In 1584 Richard Hakluyt, drawing attention to ‘the many thousands of idle persons’ within the realm, ‘whereby all the prisons of the land are daily pestered and stuffed full of them where either they pitifully pine away or else at length are miserably hanged’, recommended that ‘these petty thieves might be condemned for certain years in the western parts’ in sawing and felling of timber and ‘in the more southern parts’ in planting sugar canes and gathering cotton. England was full and overflowing with the workless; the New World was empty and eager for workers. Emptying the former and filling the latter was to the benefit of both. The indolent would become industrious. Prosperity would replace poverty. Everyone would be a winner. It was this beguiling argument that would sustain transportation throughout its history from the beginning of the seventeenth century to America until the middle of the nineteenth to Australia.

England's, and later Britain's, expansion overseas made this suggestion possible. As early as 1598 an Act ‘for the punishment of rogues, vagabonds and sturdy beggars’ sanctioned it, along with many other measures. ‘Incorrigible rogues’ were to be banished the realm ‘and at the charge of [the] country shall be conveyed unto such parts beyond the seas as shall be … for that purpose assigned by the Privy Council’. To return without licence was death.

The difference between intention and execution has always been the bane of governments, and was particularly so for the medieval Church, relying as it did mainly on spiritual authority. The institution of the inquisition was an unusual attempt to create a new operational arm. When thinking about its development in Italy over the century from 1250 to 1350, I found Richard Kieckhefer's fundamental discussion of the office very useful in shaping my approach and helping to frame questions which would get the best out of the source material. It encouraged me to look closely at the inquisitor's staff, who they were and what they did, and it provided me with the fundamental question and theme. How far was the medieval inquisition a loose association of separate personal jurisdictions, rather than an institution functioning cohesively both over time and across regions?

Secondly, how the papal inquisition really interacted with its episcopal and secular partners after Innocent IV's imposition of a tripartite structure in 1252 is clearly a crucial issue. While much attention has been paid to the position as set out in manuals and consilia, the real details of daily relationships have been much less considered. Inevitably, we find a picture which diverges in many respects from what was contemplated in Ad extirpanda. And thirdly, the inquisitors’ relationship in practice with the mendicant orders, of which they were senior members but from whose control they were theoretically liberated, raises a host of issues which rapidly extend beyond their personal dilemmas of obedience into the economic role of the Church in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

In exploring these major questions, other points were thrown up. In a study which aims to cover as much territory as this, there are also inevitably things which are missing or under-considered or could be set out differently. Some issues I was unable to resolve to my own satisfaction, though further work might bring rewards. But there are some broad conclusions which seem justifiable.

Richard Kieckhefer helpfully provides criteria by which to test his own hypothesis, the most important being his argument that there was no continuity in inquisition staffing. He accepts that permanent staff, especially inherited by one inquisitor from his predecessor, would be strongly suggestive of institutionalisation.

So settle down, sirs, and be quiet now, and you'll hear fine words if it please you to attend! The redoubtable Prince of Wales kept Bertrand prisoner for a long time; he wouldn't release him, and no one dared say a word about it, for the Prince, I understand, had one obvious concern – that his father King Edward, at this time back in England, might be forced by some act of rebellion to resume his war with France, which had caused such suffering to so many. And that was indeed about to happen, as I've heard.

But Bertrand was finally released in return for ransom. What happened was this: one day the Prince had risen from dinner and adjourned to his private apartments with his barons to serve spiced wine. Soon their talk turned to fine tales of love and war, of knights who'd died or been captured and ransomed, and of crusading matters – how Saint Louis, on his mission to save his soul, had let himself be captured at Tunis and been weighed to fix his ransom at his own weight in gold. Finally the Prince couldn't help but interject:

‘If a good warrior knight is captured in fair and chivalrous fight, and surrenders as a prisoner under oath, he shouldn't leave or break free from imprisonment till his captor says “You may go!” But nor should so high a ransom be set that he can't afford to arm himself again.’

The lord of Albret pricked up his ears at this and felt he had to comment. ‘My noble lord,’ he said, ‘don't take offence if I tell you what's being said behind your back.’

‘Truly,’ the Prince replied, ‘if any good knight who dines with me hears anything to my detriment, I shan't feel well disposed towards him if he keeps it from me, and fails to warn me of a threat to my life or advise me how my honour might be enhanced.’

‘Then I'll speak plainly,’ Albret said. ‘People are saying you're holding prisoner a certain knight I could well name, because you're frightened to release him for fear of the damage he might inflict.’

‘I've often heard that, too,’ said Olivier de Clisson.

Now listen, sirs, for the love of God the heavenly king! May our lord who turned the water into wine at Cana keep you all and grant you a happy ending. Hear me now, I pray you, knights, noble youths, burghers, priests and clerks and friars, and I'll sing you the story, from first to last, of the worthy Bertrand du Guesclin, Constable of France, that valiant paladin who was held in awe as far as the Rhine, through France, Auvergne and the Limousin. He was feared by every Jew and Saracen. Never since the days of Alexander, of Arthur or of good King Pippin, of Godfrey or of Saladin, did ever such a warrior hold sway. The records of his deeds, I tell you truly, are set down in Latin at Saint-Denis in France.

So settle down and hear me, if you relish stories and love honour! Draw near, and you'll hear, I think, a book to please you, newly composed in verse. Its author's name is Cuvelier, and for love of the Prince (God save him), to ensure that the deeds of the worthy, esteemed Constable be not forgotten, he has rendered them into fine and elegant verse.

This Constable, sirs, was named Bertrand. Of noble birth he was for sure, but a poor knight of humble means; yet before he passed the age of fifty he was a lord possessed of two noble counties – one in Spain where he was titled duke, and the other in France. There his fortune was such that he achieved the rank of Constable, and was loved beyond words by noble King Charles, and so feared by all that they thought themselves quite doomed the moment that his battle-cry was heard! He gave the king's foes no end of grief! He was feared by all – Jews and Saracens, Christians, too – in every land. In many parts new-born babes were told:

‘Hush! Hush, or you'll pay for it! Bertrand du Guesclin's here!’

[Inside Front Cover]

BEETHOVEN [presumably at his apartment on the Josephstädter Glacis; the morning of Monday, March 20, 1820]: [From] March 20, 1820.

Machine to keep on hand

Collars for shirts

Hand towels

You will find everything on the Spittelberg, so that you can easily set up an apartment [Blatt 1r] without furniture.

Bedding can also be bought down from the [Leib-]garde.

Perhaps retain a room of the apartment as soon as it is known what others cost. Spar has his seal on his [polishing] wax bottle. [Blatt 1v]

Cardboard for your hearing; this machine, muted, would be better than brass.

[Blatt 2r]

Spar's polishing wax, Wiplingerstrasse [sic], next to the Wasserdichten [waterproof]

hats [shop].

Sonnenfels, 792 Untere Backerstrasse.

Fine, pure smokeless lamp oil; 48 kr. per pound; Wiplingerstrasse. [//]

[Blatt 2v]

UNKNOWN: A candle lasts 6 to 7 nights. [//] 1 lamp with a package of wicks, for a half year, 2 fl. [//]

[Blatt 3r]

[A DIFFERENT] UNKNOWN: <This is the old letter.> [//]

BLÖCHLINGER [presumably at his Institute; probably the afternoon of Monday, March 20]: I am very obliged to you for the 2 bottles of Cyprus [wine]. Karl could use Tuesdays and Saturdays from 6 o’clock on for playing the piano. //

Bernard was [at the celebration] until 5:30 in the morning; he was very cheerful.

[//] Bernard, my teacher, my son-in-law, and I diligently philosophized and drank.

[//] [Blatt 3v]

Karl could also use from 5 o’clock [in the afternoon] on the aforementioned days for it. //

We’ll want to let it go until the examination is past. // It will be a week from today. [//] Bernard will also come here for it; he promised me to do it. //

Wouldn't you like to attend the theater? [//] [Blatt 4r]

Herr v. Czerny lost himself yesterday, about which I am very concerned, because

I fear that he might perhaps be offended by something. [//]

Wouldn't you like to take a seat? [//]

In our Rectory garden we are fortunate to have a lawn shaded by three large flowering cherry trees. Last year my wife Emma, who is the parish priest, suggested that the garden would make a marvellous place for a labyrinth. There are many examples of labyrinths around the world which are used for spiritual purposes. Perhaps the most famous is in Chartres Cathedral, but others are created in natural environments, such as mowed into lawns. I thought the idea of having a labyrinth in our garden that anyone could come and walk would be an excellent idea and I relished the challenge of researching how to make one. Having found a suitable pattern and method, I set about creating it one sunny spring afternoon: measuring and marking the centre, the boundaries, twists and turns, and making sure that each path was even and clear. It took all afternoon for me to make sure that the labyrinth was properly mapped out before I started to mow. The process was totally absorbing. I had to concentrate entirely on the project in hand and I had no other concerns or interests while engaged in it. I believe that my mind had gone into what the psychologists call a ‘flow’ state of complete focus – a state I have known partially in other physically demanding and absorbing situations, such as long-distance walking or cycling. Once the mowing and the labyrinth were complete, I felt that I had spent a thoroughly fulfilling and purposeful afternoon [Figure 8].

The joy of the experience was not so much in the completion of the project. Indeed, I could have asked someone else more professional to complete the task and then I would simply have had to admire it. The joy was in the process. Likewise now, when anyone walks the circular route of the labyrinth, finding their way slowly to the centre, where they find the meagre rewards of a water-filled bird bath, the benefit of the experience is not in the final destination, which after all is only another piece of lawn, it is in the journey. It is the thought processes, prayers, meditations and the focus of the mind through the walking that makes a labyrinth a worthwhile spiritual exercise.

There are a number of references to the situation in the Balkans. Bulgaria declared war on Serbia on 12 October. The British and French decided to send a force to assist the Serbians. The line of approach was to be through Greece, at that time neutral. Pressure to allow the Allies passage through Greece resulted in a crisis, of which Gwynne makes mention. The BEF continued to be engaged in the battle of Loos until it was ended on 8 October. In the middle of the month, he paid another visit to London to meet with the CG.

1 October

Reached home about 8.15 pm last night. Worked in the office from 9.30 – 1.15 and interviewed Foster*, Bowden* and Masters*, the latter is applying for a commission in our Department. At 2.15 I motored to Poperinghe to try and find the Robin Hoods1 but could not get along side of their Division and had to come away without seeing them. The Chauffeur made some tea in … village about 5 miles N. West of Poperinghe and I reached S. Omer soon after 7.30. A Major Jacob RAMC came to dinner with us tonight and after he went all four of us, Anderson*, Drury*, Thorold* and I thrashed out the question of promotion.

2 October

The visitors today were Leslie Johnson the brother of the Dean of Magdalen who was I fear lost at Richebourg on May 14 also a chaplain returned from sick leave. I worked at my office until 12 then started with Thorold* for the 37th Division. Stopped on the way and had a short walk and some tea. We reached the chateau of the H. Quarters about 5.40 and after leaving my kit proceeded to S. Venant where I held a Confirmation for about 30 men.

On my return to Head Quarters I found Gleichen the Div. General was an old friend of mine in the Sudan and Airey of the ASC made himself known at once. Savage, Bainbridge and Charlton are all in the Division as well as Toke of the Welsh. So I am amongst my friends.

3 October

Gleichen came with his ADC to the service at 7.30. I was glad to see him as our Senior Chaplain said he never came to Holy Communion. I preached to some gunners at their wagon lines at 10 am.

The General Labour History of Africa tells the story of African labour. It is an exposition of how African labour has evolved in different phases of contemporary history. At the time of the Treaty of Versailles, which spurred the creation of the International Labour Organization in 1919, the general motivation of a number of players was the stern belief that ‘Universal and lasting peace can be accomplished only if it is based on social justice.’ Since 1919 the ILO has continued to work to promote social justice, and has improved working conditions, workers’ rights and employment creation.

The journey has been turbulent at times. The twentieth century witnessed not only the wrath of two world wars, but also the Great Depression and its associated soaring unemployment and impoverished work conditions. But the complete history of labour needs to be told. While attempts have been made to create a truly global history of labour, the African component has largely been missed. This volume is an immense contribution to filling this gap. It surveys the historical development of African labour, giving the relevant timelines and charting the salient themes. It could not have come at a better time, for the ILO celebrates its centenary in 2019. The volume is a unique contribution to this celebration from an African perspective, as it presents the continent's history and gives it a significantly African voice. This is the first such volume to bring together critical inputs from world-renowned historians and labour experts discussing the evolution of African labour in a focused approach that analyses the issues in a simple but assertive manner.

The volume comes at a crucial time indeed. More than ever before, the significance of labour dynamics has been highlighted and labour issues recognized as the glue of development policy. African economic growth, which has recently been largely jobless, has sparked ever more thoughtful discourse on the social fabric, which is necessary to cushion the effects of growth that does not trickle down to the masses. This is also the time when, led by the United Nations, the world is devoting its resources to support the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development.

But I'm going to leave the good duke of Bourbon and noble, worthy Bertrand and all the renowned barons who were returning to King Charles in Paris: I'll tell you in due course of the great and wondrous feats Bertrand accomplished. But first, if it please you, I wish to speak of Chandos, a knight and man of high renown and a loyal servant of the English realm.

Chandos was at Poitiers with a strong garrison of men-at-arms at his command. Close at hand were a number of French strongholds with great towers and many fine captains of high birth. Among them was that loyal champion Kerlouët: for a long while he'd been captain of La Roche-Posay.336 With him were his companions Alain Saisi and worthy Jehan Paien and Henry Boterel and many more: he had around fifty lances,337 I believe, and no more than eighteen archers. Chandos would often visit this fortress to attack it and engage in combat, but he found the French such fierce opponents that he achieved precisely nothing: the French here were stout Bretons, who didn't give a rat's tail338 for the English!

And then one day, the story goes, brave Kerlouët and his men left their tower and stronghold and headed towards Poitiers, pillaging the country round about. They drove off livestock in large numbers, intending to herd them back inside their castle. The men they'd forced to flee went racing to Poitiers to report the theft to Chandos, and he swore by the crucified Christ that Kerlouët would pay dearly for the crime. He called for the horns and trumpets to sound and the English rushed to arms. Around three hundred there were, all vowing the death and destruction of brave and loyal Kerlouët. But nothing but good will befall the man who has God on his side.

Chandos rode from Poitiers with three hundred English troops. Every one was helmeted, had a jack over his hauberk and a stout, sharp-headed lance in hand, and each was mounted on a good horse, grey or bay or black. And all were out to get Kerlouët, who respected them so little and had shown such contempt as to steal their herds from the meadows.

WHEN JULIA ARR IVED IN YORK from Cambridge in 1977, she joined an already thriving body of graduate students working on medieval topics. Some had come to do the one-year interdisciplinary MA in Medieval Studies and an increasing number to embark directly on research for the D.Phil. York was thriving because it had a well-established and wellorganized Centre for Medieval Studies and a regular intake of well-qualified students to sustain it, in some measure because York is an attractive and extremely medieval city to live in, but above all because of the charismatic presence of Elizabeth Salter. She was the founder and inspiration of the Centre and its most brilliant teacher and research supervisor. No student who came into contact with her was not enriched for life by the experience.

The early cohorts of D.Phil. students mostly did the traditional medieval English subjects – Chaucer, Langland, the Mystery Plays, the English and French romances – but from about 1975 a change began to take place. It could be called ‘the manuscript turn’, and the development of Elizabeth Salter's own research had a lot to do with it. It was the time when the emphasis of postgraduate study and research turned from the literary value and textual status of medieval works to the material circumstances of their existence, the manuscripts, and what they had to tell us about literary history, book history, manuscript production, changes in taste and every aspect of cultural history. It was this cohort that Julia belonged to and to which she gave, by her presence at York, a special character and impetus. Her work was on the late-medieval English lyric, not for the purpose of evaluating its literary merit, nor establishing the text, nor putting it into categories of genre, but to study the manuscripts in which literary works had their only surviving existence. It was from that study that could be obtained understanding of how it came into being, who wrote it, how it was produced, copied, decorated, organized, circulated and to whom it appealed. The best way of doing this, as Julia demonstrated, was not to allow study to be governed by the questions that were already known, but to allow manuscripts to have their own say.

Biblioteca Statale di Lucca, MS 3540 (olim Phillipps MS 8831) is a vellum manuscript, most likely of the third quarter of the fifteenth century, with two distinctive illustrations (fols. 122v and 148v), the first a Man of Sorrows and the second a fine coloured drawing of the saint herself (fig. 8.1). Its contents are entirely in Latin. It begins with the pseudo-Bonaventuran Meditationes vite Christi and ends with the material on Santa Zita to be described here. In between are prayers, short treatises, and excerpts from treatises and sermons (including material by the Englishmen Robert Grosseteste, Richard Rolle, and Stephen of Sawley). At the end of the Meditationes (fol. 122r) the scribe has written what appears to be a coded notice of his name (perhaps John Combe).

The manuscript was not prepared for a female readership (its Latinate content precludes that), but there is a markedly affective and female bias, not only in prayers to the Virgin and the Stephen of Sawley treatise on her fifteen joys, but in the Revelations of St Mechthild and the Zita material. A prayer invoking the passion of Christ (fol. 123r) asks for the intercessions of the Virgin, her mother St Anne, and Sts Katherine, Margaret, Cecilia, Zita (‘Citha’) and Faith ‘cum omnibus sanctis et electis tuis’.

It will be clear from the Lucca manuscript alone that Santa Zita was known in England in the Middle Ages. Caroline Barron has written on the means by which the cult came to England and has provided valuable information on its spread, perhaps from London in the fourteenth century, where the church of St Benet Sherehog was known as that of ‘St Sithe’ (1356) and the church of St Andrew, Holborn had a successful fraternity dedicated to her (1394). The establishment in England of the cult of Zita (although always referred to as a saint, she was not canonized until 1696) was most likely due to the dual influence of Italian merchants living in London (specifically, Luccan merchants, since Italian saints and cults were very localized) and clerics travelling to and from Rome via Lucca. There is perhaps particular reason to associate the cult with the Benedictine abbey of Bury St Edmunds, which had early (eleventhcentury) links with Lucca through the Duomo, San Martino, which housed the ‘Volto Santo’, the great wooden image of Christ.