This is the ancient street of York, mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086. Its name, The Shambles, is derived from Shamel meaning stalls or benches where butchers laid out their meat. The street was rebuilt in 1400 and has remained largely the same, but without the dismembered carcasses. Butchers have been replaced by gift shops from the high end to Harry Potter emporia. It does however house an unexpected treasure, the house of Margaret Clitherow, known to many as the ‘Pearl of York.’
We are walking up to the house now, and the plaque gives you an inkling that something important happened here.
You enter into a small, intimate room with an altar at the far end, a far cry from a family home and Tudor butchers.
We’d been in there a few minutes, when a woman with her daughter entered, the young girl rightly inquisitive:
What’s a martyr, Mummy
Someone who wants to be noticed
Why did she want to be noticed?
She wanted to be a martyr.
Terse, admirable in its way, perfect for Twitter, but missing a fair bit out.
Margaret Clitherow was born around 1552, daughter of Jane and Thomas Middleton, a wax chandler and freeman of York. Aged 22 she married a staunch protestant, John Clitherow, who had no idea what life had in store when she moved in with him in the Shambles. In 1574, she converted to Catholicism influenced by the faith and quiet piety of other Catholics living their secret lives around her. From that moment on
there was no stopping Margaret – hiding fugitive priests and providing friends and neighbours with access to the holy sacraments.
Her uncomplaining husband remained a staunch Protestant and paid the numerous fines her activities incurred. When these failed to deter her, she suffered periods of imprisonment which also had little effect. It may be she actually relished the almost monastic regime, fasting and deprivation associated with gaol.
Margaret, though, was no grim ascetic. She was attractive, full of wit and merriment. Reading between the lines, you sense the local community quietly sympathised with her, but as the laws against Catholics became stricter and paranoia increased, it was only a matter of time before the gloves came off. In 1585, harbouring Catholic priests became a capital offence.
On 10th of March 1586, her home was searched. A terrified child revealed the secret room where a priest had been hidden. He escaped and took refuge with a neighbour. Margaret didn’t.
She was charged with harbouring an enemy of the state but refused to plead or accept a trial by jury. In her words: ‘I know of no offence whereof I should confess myself guilty. Having made no offense, I need no trial.’
Family, friends, even Protestant preachers begged her to cooperate, but Margaret refused, and Judge George Clinch pronounced his sentence: death by crushing.
Margaret took it calmly. ‘I feel the weakness of my flesh which is troubled at this news, but my spirit rejoices greatly. For the love of God, pray for me and ask all good people to do as well.’
On March 10th 1586 Margaret Clitherow was taken to the toll booth on Ouse Bridge and stretched out on the ground with a sharp rock under her back and pressed to death by her own front door laden with heavy rocks. Her bones were broken, and she died within fifteen minutes, crying out ‘Jesus have mercy’ three times. While good Englishmen quivered at tales of the Spanish Inquisition, her body was left exposed for the rest of that day.
Margaret's hand in its reliquary housed in St Mary's Convent York
Her Feast Day is on March 26 just over a week from now.
Poor John Clitherow suffered a different kind of martyrdom, staunch Protestant though he was, John had remained loyal to his equally staunch Catholic wife. Now he had lost her and was soon to lose his children who followed their mother’s faith. Ann Clitherow became a nun in a French Convent; Henry Clitherow studied to become a priest; her stepson, William, became a seminary priest in 1608, and Thomas Clitherow died in a Hull prison in 1604 accused of anti-Protestant activities. John Clitherow's story remains to be told. but it is the dialogue between mother and daughter that continues to ring in my head:
She wanted to be a martyr
Why?
She wanted to be noticed.
Tik Tok history making it sound like a career choice, Martyr, up their with ‘influencer’ or ‘Celebrity,’ and the way things are going, a degree course, the profession strictly regulated and made safe.
1 comment:
Margaret's story is so sad. But the judge was more than a little petty.
It's bad enough to condemn someone to death but to use her own door?
re: martyr
I find the mother's definition a little reprehensible. But maybe that's what social media has produced in our current culture.
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