Books and Bookmen [8]
place of parsons as
registrars in 1653. The books from 1653 to 1660, while this regime
lasted, "were kept exceptionally well," new brooms sweeping clean.
The books of the period contain fewer of the old Puritan Christian
names than we might have expected. We find, "REPENTE Kytchens," so
styled before the poor little thing had anything but original sin to
repent of. "FAINT NOT Kennard" is also registered, and "FREEGIFT
Mabbe."
A novelty was introduced into registers in 1678. The law required
(for purposes of protecting trade) that all the dead should be
buried in woollen winding-sheets. The price of the wool was the
obolus paid to the Charon of the Revenue. After March 25, 1667, no
person was to be "buried in any shirt, shift, or sheet other that
should be made of woole only." Thus when the children in a little
Oxfordshire village lately beheld a ghost, "dressed in a long narrow
gown of woollen, with bandages round the head and chin," it is clear
that the ghost was much more than a hundred years old, for the act
"had fallen into disuse long before it was repealed in 1814." But
this has little to do with parish registers. The addition made to
the duties of the keeper of the register in 1678 was this--he had to
take and record the affidavit of a kinsman of the dead, to the
effect that the corpse was actually buried in woollen fabric. The
upper classes, however, preferred to bury in linen, and to pay the
fine of 5L. When Mistress Oldfield, the famous actress, was
interred in 1730, her body was arrayed "in a very fine Brussels lace
headdress, a holland shift with a tucker and double ruffles of the
same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves."
In 1694 an empty exchequer was replenished by a tax on marriages,
births, and burials, the very extortion which had been feared by the
insurgents in the Pilgrimage of Grace. The tax collectors had
access without payment of fee to the registers. The registration of
births was discontinued when the Taxation Acts expired. An attempt
to introduce the registration of births was made in 1753, but
unsuccessfully. The public had the old superstitious dread of
anything like a census. Moreover, the custom was denounced as
"French," and therefore abominable. In the same way it was thought
telling to call the cloture "the French gag" during some recent
discussions of parliamentary rules. In 1783 the parish register was
again made the instrument of taxation, and threepence was charged on
every entry. Thus "the clergyman was placed in the invidious light
of a tax collector, and as the poor were often unable or unwilling
to pay the tax, the clergy had a direct inducement to retain their
good-will by keeping the registers defective."
It is easy to imagine the indignation in Scotland when "bang went
saxpence" every time a poor man had twins! Of course the Scotch
rose up against this unparalleled extortion. At last, in 1812,
"Rose's Act" was passed. It is styled "an Act for the better
regulating and preserving registers of births," but the registration
of births is altogether omitted from its provisions. By a stroke of
the wildest wit the penalty of transportation for fourteen years,
for making a false entry, "is to be divided equally between the
informer and the poor of the parish." A more casual Act has rarely
been drafted.
Without entering into the modern history of parish registers, we may
borrow a few of the ancient curiosities to be found therein, the
blunders and the waggeries of forgotten priests, and curates, and
parish clerks. In quite recent times (1832) it was thought worth
while to record that Charity Morrell at her wedding had signed her
name in the register with her right foot, and that the ring had been
placed on the fourth toe of her left foot; for poor Charity was born
without arms. Sometimes the time of a birth was recorded with much
minuteness, that the astrologers might draw a more accurate
horoscope. Unlucky children, with no acknowledged fathers, were
entered in a variety of odd ways. In Lambeth
registrars in 1653. The books from 1653 to 1660, while this regime
lasted, "were kept exceptionally well," new brooms sweeping clean.
The books of the period contain fewer of the old Puritan Christian
names than we might have expected. We find, "REPENTE Kytchens," so
styled before the poor little thing had anything but original sin to
repent of. "FAINT NOT Kennard" is also registered, and "FREEGIFT
Mabbe."
A novelty was introduced into registers in 1678. The law required
(for purposes of protecting trade) that all the dead should be
buried in woollen winding-sheets. The price of the wool was the
obolus paid to the Charon of the Revenue. After March 25, 1667, no
person was to be "buried in any shirt, shift, or sheet other that
should be made of woole only." Thus when the children in a little
Oxfordshire village lately beheld a ghost, "dressed in a long narrow
gown of woollen, with bandages round the head and chin," it is clear
that the ghost was much more than a hundred years old, for the act
"had fallen into disuse long before it was repealed in 1814." But
this has little to do with parish registers. The addition made to
the duties of the keeper of the register in 1678 was this--he had to
take and record the affidavit of a kinsman of the dead, to the
effect that the corpse was actually buried in woollen fabric. The
upper classes, however, preferred to bury in linen, and to pay the
fine of 5L. When Mistress Oldfield, the famous actress, was
interred in 1730, her body was arrayed "in a very fine Brussels lace
headdress, a holland shift with a tucker and double ruffles of the
same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves."
In 1694 an empty exchequer was replenished by a tax on marriages,
births, and burials, the very extortion which had been feared by the
insurgents in the Pilgrimage of Grace. The tax collectors had
access without payment of fee to the registers. The registration of
births was discontinued when the Taxation Acts expired. An attempt
to introduce the registration of births was made in 1753, but
unsuccessfully. The public had the old superstitious dread of
anything like a census. Moreover, the custom was denounced as
"French," and therefore abominable. In the same way it was thought
telling to call the cloture "the French gag" during some recent
discussions of parliamentary rules. In 1783 the parish register was
again made the instrument of taxation, and threepence was charged on
every entry. Thus "the clergyman was placed in the invidious light
of a tax collector, and as the poor were often unable or unwilling
to pay the tax, the clergy had a direct inducement to retain their
good-will by keeping the registers defective."
It is easy to imagine the indignation in Scotland when "bang went
saxpence" every time a poor man had twins! Of course the Scotch
rose up against this unparalleled extortion. At last, in 1812,
"Rose's Act" was passed. It is styled "an Act for the better
regulating and preserving registers of births," but the registration
of births is altogether omitted from its provisions. By a stroke of
the wildest wit the penalty of transportation for fourteen years,
for making a false entry, "is to be divided equally between the
informer and the poor of the parish." A more casual Act has rarely
been drafted.
Without entering into the modern history of parish registers, we may
borrow a few of the ancient curiosities to be found therein, the
blunders and the waggeries of forgotten priests, and curates, and
parish clerks. In quite recent times (1832) it was thought worth
while to record that Charity Morrell at her wedding had signed her
name in the register with her right foot, and that the ring had been
placed on the fourth toe of her left foot; for poor Charity was born
without arms. Sometimes the time of a birth was recorded with much
minuteness, that the astrologers might draw a more accurate
horoscope. Unlucky children, with no acknowledged fathers, were
entered in a variety of odd ways. In Lambeth