Priory chapels and perpetual curates

Pat here: I believe I promised you last time to talk about my research into the Anglican Church. We all know the history about Henry the Head Chopper who wanted a divorce and the pope refused to give him one, so he created his own church. That’s not what I researched. Instead, I spent hours trying to figure out if my isolated manor might have a chapel or a vicar or what on earth they did for Sunday services.

I wasn’t researching because I just wanted my folks praying. They were nicely handling that by reading the English Book of Common Prayer on a Sunday morning—in the ancient great hall that was once a priory chapel, before Henry’s men tore it down. But under the Marriage Act of 1753, one cannot marry without a real church and real clergyman (unless you’re a Quaker or Jewish), and that’s a bit of a problem in a mystery series with a lot of romance.

Because I was into the story and not the research, I first created a character who claimed to be a vicar show up at the manor. But as Mary Jo reminded me, vicars are educated fellows who live in parishes that actually pay a tithe. Vicars can afford families and the upkeep of vicarages. My poor guy was on the roof repairing thatch on a tumble-down chapel and parsonage. This did not compute. I was forced to research and relearn that I needed a curate. Memory fails me like that.

Remember poor Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice, dependent on Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s whims for his living? Obsequious, ingratiating, because a poor curate has no secure living, no benefice, only the generosity of their wealthy benefactor, which could end at any time.

I will not drive you insane as my research did me. The politics and laws of the Anglican church are more complex than the IRS. What I discovered was that, by the 1800s, the need for new churches and clergymen outstripped the number of wealthy lords willing to support them. The medieval system of the local noble supporting the village chapel just didn’t work any longer. The vicar of one parish might end up representing half a dozen small chapels scattered around the countryside, because the vicar is the one with the church register who records marriages, births, and deaths according to all the fancy new laws. (If you want a real lecture, try studying the Marriage Act of 1753—England had THREE separate sets of laws—canonical, civil, and equity. And all three were affected by marriage.)

My main concern was that I had ancient priory land that was given to an earl and most likely encompassed a good-sized church for the monks and quite possibly a small chapel for the locals outside the walls. The earls destroyed the large church to build their manor, but there was no reason I couldn’t leave the chapel. By the time of my story, the village is nearly vacant, the manor hadn’t been lived in for fifteen years, the earl was dead, and his money gone. The nearest vicar is far away, and the newly-arrived manor inhabitants have no way of supporting a church or clergyman—but they want to get married! And it would be nice to have the church record the deaths all these murder victims. . .

Et voila, after much digging (and cursing), I discovered the answer—a perpetual curate! According to Wikipedia, the perpetual curate developed out of an anomaly in the sixteenth century and was grabbed by desperate parishes in the 18^th century to fill all those tiny towns. Someone would endow a new church, and a perpetual curate would be appointed—without the ancient rights to tithes. (Medieval practices required a percentage of the lord’s income be tithed to the church—an early form of taxation that got passed on to the peasants, of course.) Like poor Mr. Collins, the perpetual curate survived on the generosity of others and any income he might have of his own, which is why it was handy place to stick younger sons. Keeping a house and raising a family couldn’t easily be done without outside sources.

So, my earls might once have endowed the chapel in the village. The church appointed a perpetual curate to fill the position in that isolated little town. When the earl died, the curate might leave for greener pastures, but because the position is perpetual. . . My curate can trot right back anytime he likes.

Isn’t it wonderful how research can create all sorts of fun twists and turns? Now, if only I could remember it the next time I have a problem like this. . .

I know there are many more stories with poor curate characters. Can you remember any of them? My mind is an utter blank.

Comments

[Christina Courtenay]

What a fascinating post, Pat - I had no idea these things were so complicated! As someone interested in my family tree, I am of course very grateful for the laws that made them have to keep records of births, marriages and deaths, but I never considered the various types of incumbent. (I do know that some curates were very bad at spelling, writing things like "burriall" ). The only clergyman I can think of in fiction off the top of my head is Edmund in Mansfield Park, but I'm not sure if he was to be a curate or a vicar? And I loathed Mr Collins (as I'm sure Jane Austen meant us to do)!

[Nancy Mayer]

There is a book Fashionable Goodness by Brenda Cox in which she discusses all these things.

[Patricia Rice]

I had always idly wondered about the various types of clergy but never really got into it until now. Things are different today, of course. Poor Mr. Collins... I wonder if he was designed to say someone who has no money shouldn't become a curate.

[Patricia Rice]

I am off to track it down, thank you!

[Patricia Rice]

and just glancing at her blurb... I had no idea Mr. Collins was a rector! Now must go back and re-read.

[Kareni]

I haven't read it, Pat, but I believe FAIR AS A STAR BY MIMI MATTHEWS features a hero who is a curate. (I've enjoyed other books by the author.)

Thanks for an informative post!

[/anne...]

Years ago when I lived in rural Australia, the tiny town of 400 people had several churches. The Protestant ones mostly had the local minister rotate between them, although at least one had a minister who travelled between churches of the same denomination in the (very large) area, often with the congregation following if they could travel. The Catholic church actually had a priest, as the town had a Catholic school.

When the next town is 50km away, you have to get creative!

[Alice Mathewson]

I spent some of my childhood in rural Scotland. There was no full time minister for the local wriggly tin roofed church. However the house was offered to vicars for their holidays, as long as they took a service in the church next door. It was quite random as you never knew who might be leading the service - good and bad. And then at Christmas, sometimes we might get the bishop!

[Patricia Rice]

Her books are good. I'll take a look, thanks!

[Patricia Rice]

Exactly! I know southern US towns had traveling/rotating preachers in the more rural areas. One cannot live on the tiny amount a small community can tithe.
I suspect the Catholic church provides better for its priests.

[Patricia Rice]

that's kinda cool on the bishop! I wonder how the random vicars were chosen? Pulled names out of a hat?

[Annette N]

Here it is the Episcopal Church. I believe the various rules are not quite as involved as the Church of England. A friend attended a service with me one Sunday, his comment was that the constant kneeling, sitting and standing were to make sure none of us fell asleep. Until he said something I had no idea we were different from any other church.
The only other comment by someone outside our church was a professor my freshman year of college. He was discussing different religions in the US. He called us "The Frozen Chosen".
So, we seemed to be complicated, convoluted and generally difficult to follow.
I am older now, have attended services in many different places, from big churches to tents. And the one thing that seems to be a common thread, everyone wants to get to heaven.
So, I reckon all the various rules are simply man's effort to trying to be in charge.

[Julia Gasper]

What a lot of research it takes to write a historical novel!
The patronage system of the Church of England was really very odd until the Victorians gradually sorted it out. Landowners often had a hereditary right to appoint the local vicar - major landowners could often appoint several in different parts of the country. Mr Collins in Pride and Prejudice is definitely a vicar, chosen by Lady Catherine but not paid by her. He would be paid by the Church.
Mr Darcy has similar rights over a parish near Pemberley - the one Wickham claims he was done out of.
A curate is an ordained clergyman who has no parish, but is paid by a vicar to do some or all of his work. Hence usually very poor.
A rector is a clergyman with a higher status and responsibility.
A chaplain is a clergyman attached to an institution or a noble household and privately paid by them. He would have been qualified to perform marriages. Having a private chaplain was a huge status symbol and a sign that you were either very rich or very pious.
In the 19th century the Anglican Church gradually bought the legal rights of patronage from landowners as the system was regarded as too nepotistic. I believe some Oxford and Cambridge colleges may still have such rights but you'd have to check that out.

[Julia Gasper]

That's fascinating.

[Patricia Rice]

I used to attend the Episcopal Church too. It's similar to Anglican and one step below Catholic, far heavier on ritual than the Baptist and Methodist I've attended. But I never tried to figure out how preachers were chosen!

[Patricia Rice]

Thank you, Julia, this is marvelously useful. My memory is so flaky, I really should never try to rely on it! And yes, working out at which point in history who did what is beyond tricky!

[Lynn Pollard]

I believe 'A Gift of Daisies' by Mary Balogh fits the bill as a poor curate story, though it has the extra twist at the end of the hero rejecting the fortune his grandmother has left him in order to have a life in his cottage with his love.
As to the intricacies of the Church of England, some years ago our then local vicar became a rector. He was very chuffed by it all and insisted on using 'rector' wherever he could, but to the parishioners it made no difference at all. Whether the Church Commissioners paid him more I something I never asked.

[Patricia Rice]

I daresay it gave him a little more money or power or both, plus a fancier title. Thanks for the Balogh reference!