The Mulberry Tree

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, 27 August 2019, a large limb of the black mulberry tree in the garden crashed down.  It looked like the end.  After the tree surgeon had been summoned the local media were informed.  There was a great deal of interest.  The Charterhouse tree is, after all, famous.
Legend has it that Andrew Marvell, the local MP and renowned poet, would sit beneath the tree as a boy.  The trouble with the legend, however, is that it is probably wrong.  We have no evidence for the date of the tree's planting.  Marvell came here as a child of 3, in 1624, when his father became Master, and he left aged about 12 to go off to college.  He rarely came back home.  The current Master's House did not then exist, and all the buildings of the hospital were demolished in 1642 to make way for a defensive garrison at the outset of the Civil War.  Rebuilding began in 1649, and was completed in around 1673, when William Catlyn added a chapel.  There is some evidence that the footprint of the new buildings was very different from that of the original hospital.  Was the new Master's House and garden sited to accommodate the mulberry tree?  A more plausible theory is that the tree is a contemporary of those at Wilberforce House, which was also built by William Catlyn.
We know that black mulberries were introduced into Britain in the 17th century in the hope of developing a home-grown silk industry, but the project had to be abandoned when it was realised that silkworms ate only the white variety.

Our tree survived, protected from encroaching development in its sheltered garden.  It came through the second World War, despite the unexploded bomb which was found in the garden early in the war, and despite the bomb which did explode in May 1941, badly damaging the Master's House and forcing the evacuation of the Charterhouse.  It then survived years of abandonment and neglect; the Charterhouse did not reopen until 1948, and it was the mid-1950s before the Master's House was restored.
At some point it was clear that age was taking its toll. 

Steps had been taken, somewhat crudely, to prop it up with wood and wire meshing.  Nonetheless it has continued to bear fruit, some years in great quantity.  Residents have always made pies and other desserts from the sharp, tangy berries.  2019 has been a bumper year.  And it was, perhaps, that which was the tree's downfall - literally.  The weight of the fruit, together with the very dry summer, was too much for tree to take, and a huge bough simply broke away.  The Matron, Lynne Broom, took photographs of the damage before the clear-up began.

On Wednesday 28 August a BBC reporter from the Look North programme was alerted and arrived with her camera.

 Cutting away the fallen branch.

 The reporter displays the damage and explains the history.

Edward Hudson, our contract gardener, explains what has happened to the tree.


The Master, Canon Greenwell, expresses hope that it can be saved.





The Yorkshire Post had seen our Facebook page post with the Matron's photo and, the next day, published an article (with some historical inaccuracies) headlined Legendary Yorkshire tree which survived English Civil War and the Blitz may have to be felled and using Lynne's photo.
Can the tree survive?  It's hollow, but enough live wood remains to give us hope that it can be saved.  Watch this space.

UPDATE 23 July 2020
The mulberry tree survived! 

Looking rather lop-sided, nonetheless it's in full leaf, and we may yet see some fruit.  Let's hope the weight doesn't bring it down.  Another winter may see it off, but fingers crossed.

 

UPDATE 3 JUNE 2021

The tree survived and is in leaf again this year but in obvious danger of collapse so a prop has been put in.  

 

Too late

A room in the Charterhouse was highly prized.  So why did some people turn it down?
From the second half of the 19th century those who applied for a place were put on a waiting list.  The committee of councillors who acted as advisers to the hospital, faced with a vacancy, would select a few names to be put forward to the full Council.  The Council then voted on who should be "elected".  It is apparent from the register that it helped considerably to have the right connections.  Some people got a room suspiciously quickly.  Even when the new Trustees were put in place, with a scheme of governance, the system remained the same.
The demand was huge.  The local paper first noted it in 1900 when "upwards of 100" queued to apply for a vacancy.  In 1903 the number was 114 (3 of whom were called John Brown); in 1905 the paper asked, "what of the 128" unsuccessful applicants; and in 1906 there were 142 and "several of the applicants had been on the list 20 years".  This would account for the fact that in 1890 "it was found when elected that William Jones had been some time dead".  It seems that no attempt was made to ascertain whether people who had been on the waiting list for years were still wanting a room or even still alive.  Often the candidate or candidates would be in the public gallery of the Council chamber to hear the result.  As soon as the election by the Council had taken place the Master wrote the name in the register, with the date of the meeting, and then, presumably, tried to contact anyone who had not been present.  This certainly seems to have been the case after William Hay Fea became Master in 1898.
The Charterhouse was far from being the only almshouse or hospital in the city.  A number of smaller homes existed, many of which were consolidated in 1887 into the Hull Municipal Hospitals, with its own large building.  Applicants to the Charterhouse would usually have their names down on the waiting lists of these as well.  Perhaps Smith Oldham who, in 1893, "never took possession of his room" and John Appleton who was "never admitted" in 1897 had been successful in getting a room elsewhere.  There is no doubt about Thomas Dean in 1904.  He is recorded as "elected but preferred to remain in Municipal Hospitals".  By 1907 the Master settled on a formula; "elected but refused the room" is recorded for 9 candidates, the last in 1922 when the register ends.  We don't know what happened with Mary Walters who, in 1915, was elected but "resigned" 11 days later.  Perhaps she had a better offer.
The award of a room came too late for William Finningley in 1850.  He died on the same day.  It was a double tragedy for his wife Margaret who would have occupied the room with him.  A rather more romanticised, but anonymous, instance was reported in 1886.

There is no other information about this and the writer obviously had a political point to make.
The most fascinating example of a room being awarded too late is the case of John Kirby Picard.  Born in 1766, he had all the advantages one could wish.  He inherited his father's white lead works and became very wealthy.  He modernised his father's large mansion to the east of Hull, called Summergangs House, and in the early 19th century he came to the attention of the Prince Regent by minting huge numbers of copper coin tokens at his lead works (there was a severe shortage of small change at the time).  In London Picard was drawn into the circles of gambling and dissipation and lost huge sums of money.  Eventually Summergangs House had to be sold to pay his debts (it was later demolished and replaced by Holderness House).  In 1843, still mired in debt, he was awarded a room in the Charterhouse.  Three days later, before he could take up the room, he died.

Picard would have been an extraordinary addition to the Charterhouse community.
For thousands through the years the Charterhouse was a sanctuary in old age.  For a few, the award of a room came too late.

The Chapel

Christian worship was not just integral to the life of Michael de la Pole's Maison Dieu; it was its whole point.  Like the Carthusian priory next door, it was established to provide a bank of people engaged in prayer for the souls of Michael and his family, to speed them through Purgatory.  So the chapel was the hub of the place, and the Master's main job was to say Mass and lead divine service.
So it's curious that it wasn't until 1394, ten years after the licence and charter for the Maison Dieu, that Pope Boniface IX issued a papal bull (order) to Michael de la Pole, 2nd Earl of Suffolk, giving permission for "masses and other divine offices" to be said in the two chapels erected near the hospital his father had built.  Had the hospital managed without a chapel for 10 years?  Had someone forgotten to ask permission?  Had there been a hold-up with the paperwork in Rome?  The chapels were said to be "near" the hospital, rather than part of it.  And why were there two?  It seems implausible that men and women were segregated into different buildings.
No subsequent records for centuries give us any information about the appearance or use of the chapels.  While a great deal of research has been done on medieval church life and faith, almshouses are a neglected area.  We can only follow the effects of the upheavals which Henry VIII set in train through the men who were appointed as Masters, and assume that our chapel mirrored what was going on in parish churches.  The closure of the priory in 1539 left the hospital isolated, but from the appointment of Thomas Turner as Master in 1558 with a dual role as assistant at Holy Trinity (now the Minster) a strong connection with the parish church was established which was to continue for many years.
By 1582 there were only 12 inmates in the hospital.  Financial accounts of the period tell us a little about the buildings, which included kitchens, a chicken house and a buttery, but there is no mention of a chapel.  However, in 1626, when Andrew Marvell senior had been Master for two years, the accounts show that the old building and the chapel had been repaired.  It was the last time this chapel was mentioned.  In 1642 all the buildings were demolished to make way for a garrison at the start of the Civil War.  Inmates decamped to a building on Silver Street and, it seems, used Holy Trinity for their worship.  After the war, when the first phase of rebuilding started in 1649 it seems to have been without a chapel.  Did the Charterhouse residents go to the nearest church, perhaps St Mary's, or was a worship space improvised within the building?  The second phase of rebuilding added a chapel in 1673, the work of William Catlyn.  In 1724 a crude sketch was made of this chapel and appeared in John Cook's book of 1882.

These buildings lasted just over a century.  In 1777 all of them were demolished; only the bell from the chapel was salvaged.  It was made in 1670 by William Sellers of York.  It was rehung in the cupola above the new chapel and is still rung for services.  The grand new hospital integrated the chapel into the main structure.  The Victoria County History describes it in detail:

"The chapel occupies the middle of the north side of the building and projects from its north wall. The interior retains its original oak fittings and survives almost unaltered. It is lit by a tall round-headed window in each of the east and west walls and by a central dome in the roof. There is a dentil cornice and the enriched plaster ceiling is divided into three panels by raised bands of guilloche ornament. The stone slabs paving the floor have small squares of slate at their intersections. At the east end of the chapel the altar, raised on three steps, is enclosed by original rails with heavy turned balusters. Five rows of box-pews are stepped up against the west wall and there are similar pews on the south side flanking the central entrance from the corridor. This entrance has a carved doorcase and a segmental pediment. In the middle of the north wall is an enclosed area with a panelled front, curved in the centre; spacious pews for the master and officers occupy the two sides of the area while in the middle a fine semicircular pulpit, the most striking feature of the chapel, projects from the north wall. It is surmounted by a sounding-board and supported on a bracket some distance from the ground. Access to it is from a door at the rear leading to the vestry.  The drum of the pulpit and the frieze behind it are elaborately carved with swags of drapery and other ornament."

There was also a small vault beneath the altar, in which around five Masters and their wives were buried, but the vault was sealed at some point in the 19th century (there is no record of when) and the only evidence of its presence are two small arches in the brickwork of the eastern wall, and the memorial plaques which tell us the person was "interred in the vault below".  During the 2018 restoration work some human bones were disturbed below the altar, and were re-interred with appropriate ceremony.

It is the orientation of the chapel which strikes people first, and the pulpit which faces you as you enter.  When it was built it must have seemed far too big for the 44 residents housed around it, but by the second half of the 19th century, after many more rooms had been added, it would have a been a squeeze to fit them all in.

An anonymous 19th century sketch shows the chapel looking rather drab.  A few memorials have been fixed to the walls and benches have appeared to supplement the seating.  There was no heating.  A stove was later put in, but it caused complaints about fumes.  At some point a harmonium was installed to accompany the singing.  In 1901, when the governance of the Charterhouse was handed over to trustees, permission was given to replace it with an organ, and the local firm of Forster & Andrews built a splendid one in the south-east corner.  Later, electric light was installed, and there was a failed experiment with a sound system.

The Charterhouse was closed in 1941 after blast damage caused by bombing, and it was neglected and left to fall into a dreadful state.  A photograph taken after the war shows the damage to the chapel.

It was restored, along with the rest of the buildings, and re-opened in 1948.  More than 30 years later, after a major redevelopment of the complex, the chapel underwent a complete refurbishment.  A gas-fired heating system was installed and ornate chandeliers replaced the pendant lights.  On 8 July 1981 the Archbishop of York, Stuart Blanch, led a service of re-dedication.

The decoration of the chapel has always depended largely on the tastes of the Master of the time.  Until 2017 it was maintained in the rather plain state shown in the photo above.  A new Master brought a different sensibility.  But the chapel was quickly closed when a survey discovered that the floor was in a dangerous state.  Extensive work was done to fix that and install a new heating system.  The opportunity was taken to put in an effective sound system, so that, probably for the first time, everyone could hear what was going on.  While the chapel was closed services were held in the hall.

On 12 May 2019 a service of re-hallowing was led by the Archbishop of York, John Sentamu.

Our current chapel has been in use for almost 240 years, continuing a much older tradition.