86: Ramsey Abbey
It was known as the ‘rich’ and the ‘golden’. It was the fourth richest monastery in England, a centre of learning and an island of tranquillity. All that remains is a gatehouse.
Glory is fleeting.
The gatehouse is all that remains of Ramsey Abbey.
Ramsey Abbey’s story is one of contrasts. On the one hand it was a fertile island of prosperity where learned men sought to bring light into the darkness of medieval England; on the other hand two abbots died in battle and the abbey was seized by a robber baron who used it as a base from which to ransack the countryside. The later 10th century was a time of hope for Anglo-Saxon England. Alfred the Great and his warrior successor, Athelstan, united the English to beat back the Danes – and East Anglia was liberated. One of the region’s great noblemen was Ealdorman Ailwyn, whose lands included Ramsey, near Huntingdon. It was an island in a sea of fen lakes and marshes. Once accessible only by boat, a causeway was later built of stone, wood and gravel – many men were employed in this expensive work. Ailwyn feared for his immortal soul, and found a degree of peace on the remote island. When he met a churchman named Oswald, later Archbishop of York and a saint, the two cooked up the idea of building an abbey and church at Ramsey.
Middle of the marshy fens. Bit unhealthy?
The island was surprisingly fertile and healthy. It proved ideal for growing corn and pasturing animals, and the water was full of eels and other fish. And what was a bit of fen ague to toughened Benedictine monks? After all, they had already built thriving monasteries at nearby Crowland and Thorney. In 969 Ailwyn and Oswald began building. At the same time work began on rebuilding Ely Cathedral, and it is thought Ramsey was a smaller version. Top craftsman were hired, and within five years all was complete. A charter granted by King Edgar in 974 was vital for the abbey’s future; it exempted the monks from taxation and laid the foundations for its prosperity. Up to 80 monks lived there, along with assorted servants, so it was an exceptionally large community – and must have been profitable. Ailwyn, the abbey’s patron and effective first abbot, died in 993 and was buried there. By 1087, when Norman conquerors assessed the land, it was rated fourth on the abbey ‘rich list’ in England (Ely came second, Bury St Edmunds fifth and Glastonbury first).
Who was the robber baron?
During the ruinous anarchy that broke out during the 1140s when Stephen and Matilda fought for the crown, many aristocrats switched sides shamelessly. Geoffrey de Mandeville, Earl of Essex, was among the worst. In an age of treachery and brutality he stood out – “the devil in human form”. By 1143 his betrayal of Stephen, after double-crossing Matilda, had gone so far he was outlawed. Accompanied by a rag-tag army of mercenaries and villains, he made for the fens and subjected it to a reign of terror. He seized Ely, made it a fortress, then took Ramsey. He evicted the monks and looted the abbey of treasure and resources. According to one understandably bitter monkish chronicler “blood exuded from the walls of the Church and cloisters adjoining, witnessing the divine indignation and prognosticating the destruction of the impious” while the earl’s troops were there. Ramsey became de Mandeville’s headquarters as he attacked nearby towns; he ransacked Cambridge and other towns, and no one was safe. His career ended abruptly in 1144 when, besieging Burwell Castle, he was hit by an arrow and died. His son later withdrew the army and paid the monks reparations.
Any other unpleasantness?
In 1016 Ramsey’s second abbot, Aednoth, and his successor, Wulsi, accompanied the army of Edmund Ironside to the Battle of Ashingdon in Essex. The troops liked to see the clergy accompanying them to pray for victory. It was Saxon England’s last bid to fight off the invading Danes – and it ended in disaster. The English lost, and both abbots were killed along with Ailwyn’s son. But the abbey survived, and better times followed when men of learning flourished. The brilliant French scholar, Abbo, was head-hunted to set up a school there. He taught the seven ‘liberal arts’ – rhetoric, dialect, grammar, mathematics, music, geometry and astronomy. At a time when such education was at a premium, his contribution was invaluable. The abbey’s library was famed for its rare books, including examples of the Hebrew language. In the 13th century a monk called Gregory of Huntingdon had come to a dead end in his study of Hebrew. But when Edward I banished the Jews from England, Gregory attended an auction at Huntingdon – and picked up Hebrew books for a song from the despoiled synagogue. The knowledge gained added to an understanding of Greek and Roman history. The library was full of wonderful books, some of which survive in the Ashmolean Museum in Cambridge.
So to the Reformation
The last abbot, John Lawrence, in office since 1507, co-operated with Henry VIII’s commissioners when they came to close down 600 years of monastic life. He was granted a generous pension of £266 per annum in 1539, enough to set a man up for life. A shame that he only lived a further three years. Thomas Cromwell, Henry’s architect of the dissolution of the monasteries, had a nephew, Sir Richard Williams, to whom the monastery fell. It was dismantled piece by piece, much of its stone going to build some of the famous Cambridge colleges, such as King’s and Caius. Related to Sir Richard’s family was the great Oliver Cromwell, born in 1599 and no friend to the Catholic church.
And today?
Only the gatehouse exists. Its rich ornamentation gives a clue to the magnificence of the abbey. Built in the late 15th century, it houses the porters’ lodge. Nothing else survives. The Cromwells were always thorough. The gatehouse stands on the property of Abbey School, and visitors are asked to show appropriate respect.
Websites
www.ramseyabbey.co.uk
www.nationaltrust.org.uk
