leave them, and who, by thus becoming ‘Ralph de Debenham’
or ‘Miles de Ashford,’ have given to the world to the end of time the
story of their early departure.

In the same class with the village names of England must we set our
county surnames. These are of course but an insignificant number set by
their brethren, still we must not pass them by without a word. In the
present day, if we were to speak of a man in connexion with his county,
we should say he was a Derbyshire or a Lancashire man, as the case might
be. That they did this five or six hundred years ago is evidenced by the
existence of these very names in our midst. Thus we can point in our
records to such designations as ‘John Hamshire,’ or ‘Adam de Kent,’ or
‘Richard de Wiltshire,’ or ‘Geoffrey de Cornwayle.’ Still this was not
the only form of county nomenclature. The Normans, I suspect it was, who
introduced another. We have still ‘Kentish’ and ‘Devonish’ and ‘Cornish’
to represent the ‘William le Kentish’s,’ or ‘John le Devoneis’s,’ or
‘Margery le Cornyshe’s,’ of their early rolls; and our ‘Cornwallis’s’
also yet preserve such fuller forms as ‘Thomas le Cornwaleys,’ or
‘Philip le Cornwaleys.’

We may here mention our ‘Cockins,’ ‘Cockaignes,’ and ‘Cockaynes,’
instances of which are early found. An old poem begins—

                       Fur in sea, bi west Spayne,
                       Is a lond ihote Cockaigne.

There seems to be a general agreement among those who have studied the
subject that our ‘cockney’ was originally a denizen of this fabled
region, and then was afterwards, from a notion of London being the seat
of luxury and effeminacy, transferred to that city. A ‘William Cockayne’
is found in the ‘Placitorum’ of Richard I.’s reign, while the Hundred
Rolls are yet more precise in a ‘Richarde de Cockayne.’ Speaking of
London, however, we must not forget our ‘Londonish’s.’ They are but
relics of such mediæval entries as ‘Ralph le Lundreys,’ or ‘William
Londonissh,’ either of whom we should now term ‘Londoner,’ one who had
come from the metropolis and settled somewhere in the country. Chaucer
in one of his prose works spells it ‘Londenoys,’ which is somewhat
nearer the modern form. ‘London,’ once simple ‘de London,’ needs no

A passing from one part of the British Empire to another has been a
prolific source of nomenclature. Thus we find such names as ‘Henry de
Irlaund,’ ‘Adam de Irland,’ ‘John le Irreys,’ or ‘Thomas le Ireis,’ in
the ordinary dress of ‘Ireland’ and ‘Irish,’ to be by no means obsolete
in the present day. ‘Roger le Escot’ or ‘Maurice le Scot’ represents, I
need scarcely say, a surname that is all but interminable, the
Caledonian having ever been celebrated for his roving as well as canny
propensities. It is to our brethren over the Border, too, we owe the
more special form of ‘Inglis,’ known better in the south as ‘English.’
The Hundred Rolls furnish us with such names as ‘Walter le Engleis,’ or
‘Robert le Engleys,’ or ‘Walter Ingeleys.’ Laurence Minot has the modern
form. Describing Edward III.’s entrance into Brabant, he says—

                     The Inglis men were armed wéle,
                     Both in yren and in stele.

The representatives of our native-born Welshmen are well-nigh as
numerous as those across the Scottish line, and the early spellings we
light upon are equally varied—‘le Galeys,’[133] ‘le Waleys,’ ‘le
Waleis,’ and ‘le Walsshe’ being, however, the commonest. The last is
used by Piers Plowman, who speaks of

                         Rose the Disheress,
                         Godfrey of Garlekhithe,
                         And Gryfin the Walshe.

In these, of course, we at once discern the progenitors of our ‘Welshs’
and ‘Wallaces.’ ‘Walshman’ is also found as ‘Walseman.’ ‘Langlois’ seems
to be firmly established in our present midst as an importation from
France. It was evidently returned to us all but contemporaneously with
its rise there, for as ‘L’Angleys’ or ‘Lengleyse,’ it is found on
English soil in the thirteenth century. It is quite possible that our
‘Langleys’ are in some instances but a corruption of this name. Thus the
different quarters of the British Empire are well personified so far as
our directories are concerned.

We have not quite done with the home country, however. Our modern
‘Norris’s’ are of a somewhat comprehensive nature. In the first place
there can be little doubt they have become confounded by lapse of time
with the once not unfamiliar ‘la Noryce,’ or nurse. Apart from this,
too, the term ‘le Noreys’ was ever applied in early times to the
Norwegians, and to this sense mainly it is that we owe the rise of the
name. And yet it has another origin. It was used in the mere sense of
‘northern,’ one from the North-country. Thus in the Hundred Rolls we
meet with the two names of ‘Thomas le Noreys’ and ‘Geoffrey le
Northern,’ and there is no reason why these should not both have had the
same rise. A proof in favour of this view lies in the fact that we have
their counterparts in such entries as ‘Thomas le Surreys’ and ‘Thomas le
Southern,’ the latter now found in the other forms of ‘Sothern’ and
‘Sotheran.’ Nor are the other points of the compass wanting. A ‘Richard
le Westrys’ and a ‘Richard le Estrys’ both occur in the registers of the
thirteenth century, but neither, I believe, now exists. ‘North’ found as
‘de North’ needs no explanation, and the same can be said for our
‘Souths,’ ‘Easts,’ and ‘Wests.’

The distance from Dover to Calais is not great; but were it otherwise,
we should still feel bound in our notice of names of foreign
introduction first of all to mention Normandy. For not merely has this
country supplied us with many of our best family names, but it enjoys
the distinction of having been the first to establish an hereditary
surname. This it did in the case of the barons and their feudary
settlements. The close of the eleventh century we may safely say saw as
yet but one class of sobriquets, which, together with their other
property, fathers were in the habit of handing down to their sons. This
class was local, and was attached only to those followers of the
Conqueror who had been presented by their leader with landed estates in
the country they had but recently subdued. As a rule each of these
feudatories took as his surname the place whence he had set forth in his
Norman home. Thus arose so many of our sobriquets of which ‘Burke’s
Peerage’ is the best directory, and of which therefore I have little to
say here. Thus arose the ‘de Mortimers’ (the prefix was retained for
many generations by all), the ‘de Colevilles,’ the ‘de Corbets,’ the ‘de
Ferrers,’ the ‘de Beauchamps,’ the ‘de Courcys,’ the ‘de Lucys,’ and the
‘de Granvilles.’ Thus have sprung our ‘Harcourts,’ our Tankervilles,’
our ‘Nevilles,’ our ‘Bovilles,’ our Baskervilles,’ our ‘Lascelles,’ our
‘Beaumonts,’ our ‘Villiers,’ our ‘Mohuns,’ and our ‘Percys.’ Apropos of
Granville, a story is told of a former Lord Lyttelton contesting with
the head of that stock priority of family, and clenching his argument by
asserting his to be necessarily the most ancient, inasmuch as the
_littletown_ must have existed before the _grand-ville_. A similar
dispute is said to have occurred at Venice between the families ‘Ponti’
and ‘Canali’—the one asserting that the ‘Bridges’ were above the
‘Canals,’ the other that the ‘Canals’ were in existence before the
‘Bridges.’ So hot waxed the quarrel that the Senate was compelled to
remind the disputants that it had power alike to stop up Canals and pull
down Bridges if they became over troublesome. But to return: the number
of these Norman names was great. The muster-roll of William’s army
comprised but an item of the foreign incomers. As the tide of
after-immigration set in, there was no town, however insignificant, in
Normandy, or in the Duchies of Anjou and Maine, which was not soon
represented in the nomenclature of the land. From giving even a partial
list of these I must refrain, however tempted, but see what the
chapelries alone did for us. St. Denys gave us our ‘Sidneys,’ St. Clair,
or Clare, our ‘Sinclairs,’ vilely corrupted at times into ‘Sinkler;’ St.
Paul, our ‘Semples,’ ‘Samples,’ ‘Sempills,’ ‘Simpoles,’ and sometimes
‘Simples;’ St. Lowe, or Loe, our ‘Sallows;’ St. Amand, our ‘Sandemans’
and ‘Samands;’ St. Lis, our ‘Senlis’ and ‘Senleys;’ St. Saviour, our
‘Sissivers;’ St. Maur, our ‘Seymours;’ St. Barbe, our ‘Symbarbes;’ St.
Hillary, our ‘Sillerys;’ St. Pierre, our ‘Sempers’ and ‘Simpers;’ St.
Austin, our ‘Sustins;’ St. Omer, our ‘Somers;’ St. Leger, our
‘Sellingers,’ once more literally enrolled as ‘Steleger,’ and so on with
our less corrupted ‘St. Johns,’ ‘St. Georges,’ and others. I do not say,
however, that all these were later comers. Some of them must undoubtedly
be set among the earlier comrades in arms of the Conqueror. Indeed it is
impossible in every case to separate the warlike from the peaceful
invasion. Looking back from this distant period, and with but scanty and
imperfect memorials for guidance, it cannot but be so.

With respect to another class of these Norman names, however, we are
more certain. Their very formation seems to imply beyond a doubt that
they had a settlement as surnames in their own arrondissements before
their arrival on English soil. We may, therefore, with tolerable
certainty set them down as later comers. The distinguishing marks of
these are the prefixes ‘de la,’ or ‘del,’ or ‘du’ attached to them.
Thus from some local peculiarity with respect to their early homes
would arise such names as ‘Delamere,’ ‘Dupont,’ ‘Delisle,’ ‘Delarue,’
‘Dubois,’ ‘Ducatel,’ ‘Defontaine,’ ‘Decroix,’ or ‘Deville’ or
‘Deyville.’ This latter is now found also in the somewhat unpleasant
form of ‘Devil.’ They say the _devil_ is the source of every _evil_.
Whether this extends beyond the moral world may be open to doubt, but
our ‘Evils,’ ‘Evills,’ and ‘Eyvilles,’ from the fact of their once
being written with the prefix ‘de,’ seem to favour the suspicion of
there being a somewhat dangerous relationship between them.[134] These
names, though commonly met with in mediæval records, are,
nevertheless, I say, not to be put down as coeval with the Conquest,
but as after-introductions when England was securely won. There befell
Norman names of this class, however, what I have shown still more
commonly to have befallen those of a similar, but more Saxon,
category. If these prefixes ‘de la,’ ‘del,’ and ‘du’ are sometimes
found retained, they are as often conspicuous by their absence. Thus
while at an early date after the Conquest we find the Saxon ‘Atwood’
met by the Norman ‘Dubois,’ it is equally true that they had already
to battle with simple ‘Wood’ and ‘Boys’ or ‘Boyce.’ Thus it was we
find so early the Saxon ‘Beech’ faced by the Norman ‘Fail’ or ‘Fayle,’
‘Ash’ by ‘Freen,’ ‘Frean,’ or ‘Freyne,’ ‘Hasell’ by ‘Coudray,’ ‘Alder’
by ‘Aunay,’ and, let us say, for want of a ‘Walnut,’ ‘Nut’ by ‘Noyes.’
In the same way our ‘Halls’ or ‘Hales’ were matched by ‘Meynell’
(mesnil), ‘Hill’ by ‘Montaigne,’ now also ‘Mountain,’ ‘Mead’ or
‘Medd,’ or ‘Field,’ by ‘Prall’ or ‘Prail,’ relics of the old
‘prayell,’ a little meadow. I have just set ‘Wood’ by our ‘Boys’ and
‘Boyces.’ To these we must add our ‘Busks,’ ‘Bushes,’ ‘Busses,’ all
from ‘bois’ or ‘bosc.’ The ‘taillis,’ or underwood, too, gives us
‘Tallis,’ and the union of both in ‘Taillebois’ or ‘Talboys,’ as we
now have it, combines the names of two of our best church
musicians—‘Tallis’ and ‘Boyce.’ This comparison of early introduced
Norman with names of a Saxon local character we might carry on to any
extent, but this must suffice—illustrations and not categories are all
we can pretend to attempt.

But these were not our only foreign introduced names. Coeval with the
arrival of these later Norman designations a remarkable peculiarity
began to make itself apparent in the vast number of names that poured in
from various and more distant parts of the Continent. That they came for
purposes of trade, and to settle down into positions that the Saxons
themselves should have occupied, is undoubted. The lethargy of the Saxon
population at this period would be extraordinary, if it were not so
easily to be accounted for. There was no heart in the nation. The Saxons
had become a conquered people, and, although the spirit of Hereward the
Wake was quenched, there had come that settled sullen humour which,
finding no outlet for active enmity, fed in spirit upon itself, and
increased with the pampering. To punish open disaffection is easy; to
eradicate by the stern arm of power such a feeling as this is
impossible. Time alone can do it, and that but slowly. More than a
century after this we find Robin Hood the idol of popular sympathy; no
national hero has ever eclipsed him, and yet, putting sentiment aside,
he was naught but a robber, an outlawed knave. He was but a vent for the
still lingering current of a people’s feelings. It was but the Saxon and
Norman over again.

We can easily imagine, then, if the spirit of the people was so
lethargic as this, at how low an ebb would be the commercial enterprise
of this period. No country was there whose resources for
self-aggrandisement were greater than our own—none which had more
disregarded them up to the reign of the third Edward. Till then she was
the mere mine from which other countries might draw forth riches, the
carcase for the eagles of many nations to feed upon. Saving the
exportation of wool in its raw unmanufactured state, she did nothing for
her national prosperity. The Dutch cured the fish they themselves caught
on our coasts, and the looms of Flanders and Brabant manufactured the
weft and warp we sent them into the cloth we wore. If our kings and
barons were clad in scarlet and purple, little had England actively to
do with that; her share in such superior tints was nought, save the
production of the dye, for in conjunction with the Eastern indigo it was
our woad the Netherlands used. That other nations were advancing, and
that ours was not, is a statement, commercially speaking, I need not
enlarge upon; it is a mere matter of history which no one disputes.

Not, however, that there was no trade. Far from it. Long before Edward
III. had established a surer basis of order and industry, London had
become a mart of no small Continental importance. This outlying city, as
with other towns of growing industry abroad, had come under the
beneficial influence of the Crusades. So far as the redemption of the
Holy City was concerned, that strong, but noble madness which had set
Christendom ablaze was a failure. But it effected much in another way.
From the first moment when on the waters of the Levant were assembled a
host as diverse in nation as they were one in purpose; when in their
high-decked galleons and oar-banked pinnances men met each other face to
face of whose national existence they had been previously all but
unaware—one result, at least, was sure to follow—an intercommunion of
nations was inevitable, and, in the wake of this, other and not less
beneficial consequences. Healthy comparisons were drawn, jealousies were
allayed, navigation was improved, better ships were built, harbours
hitherto avoided as dangerous were rendered safe, and new havens were
discovered. This influence was felt everywhere. It reached so far as
England—London felt it.

But it was a minor influence—minor in comparison with our wonderful
appliances—minor in comparison with the commercial spirit developing
such Republics as Genoa and Venice, or the Easterling countries that
border the Baltic and German Seas—a minor influence, too, especially
because the Saxons had so little share in it. So far as they were
concerned, this internationality was all one-sided. Denizens of all
lands visited our shores, but their visits were unreturned. What an
infinitesimal part of our Continental surnames in the present day are
traceable to English sources. On the other hand, there was no town
however small, no hamlet however insignificant, in Normandy, in the
Duchies of Anjou and Maine, or protected by the cities of the Hanseatic
League, that is unrepresented in the nomenclature of our land. Nay, it
was this very lack of reciprocity of commerce that held out such
inducements to the dwellers in other lands to visit our shores. It was
to step into possession of those very advantages we slighted they came:
we became but a colony of foreign artisans. Truly our metropolis in
those early days of her industry was a motley community. Numerous names
of foreign locality have died out in the lapse of centuries between; a
large proportion have become so Anglicized that we cannot detect their
Continental birth, but there is still a formidable array left in our
midst whose lineage is manifest, and whose nationality is not to be
doubted. We dare not enumerate them all. Let us, however, take a short
tour over Europe and the East. We will begin with Normandy, and advance
westerly, and then southerly. The provinces that border upon Normandy
and Bretagne, especially to the south and eastwards, large or small,
have, as we should expect, supplied us with many names. We have besides
‘Norman,’ which, like ‘le Northern,’ is of doubtful locality, ‘Bret,’
‘Brett,’ ‘Britt,’ ‘Britten,’ ‘Briton,’ and ‘Brittain,’ from ‘Bretagne,’
and represented in our olden rolls by such men as ‘Hamo le Bret,’ or
‘Roger le Breton,’ or ‘Thomas le Brit,’ or ‘Ivo le Briton.’ Our ‘Angers’
are not necessarily so irascible as they look, for they are but
corruptions, as are ‘Angwin’ and ‘Aungier,’ of the ‘Angevine of Anjou.’
Like our ‘Maines’ and ‘Maynes’ from the neighbouring duchy, they would
be likely visitors to our shores from the intimate relationship which
for a while endured between the two countries through royal alliances.
Our ‘Arters’ and ‘Artis,’ once registered ‘de Artoys,’ came from
‘Artois;’ our ‘Gaskins,’ and more correct ‘Gascoignes,’ from ‘Gascony;’
and our ‘Burgons’ and ‘Burgoynes’ from Burgundy.[135] To Champagne it is
we are indebted for our ‘Champneys’ and ‘Champness’s,’ descendants as
they are from such old incomers as ‘Robert le Champeneis,’ or ‘Roger le
Chaumpeneys,’ while the more strictly local form appears in our
‘Champagnes,’ not to say some of our ‘Champions’ and ‘Campions.’[136]
Speaking of Champagne, it is curious that next in topographical order
come our ‘Port-wines,’ sprung from the Poictevine of Poictou. So early
as the thirteenth century, this name had become corrupted into
‘Potewyne,’ a ‘Pretiosa Potewyne’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of that
period. More correct representatives are found in such entries as ‘Henry
le Poytevin,’ and ‘Peter le Pettevin.’ Pickardy has given us our
‘Pickards’ and ‘Pycards,’ Provence our ‘Provinces,’ and Lorraine our
‘Loraynes,’ ‘Lorraines,’ and ‘Lorings.’ ‘Peter le Loring’ and ‘John le
Loring’ are instances of the latter form. More general terms for the
countrymen of these various provinces are found in such registered names
as ‘Gilbert le Fraunceis,’ or ‘Henry le Franceis,’ or ‘Peter le Frensh,’
or ‘Gyllaume Freynsman.’

I have mentioned ‘Norman’—one of the commonest of early sobriquets is
‘le Bigod’ and ‘le Bigot.’ Well-nigh every record has its ‘Roger le
Bygod,’ or its ‘William le Bygot,’ or ‘Hugh le Bigot,’ or ‘Alina le
Bigod.’ Amid the varying opinions of so many high authorities, I dare
not speak in anywise with confidence; but, judging from these very
entries which are found at an early period, I cannot but think Dean
Trench and Mr. Wedgwood wrong in their conjecture that the word arose
from the ‘beguines’—_i.e._ the Franciscans. With Mr. Taylor[137] I am
firmly convinced it is _ethnic_, and that as such it was familiarly
applied to the Normans I am equally satisfied. In proof of its
_national_ character, Mr. Taylor quotes a passage from the romance of
Gerard of Roussillon—

                     Bigot, e Provençal e Rouergues,
                     E Bascle, e Gasco, e Bordales.

The popular story ascribes its origin to the fondness for oaths so
peculiar to the Anglo-Norman character, and in this particular instance
to the exclamation ‘by-God.’[138] My own impression is that the origin
of the word has yet to be found. With regard to surnames, however, I may
say that we have at this day ‘Bigots’ in our directories as well as in
everything else, and it is highly probable that our Bagots are but a
corruption of the same.

Turning westward, such names as ‘Michael de Spaigne,’ or ‘Arnold de
Espaigne,’ tell us at once who were the forefathers of our ‘Spains’ and
‘Espins;’[139] while ‘John le Moor’ suggests to us at least the
possibility that English heathlands did not enjoy the entire monopoly in
the production of this familiar cognomen. The intensive ‘Blackamoor,’ a
mere compound of ‘black’ and ‘moor,’ seems to have early existed. A
‘Beatrice Blackamour’ and a ‘William Blackamore’ occur in a London
Register of 1417—(Riley’s ‘London,’ p. 647). Nor is Italy void of
examples. The sturdy old republic of Genoa has supplied us with
‘Janeway’ and ‘Jannaway,’[140] ‘Genese’ and ‘Jayne’ or ‘Jeane.’ Chaucer
alludes to the Genoese coin the ‘jane.’ An old poem, too, speaking of
Brabant as a general mart, says—

               Englysshe and Frensh, Lumbardes, Januayes,
               Cathalones, theder they take their wayes.

The ‘Libel on English Policy’ has the word in a similar dress.

             The Janueys comyne in sondre wyses,
             Into this londe wyth dyverse merchaundysses,
             In grete karrekes arrayde withouten lack,
             Wyth clothes of golde, silke, and pepir black.

Hall, in his Chronicles, speaking of the Duke of Clarence ravaging the
French coast in Henry IV.’s reign, says, ‘in his retournyng he
encountred with two greate Carickes of Jeane laden with ryche
marchandise.’ (f. xxiv.)

Its old rival upon the Adriatic still vies with it in ‘Veness,’ once
enrolled as ‘de Venise.’ Rome has given us our early ‘Reginald le
Romayns’ and ‘John le Romayns,’ whose descendants now write their names
in the all but unaltered form of ‘Romaine,’[141] and to Lombardy and the
Jews we owe Lombard street, and our ‘Lombards,’ ‘Lumbards,’ ‘Lubbards,’
and perhaps ‘Lubbers’—not to mention our ‘Luckes,’ and ‘Luckies,’ a
progenitor of whom I find inscribed in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Luke of
Lucca.’ Advancing eastwards, a ‘Martin le Hunne’ looks strangely as if
sprung from a Hungarian source. Whatever doubt, however, there may be on
this point, there can be none on ‘William le Turc,’[142] whose name is
no solitary one in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries, and whose descendants are by no means extinct in the
nineteenth. ‘Peter le Russe’ would seem at first sight to be of Russian
origin, especially with such a Christian name to the fore as the one
above, but it is far more probably one more form of the endless
corruptions of ‘le Rous,’ a sobriquet of complexion so extremely
familiar to all who have spent any time over mediæval registers. I have
already mentioned ‘le Norrys’ as connected with our ‘Norris.’ ‘Dennis,’
I doubt not, in some cases, is equally representative of the former ‘le
Daneys.’ Entries like ‘William le Norris,’ or ‘Walter le Norreis,’ or
‘Roger le Daneis,’ or ‘Joel le Deneys,’ are of constant occurrence.
These, added to the others, may be mentioned as bringing before our eyes
the broadest limits of European immigration, and with scarcely an
exception they are found among the English surnames of to-day.

But we must not forget the Dutch—a term that once embraced all the
German race.[143] ‘Dutchman,’ though I have found no instance in early
rolls, is, I see, a denizen of our present directories, while
‘Dutchwomen,’ found in the fourteenth century, is extinct. Our ‘Pruces’
are but the old ‘le Pruce,’ or Prussian, as we should now term them. The
word is met with in an old political song, and, as it contains a list of
articles, the introduction of which into England from Flanders made the
two countries so closely connected, I will quote it fully:—

           Now beer and bacon bene fro Pruse i-brought
           Into fflaunders, as loved and fere i-soughte;
           Osmonde, coppre, bowstaffes, stile and wex,
           Peltre-ware, and grey, pych, tar, borde, and flex,
           And Coleyne threde, fustiane, and canvase,
           Corde, bokeram, of old tyme thus it wase.
           But the fflemmynges among these things dere,
           Incomen loven beste bacon and beer.

‘Fleming,’ as our registers prove, was seemingly the popular term for
all the Low Countrymen, bands of whom were specially invited over by two
of our kings to spread their industry in our own land. Numbers of them
came in, however, as simple wool-merchants, to transmit the raw material
into Holland. As the old ‘Libel on English Policy’ says—

            But ye Fleminges, if ye be not wrothe,
            The grete substance of your cloth, at the fulle,
            Ye wot ye made it of youre English wolle.

But Flanders was not the only division represented. Our ‘Brabazons’ once
written ‘le Brabançon,’ together with our ‘Brabants,’ ‘Brabaners,’ and
‘Brabans,’ issued, of course, from the duchy of that name; while our
‘Hanways’[144] and ‘Hannants’ hailed from Hainault, the latter of the
two representing the usual early English pronunciation of the
place-word. The old enrolled forms are ‘de Hanoia’ and ‘de Henau.’ It is
very likely, therefore, that our ‘Hannahs’ are similarly derived. The
poem I have just quoted, after mentioning the products of ‘Braban,’
‘Selaunde,’ and ‘Henaulde,’ proceeds to say:—

             But they of Holonde at Caleyse buy our felles
             And our wolles, that Englyshe men then selles.

This, and such an entry as ‘Thurstan de Holland,’ give us at once a
clue, if clue were needed, to the source whence have issued our
‘Hollands.’ Holandman,’ which once existed, is, I believe, now extinct.
A common sobriquet for those enterprising traders who visited us from
the shores of the Baltic was ‘Easterling,’ and it is to their honest
integrity as merchants we owe the fact of their name in the form of
‘Sterling’ being so familiar. In contrast to the country-made money,
their coin obtained the name of ‘Easterling,’ or, as we now term it,
‘Sterling’ money—so many pounds _sterling_ being the ordinary phrase for
good and true coin. We have even come to apply the term generally in
such phrases as _sterling_ worth, _sterling_ honesty, or _sterling_
character. The more inland traders were styled ‘Almaines,’ or merchants
‘d’Almaine,’[145] terms common enough in our earlier archives, as ‘le
Aleman,’ or ‘de Almania,’ or ‘le Alemaund,’ and thus have sprung our
‘Alemans,’ ‘Almaines,’ and ‘Allmans,’ and through the French, probably,
our ‘Lallimands,’ ‘D’Almaines,’ ‘Dalmaines,’ and more perverted
‘Dalmans’ and ‘Dollmans.’[146] Thus to these enterprising and honest
traders we owe a surname which from the odious forms it has assumed
shows that their names, at least, were corruptible, if not their credit.
I ought to have mentioned, though I have no record to quote in proof of
my assertion, that our ‘Hansards’ are, I have no doubt, descendants of
such Hanse merchants in our country as were members of the Hanseatic
League. The founder of the Hansards, the publishers of the Parliamentary
Debates, came from Norwich in the middle of the last century, and I need
scarcely say that the city was the chief headquarters of the Flemish
weaving interest at the date we are considering.

Leaving Europe for a moment, a name of peculiar interest is that of
‘Sarson,’[147] or ‘Sarasin,’ a sobriquet undoubtedly sprung from the
Crusades in the East, and found contemporaneously, or immediately
afterwards, in England as ‘Sarrasin,’ ‘Sarrazein,’ ‘Sarracen,’ and in
the Latinized form of ‘Sarracenus.’ The maternal grandfather of Thomas à
Becket was a pure-blooded Saracen, settled in England. The ‘Saracen’s
Head,’ I need not remind the reader, has been a popular inn sign in our
land from the days of Cœur de Lion and Godfrey. It would seem as if they
were sufficient objects of public curiosity to be exhibited. In the
‘Issues of the Exchequer’ of Henry VI.’s reign is the following:—‘To a
certain Dutchman, bringing with him a Saracen to the Kingdom of England,
in money paid him in part payment of five marks which the Lord the King
commanded to be paid him, to have of his gift.’ Speaking of the
Saracens, however, we are led to say a word or two about the Jews, the
greatest money-makers, the greatest merchants, the greatest people, in a
commercial point of view at least, the world has known. No amount of
obloquy, no extent of cruel odium and persecution, could break the
spirit of the old Israelitish trader. Driven out of one city, he fled to
another. Rifled of his savings in one land, he soon found an asylum in
another, till a fresh revolution there also caused either the king or
the people to vent their passions and refill their coffers at the
expense of the despised Jew. ‘Jury’ would seem to be a corrupted surname
taken from the land which our Bible has made so familiar to us. It
certainly is derived from this term, but not the Jewry of Palestine. It
was that part of any large town which in the Early and Middle Ages was
set apart for these people, districts where, if they chose to face
contumely and despite, they could live and worship together. Every
considerable town in England and the Continent had its Jewish quarters.
London with its ‘Jewry’ is no exceptional case. Winchester, York,
Norwich, all our early centres of commerce, had the same. Johan Kaye, in
his account of the siege of Rhodes, says: ‘All the strete called the
Jure by the walles was full of their blood and caren (carrion).’ Our
‘Jurys’[148] are not, however, necessarily Jews, as it is but a local
name from residence in such quarters, and doubtless at one time or
another during the period of surname establishment Christians may have
had habitation there. ‘Jew,’ on the other hand, as representing such
former entries as ‘Roger le Jew’ or ‘Mirabilla Judæus,’ is undoubtedly
of purely Israelitish descent. But these are not all. Our early records
teem with such names as ‘Roger le Convers,’ or ‘Stephen le
Convers,’[149] deserters from the Jewish faith. We cannot be surprised
at many of the less steady adherents of the ancient creed changing their
religious status, when we reflect upon the cruel impositions made upon
them at various times.[150] I suspect our ‘Conyers’ have swallowed up
the representatives of this name. Even in the day of its rise we find it
set down in one record as ‘Nicholas le Conners.’

So much for general and national names. To pretend to give any category
of the town-names that have issued from these wide-spread localities
were, of course, impossible. Such sobriquets as ‘Argent,’ from Argentan;
‘Charters’ and ‘Charteris’ from Chartres; ‘Bullen,’ ‘Bollen,’ or
‘Boleyn’ from Boulogne,[151] with ‘Bulness’ as representative of ‘le
Boloneis;’ ‘Landels’ from Landelles; ‘Death’ or ‘D’Aeth’ from Aeth in
Flanders; ‘Twopenny’ from Tupigny in the same province; ‘Gant’ and
‘Gent’ from Ghent, once ‘de Gaunt;’ ‘Legge’ from Liege (in some cases at
least); ‘Lubbock,’ once written ‘de Lubyck’ and ‘de Lubek,’ from Lubeck
in Saxony; ‘Geneve,’ once ‘de Geneve,’ and ‘Antioch,’ once ‘de
Antiochia,’ are but instances taken haphazard from a list, which to
extend would occupy all my remaining space. Many of these are connected
with particular trades, or branches of trades, for which in their day
they had obtained a European celebrity. If the peculiar manufactures of
such places at home as ‘Kendall’ and ‘Lindsey’ and ‘Wolsey’ have left in
our own nomenclature the marks of their early renown, we should also
expect such foreign cities as were more especially united to us by the
ties of industry to leave a mark thereof upon our registers. Such names
as ‘Ralph de Arras’ or ‘Robert de Arraz,’ a sobriquet not yet extinct in
our midst, carry us to Arras in Artois, celebrated for its tapestried
hangings.[152] Rennes in Brittany has given birth to our ‘Raines’ and
‘Rains.’[153] Chaucer talks of pillows made of ‘cloth of raines.’
Elsewhere, too, he makes mention of ‘hornpipes of Cornewaile,’ reminding
us that in all probability some of our ‘Cornwalls’ hail from Cornouaile
in the same province. Romanee in Burgundy, celebrated for its wine, has
left a memory of that fact in our ‘Rumneys’ and ‘Rummeys.’ Some of my
readers will remember that in the ‘Squyr of low degree’ the king,
amongst other pleasures by which to soothe away his daughter’s
melancholy, promises her,

                          Ye shall have Rumney.

Our ‘Challens’ are but lingering memorials of the now decayed woollen
manufactures of Chalons, of which we shall have more to say anon; and
not to mention others, our ‘Roans’ (always so spelt and pronounced in
olden times), our ‘Anvers,’ once ‘de Anvers,’ our ‘Cullings,’
‘Cullens,’[154] ‘Collinges,’ and ‘Lyons,’ are but relics of former
trades for which the several towns of Rouen, and Antwerp, and Cologne,
and Lyons, were notorious. The rights of citizenship and all other
advantages seem early to have been accorded them. In the thirteenth
century we find Robert of Catalonia and Walter Turk acting as sheriffs,
and much about the same time a ‘Pycard’ was Mayor of London.

I must stop here. We have surveyed, comparatively speaking, but a few of
our local surnames. From the little I have been able to advance,
however, it will be clear, I think, that with regard to the general
subject of nomenclature these additional sobriquets had become a
necessity. The population of England, less than two millions at the
period of the Conquest, was rapidly increasing, and, which is of far
more importance so far as surnames are concerned, increasing
_corporately_. Population was becoming every day less evenly diffused.
Communities were fast being formed, and as circumstances but more and
more induced men to herd themselves together, so did the necessity
spring up for each to have a more fixed and determinate title than his
merely personal or baptismal one, by which he might be more currently
known among his fellows.


                              CHAPTER III.

                          SURNAMES OF OFFICE.

A class of surnames which occupies no mean place in our lists is that
which has been bequeathed to us by the dignitaries and officers of
mediæval times. Of these sobriquets, while some hold but a precarious
existence, a goodly number are firmly established in our midst. On the
other hand, as with each other class of our surnames, many that once
figured in every register of the period are now extinct. Of these latter
not a few have lapsed through the decay of the very systems which
brought them into being. While the feudal constitution remained
encircled as it was with a complete scheme of service, while the
ecclesiastic system of Church government reigned supreme and without a
rival, there were numberless offices which in after days fell into
desuetude with the principle that held them together. Still, in the
great majority of cases the names of these have remained to remind us of
their former heyday glory, and to give us an insight into the reality of
those now decayed customs to which they owed their rise.

We must be careful, however, at the outset to remark that a certain
number of these names ought, strictly speaking, to be set down in our
chapter upon sobriquets. They are either vestiges of the many outdoor
pageantries and mock ceremonies so popular in that day, or of the
numberless nicknames our forefathers loved to affix one upon the other,
and in which practice all, high and low alike, joined. For instance, no
one could suspect such a sobriquet as ‘Alan le Pope,’ or ‘Hugh le Pape,’
the source of one of our commonest and most familiar names, to be
derived from the possessor of that loftiest of ecclesiastic
offices.[155] It could be but a nickname, and was doubtless given to
some unlucky individual whose overweening and pretentious bearing had
brought upon him the affix. So, again, would it be with such a title as
‘Robert le Keser,’ that is, Cæsar, corresponding to the French
‘L’empriere’ and the obsolete Norman ‘le Emperer.’ This is a word of
frequent occurrence in our earlier poets. Langland says of our Lord,
there was

                         No man so worthie
                         To be kaiser or king
                         Of the kyngdom of Juda.

Again, he finely says—

                        Death cam dryvynge after,
                        And al to duste passed
                        Kynges and knyghtes,
                        Kaysers and popes,
                        Lered and lewed.[156]

This surname, too, is now all but equally common with the other, being
met with in the several shapes of ‘Cæsar,’ ‘Cayser,’ ‘Cayzer,’ ‘Kaiser,’
and ‘Keyser.’[157] The name of ‘Julius Cæsar,’ as that of one of our
most esteemed professional cricketers, has only just disappeared from
the annals of that noble game. The posterity of such enrolled burgesses
as ‘William le Kyng’ or ‘Thomas le Kyng’ still flourish and abound in
our midst. An imperious temperament would thus readily meet with
good-humoured censure. ‘Matilda le Quen’ or ‘Simon Quene’ has not quite
failed of issue; but had it been otherwise, it could not have been
matter for any astonishment, as the sobriquet was doubtless anything but
a complimentary affix. We must remember that, somewhat curiously, the
old ‘quen,’ or, as the Scotch still term it, ‘quean,’ at once represents
the highest rank to which a woman can reach and the lowest depth to
which she can fall. So would it be once more with our endless ‘Princes,’
and ‘Comtes’ or ‘Counts,’ ‘Viscuntes,’ the heads of provincial
government.[158] There is no reason, however, why our ‘Dukes,’ ‘Dooks,’
or ‘Ducs,’ as they are more generally found in our rolls (‘Roger le
Duc,’ E., ‘Adam le Duk.’ M.),[159] should not be what they represent, or
rather then represented. A ‘duke’ was of course anything but what we now
understand by the term, being then, as it more literally signifies, a
leader, or chieftain, or head. It is thus used in Scripture. Langland,
to quote him again, says of Justice—

                       A-drad was he nevere
                       Neither of duc ne of deeth.

Elsewhere, too, he describes ‘Rex Gloriæ’ as addressing Lucifer upon the
brink of Hades, and saying—

                       Dukes of this dymme place,
                       Anoon undo these yates,
                       That Crist may come in,
                       The kynges sone of hevene.

It is in this same category we must set, I doubt not, such old
registrations as ‘Robert le Baron’ or ‘Walter le Baron,’ ‘John le Lorde’
or ‘Walter le Loverd,’ and ‘Walter le Theyn’ or ‘Nicholas le Then,’
names now found as ‘Baron,’ ‘Lord,’ and ‘Thain,’ ‘Thaine,’ or
‘Thane.’[160] Even in the case of names of a more ecclesiastic
character, we shall have to apply the same remark. We have still in our
midst descendants of the ‘le Cardinals’ and ‘le Bishops’ of the
thirteenth century, and there can be little doubt that these were, in
the majority of cases, but nicknames given to particular individuals by
way of ridiculing certain characteristics which seemed to tend in the
direction the name suggested.

As I have already hinted, however, there is another and equally probable
origin for many of the names I have mentioned. Pageantries and mock
ceremonies were at this time at the very height of their popularity. The
Romish Church fed this desire. Thus, for instance, take Epiphany. In
well-nigh every parish the visit of the Magi, always accounted to have
been royal personages, was regularly celebrated. Though the manner
varied in different places, the custom was more or less the same. There
was a great feast, and one of the company was always elected king, the
rest being, according to the lots they drew, either ministers of state
or maids of honour. Thus Herrick says—

              For sports, for pageantrie, and playes,
              Thou hast thy eves and holidayes:
              Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast,
              Thy Maypoles, too, with garlandes graced:
              Thy mummeries, thy twelfe-tide _kings_
              And _queens_, thy Christmas revellings.[161]

I need scarcely say that as popular nicknames these titles would be sure
to cling to the persons upon whom they had fallen, and that they should
even pass on to their descendants is no more unnatural than in the case
of a hundred other sobriquets we shall have occasion to recount.

Of the rest, however, and, as I have said, maybe in some of the cases I
have mentioned, the surname was but truly indicative of the office or
dignity held. The Saxon has suffered here. And yet to some this may seem
somewhat strange when we remember how little change really took place in
the institutions of the Kingdom by the Conquest. The Normans and Saxons,
after all, were but propagations from the same original stock, and
however distant the period of their separation, however affected by
difference of clime and association, still their customs bore a
sufficient affinity to make coalescence by no means a difficult task.
William was not given to great changes. He was vindictive, but not
destructive. His most cruel acts were retributive, done by way of
reprisal after sudden disaffection. If a conqueror must establish his
power, deeds of this kind are inevitable. And even these are
exaggerated. The story of the depopulation of the New Forest, it is now
pretty generally agreed, is impossible—its present condition forbids of
any such act to have been practicable—and the notion frequently conveyed
in our smaller books of English history, that the curfew was a badge and
token of servitude, is simply absurd, the fact being that the same
custom prevailed over the whole of Western Europe, as a mere precaution
against fire at a time when our towns were mainly constructed of wood. A
crushed people will always misinterpret such ordinances. Prejudice of
this kind is perfectly pardonable. William then, I say, was not inclined
to uproot Saxon institutions. The national council still remained. The
ancient tribunals with their various motes, the whole system of law
which guided the administration of justice, all was well-nigh as it had
been heretofore. But the language which was the medium of all this was
generally changed. The old laws were indeed used, but in a translated
form—old officerships still existed, but in a new dialect—the old policy
was mainly upheld, but new terms of police were introduced. It was not
till Edward III.’s reign that pleadings in the various courts were again
carried on in the English tongue—it was not till Henry VI.’s reign the
proceedings in Parliament were recorded in the people’s dialect—not till
Richard III.’s day its statutes and ordinances ceased to be indited in
Norman-French. This at once shows the difficulty of any officership,
however Saxon, retaining its original title. The office was maintained,
but the name was changed. This was the more certain to ensue, so far as
the Church was concerned, from the fact that for a considerable period
all ecclesiastic vacancies were filled up from abroad. Bishops and
abbots were removed on pretexts of one sort or another, and their places
supplied from the Conqueror’s chaplains. The monasteries were hived with
Normans; the clergy generally were of foreign descent. It was the same,
or nearly the same, with regard to civil government. The lesser courts
of judicature were ruled by foreigners and the foreign tongue. The
Barons, as they retired into the provinces and to the estates allotted
them, naturally bore with them a Norman retinue. All their surroundings
became quickly the same. Thus the French language was used not merely in
their common conversation—that of course—but so far as their power,
undoubtedly large, existed, in the provincial courts also.

Such entries as ‘Thomas le Shirreve’ and ‘Lena le Shireve’ remind us not
merely of our present existing ‘Sheriffs,’ ‘Sherrifs,’ and ‘Shreeves,’
but how firmly this Saxon word has maintained its hold through the many
fluctuations of English government. The Norman ‘Judge,’ though it is
firmly established in our courts of law, has not made any very great
impress upon our nomenclature. ‘Justice,’ a relic of ‘William’ or ‘Eva
le Justice,’[162] is more commonly met with. Our ‘Corners,’ when not
descendants of the local ‘de la Corners’ of the thirteenth century, are
but corruptions of many a ‘John le Coroner’ or ‘Henry le Corouner’ of
the same period. It is even found in the abbreviated form of ‘Corner,’
in ‘John le Corner’ and ‘Walter le Cornur.’ Thus we see that so early as
this our forefathers discerned in the death of a subject a matter that
concerned not merely the well-being of the crown, but that of which the
crown as the true parent of a nation’s interests was to take cognizance.
More directly opposed to the Norman ‘Judge’ and ‘Justice,’ and in the
end displaced by them, were our Saxon ‘Demer’ and ‘Dempster’ (the older
forms being ‘le Demere’ and ‘le Demester’), they who pronounced the
doom. An old English Psalter thus translates Psalm cxlviii. 11:—

                 Kinges of earth, and alle folk living,
                 Princes and all _demers_ of land.

An antique poem, too, has it in its other form in the following

                       Ayoth was then _demester_
                       Of Israel foure score yeer.

We still employ the term ‘doom’ for judgment. Chaucer speaks familiarly
of one of the Canterbury company as a ‘Serjeant of the Lawe.’ It is, in
the majority of cases, to the term ‘sergeant’ as used in this capacity
we owe our much-varied ‘Sargants,’ ‘Sargeants,’ ‘Sargeaunts,’
‘Sargents,’ ‘Sergents,’ ‘Sergeants,’ ‘Sarjants,’ and ‘Sarjeants.’ The
same poet says of him:—

                  Justice he was full often in assize,
                  By patent and by pleine commission.

‘Alured le Pledur,’ or ‘Henry le Pleidour,’ and ‘Peter le Escuzer,’ all
obsolete as surnames, need little or no explanation. Speaking of
assizes, we are reminded of our ‘Sisers’ and ‘Sizers,’ representatives
of the old ‘Assizer’—he who was commissioned to hold the court. Piers
Plowman frequently mentions him:—

                     To marien this mayde
                     Were many men assembled,
                     As of knyghts, and of clerkes,
                     And other commune people,
                     As sisours, and somenours,
                     Sherreves, and baillifs.

We are here reminded of ‘Hugh le Somenur,’ or ‘Henry le Sumenour,’ now
spelt ‘Sumner,’ the sheriff’s messenger, he by whom the delinquent was
brought up to the court. He was the modern apparitor in fact. In the
‘Coventry Mysteries’ it is said:—

                 Sim Somnor, in haste wend thou thi way,
                 Byd Joseph, and his wyff by name,
                 At the coorte to apper this day,
                 Him to purge of her defame.

A ‘Godwin Bedellus’ occurs so early as Domesday record, and as ‘Roger le
Bedel,’ or ‘Martin le Bedel,’ the name is by no means rare somewhat
later on. He was, whether in the forest or any other court, the
servitor, he who executed processes or attended to proclamations. The
modern forms of the name comprise, among others, ‘Beadell,’ ‘Beadle,’
‘Beaddall,’ and ‘Biddle.’ Such names as ‘Richard le Gayeler’ or ‘Ada le
Gaoler,’ are very commonly met with in our mediæval rolls. The term
itself is of Norman origin, reminding us that, however menial the duty,
the Saxon could not be entrusted with such an office as this. We cannot,
however, speak of the gaoler and his _confrères_ without referring to a
curious sobriquet of this period, a sobriquet to which we owe in the
present day our ‘Catchpoles’ and ‘Catchpooles.’[163] The catchpole was a
kind of under-bailiff or petty sergeant who distrained for debt, or
otherwise did the more unpleasant part of his superior’s work, and was
so called from his habit of seizing his luckless victim by the hair, or
_poll_, as was the familiar term then. So general was this nickname that
we find it occupying an all but official place. It is Latinized in our
records into ‘cachepollus,’ a word unknown to Cicero, I am afraid. In
the ‘Plowman’s Vision’ we are told of the two thieves crucified with the
Saviour that:—

                     A cachepol cam forth
                     And cracked both their legges.

Another name for the catchpole was that of ‘Cacherel’ or ‘Cacher,’ both
of which forms occur at this same period as surnames. An old political
song says, murmuringly:—

                Nedes I must spend that I spared of yore
                  Ageyn this cacherele cometh.

This sobriquet also abides with us still.[164] ‘Le Cacher,’ I fear, has
been obsolete for centuries.[165]

Of such as were accountable for duties in the public streets, we may
mention first our ‘Cryers,’ registered at the time we are speaking of as
‘Philip le Criour,’ or ‘Wat le Creyer.’ He, like the still existing
‘Bellman,’[166] performed a fixed round, announcing in full and
sententious tones the mandates of bench and council, whenever it was
necessary to advertise to the public such news as concerned their common
well-being. Our _policeman_ may be modern in his name and in his attire,
but as the guardian of the peace, by night as well as by day, he is but
the descendant of a long line of servants who have in turn fulfilled
this important public trust. His early title was borne by ‘Ralph le
Weyte,’ or ‘Robert le Wayte,’ or ‘Hugh le Geyt,’ or ‘Robert le Gait.’
All these forms are of the commonest occurrence in our olden registries.
By night he carried a trump, with which to sound the watches or give the
alarm, and thus it was he acquired also the name of ‘Trumper,’ such
forms as ‘Adam le Trompour’ or ‘William le Trompour’ being frequently
met with at this time. To the former title of this official duty it is
we owe the fact of our still terming any company of night serenaders
‘waits,’ and especially those bands of strolling minstrels who keep up
the good old custom of watching in Christmas morn. A good old custom, I
say, even though it may cost us a few pence and rouse us somewhat
rudely, maybe, from our slumbers. ‘Wait,’ ‘Waite,’[167] ‘Wayt,’ and
‘Whaite,’ with ‘le Geyt,’ are the forms that still exist among us.
‘Trumper,’ too, has its place equally assured in our nomenclature.

Such names as we have just dwelt upon, however, remind us of other
municipal authorities, higher in position than these, to whom, indeed,
these were but servitors. A sobriquet like ‘Richard le Burgess’ or ‘John
le Burges’ reminds us of the freemen of the borough towns, while ‘le
Mayor,’ or ‘Mayer,’ or ‘Maire,’ or ‘Mair,’ or ‘Meyre,’[168] or ‘Mire,’
for all these different spellings are found, is equally suggestive of
the chief magistracy of such. Piers, to quote him once more, speaks of:—

                       The maistres,
                   Meirs and Jugges,
                   That have the welthe of this world.

The feminine form of this sobriquet appears in the early but obsolete
‘Margaret la Miresse.’ Speaking of mayors, some lines written some years
ago on the proposed elevation of a certain Alderman Wood as Lord Mayor
are not without humour, nor out of place, perhaps, here:—

                 In choice of Mayors ’twill be confest,
                 Our citizens are prone to jest:
                 Of late a gentle ‘Flower’ they tried—
                 November came and checked its pride.
                 A ‘Hunter’ next, on palfrey grey,
                 Proudly pranced his year away.
                 The next, good order’s foes to scare,
                 Placed ‘Birch’ upon the civic chair.
                 Alas! this year, ’tis understood,
                 They mean to make a mayor of ‘Wood!’

As a fellow to ‘Meir’ we may cite ‘Provost,’ or ‘Prevost,’ or ‘Provis,’
a term still used of the mayoralty in Scotland. ‘Councellor’ and
‘Councilman’ are still familiar terms in our midst. ‘Clavenger,’
‘Claver,’ and ‘Cleaver’ we will mention last as filling up a list of
civic offices entirely, so far as the language is concerned, the
property of the dominant power. A ‘Robert Clavynger’ occurs in the
Parliamentary Rolls. Its root is ‘claviger,’ the key-bearer,’ one whose
office it was at this time to protect the deposits, whether of money or
parchments, belonging to the civic authorities. The more common term was
that of ‘Clavier,’ such entries as ‘Henry le Claver,’ or ‘John le
Clavour,’ or ‘John le Clavier,’[169] being of familiar occurrence at
this time. Thus in a treaty agreed upon between the Mayor, sheriffs, and
commonalty of Norwich in 1414, it was declared that ‘the mayor and
twenty-four (of the council) shall choose a common clerk, a coroner, two
clavers, and eight constables, and the sixty common council shall choose
a common speaker, one coroner, two clavers, and eight constables.’
(‘Hist. Norf.,’ Blomefield.) In a day when there were no patent safes we
can readily understand the importance of appointing men whose one care
it was to guard the chests wherein were stored up the various
parchments, moneys, and seals belonging to the civic council. This
comprises our list of Norman civil officers. One name, and one only, of
this class is Saxon, that of ‘Alderman,’ but I have found it occurring
as a surname in only one or two instances, and I believe it has now
become obsolete.

Turning from municipal to ecclesiastical affairs, we find the Church of
mediæval times surrounded with memorials. Some of these I have already
hinted at as being mere sobriquets;[170] none the less, however, do we
owe them to the existing institutions. Such names as ‘Hugo le Archevesk’
or ‘William le Arceveske’ can be only thus viewed. In ‘Morte Arthure’
the hero holds festival at Caerleon,

             Wyth dukez, and dusperes of dyvers rewmes,
             Erles and erchevesques, and other ynowe,
             Byschopes and bachelers and banerettes nobille.

While this has long vanished from our directories, the descendants of
‘John le Bissup’ or ‘Robert le Biscop’ are firmly established therein.
The more Norman ‘Robert le Vecke’ and ‘Nicholas le Vesk’ still live also
in our ‘Vicks’ and ‘Vecks.’ It was only the other day I saw ‘Archdeacon’
over a hatter’s shop—and that it is no corruption of some other word, we
may cite the early ‘Thomas le Arcedekne’ as a proof.[171] Whether
‘Archpriest,’ a sobriquet occurring at the same date, was but another
designation of the same, or performed more episcopal functions, I cannot
say.[172] The name, however, is obsolete in every sense. The old vicar
has bequeathed us our ‘Vicars,’ ‘Vicarys,’ and ‘Vickermans.’ Chaucer
says in the ‘Persons Prologue’—

               Sire preest, quod he, art thou a vicary?
               Or art thou a Person? say soth by thy fay.

Our ‘Parsons,’ as Mr. Lowther thinks, are but a form of ‘Piers’ son,’
that is, ‘Peters’ son.’ It is, however, quite possible for them to be
what they more nearly resemble; indeed, I find the name occurring as
such in the case of ‘Walter le Persone,’ found in the Parliamentary
Rolls. Well would it be if we could say of each village cure now what
our great early poet said of one he pictured forth—

               A good man there was of religioun,
               That was a poure Persone of a town,
               But riche he was of holy thought and werk,
               He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
               That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche.

Our ‘Priests’ and ‘Priestmans’[173] answer for themselves. ‘Thomas le
Prestre’ and ‘Peter le Prest,’ I do not doubt myself, were but other
changes rung upon the same, but I shall have occasion hereafter to
propose, at least, a different origin for the latter. The lower
ministerial office is suggested to us in ‘Philip le Dekene’ and ‘Thomas
le Deken,’ but we must be careful not to confound them with ‘Deakin,’
which is often but another form of ‘Dakin,’ that is, ‘Dawkin,’ or
‘little David.’[174] Our ‘Chaplains’ or ‘Chaplins,’ once written more
fully as ‘Reginald le Chapeleine,’ represent less one who officiated in
any public sanctuary than him who was attached to some private oratory
belonging to one of the higher nobility. Our ‘Chanters’ or ‘Canters’
(‘Xtiana le Chauntour,’ A., ‘William le Chantour,’ M.) still maintain
the dignity of the old precentors who led the collegiate or cathedral
choir—but the once existing ‘Chanster’ (‘Stephen le Chanster,’ J.),
strictly speaking the feminine of the other, is now obsolete.[175] In
our ‘Chancellors’ we may recognise the ancient ‘John le Chanceler’ or
‘Geoffry le Chaunceler,’ he to whose care was committed the chapter,
books, scrolls, records, and what other literature belonged to the
establishment with which he stood connected. ‘Clerk’ as connected with
the Church has come down in the world, for as ‘clericus,’ or
‘clergyman,’ it once belonged entirely to the ordained ministry.[176]
The introduction of lay-clerks, appointed to lead the responses of the
congregation, has, however, connected them all but wholly with this
later office. Nor have our ‘Secretans,’ or ‘Sextons,’ or ‘Saxtons’
preserved their early dignity. The sacristan was he who had charge of
the church-edifice, especially the robes and vestments, and such things
as appertained to the actual service.[177] The present usually accepted
meaning of the term, that understood by our great humorist poet when he

                    He went and _told_ the sexton,
                    And the sexton _tolled_ the bell,

is quite of later growth. In our ‘Colets’ and ‘Collets’ (sometimes the
diminutives of ‘Colin’) we are reminded of the colet, or acolyte, who
waited upon the priest and assisted in carrying the bread and wine, in
lighting the candles, and performing all subordinate duties. Our
‘Bennets,’ when not belonging to the class of baptismal names (as a
corruption of ‘Benedict’), once performed the functions of exorcists,
and by the imposition of hands and the aspersion of holy water expelled
evil spirits from those said to be thus possessed. Last of this group we
may mention our ‘Croziers’ and ‘Crosiers,’ they who at this time bore
the pastoral staff. Mediæval forms of these are met with in ‘Simon le
Croyzer’ or ‘Mabel la Croiser.’ I doubt not that he was a kind of
chaplain to his superior, whose official staff it was his duty to bear.
In the Book of Common Prayer of the 2nd year of Edward VI. it is
directed: ‘Whensoever the bishop shall celebrate the holy communion, or
execute any other public office, he shall have upon him, besides his
rochet, an alb and cope, or vestment, and also his pastoral staff in his
hand, or else borne by his chaplain.’

When we turn our eyes for a moment to the old monastic institutions, we
see that they, too, are far from being without their relics. In them we
have more distinctly the echo of a departed time. Many of my readers
will be familiar with the distinction recorded in such names as
‘Alexander le Seculer’ and ‘Walter le Religieuse,’ or ‘man of religion,’
as Chaucer would have termed the latter. To be ‘_religious_’ in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was to be one of a monastic order
bound by vows. Thus our great mediæval poet says in his Romance—

                    Religious folk ben full covert,
                    Secular folke ben more apert,
                    But natheless, I will not blame
                    Religious folke, ne them defame
                    In what habite that ever they go;
                    Religion humble, and true also,
                    Will I not blame, ne despise.

The ‘religieuse’ has apparently stuck to his vows, for I have never
found the term in an hereditary form, while ‘Secular,’ as descended from
such enrolled folk as ‘Walter le Secular,’ or ‘Joan, uxor Nicholas le
Secular,’ still exists. I am afraid, however, the Secularist of that
time could and would have told us a different tale. Of these bound
orders too, while the general term, as I say, does not now exist
surnominally, all the more particular titles which it embraced do. As we
catch the cadence of their names a shadow falls athwart our memories,
and in its wake a crowd of dim and unsubstantial figures pass before us.
Once more we behold the fiery ‘Abbot’ (Juliana Abbot, A., Ralph le Abbe,
C.), and the portly ‘Prior’ or ‘Pryor’ (Roger le Priour, B., William le
Priur, E.). We see afresh the ‘Friar,’ or ‘Freere,’ or ‘Frere’ (Syward
le Frere, A., Geoffrey le Frere, A.), so ‘pleasant of absolution’ and
‘easy of penance.’ Again our eye falls mistily upon the ‘Canon,’ or
‘Cannon’ (William le Cannon, A., Thomas le Canun, E.), with his
well-trimmed beard and capped brow, and the ‘Moyne’ (now ‘Munn’) or
‘Monk’ (Beatrix le Munk, A., Thomas le Mun, A., Ivo le Moyne, A.), all
closely shaved and cloaked, and cowled, that knew his way to the cellar
better than to the chapel, who loved the song more than the chaunt.[178]
And now in quick succession flit by us a train of personages all
beshrouded in garbs of multitudinous and quaint aspect, in cloaks and
hoods, and tippets and girdles, and white and dark apparel. There is the
wimpled, grey-eyed ‘Nunn’ (Alice la Nonne, A.), and the Dorturer,
represented in olden registers by such a name as ‘Robert le Dorturer,’
he who looked to the arrangements of the dourtour, or dormitory—

             His death saw I by revelation,
             Sayde this frere, at home in our dortour.[179]

The word still existed in the sixteenth century, as is evidenced by
Heywood’s use of it. He says—

           The tongue is assigned of wordes to be sorter;
           The mouth is assigned to be the tongue’s _dorter_;
           The teeth are assigned to be the tongue’s porter;
           But wisdom is ’signed to tye the tongue shorter.

The figure is somewhat forced, but it has its beauty. The ‘Fermerer,’
now found as ‘Fermor’ and ‘Firmer,’ was he who superintended the
infirmary. Only a few lines further on, in the earlier of the two poems
from which I last quoted, we find Chaucer making mention of—

                       Our sexton, and our fermerere,
                 That have been trewe freres fifty year.

The ‘Tale of a Monk,’ too, begins—

                    A black munk of an abbaye
                    Was enfermer of alle I herd say—
                    He was halden an hali man
                    Imange his felaus.

The fermery was the hospital or ‘spital’[180] attached to each religious
house, and was under the immediate control of the above-mentioned
officer. It is with him, therefore, we may fitly ally ‘Robert le
Almoner,’ or ‘Michael le Aumoner,’ a name still abiding with us, and
representative of him who dispensed the alms to the lazars and the poor.
It is in allusion to this his office that Robert Brunne in one of his
tales says:—

                     Seynt Jone, the aumenere,[181]
                     Saith Pers, was an okerere
                     And was very coveytous
                     And a niggard and avarus.

Of the same officer in more lordly society the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ thus

                The Aumonere a rod schalle have in honde,
                An office for almes, I understonde;
                Alle the broken mete he kepys in wait
                To dele to pore men at the gate.

Many of those who were supported at this time and in this manner were
lepers. We can take up no record, large or small, of the period without
coming across a ‘Nicholas’ or ‘Walter le Leper.’ Leprosy was introduced
into Western Europe with the return of the Crusaders. To such a degree
had it spread in England, that in 1346 Edward III. was compelled to
issue a royal mandate enjoining those ‘smitten with the blemish of
leprosy’ to ‘betake themselves to places in the country, solitary, and
notably distant’ from the dwellings of men. Such a distinctive
designation as this would readily cling to a man, even after he had been
cured of the disorder,[182] and no wonder that in our ‘Lepers’ and
‘Leppers’ the name still remains as but one more memorial of that noble
madness which set Christendom ablaze some six centuries ago. A term used
synonymously at this time with leper is found in such an entry as
‘Richard le Masele’ or ‘Richard le Masle,’ that is, ‘Measle.’ Wicklyffe
has the word in the case of Naaman, and also of the Samaritan
leper.[183] Langland speaks of those who are afflicted with various
ailments, and adds that they, if they

                     Take these myschiefs meeklike,
                     As mesels, and others,
                     Han as pleyn pardon
                     As the plowman hymselve.

Capgrave, too, to quote but one more instance, speaking of Deodatus, a
Pope of the seventh century, says ‘He kissed a mysel and sodeynly the
mysel was whole.’ Strange to say, this name also is not extinct. Our
‘Badmans’ are not so bad as they might seem. They, and our ‘Bidmans,’
are doubtless but corrupted forms of the old ‘bedeman,’ or ‘beadman,’ he
who professionally invoked Heaven in behalf of his patron. It is hence
we get our word ‘bead,’ our forefathers having been accustomed to score
off the number of aves and paternosters they said by means of these
small balls strung on a thread. This practice, I need not say, is still
familiar to the Romish Church.

But we have not yet done with the traces of these more distant
practices. The various religious wanderers or solitary recluses, though
belonging to a system long faded from our English life, find a perpetual
epitaph in the directories of to-day. Thus we have still our ‘Pilgrims,’
or ‘Pelerins’ (‘John Pelegrim,’ A., ‘William le Pelerin,’ E.), as the
Normans termed them. We may meet with ‘Palmers’ (‘Hervey le Palmer,’ A.,
‘John le Paumer,’ M.) any day in the streets of our large towns, names
distinctly relating the manner in which their owners have derived their
title. The pilgrim may have but visited the shrine of St. Thomas of
Canterbury; the latter, as his sobriquet proves, had, forlorn and weary,
battled against all difficulties, and trod the path that led to the Holy

                 The faded palm-branch in his hand
                 Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land.[184]

The ‘Pardoner,’ with his pouch choked to the full (‘Walter le Pardoner,’
M.) with saleable indulgences, had but come from Rome. He was an
itinerant retailer of ecclesiastic forgivenesses, and was as much a
quack as those who still impose upon the credulity of the bucolic mind
by selling cheap medicines. As Chaucer says of him—

               With feigned flattering and japes,
               He made the parson and the peple his apes.

‘Hermit’ I have failed to find as at present existing, though
‘Hermitage’ or ‘Armitage’ (‘John Harmaytayge,’ W. 3), as local names
expressive of his abode, are by no means unfamiliar. Our ‘Anchors’ and
‘Ankers,’ however, still live to commemorate the old ancre or anchorite;
he who, as his sobriquet implied, was wont to separate himself from the
world’s vain pleasures and dwell in seclusion and solitude. In the
‘Romance of the Rose’ it is said—

                     Sometime I am religious,
                     Now like an anker in an house.

Piers in his ‘Vision,’ too, speaks of—

                    Ancres and heremites
                    That holden them in their celles.

‘Hugh le Eremite’ or ‘Silvester le Hermite’ are early forms of the one,
while in the other case we find the aspirate added in ‘John le Haneker.’
The modern dress of this latter, however, presents the usual early and
more correct spelling.[185] What a vision is presented for our notice in
these various sobriquets. It is the vision of a day that has faded, a
day with many gleams of redeeming light, but a day of ignorance and
lethargy; a day which, after all, thank God, was but the precursor of
the brighter day of the Reformation, when the Church, true to herself
and true to her destiny, threw off the shackles and the fetters that
bound her, and began a work which her greatest foes have been compelled
to admit she carried through amid opposition of the deadliest and most
crushing kind.

Before passing on to a survey of our feudal aristocracy, I may mention
our ‘Latimers,’ or ‘le Latymer,’ as I find it recorded in early lists. A
latinier, or latimer, was literally a speaker or writer of Latin, that
language being then the vehicle of all record or transcript. Latin,
indeed, for centuries was the common ground on which all European
ecclesiastics met. Thus it became looked upon as the language of
interpretation. The term I am speaking of, however, seems to have become
general at an early stage. An old lyric says—

                       Lyare was mi latymer,
                       Sloth and sleep mi bedyner.

Sir John Maundeville, describing an eastern route, says (I am quoting
Mr. Lower)—‘And men alleweys fynden Latyneres to go with them in the
contrees and furthere beyonde in to tyme that men conne the language.’
Teachers of the Latin tongue itself were not wanting. ‘Le Scholemayster’
existed so early as the twelfth century to show that there were those
who professed to initiate our English youth in the rudiments of that
which was a polite and liberal education in the eyes of that period.
Such sobriquets as ‘le Gramayre,’ or ‘Gramary,’ or ‘Grammer,’
represented the same avocation, being nothing more than the old Norman
‘Gramaire,’ or ‘Grammarian’ as we should now call him, only we now apply
the term to a philologist rather than a professional teacher. As
‘Grammar’ the surname is far from being obsolete in our midst. A
‘Nicholas le Lessoner’ is met with in the Hundred Rolls. He was
evidently but a schoolmaster also. The verb ‘to lesson,’ _i.e._ to
teach, is still in use in various parts of the country, and we find even
Shakespeare using it. Clarence says to his murderer—

              Bid Gloster think of this, and he will weep;

to which the murderer replies—

               Ay, millstones; as he lessoned us to weep.
                       (_Richard III._, act. i. sc. iii.)

In looking over the pages of our early Anglo-Norman history we are at
once struck by the fact of the absence of any middle class; that
important branch of our community which in after and more civilised ages
has done so much for English liberty and English strength. The whole
genius of the feudal constitution was opposed to this. There was indeed
a graduating scale of feudal tenure which bound together and connected
each community; but there was of equal surety in the chain of these
independent links of society a certain ring where all alliance ceased
save that of service, and which separated each provincial society into
two widely-sundered classes. On the one side were the baron and his
nearer feudatories and retainers; and below this, on the other, came
under one common standard the villein, the peasant, and the boor, looked
upon by their superiors with contemptuous indifference, and barely
endured as necessary to the administration of their luxury and pleasure.
We have already mentioned many of those who gave the baron support. Of
other his vassals we may cite ‘le Vavasour,’ or ‘Valvasor,’ a kind of
middle-class landowner. The lower orders of chivalry have left us in our
many ‘Knights’[186] and ‘Bachelors’ or ‘Backlers’ a plentiful token of
former importance. Our ‘Squiers,’ ‘Squires,’ ‘Swiers,’ or ‘Swires’[187]
carry us, as does the now meaningless Esquire, to the time when the sons
of those ‘Knights’ bore, as the name implies, their shields. By the time
of Henry VI., however, it had become adopted by the heirs of the higher
gentry, and now it is used indiscriminately enough. Those who are so
surnamed may comfort themselves at any rate with the reflection that
they are lineally descended from those who bore the name when it was an
honourable and distinctive title. ‘Armiger,’ the form in which the word
was oftentimes recorded in our Latin rolls, still survives, though
barely, in our ‘Armingers,’ this corrupted form being in perfect harmony
with all similar instances, as we shall see almost immediately. One of
our mediæval rhymes speaks of—

                  Ten thousand knights stout and fers,
                  Withouten hobelers and squyers.

These hobelers are far from being uninteresting. When we talk of riding
a hobby, we little think what a history is concealed beneath the term. A
hobiler[188] in the days we are speaking of, was one who held by tenure
of maintaining a hobbie—a kind of small horse, then familiarly so known.
A song on the times, written in the fourteenth century, and complaining
of the manner in which the upper classes plundered the poor, says:—

                 And those hoblurs, namelich,
                 That husband benimeth eri of ground,
                 Men ne should them bury in none chirch,
                 But cast them out as a hound.

Later on, by its fictitious representation in the Morris dances of the
May-day sports, the hobby came to denote the mere dummy, and now as such
affords much scope for equestrian skill in the Rotten Row of our
nurseries. What tricks time plays with these words, to be sure, and what
a connexion for our ‘Hoblers’ and ‘Hobblers’ to meditate upon. Our
‘Bannermans’ are Scotch, but they represent an office, whether in
England or the North, whose importance it would be hard to estimate at
this period. Nor are we without traces in our nomenclature of its
existence in more southern districts. Our not unfamiliar ‘Pennigers’ and
‘Pennigars’ are but the former official _pennager_, he who bore the
ensign or standard of his lord. They figure even in more general and
festive pageants. In the York Procession we find walking alone and
between the different craftsmen the ‘Pennagers.’ Probably they bore the
ensigns of that then important corporate city. I have but recently
referred to ‘Robert Clavynger’ (H.) and the probability of his having
carried the club or mace or key of his superiors in office. All or
well-nigh all the above names find themselves well represented in the
registers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Our eye falls at
once on an ‘Andrew le Gramary,’ a ‘Richard le Gramayre,’ a ‘Thomas le
Skolmayster,’ a ‘Warin le Latimer,’ a ‘William le Latiner,’ a ‘Jordan le
Vavasur,’ a ‘Simon le Knyt,’ a ‘Gilbert le Bacholer,’ a ‘Walter le
Squier,’ or a ‘Nicholas Armiger.’

A curious relic of the military tactics of mediæval times is presented
to our notice in our ‘Reuters,’ ‘Ritters,’ and ‘Rutters.’ The old
English forms are found in such entries as ‘Thomas le Reuter,’ or
‘Ranulph le Ruter.’ The root of the term is probably the German ritter,
or rider, a name given at this period to certain mercenary soldiers
oftentimes hired by our English sovereigns out of Brabant and the
surrounding country. Thus we find William of Newburgh, under the date
1173, saying that Henry II. ‘stipendarias Bribantionum copias, quas
Rutas vocant, accersivit.’ (Lib. ii. cap. 27.) Trivet, relating the same
fact, says (p. 73), ‘Conduxit Brabanzones et Rutarios.’[189] An old song

                 Rutterkyn is come into owre towne,
                 In a cloke withoute cote or gowne,
                 Save a raggid hood to kover his crowne
                                Like a rutter hoyda.
                 Rutterkyn can speke no Englyssh,
                 His tonge runneth all on buttyrd fyssh,
                 Besmeared with grece abowte his disshe,
                                   Like a rutter hoyda.

The nickname ‘rutterkin’ proves the Flemish origin of these troopers.
Their capacity for stowing away food and drink, from all accounts, is
not exaggerated in the poem from which the above is an extract. We have
just mentioned our ‘Bachelors,’ and this reminds us of our ‘Childs,’ and
of the days of chivalry. The term ‘child’ was a distinctly honourable
title in the olden times. It was borne by the sons of all the higher
nobility; if by the eldest son, then in right of his title to his
father’s honours and possessions; if more generally by others, then
until by some deed of prowess they had been raised to the ranks of
knighthood. In either case ‘child’ was the term in use during this
probationary state. Thus Byron in his ‘Childe Harold’ has but revived
the ‘Childe Waters,’ ‘Childe Rolands,’ and ‘Childe Thopas’s’ of earlier
times.[190] We owe many existing and several obsolete surnames to this
custom. Our ‘Childs’ are but descendants of such a sobriquet as ‘Ralph
le Child;’ our ‘Eyres’ of such an entry as ‘William le Eyre;’ some of
our ‘Barnes’ may be but the offspring of such a personage as ‘Thomas le
Barne’ (now ‘bairn,’ that is, the born one); while ‘Stephen le Enfant’
or ‘Walter le Enfaunt’ represents an appellation that is now obsolete in
England.[191] I need scarcely add that this last, in the form of Infante
and Infanta, still bears the same meaning in the royal families of Spain
that Child did in our own land in more chivalric days.

The details of early feudal life are wonderfully depicted by our
nomenclature. Owing to the boundless and forced ceremony which arose out
of the prevailing spirit of feudal pride, our official memorials are
well-nigh overwhelming. Feudal tenure itself became associated with
office, and none seemed too servile for acceptance. As has been said of
Charlemagne’s Court, so might it be said of those of others—‘they were
crowded with officers of every rank, some of the most eminent of whom
exercised functions about the royal person which would have been thought
fit only for slaves in the palace of Augustus or Antonine’—‘to carry his
banner or his lance, to lead his array, to be his marshall, or
constable, or sewer, or carver, to do in fact such services, trivial or
otherwise, as his lord might have done himself, in proper person, had it
so pleased him—this was the position coveted by youths of birth and
distinction at such a period as this.’ Many of these officerships, or
the bare titles, still linger round the court of our sovereign. The
higher feudatories, of course, followed the example thus set them by
their suzerain, and the lesser barons these, and thus household officers
sprang up on every side. See how this has left its mark upon our
surnames. ‘John le Conestable,’ or ‘Robert le Constable,’ I need not
say, is still well represented. In the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ the poet

                The constable of the castel doun is fare
                To see this wreck.

With him we may ally our not unfamiliar ‘Castlemans,’ ‘Castelans,’ and
‘Chatelains,’ representatives of the old ‘John le Chastilioun,’ or
‘Joscelin le Castelan,’ or ‘Ralph le Chatelaine.’ The poet whom I have
just quoted says elsewhere:—

                     Now am I king, now chastelaine.

Doubtless this latter was but a synonym of the constable, and his duties
as governor but the same. Of decidedly lower position, but not
dissimilar in character, we have also ‘Wybert le Portere,’ or
‘Portarius,’ as he is Latinized in our rolls. An old book of etiquette

                  When thou comes to a lordis gate
                  The porter thou shalle fynde therate.

He at the postern would as carefully look against hostile, as our former
‘Peter le Ussher,’ or ‘Alan le Usser,’ within would against informal
approach.[192] The Saxon form, however, was evidently not wanting, for
we have still ‘Doorward’ and ‘Doorman’ (‘Geoffrey le Doreward,’ A.,
‘Nicholas le Doreman,’ O.) in our directories, not to mention their
corrupted, ‘Durwards,’ immortalized by Walter Scott, and ‘Dormans’ and
‘Domans.’ The term ‘doorward’ is found in many of our early writers.
Thus in an old metrical account of the bringing of Christ before
Caiaphas, it is said of John when he returned to fetch in Peter:—

                           He bid the dureward
                           Let in his fere.

Our ‘Chamberlaynes’ and ‘Chambers,’[193] (‘Simon le Chamberlain,’ M.,
‘Henry le Chaumberleyne,’ B., ‘William de la Chaumbre,’ B.) had access
to their lord’s inner privacy, and from their intimacy with his monetary
affairs occupied a position at times similar to that of our more
collegiate bursar. We have only to look at mediæval costume, its
grandeur, its colours, and its varied array, to understand how necessary
there should be a special officer to superintend his lord’s wardrobe.
Our ‘Wardrops’ are but the former ‘de la Wardrobe,’ or ‘de la
Garderoba,’ while ‘le Wardrober,’ or ‘le Garderober,’ has bequeathed us
our ‘Wardropers.’ Thus the ‘Book of Curtasye’ says:—

               The usshere shalle bydde the wardropere
               Make redy for alle, night before they fere.

Equally important as an attendant was the ‘Barbour.’ He especially was
on familiar terms with his master—when was he not? I need scarcely say
that among his other duties that of acting as surgeon in the household
was none of the lightest. Still his tonsorial capacity was his first
one. No one then thought of shaving himself, least of all the baron.
Even so late as the sixteenth century a writer defending the use of the
beard against Andrew Boorde employs this argument:—

                But, syre, I praye you, if you tell can,
                Declare to me, when God made man
                (I meane by our forefather Adam),
                Whether that he had a berde then;
                And if he had, who did hym shave,
                Since that a barber he could not have.

I have no doubt it is here we must set our ‘Simisters,’ relics, as they
probably are, of such a name as ‘John Somayster,’ or ‘William
Summister.’ The summaster seems from its orthography to have represented
one who acted as a clerk or comptroller, something akin to the
chamberlain or breviter, whom I shall mention almost immediately; one,
in fact, who cast up and certified accounts. Holinshed used the word as
if in his day it were of familiar import. Dwelling upon a certain event,
he says—‘Over this, if the historian be long, he is accompted a trifler;
if he be short, he is taken for a summister.’[194]

In such days as those, what with the number of personal retainers and
the excess of hospitality expected of the feudal chief, the culinary
department occupied far from an insignificant position in regard to the
general accessories of the baronial establishment. Our ‘Cooks,’ or
‘Cokes,’ or ‘Cookmans,’ relics of the old ‘Roger le Coke,’ or ‘Joan le
Cook,’ or ‘William Cokeman,’ even then ruled supreme over that most
absolute of all monarchies, the kitchen; our ‘Kitchenmans’ (now found
also as ‘Kitchingham’), ‘Kitcheners,’ and ‘Kitchens,’ or ‘de la
Kitchens,’ as they were once written, reminding us who it was that aided
them to turn the spit or handle the posnet. Our ‘Pottingers’ represent
the once common ‘Robert le Potager,’ or ‘Walter le Potager,’ the
soup-maker. _Potage_ was the ordinary term for soup, thickened well with
vegetables and meat.[195] Thus in the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ the guest is

                     Suppe not with grete sowndynge,
                     Neither potage ne other thynge—

a rule which still holds good in society. We are well aware of the
ingredients of the dish which our Bible translators have still
bequeathed to us as ‘a mess of potage.’ In its present corrupted form of
‘porridge’ this notion of a _mess_ rather than of a _soup_ is still
preserved. Another interesting servitorship of this class has well-nigh
escaped our notice—that of the hastiler: he who turned the _haste_ or
spit. In the Close Rolls we find a ‘Thurstan le Hastler’ recorded, and
in the Parliamentary Writs such names as ‘Henry Hastiler’ and ‘William
Hastiler.’ In the will of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Essex, among other
household servants, such as potager, ferour, barber, ewer, is mentioned
‘William de Barton, hastiler.’ I need not remind Lancashire people that
a _haister_, or _haster_, is still the term used for the tin screen
employed for roasting purposes. The memorials of this interesting
servitorship still linger on in our ‘Hastlers,’ ‘Haslers,’ and
‘Haselers.’ If, however, the supervision of the roasting and basting
required an attendant, none the less was it so with the washing-up
department. How familiarly does such a term as ‘scullery’ fall from our
lips, and how little do many of us know of its history. An
_escuelle_[196] was a porringer or dish, and a _scullery_ was a place
where such vessels were stored after being washed.[197] Hence a
‘squiller’ or ‘squyler’ was he who looked to this; our modern
‘scullion,’ in fact, which is but a corrupted form of the same word. In
one of Robert of Brunne’s poems, we find him saying—

              And the squyler of the kechyn,
              Piers, that hath woned (dwelt) here yn.[198]

In a book of ‘Ordinances and Regulations’ we find mention made even of a
‘sergeant-squylloure.’ Doubtless his duty was to look after the carriage
of utensils at such times as his lord made any extended journey, or to
superintend the washing of cup and platter after the open-board
festivities which were the custom of early baronial establishments. To
provide for every retainer who chanced to come in would be, indeed, a
care. The occurrence of a ‘Roger de Norhamtone, Squyler,’ however, in
the London City rolls, seems to imply that occasionally the sale of such
vessels gave the title. I cannot say the name is obsolete, as I have met
with one ‘Squiller;’ and ‘Skiller,’ which would seem to be a natural
corruption, is not uncommon. Our ‘Spencers,’ abbreviated from
‘despencer,’ had an important charge—that of the ‘buttery,’ or ‘spence,’
the place where the household store was kept. The term is still in use,
I believe, in our country farm-houses. In the ‘Sumner’s Tale’ the
glutton is well described as—

                  All vinolent as botel in the spence;

and Mr. Halliwell, I see, with his wonted research, has lighted on the
following lines:—

                   Yet I had lever she and I
                   Were both togyther secretly
                   In some corner in the spence.[199]

‘De la Spence,’ as well as ‘le Spencer,’ has impressed itself upon our
living nomenclature. Our ‘Panters,’ ‘Pantlers,’ and ferocious-seeming
‘Panthers,’ descendants of such folk as ‘Richard le Panter,’ or ‘Robert
le Paneter,’ or ‘Henry de le Paneterie,’ are but relics of a similar
office. They had the superintendence of the ‘paneterie,’ or pantry;
literally, of course, the bread closet. It seems, however, early to have
become used in a wider and more general sense. In the Household
Ordinances of Edward IV. one of the sergeants is styled ‘the chief
Pantrer of the King’s mouth.’ John Russel in his ‘Boke of Nurture’ thus
directs his student—

   The furst yere, my son, thou shalt be pantere or buttilare,
   Thou must have three knyffes kene in pantry, I sey thee, evermare,
   One knyfe the loaves to choppe, another them for to pare,
   The third, sharp and kene, to smothe the trenchers and square.[200]

Of the old ‘Achatour’ (found as ‘Henry le Catour’ or ‘Bernard le
Acatour’), the purveyor for the establishment, we have many memorials,
those of ‘Cater,’ ‘Cator,’ and ‘Caterer’ being the commonest. Chaucer
quaintly remarks of the ‘Manciple,’[201] who was so

                       Wise in buying of victuals,

that of him

                    Achatours mighten take ensample.

The provisions thus purchased were called ‘cates,’ a favourite word with
some of our later poets. Equivalent to the more monastic ‘le
Cellarer,’[202] which is now obsolete, are our numberless ‘Butlers,’ the
most accepted form of the endless ‘Teobald le Botilers,’ ‘Richer le
Botillers,’ ‘Ralph le Botelers,’ ‘William le Botellers,’ ‘Walter le
Butillers,’ or ‘Hugh le Buteilliers,’ of this time. As we shall observe
by-and-by, however, this was also an occupative name.[203]

With so many officers to look after the preparations, we should expect
the dinner itself to be somewhat ceremonious. And so it was—far more
ceremonious, however, than elegant in the light of the nineteenth
century. Our ‘Senechals’ and ‘Senecals’ (‘Alexander le Seneschal,’ B.,
‘Ivo Seneschallus,’ T.), relics of the ancient ‘seneschal,’ Latinized in
our records as ‘Dapifer’ (‘Henry Dapifer,’ A.), arranged the table. The
root of this word is the Saxon ‘schalk,’ a servant which, though now
wholly obsolete, seems to have been in familiar use in early times.[204]
An old poem tells us—

              Then the schalkes sharply shift their horses,
              To show them seemly in their sheen weeds.

In ‘Sir Gawayne,’ too, the attendant is thus described—

                                Clene spurs under
      Of bright golde, upon silk bordes, barred full rich,
      And scholes (depending) under shanks, there the schalk rides.

We are not without traces of its existence in other compounds. Thus our
‘Marshalls’ were originally ‘marechals;’ that is, ‘mare-schalks,’ the
early name for a horse-groom or blacksmith. The Marshall, however, was
early turned into an indoor office, and seems to have been busied enough
in ordering the position of guests in the hall, a very punctilious
affair in those days. The ‘Boke of Curtasye’ says:—

                In halle marshalle alle men schalle sett,
                After their degre, withouten lett.

Our ‘Gateschales,’ a name now altogether obsolete, were the more simple
porter, while our ‘Gottschalks,’ a surname more frequently hailing from
Germany, but once common with ourselves as a Christian name, denote
simply ‘God’s servant.’ But we are wandering. Let us come back to the
dinner-table. Such sobriquets as ‘Ralph le Suur’[205] or ‘John le Sewer’
remind us of the _sewer_—he who brought in the viands.[206] A _sewe_,
from the old French sevre, to follow, was any cooked dish, and thus is
simply equivalent to our _course_. Chaucer, in describing the rich
feasts of Cambuscan, King of Tartary, says the time would fail him to

                         Of their strange sewes.

I believe the Queen’s household still boasts its four gentlemen sewers.
As a surname, too, the word is still common. A curious custom presents
itself to our remembrance in our ‘Says,’ who, when not of the ‘de Says’
(‘Hugh de Say,’ A.), are but descendants of the ‘le Says’ (‘John le
Say,’ M.) of the Hundred Rolls. An ‘assay’ or ‘say’ was he who assayed
or tasted the messes as they were set one by one before the baron, to
guard against his being accidentally or purposely poisoned. An old poem
uses the fuller form, where it says—

                   Thine assayer schalle be an hownde,
                   To assaye thy mete before thee.

In the ‘Boke of Curtasye,’ too, we are told to what ranks this privilege

             No mete for man schalle sayed be,
             But for kynge, or prynce, or duke so fre.[207]

Another term for the same made its mark upon our nomenclature as
‘Gustur’ (‘Robert le Gustur,’ T.) To _gust_ was thus used till
Shakespeare’s day, and we still speak of ‘_gusto_’ as equivalent to

We are reminded by the fact of the existence of ‘Knifesmith’ and
‘Spooner’ only among our early occupative surnames that there were no
forks in those days.[208] There is no ‘Forker’ to be found. Even the
‘Carver’ (‘Adam le Kerver,’ A., ‘Richard le Karver,’ A.) had to use his
fingers. In the ‘Boke of Kervynge,’ a manual of the then strictest
etiquette in such matters, we find the following direction:—‘Set never
on fyshe, flesche, beest, ne fowle, more than two fyngers and a thombe.’
Seldom, too, did they use plates as we now understand them. Before each
guest was set a round slice of bread called a trencher, and the meat
being placed upon this, he consumed the whole, or as much as he pleased.
Under these circumstances we can easily understand how necessary would
be the office of ‘Ewer,’ a name found in every early roll as ‘Brian le
Ewer,’ or ‘Richard le Ewere,’ or ‘Adam de la Euerie.’ As he supplied
water for each to cleanse his hands he was close followed by the
‘napper’ or ‘napier,’ who proffered the towel or napkin. The word, I
need scarcely say, is but a diminutive of the old _nape_, which was
applied in general to the tablecloths and other linen used in setting
forth the dinner. An old book, which I have already quoted, in directing
the attendant how to lay the cloth, says—

                  The over nape schall double be layde.

The Hundred Rolls and other records furnish us with such names as
‘Jordan le Nappere,’ or ‘John le Napere,’ or ‘Walter de la Naperye.’
Behind the lord of the board, nigh to his elbow, stood the ‘page,’
holding his cup. This seems to have been an office much sought after by
the sons of the lower nobility, and it is to the honourable place in
which it was held we no doubt owe the fact that not merely are our
‘Pages’ decidedly numerous in the present day, but that we also find
such further particular compounds as ‘Small-page,’[209] ‘Little-page,’
or ‘Cup-page’ holding anything but a precarious existence in our midst.
There seems to have been but little difference between this office and
that of the ‘henchman,’ only that the latter, as his name, more strictly
written ‘haunchman,’ shows, attended his master’s behests out of doors.
He, too, lives on hale and hearty in our ‘Henchmans,’ ‘Hinxmans,’
‘Hincksmans,’ and ‘Hensmans.’[210]

In several of our early records of names we find ‘Peter le Folle,’
‘Alexander le Fol,’ and ‘Johannes Stultus’ appearing in apparently
honest and decent company. The old fool or jester was an important
entity in the retinue of the mediæval noble. He could at least say, if
he might not do, what he liked, and I am afraid the more ribald his
buffoonery the greater claim he possessed to be an adept in his
profession in the eyes of those who heard him. His dress was always in
character with his duties, being as uncouth as fashion reversed could
make it. In his hand he bore a mock rod of state, his head was
surmounted by a huge cap peaked at the summit and surrounded with little
jingling bells, his dress was in colour as conflicting as possible, and
the _tout ensemble_ I need not dwell upon. We still talk of a
‘foolscap,’ and even our paper has preserved the term from the fact that
one of the earliest watermarks we have was that of a fool’s cap with
bells. ‘Fools,’ I need not say, wherever else to be met with, are now
obsolete so far as our directories are concerned.

I have just mentioned the henchman. This at once carries us without the
baronial walls, and in whatever scene we are wont to regard the early
suzeraine as engaging, it is remarkable how fully marked is our
nomenclature with its surroundings. Several useful servitorships,
however, claim our first attention. In such days as these, when the
telegraph wire was an undreamt-of mystery, and highways traversed by
steam-engines would have been looked upon as something supernatural
indeed, we can readily understand the importance of the official ‘Roger
le Messager,’ or ‘John le Messager,’ nor need we be surprised by the
frequency with which he is met. In the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ it is said—

                  This messager to don his avantage
                  Unto the Kinges mother rideth swift.

Though generally found as ‘Messinger’ or ‘Massinger,’ the truer and more
ancient form is not wholly obsolete.[211] But if there were no
telegraphs, neither was there any regular system of postage. The name of
‘Ely le Breviter’ or ‘Peter le Brevitour’ seems to remind us of this. I
do not doubt myself the ‘breviter’ was kept by his lord for the writing
or conveyance of letters or brevets.[212] Piers Plowman uses the word
where, of the Pardoner’s preaching, it is said—

                     Lewed men loved it wel,
                     And liked his wordes,
                     Comen up knelynge
                     To kissen his bulles.
                     He bouched them with his brevet
                     And blered their eighen.[213]

The signet of his lord was in the hands of the ‘Spigurnell’ or
‘Spigurell,’ both of which forms still exist, I believe, in our general
nomenclature. As the sealer of all the royal writs, the king’s spigurell
would have an office at once important and careful. The term itself is
Saxon, its root implying that which is shut up or sealed. Our ‘Coffers,’
relics of the old ‘Ralph le Cofferer,’ or ‘John le Cofferer,’ though
something occupative, were nevertheless official also, and are to be
found as such in the thirteenth century. They remind us of the day when
there were no such things as cheque-books, nor banks, nor a paper-money
currency. Then on every expedition, be it warlike or peaceful, solid
gold or silver had to be borne for the baron’s expenditure and that of
his retinue; therefore none would be more important than he who
superintended the transit from place to place of the chest of solid
coinage set under his immediate care. Our early ‘Passavants,’ or
‘Pursevaunts,’ or more literally pursuivants, were under the direction
of the ‘Herald,’or ‘Heraud,’ as Chaucer styles him, and usually preceded
the royal or baronial retinue to announce its approach, and attend to
such other duties of lesser importance as his superior delegated to him.
In this respect he occupied a position much akin to that of the
‘Harbinger’ or ‘Herberger,’ who prepared the _harborage_ or lodging, and
all other entertainment required ere the cavalcade arrived. When we
reflect upon the large number of retainers, the ceremonious list of
attendants, the greater impediments to early travel, and the
difficulties of forwarding information, we shall see that these
officerships were by no means so formal as we might be apt to imagine.
To give illustrations of all the above-mentioned surnames were easy,
were it not that the number is so large that it becomes a difficulty
which to select. Such entries, however, as ‘Jacob le Messager,’ ‘Godfrey
le Coffrer,’ ‘Roger Passavant,’ ‘Main le Heralt,’ ‘Herbert le
Herberjur,’ ‘Nicholas le Spigurnell,’ ‘Peter le Folle,’ or the Latinized
‘Johannes Stultus,’ may be recorded as among the more familiar. A
reference to the Index will furnish examples of the rest, as well as
additional ones of the above.

In a day when horses were of more consequence than now, we need not be
surprised to find the baronial manger under special supervision. This
officer figures in our mediæval archives in such entries as ‘Walter le
Avenur’ or ‘William le Avenare.’[214] As his very name suggests, it was
the avenar’s care to provide for the regular and sufficient feeding of
the animals placed under his charge.[215] The ‘Boke of Curtayse’ tells
us his duties—

               The aveyner shall ordeyn provande good won
               For the lordys horsis everychon,
               They schyn have two cast of hay,
               A peck of provande on a day.

Elsewhere, too, the same writer says—

                  A maystur of horsys a squyer ther is,
                  Aveyner and ferour under him i-wys.

Our ‘Palfreymans’ (‘John le Palfreyman,’ M.), though not always
official, I do not doubt had duties also of a similar character in
looking after the well-being of their mistress’s palfrey, and attending
the lady herself when she rode to the cover, or took an airing on the
more open and breezy hillside.

The two great amusements of the period we are considering were the hunt
and the tournament. Of the former we have many relics, nor is the latter
barren or unfruitful of terms connected therewith that still linger on
in the surnames of to-day. The exciting encounters which took place in
these chivalric meetings or jousts had a charm alike for the Saxon and
the Norman; alike, too, for spectator as well as for him who engaged in
the fierce mêlée. Training for this was by no means left to the
discretion of amateur intelligence. In three several records of the
thirteenth century I find such names as ‘Peter le Eskurmesur,’ ‘Henry le
Eskyrmessur,’ and ‘Roger le Skirmisour.’ The root of these terms is, of
course, the old French verb ‘eskirmir,’ to fence. It is thence we get
our _skirmish_ and _scrimmage_, the latter form, though looked upon now
as of a somewhat slang character, being found in the best of society in
our earlier writers. Originally it denoted a hand-to-hand encounter
between two horsemen. We still imply by a skirmish a short and sharp
conflict between the advanced posts of two contending armies. As a
teacher of ‘the noble art of self-defence,’[216] we can easily
understand how important was the skirmisher. The name has become much
corrupted by lapse of time, scarcely recognisable, in fact, in such a
garb as ‘Scrimmenger,’ ‘Skrymsher,’ ‘Skrimshire,’ and perchance
‘Scrimshaw,’ forms which I find in our present London and provincial
directories. Of those who were wont to engage we have already mentioned
the majority. All the different grades of nobility were present, and
with them were their esquires, with shield and buckler, ready to supply
a fresh unsplintered lance, or a new shield, with its proudly emblazoned
crest. I need scarce remind the reader of what consequence in such a day
as this would be the costume of him who thus engaged in such deadly
conflict. The invention of gunpowder has changed the early tactics of
fight. Battles are lost and won now long ere the real mêlée has taken
place. Then everything, whether in war or tournament, was settled face
to face. To pierce his opponent where an inlet could admit his spear, or
to unhorse him by the shock of meeting, was the knight’s one aim. The
bloodiness of such an affray can be better imagined than described. We
still hear of distorted features in the after inspection of the scene of
battle, but we can have no conception of the mangling that the bodies of
horse and rider underwent, the inevitable result of the earlier manner
of warfare. Death is mercifully quick now upon the battle-field. We have
still three or four professional surnames that remind us of this. We
have still our ‘Jackmans,’ or ‘Jakemans,’ as representatives of the
former cavalry; so called from the ‘jack’ or coat of mail they wore. It
is this latter article which has bequeathed to our youngsters of the
nineteenth century their more peaceful and diminutive _jacket_. Thus
mailed and horsed, they had to encounter the cruel onslaught of our
‘Spearmans,’ and ‘Pikemans,’ and ‘Billmans,’ names that themselves
suggest how bloody would be the strife when hatchet blade, and sharp
pike, and keen sword clashed together. To cover and shield the body,
then, was the one thought of these early days of military tactics, and
at the same time to give the fullest play to every limb and sinew. This
was a work of a most careful nature, and no wonder it demanded the
combined skill of several craftsmen. Such occupative sobriquets as ‘Adam
le Armerer’ or ‘Simon le Armurer’ are now represented by the curter
‘Armer’ or ‘Armour.’ In the ‘Knight’s Tale’ it is said—

               There were also of Martes division
               Th’ armerer, and the bowyer, and the smith,
               That forgeth sharpe swerdes on his stith.

Our ‘Frobishers,’ ‘Furbishers,’ and ‘Furbers,’ once found as ‘Richard le
Fourbishour’ or ‘Alan le Fourbour,’ scoured and prepared the habergeon,
or jack just referred to, while ‘Gilbert le Hauberger’ or ‘John le
Haubergeour’ was more immediately engaged in constructing it. Our
present Authorized Version, I need hardly say, still retains the word.
In ‘Sire Thopas,’ too, it is used where it is said—

                     And next his schert an aketoun,
                     And over that an habergoun.

Our classical-looking ‘Homers’ are the naturally corrupted form of the
once familiar ‘le Heaumer,’ he who fashioned the warrior’s helmet.[217]
Our ‘Sworders,’ I imagine, forged him his trusty blade,[218] while our
‘Sheathers’ furnished forth its slip. Our ‘Platers’ I would suggest as
makers of his cuirass, while our ‘Kissers’—far less demonstrative than
they look—are but relics of such a name as ‘Richard le Kissere,’ he who
manufactured his _cuishes_ or thigh armour, one of the most careful
parts of the entire dress.[219] Lastly, our ‘Spurriers’ were there ready
to supply him with his rowel, and thus in warlike guise he was prepared
either for adventurous combat in behalf of the distressed damsel, or to
seek favour in the eyes of her he loved in the more deadly lists.[220]

I must not forget to mention our ‘Kemps’ while upon military affairs, a
general term as it was for a soldier in the days of which we are
speaking. I believe the phrase ‘to go a kemping’ is still in use in the
north. In the old rhyme of ‘Guy and Colbrand’ the minstrel says—

                  When meat and drink is great plentye,
                  Then lords and ladys still will be,
                    And sit and solace lythe:
                  Then it is time for mee to speake,
                  Of kern knightes and kempes greate,
                    Such carping for to kythe.

How familiar a term it must have been in the common mouth the frequency
with which the name is met fully shows.

Our ‘Slingers’ represent an all but forgotten profession, but they seem
to have been useful enough in their day and generation. The sling was
always attached to a stick, whence the old term ‘staffsling.’ Lydgate
describes David as armed

             With a staffe slynge, voyde of plate and mayle;

while in ‘Richard Cœur de Lion’ we are told—

                  Foremost he sette hys arweblasteres,
                  And aftyr that hys good archeres,
                  And aftyr hys staff-slyngeres,
                  And other with scheeldes and speres.

But we must not forget old England’s one boast, her archers, and our
last quotation fitly brings them to our notice. They, too, in the
battle-field and in the rural list, maintained alike their supremacy. If
we would be proud of our early victories, we must ever look with
veneration on the bow. ‘Bowman’ and ‘Archer’ still represent the more
military professional, but not alone. Even more interesting, as speaking
for the more specific crossbow or ‘arbalist,’ are our ‘Alabasters,’
‘Arblasters,’ ‘Arblasts,’ and ‘Balsters.’ In Robert of Gloucester’s
description of the reign of the Conqueror, it is said—

         So great power of this land and of France he nom (took)
         With him into England, of knights and squires,
         Spearmen anote, and bowemen, and also arblasters.

Chaucer, too, describing a battlement, says—

                And eke within the castle were
                Springoldes, gonnes, bowes, and archers,
                And eke about at corners
                Men seine over the wall stand
                Grete engines, who were nere hand,
                And in the kernels, here and there,
                Of arblasters great plentie were.

In the Hundred Rolls he is Latinized as ‘John Alblastarius,’ and in the
York Records as ‘Thomas Balistarius.’ The Inquisitiones style him
‘Richard le Alblaster,’ while the Parliamentary Writs register him as
‘Reginald le Arblaster.’ It was to this class of armour our word
‘artillery’ was first applied, a fact which our Bible translators have
preserved, where, in describing the meeting between David and Jonathan,
they speak of the latter as giving his ‘artillery to the lad.’ Cotgrave,
too, in his dictionary, printed at the beginning of the seventeenth
century, has the following:—‘Artellier, a bowyer or bow-maker, also a
fletcher, or one that makes both bows and arrows.’ The mention of the
fletcher brings us to the more general weapon. Such an entry as the
following would seem strange to the eyes of the nineteenth century:—‘To
Nicolas Frost, bowman, Stephen Sedar, fletcher,[221] Ralph, the
stringer, and divers others of the said mysteries, in money, paid to
them, viz.:—to the aforesaid Nicholas, for 500 bows, 31_l._ 8_s._; to
the aforesaid Stephen, for 1,700 sheaves of arrows, 148_l._ 15_s._; and
to the aforesaid Ralph, for forty gross of bowstrings, 12_l._’
(Exchequer Issues, 14 Henry IV.) This short extract in itself shows us
the origin of at least three distinct surnames, viz.:—‘Bowyer,’
‘Fletcher,’ and ‘Stringer.’ We should hardly recognise the first,
however, in such entries as ‘Adam le Boghiere,’ or ‘William le
Boghyere.’ ‘John le Bower’ reminds us that some of our ‘Bowers’ are
similarly sprung, while ‘George le Boyer’ answers for our ‘Boyers.’
Besides these, we have ‘Robert Bowmaker’ or ‘John Bowmaykere’ to
represent the fuller sobriquet. So much for the bow. Next comes the
arrow. This was a very careful piece of workmanship. Four distinct
classes of artizans were engaged in its structure, and, as we might
expect, all are familiar names of to-day. ‘John le Arowsmyth’ we may set
first. He confined himself to the manufacture of the arrow-head. Thus we
find the following statement made in an Act passed in 1405:—‘Item,
because the Arrowsmyths do make many faulty heads for arrows and
quarels, it is ordained and established that all heads for arrows and
quarels, after this time to be made, shall be well boiled or braised,
and hardened at the points with steel.’ (Stat. Realm.)[222] ‘Clement le
Settere’ or ‘Alexander le Settere’[223] was busied in affixing these to
the shaft, and ‘John le Tippere’ or ‘William le Tippere’ in pointing
them off. Nor is this all—there is yet the feather. Of the origin of
such mediæval folk as ‘Robert le Fleccher’ or ‘Ada le Fletcher,’ we are
reminded by Milton, where, in describing an angel, he says—

                                 His locks behind,
           Illustrious on his shoulders, _fledge_ with wings,
           Lay waving round.

The fletcher, or fledger as I had well-nigh called him, spent his time,
in fact, in feathering arrows.

Skelton in ‘The Maner of the World’ says:—

                        So proude and so gaye,
                        So riche in arraye,
                        And so skant of mon-ey
                                    Saw I never:
                        So many bowyers,
                        So many fletchers,
                        And so few good archers
                                    Saw I never.

While all these names, however, speak for specific workmanship, our
‘Flowers’ represent a more general term. We are told of Phœbus in the
‘Manciples Tale,’ that

                His bowe he bent, and set therein a flo.

‘Flo,’ was a once familiar term for an arrow. ‘John le Floer,’ or
‘Nicholas le Flouer,’ therefore, would seem to be but synonymous with
‘Arrowsmith’ or ‘Fletcher.’ ‘Stringer’ and ‘Stringfellow’ are
self-explanatory, and are common surnames still. What a list of
sobriquets is here! What a change in English social life do they
declare. Time was when to be a sure marksman was the object of every
English boy’s ambition. The bow was his chosen companion. Evening saw
him on the village green, beneath the shade of the old yew tree, and as
he practised his accustomed sport, his breath would come thick and fast,
as he bethought him of the coming wake, and his chance of bringing down
the popinjay, and presenting the ribbon to his chosen queen of the May.
Yes, times are altered. Teeming cities cover the once rustic sward,
broadcloth has eclipsed the Lincoln green, the clothyard, the arrow; but
still amid the crowd that rushes to and fro in our streets the name of
an ‘Archer,’ or a ‘Bowman,’ or a ‘Butts,’ or a ‘Popgay’ spoken in our
ears will hush the hubbub of the city, and, forgotten for a brief moment
the greed for money, will carry us, like a pleasant dream recalled, into
the fresher and purer atmosphere of England’s past.

In the poem from which I have but recently quoted we have the record of
‘gonnes,’ or ‘guns,’ as we should now term them. It would be quite
possible for our nomenclature to be represented by memorials of the
powder magazine, and I should be far from asserting that such is not the
case.[224] In the household of Edward III. there are enumerated, among
others, ‘Ingyners lvij; Artellers vj; Gonners vj.’ Here there is a clear
distinction between the ‘gun’ and the ‘engine;’ between missiles hurled
by powder and those by the catapult. Fifty years even earlier than this
Chaucer had used the following sentence:—‘They dradde no assaut of
gynne, gonne, nor skaffaut.’ In his ‘Romance,’ too, as I have just
shown, he places in juxtaposition ‘grete engines’ and ‘gonnes.’ Of one,
if not both of these, we have undoubted memorials in our nomenclature.
The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘William le Engynur’ and a ‘Walter
le Ginnur;’ the Inquisitiones with a ‘Richard le Enginer,’ and the Writs
with a ‘William le Genour.’ The descendants of such as these are, of
course, our ‘Gunners,’ ‘Ginners,’ ‘Jenour,’ and ‘Jenners,’[225] the last
of which are now represented by one who is as renowned for recovering as
his ancestor in days gone by would be for destroying life. Our ‘Gunns’
and ‘Ginns’ also must be referred to the same source. In one of the
records just alluded to a ‘Warin Engaine’ is to be met with. If we elide
the first syllable, as in the previous instances, the modern form at
once appears.

But if in the deadly tournament the baron and his retainers found an
ample pastime, nevertheless the chase was of all diversions the most
popular. In this the prince and the peasant alike found recreation,
while with regard to the latter, as we shall see, it was also combined
with service. The woody wastelands, so extended in these earlier days of
a sparse population, afforded sport enough for the most ardent huntsman.
According to the extent of privilege or the divisions into which they
were separated, these tracts were styled by the various terms of
‘forest,’ ‘chase,’ ‘park,’ and ‘warren.’ To any one at all conversant
with old English law these several words will be familiar enough. To
keep the wilder beasts within their prescribed limits, to prevent them
injuring the tilled lands, and in general to guard the common interests
of lord and tenant, keepers were appointed. The names of these officers,
the chief of whom are entitled by appellations whose root is of a local
character, are well-nigh all found to this day in our directories.
Indeed there is no class of names more firmly imbedded there. In the
order of division I have just alluded to, we have ‘Forester,’ with its
corrupted ‘Forster’ and ‘Foster,’ relics of such registered folk as ‘Ivo
le Forester,’ ‘Henry le Forster,’ or ‘Walter le Foster;’ ‘Chaser,’ now
obsolete, I believe, but lingering on for a considerable period as the
offspring of ‘William’ or ‘Simon le Chasur;’ ‘Parker,’ or ‘Parkman,’ or
‘Park,’ descended from ‘Adam le Parkere,’ or ‘Hamo le Parkere,’ or
‘Roger atte Parke,’ or ‘John del Parc,’ and ‘Warener’ or ‘Warner,’ or
‘Warren,’ lineally sprung from men of the stamp of ‘Thomas le Warrener,’
‘Jacke le Warner,’ or ‘Richard de Waren.’ The curtailed forms of these
several terms seem to have been all but consequent with the rise of the
officership itself. ‘Love’ in the ‘Romance’ says:—

                  Now am I knight, now chastelaine,
                  Now prelate, and now chaplaine,
                  Now priest, now clerke, now forstere.

In his description of the Yoman, too, Chaucer adds—

              An horne he bere, the baudrick was of grene,
              A fostere was he sothely as I guesse.

Thus, again, Langland, in setting forth Glutton’s encounter with the
frequenters of the tavern, speaks familiarly of—

                            Watte the Warner.

But these are not all. It is with them we must associate our ancestral
‘Woodwards’ or ‘Woodards,’ and still more common ‘Woodreefs,’
‘Woodrows,’ ‘Woodroffs,’ and ‘Woodruffs,’ all more or less perverted
forms of the original wood-reeve.[226] A song representing the
husbandmen as complaining of the burdens in Edward II.’s reign says—

             The hayward heteth us harm to habben of his
             The bailif beckneth us bale, and weneth wel do;
             The wodeward waiteth us wo.

All these officers were more or less of legal capacity, men whose duty
it was, bill in hand, to guard the vert and venison under their
charge,[227] to act as agents for their lord in regard to the pannage of
hogs, to look carefully to the lawing of dogs, and in case of offences
to present them to the verderer at the forest assize. The ‘Moorward,’
found in our early records as ‘German le Morward’ or ‘Henry le Morward,’
guarded the wilder and bleaker districts. ‘The Rider,’ commonly found as
‘Roger le Rydere’ or ‘Ralph le Ryder,’ in virtue of having a larger
extent of jurisdiction, was mounted, though his office was essentially
the same. Mr. Lower, remarking upon this word, has a quotation from the
ballad of ‘William of Cloudesley,’ where the king, rewarding the brave
archer, says:—

                    I give thee eightene pence a day,
                      And my bowe thou shalt bere,
                    And over all the north countrè
                      I make thee chyfe rydere.

With him we must associate our ‘Rangers’ and ‘Keepers,’ who, acting
doubtless under him, assisted also in the work of patrolling the
woodland and recovering strayed beasts, and presenting trespassers to
the swainmote just referred to.

The bailiff, shortened as a surname into ‘Bailey,’ ‘Baillie’ (‘German le
Bailif,’ J., ‘Henry le Baillie,’ M.), like the reve, seems to have been
both of legal and private capacity; in either case acting as
deputy.[228] This word ‘reve’ did a large amount of duty formerly, but
seems now to be fast getting into its dotage. In composition, however,
it is far from being obsolete. The ‘Reeve’ (‘John le Reve,’ M., ‘Sager
le Reve,’ H.), who figured so conspicuously among the Canterbury
Pilgrims, would be the best representative of the term in his day, I

            His lordes shepe, his nete, and his deirie,
            His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultrie,
            Were wholly in this reves governing.

Our ‘Grieves’ (‘Thomas le Greyve,’ A.), who are but the fuller ‘Gerefa,’
fulfilled, and I believe in some parts of Scotland still fulfil, the
capacity here described, being but manorial bailiffs, in fact. ‘The Boke
of Curtasye’ says—

                   Grayvis, and baylys, and parker
                   Shall come to accountes every yere
                   Byfore the auditours of the lorde.

Thus, too, our ‘Portreeves’ (‘William le Portreve,’ A., ‘Augustin le
Portreve,’ A.), who in our coast towns fulfilled the capacity of our
more general mayor, are oftentimes in our earlier records enrolled as
Portgreve.’ ‘Hythereve’ (‘John le Huthereve,’ O.), from hithe, a haven,
would seem to denote the same office, while our obsolete ‘Fenreves’
(‘Adam le Fenreve,’ A.), like the ‘Moorward’ mentioned above, had
charge, I doubt not, of the wilder and more sparsely populated tracts of
land. Many other compounds of this word we have already recorded; some
we shall refer to by-and-by, and with them and these the reeve, after
all, is not likely to be soon forgotten.

But the poorer villeins were not without those who should guard their
interests also. In a day of fewer landmarks and scantier barriers
trespasses would be inevitable. An interesting relic of primitive
precaution against the straying of animals is found in the officership
of the ‘Hayward’ (or ‘Adam le Heyward,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it),
whose duty it was to guard the cattle that grazed on the village common.
He was so styled from the Saxon ‘hay’ or ‘hedge,’ already spoken of in
our previous chapter. An old poem has it—

                  In tyme of hervest mery it is ynough;
                  Peres and apples hongeth on bough,
                  The hayward bloweth mery his horne;
                  In every felde ripe is corne.

In ‘Piers Plowman,’ too, we have the word—

                   I have an horne, and be a hayward,
                     And liggen out a nyghtes
                   And kepe my corne and my croft
                     From pykers and theves.

It will be seen from these two references that the officership was of a
somewhat general character. The cattle might be his chief care, but the
common village interests were also under his supervision. The term has
left many surnames to maintain its now decayed and primitive character;
‘Hayward’ and ‘Haward’ are, however, the most familiar. ‘Hayman,’
doubtless, is of similar origin. If, in spite of the hayward’s care, it
came to pass that any trespass occurred, the village ‘pounder’ was ready
at hand to impound the animal till its owner claimed it, and paid the
customary fine—

                In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder,
                In Wakefield, all on a green.

So we are told in ‘Robin Hood.’ I need not add that our many ‘Pounders,’
‘Pinders,’ and still more classic ‘Pindars,’ are but the descendants of
him or one of his _confrères_. I do not doubt myself, too, that our
‘Penders’ (‘William le Pendere’ in the Parliamentary Writs) will be
found to be of a similar origin.

While, however, these especial officers superintended the general
interests of lord and tenant, there were those also whose peculiar
function it was to guard the particular quarry his master loved to
chase; to see them unmolested and undisturbed during such time as the
hunt itself was in abeyance, and then, when the chase came on, to
overlook and conduct its course. These, too, are not without
descendants. Such names as ‘Stagman’ and ‘Buckmaster,’[229] ‘Hindman’
and ‘Hartman,’ ‘Deerman’ and its more amatory ‘Dearman,’ by their
comparative frequency, remind us how important would be their office in
the eye of their lord.

Nor are those who assisted in the lordly hunt itself left unrepresented
in our nomenclature. The old ‘Elyas le Hunderd,’ or ‘hund-herd,’ has
left in our ‘Hunnards’ an abiding memorial of the ‘houndsman.’ Similarly
the ‘vaultrier’ was he who unleashed them. It has been a matter of doubt
whether or no the more modern ‘feuterer’ owes his origin to this term,
but the gradations found in such registrations as ‘John le Veutrer,’
‘Geoffrey le Veuterer,’ and ‘Walter le Feuterer,’ to be met with in the
rolls of this period, set all question, I should imagine, at rest. An
old poem, describing the various duties of these officers and their
charges, says—

                A halpeny the hunte takes on the day
                For every hounde the sothe to say;
                The vewtrer, two cast of brede he tase,
                Two lesshe of greyhounds if that he has.

‘Fewter’ and ‘Futter,’[230] however, seem to be the only relics we now
possess of this once important care. Such names as ‘John le Berner’ or
‘Thomas le Berner,’ common enough in old rolls, must be distinguished
from our more aristocratic ‘Berners.’ The _berner_ was a special
houndsman who stood with fresh relays of dogs ready to unleash them if
the chase grew heated and long. In the Parliamentary Rolls he is termed
a ‘yeoman-berner.’ Our ‘Hornblows,’ curtailed from ‘Hornblower,’ and
simpler ‘Blowers,’ would seem to be closely related to the last, for the
horn figured as no mean addition by its jubilant sounds to the
excitement of the chase. He who used it held an office that required all
the attention he could bring to bear upon it. The dogs were not
unleashed until he had sounded the blast, and if at any time from his
elevated station he caught sight of the quarry, he was by the manner of
winding his instrument to certify to the huntsman the peculiar class to
which it belonged. In the Hundred Rolls we find him inscribed as
‘Blowhorn,’ a mere reversal of syllables. Of a more general and
professional character probably would be our ‘Hunters,’ ‘Huntsmans,’ and
‘Hunts,’ not to mention the more Norman ‘John le Venner’ or ‘Richard
Fenner.’ It may not be known to all our ‘Hunts’ that theirs, the shorter
form, was the most familiar term in use at that time; hence the number
that at present exist. We are told in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ of the—

                Hunte and horne, and houndes him beside;

while but a little further on he speaks of—

               The hunte ystrangled with the wilde beres.

Forms like ‘Walter le Hunte’ or ‘Nicholas le Hunte’ are very common to
the old records. As another proof of the general use of this word we may
cite its compounds. ‘Borehunte’ carries us back to the day when the wild
boar ranged the forest’s deeper gloom. ‘Wolfhunt,’ represented in the
Inquisitiones by such a sobriquet as ‘Walter le Wolfhunte,’ reminds us
that Edgar did not utterly exterminate that savage beast of prey, as is
oftentimes asserted. A family of this name held lands in the Peak of
Derbyshire at this period by the service of keeping the forest clear of
wolves. In the forty-third year of Edward III. one Thomas Engeine held
lands in Pitchley, in the county of Northampton, by service of finding
at his own cost certain dogs for the destruction of wolves, foxes, &c.,
in the counties of Northampton, Rutland, Oxford, Essex, and Buckingham;
nay, as late as the eleventh year of Henry VI. Sir Robert Plumpton held
one borate of land in Nottinghamshire, by service of winding a horn, and
chasing or frightening the wolves in Sherwood Forest.[231] Doubtless,
however, as in these recorded instances, it would be in the more hilly
and bleaker districts, or in the deeper forests, he found his safest and
last retreat. It seems well-nigh literally to be coming down from a
mountain to a mole-hill to speak of our ‘Mole-hunts,’ the other compound
of this word. But small as he was in comparison with the other, he was
scarcely less obnoxious on account of his burrowing propensities, for
which the husbandman gave him the longer name of mouldwarp. His numbers,
too, made him formidable, and it is no wonder that people found
occupation enough in his destruction, or that the name of ‘Molehunt’
should have found its way into our early rolls. So late, indeed, as
1641, we find in a farming book the statement that 12_d._ was the usual
price paid by the farmer for every dozen old moles secured, and 6_d._
for the same number of young ones. This speaks at least for their
plentifulness. An old provincialism for mole, and one not yet extinct,
was ‘wont’ or ‘want.’ This explains the name of ‘Henry le Wantur,’ which
may be met with in the Hundred Rolls. In the Sloane MS. is a method
given ‘for to take wontes.’ It would be in the deeper underwood our
‘Todmans’ and ‘Todhunters,’ the chasers of the fox, or ‘tod,’ as he was
popularly called, found diversion enough. It would be here our
‘Brockmans’ secured the badger. I doubt not these were both also of
professional character—aids and helps to the farmer. Indeed, he had many
upon whose services he could rely for a trifle of reward in the shape of
a silver penny, or a warm mess of potage on the kitchen settle. Our
‘Burders’ and ‘Fowlers,’ by their craft, whether of falconry or netting,
or in the use of the cross-bow bolt, aided to clear the air of the more
savage birds of prey, or of the lesser ones that would molest the
bursting seed. I need scarcely remark that the distinction between
‘bird’ and ‘fowl’ is modern. The ‘fowls of the air’ with our Saxon
Bible, and up to very recent days, embraced every winged creature, large
and small. In our very expression ‘barndoor-fowl’ we are only using a
phrase which served to mark the distinction between the wilder and the
more domesticated bird. The training and sale of bullfinches seem to
have given special employment then, as now, to such as would undertake
the care thereof. A ‘Robert le Fincher’ occurs at an early period, and I
see his descendants are yet in being. As we shall see in a later
chapter, this bird has set his mark deeply upon our sobriquet
nomenclature. Our ‘Trappers,’ whether for bird or beast, confined their
operations to the soil, capturing their spoil by net or gin.

We owe several names, or rather several forms of the same name, to the
once favourite pursuit of falconry. Of all sports in the open air this
was the one most entirely aristocratic. In it the lord and his lady
alike found pleasure. It had become popular so early as the ninth
century, and, as Mr. Lower says, in such estimation was the office of
State falconer held in Norman times that Domesday shows us, apart from
others, four different tenants-in-chief, who are described each as
‘accipitrarius,’ or falconer. Until John’s reign it was not lawful for
any but those of the highest rank to keep hawks, but in the ‘Forest
Charter’ a special clause was introduced which gave power to every free
man to have an aerie. So valuable was a good falcon that it even stood
chief among royal gifts, and up to the beginning of the seventeenth
century it brought as much as 100 marks in the market.[232] Royal edicts
were even passed for the preservation of their eggs. From all this, and
much more that might be adduced, it is easy to understand how important
was the office of falconer, nor need we wonder that it is one of the
most familiar names to be found in early rolls. Of many forms those of
‘Falconer,’ ‘Falconar,’ ‘Faulkner,’ ‘Falkner,’[233] ‘Faulconer,’ and
‘Faukener,’ seem to be the commonest. The last form is found in the
‘Boke of Curtasye’—

               The chaunceler answeres for their clothyng,
               For yomen, faukeners, and their horsyng,
               For their wardrop and wages also.

In our former ‘Idonea or Walter le Oyseler’ we recognise but another
French term for the same. A special keeper of the goshawk, or ‘oster,’
got into mediæval records in the shape of ‘William le Astrier,’ or
‘Robert le Ostricer,’ or ‘Richard le Hostriciere,’ or ‘Godfrey
Ostriciarius.’ The Latin ‘accipiter’ is believed to be the root of the
term, which with such other perverted forms as ‘Ostregier,’ ‘Ostringer,’
‘Astringer,’ and ‘Austringer,’ lingered on the common tongue till so
late as the seventeenth century.[234] A curious proof of the prevailing
passion is found in the name of ‘Robert le Jessmaker,’ set down in the
Hundred Rolls. The ‘jess’ was the leathern or silken strap fastened
closely round the foot of the hawk, from which the line depended and was
held by the falconer. That the demand for these should be so great as to
cause a man to give himself up entirely to their manufacture, will be
the best evidence of the ardour with which our forefathers entered into
this pastime. The end of falconry was, however, sudden as it was
complete. The introduction of the musket at one fell swoop did away with
office, pursuit, with, in fact, the whole paraphernalia of the
amusement, and now it is without a relic, save in so far as these names
abide with us.

In concluding this part of our subject it is pleasant to remind
ourselves that, however strong might be the antagonism which this
chapter displays between Norman and Saxon, the pride of the one, the
oppression of the other, that antagonism is now overpast and gone. We
well know that a revolution was at work, sometimes showing itself
violently, but generally silent in its progress, by which happier
circumstances arrived, happier at any rate for the country at large. We
well know how this consummation came, how these several races became
afterwards one by the suppression of that power the more independent of
these barons had wielded, by confusion of blood, by the acquisition of
more general liberty, by mutuality of interests, by the contagious
influences of commerce, and, above all, by the kindly and
prejudice-weakening force of lapsing time. All this we know, and, as it
is in a sense foreign to our present purpose, I pass over it now. I
trust that I have already shown that there is something, after all, in a
name; at any rate in a surname, for that in it is supplied a link
between the past and the present, for that in the utterance of one of
these may be recalled not merely the lineaments of some face of to-day,
but the dimmer outline of an age which is past beyond recall for ever.
Viewed in a light so broad as this, the country churchyard, with each
mossy stone, is, apart from the diviner lessons it teaches, a living
page of history; and even the parish register, instead of being a mere
record of dry and uninteresting facts, becomes instinct with the lives
and surroundings of our English forefathers.


                              CHAPTER IV.


I now come to the consideration of occupations generally, and to this I
think it will be advisable to devote two chapters. One reason for so
doing, the main one in fact, is that they seem naturally to divide
themselves into two classes—those of a rural character, very numerous at
that time on account of agricultural pursuits being so general, and
those of a more diverse and I may say civilized kind, bearing upon the
community’s life—literature and art, dress, with all its varied
paraphernalia, the boudoir and the kitchen. In considering the former,
the character of our surnames will give us, I imagine, by no means a bad
or ineffective picture of the simplicity of our early rural life, its
retirement, and even calm. In shadowing forth the latter, we shall be
enabled to see what were the available means of that age, and by the
very absence of certain names to realise how numberless have been the
resources that discovery has added at a more recent period. It will be
well, too, to give two entire chapters to these surnames, as being
worthy of somewhat further particularity than the others. They betray
much more of our English life that has become obsolete. Local names, as
I have said already, while they must ever denote much of change, denote
the changes more especially of Nature herself, which are slow in
general, and require more than the test of four or five centuries to
make their transitions apparent. Personal or Christian names vary almost
less than these. The Western European system is set upon the same
foundation, and whatever has been peculiar to separate countries has
long since, by the intermingling of nations, whether peaceful or
revolutionary, been added to the one common stock. Some indeed have
fallen into disuse through crises of various kinds. A certain number,
too, of a fanciful kind, as we have already seen, have been added within
the last two centuries, but these latter have not of course affected our
surnames. Nicknames, which form so large a proportion of our
nomenclature, remain much the same; for a nation’s tongue, while
receiving a constant deposit and throwing off ever a redundant
phraseology, still, as a rule, does not touch these; they are taken from
the deeper channel of a people’s speech. But the fashion and custom of
living is ever changing. New wants spring up, and old requirements
become unneeded; fresh resources come to hand, and the more antique are
at once despised and thrown aside. In a word, invention and discovery
cast their shafts at the very heart of usage. Thus it is that we shall
have such a large number of obsolete occupations to recount—occupations
which but for our rolls even the oldest and most reliable of our less
formal writings would have failed to preserve to us.

It is quite possible for the eye to light upon hamlets in the more
retired nooks and crannies of England that have undergone but little
change during even the last six centuries, hamlets of which we could say
with Goldsmith:—

          How often have I paused on every charm,
          The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
          The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
          The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
          The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
          For talking age and whispering lovers made.

I have seen, or I at least imagined I have seen, such a picture as this;
but if there be, this of all times is that in which we must be prepared
for a revolution. Our railways are every day but connecting us with the
more inaccessible districts, following as they do the curves of our
valleys, winding alongside our streams, like nature and art in parallel.
As they thus increase they bear with them equally increased facilities
for carrying the modernized surroundings and accessories of life on
this, on that, and on every hand. Thus usage is everywhere fast giving
way before utility, and thus in proportion as art and invention get
elbow-room, so does the primitive poetry of our existence fade from
view. We can remember villages—there are still such—around which time
had flung a halo of so simple aspect, villages whose steads were grouped
with so exquisite a quaintness, so utterly and beautifully irregular, so
full of unexpected joints and curves, and all so thatched, and
embrowned, and trellised, that with the loss of them we have lost a
pastoral. There may be indeed a certain poetry in model villas of
undeviating line and exact altitude; there may be a beauty in an
erection which reminds you in perpetuity of the great Euclidian truth
that a straight line is that which lies evenly between its extreme
points, but at times it puts one in sober mood to think all the touches
of a past time are to fade away, and these be in their stead. How
different the tale nomenclature tells us of former rusticity and simpler

The early husbandman required but little decorative refinement for his
homestead. To keep out the cold blast and the driving rain, to have a
niche by the fireside comfortable and warm, this was all he asked or
wished for. His roof was all but invariably composed of thack or thatch,
and every village had its ‘thatcher.’ Busy indeed would he be as the
late autumn drew nigh, and stack and stead must be shielded from the
keen and chilling winter. The Hundred Roll forms of the surname are
‘Joan le Thaccher’ and ‘Thomas le Thechare;’ the Parliamentary Writs
‘John le Thacher;’ while the more modern directory furnishes us with
such changes rung upon the same as ‘Thatcher,’ ‘Thacker’[235] (still a
common provincialism for the occupation), and ‘Thackery,’ or
‘Thackeray,’ or Thackwray.’[236] These latter are of course but akin to
the old ‘John le Fermery,’ or ‘Richard le Vicary,’ the termination added
being the result of popular whim or caprice. Our ‘Readers’ had less to
do with book lore than we might have supposed, being but descendants of
the mediæval ‘William le Redere,’[237] another term for the same kind of
labour. The old ‘Hellier,’ or ‘Helier,’ carries us back to a once
well-known root. To ‘hill,’ or ‘hele,’ was to cover, and a ‘hilyer’ was
a roofer.[238] Sir John Maundville says with regard to the Tartars, ‘the
helynge of their houses, and ... the dores ben alle of woode;’ and John
of Trevisa speaks of the English ‘whyt cley and red’ as useful ‘for to
make crokkes and other vessels, and barned tyyl to _hele_ with houses
and churches.’ Gower, too, uses the word prettily, but perfectly
naturally, when he says—

                 She took up turves (turfs) of the lond,
                 Withouten help of mannes hond,
                 All heled with the grene grass.[239]

Amongst other of the many forms that still survive surnominally we have
‘Hillyer,’ ‘Hillier,’ ‘Hellier,’ ‘Hellyer,’ and the somewhat unpleasant
‘Helman’ and ‘Hellman.’ Earlier instances may be found in the Hundred
Rolls in such entries as ‘Robert le Heliere’ or ‘Will. Heleman.’ Our
‘Tylers’ are well and quaintly represented in the early rolls. One
mediæval spelling of this good old-fashioned name is ‘Tyghelere’ (Adam
le Tyghelere, P.W.), while such forms as ‘le Tuglur,’ ‘le Tuler,’ or ‘le
Tewler,’ as representatives of the Norman-French vocabulary, meet us on
every hand. Whether any of their descendants have had the courage to
reproduce any of these renderings I cannot say. I do not find any in our
directories. Our ‘Smiths’ have not been quite so qualmish. With the
tylers we may fitly introduce our ‘Shinglers,’ they who used the stout
oaken wood in the place of burnt clay. Churches were oftentimes so
covered. Mr. Halliwell quotes the following somewhat sarcastic couplet:—

                 Flouren cakes beth the schingles alle
                 Of cherche, cloister, boure, and halle.

Piers Plowman, too, speaks similarly of Noah’s Ark as the ‘shyngled
ship.’[240] All these names have, occupatively speaking, now become
obsolete, or nearly so; our ‘Slaters,’ or ‘Sclaters,’ or ‘Slatters,’
having usurped the entire position they were formerly content to share
with their humbler brethren.[241]

In the majority of the above names we shall find the Saxon to be in all
but whole possession of the field. The fact is, the roof and its
appurtenances were little regarded for a long period by our early
architects, if we may give such a grand term to those who set up the
ordinary homestead of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. There
were no chimneys even in the residences of the rich and noble. A hole in
the roof, or the window, or the door, one of these, whether in the homes
of the peer or the peasant, was the outlet for all obnoxious vapours.
With the Normans, however, came a great increase of refinement in the
masonry and wooden framework of which our houses are composed. Such
names as ‘Adam le Quarreur,’ or ‘Hugh le Quareur,’ ‘Walter le Marbiler,’
or ‘Geoffrey le Merberer,’ ‘Gotte le Mazoun,’ or ‘Walter le Masun,’ or
‘Osbert le Machun’ represent a cultivation of which the earlier settled
race, if they knew something, did not avail themselves in their merely
domestic architecture. Two of these occupations are referred to by
‘Cocke Lorelle,’ when he speaks of—

                Masones, male-makers, and merbelers.[242]

‘Henry le Wallere,’ whose sobriquet was ennobled later on by one of our
poets, is the only entry I can set by these as belonging to the Saxon
tongue.[243] It is the same with the Norman ‘Amice le Charpenter’ and
‘Alan le Joygnour.’ While the former framed the more solid essentials,
the very name of the latter infers a careful supervision of minutiæ, of
which only a more refined taste would take cognizance. The descendants
of such settlers as these still hold the place they then obtained, and
are unchanged otherwise than in the fashion of spelling their name.

Of the plaster work we have a goodly array of memorials, the majority of
which, of course, are connected with a higher class work than the mere
cottager required. The ordinary term in use at present for a maker of
lime is ‘limeburner.’ It is quite possible that in our ‘Limebears’ or
‘Limebeers’ we have but a corruption of this. Such sobriquets as ‘Hugh
le Limwryte’ and ‘John le Limer’ give us, however, the more general
mediæval forms. The latter is still to be met with among our surnames.
But these are not all. We have in our ‘Dawbers’ the descendants of the
old ‘Thomas le Daubour,’ or ‘Roger le Daubere,’ of the thirteenth
century. ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ whom I have but just quoted, mentions among
other workmen—

               Tylers, bryckeleyers, hardehewers;
               Parys-plasterers, daubers, and lymeborners.

Our ‘Authorised Version’ when it speaks of ‘the wall daubed with
untempered mortar,’ still preserves their memorial, and our ‘Plasters’
and ‘Plaisters’ are but sturdy scions of many an early registered ‘Adam
le Plastier,’ ‘Joanna le Plaisterer,’ or ‘John le Cementarius.’ The last
of this class I would mention is ‘Robert Pargeter’ or ‘William
Pergiter,’ a name inherited by our ‘Pargiters’ and ‘Pargeters.’ This was
an artisan of a higher order. He laboured, in fact, at the more
ornamental plaster work. In the accounts of Sir John Howard, A.D. 1467,
is the following entry:—‘Item, the vj day of Aprylle my master made a
covenaunt with Saunsam the tylere, that he schalle pergete, and whighte
and bemefelle all the new byldynge, and he schalle have for his labore
xiijs. ivd.’[244] It is used metaphorically, but I cannot add very
happily, in an old translation of Ovid—

    Thus having where they stood in vaine complained of their wo,
    When night drew neare they bad adue, and eche gave kisses sweete
    Unto the parget on their side, the which did never meete.

‘Roger le Peynture’ or ‘Henry le Peintur,’ ‘Ralph le Gilder’ and ‘Robert
le Stainer,’ were engaged, I imagine, in the equally careful work of
decorating passage and hall within, and all have left offspring enough
to keep up their perpetual memorial. Thus, within and without, the house
itself has afforded room for little change in our nomenclature, though
the artisans themselves have now a very different work to perform to
that of their mediæval prototypes. The increase of wealth and a
progressive culture have not merely taught but demanded a more careful
and refined workmanship in the details of ordinary housebuilding. We may
readily imagine, however, even in this early day, how little the simple
bondsman, or freer husbandman, had to do with such artisans as even then
existed. I do not find, at least the exceptions are of the rarest, that
these workmen dwelt in the more rural districts at all. Their names are
to be met with in the towns, where the richer tradespeople and burgesses
were already beginning to copy the fashions and habits of life of the
higher aristocracy.

We have already noticed the ‘town’—how it originally denoted but the
simple farmstead with its immediate surroundings, then its gradual
enlargement of sense as other steads increased and multiplied around it.
We have also seen how the old ‘ham’ or home gathered about it such
accessions of human abodes as converted it in time into one of those
village communities, so many of which we still find in the outer
districts, almost, as I have said, unaltered from their early
foundation. It was in these various homesteads dwelt the peasantry.
There might be seen our ‘Cotmans’ and ‘Cotters’ (‘Richard Coteman,’ A.,
‘Simon le Cotere,’ F.F.), the descendants, doubtless, of the ‘cotmanni’
of Domesday Book. Similar in origin and as humble in degree would be our
now numerous ‘Cotterels’ or ‘Cottrels’ (‘William Coterel,’ M., ‘Joice
Cotterill,’ Z.), till a comparatively recent period an ordinary
sobriquet of that class of our country population. A curious memorial of
a past state of life abides with us in our ‘Boardmans,’ ‘Boarders,’
‘Bordmans,’ and ‘Borders.’ They were the tenants of lands which their
lord kept expressly for the maintenance of his table, the rental being
paid in kind. Hence our old English law-books speak familiarly of
bord-service, or bord-load, or bord-land. The term board in this same
sense still lingers on the common tongue, for we are yet wont to use
such phrases as bed and board, or a frugal board, or a board plentifully
spread. A determinate, as distinct from an unfixed service, has left its
mark in our ‘Sockermans,’ ‘Suckermans,’ and ‘Sockmans,’ they who held by
socage, or socmanry, as the old law-books have it. Under this tenure, as
a condition of the meagre rental, the stout-hearted, thick-limbed rustic
was to be ready, as his lord’s adherent, to stand by him in every
assault, either as archer, or arbalister, or pikeman—that is, fealty was
to eke out the remaining sum which would otherwise have been due. But
there were of these Saxon husbandmen some under no such thraldom,
however honourable, as this, and of these freeholders we must set as the
highest our ‘Yomans’ and ‘Yeomans.’ This term, however, became an
official one, and it is doubtful to which aspect of the word we are to
refer the present owners of the name. It is possible both features may
have had something to do with its origination. How anxious they who had
been redeemed, or who had been born free, though of humble
circumstances, were to preserve themselves from a doubtful or suspected
position such names as ‘Walter le Free’ or ‘John le Freman’ will fully
show. We find even such appellatives as ‘Matilda Frewoman’ or ‘Agnes
Frewyfe,’ in the latter case the husband possibly being yet in bondage.
In our ‘Frys,’ a sobriquet that has acquired much honour of late years
and represented in mediæval rolls by such entries as ‘Thomas le Frye’ or
‘Walter le Frie,’ we have but an obsolete rendering of ‘free.’[245]
These, as we see, are all Saxon—but Norman equivalents are not wanting.
Our ‘Francoms’ or ‘Francombs’ and ‘Frankhams,’ names by no means
uncommon in our existing registers, are but Anglicised dresses worn by
the posterity of such registered folk as ‘Henry le Franchome,’ or
‘Reginald le Fraunchome,’ or ‘Hugh le Fraunch-humme.’ ‘William le
Fraunk,’ too, or ‘Fulco le Franc,’ can boast many a hale descendant in
our ‘Franks;’ and ‘Roger le Franklyn’ or ‘John le Fraunkelyn’ in our
‘Franklins,’ a name from henceforth endeared to Englishmen as that of
our gallant but lost Arctic hero. From Chaucer’s description of one such
we should deem the ‘franklin’ to have been of decidedly comfortable
position, a well-to-do householder, in fact.

                Withouten bake mete never was his house,
                Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,
                It snowed in his hous of mete and drinke
                Of all deintees that men coud of thinke:
                After the sondry sesons of the yere,
                So changed he his mete and soupere.

But we are not without vestiges of the baser servitudes of the time, and
in this category we must set the great bulk of the agricultural classes
of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The descendants of the old ‘Ivo
le Bondes’ and ‘Richard le Bondes’ are still in our midst, and to judge
merely from their number then and now enrolled, we see what a familiar
position must that of personal bondage have been.

                         Of alle men in londe
                         Most toileth the bonde,

says an old rhyme.[246] Still more general terms for those who lay under
this miserable serfdom were those of ‘Knave’ or ‘Villein.’ ‘Walter le
Knave’ or ‘Lambert le Vilein’ or ‘Philip le Vylayn’ are names registered
at the time of which we are speaking. The odium, however, that has
gradually gathered around these sobriquets has caused them to be thrown
off by the posterity of those who first acquired them as simple bondmen.
Indeed, there was the time when, as I shall have occasion to show in a
succeeding chapter, our forefathers could speak of ‘Goodknaves’ and
‘Goodvilleins.’ Feudal disdain of all that lay beneath chivalric
service, however, has done its work, and we all now speak, not merely as
if these terms implied that which was mean and despicable in outward
condition, but that which also was morally depraved and vile. ‘Geoffrey
le Sweyn’ or ‘Hugh le Sweyn,’ however, by becoming the exponent of
honest rusticity, has rescued his sobriquet from such an ill-merited
destiny, and has left in many of our ‘Swains’ a token of his mediæval
gallantry. ‘John le Hyne’ or ‘William le Hyne’ (found also as Hind), as
representative of the country labourer, is equally sure of perpetuity,
as the most cursory survey of our directories will prove.[247] Of the
‘Reve’ in the ‘Canterbury Tales,’ we are told:—

              There was no bailif, nor herd, nor other hine
              That he nor knew his sleight, and his covine.

In the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ too, the word occurs. In the account of the
reconciliation betwixt Jacob and Esau the former is made to say:—

                  God yeld you, brother, that it so is,
                  That thou thy hyne so would kiss.

In the rural habitations we have mentioned, then dwelt these various
members of the lower class community.

The sobriquets we have just briefly surveyed, however, are of a more
general character. We must now, and as briefly, scan some of those which
in themselves imply the particular service which as rustic labourers
their first owners performed, and by which the titles were got. This
class is well represented by such a name as ‘Plowman.’ Langland, when he
would take from a peasant point of view a sarcastic survey of the low
morality of his time, as exemplified in the English Church ere yet she
was reformed, could fix upon no better sobriquet than that of ‘Piers
Plowman,’ and has thus given a prominence to the name it can never lose.
What visions of homely and frugal content we discern in the utterance of
such a surname as this; what thoughts of healthy life, such as are
becoming rarer with each returning year—

              For times are altered—trade’s unfeeling train
              Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain.

It was with him at early dawn would issue forth our ‘Tillyers’ or
‘Tillmans,’ to help him cleave the furrow. A little later on we might
have seen our ‘Mowers’ and ‘Croppers’[248] hanging up their scythes and
sickles, as the autumn, in richly clad garb, passed slowly by. Then
again in due season busy enough would be the ‘Dyker,’ now spelt
‘Dicker,’[249] and the ‘Dykeman’ or ‘Dickman.’ With what an enviable
appetite would these eat up to the last relic their rasher of bacon and
black bread, and quaff their home-brewed ale, a princely feast after the
hard toil of draining the field. To dike was merely to dig, the root
being the same. Of the kindly plowman Chaucer says—

              He would thresh, and thereto dike and delve,
              For Christ’s sake, for every poor wight,
              Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.

The Malvern dreamer, too, speaks in the same fashion of ‘dikeres and
delvers,’ and among other characters introduces to our notice ‘Daw the
Dykere,’ ‘Daw’ being, as I have already shown, but the shorter David.
Our ‘Drayners,’ I need not add, were but his compeers in the same
labour. Perhaps one of the most beautiful features that help to make up
a truly English rural landscape is the hedgerows, following the windings
of our lanes, and mazy bypaths skirting our meadows. England is
eminently a land of enclosures. Still all this has been the result of
progressing time. If our pinder be now an obsolete officership it is
because the lines of appropriation have become more clearly marked. It
is only thus we can understand the importance of his position in every
rural community four or five hundred years ago. No wonder, then, our
‘Hedgers’ and ‘Hedgmans’ are to be found whose ancestors were once
occupied in setting up these pretty barriers. An old song of James I.’s
day says:—

            Come all you farmers out of the country,
            Carters, ploughmen, _hedgers_, and all;
            Tom, Dick, and Will, Ralph, Roger, and Humphrey,
            Leave off your gestures rusticall.[250]

If stakes or pales were used, it is to our ‘Pallisers’ and obsolete
‘Herdleres’ our forefathers looked to set them up. The former term I
have but come across once as an absolute surname, but such entries as
‘Robert Redman, palayser,’ or ‘James Foster, palycer,’ are to be met
with occasionally, and at once testify to the origin of the term as
found in our existing registers. ‘Pallister,’ too, is not obsolete;
strictly speaking, the feminine form of the above. I find it written
‘Pallyster’ and ‘Palyster’ in an old Yorkshire inventory. But there is
one more term belonging to this group which I am afraid has disappeared
from our family nomenclature—that of ‘Tiner,’ he who tined or mended
hedges. A ‘John le Tynere’ occurs in the Parliamentary Writs. We are
reminded by Verstigan’s book on ‘Decayed Intelligence’ that ‘hedging and
tining’ was a phrase in vogue not more than 200 years ago. Mr. Taylor,
in his ‘Words and Places,’ connects our ‘tine’ in the ‘tines of a stag’s
horns’ or ‘the tines of a fork,’ with the same root implying a ‘twig.’
In our old English forest law a ‘tineman’ was an officer very similar to
the ‘hayward,’ the only apparent difference being that he served by
night. The two terms are exactly similar in sense. We are not without
relics, too, of our former means and methods of enriching the glebe.
Even here several interesting memorials are preserved to us.
‘Marler,’[251] ‘Clayer,’ and ‘Chalker’ (‘Alice le Marlere,’ A., ‘Thomas
le Chalker,’ A., ‘Simon le Clayere,’ A.), still existing, remind us how
commonly the land was manured with marl and other substances of a
calcareous nature. Trevisa, writing upon this very subject, says—‘Also
in this land (England), under the turf of the land, is good marl found.
The thrift of the fatness drieth himself (itself) therein, so that even
the thicker the field is marled, the better corn will it bear.’[252] An
old rhyme says:—

                He that marles sand may buy land;
                He that marles moss shall suffer no loss;
                But he that marles clay throws all away.

An interesting surname of this class is that of ‘Acreman,’ or, as it is
now generally spelt, ‘Acherman,’ ‘Akerman,’ or ‘Aikman,’ for it is far
from being of modern German introduction, as some have supposed. In the
Hundred Rolls and elsewhere it appears in such entries as ‘Alexander le
Acherman,’ ‘Roger le Acreman,’ ‘Peter le Akerman,’ and ‘John le
Akurman.’ His was indeed a common and familiar sobriquet, and we are but
once more reminded by it of the day when the _acre_ was what it really
denoted—the ager, or land open to tillage, without thought of definite
or statute measure. Indeed, it is quite possible the term was at first
strictly applied thus, for a contemporaneous poem has the following

                    The foules up, and song on bough,
                    And acremen yede to the plough.

If this be the case the surname is but synonymous with ‘Plowman’ and
‘Tillman,’ already referred to.

A curious name is found in the writs of this period, and one well worthy
of mention, that of ‘Adam le Imper.’ An ‘imp,’ I need scarcely remind
the reader, was originally a ‘scion’ or ‘offshoot,’ whether of plants or
animals, the former seemingly most common, to judge from instances. That
nothing more than this was intended by it we may prove by Archbishop
Trench’s quotation from Bacon, where he speaks of ‘those most virtuous
and goodly young imps, the Duke of Suffolk and his brother.’[253]
Chaucer says that of

                 feble trees their comen wretched imps—

and ‘Piers Plowman’ uses the word still more explicitly—

                       I was some tyme a frere
                       And the conventes gardyner
                       For to graffen impes,

he says. This latter quotation explains the surname. ‘Imper,’ doubtless,
simply differed from ‘Gardiner’ or ‘Gardner’ in that he was more
particularly engaged in the grafting of young shoots.

From the consideration of the last we may fitly turn to the subject of
fruits. There can be no doubt that in early days, so far at least as the
south, and more particularly the south-west of England was concerned,
the vine was very generally cultivated by the peasantry, and the wine
made therefrom, however poor it might be, used by them. So early as
Domesday Survey a ‘Walter Vinitor’ lived in Surrey, and a century or two
later such names as ‘Symon le Vynur,’ or ‘William le Viner,’ or ‘Roger
le Vynour,’ the ancestry of our ‘Viners,’ show that the vine-dresser’s
occupation was not yet extinct. We have long left the production of this
beverage, however, to the sunnier champaign lands of the Continent, and
are content by paying a higher price to get a richer and fuller juice.
Our ‘Dressers’ may either belong to this or the curriers’ fraternity. An
old poem, which I have already had occasion to quote, says—

                 In tyme of harvest merry it is enough,
                 Pears and apples hangeth on bough,
                 The hayward bloweth merry his horne,
                 In every felde ripe is corne,
                 The grapes hongen on the vyne,
                 Swete is trewe love and fyne.

We have here the mention of pears and apples. The cultivation of these
by our ‘Orcharders,’ or ‘de la Orchards,’ or ‘de la Apelyards,’ was a
familiar occupation, and ‘le Cyderer,’[254] and ‘le Perriman,’ or
‘Pearman,’ and ‘le Perrer,’ testify readily as to the use to which they
were put. The home-made drinks of these early days were almost all
sweet. Such decoctions as mead, piment, or hippocras, in the absence of
sugar, were mingled with honey. We can at once understand, therefore,
what an important pursuit would that be of the bee-keeper.[255] Not
merely did the occasional husbandman possess his two or three hives, but
there were those who gave themselves up wholly to the tendence of bees,
and who made for themselves a comfortable livelihood in the sale of
their produce. Many of our surnames still bear testimony to this.
‘Beman,’ or ‘Beeman,’ or ‘Beaman,’ will be familiar to all, and
‘Honeyman’ is scarcely less common. In an old roll of 1183 we have the
name Latinised in such an entry as ‘Ralph Custosapium.’ But not merely
honey, but spices of all kinds were also infused into these various
drinks, whether of wine or ale. We have a well-drawn picture of this in
Piers Plowman’s vision where ‘Glutton’ comes across Beton the Brewstere,
and the latter bidding him good-morrow, says—

                ‘I have good ale, gossib,’ quoth she,
                ‘Glutton, wilt thou assaye?’
                ‘Hast thou aught in thy purse,’ quoth he;
                ‘Any hote spices?’
                ‘I have pepir, and peonies,’ quoth she,
                ‘And a pound of garleck,
                And a farthing-worth of fenel-seed
                For fastyng dayes.’

Such an array of hot ingredients as this poor Glutton could not resist,
and instead of going to Mass he turned into the tavern, and having

                          A galon and a gille,

of course got uproariously drunk. Thus we see how natural it is we
should come across such names as ‘Balmer,’ or ‘le Oyncterer,’ or ‘le
Hoincter,’ as it is also registered, or ‘le Garlyckmonger,’ in our early
records. The first still exists. The second does not, but the cumbersome
and ungainly appearance of the last affords sufficient excuse for its
absence. It is quite possible, however, that our ‘Garlicks’ are but a
curtailment of it, and this is the more likely, as such forms as ‘Henry
le Garleckmonger,’ or ‘Thomas le Garlykmonger,’ are commonly found, and
evidently represented an important occupation. The Normans, like the
Saxons, loved a highly stimulative dish, and garlic sauce went to
everything; bird, beast, fish, all alike found their seasoning in a
concoction of which this acrid and pungent herb was the chief
ingredient. ‘Roger le Gaderer,’ or as we should now say ‘Gatherer,’ has
left no descendant, but he may be mentioned as representing a more
general term for many of the above.

In the woodlands and its open glades and devious windings, where several
of these herbalists I have mentioned would be often found, we shall see,
too, other frequenters. It would be here, subject to the condition of
agistment and pannage, our ‘Swinnarts,’ or swineherds, tended their
hogs. It would be here by the hazel bank and deeper forest pathways our
‘Nutters’ and ‘Nutmans’ would be found, as the autumn began to set in,
and browner and more golden tints to fleck the trees and hedgerows. It
would be here, as the chills of early winter drew on, and the fallen
leaves lay strewn around, our ‘Bushers’ or ‘Boshers’ (relics of the old
‘John le Busscher’ or ‘Reginald le Buscher’), and our more Saxon ‘Thomas
le Woderes,’ ‘Robert Wudemongers,’ and ‘Alan le Wodemans’ (now
‘Woodyers’ and ‘Woodmans’), would be occupied in gathering the refuse
branches for firing purposes—here our ‘Hewers’ (once found as ‘Ralph le
Heuer’) and more specific ‘Robert le Wodehewers,’[256] our ‘Hackers’ and
‘Hackmans,’ would be engaged in chopping timber, perchance for building
purposes, perchance for our ‘Ashburners,’[257] to procure their potash
from. Oftentimes, no doubt, would these various frequenters of the
woodland boscage be roused from their rude labours to watch as the
hornblower (now ‘Hornblow’) awoke the shrill echoes, the lordly chase
sweep through the glade till it was hidden by the embrasures of the
forest, or the darkening twilight, or the bending hill.

One single glance backward over the names we have so far recorded in
this chapter, and one thing will be obvious—their all but entirely Saxon
character. Our agriculture terms, whether with regard to the work itself
or the labourer, belong to the earlier tongue. There is nothing
surprising in this. While in the nomenclature of trade we find the
superior force and energy of the Norman temperament struggling with and
oftentimes overcoming the more sober humour of the conquered race, in
the country and all the pursuits of the country the latter was far ahead
of its rival. It was better versed in agricultural pursuits, and ever
retained them in its own hands. At the same time, as we well know, this
very detention was but the mark of its defeat and the badge of its
slavery. It was a victory where, nevertheless, all is lost. Wamba the
jester, in ‘Ivanhoe,’ if I may be excused such a trite illustration,
reminds us that our cattle, while in the field, and under the
guardianship of the enslaved Saxon, were called by the Saxon terms of
‘ox,’ ‘sheep,’ and ‘calf,’ but served upon the tables of their lords
became Norman ‘beef,’ ‘mutton,’ and ‘veal’—that is, while the former
_fed them_, the latter it was that _fed on them_. Thus in the same way,
if those homely pursuits which attached to the tilling of the soil, the
breeding of cattle, the gathering in and the storing of the harvest—if
these maintained the terms which belonged to them ere the Conquest, they
are so many marks of serfdom. Provided the supply on his board was only
profuse enough, the proud baron troubled himself little as to the
supplier, or how or under what names it was procured. See how true this
is from our nomenclature. There is a little word which has dropped from
our lips which once played an important part in our vocabulary—I mean
that of ‘herd’—not as applied to the flock, but the keeper. We still use
it familiarly in compounds, such as _swineherd_ or _shepherd_, but that
it once had a separate existence of its own is proved by the many
‘Heards,’ or ‘Herds,’ or ‘Hurds,’ that still abound surnominally in our
midst; relics as they are of the ‘John le Hirdes,’ or ‘Alice la Herdes,’
or ‘Robert le Hyrdes,’ of our olden records. Chaucer so uses it. We now
speak of our Lord as the ‘Good Shepherd.’ He, however, gives us the
simpler form where St. Urban is made to say—

               ‘Almighty Lord, O Jesu Christ,’ quoth he,
               ‘Sower of chaste counsel, herd of us all.’

Thus again, in the ‘Townley Mysteries’ the angel who visited the
shepherds as they kept their flocks by night is represented as arousing
them by saying—

                         Herkyn, hyrdes, awake!

See now the many compounds of which this purely Saxon word is the root.
Are we in the low-lying pastures. In our ‘Stotherds’ and ‘Stothards,’
our ‘Stoddarts’ and ‘Stoddards,’ still clings the remembrance of the old
_stot_ or bullock-herd; in our ‘Yeatherds’ (as in our ‘Yeatmans’), the
heifer herd; and in our ‘Cowards,’ far from being so pusillanimous as
they look, the homely ‘cowherd.’ In ‘William and the Werfolf’ we are

                   It bifel in that forest
                     There fast byside,
                   There woned (dwelt) a wel old churl
                     That was a couherde.

Nor are these all. In our ‘Calverts’ and ‘Calverds’ we are reminded of
the once well-known ‘Warin le Calveherd,’ or ‘William le Calverd,’ as I
find him recorded; in our ‘Nuttards’ the more general but now faded
‘neteherd’ or ‘noutherd,’[258] and in our obsolete ‘John Oxenhyrds’ and
‘Peter Oxherds,’ the familiar ox. Are we in the grazing paddock. In our
‘Coultherds,’ ‘Coulthards,’ and ‘Coultards’ (‘John Colthird,’ W. 9), not
to mention our ‘Coultmans’ and ‘Coltmans,’ we have ample trace of their
presence. Are we again on the bleak hill-side. The sheep have given us
our ‘Shepherds,’ the rams our ‘Wetherherds’ (now generally written
‘Weatherheads’), the kids our ‘Gottards,’ not to say some of our
‘Goddards,’ memorials of the once common goatherd. Are we under the
woodland pathways where the beech-nuts abound. There, too, the herd was
to be found, for in our ‘Swinnarts,’ ‘Hoggarts,’ and ‘Sowards’ we are
not without a further token of his usefulness. In three instances I have
found ‘herd’ connected with the winged creation. In the _Parliamentary
Writs_ occurs ‘William le Swonherde,’ in the _Corpus Christi Guild_
(Surt. Soc.), ‘Agnes Gusehyrd’ and ‘Joan Gusehyrd,’ and in the _Hundred
Rolls_ ‘Henry le Rocherde,’ _i.e._, rook-herd.[259] ‘Swanherd’ reminds
us that swans were an important article of diet in early times. In 1482
an Act was passed forbidding any but freeholders (and they only if they
had lands of the annual value of five marks) to have marks or games of
swans. (‘Stat. Realm,’ vol. ii. p. 447.)

It will have already become clear to the reader that this term ‘herd’
played no unimportant part in the vocabulary of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries. But even now we have not done. For instance, our
‘Stobbarts’ and ‘Stubbards’ are manifestly descendants of such a name as
‘Alice Stobhyrd’ or ‘Thomas Stobart,’ the owners of both of which are
set down in the Black Book of Hexham Priory in company with ‘John
Stodard,’ ‘William Oxhyrd,’ and ‘Thomas Schipherde.’[260] I should have
been in some difficulty in regard to the meaning of this ‘stob’ or
‘stub’ had not Mr. Halliwell in his dictionary of archaic words given it
as an old rural term for a bull. This surname, therefore, is
satisfactorily accounted for. I cannot be quite so positive with regard
to our ‘Geldards’ and ‘Geldarts,’ but I strongly suspect their early
ancestor was but a _confrère_ of the swineherd or hogherd, ‘gelt,’ or
‘geld,’ as a porcine title, being a familiar word to our forefathers of
that date. Our ‘Gattards’ and ‘Gathards,’ too, may be mentioned as but
mediævalisms for the goatherd, ‘Gateard’ and ‘Gatherd’ being met with in
North English records contemporaneously with the above. Such a sobriquet
as ‘Adam le Gayt,’ while it may be but a form of the old ‘wayt’ or
watchman, is, I imagine, but representative of this northern
provincialism. It occurs locally in ‘William de Gatesden’ or ‘John de
Gatesden,’ both found in the Parliamentary Writs. With two more
instances I will conclude. In our ‘Hunnards’ still lives the memory of
‘Helyas le Hunderd,’ the old houndsman, while in ‘Richard le Wodehirde’
or ‘William le Wodehirde’ we have but another, though more general,
sobriquet of one of those many denizens of the forest I have already
hinted at. How purely Saxon are all these names! What a freshness seems
to breathe about them! What a fragrance as of the wild heather and
thyme, and all that is sweet and fresh and free! And yet they are but so
many marks of serfdom.

I have just incidentally referred to the swineherd. It is difficult for
us, in this nineteenth century of ours, to conceive the vast importance
of this occupation in the days of which we are writing. Few avocations
have so much changed as this. Hog-tending as a distinct livelihood is
well-nigh extinct. Time was, however, when the rustic community lived
upon bacon, when the surveillance of swine was a lazy, maybe, but
nevertheless an all-important care. We still speak of a ‘flitch of
bacon,’ a term which, while etymologically the same as ‘flesh,’ shows
how to the early popular mind that article represented the sum total of
_carnal_ luxuries. Our use of the word ‘brawn’ is of an equally
tell-tale character. Every one knows what we mean by brawn. Originally,
however, it was the flesh of any animal. Chaucer says—

               The Miller was a stout carl for the nones,
               Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones.

When, however, the wild boar had been brought down, and salted, and put
aside for winter use, how natural that to the housewife it should
engross this general sense. It is to the importance this
unsavoury-looking animal held in the eyes of early rustics we must
attribute the fact of so many names coming down to us connected with its
keep. As I have just hinted, such sobriquets as ‘John le Swineherd’ or
‘Nicholas le Hogherd’ were common enough in the country parts, our
‘Swinnarts’ and ‘Hoggarts’ being witnesses. The sowherd remains in our
‘Sowards,’ and is as Saxon as the others. The same tongue is strong
again in our ‘Pigmans’ ‘Sowmans,’ ‘Hogmans,’ and still more secluded
‘Denyers’ and ‘Denmans.’ The Norman, however, is to be accredited with
our many ‘Gilbert le Porchers’ and ‘Thomas le Porkeres,’ by which we may
see that when daintily served up under the name of ‘pork’ it was not
disdained on the baron’s table. Lastly, we may mention our early ‘Philip
le Lardiners’ and ‘Hugh le Lardiners,’ names that in themselves suggest
to us the one purpose of the herdsman, the fattening of his charge. They
would be found generally, therefore, neath the fastnesses of the forest,
where the

                 Oak with his nuts larded many a swine,

and where the mast and beech-nuts abounded, the chief pannage, it would
seem, of that day.[261] Higher up, as far indeed as the bleak and barren
wolds, the shepherd cared for and tended his flock. His was a common
occupation, too, as our nomenclature shows. Evidently he was as prone in
those days to the oaten reed as the poets of all ages have loved to
depict him, for it is to his Norman-introduced name of ‘Berger’ we owe
the ‘bergeret,’ or pastoral ode. The song indeed, so called, has died
away from our ears, but ‘Berger,’ or ‘Bercher,’ as it was often written,
still lives, and may carry us back for a moment to these wholesomer

Nor, if we approach more closely to the farmyard enclosure, are we
without memorials. The _farm_ of old, as applied to the soil, was of
course that piece of land which was rented for agricultural purposes,
and I doubt not the chief of the old ‘Robert le Fermers’ and ‘Matilda le
Fermeres’ represent this more confined sense. ‘Farmer,’ whether
colloquially or in our registers, is the modern form. Udal, however,
maintains the more antique dress, when he says, ‘And that the thyng
should so be, Chryst Hymself had signyfied to fore by the parable of the
husbandmen or fermers.’

While ‘herd,’ as a root-word, implied the tendance of cattle in the
meadows and woods and on the hillsides, ‘man,’ I suspect, was equally
significative of their guardianship in the stable and the yard. Thus if
the ‘_cowherd_’ was in the field, the ‘_cowman_’ would be in the stall.
We may here, therefore, set our familiar ‘Cowmans,’ ‘Bullmans,’
‘Heiffermans,’ and ‘Steermans,’ or ‘Stiermans.’[262] One or two
provincialisms, I imagine, have added also to this stock. Mr. Lower
thinks our ‘Twentymans’ to be derived from ‘Vintenarius,’ a captain of
twenty. This may be so, but I suspect the more correct origin will be
found in ‘twenterman’ or ‘twinterman,’ he who tended the ‘_twenters_’ or
‘_twinters_,’ the old and once familiar ‘two-winter,’ or, as we now
generally say, ‘two-year-old.’ If the ‘steer,’ the ‘heifer,’ the ‘cow,’
and the ‘bull’ gave a sobriquet to the farm labourer, why not this? As a
farmyard term it occurs in every provincial record of the fifteenth and
even sixteenth century. Thus, to quote but one instance, I find in a
will dated 1556 mention made of ‘6 oxen, item, 18 sterres (steers),
item, 11 heifers, item, 21 twenters, item, 23 stirks.’ (Richmondshire
Wills, p. 93.) An inventory of the same date includes ‘3 kye, item, one
whye.’ This latter term was equally commonly used at this period for a
‘heifer.’ Our ‘Whymans’ and ‘Wymans’ will, we may fairly surmise, be
their present memorial. ‘Cowman,’ mentioned above, was met by the Norman
‘Vacher,’ such entries as ‘John le Vacher’ or ‘Walter le Vacher’ being
common, and as ‘Vacher,’ or more corruptly ‘Vatcher,’ it still abides in
our midst. ‘Thomas le Stabeler,’ or ‘William le Stabler,’ too, are yet
with us; but descendants for ‘Thomas le Milkar’ or ‘William le Melker’
are, I fear, wanting. A Norman representative for these latter is found
in the Parliamentary Writs in the case of ‘John le Lacter.’ There is the
smack of a kindred labour in the registered ‘Thomas le Charner,’ for I
doubt not his must have been but an antique dress of ‘Churner.’ Another
form is found in an old Richmondshire will dated 1592, where mention is
made of ‘Robert Chirner’ and his sister ‘Jane Chirner.’ As an additional
proof that his occupation was such as I have surmised, I may add that in
the same record in the valuation of household property the _churn_ is
spelt _chirne_. (Richmondshire Wills, p. 235, note.) The most
interesting sobriquet of this class, and the one which has left the most
memorials, is found in such mediæval names as ‘Cecilia le Day,’ or
‘Christiana la Daye,’ or ‘Stephen le Dagh.’ A ‘day’ was a dairyman, of
which word it is but another form. Chaucer, in one of the most charming
of his descriptions, tells us of a poor widow, how that she—

            Since that day that she was last a wife
            In patience led a ful simple life,
            For litel was her cattle, and her rent:
            By husbandry of such as God her sent
            She found herself and eke her doughtren two.
            Her board was served most with white and black,
            Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,
            Singed bacon, and sometimes an egg or twey,
            For she was as it were a maner _dey_.[263]

The present representatives of this name are met with in the several
forms of ‘Deye,’ ‘Daye,’ ‘Day,’ ‘Dayman,’ and the more unpleasantly
corrupted ‘Deman.’

It is quite evident, judging from the places of abode in which we find
our early ‘Fishers’ and ‘Fishermans,’ that it is to followers, though
professional, of the quaint and gentle-minded Izaac Walton we owe our
many possessors of these names, rather than to the dwellers upon the
coast, although both, doubtless, are represented. Such entries as
‘Margaret le Fischere,’ or ‘Henry le Fissere,’ or ‘Robert le Fiscere’
are very common. This latter seems a sort of medium between the others
and such a more hard form as ‘Laurence le Fisker.’ The finny species
themselves gave us such sobriquets as ‘John le Fysche’ or ‘William
Fyske,’ and both ‘Fish’ and ‘Fisk’ still exist amongst us. The Norman
angler is seen in ‘Godard le Pescher’ or ‘Walter le Pecheur,’ while
‘Agnes le Pecheresse’ bespeaks the fact that even women did not disdain
the gentle art.

But the moment we hint of the village streamlet we are thrown upon a
subject vast indeed—the mill and the miller. He was emphatically, you
see, _the_ miller. Even now, in these busy grasping days, when we have
cotton mills and saw mills, silk mills and powder mills, mills for this
and mills for that, still it never occurs to us, when we talk of the
miller, that any one could possibly mistake our meaning. And well may it
be so, for it is with him we entwine pleasant remembrances of the
country, the wheel, the stream, the lusty dimpled trout; with him we
associate all of comfortable, peaceful content. A white jacket and a
white cap, with a black coat for Sundays—how black it would look to be
sure—a bluff, good-humoured face, a friendly nod, and a blithe
good-morrow, up early and to bed betimes, and his memoir is written, and
a very pleasant memoir, too, with a moral to boot for discontented folk,
would they but see it. The old word for mill was ‘milne,’ hence we still
have the earlier form, ‘Milnes’ and ‘Milner’ being nearly as familiar to
us in that respect as ‘Mills’ and ‘Miller.’ Besides these we have
‘Milman’ and ‘Milward,’ who once, no doubt, acted as custodian, the
modern ‘man on the premises,’ in fact.[264] The ancestry of all these is
proved by such registered forms as ‘John le Mellere,’ ‘William le
Melner,’ ‘Robert le Milleward,’[265] ‘John del Mill,’ or ‘Thomas atte
Milne,’ all of which are found scattered over our earlier rolls.[266]
Our ‘Threshers’ and ‘Taskers’ (Benedict le Tasker,’ H.R.) busied
themselves in urging the flail. I have only lit upon the latter term
once as in ordinary colloquial use. Burton in the preface to his
‘Anatomy’ says—‘many poor country-vicars, for want of other means, are
driven to their shifts,’ and ‘as Paul did, at last turn taskers,
maltsters, costermongers, graziers, etc.’[267] Our ‘Winners,’ shortened
from ‘Winnower,’ winnowed the grain with the fan; our ‘Boulters’ or
‘Bulters,’[268] ‘Siviers’ and ‘Riddlers,’ (‘Geoffrey le Boltere,’ A.,
‘William Rydler,’ Z., ‘Ralph le Siviere,’ A.), still more carefully
separated the flour from the bran. How beautifully Shakespeare presses
this into his imagery many will remember, where Florizel speaks of—

                   The fanned snow that’s bolted
                   By the northern blasts twice o’er.

Our Bible translators, too, must have yet been familiar with the simpler
process of this earlier time when they rendered one of the prophet’s
happier foretellings into the beautiful Saxon we still possess:—‘The
oxen likewise, and the young asses that ear the ground shall eat clean
provender, which hath been winnowed with the shovel and with the fan.’
The manufacture or use of the fan wherewith to purge the flour made our
‘Walter le Vanners,’ ‘Simon le Fanneres,’ ‘Richard atte Vannes,’ or
‘William atte Fannes,’ familiar names at this time. In Cocke Lorelle’s
Bote, we find among other craftsmen—

                   Barbers, bokebynders, and lymners;
                   Repers, _faners_, and horners.

We must not forget, too, our ‘Shovellers’ and more common ‘Showlers,’
‘showl’ being ever the vulgar form. It was for no purpose of rhyme, only
the word is so used where we are asked—

                        ‘Who’ll dig his grave?’
               ‘I,’ said the owl; ‘with my spade and showl
                        I’ll dig his grave.’

With these many reminders, it is not likely that either the miller or
his men are likely to become soon forgotten.

The smithy, of course, was an inseparable adjunct to the small
community. The smith, unlike the wright, was engaged upon the harder
metals, the latter being incidentally described to us by Chaucer when he
says of one of his personages in the Reeves Story, that—

                 He was a well good wright, a carpenter.

Looking at the many compounds formed from these two roots, we find that
in the main this distinction is maintained. Let us take the wright
first. We have but just mentioned ‘Ralph le Siviere,’ or ‘Peter le
Syvyere.’ For him our ‘Sivewrights’ were manifestly occupied, to say
nothing of the farmer’s wife. The farmer himself would need the services
of our ‘Plowwrights’ (‘William le Plowritte,’ A., ‘William le
Ploughwryte,’ M.), and would he carry his produce safely to the distant
market or fair he must needs have a good stout wain, for the track
athwart the hillside was rough and uneven, and here therefore he must
call into requisition the skill of our many ‘Wheelwrights,’ or
‘Wheelers,’ ‘Cartwrights’ and their synonymous ‘Wainwrights.’[269]
Adding to these ‘Boatwright,’ or ‘Botwright,’ ‘Shipwright,’ and the
obsolete ‘Slaywright,’ the old loom manufacturer, we see wood to have
been the chief object at least of the wright’s attention. But we have
other names of a different character. ‘Limewright’ or ‘Limer’ (‘Hugh le
Limwryte,’ A., ‘John le Limer,’ A.) ceases to maintain this distinction,
so do our ‘Glasswrights,’ equivalent to our ‘Glaziers’ or ‘Glaishers’
(‘Thomas le Glaswryghte,’ X., ‘Walter Glasenwryht,’ W. ii., ‘William
Glaseer,’ Z.).[270] ‘Le Cheesewright,’ or ‘Chesswright,’ like
‘Firminger’ and ‘Casier,’ brings us once more into the scullery, and
‘Breadwright’ into the kitchen. ‘Alwright’ is doubtless but the old
‘alewright,’ and ‘Goodwright,’ which Mr. Lower deems to be a maker of
goads, I cannot but imagine to be simply complimentary, after the
fashion of many others which I shall mention in another chapter. Our
‘Tellwrights’ or ‘Telwrights’ have given me much trouble, and though at
first I did not like it, I think Mr. Lower’s suggestion that they have
arisen from the Pauline occupation of tent-making is a natural one.
‘Teld’ was the old English word for a tent. In the metrical Anglo-Saxon
Psalter the fourteenth psalm thus commences—

              Lord, in thi teld wha sal wone (dwell)?
              In thi hali hille or wha reste mone (shall)?

We still speak of a ‘tilt’ when referring to the cover of a cart or
wagon, or to any small awning of a boat. It is quite possible,
therefore, that the name has originated in the manufacture of such
canopies as these. Admitting this, I would merely suggest ‘Tilewright’
as requiring but little corruptive influence to bring it into the forms
in which we at present find the word.[271] Should this be the case, we
must place it with ‘le Tyler,’ of whom we have but recently spoken.
‘Arkwright’ I mention last as being worthy of more extended notice. In
this is preserved the memory of a once familiar and all-important piece
of cabinet furniture—that of the old-fashioned ark. Much store was set
by this long years ago by the north-country folk, as is shown by the
position it occupies in antique wills, often being found as the first
legacy bequeathed.[272] Shaped exactly like the child’s Noah’s ark, it
seems to have had a twofold character. In one it was simply a meal-bin.
Thus in the ‘Tale of a Usurer’ we are told:—

                  When this corn to the kniht was sold,
                  He did it in an arc to hold,
                  And opened this arc the third day.

In the other it was more carefully put together. The trick of its secret
spring, known only to the housewife and her lord—sometimes I dare say,
only to the latter—it contained all the treasure the family could boast.
Here were kept what parchments they possessed; here lay stored up fold
on fold of household linen, venerated by the female inmates nearly as
much as the grandmothers themselves, whose thrifty fingers had woven it
in days long past and gone. We see thus that upon the whole the wright
_wrought_ his manufacture out of his own more specific material, seldom,
at any rate, poaching upon the preserves of his friend the smith. The
smith worked in iron and the metals. This good old Saxon name, with the
many quaint changes that have been rung upon it, deserves a whole
chapter to itself. How then can we hope to do justice to it in a few
sentences? We do not know where to begin, and having once begun, the
difficulty at once arises as to where we can end. How few of us reflect
upon the close connexion that exists between the anvil and the smith
himself, and yet it is because he _smote_ thereupon that he got his
name. As old Verstigan has it:—

          From whence comes Smith, all be he knight or squire,
          But from the smith that forgeth at the fire?

Putting in all the needs which in this agricultural age his occupation
would be necessary to supply, still we could scarcely account for the
enormous preponderance he has attained over other artisans, did we not
remember that his services would also be required in the production of
warlike implements. Sword and ploughshare alike would be to his hands.
Chaucer speaks of:—

                                       The smith
                That forgeth sharpe swords on the stith.

Between and including the years 1838 and 1854 there were registered as
born, or married, or dead, no less than 286,307 Smiths. Were we indeed
to put into one community the persons who bear this name in our land, we
should have a town larger than Leeds, and scarcely inferior in size and
importance to that of the capital of the midland counties.

The smith is often spoken of colloquially as the blacksmith, a title
which, while it has not itself a place in our nomenclature, reminds us
of others that have, and of a peculiar custom of earlier days. The word
‘blacksmith’ dates from the days of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ and it is
quite evident that at that time it was customary for the smith to have
his name compounded with sobriquets according to the colour of the metal
upon which he spent his energies. Thus the former ‘Thomas Brownesmythe’
evidently worked in copper and brass, ‘William le Whytesmyth’ in
tinplate, ‘John Redesmith’ in gold, a ‘Goldsmith’ in fact; ‘Richard
Grensmythe’ in I am not sure what, unless it be lead; and ‘John
Blackesmythe’ in iron. The last is the only one I fail to discover as
now existing among our surnames—a circumstance, however, easily
accounted for from the settled position the simple ‘Smith’ himself had
obtained as an artificer of that metal. But these are not the only
compounds. Our ‘Smiths’ are surrounded with connexions of not merely
every hue, but every type. Thus ‘Arrowsmith,’ already alluded to with
its contracted ‘Arsmith,’ tells its own tale of archery service;
‘Billsmith’ and ‘Spearsmith’ remind us of the lances, or rather lance
heads, that did such duty in the golden days of Agincourt and Poictiers.
Of a more peaceful nature would be the work of our ‘Nasmyths,’ like our
‘Naylors,’ mere relics of the old nailsmith. Closely connected with
them, therefore, we may set our ‘Shoosmiths,’[273] but Saxon
representatives of the Norman-introduced ‘Farrier.’ The surname still
clings chiefly to the north of England, where the Saxon, retaining so
much more of its strength and vigour than in the south, preserved it as
the occupative term for centuries. Springtide and the approach of
sheep-washing would see our ‘Sheersmiths’ busy, while the later autumn
would have its due effect upon the trade of our ‘Sixsmiths’ and
‘Sucksmiths,’ pleasant though curiously corrupted memorials of the old
sicklesmith, or ‘Sykelsmith,’ as I find the name spelt. The bucklesmith
(‘John le Bokelsmythe,’ X.), whose name is referred to in the poem I
have but recently quoted, has similarly and as naturally curtailed
himself to ‘Bucksmith.’[274] Our ‘Bladesmiths’ fashioned swords, being
found generally in fellowship with our ‘Cutlers’ and obsolete
‘Knyfesmythes.’ Our ‘Locksmiths,’ of course, looked to the security of
door, and closet, and cupboard;[275] while our ‘Minsmiths’ (‘John le
Mynsmuth,’ M.), for I believe they are not as yet quite obsolete, hard
at work in the mint smithy, forged the coin for the early community. As,
however, I shall have occasion to refer to him again I shall merely cite
him, and pass on.[276] But we may see from the little I have said that
the smith never need fear obsoletism. Apart from his own immediate
circle, he is surrounded by many, if not needy, yet closely attached
relatives. We must not forget, however, that the Norman had his smith,
too, and though the Saxon, as we have thus seen, has ever maintained his
dignity and position, still our early rolls are not without a goodly
number of ‘Adam le Fevres,’ ‘Richard le Fevers,’ or ‘Reginald le
Feures,’ and their cognate ‘Alan le Ferons’ and ‘Roger le Feruns.’
Representatives of all these, minus the article, may be readily met with
to-day in any of the large towns of our country.

We may take this opportunity of saying a word about lead, inasmuch as
the uses to which it was put made the manufacturer therein familiar to
rural society. The leadbeater, in fact, was all-important to the
farmer’s wife and the dairy, for the vessels which held the milk, as it
underwent its various processes until it was turned out into butter,
were commonly his handiwork. Such names as ‘Gonnilda le Leadbetre,’ or
‘Reginald le Ledbeter,’ we find in every considerable roll, and our
modern ‘Leadbeaters,’ ‘Ledbetters,’ ‘Leadbitters,’ ‘Lidbetters,’ and
probably ‘Libertys,’ are but their descendants. That mixture of lead
with brass or copper which went by the term of ‘latten’ or ‘laton’ has
left in our ‘Latoners’ and ‘Latners’ a memorial of the metal of which
our old country churchyard tablets were made, not to say some of the
household utensils just referred to. We find even more costly and
ornamental ware manufactured of this, for among other relics preserved
by the pardoner, Chaucer tells us:—

                He had a gobbet (piece) of the sail
                That seint Peter had, when that he went
                Upon the sea, till Jesu Christ him hent.
                He had a cross of laton, full of stones,
                And in a glass he had pig’s bones.

Such a name then as ‘Thomas le Latoner’ or ‘Richard le Latoner’ would be
well understood by our forefathers.

But we must not wander. In nothing does our nomenclature bequeath us a
more significant record than in that which relates to the isolation of
primitive life. We who live in such remarkable days of locomotive
appliance cannot possibly enter into the difficulties our forefathers
had to encounter in regard to intercommunication. An all but impassable
barrier separated our villages from the larger and distant towns. The
roads, or rather, not to dignify them by such a term, the tracks,[277]
were sometimes scarce to be recognised, everywhere rough and dangerous.
Streams, oftentimes much swollen, must be forded. Where bridges existed
our ‘Bridgers’ and ‘Bridgemans’ took the king’s levy; where none were to
be found our ‘Ferrimans’ rendered their necessary aid. The consequent
difficulties with regard to conveyance were great. The larger of the
county towns carried on but an uncertain and irregular communication,
while the remoter villages were wholly dependent either on the
travelling trader or peddler, or on the great fair, as it came round in
its annual course. What a stock of goods would be laid in by the
bustling wife, and the farmer himself on this latter occasion! Imagine
them starting forth to lay in a supply for a whole year’s wants. No
wonder the good, sound cob and the stout wagon it drew are remembered in
our surnames. Of the importance of the former such names as ‘Horsman,’
if it be not official, and ‘Palfreyman,’ or ‘Palfriman,’ not to mention
‘Asseman,’ are good witnesses. Such entries as ‘Agnes le Horsman,’ or
‘Roger le Palefreyour,’ or ‘John le Palfreyman’ are familiar to every
early register. Our ‘Tranters’ and ‘Traunters’ are but relics of the old
‘Traventer,’ he who let out posthorses. In process of time, however, he
got numbered among the many itinerant peddlers or carriers, of whom I
shall speak shortly. Bishop Hall, in one of his Satires, says—

               And had some traunting chapman to his sire,
               That trafficked both by water and by fire,

Our ‘Corsers’[278] or ‘Cossers,’ too, little altered from the former ‘le
Corsour,’ represent, as did the obsolete ‘Horsmonger,’ the dealer in
horseflesh. Another branch of this occupation is represented by our
‘Runchemans,’ ‘Runcimans,’ or ‘Runchmans.’ They dealt in hackney-horses,
‘rounce’ or ‘rouncie’ being the then general term for such. Chaucer’s
‘Shipman’ was mounted upon one—

                 For aught I wot, he was of Dertemouth,
                 He rode upon a rouncie, as he couthe.

It was, however, a term applied in common to all manner of horses, and
it is quite possible the names given above must be classed simply with
‘Horseman’ and such like. Brunne, in describing Arthur’s Coronation,
mentions among other his gifts—

                    Good palfreys he gave to clerks
                    Bows and arrows he gave archers,
                    Runces good unto squiers.[279]

In such grand-looking entries as ‘William le Charreter,’ or ‘John le
Caretter,’ or ‘Andrew le Chareter,’[280] we should now scarce recognise
the humble ‘Carter,’ but so is he commonly set down in the thirteenth
century, our ‘cart’ itself being nothing more than the old Norman-French
‘charette,’ so familiarized to us by our present Bible version as
‘chariot.’ This in the edition of 1611 even was spelt after the old
fashion as ‘charet.’ Our ‘Charters’ are evidently but relics of the
fuller form, a ‘John le Charter’ appearing in the Parliamentary
Writs.[281] ‘Char,’ the root of ‘charet,’ still remains with us as
‘car.’ In ‘Cursor Mundi’ it is said—

                   Nay, sir, but ye must to him fare,
                   He hath sent after thee his chare.

Gower, too, has the word—

                   With that she looked and was war,
                   Doun fro’ the sky ther cam a char,
                   The which dragons aboute drew.

This was used by people of rank as a fashionable vehicle for purposes of
pleasure; oftentimes, too, by ladies.[282] Corresponding with the other,
the driver of such was ‘John le Charer’ or ‘Richard le Charrer,’ the
present existing forms in our directories being ‘Charman’ and
‘Carman.’[283] ‘Cartman,’ I need not add, is also found as well as
‘Carter.’ All these terms, however, are from the Norman vocabulary. The
Saxon word in general use was ‘wagon’ or ‘wain,’ the conductor of which
now dwells in our midst as ‘Wagoner’ or ‘Wagner,’ and ‘Wainman’ or
‘Wenman.’ ‘Charles Wain’ or the ‘Churls Wain’ is the name that
constellation still bears, and which has clung to it, in spite of the
Norman, since the day, a thousand years and more, that the Saxon so
likened it. As in the case of so many other double words representative
of our twofold language, these two separate terms have come now to
denote their own specialty of vehicle, and it is even possible that so
early as the day in which ‘le Wainwright’ and ‘le Cartwright’ took their
rise this distinction had already begun to exist. It is thus our English
language has become so rich, this sheep-and-mutton redundancy of which
Walter Scott in his ‘Ivanhoe’ has so well reminded us. ‘Richard le
Drivere’ or ‘John le Drivere’ of course must be placed here, not to
mention an ‘Alice le Driveress,’ who figures in the Hundred Rolls.

Of such consequence was it that the horse-gear should be carefully put
together that it occupied the full attention of several different
artisans. Such names as ‘Benedict le Sporier,’ or ‘Alan le Lorymer,’ or
‘Nicholas le Lorimer,’ are found in every considerable roll of the
period, and they still exist. The one of course looked to the rowel, the
other to the bit. ‘John le Sadeler’ needs little explanation, his
posterity being still alive to speak in his behalf. The old
Norman-introduced word for a saddle was ‘sell,’ and that it lingered on
for a considerable period is shown by Spenser’s use of it, where he

              And turning to that place, in which whyleare
              He left his loftie steed with golden sell,
              And goodly gorgeous barbes.

Every mediæval roll has its ‘Warin le Seler’ or ‘Thomas le Seller.’[284]
The pack-saddle was of such importance that it required a special
manufacturer, and this it had in our now somewhat rare ‘Fusters’ or
‘Fewsters.’[285] In his ‘Memorials of London,’ Mr. Riley mentions a
‘Walter Polyt, fuyster’ (p. xxii.). A fuster was, strictly speaking, a
joiner employed in the manufacture of the saddle-bow, that is, the
wooden framework of the old saddle. It is derived from the French
‘fust,’ wood, and that from the late Latin ‘fustis.’ Our ‘Shoosmiths,’
as I have before hinted, made the horseshoe, while ‘John le Mareshall,’
or ‘Ranulph le Marescal,’ or ‘Osbert le Ferrur,’ or ‘Peter le Ferrour,’
fitted it to the foot. The modern forms are simple ‘Marshall,’ and
‘Ferrier,’ or ‘Ferrer.’ In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ it is said—

               For eche a hors that ferroure schalle scho,
               An halpeny on day he takes hym to.

Nothing could be more natural than that the shoeing-forge should become
associated with the doctoring of horseflesh, but it is somewhat strange
that when we now speak of a farrier we recognise in this old term[286]
simply and only the horse-leech. So full of changes are the lives of
words, as well as places and people.

A curious insight into mediæval travel is presented to our notice in our
‘Ostlers’ and ‘Oastlers’ and ‘Oslers,’ relics of such old registries as
‘Ralph le Hostiler’ or ‘William le Ostiller.’ This term, once applied,
as it rightly should, to the ‘host’ or ‘hosteller’ himself, has now
become confined to the stableman, thus incidentally reminding us how
important this part of the hostel duties would be at such a time as I am
endeavouring to describe. The idea of the hosteller being one whose
especial office it was to tend that which was their sole means of
locomotion, thus in time resolved itself into a distinct name for that
branch of his occupation.[287] The old ‘Herberjour’ gave lodging, whence
it is we get our ‘arbour.’ Our kings and barons in their journeys always
kept an officer so termed, whose duty it was to go before and prepare
and make ready for their coming. Owing to the large number of household
attendants for whom lodging was required, this was an important and
responsible duty. Thus has arisen our ‘harbinger,’ so often poetically
applied to the sun as heralding the approach of day. The older spelling
is preserved in the ‘Canterbury Tales,’ where it is said—

               The fame anon throughout the town is born,
               How Alla King shal come on pilgrimage,
               By herbergeours that wenten him beforn.

It is, however, as applied to lodging-house keepers our many enrolled
‘Herbert le Herberjurs,’ ‘Roger le Herberers,’ ‘William le Herbers,’ or
‘Richard le Harebers,’ are met with, and I doubt not our ‘Harbers’ and
‘Harbours’ are their offspring. In this sense the word is used by our
mediæval writers in all its forms, whether verb, or adjective, or
substantive. Tyndale’s version of Romans xii. 13 is, ‘Be ready to
harbour,’ where we now have it ‘given to hospitality.’ Bishop Coverdale,
speaking of the grave, says—‘_There_ is the harborough of all flesh;
there lie the rich and the poor in one bed’ (_Fruitful Lessons_). He
adds also, in another place, that Abraham was ‘liberal, merciful, and
harborous’—_i.e._, ready to entertain strangers (_The Old Faith_).
Bradford, too, to give but one more quotation, prays God may ‘sweep the
houses of our hearts, and make them clean, that they may be a worthy
harborough and lodging for the Lord’ (_Bradford’s Works_). Market
Harborough still preserves this old word and its true sense from being
forgotten. With the bearers, therefore, of the above names we may ally
our ‘Inmans’ and ‘Taverners.’ The latter term is frequently found in
early writings, and was evidently in ordinary use for the occupation—

                    Ryght as of a tavernere
                    The grene busche that hangeth out
                    Is a sygne, it is no dowte,
                    Outward folkys for to telle
                    That within is wyne to selle.

While, however, the tavern has undergone but little change, the inn has.
With our present Bible an inn is ever a lodging, and this was once the
sole idea the term conveyed. It was not for casual callers by day, but
for lodgers by night. Thus Chaucer in his ‘Knight’s Tale’ uses the verb—

               This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,
               When he had brought them into his cite,
               And ynned them, everich (each) at his degre
               He festeth them.

Until the fair or wake came on, as I have said, the community in the
more retired nooks and corners of the country depended entirely on the
mounted merchant. He it was who conveyed to them the gossip of the time.
He it was, or one of his _confrères_, that brought them everything which
in those days went under the category of small luxuries. The more lonely
parts of the highway were infested by robbers. Hence the pack-horsemen
and other mounted traders generally travelled in company, with jingling
bell and belted sword—a warning to evil-minded roadsters. This was all
the more necessary as they but seldom kept to the main thoroughfare. A
straight line between the adjacent hamlets best describes their course.
Such local terms as ‘Pedlar’s Way,’ or ‘Pedder’s Way,’ or ‘Copmansford,’
still found in various parts of the country, are but interesting
memorials of the direct and then lonely route these itinerant traders
took in passing from one village to another. The number of these
roadsters we cannot otherwise speak of than as that of a small army.
Many of them, so far as our nomenclature is concerned, are now obsolete,
but not a few still survive. Amongst those of a more general character
we find ‘Sellman’ or ‘Selman.’[288] From the old verb ‘to pad,’ which is
still used colloquially in many districts, for the sober and staid pace
the pack-horsemen preserved, we get our ‘Padmans’ and ‘Pedlers,’ or
‘Pedlars,’ once inscribed as ‘William le Pedeleure’ or ‘Thomas le
Pedeler.’ It is of kin to ‘path.’ We still talk of a ‘footpad,’ who not
more than two centuries ago would also have been spoken of as a
‘padder.’ So late as 1726 Gay, in one of his ballads, says—

              Will-a-wisp leads the traveller a-gadding
                Through ditch and through quagmire and bog,
              No light can e’er set me a-padding
                But the eyes of my sweet Molly Mogg.

Perchance of similar origin, but more probably from the old ‘ped,’ the
basket they carried, are our ‘Pedders,’ ‘Peddars,’ and ‘Pedmans.’
‘Martin le Peddere’ or ‘Hugh le Pedder’ or ‘William Pedman’ was a common
entry at this time. On many parts of the English coast a fish-basket is
still familiarly known as a ‘ped,’ and Mr. Halliwell, I see, quotes from
another writer a statement to the effect that in Norwich, up to a recent
day, or even now, an assemblage whither women bring their small wares of
eggs, chickens, and other farm produce for sale, is called a
‘ped-market.’ It is likely, therefore, that with these we must ally
‘Godewyn le Hodere’ or ‘John le Hottere,’ who derived their sobriquets,
I doubt not, from the fact of their carrying their _hods_ or panyers on
their backs, just as masons do now those wooden trays for mortar which
bear the same name.[289] Their very titles remind us that our ‘Huckers,’
‘Hawkers,’ and ‘Hucksters,’ relics of the old ‘William le Huckere,’
‘Simon le Hauckere,’ or ‘Peter le Huckster,’ were from the first good at
haggling and chaffering wherever a bargain was concerned. Our ‘Kidders,’
the ‘William le Kyderes’ of the fourteenth century, were of a similar
type, whatever their origin, which is doubtful. Probably, however, we
must refer them to the ‘kid’ or ‘kit,’ the rush-plaited basket they
carried their goods in. We still speak of ‘the whole kit of them,’
meaning thereby the collective mass of any set of articles.[290] This
view is strengthened—we might almost say proved—by the fact of a ‘Robert
Butrekyde’ being found in the Hundred Rolls of this period. This would
be a sobriquet given to some one from the basket he was wont to bear to
and from the country market where he carried on his calling. Later on we
find it used for a large mug or bowl. In the ‘Farming Book of Henry
Best,’ written in 1641, we find it said—‘Some will cutte their cake and
putte (it) into the creame, and this feast is called the creame-potte or
creame-kitte’ (p. 93). The kidder’s usual _confrère_ was the ‘Badger’—up
to the seventeenth century an ordinary term for one who had a special
licence to purchase corn from farmers at the provincial markets and
fairs, and then dispose of it again elsewhere without the penalties of
engrossing. It is generally said the sobriquet arose from the habits of
the four-legged animal of that name in stealing and storing up the
grain. The more probable solution, however, is that it is but a
corruption of ‘baggager,’ from his method of carriage.

But we must not forget in our list of early English strolling merchants
that the wandering friars themselves were oftentimes to be met with
bearing treasure wherewith to tempt the housewife, and no bad
bargainers, if we may accept the statement made against them by an old
political song:—

                  There is no pedler that pak can bere,
                  That half so dere can selle his gere,
                    Than a frere can do;
                  For if he give a wyfe a knyfe
                    That cost but penys two,
                  Worthe ten knyves, so may I thrive,
                    He wyl have ere he go.[291]

Our ‘Tinklers’ and ‘Tinkers,’ like our more northern ‘Cairds,’ seem to
have been scarcely removed in degree from the strolling gipsies. They
acquired their name from the plan they adopted of heralding their coming
by striking a kettle, a plan of attracting attention more euphoniously
practised by our bellmen, with whom we are still familiar. Such names as
‘Alice Tynkeller’ in the fourteenth century, or ‘Peter le Teneker’ found
in the thirteenth century, show how early had this method been adopted
and the sobriquet given.[292] Last, but not least, come our ‘Chapman’ or
‘Copeman’[293] and ‘Packman.’[294] The former is sometimes met with as
‘Walter’ or ‘John le Chepman,’ which at once reminds us of his origin,
that of the ‘cheap-man,’ or ‘cheap-jack,’ as we should now style him.
The old ‘cheaping,’ or ‘chipping,’ a market-place, still lingers locally
in such place-names as ‘Chipping-Norton,’ or ‘Chipping-Camden,’ or the
local surname ‘Chippendale;’ and the verb ‘to chop’—_i.e._, to purchase,
I believe, is not yet extinct amongst us. The once common phrase for
selling and exchanging was ‘chopping and changing.’ Coverdale uses it.
Speaking of Christ driving out the money-changers from the Temple, he
says, ‘The Temple was ordained for general prayer, thanksgiving, and
preaching, and not for chopping and changing, or other such like things’
(_The Old Faith_). Thus the term ‘chapman’ would be no unmeaning one to
our forefathers. But we must give him a paragraph to himself.

The chapman, you must know, was a great man. According to more modern
usage, he had a fixed residence, but we may still see him at times,
after the olden fashion, travelling about in a large booth-like
conveyance or rumble. This vehicular mode of transit set him far above
the rank of ordinary footpads. He was a sort of pedlar in high life, in
fact, and if his position was lofty, his abilities were generally equal
to a performance of its duties. O the sensation his arrival caused! The
village green was instantly instinct with life. From impossible nooks
and crannies surged forth a small army of all ages. Hoarded pennies or
twopennies were drawn forth from cherished hiding-places, and flinty
maternal pockets were for the nonce assailed with comparative success.
To the young folks it was the next best thing to Punchinello, the
chapman was so funny. Besides, he had so many things wherewith to tempt
their juvenile fancy. What was there he had not? Everything that could
under any lax code of fancy possibly or impossibly come under the
all-expansive term of hardware was crowded within the magic recesses of
that chapman’s van. Dolls and dishes, scissors and hats, cornplasters
and cosmetics, lollipops in the shape of soldiers, and lollipops in the
shape of windmills issued forth in a succession as insinuating to the
purse as it was tempting to the imagination. And what a man was Jack
himself; he had a joke for everyone, a frown for none. His face was an
ever-changing picture, bluffed by the wind and burnt by the sun; still
it was ever cheery withal, now demure, half waggish, half impudent, anon
all benevolence as he details the merits of his latest painless
corn-suppressing plaster, and assures the gaping swains that his sole
object in life, since the happy moment when he first became acquainted
with its virtues, has been to carry through the world the blissful
tidings to suffering man. All this, he adds, with reckless impudence,
has been done at a great personal pecuniary sacrifice; but an approving
conscience, and the blessings showered upon his head by the recipients
of his generosity, have been his ample reward. Of course they sell like
wildfire, and the profits are enormous.[295]

Our ‘Packmans,’ ‘Paxmans,’ and perhaps ‘Packers,’ were, as a rule, the
village commissioners.[296] What a simple and homely state of life do
their names suggest. No half-hourly omnibus, or still more frequent
train, whisked off the bustling housewife to the big town—now some
sleepy old place with grass-grown streets, and half a century behind the
times, where ‘news much older than the ale goes round’—but then the
thrifty emporium of cheese and butter and such like stores, and great in
the eyes of country bumpkins. No; if you visited the town in those days
you must make a day of it. And the mistress knew better than do this.
Leave her dairy, forsooth—what would become of the cream if she left
Malkin to forget her work, and talk with Giles the cowboy behind the
stable door all morning? She leave, indeed! Of course she could not, so
there was the pack-horseman, who for a trifling commission went to and
from the market for her and her neighbours. As he returned in the cool
of the evening, when the sun was low and work over, you might see him
pausing awhile at the door of the farmsteads, long after he has given
the mistress her store, and, more slily, Malkin her ribbon. He is in no
hurry now, for he is telling the country folk all the news; how the
great world is wagging, and how there has been a great battle with the
Frenchers some six or eight weeks ago (news, good or bad, did not travel
fast in those days). The Frenchmen are looked upon by the simple rustics
as the very impersonification of iniquity, they being under a sort of
impression that a Frenchman is a being who defies God and man alike, and
would think no bones of eating you up. At once the packman is plied for
a full, true, and particular account of the battle, and he, there being
none to gainsay his description, and with an eye probably to the good
wife’s best ale, which, as he well knows from experience, will be
brought forth with a freedom of hospitality proportionate to the horror
of the details, fills up a bloody tale with sundry touches of a most
tragic character, while the country folk gape in wide-mouthed terror,
and the old grandmother cries ‘Lord, ha’ mercy on us!’ His face is lost
to sight once more in the ale jug, and then he passes on to other
steads, where a similar scene and a similar reward await his thirsty
soul. Another name in evident use for the packman was that of ‘Sumpter,’
‘Martin le Someter’ or ‘William le Sumeter’ being common entries at this
time. We are still familiar with the term as applied to the mule or
horse that carried the baggage, but in a personal sense it has long been
extinct,[297] saving in our directories, where as ‘Sumpter’ and ‘Sumter’
it is by no means seldom met with. How large a load these animals were
required to bear we may picture to ourselves from a verse found in
‘Percy’s Reliques’—

               But, for you have not furniture
                 Beseeming such a guest,
               I bring his owne, and come myselfe,
                 To see his lodging drest.

               With that two sumpters were discharged,
                 In which were hangings brave,
               Silke coverings, curteins, carpets, plate,
                 And all such turn should have.

But useful as were all these various itinerants, it was at the great
yearly wakes or fairs, held in commemoration of the church dedication,
that the housekeepers round laid in their greatest store. The term
‘wake’ denotes ‘a watching,’ because of the vigil observed during the
night preceding the festival itself. Indeed ‘wake’ and ‘watch’ were for
centuries synonymous words.[298] Wicklyffe translates Mark xii.
37—‘Forsooth, that that I say to you, I say to all, Wake ye.’[299] Thus
it is that our ‘Wakemans’ are but memorials of the old village guardian
or night watchman, while our ‘Wakes’ can boast a title dating so far
back as the time when ‘Hereward the Wake,’ or Watchful, was fighting the
last battle of the down-trodden and oppressed Saxon.[300] These fairs
were by no means for mere pleasure-seekers, as we might imagine from
such a term as ‘church-ale,’ or judging by the aspect of such festivals
in the present day. They had an end to answer, and an important end, and
in early times they fulfilled it. It was here the farmers round brought
their produce, ready to sell their wool for good sound money, or to
exchange it for commodities of which they stood in need. It was here the
foreign trader came to purchase sheep-fells and other skins, soon, by
transmission abroad, to be worked up by Flemish hands into good
broadcloth, and retransmitted again to London or provincial marts.
Edward the Confessor obtained a sum of 70_l._, an immense amount at such
a time as this, from the tollage at a fair held in Bedfordshire. Of many
celebrated fairs, those of Smithfield on St. Bartholomew’s Day (which
still exists as a kind of perpetual one), York, Winchester, and Ely seem
to have been the most frequented. That in the Isle of Ely was kept up on
and for some days after the feast of St. Awdrey, or Audrey, the
corrupted name of St. Etheldreda, which as a surname our ‘Awdreys’ still
preserve. This seems to have become specially noted for its sale of
trinkets, toys, and cheap and gay laces—so much so that in course of
time ‘tawdry,’ or St.-Awdry, ware became the colloquial and general term
for such. Drayton we even find using the word substantively when he

                Of which the Naiads and blue Nereids make
                Them tawdries for their neck.[301]

Of the still greater one held at Winchester, we find Piers the Plowman

                      To Wye and to Winchester
                        I went to the fair,
                      With many manner merchandise,
                        As my master me hight:
                      But it had been unsold
                        These seven years,
                      So God me help,
                        Had there not gone
                      The grace of guile
                        Among my chaffer.

The ‘Wife of Bath,’ too, has a word to say upon this subject. Says she:—

               I governed them so wel after my lawe,
               That eche of them ful blissful was and fawe
               To bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre.

What a picture does all this present to our eye. We can see the circular
stand of booths belting the rails of the quaint belfried edifice,
sometimes, I am afraid, the sacred precincts within.[302] Behind these
we may note how busy are our ‘le Stallers’ and ‘le Stallmans,’ now found
also as ‘Stalman;’ not to say our ‘Stallards,’ that is, stall-wards, and
obsolete ‘le Vendours.’ No infliction too severe can be made upon their
readiness to please. Elbowing and chaffering and good-humoured haggling
are the order of the day. Here the stupid, happy swain, with his
be-ribboned sweetheart tucked under his arm, is buying their little
stock wherewith to start life; here the child is made blissful with a
trumpet, and the hoary-headed rustic gets a warmer cap for his crown.
Here, too, it is that the chapman and other of his _confrères_, as I
have already hinted, are buying in their varied commodities. All alike
are well catered for. When we talk of ‘packing up our duds,’ few of us,
I imagine, are aware that we are using a word of most familiar import in
long generations gone by. A ‘dud’ then was a coarse, patched linen gown,
gaudy in colour, made up in fact of variegated pieces of this material.
Hence he who sold such cheap, flashy goods at a fair, any old fripperer
in truth, was styled a ‘dudder’ up to comparatively recent times, and
the booth itself a ‘duddery.’ ‘Duderman’ and ‘Dudder’ (now obsolete),
‘Dudman’ and ‘Dodman,’ are all, I doubt not, but interesting memorials
of this once flourishing lower class trade. Such names as ‘Thomas
Dudman’ or ‘Ralph Deuderman’ greet us occasionally in the olden rolls.
‘William Fairman,’[303] found in the Parliamentary Writs, would be, I
suppose, a more general vendor. He has not a few descendants.

But while bartering and the purchase and sale of these varied household
commodities occupied no small amount of attention, such a sober mode of
passing the fairtide was very far from being the intention of the
younger and gayer portion of the assemblage; nor was there, indeed, any
lack of that which could feed or give zest to their relish for
amusement, though it was not always of the most innocent nature. Our
‘Champions’ and ‘Campions’ are but relics of the old ‘William le
Champion,’[304] or ‘Katerine le Chaumpion,’ a sobriquet which would
easily affix itself to some sturdy and swarthy rustic who had thrown his
adversary in the wrestling ground. This has ever been a popular sport
amid our more rural communities. The Miller, Chaucer says:—

              Was a stout carl for the nones,
              Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones,
              That proved wel, for over all ther he came,
              At wrestling he would bear away the ram.

In an old poem I have already quoted, the mother warns her daughter:—

             Go not to the wrestling, nor shooting the cock,
             As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[305]

Doubtless such a sobriquet as ‘Richard le Fytur,’ that is ‘Fighter,’
would be but representative of the same. The country folks were not
slow, too, to copy their masters, and in the friendly joust the former,
‘Thomas le Justere’ or ‘Robert le Justure,’ would brace himself amid the
excited ring to unseat his fellow-swain, affording much sport to the
on-looking wags.

By the maypole you may see the conjuror, or ‘Wiseman,’ as he was
generally termed, battening himself upon the superstitious minds of the
assembled hinds. In the Hundred Rolls he figures as ‘Wysman’ and
‘Wyseman.’ A little further on our ‘Players’ would be enacting their
mummery. The great crowd there in the corner are watching the showman
with his dancing bear, a yearly treat the younger holiday-seekers always
appreciated. What a change has come over our English habits with regard
to this animal. Dancing was the least cruel of the sports connected with
it. Time was when every noble of position had his bears and his
bearward, when even royalty could boast a master of the king’s bears,
and when as a pastime the bear-baiting took an easy pre-eminence in the
eyes of all holiday folk. A skit on the Earl of Warwick, banished to the
Isle of Man, written 1399, says:—

                  A bereward found a rag:
                    Of this rag he made a bag:
                    He dude in gode entent.
                  Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;
                  All his beres have hym forsaken.
                    Thus is the berewarde schent.[306]

In one of our earlier rolls I find several names that bear relation to
this familiar sport. Of such are ‘Geoffrey Bearbaste’ and ‘Alexander
Bearbait.’ More common to us in the present day, however, are the
descendants of the more simple ‘Berward’ (‘Michael le Berward,’ H.R.)
and ‘Bearman,’ or ‘Berman’ (‘Ralph Bareman,’ H.R.). In ‘Cocke Lorelle’s
Bote’ mention is made of—

                      Jenkyne Berwarde of Barwyche.

Whether ‘Jenkyne’ was a mythic personage, or whether any of our present
‘Berwards’ are his lineal issue, I cannot pretend to say.[307] Any way,
however, the name would be common enough then. Bull as well as bear
baiting, I need not say, was a popular pastime with our forefathers. We
still talk of bulldogs. Probably our ‘Bullards’ could formerly have told
us something about this. Fit rival to these latter, you may see the
‘Cockman,’ or, as he was more generally termed, the ‘Cocker,’ matching
his birds in the adjacent pit. The author of the ‘Townley Mysteries’
does not give the cocker a good character—at least he places him in very
bad company—

                    These dysars, and these hullars,
                    These cokkers, and these bullars,
                    And alle purse cuttars,
                      Be welle ware of these men.

Among other instances the Hundred Rolls furnish us with ‘Simon le
Cockere’ and ‘William le Koker.’

Professional dancers, I need scarcely say, were seldom absent from the
mediæval festival. Tripping it lightly to some Moorish round, we may see
such folk as ‘Harvey le Danser’ or ‘Geoffrey le Hoppere,’ inciting the
younger villagers to follow their example. The latter name, which occurs
frequently at this time, reminds us that our modern slang term ‘hop’ has
but restored the ancient use of this word. Our Prayer-Book version of
the Psalms still employs the verb in the verse, ‘Why hop ye so, ye high
hills?’[308]—and Chaucer, in picturing the merry ’prentice, says—

                At every bridale would he sing and hoppe;
                He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.

The feminine ‘hoppestere,’ which he also uses, does not sound quite so
euphonious. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale,’ among other of the dissolute folk
in Flanders, are mentioned ‘tombesteres’—

                And right anon in comen tombesteres
                Fetis and smale, and yonge fruitesteres.

These, I doubt not, were female dancers, and performers of such bodily
gyrations and flexions as mountebanks are still skilled in. The
masculine form is found in such an entry as ‘William le Tumbere,’ whom
we should now, so far as his professional tricks were concerned, term a

All this time the mirth of music is at its loudest, though it is
somewhat hard to separate the tones of the various rival minstrels.
There is a trio in one corner by the tavern door there, discoursing
sounds which are certainly equal, if not superior, to the Teutonic bands
of more modern days. Indeed, with regard to the latter, I am beginning
to suspect the conjecture of a friend of mine to be perfectly true—that
they are German convicts shipped off, with cracked and second-hand
trumpets, by the Commissioners of Police to save their keep. It is,
however, right perhaps that the country which sends us the best should
also have the option of sending us the worst music in the world. The
trio we may see here, at any rate, have one advantage—that of their
poetic mediæval costume. The first we may notice is the ‘Fiddler,’
represented by such men as ‘Robert Fyffudlere,’ or ‘John le Fythelere,’
or the Latinized ‘Rulard Vidulator.’ This last reminds us that it is now
also written ‘Vidler.’ He of course played on the violin, for I must not
say ‘fiddle,’ it is far too Saxon, for modern cultivated days. The Clerk
of Oxenforde seems to have been superior to the generality of later
university men, for he had—

                Liefer have at his beddes head
                A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,
                Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
                Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.

Certainly time effects wonderful changes. But I doubt whether even he
would have found much profit, not to say pleasure, in the study of
Aristotle, or any other philosopher, had he been subjected to the daily
practice of a well-scraped viol in an adjacent dormitory,[309] the
author of which could boast but one tune in his repertoire, and was
determined that every one should know it. After the Fiddler—Saxon or no
Saxon, I’ll stick to it for the nonce—comes the ‘Piper’ with his reedy
stop, and next to him the ‘Taborer’ beating his drum with such rare
effect as to make him the very idol of the youngsters. Spenser calls him
the ‘tabrere,’ which form, as well as ‘Tabrar,’ Tabberer,’ ‘Tabor,’ and
‘Taber,’ still exists in our nomenclature.

                   I saw a shole of shepherds out go,
                   Before them yode a lusty tabrere,
                   That to the merry hornpipe plaid,
                   Whereto they danced.

Such entries as ‘Arnold le Pyper,’ or ‘Robert le Pipere,’ or ‘William le
Tabourer,’ or ‘John le Taburer,’ are of frequent occurrence in mediæval

              The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,

is the order of the gentle author of the ‘Faerie Queen;’ so having
disposed of the two former, the ‘Crowder’ with his six-stringed viol
duly engages our attention next, though he ought more correctly to have
been yoked with the ‘Fiddler.’ ‘Crouth’ was but another form of the same
word. An old Saxon Psalter thus renders Psalm cl. 4—

                    Loves him in crouth and timpane,
                    Loves him in stringes and organe.

Wicklyffe, too, translates Luke xv. 25 as follows:—‘But his eldre sone
was in the feeld, and whaune he cam and neighede to the hous he herde a
symfonye and a crowde.’[310] Like our ‘Harpers’ and more northern
‘Bairds,’ the ‘Crowder’ or ‘Crowther’ (for as surnames both forms exist)
was oftentimes blind, and thus gained the ear of an audience, if not
appreciative, at least sympathetic. Seldom, indeed, did he leave
cottage, or hall festival, or fair, without a guerdon, and a kind word
to boot; for while customs fade out and die, pity, thank God, knows
neither change of season nor chance of time. Mediæval forms of the above
may be found in ‘Richard le Cruder’ or ‘Thomas le Crowder.’ But we have
yet several more surnames to mention which prove the once great
popularity of this latter class of instrument. ‘German le Lutrere’ and
‘John le Leuter’ have left no descendants, I think.[311] The more common
term was lutanist, but of this I have found no instance. While the lute
had generally ten strings, and was struck by the hand, the viele or viol
had six, was of stronger make, and was played with a bow. It seems to
have been a favourite instrument in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries, for such registrations as ‘Benedict le Viler,’ ‘Nicholas le
Vylour,’ ‘Wyot le Vilur,’ or ‘Jacob le Vielur,’ occur with tolerable
frequency at that period. Another Norman-introduced word was that of
‘gigue,’ or ‘gig.’ This, however, seems to have differed from the others
in being of the very roughest manufacture, and made specially for
professional dancers. These ‘giguers’ were extremely popular at rural
festivals of any kind. At one and the same instant they would be
tripping it round on the ‘light fantastic toe,’ singing some not too
select verses, accompanying themselves on their sturdy instrument, and
yet would have a hand to spare for a trifle if you should offer it. If
you doubted it you had but to try them. It is thus we have got our
‘jig,’ our ‘gigot,’ or leg of mutton, too, being so called from its
resemblance thereto. The surnominal form is found in such entries as
‘Walter le Gigur,’ or ‘Alexander le Gygur,’ but I doubt whether either
is represented now. The last of this class of instrumentalists we may
mention is ‘William le Sautreour,’ he who struck the ‘gay sawtrye,’ as
Chaucer terms it. The more correct form of the word was ‘psaltery.’ It
was specially used as an accompaniment for the voice, hence it is freely
used in this sense in the Authorized Version. I do not doubt myself that
some of our ‘Salters’ are but a change rung on the mediæval ‘Sawtrer.’
The ‘Fluter,’ I believe, has left no descendants, but in ‘Nicholas le
Floutere’ he was to be met with at this date, and, I need not say, would
be as familiar as he would be acceptable on such an occasion as this.
The lusty young Squire was so musical that—

                Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,
                He was as freshe as is the month of May.

There is one name I must mention here, that of ‘Peter le Organer,’[312]
perhaps connected with ‘Orger’ of the same date. The owner of this more
modern-looking term may either have been organist at some monastery or
abbey-church, or he may have played upon the portable regal, in which
latter case he too might possibly have been seen here. But ‘organ’ was a
very general term. In the old psalters it seems to have been used for
nearly every species of instrument. We should scarcely speak now of
‘hanging up our “organs” upon the willows,’ but so an old version of the
Psalms has it. Did we not know they were a modern invention we might
have been inclined to suspect ‘le Organer’ to have been but a strolling
performer upon the ‘hurdy-gurdy.’ That, however, was an infliction
mercifully spared to our forefathers. In concluding this brief survey of
mediæval music, I cannot, I think, do better than quote, as I have done
partially once before, Robert de Brunne’s account of the coronation of
King Arthur, wherein we shall find many, if not most, of the
professional characters I have been mentioning familiarly spoken of. He

           Jogelours weren there enow
           That their quaintise forthe drew:
           Minstrels many with divers glew (glee)
           Sounds of bemes (trumps) that men blew,
           Harpes, pipes, and tabours,
           Fithols (fiddles), citolles (cymbals), sautreours,
           Belles, chimès and synfan
           Other enow and some I cannot name.
           Songsters that merry sung,
           Sound of glee over all rung;
           Disours enow telled fables:
           And some played with dice at tables.

But we are not without traces of the troubadour. The simple vocalist, a
strolling professionalist, too, in many instances, remains hale and
hearty in our ‘Glemans,’ ‘Gleemans,’ and ‘Glemmans,’ not to mention our
‘Sangsters.’ Amid such lulls as might intervene, we should hear them at
the popular festivals bidding for favour with their old-fashioned
stories of ‘hawk and hound,’ and ‘my ladyes bower,’ set, no doubt, to
airs equally _à la mode_. A contemporary poet tells us their song

                      Hath been sung at festivals
                      On ember eves, and holy-ales.

The recitation of these stories seems to have been a peculiarly popular
profession. Our ‘Rhymers’ oftentimes showed their skill in the art of
rhythmical narration by weaving the exploits they described into
extempore verse.[313] The ‘Juggler’ or ‘Joculator,’ originally a
minstrel or ‘jester,’ something akin to the clown of later days, became
by-and-by more celebrated for his skill in legerdemain than loquacity,
and now little else is understood by the word. Almost every baron, and
even the king himself, had his favourite jester; but it was an art put
to the most corrupt purposes, and ‘Jagge the Jogelour’ is set in very
low company by Piers Plowman. Certainly his jokes were of the lewdest
description, even for the rough times in which he lived. His voice, too,
was sufficiently elevated, if we may trust the account given in the
‘Romance of Alexander,’ for—

                 No scholde mon have herd the thondur,
                 For the noise of the taboures,
                 And the trumpours, and the jangelours.

The ‘Dissour,’ the old Norman ‘diseur,’ similar in character to the
rhymer and the juggler, seems to have left no memorial, saving it be in
our ‘Dissers;’[314] neither can I trace ‘le Tregetour’ later than the
fifteenth century. Every footprint of his professional existence,
indeed, is now faded from our view. And yet there was the day when none
could be more familiar than he. The Hundred Rolls record not merely
‘Symon le Tregetor,’ but ‘William le Tregetur’ also, while ‘Maister John
Rykele’ is spoken of by Lydgate as ‘sometime Tregitour of noble Henrie,
King of Engleland.’ Chaucer, too, mentions sciences

                 By which men maken divers apparences,
                 Such as these subtil tregetoures play.
                 For oft at feasts have I wel heard say
                 That tragetoures, within an halle large
                 Have made come in a water and a barge
                 And in the halle rowen up and down:

while in another place he speaks of seeing

                                Coll Tragetour
                     Upon a table of sicamour
                     Play an uncouth thing to tell;
                     I saw him carry a wind-mill
                     Under a walnut-shell;

with other equally marvellous feats. Thus we see that the art of
legerdemain was not neglected at this time.

I doubt whether any relics we possess so completely convey to our minds
the radical changes which have swept across the face of our English
Commonwealth as do these lingering surnames. They remind us of the
invention of printing, of the spread of literature, and of the slow
decay thereby of the professions they represented. They tell us of a
changed society, they tell us of a day of rougher cast and looser
trammels; they tell us of a life around which the lapse of intervening
years has thrown a halo of so quaint aspect that we all but long, in our
more sentimental moods, to be thrown back upon it again. Placing these
tell-tale names by the life of the present, we see what a change has
passed over all. Let us hope this change denotes progress. In some
respects it assuredly does: progress in the settlement of our common
rights and duties, progress in civilization and order, progress in
mental culture, progress in decorum. Still we may yet ask, with all this
has there been any true progress? The juggler, ’tis true, with his
licentious story, and the dissolute tragetour, both are gone—they would
be handcuffed now, and put in gaol. This speaks something for a higher
cultivation. But, after all, may not this be a mere outside refinement—a
refinement to meet the requirements of an age in which the head is
educated more than the heart—a refinement which may be had in our
shops—the refinement, in fact, of the lowest of God’s endowed creatures,
that of the exquisite? This is, indeed, an artificial age, and it warns
us to see to it whether we are hypocrites or no; whether our life is
entirely external or the reverse; whether it is all shell and no kernel,
all the outside cup and platter, and within naught save extortion and
excess. That mortal shall have attained the highest wisdom who, in the
light of the world to come, shall have seen to the cleansing of that
which is within, and if that, if the heart be cleansed, then the
external life will as naturally, as it will of necessity, be pure.


                               CHAPTER V.

                    SURNAMES OF OCCUPATION. (TOWN).

We have already said enough to show that our early English pursuits were
mainly pastoral. Even to this day, as we are whisked across the midland
counties or driven across the Yorkshire wolds, we see what advantages we
must have enjoyed in this respect. Our one chief staple was wool, and to
export this in a raw unmanufactured state was the early practice. So
general was this occupation that even subsidies to the crown were given
in wool. In 1340, 30,000 sacks of wool were granted to Edward III. while
engaged in the French War. This would be a most valuable contribution,
for at this time it was held in the highest repute by foreign buyers.
‘The ribs of all nations throughout the world,’ wrote Matthew Paris,
‘are kept warm by the fleeces of English wool’ (Smiles). So early as
1056 we find the Count of Cleves obtaining a certain jurisdiction over
the burghers of Nimeguen upon condition of presenting to the Emperor
every year ‘three pieces of scarlet cloth of English wool’ (Macullum).
With the incoming of the Flemish refugees and other settlers already
mentioned this state of things was changed. The Conqueror himself had
settled one band near Carlisle, but his son Henry soon after coming into
possession removed them into Herefordshire, and the Southern Marches of
the Principality. Doubtless the object of both was that of setting up a
barrier against hostile encroachments on the part of the Scotch and
Welsh; but the result was the spread of a peaceful and useful industry
in two widely separated districts. Two other settlements, in Norfolk and
Suffolk, one by Henry I., the other under the direction of Edward III.,
made East Anglia for centuries the Yorkshire of England. When we talk so
familiarly of ‘worsted,’ or ‘lindsey-wolsey,’ or ‘kerseymere,’ or
‘bocking,’ we are but insensibly upholding a reputation which centuries
ago the several villages that went by these names had obtained through
Flemish aid. Thus was it then that at length our country was enabled to
produce a cloth which could afford a comparison with that of the Flemish
cities themselves. Of this incoming many surnames of this date remind
us, the most important of which I have already mentioned in my chapter
upon local names, ‘Fleming,’ as a general name for all these settlers,
being the commonest.

When, however, we turn to the occupations themselves connected with the
industry, we cannot but be struck by the wonderful impress it has made
upon our nomenclature. The child’s ancient rhyme—

                        Black sheep, black sheep,
                          Have you any wool?
                        Yes, sir; yes, sir;
                          Three bags full—

carries us to the first stage, and to the first dealer. In our ‘Woolers’
and ‘Woolmans,’ in our obsolete ‘Woolmongers’ and ‘Woolbuyers,’[315] in
our ‘Packers’[316] and once flourishing ‘Woolpackers,’ and in our
‘Lanyers’ and ‘Laners,’ relics of the old and more Norman ‘Bartholomew
le Laner’ or ‘John le Lanier,’ we can see once more the train of laden
mules bearing their fleecy treasure to the larger towns or distant
coast. No wonder that Piers Plowman and others should make familiar
mention of the ‘pack-needle,’ when we reflect upon the enormous number
of sacks that would be in constant use for this purpose; and no wonder
‘Adam le Sakkere’ (_i.e._ ‘Sacker’), and ‘Henry le Canevaser’ are to be
met with as busied in their provision.[317] Another proof of the
engrossing importance of this one English article of commerce is left us
in our ‘Staplers.’ The ‘stapleware’ of a town was, and is still, that
which is the chief commodity dealt in by that particular market. A
‘stapler,’ however, has for centuries been a generally accepted title
for a woolmerchant, and has therefore absorbed the more general meaning
the word ought to have conveyed.

The first stage towards manufacture would be the process of carding the
raw and tangled material, and numberless are the ‘Carders,’ ‘Combers,’
and ‘Kempsters,’[318] or ‘Kemsters,’ who remind us of this. In these
latter sobriquets we have but varied forms of the same root ‘cemb,’ to
comb. We still talk poetically of ‘unkempt locks,’ and we are told of
Emelie in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ that—

               Her bright hair kembed was, untressed all.

The Norman corresponding name is found in ‘Robert le Peinnur’ or
‘William le Puigneur,’ but unless in our ‘Pinners’ (a supposition not
unnatural) it has left no descendants. But even these are not all. It is
with them we must associate our ‘Towzers’ and ‘Tozers,’ from the old
‘touse’ allied to ‘tease’—they who cleared the fibre from all
entanglements. Spenser talks of curs ‘tousing’ the poor bear at the
baiting, and I need not remind the reader that in our somewhat limited
canine nomenclature, ‘Towzer,’ as a name for a dog of more pugnacious
propensities, occupies a by no means mean place. As applicable to the
trade in question, Gower uses the word when he says, in his ‘Confessio

                What schepe that is full of wulle
                Upon his backe they tose and pulle.[319]

It is here, therefore, we must place our one or two solitary
relics of the rough machinery then in use. In ‘Cardmaker’ we have
the manufacturer of the ‘comb’ or ‘card’ thus usefully employed;
in ‘Spindler’ the maker of the pin round which the thread was
wound; while our ‘Slaymakers,’[320] ‘Slaymans,’ and obsolete
‘Slaywrights’[321] preserve the once so familiar ‘slay’—that
moveable part of the loom which the webbe with his fingers plied
nimbly and deftly along the threads. A petition to Parliament in
1467 from the worsted manufacturers complains that in the county
of Norfolk there are ‘divers persones that make untrue ware of all
manner of worstedes, not being of the assises in length nor brede,
nor of good, true stuffe and makyng, and the _slayes_ and yern
thereto belonging untruly made and wrought, etc.’ (Rot. Parl. Ed.
IV.) I believe the word is not yet obsolete as a term of the

I have mentioned ‘Webbe.’

                         My wife was a webbe
                         And woolen cloth made,

says Piers in his ‘Vision.’ This appears, judging at least from our
directories, to have been the more general term, and after it its longer
forms, the masculine ‘Webber’ and the originally feminine ‘Webster.’ A
poem written in the beginning of the sixteenth century refers to

                  Curriers, cordwayners, and cobelers,
                  Gyrdelers, forborers, and webbers.

Such entries as ‘Elyas le Webbe,’ or ‘Clarice le Webbere,’ or ‘John le
Webestre,’ are of common occurrence in our mediæval and still earlier
records. But the processes are anything but at an end. The cloth must be
dyed and fulled. Of the first our ‘Listers,’ once enrolled as ‘Hugh le
Litster’ or ‘Henry le Littester,’[322] speak, and ‘Dyer’ or ‘Dister,’
still harder of recognition in such a guise as ‘Geoffrey le Deghere’ or
‘Robert le Dighestere,’ forms found at the period we are writing about.
It was John Littester, a dyer, who in 1381 headed the rebellion in
Norwich. Here the surname was evidently taken from the occupation
followed. Halliwell gives the obsolete verb ‘to lit’ or dye, and quotes
an old manuscript in which the following sentence occurs: ‘We use na
clathis that are littede of dyverse coloures.’ Such names as ‘Gilbert le
Teinturer,’ or ‘Richard le Teynterer,’ or ‘Philip le Tentier,’ which I
have come across in three separate records, represent the old French
title for the same occupation, but I believe they have failed to come
down to us—at least I have not met with any after instance. The old
English forms of ‘tincture’ and ‘tint’ are generally found to be
‘teinture’ and ‘teint.’ The teinturer is not without relics. We still
speak when harassed of ‘being on the _stretch_,’ or when in a state of
suspense of ‘being upon _tenter_-hooks,’ both of which proverbial
expressions must have arisen in the common converse of cloth-workers.
The tenter itself was the stretcher upon which the cloth was laid while
in the dyer’s hands. On account of various deceits that had become
notorious in the craft, such, for instance, as the over-stretching of
the material, a law was passed in the first year of Richard III. that
‘tentering’ or ‘teyntering’ should only be done in an open place, and
for this purpose public tenters were to be set up. (‘Stat. Realm,’ Rich.
III.) We find many references to this important instrument in old
testaments. Thus an inventory of goods, dated 1562, belonging to a man
resident in the parish of Kendall, speaks of ‘Tenture posts and woodde,
6_d._—ii tentures 20_s._’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 156.) The dyes
themselves used in the process of colouring are not without existing
memorials. In the York Pageant, already referred to, we find, walking in
procession with the woolpackers, the ‘Wadmen,’ that is, the sellers of
woad, unless indeed, they were the dyers themselves. The more common
spelling was ‘wode,’ and when not local, ‘Thomas le Wodere’ or ‘Alan le
Wodeman,’ with their modern ‘Wooder’ and ‘Woodman,’ will be found, I
doubt not, to be the representative of this calling. ‘John Maderman,’
and ‘Lawrence Maderer’ remind us of the more reddish and popular hues.
Great quantities of this were yearly imported from Holland, especially
Middleburgh. The old ‘Libel on English Policy’ speaks of—

                  The marchaundy of Braban and Selande,

as being

          The madre and woode (woad) that dyers take on hande.

The thickening mill, however, has left us several words of much more
familiar import than these—viz., ‘Tucker,’ ‘Fuller,’ (or ‘Fulman’[323])
and ‘Walker.’[324] Among other older forms we find ‘Roger le Tukere,’
‘Percival le Toukare,’ ‘Walter le Fullere,’ ‘Ralph le Walkere,’ and
‘Peter le Walkar.’ Of the first Piers in his ‘Vision’ makes mention,
where he speaks of

                          Wollene websteris,
                          And weveris of lynen,
                          Taillours, tanneris,
                          And Tokkeris bothe.

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also refers to—

                    Multiplyers and clothe thyckers,
                    Called fullers everychone.

‘Walker,’ claiming as it does an almost unrivalled position in the rolls
of our nomenclature, reminds us of the early fashion of treading out the
cloth before the adaptations of machinery were brought to bear on this
phase of the craft. In Wicklyffe’s version of the story of Christ’s
transfiguration he speaks of his clothes shining so as no ‘fullere or
walkere of cloth’ may make white upon earth.[325] Reference is made to
the same practice by Langland also when, using this whole process of
cloth-making as an illustration, he says:—

                    Cloth that cometh fro the wevyng
                    Is nought comely to wear
                    Til it be fulled _under foot_,
                    Or in fullying stokkes,
                    Washen wel with water,
                    And with taseles cracched
                    Y-touked, and y-teynted,
                    And under taillours hande.

We are here not merely furnished with the entire process itself, but the
terms themselves employed harmonize well with the names I have
mentioned. ‘Walker’ and ‘Tucker’ or ‘Towkare’ or ‘Toker,’ as it was
variously spelt, together with ‘Tuckerman,’ have, however, disappeared
as terms of this trade; and it is in our directories alone we can find
them declaring these forgotten mysteries of a more uncouth manufacture.

The ‘taseles’ mentioned in the poem quoted above were the common
‘teasel’ or ‘tassel,’ a rough prickly plant allied to the thistle, which
when dried was used for scratching the cloth, and thus raising a nap
thereupon. Thus in Willsford’s ‘Nature’s Secrets’ it is said, ‘Tezils,
or Fuller’s Thistle, being gathered or hanged up in the house, where the
air may come freely to it, upon the alteration of cold and windy weather
will grow smoother, and against rain will close up his prickles.’
(Brand’s ‘Pop. Ant.,’ vol. iii. p. 133.) In an inventory of the property
of Edward Kyrkelands, of Kendall, dated 1578, we find the following
articles mentioned:—iiii syckles, a pair wyes and iii stafs, tazills,
5_s._ 8_d._—more in tazills, 2_s._—iiii tentors, 40_s._ (‘Richmondshire
Wills,’ p. 274.) The occupation itself is referred to in an old statute
of Edward IV.—‘Item, that every fuller, from the said feast of St.
Peter, in his craft and occupation of fuller, rower, or _tayseler_ of
cloth, shall exercise and use _taysels_ and no cards, deceitfully
impairing the same cloth’—‘en sa arte et occupacion de fuller et
scalpier ou tezeiler de drap, exercise et use teizels, &c.’ (4 Ed. IV.
c. 1.) It is probable that our ‘Taylors’ have engrossed this name. We
find it lingering in Westmoreland, about Kendal, till the middle of the
sixteenth century, in a form which required but little further change to
make it the same. In the will of Walter Strykland, dated 1568, there is
mentioned among other legatees a certain ‘Edward Taylzer,’ a manifest
corruption of ‘Teazeler.’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 224.) A century
earlier than this, however, such names as ‘Gilbert le Tasseler’ or
‘Matilda le Tasselere’ were entered in our more formal registers.

Our ‘Baters’ and ‘Beaters,’ relics of the old ‘Avery le Batour’ or ‘John
Betere,’ were all but invariably cloth-beaters, although, like the
fuller ‘wollebeter,’[326] they may have been busied at an earlier stage
of the manufacture. Capgrave, in his ‘Chronicles,’ under date 30 A.D.,
says, ‘Jacobus, the son of Joseph first bishop of Jerusalem, was throwe
there fro the pinacle of the temple and after smet with a fuller’s
bat.’[327] With the mention of our ‘Shearers’ (‘Richard le Sherere,’ M.)
and endless ‘Shearmans,’ ‘Sharmans,’ or ‘Shermans’ (‘Robert le Sherman,’
‘John le Shereman,’ M.), who represent the shearing of the manufactured
fabric, rather than that of the sheep itself, we have the process
complete. The cloth is at length ready to be transmitted into the care
of our ‘Drapers’ and ‘Clothiers,’ and from them again through the
skilled and nimble fingers of our numberless ‘Tailors.’ From all this we
may readily see what an important influence has England’s one great
staple of earlier days had upon the nomenclature of our countrymen.

Such a name as ‘Ralph le Flexman,’ with its many descendants, reminds us
of the manufacture of linen, which, if not so popular as that of wool,
was nevertheless anything but unfamiliar to the early craftsman. Our
‘Spinners’ carry us to the primary task of thread-making, an employment,
however, all but entirely in the hands of the women. The distaff and the
weaker sex have been ever associated, whether in sacred or profane
narrative. Thus it is that ‘spinster’ has become stereotyped even as a
legal term. Chaucer, four hundred years ago, somewhat uncourteously

               Deceite, weping, spinning, God hath given
               To women kindly, while that they may liven.

Our modern ‘linen’ is formed from ‘lin’ or ‘line’—flax—as ‘woolen’ is
from ‘wool.’ Hence we still speak of the seed of that plant as
‘linseed.’ That this was the common form of the word we might prove by
many quotations.

                      He drank never cidre nor wyn
                      Nor never wered cloth of lyn,

says an old poem. Even Spenser speaks of ‘garment of line,’ and in
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ allusion is made to ‘lyne-webbers’ and
‘lyne-drapers.’[328] We need not be surprised, therefore, to meet with
such names as ‘Elias Lyndraper,’ or ‘Henry le Lindraper,’ or ‘John le
Lyner.’ Only this last, however, has survived the changes of intervening
centuries, and still holds a precarious existence as ‘Liner.’ ‘Weaver’
was more common. A more Norman equivalent is found in such a sobriquet
as ‘John le Teler,’ or ‘Henry le Telere,’ or ‘Ida la Teleress,’ a name
which is not necessarily of modern French refugee origin, as Mr. Lower
would lead us to suppose. Indeed, a special part of the ladies’
head-dress had early obtained the name of a ‘teler,’ from the fine
texture of the linen of which it was composed.[329] It is but too
probable that this name has become lost, like ‘Taylzer,’ in the more
common ‘Taylor.’ This process of absorption we shall find to be not
unfrequent. Nor are we without a memorial of the bleaching of linen.
‘Whiter,’ if not ‘Whitster,’ still lives in our directories. It seems
strange that our ‘Blackers’ should denote but the same occupation; but
so it is—they, like our old ‘Walter le Blakesters’ or ‘Richard le
Bleckesters,’ being but the harder and more antique form of our present
‘bleacher.’[330] Our term ‘bleak,’ preserving as it does the earlier
pronunciation, is but the same word, being formerly used to denote
pallor, or wanness, or absence of colour. From this, by a natural
change, it came to signify anything cheerless or desolate. With perfect
honesty in this case, at any rate, we may ‘swear that black is white.’

With regard to silk, we had but little to do. The manufacture of this
important cloth was barely carried on in Western Europe during the
period of the establishment of surnames. It was nigh the close of the
fifteenth century before it appeared in France. All our silks were
imported from the East by Venetian and Genoese merchants. Of the latter
an old poem says, they come—

             Into this londe wyth dyverse merchaundysses,
             In grete karrekis arrayde wythouten lack,
             Wyth clothes of golde, silke, and pepir black.

Still we find a company of silkwomen settled in London at an early
period. In the records of this city occur such names as ‘Johanna
Taylour, Silkwyfe,’ in 1348, and ‘Agatha Fowere, Silkewoman,’ in
1417.[331] In 1455 a complaint was raised by ‘the women of the mystery
and trade of silk and threadworkers in London, that divers Lombards and
other foreigners enriched themselves by ruining the said mystery.’ I
think, however, we shall find that all these were engaged less in the
manufacture of fabrics than of threads for the embroiderers to use.
Thus, as connected with the throwing or winding of these silken tissues,
we come across such names as ‘Thrower’ and ‘Throwster,’ the former
having been further corrupted into ‘Trower.’[332]

Next to wool, perhaps leather formed the most important item of early
manufacture. We can hardly now conceive the infinite use to which it was
put at this period. In military dress it had an especial place, and in
the ordinary costume it was far from being confined to the extremities,
as we have it now. Jerkins, chausses, girdles, pouches, gipsire—all came
under the leather-dresser’s hands. In 1378 we find a jury, called
together to decide upon a case of alleged bad tanning, to have been
composed of ‘saddlers, pouchmakes, girdlers, botel-makers, tanners,
curriers, and cordwainers.’ Of the more general manufacture of hides we
have numerous relics; indeed, we are at once introduced into the midst
of a throng of tradesmen, the very list of which proves the then
important character of the article on which they spent their energies.
Such names as ‘Jordan le Tannur,’ or ‘Loretta le Tannur,’ ‘Richard le
Skynnere,’ or ‘Hamo le Skynnere,’ are still numerous both in the tanyard
and the directory, and need little explanation. Our ‘Curriers’ are also
self-evident; but I have not met with any instance as yet in mediæval
times. Our more rare ‘Fellmongers’ were once occupied more directly with
the larger hides, or _fells_, as they were called, of the farmyard
stock. Less connected with them, therefore, than with the others, we may
mention such men as ‘William le Barcur,’ or ‘Nicholas le Barkere,’ or
‘Robert Barcarius,’ the ancestors of our modern ‘Barkers,’[333] who, by
the very frequency with which they are met, show how important was the
preparation of bark in the tanners’ yard. In the conversation between
Edward the Fourth and the Tanner of Tamworth, as given by Percy, it is

                ‘What craftsman art thou?’ said the king;
                  ‘I pray thee telle me trowe,’
                ‘I am a Barker, Sir, by my trade;
                  Now tell me, what art thou?’

Such names as ‘John le Tawyere’ or ‘Geoffrey le Whitetawier’ (now found
as ‘Whittear,’ ‘Whittier,’ and ‘Whityer’), not to mention such an entry
as that of ‘Richard le Megucer,’ throw us back upon the time when the
terms these men severally bore as surnames would be of the most familiar
import. Their owners spent their energies in preparing the lighter goat
and kid skins, which they whitened, and made ready for the glovers’
use.[334] The verb ‘to taw,’ however, was also used of dressing flax,
and we may have to place ‘Tawyer’ in some instances in this category.

                  And whilst that they did nimbly spin
                    The hemp he needs must taw,

we are told in ‘Robin Goodfellow.’ Our ‘Towers,’ while apparently local,
may be in some instances but a corruption of this same term. So early as
the 14th century we find a certain ‘Eustace le Wittowere’ occurring in
the Hundred Rolls, and that the simpler form should similarly be
corrupted would be natural enough.[335] Thus we see that leather, too,
is not without its memorials. The more furry skins, as used in a
somewhat more specific form as articles of dress, or to attach thereto,
we will allude to by-and-by. As we traverse in some semblance of order
the more definite wants and requirements of early social life, the
importance of these several crafts will be more clearly brought out. We
must not forget that there were the same needs then as now, though of a
different mould. Man in all time has had to be fed, and clothed, and
housed; and if in all these respects he has in these modern days become
more civilized and polished, it has been the result of a gradual process
by which he has slowly, and not without many a struggle, thrown off, one
by one, this custom and that, which belonged to a ruder era and a
rougher cast of society. Our surnames of occupation are a wonderful
guide in this respect. A tolerable picture of early life may be easily
set before us by their aid; for in them are preserved its more definite
lineaments, and all we need is to fill up the shading for ourselves.
Forgotten wants, needs now no longer felt, requirements of which a
progressive civilization slowly slipped the tether, necessities of
dress, of habit, of routine, all, while the reality has long faded from
view, have left their abiding memorial in the nomenclature of those who
directly supplied them. Let us, however, observe, as in our other
chapters, some kind of order—clothing, food, and general needs, this
seems the proper course of procedure. And yet one more observation ere
we do so. We have already spoken of the early system of signs as
advertising the character of the articles to be sold. The early shop was
far more prominent as a rule than the modern one. The counter, instead
of being within the walls of the house, projected forward upon the
pathway, so much so that we can only compare them to those tables we may
often see at night, where under the lee of the walls costermongers offer
shellfish, or tripe, or coffee to the passers-by. This was objectionable
enough; but it was not all. Each dealer loudly proclaimed to the
wayfarer the merits of his goods, vying with his neighbour in his
endeavours to attract attention to himself or distract it from the
other, especially if, as was often the case, a number of traders
trafficked in the same class of merchandise. Others, and their name was
legion, had no shop at all, not even the street table or counter, but
passing up and down with wooden platters or deep baskets, made the very
air discordant with their loudly reiterated cries of ‘Hot sheep’s feet,’
or ‘Mackerel,’ or ‘Fresh-herring,’[336] or ‘Hot peascods,’ or
‘Coloppes.’ It is in reference to this we find Langland saying—

                        Cokes and their knaves,
                        Cryden, ‘Hote pies, hote!
                        Goode gees and grys!
                        Gowe, dyne, gowe!’

Lydgate has a still fuller and more detailed description of this in his
‘London Lackpenny,’ and as it is tolerably humorous I will quote it
somewhat largely, using Mr. Bowen’s modernization of it—

      Within this hall neither rich nor yet poor
        Would do for me aught, although I should die:
      Which seeing, I got me out of the door,
        When Flemings began on me for to cry:
        ‘Master, what will you copen or buy?
      Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?
      Lay down your silver, and here you may speed.’

      Then into London I did me hie—
        Of all the land it beareth the prize.
      ‘Hot peascods!’ one began to cry;
        ‘Strawberries ripe, and cherries in the rise!’
        One bade me come near and buy some spice:
      Pepper and saffron they gan me bede,
      But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

      Then to the Chepe I gan me drawen,
        Where much people I saw for to stand.
      One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn:
        Another he taketh me by the hand:
        ‘Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!’
      I never was used to such things indeed,
      And, wanting money, I might not speed.

      Then went I forth by London Stone,
        And throughout all Candlewick Street:
      Drapers much cloth me offered anon;
        Then comes me one crying, ‘Hot sheep’s feet!’
        One cried ‘Mackerel!’ ‘Ryster green!’ another gan me greet.
      One bade me buy a hood to cover my head:
      But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

      Then into Cornhill anon I rode,
        Where there was much stolen gear among.
      I saw where hong mine owne hood
        That I had lost among the throng—
        To buy my own hood, I thought it wrong—
      I knew it as I did my Creed,
      But, for lack of money, I could not speed.

If we pass on from shop to shop in a more quiet and undisturbed fashion
than poor ‘London Lackpenny,’ we must not forget that we are, at least
so far, enjoying that which our forefathers could not.

With regard to the head-dress, and to begin with this, we have many
memorials. ‘Tire,’ once a familiar word enough, is still preserved from
decay by our Authorized Version of the Scriptures. Thus, for example, it
is said in Ezekiel, ‘make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of
thine head upon thee.’[337] I do not know how comprehensive are the
duties belonging to our present ‘tirewoman’ or lady’s-maid, but in the
day when the tragic story of Jezebel was first translated, the sense of
the word was entirely confined to the arrangement of her mistress’s
‘tiara,’ which is but another form of the same term. In the ‘Paradise
Lost’ it is found as ‘tiar’—

         Of beaming sunny rays, a golden tiar circled his head.

When we remember their former size, their horned and peaked character,
and the variety of the material used, arguing as they do the then
importance of the fact, we need not be surprised at meeting with
comparative frequency such a surname as ‘Tyrer,’ ‘Tyerman,’ or
‘Tireman.’ It is somewhat hard to say whether our ‘Coffers’ are relics
of the old ‘Coffrer’ or ‘Coifer,’ but as the latter business was all but
entirely in the hands of females, perhaps it will be safer to refer them
to the other. Such names, however, as ‘Emma la Coyfere’ or ‘Dionysia la
Coyfere,’ found in the thirteenth century, may serve to remind us of the
peculiar style of the head-gear which the ladies affected in these
earlier times. The more special occupation of preparing feathers or
plumes has left its mark in our ‘Plumer’ and ‘Plummer,’ memorials of the
old ‘Mariot le Plumer’ or ‘Peter le Plomer.’ The old ‘caul’ or ‘call’
still lives in our ‘Calmans’ and ‘Callers.’ ‘Elias le Callere’ occurs in
the Parliamentary Writs, and ‘Robert le Callerere’ in the ‘Munimenta
Gildhallæ.’ Judging from the ‘Wife of Bath’s Tale,’ we should imagine
this also to have been a female head-dress. There the old witch appeals
to the Queen and her court of lady attendants as to them who wear
‘kercheif or calle’—

              Let see, which is the proudest of them alle,
              That weareth on a kercheif or a calle.

Another form of the surname is found in ‘Alicia la Kellere,’ now simple
‘Keller,’ the article itself being also met with in a similar dress. In
the ‘Townley Mysteries’ a fallen angel is represented as saying that a

                   If she be never so foul a dowde
                     With her kelles and her pynnes,
                   The shrew herself can shroud
                     Both her chekys, and her chynnes.

In its several more general uses it has always maintained its strict
meaning of a covering.[338] Hoshea, we may recollect, speaks
figuratively of God’s ‘rending the caul of Israel’s heart.’ Probably the
word is connected with the ‘cowl’ of other monkish days, and thus may be
associated with our ‘Coulmans’ and ‘Cowlers.’ ‘Richard le Couhelere,’ an
entry of the fifteenth century, may belong to the same group.[339] A
once familiar sobriquet for a hood was that of ‘chapelle,’[340] whence
our edifice of that name and the diminutive ‘chaplet.’ The Parliamentary
Writs give us an ‘Edmund le Chapeler;’ the Hundred Rolls furnish us,
among other instances, with a ‘Robert le Chapeler.’ ‘Theobald le
Hatter,’ ‘Robert le Hattare,’ ‘Thomas le Capiere,’ ‘Symon le Cappere,’
or ‘John Capman’ need no explanation. The articles they sold, whether of
beaver, or felt, or mere woollen cloth, were largely imported from
Flanders. Thus it is that Lydgate, as I have but recently shown,
picturing the streets of London, mentions spots in his progress
therethrough where—

                 Flemings began on me for to cry,
                 ‘Master, what will you copen or buy?
                 Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?’

That many of these wares, however, were of home manufacture is equally
undoubted, and of this we are reminded by our ‘Blockers,’
representatives of the old ‘Deodatus le Blokkere.’ The ‘block’ was the
wooden mould upon which the hat was shaped and crowned. In ‘Much Ado
About Nothing’ Beatrice is made to say: ‘He wears his faith but as the
fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.’ The ‘blocker,’
I doubt not, was but a hat-maker; we still call a stupid man a
_blockhead_. Our ‘Hurrers’ (‘Alan le Hurer,’ H.R., ‘Geoffrey le
Hurwere,’ H.R.), once so important as to form a special company with
articles and overseers, as representative of an old general term, are
not so familiar as we might have expected them. Bonnets, caps, hoods,
hats, all came under their hands. Strictly speaking, however, a ‘hure’
or ‘howre,’ as Chaucer spells it, was a shaggy cap of fur, or coarse
jagged cloth. In an old political song of Edward the First’s time it is

             Furst there sit an old cherle in a blake hure,
             Of all that there sitteth seemeth best sure.

That the word itself should have dropped from our vocabulary is to me a
mystery.[341] Even in our nomenclature the rarity of our ‘Hurers’ and
‘Hurrers’ is to me inexplicable, bearing as it does no possible
proportion to the former importance of the occupation. But this, as I
have said before, is one of the peculiarities of personal nomenclature,
depending entirely as it does on the uncertainties of descent. The head,
we see, was not neglected.

The sale of woollen cloth by our ‘clothiers’ and ‘drapers’ we have
already mentioned. The tailor then, as now, made it up into the garments
which the age required. Few names went through so many metamorphoses as
this. ‘Mainwaring,’ it is said, can be found in over a hundred and
thirty different spellings. The exact number with regard to ‘Taylor’ I
cannot state, as I have not dared hitherto to encounter the task of
collecting them. The forms recorded in one register alone give us such
varieties as ‘le Tayllur,’ ‘le Tayllour,’ ‘le Tayller,’ ‘le Taylir,’ ‘le
Taylour,’ ‘le Taylur,’ ‘le Taillur,’ and ‘le Talur.’ We have also the
feminine ‘la Taylurese’ in the same roll.[342] A name obsolete now in a
colloquial sense, but common enough in our directories, is ‘Parminter,’
‘Parmenter,’ or ‘Parmitar,’ a relic of the old Norman-French
‘Parmentier,’ a term a few hundred years ago familiarly used also for
the snip. Among other mediæval forms are ‘Geoffrey le Parmunter,’ ‘Saher
le Parmentier,’ ‘William le Parmeter,’ and ‘Richard le Parmuter.’ The
Hundred Rolls give us the same sobriquet in a Latin dress as ‘William
Parmuntarius.’[343] As associated with the tailor, we may here set down
our ‘Sempsters,’ that is, ‘Seamster,’ the once feminine of ‘Seamer,’ one
who seamed or sewed. Mr. Lower hints that our ‘Seymours’ may in some
instances be a corruption of this latter form, but I must confess I
discover no traces of it.

The sobriquet of ‘William le Burreller’ introduces us to a cloth of a
cheap mixture, brown in colour, of well-nigh everlasting wear, and worn
by all the poorer classes of society at this period. So universal was it
that they came to be known by the general term of ‘borel-folk,’ a phrase
familiar enough to deeper students of antiquarian lore. The Franklin
premises his story by saying—

                  But, sires, because I am a borel man,
                  At my beginning first I you beseech
                  Have me excused of my rude speech.

Our ‘Burrells’ are still sufficiently common to preserve a remembrance
of this now decayed branch of trade. They may derive their name either
from the term ‘borel’ or ‘burel’ pure and simple, or from ‘Burreller,’
and thus represent the trade from which the other, as a sobriquet, owed
its rise. The manufacturer is referred to by ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ in the

                  Borlers, tapestry-work-makers, dyers.

Special articles of costume now wholly disused, or confined or altered
in sense, crop out abundantly in this class of surnames. At this period
a common outdoor covering for the neck was the wimple, or folded vail,
worn by women. To this day, I need not say, it is part of the conventual
dress. The author I have just quoted beautifully describes Shame as—

                 Humble of her port, and made it simple
                 Wearing a vaile, instede of wimple,
                 As nuns done in their abbey.

Of this princess, too, whose careful dress he so particularly describes,
he says—

                   Full seemly her wimple pinched was.

The maker of such was, of course, our ‘Wympler.’[344] Among other
ornaments belonging to the princess, also, is mentioned ‘a pair of
beads,’ that is, bracelets of small coral, worn upon the arm, and in
this case ‘gauded with green.’ A ‘Simon Wyld, Bedemaker,’ is found in
the London records of this time, and no doubt ‘Thomas le Perler’ could
have told us something about the same. Beside these, therefore, we may
set our still existing ‘Paternosters,’ relics of the old ‘Paternostrer,’
who strung the chaplet of beads for pattering aves. ‘Paternoster Row,’
literally the ‘Paternostrer’s Row’ was some centuries ago the abode of a
group of these, doubtless then busy artisans. Mr. Riley, in his
interesting ‘Memorials of London,’ records a ‘William le Paternostrer’
as dwelling thereby.[345] It is among such valuables we must undoubtedly
set pins at this period. Judging by those which have descended to us, we
should best describe them as ‘skewers.’ So anxious was Absolom the clerk
to please Alison that, according to Chaucer, he sent her—

                  Pinnes, methe (mead), and spiced ale.

Whatever her appetite for the latter, there can be little doubt that the
first would be acceptable enough in a day when these were so valued and
costly as to be oftentimes made objects of bequeathment. Such entries as
‘Andrew le Pynner’ or ‘Walter le Pinner’ are, of course, common at this
time, and their descendants still flourish in our midst. Our more rare
‘Needlers’ are but relics of such folk as ‘Richard le Nedlere’ or ‘John
le Nedlemakyere.’[346] Piers, in his Vision, speaks of—

                      Tymme the tynkere
                      And tweyne of his ’prentices:
                      Hikke the hakeney-man,
                      And Hugh the nedlere.

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also mentions—

                  Pavyers, belle-makers, and brasyers,
                  Pynners, nedelers, and glasyers.

The Norman form ‘le Agguiler,’ or ‘Auguiler,’ still lives in our
‘Aguilers’ if not ‘Aguilars.’ A ‘Thomas le Agguiler’ represented York in
the Parliament of 1305. Chaucer uses ‘aguiler’ in the sense of a

                     A silver needle forth I drew,
                     Out of an aguiler quaint ’ynow.

But if pins and needles were valued more highly then than they are now,
none the less did ‘buttons’ fulfil their own peculiar and important use.
‘Henry le Botoners’ or ‘Richard le Botyners’[347] may be found in most
of our records. I do not see, however, that their descendants have
preserved the sobriquet, unless, after the fashion of several other
words in our vocabulary, they are flourishing secretly among our
‘Butlers,’ and thus helping to swell the already strong phalanx that
surname has mustered. While, however, all these representatives of so
many though kindred occupations seem to have flourished in their
separate capacities, I do not doubt but that ‘Richard le Haberdasher’
would have been able to supply most of the wares they dealt in. His was
a common and lucrative employment in a day when, to judge by the
contents of a shop of this kind as set down in the London Rolls, he
could offer for purchase such a wide assortment as spurs and shirts,
chains and nightcaps, spectacles and woollen threads, beads and
pen-cases, combs and ink-horns, parchments and whipcords, gaming-tables
and coffins (Riley’s ‘London Memorials,’ p. 422). There seems to be
little doubt, however, that in the first place he dealt simply in the
‘hapertas,’ a kind of coarse, thick cloth much in vogue at this time,
and that it was from this he acquired the name he bore.[348]

The now, I fear, obsolete ‘Camiser’ made the ‘camis’ or chemise, or
linen underdress—he was the shirtmaker, in fact. The former spelling
lingered on to Spenser’s time, who writes of a

                       Camis light of purple silk.

It is with him we must properly associate our ‘Smockers,’ ‘Smookers,’
and anachronistic ‘Smokers,’ who, though their chief memorial remains in
the rustic smockfrock still familiar in our country districts, were
nevertheless chiefly busied with the ‘smok,’ such as the patient
Griselda wore. Of one of his characters Chaucer says—

                 Through her smocke wroughte with silke
                 The flesh was seene as white as milke.

Such phrases as ‘smock-treason,’ ‘smock-loyalty,’ and ‘smock-race,’ and
the flower ‘Lady-smock,’[349] still remind us that the word was once
generally understood of female attire. Of the flower Shakespeare makes
beautiful mention when he says—

                   And ladysmocks all silver white,
                   Do paint the meadows with delight.

The word slop is now well-nigh confined to the nether garments of our
youngsters, but though, in this pluralized sense, it can date back to
the time when the bard of Avon said of one of his personages that he

                   From the waist downwards all slops,

still, singularly used, it was in vogue far earlier. A ‘slop’ in
Chaucer’s day, and even up to the fifteenth century, was a kind of frock
or overmantle.[350] In the ‘Chanon Yemannes’s Tale,’ the host expresses
his surprise that the Chanon, a ‘lord of so high degree,’ should make so
light of his worship and dignity as to wear garments well-nigh worn out.
He says—

                 His overest sloppe is not worth a mite.

Our ‘Slopers’ still remind us of this. Our ‘Pilchers,’ relics of ‘Hugh
le Pilecher’ or ‘Nicholas le Pilchere,’ are equally interesting. In his
proverbs on covetousness and negligence, the writer I have just
instanced thus speaks—

                      After great heat cometh cold,
                      No man cast his pylche away.

A ‘pilch’ was a large outer tippet made of fur, and worn in winter. The
modern ladies’ ‘pelisse’ is but another form of the same root. Speaking
of furs, however, we must not forget our ‘Furriers,’ and once common
‘Pelters’ and ‘Pellipers.’ They were engaged in the preparation of the
more furry coats of the wilder animals. In the Hundred and other Rolls
mention is frequently made of such names as ‘Geoffrey le Pelter’ or
‘Reyner le Peleter.’ A ‘pell’ or ‘pelt’ was any undressed skin. The
‘clerk of the Pells’ used to be the guardian of the rolls of the
Exchequer, which were written upon a coarse parchment of this kind. As a
general term of dress it was once of the most familiar import.
Wicklyffe, in his complaint to the king, speaks of the poor being
compelled to provide gluttonous priests with ‘fair hors, and jolly and
gay saddles and bridles, ringing by the way, and himself in costly cloth
and pelure.’ An old song written against the mendicant friars, too,

                 Some friars beren pelure aboute,
                 For grete ladys and wenches stoute,
                 To reverce with their clothes withoute,
                     All after that they are.

Among the many ordinances passed to curtail the subject’s liberty in
regard to his attire, much is written on the fashion of wearing furs. It
seems to have been the great mark between the higher and lower classes.
In 1337 it was enacted by Edward III. that no one of those whom we now
term the operative class should wear any fur on his or her dress, the
fur to be forfeited if discovered. The names I have mentioned above
still remain in fair numbers as a memorial of this period.

Such a name from the ‘Rolls of Parliament’ as that of ‘John Orfroiser,’
although now obsolete, reminds us of an art for which English craftsmen
obtained a well-nigh European reputation in mediæval times, that of
embroidery. ‘Aurifrigium’ was the Latin word applied to it, and this
more clearly betrays the golden tissues of which its workmanship mainly
consisted. In the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ it is said of the fair maid

                     And of fine orfrais had she eke
                     A chapelet, so seemly on,
                     Ne wered never maide upon.[351]

The term ‘Broiderer,’[352] however, was the more common, and with him
all textures and all colours and all threads came alike. The Hebrew word
in our Bible, variously rendered as ‘broidered work,’ ‘needlework,’ and
‘raiment of needlework,’ was translated in a day when this would be of
the most familiar import. Our ‘Pointers’ and ‘Poynters’ manufactured the
tagged lace which fastened the hose and doublet together. In
Shakespeare’s ‘1 Henry IV.’ there is a playful allusion to this where
Falstaff, in the act of saying—

                       Their points being broken,

is interrupted by the response—

                          Down fell their hose.

It has been asserted that the presence of this name in our modern
directories is entirely the result of later French refugee immigration;
but such registered forms as ‘John le Poyntour,’ ‘Robert le Poynter,’ or
‘William Poyntmakere’ are found in the records of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries with sufficient frequency to justify the belief
that it was a much earlier denizen than many suppose.[353] In the former
‘Henry le Lacer’ or ‘Richard le Lacer’ we have, too, but a
fellow-manufacturer. Lace, it is true, is now rather a delicate fabric
of interwoven threads; once, however, it was but the braided string for
fastening the different articles of dress together. Thus, the
‘shoes-_latchet_’ mentioned in Scripture is a mere diminutive of the
word as thus used. The hose and doublet were invariably so attached. The
verb ‘to lace,’ I need not add, is still entirely employed in this its
literal sense. There were other means, however, of holding the several
garments together, and not a few of which are still brought to our
remembrance in our nomenclature. ‘Adam le Gurdlere’ or ‘Robert le
Girdlere’ speaks for himself. It was for the girdle our former ‘Agnes
Pouchemakers,’ ‘Henry Pouchers,’ ‘Robert le Purseres,’ and ‘Alard le
Bursers’ (when not official) made the leathern pouch carried thus at her
side for greater readiness by the careful housewife. Chaucer, whose
sharply-cut descriptions of the dress of his company are invaluable to
those who would study more closely the habits of the time, tells us of
the Carpenter’s wife that—

                   By her girdle hung a purse of leather,
               Tasseled with silk and pearled with laton.

The Norman equivalent of Girdler was ‘le Ceynturer’ (‘Nicholas le
Ceynturer,’ A.) or ‘le Ceinter,’ but I have failed to find any traces of
it beyond the fourteenth century.[354] Our decayed ‘Brailers’[355] and
‘Bregirdlers’ represent but the same occupation in more definite terms.
The old English ‘brayle’ (from the Norman ‘braie’ or ‘braye,’ meaning
‘breeches’) was a waistband merely, a kind of strap, oftentimes attached
to and part of the trousers themselves. The nautical phrase of ‘brailing
up sails’ is, I fear, the only relic we possess conversationally of this
once useful term. A ‘brailer’ (‘Roger le Braeler,’ A., ‘Stephen le
Brayeler,’ X.) or ‘bregirdler’ (‘John le Bregerdelere,’ X.) was, of
course, a manufacturer of these. Maundeville, in his ‘Travels,’ speaks
of a ‘breek-girdille’ (p. 50). The now almost universal suspender was a
later introduction, the names of ‘Bracegirdler’ and ‘Bracegirdle,’ which
are not yet extinct, denoting, seemingly, the process of change by which
the one gradually made way for the other. A ‘brace,’ from the Latin
‘brachium,’ the arm, encircles the shoulder as a ‘bracelet’ does the
wrist. It is quite possible, however, they may be but a form of
‘breek-girdle.’ ‘Ivo le Glover’ or ‘Christiana la Glovere’ have left
descendants in plenty, but they had to fight a hard battle with such
naturalized foreigners as ‘Geoffery le Ganter’ or ‘Philip le Gaunter.’
At one time these latter had firmly established themselves as the
nominees of the manufacture, and the only wonder to me is how we managed
to prevent ‘gants’ from superseding ‘gloves’ in our common parlance. The
connexion of the ‘gauntlet’ with military dress, however, has preserved
that form of the term from decay. Both ‘Ganter’ and ‘Gaunter,’ I need
scarcely say, are firmly set in our midst.

And now we must descend once more till we come to the lower extremities,
and in a day of so much tramping it on foot we need not feel surprised
if we find many memorials of this branch of the personal outfit. The
once common expression for a shoemaker or cobbler was that of
_souter_.[356] It is of constant occurrence in our olden writers. Thus
the Malvern Dreamer speaks of—

                      Plowmen and pastours,
                      And othere commune laborers,
                      Sowters and shepherdes.

Elsewhere, too, he uses the feminine form when he makes mention of—

                          Cesse the souteresse.

The masculine term, I need not remind Scotchmen, is still in colloquial
use across the Border, and that it was once so in England our many
‘Souters,’ ‘Sowters,’ and ‘Suters,’ and ‘Suitors,’ misleading as these
latter are, are sufficient evidence. Such entries as ‘Andrew le
Soutere,’ ‘Robert le Souter,’ or ‘Richard le Sutor’ are common to old
registers. In the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ ‘sowtare’ is defined as a
‘cordewaner’ or ‘cordynare,’ and this at once brings us to our
‘Cordwaners,’ ‘Cordiners,’ and ‘Codners.’ They were so termed because
the goatskin leather they used came, or was supposed to have come, from
Cordova in Spain. In the ‘Rime of Sire Thopas,’ that personage is thus

                  His hair, his beard was like safroun,
                  That to his girdle raught adown,
                    His shoon of cordewane;
                  Of Brugges were his hosen brown,
                  His robe was of ciclatoun,
                    That cost many a jane.

In the ‘Libel on English Policy,’ too, we find it said of Portugal—

           Their londe hath oyle, wyne, osey, wex, and grain,
           Fygues, reysyns, honey and cordwayne.

In the Hundred Rolls it is represented by such a name as ‘Hugh le
Cordwaner’ or ‘Ranulph le Cordewaner.’[357] ‘William le Corviser,’ from
the same records, or ‘Durand le Corveser,’ held a name which struggled
for some time for a place, but had finally to collapse.[358] ‘Cobbler’
(‘Richard le Cobeler,’ A.), though it has existed as a name of
occupation fully as long as any of the above, has, I believe, never been
able so far to overcome the dislike to the fact of its being a mere
mending or patchwork trade as to obtain for itself an hereditary place
in our nomenclature. ‘Cosier’ has fared better, as have ‘Clouter’ and
‘Cloutman,’ relics of the old ‘John’ or ‘Stephen le Clutere,’ why I do
not know. We all remember how the inhabitants of Gibeon ‘did work
wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old
sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old and rent, and bound up,
and old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them.’
Another name we may notice here is that of ‘Patten-maker,’ a ‘James
Patyn-makere’ being found enrolled in a Norwich guild of 1385. Cocke
Lorelle mentions among others:—

                      Alys Easy a gay tale-teller,
                      Also Peter Patynmaker.[359]

A patten seems in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to have been
very similar to our clog, only that the former was more easily put on
and off. It was of a wooden sole, rimmed with iron. We find in 1464 the
Patynmakers of London presenting a grievance in that the fletchers alone
were allowed to use aspen-wood, whereas it was the ‘lightest tymbre to
make of patyns or clogges.’ (Rot. Parl. iv. 567.) Mr. Way, in his Notes
to the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum,’ says they were worn much by
ecclesiastics to protect the feet from chill when treading the cold bare
pavements of the churches, and he quotes a Harleian MS. dated 1390
regarding an archiepiscopal visitation at York: ‘Item, omnes ministri
ecclesie pro majore parte utuntur in ecclesiâ et in processione _patens_
et _clogges_ contra honestatem ecclesie, et antiquam consuetudenem
capituli.’ The patten-maker was evidently of some importance at this

Perhaps fashion never went to such an absurd extreme as it did in the
fourteenth century with respect to wearing peaked shoes. An old poem
entitled the ‘Complaint of the Ploughman,’ says of the friars, and
alluding to their inconsistencies, that they wear—

                 Cutted clothes to shewe their hewe,
                   With long pikes on their shoon:
                 Our Goddes Gospell is not trewe
                   Either they serve the devill or none.

Piers Plowman, too, speaks of a knight coming to be dubbed—

                        To geten him gilte spurs
                          Or galoches y-couped.

This last reminds us that they were commonly styled ‘copped shoon.’ Such
a sobriquet as ‘Hugh le Coppede’ or ‘John le Copede’ would seem to refer
to this. Probably the owner had carried on the practice to an even more
extravagant length than his neighbours, and very likely he was one of
those who caused a law to be passed in 1463 forbidding any knight, or
any one beneath that rank, to wear any shoes or boots having pikes
passing the length of two inches! Even this curtailment, I imagine,
would astonish the weak minds of pedestrians in the nineteenth century.
Of a similar craft with the shoemaker came ‘the hosier’ or ‘chaucer,’
the latter of which has become, surnominally, so famous in English
literature. Though now obsolete, such a name as ‘Robert le Chaucer’ or
‘William le Chaucier’ was anything but uncommon at this time. Like
‘Suter,’ above-mentioned, it has a Latin source, its root being
‘calcearius.’ Chausses, however, were not so much boots as a kind of
leathern breeches worn over mail armour. There is probably, therefore,
but little distinction to be made between them and the ‘hose’ of former
days, though it is somewhat odd that leather, which once undoubtedly was
the chief object of the hosier’s attention, should now in his shop be
conspicuous by its absence. While ‘Chaucer’ has long ago become extinct,
‘Hosier’ or ‘Hozier’ is firmly established in our nomenclature. Thus we
see that clothing is not without its mementoes.

A curious surname is presented for our notice in our ‘Dubbers,’ not to
be confounded with our ‘Daubers’ already mentioned. To ‘dub’ was to
dress, or trim, or decorate. Thus, with regard to military equipment,
Minot says in one of his political songs—

                   Knightes were there well two score
                   That were new dubbed to that dance.

It is thus we have acquired our phrase ‘to dub a knight.’ The term,
however, became very general in the sense of embellishing, rather than
mere dressing, and it is to this use of the word we owe the surname.
Thus, in the ‘Liber Albus’ we find a ‘Peter le Dubbour’ recorded, whose
trade was to furbish up old clothes; he was a fripperer in fact. In the
York Pageant, already referred to more than once, we see the ‘Dubbers’
walking in procession between the ‘Bookbinders’ and ‘Limners,’ and here
they were evidently mere trimmers or decorators externally of books. In
another register we find a ‘dubbour,’ so called because as a hawker of
fish he was in the habit of putting all the fine ones at the top of his
basket, a trick still in vogue in that profession, I fear.[361] In all
these cases we see that ‘adornment’ or ‘embellishment’ is the main idea.
I need not remind my more North-country readers how every gardener still
speaks of ‘dubbing’ when he heaps up afresh the soil about his flowers
and plants. The old forms of the name were ‘Jordan le Dubber,’ ‘Payen le
Dubbour,’ and ‘Ralph le Douber,’ which last most nearly approaches its
root, the old Norman-French ‘adouber,’ to arrange.

A curious occupation is preserved from oblivion in our somewhat rare
‘Raffmans.’ We have the root meaning of the word in our ‘reft’ and
‘bereft,’ implicative of that which is snatched away or swept off. Thus
we still use ‘riff-raff’ in regard to the off-scouring of the people. A
raff-merchant was a dealer in lumber of any kind. In the Guild of Saint
George, Norwich, 1385, we find not merely the name of ‘John Raffman,’
but such entries as ‘Robert Smith, raffman,’ or ‘John Smith, rafman.’
The term ‘raff’ for a low fellow is not yet obsolete, and Tennyson, when
he says

                  Let raffs be rife in prose or rhyme,

is only using a sobriquet which, until recently, was a very familiar one
in the mouths of our peasantry. I have placed the surname here because I
doubt not the occupation whence it sprung was chiefly in respect of
trimmings, and the shearings of cloth, wool, and such like articles of

Another surname we must consider here is that belonging to ‘Ketel le
Mercer’ or ‘Henry le Mercer,’ now found also as ‘Marcer.’ We see in the
very title that the term has engrossed a sense not strictly its own, and
that, though we visit the mercer’s shop for silken goods, he was
originally a dealer in every kind of ware. He represented in mediæval
times, in fact, the storekeeper of our colonies. Indeed I believe that
to this day in some of our more retired country parts the mercer will
supply his customers with haberdashery, drugs, draperies, hardware, and
all general wants, saving actual comestibles. Mr. Lower quotes an old
political song against the friars, in which this more correct sense of
the word is conveyed—

                    For thai have nought to live by,
                      They wandren here and there,
                    And dele with divers marcerye
                      Right as thai pedlars were.

Our ‘Chaloners’ and ‘Challenors,’ representatives of such old names as
‘Peter le Chaloner,’ ‘Jordan le Chaluner,’ or ‘Nicholas le Chalouner,’
originated in a foreign but most useful manufacture. Chalons-sur-Marne,
at this time one of the most thriving towns of the Continent, was
chiefly renowned for its woollen and worsted stuffs, and a peculiar
coverlet of this sort, called by the special name of a ‘chalon,’ became
celebrated over the more civilized world. In the ‘Reves’ Tale’ we are
told of the miller that—

            In his owen chambre he made a bedde
            With shetes, and with chalons fair yspredde.[362]

Any importer or manufacturer of these was a ‘Chaloner.’ In a public
solemn pageant held in 1415 in the City of York, at the end of a list of
trades to be represented, there follows this: ‘It is ordained that the
Porters and Coblers should go first, then, of the right, the Wevers and
Cordwaners: on the left, the Fullers, Cutlers, Girdellers, Chaloners,
Carpenters, and Taillyoures: then the better sort of citizens,’ etc.
(‘History and Antiquities of York,’ vol. ii. p. 126.) The trade name
seems to have died out about the end of the fifteenth century. How
corrupted a word may become in the lapse of time may be seen in the
modern ‘shalloon,’ a term used for a species of worsted cloth. In such a
name as ‘Hugh le Shetare’ or ‘Roger le Shetere’ we recognize him who
provided that other portion of the bed gear which is referred to in the
extract from Chaucer. This name is now extinct. Not so, however, our
‘Quilters,’ who still thrive in our midst hale and hearty, and need
never fear obsoletism. Doubtless, as the cold of winter set in, and its
warm padded qualities began to be appreciated, the quilters would be
busy enough in providing such a coverlet as this. ‘Quiltmaker’ (‘John le
Quyltemaker,’ H.) is also found as a variation of the above: an old poem
mentions among others—

                Quyltemakers, shermen, and armorers;
                Borlers, tapestry-work makers, and dyers.

Such a name as ‘Christiana le Heldere’ or ‘Robert le Holdere’ must, I
doubt not, be set here, both forms being still in existence. They
belonged, I think, to the craft of upholdsters or upholders, at this
time confined, it would seem, entirely to the manufacture and sale of
mattresses, bolsters, pillows, and quilts, anything of a padded nature
connected with bed furniture.[363] The insertion of flocks and feathers
and the stitching together of such would seem to be a woman’s work, and
this is the clue, I suspect, to the fact of our now using the feminine
form of upholdster. There is a curious complaint made to Parliament in
1495, by the metropolitan upholders, that ‘Quyltes, mattres, and
cussions (were) stuffed with horse hair, fen downe, neetis here, deris
here (deers’ hair), and gotis here, which is wrought in lyme fattes and
by the hete of mannys body the savour and taste is so abhomynable and
contagious that many of the King’s subgettis thereby been
destroied.’[364] It is prayed, therefore, that only one kind of stuff be
allowed to be inserted in any one of these articles (‘Stat: of Realm,’
Henry VII.). In ‘Henry le Canevacer’ or ‘Richard le Canevacer’ we are
carried back to a class of now all but entirely decayed trade. The
canvaser, of course, turned out canvas, and this more especially for
bags for the conveyance of the raw wool, or for tapestry purposes. In an
old poem relating to German imports, it is said at the close—

               Coleyne threde, fustaine, and canvase,
               Carde, bokeram, of olde time thus it wase.

Tapestry work would engage much of this. Hangings of this kind, ere
wainscot came into use, were the ordinary decorations of the baronial
apartment, covering as they generally did the entire length of the lower
wall. In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ we are told of the duties of one

               Tapetis of Spayne on flore by side
               That sprad shall be for pompe and pryde,
               The chambur sydes rygt to the dore
               He hangs with tapetis that ben fulle store.

The name of ‘Tapiser,’ for one who wove this article, is familiarized to
us as that of one of the immortal company who sat down together at the
‘Tabard’ in Southwark. Our modern ‘Tapsters,’ I doubt not, afford but
another example of a surname engrossing what have been originally two
separate and distinct titles. In an old sacred pageant given in York in
1415, amongst other trades represented we find coupled together the
‘Couchers’ and ‘Tapisers.’[365] Our ‘Couchers’ and ‘Couchmans’ are thus
explained. They were evidently engaged less in the wooden framework, as
we might have supposed, than in the manufacture of the cushions that
covered it, and doubtless, like the broiderer mentioned above, worked in
gold and silver and coloured threads the raised figures thereon.[366]
Thus we must ally them with such names as ‘Robert le Dosier’ or ‘Richard
le Dosyere,’ makers of the ‘doss,’ a technical term given at this time
for cushions or stools worked in tapestry.[367] Thus the same book which
I have just quoted says of the groom’s duties—

                 The dosurs, curtines to hang in halle,
                 These offices needs do he shalle.

As a specific name for productions of this class the word is now quite
obsolete, though familiar enough in early days; tapestry indeed, in
general, has ceased to be popular, and is now all but entirely confined
professionally to the weaving of carpets, and as an amateur art among
ladies to those figured screens so much in vogue not more than one or
two generations ago, traces of which still remain in the framed
embroideries yet lingering in many of our drawing-rooms—embroideries of
cats with grizzly whiskers and tawny terriers—embroideries which as
children we heard with bated breath had been worked by our grandmothers
when they were little girls, and thus we realised for the first time,
not so much that they had done these wonderful things as that they had
once been small at all, like ourselves.

We have no surname to represent the weaving of carpets, as this was an
introduction of much later date than most of our other household
comforts in the way of furniture. In Brand’s ‘Popular Antiquities’ an
interesting quotation is given from Hentzner’s ‘Itinerary,’ who,
describing Queen Elizabeth’s Presence Chamber at Greenwich, says, ‘The
floor, after the English fashion, was strewed with hay.’ The strewing of
church pews with rushes was common until recent times, and in the North
of England the peculiar customs attaching to the ‘Rush-bearing,’ a kind
of ‘wakes,’ are not yet extinct. It is fair to add, however, that
carpets were in course of introduction at the beginning of the sixteenth
century; an old poem of that date mentions—

               Broudurers, strayners, and carpyte-makers,
               Spooners, turners, and hatters.

Before proceeding any further we had better introduce our ‘Lavenders,’
or washers, for be it linen or woollen stuff, be it garment for the back
or covering for the bed, all needed washing then as now. The contracted
feminine ‘laundress’ is still in common use. That the masculine form,
however, was early applied to the other sex is proved in the ‘Legend of
Good Women,’ where we are told—

                Envie is lavender of the court alway,
                For she ne parteth neither night ne day.

The gradation from ‘lavenderie’ to ‘laundry’ is marked by Stowe, who in
his ‘Chronicles’ writes it ‘laundery.’ By similar contractions our
‘Lavenders’ are now found also in the other forms of ‘Launder’ and
‘Lander.’ An old poem says—

                Thou shalt be my launder,
                To washe and keep clean all my gere.[368]

‘Alicia la Lavendar’ figures in the Hundred Rolls. Doubtless, like our
more Saxon ‘Washers,’ she was a professional washerwoman. The stiffening
process, of infinitely more consequence then than now, has left its mark
in such a name as ‘Ralph le Starkere,’ or even in that of ‘William
Starcman,’ starch and stark being once but synonymous words. Whether it
were the carefully pinched wimple or the kerchief, whether it were of
silk or lawn, both alike required all the rigidity that could be
imparted to them, would the head be befittingly adorned. Employed,
therefore, either in the sale of the starch itself or in the work of
stiffening the dress, we find men of such a title as the above.
Doubtless they are referred to by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’
where he speaks of—

             Butlers, sterchers, and mustardmakers,
             Hardeware men, mole seekers, and ratte-takers.

From the outer we may now naturally and fitly turn to the provision for
the inner man. Nor are we without interesting relics also in this
respect. We have already described the process by which the flour was
provided. The agencies in the towns for the sale of this, and the uses
to which it was put, are all more or less well defined, and well
established also in our present directories. I do not know whether
French rolls had obtained celebrity so early as this, but the name of
‘Richard Frenshbaker’ would seem at least to give some kind of credence
to the supposition. There can be no doubt, however, that he dealt in a
fancy way, for in solid bread-baking the Saxon ‘Baker’ has ever kept his
hands in the kneading-trough, and need never fear, so far as our
nomenclature is concerned, being ousted therefrom. The feminine form has
become almost equally well established among us, ‘Bagster’ or
‘Baxter’[369] or ‘Backster’ (the latter spelling found in Foxe’s Roll of
Marian martyrs) being among other forms of the old female ‘bakester.’
Piers Plowman speaks of—

                       Baksteres, and brewesteres,
                       And bochiers manye;

and such good folk as ‘Elias le Baxter’ or ‘Ralph le Bakster’ or
‘Giliana le Bacster’ are very plentifully represented in our olden
registers.[370] Still the foreigner did not give way without a struggle.
We have ‘Pollinger,’ ‘Bullinger,’ ‘Bollinger,’ and ‘Ballinger,’ as
corruptions of the ‘boulanger’ or ‘Richard le Bulenger,’ as he is
recorded. In our ‘Furners’ we see the representatives of such a name as
‘William le Furner’ or ‘Walter le Fernier,’ he who looked to the oven,
while in the all but unaltered form of ‘Pester’ we may still not
uncommonly meet with the descendants of many an old ‘Richard le Pestour’
or ‘Herman le Pestur,’ who had spent the best of his days in the
bakehouse. Such a name as ‘John Pastemakere’ or ‘Gregory le Pastemakere’
or ‘Andrew le Pyebakere,’ which once existed, reminds us of the
pastrycook, a member, as he then was, no doubt, of a by no means
unimportant fraternity—that of the ‘Pastelers’ or ‘Pie-bakers.’ An old
poem speaks of—

                   Drovers, cokes, and pulters,
                   Yermongers, pybakers, and waferers.

Best known, however, to most people would he be under the simple
professional name of ‘cook.’ I need not remind any student of olden
English records how familiar is ‘Roger le Coke’ or ‘William le Cook’ or
‘John Cokeman,’ nor will he be astonished at his being so well
represented in all those forms in the directories of the nineteenth
century. I could give endless references to show that this term was not
confined to the kitchen servitor. The ‘City Archives’ give us an
ordinance passed 2 Rich. II. (A.D. 1378) by the ‘Cooks and Pastelers,’
as an associated company, and Piers Plowman speaks of

                   Punishing on pillories,
                   Or on pynnyng stools,
                   Brewesters, Bakers,
                   Bochers, and Cookes,
                   For these be men upon molde (earth)
                   That most harm worken
                   To the poor people.

‘Cook’ or ‘Coke’ certainly holds a high position in the scale of
frequency at present, and, as I have had occasion to notice in another
chapter, is one of those few tradal names that have taken to them the
filial desinence, ‘Cookson’ being by no means uncommon. Of all these we
might have said much, but to mention them must suffice, and to pass on.
Solid bread-baking, however, as I have just hinted, was not the sole
employment of this nature in early days. A poem I have recently quoted
speaks of ‘waferers.’ Our ‘Wafers,’ relics of the old ‘Simon’ or ‘Robert
le Wafre,’ seem to have confined themselves all but entirely to the
provision of eucharistic bread, though they were probably vendors also
of those sweet and spiced cakes which, under the name of ‘marchpanes,’
were decidedly popular. Among other gifts that Absolom the clerk gave
Alison, Chaucer hints of—

                Wafers piping hot out of the glede,[371]

and the ‘Pardoner,’ in enumerating the company of lewd folks of
Flanders, speaks of ‘fruitsters,’ ‘singers with harps,’ and ‘waferers.’
Piers Plowman puts them amid still more disreputable associates. No
doubt, true to the old adage, ‘near the church, never in it,’ they were
wont to hang about the sacred edifice abroad and at home, offering their
traffic to the devouter worshippers as they entered in. We ourselves
know how searing to heart and conscience is such a life as this. That
all were not of this kind we are reminded by the will of an Archbishop
of York of the thirteenth century, who therein bequeaths a certain sum
to two ‘waferers,’ evidently on account of their exemplary conduct while
conducting their trade at the Minster door.

Chaucer, describing the prioress, says that—

             With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede,

she fed her small hounds. Cakes of wastel were of the purest flour and
most careful bake, and were only second to the simnel in quality.
Wasteler, found in such an entry as ‘John Wasteler,’ is extinct, but the
shorter ‘Wastel’ still exists in our midst. Probably, in the latter
case, it was originally but a sobriquet affixed to a baker of this
peculiar kind of bread. It is in a similar manner, I doubt not, arose
such early nicknames as ‘William Wytebred,’ or ‘John Holibread,’ or
‘Roger Blancpain,’ or ‘Josce Barlibred,’ or ‘Matilda Havercake,’ or
‘Lambert Simnel,’ the latter a name familiarized to the youngest student
of English history. Strange to say, ‘Barlibred’ is the only one of this
list that has disappeared from our directories, although ‘Barleycorn’
was in existence, I believe, but a few years ago. But to keep more
strictly to tradesmen: I have no doubt myself it is here we must place
our ‘Mitcheners,’ as makers of the ‘mitche’ or ‘mitchkin.’ The
diminutive was the modern cracknel, while the larger seems to have been
a small loaf of mixed flour. Chaucer, in his praise of contentment,

                For he that hath mitches tweine,
                Ne value in his demeine,
                Liveth more at ease, and more is rich
                Than doeth he that is chich (niggardly),
                And in his barne hath sooth to saine,
                A hundred mavis of wheat grain.

I have, however, no proof of the connexion I deem exists, so I merely
mention it and pass on. We are more certain about our rare ‘Flawners’
and ‘Flanners,’[372] once the manufacturers of the ‘flaon’ or ‘flawn,’
so popular as to have left its mark in our ‘Pancake Tuesday.’ Caxton, in
his ‘Boke for Travellers,’ says, ‘of mylke and of eggs men make
flawnes.’ In the story of Havelok the Dane, too, mention is made of—

                    Brede an chese, butere and milk,
                    Pasties and flaunes.

A ‘Roger le Flaoner’ comes in the London Corporation records, A.D. 1307,
while much about the same time I find a ‘Walter le Flawner’ in the
Parliamentary writs.

I have kept our ‘Panyers’ and ‘Panniers’ till the last, because there is
just a shade of doubt as to whether they owe their name to the
manufacture of the basket so called or to the hawking of bread, the very
practice of which custom, so familiar as it was then, has given us the
term. The original meaning of ‘pannier,’ the French ‘panier,’ was
bread-basket, and the word seems to have acquired a peculiar prominence
from the fact that in mediæval times bakers, through being the subjects
of a careful supervision, were forbidden to sell their bread anywhere
but in the public market—nay, so particular were the authorities with
regard to this that an officer was specially appointed to watch the
‘hutches,’ boxes, or baskets in which the loaves were exposed. A surname
‘Robert le Huchereve’ is even found in the Guildhall records as a relic
of this. We can thus readily understand how hawkers of these portable
covers or baskets would acquire the sobriquet of ‘panyers.’ Certain it
is we find such entries as ‘Simon le Pannier,’ ‘Robert le Pannere,’
‘Amiscus Panarius,’ or ‘Geoffrey Panyman,’ while in another register the
occupation of ‘panyere’ is distinctly mentioned. We can equally readily
understand how from this the term itself would, in course of time,
obtain a wider and more general sense. That it has done so the donkey’s
panniers are a proof. It is, however, somewhat strange, when we reflect
upon it, that perhaps the last thing we should expect to see borne in
this fashion in the present day would be that very article to which the
receptacle itself owed its name.

It is somewhat remarkable that while our directories possess many
records of the early manufacture of and traffic in cheese, yet there are
no names whatever in the present day, I believe, and barely any in the
past, which are associated with the most important of all country
produce—butter.[373] The most satisfactory clue to the difficulty will
be to suppose that the cheese-merchant of that day, as often in the
present, dealt in both articles. This is the more likely, as the many
sobriquets given to dealers in cheese in the fourteenth century would
appear to give that edible, important as it was and is, a greater
prominence than singly it deserved. Thus we find such names as ‘Edward
le Cheseman’ or ‘Robert le Chesemaker,’ ‘John le Chesewright,’ or
‘William le Cheswright,’ or ‘Alen le Chesmongere,’ as representatives of
the Saxons, figuring somewhat conspicuously in the registers of the
period.[374] For the foreign element, too, cognomens were not wanting.
‘Benedict’ or ‘Michael le Casiere’ may even now be living in our
‘Cayzers,’ if they be not but another form of ‘Kaiser,’ and ‘Wilkin le
Furmager’ or ‘William le Formager’ in our ‘Firmingers,’ is in no risk of
immediate oblivion. The majority of the Saxon forms, I need scarcely
add, are also thriving in our midst.

It may seem somewhat strange that ‘grocer,’ of all trades the most
important, so far as the kitchen is concerned, should be so rarely
represented in our nomenclature. But the reason is simple enough. To
sell in the gross, or wholesale, was a second and later step in
commercial practice. A ‘John Guter, Grossarius,’ appears in the London
City Rolls so early as 1310, but it had scarcely become a familiar name
of trade till the close of the fourteenth century.[375] In 1363 a
statute of Edward III. speaks concerning ‘Merchauntz nomez Grossers,’ so
termed because they ‘engrossent totes maners des marchandises
vendables,’ and then enhanced the price on each separate article. Before
this they had been known as the Pepperers, or Spicers Guild, such names
as ‘John le Espicer’ or ‘Nicholas le Espicer’ occurring not unfrequently
at this period. Spice, indeed, was the then general term for all manner
of drugs, aromatic and pungent, which were brought into England by
foreign and especially Venetian merchants from the East. These were
carried up and down the country again by the itinerant traders, so many
of whom I have already referred to in a previous chapter. An old song,
written against the mendicant friars, relates that, among other of their

                       Many a dyvers spyse
                       In bagges about they bear.

As I have just stated, however, the term ‘Grocer’ superseded that of
‘Spicer,’ and as such seems to have confined its dealings to the
modernly received limit at an early date. As we must have already seen,
each want had always hitherto been met by its own special dealer. With
us now the Cutler would supply all the ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ then
separately furnished; while our ‘Ironmongers’ or ‘Hosiers’ or
‘Upholdsters’ would each swallow up half-a-dozen of former occupations.
Thus it was here. Our ‘John le Saucers’ or ‘Ada la Saucers’ provided
salt pickle.[376] As with the ‘Frankelein,’ so with many another there—

               Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were
               Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gear.

‘Peter le Salter’ or ‘Hugh Saltman’ furnished forth the chloride itself;
‘William le Mustarder’ or ‘Peter le Mustardman,’ or ‘Alice
Mustard-maker,’ the mustard; ‘Thomas le Pepperer,’[377] now spelt
‘Pepper,’ the pepper; ‘Ralph le Soper’ or ‘Adam le Savonier,’ the soap.
Each set before his customers’ eyes those peculiar articles of household
consumption their names severally represent. All these, having
flourished in the earlier age, established for themselves a better place
in our register than our rare ‘Grosers’ or ‘Grossers,’ who in this
respect only appeared in time to save themselves from oblivion, though
they have long ago revenged themselves on their humbler brethren by
swallowing up entire the occupations they followed. It is curious to
note that in later days, through the various accessions of luxury, the
result in well-nigh every case of foreign discovery, even ‘Grocer’ has
failed to comprehend all. In our country villages we all but invariably
find added ‘and licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, &c.’ In
our towns, however, this addendum has been dropped, and a ‘grocer’s
shop’ is the place we turn to, without thought of refusal, for these
modern introduced luxuries. What changes in our domestic resources are
here presented for our notice! In my previous chapter it was the
over-abundance of certain rural and primitive surnames which told the
story of the times in which they sprang. The contrary is here the case.
It is in the absence of particular names, some of which I have already
noticed, we have the best guide to the extraordinary changes that have
taken place in our household economy. Look at our tea-table. Already in
the two short centuries from its introduction this article has given its
name to a special meal, having thrown the once afternoon supper into a
nocturnal repast. Even Shakespeare could only say—

           Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep.[378]

How strangely would it have affected our nomenclature had this and other
like novelties been brought in earlier. We should have had ‘William le
Coffyer’ giving us endless anxiety in the endeavour to separate it from
the actual ‘Godfrey le Coffrer.’ We should have had, too, such folk as
‘John le Riceman,’ ‘Walter le Snuffer,’ ‘Ralph le Tobacconer,’ shortened
into ‘Bacconer,’ and the still more awkward ‘le Potatoman,’ almost as
inconvenient as ‘Garlickmonger,’ though doubtless it would have been
quickly curtailed into ‘Taterman’ or ‘Taterer’ or ‘Tatman’ and ‘Tatter,’
and later on again into other forms too obscure to contemplate. The very
recounting of these changes, which are strictly on a par with other
names of a less hypothetical character, serve to impress us with the
difficulties we have to encounter in the task of deciphering many of our
surnames after the wear and tear they have undergone through lapsing

But I must not wander. The sale of vegetables and fruits left its mark
in our former ‘John le Fruemongers’ and ‘Ralph le Frueters,’ and ‘Hugh
le Fruters;’ ‘Richard le Graper’ testifying seemingly to a more specific
dealing. Our ‘Butchers’ of course have been busy enough from the day
that the Normans brought them in. The variety of spelling which is found
in olden records of this name is so great that I dare not attempt a
list, but I believe there still exist, _sans_ the article, such of the
old forms as ‘le Bouchier,’ ‘le Bowcher,’ and ‘le Bowsher,’ while
‘Botcher’ is at least not altered in sound from ‘le Bochere’ of the same
period—‘Labouchere,’ which preserves this article, is of more modern
introduction from the Gallic shore. But the Norman was not without his
rivals. Such names as ‘Walter le Fleshmongere,’ or ‘Eudo le
Flesshemongere,’ or ‘Richard le Flesmongere,’[379] prove that the Saxon
did not give up even this branch of daily occupation without a struggle,
and in the two isolated cases of ‘William Fleschour’ and ‘John
Fleshewer’ that I have lit upon we are reminded that Scotland, with its
still flourishing ‘flesher,’ is but the asylum where this truly Saxon
term found its latest retreat. Even yet in England with the country folk
the butchers’ shambles are the ‘flesh-market.’ That ‘Fleshmonger’ was
the colloquial term, we may prove from a list of tradesmen mentioned in
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ a poem I have already quoted several times;
reference is there made to—

                 Woolemen, vynterers and flesshemongers,
                 Salters, jewelers, and haberdashers.

The ‘Pardoner,’ too, in the same poem, thus begins his roll—

              Here is first Cocke Lorelle the Knyght,
              And Symkyn Emery, mayntenaunce agaynz ryght;
              With Slyngethryfte Fleshemonger.

But if not in the common mouth, yet in our rolls there were two other
names of this craft, which we must not pass over unrecorded. They were
those of ‘Carnifex’ and ‘Massacrer,’ both representing the
slaughter-house, I doubt not. The existence of the former would lead us
to suppose that the old Roman hangsman was settled in our midst, but it
was merely a mediæval Latinism for a butcher.[380] After the fashion of
the time nicknames were affixed upon everybody, and our ‘Butchers’ and
‘Slaughters’ did not escape. The Hundred Rolls alone register the names
of ‘Reginald Cullebol,’ ‘Henry Cullebulloc,’ ‘William Cullehare,’ and
‘William Culle-hog,’ or in more modern parlance ‘Kill-bull,’
‘Kill-bullock,’ Kill-hare,’ and ‘Kill-hog.’ The original and more
correct ‘poulter,’ he who dealt in ‘poults’ or poultry, as we now term
it, has bequeathed his name to our ‘Poulters’ and ‘Pulters.’ Such names
as ‘Adam le Puleter,’ or ‘Bernard le Poleter,’ or ‘William le Pulter,’
by the frequency with which we come across them, show how much did the
farmyard help to provide in these days for the supply of the

                         I have no peny,
                         Poletes to bugge (buy),

says Langland, showing that in his time they were commonly exhibited for
sale. Indeed, the fact that in the York Festival of 1415 the ‘bouchers’
and ‘pulterers’ walked in procession together clearly proves their
importance at the period in which the surname arose.

We have already mentioned the fishmonger, or what was practically the
fishmonger, the fisherman, in our last chapter while surveying rural
occupations. Our rare ‘Pessoners’[381] as representative of the Norman,
and common ‘Fishers’ of the Saxon, lived in a day when under Roman
ecclesiastic influences fish was of infinitely more importance than it
is in this nineteenth century, when it is merely used as a go-between or
mediator to soothe down the differences betwixt soup and beef. Then the
year was dotted with days of abstinence, or strongly indented with
seasons like Lent. Among the higher circles it mattered but little. So
much had the culinary art excelled in respect of fish that such periods
as they came round only brought to the epicurean mind visions of
gastronomic skill that put the sterner and weightier joints utterly in
the background for the time being. Pasties of herrings, congers, or
lampreys were especially popular, and, judging from the lists of courses
contained in some of our records, that only one of our mediæval monarchs
should have succumbed to the latter is simply an historic marvel! Dishes
too were prepared from the whale, the porpoise, the grampus, and the
sea-wolf. ‘It is lamentable,’ says, facetiously, a writer in ‘Chambers’s
Book of Days,’ referring to these viands as Lent repasts, ‘to think how
much sin they thus occasioned among our forefathers, before they were
discovered to be _mammalian_.’

A curious name is found in the Hundred Rolls, that of ‘Symon
Haryngbredere.’ In what particular way he carried on his occupation I do
not know. ‘Richard le Harenger’ is more explicable. Our ‘Conders’ were
partners in the fishing excursions of the above. A full account of their
duties may be found in Cowel’s ‘Interpreter,’ published in 1658. The
conder stood upon the higher cliffs by the sea coast in the time of
herring fishing, and with a staff or branch of a tree made signs to the
boatmen which way the shoal was going. It seems there is a certain
discoloured aspect of the water as they pass along, which is more
apparent from an elevation than from the level of the sea.[382] In
mediæval times the plaice was a very favourite dish. The term it usually
went by was that of ‘but.’ Thus it is, I doubt not, we meet with such
entries, as ‘William le Butor’ or ‘Hugh Butmonger.’ From some fancied
resemblance to this fish, too, it would be that such humorous sobriquets
as ‘Walter le But’ or ‘John le But’ would arise.

But while good and solid food could thus be purchased on every hand, we
must not forget drink, for our forefathers were great tipplers. I have
already mentioned our ‘William le Viners’ or ‘Roger le Vinours,’ in most
cases, I doubt not, strictly cultivators of that plant on English soil.
None the less certain, however, is it that our many early ‘John le
Vineturs’ or ‘Alexander le Vineters’ were also, as merchants, employed
in the importation of the varied wines of the Continent into our land.
How abundant and how diverse they were an old poem shall tell us—

               Ye shall have Spayneshe wyne and Gascoyne,
               Rose colure, whyt, claret, rampyon,
               Tyre, capryck, and malvesyne,
               Sak, raspyce, alycaunt, rumney,
               Greke, ipocrase, new made clary,
               Such as ye never had.

The entry ‘Adam le Wyneter’ reminds us that in all probability it is to
our early wine-merchants also we owe our ‘Winters.’ ‘Walter le Brewers,’
or ‘Emma le Brewsteres,’ or ‘Lawrence Beerbrewers,’[383] abound on every
hand. We are reminded of the last by ‘Cocke Lorelle’—

                 Chymney-swepers, and costerde-mongers,
                 Lodemen and berebrewers.

The Norman equivalent for our ‘brewer’ was ‘bracer,’ and thus it is we
meet with such a name as ‘Stephen le Bracer’ or ‘Clarissa la
Braceresse.’ Latinized forms are found in ‘Reginald Braciator’ or
‘Letitia Braciatrix.’ Brewing was at first entirely in the hands of
women. We have here ‘brewster,’ ‘braceress,’ and ‘braciatrix,’ and such
phrases as ‘alewife’ and the obsolete ‘brewife’ (though it lingered on
till Shakespeare’s day) show the ale-making and ale-selling business to
have been mainly hers. ‘Malter’[384] and ‘Maltster’ or ‘Malster’ both
exist, but the latter has ever denoted the avocation.[385] ‘Tapper’ and
‘Tapster,’ too, are both occupants of our directories, but as a term of
industry the latter has ever held its own.[386] It is the same with
several other occupations which we have already noticed. It is so with
‘bread-baking,’ manifesting a woman’s work. As we have already seen, the
familiar expression in olden times was ‘bakester,’ now represented by
our ‘Baxters.’ It is so with weaving. Our nomenclature, as I have
previously shown, still preserves the ‘Webster’ and the ‘Kempster’ from
being forgotten. In the winter evening, as the logfire crackled on the
hearth, and while the good man was chopping wood, or tending his cattle,
or mending his outdoor gear, who but his wife should be drawing woof and
warp in the chimney nook? Whose work but hers should this be to clothe
with her own thrifty fingers the backs of them who belonged to her? But,
as with the others, her work in time became less a home occupation than
a public craft, and thus it got into the hands of the male creation.
While ‘Spinner’ still flourishes as a surname, the feminine ‘spinster’
never obtained a place in our nomenclature.[387] This is no doubt to be
attributed to that early position it took in regard to female
relationship, which it still holds. This would naturally prevent it from
losing its strictly feminine character.[388]

A vintner went commonly by the name of a wine tunner, tunner itself
being the ordinary term for one engaged in casking liquor. ‘Tun’ rather
than ‘barrel’ was in use. In the ‘Confessio Amantis’ it is said of
Jupiter that he—

                     Hath in his cellar, as men say,
                     Two townes full of lovedrink.

Thus have arisen such words as ‘tunnel’ or ‘tun-dish,’ the vessel with
broad rim and narrow neck, used for transferring the wine from cask to
bottle. That our nomenclature should possess tokens of all this was
inevitable. We find such names as ‘Edmund le Tonder’ (F.F.),[389]
‘William Tunder’ (F.F.), ‘William le Toneleur’ (H.), ‘William le Tonier’
(H.), ‘Richard le Tundur’ (T.), ‘Hugh le Tunder’ (A.), or ‘Ralph le
Toneler’ (A.) Till the close of the fifteenth century wine of
home-production was the common drink, for, though beer was not by any
means unknown to us, it was not till the Flemings brought us the hop
that it became a familiar beverage. We all know the old couplet—

                   Hops, Reformation, baize, and beer,
                   Came into England all in one year.

Previous to this various bitter ingredients had been admixtured,
chiefly, however, wormwood. ‘John de la Bruere’ or ‘William de Bruario’
are the local surnames met with in early records.

But we have been wandering. The Mayor of York in 1273 was ‘John le
Espicer, aut Apotecarius’[390] (so the record is put), and while the two
trades were distinct in character, there can be no doubt at the period
referred to there would be much in common between them. The one would
sell certain spices and drugs as ingredients for dishes, while the other
disposed of the same for medicinal uses. Our ‘Potticarys,’ of course,
represent the latter. The term itself, professionally speaking, is fast
becoming obsolete, having been forced into the background by our
‘chemists’ and ‘druggists.’ But in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries it was the one name for all such. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ the
abbreviated form[391] is familiarly used—

          And forth he goth, no longer would he tarry,
          Into the town unto a Potecary,
          And praied him that he him wolde sell
          Some poison, that he might his ratouns (rats) quell.

Such men as ‘John le Chirurgien’ or ‘Thomas le Surigien’ are
occasionally found, but through the fact of the craft being all but
entirely in the hands of the barber, they are rare, and I do not see
that they have surnominally bequeathed us any descendants. Even so late
as the reign of Elizabeth this connection seems to have commonly
existed. In the orders and rules for an academy for her wards the
following passage occurs with respect to the teaching of medicine:—‘The
Phisition shall practize to reade Chirurgerie, because, thorough wante
of learning therein, we have verie few good Chirurgions, yf any at all,
by reason that Chirurgerie is not now to be learned in any other place
than in a Barbor’s shoppe. And in that shoppe most dawngerous,
especially in time of plague, when the ordinary trimming of men for
clenlynes must be done by those which have to do with infected
personnes.’[392] That ‘Thomas Blodlettere’ and ‘William Blodlettere’
should be conspicuous by their absence in modern rolls is not
surprising. Their former existence, however, reminds us how in the past
the fleshy arms of our forefathers were constantly exposed to this once
thought panacea for all physical ills. It has long ceased, however, to
be the resortment it was, and science, by taking it out of the tonsor’s
hands, has left it to the wiser discretion of a more cultivated and
strictly professional class. We have no traces of the dentist, as he too
was absorbed in the barbitonsorial craft. Some lines, quoted by Mr.
Hotten in his interesting book on ‘Signboards,’ remind us of this—

              His pole with pewter basons hung,
              Black, rotten teeth in order strung,
              Rang’d cups that in the window stood,
              Lined with red rags to look like blood,
              Did well his threefold trade explain,
              Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.

Here, therefore, we see one more explanation of the plentifulness of our
‘Barbers,’ ‘Barbours,’ ‘Barbors,’ and more uncouth-seeming ‘Barbars.’
The old records give us an equal or even greater variety in such
registrations as ‘John le Barber,’ ‘Richard le Barbour,’ ‘Nicholas le
Barbur,’ ‘Thomas le Barbitonsor,’ or ‘Ralph Tonsor;’[393] while feminine
skill in operating upon the chins of our forefathers is commemorated in
such an entry as ‘Matilda la Barbaresse.’ It is just possible, however,
that she kept an apprentice, although such things are still to be seen,
I believe, as women-shavers. But the one chief sobriquet for the medical
craft, and the one which, excepting our ‘Barbers,’ has made the deepest
indenture upon our nomenclature, was that of ‘Leech’—_was_, I say, for
saving in our cow-leeches it is now, professionally speaking, obsolete.
In our many ‘Leeches,’ ‘Leaches,’ and ‘Leachmans,’ however, its
reputation is not likely soon to be forgotten. With the country folk it
was the one familiar term in use. Langland, while speaking of—

                         One frere Flaterie,
                         Physicien and surgien,

makes mention also of—

                    Conscience called a Leche
                    That could well shryve,
                    To go salve those that sike ben,
                    And through synne y-wounded.

‘Le Leche’ is the general spelling of earlier times, and it is that of
the lines just quoted.[394] The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘Hugh le
Leche,’ while ‘Robert le Leche’ figures in the Parliamentary Writs.

Having just referred to the barber, we may here introduce an obsolete
surname somewhat connected with his craft, that of ‘le Loveloker.’ In
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the lovelock was as familiar as
the chignon is in the nineteenth, only that the former was worn alike by
men and women. They wore curls or plaits of hair, oftentimes adorned
with bows or ribbons, and hung in front of the ear and about the
temples. If false, the hair was fastened by means of adhesive plaster.
In the ‘Affectionate Shepherd’ it is thus alluded to—

          Why should thy sweete love-locke hang dangling downe,
            Kissing thy girdle-stud with falling pride?
          Although thy skin be white, thy hair is browne;
            Oh let not then thy haire thy beautie hide.

How long this custom existed, and how commonly the exquisites of the
period wore these pendants, we may judge by the fact of a ‘Walter le
Loveloker’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of the fourteenth century.
Probably he added to this the craft of peruke-maker, and between the
two, I doubt not, throve and grew fat—for wigs too were an early
institution. The surname of occupation has been long obsolete, but the
simpler ‘Lovelock’ is firmly set in our registers.

In a day when the luxury of gas was unknown, and the hearth, burning
more generally with wood than coal, would throw but a chequered light
athwart the room, we ought not to be surprised to find the chandlery
business to be somewhat demonstrative, and so it is. In such a name as
‘Michel le Oyneter’ or ‘Hointer,’ we are reminded of the old melter of
grease, and of the equally old English term ‘to oint,’ for to ‘anoint.’
With him, therefore, we may associate such of his confrères as ‘William
le Candelmaker,’ ‘Roger le Chaundeler,’ ‘Richard le Chaundler,’ ‘William
le Candeler,’[395] or ‘Thomas le Candleman,’ names all in existence
formerly, some of which still abide with us. In ‘William le Cirgier’ we
are once more reminded of the earlier religious rites of our Church and
its many vigils, from a performance of which he who dealt in wax tapers,
or _cierges_, as they were then styled, would derive no doubt a steady
gain. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ we are told—

                The nine thousand maidens dere,
                That beren in Heaven their cierges clere,
                Of which men rede in church and sing,
                Were take in secular clothing.

With these latter then it is we must associate such a name as ‘John

While, however, we are dwelling upon such and similar wants in the
domestic consumption, we are naturally led to make inquiry concerning
the utensils in fashion at this period, and of those who provided them.
Of drinking vessels we have many, for, as we have previously hinted,
this was a decidedly drinking age. Chief of all was the ‘Mazerer.’ No
word could be in more familiar use in the day we are speaking of than
the ‘macer’ or ‘maslin,’ carved from the maple. It was the favourite
bowl of all classes of society. By the rich it was valued according as
it was made from the knotted grain, or chased and rimmed with gold and
silver and precious gems. We are told of Sire Thopas how that—

                  They fetched him first the swete win,
                  And made eke in a maselin,
                          And real spicerie.

There is scarce a record of any magnitude or importance which has not
its several surnames derived from the occupation of carving this cup,
and as the term itself was variously pronounced and spelt, so did the
name vary. For instances the Hundred Rolls give us ‘Adam le Mazerer;’
the Close Rolls, ‘William le Macerer;’ the Warranty Rolls, ‘William le
Mazeliner;’ and the London Records give us again a ‘John le Mazerer.’
Besides these we have ‘Mazelyn,’ ‘Maselyn,’ and ‘Mazarin,’ probably
sign-names, the latter familiarised to us in the celebrated Cardinal of
that name. Strange to say, ‘Maslin’ and ‘Masser,’ or ‘Macer,’ all rare,
are now the only relics we possess of this once well-known surname and
occupation. No instance I can furnish more clearly demonstrates the
uncertainty of descent in our personal nomenclature. Such a name as
‘Geoffrey le Hanaper’ or ‘William Hampermaker’ bequeaths us a strange
story of changed circumstance. The shorter appellation, common enough at
this time, still lives in our ‘Hampers.’ While the macer was invariably
of maple, the ‘hanap,’ or two-handed goblet, might be of wood or metal.
From the fact of a ‘hanaper,’ Latinized in our archives into
‘hanaperium,’ being the crate where these hanaps were kept, it acquired
a secondary sense of a repository for things of a more general
character. Thus has arisen the ‘Hanaper Office’[396] in Chancery, where
writs were treasured up in a basket; and thus also it is that we now
talk of a ‘hamper,’ a term so delightfully familiar to schoolboys about
Christmas time. Our common ‘Bowlers’ represent such olden personages as
‘Robert le Bollere’ or ‘Adam le Boloure,’ they who made the cheap wooden
‘bowl’ or ‘boll.’ The old spelling still survives botanically in such a
phrase as we find in the Authorized Version, where it speaks of the
‘flax being bolled,’ that is, the seed vessel was forming. It is always
so spelt with our mediæval writers. Thus Glutton, in the ‘Plowman’s
Vision,’ after sleeping away his last drunken bout, wakes, and—

                     The firste worde that he warpe
                     Was, ‘Were is the bolle?’

‘William le Cuppere’ and ‘Richard le Kuppere,’ while engaged in the same
occupation, are, speaking surnominally, absorbed, I doubt not, by our
‘Coopers’ and ‘Cowpers.’ ‘Copper’ may be but another antique form of the
same. Langland speaks of—

                          Coupes of clere gold
                          And coppes of silver.

I shall have occasion almost immediately to mention Chaucer, as speaking
of ‘turning cups,’ which would seem to infer that they too were often
made of wood.

Another name once existing was that of ‘Doubler,’ a maker or seller of
the ‘doubler’ or ‘dobeler,’ or dish; a term derived from the French
‘doublier.’ The word is still in use in the North of England,[397] and
both ‘Doubler’ and ‘Doubleman’ are in our directories of to-day. The
name of ‘Scutelaire’ must be set here also, though when we think of our
modern coalscuttle we might imagine it somewhat of an interloper. A
change, however, has come over the stricter meaning of the word. A
‘scutel’ was formerly nothing more nor less than a wooden or metallic
dish or platter used on our early dressoirs for culinary purposes. It
seems ever to have had its place in the dining-hall, for in the
household expenses of Bishop Swinfield (Camden Soc.) we find the entry,
‘xv. scutellis, xvii. salsariis.’ The learned editor of this book,
commenting upon this passage, says, ‘“scutella” is a word of somewhat
extensive application to dishes or platters, saucers or salvers, and it
is retained in our present English “scuttle.”’ I doubt not with him that
while ‘scutum,’ a shield, is the root, the term is here intended to
refer to the large flat spoons or plates used for the sauce-dishes. It
is from his resemblance to these that some wide-mouthed country bumpkin
is set down in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Arnold Scutelmuth,’ while the
occupation of making them finds its memorial in the Rolls of Parliament
in such a sobriquet as ‘James le Scutelaire.’ Speaking, however, of the
dining table, we may here mention the cutler. Of such a name as ‘Henry
Knyfesmythe’ I have already had occasion to hint. The cutler enjoyed, or
perhaps I ought to say was the victim of, a very uncertain orthography
in mediæval times, and some of the forms found are extremely curious. I
may cite such personages as ‘Richard le Cutyler,’ ‘John le Cotiler,’
‘Peter le Cotyler,’ ‘Henry le Coteler,’ or ‘Solomon le Cotiller’ as
representative of those which were then most in vogue. All are now
content, it would seem, to be absorbed in the simple ‘Cutler.’ Strange
to say, I cannot find a single ancestor of our familiar ‘Spooner.’ A
mediæval rhymester, however, speaks of ‘sponers, turners, and hatters.’
With many of these names I have just mentioned the ironmonger would have
much to do. The uncertain form of the term used for this material gave
rise to three familiar words, those of ‘iron,’ ‘ise,’ or ‘ire.’ Trevisa
speaks of England as being plenteous in ‘veynes of metayls, of bras, of
yre, of leed, of tyn, of selver.’[398] Thus while ‘Henry le Ironmonger’
dealt, as no one of my readers will doubt, in vessels and utensils of
the material his name suggests, it is not to be supposed that ‘Geoffrey
le Iremonger’ or ‘William le Irremongere’ was but a cant nickname for
one of splenetic temperament; or that in ‘Isabel le Isemonger’ or ‘Agnes
la Ismongere’ we have traces of any disposition for those frozen creams
which in the hot summer time we of the nineteenth century are so glad to
seek on the confectioner’s counter. All alike were hardware
manufacturers. The present forms are ‘Iremonger,’ ‘Irmonger,’ and

It may seem strange that wood should hold such a conspicuous position in
work of a culinary nature, but it is with good reason. We must remember
all our ornamental fictile vessels were unknown to our forefathers. It
was not till the close of the sixteenth century they came into any
settled use. It is to this circumstance we must doubtless refer the
extraordinary prevalence of our ‘Turners.’ Not the least important
articles of their workmanship would be the vessels they turned off from
the lathe. That Jack-of-all-trades, the Miller of Trumpington, could,
according to Chaucer, amongst his many other achievements, ‘turn
cuppes.’[399] When wood, however, was not used, the utensils were of the
roughest character—mugs, jars, and such like vessels, formed of the
common baked and glazed clay, and reserved for the ruder requirements of
the household. Our ‘Stephen le Crockers’ and ‘John le Crokers’ (P.
W.)—for both forms then as now are found—made simply the glazed crock,
or ‘crouke,’ as Chaucer has it, used for holding butter or milk or such
like store—vessels, in fact, reserved for the scullery or the pantry
rather than the parlour or hall. John de Trevisa, writing in 1387, says
in his description of Britain: ‘There is also white clay, and red for to
make of crokkes, and steenes (stone jars) and other vessels.’ The same
may be said of our ‘Jarmans.’ Most of our domestic utensils, therefore,
if not of wood or clay, were made of metal, and this generally of a
mixed kind. ‘Henry le Brasour’ or ‘Robert le Brazur,’ now ‘Brazier’ or
‘Brasher,’ worked in brass; ‘Thomas le Latoner,’ or ‘William le
Latoner,’ in latten or bronze;[400] while a mixture of lead and tin
fully employed the wits and hands of our ‘Pewters,’ ‘Pewtrers,’ and
‘Founders.’[401] We must not suppose therefore, that ‘John le Discher’
or ‘Robert le Disshere’ (with their once feminine partner, ‘Margaret la
Disheress’), and ‘Ranulf le Poter’ or ‘Adam le Potter’ or ‘Thomas
Potman,’[402] laboured after the modern style. The ‘disher’ all but
invariably worked in pewter,[403] and the ‘potter,’ if not in the same,
could only resort to common clay as an alternative. ‘Calisher’ is
probably the old ‘le Calicer’ or ‘Chalicer.’ The more modern spelling is
found in the London Records, in 1310, where mention is made of ‘Ralph de
Chichestre, Chalicer.’ The ‘chalice’ has now, however, allied itself so
entirely with the sacramental office of our Church that it is hard to
regard it in the light of an ordinary utensil. As a trade-sign a chalice
would be readily conspicuous, and to this we owe, no doubt, our
‘Challis’s’ and ‘Challices.’

While speaking, however, of drinking vessels, I must perforce allude to
the horner. I need not remind my reader how many are the descendants of
such a man as ‘Richard le Horner’ or ‘John le Horner,’ but it may not
equally have struck him how all-important would be his trade at such a
period as this. That his chief manufacture was that of the musical horn
I cannot doubt, so used as it was officially or ordinarily, at fair and
festival, at dance and revelry, in time of peace and in time of war. The
‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ describes it as ‘hornare, or horne-maker.’
Still this would not be all—far from it. Windows were commonly made of
this material, frames were constructed of it, the child’s horn-book
being but a memory of this; lanterns were formed of it, cups of all
sizes were fashioned from it, chessmen were manufactured out of it. In
the ‘Franklin’s Tale’ descriptive of Winter it is said—

                Janus sits by the fire with double berd,
                And drinketh of his bugle-horn the wine.

As a sign-name ‘at the horn’ would be a common expression, and certainly
we have had plenty of ‘Horns,’ if not the ‘horn of plenty,’ at all times
during the last six hundred years.

Turning for a moment to vessels of a more general character, our
‘Coopers’ or ‘Cowpers’[404] or ‘Coupers’ have ever flourished
extensively. Such forms as ‘Thomas le Cuper,’ ‘Warin le Couper,’ or
‘Richard le Cupare’ are found on every side; while even such entries as
‘Richard Cowpeman’ or ‘Roger Cowperese’ may be occasionally alighted
upon. The term ‘coop’ is not in itself in common use now—indeed, saving
in composition, as in _hencoop_, for instance, it is all but obsolete.
The Norman and more correct ‘cuve’ gave us such early names as ‘Ralph le
Cuver’ or ‘John le Cover,’ or ‘Adam le Covreur’ or ‘Robert le Coverur,’
the latter being one more example of a reduplicated termination.[405]
Our modern ‘Covers,’ however, preserve the earlier and more simple form.
Our ‘Cadmans,’ once written ‘Cademans,’ framed the cade or barrel, the
sign-name of which gave us the notorious Jack Cade of early
insurrectionary times. Shakespeare facetiously suggests a different
origin when he makes Dick the butcher to insinuate that it was for—

                       Stealing a cade of herring.

In either case the same word is used, and the derivation in no way
impeached. Our ‘Barrells’ are either sign-names also, or but corruptions
of such an old entry as ‘Stephen le Bariller.’ ‘Alexander le Hopere’ and
‘Andrew le Hopere,’ now ‘Hooper,’ explain themselves.[406] Doubtless
they would be busy enough at this time in strengthening these several
barrels, cuves, coops, and cades with pliant bands, whether of wood or
metal. Speaking, however, of wooden bands, reminds us of our ‘Leapers,’
‘Leapmans,’ and ‘Lipmans.’ A ‘leap’ was a basket of flexible, but
strong, materials, its occurrence in our old writers being so frequent
as to need no example.[407] The ‘maund’ was similar in character, but
made of more pliant bands, probably of rushes, for we find it in common
use by our early fishermen. Our ‘Maunders’ and ‘Manders’ are, I think,
to be set here, therefore, either as manufacturers or as wayside
beggars, who bore them as the receptacles of the doles they got. Another
supposition is that they were beggars who acquired the sobriquet because
they maundered out their petition for alms. I cannot but think the
former is the more likely derivation, our Maundy Thursday itself having
got its name from the practice of doling out the gifts for the poor from
the basket then so named.

But we have not even yet completed our list of surnames derivable from
manufactures of this class. Our ‘Coffers’ represent seemingly the same
word in a twofold capacity. We find occasional records where the
cofferer was undoubtedly an official servant, a treasurer, one who
carried the money of his lord in his journeys up and down.[408] More
often, however, he was a tradesman, a maker or dealer in coffers or
coffins, the two words being once used altogether indiscriminately.[409]
Many of my readers who are familiar with Greek will recognise the more
literal translation and meaning of the word in Wicklyffe’s rendering of
Mark vi. 43. ‘And they token the relyves of broken mete, twelve coffyns
full.’ Lacking any other name to represent the undertaker’s business, I
doubt not our early ‘William le Cofferers’ and ‘Godfrey le Coffrers’
were quite able and willing to furnish forth this portion of the funeral
outfit. These early surnames, then, must be set beside our already
explained ‘Arkwrights,’ while, as sign-names, our ‘Coffins’ and
‘Coffers’ (supposing the latter not to be a curter form of ‘Coffrer’)
will be as readily recognisable.

While, however, wood, clay, and the various cheaper metals were thus
brought into requisition to provide the utensils of the household and
the means of carriage, we must not forget that leather, too, had its
uses in these respects. It is this lets us into the secret of the
numerosity of our ‘Butlers.’ Important as undoubtedly was the ‘Boteler’
to the feudal residence, that fact alone would scarcely account for the
large number of ‘le Botillers’ or ‘le Botelers’ we find in every
considerable roll. The fact is, the name was both official and
occupative. Of this there can be no doubt. In the York Pageant of 1415
we find walking in procession together with the ‘Pouchmakers’ the
‘Botillers’ and the ‘Cap-makers,’ all obviously engaged in the leather
manufacture. The phrase ‘like finding a needle in a bottle of hay’ still
preserves the idea of a bottle as understood by our forefathers four
hundred years ago—that of a leathern case, whether for holding liquid or
solids.[410] The hay-bottle was doubtless the bag that hung at the
girth, from which, as is still the case, the driver baited his horse.
Bottles for liquids were commonly of leather. The ‘black-jack’ was
always such. It is of this an old ballad sings—

              Then when this bottle doth grow old,
              And will no longer good liquor hold,
              Out of its side you may take a clout,
              Will mend your shoes when they are worn out.

Thus we see that the ‘Botiller’ was, after all, in some cases but
identical with the old pouch-maker, represented in our old rolls by such
folk as ‘Henry Poucher’ or ‘Agnes Pouchmaker.’ Another and more Norman
term for this latter was that of ‘Burser’ or ‘Purser,’ though in later
days both forms have come to occupy a more official position. Such names
as ‘Alard le Burser’ or ‘Robert le Pursere’ are of frequent occurrence.
Nor, again, while speaking of leather, can we omit a reference to the
old ‘Henry Male-maker,’ who made up travelling bags. ‘Cocke Lorelle’

                Masones, male-makers, and merbelers,
                Tylers, brycke-leyers, and harde-hewers.

The modern postal _mail_ has but extended its earlier use. We may
remember in the ‘Canterbury Tales’ so pleased were the company at the
end of the first story, that the host said—

                            Unbuckled is the male,
                Let see now who shall tell another tale,
                For trewely this game is wel begun.

We must not forget, however, that many of these baskets and boxes would
require cordage then as now. Piers Plowman mentions ‘Robyn the Ropere,’
and both name and occupation are still familiar amongst us. In the
Fabric Roll of York Minster is mentioned a ‘William Raper,’ 1446; and
again in 1457, under the head of ‘Custos canabi,’ one ‘Thomas Kylwake,
rapor.’ Both forms are equally common in our directories. As
representative of the more technical part of the industry we may cite
‘Thomas le Winder’ and ‘Richard le Windere,’ whose progeny still dwell
among us. ‘Adam le Corder’ or ‘Peter le Corder,’ or ‘George le Stringer’
or ‘Thomas Strengfellowe,’ carry us back to names of the commonest
import in the fourteenth century. The—

                   Lanterners, stryngers, and grynders

are set together by an old rhymer. But I have already said something
about them in connection with our ‘Bowyers’ and ‘Fletchers,’ so I will
pass on.

There are but few traces in our nomenclature of more delicate
workmanship. Much of our jewellery came from abroad. Most of that
fashioned in England was under the skilled eye of the Jew. Still ‘Robert
le Goldbeter’ or ‘Henry le Goldsmith’ is not an uncommon entry at this
time. The Norman equivalent was met by such a name as ‘Roger le Orfevre’
or ‘Peter le Orfeure,’ and these lingered on in a more or less full form
till the seventeenth century. Their memorial, too, still survives in our
‘Offers’ and ‘Offors.’[411] Ivory was much used, too, and our ‘Turners’
here also were doubtless very busy. A pretty little casket of this
material, called a ‘forcer,’ small and delicately carved, used in
general for storing away jewellery and other precious gems, was
decidedly popular among the richer ranks of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries. In an old poem, sometimes set down to Chaucer, it
is said—

              Fortune by strength the forcer hath unshete,
              Wherein was sperde all my worldly richesse.

Our present ‘Forcers’ and early ‘Nicholas le Forcers’ and ‘Henry le
Forcers’ represent this. Our use of ivory tablets is not yet obsolete,
though of late years the wondrous cheapness of paper and the issue of
pocketbooks and annuals have threatened to absorb their existence. Of
somewhat larger size were the ‘tables’ of this time. Chaucer, in
portraying the Limitour, speaks of him as followed by an attendant,

                 A pair of tables all of ivory,
                 And a pointel, ypolished fetisly,
                 And wrote alway the names, as he stood,
                 Of alle folk that gave them any good.

It is in a yet larger sense of this same word our early translators
introduced the phrase ‘tables of stone,’ found in the Mosaic record—not,
however, that the smaller ‘tablet’ was unknown. Apart from such a
registration as ‘Bartholomew le Tabler,’ found in the London Rolls
(1320), we have mentioned as living in Cambridge in 1322 one ‘Richard le
Tableter.’[412] We can readily understand how useful would be his
occupation to the students, who were thus provided with a writing
material capable of erasure, at a time when paper was infinitely too
expensive to be simply scribbled upon.[413] The pointel, or pencil,
mentioned above, seems to have required also a separate manufacture, as
we find the surnames ‘Roger Poyntel’ and ‘John Poyntel’ occurring in
1315 and 1319, the latter the same date within a year as the ‘Tabler’
just referred to. These tablets, I need not say, were, whether the
framework were ivory, or box, or cyprus, overlaid with smeared wax, the
pointel being, as its name more literally implies, the stile with which
the characters were impressed. The pointel was a common ornament and
hung pendent from the neck.

Two surnames far from being uninteresting must be mentioned here. They
are those of ‘Walter Orlogyr’[414] and ‘Thomas Clokmaker,’ the one being
found in the ‘Guild of St. George, Norwich’ (1385), the other in the
‘Proceedings and Ordinances of the Privy Council.’[415] It is just
possible also that ‘Clerkwright,’ set down in the former record, may be
but a misspelling or misreading for ‘Clockwright.’ The two
first-mentioned names remind us that if not of clocks, as now
understood, yet the manufacture of dials did make a transient mark upon
our English nomenclature. I say transient, for I find no trace of either
being handed down even to the second generation by those who took these
sobriquets. The ‘horologe’ seems to have become a pretty familiar term
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for we find Wicklyffe
translating 2 Kings xx. 11, ‘Isaye the profete clepide ynwardly the
Lord, and browgte agen bacward by x degrees the schadewe bi lynes, bi
whiche it hadde gone down thanne in the orologie of Achaz.’ The
transition from clocks to bells is not a great one, as both have to do
with the marking of time. I will here therefore refer to the old
bellfounder, and then pass on. The ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ gives us
‘Bellezeter’ as the then usual term for the trade, and from the
occurrence of such entries as ‘Robert le Belzetere’ or ‘William le
Belzetere’ we cannot doubt but that it was so. Of course a corruption of
so awkward a word was inevitable, and Stow, by informing us that
‘Billiter Lane’ was formerly nothing more nor less than ‘Belzetars
Lane,’ has prevented dispute from arising regarding the origin of our
‘Billiters.’[416] If, however, further proof were necessary, we could
bring forward ‘Esmon Belleyeter’ from the Privy Council Ordinances.[417]
Stripped of its uncouth orthography, we are here shown the process by
which the changed pronunciation gradually came into use.

We must say a word or two about former coinage, and weights and
measures, for all are more or less carefully memorialized in our
directories of to-day. The two chief names, however, by which the early
scale was represented, ‘le Aunserer’ and ‘le Balancer,’ are, I am sorry
to say, either wholly, or all but wholly, extinct. Such entries as ‘Rauf
le Balancer’[418] or ‘John Balauncer’ or ‘Thomas le Aunseremaker’ were
perfectly familiar with our forefathers. The ‘balance’ was of the
simplest character, a scale poised by the hand. The manufacture of such
is mentioned by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ when he includes—

               Arowe-heders, maltemen, and cornemongers,
               _Balancers_, tynne-casters, and skryveners.

By its repeated occurrence in our present Authorized Version this word
is sure of preservation from obsoletism. The ‘auncel’ or ‘auncer’ was
strictly the vessel in which the provisions were weighed. Piers Plowman

                     And the pound that she paied by
                     Peised a quatron moore
                     Than myn owene auncer.

In an appraisement of goods in 1356 mention is made, among other
chattels, of ‘one balance called an auncer.’[419] Thus our somewhat rare
‘Ansers’ are not such _geese_ as they look! Our modern notion of the
Mint is that of a place where with a certain amount of State secrecy our
money is coined and sent forth. Nothing of this kind existed formerly:
each considerable town had its own mint, and even barons and bishops,
subject to royal superintendence, could issue coin. Thus it is that we
meet with more or less frequency such a name as ‘Nicholas le Cuner,’
from the old ‘cune’ or ‘coin;’ or ‘John le Meneter,’ or ‘John
Monemakere,’ or ‘William le Moneur,’ or ‘William le Mynsmith,’
mint-smith, that is; and thus it is our present ‘Moniers’ or ‘Moneyers’
and ‘Minters’ have arisen. Our ‘Stampers’ remind us of the chief feature
of coinage, the die. The system being thus general, and subject to but
an uncertain and irregular supervision, abuse of alloy crept in, and it
was to remedy this, it is said, our ‘Testers’ and ‘Sayers,’ corrupted
from assayers, were appointed. ‘Sayer’ or ‘Sayers,’ however, I have
elsewhere derived differently, and in most cases I feel confident the
account there given is more approximate to the truth.

Literature and art in regard to the market are not without their relics.
So far as the outside of books was concerned, our former ‘John le
Bokbinders’ or ‘Dionisia le Bokebynders’ are sufficiently explicit.
These, judging from their date, we must suppose to have bound together
leathern documents and parchments of value, or books of manuscript.
Speaking of parchment, however, we are reminded of the importance of
this for testamentary and other legal purposes. Thus we find such names
as ‘Stephen le Parchemyner’ or ‘William le Parchemynere’ to be common at
this time. They afford but one more instance of an important and
familiar name failing of descent. In the York Pageant, mentioned
elsewhere, the ‘Parchemyners’[420] and ‘Bukbynders’ marched

The old sealmaker, an important tradesman in a day when men were much
better known by their crests than now, left its mark in the early
‘Seler.’ In the ‘Issues of the Exchequer’ we find a certain ‘Hugh le
Seler’ commissioned to make a new seal for the See of Durham. The modern
form is ‘Sealer.’ Professional writers and copiers were common. The
calling of scribe has given us our many ‘Scrivens’ and ‘Scriveners,’
descendants of the numerous ‘William le Scrivayns’ and ‘John le
Scrivryns’ of our mediæval rolls. Piers Plowman employs the word—

                  I wel noght scorne, quoth Scripture,
                  But if scryveynes lye.

Our ‘Writers’ are but the Saxon form of the same, while ‘le Cirograffer’
would seem to represent the Greek. A ‘William le Cirograffer’ occurs in
the Hundred Rolls. As a writer of indentures he is frequently mentioned.
An act passed in the first year of Edward IV. speaks of such officers as
‘clerk of our council, clerk or keeper of oure Hanaper, office of
cirograffer, and keeper of oure Wills.’[422] Employed in the skilled art
of text-letter we may next mention such men as ‘Godfrey le Lomynour’ or
‘Ralph Illuminator’ or ‘Thomas Liminer.’ A poem, already quoted more
than once, makes reference to—

               Parchemente makers, skynners, and plowers,
               Barbers, Boke-bynders, and lyminers.[423]

How beautiful were the decorations and devices upon which they spent
their care, some of the missals and other service books of this early
period show.[424] This, I need scarcely add, was a favourite monastic
pursuit. I do not know that ‘Limner’ still exists as a surname, unless
it be in our ‘Limmers.’ That it lingered on in its more correct form
till the beginning of the eighteenth century is certain, as the Tostock
register serves to show, for it is there recorded that ‘John Limner of
Chevington, and Eliz. Sibbes of this town, were married, August 22nd,
1700.’ (Sibbes’ ‘Works,’ vol. i. p. cxlii.)

Before closing this necessarily hurried résumé of mediæval trade, we
must say a word or two about early shipping. We have mentioned certain
articles, especially those of spicery and wines, which were then used,
as the result of foreign merchant enterprise. Much of all this came as
the growth and produce of the opposite Continent. Much again reached our
shore brought hither from Eastern lands in caravan and caravel by
Venetian traders. Our ‘Marchants,’ ‘Merchants,’ or ‘le Marchants,’ we
doubtless owe to this more extended commerce. Apart from these, however,
we are far from being without names of a more seafaring nature. It is a
strange circumstance that our now one general term of ‘sailor’ had in
the days we are considering but the barest existence surnominally or
colloquially. In the former respect I only find it twice, the instances
being those of ‘John le Saillur’ and ‘Nicholas le Saler,’ both to be
found in the Hundred Rolls. It may be said to be a word of entirely
modern growth. The expression then in familiar use was ‘Shipman,’[425]
and ‘Shipman’ is the surname best represented in our nomenclature. It is
by this name one of Chaucer’s company at the Tabard is pictured forth—

              A Shipman ther was woned far by West,
              He knew wel alle the havens as they were,
              Fro’ Gotland to the Cape de Finisterre,
              And every creke, in Bretagne, and in Spaine;
              His barge ycliped was the ‘Magdelaine.’

This, intended doubtless to set forth the wide extent of his adventure,
would seem cramped enough for the seafarer of the nineteenth century.
The word itself lingered on for some length of time, being found both in
our Homilies and in the Authorized Version, but seems to have declined
towards the end of the seventeenth century. ‘Henry le Mariner’s’ name
still lives among us, sometimes being found in the abbreviated form of
‘Marner,’ and ‘Shipper’ or ‘Skipper’ is not as yet obsolete. The
strictly speaking feminine ‘Shipster’ comes in the quaint old poem of
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ where mention is made among others of—

                   Gogle-eyed Tomson, shipster of Lyn.

‘Cogger,’ found in such an entry as ‘Hamond le Cogger’ or ‘Henry le
Cogger,’ carries us back to the old ‘cogge’ or fishing smack, a term
very familiar on the east coast, and one not yet altogether obsolete. It
seems to have been often used to carry the soldiery across the Channel
to France and the Low Country border, or even further.[426] Our
_cockswain_ was, I doubt not, he who attended to the tiller of the boat.
We still speak also of a _cock-boat_, written in the ‘Promptorium
Parvulorum’ as ‘cog bote,’ and doubtless it was originally some smaller
craft that waited upon and attended the other. Thus it is highly
probable that ‘le Cockere’ may in some instances have been but
equivalent to ‘le Cogger.’[427] ‘Richard le Botsweyn,’ ‘Edward
Botswine,’ ‘Peter Boatman,’ ‘Jacob Boatman,’ or the more local ‘Gerard
de la Barge,’ are all still familiar enough in an occupative sense, but
surnominally have been long extinct, with the exception of the

Coming to port, whether it were York, or Kingston, or Chester, or
London, we find ‘Adam le Waterman,’ or ‘Richard Waterbearer,’ or
‘William le Water-leder’ busy enough by the waterside.[429] The latter
term, however, was far the commonest in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. I have already mentioned the sense of ‘lead’ at this time,
that of carrying. Piers Plowman, to quote but one more instance, says in
one place—

                       With Lumbardes letters
                       I ladde gold to Rome,
                       And took it by tale there.

In the York Pageant of 1415 we find two separate detachments of these
water-leaders in procession, one in conjunction with the bakers, the
other with the cooks. It would be doubtless these two classes of
shopkeepers their duties of carrying stores, especially flour, to and
from the different vessels would bring them in contact with most. Our
‘Leaders,’ ‘Leeders,’ ‘Leders,’ and ‘Loders’ are either the more general
carrier or an abbreviated form of the above.[430] ‘Gager,’ though rarely
met with now, is a descendant of ‘William le Gageour,’ or ‘Alexander le
Gauger,’ or ‘Henry le Gaugeour,’ of many a mediæval record. His office
was to attend to the King’s revenue at our seaports, and though not
strictly so confined, yet his duties were all but entirely concerned in
the measurement of liquids, such as oil, wine, honey.[431] The tun, the
pipe, the tierce, the puncheon, casks and barrels of a specified
size—these came under his immediate supervision, and the royal fee was
accordingly. Such a name as ‘Josceus le Peisur,’ now found as ‘Poyser’
or ‘Henry le Waiur,’ that is, ‘Weigher,’[432] met with now also in the
form of ‘Weightman,’ represented the passage of more solid merchandise.
The old form of ‘poise’ was ‘peise.’ Piers Plowman makes Covetousness to

                        I lerned among Lumbardes
                        And Jewes a lesson,
                        To weye pens with a peis,
                        And pare the heaviest.

Richard in ‘Richard the III.’ finely says—

           I’ll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
           Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow.
                                             (Act v. scene 3.)

With the above, therefore, we must associate our ‘Tollers,’ once
registered as ‘Bartholomew le Tollere’ or ‘Ralph le Toller,’ together
with our ‘Tolemans’ and ‘Tolmans,’ they who took the King’s levy at fair
and market—by the roadside and the wharf.[433] Piers Plowman, in a list
of other decent folk, includes—

                        Taillours and tynkers,
                        And tollers in markettes,
                        Masons and mynours,
                        And many other crafts.

Cocke Lorelle is not so complimentary. He says—

           Then come two false towlers in nexte,
           He set them by pykers (thieves) of the beste.[434]

In concluding this chapter, and our survey of trade generally, it will
be necessary to the completion thereof that we should say a word or two
about the money trading of four hundred years ago or more. Banks,
bank-notes, bills of exchange, drafts to order—all these are as familiar
to the tongues of the nineteenth century as if the great car of commerce
had ever gone along on such greased and comfortable wheels. But I need
not say it is not so. Very little money in the present day is
practically coin. Our banks have it all. It was different with our
ancestors. As a rule it was stored up in some secret cupboard or chest.
Hence it is, as I have shown, the trade of ‘le Coffer’ and the office of
‘le Cofferer’ are so much thrust before our notice in surveying mediæval
records. Still, trading in money was largely carried on, so far, at any
rate, as loans were concerned. The Jew, true to his national precedents,
was then, I need not say, the pawnbroker of Europe, and as his disciple,
the Lumbard soon bid fair to outstrip his master. Under the Plantagenet
dynasty both found a prosperous field for their peculiar business in
England, and, as I have elsewhere said, Lombard Street[435] to this day
is a memorial of the settlement of the latter. In such uncertain and
changeful times as these, kings, and in their train courtiers and
nobles, soon learnt the art, not difficult in initiation, of pawning
jewels and lands for coin. The Malvern Dreamer speaks familiarly of

                      I have lent lordes
                      And ladies my chaffare,
                      And been their brocour after,
                      And bought it myselve;
                      Eschaunges and chevysaunces
                      With such cheffare I dele.

This species of commerce is early marked by such names as ‘Henry le
Chaunger’ or ‘Adam le Chevestier,’[436] while still better-known terms
are brought to our notice by entries like ‘John le Banckere,’ ‘Roger le
Bencher,’ ‘Thomas le Brokur,’ or ‘Simon le Brokour.’ Holinshed, in the
form of ‘brogger,’ has the latter to denote one who negotiated for coin.
As ‘Broggers,’ too, we met them in the York Pageant. There, probably,
they would transact much of the business carried on between ourselves
and the Dutch in the shipping off of fleeces, or the introduction of the
cloth again from the Flemish manufacturers.[437] The pawnbroker of
modern days, dealing in petty articles of ware, was evidently an unknown
personage at the date we are considering. The first distinctive notice
of him I can light upon is in the ‘Statutes of the Realm’ of the Stuart
period. It will be there found that (chapter xxi.) James I., speaking of
the change from the old broker into the more modern pawnbroker, refers
to the former as one who went ‘betweene Merchant Englishe and Merchant
Strangers, and Tradesmen in the contrivinge, makinge and concluding
Bargaines and Contractes to be made betweene them concerning their wares
and merchandises,’ and then adds that he ‘never of any ancient tyme used
to buy and sell garments, household stuffe, or to take pawnes and bills
of sale of garments and apparele, and all things that come to hand for
money, laide out and lent upon usury, or to keepe open shoppes, and to
make open shewes, and open trade, as now of late yeeres hathe and is
used by a number of citizens, etc.’


                    APPENDIX TO CHAPTERS IV. AND V.

It will perchance help to familiarize the reader with the manner in
which the occupative names contained in the two preceding chapters
arose, if I transcribe several lists of tradesmen which have come across
my notice while engaged in the work of collecting surnames for my index.
The first is found in most of the Yorkshire County Histories, and is a
record of the order of the Pageant for the City of York in 1415. The
second is the order of the Procession of the Craftsmen and Companies of
Norwich from the Common Hall in 1533. This list will be found in
Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ vol. ii. p. 148. The third is the order of the
Chester Play, inaugurated 1339, and discontinued 1574. This list will be
found in Ormerod’s ‘Cheshire,’ vol. i. p. 300. These records possess an
intrinsic value, apart from other matters, as proving to the reader the
leading position which these several cities held as centres of industry
in the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. The
last list I would furnish is that met with in the quaint poem entitled
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ published about the beginning of the reign of
Henry VIII., and purporting to give a list of the tradesmen and
manufacturers of the metropolis at that time. I have quoted merely the
portion that concerns my purpose, and it is taken from the edition
published by the Percy Society. Though not perfect, that edition is
undoubtedly the best.


_The Order for the Pageants of the Play of_ Corpus Christi, _in the time
    of the Mayoralty of_ William Alne, _in the third Year of the Reign
    of King_ Henry V. Anno 1415, _compiled by_ Roger Burton, _Town

    Wevers of Wolle.
    Porters, 8 torches.
    Coblers, 4 torches.
    Cordwaners, 14 torches.
    Carpenters, 6 torches.
    Chaloners, 4 torches.
    Fullers, 4 torches.
    Cottellers, 2 torches.
    Wevers, torches.
    Girdellers, torches.
    Taillyoures, torches.

It is ordained that the _Porters_ and _Coblers_ should go first; then,
of the Right, the _Wevers_ and _Cordwaners_; on the Left, the _Fullors_,
_Cutlers_, _Girdellers_, _Chaloners_, _Carpenters_, and _Taillyoures_;
then the better sort of Citizens; and after the Twenty-four, the Twelve,
the Mayor, and four Torches of Mr. _Thomas Buckton_.


_The Order of the Procession of the Occupations, Crafts, or Companies
    (Norwich) to be made on Corpus Christi Day, from the Common Hall._
    (1533 A.D.)

1. The Company of Masons, Tilers, Limeburners, and Smiths.

2. The Carpenters, Gravours, Joiners, Sawers, Seivemakers, Wheelwrights,
    Fletchers, Bowers, and Turners.

3. The Reders, Thaxters, Rede-sellers, Cleymen, and Carriers.

4. The Butchers, Glovers, and Parchment-makers.

5. The Tanners.

6. The Cordwaners, Coblers, Curriers, and Collarmakers.

7. The Shermen, Fullers, Woolen and Linnen Weavers, and Wool-chapmen.

8. The Coverlet-weavers, Darnick-weavers, and Girdlers.

9. The Combers, Tinmen.

10. The Vintners, Bakers, Brewers, Inn-keepers, Tiplers, Coopers, and

11. The Fishmongers, Freshwater-fishers, and Keelmen.

12. The Waxchandlers, Barbers, and Surgeons.

13. The Cappers, Hatters, Bagmakers, Paintmakers, Wier-drawers and

14. The Pewterers, Brasiers, Plombers, Bellfounders, Glaziers, Steynors.

15. The Tailors, Broiderers, Hosiers, and Skinners.

16. The Goldsmiths, Diers, Calanderers, and Sadlers.

17. The Worsted-weavers and Irlonderes.

18. The Grocers and Raffmen.

19. The Mercers, Drapers, Scriveners, and Hardwaremen.

20. The Parish Clerks and Sextons, with their bannerwayts, and

                                Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ vol. ii. p. 148.


The Chester Play was inaugurated 1339. The following trades, guilds, and
companies took part in it:—

                              FIRST LIST.

1. The Barkers and Tanners.

2. Drapers and Hosiers.

3. Drawers of Dee and Water Leaders.

4. Barbers, Waxchandlers, Leeches.

5. Cappers, Wyerdrawers, Pynners.

6. Wrightes, Slaters, Tylers, Daubers, Thatchers.

7. Paynters, Brotherers (i.e. embroiderers), Glasiers.

8. Vintners and Marchants.

9. Mercers, Spicers.

                              SECOND LIST.

1. Gouldsmithes, Masons.

2. Smiths, Forbers, Pewterers.

3. Butchers.

4. Glovers, Parchment-makers.

5. Corvesters and Shoemakers.

6. Bakers, Mylners.

7. Boyeres, Flechers, Stringeres, Cowpers, Turners.

8. Irnemongers, Ropers.

9. Cookes, Tapsters, Hostlers, Inkeapers.

                              THIRD LIST.

1. Skinners, Cardemakers, Hatters, Poynters, Girdlers.

2. Sadlers, Fusters.

3. Taylors.

4. Fishmongers.

5. Sheremen.

6. Hewsters and Bellfounders.

7. Weavers and Walkers.

The last procession occurred in 1574.

                                   Ormerod’s ‘Cheshire,’ vol. i. p. 300.


                 _Extract from ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote._’

    The fyrst was goldesmythes and grote clyppers:
    Multyplyers and clothe thyckers:
    Called fullers everychone:
    There is taylers, taverners, and drapers:
    Potycaryes, ale-brewers, and bakers:
    Mercers, fletchers, and sporyers:
    Boke-prynters, peynters, bowers:
    Myllers, carters, and botylemakers:
    Waxechaundelers, clothers, and grocers:
    Wollemen, vynteners, and flesshemongers:
    Salters, jowelers, and habardashers:
    Drovers, cokes, and pulters:
    Yermongers, pybakers, and waferers:
    Fruyters, chesemongers, and mynstrelles:
    Talowe chaundelers, hostelers, and glovers:
    Owchers, skynners, and cutlers:
    Bladesmythes, fosters, and sadelers:
    Coryers, cordwayners, and cobelers:
    Gyrdelers, forborers, and webbers:
    Quyltemakers, shermen, and armorers:
    Borlers, tapestry-worke-makers, and dyers:
    Brouderers, strayners, and carpyte-makers:
    Sponers, torners, and hatters:
    Lyne-webbers, setters, with lyne-drapers:
    Roke-makers, copersmythes, and lorymers:
    Brydel-bytters, blackesmythes, and ferrars:
    Bokell-smythes, horseleches, and goldbeters:
    Fyners, plommers, and peuters:
    Bedmakers, fedbedmakers, and wyre-drawers:
    Founders, laten workers, and broche-makers:
    Pavyers, bell-makers, and brasyers:
    Pynners, nedelers, and glasyers:
    Bokeler-makers, dyers, and lether-sellers:
    Whyte-tanners, galyors, and shethers:
    Masones, male-makers, and merbelers:
    Tylers, bryck-leyers, harde-hewers:
    Parys-plasterers, daubers, and lymeborners:
    Carpenters, coupers, and joyners:
    Pype-makers, wode-mongers, and orgyn-makers:
    Coferers, carde-makers, and carvers:
    Shyppe-wrightes, whele-wrights, and sowers:
    Harpe-makers, leches, and upholsters:
    Porters, fesycyens, and corsers:
    Parchemente-makers, skynners, and plowers:
    Barbers, bokebynders, and lymners:
    Repers, faners, and horners:
    Pouche-makers, below-farmes, cagesellers:
    Lanterners, stryngers, grynders:
    Arowe-heders, maltemen, and corne-mongers:
    Balancers, tynne-casters, and skryveners:
    Stacyoners, vestyment-swoers, and ymagers:
    Sylke-women, pursers, and garnysshers:
    Table-makers, sylkedyers, and shepsters:
    Goldesheares, keverchef, launds, and rebone makers:
    Tankarde-berers, bougemen, and spereplaners:
    Spynsters, carders, and cappeknytters:
    Sargeauntes, katche-pollys, and somners:
    Carryers, carters, and horsekepers:
    Courte-holders, bayles, and honters:
    Constables, hede-borowes, and katers:
    Butlers, sterchers, and mustarde-makers:
    Hardewaremen, mole-sekers, and ratte-takers:
    Bewardes, brycke-borners, and canel-rakers:
    Potters, brome-sellers, pedelers:
    Shepherds, coweherdes, and swyne-kepers:
    Broche-makers, glas-blowers, candelstycke-casts:
    Hedgers, dykers, and mowers:
    Gonners, maryners, and shypmasters:
    Chymney-swepers and costerde-mongers:
    Lodemen and bere-brewers:
    Fysshers of the sea and muskel-takers.


                              CHAPTER VI.


If we may trust the accredited origin of the term nickname—viz., that it
is prosthetically put for ‘an ekename,’ that is, an added name—it may
seem somewhat inconsistent to entitle a special branch of my book by
that which in reality embraces the whole. But I do not think I shall be
misunderstood, since, whatever be the original meaning intended, the
word has now so thoroughly settled down into its present sphere of
verbal usefulness that it would be a matter of still more lengthened
explanation if I were to put it in its more pretentious and literal
sense. By ‘nickname,’ in this chapter, at any rate, I intend to take in
all those fortuitous and accidental sobriquets which, once expressive of
peculiar and individual characteristics, have survived the age in which
they sprang, and now preserved only in the lumber-room of our
directories, may be brought forth once more wherever they help to throw
a brighter light upon the decayed memorials of a bygone era. It will be
seen at a glance that it is no easy task that of assorting a large body
of nondescript and unclassed terms, but I will do my best under pleaded

We are not without traces of this special kind of sobriquets even in the
early days before the Norman Conquest was dreamt or thought of. I have
already instanced the Venerable Bede as speaking of two missionaries
who, both bearing the name of Hewald, were distinguished by the surnames
of ‘White’ and ‘Black,’ on account of their hair partaking of those
respective hues. In the ninth century, too, Ethelred, Earl of the Gaini,
was styled the ‘Mucel’ or ‘Mickle’—‘eo quod erat corpore magnus et
prudentiâ grandis.’ With the incoming of the Normans, however, came a
great change. The burlesque was part of their nature. A vein for the
ludicrous was speedily acquired. It spread in every rank and grade of
society. The Saxon himself was touched with the contagion, ere yet the
southern blood was infused into his veins. Equally among the high and
the low did such sobriquets as ‘le Bastard,’ ‘le Rouse,’ ‘le Beauclerk,’
‘le Grisegonel’ (Greycloke), ‘Plantagenet,’ ‘Sansterre,’ and ‘Cœur de
lion’ find favour. But it did not stay here; the more ridiculous and
absurd characteristics became the butt of attack. In a day when
buffoonery had become a profession, when every roughly-sketched drawing
was a caricature, every story a record of licentious adventure, it could
not be otherwise. The only wonderment is the tame acquiescence on the
part of the stigmatized bearer. To us now-a-days, to be termed amongst
our fellows ‘Richard the Crookbacked,’ ‘William Blackinthemouth,’
‘Thomas the Pennyfather’ (that is, the Miser), or ‘Thomas Wrangeservice’
(the opposite of Walter Scott’s ‘Andrew Fairservice’), would be looked
upon as mere wanton insult. But it was then far different. The times, as
I have said, were rougher and coarser, and the delicacy of feeling which
would have shrunk from so addressing those with whom we had to deal, or
from making them the object of our banter, would have been perfectly
misunderstood. Apart from this, too, the bearer, after all, had little
to do with the question. He did not give himself the nickname he
received it; pleasant or unpleasant, as he had no voice in the
acquisition, so had he none in its retention. There was nothing for it
but good-tempered acquiescence. We know to this very day how difficult
was the task of getting rid of our school nicknames, how they clung to
us from the unhappy hour in which some sharp-witted, quick, discerning
youngster found out our weak part, and dubbed us by a sobriquet, which,
while it perhaps exaggerated the characteristic to which it had
reference, had the effect which a hundred admonitions from paternal or
magisterial head-quarters had not, to make us see our folly and mend our
ways. None the less, however, did the affix remain, and this was our
punishment. How often, when in after years we come accidentally across
some quondam schoolfellow, each staring strangely at the other’s grizzly
beard or beetled brow, the old sobriquet will crop up to the lips, and
in the very naturalness with which the expression is uttered all the
separation of years of thought and feeling is forgotten, and we are
instantly back to the old days and the old haunts, and pell-mell in the
thick of old boyish scrapes again. Yet perchance these names were
offensive. But they have wholly lost their force. We had ceased to feel
hurt by them long before we parted in early days. See how this, too, is
illustrated in the present day in the names of certain sects and
parties. We talk calmly of ‘Capuchins,’ ‘Quakers,’ ‘Ranters,’ ‘Whigs’
and ‘Tories,’ and yet some of these taken literally are offensive
enough, especially the political ones. But, as we know, all that
attached to them of odium has long ago become clouded, obscured, and
forgotten, and now they are the accepted, nay, proudly owned, titles of
the party they represent. Were it not for this we might be puzzled to
conceive why in these early times such a name as ‘le Bonde,’ significant
of nothing but personal servitude and galling oppression, was allowed to
remain. That ‘le Free’ and ‘le Freman’ and ‘le Franch-homme’ should
survive the ravages of time is natural enough. But with ‘Bond’ it is
different. It bespoke slavery. Yet it is one of our most familiar names
of to-day. How is this? The explanation is easy. The term was used to
denote personality, not position; the notion of condition was lost in
that of identity. It was just the same with sobriquets of a more
humorous and broad character, with nicknames in fact. The roughest
humour of those rough days is oftentimes found in these early records,
and the surnames which, putting complimentary and objectionable and
neutral together, belong to this day to this class, form still well-nigh
the largest proportion of our national nomenclature. There is something
indescribably odd, when we reflect about it, that the turn of a toe, the
twist of a leg, the length of a limb, the colour of a lock of hair, a
conceited look, a spiteful glance, a miserly habit of some in other
respects unknown and long-forgotten ancestor, should still five or six
centuries afterwards be unblushingly proclaimed to the world by the
immediate descendants therefrom. And yet so it is with our
‘Cruickshanks’ or ‘Whiteheads’ or ‘Meeks’ or ‘Proudmans;’ thus it is
with our ‘Longmans’ and ‘Shortmans,’ our ‘Biggs’ and ‘Littles,’ and the
endless others we shall speedily mention. Still these represent a better
class of surnames. As time wore on, and the nation became more refined,
there was an attempt made, successful in many instances, to throw off
the more objectionable of these names. Some were so utterly gross and
ribald as even in that day to sink into almost instant oblivion. Some, I
doubt not, never became hereditary at all.

In glancing briefly over a portion of these names we must endeavour to
affect some order. We might divide them into two classes merely,
physical and moral or mental peculiarities; but this would scarcely
suffice for distinction, as each would still be so large as to make us
feel ourselves to be in a labyrinth that had no outlet. Nor would these
two classes be sufficiently comprehensive? There would still be left a
large mass of sobriquets which could scarcely be placed with fitness in
either category: nicknames from Nature, nicknames from oaths, or
street-cries, or mottoes, or nicknames again in the shape of descriptive
compounds. Names from the animal kingdom, of course, could be set under
either a moral or physical head, as, in all cases, saving when they have
arisen from inn-signs or ensigns, they would be affixed on the owner for
some supposed affinity he bore in mind or body to the creature in
question. Still it will be easier to place them, as well as some others,
under a third and more miscellaneous category. These three divisions I
would again subdivide in the following fashion:—

I.—_Physical and External Peculiarities._

    (1) Nicknames from peculiarities of relationship, condition, age,
        size, shape, and capacity.

    (2) Nicknames from peculiarities of complexion.

    (3) Nicknames from peculiarities of dress and its accoutrements.

II.—_Mental and Moral Peculiarities._

    (1) Nicknames from peculiarities of disposition—_complimentary_.

    (2) Nicknames from peculiarities of disposition—_objectionable_.


    (1) Nicknames from the animal and vegetable kingdom.

    (2) Descriptive compounds affixed as nicknames.[438]

    (3) Nicknames from oaths, street-cries, and mottoes.


   (1) _Nicknames from Peculiarities of Relationship, Age, Size, and

(_a_) _Relationship._—There is scarcely any position in which one man
can stand to another which is not found recorded pure and simple in the
surnames of to-day. The manner in which these arose was natural enough.
We still talk of ‘John Smith, Senior,’ and ‘John Smith, Junior,’ when we
require a distinction to be made between two of the same name. So it was
then, only the practice was carried further. I find, for instance, in
one simple record, the following insertions:—‘John Darcy le fiz,’ ‘John
Darcy le frere,’ ‘John Darcy le unkle,’ ‘John Darcy le cosyn,’ ‘John
Darcy le nevue,’ and ‘John Darcy, junior.’ How easy would it be for
those in whose immediate community these different representatives of
the one same name lived to style each by his term of relationship, and
for this, once familiarised, to become his surname. ‘Uncle,’[439] once
found as ‘Robert le Unkle,’ or ‘John le Uncle,’ is now quite obsolete, I
think; but the pretty old Saxon ‘Eame’ abides hale and hearty in our
numberless ‘Eames,’ ‘Ames,’ ‘Emes,’ and ‘Yeames.’ We find it used in the
‘Townley Mysteries.’ In one of them Rebecca tells Jacob he must flee for
fear of Esau—

               _Jacob._   Wheder-ward shuld I go, dame?

               _Rebecca._ To Mesopotameam
                       To my brother and thyne _eme_,
                       That dwellys beside Jordan streme.

The ‘Promp. Par.’ defines a _cozen_ to be an ‘emys son,’ and it is from
him, no doubt, our many ‘Cousens,’ ‘Cousins,’ ‘Couzens,’ and ‘Cozens’
have sprung, descended as they are from ‘Richard le Cusyn’ (A.), or
‘John le Cosyn’ (G.), or ‘Thomas le Cozun’ (E.). ‘Kinsman’ (‘John
Kynnesman,’ Z.Z.) may be of the same degree. ‘Widowson’ (‘William le
Wedweson,’ R., ‘Simon fil. Vidue,’ A.[440]) is apparently the same as
the once existing ‘Faderless’ (‘John Faderless,’ M.),[441] while
‘Brotherson’ and ‘Sisterson’ (‘Jacob Systerson,’ W. 3) seem to be but
old-fashioned phrases for a nephew, in which case they are but
synonymous with the Norman ‘Nephew,’ ‘Neve,’ ‘Neave,’ or ‘Neaves;’ all
these forms being familiar to our directories, and descendants of
‘Reyner le Neve’ (A.), or ‘Richard le Nevu’ (E.), or ‘Robert le Neave’
(Z.). Capgrave, giving the descent of Eber, says: ‘In this yere (anno
2509) Sala begat Heber; and of this Eber, as auctouris say, came the
people Hebrak, for Heber was _neve_ unto Sem.’ Thus again, the Saxon
‘Arnold le Fader’ was met by the Norman ‘John Parent,’ and the still
more foreign ‘Ralph le Padre,’ while ‘William le Brother’ found his
counterpart in ‘Geoffrey le Freer,’ or ‘Frere;’ but as in so many cases
this latter must be a relic of the old freere or friar, we had better
refer it, perhaps, to that more spiritual relationship.[442]

(_b_) _Condition._—We have still traces in our midst of sobriquets
relating to the poverty or wealth of the original bearer. Our ‘Poores,’
often found as ‘Powers,’ are descended from the ‘Roger le Poveres,’ or
‘Robert le Poors,’ of the thirteenth century, while our ‘Riches’ are set
down at the same period as ‘Swanus le Riche’ or ‘Gervase le Riche.’ Of
several kindred surnames we may mention a ‘John le Nedyman,’ now
obsolete, and an ‘Elyas le Diveys,’ which, in the more Biblical form of
Dives, still exists in the metropolis. It is somewhat remarkable that we
should have the Jewish ‘Lazarus’ also, and that this too should have
arisen in not a few instances from the fact that its first possessor was
a leper. ‘Nicholas le Lepere’ and ‘Walter le Lepper’ speak for
themselves. With the above we may ally our early ‘Robert le Ragiddes’
and ‘Thomas le Raggedes,’ which remind us that our vagabonds, if not our
‘Raggs’ and ‘Raggetts,’ are of no modern extraction, but come of a very
old family indeed! ‘Half-naked,’ I unhesitatingly at first set down as
one of this class, but it is local.[443]

(_c_) _Age, Size, Shape, Capacity._—This class is very large, and
embraces every possible, and well-nigh impossible feature of human life.
A glance over our old records, and we can almost at once find ‘Lusty’
and ‘Strong,’ ‘Long’ and ‘Short,’ ‘Bigg’[444] and ‘Little,’ ‘High’ and
‘Lowe’ (both perchance local), ‘Large’ and ‘Small,’ ‘Thick’ and ‘Thin,’
‘Slight’ and ‘Round,’ ‘Lean’ and ‘Fatt,’ ‘Megre’ and ‘Stout,’[445]
‘Ould’ and ‘Young,’ and ‘Light’ and ‘Heavy.’ Was this not sufficient?
Were there several in the same community who could boast similarity in
respect to one or other of these varieties? Then we got ‘Stronger,’
‘Shorter,’ ‘Younger,’[446] ‘Littler,’ ‘Least,’[447] ‘Senior,’ ‘Junior,’
and in some cases ‘Elder.’ Some of these are of course Norman; but when
Saxon occur we can all but invariably find the Norman equivalent. Thus,
if ‘Large’ be Saxon, ‘Gros’ (now ‘Grose’ and ‘Gross’) is Norman; if
‘Bigge’ be Saxon, ‘Graunt’ or ‘Grant’ or ‘Grand’ is Norman;[448] if
‘Small’ be Saxon, ‘Pettitt’ or ‘Pettye’ or ‘Petty’ or ‘Peat’ is Norman.
Thus again, ‘Lowe’ meets face to face with ‘Bas’ or ‘Bass,’ ‘Short’ with
‘Curt,’ ‘Fatte’ with ‘Gras’ or ‘Grass’ or ‘Grace,’[449] ‘Strong’ with
‘Fort,’ ‘Ould’ with ‘Viele,’ ‘Twist’ with ‘Tort,’ and ‘Young’ or ‘Yonge’
with ‘Jeune.’ Sometimes the termination ‘_man_’ is added, as in
‘Strongman,’ ‘Longman,’ ‘Smallman,’ ‘Oldman,’ and ‘Youngman,’ or if a
woman, _dame_, as in such a case as ‘Matilda Lenedame,’ which as a
surname died probably with its owner. Sometimes, again, we have the
older and more antique form, as in ‘Smale’ and ‘Smaleman,’ that is,
small; ‘Yonge’ and ‘Yongeman,’ that is, young; and ‘Lyte’ and ‘Lyteman,’
that is, little; ‘Wight’ and ‘Wightman,’ now obsolete in our general
vocabulary, referred to personal strength and activity. In the ‘Vision
of Piers Plowman,’ one of the sons of ‘Sire Inwit’ is described as

                        A wight man of strength.

‘Manikin,’ found at the same period, needs no explanation.[450]

Of the less general we have well-nigh numberless illustrations. It is
only when we come to look at our nomenclature we find out how many
separate limbs, joints, and muscles we individually possess, and by what
a variety of terms they severally went in earlier days. No treatise of
anatomy can be more precise in regard to this than our directories. Some
prominence or other peculiarity about the head or face has given us our
‘Chins,’ ‘Chekes,’ or ‘Cheeks,’ and ‘Jowles,’ or ‘Joules.’ We are all
familiar with the protruding fangs of our friend ‘Jowler’ of the canine
community. Thus even here also we must place ‘cheek by jowl.’
‘Glossycheek’ (‘Bertholomew Gloscheke,’ A.) once existed, but is
obsolete now. The same is true in respect of ‘Duredent’ (‘Walter
Duredent,’ E.), or ‘Dent-de-fer,’ _i.e._, ‘Irontoothed’ (‘Robert
Dent-de-fer,’ E.), which spoke well no doubt for the masticatory powers
of its owner. ‘Merrymouth’ (‘Richard Merymouth,’ X.) would be a standing
testimony to its possessor’s good humour. It is decidedly more
acceptable than ‘Dogmow’[451] (‘Arnulph Dogmow,’ A.) or ‘Calvesmawe’
(‘Robert Calvesmaghe,’ M.), recorded at the same period. Sweetmouth’
(‘Robert Swetemouth,’ D.) also speaks for the sentiment of the times. In
modern days, at least, the eye is supposed to be one of the chief points
of personal identity. I only find one or two instances, however, where
this feature has given the sobriquet in our mediæval rolls. In the
‘Calendarium Genealogicum’ a ‘Robertus Niger-oculus,’ or ‘Robert
Blackeye,’ is set down as having been ‘pro felonia suspensus.’ We are
reminded in his name of the ‘Blackeyed Susan’ of later days, but whether
Nature had given him the said hue or some pugilistic encounter I cannot
say. Judging by his antecedents, so far as the above Latin sentence
betrays them, the latter would seem to be the more likely origin.[452]
‘William le Blynd,’ or ‘Ralph le Blinde,’ speak for themselves.[453] The
‘Saxon Head,’ in some cases local, doubtless, is still familiar to us.
Its more Norman ‘Tait’ fitly sits at present upon the archiepiscopal
throne of Canterbury. Grostete, one of which name was a distinguished
bishop of Lincoln in the fourteenth century, is now represented by
‘Greathead’ and ‘Broadhead’ only. Butler, in his ‘Hudibras,’ records it
in the more colloquial form of Grosted—

                   None a deeper knowledge boasted,
                   Since Hodge Bacon, and Bob Grosted.

The equally foreign ‘Belteste’ (‘John Beleteste,’ A.) is content,
likewise, to allow ‘Fairhead’ (‘Richard Faireheved,’ H.) to transmit to
posterity the claims of its early possessor to _capital_ grace.
‘Blackhead’[454] existed in the seventeenth, and ‘Hardhead’ in the
fifteenth century. These are all preferable, however, to ‘Lambshead’
(‘Agnes Lambesheved,’ A.), found some generations earlier, and still
firmly settled in our midst, as the ‘London Directory’ can vouch.[455]
So much for the head. ‘Neck’ and ‘Swire’ are both synonymous. Chaucer
describes Envy as ready to ‘scratch her face,’ or ‘rend her clothes,’ or
‘tear her swire,’[456] in respect of which latter feat we should now
more generally say ‘tear her hair.’ Either operation, however, would be
unpleasant enough, and it is just as well that for all practical
purposes it only occurs in poetry. Some characteristic of strength, or
beauty, or deformity (let us assume one of the former) has given us our
‘Hands,’ ‘Armes,’ and ‘Brass’s,’ from the old ‘Braz.’ ‘Finger,’ once
existing (‘Matilda Finger,’ H.), is now obsolete. Whether this sobriquet
was given on the same grounds as that bestowed on the redoubtable ‘Tom
Thumb,’ I cannot say. ‘Brazdifer’ (‘Simon Braz-de-fer,’ E., ‘Michael
Bras-de-fer,’ B.B.), arm of iron, once a renowned nom-de-plume, still
dwells, though obsolete in itself, in our ‘Strongithams’ and
‘Armstrongs.’[457] A common form of this North-country name was
‘Armstrang’ or ‘Armestrang’ (‘Adam le Armstrang,’ G.), reminding us that
our ‘Strangs’ are but the fellows of our more southern ‘Strongs’ (‘John
le Strang,’ E., ‘Joscelin le Strong,’ H.). ‘Lang’[458] and ‘Long’
represent a similar difference of pronunciation. The ‘Armstrongs’ were a
great Border clan. Mr. Lower reminds me of the following lines:—

                   Ye need not go to Liddisdale,
                   For when they see the blazing bale
                   Elliots and Armstrongs never fail.
                        (_Lay of the Last Minstrel._)

Another and more foreign form of this sobriquet, ‘Ferbas’ (‘Robert
Ferbras,’ M.), has come down to us in our somewhat curious-looking
‘Firebraces.’ Still earlier than any of these we find the sobriquet
‘Swartbrand.’ Thus we see the arm wielded a powerful influence over
names as well as people, no mere accident in a day when ‘might was
right.’ ‘Main,’ when not local, corresponds to the Saxon ‘Hand,’ and is
found in composition in such designations as ‘Blanchmains,’ that is,
white-hand, ‘Grauntmains,’ big-hand, ‘Tortesmain,’ twisted-hand,
‘Malemeyn,’ evil-hand, or perhaps maimed-hand, equivalent therefore to
‘Male-braunch’ (found at the same early date) in ‘Mainstrong,’ a mere
variation of ‘Armstrong,’ and in ‘Quarterman,’ scarcely recognisable in
such an English-like form as the Norman ‘Quatre-main,’ the four-handed.
In the reign of the second Richard it had become registered as
‘Quatremayn’ and ‘Quatreman,’ and the inversion of the two letters in
this latter case was of course inevitable.[459] ‘Brazdifer,’ I have
said, is extinct—not so, however, ‘Pedifer’ (‘Bernard Pedefer,’ G.,
‘Fulbert Pedefer,’ X.), that is, iron-footed, which, occurring from the
earliest times, still looks stout and hearty in its present guise of
‘Petifer,’ ‘Pettifer,’[460] and ‘Potiphar,’ though the last would seem
to claim for it a pedigree nearly as ancient as that of the Welshman
who, _half-way_ up his genealogical tree, had made the interesting note:
‘About this time Adam was born.’ Even this name, however, did not escape
translation, for we find an ‘Ironfoot’ (‘Peter Yrenefot,’ A.) recorded
at the same date as the above.[461] Our ‘Legges,’ our ‘Shanks’ and
‘Footes,’[462] are all familiar to us, though the first is in most cases
undoubtedly local, as being but an olden form of ‘Leigh.’[463] We all
remember the inimitable couplet placed over the memorial to Samuel
Foote, the comedian—

         Here lies one _Foote_, whose death may thousands save,
         For death has now one _foot_ within the grave.

‘Jambe’ was the Norman synonym of ‘Shank,’ and by way of more definite
distinction we light upon the somewhat flattering ‘Bellejambe,’ the
equally unflattering ‘Foljambe,’ the doubtful ‘Greyshank,’[464] the
historic ‘Longshank,’ the hapless ‘Cruikshank’ or ‘Bowshank,’[465] the
decidedly uncomplimentary ‘Sheepshank,’ and, last and worst,
‘Pelkeshank,’ seemingly intended to be ‘Pelican-shanked,’ which, when we
recall the peculiar disproportion of that bird’s extremities to the rest
of its body, affords ample reason for the absence of that sobriquet in
our more modern rolls. Some fifty years ago a certain Mr. Sheepshanks,
of Jesus College, Cambridge, while undergoing an examination in Juvenal,
pronounced ‘satire’ ‘satyr.’ A wag, thereupon, wrote the following
epigram, which soon found its way through the University:—

       The satyrs of old were satyrs of note,
       With the head of a man, they’d the shanks of a goat:
       But the satyr of Jesus all satyrs surpasses,
       Whilst his _shanks_ are a _sheep’s_, his head is an ass’s.

Swiftness of foot was not allowed to go unrecorded, and we have an
interesting instance of the way in which this class of surnames arose
from an entry recorded in the ‘Issues of the Exchequer.’ There we find a
‘Ralph Swyft’ mentioned as _courier_ to Edward III. Nothing could be
more natural than for such a sobriquet to become affixed to a man
fulfilling an office like this, requiring, as it did at times, all the
running and riding powers of which he could be capable.[466] Other
memorials of former agility in this respect are still preserved in our
‘Golightlys’[467] and ‘Lightfoots,’ while of still earlier date, and
more poetical form, we may instance ‘Harefoot’ and ‘Roefoot.’ These,
however, are altogether inexpressive in comparison with such a sobriquet
as ‘Scherewind’ or ‘Shearwind,’ which seems to have been a familiar
expression at this time, for I find it recorded in three several rolls.
It is strange, and yet not strange, that every peculiarity that can mark
the human gait is distinctly preserved in our nomenclature. ‘Isabel
Stradling’ or ‘William Stradling’ represent the _straddle_; ‘Thomas le
Ambler’ or ‘Ralph le Ambuler’ (when not occupative), the _amble_; our
‘Shailers,’ ‘Shaylors,’ and ‘Shaylers,’ the _shuffle_; ‘Robert le
Liltere,’ the _hop_; our ‘Scamblers’ and ‘Shamblers,’ the weak-kneed
_shamble_; ‘Ralph le Todeler,’ the _toddle_; and ‘Samuel Trotman’ or
‘Richard Trotter’ (when not occupative), the _trot_, if that be possible
on two legs. Besides these, we may mention the obsolete ‘Thomas
Petitpas’ or ‘John Petypase,’ ‘William Noblepas,’ and ‘Malpas,’ which we
might Saxonize into ‘Short-step,’ ‘High-step,’ and ‘Bad-step.’
‘Christiana Lameman’ and ‘William Laymeman’ remind us of more pitiable
weaknesses. ‘Barefoot’ may have been the designation of some one under
penitential routine, unless it be a corruption of ‘Bearfoot.’
‘Proudfoot’ and ‘Platfoot’ (plat = flat) need no comment, while
‘Sikelfoot,’ found by Mr. Lower as existing in the thirteenth century,
seems, as he says, to bespeak a splayed appearance or outward
twist.[468] If this be so, the owner was not alone in his distress. We
have just mentioned ‘Cruikshank.’ Our ‘Crooks’ are, I doubt not, of
similar origin, and another compound of the same, now obsolete, was
‘Crookbone’ (‘Henry Crokebane,’ A.). Our ‘Crumps’ are but relics of the
old ‘Richard le Crumpe’ or ‘Hugh le Crump,’ the crookbacked, and perhaps
our ‘Cramps’ and ‘Crimps’ are but changes rung on the same. Our nursery
literature still preserves the story of the ‘cow with the crumpled
horn.’ Thus, also, was it with our ‘Cams,’ once ‘William le Cam.’ As a
Celtic stream-name, denoting a winding course, it has survived the
aggressions of Saxon and Norman, and is still familiar. Cambridge and
Camford are on two different streams of this name. In the north a man is
still said to ‘cam his shoe’ who wears it down on one side. I have heard
the phrase often among the poorer classes of Lancashire. ‘Camoys’ or
‘Camuse,’ from the same root, was generally applied to the nasal organ.
In the description of the Miller, which I shall have occasion to quote
again shortly, Chaucer says—

              A Sheffield thwitel bare he in his hose,
              Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.

As, however, I find both ‘John le Camoys’ and ‘Reginald de Camoys,’ it
is only a fair presumption that in some cases it is of Norman local
origin. With one of our leading families it is undoubtedly so. The two
great clans of ‘Cameron’ and ‘Campbell,’ I may say in passing, though
treading upon Scottish soil, are said to mean severally ‘crook-nosed’
and ‘crook-mouthed.’ If this be so, we may see how firmly has this
little word imbedded itself upon our nomenclature, if not upon our more
general vocabulary. Not to mention ‘Crypling,’ ‘Handless,’ and
‘Onehand,’[469] we find ‘Blind’ significative of blindness; ‘Daffe’ and
‘Daft,’ of deafness; ‘Mutter’ and ‘Stutter,’ not to say ‘Stuttard’ and
‘Stammer,’ of lisping speech; and ‘Dumbard,’ of utter incapacity in that
respect. Such a sobriquet as ‘Mad’[470] of course explains itself. As we
might well presume, this has not come down to us. Still less pleasant in
their associations are our ‘Burls’ (‘Henry le Burle,’ A.), that is,
blotch-skinned. But complimentary allusions to the smoothness of the
hands and face were not wanting. Apart from a touch of poetry, such
names as ‘Elizabeth Lyllywhite,’ now ‘Lilywhite;’ ‘William Beauflour,’
now spelt ‘Boutflower’ and ‘Buffler;’ and ‘Faith Blanchflower,’ still
existing also, are not without a certain prettiness. Of equally clear
complexion would be the obsolete ‘William Whiteflesh’ or ‘Gilbert
Whitehand’[471] or ‘Robert Blanchmains,’ not to mention our ‘Chits’ and
‘Chittys’ (‘John le Chit,’ A., ‘Agnes Chittye,’ Z.). We still talk in
our nurseries of a ‘little chit,’ a word which, though strictly speaking
confined to no age, had early become a pet name as applied to young
children. It is with these, therefore, we must ally our ‘Slicks,’ from
‘sleek,’ ‘smooth,’[472] ‘Sam Slick’ being by no means in possession of
an imaginary name. Chaucer says of ‘Idleness,’ in his Romance—

                  Her flesh tender as is a chicke
                  With bent browes; smooth and slicke.

It is astonishing how carefully will a sobriquet of an undoubtedly
complimentary nature find itself preserved. Such a name as ‘Hugh le
Bell’ or ‘Richard le Bell’ is an instance in point.[473] While
objectionable designations, or even those of but equivocal character,
have been gradually shuffled off or barely allowed to survive, the mere
fact of this being at the present day one of the most familiar, and in
respect of sobriquet nomenclature the absolutely most common, of our
surnames, shows that the human heart is not altered by lapse of
generations, and that pride then, as now, wielded a powerful sceptre
over the minds of men. Our ‘Belhams’ represent but the fuller
‘Bellehomme’ (‘William Bellehomme,’ M.). Thus the two may be set against
our Saxon ‘Prettys’ and ‘Prettimans,’[474] though ‘pretty’ would
scarcely find itself so acceptable now, denoting as it does a style of
beauty rather too effeminate for the lords of creation. In the Hundred
Rolls occur ‘Matilda Winsome’ and ‘Alicia Welliking.’ Both these terms,
complimentary as they undoubtedly were, are now obsolete, so far as our
directories are concerned.

           (2) _Nicknames from Peculiarities of Complexion._

After all, however, it is, perhaps, complexion which has occupied for
itself the largest niche in our more general nomenclature. Nor is this
unnatural. It is still that which, in describing people, we seize upon
as the best means of recognition. Sobriquets of this kind were so
numerous, indeed, that there was no term in the vocabulary of the day
which could be used to denote the colour of the dress, the hair, or the
face, which did not find itself a place among our surnames.

It was the same with our beasts of burden or animals of the chase. In
these days their hides almost invariably furnished forth their current
designations. Thus we find the horse familiarly known by such titles as
‘Morell,’ from its moorish or swarthy tan, or ‘Lyard,’ that is,
dapple-grey, or ‘Bayard,’ bay, or ‘Favell,’ dun, or ‘Blank,’ white. The
dark hide of the ass got for it the sobriquet of ‘Dun,’ a term still
preserved in the old proverb, ‘As dull as Dun in the mire,’ while again
as ‘Burnell’ its browner aspect will be familiar to all readers of
Chaucer. Thus, also, the fox was known as ‘Russell,’ the bear as
‘Bruin,’ and the young hind, from its early indefinite red, ‘Sorrell.’
How natural that the same custom should have its effect upon human
nomenclature. How easy for a country community to create the distinction
between ‘John le Rouse’ and ‘John le Black,’ ‘William le Hore’ and
‘William le Sor’ or ‘Sorrell,’ if the complexion of the hair or face
were sufficiently distinctive to allow it. Some of these adjectives were
applied to human peculiarities of this kind till within recent times.
Burns uses ‘lyart’ for locks of iron grey, and Aubyn, in his ‘Lives,’
describes Butler, author of ‘Hudibras,’ as having ‘a head of sorrell
haire.’ We ourselves talk of ‘brunettes’ and ‘blondes,’ of ‘dark’ and
‘fair.’ Thus it was then such sobriquets as ‘Philip le Sor,’ ‘Adam le
Morell,’ ‘William le Favele’ or ‘Favell,’ ‘Walter le Bay’ or ‘Theobald
le Bayard,’ ‘Henry le Dun’ or ‘Thomas le Lyard,’ arose. Thus was it our
‘Rouses’ and ‘Russells,’ our ‘Brownes’[475] and ‘Brunes,’ with the
obsolete ‘Brunman,’ or ‘Brunells’ and ‘Burnells,’ our ‘Whites’ and
‘Whitemans,’ our ‘Hores’ and ‘Hoares,’ our ‘Greys’ and ‘Grissels’[476]
sprang into being. Nor are these all. Our ‘Reeds,’ ‘Reids,’ and ‘Reads’
are all but forms of the old ‘rede’ or red, once so pronounced;[477]
while ‘Redman,’ when not a descendant of ‘Adam’ or ‘Thomas de Redmayne,’
is the bequest of some ‘Robert’ or ‘John Redman’ of the thirteenth
century. Our ‘Swarts’ are but relics of the old ‘John le Swarte,’
applied no doubt to the tawny or sunburnt face of its original owner.
The word was in common use at this time. In ‘Guy of Warwick’ we are

                   His nek is greater than a bole,
                   His body is swarter than ani cole.

The darker-hued countenances of our forefathers are immortalised also in
such entries as ‘Reyner le Blake’ or ‘Stephen le Blak,’ now found as
‘Blake’ and ‘Black,’ or ‘Elias le Blakeman’ or ‘Henry Blacman,’ now
‘Blakeman’ and ‘Blackman’ respectively. ‘John le Blanc’ and ‘Warin
Blench’ find themselves in the nineteenth century supported by our
‘Blanks’ and ‘Blanches;’[478] while the descendants of such people as
‘Amabilla le Blund,’ or ‘Walter le Blunt,’ or ‘Reginald le Blond,’ or
‘Richard le Blount’ still preserve a memorial of their ancestry in such
familiar forms as ‘Blund,’ ‘Blunt,’ ‘Blond,’ and ‘Blount.’ ‘Blanket’ and
‘Blanchet,’ as fuller forms, we shall notice shortly, and ‘Blondin,’
‘Blundell,’ and the immortalised but mythic ‘Blondel’ are but changes
rung upon the others. Our ‘Fallows’ are but relics of the ‘Fales’ and
‘Falemans’ of the Hundred Rolls. The somewhat pallid yellow they
represented we still apply to park deer and untilled earth. We find it,
however, used more personally in the ‘Knight’s Tale,’ where it is said
of Arcite that he began to wax lean—

                 His eye hollow, and grisly to behold,
                 His hewe falew, and pale as ashen cold.

‘Scarlet’ doubtless was a sobriquet given, as may have been some of the
above, from the colour of the dress, this being a very popular
complexion of cloth in early days. Tripping it—

                     In skerlet kyrtells, every one,

would be a familiar and pretty sight, no doubt, as the village maidens
went round to the tune of the fife and tabor at the rural feast or
ingathering, nor would umbrage be taken at the title. Several ‘Blues’
are recorded in the more Norman-French form of ‘le Bleu.’ Whether they
still exist I am not quite sure, nor are we helped to any satisfactory
conclusion by the epitaph which Mr. Lower wisely italicises, when he
says _it is said_ to exist in a church in Berkshire—

                     Underneath this ancient pew
                     Lieth the body of Jonathan Blue.
           _N.B._—His name was ‘Black,’ but that wouldn’t do.

There may be more or less doubt as to the precise reference some of the
above-mentioned names bear to the physical peculiarities of their
owners, whether to the complexion of the face, or the hair, or, as I
have lately hinted, to the dress. But in many other cases there can be
no such controversy. For instance, no one can be in perplexity as to how
our ‘Downyheads,’ ‘Rufheads,’[479] ‘Hardheads,’ ‘Whiteheads,’
‘Redheads,’ ‘Flaxenheads,’[480] ‘Shavenheads,’ ‘Goldenheads,’
‘Weaselheads,’[481] ‘Coxheads’ or ‘Cocksheads,’ and ‘Greenheads’ arose,
many of which, now extinct, were evidently intended to be obnoxious. Nor
is there any greater difficulty in deciphering the meaning of such names
as ‘Whitelock’ or ‘Whitlock,’ ‘Silverlock’ or ‘Blacklock.’ ‘Shakelock’
seems to refer to some eccentricity on the part of the owner, unless it
be but a corruption of ‘Shacklock,’ a likely sobriquet for a gaoler,
from the fetterlocks, once so termed, which he was wont to employ—

          And bids his man bring out the fivefold twist,
          His shackles, shacklocks, hampers, gyves, and chains.

‘Whitehair,’[482] ‘Fairhair,’[483] and ‘Yalowhair,’ are equally
transparent. The latter was once a decidedly favourite hue, as I believe
it is still, only we now say ‘golden.’[484] With the gross flattery so
commonly resorted to by courtier historians, every princess was
described as having yellow tresses. How they allowed themselves to be so
cajoled is an equally historic mystery. Queen Elizabeth had more
obsequious adulation uttered to her face, and possessed a greater
stomach for it, than any other royal personage who ever sat upon or laid
claim to a crown, but nothing pleased her more than a compliment upon
her golden locks, carroty as they really were. In a description of
another Elizabeth, the Queen of Henry VII., as she appeared before her
coronation, 1487, quoted by Mr. Way, it is said that she wore ‘her faire
yellow hair hanging down pleyne behynd her back, with a calle of pipes
over it,’ and further back still, when Chaucer would describe the beauty
of Dame Gladness, he must needs finish off the portrayal by touching up
her locks with the popular hue—

                 Her hair was yellow, and clear shining,
                 I wot no lady so liking.

‘Yalowhair’ is obsolete, but in our ‘Fairfax’ is preserved a sobriquet
commemorative no doubt of the same favoured colour. In ‘Sir Gawayne’ we
are told, after the alliterative style of the day, how ‘_fair_ fanning
_fax_’ encircled the shoulders of the doughty warrior. In the ‘Townley
Mysteries,’ too, a demon is represented in one place as saying—

                      A horne, and a Dutch axe,
                        His sleeve must be flecked,
                      A syde head, and a fare fax,
                        His goune must be specked.

‘Beard,’ once entered as ‘Peter Wi’-the-berd,’ or ‘Hugo cum-Barbâ,’
still thrives in our midst; and even ‘Copperbeard,’ ‘Greybeard,’
‘Blackbeard,’[485] and ‘Whitebeard’ contrive to exist. ‘Redbeard’[486]
together with ‘Featherbeard,’ ‘Eaglebeard,’ ‘Wisebeard,’ and
‘Brownbeard,’[487] have long disappeared, and ‘Bluebeard,’ of whose
dread existence we were, as children, only too awfully assured, has also
left no descendants; but this, I fancy, we gather from his history.
‘Lovelock’ is a relic of the once familiar plaited and beribboned lock
which I have already alluded to, as having been familiarly worn by our
forefathers of the more exquisite type. To the same peculiar, if not
effeminate propensity, we owe, I doubt not, ‘Locke’ (‘Nicol Locke,’ A.)
itself, not to mention ‘Curl’ (‘Marcus Curle,’ Z.) and ‘Crisp’
(‘Reginald le Crispe,’ J.). The former of these two, however, seems to
denote the natural waviness, the latter the artificial production. In
the poem from which I have but just quoted we find the same hero
described as having his hair—

         Well crisped and cemmed (combed) with knots full many,

and a memorial of the fashion still lingers in the ‘crisping pins’ of
our present Bible version. In the Hundred Rolls appears the sobriquet of
‘Prikeavant.’ This, as Mr. Lower proves, lingered on till the close at
least of the seventeenth century, in the form of ‘Prick-advance.’[488] I
cannot agree with him, however, that it arose as a mere spur-expression.
I doubt not it is but the earlier form of the later ‘pickedevaunt,’ the
pointed or spiked beard so much in vogue in mediæval times. The word
occurs in the ‘Taming of a Shrew’—

              Boy, oh! disgrace to my person! Sounes, boy,
              Of your face! You have many boys with such
              Pickedevaunts, I am sure.

Nothing could be more natural than for such a custom as this to find
itself memorialised in our nomenclature. Exaggeration in the habit would
easily affix the name upon the wearer, and though not very euphonious as
a surname, the popularity of the usage would take from its
unpleasantness. This also will explain ‘Thomas Stykebeard,’ found in the
H.R. at this time. But let us turn for a moment to an opposite
peculiarity. Though we often talk of getting our heads polled, few, I
imagine, reflect that our ‘Pollards’ must have obtained their title from
their well-shorn appearance. It is with them, therefore, we must set our
‘Notts,’ ‘Notmans,’ and doubtless some of our ‘Knotts.’ The term ‘nott’
was evidently synonymous with ‘shorn,’ and to have a nothead was to have
the hair closely cut all round the head. It is still commonly done in
some parts of the country among the peasantry. Chaucer, describing the
‘Yeoman,’ says—

                A not-hed hadde he, with a browne visage.

Andrew Boorde, too, later on, writing of the ‘Mores whyche do dwel in
Barbary,’ says: ‘They have gret lyppes and nottyd heare, black and
curled.’[489] The name as a sobriquet is very common in the old
registers. Among other instances may be mentioned ‘Henry le Not’ and
‘Herbert le Notte’ in the ‘Placitorum’ at Westminster. Nature, however,
did for our ‘Callows’ what art had done for the latter. The term is
written ‘calewe’ with our earlier writers, and in this form is found as
a surname in 1313, one ‘Richard le Calewe,’ or bald-headed, occurring in
the Parliamentary Writs for that year. We still talk of fledgelings as
‘callow young.’ From its Latin root ‘calvus,’[490] and through the
French ‘chauve,’ we get also the early ‘John le Chauf,’ ‘Geoffrey le
Cauf,’ and ‘Richard le Chaufyn’—forms which still abide with us in our
‘Corfes’ and ‘Caffins.’ Our ‘Balls’ are manifestly sprung from some
‘Custance Balde’ or ‘Richard Bald.’ But there is yet one more name to be
mentioned in this category, that of ‘Peel’ or ‘Peile,’ descended, as it
doubtless is in many cases, from such folk as ‘Thomas le Pele’ or
‘William le Pyl.’

                    As pilled as an ape was his crown

is the not very complimentary description Chaucer gives of the Miller of
Trumpington. It is but the same word as occurs in our Authorised Version
of Ezekiel xxix. 18, where it is said: ‘Every head was made bald, and
every shoulder was peeled.’ In Isaiah xviii. 2, too, we read of a
‘nation scattered and peeled,’ the marginal reading being ‘outspread and
polished.’[491] Used as a surname, it seems to have denoted that glossy
smoothness, that utter guiltlessness of capillary protection which
belongs only to elderly gentlemen, and even then to but a few.[492]

It can be no matter of astonishment to us, when we reflect upon it, that
our nomenclature should owe so much to this one single specialty of the
human physique. The face is the mark of all recognition among men, and
how much of its character belongs to the simple appanage we have been
speaking of we may easily gather from the difference the slightest
change in the style of dressing or cutting it makes among those with
whom we are most familiar. Looking back at what has been recorded, what
a living proof they afford us of the truth of Horace Smith’s assertion
that surnames ‘ever go by contraries.’ The art of colouring may be
hereditary, but certainly not the dyes themselves. Who ever saw a
‘Whytehead’ who was not dark, or a ‘Blacklock’ who was not a blonde? Who
ever saw reddish hair on a ‘Russell,’ or a swarthy complexion on a
‘Morell’? How invariably does it happen that our ‘Lightfoots’ are gouty,
and our ‘Hales’ dyspeptic, our ‘Bigges’ are manikins, and our ‘Littles’
giants. Such are the tricks that Time plays with us. Recorded history
gives us the slow development of change in the habits and customs of
domestic life, but here we can compare the physical shifts of the family
itself. As history and everything else, however, are said to repeat
themselves, we may comfort or condole with, as the case may require,
those who, if this dictum, like the Pope’s, be infallible, shall some
time or other return to their primitive hues and original proportions.

     (3) _Nicknames from Peculiarities of Dress and Accoutrements._

An interesting peep into the minuter details of mediæval life is given
us in the case of names derived from costume and ensigncy, whether
peaceful or warlike. The colour of the cloth of which the dress was
composed seems to have furnished us with several surnames. For instance,
our ‘Burnets’ would seem to be associated with the fabric of a brown
mixture common at one period. Our great early poet, in describing
Avarice, says—

                   A mantle hung her faste by
                   Upon a benche weak and small,
                   A burnette cote hung there withall,
                   Furred with no minevere,
                   But with a furre rough of hair.

It was the same with our ‘Burrels’ (‘Roger Burell,’ J., ‘Robert Burell,’
R.), whom I have already had occasion to mention. So familiar was this
cloth that the poorer classes acquired from it the sobriquet of
‘borelfolk.’ This is only analogous to the French ‘grisette,’ from the
grey cheap stuff she usually wore. Our ‘Blankets’ (‘Robert Blanket,’ B.,
‘John Blanket,’ X.) or ‘Blanchets’ or ‘Plunkets,’[493] for all these
forms are found, are in the same way but relics of the time when the
colourless woollen mixture, called by all these names, was in everyday
demand, whether for dress or coverlet. A story has been spread abroad
that our woollen ‘blanket’ owes its origin to a man of that name, who
first manufactured it. Even otherwise well-informed writers have lent
themselves to the furtherance of this fable. ‘Blanket’ was originally
the name of a cheap woollen cloth, used for the apparel of the lower
orders, and so entitled from its pale and colourless hue, just as
_russet_ and _burrel_ were in vogue to express similar manufactures of
more decided colours. It was but the Norman form of the Saxon ‘whittle,’
once the household word for this fabric. Thus we find it occurring in an
old Act, already referred to, passed in 1363, to restrict the dress of
the peasantry:—All people not possessing 40 shillings’ worth of goods
and chattels ‘ne usent nule manere de drap, si noun blanket et russet,
laune de xii_d._,’ that is, shall not take nor wear any manner of cloth,
but blanket and russet wool of twelvepence. (_Stat. Realm_, vol. i. p.
381.) An old indenture of goods contains the following:—‘Item, 1 olde
Kendale gowne, and a hood of the same, pris ix_d._, the gowne lynyd with
white blanket.’ (_Mun. Acad. Oxon._, p. 566.) Both ‘Whittle’ and
‘Blanket’ are existing surnames. The reader will see from these
references alone that, whether in the case of the man or the
manufacture, it is the colour, or rather lack of colour, which has given
the sobriquet. Our ‘Greenmans,’ whether as surname or tavern sign, are
but sprung from the old forester—

                     Clad in cote and hode of grene,

of Lincoln or Kendal make. The ‘Greenman’ was a favourite rural
signboard, and I doubt not the reader will have seen it occasionally
swinging still in the more retired parts of the country. Crabbe knew it
well in his day—

              But the ‘Green Man’ shall I pass by unsung,
              Which mine own James upon his signpost hung?
              His sign, his image—for he once was seen
              A squire’s attendant, clad in keeper’s green.

Turning from the colour of the cloth to the garments into which it was
fashioned, nothing could be more natural to our forefathers than to take
off with a sobriquet the more whimsical aspects of dress indulged in by
particular individuals. Royalty itself did not escape. It was through
his introduction of a new fashion our second Henry got his nickname of
‘Curtmantel,’ and this was matched by ‘Capet’ and ‘Grisegonel’ across
the water. ‘Richard Curtepy’ reminds us of the poor clerk of whom
Chaucer says—

                Full thredbare was his overest courtepy,

that is, his cloak or gabardine. ‘Henry Curtmantle,’ just mentioned,
‘Martin Curtwallet,’ and ‘Robert Curthose’ (still existing in Derbyshire
in the more Saxon form of ‘Shorthose’),[494] satirise the introduction
of a curtailment in the general as ‘Reginald Curtbrant’ does in the more
military habit; ‘Richard Widehose’ and the Scotch ‘Macklehose,’ on the
other hand, suggesting a change of an opposite and more sailorlike
character. ‘Hose,’ itself a surname, is again found in composition in
‘Richard Goldhose,’ ‘Nicholas Strokehose,’ ‘John Scrothose’
(‘Scratchhose,’), and ‘Richard Letherhose;’ the latter still to be met
with in Germany as ‘Ledderhose.’ ‘Emma Wastehose,’ though now obsolete,
evidently bespoke the reckless habits of the wearer, while ‘John
Sprenhose’ (_i.e._, ‘Spurnhose’) seems to have declared its owner’s want
of appreciation of that article altogether. The old ‘paletoque’ or
doublet, a loose kind of frock often worn by priests, left itself a
memorial in ‘Thomas Pyletok,’ which is now extinct, but ‘Pylch’ (‘Symon
Pylche,’ A.), the maker of which has already been mentioned, remains
hale and hearty in our midst. ‘Mantel’ (‘Walter Mantel,’ L.) and
‘Fremantel’[495] are well established among us, the latter probably
owing its origin to the frieze-cloth which the Frieslander of the Low
Countries once manufactured out of our own wool. It is Latinized in our
records into ‘Hugh de Frigido-Mantello,’ and the cloth itself as
‘Frisius pannus.’[496] The herald’s tunic, barely covering the chest and
open from the shoulder downwards, gave us our ‘Tabards.’ It must have
had plenty of last in it, for Piers Plowman talks of—

                  A tawny tabard of twelf wynters age.

The variegated dress, much in favour then apparently, still survives in
our ‘Medlecote’ and ‘Medlicott.’[497] The stuffed doublet gave us
‘Thomas Gambeson,’ now perhaps ‘Gamson,’ while the short petticoat is
memorialised in ‘John Grenecurtel.’ ‘Alicia Caperon’ and ‘Thomas
Chaperoun’ are early found. The _chaperon_ was a hood by which the
entire face could be concealed if it were so desired. Taylor, in the
seventeenth century, mentions it as but recently out of fashion—

             Her _shapperoones_, her periwigs and tires,
             Are reliques which this flattery much admires.

It is thus, by a somewhat strange but easy association of ideas, has
come our modern protector in society so called.

Excess of apparel has often in olden days been under penal statute.
Chaucer, in his time, decried its abuse, and an old rhyme of Edward III.
date is still preserved, which is scathing enough—

                       Longbeards, heartlesse,
                       Painted hoods, witlesse,
                       Gaycoates, gracelesse,
                       Makes England thriftlesse.

We are reminded in this of ‘Gai-cote’ (‘William Gaicote,’ A.), which
once was a surname, though now extinct. ‘Woolward’ or ‘Woolard’
(‘Geoffey Woleward,’ A., ‘Reginald Wolleward,’ N.) still thrives. To go
‘woolward’ was to undergo the penance of wearing the outer woollen cloth
without any linen under-dress. It was often prescribed by the
priesthood. Piers, in his Vision, says—

                        _Wolleward_ and weetshoed
                        Wente I forth;

while another old poem bids us—

                  Faste, and go _wolward_, and wake,
                  And suffre hard for Godys sake.[498]

The name was not an unfrequent one at the time of which I am writing,
and I doubt not was oftentimes familiarly applied to friars. We must
probably refer to more warlike accoutrements for the origin of our
‘Gantletts’ or ‘Gauntletts’ (‘Henry Gauntelett,’ Z., ‘Roger Gauntlet,’
Z.), our ‘Pallets’ and ‘Vizards.’ The latter was that part of the helmet
which was perforated for the wearer to see through, ‘pallet’ being the
general term for the helmet itself. ‘Ranulf Strong-bowe’ was a likely
sobriquet for a brawny-armed bowman to acquire, and, like ‘Isabella
Fortiscue’ (brave shield) and ‘Emelina Longespee,’ belongs to more
general history. ‘Sword,’ ‘Buckler,’ ‘Lance,’[499] ‘Spear,’ ‘Pike,’
‘Bill,’ the renowned ‘Brownbill,’ and others too many for enumeration,
have similarly found a place in our nomenclature. What a revolution in
the mode of warfare do they betoken. What a sweeping change has the
invention of gunpowder effected on the battlegrounds of Europe.

But I mentioned ‘badges.’ It is amusing to see how the early love of
distinctive ensigns has made its mark here. While it is an English
instinct to reverence authority, this authority itself has ever been
distinguished by the outward manifestation of dress and emblem. The
ceremonious requirements of the feudal state have had their effect. As I
endeavoured to show in a previous chapter, these were simply
overwhelming. The office of each was not more distinct than his outward
accompaniments, and it was by the latter his precise position was known.
The ‘baton,’ however, seems to have held the foremost place as a token
of authority—a sword, a javelin, a spear, a wand, a rod, it mattered not
what, a something borne in the hand, and you might have known in that
day an official. Nor are we as yet free from its influence. Royalty
still has its sceptre, the Household of State its ‘black rod,’
magistracy has its mace, proctorship its poker, the churchwarden his
staff, the beadle—far the most important of all to the charity children
and himself—his stick. From official, this rage for badges seems to have
passed on to the quieter and more ordinary avocations. The shepherd was
not better known by his crook, the huntsman not better known by his
horn, than the pilgrim by his ‘bourdon,’ the woodward by his ‘bill,’ or
the surveyor by his ‘meteyard’[500] or ‘metewand.’ How easy then for all
these words to be turned into sobriquets. How natural they should become
slang epithets for those who carried them. How natural that we should
find them all in our directories. ‘Meatyard,’ ‘Burdon’ or ‘Bourdon,’
‘Crook,’ ‘Wand,’ ‘Staff,’ ‘Rodd,’ ‘Horne,’[501] all are there. Nor did
the personal characteristics of such bearers escape the good-humoured
raillery of our ancestors. Far from it. ‘Waghorn,’[502] would easily fix
itself upon some awkward horn-blower; ‘Wagspear’ (‘Mabill Wagspere,’ W.
1.), or ‘Shakespeare’ (‘William Shakespeare,’ V. 1.), or
‘Shakeshaft’[503] or ‘Drawsword’ (‘Henry Drawswerde,’ A.), or ‘Drawespe’
(‘Thomas Drawespe,’ A.) upon some over-demonstrative sergeant or clearer
of the way; or ‘Wagstaffe’ (‘Robert Waggestaff,’ A.) on some obnoxious
beadle.[504] ‘Tipstaffe’ we know for certain as a name of this class—he
was a bumbailiff. In 1392 one Roger Andrew was publicly indicted for
pretending to be an officer of the Marshalsea, which he did by bearing a
‘wooden staff with horn at either end, called a “tippestaffe.”’ It does
not seem, however, to have been confined only to him. Chaucer says of
the frère, that—

               With scrippe, and tipped staf, tucked high
               In every house he gan to pore and pry;

and but two lines further on he tells us—

                 His felaw had a staff tipped with horn,

which thus explicitly explains the term. The same humour found vent in
‘John Swyrdebrake,’[505] ‘Adrian Breakspear,’ ‘William Longstaffe,’
‘Antony Halstaff’ (perchance ‘Hale-staff’),[506] and ‘Thomas Ploghstaf’
(Plowstaff). With one or two more general terms of this class we may
proceed. ‘Robert Hurlebat’[507] and ‘Matthew Winspear,’ ‘Richard
Spurdaunce’ and ‘Robert Bruselance,’ ‘Simon Lovelaunce’ and ‘Thomas
Crakyshield,’[508] ‘Roger Benbow,’ ‘Cicely Brownsword,’ and ‘Thomas
Shotbolte,’ are evidently nicknames fastened upon certain individuals
for special prowess in some of the sports of the Middle Ages, probably
at some church-ale or wakes.


    (1) _Nicknames from Peculiarities of Disposition—Complimentary._

Let us now turn to the varied characteristics of the human heart. If we
wish to know how many good and excellent qualities there are in the
world, and at the same time deceive ourselves into a belief that the
evils are few, we must look into our directories. Scan their contents,
and we might almost persuade ourselves that Utopia was a fact, and that
we were consulting its muster-roll. At every turn we meet with virtue in
the guise of a ‘Goode,’ or an ‘Upright,’ or a ‘Righteous,’[509] or a
‘Patient,’ or a ‘Best,’ or a ‘Faithful;’ or infallibility in a ‘Perfect’
or ‘Faultless.’ We are ever coming across philosophy in the shape of a
‘Wise’ or a ‘Sage.’ Conscience must surely trouble but little, where
‘Merry’ and ‘Gay,’ ‘Blythe’ and ‘Joyce,’ that is, joyous, are all but
interminable; and companionship must be ever sweet with such people to
converse with as ‘Makepeace’[510] and ‘Friend,’ ‘Goodhart’ and ‘Truman,’
‘True’ and ‘Leal,’ ‘Kind’ and ‘Curtis’ or ‘Curteis.’ ‘Fulhardy’ and
‘Giddyhead,’ ‘Cruel’ and ‘Fierce,’ ‘Wilfulle’ and ‘Sullen,’ and
‘Envious’ did indeed find a habitation in its pages, but they have long
since disappeared, being quite out of place in the presence of such
better folk as ‘Hardy’[511] and ‘Grave,’ and ‘Gentle’ and ‘Sweet;’ or if
the cloven foot of pride be still visible in ‘Proud’ and ‘Proudfoot,’ it
is nevertheless under constant rebuke by our familiarity with such lowly
characters as ‘Humble’ and ‘Meek.’[512] Nevertheless, this was anything
but so in the old time. The evil roots of sin may still abide hale and
strong and ineradicable in the heart of man, but he has carefully weeded
the more apparent traces of this out of his nomenclature. I do not mean
to say we are utterly without names of objectionable import, but we
shall see that what I have stated once before is true in the main. We
shall see that as a rule it is only when the sobriquet word has changed
its meaning, or that meaning become obscure and doubtful, or when the
name itself has lost the traces of its origin—easy enough in the lapse
of so many days of unsettled orthography—that the surname has lingered
on. This will make itself apparent as we advance.

Such names as ‘Walter Snel,’ ‘Richard Quicke’ (A.), including the
immortal Quickly, ‘Richard le Smert’ (M.), now ‘Smart,’ ‘Thomas Scharp,’
now ‘Sharp,’[513] ‘Gilbert Poygnant’ (A.), ‘Thedric le Witte’ (A.), now
‘Witt’ and ‘Witty,’ ‘Nicholas le Cute’ (A.), and ‘Ralph le Delivre’[514]
(M.M.), argue well for the keen perceptions and brisk habits of early
days.[515] The slang sense of several of these, strangely enough, is but
the original meaning restored. ‘Witty’ arose when the word implied
keenness of intellect rather than of humour. Chaucer thus speaks of
‘witty clerkes,’ using the latter word too in a perfectly unofficial
sense. Our numberless ‘Clarkes’ and ‘Clerkes,’ sprung from equally
numberless ‘Beatrix le Clercs’ or ‘Milo le Clerks,’ may therefore belong
either to the professional class or to the one we are considering.
‘William le Frek’ (M.) or ‘Ralph Frike’ (A.), now found as ‘Freak,’
‘Frick,’ and ‘Freke,’ was a complimentary sobriquet implicative of
bravery and daring even to rashness.[516] Minot in his political songs
tells us in alliterative verse how the doughty men of Edward the Third’s
army were—

                           Ful frek to fight.

The old ‘William le Orpede,’ or ‘Stephen le Horpede,’ or ‘Peter
Orpedeman’ denotes a disposition equally stout-hearted.[517] It is a
term found in well-nigh all our mediæval writers, and was evidently in
common and familiar use. Trevisa, in his account of the Norman invasion,
represents ‘Gurth’ as saying to Harold, ‘Why wilt thou unwary fight with
so many orped men?’ The monk of Glastonbury also, speaking of Edward the
Third’s expedition to Calais in 1350, relates that he ‘towke with him
the nobleis, and the gentelles, and other worthi and orpedde menne of
armes.’ Our ‘Keats’ and ‘Ketts’ are the old ‘Walter le Ket’ (G.) or
‘Osbert le Ket’ (J.), that is, the fierce, the bold. Thus the cowherd in
‘William of Pelerne’ directs the child how to conduct himself—

                        When thou komest to kourt
                        Among the kete lordes.

With these therefore we may associate ‘William le Prew,’ now
‘Prew,’[518] ‘Nicholas Vigerous,’ now found also as ‘Vigors,’ ‘Helen
Gallant,’ ‘John le Stallworth,’[519] ‘Thomas Doughtye,’ and ‘Robert le
Bolde,’ all still well-known names. ‘Prest,’ ‘Peter le Prest’ (M.), when
not the archaic form of ‘Priest,’ is of kin to the mountebank’s
‘presto,’ and means—quick, ready. It was thus used till the seventeenth
century. ‘Kean,’ found as ‘Hugh le Kene’ or ‘Joan le Kene,’ implies
impetuosity. All these names speak well for the pluck of our
forefathers. They are found with tolerable frequency, and naturally have
not been suffered to die out for lack of pride. The Norman element, as
we see, is strong in these chivalrous sobriquets. Nor is it less so with
many other terms of no unpleasant meaning. Our ‘Purefoys’ or ‘Purfeys’
represent the _pure faith_ of their countrymen.[520] Our ‘Parfitts’ are
but the quainter form of ‘Perfect.’[521] Our ‘Bones,’ ‘Boons,’ and
‘Bunns’ are but variously corrupted forms of ‘Duran le Bon,’ or ‘Richard
le Bone,’ or ‘Alice le Bonne,’ or ‘William le Boon,’ equivalent
therefore to the earlier ‘Goods.’ ‘Bunker’ is similarly but ‘Bon-cœur’
(‘William Bonquer,’ O.),[522] our Saxon ‘Goodhart,’ and ‘Bonner,’ and
the longer ‘Debonaire’ (‘Philip le Debeneyre,’ A.),[523] our more
naturalized ‘Gentle’ (‘William le Gentil,’ M.), ‘Gentilman’ (‘Robert
Gentilman,’ V. 1.),[524] and ‘Curteis’ or ‘Curtis’ (‘Walter le Curteys’
J., ‘Richard le Curteis,’ C.), Chaucer says—

                    All men holde thee for musarde,
                    That debonaire have founden thee.

‘Amiable’ (‘Edward Amiable,’ Z., ‘Joan Amiable,’ Z.) once existed, but
in our registers, at least, that sweet grace is now wanting. Equivalent
to these latter, but more Saxon in character, come our ‘Hendys’ or
‘Hentys’ (‘Thomas le Hendy,’ F.F., ‘John le Hendy,’ F.F.), a term found
in all our early writers, and prettily expressive of that which was
gentle and courteous combined. In the ‘Canterbury Tales’ the host
reproves the friar for lack of civility to one of the company by saying—

                            Sire, ye should be _hende_,
                  And curteis as a man of your estate,
                  In company we will have no debate.

In the Hundred Rolls we find a ‘William Hendiman’ occurring, and a ‘John
Hende’ was Lord Mayor of London in 1391. We have just mentioned the word
‘musarde.’ This reminds us of our ‘Musards’ (‘Malcolm le Musard,’ M.),
who were originally of a dreamy temperament.[525] With our Saxon
‘Moodys’[526] (‘Richard Mody,’ G.), however, their title has fallen in
general estimation, the one now denoting, when used at all, a trifling,
the other a morose and gloomy disposition. Our ‘Sadds’ (‘Robert Sad,’
H.), too, from being merely serious, sedate folk, have become sorrowful
of heart. Our great early poet speaks in the negative sense of—

                      People unsad and eke untrue,

that is, unstable and fickle. In a short poem, ascribed to Lydgate,
pointing out to children their course of behaviour in company, we are

             Who spekithe to thee in any maner place,
             Rudely cast not thyn eye adowne,
             But with a sad cheer look hym in the face.[527]

Here of course sobriety of demeanour, rather than sorrowfulness, is
intended.[528] That ‘Henry le Wepere’ (A.), and ‘Peter le Walur’ (A.),
and ‘William le Blubere’ (A.), however, must have been of rueful
countenance we need not doubt.

Many changes too have passed over the names as well doubtless as over
the lives of another section of our nomenclatural community. Our
‘Cunnings,’ we will hope, dated from the time when he who _kenned_ his
work well was so entitled without any suspicion of duplicity.[529] Very
likely too our ‘Slys’ (‘John Slye,’ H.), and ‘Sleighs’ (‘Simon le
Slegh,’ M.), ‘Slees’ (‘Isabella Slee,’ W.G.), and ‘Slemmans’ and
Slymans’ were simply remarkable for being honestly dexterous in their
several avocations.[530] The ‘mighty hand and outstretched arm’ of
modern psalters was once translated ‘a hand that was slegh.’ But as
slyness got by degrees but more and more associated with the juggler’s
sleight-of-hand tricks, the word fell into disrepute. Such is the
invariable effect of keeping bad company. So late, however, as the
seventeenth century, one of our commonwealth poets was not misunderstood
when he spoke of one whom—

                    Graver age had made wise and sly.

But the same predisposition to give ‘crafty’ and ‘sly’ and ‘cunning’ and
‘artful’ a dishonest sense has not been therewith content, but must
needs throw ridicule upon the unsophisticated and artless natures of our
‘Simples’ (‘Jordan le Simple,’ A.), who would scarcely feel complimented
if their surname were to originate in the present day.[531] It is the
same with our ‘Seeleys’ (‘Benedict Sely,’ D.) and ‘Selymans’ (‘George
Selyman,’ D.), the older forms of ‘Silly’ and ‘Sillyman.’ Perhaps the
phrase ‘silly lamb’ is the only one in which we colloquially preserve
the former idea of ‘silly,’ that of utter guilelessness. A ‘silly
virgin’ with Spenser was no foolish maiden, but one helpless in her
innocence, and the ‘silly women’ Shakespeare hints at in his ‘Two
Gentlemen of Verona’ were but inoffensive and unprotected females.[532]
‘Sealey,’ ‘Silly,’ ‘Sillyman,’ and ‘Selyman,’[533] are all pleasant
memorials of the earlier sense of this word. Our ‘Quaints’ and ‘Cants’
have gone through a changeful career. They are but the descendants of
the old ‘Margaret le Coynte’ or ‘Richard le Queynte,’ from the early
French ‘coint,’ neat, elegant. A shadow fell over it, however, and a
notion of artfulness becoming attached to the word, to be quaint was to
be crafty. Thus Wicklyffe, in his translation of St. Mark’s account of
Christ’s betrayal, makes Judas say to the servants of the high priest,
‘Whomever I shall touch, he it is, hold ye him, and lead him warily, or
queintly.’ Thus, too, Lawrence Minot, in his ‘Political Songs,’ tells us

                 The King of Berne was _cant_ and kene,
                 But there he lost both play and pride.

Strange to say, the word has well-nigh recovered its original sense,
betokening as it does a whimsical and antique prettiness, if not the
bare quality itself. Our original ‘Careless’ (‘Antony Careless,’ Z.) was
of that happy disposition which the petty worries and anxieties of life
do not easily disturb, and, to judge from our nomenclature, he forms but
one of a large band of cheery and easy-minded mortals. ‘Joyce,’ that is,
‘Jocose,’ when not a Christian name,[534] and ‘Jolly’ must be set here,
not forgetting the older and prettier ‘Jolyffe’ (‘Henry Jolyffe,’ M.).
In the ‘Miller’s Tale’ we are told of ‘Absolon,’ how that when at
eventide he had taken up his ‘giterne’—

                    Forth he goth, jolif and amorous,

to the window of his lady-love. ‘Gay’ (‘William le Gay,’ R.), and
‘Blythe’ (‘Richard Blythe,’ Z.),[535] and ‘Merry’ (‘William Merrye,’
Z.), or ‘Merriman’ (‘John Meryman,’ X.), and ‘Gaillard,’ or ‘Gallard,’
or ‘Gayliard,’ or ‘Gaylord’ (‘Nicholas Gaylard,’ T., ‘William Gallard,’
A., ‘Sabina Gaylard,’ H.), must all be placed also in this
category.[536] I am not quite sure, however, that the last are without a
suspicion of that conviviality which the buxom alewife was but too ready
to bestow. Our merry, versatile friend Absolon, whom I have just
referred to, among other his unclerkly arts, could play on the ‘giterne’
as well as any ‘galliard tapstere.’ It seems to have been a common
epithet, and would readily find a place in our nomenclature, where it is
now firmly fixed. Our ‘Merryweathers’ (‘Andrew Meriweder,’ A.) and
‘Fairweathers’ (‘John Fayrweder,’ A.)[537] may seem somewhat difficult
of explanation to those who are unaware of the colloquial use of these
expressions in former times, ‘Mery-weder’ especially being of the most
familiar import. In the ‘Coventry Mysteries’ mention is made of—

                Bontyng the Brewster, and Sybyly Slynge,
                Megge Mery-wedyr, and Sabyn Sprynge.

A happy sunshiny fellow would easily acquire the sobriquet, and indeed
both are found at a very early day as such.[538]

Not a few of those expressive terms of endearment, some of which still
flourish in our nurseries, have made their mark upon our directories. We
have already alluded to our ‘Chittys.’ Our ‘Leafs’ represent the old
‘Alice le Lef’ or ‘Matilda la Lef,’ beloved or dear. We still use it in
the well-nigh solitary expression ‘lief as loth,’ but once it was in
familiar request. Robert of Brunne, in one of his stories, says—

                 Blessed be alle poor men,
                 For God Almyghty loveth them:
                 And weyl is them that poor are here,
                 They are with God bothe lefe and dere.

Akin to this latter is ‘Love,’ which, when not the old ‘Robert le Love’
or wolf, is found in composition in not a few instances. ‘Lovekin’ and
‘Lovecock,’ after the remarks made in our first chapter on these
terminations, will be readily explainable; and ‘Truelove,’ ‘Derelove,’
‘Honeylove,’ and ‘Sweetlove’[539] supply us with expletives of so
amorous a nature, we can but conjecture them to have arisen through the
too publicly proclaimed feelings of their early possessors. ‘Newlove’
sounds somewhat inconstant, ‘Winlove’ attractive.[540] ‘Goodlove,’
‘Spendlove,’ and ‘Likelove,’ I believe, are now obsolete—a lot, too,
which has befallen the hardened ‘Lacklove,’ while our ‘Fulliloves’[541]
still declare the brimming affection which belongs to their nature—or at
least did to that of their progenitor. But even they are commonplace
beside our ‘Waddeloves’ or ‘Waddelows,’ the early form of which,
‘Wade-in-love,’ would seem to tell of some lovesick ancestor so
helplessly involved in the meshes cast about him as to have become the
object of the unkind sarcasms of his neighbours. A longer and equally
curious sobriquet abides in our ‘Wellbeloveds’ and ‘Wellbiloves.’ It is
this latter form in which it is found in the ‘Issues of the
Exchequer.’[542] The French form of this was ‘Bienayme’ (‘William
Bienayme,’ A.), and to some settler of that name upon our shores I
suspect it is we owe our ‘Bonamys’ (‘William Bonamy,’ A.). I have just
mentioned ‘Sweetlove.’ Associated with this are our simpler ‘Sweets,’
the nursery ‘Sweetcock,’ and ‘Sweetman,’[543] variously corrupted into
‘Sweatman,’ ‘Swetman,’ and ‘Swatman.’ ‘Bawcock’ and ‘Baucock,’ if not
from ‘Baldwin,’ will be the endearing ‘beau-coq,’ once in familiar use.
Our ‘Follets,’ ‘Follits,’ and ‘Foliots,’ the last the original form,
meant nothing more than ‘my foolish one’ or ‘fond one,’ and were very
common. They are but varied in the longer ‘Hugh Folenfaunt,’ but I am
afraid ‘Walter Fulhardy’ at the same period is less complimentary.
‘Poppet,’ or puppet, once the doll of English infancy, only remains in
the gilded and waxen manikins of the showman. The surname, however,
abides with us, as does also ‘Poplett.’ The old ‘fere,’ a companion, has
left its mark in our ‘Fairs.’ We all remember Byron’s resuscitation of
the word. In ‘Troilus and Cressida,’ mention is made of—

                     Orpheus and Euridice his fere.

Thus ‘Playfair,’ once written ‘Playfere,’ is simply ‘playfellow,’ while
the obsolete ‘Makefere’ (‘Hugh Makefare,’ A.) would seem to be but
intensive, ‘make’ being the invariable dress with olden writers of our
more familiar ‘mate.’[544]

There is something in obtrusive virtue that instinctively repels us. We
always like a man’s face to be the index to the book of his heart, but
when he would seem to have carefully turned down each leaf for our
inspection, we get a revulsion of feeling—we like to look out the page
for ourselves. An elevated sense of self-esteem was decidedly approved
of by our forefathers, but its too demonstrative exhibition soon showed
itself condemned in our ‘Prouds,’ ‘Prouts,’ ‘Proudmans,’ ‘Proudloves,’
and ‘Proudfoots’ (‘Hugh le Proud,’ A., ‘John le Prute,’ H., ‘George
Proudelove,’ Z.Z., ‘Robert Prudefot,’ A.). A very interesting name which
has escaped the notice of surname hunters is that of ‘Gerish’ or
‘Gerrish,’ both forms being found in our modern directories. They are
but the truer representatives of the word ‘garish’ as used by our later
poets. Shakespeare’s Juliet, we may remember, apostrophizes Night, and
bids her, when Romeo be dead, cut him into stars, and thus—

                All the world will be in love with night,
                And pay no worship to the garish sun.

This splendidly describes the term, expressing as it does that which
glares ostentatiously and showily upon the eye. Lydgate, far earlier,
had used it thus, in the form of ‘gerysshe;’ and such names as ‘Umfrey
le Gerische’ or ‘John le Gerisse,’ found yet more remotely, testify to
its once familiar and frequent use. We now talk of a prude as one who
exaggerates woman’s innate modesty of demeanour. Formerly it denoted the
virtue pure and untravestied. The root, the Latin ‘probus,’ excellent,
still remains in our ‘Prudhommes’ (‘William Prodhomme,’ R., ‘Peter
Prodhomme,’ A.), with their more commonly corrupted ‘Pridhams’ and
‘Prudames’ and ‘Prudens,’[545] a sobriquet which once referred simply to
the honest and guileless uprightness of their owners. How truly do such
words as these remind us of the poor estimate man, after all, forms of
himself. Man often rebels at the declaration of Revelation that he is a
fallen being, and yet how strongly does he assert this fact in the
changes he himself has made in the meaning of words. Our ‘Bauds’
(‘William le Baud,’ B., ‘Wauter le Baud,’ M.) were once but the Norman
equivalent of our ‘Merrys’ already mentioned.[546] Must lightness of
heart inevitably end in wanton levity? There was a day when our
‘Parramores’ (‘Roger Paramour,’ M.; ‘Henry Parramore,’ Z.)[547] were but
the simple honest lover of either sex, when our ‘Lemons,’ ‘Lemans,’ and
‘Lemmans’ (‘Eldred Leman,’ A., ‘John Leman,’ M.) meant but the beloved
one from ‘lief,’ ‘dear.’ Both Chaucer and Piers Plowman employ the term
‘lef-man’ or ‘leef-man’ as an expression of endearment, with no thought
of obloquy. Thus, too, in the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ God is represented as
bidding Gabriel to go to Nazareth—

                  And hail that madyn, my lemman,
                  As heyndly (courteously) as thou can.

Still, so early as the days of Gower, its corrupted _leman_ had become a
sobriquet for one of loose, disorderly habits.[548]

    (2) _Nicknames from Peculiarities of Disposition—Objectionable._

The mention of such names as ‘Baud,’ ‘Parramore,’ ‘Leman’ or ‘Lemon,’
‘Proud,’ ‘Proudman,’ and ‘Proudfoot,’ which we have charitably set in
the list of complimentary nicknames, as having, perchance, risen at a
time when the meaning of the words conveyed a totally different idea
from that which they now convey, brings us to the category of those
which can scarcely seek any shelter of such a kind. ‘Lorel,’ ‘Lurdan,’
and ‘Lordan,’ together with the once familiar ‘losel’ and ‘losard,’
denoted a waif, or stray, one who preyed upon society, exactly
identical, in fact, with the Latin ‘perditus.’ Thus we find Herod, in
the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ saying to his officers—

           Fie, losels and lyars, lurdans each one,
           Tratours and well worse, knaves, but knyghts none.

‘Cocke Lorelle,’ too, speaks of—

                  Lollers, lordaynes, and fagot berers,
                  Luskes, slovens, and kechen knaves.

Cotgrave explains a ‘loricard’ to mean a _luske_, _lowt_, or _lorell_.
This _luske_, from the old French _lasque_, or _lache_—slothful—though
now wholly obsolete, did much duty formerly. The adjective _luskish_ and
the substantive _luskishness_ are often found. In law _lache_ still
survives as a term for culpable remissness. Our ‘Laches,’ ‘Lashes,’
‘Laskies,’ and ‘Lusks,’ I am afraid, therefore, come of but an
indifferent ancestry. Nor can anything better be said of our ‘Paillards’
or ‘Pallards.’ We still talk of a ‘pallet,’ the old ‘paillet,’ or straw
bed, from ‘paille,’ chaff. A paillard was a cant term for a lie-a-bed.

By ‘ribaldry’ we always mean that which is foul-mouthed in expression.
This was ever its implication. A ‘ribaud,’ or ‘ribaut’ belonged to the
very scum of society. He was a man who hung on to the skirts of the
nobility by doing all their more infamous work for them. Chaucer,
wishing to comprise in one sentence the highest and the lowest grades of
society, speaks in his ‘Romance’ of ‘king, knighte, or ribaude.’
‘William le Ribote,’ therefore, mentioned in the ‘Chapter House Records
of Westminster,’ or ‘William Ribaud’ (W. 15), could not have borne the
best of characters, I am afraid. Although not quite so degraded in the
world’s esteem as some of these last, we may here include our
‘Gedlings,’ reminiscences of the old ‘Gadling’ or ‘Gedling,’ one who
gadded about from door to door to talk the gossip and scandal—the modern
tattler, in fact. Our former ‘Gerard le Gaburs’ and ‘Stephen le Gabbers’
were equally talkative, if not such ramblers. As overmuch talking and
jesting always beget a suspicion of overstretching the truth, so was it
here. Wicklyffe uses ‘gabbing’ in the sense of lying, and an old poem

                     Alle those false chapmen
                       The fiend them will habbe,
                     Bakeres and breowares
                       For alle men they gabbe.[549]
                            (_A litel soth Sermun._)

In the North of England, I need scarcely add, this is the ordinary and
colloquial sense of the term to the present day. The name of ‘John
Totiller’ might well-nigh induce us to believe that teetotalism was not
unknown by that name at this period, but it is not so. A ‘totiller’ was
a ‘whisperer’ of secrets. In the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ one says to the
God of Love—

                  In ye court is many a losengeour
                  And many a queinte totoler accusour.

The name of ‘Dera Gibelot’ or ‘John Gibbelote’[550] reminds us of a term
now obsolete, but once familiar as denoting a giddy, flighty girl.[551]
It is found in various forms, the commonest being that of ‘giglot.’[552]
Mr. Halliwell quotes an old proverb by way of adding a further

               The smaller pesun (peas), the more to pott,
               The fayrer woman the more gylott.

I would, however, suggest this as but the pet form of ‘Gill,’ mentioned
in my chapter on Christian names. In either case the meaning is the
same. An often met with sobriquet in the fourteenth century is that of
‘Robert le Burgulion,’ or ‘Geoffrey le Burgillon,’ the old term for a
braggart. It is now, however, wholly obsolete. ‘Robert le Lewed,’ or
‘William le Lewed,’ is also lost to our directories, and certainly would
be an unpleasant appellation in the nineteenth century. Its general
meaning four hundred years ago, however, was its more literal one, that
of simplicity or ignorance. It is connected with our word ‘lay’ as
opposed to ‘cleric,’ and arose at a time when knowledge was all but
entirely in the hands of the clergy. Thus in the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ it is

               Lewed people loven tales olde,
               Such things can they wel report and holde.

Such a name then, we may trust, implied nothing beyond a lack of
knowledge in respect of its possessor. ‘William Milksop,’ or ‘Thomas
Milkesop,’ or ‘Maurice Ducedame’ were but types of a class of dandified
and effeminate beings who have ever existed, but even their names would
be more acceptable than those which fell to ‘Robert le Sot,’ or ‘Maurice
Druncard,’ or ‘Jakes Drynk-ale,’[553] or ‘Geoffrey Dringkedregges,’[554]
or ‘Thomas Sourale.’[555] It is evident that there were those who were
disposed to follow the dictate of at least one portion of the old rhyme—

                    Walke groundly, talke profoundly,
                    Drinke roundly, sleape soundly.

‘Ralph Sparewater,’ I fear, was a man of dirty habits, while ‘John
Klenewater’ was a model of cleanliness.

But we have not yet done with sobriquets of an unpleasant nature. Men of
miserly and penurious habits seem to have flourished in plentiful force
in olden days as well as the present. ‘Irenpurse’ figures several times
in early rolls, and would be a strong, if somewhat rough, sarcasm
against the besetting weakness of its first possessor. ‘Lovegold’ is
equally explicable. ‘Pennifather,’ however, was the favourite title of
such. An old couplet says—

                   The liberall doth spend his pelfe,
                   The pennyfather wastes himself.

It is found in the various forms of ‘Penifader,’ ‘Panyfader,’ and
‘Penifadir,’ in the fourteenth century. ‘Pennypurse,’[556] ‘Halfpeny,’
and ‘Turnpeny’[557] are met with at the same time, and somewhat later on
‘Thickpeny.’ ‘Broadpeny,’ ‘Manypenny,’ now corrupted into ‘Moneypeny,’
‘Winpeny,’ now also found as ‘Wimpenny,’ ‘Pinchpenny,’ with its more
directly Norman ‘Pinsemaille,’ and ‘Kachepeny,’ with its equally foreign
‘Cache-maille,’ are all also of the same early date, and with one or two
exceptions are to be met with to this very day.[558] It is a true
criticism which, as is noticed by Archbishop Trench, has marked the
_miserly_ as indeed the emphatically _miserable_ soul. ‘Whirlepeny’ is
now extinct, but alone, so far as my researches go, existed formerly to
remind men that the spendthrift character is equally subversive of the
true basis of human happiness.[559] Several names combined with ‘peck’
and ‘pick,’ as ‘Peckcheese,’ ‘Peckbean,’ ‘Peckweather,’ and ‘Pickbone,’
seem to be expressive of the gluttonous habits of the possessors, but it
is possible they may be but the moral antecedents of our modern

Our ‘Starks’ and ‘Starkies,’ if not ‘Starkmans,’ represent a word which
can hardly be said to exist in our vocabulary, since it now but survives
in certain phrases, such as ‘stark-mad,’ or ‘stark-naked.’ We should
never say a man was ‘stark’ simply. A forcible word, it once expressed
the rude untutored nature of anything. Thus, on account of his unbridled
passion, the Bastard King is termed in the Saxon chronicle ‘a stark man,
and very savage,’ while just before he is asserted to be ‘stark beyond
all bounds to them who withsaid his will.’ Thus it will be akin to such
names as ‘Walter le Wyld,’[561] or ‘Warin Cruel,’ or ‘Ralph le Ferce,’
or ‘John le Savage,’ or ‘William le Salvage,’ or ‘Adelmya le Sauvage,’
or ‘William Ramage.’ Chaucer speaks somewhere of a ‘ramage goat.’


         (1) _Nicknames from the Animal and Vegetable Kingdom._

Mr. Lower, in his ‘English Surnames,’ gives a long list of names from
what he calls vegetable productions, but, although he does not say so, I
am confident he would be the first to admit that the great majority of
those which he instances should really be set among our local surnames.
For example, he includes ‘Cherry,’ ‘Broome,’ ‘Bramble,’ ‘Ferne,’
‘Holyoak,’ ‘Peach,’ ‘Rowntree,’ in this category. While ‘Cherry’ and
‘Peach’ might possibly be sobriquets of complexion, the manifest course
is to look upon them as of local origin. So persuaded am I of this,
after a long perusal of mediæval records, that I shall notice but some
half-dozen names from the vegetable kingdom, and only those of which I
can find memorials in past registers. This is a place which of all
others might well tempt me to run riot among our directories, and
collect a curious list from our present existing nomenclature; but I
would even here persistently adhere to the idea with which I set out,
and to which I have mainly been true, viz., to instance names about
which I can speak somewhat positively, because I have found them
imbedded in the nomenclature of the period in which surnames had their
rise. ‘Blanchflower,’ ‘Lilywhite,’ and ‘Boutflower’ I have already dealt
with. ‘Robert Daisye’ occurs in the ‘Trial of Dame Alice Kyteler’ (Cam.
Soc.), ‘Nicholas Pescodde’ in the ‘Proceedings in Chancery’ (Elizabeth),
‘Godfrey Gingivre’ (Ginger) in the ‘Writs of Parliament,’[562] ‘Geoffrey
Peppercorn’ in the Hundred Rolls, ‘Robert Primerose’ and ‘Sara Garlek’
in the ‘History of Norfolk’ (Blomefield), and ‘Roger Pluckerose’ and
‘John Pullrose’ in a Sussex Roll of 1296.[563] I doubt whether more than
one or two of these can be said rightly to belong to the nickname class.
As sign-names—for I feel assured they thus arose—they will have their
place in our second chapter on ‘Local Names.’[564]

But when we come to the Animal Kingdom we are on clearer and more
definite ground. The local class must undoubtedly embrace a large number
of these names, as such an entry as ‘William atte Roebuck’ (M.), or
‘Richard de la Vache’ (A.), or ‘Thomas atte Ram’ (N.), or ‘John de la
Roe’ (O.), or ‘Gilbert de la Hegle’ (A.), or ‘Hugh atte Cokke’ (B.), or
‘Walter de Whitehorse’ (C.), or ‘John atte Gote’ (M.) dearly testifies.
But on the other hand we find a class, set by which the last is
insignificant—a class which has its own entries—‘William le Got’ (A.),
‘Katerina le Cok’ (B.), ‘Alicia le Ro’ (A.), ‘Philip la Vache’ (C.), or
‘Joachim le Ram’ (T.), corresponding to the former, only differing in
that such entries are vastly more numerous and embrace a wider range,
taking in, in fact, the whole genus and species that belong alike to
‘the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, the cattle, and every
creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’ In dealing with this large
and varied assortment of sobriquets, I would say then that, where there
is no proof positive to the contrary, the course is to survey a name of
this class as referable to three distinct origins, and I put them in the
following order of probability:—1. A nickname taken from that animal
whose generally understood habits seemed to bear affinity to those of
the nominee. 2. A local sign-name. 3. An heraldic device. With these
preliminary statements, let us proceed.

As we find all the moral qualities seized upon to give individuality to
the possessors, so, too, we find the names of animals whose
peculiarities gave pretext for the sobriquets pressed into the service
of our nomenclature. In our earlier Pagan history it had been the wont
of Saxon fathers to style their children by the names of such beasts as
from their nobler qualities it was hoped the little one would one day
copy. The same fashion still existed, only that the nickname as the
exponent of popular feeling was really more or less appropriate to him
who was made to bear it. In the latter case, too, it was the ridiculous
aspects of character that were most eagerly caught at. Our general
vocabulary is not without traces of this custom. We still term a
shrewish wife a _vixen_, _i.e._ a she fox. Men of a vile, mean character
are rascals, _i.e._ lean deer; and rough boys are _urchins_,[565] a
corruption of the old _herison_, or hedgehog. Applying this to surnames,
we come first to

(_a_) _Beasts._—Our ‘Bests,’ when not local, are but the ‘Richard le
Bestes’ or ‘Henry le Bestes’ of the thirteenth century. Their
superlative excellence is therefore imaginary, I fear, but we may be
permitted to hope that they are what they appear. ‘Edith Beest,’ in the
sixteenth century, is nearer our modern form. Our ‘Oliphants,’
‘Olivants,’ and ‘Ollivants’ represent but the elephant, and owe their
origin, doubtless, to the huge and ungainly proportions of some early
ancestor. In the ‘Romance of Alexander’ is a strange description of the
fabled monoceros, which would seem to have been a kind of potpourri of
all other beasts, for besides a tail like a hog, tusks like a dog, and a
head like a hart’s—

                         Made is his cors
                   After the forme of a hors,
                   Fete after _olifant_, certis.[566]

This sobriquet, in a day when size and strength went for much, does not
seem to have been thought objectionable, for its owners have left issue
enough to prevent its ever falling into abeyance.[567] Thus we see we
may meet with elephants every day in our streets without going to the
Zoological Gardens for them. Our ‘Lions’ (‘Richard Lion,’ V. 2) and
‘Lyons,’ when not local,[568] speak doubtless for the brave heart of
some early progenitor. Our ‘Bears,’ relics of ‘Richard le Bere’ (A.) or
‘Lawrence le Bere’ (M.), as a reflection upon a surly temper, would be
less complimentary, or perhaps the original nominee wore his hair shaggy
and long. A fierce disposition would meet with rebuke or praise, as the
case might be, in such a sobriquet as ‘John Lepard,’ or ‘Tiger,’ now all
but obsolete, saving for our striped and liveried youths; or ‘Wolf’
(‘Elena le Wolfe,’ A., ‘Philip le Wolf,’ M.), with its more Norman
‘Lupe’[569] (‘Robert le Lupe,’ B.), or ‘Lovel’[570] or ‘Love’ (‘Robert
le Love,’ A.), the latter being in flat contradiction to the usually
ascribed instincts of the animal. Timidity or reserve, or perchance
fleetness of foot, would soon find itself exalted in ‘Geoffrey le Hare,’
‘Reginalde le Raye,’ ‘Walter le Buk,’ ‘Hobart le Hart,’ ‘Dorothie le
Stagge,’ ‘Henry Rascal,’[571] ‘William le Do,’ or ‘Alicia le Ro,’ the
ancestors of our ‘Hares,’ ‘Rays,’ or ‘Wrays,’ ‘Bucks,’[572] ‘Harts,’
‘Stags,’ ‘Does,’ or ‘Roes,’ of legal notoriety, and ‘Prickets.’ That old
spoiler of hen-roosts, the polecat, has left us in ‘Fitch’ and
‘Fitchett’ no very happy relationship of ideas. Craftiness would be very
properly stigmatised in ‘Henry le Fox’ or ‘John le Tod,’ and a ‘John le
Renaud’ occurring in the Parliamentary Rolls reminds us that some of our
‘Renauds’ and ‘Renards’ may be more closely associated with this wily
denizen of our forest fastnesses than they think. The _badger_ has
originated ‘Walter le Broc’ or ‘Henry le Brok’ (now Brock); the _beaver_
‘John le Bever,’ or ‘John le Bevere’ (now Beaver).[573] The _rabbit_
gave us ‘Henry Cony’ and ‘John Conay;’ the _weasel_ ‘Mathew le Martun’
(now Marten); the _mole_ ‘Walter le Want’ (now Want); the nimble haunter
of our forest boughs ‘Thomas le Squyrelle’ (now Squirrell), and the
_otter_ ‘Alan Otere,’ or ‘Edward Oter’ (now Otter).

Nor must we forget the farmyard and its accessories, which, as we might
readily presume, are well represented. ‘Alice le Buie,’ or ‘William le
Buie’ (now Bull), is a sobriquet which has now such a firm place as
symbolic of our national character that we need not show to what
peculiarities of temperament they owed their name. ‘Simon le Steer,’
‘Peter le Vache,’ with its Saxon ‘Thomas le Cu’ or ‘Ralph le Cou,’
‘Richard le Calf’[574] ‘Godwin le Bulloc,’ ‘Peter le Stot,’ ‘Roger le
Colt,’ are all of common occurrence, and still abide with us. ‘Roger le
Mule,’ as representative of obstinacy, we might have suspected, would
have become early obsolete, but it still survives.[575] ‘Robert le
Veyle,’ or ‘William le Veel,’ now written ‘Veale,’ ‘Philip le Mutton,’
and ‘John le Bœuf,’ or ‘Robert le Bef,’[576] carry us back to the day
when these several terms denoted the living animal. Thus, with respect
to the last, Burton in his ‘Anatomy,’ translating Plautus, says—

           Like other cooks I do not supper dress,
             That put whole meadows into a platter,
           And make no better of their guests than beeves,
             With herbs and grass to feed them fatter.—p. 69.

Alongside our ‘Muttons’ we may place our ‘William le Lambs’ and ‘Richard
le Lombs,’[577] and if they were remarkable for their meek disposition,
playfulness, I doubt not, was equally characteristic of our ‘Reginald
Kidds’ and ‘Cheevers,’ relics of the old ‘Henry le Chivre’ or goat. I am
afraid the connexion of ideas that gave rise to such sobriquets as were
represented by ‘Alice le Hog,’ ‘John le Bacun,’[578] ‘William le Gryse,’
‘Gilbert Galt,’ ‘Walter Pigge,’[579] ‘Roger Sugge,’ ‘Richard le Bor’
(Boar), ‘Richard Wildbore,’ ‘John Pork,’ and ‘John Purcell’ (little
porker, that is), is not of the pleasantest—terms, too, as they are, all
familiar to our directories to this present day. Several of these words
are now colloquially obsolete. ‘Grice,’ I fancy, is one such. We still
speak of the ‘griskin.’ Locally it comes in such names as ‘Grisdale’ and
‘Griswood.’ As a sobriquet of the animal, it was quite familiar in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Piers Plowman says—

                        Cokes and their knaves
                        Cryden, ‘Hote pies, hote!
                        Goode gees and grys!’

‘Sug’ was provincial for ‘sow,’ and comes in the local ‘Sugden’
mentioned in my first chapter. Richard III. was sometimes styled the
‘Boar’ or ‘Hog.’ It was in allusion to this that the rhyme got abroad—

                  The Rat, the Cat, and Lovel the Dog,
                  Rule all England under the Hog.

The first two referred of course to _Rat_cliffe and _Cat_esby. But the
mention of these reminds us of our household pets and indoor foes.
‘Elias le Cat,’ or ‘Adam le Kat,’ or ‘Milo le Chat’ still boasts
descendants, and the same can be said for ‘Nicholas Dogge,’ or ‘Eborard
le Kenn,’ or ‘Thomas le Chen.’ The usual forms are Catt, Ken, and Kenn.
In our _kennel_ we still preserve a memorial of this Norman-introduced
word. Our ‘Hunds’ and ‘Hounds’ are but the old ‘Gilbert le Hund’ or
‘William le Hund,’ and carry us to the forest and the chase. The
especial bugbear of cat and dog alike found remembrance in our early
‘Nicholas le Rat’ and ‘Walter le Rat,’ or ‘Ralph Ratun,’[580] and in
‘John le Mous,’ ‘Hugh le Mus,’ or ‘Richard Mowse.’ ‘Ratton,’ ‘Ratt,’ and
‘Mowse’ still exist. With one more name we conclude. Through Spain and
the Moors of Barbary monkeys were early introduced for the amusement of
the English people. In the ‘Miller’s Tale’ it is said of Alison—

               And thus she maketh Absolom her ape,
               And all his earnest turneth to a gape.[581]

that is, she was wont to make a fool of him. The sobriquet is found in
such an entry as ‘John le Ape,’ registered in the Hundred Rolls, or
‘John Jackanapes,’ in the Parliamentary Writs.

(_b_) _Birds._—The surname that represents the genus is ‘Bird,’ the name
being met with as ‘John le Bryd’ or ‘David le Brid,’ a pronunciation
still in vogue in many parts of England. Falconry has given us many
sobriquets of this class. Accustomed as our fathers were to seeing the
fierce and eager instincts of the bird, to nickname a man of rapacious
and grasping habits by such a term as ‘John le Kyte,’ or ‘William le
Hawk,’ or ‘Richard le Falcon,’ would be the most natural thing in the
world. And just as the difference in breed and disposition in these
birds themselves gave rise to separate definitions, so an imagined
resemblance to these distinct qualities must have originated such
different names as ‘Muskett,’ ‘Buzzard,’ ‘Puttock,’[582] ‘Goshawk,’
‘Tassell,’ ‘Gleed,’ or ‘Glide,’[583] and ‘Sparrowhawk,’ or ‘Spark,’ or
‘Sparke,’ as it is now more generally spelt. So early as Chaucer,
however, this last was written ‘Spar-hawk,’[584] and that once gained
the further contraction in our nomenclature became inevitable. Thus was
it with other birds. Did a man develop such propensities as showiness,
then he was nicknamed ‘Jay;’ if pride, ‘Peacock’ or ‘Pocock,’ as it was
once pronounced; if guile, ‘Rook;’ if pertness, ‘Pye,’ with its
diminutive ‘Pyet’ or ‘Pyett;’ if garrulity, ‘Parrott’ or ‘Parratt;’ if
he was a votary of song he was styled ‘Nightingale’ or ‘Lark,’ or in its
more antique dress ‘Laverock’ or ‘Woodlark,’ or ‘Finch,’ or ‘Bulfinch,’
or ‘Goldfinch,’ or ‘Chaffinch,’ or ‘Spink,’ or ‘Goldspink,’ or ‘Thrush,’
or ‘Thrussel,’ or ‘Cuckoo.’ If jauntiness displayed itself in his
actions he was nicknamed ‘Cock’ or ‘Cockerell’ or ‘Chauntecler;’ if
homeliness, ‘Sparrow;’ if tenderness, ‘Pigeon’ or ‘Dove,’ and so on with
our ‘Swans,’ ‘Herons,’ ‘Cootes,’ ‘Gulls,’ ‘Storks,’ ‘Ravens,’ ‘Crows,’
‘Speights,’ ‘Cranes,’ ‘Capons,’ ‘Henns,’ ‘Chickens,’[585] ‘Ducks,’
‘Duckerells,’ ‘Drakes,’ ‘Sheldrakes’ or ‘Sheldricks,’ ‘Wildgooses,’
‘Mallards’ (_i.e._ wild duck), ‘Gooses’ or ‘Goss’s,’[586] ‘Greygooses,’
‘Goslings,’[587] ‘Ganders,’ ‘Woodcocks,’ ‘Partridges,’ ‘Partricks,’
‘Pheasants,’ or ‘Fesants,’ as once spelt, and ‘Blackbirds.’[588] These
are names ornithologically familiar to us. Many a pretty name, however,
once on the common tongue but now obsolete, or well-nigh so, still
abides in our surnames. Thus our ‘Popjays’ still preserve the
remembrance of the once common _popinjay_ or parrot, ‘the popinjay, full
of delicasy,’ as Chaucer styles her.[589] In ‘Culver’ or ringdove we are
reminded of the pathetic story of Philomine, where the same writer
likens her to

                 the lamb that of the wolf is bitten,
          Or as the culver, that of the eagle is smitten.[590]

Our ‘Ruddocks’ or ‘Ruddicks’ (‘Ralph Ruddoc,’ A.), again, are but the
old _ruddock_ or robin-redbreast, ‘the tame ruddock,’ as he is termed in
the ‘Assembly of Fowls.’ The hedge-sparrow still lives represented by
our ‘Pinnocks’ or ‘Pinnicks’ ‘John Pynnock’ (G.), ‘Richard Pinnoc’ (A.)—

              Thus in the pinnick’s nest the cuckoo lays,
              Then, easy as a Frenchman, takes her flight.

So an old writer says. Our ‘Turtles’ (‘Roger Turtle’ D.) are but
pleasant memorials of the bird that has been so long emblematic of
constancy, the dove; our ‘Challenders,’ if not a corruption of
‘Callender,’ are representatives of the _chelaunder_ or goldfinch, so
often mentioned by early poets; and in our ‘Woodalls,’ ‘Woodales,’ and
‘Woodwalls,’ not to say some of our ‘Woodwells,’ we are but reminded of
the _woodwale_, the early woodpecker. Our ‘Rains’ are but the old
‘Robert or William le Rain,’ another term for the same;[591] while our
‘Stars’ and ‘Stares’ (‘Robert Stare,’ A.) carry us back to the day when
the starling was so familiarly styled. In the ‘Assembly of Fowls’ the
author speaks of—

               The false lapwing, full of trecherie,
               The _stare_, that the counsaile can beurie.

In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ a list of birds is given embracing many of
the above—

            For there was many a bird singing,
            Throughout the yard all thringing,
            In many places were nightingales,
            Alpes, finches, and wodewales,
            That in their sweet song delighten,
            In thilke (such) places as they habiten.
            There might men see many flocks
            of turtles, and laverocks,
            Chelaundres fele (many) saw I there,
            That very nigh forsongen were (tired of singing).

Every one of these birds so styled is still to be met with in our
directories, for even the _alpe_ or bull-finch is not absent. It is only
in the investigation of subjects like this we see how great are the
changes that creep over a people’s language. What a list of words is
this, which if uttered now would fall dead and meaningless upon the ear
of the listener, and yet they were once familiar as household words.

(_c_) _Fish._—‘John le Fysche’ or ‘William Fyske’ have left descendants
enough to prove that many a Fish can live out of water, although much
has been advanced to the contrary. At a time when the peasants lived
daily on the products of the inland streams and sandy sea-banks, and
when the supply was infinitely more plentiful than it is now, we can
easily perceive the naturalness of the sobriquets that belong to this
class. Terms that are all but obsolete to us now, were household words
then. Hence it is that we find our directories of to-day abounding with
such entries as ‘Whale,’[592] ‘Shark,’ ‘Dolphin,’ Herring,’[593]
‘Codde,’ ‘Codling,’ ‘Salmon,’[594] ‘Trout,’ ‘Mackarel,’ ‘Grayling,’
‘Smelt,’ ‘Pilchard,’ ‘Whiting,’ ‘Turbot,’[595] ‘Keeling,’ ‘Crabbe,’
‘Chubb,’[596] ‘Tench,’[597] ‘Pike,’ and ‘Pickerel.’ ‘John Sturgeon’ is
mentioned by Foxe in his ‘Martyrology,’ under date 1541, and still
remains. The Hundred Rolls contain a ‘William Lampreye.’ ‘Barnacle’ is
still common, and ‘Mussell’ and ‘Spratt’[598] are not unknown. But
perhaps the most curious of these early nicknames are those belonging to
‘Matilda le Welke’ and ‘William Welkeshorn.’ Probably they were
notorious for a weakness towards that mollusk, which is still eaten in
large quantities in some parts of England.

(_d_) _Insects and Reptiles._—This is not a large class. The Hundred
Rolls furnish us with a ‘Magge Flie’ and an ‘Oda[599] Flie.’ The same
records contain a ‘Margaret Gnatte’ and a ‘William Gnatte.’ ‘Baldewin
Bugg’ (B.) and ‘Bate Bugge’ (A.) are also found, but although the
question has been asked—

                               If a party had a voice,
                 What mortal would be a Bugg by choice,

I fancy the cognomen is local, one of the endless forms, like ‘Brough,’
‘Burgh,’ ‘Burkes,’ of the old ‘Borough.’ ‘Roger le Waps’[600] reminds us
of the still existing provincialism for wasp, and ‘William Snake’ or
‘John Frog’ would be as little acceptable.[601] The smallest and most
repulsive insect we have, the parasitic louse, is found in ‘Nicholas le
Lus’ (J.), but our directories have now got rid of it—an example that
might be followed with no small advantage in other quarters.

           (2) _Descriptive Compounds affixed as Nicknames._

But in an age like that of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries we
cannot imagine that society would be merely required to come under a
verbal castigation such as, after all, did nothing more than strike off
the names of the animals that entered into Noah’s Ark. To call a man a
‘wolf’ or a ‘bull’ or a ‘grayling’ or a ‘salmon’ or a ‘peacock,’ after
all, is not very dreadful. Terms of a more compound form, sobriquets
more minutely anatomical, are also met with, the unpleasantness of which
is proved by the fact of so few of them having come down to us, while
not a small portion, as not fit for ears polite, must be altogether left
in their obscurity. There are others, however, of which none need to be
ashamed. For instance, the kingly denomination of ‘Quer-de-lyun’ (‘Ralph
Querdelyun,’ T., ‘William Querdelion,’ X.),[602] found in several lists,
could not but be agreeable, while ‘Dan-de-lyun,’ or ‘lion-toothed’
(‘William Daundelyun,’ B.), would be in thorough harmony with the spirit
of the age. ‘Colfox’ (‘Thomas Colfox,’ Z.), still existing, would be
less pleasant. The term ‘fox’ is supposed in itself to be synonymous
with deceit, but the intensive ‘col-fox’ or ‘deceitful-fox’ must have
implied duplicity indeed! Chaucer, in his ‘Nunn’s Story,’ speaks of

                   A col fox full of sleigh iniquity.

‘Clenehog’ (‘William Clenehog,’ A.) or ‘Clenegrise’ (‘Roger Clenegrise,’
A.) would seem to be a sarcasm upon the dirty habits of its early owner,
while ‘Piggesflesh’ (‘Reyner Piggesflesh,’ M.) or Hoggesflesh’ (‘Margery
Hoggesflesh,’ Z.)[603] is as obviously intended to be a reflection upon
the general appearance. ‘Herring’ (‘Robert Heryng,’ A.), already
mentioned, is not objectionable, but ‘Goodherring’ (‘Adam Godharing,’
A.) and ‘Redherring’[604] (‘William Redhering,’ M.) are. ‘Fish’ one
would not for a moment find fault with, but few young ladies, I imagine,
would be found to face at the matrimonial altar a ‘John Pourfishe’ (M.).
Objection, too, if not by the fair inamorata, yet by her parents, would
be raised, I suspect, to an alliance with a ‘Roger Feldog,’ or ‘Thomas
Catsnose,’ or ‘William Cocksbrain,’ or ‘Robert Calvesmaw,’ or ‘Peter
Buckeskyn,’ or ‘Arnulph Dogmaw,’ or ‘Henry Crowfoot,’ or ‘Matthew
Goosebeak,’ or ‘John Bullhead.’[605] Talking of the last, however, it is
interesting to notice how much the bull has entered into compounds of
this kind. Thus we light upon such names as ‘Walter Oyl-de-beof’ or
‘William Oldbeof,’ that is, bull-eyed; ‘Ralph Front-de-bœuf,’ that is,
bull-faced; ‘John Cors-de-bœuf’ or ‘Thomas Cordebeofe,’ that is,
bull-bodied; ‘John Queer-de-bœf,’ that is, bull-hearted, or ‘Amice le
Wildebœf’ or ‘Nicholas Waldebeof,’ seemingly like ‘Wild-bore,’ referring
to some wild untutored characteristics of the bearer. In all these the
genius of the age is quite apparent, and probably not one was looked
upon as otherwise than complimentary. ‘William Scorchebouef’ was
evidently some unlucky young kitchener who had mismanaged his duties as
spit-turner, but it betrays the process by which the term ‘bœuf’ has
come into its present position of verbal usefulness. In this light
‘Cors-de-bœuf’ also is further interesting as reminding us that there
was a time when ‘corpse’ did not necessarily imply the inanimate frame.
‘Behold, they were all dead corpses,’ found in our Authorized Version,
was no tautology, it would appear, even in the seventeenth century. Thus
do changes creep over the lives of words as well as men.

We might fill a book with these descriptive compounds—surnames so
whimsical, so absurdly humorous that they manifestly could not live. For
instance, we meet in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with such a
sobriquet as ‘William Hondeshakere,’ which no doubt spoke for the hearty
goodwill of its easy possessor. ‘Geoffry Chese-and-brede’ seems to refer
to the peculiar taste of its owner, while ‘Arnold Scutelmouth’ would be
a sarcasm on personal capacity for such things. ‘Alan Swet-in-bedde’
would not be an acceptable cognomen, nor ‘William Badneighbour,’ nor
‘Thomas Two-year-olde,’ nor ‘Geoffrey Dringkedregges,’ nor ‘Anna
Hellicate’ (hell-cat).[606] ‘Alice Gude-ale-house’ was evidently a
homely landlady, who kept her tavern in good repute by assiduous
attention and good-humoured ways. ‘William Kepegest’ would seem to
bespeak the kindly cheer of more private hospitality, while ‘John
Drybread,’ if not stingy, was doubtless crusty. ‘John Ratelle-bagge,’ or
‘John Leve-to-day,’ or ‘Serle Go-to-Kirk,’ or ‘Thomas Horsenail,’ or
‘John Lightharness,’ or ‘Richard Myldew,’ or ‘John Buckleboots,’ or
‘Edward Tortoise-shell,’[607] or ‘John Hornbuckle,’ while conveying no
slight upon the character, would be obnoxious enough as surnames. Our
‘Doolittles,’ ‘Lovejoys,’ ‘Scattergoods,’ ‘Makepeaces,’ and ‘Hatewrongs’
belong to this same category. A large and varied assortment of this
class will be found in the notes to this chapter, and to them I refer
the reader. They are of a class which were especially popular at the
time of which we are writing. Many of them are used as expletives in the
railing poets and writers of the period. For instance, the author of
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ speaks of—

                       ‘Slingthrift Fleshmonger,’
             Also ‘Fabian Flatterer,’ and ‘Cicely Claterer,’
             With ‘Adam Averus,’ flail-swinger,
             And ‘Francis Flaproach,’ ...
             With ‘Giles Unreste,’ mayor of Newgate,
             And ‘Lewis Unlusty, the leesing-monger.’
             Here is ‘Will Wily,’ the mill-pecker (thief),
             And ‘Patrick Peevish,’ hairbeater,
             With ‘Davy Drawlatch’[608] of Rockingham.
             Also ‘Hick Crookneck,’ the rope-maker,
             And ‘Steven Measellmouth,’ mussell-taker,
             With ‘Gogle-eyed Thompson,’ shepster of Lynn.

The above selection of fancy names will give us a fair idea of the kind
of sobriquet which went down with the lower orders during the Angevine
and Plantagenet dynasties.

But the largest branch of descriptive compounds is yet to be mentioned.
We find not a few instances where names of simple relationship or
occupation or office, or even, we may add, of patronymic character,
having become compounded with adjectives expressive of the feeling of
those with whom the nominee had to deal, naturally place themselves
under this same category. These, so far as they have come down to us,
are generally of a favourable, or at least harmless, description. Thus,
to notice Christian names first, this has especially been the case with
‘John.’ Probably as this sobriquet grew into favour the practice became
the means of distinguishing between several of the same title. Thus, as
I hinted in my previous chapter, if John were doughty, he became
‘Prujean,’[609] that is, preux-jean; if fat, ‘Grosjean;’ if young,
‘Youngjohn;’[610] if clownish, ‘Hobjohn;’ if big, ‘Micklejohn;’ if
small, ‘Littlejohn,’[611] or ‘Petitjean;’[612] if of a sunburnt
countenance, ‘Brownjohn;’[613] and if comely or well proportioned,
‘Properjohn;’ thus preserving a once familiar sense of ‘proper,’ which
we may meet with in such an olden phrase as a ‘proper knight,’ or in our
present Authorized Scripture Version, where our translators make St.
Paul speak of Moses in his infancy as a ‘proper child.’[614] Lastly, we
have the estimable ‘Bonjohn,’ the origin, I doubt not, of ‘Bunyon’ and
‘Bunyan,’ the familiar bearer of the latter form of which we shall all
doubtless admit to be well worthy his name. It is happy chance that when
we speak, as we often do, of ‘_good John_ Bunyan,’ we simply give him a
reduplication of that very title which none more richly merits than he.
In 1310 there was a ‘Jon Bonjon’ in London, and still earlier than this
a ‘Durand le Bon Johan’ figures in the Hundred Rolls.[615] Several
others we may mention, more Saxon in their character, and all long
obsolete, save one. Indeed, I doubt not they died with their original
possessors. These are ‘Robert Good-robert’ (P.) and ‘Richard
White-richard’ (J.), ‘William Holy-peter’ (A.) ‘William Jolif-will’ (A.)
(_i.e._ ‘Jolly-Will’),[616] and ‘William Prout-pierre’ (M.). ‘William
Goodhugh’ (M.), however, has contrived to hold his own, unless, as Mr.
Lower thinks, it belongs not to this category, but one I have already
surveyed, that regarding complexion. Its early form of ‘Godhewe’ would
seem perhaps to favour his notion. Names of this class, however, are
rare. When we come to occupation the instances are much more common.
Thus if we have ‘Husband,’ who doubtless owes his origin to his
economical rather than his marital position, we have, besides,
‘Younghusband’—in his day, I dare say, a somewhat precocious youth—the
now obsolete ‘Goodhusband;’ if ‘Skinner,’ then ‘Langskinner;’ if
‘Wright,’ then ‘Longwright’ or ‘Longus-Faber,’ as it is Latinized in our
rolls; if ‘Smith,’ then ‘Gros-smith,’ that is ‘big-smith,’ or
‘Wild-smith’ or ‘Youngsmith;’ or if ‘Groom,’ then ‘Good-groom’[617] and
‘Old-groom.’ If we have ‘Swain,’ we had also ‘Goodswain,’ or
‘Brownswain,’ or ‘Madswain,’ or ‘Summerswain,’ or ‘Cuteswain,’ or
‘Colswain’ (that is, deceitful swain, or ‘Littleswain;’ if ‘King,’[618]
then ‘Littleking,’ ‘Coyking,’ ‘Brownking,’ ‘Whiteking,’ and ‘Redking;’
if ‘Hine,’ or ‘Hyne,’ or ‘Hind,’ a peasant somewhat similar to Swain,
then also ‘Goodhyne;’ if ‘Bond,’ then ‘Youngbond;’ if ‘Knave’ or
servant, then ‘Smartknave,’ ‘Whiteknave,’ ‘Brownknave,’ and ‘Goodknave,’
the latter a strange compound to modern ears;[619] if ‘Clerk,’ then
‘Bonclerk,’ ‘Beauclerk,’ ‘Goodclerk,’ ‘Mauclerk,’[620] and
‘Redclerk;’[621] if ‘Page,’ then ‘Littlepage’[622] and ‘Smallpage,’ and
to put it here for convenience, ‘Lawpage;’ if ‘Wayt,’ a ‘watchman,’ then
‘Smartwayt,’ ‘Stertwait’ (active, on the alert), and ‘Goodwayt;’ if
‘Man’ or ‘Mann,’ a relic of the old ‘le Man’ or menial, then also
‘Goodman,’ a term, however, which became early used of any honest
householder.[623] ‘Le Mayster’ or ‘Master’ was common enough, but I am
sorry to say I have not lighted upon a ‘Goodmayster’ as yet. Thus
‘Fellowe’ also, or ‘Fellowes,’ as we now have it, is met by ‘Goodfellow’
and ‘Longfellow;’ ‘Child’ by ‘Goodchild’ and the obsolete ‘Evilchild;’
‘Son’ by ‘Littleson’ and ‘Fairson;’ ‘Sire’ by ‘Littlesire’ and
‘Fairsire;’ ‘Nurse’ by ‘Goodnurse,’ and ‘Fowl’ by ‘Goodfowl.’ Norman
equivalents for these, however, were not wanting. ‘Goodfellow’ had its
mate in ‘Boncompagnon,’ ‘Goodbody’ in ‘Bonecors,’ ‘Goodwait’ in
‘Bonserjeant,’ ‘Goodclerk’[624] in ‘Bonclerk,’ and ‘Goodman’[625] in
‘Bonhomme’ (our present ‘Bonham’)[626] and ‘Prudhomme’ or ‘Pridham.’
‘Evilchild’ found itself face to face with ‘Malenfant,’ ‘Littlesire’
with ‘Petitsire,’ ‘Goodchild’ with ‘Bonyfant,’ ‘Bonenfant,’ or
‘Bullivant,’ as we now have it, and ‘Godson’ or ‘Goodson,’ it may be,
with ‘Bonfils’ or ‘Boffill.’ We have still ‘Clerk,’ but ‘Bonclerke,’ if
not ‘Beauclerk,’ is obsolete; ‘Squier,’ but ‘Bonsquier’ has disappeared;
‘Chevalier’ also thrives, while ‘Bonchevalier’ is extinct. In some cases
the simple and the compound forms are both wanting. It is so with our
former ‘Vadlets’ and ‘Bonvalets,’ our ‘Vileins,’ ‘Beauvileyns,’ and
‘Mangevileyns’ (scabby), our ‘Queynts’ and ‘Bonqueynts,’ and our
‘Aventures’ and ‘Bonaventures,’ the latter sobriquet evidently given to
one who had acquitted himself well in some mediæval joust or tournament.
It is found in several records. Piers Plowman uses the term simple, when
he speaks of Faith crying—

                    As dooth an heraud of armes,
                    When aventrous cometh to justes.

‘Christian,’ which may be but the proper name, still lives, though
‘Bonchristien’ is gone; and ‘Count,’ too, lingers, ‘Boncount’ being
obsolete. Sometimes, strangely enough, the French idiomatic compounds
got literally translated into Saxon, resulting in terms of utterly
different meaning. Thus, as I have already shown, ‘Beaupere’ met face to
face with ‘Fairsire,’ ‘Beaufiz’[627] with ‘Fairchild,’ and ‘Beaufrere’
with ‘Fairbrother.’ But this bare and naked translation into the
vernacular seems to have been a general practice. The Norman
‘Petyclerk,’ for instance, was speedily met by ‘Smalwritere,’
‘Blauncpayne’ by ‘Whitbred,’ and ‘Handsomebody,’ over which much
obscurity has lingered, is, I have no hesitation in asserting, a
directly Saxonised form of ‘Gentilcors,’ a name not unfrequently met
with at this date.

Many of the names I have mentioned above, however, are, strange to say,
being reproduced in the present day after a curious fashion. The
multiplication of forenames has been the primary cause of this.[628] In
many cases these, by becoming as it were adjectives to the surname, form
sobriquets no less ludicrous and striking than those which for that very
reason so soon became obsolete. Thus such a combination as ‘Choice
Pickrell’ is exactly equivalent to ‘Goodherring’ just alluded to. ‘Arch
Bishop’ restores the archiepiscopal name which fell into abeyance in the
twelfth century; while such other names as ‘Perfect Sparrow,’ ‘Savage
Bear,’[629] ‘Royal King,’ ‘Sing Song,’ ‘Ivory Mallet,’[630] ‘More
Fortune,’[631] ‘Christmas Day,’ ‘Paschal Lamb,’ ‘River Jordan,’[632] or
‘Pine Coffin,’[633] may be met by designations equally absurd, if less
travestied. These, of course, must be attributed to mere eccentricity on
the part of parents, rather than to accident. Combinations of this kind,
however, have arisen of late years through another circumstance. It not
unfrequently occurs that through certain circumstances two family names
are united. Thus we have such conjunctions as ‘Burdett-Coutts’ or
‘Sclater-Booth.’ Speaking of these reminds me of a story I have heard
anent a combination of this kind. A certain gentleman, it is said, of
the name of Colley, in bequeathing in his will a considerable estate to
a friend of the name of ‘Mellon,’ made it the condition of his
acceptance that the legatee added his benefactor’s name to his own. His
friend had no objection to the property, but when he found that his
acquiescence in the terms imposed would make him ‘Mellon-Colley’ to the
end of his days, he considered the matter afresh and declined the offer.

  (3) _Nicknames from Oaths, Exclamations, Street-cries, and Mottoes._

(_a_) _Oaths._—A remarkable, though not a very large, batch of surnames
is to be referred to perhaps the most peculiar characteristic of
all—that of the use of profane, or at least idle oaths. The prevalence
of imprecations in mediæval times was simply extraordinary.[634] If the
writings of that period bear but the faintest comparison to the talk of
men, their conversation must have been strangely seasoned. For instance,
in the ‘Canterbury Tales’ we find introduced without the slightest
ceremony such oaths as ‘for Cristes passion,’ ‘by Goddes saule,’ ‘for
Cristes saule,’ ‘by Goddes dignitee,’ ‘Goddes banes,’[635] ‘Cristes
pein,’ ‘Goddes love,’ ‘Goddes hate,’ ‘Cristes foot,’ ‘God me save,’ and
the more simple ‘By-God,’ or ‘Parde’ or ‘Pardieu.’ That they are mostly
meaningless is their chief characteristic. ‘John Pardieu’ in the Rolls
of Parliament will represent our many ‘Pardews,’ ‘Pardows,’ ‘Pardoes,’
and ‘Pardies;’ and although I have given a different origin in my second
chapter,[636] I may mention ‘Alina le Bigod’ (J.), or ‘John le Bygot’
(M.). ‘Barbara Godselve’[637] (F.F.), ‘Richard Godesname’ (X.), ‘Richard
Godbeare’ (Z.), (now ‘Godbeer,’ ‘Godbehere,’ and ‘Goodbeer’), ‘Roger
Godblod’ (E.) (God’s blood), ‘Alicia Godbodi’ (A.) (God’s body), seem
all to be representative of familiar imprecations.

(_b_) _Mottoes._—In many cases we can scarcely doubt that ensigncy has
had something to do with the origin of our surnames. Edward III. at a
tournament had his trappings embroidered with the couplet—

                      Hay, hay, the white swan,
                      By God’s soule I am thy man.

‘Godsol’ and ‘Godsoule’ formerly existed, and may have so risen. Among
other names of this class may be mentioned ‘Janett God-send-us’[638] (W.
13), ‘Roger Deus-salvet-dominas,’[639] ‘John God-me-fetch,’ ‘John
Dieu-te-ayde,’ ‘John Flourdieu,’ ‘Henry Grace-dieu,’[640] ‘Henry
Warde-dieu,’ ‘John Depart-dieu,’ and ‘John Angel-dieu.’[641] From the
escutcheons of their wearers these would easily pass on to the men
themselves who first bore them as surnames.

(_c_) _Exclamations._—‘Peter Damegod’ (M.) and ‘John Domegode’ (O.),
meaning literally ‘Lord God,’ represent a once favourite expletive.[642]
We are here reminded that there was a time when ‘Dame,’ from _dominus_
and _domina_ alike, was applied to either sex. One or two exclamations
of less objectionable import are also to be met with. ‘William
Godthanke’ (A.) seems but a reversal of our ‘Thank God,’ while ‘Ralph
Godisped’ (A.), fossilised in our ‘Goodspeeds,’ may represent
‘God-speed-thee.’[643] ‘Richard Farewel’ (A.), ‘Simon Welfare’ (A.),
‘John Welcome’ (Z.Z.), ‘William Adieu’ (M.), would possess affixes
readily given for their kindly and oft utterance. Our ‘Rummelows,’
‘Rummileys,’ and ‘Rumbelows,’ without dispute, represent but the old
well-known cry of ‘Rombylow’ or ‘Rummylow,’ the sailor’s ‘Heave-ho’ of
later days. In the ‘Squire of Low Degree’ it is said—

                     Your mariners shall synge arow,
                     Hey how, and rumbylow.

The ancestor of those who bear the name was doubtless a sailor at some
period of his career.[644]

(_d_) _Street-cries._—The calls of hawkers could not of course escape
the good-humoured raillery of our forefathers. We find ‘Robert
Freshfissh’ (X.) to have been a fishmonger, and ‘John Freshfisch’ is set
down in the Rolls of Parliament. About the same time ‘Margaret
Fressheharyng’ dwelt in the Metropolis. ‘Agnes Godefouele’ (A.) and
‘Basilia Godfowele’ (A.) were manifestly poultry-women, for even the
most respectable occupations were then, as I have already shown,
itinerant. But perhaps the most curious thing of all is to notice the
price-calls that have found themselves inscribed in our registers. The
larger sums will have a different origin, but I place them here for
convenience sake. The Writs of Parliament give us a ‘Robert Peny;’ the
‘Wills and Inventories’ (Surt. Soc.), a ‘Thomas Fourpeni;’ the Hundred
Rolls, a ‘John Fivepeni;’ the ‘Cal. Rot. Originalium,’ a ‘Thomas
Sexpenne;’ the ‘Yorkshire Wills and Inventories’ (Surt. Soc.), a ‘John
Ninepennies;’ and the Hundred Rolls, a ‘Fulco Twelpenes.’[645] ‘James
Fyppound’ (Fivepound) is mentioned in ‘Materials for History of Henry
VII.’ So early as 1342 we find ‘John Twenti-mark’ to have been Rector of
Risingham (Norfolk, 1, 64); while ‘William Hunderpound’ was Mayor of
Lynn Regis in 1417 (do. viii. 532). This latter may be a translation of
a Norman sobriquet, for ‘Grace Centlivre’ and ‘Joseph Centlivre’ are set
down in a Surrey register of the same date. (‘Hist. and Ant. Survey,’
Index.) In both cases, I doubt not, the nickname was acquired from the
peculiarity of the source whence the income was derived. ‘Centlivre’
existed in the eighteenth century at least, for it was Mrs. Centlivre
who wrote the ‘Platonic Lady,’ which was issued in 1707. ‘Thomas
Thousandpound,’ the last of this class, appears in the ‘Wardrobe
Accounts’ (Edward I.), and concludes a list as strange as the most
ardent ‘lover of the curious’ could desire.[646]

Looking back, however, upon these earlier names, how many varied and
conflicting qualities of the human heart do they all reflect, some
honourable, some harmlessly innocent, the greater part, I fear,
discreditable. Of all how much might be said, but I refrain, lest I be
liable to a charge of acting contrary to the spirit of the kindly old
adage, ‘de mortuis nil nisi bonum’—‘speak no evil of the dead.’ Thus
telltale, however, are our surnames, and if it be no pleasant task to
expose the weaknesses and the frailties of them whose bones have so long
ere this crumbled into decay, still we may comfort ourselves with the
remembrance that their names, with many others I could have adduced had
space permitted, offer no kind of reflection upon their present
possessors. It is not unseldom we see the bearer of a worthy name
dragging the same through the dust and mire of an ignoble life. It is
amongst these names of somewhat unsavoury origin we oftentimes meet with
the best, and the truest, and the noblest of our fellows.


_The Alphabetical Letters appended to the Names furnished in the Index
    refer to the Documents in the List here cited._

    Hundred Rolls. _A._
    Calendarium Inquisitionum Post Mortem. _B._
    Calendarium Rotulorum Patentium in Turri Londinensi. _C._
    Calendarium Rotulorum Chartarum. _D._
    Rotuli Litterarum Clausarum in Turri Londonensi. _E._
    Valor Ecclesiasticus. _F._
    Calendarium Rotulorum Originalium. _G._
    Rolls of Parliament. _H._
    Placitorum in Dom. Cap. Westminster. _J._
    Testa de Neville, sive Liber Feodorum. _K._
    Calendarium Genealogicum. _L._
    Writs of Parliament. _M._
    Munimenta Gildhallæ Londoniensis. _N._
    Issues of the Exchequer. _O._
    Issue Roll. _P._
    History and Antiquities of York (Pub. 1785). _Q._
    Placita de Quo Warranto. _R._
    Guild of St. George, Norwich. _S._
    Excerpta e Rotulis Finium in Turri Londinensi. _T._
    V. Camden Society Publications.
      _V._ 1.  Bury St. Edmunds Wills.
      _V._ 2.  Dingley’s History from Marble.
      _V._ 3.  Trevelyan Papers.
      _V._ 4.  Camden Miscellany.
      _V._ 5.  Smith’s Obituary.
      _V._ 6.  Diary of John Rous.
      _V._ 7.  Liber Famelicus—Sir James Whitelock.
      _V._ 8.  Chronicon Petroburgense.
      _V._ 9.  Proceedings against Dame Alice Kyteler.
      _V._ 10. Autobiography of Sir John Bramston.
      _V._ 11. Doomsday Book of St. Paul’s.
      _V._ 12. Ricart’s Kalendar.
      _V._ 13. Proceedings in Kent.
      _V._ 14. Rutland Papers.
    W. Surtees’ Society Publications.
      _W._ 1.  Coldingham Priory.
      _W._ 2.  Testamenta Ebor.
      _W._ 3.  Durham Household Book.
      _W._ 4.  Kirkby Inquest.
      _W._ 5.  Knight’s Fees.
      _W._ 6.  Nom. Villarum.
      _W._ 7.  Illustrative Documents.
      _W._ 8.  Priory of Finchdale.
      _W._ 9. Fabric Rolls of York Minister, _and_ Wills and
      _W._ 10. Hexham Priory.
      _W._ 11. Corpus Christi Guild.
      _W._ 12. Hist. Dunelm.
      _W._ 13. Barnes’ Eccles. Proceedings.
      _W._ 14. Visitation of Yorkshire.
      _W._ 15. Feodarum Prior. Dunelm.
      _W._ 16. Depositions from York Castle.
      _W._ 17. Memorials of Fountains Abbey.
      _W._ 18. Depositions and Eccles. Proceedings.
      _W._ 19. Liber Vitæ.
      _W._ 20. Remains of Dean Granville.
    Memorials of London (Riley).                         _X._
    Proceedings and Ordinances: Privy Council.           _Y._
    Calendar of Proceedings in Chancery (Elizabeth).     _Z._
    The Publications of the Chetham Society.           _A A._
                Wills and Inventories (Lancashire).  _A A. 1._
                Three Lancashire Documents.          _A A._ 2.
                Lancashire Chauntries.               _A A._ 3.
                Birch Chapel.                        _A A._ 4.
    Rotuli Normanniæ in Turri Londinensi.              _B B._
    Documents Illustrative of English History.         _D D._
    Index to ‘Originalia et Memoranda.’                _E E._
    History of Norfolk (Blomefield).                   _F F._
    Fines (Richard I.).                                _G G._
    History of Hertfordshire (Clutterbuck).            _H H._
    Rotuli Curiæ Regis.                                _M M._
    Calendar and Inventories of the Treasury.          _N N._
    History of Leicestershire (Nicholl’s).             _P P._
    Register—St. James, Piccadilly.                   _Q Q._
    State Paper office.                                _R R._
                  Patent Rolls.                      _R R._ 1.
                  Compoti.                           _R R._ 2.
                  Issue Rolls.                       _R R._ 3.
    History of Durham (Surtees).                       _S S._
    State Papers (Domestic).                           _T T._
    Materials for History of Reign of Henry VII.       _X X._ 1.
    Registrum Abbatiæ Johannis Whethamstede.           _X X._ 2.
    Letters from Northern Registers.                   _X X._ 3.
    Calendar to Pleadings (Elizabeth).                 _Z Z._


                          INDEX OF INSTANCES.

 Aaron, 83.
   Aaron le Blund, _T_.
   Aron Judde, _A_.

 A’Becket (_v._ Beckett) 85.

 Abbe, 191.
   Radulf le Abbe, _C_.

 Abbott, 191.
   Juliana Abbot, _A_.
   Ric. Abbot, _M_.

 Abel, 82.
   Abel le Orfeure, _T_.
   Thomas Abel, _A_.

 Abigail, 100.
   Abigail Cordell, _Z_.
   Abigail Tayler, _W_ 16.

 Ablett, Ablott, 82. Abalotta de Forde, _A_.
   William Abelot, _M_.
   Ric. Abelote, _V_ 11.

 Abner, 77.

 Above-brook, 108.
   John Abovebrok, _A_.

 Above-town, 108.
   Adelina Abovetoun, _A_.
   William Abovetoun, _M_.

   Gerard Abbraham, _A_.
   Robert Abraam, _A_.

 Absolom, 83.
   Absolon in le Dyche, _A_.
   Absolon fil. Simon, _C_.

 Abstinence, 103.
   Abstinence Pougher, 104, _n_.

 Acatour, 210.
   Bernard le Acatour, _M_.
   John le Acatour, _M_.

 Accepted, 104.
   Accepted Frewen, 104, _n_.

 Achatour, 210.
   Jocius le Achatur, _A_.
   Henry le Achator, _H_.

 Acherman (_v._ Acreman), 259.
   Alex. Acherman, _A_.

 Acland, 120.
   John Acklande, _Z_.

 Acreman, 259.
   Roger le Acreman, _A_.

 Acroyd, 120.
   Henry Aykeroid, _Z_.
   Ric. de Akerode, _W_ 2.

 Acton, 120.
   Reiner de Acton, _M_.
   Engelard de Actone, _A_.

 Adam, 3, 81.
   Adam fil. Warin, _M_.
   Adam le Flecher, _T_.

 Adams, 81.
   Juliana Adams, _A_.
   Richard Addames, _Z Z_.

 Adamson, 81.
   Hugh fil. Adam, _A_.
   Hoel fil. Adam, _A_.

 Adcock, Adcocks, 81.
   William Adcock, _W_ 9.
   Stephen Adcock, _Z_.
   Hamme, son of Adecok, _A A_ 2.

 Addison, 81.
   Gilbert fil. Adæ, _C_.
   Thomas Adesone, _R_.

 Adela (_v._ Adelina), 19.
   Adela uxor Roberti, _C_.

 Adelaid (_v._ Alard), 21.
   Adam Adelaad, _A_.

 Adelina, 19.
   Adelina le Heyr, _A_.
   Henry fil. Adelyne, _A_.

 Adieu, 512.
   William Adieu, _M_.

 Adkins, 81.
   Adekin le Fuller, _A_.
   William Adekyns, _E E_.

 Adkinson, 81.
   William Adkinson (London: Maitland).

 Adlard (_v._ Adelard).

 Agate, 111.
   Richard Atte-gate, _A_.
   Leonard Agate, _Z_.

 Agatha, 19.
   Agatha le Kareter, _A_.
   Agatha de Dene, _B_.

 Agnes, 19.
   Thomas fil. Agneta, _J_.
   Agnes le Brune, _A_.

 Agrippina, 100.
   Agrippina Bingley, _T T_.

 Aguiler, 342.
   Thomas le Aguiler, _M_.
   William le Aguiler, _Q_.
   Lucas le Aguler, _A_.

 Aikman (_v._ Acreman), 259.

 Ainsworth, 134.
   Margaret Aynesworthe, _Z_.

 Akerman (_v._ Acreman), 259.
   Peter le Akerman, _A_.
   John le Akurman, _B_.

 Alabaster, 225.
   Richard le Alblaster, _B_.
   Henry le Alblaster, _M_.
   Reginald le Arbelestre, _A_.

 Alan (_v._ Allen).
   Alan fil. Warin, _M_.
   Alan le Chapelein, _L_.

 Alanson (_v._ Allinson).
   Brien fil. Alan, _C_.
   William Alynson, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Allason, _Z_.

 Alard, 21.
   Alard le Fleminge, _B_.
   Alard le Burser, _H_.
   Robert Alard, _M_.

   Robert Alrych, _A_.
   Agnes Alrich, _A_.

 Albert, 29.
   John Albert, _A_.
   Robert Alberd, _A_.

 Alcock, 55.
   John Alcoc, _A_.
   John Alkok, _H_.

 Alder, 154.

 Alderman, 186.
   Thomas Alderman, _V_ 8.
   Robert le Alderman, _A_.
   Benjamin Aldermannus, _A_.

 Alderson, 21.
   John fil. Aldrech, _C_.
   Christopher Alderson, _W_ 8.

 Aldershot, 116.
   Robert de Alreshawe, _M_.
   Thomas Allshawe, _X X_.

 Aldred, 21.
   Aldred fil. Roger, J.
   Aldred Andre, _A_.

 Aldrech, Aldrich, 21.
   John Alrich, _M_.
   John Aldrich, _A_.

 Alecot (_v._ Alicot), 87.

 Alefounder, 392, _n_.
   William Alefounder, _F F_.
   Mary Alfounder, _P P_.
   Richard Alefounder, _Z_.

 Aleman, 165.
   Custance de Alemania, _A_.
   William Alemannus, _C_.
   John le Aleman, _W_ 7.

 Alexander, 98 (_v._ Saunder).
   William Alexandre, _M_.
   Nicholas Alesandre, _A_.
   Alexander fil. Seman, _J_.

 Aleyn (_v._ Allen).
   Aleyn Forman, _H_.
   Aleyn, _M_.

 Alfred, 21.
   Alured fil. Ivo, _J_.
   Alfred Dionysius Langsomer, _A_.
   Robert fil. Alfridi, _A_.

 Alianora, 19, 72.
   Alianora Bushe, _E E_.
   Alicia Alianor, _R_.

 Alice, Alicia, 19, 87, _n_.
   Nicholas fil. Alicia, _A_.
   Richard fil. Alice, _R_.

 Alicot, 87.
   Alecot fil. Almar, _C_.
   William Alicot, _A_.

 Alina (_v._ Alinot), 72.
   Alina Atte-broc, _A_.

 Alinot, Alinet, 19, 72.
   William Alinot, _A_.
   Alnot Red, _A_.
   Havisia Alinet, _A_.

 Aliot, 19, 72, 87.
   Robert Aliot, _A_.
   Walter Aliot, _A_.
   Alyott de Symondston, _A A_ 2.

   (1), 87, _n_.
     Ric. fil. Alise, _A_.
     Goselin fil. Alice, _A_.
     John Alicesone, _R R_ 1.
   (2), 87, _n_.
     Alisceon de Tuxforth, _W_ 2.
     Alison Gelyot, _H_.
     Alison Wrangwish, _W_ 11.

 Alkins, 87.
   John Alkyn, _M_.

 Allbright, 29.
   Aylbreda de Cheny, _A_.
   Aylbricht le Turner, _A_.
   Albred de la Haye, _J_.

 Allcock, 87.
   William Allcocke, _Z Z_.
   John Allcock, _Z Z_.

   Thomas fil. Alani, _M_.
   Will. fil. Alani, _R_.

 Allinson (_v._ Alanson).
   John Alleynsone, _S_.
   William Aleynsonne, _B B_.
   George Alonsonne, _Z Z_.

 Allison (_v._ Alison), 16, 87.

 Allkins (_v._ Alkins), 87.

 Allman (_v._ Aleman), 165.

 Allott, 87.
   Alote le Messer, _A_.
   Alot Chapman, _F F_.
   Thomas fil. Alote, _M_.

 Allured (_v._ Alfred), 21.
   Alured Ape, _A_.
   William Alured, _M_.

 Almaine (_v._ Aleman), 165.

 Almaric, Almeric, 18, 29.
   Almaric Breton, _M_.
   Almaricus le Botiller, _B_.

 Almoner, 193. Robert le Almoner, _H_.

 Alured (_v._ Allured), 21.

 Alwright, 278.
   Richard Alwright, _Z_.

 Amabilla, 19, 70.
   Amabilla le Blund, _B_.
   Amabil fil. Emme, _J_.

 Amand (_v._ Samand), 125.
   Aymer de St. Amand, _M_.

 Amary, 29.
   Rob. Amary, _A_.
   Roger Ammary, _A_.

 Amberson, 29.
   Richard Amberson, 29, _n_.
   Robert Amberson, 29, _n_.

 Ambler, 440.
   Thomas le Amblur, _A_.
   William Ambler, _W_ 9.

 Ame (_v._ Eame), 429.

 Amelia (_v._ Emilia), 19, 87, _n_.

 Amelot (_v._ Amelia), 87, _n_.
   Nic. Amelot, _A_.
   Ric. fil. Amelot, _A_.

 Americ, 29.
   Americus Balistarius, _E_.
   Americ Wylson, _W_ 3.

 Amery (_v._ Emery), 29.
   Hugh Amery, _H_.

 Amiable, 468.
   Edward Amiable, _Z_.
   Joan Amiable, _Z_.
   Thomas Amable, _A_.

 Amice, 17.
   Geoff. fil. Amice, _R_.
   Amice le Noble, _A_.
   Robert fil. Amicie, _M_.

 Amiger (_v._ Armiger), 199.
   Robert Amiger, _Z_.

 Amiot (_v._ Amy).
   Amiot de Pontefracto, _DD_.
   Walter fil. Amiot, _G G_.
   William Amiot, _A_.

 Amner (_v._ Almoner), 193.

 Amor, Amor, 111.
   Agnes atte-More, _B_.

 Amy (_v._ Amelia).
   Thomas Amye, _E E_.
   Amy le Strange, _F F_.

 Ananias, 100.
   Ananias Dyce, _T T_.

 Ancell (_v._ Ansell).
   William Auncell, _M_.

 Anchor, 196.
   Sarra Ancorita, _A_.

 Anderson, 94.
   Alice fil. Andre, _A_.
   Colyn Andresonne, _B B_.
   John Andrewson, _Z Z_.

 Andrew, Andrews, 94.
   Nic. fil. Andree, _A_.
   Emma Andreu, _A_.
   Andreas le Orfeure, _L_.

 Angel-Dei, 511.
   Henry Angel-Dei, _A_.

 Anger, 158.
   Isabella Anger, _H_.
   Hugh de Angiers, _J_.
   Robert Angier, _X X_.

 Angwin, 158.
   Geoffrey le Aungevyn, _L_.
   Maurice le Anjevin, _A_.
   Simon le Angevin, _E_.

 Anker (_v._ Anchor), 196.

 Anketell, 22.
   Anketil le Mercer, _A_.
   Peter fil. Anketill, _C_.
   Anketill fil. Thomas, _K_.

 Annabel, 19.
   Anabilla de Harpham, _W_ 2.
   Peter fil. Annabel, _M_.

 Annot, Annotson, (_v._ Alianora), 72.
   John Annotson, _F F_.
   Enota Coley, _A_.
   William Annotyson, _F F_.
   Anota Canun, _A_.

 Anora (_v._ Alianora), 72.
   Annora Vidua, _A_.
   Annora le Aencurt, _K_.
   Annore Beine, _A_.

 Ansell, Anselm, 11.
   William Ansel, _A_.
   Anselm de Bamburgh, _A_.
   John fil. Anselmi, _R_.

 Anser, 403.

 Ansketil (_v._ Asketil), 24.
   Robert fil. Anskitiel, _W_ 12.

 Anson, 72.
   Elisha Annyson, _F F_.
   Richard Anyson, _F F_.

 Anthony (_v._ Antony).

 Antioch, 169.
   Nicholas Antioch, _M_.
   Robert de Antiochia, _E_.

 Antonison, 54.
   Agnes Antonison, _Z_.

   John fil. Antony, _A_.
   Antony Stilman, _H_.

 Anvers, 170.
   Richard de Anvers, _A_.
   Thomas de Anvers, _R_.

 Ape, 492.
   John le Ape, _A_.
   Alured Ape, _A_.

 Apollonia, 100.
   Apollonia Cotton, _T T_.

 Applegarth, 133.
   Robert del Apelgargh, _A_.
   Geoffrey de Appelgarth, _K_.

 Appletree, 129.
   Thomas Appletree, _Z_.

 Apple-john, 504.

 Appleyard, 261, 133.
   Nicholas de Apelyerd, _A_.
   Thomas Appleyeard, _Z Z_.

 Arblast, Arblaster 225.
   John le Arblaster, _A_.
   Reginald le Arblaster, _B_.
   Urric le Arbelastre, _J_.

 Archbishop (_v._ Archevesk), 186, 508.
   Hugh Archiepiscopus, _C_.

 Archdeacon, 187.
   Richard l’Ercedekne, _V_ 9.
   Thomas le Arsdekene, _A_.
   Adam Ercedekne, _A_.

 Archer, 225.
   William le Archer, _B_.
   Pagan le Archier, _E_.

 Archevesk, 186.
   Hugo le Archevesk, _C_.
   William le Arceveske, _E_.

 Archpriest, 187.
   Roger le Archeprest, _J_.

 Argent, 168.
   Reginald de Argente, _A_.
   John de Argenteyn, _R_.

 Arkell, Arkettle, 25, _n_.
   William Arkell, _W_ 2.
   Simon fil. Arkill, _E_.
   Roger Arketel, _A_.

 Arkwright, 279.
   Hugh Arkewright, _Z Z_.
   Lawrence Arkewrighte, _Z Z_.

 Arme, 436.

 Armer, Armerer, 222.
   Gwydo le Armerer, _A_.
   Simon le Armurer, _G_.
   Adam le Armerer, _M_.
   Marion Armourer, _W_ 18.

 Armiger, 199.
   Thomas Armiger, _C_.
   Nicholas Armiger, _E_.

 Arminger (_v._ Armiger), 199.
   Jeffry Arminger, _Z_.

 Armitage, 196.
   John Harmaytayge, _W_ 3.
   Gregory Armitage, _Z_.

 Armour (_v._ Armer), 222.

 Amstrang, Armstrong, 436.
   Adam le Armstrang, _G_.
   William le Armestrang, _G_.
   Guy le Armerecte, _A_.

 Arnison, 28.

 Arnald, 28.
   Walter fil. Arnald, _A_.
   Arnald atte Brok, _A_.

 Arnet, 28.
   Hugh Arnyet, _M_.
   Milisent Arnet, _A_.

 Arnold (_v._ Ernald), 28.
   Arnoldus Bassett, _E_.
   Arnold Lym, _H_.
   Arnold Lupus, _H_.

 Arnott (_v._ Arnett), 28.
   Ernot Stead, _W_ 14.

   Arnulph Dogmaw, _A_.
   Arnulfus de Derham, _C_.

 Arras, 169.
   Ralph de Arras, _A_.
   Robert de Arraz, _N_.

 Arrowsmith, 227, 281.
   William Arowesmythe, _Z Z_.
   John Arrowsmyth, _F_.

 Arsmith (_v._ Arrowsmith), 227, 281.
   Richard Arsmith, _Z_.

 Arter, 158.
   Robert de Artoys, _H_.

 Arthur, 19, 20.
   William fil. Arthuri, _A_.
   Harthurus Bosewyll, _W_ 2.

 Aquila, 100.
   Aquila Wykes, _T T_.

 Ash (_v._ Ashe), 154.

 Ashburner 264.
   Peter Ashburner, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Ashburner, _Z Z_.

 Ashe 154.
   Paganel del Ash, _M_.
   Roger atte Ashe, _F F_.

 Asher, 113.

 Ashes, 129.

 Ashford, 146.
   Walter de Ashford, _M_.
   Roger Ashford, _Z_.

 Ashley, 119.
   John de Ashlegh, _K_.
   Oliva de Esseligh, _E_.

 Ashman, 113.
   Walter Ascheman, _A_.
   Thom. Asheman, _B_.

 Ashover, 128.
   Walter de Ashovere, _X X_ 4.

 Ashurst, 116.
   Adam de Ashurst, _M_.
   John Asshenhyrst, _Z_.

 Asketil, Askell, 24, 25.
   Jordan Asketil, _A_.
   William Asketil, _Q_.
   Askill le Fisherman, _V_ 8.

 Assman, 285.
   Richard Asseman. _A_.
   Roger Asman, _A_.

 Astrier, 241.
   William le Astrier, _E_.

 Atcliffe, 110.

 Atfield, 110.
   Linota Ate-felde, _A_.
   John Atefelde, _A_.

 Athill, 110.
   Bateman Ate-hil, _A_.
   Gregory Attehill, _F F_.

 Atkins, 81.
   William Atkyns, _F_.
   Thomas Atkyns, _H_.

 Atkinson, 81.
   John Attechenson, _X X_. 1.
   Raufe Atkinson, _Z_.
   Mariona Atkynsone, _W_ 19.

 Atlay, Atlee, 119, 110.
   Lawrence Atlee, _Z_.
   Hugh Atlee, _Z_.

 Attenborough, Atterbury, 110.
   Walter Atteburg, _A_.
   John Atte-bury, _M_.

 Atton, 110.
   William Atton, _B_.

 Attridge, 110.
   Jacob Atteriche, _A_.

 Attree, 110.

 Attwell, Atwell, 110.
   Agnes Atte-well, _B_.
   Wil. Atte Welle, _M_.
   John Atwelle, _M_.

 Atwater, 110.
   Elias Atwatere, _A_.
   William Atte-Water. (Lower’s _English Surnames._)

 Atwood, 110, 154.
   Richard Ate-wode, _A_.
   Adam Atte-wood, _C_.

 Atworth, 110.

 Auberkin (_v._ Aubrey), 29.
   Walter Auberkin, _A_.

 Aubrey, 28.
   Albericus Balister, _C_.
   Albricus le Child, _T_.
   Aubrey Bunt, _A_.

 Audrey (_v._ Awdrey), 302.

 Aumeric (_v._ Almaric), 17, 26.
   Robert fil. Aumeric, _C_.

 Aumoner (_v._ Almoner), 106.
   Michael le Aumoner, _B_.
   Walter le Aumoner, _M_.
   Adam le Aumener, _G_.

 Aunay, 154.

 Aunger (_v._ Anger), 158.
   Charles de Angers, _H_.
   John de Aungiers, _M_.
   Robert Aungier, _X X_. 1.

 Aunsermaker, 403.
   Thomas le Aunseremaker, _X_.

   Adam le Aurifaber, _M_.
   Andrew Aurifaber, _R_.

 Austen, Austin.
   Awsteyne Mayne, _Z_.
   Astin de Bennington, _A_.
   Wilekin fil. Austin, _C_.

 Avelina, Aveline, 19, 87, _n_.
   Avelina Batayl, _F F_.
   Wydo Aveline, _A_.
   Avelina le Gros, _J_.

 Avener, 219.
   Walter le Avenur, _A_.
   William le Avenare, _G_.
   Ralph le Avener, _M_.

 Aventure, 507.
   William Aventur, _A_.
   Andrew Aventur, _A_.

 Avery (_v._ Every), 27.
   Avery le Batur, _A_.
   Avere de Dayce, _A_.

 Avice, 19.
   Avice le Aubergere, _H_.
   Avicia de Breaute, _E_.
   Hawisia le Gros, _J_.

 Avis, Avison, (_v._ Avice), 19.
   Avis Tailor, _V_ 2.
   Richard fil. Avice, _A_.
   William Avison, _Z Z_.

 Await (_v._ Wait), 184.
   Thomas le Await, _M M_.

 Awdrey, Awdry, 302.
   Etheldreda Plote, _A_.
   Audrey Bendish, _F F_.
   Awdrie Butts, _Z_.

 Aylmar, 29.
   Aylmar Child, _A_.
   Elyas fil. Ailmar, _C_.
   Pleysaunt Aylmair, _H_.

 Aylward, 21.
   Simon fil. Aylwardi, _R_.
   Alan Alward, _A_.
   Ranulph Aluard, _M_.

 Aylwin, 21.
   Richard Alwine, _A_.
   Thomas Ailwyne, _M_.

 Aymon, 35.

 Babbe (_v._ Barbara), 75, _n_.
   Bertol Babbe, _A_.

 Bacchus, 131.
   Edmund atte Bakhus, _M_.
   Henry del Bakehouse, _M_.
   Thomas Bacchus, _Z Z_.

 Bacheldor (_v._ Bachelor), 166.

 Bachelor, Backler 199
   Jordan le Bacheler, _L_.
   Gilbert le Bacholer, _E_.

 Backhouse (_v._ Bacchus).
   Robert Backhouse, _V_ 5.

 Backster, 364.
   Giliana le Bacstere, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Bakestere, _M_.

 Bacon, 491.
   John le Bacun, _T_.
   Roger Bacon, _R_.

 Badcock (_v._ Batcock), 92.
   Roger Badecok, _M_.
   Richard Badcok, _H_.

 Badger, 295.
   Nicholas Badger, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Badgger, _Z Z_.

 Badkins (_v._ Batkins), 92.

 Badman, 194.
   Simon Bademan, _A_.

 Badneighbour, 501.
   William Badneighbour, _P P_.

 Bagger (_v._ Badger), 295.
   Thomas le Baggere, _A_.
   John Bagger, _X X_ 1.

 Bagot (_v._ Bigot) 160.
   Margery la Bagode, _K_.
   Harvey Bagod, _E_.

 Bagshaw, 117.
   Nicholas Bagshawe, _Z_.
   Humphrey Bagshawe, _Z Z_.

 Bagshot, 116, John Bagshot, _H H_.

 Bagster (_v._ Baxter), 364

 Bailey, Bailif, Baillie, Baillif, 232.
   Seman le Baylif, _J_.
   Henry le Baillie, _M_.
   John le Baillif, _B_.

 Baird, 310.

 Baker, 363.
   Robert le Baker, _B_.
   Walter le Bakare, _M_.

 Balancer, Balauncer, 403.
   Rauf le Balancer, _M_.
   John Balauncer, _G_.
   Radulf le Balauncer, _N_.

 Balcock, 52.

 Bald, 452.
   Custance Balde, _A_.
   Richard Bald, _A_.

 Balderson, 52.
   Ric. fil. Baldewin, _A_.
   John fil. Baldewini, _R_.
   Allaine Bawdyson, _V_ 3.

 Baldwin, 18, 52.
   Baudewin de Bitton, _A_.
   Baldwin Boton, _C_.
   Bawden Maynard (English Gilds, 320).

 Ball (_v._ Bald), 452.
   Roesia Balle, _A_.

 Ballinger (_v._ Bullinger), 364.

 Balmer, 263.
   Christiana de (le?) Balmere, _P P_.

 Balster, 225.
   Thomas Balistarius, _Q_.

 Bancroft, 132.

 Banker, 414.
   John le Bancker, _M_.

 Banknott, 513.
   Robert Banknott. _B_.

 Bannerman, 200.

 Barbar (_v._ Barber), 384, 205.
   Richard le Barbar, _A_.

 Barbara, 75, _n_.
   Barbara Bickerdyke, _W_ 16.
   Barbara Claxtone, _W_ 19.

 Barbelot, 75, _n_.
   Nicholas Barbelot, _A_.

 Barbot 75, _n_.
   John Barbot, _A_.

 Barberess, 384.
   Matilda la Barbaresse, _A_.
   Isabel le Barbaresse, _A_.

 Barber, 205, 384.
   Bela le Barber, _A_.
   Luke le Barber, _M_.

 Barbitonsor, 384.
   Thomas le Barbitonsor, _J_.
   William le Barbitonsor. _H_.

 Barbour, 205, 384.
   Richard le Barbour, _M_.
   Robert le Barbour, _M_.

   William de Bardesley, _H_.
   Robert de Bardesle, _A_.

 Barefoot, 440.
   Norman Barefoot, _A_.
   Roger Barefoot, _Z_.

 Barge, 409.
   Gerard de la Barge, _C_.

 Barker, 331.
   William le Barcur, _A_.
   Osbert le Barker, _M_.
   Robert Barcarius, _A_.

 Barkmaker, 290.
   Edmund Barkmaker, _Z Z_.

 Barkman (_v._ Barker).
   John Barkman, _W_ 18.

 Barleybread, 367.
   Toser Barlibred, _M_.

 Barleycorn, 367.
   Richard Barlecorn, _A_.

 Barnabas, Barnaby 96, 97.
   Barnabe le Teyl, _A_.
   Burnaybe Brooke, _Z_.
   Barnaby Benison, _Z_.

 Barnacle, 497.

 Barne, 202.
   William le Barne, _A_.
   Thomas le Barne, _T_.

 Barnes, 135.
   Warin de la Barne, _A_.

 Baron, 175.
   Robert le Baron, _A_.
   Walter le Baron, _M_.

 Barrell, 144, 395.
   John Baryl, _A_.
   Ralph Barel, _A_.
   Gilbert Barrell, _V_ 5.

 Barreller, 395.
   Stephen le Bariller, _E_.

   Hugh le Bartur, _A_.

 Bartholomew, 91.
   John Bartylmewe, _Z Z_.
   Lawrence fil. Bartholemew, _A_.

 Bartle, 92.
   John fil. Bertol, _A_.
   Bartel Frobisher, _W_ 9.
   Bartly Bradforth, _W_ 9.

 Bartlett, 92.
   Bartelot Govi, _A_.
   Thomas Bartholot, _A_.
   Edward Barthlette, _F F_.
   Thomas Berthelett, _V_ 3.

 Baskerville, 151.
   Sibilla de Baskerville, _M_.
   Isolda Baskerville, _E_.

 Baskett, 144.

 Bass, 432.
   Alice la Basse, _A_.
   Robert le Bas, _B B_.

 Bastard, 378.
   Peter le Bastard, _B_.
   Robert le Bastard, _E_.
   Nicholas le Bastard, _A_.

 Batcock, 92.
   Robert Batecoc, _A_.
   John Batekoc, _M_.

 Bateman, 22.
   Bateman Gille, _A_.
   Bateman Taye, _A_.
   Bateman de Capele, _A_.

 Batemanson, 22.
   Thomas Batemanson, _F_.
   Geoffrey Batmanson, _W_ 3.
   Richard Batmonson, _W_ 12.

 Bater, 327.
   Avery le Batour, _A_.
   Adam le Batur, _A_.
   William le Batur, _B_.

 Bates, 92.
   Bate Bugge, _A_.
   Bate le Tackman, _A_.
   Bate fil. Robert, _A_.

 Batkins, 92.
   Batekyn le Clerk, _A_.
   Batekin Lahan, _A_.

 Batson, 92.
   John Bateson, _F_.
   Gilbert Batessone, _M_.

 Batt, 439.
   Geoffrey le Batt, _B_.
   Walter le Bat, _G_.

 Battenson (_v._ Betonson), 68.
   John Battenson, _Z_.

 Batty, 92.
   William fil. Battay, _W_ 5.
   Ralph Baty. _K_.

 Baucock, 475.

 Baud, 477.
   William le Baud, _B_.
   Wauter le Baud, _M_.

 Bawcock, 475.

 Baxter, 364.
   Elias le Baxtere, _M_.
   Barth le Bakesture, _B_.
   Andrew le Bakester, _G_.

 Bay, 445.
   Walter le Bay, _A_.
   Robert le Bey, _B_.

 Bayard, 445.
   Thebald le Bayard, _A_.
   Thomas Bayard, _A_.

 Bayley (_v._ Bailey), 197.

 Beaddall, Beadell, Beadle, (_v_. Bedell), 181.

 Beaman (_v._ Beeman), 262.

 Beanover (_v._ Over).
   Richard Beanover, _B_.

 Bear, 488.
   Richard le Bere, _A_.
   Lawrence le Bere, _M_.

 Bearbait, 306.
   Thomas Barebat, _A_.
   Alex. Barebat, _A_.

 Bearbaste, 306.
   Geoffrey Barebast, _A_.
   John Barbast, _A_.

 Beard, 449.
   Peter Wi-the-Berd, _D_.
   Hugo cum-Barba, _A_.

 Bearman, 306.
   Ralph Bareman, _A_.

 Bearward, 306.
   Michael le Bereward, _A_.

 Beater, 326.
   John le Betere, _A_.

 Beaton (_v._ Beton), 68.

 Beatrice, Beatrix, 19, 67,
   Beatrix Cokayn, _B_.
   Beatrice de Knol, _J_.

 Beatson, 68.
   Walter fil. Betricie, _A_.
   Richard fil. Beatrice, _R_.

   Richard le Beau, _M_.

 Beauchamp, 151.
   William de Beauchamp, _K_.
   Isolda de Bello-Campo, _E_.

 Beauclerke, 505.
   Charles Beauclerke, _P P_.

 Beaufils, 430.
   Henry Beaufitz, _M_.
   Hugh Beaufiz, _A_.
   John Beaufitz, _X X_ 1.

 Beauflour, 503.
   Thomas Beauflour, _M_.
   Jacobus Beauflour, _G_.

 Beaufrere, 430.
   Roger Beaufrere, _M_.
   Walter Beaufrere, _M_.

 Beaumont, 151.
   Alice de Beaumont, _M_.
   Robert de Beaumond, _M_.

 Beaupere, 430.

 Beauvileyn, 507.
   William Beauvilayn, _R_.
   William Belvilein, _E_.

 Beauvoir, 489.
   Roger de Belvoir, _M_.

 Beaver, 489.
   John le Bever, _G_.
   Ino le Bevere, _N_.

 Beck, 113.
   William en le Bec, _A_.
   William atte Beck, _M_.

 Becker, 113.

   (1), 111.
     John de Beckote, _A_.
     Wydo del Beck’t, _R_.
     Becket fil. Emeric, _E_.

 Beckman, 113.

 Bedell, 151.
   Reginald le Bedel, _B_.
   Roger le Bedel, _M_.

 Bedson (_v._ Betson), 92.

 Bedweaver, 358.
   Geoffrey Bedwevere, _S_.

 Bee (_v._ Wasp),
   Nicholas le Be, _J_.
   Cuthbert Bee, _W_ 9.

 Beech, 128.
   Eufemia de la Beche, _B_.
   Robert de la Beche, _K_.

 Beecher, 113.
   John Becher, _A_.
   Henry le Beechur, _A_.

 Beechman, 113.

 Beef, 490.
   Robert le Bef, _A_.
   Richard le Bœf, _A_.
   John le Beuf, _M_.
   Mary Beefe, _Q Q_.

 Beeman, 262.

 Beerbrewer, 379.
   Lawrence Berbrewer, _F F_.
   Lambert Beerbruer, _W_ 11.

 Beere, 138.
   Thomas de la Beere, _B_.

 Behind-the-brook, 108.
   Reginald Behundebroke, _A_.

 Behind-the-water, 108.
   Thomas Behundewattre, _A_.

 Belham, 443.
   William Belhom, _A_.
   William Belhomme, _M_.

   (1), 443.
     Peter le Bel, _A_.
     Walter le Bel, _G_.
     Robert le Bel, _B_.
   (2), 80.
     Richard fil. Bell, _A_.
     Bele le Felawe, _A_.
     Beyll Horsle, _W_ 9.
   (3), 142.
     John atte Belle, _V_.
     Richard atte Bell, _M_.
     John atte Belle, _X_.

 Bellejambe, 438.
   Peter Belljambe, _A_.
   Richard Beljaumbe, _M_.
   Alex. Belejambe, _A_.

 Bellet, 80.
   Robert Belet, _A_.
   Belet le Pestour, _H_.

 Bellewether, 472.
   John Bellewether, _M_.
   Stephen de (le?) Belwether, _M M_.

 Bellhouse, 131.
   Thomas de la Belhous, _A_.
   Walter atte Belhous, _M_.

 Bellman, 183, 296.
   John Belman, _Z Z_.
   Christopher Bellman, _Z Z_.

 Bellot (_v._ Bellet), 80.
   Adam Belot, _A_.

 Bellows (_v._ Bellhouse), 131.
   John Belhows, _W_ 2.
   Isabel Bellows, _W_ 2.

 Bellringer, 183, _n_.
   Sarah Bellringer, 183 _n_.

 Bellson, 80.
   John Bellesone, _M_.
   Ann Bellson, _W_ 9.

 Belteste, 435.
   John Beleteste, _A_.

 Belzeter, 402.
   Robert le Belzetere, _B_.
   William le Belzetere, _B_.

 Beman (_v._ Beeman), 262.

 Benbow, 462.
   Roger Benbow, _F_.
   William Bendebow, _X_.

 Bencher, 414.
   Roger le Bencher, _A_.

 Bendbow (_v._ Benbow), 462.

 Beneath-the-town, 108.
   Alyva Benetheton, _A_.
   Roger Benethenton, _A_.

 Benedict (_v._ Bennet).

 Benison (_v._ Bennet).
   Barnaby Benyson, _Z_.
   Simon Benesson, _F_.

 Benn (_v._ Bennet).
   Eborard Benne, _A_.
   Benne fil. Ive, _M_.
   Antony Ben, _V_ 7.

 Bennet, 189.
   Reginald fil. Beneyt, _A_.
   Benet Lorkyn, _N_.

 Bennetson (_v._ Bennet).
   Roger Bennetson, _F_.
   William Bennetson, _H_.
   William Benetson, _W_ 17.

 Benson (_v._ Bennet).
   Alison Benson, _W_ 17.
   Ann Bensone, _W_ 9.

 Bercher, 271.
   Thomas le Bercher, _R_.
   Dorken le Bercher, _A_.

 Berecroft, 132.
   William Barecrofte, _Z Z_.

 Berger (_v._ Bercher), 271.

 Berkley, 119, 129.
   Robert de Berchelay, _E_.
   Maurice de Berkelay, _A_.

 Berman, 306.
   Alan Berman, _M_.
   William Berman, _A_.

   William fil. Bernard, _A_.
   Bernard Coronator, _A_.

 Berner, 236.
   Reginald le Birner, _A_.
   Richard le Berner, _R_.

 Berners, 236.
   John de Berners, _E_.
   Matilda de Berners, _E_.

 Berriman, 138.
   John Buryman, _F_.
   Jane Berryman, _Z_.

 Berry, 138.
   Alex. de Bery, _B_.
   Nicholas de la Bere, _B_.

   Alexander fil. Berte, _A_.

 Berward (_v._ Bearward).

 Bessie, 52, _n_.

 Best, 463, 487.
   Richard le Beste, _A_.
   Henry le Beste, _X_.
   Edith Beest, _Z_.

 Be-steadfast, 103.
   Be-steadfast Elyarde.

 Bethell, 13.
   Evan ap Ithell, _Z_.
   Jevan ap Ithell, _Z_.

 Beton, 68.
   Betin de Friscobald, _O_.
   John Betyn, _H H_.

 Betonson, 16, 68.
   Robert Betonson, _W_ 11.
   John Bettenson, _P P_.
   Thomas Betanson, _H H_.

 Betson, 68, 92.
   William Beteson, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Betisson, _F F_.

 Betsy, 52, _n_.

 Betton (_v._ Beton), 68.
   James Betton, _H H_.

 Betts, 92.
   Margery Bettes, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Betts, _Z_.

 Betty, 92.

 Bevan, 45.
   Eygnenn ap Yevan, _D_.
   Howel ap Evan, _M_.

 Bidder, 314, _n_.
   Ernald le Bider, _J_.

 Biddle (_v._ Bedell), 181.
   John Biddle, _V_ 5.

 Bidman, 194.

 Bigg, 431.
   Agatha Bigge, _A_.
   Elias Bigge, _A_.

 Bigod, Bigot, 159, 510.
   Roger le Bygod, _A_.
   Alina le Bigod, _J_.
   William le Bygot, _A_.
   John le Bygot, _M_.

 Bill, 44, 459.

 Billingster, 380, _n_.
   Henry Billingster, _E E_.

 Billiter (_v._ Belzetere), 402.
   Margaret Billyetter, _F F_.
   Edmund Belletere, _F F_.

 Billman, 222.
   Richardus Billman, _W_ 19.
   Stephen Bylman, _F F_.

 Bills, 44.

 Billsmith, 281.

 Bilson, 44.
   Henry Bilson, _Z_.
   Edmund Bilsone, _F F_.
   Thomas Bilson, _V_ 7.

 Birch, 129.
   Hugh de la Byrche, _A_.
   John atte Birche, _M_.

 Bird, 493.
   John le Bird, _A_.
   David le Bird, _A_.
   Ralph le Brydde, _V_ 12.

 Birkenshaw, 129, 117.
   William Burchingshawe, _Z_.
   Robert Beckinshaw, _Z_.

 Birks (_v._ Birch), 129.
   Bartholomew Birks, _F F_.

 Birmingham, 147.
   John de Burmyngham, _M_.
   William de Bermingham, _A_.

 Bishop, 186.
   John le Bissup, _A_.
   Robert le Biscop, _C_.

 Bithewater (_v._ Bywater).

 Black, 444.
   Ederick le Blacke, _A_.
   Stephen le Blak, _G_.

 Blackamoor, 161.
   Simon Blakamour, _R R_ 1.
   Beatrix Blakamour, _X_.
   Richard Blackamore, _F F_.

 Blackbeard, 449.
   Richard Blacberd, _A_.
   Thomas Blackberd, _W_ 18.
   Peter Blackbeard, _W_ 20.

 Blackbird, 494.
   Priscilla Blackbird, 494, _n_.

 Blackdam, 500.
   Joan Blackdam, _F F_.

 Blacker, 328.
   Roger le Blackere, _M_.
   Geoff. le Blakere, _M_.

 Blackester, 328.
   William le Bleckestere, _A_.
   Richard le Bleckstere, _M_.
   Robert Blaxter, _Z_.

 Blackeye, 434.
   Roger Niger-oculus, _L_.

   Henry Blakhat, _R R_ 1.

 Blackhead, 435.
   William Blackhead, 435, _n_.
   John Blackhead, _F F_.

 Blackinthemouth, 424.
   William Blackinthemouth, _X_.

 Blackleach (_v._ Leach).
   John Blakeleach, _A A_ 3.
   Thomas Blakelache, _A A_ 3.

 Blacklock, 447.
   Peter Blacklocke, _A_.
   Dame Blaikelocke, _W_ 9.

 Blackman, 446.
   Elias le Blakeman, _B_.
   Henry Blacman, _A_.

 Blackmantle, 457.
   Agnes Blackmantyll, _W_ 11.

 Blacksmith, 281.
   Nicholas the Blacksmith, _F F_.
   John Blacksmythe, _Z Z_.

 Bladesmith, 282.
   John Bladesmyth, _S S_.
   John Bladsmith, _F F_.
   Thomas Bladesmith, _S_.
   John Bladesmithe, _W_ 13.

 Blake, 445.
   Seman le Blake, _A_.
   Warin le Blake, _R_.

 Blakeman (_v._ Blackman), 446.
   Thomas Blakman, _W_ 17.

   Robert le Blaimester, _A_.

   (1), 19, 446.
     Warin Blanche, _A_.
     Blanche Chalons, _B_.

 Blanchet, 446, 454.

 Blanchflower, 442.
   Faith Blanchflower, _Z_.

 Blanchfront, 446, 437.
   Philip Blanchfront, _F F_.
   Joan Blaunkfront, _X X_ 4.
   Amabil Blancfront, _G G_.

 Blanchmains, 437.
   Robert Blanchmains, _F F_.
   Humbert Blanchmains, _P P_.

 Blanchpain, 367, 508.
   Roger Blancpain, _A_.
   Edmund Blankpayn, _D_.

 Blank, 446.
   Riolle le Blanc, _C_.
   John le Blank, _M_.

 Blanket, 446, 454.
   Robert Blanket, _B_.
   John Blanket, _X_.

 Blaxter (_v._ Blackester), 328.

 Blind, 434.
   Ralph le Blinde, _A_.
   Wille Blynd, _J_.

 Bliss, 452.
   John Blisse, _A_.

 Blisswench, 472.
   Alicia Blissewenche, _A_.

 Blocker, 264.
   Deodatus le Blokkere, _A_.
   Richard le Blockhewere, _E_.

 Blond, 446.
   Reginald le Blond, _A_.
   Gilbert Blond, _F F_.

 Blondel, 446.
   Amicia Blondelle, _F F_.
   Olive Blondell, _F F_.

 Blood, 510.
   William Blood, _X_.
   Thomas Blood, _F F_.

 Bloodletter, 383.
   Thomas Blodletere, _A_.
   William Bloodletter, _X_.
   John Bloodlatter, _W_ 12.

 Blount, 446.
   David le Blound, _B_.
   Hugh le Blount, _M_.

 Blower, 236.
   Mabil le Blouer, _A_.
   Robert le Blowere, _T_.

 Blowhorn (_v._ Hornblow), 236.
   Gilbert Blouhorn, _A_.

 Blubber, 469.
   William le Blubere, _A_.
   Nicholas Bluber, _A_.

 Blue, 447.
   Walter le Bleu, _E_.

 Blund, 446.
   Herbert le Blund, _A_.
   Amabella le Blund, _B_.

 Blundell, 446.
   Jordan Blundel, _N_.
   Petronilla Blundel, _T_.

 Blunt, 446.
   Alicia le Blunt, _B_.
   Sibil le Blunt, _G_.

 Blythe, 463, 472.
   Antony Blythe, _Z_.
   Richard Blythe, _Z_.

 Blythman, 463.
   William Blythman, _W_ 3.
   Jasper Blithman, _Z_.

 Boar, 491.
   Richard le Bor, _A_.
   Robert le Bor, _E_.

 Boarder, 252.

 Boardman, 252.
   Hugh Boardman, _Z Z_.
   Peter Boordman, _Z Z_.

 Boatman, 409.
   Peter Boatman, _F F_.
   Jacob Boatman, _F F_.

 Boatswain, 409.
   Richard le Botsweyn, _M_.
   Edward Botswine, _Z_.

 Boatwright (_v._ Botwright), 277.

 Bodkin, 51.
   Robert Bodekin, _A_.
   Andrew Bawdkyn, _W_ 9.

 Body, 455.
   William Body, _A_.
   Robert Body, _F F_.

 Boffill (_v._ Beaufils), 430, 507.

   (1), 467,
     William le Bold, _M_.
     Robert le Bolde, _R_.
   (2), 136,
     John de la Bold, _A_.
     Elias de la Bolde, _A_.

 Bolderson (_v._ Balderson), 52.

 Boleyn, Bollen, 168.
   Simon de Boleyn, _F F_.
   Richard de Boloygne, _A_.
   John de Boloyne, _A_.

 Bollinger, 364.
   Richard le Bollinger, _E_.

 Boloneis, 168.
   Stacius le Boloneis, _A_.

 Bolter, 275.
   John le Boltere, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Boltere, _A_.

 Bon, 467.
   John le Bon, _O_.
   Duran le Bon, _M_.

 Bonamy, 474.
   William Bienayme, _A_.
   William Bonamy, _A_.

 Bonaventure, 507.
   John Bonaventure, _H_.
   Giot Bonaventure, _J_.

 Bonchivaler, 507.
   John Bonchivaler, _B_.
   William Bonchevaler, _K_.

 Bonclerk, 505.
   Emma Bonclerk, _H_.
   John Boneclerk, _H_.

 Boncount, 507.
   Guido Boncunte, _O_.

 Boncristien, 507.
   Andrew Boncristien, _O_.

 Boncompagnon, 506.

 Bond, 254.
   Ivo le Bonde, _A_.
   Robert le Bond, _B_.
   Richard le Bonde, _M_.

 Bondame, 507.
   Alan Bondame, _P P_.

 Bondman, 254.
   William Bondman, _X X_ 1.

 Bone (_v._ Bon), 467.
   Thom. le Bone, _A_.
   Richard le Bone, _H_.

 Bonecors, 506.
   Manellus Bonecors, _E_.

 Bonenfant, 507.
   Nicholas Bonenfaunt, _M_.
   John Bonefaunt, _A_.
   Walter Bonenfaunt, _A_.

 Bones, 455.

 Bonfils, 507.

 Bonham, Bonhomne, 507.
   William Bonhome, _A_.
   Agnes Bonhomme, _A_.

 Bonjohn, 46, 504.
   Durand le Bonjohan, _A_.
   John Bon-John, _X_.

 Bonner, 467.
   William le Bonere, _A_.
   Alice le Bonere, _A_.

 Bonnivant, 507.
   John Bonnyvaunt, _Z_.
   John Bonyfant, _Z_.

 Bonqueynt, 507.
   Andrew le Bonqueynt, _J_.

 Bonserjeant, 506.
   John Bonserjeant, _A_.
   Richard Bonsergaunt, _G_.

 Bonsquier, 507.
   Wiliam Bonsquier, _A_.
   Walter le Bonesquier, _M M_.

 Bontemps, 467.
   Thomas Bontemps, _F F_.

 Bonvalet, 507.
   John Bonvalet, _J_.
   Richard Bonvallet, _A_.

 Bonyfant (_v._ Bonenfant), 507.
   Henry Bonyfant, _A_.

 Bookbinder, 405.
   John Bokbyndere, _X_.
   Dionisia le Bokebyndere, _X_.
   Robert Bukebynder, _W_ 9.

 Boon (_v._ Bon), 467.
   Alice le Bonne, _A_.
   William Boon, _B_.

 Boor, Robert le Boor, _B_.
   Robert le Boor, _G_.

 Booth, 135.
   Nicholas de la Bothe, _A_.
   Odo de la Booth, _F F_.

 Boothman, 135.
   Roger Bothman, _A_.
   Henry Bootheman, _Z Z_.

 Borden, 118.
   John de Borden, _C_.
   Mathew de Borden, _E_.

 Border (_v._ Boarder), 252.

 Bordman (_v._ Boardman), 252.
   Ralph Bordman, _Z Z_.
   James Bordman, _F F_.

 Borehunt, 238.
   Henry Borehunte, _D_.

 Borroughs, 138.

 Borrows, 138.

 Bosher, 264.

   Henry de Bosevil, _A_.
   John de Boseville, _A_.

 Botcher (_v._ Butcher), 374.
   Elias le Bocher, _M_.
   John le Bocher, _M_.

 Boteler (_v._ Butler), 211.
   Ralph le Boteler, _B_.
   Walter le Boteler, _M_.

 Botiler (_v._ Butler), 117.
   Teobald le Botiler, _A_.
   Richer le Botiller, _A_.

 Botwright, 277.
   John Botewright, _F F_.
   Bartholomew Botwright, _Z_.

 Boulter (_v._ Bolter), 275.

 Bourdon (_v._ Burdon) 461.

 Boutflower (_v._ Beauflour), 442.
   Margaret Butflower, _F F_.
   William Beauflour, _B_.

 Boville, 151.
   Warin de Boville, _A_.
   William de Bovile, _A_.

 Bowcher, 374.
   John Bowcher, _Z Z_.
   William Bowcher, _Z Z_.

 Bowen, 12.
   Griffin ap Oweyn, _R_.
   Jane Abowen, _Z_.
   James Aphowen, _X X_ 2.

   (1), 226,
     John le Bower, _A_.
   (2), 135
     Richard atte Bowre, _M_.

 Bowerman, 135.
   William Bourman, _F_.

 Bowler, 388.
   John le Bolur, _A_.
   Robert le Boller, _M_.
   Adam le Bolour, _M_.

 Bowmaker, 226.
   George Bowmaker, _S S_.
   Robert Boumaker, _W_ 1.
   John Bowmaykere, _W_ 3.

 Bowman, 225.
   Robert Bowman, _Z_.
   John Bowman, _Z Z_.

 Bowshank, 438.
   Gerald Bushanke, _A_.

 Bowsher, 374.
   Katerin Bowghshere, _F_.
   George Beawsher, _F_.

 Bowyer, 226.
   William le Boghyere, _A_.
   Adam le Boghiere, _M_.
   William le Bowyer, _H_.

 Boyce (_v._ Boys) 154.

 Boyer (_v._ Bowyer) 226.
   Geoffry le Boyer _T_.
   Adam le Boiere, _E_.

 Boys, 154.
   Ralph del Boyes, _A_.
   Henry du Boys, _M_.

 Braban, 164.
   Saher de Braban, _E_.
   Arnald de Braban, _M_.

 Brabaner (_v._ Braban), 164.
   Isabel Brabaner, _Z Z_.
   Robert Brabaner, _Z Z_.

 Brabant (_v._ Braban), 164.
   Margaret Brabant, _Z_.
   John Brabant, _Z Z_.

 Brabazon, 164.
   Roger le Brabanzon, _M_.
   Reginald le Brebanzon, _H_.
   Roger le Brabanson, _H_.

 Bracegirdle, 349.
   Justinian Bracegirdle, _Z_.

 Bracegirdler (_v._ Bregirdler), 349.

 Bracer, 379.
   Robert le Bracer, _A_.
   William le Bracur, _T_.
   Reginald Bracciator, _A_.

 Braceress, 379.
   Clarice le Braceresse, _A_.
   Letitia Braciatrix, _A_.
   Emma le Braceresse, _T_.

 Bradshaw, 117.
   Mabel de Bradschaghe, _A A_ 2.

 Brailer, 349.
   Roger le Braeler, _A_.
   Stephen le Brayeler, _X_.

 Braithwaite, 121.
   Roger de Bratwayt, _A_.
   Richard Braythwait, _X X_ 1.

 Branson (_v._ Brainson).
   John fil. Briani, _A_.
   Edward Bransonne, _Z_.

 Brasher (_v._ Brazier), 392.

 Brass, 436.
   Simon Braz, _A_.
   John Brass, _M_.

 Brazdifer, 436.
   Walter Brasdefer, _E_.
   Simon Brazdefer, _E_.
   Michael Brasdefer, _B B_.

 Brazier, 392.
   Robert le Brazur, _G_.
   William le Brasour, _N_.

 Breadmongster, 364.
   Sara la Bredemongestere, _X_.

 Breadwright, 278.

 Breakspeare, 462.
   Adrian Brakspere, _H H_.
   Alexander Brekspere, _M M_.

 Bregirdler, 349.
   John le Bregerdelere, _X_.

 Brelson (_v._ Burletson).
   Henry Brelson, _Z_.

 Bret, Brett, 158.
   Hamo le Brett, _A_.
   Milo le Bret, _M_.

 Bretter (_v._ Breviter), 217.
   William Bretter, _Z Z_.

 Breviter, 217.
   Peter le Brevetour, _M_.
   Ely le Breveter, _O_.
   Richard Brevyter, _Z_.

 Brewer, 379.
   Walter le Browere, _B_.
   William le Brewere, _J_.

 Brewery, 379, 382.
   John de la Bruere, _A_.
   Walter de la Bruario, _M_.

 Brewster, 379.
   Emma le Breustere, _A_.

   (1), Giles de Brianzon, _M_.
     William de Brianzon, _DD_.
   (2), Thomas fil. Brian, _A_.
     William fil. Brian, _A_.

 Bricot (_v._ Brice), 30.
   Bricot de Brainton, _M M_.

 Brice, 30.
   Brice fil. William, _A_.
   Brice de Bradelegh, _A_.
   Bricius le Daneys, _R_.
   Brice Persona, _A_.

 Bridge-end, 114.
   John ate Bruge-ende, _A_.
   Stephen atte Brigende, _B_.
   William atte Brigende, _M_.

 Bridgeman (_v._ Bridgman), 113.
   John Bridgeman, _V_ 7.

 Bridger, 113, 285.
   John Bridger, _Z_.

 Bridgman, 113, 285.
   Jasper Bridgeman, _Z_.
   Giles Bridgman, _F F_.

 Briggs (_i.e._, Bridge).
   Roger del Brigge, _M_.
   Sarra atte Brigge, _B_.

 Briton, 158.
   Wygan le Bretun, _A_.
   Robert le Breton, _B_.
   Ivo le Breton, _E_.

 Britt, 158.
   Thomas le Brit, _B_.
   Wydo le Brit, _A_.
   Nicholas Britte, _X X_ 1.

 Brittain (_v._ Briton), 158.

 Britten (_v._ Briton), 158.

 Britton (_v._ Briton), 158.

 Broad, 381.
   John le Brode, _B_.
   Richard le Brod, _M_.

 Broadbelt, 431.
   Joan Broydbelt, _W_ 11.
   Robert Brodebelte, _W_ 17.

 Broadcombe, 125.
   Robert de Brudecombe, _M_.

 Broadgirdle, 431.
   William Brodgirdel, _A_.

 Broadhay, 133.
   Robert de Broadheye, _A_.

 Broadhead, 435.
   Walter Brodheved, _A_.
   Edmund Broadheade, _Z Z_.

 Broadpenny, 482.
   William Brodepeny, _M_.

   (1), 489.
     Walter le Broc, _T_.
     Henry le Brok, _A_.
   (2), (_v._ Brook), 108.
     Edeline de Broc, _E_.
     Elias del Broc, _T_.

 Brocklehurst, 116.

 Brockman, 238.
   John Brockeman, _H_.
   Robert le Borckman, _A_.

 Brogden, 118.
   Alice Brockden, _Z Z_.
   James Brocden, _F F_.

 Brogger, 414.

 Broiderer, 347.
   John Brauderer, _O_.

 Broker, 414.
   Robert the Brochere, _B_.
   Thomas le Brokur, _M_.
   Simon le Brokour, _G_.

 Brook, Brooke, 108.
   Alice de la Broke, _A_.
   Ada ate Brok, _B_.
   Laurence del Broc, _A_.

 Brooker, 113.

 Brookman, 113.
   John Brokeman, _C_.

 Brother, 430.
   William le Brother, _A_.
   Wymond Brother, _M_.

 Brotherhood, 191.
   Nicholas Brotherhood, _P P_.
   John Brotherhood, _W_ 20.

 Brotherson, 430.

 Brough, 138.

 Brown, 445.
   Wymarc Brown, _A_.
   Simon le Brown, _M_.
   John le Broune, _G_.

 Brownbeard, 449.
   John Brownberd, _X X_ 4.
   Janet Brownebeard, _W_ 11.

 Brownbill, 459.

 Brownjohn, 46, 503.

 Brownking, 505.
   Simon Brun-king, _E_.

 Brownknave, 505.
   Richard Brownknave, _Z_.

 Brownman, 445.
   Richard Broneman, _A_.

 Brownsmith, 281.
   Thomas Brownesmythe, _Z Z_.
   Hester Brownsmith, _F F_.

   Roger fil Broun, _A_.
   Reginald fil. Brun, _M M_.

 Brownswain, 505.
   John Brounsweyn, _P_.

 Brownsword, 462.
   Richard Brownsworde, _A A_ 3.
   Thomas Brownesworde, _Z Z_.
   Cicely Brownsword, _A A_ 4.

   Saher de Bruges, _E_.
   Oliva de Bruges, _E_.

 Brun, 445.
   Hugh le Brun, _B_.
   Nigel le Brun, _C_.

 Brune, 445.
   Alicia le Brune, _B_.
   Robert le Brune, _M_.

 Brunell, 445.
   Brunellus Carpenter, _E_.

 Brunman, 445.
   Henry Brunman, _A_.
   Robert Brunman, _O_.

 Brunne, 445.
   William le Brunne, _G_.

 Bruselance, 462.
   Robert Bruselance, _A_.

 Bryson (_v._ Brice), 30.
   Henry fil. Brice, _V_ 8.
   Barnabe Brisson, _V_ 4.

 Buck, 488.
   Walter le Buk, _C_.
   Roger le Buck, _M_.

 Buckden, 118.
   Sarra de Bokeden, _A_.
   Richard Buckden, _Q_.

 Buckleboots, 501.
   John Bukelboots, _A A_ 1.

 Buckler, 282, 459.
   John le Bockeler, _A_.
   Richard Bokeler, _Z_.

 Bucklermaker, 224.
   Mathew Bucklermaker (Ludlow. Cam. Soc.).

 Buckley, 119.
   Michael de Bokele, _A_.
   William de Bucley, _S S_.

 Buckman, 235.
   Alan Bokeman, _A_.

 Buckmaster, 235.
   William Buckmaster, _F_.
   Thomas Buckmaster, _Z_.
   Elias Buckmaster, _V_ 5.

 Buckrell, 489.
   Peter Bokerel, _A_.
   Mathew Bokerel, _A_.

 Buckskin, 500.
   Peter Buckeskyn, _B_.
   Nicholas Buxskyn, _M_.

 Bucksmith, 282.
   John le Bokelsmyth, _X_.

 Buckthorp, 137.
   Hamalin de Bugtorp, _A_.
   Thomas Bugthorppe, _W_ 11.

 Buddicom, 125.

 Buffler (_v._ Boutflower), 442.
   James Beauflur, _X_.

 Bugden (_v._ Buckden), 118.
   William de Bugenden, _A_.

 Bugge, 138, 498.
   Bate Bugge, _A_.
   Baldewin Bug, _B_.

 Bulfinch, 494.
   Edward Bolfynch, _X_.

 Bull, 489.
   Alice le Bule, _A_.
   William le Bule, _B_.

 Bullard, 306.

 Bullen (_v._ Boleyn), 168.
   William Bullen, _F F_.
   Robert Buleyn, _Z_.

 Bullhead, 500.
   Richard Boleheved, _A_.
   John Boleheved, _M_.

 Bullinger, 364.
   Richard le Bulenger, _E_.

 Bullivant (_v._ Bonenfant), 507.
   Robert Ballyfaunt, _Z_.

 Bullock, 490.
   Godwin Bulloc, _A_.
   Edmund Bullok, _B_.

 Bulman, 271.
   William Bulman, _D_.
   Walter Bulleman, _F F_.

 Bulness, 168.
   Stacius le Boloneis, _A_.

 Bulter (_v._ Bolter), 275.

 Bunker, 467.
   John le Boncer, _B_.
   William Bonquer, _O_.

 Bunn (_v._ Bonn), 467.
   Rocelin le Bun, _A_.

 Bunyan (_v._ Bonjohn), 504.

 Bunyon (_v._ Bonjohn), 504.

 Burder, 239.
   Thomas Burder, _F_.

 Burdett-Coutts, 509.

 Burdon, 461.
   Richard Burdun, _E_.
   Maria Burdun, _R_.

 Burelman, 454.
   John Burelman, _X_.

 Burend, 114.
   John atte Bur-ende, _R_.

 Burgess, 184.
   John le Burges, _A_.
   Richard le Burgeis, _E_.

 Burgh, 138.
   Walter atte Bergh, _B_.
   William atte Burgh, _R_.

 Burghman, 138.
   William Burgman, _B_.

 Burgon, Burgoyne, 158.
   John Burgoyne, _A_.
   Thomas Burgoyn, _B_.

 Burguillun, 481.
   Geoff. le Burgillon, _T_.
   Robert le Burgulion, _M_.

 Burke, 138.
   Hubert de Burk, _A_.
   John de Burk, _A_.

 Burle, 442.
   Henry le Burle, _A_.

 Burletson (_v._ Bartlett) 92, _n_.
   William Byrtletson, _W_ 17.
   William Burletson, _S S_.
   Bryan Burletson, _S S_.

 Burman (_v._ Burghman).
   Isabel Bureman, _A_.
   John Burman, _B_.

 Burnell, 445.
   Pagan Burnel, _J_.
   Burnellus Carpenter, _E_.

 Burnett, 454.
   Thomas Burnet, _Z_.

 Burrell, 340.
   Roger Burell, _J_.
   Robert Burell, _R_.

 Burroughs, 138.
   Robert de la Berwe, _B_.
   Henry Burroughe, _Z_.

 Burser (_v._ Purser), 398, 348.
   Adam le Burser, _E_.
   Alard le Burser, _H_.

 Burtheyn, 175, _n_.
   William Burtheyn, _G_.

 Bury, 138.
   Geoffrey de la Bure, _A_.
   John atte-Bury, _M_.

 Bush (_v._ Busk), 154.

 Busheler, 395, _n_.
   John Busheler, _F_.

 Busher, 264.
   Reginald le Buscher, _J_.
   John le Busscher, _M_.

 Busk, 154.
   Hamo de Bosco, _A_.
   John ad Bosc, _A_.

 Buss, 154.
   Alicia Busse, _A_.

   Richard Bustard, _W_ 2.

 Bustler, 465.
   Thomas le Busteler, _F F_.
   Robert le Bustler, _T_.

 But, 378.
   Roger le But, _E_.
   John le But, _J_.

 Butcher, 374.
   Michael le Bucher, _T_.

 Butler, 211, 397.
   Robert le Butiler, _A_.
   William le Butiller, _B_.
   Hugh le Butellier, _E_.
   John le Butteller, _M_.

 Butmonger, 378.
   Hugh Butmonger, _A_.

 Butrekyde, 294.
   Robert Butrekyde, _A_.

 Butt, 228.

 Butter, 378.
   William le Butor, _P_.

 Butterman, 327.
   William Buttyrman, _P_.
   George Butman, _Z_.
   Lancelot Butiman, _W_ 18.

 Buttoner, 343.
   Henry le Botoner, _A_.
   Richard le Botyner, _H_.
   Lawrence le Botaner, _N_.

 Buzzard, 493.
   Eustace Busard, _A_.
   Peter Buzard, _A_.

 Byatt (_v._ Bygate), 129, 113.

 Byford, 113.
   Abalotta de la Forde, _A_.
   Stephen de la Forde, _A_.

 Bygate, 113, 129.
   Philip de la Gate, _A_.
   Walter de la Gate, _A_.

 Bythesea, 113.
   Roger Bythesea, _Z_.
   Pagan de la Mare, _A_.

 Bytheway, 113.
   Richard Bytheway, _Z_.

 Bythewood, 113.
   Edward Bythewode, _A_.
   William Bythewood, _M_.

 Bywater, 112.
   Elyas Bithewater, _A_.
   Robert Bithewater, _M_.

 Bywood (_v._ Bythewood), 112.

 Cachemaille, 483.

 Cacherell, 152.
   Grig le Cacherel, _A_.
   Adam le Cacherel, _M_.

 Cade, 144.
   Margery Cade, _A_.
   Walter Cade, _A_.

 Cadman, 395.
   Walter Kademan, _A_.
   Robert Cademan, _J_.

 Cæsar (_v._ Kaiser), 174.
   Susan Cæsar, _Z_.

 Caffin, 452.
   Richard Chauffin, _A_.

 Caird, 296.

   Richard Caytyf, _DD_.

 Caleb, 100.
   Caleb Morley, _T T_.

 Calf, 490.
   Nicholas Calfe, _A_.
   Richard Calf, _M_.

 Calisher, 393.
   Elena Calicer, _B_.

 Callender, 495.

 Caller, 336.
   Elias le Callere, _M_.
   Robert le Callere, _N_.
   Robert le Callerere, _N_.

 Callow, 451.
   Richard Calewe, _M_.
   Richard le Calue, _F F_.

 Calman, 336.

 Calthrop, Caltrop, 137.
   William de Calthorpe, _M_.
   Ralph de Kalthorp, _R_.

 Calve (_v._ Calf), 444.
   Henry le Calve, _M_.
   Idonia le Calwe, _T_.

 Calverd, Calvert, 266.
   Henry Calvehird, _M_.
   John le Calvehird, _H_.
   Warin le Calvehird, _W_ 4.

 Calvesmawe, 434.
   Robert Calvesmaghe, _M_.

 Cam, 441.
   William le Cam, _A_.
   William le Cam, _R_.

   Camamilla Helewys, _R R_ 1.

 Camden, 389.
   John de Campeden, _A_.
   Maurice de Campeden, _F F_.

 Camel, 487.
   George Camel, _W_ 20.
   Richard Camill, _V_ 5.
   William Cammille, _V_ 4.

 Cameron, 441.

 Camiser, 344.
   Bartholomew le Camisur, _X_.

 Camoys, 441.
   John le Camoys, _A_.

 Campbell, 441.
   Thomas Cambell, _Z_.

   (1), 304.
     Walter le Campion, _A_.
     John le Campion, _T_.
   (2), 159. (_v._ Champion, 2.)

 Camuse (_v._ Camoys), 441.

 Candeler (_v._ Candler), 386.

 Candleman, 386.
   Adam Candeleman, _M_.

 Candlemaker, 386.
   John le Candlemakere, _M_.

 Candler, 386.
   Mathew le Candeler, _A_.
   John le Candeler, _E_.

   Hugh de Caen, _C_.
   Richard de Cane, _H_.

 Cannon, 191.
   John le Cannon, _A_.
   Richard Cannon, _Z_.

 Canon, 191.
   William le Canon, _A_.
   Thomas le Canun, _E_.

 Cant (_v._ Quaint), 471.

 Canter (_v._ Chanter), 188.

 Canute, 20.

 Canvaser, 319, 359.
   Henry le Canevacer, _M_.
   Richard le Canvaser, _M_.

 Caperon, 458.
   Alicia Caperun, _A_.
   Thomas Chaperoun, _J_.

 Capet, 456.

 Capmaker, 337.
   Thomas Capmaker, _H_.

 Capman, 337.
   John Capman, _M_.
   James Kapman, _Z_.

 Capon, 494.
   Robert le Capon, _B B_.
   Agnes Capun, _A_.

 Capper, 337.
   Symon le Cappiere, _A_.
   Thomas le Capiere, _A_.

   Geoffrey le Carbonere, _W_ 15.
   Alfred Carbonator, _M M_.

 Carder, 320.
   Peter Carder, _Z_.
   John Carder, _Z_.

 Cardinal, 173.
   Walter Cardinall, _P_.
   William Cardynall, _Z_.

 Cardmaker, 321.
   Robert Cardemaker, _H_.

   Robert Carefull, _M M_.

 Careless, 471.
   Roger Carles, _H_.
   Antony Careless, _Z_.

 Carlton, 134.
   Geoffrey de Carlton, _A_.
   Audeley Carleton, _Z_.

 Carman, 238.
   Henry Carman, _A_.
   Matilda Carman, _A_.

 Carnifex, 375.
   Hugh Carnifex, _A_.
   Henry Carnifex, _M_.

 Carpenter, 249.
   Amice le Charpenter, _T_.
   Stephen le Charpenter, _B_.
   Robert le Carpenter, _M_.

 Carter, 288.
   Magge le Carter, _A_.
   William le Caretter, _E_.
   Robert le Carecter, _A_.
   Robert le Karetter, _A_.

   Cristina le Carteres, _A_.

 Cartman, 288.

 Cartwright, 277.
   Robert le Cartwright, _B_.
   Thomas Cartwright, _Z_.

 Carver, 214.
   Adam le Karver, _A_.
   Richard le Kerver, _A_.

 Casier, 174, _n_. 278, 369.
   Michael le Casiere, _M_.
   Benedict le Casiere, _M_.

   John de Castell, _A_.
   William de Castell, _A_.

 Castelan, Castleman, 204.
   Jocelin le Castlelyn, _R_.
   John le Chastilioun, _R_.
   Thomas le Chastelain, _M_.
   William Castleman, _Z_.

 Catalonia, 170.
   Robert de Catalonia, p. 170.

 Catcher, 182.
   Adam le Cacher, _A_.
   Richard le Catchere, _A_.

 Catcherel, 182.
   Nicholas le Cacherel, _A_.
   Lucas Cacherellus, _A_.

   Hugh Cachehare, _M_.

 Catchman, 152.
   Edmund Catchman, _Z Z_.

 Catchpeny, 483.
   Nicholas Kachepeny, _A_.

 Catchpole, Catchpoll, Catchpool, 182.
   Hugh le Cachepol, _M_.
   Geoffrey le Cachepol, _A_.
   Michael Catchpoole, _Z_.

 Cater, Caterer, Catour, 210.
   Henry le Catour, _A_.
   John le Catur, _J_.
   Nicholas le Catour, _B_.

 Catlinson, 71.
   Richard Catlynson, 55.
   Eleonore Catlynsson, _W_ 12.
   Thomas Katlynson, _W_ 11.

 Cats-nose, 500.
   Agnes Cattesnese, _A_.

 Catt, 492.
   Adam le Kat, _C_.
   Milo le Chat, _E_.
   Elyas le Cat, _A_.

 Catterman (_v._ Quarterman), 437.
   Richard Catermayn, _H_.

 Cattell, Cattle, (_v._ Chettle), 24.
   Cattle Bagge, _A_.

 Cattlin, 71.
   Robert Catelyne, _H H_.
   Richard Kateline, _A_.

 Caury-Maury 457.
   John Caury-Maury, _V_ 8.

 Cayser, Cayzer, 174.
   Samson le Cayser, _A_.
   Thomas le Cayser, _A_.

 Cecil, 19.
   Richard fil. Cecille, _A_.
   Thomas Cicell, _Z_.

 Cecilia, 69.
   Cecilia in the Lane, _A_.
   Cecilia la Grase, _T_.
   Sissilie Linscale, _W_ 16.

 Ceinter, 349.
   Girard le Ceinter, _C_.
   Robert le Ceynter, _M_.

 Cellarer, 211.
   Richard le Cellarer, _O_.
   John Cellarer, _D_.

 Centlivre, 513.
   Grace Centlivre, Joseph Centlivre, _v._ p. 513.

 Centurer, 349.
   Nicholas le Ceynturer, _A_.
   Richard le Ceynturer, _A_.
   Benet Seinturer, _v._ p. 349.

 Cesselot (_v._ Sisselot), 69.
   Bella Cesselot, _A_.
   Alicia fil. Sesselot, _A_.

 Chaffinch, 494.
   Abraham Caffinch, _v._ 13.

 Chalk (_v._ Schalk), 212 _n_.

 Chalker, 259.
   Thomas le Chalker, _A_.
   Gilbert le Chalker, _A_.

 Challen, 170.
   Rodger de Chaluns, _A_.
   Piers de Chalouns, _M_.

 Challender, 495.

 Challenor (_v._ Chaloner), 357.

 Challice, Challis, 393.

 Challoner, Chaloner, 357.
   Jordan le Chaluner, _T_.
   John le Chaloner, _B_.
   Peter le Chaloner, _M_.
   Nicholas le Chalouner, _A_.

 Chamberlain, Chamberlayne, 205.
   Walter le Chamberleyne, _A_.
   Simon le Chamberlain, _M_.
   Henry le Chaumberleyne, _B_.

 Chambers, 205.
   Henry de la Chambre, _A_.
   William de la Chaumbre, _B_.

 Champagne, 159.
   Robert de Chaumpaigne, _M_.

   (1), 304.
     Katerina le Champion, _A_.
     William le Chaumpion, _A_.
   (2), 159.
     Roger de Champion, _B_.

 Champness, Champneys, 158.
   Robert le Champeneis, _E_.
   Roger le Chaumpeneys, _A_.
   Stephen le Champenays, _L_.

 Chancellor, 188.
   Thomas le Chanceler, _M_.
   Geoffrey le Chaunceler, _R_.

 Chandler, 386.
   Jordan le Chaundler, _C_.
   Roger le Chaundeler, _B_.

 Changer, 413.
   Henry le Chaunger, _M_.
   Adam Chaunger, _F F_.

 Chanster, 188.
   Stephen le Chanster, _J_.
   Williametta Cantatrix, _E_.

 Chanter, 188.
   Christiana le Chaunter, _A_.
   William le Chantour, _M_.

   Henry atte Chapelle, _M_.
   Hugh de la Chapele, _A_.

 Chapeller, 337.
   Robert le Chapeler, _A_.
   Edmund le Chapeler, _M_.

 Chaperon, 458.
   Almeric Chaperon, _O_.

 Chaplain, Chaplin, 188.
   Reginald le Chapelein, _J_.
   Hamo le Chapeleyn, _T_.

 Chapman, 296.
   Geoffrey le Chapman, _M_.
   Alard le Chapman, _T_.

 Charer, 287.
   John le Charer, _O_.
   Richard le Charrer, _M_.
   John le Charrer, _A_.

 Charioteer, 287.
   John Charioteer, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Charietter, _Z_.

 Charity, 103.
   John Charite, _A_.
   Charitie Bowes, _Z_.

 Charlesworth, 134.

 Charlewood, 134.
   Isabelle Charlewood, _Z_.
   John Charlewood, _Z_.

 Charley, 134.
   Philip de Charleye, _M_.
   John Charley, _Z Z_.

 Charlton, 134.
   Thomas de Charlton, _M_.
   Henry de Charewelton, _A_.

 Charman, 288.
   John Charman, _F F_.
   John Chareman, _H H_.

 Charner, 272.
   Thomas le Charner, _A_.

 Charter, 287.
   William le Charetter, _G_.
   Andrew le Chareter, _M_.
   John le Charter, _M_.

 Charteris, Charters, 168.
   Ralph de Chartres, _M_.
   Alan de Chartres, _M_.

 Chartman (_v._ Cartman), 287.
   John Chartman, _F F_.

 Chaser, 230.
   Simon le Chasur, _A_.

 Chatelain (_v._ Castelan), 204.
   Ralph le Chatelaine, _A_.

 Chaucer, 354.
   Gerard le Chaucer, _H_.
   Mary le Chaucer, _N_.
   Ralph le Chaucer, _E_.
   Robert le Chaucer, _M_.

 Chauntecler, 494.
   Roger Chauntecler, _B_.
   Agnes Chauntler, _Z_.

 Cheek, 433.
   John Cheeke, _Z_.

 Cheese, 144.
   Nicholas Chese, _T_.
   John Chese, _X_.

 Cheese-and-bread, 501.
   Geoffrey Cheese-and-brede, _W_ 5.

 Cheese-house, 369.
   Adam del Cheshus, _A_.

 Cheesemaker, 369.
   Robert le Chesemaker, _A_.

 Cheeseman, 369.
   John le Cheseman, _A_.
   Edward Cheseman, _H_.

 Cheesemonger, 369.
   Adam le Chismonger, _H_.
   Alan le Chesmongere, _L_.

 Cheesewright, 277, 369.
   John Chesewright, _Z_.

 Cheever, 491.
   Henry le Chivere, _M_.
   Jordan Chevre, _C_.

 Cheke (_v._ Cheek), 433.

 Chen (_v._ Ken), 492.
   Reginald le Chen, _M_.
   William le Chien, _E_.

 Chepman, 296.
   Walter le Chepeman, _M_.
   John le Chepman, _B_.

 Chesswright (_v._ Cheesewright), 369.
   William Cheswright, _Z_.

 Chettle (_v._ Kettle), 24.
   Chetel Frieday, _F F_.

 Chevalier, 507.
   Walter le Chevaler, _A_.
   Roger le Chevaler, _A_.

 Chevestrer, 413.
   Adam le Chevestrer, _A_.

 Chicken, 494.
   John Chikin, _A_.
   Philip Chikin, _A_.

 Chietsmith, 283.
   John Chietsmyth, _X_.

 Child, Childe, 202.
   Milisent le Child, _A_.
   Walter le Child, _M_.
   Roger le Childe, _A_.

 Chin, 433.
   John Chyne, _A_.

 Chippendale, 296.

 Chit, 442.
   John le Chit, _R_.

   Richard Chiterling, _A_.

 Chitty, 442.
   Agnes Chittye, _Z_.
   John Chittie, _Z_.

 Choice-Pickrell, 508.

 Christian, 30, 507.
   Christian Forman, _W_ 2.
   Brice Christian, _A_.

 Christiana, 30.
   Joan Cristina, _A_.
   Cristina Alayn, _A_.

 Christie (_v._ Christian), 30.

 Christison, 30.
   John fil. Christian, _A_.
   Robert fil. Christine, _M_.

 Christmas, Cristmas, 62.
   Simon Christemasse, _A_.
   Richard Cristemasse, _M_.

 Christmas-Day, 509.

 Christoferson, 57.
   Richard Christoferson, _Z Z_.

 Christopher, 57.
   John Christophre, _M_.
   William Cristofer, _Z_.

 Chubb, 497.
   John Chubbe, _Z_.
   Isabell Chubb, _Z_.

 Chuffer, 482.
   Simon le Chuffere, _A_.

 Church, 113.
   Robert atte Chyrche, _A_.
   Alicia atte Chirche, _B_.

 Churchay, 134.
   William atte Churchehaye, _A_.
   Robert atte Churchey, _W_.

 Churchclerk, 189.
   Walter le Churcheclerk, _M_.

 Churcher, 113.
   Richard Churcher, _Z_.
   Johan Churcher, _Z_.

   Reginald atte Churchedoor, _M_.

 Churchgate, 130.
   Robert atte Chirchyate, _M_.

 Churchman, 113.
   Ouse le Churcheman, _A_.
   Simon le Cherchman, _M_.

   John atte Churchestighele, _M_.

 Churner (_v._ Charner), 272.
   Robert Chirner, _W_ 9.

 Cicely (_v._ Cicilia), 69.
   Cicely Harbord, _Z_.

 Cirgier, 386.
   William le Cirgier, _X_.

 Cirographer, 406.
   William le Cirographer, _A_.
   Isaac Cyrographer, _E_.

 Cissor, 340.
   Walter Cyssor, _A_.
   Hugh Cissor, _M_.

 Clare (_v._ Sinclair), 124.

 Clarice, 19.
   Alan fil. Clarice, _A_.
   Claricia Crowe, _A_.
   Richard Clarisse, _A_.

 Clark, Clarke, (_v._ Clerk), 412.

 Claver, 185.
   Henry le Claver, _E_.
   Agnes le Claver, _F F_.
   John le Clavier, _B B_.

 Clavenger, Clavinger, 185.
   Robert Clavynger, _H_.

   Alice in le Clay, _A_.
   Thomas de la Cley, _A_.

 Clayer, 259.
   Simon le Clayere, _A_.

 Cleangrise (_v._ Cleanhog), 499.
   Roger Clenegrise, _A_.

   John Cleanhond, _X_.

 Cleanhog, 499.
   William Clenehog, _A_.

   John Klenewater. Lower 1, 242.

 Cleaver (_v._ Claver), 154.
   John Cleaver, _F F_.
   William Cleaver, _V_ 6.

 Clement, Clements, Clementson, Clemms, Clempson, Clemson, 98.
   Richard Clement, _W_ 16.
   Ralph fil. Clemence, _A_.
   Eustace fil. Clement, _A_.
   Roger Clempson, _Z_.
   Peter fil. Clem, _A_.
   Joyce Clemson, _Z_.

 Clerk, Clerke, 189, 465.
   Beatrix le Clerc, _A_.
   Milo le Clerk, _A_.

 Clerkson, 65.
   Geoffrey fil. Clerici, _A_.
   William Clerkessone, _M_.

 Clerkwright, 402.
   Robert Clerkwright, _S_.

 Cleve, 124.
   Henry de la Clyve, _A_.
   Thomas de Cleve, _F F_.

 Cleveland, 124.

 Clever (_v._ Cleaver), 154.
   William le Clever, _F F_.

 Clifden, 124.
   Raymund de Clifden, _A_.
   Thomas de Cliffedon, _A_.

 Cliffe, 124.
   Thomas del Clif, _A_.
   Henry de Clyf, _M_.

 Clifford, 124.
   Robert de Clyfford, _M_.
   Roger de Clyfford, _E_.

 Cliffshend, 114.
   John de Cleveshend, _E_.
   Martin de Clyveshend, _A_.

 Clifton, 124.
   Ralph de Clifton, _A_.
   Gervase Clifton, _X X_ 1.

 Clive, 124.
   Humfrey de la Clive, _A_.
   William atte Clyve, _M_.

 Cliveley, 124.
   John de Clyveley, _A_.
   Nicholas Cleveley, _X X_ 1.

 Clockmaker, 401.
   Thomas Clokmaker, _Y_.

 Cloisterer, 191.
   Johannes Closterer, _W_ 12.

 Clothier, Clothman.
   Robert Clothman, _X X_ 2.

 Clough, 124.
   Roger Clough, _A._
   Richard Cloughe, _Z_.

 Clouter, 352.
   John le Clutere, _N_.
   Stephen le Clutere, _N_.

 Cloutman (_v._ Clouter), 352.

 Clowes, 124.
   John Clowes, _Z_.
   Thomas Clowes, _Z_.

 Coachman, 288.
   Dorothy Coachman, _V_ 5.
   Telney Coachman, _V_ 5.
   John Coacheman, _Z_.

 Cobb, 124.
   Robert de Cobbe, _M_.
   Milisent Cobbe, _A_.

 Cobbett (_v._ Cuthbert), 56.

 Cobbler, 352.
   Robert le Cobeler, _A_.
   Edward Cobler, _H_.

 Cobden, 124.
   Godfrey de Coppden, _M_.
   John Copedenne, _A_.

 Cobham, 124.
   Reginald de Cobeham, _M_.
   John de Cobbeham, _A_.

 Cobley, 124.

 Cobwell, 124.
   John de Cobwell, _M_.

   (1), 145.
     Peter atte Cok, _B_.
     William atte Cok, _G_.
   (2), 485.
     John le Koc, _A_.
     Katerina le Cok, _B_.

 Cockaigne, Cockayne, 148.
   Alan de Cokayne, _A_.
   Richard de Cockayne, _A_.

 Cocker, 307.
   Simon le Cockere, _A_.
   William le Kokere, _A_.
   John le Coker, _M_.

 Cockerell, 494.
   Giot Cockerel, _M_.
   Jac. Quoquerell, _C_.

 Cockeyn (_v._ Cockaigne), 148.

 Cockin (_v._ Cockaigne), 148.
   Richard Cokyn, _H_.

 Cockman, 307.
   Maud Cockman, _F F_.
   Robert Cokeman, _M_.

 Cockney, 148.
   John Cokeney, _B_.

 Cocksbrain, 500.
   William Cockesbrayne, _A_.

 Cockshead, 447.
   Adam Cocksheved, _M_.
   Antony Cockshead, _Z_.

 Cockshaw, 117.
   Adam de Cokeshaw, _A_.
   John de Cokeshaw, _A_.

 Cockshot, 116.
   Alan Cockshott, _F_.
   John Cockshott, _Z_.

 Cockson (_v._ Cookson), 65.
   Edward Cockson, _Z_.
   John Cockson, _E E_.

 Codde, 497.
   Thomas Codde, _F F_.
   Joan Codde, _F F_.

 Codiner (_v._ Cordwaner), 351.

 Codling, 497.
   Alan Codling, _F F_.
   Simon Codlyng, _F F_.

 Codner (_v._ Cordwaner), 351.

 Cœurdebeef, 500.
   Thomas Cordebeofe, _A_.
   John Queerdebœf, _B_.

 Coffer, Cofferer, 218, 336, 396.
   Godfrey le Coffrer, _A_.
   Ralph le Coffrer, _H_.
   John le Coffrer, _M_.

 Coffin, 144, 397.
   Richard Coffyn, _H_.
   Elias Coffyn, _J_.

 Cogger, 408.
   Hamond le Cogger, _O_.
   Henry Cogger, _P_.

 Cogman, 408.
   Benjamin Cogman, _F F_.

 Coifer, 336.
   Emma le Coyfere, _A_.
   Ralph le Coifier _E_.
   Dionysia la Coyfere, _A_.

 Coke (_v._ Cook), 206, 365.
   Roger le Coke, _M_.
   Alexander Coke, _A_.

 Cole (_v._ Colin), 95.

 Coleman, 22.
   Editha Coleman, _A_.
   Coleman le Hen, _A_.

 Colet (_v._ Collet), 189, 96.
   Nicholas Colyt, _M_.
   William Kolytte, _W_ 11.

 Colfox, 499.
   Thomas Colfox, _Z_.
   Richard Colvox, _A_.

 Colinson, 16, 96.
   William fil. Colin, _A_.
   Colin le Balistar, _E_.

 Collet (_v._ Colet), 189, 96.
   Colletta Clarke, _H H_.
   Henry Collette, _X X_ 1.

   Robert le Coliere, _A_.
   John le Collier, _C_.

 Collinge (_v._ Culling), 170.

 Collins (_v._ Collinson), 96.
   Colinus de Barentyn, _E_.
   Colin le Ferur, _A_.

 Collinson (_v._ Colinson), 96.
   John Collynson, _Z_.
   Lanclot Colynson, _W_ 11.

 Collopp, 333 _n_.
   John Collop, _A_.
   Mabil Collope, _A_.

 Colson (_v._ Colinson), 96.
   George Collison, _H H_.
   Robert Colson, _H H_.

 Colswain, 505.
   Stephen Colesweyne, _A_.
   Richard Colsweyn, _T_.

 Colt, 490.
   Roger le Colt, _A_.
   William le Colt, _A_.
   Joan Colte, _V_ 7.

 Coltman, 267.
   John Coltman, _H_.
   Geoffrey Coltman, _M_.
   Richard Coltman, _W_ 11.

 Colville, 151.
   William de Colville, _M_.
   Felip de Colville, _A_.

 Colyer (_v._ Collier).
   Henry le Colyer, _A_.

 Comb, Combe, 125.
   Elias de Comb, _A_.
   William atte Combe, _M_.
   Nicholas atte Combe, _M_.

 Comber, 320.
   John le Comber, _A_.
   Walter le Comber, _E_.

   William le Comandur, _A_.
   William Commander, _Z_.

 Conder, 377.

 Coney, 139, 489.
   Henry Cony, _D_.
   John Conay, _A_.

 Coneybeare, 139.

 Coneythorp, 137.
   Robert de Conigthorpe, _X X_ 4.

 Congreave, 120.
   Robert de Conesgrave, _A_.
   William Congrove, _H_.
   Henry Conygrave, _X X_ 2.

 Coning, 139.
   Nicholas Conyng, _H_.
   Peter Conyng, _P_.
   Michael Conning, _W_ 20.

 Coningsby, 139.
   John de Conyngsby, _P_.
   Walter de Cunnyngby, _A_.

 Conington, Connington, 139.
   John de Conyngton, _A_.
   Thomas de Conyton, _A_.

   William Conqueror, _A_.
   Robert Conqueraunt, _A_.

 Constable, 203.
   John le Conestable, _B_.
   Robert le Conestable, _G_.

 Constance, 19, 67.
   William fil. Constance, _A_.

 Convert, 167.
   Dyonis le Convers, _A_.
   Stephen le Convers, _B_.
   Nicholas le Conners, _B_.

 Conyers (_v._ Convert), 197.

 Cook, Cooke, 206, 365.
   Emma Coca, _A_.
   Roger le Cook, _M_.
   Joan le Cook, _F F_.

 Cookman, 206, 365.
   William Cokeman, _J_.
   John Cookman, _W_ 9.

 Cookson, 65, 365.
   Robert fil. Coci, _A_.
   John Cokesson, _F F_.
   Henry Cukeson, _W_ 11.

 Cooper, 389, 394.
   Richard le Cupare, _A_.
   John le Cuper, _M_.

 Coote, 494.

 Cope, 124.
   Robert Cope, _A_.
   Adam Cope, _M_.

 Copeland, 124.
   William de Copelaunde, _E_.
   John Copland, _Z_.

 Copeman, 296, 124.
   Laurence Copiman, _A_.
   Hugh Cowpman, _K_.

 Coper, 296.
   John le Copere, _A_.

 Copestake, 124.
   William Copestake, _Z_.

 Copley, 124.
   Avery Copley, _Z_.
   Christopher Copley, _Z_.
   Thomas de Coppeley, _X X_ 4.

     John le Coppe, _A_.
     Thomas le Coppe, _A_.
   (2), 124.
     John de la Coppe, _F F_.
     Richard de la Coppe, _F F_.

 Copped 353.
   Hugh le Coppede, _A_.
   John le Copede, _M_.

 Copperbeard, 449.
   Robert Coperberd, _N_.

 Corbet, 151.
   Nicholas Corbet, _M_.
   Felicia Corbet, _A_.

 Corder, 399.
   Adam le Corder, _A_.
   Peter le Corder, _A_.

 Cordiner, Cordwaner, 351.
   Durant le Cordwaner, _M_.
   Roger le Cordewaner, _C_.
   Gervaise le Cordewaner, _N_.

 Corfe, 452.
   John Chauf, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Cauf, _E_.

 Coroner, 179.
   John le Coroner, _M_.
   Henry le Corouner, _A_.

   (1), 179.
     John le Corner, _A_.
     Waiter le Cornur, _K_.
   (2), 130, 179.
     William de la Cornere, _A_.
     Robert Atte Cornere, _M_.

 Cornmonger, 275.
   Ralph le Cornmonger, _T_.
   Henry le Cornmongere, _M_.

 Cornish, 147.
   William Cornish, _D_.
   Margery Cornish, _H_.

 Cornthwaite, 121.

 Cornwall, 169, 147.
   Geoffrey de Cornwayle, _B_.
   Wauter de Cornwaille, _M_.

 Cornwallis, 148.
   Thomas le Cornwaleys, _A_.
   Philip le Cornwaleys, _L_.
   Walter le Cornewaleys, _X_.

 Corsdebeef, 500.
   Thomas Cors-de-bœf, _A_.
   Thomas Cor-de-beofe, _B_.
   Galiena Cordebeof, _J_.

 Corser, Corviser, 286, 351.
   Ralph le Coreviser, _A_.
   William le Corviser, _B_.
   Durand le Corveser, _M_.

 Cosier, 352.

 Cosser (_v._ Corser), 286.

   (1), 252.
     Richard Coteman, _A_.
     William Coteman, _A_.
     Thomas fil. Cotman, _A_.
     John fil. Cotman, _A_.

 Cotter, 252.
   William le Cotier, _A_.
   Simon le Cotere, _F F_.

 Cotterel, Cottrell, 252.
   William Coterel, _M_.
   Joice Cotterill, _Z_.

 Cotwife, 252.
   Beatrix Cotewife, _A_.

 Coucher, 360.
   John le Cochere, _A_.
   William Coucher, _W_ 2.

 Couchman (_v._ Coachman), 288.
   Richard Couchman, _Z_.
   William Cowcheman, _E E_.

 Coudray, 154.
   William de Coudraye, _M_.
   Peter de Coudray, _R_.

 Coulman, 337.
   Launcelot Coulman, _Z_.

 Coulthart, Coulthard, Coulherd, 267.
   John Colthirde, _W_ 9.
   Davy Cowthird, _W_ 18.

 Coultman, 267.

 Councillor, Councilman, 185.

 Count, 174.
   John le Cunte, _E_.
   Peter le Counte, _G_.
   Richard le Counte, _N_.

 Countess, 174, 507.
   Judetha Commitissa, _A_.
   John Countesse, _A_.

   John Cuntreman, _A_.

 Couper, 394.
   Nicholas le Couper, _A_.
   Warin le Couper, _M_.

 Couperess, 394.
   Roger Couperesse, _A_.

   Richard Coupman, _A_.

 Courcy, 151.

   Baldwin atte Curt, _M_.
   Godfrey ate Curt, _M_.

 Cousen, Cousin, Couzen, 429.
   Richard le Cusyn, _A_.
   John le Cosyn, _G_.
   Thomas le Cozun, _E_.

 Cover, 395.
   Richard le Cuver, _O_.
   Walter le Cuver, _E_.
   Michael le Cuver, _A_.

 Coverer, 395.
   Robert le Coverour, _A_.
   Adam le Covreur, _M_.

 Covetous, 483.
   Gilbert le Covetiose, _M_.

   (1), 490.
     Thomas le Cu, _A_.
     Ralph le Cou, _M_.
   (2), 485.
     Thomas del Cou, _M_.

 Coward, 266.
   William le Kuherde, _A_.
   John le Couherde, _D_.
   Adam le Cowhirde, _M_.

 Cowbeytson, 56.
   Nicholas Cowbeytson, _W_ 9.

 Cowden, 118.
   Thomas Cowden, _F F_.
   Nathaniel Cowden, _F F_.

 Cowler, 337.
   Richard le Couhelere, _M_.

 Cowley, 119.
   Alexander de Couleye, _A_.
   Roger de Couele, _A_.

 Cowman, 271.

 Cowper (_v._ Couper), 389, 394.
   Willelmus Cowpere, _W_ 19.

 Cowpman, (_v._ Coupman) 394.
   Richard Cowpeman, _A_.

 Coxhead (_v._ Cockshead), 447.
   Thomas Coxhead, _H H_.

 Coxon (_v._ Cockson), 65.

 Coyking, 505.
   John Coyking, _M_.

 Crabb, 497.

   John Crabtre, _W_ 16.
   William Crabtree, _W_ 16.

 Crackshield, 462.
   Thomas Crackyshield.

 Cramp (_v._ Crump), 440.
   William Cramp, _Z_.

 Cramphorn, 461.
   Joseph Cramphorne.

 Crane, 144, 494.
   Hugh le Crane, _G_.
   William le Crane, _E_.

 Crask, 432.
   Walter le Crask, _F F_.

 Crass, 432.
   Richard le Cras, _A_.
   John le Cras, _M_.
   Stephen Crassus, _J_.

 Crestolot, 16.
   Crestolot de Pratis, _DD_.

 Crimp (_v._ Crump), 440.

 Cripling, 441.
   William Crypling, _A_.

 Crisp, 450.
   Robert le Crespe, _A_.
   Reginald le Crispe, _J_.

 Crocker 392.
   Simon le Crockere, _A_.
   Stephen le Crockere, _M_.

 Croft, Crofts, 132.
   Roger de Croftes, _A_.
   Agnes de Croftis, _A_.

 Croiser, 158.
   Simon le Croiser, _M_.
   William Croiser, _H_.

 Croker, 392.
   Robert Croker, _F_.
   John le Croker, _M_.

 Crook, 461.
   Roger le Cruk, _M_.
   John Cruke, _A_.

 Crookbone, 440.
   Henry Croakbane, _A_.
   Geoffrey Crokebayn, _W_ 4.

 Crooke (_v._ Crook), 440.
   Vincent Crooke, _Z_.

 Crookhorn, 461.
   John Crokehorn, _B_.
   Robert Crokehorn, _T_.

 Cropper, 256.
   Roger the Cropper, _A A_ 2.
   Robin the Cropper, _A A_ 2.

 Crosier (_v._ Crozier), 190.
   William Croyser, _G_.

 Cross, Crosse, 130.
   John atte Cross, _M_.
   Roger del Cros, _R_.
   Jordan ad Crucem, _A_.

 Crosser, 113.

 Crossman, 113.
   Julyan Crosman, _Z_.
   Emme Crossman, _Z_.

 Crossthwaite, 121.
   Henry de Crosthweyte, _M_.
   John de Crostwyt, _R_.

 Crossweller (_v._ Cressweller), 113.

 Crotch, Crouch, 130.
   John atte Cruche, _A_.
   Matilda atte Crouche, _B_.

 Croucher, 113, 130.
   John le Crocher, _K_.
   John Crowcher, _F F_.

 Crouchman, 113, 130.
   Richard Crocheman, _A_.
   William Croucheman, _B_.

 Crow, 494.
   Claricia Crowe, _A_.
   Robert Crowe, _M_.

 Crowder, 310.
   Ricard le Cruder, _A_.
   Thomas le Crouder, _W_ 2.

 Crowfoot, 500.
   William Crowfoot, _F F_.
   Henry Crowfoot, _F F_.

 Crowther (_v._ Crowder), 310.

 Crozier, 190.
   Simon le Croyser, _M_.
   Mabel le Croyser, _G_.

 Cruel, 464, 484.
   Warin Cruel, _A_.

 Cruikshank, 438.

 Crump, 440.
   Richard le Crumppe, _A_.
   Hugh le Crumpe, _T_.

 Cryer, 183.
   Philip le Criour, _E_.
   Wat le Creyer, _G_.
   Edward le Creiour, _N_.

   Thomas le Cuckold, _A_.
   Matilda Cuckold, _A_.

 Cuckoo, 494.
   Stephen Cuckoo, _F F_.
   William Cuckow, _F F_.
   Thomas Cuckowe, _V_ 13.

 Cuddie (_v._ Cuthbert), 55.

 Cullen, Culling, 170.
   John de Coloigne, _F F_.
   William de Culinge, _A_.
   Alan Culling, _A_.

 Culver, 495.

 Cuner, 404.
   Ada le Cuner, _A_.
   Henry Cunator, _A_.

 Cunerer, 404.
   Samson le Cunerer, _A_.

 Cunning, 139, 469.

 Cunningham, 139.

 Cuppage, 215.
   John Cupage, _A A_ 3.

 Cupper, 389.
   William le Cuppere, _G_.
   Thomas le Cupper, _M_.

   John le Cure, _A_.
   Anne Cure, _Z_.

 Curl, 450.
   Marcus Curie, _Z_.
   William Curle, _Z_.

 Curling (_v._ Querdelyun), 499.

 Currier, 331.

 Curt, 432.
   Thomas le Curt, _R_.
   William le Curt, _L_.

   Adam Curtman, _A_.

 Curtbrand, 457.
   Reginald Curtbrant, _B_.

 Curteis, 468, 464.
   Walkelin le Curteis, _C_.
   Richard le Curteis, _E_.

 Curtepy, 456.
   Richard Curtepie, _A_.
   William Cortepy, _A_.

 Curthose, 456.
   Robert Curthose, _A_.
   Robert Curthose, _P P_.

 Curtis, 468, 464.
   Osbert le Curteys, _A_.
   Walter le Curteys, _J_.

 Curtmantel, 456.
   Henry Curtmantel, _P P_.

 Curtvalor, 456.
   Richard Curtevalur, _A_.

 Curtwailet, 456.
   Martin Curtwallet, _A_.

 Cuss, Cusson, (_v._ Custson), 67.
   Eliza Cusse, _W_ 9.
   Matilda fil. Cusse, _A_.
   Osbert Cuson, _A_.
   Cuss Balla, _A_.

 Cussot, 67.
   Cussot Colling, _A_.

 Cust, 67.
   Custe Newman, _A_.
   Robert fil. Cust, _A_.
   Custe Alver, _A_.

 Custance, 67.
   Custance la Braceresse, _A_.
   Henry fil. Custance, _W_ 6.
   Reyner Custance, _A_.

 Custerson, Custson, 67.
   William Custson, _W_ 8.
   Henry fil. Custance, _A_.

 Cutbeard, 56.
   Thomas Cutbert, _H_.
   John Cutbert, _A_.
   William Cutteberd, _W_.

 Cute, 465.
   Nicholas le Cute, _A_.
   Benedict le Cuyt, _A_.

 Cuteswain, 505.
   John Cutsweyn, _A_.

 Cuthbert, 56.
   Cuthbert Capun, _R_.
   Cuthbert Ricerson, _W_ 3.

 Cuthbertson, 56.
   Elizabeth Cuthbertson, _W_ 16.
   Thomas Cuthbertson, _W_ 11.

 Cutler, 282, 390.
   Walter le Cotiler, _A_.
   Peter le Coteler, _M_.
   Jordan le Cotiler, _N_.

 Cyderer, 261.

 D’Aeth (_v._ Death), 168.

 Daffe, 441.
   Lefeke Daffe, _A_.

 Daft, 441.
   William Daft, _A_.

 Daisy, 485.
   Roger Daisye, _V_ 9.

 Dakins, 188, 83.

   Sibill de Dale, _D_.
   Thomas de la Dale, _M_.

 Dallman, D’Almaine, Dalmaine, (_v._ Aleman), 165.
   Custance de Alemania, _A_.

 Dalman, 165.
   John Dalman, _F F_.
   William Dalman, _F F_.

 Dame, 84.
   Henry Dame, _A_.
   Alexander Dame, _M_.

 Damegod, 511.
   Peter Damegod, _M_.
   John Domegode, _O_.

 Damsell, 84.
   Simon Damsell, _A_.
   Lawrence Damysell, _W_ 2.

 Dameson, 84.
   John Damson, _Z_.

 Damet, Damiot, 84.
   Dametta, _A_.
   Dametta fil. Morrell, _DD_.
   Henry Damett, _R_.
   Hugh Damiot, _A_.
   Damietta Avenel, _F F_.
   Alice Damyett, _Z_.

 Damned-Barebones, 78.

 Damsel (_v._ Damsell), 84.
   Damosel Skren, _Q Q_.

 Dance (_v._ Dans), 84.

 Dancer, 307.
   Herveus le Danser, _A_.
   Henry Dawnser, _Z_.

 Dancock, 84.
   John Dancock, _G_.

 Dandelyan, 499.
   William Daundelyun _B_.

 Danett, 84.
   Ralph Danett, _P P_.
   Thomas Danet, _X X_ 1.

 Daniel, 84.
   Daniel fil. John, _E_.
   Richard Danyel, _M_.

 Dankin (_v._ Daniel), 84.
   Gunnilda Danckin, _K_.

 Dann, Danett, 84.
   Daniel Dann, _P P_.
   Henry Dann, _P P_.
   Moses Dannett, _V_ 5.
   John Dannett, _V_ 4.

 Dans, Danse, 84.
   John Danse, _Z_.

 Danser (_v._ Dancer), 307.

 Danson, 84.
   Christopher Danson, _Z_.
   John Danson, _Z_.
   Marmaduke Danson, _W_ 11.

 Dapifer, 211.
   Henry Dapifer, _A_.
   Sewall Dapifer, _J_.

   Jane Darling, _W_ 20.

 Dason (_v._ Davison), 83.

 Dauber, 250.
   Roger le Daubere, _A_.
   Silvester Daubere, _H_.

 David, 83.
   David Faber, _A_.
   Gilbert David, _A_.

 Davidson, 83.
   Robert fil. David, _A_.
   Thomas Davydson, _M_.

 Davies, 83.
   Davey ap Davidson, _Z_.
   Gerves Daves, _W_ 9.
   Davy Cowthird, _W_ 18.

 Davison, 83.
   James Davyson, _W_ 9.
   Thomas Davyson, _F F_.

 Davitt (_v._ David), 83.
   Robert fil. Davit, _A_.
   Isabel uxor Davit, _A_.

 Dawber (_v._ Dauber), 250

 Dawe, Dawes, 83.
   Daw le Pestour, _H_.
   Dawe le Falconer, _DD_.
   Lovekin Dawes, _A_.

 Dawkes, 83.
   Charles Dawkes, _F F_.
   Robert Dawkes, V _5_.

 Dawkins, 83.
   John Dawkyns, _F_.
   Henry Dawkins, _Z_.
   Dorken le Bercher, _A_.

 Dawkinson, 83.

 Dawson, 83.
   Richard fil. Dawe, _A_.
   Raffe Dawson, _Z_.

 Day, Daye, 273.
   Cecilia le Day, _J_.
   Stephen le Dagh, _T_.
   Thomas le Day, _M_.

 Dayes, 83.

 Dayman, 273.

 Dayson (_v._ Davison), 83.

   Robert Daysterre, _A_.

 Deacon, 188.
   Senxa le Dekene, _A_.
   Philip le Dekene, _M_.

 Deakin, 188.

   (1), 156.
     Roger le Dene, _A_.
     John le Dene, _F F_.
   (2), 118.
     William de la Dene, _A_.
     Adam atte Dene, _M_.

 Dearden, 118.
   Ralph de Derneden, _A_.

 Dearlove, 47.
   William Derelove, _F_.
   Richard Dorelove, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Dearlove _W_ 16

 Dearman (_v._ Deerman), 235

 Death, 168, 510.
   John Deth, _M_.
   Hugh de Dethe, _A_.

 Debenham, 17, 146.
   John de Debenham, _A_.
   Giles de Debenham, _F F_.

 Debonaire, 467.
   Philip le Debeneyre, _A_.

 Decroix, 153.

 Deer, 443.
   Robert le Dere, _A_.
   Lawrence le Deer, _M_.

 Deerman, 235.
   John Dereman, _A_.
   William Dereman, _A_.

 Defend, 103.
   Defend Outered.

 Defontaine, 153.

 Delamere, 153.
   Reginald de la Mere, _A_.
   Grigore de la Mere, _A_.

 Delarue, 153.

 Delilah, 77.

 Delisle, 153.

 Deliver, 465.
   Ralph le Delivere, _M M_.

 Delivery, 77.

 Deman, 273.
   Roger Deyman, _Z_.

 Demer, 180.
   Simon le Demer, _B_.

 Dempster, 180.
   Christopher Dempster, _Q_.

 Den, 118.
   Henry de Denn, _M_.
   William ate Denne, _M_.

 Denis (_v._ Dennis), 70.

 Denison (_v._ Dennison), 70.

 Denman, 119, 270.
   Ralph Denmane, _Z Z_.

     Denneyse Fowler, _Z_.
     Denes Lister, _W_ 9.
     Richard Dionys, _M_.
   (2), 162.
     Joel le Deneys, _A_.
     Brice le Daneis, _M_.
     James le Danoys, _X X_ 1.

   (1), 70.
     Henry Dennison, _W_ 16.
     John Denyson, _W_ 13.
     Michael fil. Dionysiæ, _A_.
     Walter Denizen, _A_.

 Dent-de-fer, 434.
   Robert Dent-de-fer, _E_.

 Denthorp, 137.
   Catherine Denthorp, _X X_ 4.

 Denyer, 119, 270.

 Departedieu, 511.
   John Departe-dieu, _F F_.

   Thomas Deputy, _W_ 20.

 Derbyshire, 147.
   Henry Derbyshyre, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Derbyshire, _Z Z_.

 Derne, 118 _n_.

 Dernhouse, 118 _n_.
   Thomas Dernehuse, _A_.

 Derwentwater, 429.
   Henry de Derwentwater, _M_.
   Thomas de Derwentwater, _L_.

 Despencer, Despenser, 175.
   Thurstan le Despencer, _A_.
   Edward le Despenser _B_.

 Deus-salvet-dominas, 511.
   Roger Deus-salvet-dominas, _v._ p. 511.

 Devil, Deville, 153.
   John Deyvyle, _A_.
   Thomas de Deyvyle, _T_.

 Devonish, 147.
   John le Deveneis, _E_.
   Isabel le Deveneis, _A_.
   Nichol le Devenys, _M_.

 Dewhurst, 116.
   John Derhurste, _X X_ 1.
   Grace Dewhirste, _Z Z_.

 Deye (_v._ Day), 273.
   Hugh le Deye, _G_.
   Cecily le Deye, _F F_.

 Deyville, 153.
   Goscelin de Eyville, _M_.
   John de Eyville, _M_.

 Diacony, 188 _n_.
   Michell Diacony, _X X_ 1.

 Diable, 153.
   Osbert Diabolus, _C_.
   Roger le Diable, _J_.

 Dibden, 118 _n_.
   Randolph de Dependen, _A_.
   John Debden, _X X_ 1.

 Diccons, Dicconson, 65.
     John fil. Decani, _A_.
     Amice fil. Decani, _A_.
     John Dyconson, _H_.
     Anthonye Dickonsonne, _W_ 9.

 Dick, 40.
   Agatha Dick, _F F_.
   John Dik, _F F_.

 Dickens, 40.
   William Dicons, _F F_.
   Richard Dikkins, _F F_.

 Dickenson (_v._ Dicconson), 16, 40.
   Robert Dickenson, _Z Z_.
   William Dykynson, _Z Z_.

 Dicker, 257.
   Symon le Diker, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Dykere, _A_.

 Dickerson, 40.
   Henry Dickerson, _F F_.

 Dickman, 257.
   Walter Dikeman, _A_.
   Agnes Dykman, _B_.
   Henry Dickman, _V_ 5.

 Dicks, 40.
   William Dikkys, _F F_.
   Thomas Dykys, _F F_.

 Dickson, 40.
   Ralph Dikson, _F_.
   Nicholas Dykson, _W_ 2.

 Dieu-te-ayde, 511.
   John Dieu-te-ayde, _M_.

 Digger, 257.
   William Digger, _V_ 2.

 Diggs (_v._ Dicks), 40.
   Robert Diggs, 257 _n_.
   Anne Digges, _Z_.

 Digginson (_v._ Dickenson), 40.
   John Digginson, _Z_.
   Agnes Digison, _Z_.

 Dinah, 100.
   Dyna Bocher, 100.

 Dionisia, Dionisius, 70.
   Dionisius Garston, _W_ 11.
   Dionise Argentein, _H H_.
   Dionysia la Coyfere, _A_.
   Michael fil. Dionisie, _A_.

 Discipline, 77.

 Disher, 393.
   John le Discher, _O_.
   Robert le Dishere, _X_.

 Disheress, 393.
   Margaret le Disheresse, _A_.

 Disser, Dissour, 314.
   Roger le Disser, _A_.

 Dister, 322.
   Robert le Dighestere, _G_.
   Walter le Dighestere, _G_.
   Thomas Dyster, _B_.

 Ditchend, 114.
   John de Dichende, _R_.

 Dives, 431.
   Elyas le Diveys, _A_.

 Dix (_v._ Dicks), 40.
   William Dixe, _Z_.
   Thomas Dickes, _F F_.

 Dixon (_v._ Dickson), 40.
   Bayll Dixson, _W_ 9.
   Agnes Dixson, _Z_.

 Dobbins, 39.
   Toby Dobbin, _F F_.
   John Dobbins, _Z_.
   Matilda Dobin, _A_.

 Dobbs, 39.
   Roger Dobbs, _M_.
   Richard Dobbys, _E E_.
   Robert Dobbis, _W_ 17.

   John Dobynette, _v._ p. 39, _n_.

 Dobinson, Dobison, Dobson, 39.
   Miles Dobsonne, _Z Z_.
   Richard Dobyson, _W_ 2.
   Henry Dobbinson, _W_ 20.

 Dodman, 304.
   Peter Dodeman, _A_.
   John Dodman, _F F_.

 Dodson (_v._ Davidson), 83.
   John Daudson, _M_.
   Adam Doddson, _Z Z_.

 Doe, 489.
   John le Doe, _A_.
   William le Do, _A_.

 Dog, 492.
   Nicholas Dogge, _A_.

 Dogmow, 434.
   William Dogmow, _A_.
   Arnulph Dogmow, _A_.

 Dollman, 165.
   Ales Dolman, _Z_.
   Mathew Dolman, _E E_.

 Dolphin, 497.
   John Dolfin, _Z_.
   William Dolfin, _A_.

 Doman (_v._ Doorman), 204.

 Domitt, 84.
   Henry Domet, _A_.

 Dook (_v._ Duke), 174.

 Doolittle, 500.

   Richard Domesdaye, _F F_.
   Margery Domesday (Lower).

 Doorman, 204.
   Nicholas Doreman, _O_.

 Doorward, 204.
   Geoffrey le Doreward, _A_.
   Elias Dorewarde, _B_.
   Isabel Dorewarde, _H_.

 Dorman (_v._ Doorman), 204.

 Dorturer, 192.
   Robert le Dorturer, _B_.
   William le Dorturer, _DD_.

 Dosier, 360.
   Robert le Dosier, _A_.
   Richard le Dosyere, _A_.

 Dosser (_v._ Dosier), 360.
   Gilbert le Dosser, _A_.
   John Dawsor, _E E_.

 Dosson, 69.

 Doubleman, 389.

 Doubler, 389.
   Hans Doubler, _O_.
   John Doblere, _X_.

   Annabell Doublerose.

 Douce (_v._ Dowse), 69.

 Doucett (_v._ Dowsett).
   John Doucett, _P P_.

 Douch, 165.

 Doughty, 467.
   John Doughty, _F F_.
   Thomas Doughtye, _Z Z_.

 Dove, 494.
   Richard le Duv, _M_.
   Nicholas le Duv, _M_.

 Dowch, 165.

 Dowkin (_v._ Dowse), 69.
   Richard Dowkin, _F_.

 Downe, 125.
   John de la Doune, _B_.
   Nicholas atte Doune, _M_.

 Downyhead, 447.
   John Downyhead, _M_.

 Dowsabell, 19, 70.
   Dowsabell Cobbe, _F F_.
   Dowzable Mill, _Z_.
   Dussabell Caplyn, _Z_.
   Thomas Duszabell, _M_.

 Doomsday, 63.
   Richard Domesday, _F F_.

 Doucett (_v._ Duckett), 70.

 Dowse, 69.
   Duce Mercatrix, _A_.
   Douce de Moster, _A_.
   William Douce, _M_.

 Dowsett (_v._ Dowse), 69.
   Walter fil. Dussote, _A_.

 Dowson, 69.
   John fil Dousæ, _W_ 5.
   John Dowsson, _Z_.
   Stephen Dowson, _F_.

 Dragon, 428.
   Walter le Dragon, _A_.
   William le Dragon, _A_.

 Drake, 494.
   Adam le Drake, _B_.
   Martin le Drake, _E_.

 Draper, 286.
   Roger le Draper, _A_.
   Henry le Drapier, _M_.

 Drawespe, 461.
   Thomas Drawespe, _A_.
   William Drauespe, _A_.

 Drawlace, 502.
   John Drawlace, _W_ 18.

 Drawsword, 461.
   Henry Draweswerd, _A_.
   Maurice Draugheswerd, _M_.

 Draw-water, 410.
   Richard Drawater, _A_.

 Drayner, 257.
   Elizabeth Draner, _Z_.
   Thomas Draner, _Z_.

 Dresser, 261.
   Raphe Dresser, _Z_.
   John Dresser, _W_ 16.

 Drew, 31.
   William fil. Drogo, _A_.
   Dru Barentyn, _H_.
   Drewe Drewery, _Z_.

 Drewett, 31.
   Druett Malerbe, _A_.
   Druetta de Pratello, _A_.

 Drynk-ale, 481.
   Jakes Drynkale, _X X_ 1.

 Drink-dregs, 481.
   Geoffrey Dringkedregges, _V_ 8.

 Drinkwater, 481.
   John Drinkewater, _A_.
   Richard Drynkewatere, _M_.

 Driver, 288.
   John le Drivere, _M_.
   Richard le Drivere, _M_.
   James Driver, _W_ 16.

 Driveress, 281.
   Alice le Driveress, _A_.

 Drunkard, 481.
   Maurice Druncard, _A_.

 Drybread, 501.
   John Drybred, _A_.

 Dubber, 354.
   Jordan le Dubbere, _B_.
   Stephen le Dubbere, _M_.
   Payen le Dubbour, _N_.

 Dubois, 153.
   John Dubois, _A_.

 Ducatel, 153.

 Duce, (_v._ Dowse), 69.
   Duce Vidua, _A_.
   Agnes fil. Duce, _A_.
   John fil. Duce, _A_.

 Ducedame, 481.
   Roger Ducedame, _A_.

 Duceparole, 468.
   Henry Duceparole, _T_.

 Duck, 174 _n_.
   Roger le Duc, _E_.
   Adam le Duk, _M_.
   William le Duck, _T_.

 Ducket (_v._ Dowsett), 70.
   Margery Duckett, _H H_.
   Robert Duckett, _P P_.
   Dulcia Duket, _A_.

 Duckrell, 494.

 Dudder, 303.

 Dudderman, Duderman, Dudman, 303.
   Simon Dudeman, _D_.
   Ralph Deudeman, _M_.
   Obbe Dudeman, _E_.

 Duffus, 131.
   Thomas Dufhouse, _X_.
   John del Duffus, _A_.

 Duke, 174.
   Nicholas Duke, _A_.
   Thomas Duke, _B_.

 Dukeson (_v._ Douce).
   Robert Dukeson, _Z_.

 Dulcia (_v._ Duce), 69.
   Robert fil. Dulcie, _A_.
   Dulcia le Drapere, _G_.
   Dulcia fil. Willliam, _E_.
   Dulcia Boveton, _A_.

 Dulcibella (_v._ Dowsabell), 70.

 Dulson (_v._ Dulcia), 70.

   Alicia le Dul, _A_.

 Dumbard, 442.
   Robert Dumbard, _A_.

   (1), 125.
     Gilbert atte Dune, _A_.
     Henry de la Dun, _K_.
   (2), 445.
     Henry le Dun, _A_.
     William le Dun, _B_.

 Duncalf, 490.
   John Duncalf, _A A_ 1.
   William Duncalf, _A A_ 1.

 Dunman, 395.
   William Dunman, _A_.
   John Dunman, _A_.

 Dunn (_v._ Dun), 395.
   William le Dunne, _A_.

 Dupont, 153.

 Durand, Durant.
   Henry fil. Durant, _A_.
   Durand le Bonjohan, _A_.
   Ivo Duraunt, _A_.

 Duredent, 434.
   Walter Duredent, _E_.

 Durnford, 118 _n_.
   Radegund Derneford, _R R_ 1.
   Robert de Derneford, _A_.

 Durward (_v._ Doorward), 204.
   John Durward, _B_.

 Dust, 77.

 Dutchman, 163.

 Dutchwoman, 163.
   Katherine Dutchwoman, _X_.

 Duzamour, 474.
   Felicia Duzamour, _v._ p. 474.

 Dyer, 322.
   John le Deyere, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Deghere, _G_.
   Nicholas le Deighere, _M_.

 Dyot, Dyott, Dyotson, (_v._ Dionisia), 70.
   Diota de Walworte, _W_ 19.
   Dyot Hayne, _W_ 11.
   Diotson, _W_ 11.

 Dyson (_v._ Dionysia), 70.
   William Dysone, M.

 Dyster (_v._ Dister), 322.

 Eagle, 145, 485.
     Gilbert de la Hegle, _A_.
     Custance le Egle, _A_.

 Eaglebeard, 449.
   Ismay Egleberd, _A_.

 Eame (_v._ Eme), 429.

 Earl, 145.
   Roger le Erl, _A_.
   John Erle, _B_.

 Earnshaw, 117.

 Earth, 77.

 East, 150.
   Robert de la Este, _A_.
   Christopher Easte, _Z_.

 Eastend, 115.
   Emma ate Estende, _A_.
   Adam in Estend, _A_.

 Easterling, 164.

 Eastern, 150.
   Thomas Esterne, _A_.

 Eborard, 27.
   Geoffrey fil. Eborard, _A_.
   Eborard le Ken, _A_.

 Edeline (_v._ Adeline), 19.
   Robert fil. Edeline, _A_.
   Edelina del Brok, _K_.
   Edelina Ayleve, _A_.

 Edelota (_v._ Edeline).
   Edelota Darby, _A_.
   Ydelot Binytheton, _K_.

 Edith, 19.
   John fil. Edithe, _A_.
   Editha uxor Edwardi, _C_.

 Edmond, Edmonds, 19.
   Edmon le Ussher, _M_.
   Walter Edmonds, _Z_.

 Edmondson, 19.
   Robert Edmondson, _Z_.

 Edmund, Edmunds, 5, 19.
   Robert Eadmund, _A_.
   Edmund Bullok, _Z_.

 Edmundson, 19.
   John fil. Eadmundi, _A_.
   Alexander fil. Eadmund, _A_.

   John Edred, _A_.
   Thomas Edrede, _A_.

 Edward, Edwardes, 19.
   Roger Eadward, _A_.
   Robert Edward, _M_.

 Edwardson, 19.
   George Edwardson, _X X_ 1.
   Emma fil. Edward, _A_.

 Eimeric, 26.

 Elcock, 87.
   Francis Elcock, _Q_.
   Roger Hellecok, _A_.

 Elder, 432.

 Eleanor (_v._ Alianora).
   Eleanor Lovet, _H_.
   Hugh fil. Elyenore, _A_.
   Elner Martin, _Z_.

 Elias, 86.

 Eliot, Eliott, 87.
   Elyot ad Cap: Ville, _A_.
   Eliottus de Balliol, _E_.
   Richard Eliot, _M_.

 Elizabeth, 79 _n_.
   Elizabeth Draner, _Z_.

 Elcock, 87.
   John Elcock, _Z Z_.
   Henry Elcocke, _Z Z_.

 Elkins, Elkinson, 86.
   Elekyn, _N_.
   Robert Elkyn, _X_.

 Ellcock (_v._ Elcock), 87.

 Ellen (_v._ Eleanor), 72.
   David fil. Elene, _A_.
   Elene le Fleming, _J_.

 Ellice, 86.
   Duce Elice _A_.
   Ellice Cowper, _Z_.
   Elice Apprice, _Z_.

 Ellicot, 87 _n_.
   Elisote, _A_.
   Ellisote Dispenser, _A_.
   Elisota Domicella, _W_ 2.
   Elisot Bustard, _W_ 2.

 Elliot (_v._ Eliot), 16, 87.
   Richard fitz Elote, _M_.
   Henry Elyot, _A_.

 Elliotson, 87.
   Robert Elyotson, _F_.

 Ellis, 86.
   Elis le Fitz-Hugh, _M_.
   Elis de Albrighton, _M_.
   Nicholas Ellys, _F_.

 Ellison, 86.
   Henry fil. Elis, _A_.
   John Ellison, _F_.
   Elias fil. Elye, _M_.

 Ellson, 86.
   Roger fil. Elie, _A_.
   William Elson, _H_.

 Elmer (_v._ Aylmer), 29.
   Richard Eilmar, _A_.
   William Elmer, _M_.

 Elmhurst, 116.

 Elmsley, 119.
   Albred de Elmsleie, _A_.

 Elwyn (_v._ Aylwin), 29.
   Elwyn le Heyward, _A_.
   William Elwin, _A_.

 Ember, 61.
   Ember Soleiroll, _Q Q_.

 Emberson (_v._ Emerson), 29.

 Eme, 429.
   Nicholas Eme, _A_.

 Emelia, 19, 87 _n_.
   Emelia la Prys, _M_.

 Emelot, 87 _n_.
   Emelot, _J_.
   Elena Emelot (_v._ Emelia), _A_.

 Emeric, 29, 87 _n_.
   Emeric de Bezill, _A_.
   Emericus de Sacy, _B_.
   Emericus de Bosco, _C_.

 Emerson, 29.
   Richard Emryson, _W_ 12.
   John fil. Emerici, _M_.
   William Emeryson, _W_ 8.
   Richard Emerson, _W_ 2.

 Emery, 29.
   Emerius Monetarius, _C_.
   William Emery, _D_.

 Emlott (_v._ Emelot), 87 _n_.

 Emma, 68.
   Emma mater Andreas, _C_.
   Emma la Gradere, _A_.
   Emma uxor Saer, _J_.

 Emme, Emmes, 68.
   Walter Em, _A_.
   William Emms, _A_.
   Edmund Emmes, _F F_.

 Emmet, Emmett, 16, 68.
   Emmetta Catton, _X_.
   Emmet Flessour, _W_ 9.
   Emmet Chapman, _W_ 9.

 Emmot (_v._ Emmott), 16, 68.

 Emmotson, 68.

 Emmott, 68.
   Emmota Plummer, _W_ 2.
   Emmota Fysscher, _W_ 2.
   Emmot Kneyt, _A_.

 Emperor, 173.
   Richard le Emperer, _G_.

 Empson, 68.
   Richard Empson, _H_.
   John Emmeson, _F F_.

 Emson, 68.
   Elyas fil. Emme, _A_.
   John Emyson, _F_.

 Enfant, 202.
   John le Enfaunt, _A_.
   Walter le Enfaunt, _H_.
   John le Enfant, _E_.

 Engineer, 229 (_v._ Jenner).
   William le Engynur, _A_.
   Richard le Enginur, _B_.
   Ernulf le Enginnur, _E_.

 English, 149.
   Walter le Engleis, _A_.
   Richard le Engleys, _B_.
   John le Englisshe, _M_.

 Enota, 87 _n_.
   Enota Coly, _A_.

 Envious, 464.
   Hamo le Enveyse, _A_.
   William le Enveise, _C_.

 Epiphany, 61.
   Epiphania Jackson, _Q Q_.

 Eremite (_v._ Hermit), 196.
   Hugh le Ermite, _E_.

 Ernald (_v._ Arnold), 28.
   Ernaldus de Baiona, _C_.
   Ernaldus Carnifex, _C_.
   Peter Ernald, _R_.

 Escot (_v._ Scott), 148.
   Roger le Escot, _A_.
   Adam le Escot, _H_.

 Escriveyn (_v._ Scriven), 362.
   Robert le Escriveyn, _E_.
   William le Escrevyn, _G_.

 Eskirmesur (_v._ Skrimshire), 220.
   Henry le Eskirmessur, _A_.
   Peter le Eskurmesur, _E_.
   John le Eskirmesour, _K_.

 Espaigne (_v._ Spain), 161.
   Arnold de Espaigne, _H_.
   John de Ispania, _A_.

 Espicer (_v._ Spicer), 329.
   Alan le Especer, _A_.
   Milo le Espicer, _N_.
   Richard le Espicer, _B_.

 Espigurnell (_v._ Spigurnell), 183.
   Nicholas Espigurnel, _A_.
   Edmund le Espigurnel, _L_.

 Espin (_v._ Espaigne), 161.

 Esquier (_v._ Squier), 166.
   Thomas le Esquier, _E_.
   Gilbert le Esquier, _J_.

 Esquiler (_v._ Squiller), 174.
   William le Esquiler, _H_.
   Robert le Escuyller, _E_.

 Estrange (_v._ Strange), 146.
   Robert le Estrange, _A_.
   John le Estrange, _R_.

 Estraunge (_v._ Straunge), 146.
   Roger le Estraunge, _H_.
   John le Estraunge, _J_.

 Estrys, 150.
   Moyne le Estrys, _A_.
   Richard le Estreys, _T_.

 Etheldreda (_v._ Audry), 19.
   Etheldreda Castell, _F F_.
   Etheldred or Audrey Clerc, _F F_.

 Ethelred, 5.

 Euphemia, 19.
   Eufemia de Grey, _K_.
   Eufemia de Heslarton, _W_ 9.

 Eustace, 18.
   Herveus fil. Eustace, _A_.

 Evans, Evanson.
   Howell ap Yevan, _H_.
   David ap Evan, _Z_.

 Eve, 3, 81.
   Eva Textrix, _A_.
   Eva la Warre, _J_.
   Eva fil. Dolphini, _J_.

 Evelyn, Eveline, 87 _n_.
   Evelina Coynterel, _A_.
   George Evelynge, _Z_.

 Everard, 29.
   Fulco fil. Everardi, _R_.
   Everard Gallicus, _E_.
   Geoffrey fil. Everard, _A_.

 Everardson (_v._ Evorard).
   Nicholas Everardsonne, _B B_.
   Peter Everadsonne, _B B_.

 Eversden, 118.
   John de Eversdene, _A_.
   Luke de Eversden, _DD_.

 Eversholt, 116.
   Richard de Eversholt, _M_.
   John de Everesholt, _R_.

 Every, 29.
   John Every, _H_.
   William Everye, _Z_.

 Eves (_v._ Eveson), 81.

 Evesk (_v._ Vesk), 156.
   Henry le Eveske, _E_.
   Elyas le Eveske, _T_.

 Eveson, 81.
   John fil. Eve, _M_.
   Cecilia fil. Evæ, _T_.
   Richard fil. Eve, _A_.

 Evett, 81.
   Evota de Durham, _X_.
   Evota de Stanley, _W_ 2.
   William Evote, _X_.

 Evil, Evill, 153.
   Peter de Evyille, _M_.

 Evilchild, 506.
   Alan Evilchild, _A_.

 Evitt (_v._ Evett), 81.

 Evott (_v._ Evett), 81.

   (1), 445.
     Leticia le Eue, _M_.
     Nicholas le Ewe, _F F_.
   (2), 118.
     Jordan del Ewe, _A_.
     John del Ewe, _A_.

 Ewer, 214.
   Brian le Ewer, _E_.
   Richard le Ewere, _H_.
   William le Ewer, _T_.

 Ewery, 214.
   Adam le Euere, _A_.
   Roger de Euere, _M_.

 Excuser, 180.
   Peter le Es-cuzer, _H_.

   Experience Mayhew, 103

 Eyre, 202.
   William le Eyr, _B_.
   Simon le Heir, _A_.
   Robert le Eir, _M_.

 Eyville, 153.
   Nicholas de Eyvil, _A_.
   John de Eyvill, _R_.

 Ezekiel, 100.
   Ezekiel Guppye, _Z_.

 Ezota (_v._ Elizabeth).
   Ezota Hall, _W_ 11.

   Silvester Faber, _A_.
   Nicholas Faber, _H_.

 Fail, 154.
   Gilbert Fayel, _E_.
   Matilda Faiel, _E_.

 Faint-not, 103.
   Faint-not Dighurst, 103.

 Fair, 475.
   Richard le Fayre, _A_.
   Marcus le Faire, _C_.

 Fairbrother, 508.

 Fairchild, 508.
   Robert Fayrchild, _A_.
   Godfrey Fairchilde, _C_.

 Fairclough, 124.
   William Fairclough, _Z_.
   Hugh Faierclugh, _Z_.

 Fairfax, 449.
   Thomas Fayrfax, _M_.
   Guy Fairefax, _H_.
   William Farefaxe, _W_ 18

 Fairhair, 448.
   Geoffrey Fairher, _N_.
   Edward Fayreheire, _Z_.

 Fairhead, 435.
   William Fairheved, _A_.
   Richard Faireheved, _H_.

 Fairman, 304.
     John Fayerman, _A_.
     Richard Fayrman, _A_.
     Fairman Alberd, _M_.

 Fairesire, 506.
   Henry Fairesire, _X_.

 Fairson, 506.
   Richard Fairsone, _M_.

 Fairweather, 472.
   John Fayrweder, _A_.
   Hugh Fairweder, _A_.

 Faith, 103.
   Faythe Childe, _W_ 14.
   Fayth Neville, _W_ 14.

 Faithful, 104.
   Faythful Fortescue, 104.

 Fakes (_v._ Fawkes), 50.
   Fakes de Breante, _E_.

 Falcon, 493.
   William le Falcon, _M_.

 Falconar, Falconer, Falkener, Falkner, 240.
   Guido le Falconare, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Falconer, _M_.
   William le Falkoner, _M_.
   Antony Falkner, _Z_.

 Fallow, 446.
   Roger le Falewe, _A_.
   Alicia la Falour (?), _A_.

 Fallowman, 446.
   William Faleman (?), _A_.

   Agnes le Faleise, _J_.

 Fanner, 276.
   Walter le Fannere, _X_.
   Simon le Fannere, _X_.

 Fanne, 276.
   William atte Fanne, _R_.
   Margery Fanne, _Z_.

 Farebrother, 430.

 Farewell, 512.
   Thomas Farewel, _A_.
   Richard Farewell, _A_.

 Farmer, 271.
   William le Farmere, _A_.
   Robert le Fermere, _A_.

 Farrier (_v._ Ferrier), 290.
   Sibilla le Feryere, _A_.

 Farthing, 456.
   Geoffrey Ferthing, _A_.
   William Ferthing, _M_.

 Father, 430.
   Arnold le Fader, _A_.
   Robert le Fader, _R_.

 Fatherless, 430.
   John Faderless, _M_.
   Ralph Faderles, _S S_.

 Fatman, 431.
   Richard Fatman, _F F_.

 Fatt, 431.
   William le Fatte, _M_.
   Alan Fatt, _P P_.

 Fauconer, Faukener, Faulconer, (_v._ Falconer), 240.
   Bernard le Fauconer, _M_.
   John le Faukener, _A_.
   Henry le Faucuner, _E_.

 Faulkes (_v._ Fawkes), 50.
   Edmund Falkes, _H_.

 Faulkner (_v._ Falconer), 240.

 Faultless, 463.

 Faucet (_v._ Fauset).

 Fauset (_v._ Fawkes).
   Richard Fauset, _P P_.

 Faux (_v._ Fawkes), 50.
   Nel Faukes, _A_.
   John Faux, _H_.
   Nicholas Faukes, _A_.

 Favell, 445.
   Hugh Fauvel, _M_.
   John Fauvel, _M_.

 Fawcett (_v._ Fawsett).

 Fawkes, 50.
   Faukes le Buteller, _A_.
   Faukesius de Breant, _A_.
   Fauke de Glamorgan, _E_.

 Fawsett (_v._ Fawkes).
   Robert Fawcett, _P P_.

 Fawson, Faxson, 50.

 Fayle (_v._ Fail), 154.

 Fear-not, 103.
   Fere-not Rhodes, 103.

 Fearon (_v._ Feron), 244.

 Featherbeard, 449.
   John Featherberde, _H_.

 Featherstonehaugh, 133.

   William Felegod, _A_.

 Felicia, 19.
   Felicya Pudforth, _A_.
   Felicia de Quoye, _A_.
   Warner fil. Felice, _A_.

 Fell-dog, 500.
   Roger Feldog, _W_ 15.

 Fellmonger, 331.

 Fellowe, Fellowes, 506.
   Bele le Felawe, _A_.
   Robert le Felawe, _A_.

 Fellowship, 191.
   William Felliship, _W_ 11.

 Felon, 182 _n_.
   Henry le Felun, _A_.

   Roger del Fen, _A_.
   Thomas atte Fenne, _B_.
   Gonnilda in le Fenne, _A_.

 Fenner, 237.
   Richard le Fenere. _H_.
   Ralph le Fenere, _R_.

 Fenreve, 233.
   Adam Fenreve, _A_.
   Symon Fenreve, _A_.

 Fermer (_v._ Farmer), 271, 192.
   Robert le Fermere, _A_.
   Matilda la Fermer, _G_.

 Fermerie, 192.
   Idonia de la Fermerie, _B_.
   John le Fermery, _H_.

 Fermor (_v._ Fermer), 192.

 Feron, 283.
   Alan le Feron, _A_.
   Margery la Feron, _B_.

 Ferrers, 151.
   Wydo de Ferreris, _F F_.
   Elizabeth de Ferreris, _F F_.

 Ferrier, 290.
   Osbert le Ferrur, _A_.
   Peter le Ferrour, _G_.
   Colin le Ferur, _A_.

 Ferriman, 285.
   Peter Feryman, _Z_.
   Richard Ferryman, _Z_.

 Ferron(_v._ Feron), 283.
   Roger le Ferun, _A_.

 Fesant (_v._ Pheasant), 494.

 Feure, 283.
   Reginald le Feure, _B_.
   Thomas le Feure, _M_.

 Feuterer (_v._ Fewter), 236.
   Walter le Feuterer, _A_.

 Fever, Fevre, 283.
   Richard le Fevere, _A_.
   John le Fever, _M_.
   Torald le Fevre, _J_.
   Achard le Fevre, _T_.

 Fewster (_v._ Fuster), 289.
   Ralph Fewster, _S S_.

 Fewter, 236.
   Geoffrey le Wewterer, _A_.
   John le Vautrer, _A_.
   Godfrey le Futur, _A_.

 Fidler, 308.
   Robert Fyffudlere, _X_.
   John Fydler, _Z Z_.
   Ruelard Vidulator, _DD_.
   Thomas le Fytheler (Lower).
   Robert Fediller, _X X_ 1.
   John le Fytheler, _A A_ 4.

 Field, 115.
   Linota ate Feld, _A_.
   Thomas atte Felde, _M_.

 Fielder, 113.
   Alice Feylder, _Z Z_.
   Richard Feilder, _W_ 9.

 Fierce, 464.
   Ralph le Ferc, _A_.

 Fighter, 305.
   Richard le Fytur, _A_.

 Filder (_v._ Fielder), 113.

 Fillpot, 91.
   John Filpot, _F_.
   Roger Fylpot, _F F_.

 Fillip, 91.
   Walter Felip, _A_.
   Jon fiz Felyp, _DD_.
   Felipp Clerk, _A_.

 Finch, 494.
   Thomas Finch, _A_.
   James Fynch, _H_.

 Fincher, 239.
   Robert le Fincher, _B_.

 Fine-amour, 474.
   Dulcia Fynamour, _v._ p. 474.

 Finger, 436.
   Matilda Finger, _H_.

 Firebrace, 436.
   Robert Ferbras, _M_.

 Firminger (_v._ Furminger) 278, 370.
   Andrew Firminger, _Z_.
   John Farmynger, _Z_.

 Firstling, 202.
   Bartholomew Firstling (Strype).
   William Firstling, _F F_.

 Fish, 274, 496.
   John le Fysche, _Q_.
   Richard Fishe, _F F_.

 Fisher, 273, 376.
   Thomas le Fishere, _B_.
   Henry le Fissere, _J_.
   Margaret le Fischere, _A_.

 Fisherman, 273.
   Antony Fisheman, _F F_.
   Andrew Fishman, _F F_.

 Fishmonger, 334.
   William Fyshmonger, _F_.

 Fiske, 274, 496.
   William Fyske, _Q_.
   Catherine Fiske, _F F_.

 Fisker, 273.
   Robert le Fys-cer, _A_.
   Lawrence Fisker, _E_.

 Fitch, 489.
   William Fitche, _A_.
   William Fitch, _F F_.

 Fitchett, 489.
   John Fichet, _M_.
   William Fychet, _H_.

 Fitz-amice, 13.
   Robert Fitz-amice, _M_.

 Fitz-bennet (_v._ Bennet).
   John le Fitz-beneit, _H_.
   Alan Fitz-bennet, _F F_.

 Fitz-clerk, 65.
   Alexander Fitz-clerk, _H_.

 Fitz-ellis, 86.
   Robert Fitz-elis, _M_.
   William Fitz-elias, _M_.

 Fitz-garret (_v._ Garret).
   Edward Fitz-garret, _E E_.
   Agnes Fitz-garret, _F F_.

 Fitz-gerald, 13, 52.
   Gerald Fitz-gerald, _M_.
   Thomas Fitz-gerot, _H_.

 Fitz-gibbon, 13.

 Fitz-hamond (_v._ Hammond), 13, 35.
   John Fitz-hamond, _D_.
   Sibil Fitz-hamon, _F F_.

 Fitz-herbert (_v._ Herbert), 13.
   William Fitz-herbert, _Z_.
   Thomas Fitz-herbert, _E E_.

 Fitz-howard, 26.
   John Fitz-howard, _W_ 2.

 Fitz-james (_v._ James), 13.
   John Fitz-james, _Z_.
   James Fitz-james, _E E_.

 Fitz-lettice, 71.
   Roger Fitz-lettice, _H_.
   John Fitz-lettice, _M_.

 Fitz-neel, 13.
   Robert Fitz-neel, _B_.
   Thomas Fitz-neel, _M_.

 Fitz-parker, 65.
   Thomas Fitz-parkere, _N_.

 Fitz-patrick, 13.
   Thomas Fitz-patrick, _M_.

 Fitz-payn, 13.
   Ela le Fitz-payn, _H_.
   Elis le Fitz-payn, _M_.

 Fitz-peers (_v._ Peers), 13.
   Lucia Fitz-peers, _B_.
   Aveline Fitz-piers, _F F_.

 Fitz-provost, 65.
   Simon Fitz-provost, _H_.

 Fitz-rauf, 13.
   John Fitz-rauf, _B_.
   Richard Fitz-ralph, _M_.

 Fitz-richard, 13.
   John Fitz-richard, _B_.
   Rauf le Fitz-richard, _M_.

 Fitz-simon (_v._ Simon), 13.
   Edward le Fitz-simon, _B_.
   Robert Fitz-simon, _M_.

 Fitz-water (_v._ Walter), 13.
   William le Fitz-water, _A_.
   Humfrey Fitz-wauter, _B_.

 Fitz-warin, 13, 32.
   Ino Fitz-Waryn, _B_.
   Fulco Fitz-warren, _C_.

 Fitz-william (_v._ William), 13.
   Jarvis Fitzwilliam, _Z_.
   Roger Fitz-william, _F F_.

 Fiveashes, 129.

 Fivepenny, 513.
   John Fivepeni, _A_.

 Fivepound, 513.
   James Fyppound, _X X_ 1.

 Flanner (_v._ Flaoner).
   John Flanner, _F F_.
   John Flanner, 367 _n_.

 Flaoner, 367.
   William le Flaoner, _A_.
   William le Flaoner, _B_.
   Roger le Flaoner, _X_.

 Flawner (_v._ Flaoner), 367.
   John Flawner, _X_.

 Flaxenhead, 447.
   Richard Flaxennehed, _A_.

 Flaxman, 327.
   William Flexman, _A_.
   Ralph le Flexman, _R_.

 Flaxwife, 327.
   Christina le Flexwyf, _X_.

 Fleming, 163, 318.
   Ascelyn le Flemyng, _A_.
   Alard le Fleminge, _B_.
   Baldwin le Fleming, _M_.
   Jordan le Flemynge, _J_.

 Fleshmonger, 374.
   William le Flesmongere, _A_.
   Eudo le Fleshmongere, _M_.
   William Fleshemongere, _F_.

 Flesher, 374.
   Robert Flessher, _W_ 2.
   Miles Flesher, _V_ 5.

 Fleshewer, 264.
   William Flesschewer, _W_ 2.
   John Fleshewer, _H_.

 Fletcher, 226.
   Henry le Fletcher, _A_.

   Robert le Fleccher, _E_.
   Adam le Fletcher, _G_.

 Flexman (_v._ Flaxman), 287.

 Flinthard, 416.
   Jacob Flinthard, _A_.
   Richard Flinthard, _H_.

 Florence, 134.
   John de Florence, _R_.

   Florianora de Barkworth, _R R_ 1.

 Flouredieu, 511.
   John Flouredieu, _F F_.

 Flower, 228.
   John le Floer, _A_.
   Nicholas le Flouer, _J_.
   Reginald le Flower, _B_.

 Fluter, 312.
   Nicholas le Floutere, _B_.

 Fly, 497.
   Maggie Flie, _A_.
   Oda Flie, _A_.

 Foakes (_v._ Fulkes), 50.
   Foke Odell, _H_.
   Ralph Foke, _A_.

 Foldyate, 130.
   John atte Foldyate, _J_.

 Foliot, 475.
   Jordan Foliot, _A_.
   Richard Foliot, _B_.

 Foljambe, 438.
   Thomas Folejamb, _A_.
   Richard Foljamb, _M_.

 Folkes (_v._ Fulkes), 50.

 Follenfant, 475.
   Hugh Folenfaunt, _A_.

 Follet, Follit, 475.
   Margery la Folyet, _M_.
   Jordan Folyot, _A_.

 Fool, 216.
   Peter le Folle, _A_.
   Alexander le Fol, _C_.
   Johannes Stultus, _DD_.

 Foolhardy, 475, 464.
   Walter Fulhardy, _X_.

 Foote, 437.
   Thomas Fot, _A_.
   Matilda Fot, _A_.

   William le Forager, _B_.

 Forcer, 400.
   Nicholas le Forcer, _A_.
   Henry le Forcer, _B_.
   John le Forcer, _M_.

 Ford, 115.
   Peter ate Ford, _M_.
   Nicholas de la Forde, _A_.

 Forester, Forrester, 230.
   Gilbert le Forester, _A_.
   Richard le Forester, _M_.
   Ivo le Forester, _J_.

 Forster (_v._ Forester), 230.
   William le Forster, _A_.
   Henry le Forster, _M_.

 Fort, 432.
   John le Fort, _E_.
   William le Fort, _M_.

 Fortescue, 459.
   Isabella Fortescue, _B_.
   John Fortescu, _H_.

 Foster (_v._ Forester), 230.
   Walter le Foster, _J_.

 Founder, 392.
   William le Fonder, _A_.
   John le Funder, _E_.

 Fourpeny, 513.
   Thomas Fourpeni, _W_ 9.

 Foulkes (_v._ Fulkes), 50.
   Fowlke Grevill, _Z_.

 Fowkes (_v._ Fulkes), 50.
   Fowke de Coudrey, _A_.
   Fowke Crompton, _Z_.

 Fowl, 434.
   Walter le Fowel, _A_.
   Nicholas le Foghele, _M_.

 Fowler, 239.
   Warin le Fowlur, _A_.
   William le Fougheler, _D_.
   John le Fogheler, _M_.

 Fox, 489.
   Henry le Fox, _A_.
   Walter le Fox, _M_.

 Foxden, 118.

 Foxley, 119.
   John de Foxlee, _N N_.

 Francis, 159.
   Richard le Fraunceys, _A_.
   Gilbert le Franceys, _B_.
   Henry le Franceis, _C_.

 Francom (_v._ Frankham), 253.

 Francomb (_v._ Frankham), 253.
   William Francombe, _Z_.

 Frank, 254.
   Walter le Frank, _A_.
   Fulco le Frank, _E_.

 Frankham, 253.
   Robert Frankhome, _G_.
   Reginald le Fraunchome, _A_.
   Hugh Fraunch-humme, _A_.

 Franklin, 254.
   Geoffrey le Fraunkelyn, _A_.
   John le Fraunkelyn, _B_.
   Miles le Franklein, _M_.

 Frean (_v._ Freen), 154.

 Freborn (_v._ Freeborn), 253.

 Free, 253.
   Walter le Free, _A_.

 Freebody, 253.
   Richard Freebody, _C C_ 3.

 Freebond, 254 _n_.
   Robert Frebond, _A_.

 Freeborn, 253.
   Richard Frebern, _A_.
   Agnes Frebern, _A_.
   Geoffrey Frebern, _V_ 9.

 Freegift, 77.

 Freeman, 253.
   John le Freman, _A_.
   Martin le Freman, _A_.

 Freen, 154.
   Fulk de la Freigne, _G_.
   Stephen ad Fren, _A_.

 Freer, Freere, 430, 191.
   Geoffrey le Frere, _A_.
   Syward le Frere, _A_.

 Freke, 465.
   William le Frek, _M_.
   Henry Freke, _A_.

 Freman (_v._ Freeman), 253.

 Fremantel, 457.
   Richard de Fremantell, _M_.
   Hugh de Frigido-Mantello, _E_.

 French, 159.
   Simon le Frensch, _A_.
   Eborard le Frenshe, _G_.
   Richard le Frensh, _M_.

 French-baker, 363.
   Richard Frenshbaker, _D_.

 Frenchman, 159.
   Gyllame Freynsman, _W_ 3.

 Frere (_v._ Freer), 161, 430.
   John le Frere, _A_.
   Henry le Frere, _B_.

 Freshfish, 333 _n_., 512.
   John Freshfisch, _H_.
   Robert Freshfissh, _X_.

 Freshherring, 512.
   Margaret Fressheharyng, _X_.

 Frewife, 343.
   Agnes Frewife, _A_.

 Frewoman, 253.
   Matilda Frewoman, _A_.

 Freyne (_v._ Freen), 154.
   Robert le Freyne, _A_.
   William le Freyne, _A_.

 Friar (_v._ Frere), 191.

 Frick, 465.
   Ralph Frike, _A_.

 Friday, 63.
   Simon Fridey, _A_.
   Thomas Fryday, _B_.
   Henry Friday, _M_.

 Fridaythorp, 137.
   John de Fridaythorpe, _X X_ 4.

 Friend, 410.
   Hugh le Frend, _A_.
   William le Frend, _R_.

 Frith, 117.
   Richard de la Frith, _A_.
   John atte Frith, _F F_.

 Frobisher (_v._ Furbisher), 222.
   Peter Frobysher, _Z_.
   Antony Frobiser, _Z Z_.

 Frog, 437.
   John Frog, _A_.

 Fromabove, 77.

 Front-de-beuf, 500.
   Ralph Front-de-bœuf, _M_.

 Fruiter, 373.
   Ralph le Frueter, _A_.
   Peter le Fruter, _E_.
   Hugh le Fruter, _N_.

 Fruitmonger, 373.
   John le Fruemonger, _M_.

 Fry, 253.
   Walter le Frie, _A_.
   Roger le Frye, _R_.
   Thomas le Frye, _T_.

 Frybody (_v._ Freebody), 253.
   Robert Frybody, _Y_.

 Fryer (_v._ Frere), 159, 437.

 Fulchon (_v._ Fulke).
   Ralph fil. Fulchon, _A_.
   Faulcon Pursevaunt, _X X_ 1.

 Fulke, Fulkes, 50.
   Fulk Paifrer, _H_.
   Fulke Paynel, _A_.
   Fulke le Taverner, _B_.
   Fulco Fitz-warin, _B_.

 Fuller, 324.
   Grigge le Fulur, _A_.
   Walter le Fullere, _N_.
   Mathew le Fullere, _M_.

 Fullilove, 474.
   Ralph Full-of-love, _F F_.
   Roger Full-of-love, _F F_.

 Full-James, 504.

 Fulman (_v._ Fuller), 324.
   William Fulman, _v._ p. 324.

 Furber, 222.
   John le Furber, _E_.
   Alan le Fourbour, _G_.

 Furbisher (_v._ Frobisher), 222.
   Thomas le Furbisur, _M_.
   Edmund Furbyssher, _Z Z_.

 Furminger, 370.
   William le Formager, _A_.
   Ely le Furmager, _O_.
   Wilkin le Furmager, _O_.

 Furner, 364.
   William le Furner, _A_.
   Walter le Fernier, _A_.

 Furrier, 345.
   Richard Furryour, _W_ 3.

 Fusilier, 229 _n_.
   Johannes Fusilier, _Y_.
   Fuzelier, _Y_.

 Fuster, 289.
   Ralph le Fuster, _M_.
   Robert Fuster, _F_.

 Futter (_v._ Fewter), 236.
   Fulcher le Fewtrer, _F F_.
   Simon le Futur, _A_.

 Fynamour, 474.
   Dulcia Fynamour, 474 _n_.

 Gabber, 479.
   Stephen le Gabbere _A_.
   Gerard le Gabur, _A_.

 Gabbot, 99.
   Anable Gabbot, _A_.

 Gabbs, 99.

 Gabcock, 99.
   William Gabecoky, _A_.

 Gabriel, 99.
   John Gabriel, _M_.
   Gabriel Carye, _Z_.

 Gadling, 479.

 Gager (_v._ Gauger), 410.
   William le Gageour, _G_.

 Gaicote, 459.
   William Gaicote, _A_.

 Gaillard (_v._ Gayliard), 472.

 Gaite, 183.
   Robert le Gait, _M_.

 Galer (_v._ Gayler), 151.

 Galeys, 149.
   Thomas le Galeis, _E_.
   Henry le Galeys, _R_.

   Thomas Galaunt, _A_.
   Helen Gallant, _F F_.

 Gallard (_v._ Gayliard), 472.
   William Gallard, _A_.

 Galt, 491.
   Gilbert Galt, _A_.

 Gamaliel, 100.
   Gamaliel Capell, _Z_.

 Gamson, 458.
   Robert Gamson, _Z_.
   William Gamson, _Z_.

 Gander, 494.
   Roger Gandre, _A_.
   Thomas Gandre, _X_.

   (1), (_v._ Gaunt).
     Warin le Gant, _A_.
     John le Gant, _A_.
   (2), 168.
     Gilbert de Gant, _J_.
     Reginald de Gante, _E_.

 Ganter (_v._ Gaunter), 350.

 Gantlett (_v._ Gauntlett), 459.

 Gardiner, 290.
   Amabilla la Gardiner, _A_.
   Thomas le Gardener, _M_.

 Gardner (_v._ Gardiner), 260.
   William le Gardner, _J_.
   Raffe Gardner, _Z_.

 Garlick, 485, 263.
   Robert Garlick, _A_.
   Sara Garlek, _F F_.

 Garlickmonger, 263.
   John Garlekemongere, _B_.
   Henry le Garlekemongere, _M_.
   Thomas le Garlykmonger, _M_.

 Garrett (_v._ Gerald), 52.
   Garrett Fitzgarrett, _Z_.
   Garret Hawkinson, _Z_.
   Garratt Jonson, _v._ p. 52.

 Garretson (_v._ Gerald), 52.
   John Garredsone, _Z_.
   Andrew Garretson, _T T_.

 Gascoigne, 158.
   Jacob Gascoigne, _B_.
   Philip le Gascoyne, _T_.

 Gaskin (_v._ Gascoigne), 158.
   William Gascon, _B_.
   Robert Gaskyn, _F_.

   (1), 230.
     Adam le Gayt, _B_.
     Robert le Gait, _M_.
   (2), 102.
     Richard atte Gate, _M_.
     William atte Gate, _M_.

 Gateschale, 212.
   John Gateschale, _W_ 1.
   Percevall Gatescalle, _Z Z_.

 Gatesden, 268.
   William de Gatesden, _M_.
   John de Gatesden, _F F_.

 Gathard (_v._ Gaytherd), 268.

 Gatherer, 263.
   Roger le Gaderer, _A_.

 Gattard (_v._ Gaytherd), 268.

 Gauger 411.
   Alexander le Gauger, _N_.
   Henry le Gaugeour, _N_.
   Alan Gauger, _M_.

   (1), 140.
     Simon de Gaunt, _M_.
     Maurice de Gaunt, _C_.
   (2), 432.
     Thomas le Gaunt, _A_.
     Juliana le Gaunt, _A_.

 Gaunter, 350.
   John le Gaunter, _N_.
   Stephen le Gaunter, _M_.
   Geoffrey le Ganter, _A_.

 Gauntlett, 459.
   Kenry Gauntelett, _Z_.
   Roger Gauntlet, _Z_.

 Gawthorpe, 137.

 Gay, 463.
   Robert le Gay, _A_.
   William le Gay, _R_.

 Gayler, 181.
   Richard le Gayeler, _A_.
   John le Gaoler, _B_.

 Gayliard, Gaylord, 472.
   Sabina Gaylard, _H_.
   Nicholas Gaylard, _T_.

 Gayt (_v._ Gate), 268.
   Adam le Gayt, _B_.

 Gaytherd, 268.
   Roland Gateard, _W_ 9.
   Robert Gatherd, _W_ 9.

 Gedling, 479.

 Geldard, Geldart, 268.
   John Gildderd, _W_ 11.
   John Geldert, _W_ 2.

 Genese, 161.

 Geneve, 168.
   Nicholas de Geneve, _O_.
   Walter de Jeneve, _R_.

 Gent (_v._ Gant, 2), 168.
   Alicia Gent, _A_.
   Judæus Gent, _E_.

 Gentilcorps, 508.
   William Gentilcorps, _M_.
   Richard Gentylcors, _X_.

 Gentilhomme (_v._ Gentleman), 467.
   Thomas Gentilhomme, _H_.

 Gentle, 464.
   Robert le Gentill, _A_.
   William le Gentil, _M_.
   John Jentill, _V_ 11.

 Gentleman, 467.
   Robert Gentilman, _V_.
   Nicholas Gentilman, _A_.
   William Gentilman, _V_ 11.

 Geoffrey (_v._ Godfrey), 18.
   Geoffrye Gerard, _A_.
   Geoffrey de Grenville, _A_.

 Gerard, 52.

 Gerald, 52.
   Warin fil. Gerold, _A_.
   Margaret fil. Geraldi, _J_.

 Gerish, 476.
   William le Geriss, _A_.
   John le Gerisse, _A_.

 Gerrish (_v._ Gerish), 476.
   Umfrey le Gerische, _A_.

   William fil. Gervasii, _A_.
   Gervase fil. Hamo, _C_.

 Geyt, 183.
   Hugh le Geyt, _A_.
   Robert le Geyt, _M_.

 Gibb, Gibbs, 58.
   Thomas Gybbys, _X X_ 1.
   Adam Gibbe, _M_.
   Robert Gybbys, _F F_.
   Gybby Selby.

 Gibbins, 59.
   John Gybbyn, _Z_.
   John Gybbyns, _Z Z_.

 Gibbons, 59.
   John Giboun, _M_.
   Robert Gybbon, _H_.

 Gibbonson, 59.
   John Gibbonson, _F_.

 Gibelot, 480.
   Dera Gibelot, _A_.
   John Gibbelote, _W_ 2.

 Gibson, 59.
   Thomas Gibson, _F_.
   Cicell Gibson, _W_ 9.
   Perseval Gybson, _W_ 11.
   Robert Gybbyson, _W_ 11.

 Giddyhead, 480.
   William Gidyheued, _X_.

   Robert le Giglere, _A_.
   Peter le Gigelore, _A_.

 Gigur, 311.
   Walter le Gigur, _A_.
   Alexander le Gigur, _T_.
   Bigelot le Gigur, _DD_.

 Gilbert, 18, 58.
   Warin fil. Gilbert, _DD_.
   Gilbert de Gaunt, _T_.

 Gilbertson, 58.
   William fil. Gilbert, _A_.
   Henry fil. Gilbert, _M_.

 Gilcock (_v._ Giles), 56.
   Cecilia Gilkoc, _A_.

 Gildensleeve, 404.
   Roger Gyldenesleve, _A_.

 Gilder, 251.
   Ralph le Gilder, _X_.

 Giles, 56.
   Gile Deacon, _A_.
   Jordan fil. Egidius, _A_.

 Gill, 73.
   Richard fil. Gille, _A_.
   Gille Hulle, _A_.

 Gillian (_v._ Julia), 73.
   Gillian Cook, _A_.
   Gilian de la Mill, _A_.

 Gillett, Gillot, Gillott, 74.
   Guillot le Balister, _E_.
   Gilot le Heauberger, _X_.
   Gillot Carrel, _B B_.
   Gwillottus Clerk, _C_.

 Gilpin, 58.
   Gilbert Gilpyn, _H_.

 Gilson, 74.
   Robert fil. Gyle, _A_.
   Thomas Gylson, _F_.
   William Gelson, _W_ 18.

 Giltspur, 409.
   Agnes Giltspur, _F F_.
   Jeffrey Giltspur, _F F_.

 Ginger, 485.
   Godfrey Gingivre, _M_.
   Agnes Gyngyvere, _X_.

 Ginn, 230.
   Alexander Gin, _A_.

 Ginner (_v._ Jenner), 229.
   Hugh le Ginnur, _M_.
   William le Ginnur, _A_.
   John Ginour, _M_.

 Gipps (_v._ Gibbs), 59.

 Girdler, 348.
   Adam le Gurdlere, _A_.
   Robert le Girdlere, _M_.
   Simon le Gerdlere, _H_.

 Gladcheer, 472.
   William Gladchere, _F F_.

 Gladstone (_v._ Gledstane), 493.

 Glaisher (_v._ Glaizer), 277.

 Glassman, 277.
   John Glassman, _W_ 9.
   Robert Glasman, _W_ 9.

 Glasswright, 277.
   Nicholas le Glaswryght, _X_.
   Thomas le Glaswryghte, _X_.
   Walter Glasenwryght, _W_ 11.

 Glazier, 277.
   William Glascer, _Z_.
   Robert Glazier, _Z_.

 Gledhill, 493.

 Gledstane, 493.
   William de Gledstanys, _W_ 1

 Gleed (_v._ Glide), 493.
   Simon Glyde, _B_.

 Gleeman, Gleman, Glemman, 313.

 Glide, 493.
   Henry le Glide, _M_.
   Adam le Glide, _M_.

   Robert le Glorius, _E_.

 Glossycheek, 433.
   Bertholomew Gloscheke, _A_.

 Glover, 350.
   Richard le Glovere, _A_.
   Ivo le Glover, _M_.
   Christiana la Glovere, _H_.

   Gilbert Glutun, _L_.

 Gnat, 498.
   Margaret Gnatte, _A_.
   William Gnatte, _A_.

   (1), 486.
     Simon le Got, _A_.
     William le Got, _A_.
   (2), 486.
     John atte Gote, _M_.
     John de la Gote, _W_ 2.

 Goathirst, 116.
   Simon de Gotehirst, _A_.

 Goatman, 271.
   Nicholas Goteman, _W_ 11.

 Go-be-fore, 461.
   Robert Gobefore, _H_.

 God-beer (_v._ Goodbeer) 511.

 Godbert, 22.
   Roger Godberd, _A_.
   Roger Godeberd, _J_.

 Godblod, 511.
   Roger Godblod, _E_.

 Godbold, 22.
   Godebold, _J_.
   Alice Godbolde, _Z_.

 Goddard, 17, 22.
   John fil. Godard, _A_.
   Goddard Freebodye, _Z_.

 Godfrey, 21.
   John fil. Godfrey, _C_.
   Alen Godefrai, _M_.

 Godin (_v._ Godwin), 21.
   Godin de Bere, _A_.
   Godun le Bere, _A_.

 Godman, 22.
   Herbert fil. Godman, _C_.

 Godmefetch (_v._ Lower’s Dic.) 511.

 Godrich, 22.
   William Godrick, _H_.
   Robert fil. Godric, _J_.

 Godsall, 511, 22.
   Cecilia Godsol, _A_.

 Godsalve, 510.
   Thomas Godsalfe, _W_ 9.
   Barbara Godsalve, _F F_.

 Godsave (_v._ Godsalve), 510.

 God-send-us, 511.
   Jennett God-send-us, _W_ 13.

 Godshall (_v._ Godsall), 22.

 Godsname, 510.
   Richard Godesname _X_.

 Godson (_v._ Goodson), 507.
   Ralph fil. Godde, _A_.
   William fil. Gotte, _A_.
   Amisius Godeson, _M_.

 Godthank, 512.
   William Godthanke, _A_.

 Godwin, 17, 21.
   Hugh fil. Godewin, _A_.
   Godwin de Dovre, _C_.
   Godun le Bere, _A_.

 Go-in-the-Wind, 388.
   John Go-in-the-Wynd, _X_.

 Goldbeater, 399.
   Robert le Goldbeter, _A_.
   Bartholomew le Goldbetter, _C_.

 Goldenhead, 447.
   Richard Goldenheved, _C C_ 1.

 Goldfinch, 494.
   Agnes Goldfinche, _A_.
   William Goldfynch, _B_.

 Goldhose, 404.
   Richard Goldhose, _A_.

 Goldsmith, 281, 399.
   Hervey le Goldsmith, _M_.
   Robert le Goldsmyth, _M_.

 Goldspink, 494.

 Golightly, 439.
   Roger Galichtley, _M_.
   James Golyghtlye, _W_ 9.

 Gooch, 24.
   John fil. Guch, _A_.
   Roger Guch, _A_.
   Evan ap Gouch, _M_.

 Good, 463.
   Hugh Godde, _A_.
   Roger Godde, _M_.

 Goodacre, 134.

 Goodalehouse, 501.
   Joan Good-ale-house, _W_ 2.

   Christopher Goodbarne, _W_ 13.

 Goodbeer, 511.
   Richard Godbeare, _Z_.

 Goodbehere (_v._ Goodbeer), 511.

 Goodbody, 506.
   Alicia Godbodi, _A_.

 Goodchild, 506.
   Ralph Godchild _A_.
   John Godchyld, _M_.

 Goodclerk, 505.
   Henry Goodclerk, _X X_ 1.

   John Godynogh, _G_.
   William Godyinogh, _M_.

 Goodfellow, 506.
   John Goodefelagh, _O_.
   Thomas Godfelawe, _H_.

 Goodfowl, 506.
   Agnes Godefouele, _A_.
   Basilia Godfowele, _A_.

 Goodgift, 103.
   Goodgift Gynnings, 103.

 Goodgroom, 505.
   Robert le Godegrom, _A_.
   John Godgrom, _H_.

 Goodhart, 463.
   Alexander Godherte, _E_.
   Walter Godherte, _E_.

 Goodherring, 499.
   Adam Godharing, _A_.

 Goodhugh, 504.
   John Godhug, _A_.
   Hugh Godhewe, _M_.
   William Godhugh, _M_.

 Goodhusband, 505.
   Agnes Godhusbonde, _A_.
   Nicholas Godhosbonde, _A_.

 Goodhyne, 505.
   Alexander Godhine, _A_.
   John Godhyne, _M_.

 Goodier, 22.
   William Godier, _M_.
   Joan Goodyere, _W_ 2.

 Goodknave, 505.
   Geoffrey Godeknave, _A_.
   Gilbert Godknave, _B_.
   William Goodknave, _D_.

 Goodlake, 22.
   Guthlake Folyot, _Z_.

 Goodlove, 474.
   William Godelove, _M_.

 Goodluck (_v._ Goodlake), 22.

   (1), 506.
     Henry le Godman, _A_.
     Herbert fil. Godman, _C_.

   William Godmoder, _A_.

 Goodnurse, 506.
   William Godenurs, _A_.

 Goodrich (_v._ Goderich), 22.
   Walter Goderiche, _A_.
   Richard Gooderick, _Z_.

 Goodrobert, 504.
   Robert Goderoberd, _P_.

 Goodson, 507.
   Emma fil. Gode, _A_.
   William Godeson, _A_.
   John Godesone, _A_.

 Goodspeed, 512.
   Ralph Godisped, _A_.

 Goodswain, 505.
   Henry Godeseweyn, _A_.
   John Godsweyn, _A_.
   John Godesweyn, _M_.

 Goodwayt, 506.
   Roger Godweyt, _A_.

 Goodwife, 507.
   William Goodwyfe, 507 _n_.

 Goodwin, 21.
   William Godewyn, _A_.
   Thomas Godwine, _M_.

 Goodwright, 278.

 Goodyear (_v._ Goodier), 22.

 Goose (_v._ Goss), 494.
   John le Goos, _M_.
   Peter le Goos, _F F_.
   Walter le Gows, _A_.

 Goosebeak, 500.
   Mariota Gosebeck, _A_.

 Gooseherd, 267.
   Joan Gushyrde, _W_ 11.
   Agnes Gusehyrd, _W_ 11.
   John Gooshewed, _W_ 19.

 Gore, 130.
   Robert atte Gore, _A_.
   Thomas de la Gore, _R_.

 Goreway, 130.
   William ad le Goreway, _A_.

 Goshawk, 493.
   William Goshawke, _F F_.

 Gosling (_v._ Joscelyn), 494.
   Goscelina fil. Gawyn, _A_.
   Roger fil. Gocelin, _A_.

 Goss (_v._ Goose), 494.
   Amicia le Gos, _J_.
   John le Gos, _M_.

 Gotobed (_v._ Godbert), 22.
   Johannes Go-to-bedde, _R R_ 1.
   John Gotebedde, _A_.
   Henry Gotobed, _Z_.

 Gotokirk, 501.
   Serle Gotokirke, _A_.

 Gottard (_v._ Goddard), 267.

 Gottschalk, 212, 22.
   Godeschalke de Estlaund, _A_.
   Godefry fil. Godescallus, _C_.
   Godeskalcus Armorer, _W_ 2

 Gouty, 441.
   John Gouty, _V_.

 Grace, 103, 432.
   Grace Clayton, _W_ 14.
   Grace Prest, _W_ 16.

 Gracedieu, 511.
   ‘Mr. Gracedieu,’ _v._ 511 _n_.

 Gramary, 197.
   Andrew le Gramary, _G_.
   William Grammary, _M_.

 Grammar, Grammer, 197.
   Andrew le Gramayre, _A_.
   Richard le Gramayre, _G_.
   William Grammaticus, _J_.

 Grand (_v._ Grant), 432

 Grange, 134.
   Jordan de la Grange, _A_.
   William de la Grange, _M_.

 Grangeman, 135.
   John Grangeman, _Z_.

 Granger, 134.
   Richard le Granger, _A_.
   John le Graunger, _G_.

 Grant, 432.
   Richard le Grant, _C_.
   Walter le Grant, _M_.

 Granville (_v._ Grenville), 151.

 Graper, 374.
   Agnes Graper, _B_.
   Richard le Graper, _H_.

 Grass, 432.
   Ralph le Gras, _B_.
   Walter le Gras, _G_.
   Amabel le Gras, _M_.

 Graunt, 432.
   Jurdan le Graunt, _A_.
   Richard le Graunt, _M_.

 Grave, 464.

 Graver, 120.
   Thomas Graver, _Z_.

 Graves, 120.
   Sibilla de le Grave, _B_.
   Robert atte Grave, _M_.

 Graveshend, 114.
   Richard de la Graveshend, _A_.
   Stephen de Graveshende, _B_.

 Gray (_v._ Grey)
   (1), 395.
     William le Gray, _O_.
     Nicholas le Gray, _A_.
     Norman de Gray, _A_.

 Graycock (_v._ Grayson).
   Peter Graycocke, _W_ 16.
   Francis Graycocke, _W_ 16.

 Grayson (_v._ Grierson).
   Mary Grayson, _W_ 16.

   William le Grete, _M_.
   Hugh le Gret, _R_.

   John Greathand, _M_.

 Greathead, 435.
   Thomas Gretehed, _H_.
   Agnes Greatheved, _R_.

 Greaves (_v._ Graves), 120.

 Greavesend (_v._ Graveshend), 114.

 Green, 131.
   Deonisia ate Grene, _A_.
   Warin de la Grene, _A_.

 Greenett (_v._ Green).
   Simon atte Grenette, _B_.

 Greenhead, 447.
   Richard Greenhead, _W_ 2.

 Greenhorn, 470.
   Christopher Greynhorne, _W_ 15.

 Greenkirtle, 458.
   John Grenecurtel, _F F_.

 Greenman, 456.

 Greenslade, 121.
   Robert de Greneslade, _K_.
   Antony Greneslade, _Z_.

 Greensmith, 281.
   Henry Greensmith, _Z_.
   Edward Greensmith, _F F_.
   Richard Grensmythe, _Z_.

 Greeves, 120.

 Greg, Gregg, (_v._ Gregory).
   Simon fil. Greg, _A_.
   Robert Grege, _A_.

   Peter Gregory, _A_.
   Richard fil. Gregorii _A_.
   Gregory Washer, _V_ 3.

 Gregson (_v._ Greg).
   William fil. Greg, _A_.
   Robert Gregson, _W_ 11.

 Grenville, 151.
   Richard de Grenville, _A_.
   Matilda de Grenewille, _A_.

 Grey (_v._ Gray)
     Reginald de Grey, _R_.
     William de Grey, _R_.
   (2), 445.
     John le Grey, _A_.
     Adam le Grey, _G_.

 Greybeard, 449.
   Richard Greyberd, _A_.

 Greygoose, 404.

 Greyling, 497.
   Gilbert Greyling, _R_.

 Greyshank, 438.
   Gilbert Greyschanke, _A_.

 Grierson (_v._ Gregson).

 Grice, 445.
   John le Gris, _A_.
   Thomas le Grise, _M_.

 Grieve, 233.
   Thomas le Greyve, _A_.

 Grieveson, 65.
   John Greveson, _W_ 9.
   William Greffeson, _S S_.

 Grig, Grigg, (_v._ Greg).
   Richard fil. Grigge, _A_.
   Grigge le Fulur, _A_.
   Serle Grigg, _A_.

 Grinchetyl, 25.
   Grinchetyl, _Q_.
   Grimkettle, _F F_.
   Grinketel, _v._ p. 25 _n_.

   Onty Grimkelson (Lower).

   Stephen le Grindar, _A_.
   Ralph Grindour, _C_.

 Grinkle (_v._ Grinchetyl), 22.

 Grisdale, 491.
   Thomas Grisedale, _W_ 4.
   John Grysdale, _W_ 16.

 Grise (_v._ Grice), 491.
   William le Gryse, _Z_.

 Griselwhite. 445.
   Annie Griselwhite, _F F_.

 Grissel, 445.
   John Grissel, _Z_.

 Griswood, 491.

 Groome, 505.
   Seman le Grom, _A_.
   Simon le Grom, _H_.

 Grose, 432.
   John le Gros, _B_.
   Bertram le Gros, _E_.
   Hugh le Gros, _G_.

 Groser, 370.

 Grosjean, 46, 503.

 Grosser, 370.

 Grossmith, 505.

 Grosted, Grostete, 435.
   Richard Grostete, _A_.
   Peter Grossetest, _W_ 4.
   Robert Groteste, _X_.

   Robert le Grovenur, _J_.
   Robert le Grosvenur, _T_.

   Roger le Grote, _A_.
   William Grote, _A_.

 Grover, 120.

 Groves, 120.
   William atte Grove, _M_.

   Robert le Gard, _F F_.

 Guarin, Guerin, (_v._ Waring), 32.
   Guarinus de Chauncy, _E_.
   Guarinus Banastre, _C_.
   Ivo fil. Guarin, _C_.

 Gull, 494.
   Hugh le Gul, _A_.
   Clement le Gul, _A_.

     Matilda fil. Gunne, _A_.
     Roger Gunne, _J_.
   (2), 230.

 Gunner (_v._ Ginner), 229.

 Gunson (_v._ Gunn, 1).
   Richard fil. Gunne, _R_.
   Eustace Gunson, _A_.

 Gunter (_v._ Gaunter), 309.
   Roger Gunter, _B_.
   John Gunter, _Z_.

   Hugh de Gurnay, _A_.
   Anselm de Gurney, _A_.

 Guster, 214.
   Robert le Gustur, _T_.

 Guthlac, 17.

 Guy, 36.
   Guy de Boys, _H_.
   Imbert fil. Guido, _T_.

 Guyatt, Guyot,(_v_. Guy), 36.
   Aleyn Gyot, _H_.

 Habbakuk, 100.
   Abacucke Harman, _Z_.

 Haberdasher, 343.
   Richard le Haberdasher, _P_.

 Hacker, 264.
   Adam le Hacker, _E_.
   Richard Hacker, _F_.

 Hackman, 264.
   Thomas Hakeman, _A_.
   Joan Hakeman, _F F_.

 Hadwin (_v._ Hardwin), 27.

 Haig, Haigh, 133.
   Robert atte Haghe, _F F_.
   Richard atte Haghe, _F F_.

 Hairproud, 453.
   Richard le Herprute, _A_.

 Half-Knight, 199.
   Geoffrey Halve Knit, _A_.
   Nicholas Halve-Knight _A_.

 Halfpeny, 482.
   William Halpeni, _A_.
   Walter Halpeni, _A_.

 Halfnaked, 431.
   Adam de Halnaked, _M_.
   Adam de Halfenaked, _H_.

 Hale, 136, 154.
   Pagan de la Hale, _A_.
   Thomas ate Hale, _M_.

 Halket, 51.

 Hall, 136, 154.
   Walter de la Halle, _A_.
   John atte Halle, _B_.

 Hallett, 51.
   Matthew Halyet, _F F_.
   Nathaniel Hallyet, _F F_.

 Halliday, 64.
   Gerard Haliday, _A_.
   Alan Halyday, _H_.

 Halse, 385.
   John Halse, _H_.
   Andrew Halse, _W_ 9.
   John Hals, _X X_ 1.

 Halstaff, 462.
   Anthony Halstaffe, 462.

 Hamlet (_v._ Hamnett), 16, 35.
   Hamlet Ashton, _A A_ 1.
   Hamelet de la Burste, _N N_.
   Richard fil Hamelot, _A A_ 2.

 Hamlyn 35.
   Hamelyn de Trap, _H_.
   Hamalin Prepositus, _C_.
   Osbert Hamelyn, _M_.

 Hammer, 144.

 Hammett (_v._ Hamnett), 35.

 Hammond, 35.
   Hamund le Mestre, _A_.
   Hamond Cobeler, _H_.
   John Fitzhamond, _D_.

 Hamnett (_v._ Hamlet), 35.
   Hamnet, Stockley, _A A_ 1.
   Humfrey Hamnett, _A A_ 1.
   Hamnet Sadler, _v._ p. 35.
   Hampnet Clegge, _X X_ 1.

 Hamo, Hamon, Hamond, (_v._ Hammond), 35.
   Hamo le Bret, _A_.
   Hamo le Bard, _A_.
   Hamo fil. Ricardi, _M_.

 Hamondson (_v._ Hampson), 35.
   Alice Hamundson, _W_ 2.
   John Hawmundson, _W_ 11.

 Hamper, 388.
   Geoffrey le Hanaper, _A_.
   John Hanaper, _A_.

 Hampermaker, 388.
   William Hampermaker, _H_.
   Walter Hampermaker, _R R_ 3.

 Hampshire, 147.
   John Hamshire, _A_.

 Hampson, 35.
   Nicholas fil. Hamon, _J_.
   Hamo fil. Hamonis, _C_.
   William Hamneson, _Z Z_.
   John Hamson, _V_ 5.

 Hamsher (_v._ Hampshire), 120.

 Hancock (_v._ Handcock) 46.

 Hand, 436.
   Richard Hand, _A_.
   Thomas Hande, _A_.

 Handcock, 46.
   Hanecock Birun, _A_.
   John Hancock, _O_.

 Handless, 441.
   John Handelesse, _W_ 11.

 Handshaker, 501.
   William Hondeshakere, _M_.

 Handsomebody, 508.

 Hanker, 196.
   John le Haneker, _A_.
   William Hanekare, _A_.

 Hankins, 46.
   Hancken de Fine, _E_.
   Hanekyn Jocelyn, _N_.
   Hankyn Maynwaryng, _H_.

 Hankinson, 46.
   Garrett Hankinson, _Z_.
   Randolph Hankynson, _Z Z_.

 Hannah (_v._ Hannay), 164.

 Hannant, 164.

 Hannay, 136.
   John de Henau, _C_.
   William Hannay, _H_.

 Hans, 45.
   Hans Berner, _O_.
   Hans Doubler, _O_.

 Hansard, 165.

 Hanson, 46.
   Roger Hanson, _F_.
   Richard Hanson, _W_ 2.
   Barnby Hanson, _V_ 4.

 Hanway (_v._ Hannay), 164.

 Harber, 291.
   William le Harbeiour, _B_.
   William le Herber, _E_.
   Richard le Hareber, _N_.

 Harbinger, 219, 291.

 Harbour (_v._ Harber), 291.

 Harcourt, 151.
   Saer de Harecurt, _A_.
   Alicia de Harecurt, _K_.

   Simon Hardcorse, _F_.

 Harden, 118.
   Richard de Harden, _B_.
   William de Harden, _C_.

   Richard Hardfysshe, _F F_.
   John Hardfish, _F F_.

   Robert Hardgripe, _M M_.

 Hardhead, 435, 447.
   Robert Hardheved, _A_.
   Simon Hardheved, _T_.

 Harding, 27.
   Maurice fil. Harding, _E_.
   Harding Faber (Lower).
   William fil. Harding, _M M_.

 Hardman, 464.
   John Hardiman, 494 _n_.

 Hardwareman, 296.
   Lambert Hardwareman, _W_ 11.

 Hardwin, 27.

 Hardy, 464.
   Thomas Hardi, _A_.
   Richard Hardy, _M_.

 Hare, 488.
   Geoffrey le Hare, _B_.
   John le Hare, _M_.

 Harebrown, 448.
   William Harebrown, _F F_.

 Harefoot, 439.

 Harengot, 497.
   Stephen Harengot, _DD_.

 Harfagre, 5.

 Hargreaves, 120.
   John de Haregrave, _A_.
   John de Hargreve, _C_.

 Harley, 119.
   Roger de Harlege, _A_.
   Richard de Harleg, _A_.

   John Harlot, _K_.
   John le Harlet, _A_.

 Harman (_v._ Herman), 26.
   Cecilia Hereman, _A_.
   Herman de Francia, _C_.

 Harmanson (_v._ Harman), 27.
   Walter Hermanson, _O_.
   John Urmynson, _W_ 11.

 Harmer (_v._ Hermer), 27.
   Robert fil. Hermer, _C_.
   Hopkins Harmar, _Z_.

 Harold, 5, 19.
   Gilbert fil. Harold, _J_.
   Harold fil Roberti, _J_.

 Harper, Harpour, Harpur, 310.
   Ralph le Harpur, _A_.
   Gilbert le Harpour, _B_.
   Hugh le Harper, _M_.

 Harpmaker, 309.
   Robert Harpmaker, 309 _n_.

 Harriet, 51.
   Heriot Heringflet, _F F_.
   Thomas Haryette, _G_.
   William Haryott, _F_.

 Harriman, 506.
   John Harriman, _P P_.

 Harriot (_v._ Harriet), 51.

 Harris, 51.
   John Harryes, _H_.
   Ezekias Harrys, _F F_.

 Harrison, 51.
   Henricus fil. Henry, _C_.
   George Herrison, _W_ 9.
   Reginald Herryesson, _F F_.

 Harrold (_v._ Harold), 5, 19.
   James Harrold, _F F_.

 Hart, 488.
   Hobart le Hart, _F F_.
   Richard le Hert, _M_.

 Hartley, 119.
   Richard de Hertleye, _A_.
   Robert Harteley, _Z_.

 Hartman, 235.

 Hartop, Hartrop, 137.
   John Hartop, _F F_.
   Elizabeth Hartopp, _F F_.

 Harvard, 26.

 Harvey, Harvie, 28.
   Eustace fil. Hervei, _A_.
   Herveus le Gos, _A_.
   William fil. Hervei, _E_.

 Haseler (_v._ Hastiler), 207.

 Hasell, 54.
   Oliver de Hassell, _A_.
   William de Hasele, _A_.

 Hasler (_v._ Hastiler), 207.

 Haster (_v._ Hastler), 174.
   Philip le Haster, _A_.
   John Haster, _W_ 9.

 Hastiler, Hastler, 207.
   Thurstan le Hastiler, _E_.
   William Hastiler, _M_.
   Henry le Hastelier, _R R_.
   John Hastler, _V_ 10.

 Hatch, 130.
   Richard de la Hache, _A_.
   Philip atte Hache, _M_.

 Hatcher, 130.

 Hatchman, 130.
   Roger Hatchman, _Z_.

   William Hatecrist, _K_.

 Hatewrong, 500.
   Henry Hatewrong, _B_.

 Hatmaker, 337.
   William Hatmaker, _H_.

 Hatt, 144.
   Thomas del Hat, _A_.
   John atte Hatte, _R_.

 Hatter, 144, 337.
   Henry le Hatter, _A_.
   Robert le Hattare, _M_.

 Hauberger, 222.
   Gilbert le Hauberger, _B_.
   John le Haubergere, _N_.

 Haughton, 133.
   John de Houghtone, _X_.
   Thomas Haughton, _Z_.

 Havercake, 367.
   Matilda Havercake, _A_.

 Haverpenny, 428.
   William Haverpenny, _F F_.

 Haward (_v._ Hayward), 234.
   William Haward, _M_.
   Piers le Hawarde, _H_.

 Hawes, 133.
   Peter in le Hawe, _A_.
   John de la Hawe, _A_.

 Hawke, 493.

 Hawker, 294.
   John le Haucker, _A_.
   Simon le Hauckere, _B_.
   John le Haukere, _M_.

 Hawkhurst, 116.

 Hawkins, 51.
   Haukin de Hauvill, _R_.
   Haukyn Mayne, _H_.
   Haukyn Ferers, _O_.

 Hawkinson, 51.

 Hawkstone, 493.
   Roger de Haukestane, _A_.

 Hawley, 133.
   John Hauley, _Z_.

 Hawman (_v._ Hayman).
   Thomas Hawman, _W_ 11.

 Haworth, 133.

 Hawthornthwaite, 121.

 Hawton (_v._ Haughton), 133.
   Hugh de Hawtone, _A_.
   Henry Hawton, _Z_.

 Hay, 133.
   Anna de la Hay, _B_.
   John de la Hay, _M_.

 Haycraft, 132.
   Hugh de la Heycroft, _A_.
   William a la Heycrofte, _A_.

 Haye, Hayes, 133.
   Stephen de la Haye, _A_.
   Cecilia de la Haye, _B_.
   William atte Haye, _J_.

 Hayland, 133.
   Thomas de Heyelonde, _A_.
   Richard de Haulaund, _E_.

 Hayley, 133.
   Eborard de Heyle, _A_.
   Gavin de Haule, _E_.

 Hayman, 234.
   Peter Hayman, _F_.
   Ralph le Hayman, _Z_.

 Haymon (_v._ Haymon), 35.

 Haymonger, 275.
   Walter le Heymongere, _G_.

 Hayward, 234.
   Adam le Hayward, _A_.
   Richard le Hayward, _B_.
   Nicholas le Hayward, _M_.

 Haywood, 133.
   William de Haywode, _M_.
   Isabell Heywode, _A_.

   Simon de Hasleholt, _G_.

 Hazlehurst, 116.
   William de Haselhurst, _R_.

   (1), 434.
     William Heved, _M_.
   (2), 434.
     Thomas del Heved, _A_.

 Heard (_v._ Herd), 266.
   William Hearde, _Z_.

   (1), 130.
     Thomas ate Hurne, _A_.
     Henry en le Hurne, _A_.
   (2), 494.
     Henry le Herne, _A_.

 Heath, 126.
   William atte Hethe, _B_.
   Nicholas atte Hethe, _M_.
   John de la Hethe, _A_.

 Heavy, 431.

 Hedge (_v._ Hedges).

 Hedger, 258.

   Geoffrey atte Hegge, _M_.
   John atte Hegge, _M_.

 Hedgman, 258.
   Alan Hagheman, _A_.

 Hefferman, 271.

 Heir (_v._ Eyre), 169.
   Richard le Heir, _M_.

 Helder, 358.
   Christiana le Heldere, _A_.

 Hell (_v._ Hill), 122.
   Roger de la Helle, _A_.
   Alexander atte Helle, _H_.

 Hell-cat, 501.
   Anna Hellicat, _W_ 20.

 Hellier, 247.
   Robert le Helliere, _A_.
   Thomas Hellier, _Z_.

 Hellman, 247.
   William Heleman, _A_.

 Hellus, 131.
   Nicholas del Hellus, _A_.

 Hellyer (_v._ Hellier), 247.
   John Hellyer, _Z_.

 Helman (_v._ Hellman), 247.

 Henchman, 215.
   Henry Henchman, _Z_.
   Joseph Henchman, _F F_.

 Hendiman, 468.
   William Hendiman, _A_.
   William Hendeman, _M_.

 Hendy, 468.
   Thomas le Hendy, _F F_.
   John le Hendy, _F F_.

 Henman (_v._ Henchman), 180.
   John Henman, _F F_.
   William Henman, _F F_.

 Henn, 494.
   Coleman le Henn, _A_.
   Thomas le Henn, _A_.

 Henriot (_v._ Henry), 51.
   Alicia Henriot, _W_ 2.
   Robert Henriot, _W_ 2.

 Henry, 51.
   Henry fil. Isolda, _T_.
   Henry fil. Justina, _T_.

 Henryson, 51.
   William Henryesson, _G_.
   Catherine Henryson, _W_ 2.

 Henshall, Henshaw, 117.
   Benjamin Henshaw, _V_ 5.
   Joseph Henshaw, _F F_.
   William Hanshaw, _H_.

 Hensman (_v._ Henchman), 215.

 Henty (_v._ Hendy), 468.

 Herald, Heraud, 218.
   Main le Heralt, _B_.
   Roger Herald, _F F_.

 Herberer (_v._ Harber), 291.
   Roger le Herberer, _O_.

 Herberger, 219, 291.
   Herbert le Herberjur, _E_.

   Herbert le Francis, _E_.
   Gilbert Hereberd, _A_.

 Herd, 266.
   John le Hirde, _A_.
   Roger le Herde, _M_.
   Alice le Herde, _H_.

 Herdler, 258.
   Gilbert le Herdlere, _A_.

 Herdman, 228.
   William le Herdeman, _B_.
   Martin Herdman, _A_.

 Herdson, 65.
   Henry Herdson, _F F_.
   James Hirdson, _Z Z_.

 Hereward, 26.
   Emma Hereward, _A_.
   Howel ap Herewarde, _M_.

 Herman, 27.
   Herman de Alemannia, _G_.
   Alan Herman, _M_.

 Hermer (_v._ Harmer), 27.

 Hermit, 196.
   Gerard Heremite, _A_.
   Silvester le Hermite, _B_.

 Hermitage (_v._ Armitage), 196.

 Heron, 494.
   Robert Heyron, _A_.
   William Heron, _B_.

 Herring, 497.
   Robert Heryng, _A_.
   Reymund Heryng, _M_.

 Herringer, 377.
   Thomas le Haringer, _E_.
   Richard le Harenger, _A_.

 Herringbreeder, 377.
   Symon Haryngbreeder, _A_.

 Herriot (_v._ Harriot).
   William Heryot, _X X_ 1.

 Heth, 126.
   Matilda atte Heth, _A_.
   John del Heth, _J_.

 Hewe (_v._ Hugh), 60.
   Hew Heryson, _F F_.
   Hewe Hare, _Z_.
   Hewe Whythede, _W_ 12.

 Hewer, 264.
   Walter le Howere, _A_.
   Ralph le Heuer, _B_.
   Benedict le Huwere, _A_.

 Hewet, 16, 60.
   Robert Hughet, _M_.
   John Hewette, _H_.

 Hewetson, 16, 60.
   William Heuetson, _W_ 8.
   Elizabeth Hewetson, _Z_.
   John Hewetson, _W_ 16.
   John Huetson, _W_ 12.

 Hewlett, 16, 60.
   Walter Hughelot, _A_.
   William Hughlot, _N_.
   John Huelot, _A_.
   Houlot de Rancheste, _A A_ 4.

 Hewson, 60.
   Jordan fil. Hugh, _A_.
   John Hewisson, _Z_.
   Eliz. Hewson, _W_ 16.

 Hewster, 264.
   Richard le Hewster (_v._ p. 264 _n_.).

 Heyward, 234.
   Elwin le Heward, _A_.
   Henry le Heyward, _B_.
   William le Heyward, _M_.

 Heywood (_v._ Haywood), 133.

 Hicks, 82.
   Geoffrey fil. Hicke, _A_.
   Baptist Hickes, _Z_.
   Thomas Hix, _Z_.

 Hickson, 82.
   John Hixson, _F_.
   William Hikson, _W_ 3.
   Nicholas Hichesone, _P P_.

 Higgett (_v._ Higgott), 82.

 Higgins, 82.
   John Hyggyns, _F_.
   Edward Hyggons, _F_.
   William Higons, _H_.

 Higginson, 82.
   Thomas Hyggenson, _W_ 9.
   Robert Higynson, _Z Z_.

 Higgott, 82.
   George Higgott, 82 _n_.

 Higgs, 82.
   George Higges, _F_.
   Thomas Higges, _Z_.

 High, 431.
   Robert le Heye, _A_.
   Robert le Hey, _M_.

 Higson, 82.
   Peter Higson, _Z_.

 Hill, 122.
   Geoffrey del Hil, _A_.
   John at Hil, _M_.

 Hillary, 71.
   Hillary Constabularius, _A_.
   Illaria Purcel, _T_.
   Hillaria la Waleyse, _A_.

 Hillier (_v._ Hellier), 247.

 Hillyer (_v._ Hellier), 247.

 Hind, 255.
   Francis Hind, _Z_.
   John Hynd, _Z Z_.

 Hinde, 255.
   Mildred Hynde, _Z_.
   Lawrence Hynde, _Z Z_.

 Hindley, 119.
   Hugh Hyndeley, _Z Z_.
   John Hyndley, _Z Z_.

 Hindman, 235.
   Richard Hindman, _Z_.

 Hindshaw, 117.

 Hindson, 65 _n_.
   Jenet Hyndsone, _A A_ 4.

 Hine, 255.
   Stephen le Hine, _M_.
   John le Hyne, _A_.

 Hinxman (_v._ Henchman), 215.
   William Hinxman, _Z_.
   Joseph Hinxman, _Z_.

   Thomas Hiredman, _R R_ 1.

 Hirst, 116.
   Simon de la Hirst, _A_.
   John de Herst, _E_.

 Hitchcock, 40.
   Higecok de Trent, _X_.
   Hichecok Bedell, _A_.
   William Hychcok, _W_ 3.

 Hitchcox, 40.

 Hitchins, 40.
   William Hychyns, _F_.

 Hitchinson, 40.
   David Henchenesson, _F F_.

 Hithereve (John le Huthereve, _n_.), 233.

 Hoarder, 211.
   Richard le Hordere, _A_.
   Adam le Horder, _H_.
   John le Hordere, _R_.

 Hoare (_v._ Hore), 444.
   Adam le Hore, _A_.

 Hob (_v._ Hobbs), 39.

 Hobbins, 39.
   Hobbyn, _F F_.

 Hobbler, 200.

 Hobbs, 39.
   Obbe Dudeman, _E_.
   Hobbe fil. Ralph, _DD_.
   Hobbe the Werewede, _C_.

 Hobday, 64.
   Richard Hobday, _Z_.

 Hobelot, 16, 39.
   Constance Hobelot, _A_.

 Hobkins (_v._ Hopkins), 39.
   Nicholas Hobekyn, _A_.
   Roger Hobekyn, _A_.

 Hobjohn, 503.
   John Hobjohn, _Z_.

 Hobler, 200.

 Hobman, 506.
   John Hobman, _V_ 5.

 Hobson, 39.
   William Hobson, _F_.
   Thomas Hobbessone, _H_.

 Hockday, Hockerday, 64.
   John Hockeday, _Z_.

 Hodder, 294.
   Godewyn le Hodere, _N_.
   John le Hottere, _X_.

 Hodges (_v._ Roger), 40.
   William Hodgys, _F_.
   Robert Hodge, _H_.

 Hodgkins (_v._ Roger), 40.
   John Hogekyn, _H_.
   Charles Hodgskines, _Z_.

 Hodgkinson (_v._ Roger), 40.
   John Hoddeskynson, _Z Z_.
   Robert Hodgekynson, _F_.

 Hodgman, 506.
   Nicholas Hodgman, _v._ p. 506.

 Hodgson, Hodson, (_v._ Roger), 40.
   John Hoggeson, _F_.
   Richard Hodggessone, _H_.
   Evan Hodson, _Z Z_.

 Hoel (_v._ Howell), 13.
   Hoel fil. Philip, _C_.
   Isabel Hoel, _Z Z_.

   (1), 485.
     Richard del Hog, _M_.
   (2), 491.
     Alice le Hog, _A_.
     Philip le Hog, _A_.

 Hoggart, 267.
   Nicholas Hogherde, _F_.
   Margaret Hoggard, _F_.
   John Hogerd, _W_ 11.

 Hogman, 270.
   John Hogeman, _A_.

 Hogsflesh, 499.
   Margery Hoggesflesh, _Z_.
   William Hoggesflesh, _Z_.

 Hogshaw, 117.
   Emelina de Hogshawe, 117 _n_.

 Hointer, 386, 263.
   Michel le Hointer, _A_.

 Holder, 358.
   Robert le Holdere, _A_.

 Holland, 164.
   Thurstan de Holland, _M_.
   John de Holland, _H_.

 Hollandman, 164.
   William Holandman, _W_ 8.

 Holleyman, 113.
   William Holyman, _A_.
   Richard Hollyman, _Z_.

 Holliday, 64.
   Leonard Hollidaie, _Z_.
   Ralph Holiday, _F F_.

 Hollier, 113.
   William Holyer, _F F_.

 Holman, 122.
   Digorie Holman, _Z_.

 Holme, 115.
   Joscelyn de Holme, _A_.
   Robert del Holm, _R_.

 Holmer, 122.

 Holmes (_v._ Holme), 122, 115

 Holt, 116.
   Henry de la Holte, _A_.
   Ralph atte Holt, _M_.
   William del Holt, _A_.

 Holtman (_v._ Holt), 116.
   John Holtman, _H_.
   Thomas Holtman, _F F_.

 Holroyd, 120.
   Richard Oldroyd, _W_ 16.

 Holy-bread, 367.
   John Stokes, _alias_ Holibread.

 Holy-peter, 504.
   William Halupetir, _A_.

 Holy-water-clerk, 189.
   Hugh Hali-watere-clerk, _M_.

 Homer, 223.
   Manekyn le Heaumere, _H_.

 Honeyman, 262.
   Osbert Honiman, _A_.
   Gilbert Honyman, _D_.

   William le Hoker, _M_.
   John Hoker, _X_.

 Hooper, 395.
   Alexander le Hopere, _A_.
   Andrew le Hopere, _M_.

   Roger de la hope, _A_.
   David atte Hope, _O_.

 Hopkins, 39.
   Henry ap Hopkyn, _B_.
   Hopkyn ap Rees, _C_.

 Hopkinson, 39.
   Henry Hopkynson, _Z Z_.
   Richard Hopkinson, _Z_.

 Hopper, 307.
   Richard le Hoppar, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Hoppere, _H_.
   Adam le Hoppere, _J_.

 Hopperson, 65.
   Nicholas Hopperson, _v._ p. 65 _n_.

 Hore, 444.
   Richard le Hore, _A_.
   Peter le Hore, _B_.
   Thomas le Hore, _M_.

 Horn, 142, 394.
   Roger Horn, _A_.
   Richard Horn, _R_.

 Hornblow (_v._ Blowhorn), 236

 Hornbuckle, 501.
   John Hornbuckle, _P P_.

 Horner, 394.
   Matilda le Hornere, _A_.

 Horner, 394.
   John le Horner, _B_.
   Richard le Horner, _M_.

 Horsden, 118.
   William de Horsden, _A_.
   William de Horsenden, _Q_.

 Horsley, 119.
   Beyll Horsle, _W_ 9.
   Roger de Horssele, _DD_.

 Horsman, 285.
   Agnes le Horsman, _A_.
   John Horseman, _H_.

 Horsemonger, 286.
   Leo le Horsemongere, _A_.

 Horse-nail, 501.
   Thomas Horsenail (Hist. Ant. Surrey).

 Hosier, 354.
   Philip le Hosier, _M_.
   Lawrence Hosyer, _H_.

 Hoskyns (_v._ Hodgkins), 40.
   Thomas Hoskyns, _H_.
   Elizabeth Hoskyns, _Z_.

   Roger le Hoste, _C_.
   John le Host, _A_.

 Hostricier (_v._ Ostricer), 241.
   Geoffrey le Hostriciere, _E_.

 Hotchkins, Hotchkinson, (_v._ Hodgkinson), 40.
   John Hotchekynson, _Z Z_.

 Hound (_v._ Hund), 493.

   John Houndealler, _F_.

   John Hosewyf, _G_.

 Howard, 26.
   John Fitz-Howard, _W_ 2.
   William Howard, _A_.

   (1), 127.
     Letitia atte Howe, _M_.
     John de la How, _F F_.
     Robert ad le Ho, _V_ 8.
     Ralph le Howe, _M_.
     William le Howe, _M_.

 Howell (_v._ Powell), 13.
   Howel le Waleys, _M_.
   Elizabeth ap Howell, _B_.
   Howel ap David, _M_.

 Howett (_v._ Hewett), 60.

 Howlett (_v._ Hewlett), 60.
   John Howlett, _F_.
   Humfrey Howlett, _Z_.

 Howson, 60.
   Carolus Howson, _F_.
   Simon Howissone, _F F_.

 Hozier (_v._ Hosier), 354.

 Hucker, 294.
   William le Huckere _M_.

 Huckin (_v._ Hughkin) 60.

 Huckster, 294.
   Peter le Huckster, _M_.

   Hudde de Knaresborough, _E_.
   Hudde Garcio de Stabulo, _DD_.

 Hudson (_v._ Hudd).
   Richard Huddeson, _H_.
   John Hudeson, _W_ 2.

 Huet (_v._ Hewett). 60.
   Huet de Badone, _E_.
   Joan Huet, _W_ 2.

 Huggins, 16, 60.
   William fil. Hugonis, John Hugonys, _F F_.
   Hugyn, _A A_ 2.

 Hugginson, 16, 60.
   Nicholas fil. Hugonis, _A_.
   William Huggynson, _Z Z_.
   Mary Huggison, _W_ 16.

 Hugh, 60.
   Edde fil. Hugh, _A_.
   Hugh le Chepman, _T_.

 Hughes, 60.
   Richard Hewys, _F_.
   Richard Hewes, _Z_.

 Hughkin, 60.
   Hughkin Byston, _A A_ 1.

 Hughson, 60.
   John Hughson, _Z_.
   Richard Hughesson, _F F_.

 Hull, 97.
   Nicholas atte Hulle, _B_.
   Jordan de la Hulle, _F_.

 Hullett (_v._ Hewlett), 60.
   William Houghlot, _O_.
   Roger fil. Hulot, _W_ 8.

 Humble, 464.
   Richard Humble, _Z_.

 Humphrey, Humfrey, 12, 27.
   Richard Umfrey, _A_.
   Humfridus de Bassingbourn, _C_.

 Hund, 492.
   Gilbert le Hund, _A_.
   William le Hund, _B_.

 Hundredpound (_v._ Centlivre), 513.
   William Hundredpound, _F F_.

   William Hungry, _R_.

 Hunnard, 269, 235.
   Helyas le Hunderd, _A_.

 Hunne, 162.
   William le Hunne, _A_.
   Martin le Hunne, _A_.

 Hunt, 237.
   Nicholas le Hunte, _A_.
   John le Hunt, _B_.
   Gilbert le Hunt, _M_.

 Hunter, 237.
   Henry le Huntere, _A_.
   Thomas le Hunter, _M_.

 Huntsman, 237.
   Walter Hunteman, _A_.
   Joan Hunteman, _C_.

 Hurd (_v._ Herd), 266.
   Robert le Hyrde, _A_.

 Hurdman (_v._ Herdman), 266.
   Mawde Hurdman, _A_.
   Christopher Hurdsman, _W_ 16.

 Hurer (_v._ Hurrer), 338.
   Alan le Hurer, _A_.

 Hurlebat, 462.
   Robert Hurlebat, _X_.
   Matilda Hurlebatt, _V_.
   John Hurlebatt, _Z_.

 Hurlstone, 462.

 Hurrer (_v._ Hurer), 338.
   Geoffrey le Hurwere, _A_.

 Hursley, 116.
   William de Hurslee, _A_.

 Hurst (_v._ Hirst), 116.
   William de la Hurst, _B_.
   John atte Hurst, _M_.

 Husband, 505.
   Robert le Hosebonde, _A_.
   Walter le Husebonde, _A_.

   Christopher Husbandman, _W_ 11.

 Huskisson, 60.
   John Hocheskynson, _F_.

 Hutchins, 60.
   William Huchyn, _F_.
   Alan Huchyns, _H_.

 Hutchinson, 60.
   Johannes Huchesson, _W_ 19.
   Thomas Hochinson, _F_.
   Christopher Huchynson, _F_.

 Hutchreve, 368.
   Robert le Huchereve, _N_.

   Leticia de la Hyde, _A_.
   Adam atte Hyde, _M_.

   William Hyldsmyth, _A_.

 Hyne, 255.
   John le Hyne, _A_.
   William le Hyne, _J_.

 Hyneson, 65.
   Ellen Hyneson, _W_ 9.
   Thomas Hynson, _Z_.

 Hythe, 233.
   Walter de la Hythe, _A_.
   Eustace de la Hythe, _A_.

 Hythereve, 233.
   John le Huthereve, _O_.

 Ibbetson (_v._ Ibbotson), 79.
   Joseph Ibbetson, _W_ 16.
   Francis Ibbitson, _W_ 20.

 Ibbet (_v._ Ibbot), 79.

 Ibbot, 79.
   Ibbota fil. Adæ, _W_ 2.
   Walter Ibbot, _A_.
   Ebote Gylle, _Z_.
   Ibote Babyngton, _Z_.
   Ybote de Chalar, _A_.

 Ibbotson, 79.
   Robert fil. Ibotæ, _B_.
   Alice Ebotson, _W_ 2.
   Henry Ebison or Ibbotson, _T T_.

 Ibbs, Ibson, 79.
   Thos Ibson, _W_ 11.
   John Ibson, _W_ 11.

 Icemonger, 391.
   Isabel le Isemongere, _G_.
   Richard Ismongere, _M_.
   Agnes la Ismongere, _X_.

 Ida, 19.
   Ida Salter, _W_ 2.
   Ida Carle, _A_.
   Ida de Bello Campo, _A_.

 Iddison (_v._ Ida), 19.
   Emma fil. Ido, _W_ 5.
   Thomas Idessone, _S_.

 Idonia, 19.
   Joan fil. Idonea, _T_.
   Idonea le Engleys, _J_.

   Ilbert le Cementer, _S S_.
   Ilbert de Hereford, _DD_.

 Imary, 29.
   Eymerus de Melinges. _M_.
   Eimericus de Chaworth, _E_.
   Aimaric Gedge, _M_.

   Imbertus de Salinis, _B_.
   Isembert Burrellus, _C_.
   Henry Isemberd, _A_.

 Imeson, 29.

 Imper, 260.
   Adam le Imper, _M_.

 Imray (_v._ Imray), 29.

 Increase, 104.
   Increase Mather, 104 _n_.

 Inglis, 149.
   William Inglish, _B_.
   Roger Ingleys, _M_.
   Walter Ingeleys, _A_.

 Ingram, 29.
   Ingeram de Betoyne, _A_.
   Engeram Betencurt, _E_.
   Ingram Germayn, _M_.

 Inman, 292.
   Toby Inman, _W_ 9.
   Henry Inman, _Z_.

 Ireland, 148.
   Adam de Irlond, _H_.
   Henry de Irlaund, _M_.

 Iremonger, 391.
   John le Irmongere, _A_.
   Daniel le Irmongere, _M_.
   William le Irremongere, _M_.

 Irish, 148.
   Adam le Ireis, _B_.
   Henry le Ireys, _M_.
   John le Irreys, _H_.

 Irishman, 148.
   Edward Irishman, _F F_.

 Ironfoot, 437.
   Peter Yrenefot, _A_.

 Ironmonger (_v._ Iremonger), 391.

 Ironpurse, 482.
   Jordan Irenepurs, _A_.
   Robert Irenpurse, _A_.

 Ironsides, 437.
   Margery Ironside, _W_ 9.
   Gilbert Ironside, _S S_.

   Augustus fil. Erwin, _A_.

 Isaac, 82.
   John Ysac, _A_.
   Samuel fil. Ysaac, _DD_.
   Ysaac de Norwich, _J_.

 Isaacson, 82.
   Geoffrey fil. Isaac, _J_.
   William fil. Isaac, _T_.

 Isabel, 19.
   Isabel de Arcy, _A_.
   William Isabelles, _F F_.

   Isemay Eglebird, _A_.
   Roger fil. Ysmay, _A_.
   Isamaya Hibernicia, _DD_.

 Isolda, 19.
   Isolda Longespe, _A_.
   Richard fil. Isolda, _A_.
   Isolda fil. Hugh, _R_.

 Ison (_v._ Iveson), 34.

 Isott (_v._ Issot), 79.
   Isotte Symes, _Z_.
   Izott Barn, _Z_.
   Ezotta Hall, _W_ 11.

 Ispanier, 161.
   Peter Ispanier, 161 _n_.

 Issot (_v._ Isott), 79.
   John Issot, _W_ 16.
   Sarah Issot, _W_ 16.

 Ithell (_v._ Bethell), 13.
   Ann Ithell, _H H_.
   Ithell Wynne, _A A_ 1.

 Ivatts (_v._ Ivetts), 34.

 Ive (_v._ Ivo), 34.
   Ive Hook, _A_.
   William fil. Ive, _A_.

 Ivens, 45.
   Peter fil. Ivone, _A_.
   John Ivyn, _H_.
   David ap Ivan, _X X_ 1.

 Iverson (_v._ Iveson), 34.

 Ives, 34.
   Thomas fil. Ivonis, _E_.
   Aimeric fil. Yvo, _C_.

 Iveson, 34.
   William Iveson, _W_ 2.
   Walter fil. Ive, _A_.
   Antony Iveson, _W_ 11.

 Ivetts, 34.
   John fil. Ivette, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Ivettæ, _E_.
   Ivetta de Inglethorpe, _F F_.

 Ivison (_v._ Iveson), 34.

 Ivo (_v._ Ive), 34.
   Ivo le Merch, _A_.
   Ivo fil. Warin, _M_.

 Ivory-Malet, 509.

 Ivot (_v._ Ivetts), 34.
   Ivote le Bolure, _A_.

 Jackanapes, 492.
   John Jackanapes, _M_.

 Jack, 46 _n_.
   Jacke le Warner, _A_.
   Catherine Jak, _W_ 2.

 Jackett, 49.
   Jackett Tozer, _Z_.
   Jaket Owdet, _Y_.
   Jacquetta Kuskyn, _A A_ 3.
   Henry Jaket, _V_ 11.

   Alexander Jacklin, _v._ p. 49.

 Jackman, 222, 49.
   Bennett Jackman, _Z_.
   Anne Jackman, _F F_.

 Jacks, 45, 46 _n_.
   Agnes Jakkes, _A_.
   Jakes Amadur, _A_.

 Jackson, 45.
   Robert fil. Jake, _A_.
   Edmund Jacson, _F_.
   Thomas Jaxsonn, _W_ 9.
   Richard Jaqueson, _V_ 2.

 Jacobs, 46 _n_.
   Jordan Jacob, _A_.
   Agnes Jacob, _H_.

   Robert fil. Jacob, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Jacob, _M_.

 Jacox, 45.

 Jakeman (_v._ Jackman), 222.
   John Jakeman, _F_.

 Jake, 45.
   Jake Heriet, _A_.
   Robert fil. Jake, _A_.

 Jakes (_v._ Jacks), 45.
   Robert Jacques, _M_.
   Jakys Breton, _W_ 2.

 Jambe, 438.
   Hugh Jambe, _A_.
   Thomas Jaumbe, _M_.

 James, 94.
   James le Queynt, _H_.
   John Jamys, _H_.
   Christiana James, _A_.

 Jameson, Jamieson, 94.
   Thomas Jamson, _H_.
   Ralph Jamson, _Z Z_.

   (1), 48.
     Jane Jay, _F F_.
     Jane Swete, _H_.
     Thomas Jeynes, _V_ 2.
   (2). 133.

 Janet (_v._ Jane), 48.
   John Janet, _H_.
   Janekin Jonet, _H_.
   Janeta Barker, _A_.

 Janeway, 161.
   Benedict de Janua, _E_.
   Peter de Jueigny, _E_.

 Jankin (_v._ Jenkins), 45.
   John Janekyn, _B_.
   Janekin Jonet, _H_.

 Jannaway (_v._ Janeway), 161.

 Janson (_v._ Jennison), 45.
   Roger Janneson, _F F_.
   Peter Janson, _F F_.

 Jarman, 392.
   Robert Jarman, _Z Z_.

 Jarrard, Jarratt, Jarrett, (_v._ Gerard), 52.
   Jarrard Gore, _Z_.
   Jarrett Dashwood, _F F_.
   Jarat Nycholson, _W_ 9.

 Jarvis (_v._ Gervase).
   Ellen Jarvyes, _Z_.

 Jay, 493.
   John le Jay, _M_.
   Walter le Jay, _B_.

 Jayne, Jeane, (_v._ Jane), 48, 161.

 Jeffcocks, 50.
   John Jeffcocke, _Z_.

 Jefferson, 50.
   Warin Fitz-Geffrey, _M_.
   Geoffrey Jeffreson, _F_.
   Peter Geffreyson, _Z Z_.

 Jeffkins, 50.

 Jeffries, 50.
   John Geffereys, _H_.
   Richard Jefferaye, _Z_.

 Jeffrison (_v._ Jefferson).
   Mathew Jeffreyson, _W_ 16.

 Jeff, Jeffs, 50.
   Nicholas Jeff, _Z_.
   John Jeffes, _Z Z_.

 Jemmitt, 94 _n_.
   Thomas Jemmitt, 94 _n_.
   James Jemett, _C C_ 3.

 Jenkins, 45.
   Jenkyn le Messer, _H_.
   Jevan ap Jeynkyns, _F_.

 Jenkinson, 45.
   Katerine Jankynson, _F_.
   Gilbert Jenkynson, _H_.

 Jenks, 45.
   Rowland Jenks, _F_.
   Thomas Jenks, _Z_.

 Jenner, 229.
   William le Genour, _M_.
   Henry Jenner, _Z_.

 Jennings, 45, 49.
   Janyn Godard, _H_.
   Thomas Jennyns, _F_.

 Jennison, 45, 48.
   Alan fil. Jene, _A_.
   John Jenanson, _H_.
   John Jenysyn, _F_.
   Joan Geneson, _W_ 11.

 Jenour (_v._ Jenner), 229.

 Jephson, 50.
   Thomas Jephson, _F F_.

 Jepson, 50.
   Richard Jepson, _W_ 2.
   John Jepsonne, _A A_ 4.
   Moses Gipson, _C C_ 3.

 Jerard (_v._ Jarrard), 53.
   Jerard Watson, _W_ 9.
   Jerrett Bulloke, _W_ 9.

 Jervis (_v._ Gervase).
   Alexander Jervis, _Z_.
   Edyth Jervice, _Z Z_.

 Jessmaker, 241.
   Robert le Jessemaker, _A_.

 Jeune, 432.
   William le Jeune, _A_.
   Joceus le Jouene, _G_.

 Jew, 167.
   Mirabilla Judæus, _C_.
   John le Jew, _M_.
   Moses le Jew, _R_.

 Jewett, Jewitson, (_v._ Jowett).
   Christopher Jewitson, _Z_, 74 _n_.
   Henry Jewet, _X X_ 1.
   Mary Jewitt, _W_ 16.

 Jewry (_v._ Jury), 166.

 Jewsbury (_v._ Jewry), 167.

 Jewson (_v._ Jewitson), 74 _n_.

 Jill (_v._ Gill), 73.

 Jimson, Jimpson, 94.
   William Gimmison, _W_ 20.

 Joan, 48.
   Joan Peny, _H_.
   Joan de la Pomeroy, _H_.
   Joan fil. Idonea, _T_.

 Joanes, 48.

 Joanna, 19.
   Johanna le Curteys, _T_.

 Job, Jobson, 83.
   John fil. Job, _A_.
   William Jobbe, _M_.
   Edward Jobson, _Z_.

 John, 41, 45.
   Thomas John, _A_.
   John le Gris, _T_.

 Johncock, 45.

 Johnson, 45.
   Ivo fil. John, _A_.
   Edmund Jonson, _H_.
   Robert Johanson, _F_.

 Joiner, 249.
   Hugh le Joignour, _G_.
   Alan le Joygnour, _N_.

 Jolifwill, 504.
   William Jolifewille, _J_.

 Jolly, 472.
   William Golye, _A_.
   Thomas Joly, _O_.

 Jolyffe, 472.
   John Jolif, _A_.
   Henry Jolyffe, _M_.

 Jones, 45.
   Walter fil. Jone, _A_.
   William Jon, _A_.
   Geoffrey Johns, _F_.
   David Jonys, _F_.
   Johan Johans, _H_.
   Robert Johnys, _F_.

 Jonson (_v._ Johnson), 45.

 Jordan, 18, 85.
   Stephen fil. Jordan, _A_.
   Jordan atte Mulle, _M_.
   Jordan le Flemynge, _J_.

 Jordanson, Jordeson, Jordison, 86.
   John fil. Jordan, _C_.
   Ralph 86, fil. Jordan, _A_.
   Thomas Jordanson, _v._ p. 86.
   Margery Jordanson, _v._ p. 86.

 Joscelyn, 18.
   Jocelidus fil. Joscelini, _T_.
   Ralph Josselyn, _H_.

 Joseph, 3.
   Henry fil. Josep, _A_.
   Adam Josep, _M_.
   Josep le Taverner, _J_.

 Joule, 433.

 Jowetson (_v._ Jowett), 74.
   Christopher Jewitson, _Z_.
   Roger fil. Jouettæ, _T_.

 Jowett, 14 _n_.
   Jowett Barton, _W_ 11.
   Joette de Sudmarle, _W_ 19.
   Juetta fil. William, _T_.
   Richard fil. Juette, _T_.
   William Juet, _A_.

 Jowl, 433.

   Adam Joye, _A_.
   William Joye, _M_.

 Joyagain, 102.

   (1), 71.
     Joyce Faukes, _H_.
     Joyce Tibetot, _H_.
     Joice Frankline, _W_ 9.
   (2), 463, 471.
     Richard le Joyce, _J_.

 Joymaiden, 472.
   Geoffrey Joyemaiden, _A_.

 Judd, Judkins, 86.
   Aron Judde, _A_.

 Judge, 179.

 Judson, 86.
   William Judson, _Z_.
   James Jurdeson, _S S_.

   Jugg Byron, _v._ p. 49.

 Juggour, 313.
   Richard le Juggour, _M_.

 Juggler, 313.
   Thomas Joculator, _M_.

 Julia, Juliana, 19, 73.
   Emma fil. Juliana, _A_.
   Juliana Loveday, _J_.

 Juliet (_v._ Jowett), 74.
   Julita uxor Widonis, _C C_.

 June (_v._ Jeune), 432.
   Stephen le Juvene, _A_.
   William le June, _R_.

 Junior, 429.
   John le Junior, _F F_.
   Egidius Junior, _C_.

 Jurdan (_v._ Jordan), 86.
   Roger fil. Jurdan, _A_.
   Thomas Jurdan, _F F_.

 Jury (_v._ Jewry), 166.

 Juster, 305.
   Thomas le Justere, _T_.
   Robert le Justure, _F_.
   William Jouster, _Z_.

 Justice, 179.
   William le Justice, _A_.
   Robert le Justise, _E_.

 Kaiser (_v._ Cayser), 174.
   Katherine, 11.
   Katerina le Bakere, _T_.
   Avelina fil. Katerine, _T_.

 Kay, 123.
   John Kay, _W_ 9.
   Jordan Kay, _A_.

 Kean, 467.
   Hugh le Kene, _A_.
   Joan le Kene, _F F_.

 Keat, 466.
   Mary Kete, _Z_.
   Roger Kete, _Z_.

 Keeling, 497.
   Josiah Keeling, _H H_.
   Henricus Keylynge, _W_ 19.

 Keen (_v._ Kean), 467.

 Keeper, 232.
   William Kepere, _A_.
   John Keeper, _Z_.

 Keepguest, 501.
   William Kepegest, _A_.

 Keller, 336.
   Alicia la Keller, _F_.
   Robert le Kallere, _R_.
   Alias le Keller, _R_.

 Kempe, 224.
   Roger Kemp, _M_.
   Nicholas Kemp, _M_.

 Kemper, 320.

 Kempson, 65.

 Kempster, Kemster, 320.
   Johanna la Kempster, _X_.

 Kendal, 169.
   Roger de Kendale, _M_.
   Hugh de Kendale, _R_.

 Kenn, 492.
   Eborard le Ken, _A_.
   Thomas le Chene, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Ken, _B_.

 Kent, 147.
   Adam de Kent, _M_.
   William de Kent, _J_.

 Kentish, 147.
   Alan le Kanteis, _A_.
   William le Kenteys, _E_.
   Robert le Kenteys, _A_.

 Kenworthy, 134.

   William de le Ker, _A_.
   John del Ker, _H_.

 Kersall (_v._ Kershaw), 117.

 Kershaw, 117.
   Gilbert Kyrshawe, _Z Z_.
   Henry Kyrshawe, _Z Z_.

 Kesar, 173.
   Robert le Keser, _R_.
   Lambert Keser, _R_.

 Ketmonger, 483.
   Adam Ketmongere, _A_.

 Kett, 466.
   Walter le Ket, _G_.
   Osbert le Ket, _J_.

 Kettle (_v._ Chettle), 24.
   Emma fil. Ketel, _A_.
   Robert fil. Ketell, _J_.
   Ketle le Mercer, _A_.

 Kew (_v._ Cow).
   Agnes le Keu, _M_.
   John le Keu, _A_.

 Keyser (_v._ Keser), 173.
   Richard Keyser, _F F_.

 Kidd, 491.
   Reginald Kyd, _A_.
   John Kidd, _F F_.

 Kidder, 294.
   William le Kydere, _B_.
   Richard Kydder, _Z_.

 Kidman, 271.
   Alan Kydeman, _A_.
   John Kideman, _F F_.

 Killbull, 375.
   Reginald Cullebol, _A_.

 Killbullock, 375.
   Henry Cullebulloc, _A_.

 Killhare, 375.
   William Cullehare, _A_.

 Killhog, 375.
   William Cullehog, _A_.

 Kind, 464.
   Adam Kind, _Z_.
   Andrew Kynd, _F F_.

 King, 174.
   Hamond le King, _A_.
   Robert le Kynge, _C_.
   Saher le King, _H_. 176 _n_.

 Kingsman, 176 _n_.
   Richard Kyngesman, _A_.
   Ralph Kyngesman, _M_.

 Kingson, 176 _n_.
   Reginald Kyngessone, _A_.
   Simon Kyngeson, _M_.

 Kinley, 119.

 Kinsman, 429.
   John Kynnesman, _Z Z_.
   Leonard Kinsman, _Z_.

 Kirk, 113.
   Joan atte Kirke, _B_.
   Robert atte Kirke, _J_.

 Kirker, 113.

 Kirkman, 113.
   Roger le Kyrkeman, _A_.
   Thomas Kirkeman, _W_ 2.

 Kisser, 223.
   Richard le Kissere, _X_.

 Kitchen, 136, 206.
   Henry atte Kychene, _M_.
   Richard del Kechin, _H_.

 Kitchener, 206.
   Thomas Kitchynner, _W_ 11.

 Kitchenman, 206.
   Alice Kitchinman, _W_ 2.
   Robert Kytchinman, _Z Z_.
   Christopher Kychman, _W_ 9.

 Kitchingham, 206.
   Thomas Kitchingham, _W_ 16.

 Kite, 493.
   Agnes Kite, _F F_.
   John Kyte, _F F_.

 Kitewild, 484.
   Jordan Kitewilde, _A_.

 Kitson, 57.
   John Kitson, _W_ 9.
   Mary Kitson, _Z_.

 Kitts, 57.
   Nicholas Kitte, _A_.
   William Kitte, _A_.

 Knabwell, 127.
   Robert de Cnapwell, _A_.
   John de Cnabwelle, _A_.

 Knapman, 127.
   James Knapman, _Z_.
   William Knapman, _Z Z_.

 Knapp, 127.
   John Knappe, _A_.
   Capella de la Cnappe, _DD_.

 Knapper, 127.
   William Knappere, _G_.

 Knapton, 127.
   Thomas de Cnapeton, _A_.
   William Knapton, _W_ 16.

 Knave, 255.
   Simon Knave (Lower, i. 242.)
   Walter le Knave, _F_.

 Kneebone, 437.
   John Knebone, _Z_.
   Antony Knebone, _Z_.

 Knifesmith, 282, 214.
   Henry Knyfesmythe, _F_.

 Knight, 198.
   Reginald le Knicht, _A_.
   Juliana le Knit, _A_.
   Emmot Kneyt, _A_.
   Simon le Knyt, _A_.

 Knope (_v._ Knapp), 127.

 Knopp (_v._ Knapp), 127.

 Knott, 451.
   Isolda Knotte, _A_.
   William Knotte, _J_.

 Knowler, 122.

 Knowlman, 122.

 Knowles, 122.
   Roger de la Cnolle, _A_.
   John atte Knolle, _B_.

 Korah, 101.

   Isabel Laberer, _Z Z_.
 Robert Laborer, _Z Z_.

 Labouchere (_v._ Butcher), 374.

 Lacer, 348.
   Henry le Lacer, _H_.
   Richard le Lacer, _X_.

 Lache, 479.
   John le Lache, _A_.
   William Lache, _A_.

 Lacklove, 474.
   Simon Lacklove, _A_.

 Lacter, 272.
   John le Lacter, _M_.

   William atte Lake, _A_.
   Walter de la Lake, _A_.

 Lallimand, 165.

 Lamb, 491.
   William le Lamb, _A_.
   Richard le Lomb, _A_.

 Lambden, Lamden, 118.
   William Lambdene, _A_.

 Lambert, 57.
   Lambert fil. Thome, _C_.
   Robert Lamberd, _H_.

 Lambgroom, 445.
   John Lambegrom, _A_.

 Lambkin (_v._ Lampkin), 57.
   Lambekin Taborer, _P_.

 Lambshead, 435.
   Agnes Lambesheved, _A_.

 Lament, 103.
   Lament Willard, 103.

 Lameman, 440.
   William Laymeman, _v._ p. 440.
   Christiana Lameman, _W_ 11.
   Alex. Lameman, _W_ 11.

 Lamentation, 103.
   Lamentation Chapman, _Z_.

 Lammas, 62.
   Richard Lammasse, _A_.
   Thomas Lammas, _F F_.

 Lampkin, 57.
   Lambekyn fil. Eli, _C_.
   Lamkyn Lokyr, _O_.

 Lamprey, 497.
   William Lampreye, _A_.

 Lampson, 57.
   William Lampson, _Z Z_.
   Edward Lamson, _F F_.
   Antony Lambeson, 57 _n_.

 Lance, 459.
   Mabil Lance, _A_.
   Johanna Lance, _A_.

 Land, 122.
   Richard de la Lande, _B_.
   William atte Land, _M_.

 Landells, 168.

 Lander, 122, 362.
   William Landre, _A_.

 Landman, 122.
   Richard le Landman, _M_.

 Lane, 108, 115.
   Cecilia-in-the-Lane, _A_.
   Alexander atte Lane, _B_.

 Lane-end, 144.
   Margaret atte Lane-ende, _H_.
   Alice atte Lane-ende, _X_.

 Laner, 319.
   Bartholomew le Laner, _A_.
   John le Laner, _T_.

 Lang, 436.
   Hamo le Lang, _M_.
   John le Lange, _L_.

 Langbane, 436.
   Henry Langbane, _W_ 11.

 Langhorn, 461.
   Benjamin Langhorne, _W_ 11.

 Langley, 150.
   John de Langeleye, _M_.

 Langley, 150.
   Thomas de Langeleghe, _E_.

 Langshaw, 117.
   Henry Langshawe, _X X_ 1.
   Robert Langschawe, _W_ 11.

 Langskinner, 505.
   Henry Langeskynnere, _M_.

 Langstaff, 409.
   Agnes Langstaff, _G_.
   Langstaf, _DD_.

 Langworthy, 134.
   John Langworth, _Z_.
   Christopher Langworthie, _Z_.

 Lanyer, 319.
   William Lannator, _A_.
   Toke Lanarius, _A_.

   Henry Lapewater, _X_.

 Lardiner, Lardner, 270.
   Philip le Lardiner, _B_.
   Thomas le Lardiner, _M_.
   Hugh le Lardiner, _L_.

 Large, 431.
   William le Large, _A_.
   Robert le Large, _M_.
   William le Large, _E_.

 Lark, 494.
   Richard le Laverock, _A_.
   Hamo Larke, _A_.

 Larkins, Larrett, Larson, (_v._ Lawson), 56.
   William Lareson, _P P_.
   Andrew Larrett, _P P_.

 Lascelles, 151.
   Alan de Lascelle, _A_.
   Robert de Laceles, _E_.

 Lashe (_v._ Lache), 479.

 Laskie, 479.

 Last, 144.

 Latimer, 197.
   William le Latiner, _G_.
   Alan le Latymer, _J_.
   Warin le Latimer, _B_.
   Nicholas le Latimer, _M_.

 Latner, Latoner, 284, 392.
   Richard le Latonere, _V_ 9.
   Thomas le Latoner, _M_.
   Richard Latoner, _F F_.

   Henry Laughwell, _Z_.

 Laund, 122.
   Robert de la Laund, _A_.
   Nicholas atte Launde, _F F_.

 Launder, 362.
   John Launder, _Z_.
   Jeffery Lawnder, _F F_.

   Laureta Picot, _M M_.
   Loreta del Platt, _A A_ 4.

 Laurence, 18.
   John fil. Laurence, _M_.
   Ester Laurence, _F F_.

 Lavender, 362.
   Alice la Lavander, _A_.

 Lavender, 362.
   Robert le Lavender, _A_.
   Isabel la Lavendre, _E_.

 Laverick (_v._ Lark), 494.
   Cuthbert Lavericke, _W_ 20.

 Lawe, 127.
   David atte Lawe, _M_.
   Thurston Lawe, _Z_.

 Lawman, 127.
   Raulf Laurence, _A_.
   William Lawrence, _V_ 8.

 Lawpage, 506.
   Agnes Lawpage, _W_ 2.
   Richard Lawpege, _Z_.
   Christopher Lawpage, _F F_.

 Lawrence (_v._ Laurence), 17, 56.
   Piers Lawrence, _Z_.

 Lawson (_v._ Lawrence).
   John fil. Lawrence, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Launce, _A_.
   Thomas Lauson, _F_.
   Edward Lason, _V_ 7.

 Laycock, 15.
   Josiah Laycocke, _W_ 16.
   Peter Laycocke, _W_ 16.

 Laye, 119.
   Emma de Lay, _A_.
   Bernard de Lay, _A_.

 Layman, 119.
   Elias Layman, _A_.

 Lazarus, 431.

 Lea, 119.
   William de la Lea, _A_.
   Ralph de la Leye, _A_.

 Leach, 384.
   Hugh le Leche, _A_.
   Robert le Leche, _M_.
   John le Leche, _X_.

 Leachman, 384.

 Leadbeater, Leadbetter, Leadbitter, 284.
   Gonnilda le Ledbetere, _A_.
   Reginald le Ledbeter, _M_.
   Thomas Leadbeater, _Z Z_.

 Leader, 410.
   Oliver Leader, _Z_.
   John Leder, _Z Z_.

 Leaf, 473.
   Alice le Lef, _A_.
   Matilda le Lef, _A_.

 Leal, 464.

 Lean, 431.
   Roland le Lene, _A_.
   Richard Lene, _H_.

 Leaper, 395.

 Leapman, 395.

 Least, 432.
   Richard le Lest, _J_.

 Leave-to-day, 501.
   John Leve-to-day, _A_.

 Leatherhose, Ledderhose, 457.
   John Letherhose, _A_.
   Richard Letherhose, _R_.

 Lee, 119.
   Roger de la Lee, _B_.
   John atte Lee, _M_.

 Leech (_v._ Leach), 384.
   Sibil le Leche, _F F_.

 Leeder (_v._ Leader), 410.
   John Leeder, _F F_.

 Lees, 119.
   Roger de Lees, _A_.
   William de Leghes, _J_.
   Avelina de Leys, _J_.

   Geoffrey le Legat, _A_.
   Nicholas Legat, _M_.

 Legge, 437, 168.
   John de Leg, _A_.
   Philip de Leg, _J_.

 Legh, 119.
   Pagan a la Legh, _A_.
   Adam de la Legh, _J_.

 Leghman, 119.
   Henry Legeman, _A_.

 Leigh, 119.
   William de la Leigh, _M_.
   William de Leigh, _F F_.

   Henry Legeman, _A_.

 Leman, Lemman, Lemon, 477.
   Eldred Leman, _A_.
   John Leman, _M_.
   Thomas Lemon, _V_ 5.

 Lenebaud (_v._ Baud),
   Thomas Lenebaud, _A_.
   William Lenebaud, _E_.

 Lenedame, 433.
   Matilda Lenedame, _A_.

 Leopard, 488.
   John Lepard, _H_.

 Leper, Lepper, 193, 431.
   Nicholas le Lepere, _M_.
   Walter le Lepere, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Lepere, _A_.

 Lessoner, 198.
   Nicholas le Lessoner, _A_.

 Letitia (_v._ Lettice), 19, 71.
   Leticia Palmere, _A_.

 Letson, 71.
   John fil. Lettice, _A_.
   John Lettesone, _M_.

 Lettice, 71.
   Warin Letice, _A_.
   Letice de Uggele, _X_.
   Lettice Leicester, _Z_.
   John Lettice, _P P_.

 Letts (_v._ Letson), 71.

 Lewd, 481.
   Robert le Lewed, _M_.
   William le Lewed, _M_.

 Lewis, Lewison, Lewson,
   John Lewis, _V_ 11.
   Lewes Robson, _W_ 16.
   James Lewsone, _V_ 11.
   James Lusone, _V_ 11.
   John Lewson, _V_ 10.

 Liar, 480.
   Henry le Liere, _A_.

 Liberty (_v._ Leadbeater), 284.

 Lickpeny, 483.

 Lidbitter (_v._ Leadbeater), 284.

 Lidgate, 130.
   Thomas de Lidgate, _M_.
   Walter atte Lideyate, _H_.

 Light, 431.
   Thomas le Leht, _A_.
   William le Light, _M_.

 Lightfoot, 439.
   Robert Lightfot, _M_.
   Thomas Lightfot, _G_.

 Lightharness, 501.
   John Lightharness, _W_ 13.
   Thomas Lightharness, _W_ 13.

 Light-red, 448.
   Ralph Light-red, _M_.

 Light-white, 448.
   John Lite-whyte, _M_.

 Likelove, 474.

 Lilter, 440.
   Roger le Liltere, _A_.

 Lilywhite, 442.
   Elizabeth Lilywhite, _W_ 11.

 Limebear, Limebeer, 250.

 Limer, 250.
   John le Limer, _A_.

 Limethwaite, 121.

 Limewright, 277, 250.
   Hugh le Limwryte, _A_.

 Limmer, 406.

 Limner, 406.
   Ralph Illuminator, _A_.
   Thomas Liminer, _A_.
   Godfrey le Lomynour, _T_.
   William le Lomner, _E_.

 Lina, 72.
   Lyna le Archer, _A_.
   Lena Aylmen, _R R_ 1.

 Lind, 128.
   Henry de la Lynde, _B_.
   Robert ate Lynde, _M_.

 Lindley, 119, 128.

 Lindraper, 328.
   Wymund le Lyngedraper, _A_.
   William le Lyndraper, _G_.
   Elias le Lyndraper, _M_.

 Lindsey, 169.

 Liner, 328.
   Gilbert le Lyner, _A_.
   Michael le Linere, _A_.

 Linger, 208.
   Robert le Lingure, _A_.

 Linnet, Linota, 72.
   Linota ate Feld, _A_.
   Linota Vidua, _A_.

 Lion, 488.
   Richard Lion, _V_ 2.

 Lipscombe, 125.

 Lister, 322.
   Nicholas le Lystere, _G_.
   Andrew le Litster, _M_.
   Hugh le Litster, _R_.

 Little, 431.
   William le Letle, _A_.
   Robert le Litele, _M_.

   William Lutebonde, _A_.

   John Littleboye, _Z_.
   George Littleboy, _C C_ 3.

   John Littlecope, _A_.

 Littlehair, 453.
   John Lytlehare, _F F_.
   Simon Lytehare, _M_.

 Littlejohn, 46, 503.
   Richard fil. Parvi-Johannis, _A_.

 Littleking, 176 _n_., 505.
   William Litelking, _A_.

 Littlepage, 215, 506.

 Littleproud, 462.
   John Littleproud, _F F_.
   Reginald Littleprowe, _F F_.

 Littler, 432.
   Ranulph Lyttylore, _X X_ 1.
   Richard Lytteler, _Z_.

 Littlesire, 506.
   Hugh Litilsir, W _8_.

   Thomas Litilskill, _P_.

 Littleson, 506.
   Ralph Littulsone, _R_.

 Littleswain, 505.
   Philip Litsweyn, _A_.

 Liverpool, 147.
   Richard de Lyverpole, _M_.

 Livewell, 104.
   Live-well Sherwood, 104 _n_.

 Locke, 450.
   Nicol Locke, _A_.

 Locker (_v._ Lockyer), 282.

 Lockman, 282.
   John Lockman, _H H_.

 Locksmith, 282.
   John Locksmith, _W_ 2.
   Robert Locsmyth, _A_.
   William Loksmyth, _M_.

 Lockyer, 282.
   Henry le Lokier, _A_.
   John Lokare, _A_.

 Locock, 95.

 Loder, 410.
   Emma le Lodere, _A_.
   Agnes le Lodere, _A_.

 Lofthouse, Loftus, 369.
   William Lofthouse, _W_ 16.
   John Loftous, _W_ 16.

 Lombard, 162.
   Richard Lomberd, _A_.
   Jacob le Lumberd, _E_.

 London, 148.
   Robert de London, _A_.

 London, 148.
   Walter de London, _M_.
   Thomas de London, _J_.

 Londonish, 148.
   William Londonissh, _M_.
   Ralph le Lundreys, _T_.
   Richard Londoneys, _A_.

 Long, 431.
   Hamo le Long, _A_.
   Walter le Long, _C_.
   Gilbert le Longe, _M_.

 Longacre, 134.
   Roger le Langacre, _M_.

 Longespe, 459.
   Isolda Longespe, _A_.
   Thomas Longespe, _M_.
   Emelina Longespee, _J_.

 Longfellow, 506.
   Peter Langfellay, _W_ 11.
   Elizabeth Longfellow, _W_ 16.

 Longman, 433.
   Thomas Longman, _O_.
   William Longman, _F F_.

 Longness, 125.

 Longshank, 438.

 Longshaw (_v._ Langshaw).

 Longstaff, 462.
   William Longstaf, _A_.
   William Longstaff, _F F_.

 Longwright, 505.
   John Longus-faber, _M_.

 Looker, 282.

 Lord, 175.
   Walter le Loverd, _A_.
   John le Lorde, _B_.
   Robert le Lord, _C_.

 Lordan, 478.

 Lorayne (_v._ Lorraine), 159.

 Lorel, 478.

 Lorimer, 144, 289.
   Alan le Lorymer, _T_.
   Nicholas le Lorimer, _C_.
   Thomas le Lorimer, _M_.

 Loring, 159.
   Peter de Loring, _A_.
   John le Loreng, _A_.
   Dux Lotharing, _R_.

   Imbert le Lorn, _E_.

 Lorraine (_v._ Loring), 159.

 Lorrimer (_v._ Lorimer), 144, 289.

 Losewit, 470.
   Henry Losewyt, _L_.

 Louse, 498.
   Nicholas le Lus, _J_.

 Love, 473, 488.
   Robert le Love, _A_.
   Mabil Love, _J_.

   John Lovechild, _A_.

 Lovecock, 473.
   Roger Lovecock, _B_.
   Philip Lovecok, _D_.

 Loveday, 63.
   Alexander Loveday, _A_.
   Ralph Loveday, _M_.

 Lovegold, 482.
   John Lovegold, _F F_.

 Lovejoy, 500.
   Thomas Lovejoy, _Z_.

   (1), 473.
     Lovekyn Piscator, _A_.
     Lovekyn Stukepenne, _A_.
   (2), 473.
     John Lovekyn, _D_.
     Richard Lovekyn, _M_.

 Lovelance, 462.
   Simon Lovelaunce, _T_.

 Lovelock, 386, 449.
   Thomas Lovelok, _A_.

 Loveloker, 385.
   Walter le Loveloker, _A_.

 Loving, 103.
   Loving Bell, _Q Q_.

   (1), 431.
     Brian le Lo, _A_.
     Robert le Low, _M_.
   (2), 127.
     Hugh de Lowe, _A_.
     Robert atte Lowe, _M_.

   Parthenia Lowman (Maitland’s ‘London,’ ii. p. 605).

 Lowndes, 122.
   John de la Lound, _R_.
   Beatrice atte Lound, _F F_.

 Lubbard, Lubber, (_v._ Lombard), 162.

 Lubbock, 168.
   Robert de Lubyck, _A_.
   Hildebrand de Lubek, _J_.

 Lucas (_v._ Luke).
   Lucas Barcator, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Lukas, _W_ 15.

   Luke of Lucca, _O_.

 Lucke, 162.
   John de Luke, _M_.

 Luckett, 95.
   Matilda Luket, _W_ 11.
   Walter Luket, _W_ 11.

 Luckins, 95.
   Jane Luckin, _F F_.
   Robert Lukyn, _Z_.

 Luckock, Lucock, 95.
   Richard Luccock, _Z_.

   (1), 19.
     Richard fil. Lucia, _J_.
     William fil. Luciæ, _T_.
   (2), 151.
     Geoffrey de Lucy, _G_.
     Robert de Lucy, _G_.

 Luke, 95.
   Luke Morel, _M_.
   Walter Luke, _H_.

 Lukett (_v._ Luckett), 95.

 Lukie, 162.

 Lumbard, 162.
   Michael le Lumbard, _H_.
   Jacobina la Lumbard, _X_.

 Lumner (_v._ Limner), 406.
   Edmund Lumner, _Z Z_.
   Henry Lominour, _F F_.
   Thomas Lumpner, _W_ 11.

 Lund, 122.
   Richard de la Lund, _A_.
   William de la Lund, _K_.

 Lupe, 488.
   Robert le Lupe, _B_.
   Robert le Lup, _L_.

 Lurdan, 478.

 Lusk, 479.

 Lusty, 431.

 Luter, 310.
   German le Lutrere, _T_.
   John le Leuter, _R_.
   Haunce the Luter (Privy expenses Princess Mary).

 Lyard, 445.
   Henry Lyard, _A_.
   William Liard, _M_.
   Walter Lyhert, _H_.

 Lyndholt, 128.
   Robert de Lindholt, _A_.

 Lyndhurst, 116.
   Henry de Lindhurst, _E_.
   Henry de Lindeherst, _K_.

 Lyndsay, 133.
   Robert de Lindesay, _A_.
   William de Lindesia, _E_.

 Lyon (_v._ Lion), 488.

 Lyons, 170.
   Herveus de Lyons, _C_.
   Richard de Lyouns, _M_.

 Lyte, 433.
   William le Lyt, _M_.
   Gonnilda le Lyth, _A_.

 Lyteman, 433.
   Richard Liteman, _A_.
   John Lytman, _Z_.

 Mabbott, 71.
   George Mabbott, _P P_.
   William Mabbott, _P P_.

 Mabbs (_v._ Mabson).
   Giles Mabbes, _F F_.
   Mary Mabbs, _F F_.

 Mabil (_v._ Amabilia).
   Amabilia de Tynedale, _S S_.
   Richard Mable, _M_.

 Mabson (_v._ Mabil).
   Thomas Mabson, _S S_.
   Richard Mabson, _W_ 15.
   Michael Mabson, _W_ 11.

 Macer, 387.
   John le Macher, _A_.

 Mackarel, 497.
   Richard Makarel, _A_.
   Ralph Makerell, _H_.

 Macklehose, 457.

 Mad, 442.
   Jordan le Madde, _R_.

 Maddelyn, 67.
   Thomas le Maddelyn, _A_.

 Maderer, 323.
   Laurence Maderer, _H_.
   Thomas Maderer, _X X_ 1.

 Maderman, 323.
   John Maderman, _M_.

 Madison (_v._ Mawson).
   Thomas Mawdeson, _F F_.
   John Madison, _V_ 3.
   Ralph Maddison, _W_ 16.

 Madswain, 505.
   Alan Madsweyn, _A_.

 Magdalen (_v._ Maddelyn), 67.
   Magdalen Garison, _W_ 16.

 Maggot, 76.
   Magota del Hill, _W_ 2.
   Magot Catell, _W_ 2.
   Maggot Fin, _A_.
   Richard Maggote, _A_.

 Maggs, 76.
   Magge Flie, _A_.
   Henry fil. Mag, _A_.
   Robert Magges, _M_.

 Magotson (_v._ Magot), 76.

 Main, Maine, 158, 437.

 Mainstrong, 437.
   Thomas Mainstrong, _A_.

 Mainwaring (_v._ Mannering), 32, 339.

 Mair, Maire, (_v._ Mire), 184.

   William le Magere, _A_.

 Makeblisse, 463.
   Julian Makeblisse, _A_.

 Makeblithe (_v._ Makebliss).
   John Makeblythe, _W_ 11.

 Makefere, 475.
   Hugh Makefere, _A_.
   William Makefair, _N_.

 Make-joy, 463.
   Maud Makejoy.

 Makepeace, 463.
   Joan Makepeace, John Makepeace, _P P_.
   Richard Makepeace, _W_ 20.

 Makin, 78.
   Henry Maykin, _A_.
   Maykina Parmunter, _H_.
   Makinus Happyng, _X X_ 1.

 Makinson, 78.
   John Makinson, _Z_.
   William Makinson, _F F_.

 Malebraunch, 437.
   Roger Malebraunche, _A_.
   Matilda Malebraunch, _B_.

   Henry Malemaker, _R R_ 2.

 Malemeyne, 437.
   Nicholas Malemayne, _B_.
   John Malemeyne, _R_.

 Malenfant, 507.
   Robert Malenfant, _T_.
   John Malefaunt, _Z Z_.

 Malkin, 77.
   John Malekyn, _O_.
   William Malkyn, _M_.

 Mallard, 494.

 Malpas, 440.

 Malregard, 434.
   William Malregard, _T_.
   Geoffrey Malreward, _J_.

 Malster, 379.
   John Malster, _B_.
   Aleyn le Maltestere, _H_.

 Malter, 379.

 Malthus, 131.
   Beatrix Malthus, _W_ 16.
   Simon Malthus, _W_ 16.

 Maltmaker, 379.
   Hugh le Maltmakere, _A_.

 Man, 506.
   Henry le Man, _A_.
   Richard le Man, _E_.

 Manchester, 147.
   Guido de Mancestre, _M_.
   William de Mauncestre, _A_.

 Manciple, 210.
   Thomas Mancipill, 210 _n_.

 Manclerk (_v._ Mauclerk), 505.

 Mander (_v._ Maunder), 396.

 Mangevileyn, 507.
   Robert Mangevileyn, _W_ 10.

 Manikin, 433.
   Robert Manekin, _A_.
   Manekyn le Heaumer, _H_.

 Mann (_v._ Man), 506.

 Mannering, 32.
   Robert de Meynwaring, _A_.
   Warin de Menwarin, _B_.

 Mansel, 210 _n_.
   Sampson le Maunsel, _A_.
   John le Maunsel, _M_.
   Robert le Mansel, _J_.

 Mantel, 457.
   Robert Mantel, _C_.
   Walter Mantel, _L_.

   John Maniword, _M_.
   Reginald Maniword, _R_.

 Mapleson, 71.

 Marbiler, Marbrer, 249.
   Geffrey le Merberer, _B_.
   John le Merbrer, _X_.
   Walter la Marbiler, _X_.

 Marcer (_v._ Mercer), 356.

 Marchant, 407.
   Henry le Marcant, _A_.
   Robert le Marchaunt, _M_.
   William le Marchant, _B_.

 Marcock, 95.

 Marcus, 95.

 Margaret, 75.
   Margaret fil. Olivæ, _T_.
   Margaret le Grey, _J_.

 Margerison, 76.
   Henry fil. Margaret, _A_.
   Richard fil. Margaret, _J_.

 Margery, 76.
   John Margerie, _A_.
   Margerie le Bercher, _T_.
   Majoria Comyn, _W_ 2.

 Margetson (_v._ Margerison), 76.
   Francis Margetson, _F F_.
   Thomas Margetson, _F F_.
   Joyce Margetson, _P P_.

 Margetts, 75.
   Margota Servant, _W_ 2.
   Robert Margets, _Z_.

 Margison, 76.
   Richard fil. Marge, _A_.
   John fil. Marge, _A_.

 Maria, 76.
   William fil. Marie, _A_.
   Maria le Chaucer, _J_.
   Ediva fil. Mariæ, _T_.

 Mariot (_v._ Marriot), 16, 76.

 Mark, 95.

 Markettman, 298.
   William Markettman, _v._ p. 298 _n_.
   Nicholas Marketman, _T T_.
   Clement Marketman, _T T_.

 Markin, 95.

 Marks, 95.

 Marler, 259.
   Alice le Marlere, _A_.
   John Marlere, _B_.

 Marlward, 259.
   John Marleward, _A_.

 Marner, Marriner, 408.
   Henry le Mariner, _H_.
   Roger le Mariner, _A_.

 Marriott, 16, 77.
   Mariota in le Lane, _A_.
   Walter fil. Mariot, _A_.
   Adam fil. Mariot, _A_.
   John fil. Mariotæ, _T_.

 Marshall, 212, 290.
   Gunnilda le Marescal, _A_.
   William le Marchal, _B_.
   John le Mareshall, _B_.
   Henry le Marshall, _B_.

 Marson, 95.

 Marten, 489.

   (1), 18.
     Martin le Freman, _A_.
     Richard fil. Martin, _A_.
   (2), 489.
     Mathew le Martun, _E_.

 Martyr, 443.
   John le Martre, _G_.
   William le Martre, _J_.

 Maryatt (_v._ Marriott), 77.
   John Maryott, _F_.
   Nichol Maryot, _A_.

 Mashmaker, 379.
   John Mashemaker, 379 _n_.

 Maslin, 387.

     Roger fil. Maye, _A_.
   (2), 249.
     Osbert le Machun, _A_.
     Gotte le Mazoun, _A_.
     Adam le Mazon, _M_.

 Massacrer, 375.
   Laurence le Macecrer, _E_.

 Masser (_v._ Mazerer), 387.

 Massinger (_v._ Messager), 217.

 Master, 506.
   Thomas le Maistre, _M_.
   Alan le Mayster, _A_.
   John le Mayster, _B_.

   Richard Masterman, _H_.
   Thomas Mastermen, _Q_.
   Syth Maisterman, _W_ 16.

 Masterson, 65.
   Roger le Maistressone, _G_.
   Dorothy Masterson, _Z_.
   Robert Maystreson, _X X_ 4.

 Mathew, 91.
   Oliver Matheu, _M_.
   Mathew le Vineter, _L_.

 Mathewman, 506.
   John Mathewman, _W_ 16.
   Richard Mathewman, _W_ 16.

 Mathews, 91.
   Edward Mathewes, _Z_.
   Mark Mathews, _W_ 16.

 Mathewson, 91.
   William fil. Mathew, _A_.
   Richard fil. Mathæi, _C_.
   Alex. Mathewson, _X X_ 1.

 Matilda, 19, 44, 78.
   Juetta fil. Matilda, _A_.
   Sabina fil. Matilda, _T_.

 Matkin, 91.
   Richard Matkyn, _Z Z_.
   Jermayne Matkyn, _Z Z_.

 Matthew (_v._ Mathew), 91.

 Mattinson, Mattison, Matson, 91.
   Richard Mattyson, _Z_.
   Launcelott Matterson, _W_ 16.
   Marmaduke Matteson, _W_ 16.
   Anne Mattson, _W_ 16.

 Matt, Matts, 91.
   Andrew Matts, _F F_.
   Adam Matt, _A_.

 Mattwife, 52.
   Avice Mattewife, _P_.

 Mauclerk, 505.
   Walter Malclerk, _P P_.
   Godfrey Mauclerk, _P P_.

 Maud, 78.
   Maud de Holland, _H_.
   John Maude, _M_.

 Maudlin, Maudling, 67.
   Maudlin Hoby, _V_ 2.
   Maudelyn David, _Z_.
   Robert Maudelyn, _O_.

 Maugason (_v._ Mauger).
   Hugh Maugason, _H_.
   William Maugesson, _F F_.

   Malger le Clerke, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Mauger, _A_.
   Mauger fil. Elie, _M_.

 Maunder, 396.
   John Mawndour, _W_ 9.

 Maunsel (_v._ Mansel), 210 _n_.

 Maurice, 19.
   Serl fil. Morice, _A_.
   Mauricius Capellanus, _C_.

 Mawkin (_v._ Mawson).
   Auriana Mawkin, _Q Q_.

 Mawson, 77.
   Simon fil. Matilda, _J_.
   William Mawson, _Z_.
   Thomas Mawdeson, _F F_.
   Richard son of Mawe, _A A_ 2.

   Bateman le May, _A_.
   Robert le Mey, _G_.
   Ralph le May, _M_.

 Maycock (_v._ Matthew), 91.
   Hugh Maykoc, _A_.

 Mayer, 184.
   James Mayer, _Z_.

 Mayhew (_v._ Mathew).
   Adam fil. Maheu, _A_.
   Mayeu de Basingbourne, _M_.

 Maykin (_v._ Makin), 78, 91.
   Henry Maykin, _A_.

 Mayne, 158.

 Mayor (_v._ Mayer), 184.

 Mazeliner, 387.
   John le Mazelyner, _M_.
   William le Mazeliner, _R_.

 Mazerer, 387.
   Adam le Mazerer, _A_.
   John le Mazerere, _N_.
   William le Mazerer, _X_.

 Mead, 132.
   Robert atte Mede, _M_.
   Richard ate Med, _A_.

 Meadow, 132.
   John Atte-medowe, _F F_.
   William Atte-medow, _F F_.

 Meadowcroft, 132.
   Nicholas de Meducroft, _R_.

 Meagre (_v._ Megre), 431.

   Peter Meagresause, _R_.

 Mealmonger (_v._ Oatmonger), 275.
   John le Melmongere, _M_.

 Meakin, 78.
   Robert Meykin, _C_.
   John Meakin, _Z_.

 Measel, Measle, 194.
   Richard le Masle, _L_.
   Richard le Masele, _T_.

 Meatyard, 461.

 Medde, 132.
   Ralph ate Med, _A_.
   Philip atte Medde, _M_.

 Meddler, 465.
   Nicholas le Medler, _A_.

 Medlicote, Medlicott, 458.
   Thomas Modlycott, _Z_.

 Medward, 132.
   William le Medward, _A_.

 Meek, 464.
   Robert le Meke, _B_.
   Robert le Meeke, _Q_.

 Meekin (_v._ Meakin), 78.

 Meggs, 76.
   John fil. Megge, _A_.
   Henry Megges, _Z_.

 Megre, 431.
   John le Meaugre, _O_.
   Hugh le Megre, _M_.
   Basilia le Megre, _T_.

 Megson, 76.
   Adam Meggessone, _M_.
   Roger Megson, _W_ 9.
   John fil. Megge, _A_.

 Megucer, 331.
   John le Megucer, _N_.
   Richard le Megucer, _N_.

 Meir, 185.
   David le Meir, _A_.
   Henry le Mere, _M_.

 Melchior, 100.
   Melchior Rainald, _T T_.

 Melchizedek, 100.
   Melchezedek Payn, _Z_.

 Mellon-Colley, 509.

   Walter Mendfaute, _W_ 11.

 Mercer, 356.
   Ketel le Mercer, _A_.
   Henry le Mercer, _B_.

 Merchant (_v._ Marchant), 407.

 Mercy, 106.
   Mercy Bagley, _W_ 16.

 Meredeth, 473.

 Merriman, 472.
   William Merryman, _F_.
   John Meryman, _X_.
   Gerard Merriman, _W_ 16.

 Merry, 463, 472.
   William Merrye, _Z_.
   Roger Merrey, _Z_.

 Merrycock, 472.
   Richard Merricocke, _F_.

 Merrymouth, 434.
   John Merrymouth, _V_.
   Richard Merymouth, _X_.

 Merryweather, 472.
   Andrew Muriweder, _A_.
   Henry Muriweder, _O_.

 Messager, 217.
   Roger le Messager, _B_.
   John le Messager, _C_.

 Messinger (_v._ Messager), 217.
   Robert Messinger, _W_ 11.
   Eliz. Messinger, _W_ 16.

 Meteyard, 408.

 Meynell, 154.
   Hugh de Meynill, _T_.
   Robert de Meynnill, _A_.

 Meyre (_v._ Meir), 184.

 Michael, 99.
   Gilbert Michel, _A_.
   Michael le Jovene, _M_.

 Michaelmas (_v._ Middlemas), 62

 Michaelson, 99.
   Roger fil. Michael, _A_.
   Harvey fil. Michael, _A_.

 Micklejohn, 46, 503.

 Micklethwaite, 121.

 Middlemas, 62.
   Shorman Myglemas, _A_.

 Midwinter, 62.
   Gonnilda Midewynter, _A_.
   John Midwinter, _H_.

 Milchom, 101 _n_.
   Melcom Groate, _T T_.

 Mildew, 501.
   Richard Myldew, 501 _n_.

 Milend, 114.
   Simon de la Milende, _E_.

 Miles, 41.
   Milo le Messer, _A_.
   Milo Basset, _R_.
   Wychard Miles, _A_.

 Mileson, 41.
   Alicia fil. Milo, _A_.
   Richard Mileson, _v._ p. 41.

   Joan fil. Milicente, _A_.
   Millesent Cruche, _A_.

 Milker, 272.
   Thomas le Milkar, _A_.
   William le Milkar, _T_.

 Milksop, 181.
   William Milksop, _M_.
   William Milkesop, _J_.
   Hugh Milkesop, _R R_ 1.

 Millard (_v._ Milward), 274.

 Miller (_v._ Milner), 274.
   John le Mellere, _M_.

 Millerson, 65.
   Gilbert Millerson, _W_ 3.

 Millet, Millot, 41.
   Richard fil. Milot, _M M_.
   Roger Millot, _A_.
   Thomas Mylett, _W_ 9.

   Agnes Myllykin, 55.

 Mills (_v._ Milnes), 274.
   John del Mill, _M_.
   Roger atte Mille, _A_.

 Millson, 41.
   John fil. Mille, _A_.
   Edward Myleson, _Z Z_.
   Anne Millison, _W_ 16.

 Milman, 274.

 Millward, 274.
   Walter le Meleward, _N_.
   Robert le Milleward, _A_.
   William le Milward, _G_.

 Milmaster, 275 _n_.
   Andrew Milmaster, 275 _n_.

 Milner, 274.
   Alan le Milner, _G_.
   William le Melner, _M_.
   Emmot Mylner, _W_ 9.

 Milnes, 274.
   John atte Melne, _A_.
   Thomas atte Milne, _B_.

 Minsmith, 282, 404.
   John le Mynsmuth, _M_.

 Minter, 404.
   Henry le Munetar, _A_.
   Ralph le Myneter, _N_.

 Mirabilla, 19.
   Mirabella Wal, _W_ 2.
   Belina fil. Mirabilis, _DD_.
   Lucia Mirable, _A_.

 Mire (_v._ Meir), 184.
   John le Mire, _J_.
   Agnes le Myre, _J_.

 Miress, 184.
   Margaret la Miresse, _E_.

   Crispiana le Mirorer, _A_.
   John le Mirorer, _H_.
   Richard le Mirourer, _X_.

 Mitchell (_v._ Michael), 99.

 Mitchelson, 99.
   Thomas Mychelson, _W_ 3.
   Seth Meculson, _Z Z_.
   John fil. Mich, _A_.

 Mitchener, 367.

   Nichol Mokkynge, _Y_.

 Mohun, 151.
   John de Mohun, _H_.

 Moigne, 191.
   William le Moigne, _B_.
   Ivo le Moyn, _A_.

 Molehunte, 238.
   William Molehunte, _A_.

 Mollison, 80.
   Hugh fil. Mary, _A_.

 Monday, 63.
   Symon Moneday, _A_.
   Andrew Monday, _Z_.

 Moneyer, 404.
   Haco le Muner, _A_.
   John le Muner, _B_.
   Gilbert le Muner, _G_.

 Moneymaker, 404.
   John Monemaker, _W_ 2.

 Moneyman, 404.
   Robert Moneyman, _F F_.

 Moneypeny, 482.
   Richard Monypeny, _A_.
   Thomas Monipeni, _W_ 2.
   Alexander Moneypenny, _F F_.

 Monier, 404.
   Henry le Moneur, _A_.
   John le Monnier, _N_.
   Hamo le Monner, _T_.

 Monk, 191.
   William le Monek, _A_.
   Peter le Monek, _M_.
   John le Monck, _G_.

 Monkman, 188.
   William Munkeman, _W_ 15.

 Montaigne, 123.
   Peter de Monetania, _K_.
   Hamond de Monetania, _F F_.

 Moody, 468.
   Richard Mody, _G_.
   John Mody, _W_ 9.

 Moor, Moore,
   (1), 161.
     Robert le More, _E_.
     John le Moor, _R_.
   (2), 125.
     John atte Mor, _A_.
     Jordan de la Mor, _A_.

 Moorslade, 121.
   William de la Morslade, _R_.

 Moorward, 232.
   German le Morward, _A_.
   Henry le Morward, _B_.

 Morcombe, 125.

 More, 125.
   Adam del More, _M_.
   Oliva ate More, _A_.

 Morefruit, 102.

 Morell, 445.
   Thomas Morel, _A_.
   Ralph Morell, _J_.

 Moretrial, 102.

   Milo de Morlee, _A_.
   Robert de Morlegh, _M_.

 Morris, Morrison, (_v._ Maurice).
   Morice ap-Owen, _X X_.
   Mauricius Capellanus, _C_.
   William Morrison, _W_ 16.

 Mortimer, 151.
   Roger de Mortimer, _A_.
   Hugh de Mortumare, _A_.

 Mountain (_v._ Montaigne), 123.

 Mouse, 492.
   John le Mous, _M_.
   Richard Mowse, _Z_.
   Hugh le Mus, _E_.

 Mower, 256.

 Moyne (_v._ Moigne), 191.

   Henry Mucklebone, _A_.

   Robert Muchulman, _A_.

 Mule, 490.
   Roger le Mul, _J_.

 Munday (_v._ Monday), 63.
   Edward Munday, _F F_.

 Munk, 191.
   Beatrix le Munk, _A_.
   Peter le Munk, _F F_.

 Munn, 191.
   Geoffrey le Moun, _A_.
   Thomas le Mun, _A_.

 Muriel, 19.
   Muriel ad Fontem, _A_.
   Adam fil. Muriel, _T_.

 Musard, 468.
   Malcolm le Musard, _M_.

 Muskett, 493.
   Robert Musket, _A_.
   John Musket, _D_.

 Mussele, 497.
   Nicholas le Musele, _J_.

 Mustarder, 371.
   Richard le Mustarder, _A_.
   Robert le Mustarder, _H_.
   Thomas le Mustarder, _X_.

 Mustardman, 371.
   Peter le Mustardman, _A_.

 Mustardmaker, 371.
   Alicia Mustardmaker, _W_ 2.

 Mute, 468.
   Alan le Mute, _A_.

 Mutter, 441.
   John le Mutare, _A_.

 Mutton, 490.
   Philip le Mutton, _B_.
   Robert Mount, _T_.

 Nail, 112.
   John Nail, _Z_.
   Thomas Naile, _Z_.

 Nailor (_v._ Naylor), 282.
   John Naler, _F_.

 Nalder, 111.
   John Nelder, _H_.
   Alice Attenalre, _J_.

 Nale (_v._ Nail), 112.

 Nall, 111.

 Napery, 215.
   Walter de la Naperye, _L_.

 Napier, 215.
   John le Naper, _A_.
   Robert le Naper, _O_.
   John le Naper, _C_.

 Naples, Lewis of Naples, _O_.

 Napper, 215.
   Jordan le Nappere, _A_.
   Robert Napparius, _E_.

 Nash, 111.
   Sarra Atteneshe, _B_.
   Pagan atte Nash, _B_.
   William atte Nasche, _M_.

 Nasmyth, 282.
   James Nasmite, _W_ 9.
   John Naysmith, _W_ 13.

 Natkin (Nathaniel).
   Robert Natkyn, _F F_.

 Naylor, 282.
   John le Naylere, _R_.
   Stephen le Naylere, _X_.

 Nazareth, 103.
   Nazareth Rudde, _Q Q_.

 Neave (_v._ Neve), 430.
   Robert Neave, _Z_.

 Neck, 435.
   Henry Nekke, _A_.

 Needlemaker, 342.
   John Nedlemakyere, _M_.

 Needler, 342.
   Reginald le Nedlere, _A_.
   Richard le Nedlere, _M_.

 Needyman, 431.
   John le Nedyman, _B_.

 Neele, 73.
   Neel le Bret, _E_.
   Thomas Fitz-neele, _M_.

 Neilson (_v._ Nelson).
   William Neilson, _W_ 11.

 Nell, 73.
   Nel Fawkes, _A_.
   John fil. Nel, _A_.

 Nelmes, 111.

 Nelson, 73.
   John fil. Nel, _A_.
   William Neleson, _H_.
   Thomas Nelson or Neilson, _W_ 11.

 Nend, 115.
   John atte Nende, _B_.
   Christopher Nend, _W_ 11.

 Nephew, 430.
   John Neveu, _A_.
   Richard le Nevu, _E_.
   Elias le Nevou, _DD_.

 Ness (_v._ Nose), 125.

 Nethercliffe, 124.

 Neve, 430.
   Robert le Neve, _M_.
   Walter le Neve, _E_.
   Reyner le Neve, _A_.

 Neville, 151.
   Orme de Neville, _R_.
   Walter de Nevill, _E_.

 New, 145.
   Simon le Neue, _A_.
   Richard le Newe, _A_.

 Newbond, 145, 254 _n_.
   Roger le Newbonde, _A_.
   Emma Newbonde, _A_.

 Newcombe, 125.

 Newcomen, 145.
   Gilbert le Neucomen, _A_.
   Robert le Neucomen, _T_.

 Newlove, 474.

 Newman, 145.
   Richard le Neuman, _A_.
   John le Neuman, _M_.
   Simon le Neweman, _E_.

 Nicholas, 95.
   Nicholas le Chapeler, _T_.
   Nicholas le Hunte, _A_.

 Nichol, Nicholls, Nicholson, 95.
   Henry fil. Nicholei, _M_.
   John Niccolson, _Z Z_.
   Nichol Crump, _V_ 9.

 Nickerson, 95.

 Nicks (_v._ Nix), 95.

 Nickson (_v._ Nixon), 95.

 Nigel (_v._ Neele), 73.
   Simon fil. Nigel, _A_.
   Nigel fil. John, _E_.

 Nightingale, 494.
   Robert Nitingal, _A_.
   Thomas Nightegale, _R_.

 Ninepence, 513.
   John Ninepennies, _W_ 9.

 Nix (_v._ Nicholas), 95.
   Richard Nix, _F F_.
   Joan Nykkes, _F F_.

 Nixon, 95.
   William fil. Nyck, _M_.
   Andrew Nyxson, _W_ 9.

 Noakes (_v._ Nokes), 111.

 Noble, 463.
   Amice le Noble, _A_.
   Hugh le Noble, _M_.

 Noblepas, 440.
   William Noblepas, _M M_.

 Noel (_v._ Nowell), 62.
   Richard Noel, _M_.
   William Noel, _B_.
   Noel de Aubianis, _A_.

 Nokes (_v._ Oakes), 111.
   Richard Attenok, _B_.
   William atte Noke, _X_.
   Richard atte Noke, _P_.

 Norchard (_v._ Orchard), 111.
   Robert atte Norcharde, _M_.
   Richard Atenorchard, _A_.

 Norfolk, 147.
   Thomas de Northfolch, _M_.
   Robert de Northfolk, _A_.

   (1), 158.
     Ralph le Norman, _E_.
     Mathew le Norman, _A_.
   (2), 158.
     Norman de Arcy, _A_.
     Roger fil. Norman, _C_.

 Norrice (_v._ Nurse), 150.
   William Norrice, _Z_.

 Norris, 150, 162.
   Robert le Norys, _B_.
   William le Noreis, _E_.
   Walter le Noreis, _M_.

 North, 150.
   William de Northe, _H_.
   Henry North, _M_.

 Northend, 114.
   Peter de Northende, _A_.
   William Northend, _Z Z_.

 Northern, 150.
   Geoffrey le Northern, _A_.
   Thomas le Northern, _M_.
   John Northeron, _H_.

 Northman, 150.
   William Northman, _A_.
   Robert Northman, _A_.

 Nose, 125.
   Roger atte Ness, _A_.

 Notman (_v._ Nott), 451.
   John Notman, _W_ 11.

 Nott, 451.
   Alice le Notte, _A_.
   Richard le Not, _M_.
   Henry le Not, _J_.

 Noven, 111.
   Thomas atte-Novene, _B_.

 Nowell (_v._ Noel), 62.
   Nowell Harper, _X X_ 1.

 Noyes, 154.

 Nunn, 191.
   Alice le Nonne, _A_.
   Margaret Nunne, _F F_.

 Nurse, 506.
   Maria le Noreyse, _A_.
   Thomas Nurse, _B_.
   Alicia le Noryce, _B_.

 Nutbrown, 445.
   William Nutbrowne, _Z_.
   William Notbrone, _W_ 11.
   George Nutbrowne, _v._ p. 445.

 Nutmaker, 371.
   John Nutmaker, 371 _n_.

 Nutman, 263.
   William Nuteman, _A_.

 Nutt, 154.

 Nuttard, 267.
   Richard le Netehird, _M_.

 Nutter, 263.
   Christopher Nutter, _Z Z_.

 Oake, 128.
   Thomas del Oke, _A_.
   Richard atte Oke, _B_.

 Oakes, 128.
   Roger of the Okes, _M_.
   Philip del Okes, _A_.

 Oakholt, 116.
   William de Okholte, _B_.
   William de Okolt, _A_.

 Oakley, 119.
   Walter de Oclee, _A_.
   Simon de Akelegh, _E_.

 Oakover, 128.
   Roger de Okovere, _M_.
   Alice de Okeovere, _J_.

 Oakshot (_v._ Oakholt), 116.

 Oakslade, 121.
   Michael de Ocslade, _A_.

 Oastler (_v._ Ostler), 290.

 Oatmonger (_v._ Mealmonger), 275.
   Denis le Otemonger, _X_.

 Obedience, 103.
   Obedience Clerk, _Q Q_.

 Oddiker, 134.

   Alan fil. Oger, _E_.
   Roge fil. Oger, _E_.
   Oger fil. Oger, _G G_.

 Offer, Offor, (_v._ Orfevre), 400.
   William le Orfeure, _R_.
   Richard Orfer, _F_.

 Ogden, 118.
   William de Hogdene, _A_.
   John Ogden, _Z Z_.

 Ointer (_v._ Hointer), 386, 263.
   Michael le Oynter, _X_.

 Oker, 113.
   Thomas Oker, _B_.
   Henry Oker, _A_.

 Old (_v._ Ould), 431.

 Oldacre, 134.

 Oldbeof, 500.
   William Oldbeof, _B_.
   Walter Oyldebeof, _X_.

 Oldgroom, 505.
   Henry Eldegrome, _O_.
   John Eldegrom, _O_.

 Oldman, 433.
   Walran Oldman, _A_.
   Richard Oldeman, _M_.

 Oliphant, Olivant, 487.

 Oliver, 38.
   Oliver Crane, _A_.
   Jordan Olyver, _H_.
   Oliver de Eyncurt, _A_.

 Oliverson, 38.
   Philip fil. Oliver, _A_.
   Simon fil. Oliver, _A_.

 Ollier (_v._ Oliver), 38.

 Ollivant, 487.

 Olver (_v._ Oliver), 38.

 Olyfader, 511.

 Onehand, 441.
   William Onhand, _B_.
   John Onehand, _D_.

 Onesiphorus, 102.
   Onesiphorus Kittie, _Q Q_.

 Openshaw, 117.
   Samuel Openshawe, _Z Z_.

 Orbater, 400.
   Walter le Orbater, _A_.

 Orchard, 111, 133.
   John de la Orcharde, _A_.
   Richard atte Orcheyerd, _G_.

 Orcharder, 261.

 Ordeiner, 179 _n_.
   John le Ordeiner, _M_.
   Stephen Ordinar, _M_.

 Orfevre, 400.
   John le Orfevre, _A_.
   Roger le Orfevre, _M_.

 Orfroiser, 346.
   John Orfroiser, _H_.

 Organer, 312.
   Peter le Organer, _M_.
   Adam Orgener, 312 _n_.

 Orger, 312.
   Robert Orger, _M_.
   Matilda Oregare, _A_.

 Orlando (_v._ Roland), 38.

 Orloger, 401.
   Walter Orlogyr, _S_.
   Bartholomew the Orologius.

 Orme, 25.
   William Orm, _A_.
   Ormus Archebragge, _R_.

 Ormerod, 25, 120.
   Peares Armerod, _Z Z_.
   Richard Ormerode, _Z Z_.

 Ormesby, 25.
   Richard Ormesbye, _Z_.
   Henry Ormesby, _Z_.

 Ormeson, 25.
   Alice fil. Orme, _A_.
   Adam fil. Orme, _R_.
   John fil. Orm, _W_ 19.

 Orped, 466.
   Stephen le Horpede, _A_.
   William le Orpede, _A_.

 Orpedman, 466.
   Thomas Orpedeman, _A_.
   Peter Orpedeman, _E_.

 Orphanstrange, 430.
   John Orphanstrange, 430 _n_.

 Osbald, 23.

 Osbert, 23.
   Osbert de Bellebeck, _R_.
   Osbert le Ferrur, _A_.
   William fil. Osbert, _C_.

 Osborne, 23.
   Gerard fil. Oseberne, _A_.
   Osborne le Haukere, _H_.

 Os-ceytl, 24.
   Oscetyl, _v._ p. 24.

 Osgood, John
   Osegod, _A_.
   John Osegode, _R_.

 Oskell (_v._ Osketyl), 25.
   Oskell Somenour, _A A_ 3.

 Osketyl (_v._ Oscetyl), 24.
   Osketyl, p. 24.

 Osler, 290.
   Reginald le Osiler, _T_.
   Godfrey le Hoselur, _A_.

 Osmond, Osmund, 23.
   Nicholas Osemund, _A_.
   Richard Osmund, _M_.

 Ostler (_v._ Osler), 290.
   Ralph le Hostiler, _A_.
   Richard le Hosteler, _M_.
   William le Ostiller, _J_.

 Ostricer (_v._ Astrier), 241.
   Robert le Ostricer, _A_.
   Alan le Ostrizer, _L_.
   William le Ostricer, _T_.

 Oswald, 23.
   John Oswald, _M_.

 Oswin, 23.
   Oswin Ogle, _W_ 9.

 Otter, 489.
   Alan Otere, _A_.
   Edward Oter, _A_.

 Ould, 431.
   John le Olde, _M_.

 Outlaw, 182 _n_.
   William Outlawe, _V_ 9.
   John Outlagh, _M_.
   Richard Utlawe, _A_.

 Over, 127.
   Richard de Overe, _A_.
   Lucas de Overe, _M_.

 Overend, 114, 128.
   William de Overende, _A_.
   Michael de Overende, _A_.

 Overman, 128.

 Owen, 12.
   Richard fil. Owen, _A_.
   Alan Owayn, _A_.

 Oxenden, 118.
   Alice de Oxenden, _B_.
   Ivo de Oxinden, _M_.

 Oxenherd, 267.
   Thomas Oxenhyrde, _W_ 3.
   John Oxenhyrde, _W_ 3.

 Oxherd, 267.
   Peter Oxhird, _W_ 2.

 Oxlee, Oxley, 119.

 Oysiler, 241.
   Walter le Oyselur, _T_.
   William le Oysellur, _E_.
   Idonea le Oyselur, _A_.

 Packer, 298.
   Mathew le Pakkere, _D_.
   Adam le Packer, _M_.
   William le Packere, _J_.

 Packman, 296, 298.
   Agnes Pakeman, _B_.
   Robert Pakeman, _T_.

 Padman, 293.

 Padre, 430.
   Ralph le Padre, _M_.

 Pagan, 33.
   Pagan a la Legh, _A_.
   Pagan de la Hale, _A_.
   Roger fil. Pagan, _A_.

 Page, 215.
   John le Page, _M_.
   William le Page, _B B_.

 Paillard, 479.

 Pain, Paine, (_v._ Pagan), 33.
   Robert fil. Pain, _A_.
   Pain del Ash, _M_.
   Robert Pain, _E_.

 Painter, 251.
   William le Painter, _M_.
   Henry le Peintur, _E_.

 Palfrey, 490.
   Thomas Palfrei, _A_.
   Richard Palefray, _A_.

 Palfreyer, 220, 285.
   Gill Palfreur, _A_.
   Roger le Palefreyour, _W_ 2.

 Palfreyman, 220, 285.
   John le Palfreyman, _M_.
   Robert Palfreyman, _A_.

 Palfriman (_v._ Palfreyman), 220, 285.
   Clement Palfryman, _F F_.

 Pallard, 479.

 Pallet, 459.

 Palliser, 258.
   John Pallyser, _W_ 9.
   Thomas Palysar, _W_ 9.

 Pallister, 258.
   William Pallyster, _W_ 9.
   John Palyster, _W_ 9.
   Robert Paylyster, _W_ 11.

 Palmer, 195.
   Hervey le Palmer, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Palmere, _B_.
   John le Paumer, _M_.

 Pannier, 368.
   Simon le Pannier, _F F_.
   Jordan Pannare, _A_.
   Editha Panier, _A_.

 Panter, Panther, Pantler, 210.
   Richard le Paneter, _C_.
   Robert le Panter, _A_.
   Geoffrey le Paneter, _G_.

 Pantry, 136, 210.
   John de la Paneterie, _A_.
   Henry de la Paneterie, _M_.

 Panyer, 368.
   Robert le Pannere, _H_.
   Amisius Panarius, _A_.
   Richard Panyere, _H_.

 Panyman, 368.
   Godfrey Panyman, _H_.

 Pape, 173.
   Hugh le Pape, _J_.
   William le Pape, _T_.

 Parchmenter, 405.
   William Parchmentar, _P P_.

 Parchmyner, 405.
   John le Parchmyner, _B_.
   Hamo le Parchemener, _L_.
   Christiana le Parchemyner, _G_.
   Geoffrey le Parcheminer, _J_.

 Pardew, 510.
   John Pardieu, _H_.

 Pardie (_v._ Pardew), 510.

 Pardoe (_v._ Pardew), 510.

 Pardoner, 195.
   Walter le Pardoner, _M_.
   Thomas Pardoner, _O_.

 Pardow (_v._ Pardew), 510.

 Parent, 430.
   John Parent, _A_.
   William Parent, _P_.

 Parfay (_v._ Purefoy), 467.
   Geoffrey Parfay, _H_.
   Eudo Parfey, _A_.

 Parfitt, 467.
   Robert Parfyte, _B_.
   Robert Parfite, _H_.

 Pargeter, Pargiter, 250.
   William Pargeter, _Z_.
   Robert Pergiter, _Z_.
   Elizabeth Pergetor, _F F_.

   John de Parys, _B_.
   Simon de Paris, _M_.

 Parke, 231.
   Roger atte Parke, _M_.
   John del Parc, _A_.

 Parker, 231.
   Hamo le Parkere, _B_.
   Robert le Parkere, _G_.
   Adam le Parkere, _M_.

 Parkes, 89.
   Edward Parkes, _Z_.
   John Parkes, _Z_.

 Parkin, Parkins, 89.
   William Parkyns, _H_.
   John Parkynne, _F F_.

 Parkinson, 89.
   Ann Parkinson, _W_ 9.
   Roger Parkinson, _Z_.
   James Parkyngson, _W_ 3.

 Parkman, 231.

   Richard Parlebien, _M_.
   Hervey Parleben, _A_.

 Parlour, 136.
   Henry del Parlur, _B_.
   Richard ate Parlur, _M_.
   William Parlour, _W_ 19.

 Parmenter, Parminter, 339.
   Geoffrey le Parmunter, _A_.
   Saher le Parmentier, _H_.
   Hamo le Parmenter, _T_.

 Parmiter, 339.
   William le Parmeter, _M_.
   Richard le Parmuter, _A_.

 Parnall, Parnell, (_v._ Petronilla), 19, 66.
   Parnel de la Le, _A_.
   Parnell Cotton, _Z_.

 Parr, 88.

 Parramore, 477.
   Roger Paramour, _M_.
   Henry Parramore, _Z_.

 Parrat, 88, 494.
   William Parrat, _Z_.
   Ralph Parratt, _Z_.

 Parrott, 88, 494.
   John Parrott, _Z_.
   Alice Parrott, _Z_.
   John Parot, _W_ 11.

 Parry, 51.
   Thomas ap-Harry, _D_.

   Hugh ap-Harrye, _Z_.
   Watkin ap-Parry, _Z_.

   (1), 88.
     Robert Parson, _V_ 10.
     John Paressone, _F F_.
   (2), 187.
     William Persona, _A_.
     Walter le Persone, _H_.

 Partrick, 494.
   William Partricke, _Z_.

 Partridge, 494.
   Richard Partriche, _A_.
   Ancelm Partrich, _M_.

 Pascal, 62.
   Pascall Sloman, _Z_.
   Pascal the Physician, _O_.

 Paschal, 62.
   Paschal Balistarius, _E_.
   Paschal de Arnold, _H_.

 Paschal-Lamb, 509.

 Pascheson (_v._ Paschal).
   Antony Pascheson, _F F_.
   Hugh fil. Pasche, _A_.

 Pash, 62.
   John Passhe, _F_.
   Hugh fil. Pasche, _A_.

 Pask, Paske, 62.
   Alice Pascke, _F F_.
   Paskinus Mercator, _C_.
   John Pask, _A_.

 Passavant, 218.
   Roger Passavant, _E_.
   William Passavaunt, _H_.

 Pastemaker, 364.
   Gregory le Pastemakere, _X_.
   John le Pastemakere, _M_.

 Paternoster, 341.
   William le Paternoster, _X_.
   John Paternoster, _A_.

 Patience, 103.
   Edward Patience, _Q Q_.

 Patient, 463.

 Pattener, 352.
   Robert Patener, _W_ 11.

 Pattenmaker, 352.
   James Patynmakere, _S_.

 Paul, 96.
   Paulinus de Bointon, _A_.

 Paulett, 97.
   John Paulett, _H_.
   Anne Pawlett, _Z_.

 Paulson, 97.

 Pauper, 430.
   Mathew le Pauper, _A_.
   William le Pauper, _A_.

 Pavier, 278, _n_.
   Gerard le Pavier, _E_.

 Pawlett, 97.
   Isabel Pawlett, _B_.
   Amys Pawlet, _H_.

 Pawson, 96.
   William Pavison, _V_
   William Pawson, _W_ 13.

 Paxman, 298.
   Roger Paxman, _F F_.

 Payn, Payne, 33.
   Payen le Doubbour, _N_.
   Payn le Fitz-waryn, _M_.
   Elis le Fitz-payn, _M_.

 Paynett, Paynot, (_v._ Payn), 33.
   John Paynett, _Z_.
   Henry Paynot, _A_.
   Emma Paynot, _W_ 2.

 Paynter, 251.
   Roger le Peyntur, _T_.
   Walter le Peyntur, _J_.

 Pe (_v._ Peacock), 493.
   Richard le Pe, _A_.

 Peacock, 144, 493.
   Henry Pecock, _A_.
   John Pekok, _H_.

 Peachman, 261.
   Daniel Peachman, _F F_.

 Pearce (_v._ Piers), 88.
   Robert Pearce, _Z_.

 Pearman, 261.
   Antony Pereman, _Z_.

 Pears, (_v._ Piers), 88.
   Peares Armerod, _Z Z_.
   John Pears, _Z_.

 Pearse (_v._ Piers), 88.
   Pearse Clement, _Z_.
   Pearse Edgcombe, _Z_.

 Pearson, 88.
   Edward Pereson, _F_.
   John Peyrson, _F_.
   John Peresone, _H_.

 Peascod, 333 _n_., 485.
   Godwin Pescodde, _F F_.
   Nicholas Pescodde, _Z_.

 Peate, 432.

 Pecheress, 274.
   Agnes la Pecheresse, _A_.

 Pecheur, 274.
   Walter le Pecheur, _A_.

 Pecimer (_v._ Pessoner).
   Ralf le Pecimer, _F F_.

 Peckbean, 483.
   William Peckebene, _A_.

 Peckbone, 483.
   Thomas Pikebone, _W_ 11.

 Peckcheese, 483.
   Alice Peckechese, _A_.

 Pecksniff, 483.

 Peckweather, 483.
   Ralph Peckewether, _A_.

 Peddar, Pedder, 293.
   Martin le Peddere, _A_.
   Hugh le Pedder, _M_.

 Pedifer, 437.
   Bernard Pedefer, _G_.
   Fulbert Pedefer, _X_.
   William Pedefer, _E_.

 Pedlar, Pedler, 293.
   William Pedeleure, _M_.
   Thomas le Pedeler, _DD_.

 Pedman, 293.
   William Pedman (Pipe Roll. Ric. 1).

   (1), 452.
     Thomas le Pele, _M_.
     Hugh le Pele, _T_.
   (2), 452.
     Roger of the Peele, 452 _n_.
     Robart of ye Peele, 452 _n_.

 Peers (_v._ Piers), 88.
   Richard Peers, _F_.
   Alice Peres, _H_.

   Isabella Peersdoghter, _W_ 15.
   Isolda Peersdoghter, _W_ 15.

 Peerson (_v._ Pearson), 88.
   Thomas Peerson, _F_.
   Laurence Perysson, _H_.

 Peile (_v._ Peel), 452.

 Peirs (_v._ Piers), 88.

 Peirson (_v._ Pearson), 88.
   William Peirson.

 Peiser (_v._ Poyser), 411.

 Pelerin, 195.
   Simon Pellerin, _A_.
   William le Pelerin, _E_.

 Pelkeshank, 438.
   Thomas Pelkeshanke, _X_.

 Pelliper, 345.
   Joan Pellipar, _F F_.
   Miles Pellipare, _A_.
   Simon Pelliparius, _A_.

 Pelter, 345.
   Adam le Peleter, _A_.
   John le Peleter, _G_.
   Reyner le Peleter, _M_.

 Pender, 235.
   William le Pendere, _N_.

 Penfold, 132.
   Agnes atte Punfald, _A_.

 Pennigar, Penniger, 200.
   Thomas le Penniger, _E_.
   William le Pennager, _E_.

 Penny, 513.
   Robert Peny, _M_.
   Richard Peny, _H_.

 Pennyfather, 482.
   Robert Penifader, _R_.
   Richard Penifadir, _A_.
   Roger Penyfader, _X_.

 Pennypurse, 482.
   Aluric Penipurs (Domesday).

 Penry (_v._ Parry), 51.
   John Ap-Henry, 51 _n_.

 Pentecost, 62.
   Pentecost de London, _E_.
   Pentecost Serviius, _E_.
   John Pentecost, _A_.

 Pepper, 371.
   John le Peper, _H_.
   Martin Peper, _A_.

 Peppercorn, 485.
   Geoffrey Peppercorn, _A_.

 Percy, 151.
   Henry de Percy, _A_.
   William de Percy, _A_.

 Perfect (_v._ Parfitt), 463.

 Perfect-Sparrow, 508.

 Perkes, Perks, (_v._ Perkins), 88.
   Edmund Perke, _F F_.
   Thomas Perkes, _Z_.

 Perkins, 88.
   Perkin Snode, _Z_.
   Perekin de Camera, _E_.
   Adam Perkyn, _H_.

 Perkinson, 88.
   Robert Perkynson, _F_.
   William Perkinson, _W_ 9.

 Perler, 341.
   Thomas le Perler, _X_.
   William Pirler, _W_ 2.

 Pernell (_v._ Parnell), 66.
   Pernel Clere, _A_.
   Pernell Boulton, _Z_.

 Perot (_v._ Perrott), 89 _n_.

 Perrer, 261.
   Josceus le Perrer, _E_.
   William le Perier, _E_.

 Perret, 89.
   Simon Peret, _M_.
   Thomas Perret, _H_.

 Perriman, 261.
   William Peryman, _A_.
   Arthur Peryman, _Z_.

 Perren, Perrin, 16, 89.
   Peryn, _A A_ 2.

 Perrott, 89.
   Perot Gruer, _H_.
   Henry Perot, _M_.

 Pessoner, 376.
   William le Pessoner, _A_.
   Henry le Pessoner, _C_.
   Richard le Pessoner, _M_.

 Pessur, 274.
   Richard le Pessur, _A_.
   Hugh le Pesour, _J_.
   Godard le Pescher, _T_.

 Pestur, 364.
   Herman le Pestur, _A_.
   Walter le Pestur, _B_.
   Richard le Pestour, _M_.

 Peter, 88.
   Peter fil. Warin, _M_.
   Herebert fil. Petri, _T_.

 Peterkin (_v._ Perkin), 88.

 Peterson, 88.
   Walter fil. Peter, _A_.
   Adam fil. Petri, _C_.

   Walter Peticurteis, _A_.
   William Petitkorteys, _A_.

 Petifer (_v._ Pedifer), 437.
   William Pettifer, _F F_.

 Petitjean (_v._ Littlejohn), 503.

 Petitpas, 440.
   John Petypase, _W_ 11.
   Thomas Petitpas, _M M_.

 Petitsire, 507.
   Warin Petitsire, _K_.

 Petronilla, 19, 66.
   Simon fil. Petronille, _A_.
   Nicholas fil. Petronelle, _C_.
   Petronil le Saucer, _G_.

 Pettifer (_v._ Pedifer), 437.

 Pettitt, 432.
   Hamo le Petit, _A_.
   Emma la Petite, _T_.
   Richard le Petit, _C_.

 Pettovine, 159.
   Peter le Pettovin, _B_.
   Robert le Peytevine, _N_.

 Petty, Pettye, 432.
   Simon Pette, _A_.
   Hugh Pety, _A_.

 Petyclerk, 508.
   Richard Petyclerk, _M_.
   William Peticlerk, _H_.
   John Peticlerk, _W_ 2.

   Richard Petygard, _F F_.

 Petyson (_v._ Peterson), 88.
   William Petyson, _F F_.

 Pewter, Pewterer, Pewtrer, 392.
   Henry Pewterer, _Z Z_.
   William Peuterere, _S_.

 Pheasant, 494.
   William Phesant, _Z_.
   James Phesaunte, _Z Z_.
   Robert Fesant, _A_.

 Phelps (_v._ Philps), 90.
   John Phelpes, _Z_.

 Philcox, 90.

 Philemon, 100.
   Philemon Powell, _T T_.

 Philip, Philips, 90.
   John Phelip, _M_.
   Sibill fil. Philippi, _T._
   Philip le Grant, _T._

 Philipson, 90.
   Thomas fil. Philip, _M_.
   Christofer Philipson, _Z Z_.

 Phillot, 90.

 Phillpot (_v._ Philpot), 90.

 Philps (_v._ Philips), 90.
   John Philpe, _Z_.

 Philpot, 90.
   Thomas Phylypotte, _B_.
   John Philipot, _N_.
   John Philypot, _H_.

 Phipps, Phipson, 90.
   William Phippes, _H_.
   Thomas Phippes, _Z_.

 Picard, Pickard, 159.
   Milo Pichard, _M_.
   Colin le Picart, _B B_.
   Baldwin Pickard, _A_.

 Pickavant (_v._ Prikeavant), 450.

 Pickerell, 497.
   German Pikerel, _H_.
   Sabina Pikerel, _A_.

 Picot (_v._ Pigott).

 Pidgeon, 494.
   Richard Pigun, _A_.
   Honore Pidgeon, _Z_.

 Pierce, 88.
   Pierse Lloyd, _Z_.
   Pierce Butler, _Z_.

 Piers, 88.
   Pierres de Belegrave, _M_.
   Piers Emerik, _H_.

 Pierson, 88.
   John Pierson, _F_.
   Mathew Pierson, _H_.

 Pigg, 491.
   John Pyg, _H_.
   Walter Pigge, _A_.

 Pigman, 270.
   Jordan Pigman (Pipe Roll. Ric. I.).
   John Pegeman, _A_.

   Peter Pykot, _R_.
   Robert Pigot, _A_.

 Pigsflesh, 499.
   Reyner Piggesflesh, _M_.

 Pike, 459, 497.
   Richard Pyke, _M_.
   Randal Pike, _Z Z_.

 Pikeman, 222.
   Thomas Pikeman, _R_.
   Giles Pykeman, _X_.

 Pilate (_v._ Pilot).

 Pilchard, 497.
   Robert Pilchard, _Y_.

 Pilcher, 345.
   Hugh le Pilecher, _A_.
   John Pilcher, _G_.

 Pilgrim, 195.
   John Pilegrim, _A_.
   Alice Pilgrim, _Z_.

   Iveta Pilate, _J_.
   William Pilot, _J_.
   Walter Pilat, _A_.


 Pinchpenny, 482.

 Pinchshoe, 440.
   Thomas Pinchshu, _A_.

 Pindar, Pinder, 235.
   John le Pinder, _E_.
   Henry le Pynder, _M_.
   John le Pindere, _T_.

 Pinfold (_v._ Penfold), 132.

 Pinner, 320, 342.
   Andrew le Pynner, _G_.
   Walter le Pinner, _X_.

 Pinnick, Pinnock, 495.
   John Pynnok, _G_.
   Richard Pinnoc, _A_.

 Pinsemaille, 483.

 Pinson, 34.
   Elias fil. Pagani, _M_.
   Robert Pynson, _H_.
   John Penyson, _V_ 11.
   William Penison, _V_ 3.

 Piper, 309.
   Robert le Pipere, _M_.
   Richard le Pipere, _M_.
   Arnald le Pyper, _P_.

 Pitkins, 90.

   Robert in the Pyt, _M_.
   Nicholas de la Putte, _A_.

 Plaister, Plaisterer, Plaster, 250.
   John le Cementarius, _B_.
   Adam le Plastier, _X_.
   Joanna Plaisterer, _W_ 13.
   William Plaisterer, _W_ 13.

 Plastow, 132.
   Robert atte Pleistowe, _A_.
   Nicolas de la Pleystowe, _A_.

 Plater, 223.
   Anna Playter, _V_.
   Walter Playter, _A_.

 Platfoot, 440.
   Margaret Platfoot, _F F_.

   (1), 122.
     Roger del Plat, _J_.
     Roger le Plat, _H_.

 Player, 305.
   Arthur Player, _Z_.

 Playfair, 475.
   William Plaifare, _W_ 9.

 Pleader, 180.
   Alured le Pledur, _T_.
   Henry le Pleidour, _A_.

 Plow, 144.
   John Plu, _A_.
   John Plough, _F F_.

 Plowday, 63.
   William Plouday, _A_.

 Plowman, 256.
   John le Plouman, _A_.
   John le Ploghman, _A_.

 Plowright, 277.
   William le Plowritte, _A_.
   William le Ploughwryte, _M_.
   Catharine Ploughwright, _W_ 2.

 Plowstaff, 462.
   Thomas Ploghstaf, _W_ 11.

 Pluckrose, 485.
   Roger Pluckrose.

   John le Plumber, _O_.

 Plumer, 336.
   Peter le Plomer, _M_.
   Eleyn Plomier, _H_.
   Mariot le Plumer, _T_.

 Plummer, 336.
   Simon le Plummer, _O_.
   Walter Plummer, _Z_.

 Plumptree, Plumtree, 129

 Plunket, 454.

 Pockred, 445.
   Thomas Pockred, _A_.

 Pocock, 493.
   William Pocock, _M_.
   Geoffrey Pococ, _A_.

 Poer, 430.
   Arnald le Poer, _M_.
   Walter le Poer, _E_.
   Nicholas le Poer, _A_.

 Poignant, 465.
   Gilbert Poygnant, _J_.

 Pointdexter, 511.
   J. Poyndexter, 511 _n_.

 Pointer, 347.
   John le Poyntour, _B_.
   Robert le Poyntour, _T_.

 Pointmaker, 347.
   William Poyntmakere, _S_.

 Pollard, 451.
   Henry Pollard, _M_.
   William Polard, _A_.

 Pollinger (_v._ Bollinger), 364.
   William Pallinger, _Z_.

 Pollitt (_v._ Paulett), 97.
   James Polet, _O_.

 Polson (_v._ Powlson), 80, 96.

   Sewal atte Ponde, _M_.
   Thomas atte Ponde, _B_.

 Pontifex, 173.

 Pontiff, 174.
   Richard Puntif, _A_.

 Poore, 430.
   Roger le Povere, _A_.
   William le Poure, _B_.
   Robert le Poor, _R_.

 Poorfish, 500.
   John Pourfisshe, _M_.

 Pope, 173.
   Hugh le Pope, _A_.
   Alan le Pope, _A_.

 Popgay, Popingay, Popinjay, 228, 494.
   Robert Popingeay, _F F_.
   Richard Popingay, _T T_.

 Popkins (_v._ Hopkins).
   Hopkyn ap Popkin, _Z_.

 Poplett, 475.

 Poppett, 475.

 Porcher, 270.
   Emma la Porcher, _A_.
   Roger la Porcher, _B_.
   Gilbert le Porcher, _H_.

 Pork, 491.
   John Pork, _M_.

 Porkeller, 270.
   Geoffrey le Porkuiller, _E_.

 Porker, 270.
   John le Porker, _A_.
   Thomas le Porkere, _A_.

   Charles le Port, _B B_.
   Oliva le Port, _B B_.

 Porter, 204.
   Alan le Porteur, _E_.
   Albin le Portour, _N_.
   Wybert le Porteur, _L_.

 Portgreeve (_v._ Portreeve), 233.

 Porthorse, 490.
   John Portehors, _V_ 8.
   Ralph Portehors, _V_ 8.

   Christina Portman, _B_.
   William Portman, _H_.

 Portreeve, 233.
   William le Portreve, _A_.
   Augustin le Portreve, _A_.

 Portwine, 159.
   Presiosa Potewyne, _A_.
   Henry le Poytevin, _J_.
   Peter le Pettevin, _L_.

 Potipher (_v._ Pedifer), 437.

 Potkin, 90.
   Thomas Potkin, _H H_.

 Potman, 393.
   Thomas Potman, _F F_.
   Henry Poteman, _H_.

 Potter, 393.
   Ranulph le Poter, _A_.
   Walter le Potere, _N_.
   Adam le Potter, _M_.

 Potticary, 382.
   William Apotecarius, _A_.

 Pottinger, 207.
   Robert le Potager, _G_.
   Walter le Potager, _M_.
   John Potenger, _F_.

 Potts, 90, 144.
   Roger Potts, _W_ 16.
   Deborah Potts, _W_ 16.

 Poucher, 348, 398.
   Henry Poucher, _B_.

 Pouchmaker, 348, 397.
   William Pouchemaker, _H_.
   Agnes Pouchemaker, _W_ 2.

 Poulet (_v._ Paulett), 97.

 Poulter (_v._ Pulter), 376.

 Pounder, 235.
   Richard le Pundere, _T_.
   William le Pondere, _A_.

 Poundsend, 114.
   John de Poundesend, _D_.

   Richard le Pertriur, _W_ 4.
   Geoffrey le Purtreour, _X_.

 Powell, 13, 97.
   Elizabeth Ap-Howell, _B_.
   John Ap-Howell, _D_.
   John Ap-Powell, _F_.

 Power, 430.
   Thomas le Power, _B_.
   William le Povere, _H_.
   Walter le Powere, _M_.

 Powlett (_v._ Paulett), 97.

 Powlson, 96.
   Geoffray Poulson, _Z_.
   Alberte Powlson, _Z_.
   James Poulson, _W_ 16.

 Poyntel, 401.
   John Poyntel, _X_.
   Roger Poyntel, _X_.

 Poynter (_v._ Pointer), 347.
   Thomas le Poyntour, _M_.
   Vasse le Poyntur, _A_.

 Poyser, 411.
   Josceus le Peisur, _DD_.

 Prail, 154.
   William de Prahell, _E_.

 Praise-God-barebones, 102.

 Prall (_v._ Prail), 154.

 Preacher, 191.
   Thomas le Prechur, _T_.
   John le Precheur, _A_.
   Jacob Preacher, _W_ 20.

 Preece, 12.
   Hopkin ap Rees, _C_.
   Robert Prees, _H_.

 Prentice, Prentis, 382.
   William le Prentiz, _G_.
   Nicholas Apprenticius, _G_.

 Prest, 467.
   Peter le Prest, _M_.
   Walter le Prest, _H_.

 Prester, 187.
   Joseus Presbiter, _B_.
   Thomas le Prestre, _A_.
   Richard le Presture, _F F_.

 Prettiman, 443.
   William Prettiman, _F F_.
   Katharine Prettyman, _Z_.

 Pretty, 443.
   Edmond Prettie, _Z_.
   Thomas Prettye, _Z_.

 Prevost (_v._ Provost), 185.

 Prew, 466.
   William le Prue, _B_.

 Price, 12.
   Philip ap Rys, _C_.
   Lodovicus Apprise, _F_.
   John Apryce, _F_.

 Prickadvance (_v._ Prikeavant), 450.

 Prickett, 489.
   Richard Priket, _M_.

   John Prikehering, _A_.

 Pricktoe, 440.
   Peter Pricktoe, _M_.

 Pride, 464, 476.
   Richard Pride, _T_.
   Roger Pryde, _R_.

 Pridham, 477.
   William Prodhomme, _R_.
   Peter Prodhomme, _A_.

 Priest (_v._ Prest), 187.
   Thomas Preest, _A_.

 Priestman, 187.
   Robert Prestman, _A_.
   George Prestman, _W_ 9.

 Priestson, 65.
   William le Prestessone, _G_.
   Simon fil. Presbiter, _A_.

 Prikeavant, 450.
   William Prikeavant, _A_.
   Simon Prickadvance (Lower’s Dic.)

 Primate, 187.
   William Primate, _F F_.

 Primrose, 485.
   Richard Primerose, _F F_.
   Robert Primerose, _F F_.

 Prince, 174.
   Ellice Prince, _Z_.
   Jeffrey Prynce, _Z_.

 Prior, 191.
   Roger le Priour, _B_.
   Richard le Prior, _A_.
   William le Priur, _E_.

 Priorman, 188.
   Symon Priorman, _W_ 15.
   Agnes Priorman, _W_ 18.

 Pritchard, 12.
   John Aprichard, _F_.
   Ivo Ap-Richard, _G_.

 Probert, 12, 39.
   Lloyd ap-Robert, _Z Z_.
   Ellice ap-Robert, _Z_.

 Probyn, 39.
   William ap Robyn, _H_.
   William Ap-robyn, _X X_ 1.

   William le Procurator, _R_.
   John le Procuratour, _D_.

 Prodger, 12, 40.
   Roger Aproger, _Z Z_.

 Properjohn, 46, 503.

   John Prophete, _V_ 2.

 Prosser, 13.
   David ap-Rosser, _F_.
   Robert ap-Rosser, _H_.
   John Approsser, _Z_.

 Proud, 464, 476.
   Hugh le Proud, _A_.
   Robert le Proude, _DD_.
   Lewis Prowd, _V_ 7.

 Proudfoot, 440, 464, 476.
   Robert Prudefot, _A_.
   William Proudfot, _H_.

 Proudman, 476.

 Proudlove, 476.
   Peter Proudlove, _F F_.
   George Proudelove, _Z Z_.

 Prout, 476.
   Thomas le Prute, _A_.
   John le Prute, _H_.
   Cristina le Prute, _A_.

 Proutpiere, 504.
   William Proutepiere, _M_.

 Provence, Province, 159.

 Provis, Provost, 185.
   Geoffrey le Provost, _H_.
   Walter le Provost, _J_.

 Provostson, 65.
   Robert fil. Provost, _T_.

 Pruce, 163.
   Hugh le Pruz, _M_.
   William le Pruz, _J_.

 Prudame (_v._ Pridham), 477.

 Prude, 464, 476.
   Elias le Prude, _A_.
   William le Prude, _T_.

 Pruden, 477.

 Prudence, 103.
   Richard Prudence, _F F_.
   Prudence Spenser, _W_ 14.

 Prudhomme, 477, 507.
   John Prudhome, _A_.
   William Prodhomme, _H_.
   John Prudhome, _M_.

 Prujean, 46, 503.
   Anne Prujean, _V_ 10.
   Francis Prujan, _V_ 5.

 Pryor (_v._ Prior), 191.
   Robert Pryer, _A_.

 Pudding, 431.
   Peter Pudding, _A_.
   Henry Pudding, _X_.

 Pugh, 12.
   Morice Apew, _H_.

 Puigneur, Puinnur, 320.
   Robert le Puigneur, _C_.
   William le Pugneor, _C_.
   Robert le Puinnur, _E_.

 Pulter, 376.
   Osbert le Puleter, _A_.
   Adam le Poleter, _M_.

 Pumphrey, 12.
   John ap Houmfrey, _Z_.
   Humfrey ap Humfrey, _Z_.

   Roger Punch, _T_.
   Robert Punche, _A_.

 Punshon, 144.
   Elizabeth Puncheon, _W_ 13.

 Purcell, 491.
   John Purcel, _M_.
   Roger Purcell, _J_.

 Purefoy, 467.
   Arthur Purejoy, _F F_.

 Puregold, 428.
   Margaret Puregold, _F F_.

 Purfey (_v._ Purefoy), 467.

 Purser, 348, 398.
   William Purser, _D_.
   Robert le Pursere, _G_.

   Thomas Pursevaunt, _V_ 7.
   Faulcon Pursevaunt, _X X_ 1.

 Puttinger (_v._ Pottinger).
   Robert Pewtinger, _Z_.

 Puttock, 493.
   Richard Puttak, _A_.
   Letice Puttoc, _A_.

 Pyatt, 494.

 Pycard (_v._ Picard), 159.
   Henry Pykard, _M_.
   Roger Pycard, _H_.

 Pye, 494.
   William Pye, _M_.
   John le Pie, _A_.

 Pyebaker, 364.
   Andrew le Pyebakere, _X_.

 Pyet, Pyett, 494.

 Pylch, 457.
   Symon Pylche, _A_.

 Pyletok, 457.
   Thomas Pyletok, _A_.

 Quaint, 471, 507.
   Margaret le Coynte, _B_.
   Richard le Queynte, _B_.
   Michael le Queynt, _M_.

 Quarrier, 249.
   Adam le Quarreur, _M_.
   Hugh le Quareur, _A_.

 Quarterman, 437.
   Guy Quatreman, _B_.
   Richard Catermayn, _H_.
   Thomas Quatermains, _M_.

 Quatrefages, 129.

 Queen, 174.
   Matilda le Quen, _A_.
   Simon Quene, _A_.

 Queenmay 176 _n_.
   Warin le Quene-may, _E_.

 Querdelynn, 499.
   Ralph Querdelynn, _T_.
   William Querdelion, _X_.

 Quick, 465.
   Robert Quic, _A_.
   Richard Quicke, _Z_.

 Quickly, 465.

 Quickman, 465.
   Adam Quikeman, _A_.
   Thomas Quikman, _M_.

 Quilter, 358.
   Egidius le Quylter, _J_.
   Thomas le Queylter, _T_.
   Richard le Quilter, _A_.

 Quiltmaker, 358.
   John Quyltemaker, _H_.

 Raff (_v._ Ralf), 36.
   Amice Raffe, _A_.
   Raffe Barton, _Z_.

 Raffman, 355.
   John Raffman, 356.

 Raffson (_v._ Raff), 36.
   Peter Raffson, _Z Z_.

 Ragg, 431.

 Ragged, Raggett, 431.
   Robert le Ragidde, _A_.
   Thomas le Raggede, _B_.

   Richard Ragman, _A_.

 Rain, 495.
   Robert le Rain, _J_.
   William le Rain, _J_.

 Raines, Rains, 169.
   Richard de Rennes, _B_.
   William de Rainis, _E_.

 Rakestraw, 483.
   William Rakestraw, _W_ 11.

 Ralf, Ralph, 36.
   Ralph le Gras, _B_.
   Ralph fil. Ivo, _T_.
   John Radulfus, _A_.

   (1), 145, 485.
     Thomas atte Ram, _N_.
     Hugh de Ram, _A_.
   (2), 485.
     Geoffrey le Ram, _A_.
     Jocelin le Ram, _T_.

 Ramage, 484.
   William Ramage, _B_.

 Ramsden, 118.
   Geoffrey de Ramesden, _A_.
   Adam de Rammesdene, _A_.

 Ramshaw, 117.
   William Ramshaw (Court of High Com. Sur. Soc.).
   John Ramshaw, _W_ 16.

 Randle, Randall, (_v._ Ralph), 37.
   Randal Wylmyslow, _V_ 11.
   Randle de la Mill, _A_.
   Randulf Cissor, _A_.

 Ranger, 232.
   Francis Ranger, _Z_.
   Robert Ranger, _Z_.

 Rankin, 41.
   Gilbert Renekyn, _A_.
   Richard Reynkyn, _H_.

 Ranson (_v._ Rankin), 41.
   Thomas Ranson, _W_ 20.

 Raper (_v._ Roper), 399.
   William Raper, _W_ 9.

 Rapkin, 37.

 Rapson, 37.
   John Rapson, _Z_.

 Rascal, 488.
   John Raskele, _H_.
   Henry Rascall, _Z_.
   Maria Rascall, _R R_ 1.

   Roger le Resh, _F F_.

 Ratcliffe, 124.
   Richard de Radeclive, _R_.
   William de Radeclive, _A_.

 Ratt, 493.
   Walter le Rat, _J_.
   Nicholas le Rat, _A_.

 Rattlebag, 501.
   John Rattilbagge, _A_.

 Raton, 493.
   Ralph Ratun, _A_.

 Raven, 494.
   John Raven, _B_.
   Alexander Raven, _H_.

 Rawes, 37.
   Roger Rawe, _Z_.
   Humfrey Rawe, _Z_.

 Rawkins, 37.
   Joane Rawkyns, _Z_.
   Walter Rawkyns, _Z_.

 Rawlings, Rawlins, 37.
   Raulyn de la Fermerie, _M_.
   Raulina de Briston, _F F_.
   Raulinus Bassett, _E_.

 Rawlingson, Rawlinson, 37.
   Robert Rawlyngson, _Z Z_.
   John Rawlynson, _F_.

 Rawson, 37.
   John Rawson, _F_.
   Dionysia Rawson, _W_ 2.

 Ray, 488.
   Reginald le Raye, _A_.
   Philip le Rey, _E_.

 Rayden, 118.

 Reade, 445.
   Roger le Rede, _C_.
   Adam le Rede, _H_.

 Reader, 247.
   William le Redere, _X_.
   Emma le Redere, _A_.

   Richard le Receyvour, _A A_ 3.
   Ric le Recevour, _W_ 15.

 Red, 445.
   William le Red, _N_.
   Isabel le Red, _A_.

 Redbeard, 449.
   Alexander Redbeard, 449 _n_.

 Redclerk, 506.
   John le Redeclerk, _V_ 9.

 Redcliffe, 124.
   Thomas de Radcliff, _H_.

 Redhead, 447.
   John Redheved, _A_.
   William Redehead, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Readhead, _W_ 20.

 Redherring, 500.
   William Redherring, _M_.

 Redking, 505.
   Richard Redeking, _A_.
   Walter Redeking, _A_.

 Redman, 445.
   Robert Redeman, _A_.
   John Redman, _A_.
   Brian Redman, _W_ 16.

 Redmayne, 125.
   William Redmaine, _W_ 16.
   Adam de Redmayne, _H_.

 Redness, 125.
   John Redness, _W_ 9.
   Thomas Redness, _W_ 2.

 Redsmith (_v._ Rodesmith), 281.

 Reece (_v._ Rees), 12.

 Reed, 445.
   Hamo le Rede, _A_.
   Amabilla la Rede, _A_.

 Rees, 12.
   Hopkin ap Rees, _C_.
   Henry fil. Reys, _A_.
   Rees ap Howell, _M_.

 Reeve, 233.
   John le Reve, _M_.
   Sager le Reve, _H_.
   Thomas le Reve, _J_.

 Reformation, 102.

 Reginald, 18, 41.
   Roysia fil. Reginald, _A_.
   Reginald le Porter, _J_.

 Reid (_v._ Reade), 445.

 Religious, 190.
   Walter le Religieuse, _E_.

 Renard (_v._ Reynard), 41, 489.

   (1), 41.
     Adam fil. Reinaud, _A_.
     Renaud Balistarius, _C_.
   (2), 489.
     John le Renaud, _H_.

 Rennison (_v._ Reynerson), 41.
   Anne Rennison, _W_ 14.
   Thomas Rennison, _W_ 20.
   William Renyson, _F_.

 Repentance, 103.
   Repentance Tompson, _Q Q_.

 Replenish, 103.
   Replenish French, 103.

 Reuter, 201.
   Thomas le Reuter, _H_.
   Ranulph le Ruter, _J_.
   Adam le Ruter, _E_.

 Revetour, 189 _n_.
   Will. le Revetour, _W_ 11.
   Joan Revetour, _W_ 11.
   William Revetour, _W_ 17.

 Reynard (_v._ Renaud, 1), 41.
   Godfrey Reynaud, _A_.

 Reynardson, 41.
   William fil. Reynaud, _A_.
   Joseph Reynardson, _W_ 11.

   Reyner de Aula, _A_.
   Reyner le Blake, _A_.
   Reyner Custance, _A_.
   Henry Reyner, _W_ 16.

 Reynerson (_v._ Reyner).
   John Reynerson, _W_ 10.

 Reynold, Reynoldson, Reynolds, 41.
   Robert Reynold, _X_.
   Robert Reynoldson, _W_ 16.
   Emme Raynold, _A_.

   Peter Reysonne, _W_ 18.

 Rhymer, 313.
   Ralph Rymer, _W_ 16.

 Ribaud, 479.
   Philip Ribaud, _W_ 15.
   Will. le Ribote, _J_.

 Rice (_v._ Price), 12.
   Hugh ap Rys, _C_.
   Rice Mansel (Princess Mary, Privy Expenses).

 Richard, 40.
   Richard fil. Milo, _T_.
   Durand fil. Richard, _A_.

 Richards, Richardson, 40.
   John Richardesonne, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Rycherdeson _F_.
   John Rychartson _W_ 19.

 Riche, 430.
   Swanus le Riche, _A_.
   Reimbal le Riche, _C_.
   Gervase le Riche, _H_.

 Richelot, 16, 40.
   Robert Richelot, _W_ 15.
   Robert Richelot, _R R_.
   Rikelot, _C C_ 1.

 Richson, 40.
   Thomas Richeson, _W_ 9.

 Rickards, 40.
   Thomas fil. Ricard, _A_.
   Hugh Ricard, _A_.
   Rycardus, _W_ 19.

 Ricketts, 40.

 Ricks, Rickson, 40.
   Cuthbert Ricerson, _W_ 3.
   John Rycerson, _W_ 3.

 Rider, 232.
   Roger le Rider, _A_.
   Stephen le Ridere, _A_.
   Robert le Rider, _V_ 8.

 Ridler, 275.
   John Ridler, _Z_.
   William Rydler, _Z_.

   John Rightwyse, _H_.
   John Rightwys, _X_.

 Ritson (_v._ Rickson), 40.

 Ritter (_v._ Reuter), 200.

 River-Jordan, 509.

 Rix (_v._ Ricks), 40.

 Rixon (_v._ Rickson), 40.
   Laurence Rixon, _Z_.

 Roan, 170.

 Robarts, 39.
   Thomas Robart, _H_.

 Robelot (_v._ Robert), 75 _n_.
   Henry Robelot, _A_.
   Ric Robelot, _A_.
   Rus Robalot, _A_.

 Roberds, 39.
   Walter Roberd, _H_.
   William Roberd, _A_.

 Robert, 39.
   Robert fil. Ivo, _T_.
   Robert de Romeny, _A_.

 Robertot (_v._ Robert), 39.
   William Robertot, _A_.

 Roberts, Robertson, 39.
   Bate fil. Robert, _A_.
   Wacius fil. Robert, _G_.
   Edmund Roberteson, _H_.

 Robin (_v._ Robins), 39.

 Robinet, 39.
   Richard Robynet, _H_.
   Robinet of the Hill, _Y_.

 Robinhood, 39.
   Thomas Robynhod, _v._ p. 39.

 Robins, 39.
   William Robyn, _X_.
   Robin le Herberjur, _E_.
   Dera Robins, _A_.

 Robinson, 39.
   Roland Robynson, _H_.
   John Robbynson, _Z_.

 Robison, 39.
   John Robeson, _W_ 9.
   Robert Roberson, _W_ 16.

 Robkin (_v._ Robert), 39.
   Adam Robekin, _A_.
   Stephen Robekin, _M_.

 Robson, 39.
   Edward Robson, _H_.
   Thomas Robson, _W_ 9.

 Robuck, 145, 485.
   William atte Roebuck, _M_.
   Roger Robuck, _W_ 16.

 Rodd, 461.

 Rodds, 119.
   Francis Rods, _Z_.

 Roden, 118.
   William Rodden, _Z_.

 Rodes, 119.
   Raffe Rodes, _Z_.
   Godfrey Rodes, _Z_.

 Rodesmith, 283.
   John Rodesmithe, _D_.

 Rodgers, 40.
   Hugh Roggers, _H_.

   (1), 443.
     Alicia le Ro, _A_.
   (2), 145, 485.
     John de la Roe, _O_.

 Roefoot, 439.

 Roger, 18, 40.
   James fil. Roger, _T_.
   Roger le Riche, _H_.

 Rogercock (_v._ Roger), 40.
   Stephen Rogekoc, _A_.

 Rogers, 40.
   William Rogers, _A_.
   Henry Rogers, _A_.

 Rogerson, 40.
   Richard Rogersonne, _Z Z_.
   Ranulf fil. Roger _C_.

 Rokster, 381.
   Juliana Rokster, _R R_ 2.

 Roland (_v._ Rowland), 38.
   Rolond le Lene, _A_.
   John Roland, _H_.

 Rolfe (_v._ Ralph).
   John Rolff, _H_.
   Sarra Rolf, _A_.

 Rollins (_v._ Rawlins), 37.

 Rollinson (_v._ Rawlinson), 37,

 Romaine, Romayne, 162.
   John le Romayn, _L_.
   Reginald le Romayn, _A_.
   John Roman, _W_ 17.

 Romer, 195.
   Christiana la Romere, _A_.
   Stephen Romer, _Z Z_.

 Rood, 130.
   William de la Rude, _A_.
   Richard de la Rude, _H_.

 Rook, 267 _n_., 494.
   Geoffrey le Roke, _A_.
   William le Ruk, _A_.
   Adam le Roe, _A_.

 Rookherd, 267.
   Henry le Rochyrde, _A_.

 Roper, 399.
   Simeon le Roper, _A_.
   Robert le Ropere, _N_.
   Alvena le Roper, _R R_ 1.

 Rosamund, 19.
   Rosamunda, _A_.

 Rosser (_v._ Prosser), 13.
   Rosser Morres, _Z_.

 Rose, 142, 485.
   John de la Rose, _T_.
   Nicholas de la Rose, _A_.

 Roughead, 447.
   Robert Rogheved, _R_.
   Josias Roughead, 447.
   John Roughheved, _R R_ 1.

 Round, 431.
   Robert Rounde, _Z_.

 Roundhay, 133.

 Rountree (_v._ Rowntree).

 Rous, 444.
   Jordan le Rous, _B_.
   Henry le Rous, _N_.
   Ivo de Rous, _J_.

 Rouse, 444.
   Juliana le Rouse, _A_.
   Alice Rouze, _A_.

 Rowden, 118.
   William de Ruweden, _A_.
   Simon de Ruweden, _A_.

 Rowe, 443.
   William le Roo, _A_.
   Thomas le Roo, _A_.

 Rowland, Rowlands, 38.
   Roulandus Bloet, _C_.
   Rowland Robynson, _H_.
   Rowland fil. Roulandi, _T_.

 Rowlandson, 38.
   William Rollandson, _F_.
   Richard Rowlinson, _W_ 2.
   Robert Rowelyngsonne, _Z Z_.

 Rowlett, Rowlet, (_v._ Rowland), 38.
   Joane Rowlet, _H H_.
   Ralph Rowlett, _H H_.
   Mathew Rowlett, _Y_.

 Rowley, 119.
   Geffery Rowley, _Z_.
   Hew Rowley, _Z_.

 Rowlson (_v._ Rowlandson), 38.
   Francis Rowlson, _Z_.

 Rownthwaite, 121.
   Thomas Rounthwaite, _W_ 16.
   Henry Rownthwaite, _Z Z_.

 Rowntree, 129.
   William Rowentree, _W_ 16.
   Ralph Roentree, _W_ 20.

 Royds, 119.

 Royal-King, 508.

 Roylance, 459.

 Rudd, 130.
   Margaret atte Rudde, _J_.
   Agnes Rudde, _A_.

 Rudder, 130.
   William Rudder, _Z_.

 Ruddick (_v._ Ruddock), 495.

 Ruddiman, 130.

 Ruddock, 495.
   Ralph Ruddoc, _A_.
   Edward Ruddock, _W_ 16.

 Rufhead (_v._ Roughead), 397.

 Rumbelow, 512.
   Stephen Rumbilowe, _H_.

 Rummager, 483.
   Honorius le Rumongour, _N_.

 Rummelowe (_v._ Rumbelow), 512.

 Rummey (_v._ Rumney), 169.

 Rummiley (_v._ Rumbelow), 512.

 Rumney, 169.
   Alan de Romeny, _T_.
   John de Romeneye, _O_.
   Robert de Romeny, _R_.

 Runchiman, Runchman, Runciman, 286.

 Runcy, 286, 490.
   Lawrence Runcy, _A_.
   Thomas Runcy, _A_.
   Roger Runcy, _V_ 8.

 Russe, 162.
   Martin le Rus, _A_.
   William le Ruse, _B_.
   Hugh le Ruse, _E_.

 Russell, 445.
   Willecoccus Russel, _A_.
   Miriel Russel, _A_.

 Ruter, Rutter, (_v._ Reuter), 200.

 Ryecroft, 132.
   Richard de Ricroft, _R_.
   Robert Ryecroft, _Z Z_.

 Ryder, 232.
   Roger le Rydere, _A_.
   Ralph le Ryder, _J_.

 Rylands, 459.

 Sabin, Sabina, 72.
   Sabina Pikerel, _A_.
   Sabina Gaylard, _H_.
   Sabinus Chambre, _V_ 4.

 Sacker, 319.
   John Sakkere, _H_.
   Adam le Sakkere, _X_.

 Sadd, 469.
   Robert Sad, _H_.
   William Sad, _R_.

 Sadler, 289.
   John le Sadeler, _M_.
   John Sadeler, _H_.

 Saer (_v._ Saher), 25.
   Saer Batagle, _A_.
   John fil. Saeri, _A_.
   Saer Bude, _A_.

 Sage, 463.
   Jacob le Sage, _C_.
   Geoffrey le Sage, _T_.

 Saher, 25.
   Saherus de Braban, _E_.
   Saher Clerk, _C_.
   Saher le King, _H_.

 Sailor, 408.
   John le Saillur, _A_.
   Nicholas le Saler, _A_.

 Saint. William le Seynt, _DD_.

 Sale, 136.
   Alexander de la Sale, _B_.
   Katerina de la Sale, _J_.
   John de la Sale, _T_.

 Sallow, 152.
   Giles St. Lowe, _H_.
   Margaret St. Lowe, _H_.

 Salmon, 446.
   Elizabeth Salmon, _G_.

 Salmon, 83.

 Salter, 312, 371.
   Walter le Salter, _A_.
   John le Salter, _M_.

 Salvage (_v._ Savage), 484.
   William le Salvage, _B_.
   Geoffrey le Salvage, _E_.

 Samand, 152.
   Almaric de St. Amando, _B_.
   John de St. Amand, _M_.

 Sample (_v._ Semple), 152.

 Samms (_v._ Samuel), 83.

 Sampson, Samson, 83.
   Samson de Battisford, _A_.
   Sampson de Box, _A_.
   Sampson Darnebrough, _W_ 16.

 Samuel, Samuelson, 83.
   Samuell Ellis, _W_ 16.

 Sandeman (_v._ Samand), 152.

 Sandercock, 98.

 Sanders (_v._ Saunders), 98.
   Sanders Ewart, _W_ 9.
   Roger Alisander, _R_.
   William Sandre, _A_.

 Sanderson, 98.

 Sanger, 313.
   Adam le Sangere, _T_.

 Sangster, 313.
   Willametta Cantatrix, _E_.

 Sapphira, 101.
   Sapphira Leighton, 101 _n_.

 Sarah, 23.
   Sarra Malet, _A_.
   Sarra le Cornmongere, _T_.
   William fil. Sarra, _T_.

 Sarasin, 166.
   Peter Sarracen, _C_.
   Henry Sarrasin, _J_.
   William Sarazein, _C_.

 Sargant, Sargeant, Sargeaunt, Sargent, (_v._ Sarjant), 180.

 Sarjant, Sarjeant, 180.
   John le Serjant, _A_.
   Roesia la Serjaunte, _J_.
   Gocelin le Serjaunt, _N_.

 Sarra (_v._ Sarah), 82.

   (1), 82, 166.
     Nicholas fil. Sarre, _A_.
     William fil. Sare, _DD_.
   (2), (_v._ Sarasin), 166.
     John Saresson, _F F_.

 Saturday, 63.

 Saucemaker, 371.
   Joan Sausemaker, _W_ 11.

 Saucer, 371.
   Robert le Sauser, _H_.
   Matilda le Sausere, _B_.
   Roger le Sauser, _N_.

 Saul, 136.

 Saundercock, 98.
   Edward Saundercock, _Q_.

 Saunder, Saunders, (_v._ Sanders), 98.
   John Alisaundre, _M_.
   John Saunders, _Z Z_.

 Saunderson, 98.
   Thomas fil. Saundre, _A_.
   George Saunderson, _Z Z_.

 Sauvage, Savage, 484.
   Adelmya le Sauvage, _J_.
   Henry le Sauvage, _B_.
   John le Savage, _H_.

 Savonier, 372.
   Agneta le Savoner, _A_.
   Adam le Savonier, _E_.

 Saward (_v._ Seward), 25.

 Sawkin (_v._ Saunder).
   John Sawkyn, _Z Z_.

 Sawtrer, 311.
   William le Sautreour, _X_.

   Geoffrey le Sawere, _A_.
   Walter le Sawyere, _G_.
   Henry le Saghier, _M_.

 Saxton (_v._ Sexton), 189.

   (1), 213.
     William le Saye, _A_.
     John le Say, _M_.
   (2), 213.
     Geoffrey de Say, _M_.
     Hugh de Say, _A_.

 Sayer (_v._ Saher), 25, 405.
   Sayer Herberd, _A_.
   Sayer Lorimer, _D_.
   Agnes Sayer, _N_.

 Saykin (_v._ Sayer).
   Saykin Bude, _A_.

 Scambler, 440.

 Scarlett, 446.
   Hugh Skarlet, _D_.
   Elizabeth Scarlet, _H_.

 Scattergood, 500.
   Wimcote Schatregod, _A_.
   Thomas Skatergoode, _F_.
   Mathew Scatergude, _W_ 2.

 Schalk, 212.
   Doctor Schalke, 212 _n_.

 Scharpe (_v._ Sharp), 412.

 Schoolmaster, 197.
   Thomas Skolmayster, _B_.

 Scissor, 340.
   William le Scissor, _C_.
   German Scissor, _T_.

 Sclater, 248.
   Adam le Sclattere, _A_.
   Roger Sclatiere, _A_.

 Scolardson, 65.
   John Scolardesson, _M_.

 Scorchbeef, 500.
   Simon Schorchebef, _A_.
   Roger Scorchebof, _A_.

 Scot (_v._ Escot), 148.
   William le Scot, _B_.
   Walter le Scot, _C_.
   Maurice le Scot, _J_.

 Scratchhose, 457.
   John Scrothose, _M_.

 Scrimminger, 220.

 Scrimshaw (_v._ Skrimshire), 220.

 Scriven, Scrivener, 406.
   William le Scrivayn, _J_.
   John le Scriveyn, _L_.
   Clara le Scrivyn, _A_.

 Scuteler, 389.
   James le Scutelaire, _H_.
   Robert Scutellarius, _E_.

 Scutelmouth, 390, 501.
   Arnald Scutelmuth, _A_.

 Seabourne, 26.
   Alexander Sebern, _A_.

 Sealer (_v._ Seller), 406.

 Sealey, 470.
   Nicholas Sely, _M_.
   Thomas Sely, _R_.

 Seaman, 26.
   Seaman le Baylif, _J_.
   Seaman Carpenter, _A_.
   Seaman Champayne, _B_.

 Seamer (_v._ Seymour), 340.
   James Seamer, _W_ 16.

 Searle (_v._ Serle), 27.
   William Serle, _C_.

 Searson (_v._ Saer), 25.
   Seer le Faber, _A_.
   Seer de Freville, _A_.

 Seaward (_v._ Seward), 25.

 Secretain (_v._ Sexton), 189.

 Secular, 190.
   Alexander le Seculer, _L_.
   Nicholas le Secular, _B_.
   Walter le Seculer, _A_.

 Seculer (_v._ Secular), 158.

 Seeley (_v._ Sealey), 470.
   William Sely, _A_.

 Segar, 25.
   Eudo fil. Sygar, _C_.
   Eudo fil. Seger, _E_.

 Seller, 289, 406.
   John le Seler, _G_.
   Warin le Seler, _N_.
   Hugh le Seler, _O_.

 Sellinger (_v._ Steleger), 152.
   Roger de Seint-Leger, _M_.

 Sellman, Selman, 293.
   Thomas Selman, _D_.

 Selyman, 470.
   George Selyman, _D_.
   Robert Selyman, _H_.

 Seman (_v._ Seaman), 26.

 Semper, 152.
   Agnes Seynpere, _B_.
   John Seyntpere, _C_.
   Robert de Seyntpere, _M_.

 Sempill, Semple, (_v._ Semple), 152.
   John de St. Paul, _H_.
   Robert de Seint Poul, _M_.

 Sempster, 340.
   Peter le Semestre, _A_.
   Elen Semster, _W_ 2.
   Emma Semister, _W_ 9.
   Hellen Simster, _W_ 16.

 Senecal (_v._ Senechal), 211.

 Senechal, 211.
   Alexander le Seneschal, _B_.
   William le Seneschal, _H_.
   Ivo Seneschallus, _T_.

 Senior, 429.
   Michael le Seigneur, _E_.
   William le Seignour, _M_.
   Edmund Seignyowr, _W_ 2.
   Thomas Senior, _W_ 16.

 Senlez, Senlis, 152.
   Guy de Saintliz, _M_.
   Simon de Seintliz, _E_.

 Serelson (_v._ Serlson), 28.
   Ri. Serelson, _M_.

 Sergeantson, 65.
   Thomas Sergeauntson, _H_.

 Sergent, Sergeant, (_v._ Serjant), 180.

   Thomas Sargandson, _W_ 11.
   Henry Serchauntson, _W_ 11.

 Sergison (_v._ Sergeantson), 65.
   Mary Sergison, _W_ 16.

 Serle, 27.
   Serle Gotokirke, _A_.
   John fil. Serlo, _A_.
   Serl fil. Ade, _A_.

 Serlson, 27, _n_.
   Hugh Serlson, _M_.
   Richard Serelson, _M_.
   William Serleson, _W_ 2.

 Serrell (_v._ Serle and Serlson), 27.

 Setter, 227.
   Clement le Settere, _N_.
   Alexander le Settere, _X_.

 Severe, 468.
   John le Severe, _A_.

 Seward, 25.
   Syward Godwin, _J_.
   Siward Oldcorn, _L_.
   Richard Seward, _A_.

 Sewer, 212.
   Robert le Suur, _A_.
   Henry le Suur, _G_.
   Nicholas le Suur, _A_.

 Sexton, 189.
   William Sexten, _Z_.
   Robert Sextin, _Z_.
   Richard Sekkesteyn, _F F_.
   John Sixton, _W_ 16.

 Seymour, 152.
   Elizabeth Seyntmaur, _B_.
   Henry de St. Maur, _M_.

 Shacklock, 447.
   Johannes Schaklok, _W_ 2.

 Shailer, 440.

 Shakelance, 461.
   Henry Shakelaunce, _A_.

 Shakelock, 447.
   Hamo Shakeloc, _A_.
   Simon Shakelok, _M_.

 Shakeshaft, 461.
   Anne Shakeshaft, _v._ p. 461.
   Hugh Shakeshaft, _v._ p. 461.

 Shakespeare, 461.
   William Shakespere, _V_.

 Shallcross, 117.
   Humfrey Shallcross, _E_.

 Shambler, 440.

 Shanks, 437.
   Stephen Schankes, _A_.

 Shark, 497.

 Sharman (_v._ Sherman), 327.

 Sharp, 465.
   Thomas Scharp, _H_.
   Alexander Scharp, _A_.

 Sharparrow, 465.
   John Sharparrow, _W_ 2.
   William Sharparrow, _W_ 11.
   Oswin Sharparrow, _W_ 3.

 Shavenhead, _A_, 447.
   Robert Shevenehod, _A_.

 Shaver, 384.
   Jeffery Schavere, _F F_.

 Shave-tail, 384.
   Henry Shavetail, _R R_ 1.

 Shaw, 117.
   John atte Schawe, _H_.
   Thomas de Shaghe, _M_.

 Shawcross (_v._ Shallcross), 117.

 Shayler, Shaylor, 440.

 Shearer, 327.
   Richard le Sherere, _M_.
   Reginald le Scherere, _M_.

 Shearman (_v._ Sherman), 327.
   John le Sheremon, _M_.

 Shearsmith, 282.
   Walter le Scheresmythe, _M_.

 Sheather, 223.

 Sheerwind, 439.
   Richard Sherewynde, _D_.
   Henry Scherewind, _A_.

 Sheepshank, 438.

 Sheepshead, 435.
   John Schepished, _P P_.
   William Schepished, _P P_.

 Sheeter, 358.
   Hugh le Shetare, _M_.
   Roger le Schetere, _M_.

 Sheldrake, Sheldrick, 494.
   John Sheldrake, _D_.
   Adam Sceyldrake, _A_.

 Shepherd, 267.
   Margaret le Shepherde, _A_.
   John le Shepherde, _M_.
   Josse le Sephurde, _A_.

 Shepperdson, 65.
   Alice Shipperdson, _W_ 9.
   William Shipperdson, _S S_.

 Sherman, 327.
   Robert le Sherman, _M_.
   William le Sherman, _R_.

   Thomas le Shirreve, _D_.
   Lena le Shireve, _A_.

 Shilling, 513.
   Robert Shillyng, _R R_ 1.

 Shingler, 248.

 Shipgroom, 409.
   John Shipgroom, _G_.

 Shipley, 119.

 Shipman, 408.
   William Shypman, _B_.
   Alexander Schipman, _H_.

 Shipper (_v._ Skipper), 408.

 Shipward, 409.
   John Shypward, _D_.
   John Shipward, _H_.

 Shipwright, 277.
   Hugh le Schipwryte, _A_.
   Simon Shepewright, _Z Z_.

 Shirriff (_v._ Sherriff).
   Roger le Shyreve, _L_.
   Nicholas Sherreve, _L_.

 Shoebeggar, 314 _n_.
   Simon le Shobeggere, _A_.

 Shoemaker, 351 _n_.
   Christopher Shoomaker.
   John Showmaker, _v._ p.
   Harry Shomaker, _v._ p.
   Richard Shomaker, _V_ 3.

 Shoosmith, 282.
   Henry Shughsmythe, _W_.

 Shore, 127.

 Short, 431.
   Richard le Shorte, _M_.
   Richard Short, _J_.

 Shorter, 432.
   John Shorter, _H_.
   Anna Shawter, _W_ 20.

 Shorthose, 456.

 Shortman, 431.

 Shotbolt, 462.
   John Shotbolt, _H H_.
   Thomas Shotbolte, _Z_.

 Shoveller, Showler, 276.

 Shreeve (_v._ Sherriff), 179.

   William Shonecrist, _A_.

 Shuxsmith, 282.
   Margerie Shughsmythe, _A A_ 1.
   Henry Shughsmythe, _A A_ 1.

 Sibbald, 26.
   Sibbald Jones, _Q Q_.

 Sibbes (_v._ Sibson), 72.

 Sibilla, (_v._ Sybilla), 72.

 Siborne (_v._ Seabourn), 26.

 Sibson, 72.
   Richard fil. Sibille, _A_.
   John Sybson, _W_ 9.

 Sicklefoot, 440.
   Gilbert Sikelfot, _M_.

 Sicklesmith, 282.
   John Sykelsmith, _D_.

 Sidney, 152.

 Silence, 104.
   Silence Leigh, 104 _n_.

 Sillery, 152.

 Silly, 470.
   Benedict Sely, _D_.

 Sillybarn, 471.
   Thomas Selybarn, _W_ 11.

 Sillyman, 470.
   George Selyman, _D_.
   John Seliman, _A_.

 Silverlock, 447.
   Richard Selverlok, _M_.
   James Silverlock, _H H_.
   Alex Silverlock, _V_ 5.

 Silverspoon, 144.

   Silvestre le Enneyse, _A_.
   Thomas fil. Silvestre, _A_.

 Simbarb, 75 _n_., 152.
   Thomas Seyntbarbe, _B_.
   Jordan de St. Barbe, _M_.
   William Sembarbe, _V_ 3.

 Simcock, Simcox, 89.
   James Sympcock, _W_ 9.

 Simister (_v._ Summister), 206.
   John Somayster, _F_.
   William Summaster, _Z_.

 Simkins (_v._ Simpkins), 89.

 Simms, 89.
   William Symmes, _X_.
   James Symmes, _Z_.

 Simmonds, Simmons, Simmonson, 89.
   Ingilram fil. Simon, _J_.
   Robert Symondson, _W_ 8.
   Marquis Symondesson, _H_.

 Simnel, 367.
   Lambert Simnel.

 Simon, 89.
   Simon fil. Peter, _C_.
   Simon le Gras, _T_.

 Simonet, 89.
   Simonettus Mercator, _E_.
   Symonet Villain, _C C_ 4.

 Simper (_v._ Semper), 152.

 Simpkins, 89.
   Robert Symkyn, _F_.
   Simkin Cock, _F F_.
   Ann Symkynes, _Z_.
   Symkyn Edward, _V_.

 Simpkinson, 89.
   John Symkynson, _Z_.
   William Simpkinson, _Z Z_.

   (1), 470.
     Henry le Simple, _M_.
     Jordan le Simple, _A_.
   (2), 152.

 Simpole (_v._ Semple), 152.

 Simpson, 89.
   William Sympson, _F_.
   Dorothy Sympson, _Z_.

 Sims (_v._ Simms), 89.
   John Symes, _Z_.
   Thomas Symes, _Z Z_.

 Simson, 89.
   Simon fil. Sim, _A_.
   Hugh fil. Sim, _A_.

 Sinclair, 152.
   Robert de Sencler, _A_.
   Thomas de Seint Clere, _M_.

 Sing-Song, 508.

 Sinkler (_v._ Sinclair), 152.

   Alexander le Sire, _A_.
   William le Syre, _N_.

 Sirlot (_v._ Serle), 28.
   Matilda Sirlot, _A_.
   Mabil Sirlot, _A_.

 Siser, 180.

 Sisselot, 69.
   Alicia fil. Sisselot, _A_.
   Bella Cesselot, _A_.

 Sisselson, 69.
   Richard Sisselson, _H_.

 Sissiver, 152.
   Hugh Sanzaver, _A_.
   Ralph Saunsavoir, _M_.
   Henry Syssiver, _W_ 9.

 Sisson, 69.
   John Sisson, _W_ 2.
   Henry Sysson, _W_ 9.
   Cuthbert Sisson, _W_ 20.

 Sissot, 69.
   Cissota West, _W_ 2.
   Syssot Wilson, _A A_ 2.
   Syssot Cook, _A A_ 2.

 Sissotson, 69.
   John Sissotson, _W_ 2.
   Agnes Sissotson, _W_ 11.

 Sisterson, 430.
   Jacob Systerson, _W_ 3.

 Sivewright, 277.

 Sivier, Sivyer, 275.
   Ralph le Siviere, _A_.
   Peter Syvyere, _B_.

 Sixpeny, 513.
   Thomas Sexpenne, _G_.

 Sixsmith (_v._ Sicklesmith), 282.

 Sizer, 180.

   John Skilful, _O_.
   Geoffrey Scilful, _A_.

 Skiller (_v._ Squiller), 209.

   John Skilman, _M_.
   Henry Skileman, _A_.

 Skinner, 330.
   Richard le Skynnere, _B_.
   Hamo le Skynner, _J_.
   Robert le Skynnere, _M_.

 Skipper, 408.
   Robert Skepper, _W_ 9.

 Skirmisher, Skrimshire, Skrymsher, (_v._ Eskirmisour), 220.
   Elizebetha Skrymsher, _E E_.
   Alexander Schirmissure, _S S_.
   William le Shyrmisur, _A_.
   Roger le Skirmisour, _X_.

 Slabber, 249.
   John le Sclabbere, _M_.

 Slade, 121.
   John Atte Slade, _M_.
   Nicholas de la Slade, _M_.

 Sladen, 121.

 Slater, Slatter, 248.
   Adam le Sclattere, _A_.
   John Sclatter, _H_.

 Slaughter, 375.
   Paris Slaughter, _V_ 2.

 Slaymaker, 321.
   George Slemaker, _v._ p. 321.
   Susannah Slemaker, _v._ p. 321.

 Slayman, 321.
   Henry Slayman, _A_.

 Slaywright (_v._ Slywright), 277, 321.
   Thomas Slawryght, _W_ 11.
   Richard Slawryght, _A A_ 3.

 Slee, 469.
   Isabell Slee, _W_ 9.
   Richard Sle, _A_.

   Simon le Slepare, _A_.

 Sleigh, 469.
   Simon le Slegh, _M_.
   Nigel le Sleygh, _M_.
   John le Slege, _A_.

 Slemman, 469.
   Davy Slemen, _Z_.

 Slick, 442.

 Slight, 431.
   Allan Sleight, _Q_.
   John Slyt, _A_.

 Slinger, 224.
   Thomas Slinger, _W_ 16.
   William Slynger, _Z_.

 Slocombe, 125.
   John Slocombe, _Z_.
   Richard Slocombe, _Z_.

 Sloper, 345.
   Agatha le Slopere, _A_.
   William Sloper, _H H_.

 Sly, 469.
   John Slye, _H_.
   Alexander Slye, _O_.
   Thomas Sly, _R R_ 1.

 Slyman, 469.

 Slywright, 277, 321.
   Margery Slywright, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Slywright, _Z Z_.

 Smale, 433.
   John le Smale, _A_.
   John le Smale, _M_.

 Smaleman, 433.
   Richard Smaleman, _A_.
   Stephen Smaleman, _Z_.

 Small, 431.
   Nicholas le Smalle, _D_.
   Robert le Small, _A_.

 Smallman (_v._ Smaleman), 433.
   William Smallman, _V_ 2.
   Lucy Smallman, _V_ 2.

 Smallpage, 215, 506.
   Thomas Smallpage, _W_ 2.
   Ralph Smallpage, _V_ 3.
   Percivall Smallpage, _v._ p. 215.

 Smallwriter, 508.
   William Smalwritere, _A_.
   William le Smalewritere, _R_.

 _Smart_ (_v._ Smert), 465.
   John Smart, _M_.
   William Smart, _A_.

 Smartknave, 505.
   Christiana Smartknave, _A_.

 Smartwayt, 506.
   James Smartwayt, _F F_.
   Geoffrey Smartwayt, _F_.
   Robert Smartwate, _F_.

 Smelt, 497.

 Smert, 465.
   Richard le Smert, _M_.
   Walter Smert, _H_.

 Smijth, Smith, 281.
   Philip le Smethe, _A_.
   Henry Le Smeyt, _A_.
   Gilbert le Smyth, _M_.
   William le Smyt, _M_.

   John Smythman, _F_.
   Henry Smytman, _H_.

 Smithson, 65.
   Thomas Smythson, _F_.
   William le Smithssone, _M_.
   John fil. Fabri, _R_.

 Smocker, Smoker, Smooker, 344.

 Smythe (_v._ Smith), 281.
   Peter le Smyth, _M_.
   William le Smyth, _A_.

 Snake, 498.
   Roger Snake, 498 _n_.
   William Snake, 498 _n_.

 Snell, 465.
   William Snel, _A_.
   Walter Snel, _X_.

 Snooks, 129.
   William Sevenokes, _H_.

   William Snowball, _W_ 16.

 Soaper (_v._ Soper), 371.

   Thomas le Sober, _M_.

 Sockerman (_v._ Sockman), 252.

 Sockman, 252.
   Sokemannus de Castro, _A_.
   William Sokeman, _A_.

 Solomon, 83.

 Somer, 152.
   William St. Omer, _C_.
   Thomas de St. Omer, _M_.

 Soper, 371.
   Julian le Soper, _A_.
   Aleyn le Sopere, _X_.

 Sor, 444.
   John le Sot, _H_.
   Philip le Sor, _T_.

 Sorrell, 444.
   Robert Sorel, _J_.
   Richard Sorel, _M_.

 Sot, 481.
   Robert le Sot, _O_.
   Thomas le Sot, _T_.

 Sotheran, Sothern, 150.

   Gilbert le Sour, _A_.

 Sourale, 481.
   Thomas Sourale, _A_.

 Souter (_v._ Sowter), 350.
   Robert le Souter, _M_.
   David le Souter, _M_.

 South, 150.
   Henry Suth, _A_.

 Southern, 150.

 Soward, 267.

 Sowden, 118.
   William de Soudon, _M_.
   Robert de Sowdene, _A_.

 Sowman, 270.

 Sowter, 350.
   Andrew le Soutere, _D_.
   Richard le Sutor, _M_.

 Spain (_v._ Espin), 161.
   William de Spaigne, _B_.
   Michael de Spane, _A_.

 Spaniard, 161.
   John Spaynard, _C_.

 Sparewater, 482.
   Ralph Sparewater, _J_.

 Spark (_v._ Sparrowhawk), 493.
   Nicholas Sparke, _A_.
   Hugh Spark, _A_.

 Sparling, 497.
   Robert Sparling, _H_.
   William Sparling, _R_.

 Sparrow, 142, 494.
   Nicholas Sparewe, _A_.
   Walter Sparewe, _B_.

 Sparrowhawk, 493.
   Richard Sparhawke, _F F_.
   Olive Sparrehawke, _Z_.

 Speaklittle, 468.
   William Spekelitel, _P_.
   William Spekelitel, _G G_.

   Isolda Spekeman, _A_.
   Richard Spekeman, _A_.

 Spear, 459.
   Ralph Sper, _A_.
   John Spere, _A_.

 Spearman, 222.

 Spearsmith, 281.

 Speight, 494.
   John Spight, _W_ 16.
   Richard Speight, _W_ 16.

   Gerard le Speller, _H_.

 Spence, 209.
   Cecily Spence, _W_ 16.
   Marmaduke Spence, _W_ 16.

 Spencer, 209.
   John le Spencer, _A_.
   Richard le Spencer, _A_.

 Spendlove, 474.
   John Spendlove, _P_.
   Alicia Spendlove, _A_.

 Spenser (_v._ Spencer), 209.
   Henry le Spenser, _A_.
   Roger le Spenser, _A_.

 Spicer, 370.
   Harry le Spicere, _M_.
   Saer le Spicer, _N_.
   Amphelisa le Spicer, _O_.

 Spichfat, 491.
   Robert Spichfat, _X_.
   William Spichfat, _W_ 11.

 Spigurell, Spigurnell, 218.
   Nicholas le Spigurnell, _A_.
   Godfrey Spigurnel, _O_.
   Henry Spigurner, _X X_ 1.

   Emma Spilleweyne, _H_.
   John Spillwyne, _X_.

 Spindler, 321.
   John Spyndelere, _X_ 1.
   Thomas Spendeler, _F F_.

 Spink, 494.

 Spinner, 381.

 Spittal, Spittle,
   Richard ate Spitele, _M_.
   Gilbert de Hospitall, _A_.

 Spoon, 144.

 Spooner, 214, 390.

 Spratt, 497.
   Thomas Spratt, _V_ 10.
   Edward Spratt, _V_ 11.

   John Springald, _A_.
   William Springald, _R_.

 Spurdance, 462.
   Margaret Spurdaunce, _V_.
   Richard Spurdaunce, _F F_.

 Spurnhose, 457.
   John Sprenhose, _A_.

 Spurrier, 224, 289.
   Benedict le Sporier, _J_.
   Nicholas le Sporiere, _X_.

 Squier (_v._ Squire), 199.
   Walter le Squier, _M_.
   John le Squier, _A_.

 Squiller, 209.
   John le Squylier, _H_.
   Geoffrey le Squeller, _O_.

 Squillery, 209.
   John de la Squillerye, _H_.

 Squire (_v._ Esquire), 199.

 Squirrell, 489.
   Thomas Squyrelle, _N_.

 Stabler, 272.
   Thomas le Stabeler, _A_.
   William le Stabler, _R_.
   Anne Stabler, _W_ 16.

 Staff, 461.

 Stag, Stagg, 488.
   Dorothie Stagge, _Z Z_.
   John Stagge, _V_ 8.

 Stagman, 235.
   Robert Stagman, _H_.

 Stainer, 251.
   William Steynour, _H_.
   Robert Stainer, _M_.

 Stallard, 303.
   Geoffrey Stallard, _M_.

 Staller, 303.
   John le Stallere, _M_.
   Elias Staller, _A_.

 Stallman, 303.

 Stalwart, 466.
   Henry Staleworth, _A_.
   John le Staleworthe, _A_.

 Stammer, 441.

 Stamper, 404.
   John Stamper, _A_.
   Antony Stamper, _Z Z_.
   Robert Stamper, _W_ 16.

 Stannus, 131.
   Robert de Stanehouse, _A_.

 Stapler, 319.

 Star, Stare, 495.
   Robert Stare, _A_.

 Starker, 363.
   Ralph le Starker, _A_.

 Starkie, 483.
   Humfrey Starkey, _H_.

 Starkman, 363, 483.
   Geoffrey Starkman, _T_.
   William Starcman, _A_.

 Stead, 135.
   John Stede, _A_.

 Steadman, Stedman, 135.
   John le Stedman, _M_.
   Simon le Stedman, _B_.

 Steenson (_v._ Stevenson), 96.

 Steer, 490.
   Roger le Ster, _A_.
   Simon le Ster, _M_.

 Steerman, 271.
   Thomas Sterman, _M_.
   William Sterman, _M_.

 Steerson (_v._ Stevenson).
   Francis Stearson, _W_ 16.
   John Stearson, _W_ 16.

 Stein-kettle, 25.
   Steinchetel (Domesday B.).

 Steleger (_v._ Sellinger), 152.
   Ranulph Steleger, _H_.

 Stennet, Stennett, 96.

 Stephen, 96.
   Stephen le Fox, _L_.
   Stephen le Bor, _T_.

 Stephens, Stephenson, 96.
   Jordan fil. Stephen, _A_.
   Simon fil. Stephen, _A_.

 Stepkin (_v._ Stephen).
   John Stepkin, _V_ 10.
   Theodosia Stepkin, _V_ 10.

 Sterling, 165.
   John Sterlyng, _M_.

 Stertwayte, 506.
   William Stertwayte, _F F_.

 Stevens, 96.
   Robert Stevene, _M_.
   Esteven Walays, _W_ 2.

 Stevenson, 96.
   Thomas Stevison, _W_ 11.
   Joseph Stinson, _W_ 11.

 Stewardson, 65.
   Rowland Stewardson, _Z Z_.

 St. George, 152.
   Baldwin de Seyngeorge, _A_.
   Thomas Sayntegeorge, _X X_ 1.

 Stickbeard, 451.
   Thomas Stikeberd, _A_.

 Stierman (_v._ Steerman), 271.

 Stinson (_v._ Stevenson), 96.

 Stimson, Stimpson, (_v._ Stephenson), 96.
   John Stimpson, _F F_.

 Stirling (_v._ Sterling), 165.

 Stirrup, 144.
   Margery de Styrop, _P_.
   Roger de Stirap, _A_.

 St. John, 152.
   John de St. Johanne, _M_.

 St. Leger (_v._ Sellinger), 152.
   Bartholomew Seintleger, _X X_ 1.

 Stobbart, 268.
   Thomas Stoberd, _W_ 3.
   Janet Stobart, _W_ 9.
   Simon Stobbart, _W_ 16.

 Stoddard, Stoddart, 266.
   Cuthbert Stoddert, _W_ 9.
   Walter Stodhirde, _M_.
   John Studdart, _W_ 16.

   John de la Stone, _A_.
   Richard Stone, _Z_.

 Stoneclough, 124.
   Matthew Stonecliffe, _W_ 16.

 Stonehewer, 264.
   Richard Stonhewer, _S S_.
   John Stonehewer, _A A_ 4.

 Stonehouse (_v._ Stannus), 131.

 Stork, 144, 494.
   Thomas Storck, _A_.

 Stothard, Stotherd, 266.
   Matilda Stotehard, _A_.
   William Stothard, _A_.

 Stott, 490.
   Peter Stot, _A_.
   Hugh Stote, _A_.

 Stout, 431.
   John Stout, _B B_.
   Richard Stout, _M_.

 Stradling, 440.
   Isabel Stradling, _H_.
   Edward Stradelyng, _Y_.

   James Straytbarrel, _A A_ 3.
   Richard Streteburell (Hist. Leeds, p. 359).
   James Stratberell, _X X_ 1.

 Strang (_v._ Strong), 436.
   John le Strang, _E_.

 Strange, 146.
   John le Strange, _A_.
   Fulk le Strange, _M_.

 Stranger, 146.

 Strangeman, 146.
   Ellen Strangman, _Z_.
   John Strangman, _E E_.

 Strange-woman, 146.
   Alicia Strange-woman, _R R_ 1.

 Straunge, 146.
   Richard le Straunge, _B_.
   Amice le Straunge, _M_.

 Street, 115.
   Alice de la Strete, _A_.
   William atte Strete, _M_.

 Streeter, 113.
   James Streater, _W_ 16.
   John Streteer, _F_.

 Streetman, 113.

 Streetshend, 114.
   John atte Stretesend, _F F_.
   Walter ate Stretende _A_.

 Strictman, 468.
   John Strictman, _A_.

 Stringer, 226, 399.
   George Stringer, _Z Z_.
   Thomas Stringer, _W_ 16.

 Stringfellow, 228, 399.
   John Stringefellowe, _Z_.
   Thomas Strengfellowe, _Z Z_.

 Strokehose, 457.
   Nicholas Strokehose, _M_.

 Strong, 431.
   Joscelin le Strong, _H_.
   William le Strong, _T_.

 Strongbow, 459.
   Ranulf Strongbowe, _A_.
   Simon Strongebowe, _H_.

 Stronger, 432.
   Henry le Stronger, _M_.

 Strongfellow, 433.
   Robert Strongfellowe, _Z_.
   Frances Strongfellowe, _Z_.

 Strongitharm (_v._ Armstrong), 436.

 Strongman, 433.
   Bridget Strongman, _F F_.

   John le Strut, _A_.
   Cecil Strut, _A_.

 Stubbard, 268.
   William Stubbard, _V_.
   Augustin Stubbard, _Z_.

   Walter Sturdi, _A_.
   Henry Sturdy, _F F_.

 Sturgeon, 497.
   Nicholas Sturgeon, _D_.
   John Sturgeon, _H_.

 Stuttard (_v._ Stoddart), 266, 441.
   John Stouthirde, _M_.

 Stutter, 441.
   Nicholas le Stotere, _M_.

 Styles, 110, 115.
   Richard de la Style, _A_.
   William atte Style, _B_.
   John atte Stighele, _M_.

 Subtle, 469.
   Robert le Sotele, _A_.
   Salomon le Sotell, 469 _n_.

 Suckerman (_v._ Sockman), 252.
   William Sucheman, _A_.
   Robert Suckerman, _Z_.

 Suckling, 202.
   Amice Suckling, _F F_.

 Sucksmith (_v._ Sicklesmith), 282.
   Bryan Sukesmythe, _Z Z_.

 Sugden (_v._ Sowden), 118.
   John Sugden, _Z_.
   Raynbroun Sugden, _Z Z_.

 Sugg. 491.
   John Sugge, _A_.
   Roger Sugge, _A_.

 Suitor (_v._ Sowter), 351.

 Sullen, 464.
   Andrew Sullen, _B_.

 Summerswain, 505.
   Eve Summersweyn, _F F_.

 Summister (_v._ Simister), 206.
   William Sumaster, _Z_.
   William Summayster, _B_.