The largest group of recipients in the regency Accounts was made up of men and boys of good family who were attached to the court in some way. Those receiving the most clothes and accessories were of course members of Arran's immediate family, but he also granted items to more distant relations and political or personal associates. To complicate matters, relatives of the Regent and other well-born people often served as household staff or in other positions in the government that Arran directly supervised and might receive clothing as a perquisite. Those serving the court and the Regent may be found in Chapter 7, while those serving others are listed in Chapter 8.

Aside from Arran himself, the men and boys of the court had the most formal and expensive wardrobes of any males in the regency Accounts. They were more likely to have gowns rather than just coats and cloaks, and the quality of materials they wore was on average quite good, with a relatively high percentage of velvets and other silks as well as the more expensive wools. Some had passementerie braid or strips of velvet to trim their clothes. They were also the most likely to receive a full outfit of gown, coat, doublet, and hose, but items such as shirts, gloves, and shoes were usually reserved for close family members.

Men and boys of the court were also most likely to have wedding clothing provided for them. Rather than being a specific type of formal wear, wedding clothes for men were simply the best quality that could be purchased. These would then be added to the wardrobe and worn for other occasions in the future. In contrast, garments for mourning were spread across the social spectrum.

Among adult men in this category, clothing of which the color was specified was overwhelmingly black with some white and gray and a few instances of tawny, purple, and red. Boys had a larger percentage of the lighter and brighter colors in the men's range, with occasional touches of blue, yellow, and green in addition. Doublets and hose were more likely to be made in colors other than black, although coats and gowns were sometimes lighter.

Thomas Starkey, the sixteenth-century English political theorist and humanist, famously published A Dialogue between Pole and Lupset between 1529 and 1532. This dialectic – taking its precedent from classical works – was an attempt to gain royal favour from Henry VIII. Instead, it was Thomas Cromwell who took notice of Starkey and commissioned him to write a lengthy sermon entitled An exhortation to the people instructynge theym to Unitie and Obedience, published in 1535. Both works used the idea of the body politic to endorse the ‘natural’ hierarchy of society while enhancing the authority of the monarch, and, undoubtedly, both were written with the contemporary affairs of the Tudor court and the wider European events of the Reformation in mind. In the Dialogue Starkey makes the argument that all forms of governance derive from the king, stating that ‘from the pryncys & rularys of the state commyth al lawys ordur & pollycy, al jusyce virtue & honesty’. The metaphor of the body politic – the concept of understanding the nation and governance functioning as a body, with the ruler as the head – popularised by John of Salisbury in his twelfth-century Policraticus, was subsequently employed by numerous writers, including Starkey. These writings argued that it was the head, or the ruler, who controlled the health and wellbeing of the rest of the body, or the kingdom. If the king – physically or symbolically – was ill, then his kingdom would also suffer the consequences. The importance of the ruler in early modern society has been echoed by scholarship focusing on politics, governance, and power, with the king as the central focus. This chapter will move away from the head of governance and look instead to the king's wider support network, which helped him to govern in the localities: the nobility. Four principal themes will be considered in order to explore the ways in which the nobility attempted to consolidate and expand their power on a regional level. The first is the ownership of lands and the acquisition of royal patronage. Land ownership was pivotal for maintaining control of a specific area and one way to bulk out a small inheritance was to obtain royal grants that added to a lord's income. The second is the military duties that would have been expected from the leading families in the localities.

HERBERT of Bosham's letter collection would be totally lost if it were not for a single fourteenth-century copy, today in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 123, fols. 1r–64v. It consists of forty-eight letters and letter fragments. Only partially edited by J. A. Giles in the mid-nineteenth century, the letters, which are written in complex and flowery Latin, have been largely neglected, although some of them were included by Robertson in the Materials for the History of Archbishop Thomas Becket. Anne Duggan has established with great clarity the (limited) contribution that the collection makes to the much greater body of the Becket correspondence. Eleven letters are presented as drafted by Herbert ‘in persona Thomae’, but for most of them it is difficult to say that they were ever actually sent. Only two appear in the main Becket collections, with textual differences from the text extant in the Herbert collection. Two letters drafted by Herbert seem to have been rejected by the archbishop and a parallel version actually sent. Another three may have been actually sent, although Anne Duggan did not include them in her edition.

However, the letters written on behalf of Becket constitute only a small part of the collection as we have it. There are also twenty letters written in Herbert's own name, as well as three letters sent to him. There is an intriguing addition: Ne in dubium, the text of the settlement established at Avranches in 1172 between Henry II and the papacy. The last extant element in the collection is a fragment completely ignored by Giles, probably because it bears no rubric or other obvious identifiable feature.

Herbert's letters have been overlooked for centuries, and the few people who have taken notice were not always won over. The Latin in which the letters are composed is difficult and convoluted, and they are long winded. They were also edited by a man who had, both literally and metaphorically, little time for them. As Nicholas Vincent shows in another chapter, Giles had to go fast when he edited the letters, and he had other concerns on his mind. This accounts for the frequent transcription mistakes, but not necessarily for Giles's decision to discard about a quarter of the collection.

In Chapter 3 we saw a growing scepticism towards the legitimacy of mysticism in England. This originated from two different bodies of thought: those who saw mysticism as a symptom of melancholy and enthusiasm, and those who critiqued the historical validity of figures such as Pseudo-Dionysius and the pagan roots of the doctrines of mysticism. Both arguments were driven to some degree by the sectarian mysticism explored in Chapter 2. Here we see these concepts electrified by currents of Restoration anti-Catholicism and a latitudinarian emphasis on rationality as a key tenet of faith. Arguments over the validity of mysticism were swept up into much fiercer debates between the Benedictine Serenus Cressy and the Anglican divine Edward Stillingfleet concerning the role of rationality in religion, the origins of fanaticism and the validity of tradition as a source of doctrinal authority. These issues were symptomatic of a much larger concern for Protestants in England over the visible Catholic presence at the court of Charles II. As a result, mysticism was transformed into a tool with which some English Protestants could slander and invalidate their Catholic opponents in polemical debates. To practise mysticism, or even be accused of supporting a belief in mystical experience, was to be labelled as irrational, enthusiastic, and most importantly for those seeking to limit the influence of Catholics, potentially seditious.

The fallout from these debates cannot be understated. Mysticism was labelled as an anti-rational practice and something to be ridiculed and treat with the utmost suspicion. It was also attributed to an underlying and untreated melancholy which caused delusionary experiences. Those claiming mystical visions were mocked for being unable to see the underlying natural causes of their supposedly supernatural experiences. The debates between Cressy and Stillingfleet would continue to play a role in later discussions of mysticism, both by those attempting to validate mysticism and those attempting to dismiss it as delusional. As we explored in the Introduction to this book, Cressy's definition of mysticism as ‘a nearer, a more familiar, and beyond all expression comfortable conversation with God’ was one repeated in dictionaries and clerical handbooks in the seventeenth century.

As Marischal's feud with Huntly drew to a close, his participation in court politics declined sharply. He continued to attend court, but, with the threat from the centre lifted, Marischal concentrated the majority of his time and effort in the localities and, as we will see in chapter five, increasingly delegated his responsibilities to his son and heir. There would be other feuds, detailed in chapter four, but none would draw him into high politics in the same way. Most of the earl's activities at the royal court and centre of government therefore concerned his relationship with the king and his services to the state, the focus of this chapter. ‘Services to the state’ in this context refers to positions of power that Marischal held from the crown, such as his positions as marischal, as a member of the privy council or as hereditary sheriff of the Mearns.

There is a broad consensus that the reign of James VI saw far reaching changes in the relationship between the nobility and the state, as well as in the overall nature of government. Julian Goodare's study of the mechanisms of the Jacobean government perceived a growing intensification in the processes of state-building between 1560 and 1625, exaggerated by the Union of the Crowns, where the nobles were increasingly confined to advising the king or serving a more centralised royal government, rather than governing the localities on behalf of the king. This shift was achieved through interventions into the nobles’ old mechanisms of power, such as reforming sheriff courts. The nobility still retained a central role in the government of Scotland, while also maintaining their strong regional powerbases, meaning that the state was still essentially aristocratic, but their autonomy and power had been fundamentally eroded. Although this is largely seen as the outcome of James’ reign, its causes are more debatable. Julian Goodare emphasised the intentional development of government, while continuity has been stressed by Jenny Wormald and Keith Brown, who saw these changes as more to do with the end of a period of disruption caused by royal minority and civil war. For them, these changes were reactive and incremental, and not part of a self-consciously designed plan.

MILITARY CLOTHING

Because Scotland was at war for a large percentage of Arran's regency, it is not surprising that the Accounts include items to be worn on the battlefield. This study only considers types of clothing that, while military in nature, were composed partially or wholly of textiles. These include harness doublets, jacks, arm guards, aprons of plate, and a few accessories.

Sixteenth-century Scots did not wear uniforms on the battlefield unless they happened to be part of a household that had been issued a livery including military items. Letters sent during the war between England and Scotland sometimes mention details about battlefield wear. In June 1548, the Master of Ruthven “was at Yester with his servants in there jackes and red skarffes,” and in July, Pedro Strozzi was carried off, wounded, by “hys men in crymosen and whight velveit.” These sets of men in livery were probably identifiable to those on both sides, but humbler soldiers sometimes had to adopt some form of ad hoc insignia in order to show their allegiance. Some Scots along the borders changed sides more than once, so at one point instructions were given for “the assured Scots to wear red crosses fast sewed [on their jacks or coats] and if taken without, to be held as [enemies or] unassured.”

The invading English army seems to have been in continual need of supplies, not the least of which was clothing for its troops. Numerous requests were sent for “coat money” and clothes for soldiers and sailors: “I humbly beg your grace for the poor mariners and soldiers, who have been these 7 months unpaid, and worn out their clothing …” While English troops were “forced to make match[es out] of their shirts for near 3 months,” “die[d] every day for lack in the extreme cold” or were “unable to serve, having neither clothes nor money,” an English spy “saw 40 French gentlemen in velvet coats, with swords and targets, land at Dunbarton to be captains to the Scots.”

Predictably, most of the military clothing in the Accounts was for those at the upper end of the social scale, especially the Regent himself, and so was more likely to resemble the French captains in their velvet coats than the shivering common soldiers of the English.

King John: the anti-Arthur

John Lackland is not known to have emulated King Arthur. The only exception – if it should be regarded as such – is an entry for December 1207 in the Rolls of Letters Patent preserved in the Tower of London, which states that King John received into his possession at Clarendon a ‘magnam coronam que venit de Alemannia’ (great sword that came from Germany), precious clothes and jewelry, and ‘duos enses, scilicet ensem Tristami et alium ensem de eodem regali’ (two swords, namely the sword of Tristam and another sword of the same royal). When and whence Tristam's sword entered the royal treasury is unknown, but the aforesaid entry allows for the possibility that all the items named in it, including Tristam's sword, came from Germany. The dean of Westminster, Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, believes that Emperor Otto IV (r.1209–15) gave Tristam's sword to his uncle, King John, in 1207. E. M. R. Ditmas theorizes that the sword arrived in England in 1125 as part of the regalia that Matilda brought to England after the death of her husband Heinrich V.

Aurell has suggested that King Henry II bestowed the sword on John when knighting him on Laetare Sunday (31 March) 1185 as a symbolic accompaniment to the appanage of Ireland and Cornwall – two lands where much of the Tristan narrative takes place. Technically, Henry had already named John ‘Lord of Ireland’ at the Council of Oxford in May 1177. But it was in 1185 that Henry sent his newly knighted son off on his first military campaign, the objective of which was to expand the Plantagenet foothold in Ireland. Tristan's first knightly adventure, according to tradition, had also been in Ireland: Tristan defeated the Irish giant Moholt, brother of the queen of Ireland, in single combat and freed Cornwall from a demand of tribute. A notch of Tristan's sword remained lodged in the dead giant's skull – a perpetual reminder of the knight's great victory. If he bestowed the sword on John in 1185, Henry's intention might have been to suggest that the prince would achieve similar success in Ireland.

Following decolonization throughout much of Africa, early development plans and policies focused on how to move rapidly from a raw material-exporting economy to a manufacturing industrial economy. Tanzania, although emphasizing the importance of rural development and domestic food production, was no exception in setting out ambitious plans for manufacturing growth. This chapter will try to situate Tanzania's industrialization experience in the context of the wider African experience in order to address the question of why, in Tanzania, as across the continent, economies have not produced the kinds of structural changes that have characterized the growth of manufacturing in other parts of the world.

This chapter will first review Tanzania's manufacturing growth performance over the five decades since independence in comparison with other African countries and the Global South; secondly, consider various explanations that have been given for the performance of Tanzania and countries across the continent; and thirdly, discuss the relatively new theorization and associated policy proposals for more rapid structural change. The chapter will conclude that Tanzania's manufacturing performance has mirrored that of the continent as a whole and, like even the best-performing African economies, Tanzania has yet to develop a strategy for changing its economic structures in order to break away from being predominantly dependent on the export of industrial and agricultural raw materials to service manufacturing elsewhere in the world. However, the advent of a new administration prioritizing such a strategy could significantly change its rate of transformation.

The Early Strategy: Import Substitution

As Weiss and Jalilian explain in Chapter 9 of this volume, the conventional view in the period leading up to decolonization and afterwards was that a key part of the development process was manufacturing industrialization. The growth of manufacturing was expected to begin with the first stage processing of agricultural and mineral raw materials produced by these other sectors, so that more of the value added to products remained within the domestic economy. Consequent upon the accumulation of capital from these industrial activities, investment would take place in intermediate and producer goods industries so that the necessary inputs of machinery and parts would be produced domestically and deepen the industrialization process.

The words above, spoken by Henry Bolingbroke against his opponents’ abuse of his property during his time in exile in William Shakespeare's Richard II, tell of the connection between land, architecture, and honour. Many court records are filled with similar cases related to land disputes and enclosure disagreements. Land and the question of its legal ownership became increasingly important in the sixteenth century. The enclosure of the land by the nobility gives an insight into the value placed on outdoor space, a space that was becoming a more exclusive concept during the early Tudor period. The value could be monetary, but it was not always so. Indeed, the social and symbolic value of land is apparent in the legislation set out against damages done to lords’ parks and warrens by ‘butchers, shoemakers and tailors’, who hatched ‘plots and conspiracies of rebellion’ under the guise of hunting. In 1503–4 Henry VII responded by passing laws that targeted unauthorised stalking and restricted the possession of deer traps and great nets to the owners of parks and other reserves. The significance and value of land can be seen in the growing restrictions put in place over access to it, as well as questions over how and when access was granted.

The early Tudor landscape was layered with meaning, history, and purpose. Complex webs of terrain – both natural and manipulated – of animals, of boundaries, and of physical structures wove together to create a visual opulence fit not only for viewing but also for living a particular kind of lifestyle. By the sixteenth century, the landscape around an elite residence encompassed centuries of building, adaptation, imparkment, and design that created ever-expanding vistas of parks, gardens, orchards, and water features. Most of these landscapes were created not by a single owner of the residence but by successive owners, each forging a landscape in keeping with their household, residence, and political strategies.

The rich material in the Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland includes many references to clothing and textiles for dozens of individuals from across the social spectrum. To make sense of them, it is helpful to understand what the writers meant when they referred to coitis [coats], sarkis [shirts], and the various other types of clothing mentioned. Although fashion in Scotland was probably similar to that in England, France, and the Low Countries, some peculiarities emerge in the Accounts, and it is possible to discern trends in the types of fabrics, linings, and trim used for particular garments. As in any period, each type of garment existed in a range of qualities depending on the status and wealth of the wearer, and some garments and accessories were worn exclusively by certain classes. The Accounts also show what garments would have been worn together and which garments would have been made of matching colors or fabrics.

Because the Accounts are in colloquial Scots, the vocabulary can prove difficult. Most types of men's garments mentioned in the Accounts are identifiable, especially when cross-referenced with clothing worn in other countries at this time. A few, however, remain elusive.

Some of the listings in the Accounts are quite detailed and include thread, buttons, linings, payment for labor, and everything else that would be needed to complete the garments therein. Others only list the main outer fabric. Sometimes the unnamed other materials were taken from the Regent's personal wardrobe, though it was more usual for the main fabric to come from his personal store and the rest via the Treasury [693 and 633, below].

This study proceeds from the general to the specific. Part I (Chapters 1 to 3) offers broad analyses of types of garments and the general composition of wardrobes as found in the Accounts. Each type of garment is treated separately, and they are generally considered in the order in which they tend to appear in inventories and even in the lists in the Accounts, with main outer garments listed first, then inner layers, then undergarments and accessories. Portraits and references to extant garments are included where possible to give a more concrete idea of how these types of clothing looked. The discussion focuses on the commonalities to be found across many recipients and notes the most popular colors and types of fabrics for each garment as well as notions and decoration. Information about the construction of garments is included where available. Consideration is given to garments that tended to be worn together as well as those that might be ordered as matching sets. These chapters also examine how clothing interacted with the social structure of Scotland at this time. This lateral analysis provides context within which the clothing of individual recipients can be placed.

Chapter 1 focuses on men's garments and Chapter 2 on women's garments. Chapter 3 explores specialty garments, such as liveries and clothing for military use, weddings, and funerals. It also covers the storage, care, and carriage of garments.

Part II (Chapters 4 to 8) contain “wardrobe biographies,” in which all of the entries from the Accounts concerning garments given to a particular recipient are gathered together in chronological order. For each person, biographical information is included if it is known in order to give a frame of reference for the items received. A few people received truly large amounts of clothing, and for those, two summarized lists of their wardrobe as shown in the Accounts follow the transcriptions of their entries. The chronological summary shows the development of the wardrobe over time and gives a sense of what garments would have been worn together. The summary by category (such as gown, kirtle, etc.) shows the totality of the wardrobe as it accumulated over the years represented in the regency Accounts.

The document printed below survives in the mid-thirteenth-century cartulary of the abbey of Sainte-Geneviève at Paris. It confirms a settlement in which Master Herbert appears as one of eleven ‘assessors’ assisting the papal legate, Peter of Pavia, acting alongside a group of French and Italian dignitaries, including Herbert's fellow masters at Paris: Gerard Pucelle, Bernard of Pisa and Stephen of Tournai. The settlement was known to Beryl Smalley, but not Herbert's confirmation, which came to light only in January 2018, as the present volume was going to press. Although in many ways a standard instrument, merely confirming Herbert's presence at the legate's settlement, Herbert's choice of intitulatio, as ‘clerk of St Thomas, our glorious martyr’, is remarkable, demonstrating both his customary magniloquence and his determination, after 1170, to be seen dwelling constantly in Becket's shadow. Even the opening formula of the document declares this, being adapted from the first epistle of St John (1 John 1:1–3), the words of the disciple ‘whom Jesus loved’, witnessing to the truth of his master's teaching. Perhaps even more remarkably, Herbert, like St John the Evangelist, adopts the first person plural. This at a time when even bishops and were not always entirely confident in abandoning the first person singular. Before we attribute these features to Herbert's particular vanity, however, we should note that the quotation from St John occurs in others of the letters corroborating the legatine settlement, as does the first person plural. Although it is also worth noting here that the abbot and prior of Saint-Victor, in these same circumstances, employ first person singular. Herbert's seal, referred to at the end of the letter, is now lost. Can we doubt that it showed one of the earliest images of Becket's martyrdom?

Nicholas Vincent