The ploughland and the plough: some further
thoughts on a Domesday conundrum
Cornell, USA, 17 November 2002
I am delighted to be
here for the twenty-first annual Haskins Society conference. Over the years
Haskins has been a wonderful forum for scholars, especially those from Europe,
to meet and exchange ideas in a welcoming and friendly atmosphere. So, it is
with a little apprehension that I propose to return your hospitality by talking
about taxation. In England we experience a certain reticence about mentioning
financial matters. And I the more so than most as someone who is incapable of
filling in his own tax return. But Domesday and taxation is my subject and all
I can say in mitigation is that it was one that was of the utmost importance to
William the Conqueror in 1086. I’m afraid that you will have to grit your
teeth.
The statement ‘land for so many
ploughs’ is at once the most simple of formulation and the most complex of
Domesday problems. The formula is found in most Domesday entries but not all. It
is absent in LDB in its entirety and is rare in the Gloucestershire,
Herefordshire, Worcestershire, half of the Shropshire, and the Lancashire
folios of GDB. And yet it answers to none of the so-called articles of inquiry
preserved in IE. It is ostensibly an estate statistic, and yet in the North it
is assessed upon the vill and the twelve-carucate hundred. It normally exceeds
the number of available ploughs, but in a large minority of estates there were
more ploughs than ploughlands, the phenomenon known as ‘overstocking’. In some
areas it resembles a real measure of land, while in others it is closely
related to the assessment to the geld. Finally, despite its prominence in
Domesday the ploughland has not been recognized in either earlier or later records.
The ploughland is a nightmare for the
tidy-minded. Hitherto all attempts to square these circles have been
inconclusive. Two broad schools of thought have emerged. We shall call them the
realist and the nominalist. Realists have taken the ploughland phrase at face
value, it is a measure of land. For Maitland it represented the extent of
arable in 1066, but for most proponents of the realist school, the datum was
1086 and the referent the yardland in contradistinction to the fiscal hide, the
unit of taxation. Nominalists, by contrast, see the ploughland as a further
fiscal assessment. For Hart it represents a Danish carucation or an earlier
hidation. But again the preferred referent is 1086; Stenton and more
emphatically Harvey are of the opinion that it is the assessment for a new tax
to replace the geld.
By and large it is the nominalists who
have made the running. Their case is based upon the improbability of
‘overstocking’ and the patent artificiality of many ploughland figures. The
plough team was a capital intensive asset which required extensive maintenance,
not so much an annual service as feeding through the winter, and it is thus
inconceivable that more teams were kept than were needed. The ploughland cannot
be an actual measure of land. As an assessment no overall system can be found
in the various figures that GDB presents - ploughlands are variously based upon
hidation, working ploughs, or simple estimation - but this is in the nature of
assessments: principle gives way to expediency where homogeneous taxes are
assessed upon heterogeneous economies. The Domesday commissioners used the
economic indicator that most closely represented the wealth of the society they
were assessing.
As elegant as this critique is, it
does not explain why East Anglia and the West Midlands were apparently not
reassessed and, more critically, why there is no trace of the supposed new
assessment after the Domesday survey. Realists have further countered that the
objections to the ploughland as a measure of agricultural potential are
misconceived. Higham has argued that overstocking can be adequately explained
by the inefficiencies of land exploitation in a landscape of dispersed
settlements, while in areas like Northamptonshire seemingly artificial patterns
of assessment have been shown to be firmly grounded in agricultural reality.
However, the realists have in their turn failed convincingly to explain why the
data were collected. Their best shot seems to be that the aim was to improve
agricultural yields by identifying areas of inefficiency. Now there’s a notion
for you: the Conqueror as Farmer William.
Neither side has been able fully to
convince a wider audience. I want to suggest today that that is because the
terms of the debate are misconceived. If the realists and nominalists are
agreed on anything it is that the Domesday inquest was an executive process, it
was about decision making. In these terms, the dichotomy of the real and the
fiscal is absolute. The result is the impasse that I have tried to describe. At
the outset I reject the premise. As I have argued at length elsewhere, the
Domesday inquest was less about decision making than collecting information to
inform decisions yet to be made. It was an essentially information gathering
process. In this context we don’t have to think in
terms of either/or. It is surely a truism that all taxation must ultimately be
based in a commonly agreed reality. Otherwise, at least in England, you get
poll tax riots and defenestration. But whatever base you use for assessment it
is only that, a common ground from which negotiation can proceed. The real and
the fiscal are not mutually exclusive but different stages in a process of
assessment. This is the context in which the ploughland begins to make sense.
In elucidating
to what the beast refers, we must first clear the ground by determining the
importance of the ploughland in the surviving manuscripts. This is instructive.
The ploughland was central to the
purpose of neither of the two volumes of Domesday Book. In LDB the data are not
recorded at all, but the item was clearly omitted as opposed to being
unavailable. The IE summaries of Ely Abbey’s lands in Norfolk, Suffolk, and
Essex all provide totals, indicating that the matter of ploughlands was
considered in East Anglia as elsewhere. The GDB scribe clearly accorded the
information more importance, but he also does not seem to have viewed the
statistics as absolutely essential. In some areas he failed to enter the
figures or could not find a record of them. In the Kent folios he left gaps
which were never filled, and in the West Midlands he appears to have simply
thought the matter otiose. In the bishop of Worcester’s chapter in the
Worcestershire folios it is stated that there were as many ploughlands as
ploughs and this was probably the reality throughout the area. Only halfway
through Shropshire folios does he seem to have thought better of this omission
and decided once more to make the ploughland explicit, thereafter generally
succeeding in recording a figure of some kind or another.
The ploughland loomed large only in
the Domesday inquest, and it would seem from the summaries that it was a
central item of inquiry. Twenty-four summaries survive covering thirteen shires
in five circuits. Ploughlands figures are recorded in all those that are
complete and are expressed in a common language that indicates that they are
the reply to a standard article of inquiry. In most instances, the statistics
are the only ones given for the whole fee: where assessment to the geld, value,
and the like are presented in two sequences relating to the demesne and
enfeoffed lands respectively, there is only one summary ploughland figure.
The statistics from which the
ploughland totals were derived were apparently presented late in the proceedings.
No verdict of vill, hundred, or shire recorded in the text mentions the matter.
Furthermore, the ploughland is signally absent from the schedules that appear
to have emanated from the earliest stages of the inquiry, the geld inquest and
the survey of the terra regis. The data first make an appearance in Bath
A which, if not a seigneurial presentment, is very close to that stage in the
inquiry. Significantly, in the south-east and Leicestershire the pattern of
omission is seigneurial rather than geographical. The ploughland was an item of
information that was evidently provided by the lord or his agent.
In determining what he understood by
the term initially we have to turn to later sources. It is untrue to say that
the ploughland does not appear after Domesday. It does and significantly it is
not an assessment. In the early twelfth-century surveys of the lands of the
abbeys of Burton, Ramsey, and Ely ‘land for so many ploughs’ was the regular
way of indicating the quantity of land in unassessed demesne; the ploughland
was a non-fiscal measure of land. That is, it is as real as it gets without
getting out a tape measure.
The phrase is used in a similar
context in GDB. Unhidated land in the Welsh marches was measured in carucates,
the Latin translation of ploughland. The contrast with gelded land is sometimes
explicit. The measurement of the lands of Clifford Castle in ploughlands, for
example, seems to be a function of the fact that it 'is in the kingdom of
England and does not belong to any hundred or customary due.' Even more
exactly, demesne is sometimes measured in ploughlands. In Bluntesham in
Huntingdonshire, for example, there was unassessed demesne for two ploughs.
Similar references can be found in Buckinghamshire, Northamptonshire, Oxfordshire,
Dorset, and possibly Rutland.
Here, surely, we perceive a non-fiscal
understanding of the ploughland. However, we cannot agree with the realist that
it is always a measure of total arable or that it has no fiscal referents. Land
per se was not the focus of the
Domesday inquest. From the handful of references to unassessed demesne,
‘inland’ as Domesday usually calls it, unhidated land might seem a local and
exceptional phenomenon. It was not. It existence is evident in all the early
twelfth-century estate surveys and, outside of Hurstingstone Hundred in
Huntingdonshire where inland is regularly noted, none of it can be identified
in Domesday Book. Nor was unassessed land always demesne. Some, probably most, was in service of one kind or another. Many counties
were lowly rated and some tenements had no liability assessed upon them. In
Nottinghamshire, for example, there were typically 1 or 2 carucates per vill
and there are relatively few Domesday manors compared with the neighbouring
more highly rated Lincolnshire. Twelfth-century charters, however, indicate
intricate subinfeudation which is every bit as complex. Much land in Nottinghamshire, as elsewhere, does
not find its way into Domesday Book.
The demesne of Domesday Book may not
have paid geld, but, but unlike inland it was exempt rather than unassessed. It
came within the commissioners’ remit. Hidated land was the focus of the
Domesday inquest, and this too was the referent of the ploughland. The texts
are unambiguous. In the early Yorkshire folios of GDB there are entries of the
form 'In Pickering there are 37 carucates of land to the geld which 20 ploughs
can plough.’ That this is to be understood throughout is indicated by GDB’s
sources. In ICC many entries are of a form that anticipates GDB usage; others
are more expansive. Thus, it is recorded that 'In this village of Triplow
Hardwin [of Scales] holds under the king 1 hide of the supplies of the monks
[of Ely].......In this hide is land for one plough.’ In Exon the linking of assessment and ploughlands is the norm.
Entries are of the form 'The Count [of Mortain] has a manor called Buckland,
which Edmer Ator held TRE and it rendered geld for 3 hides less ½ virgate; 20
ploughs can plough these.’
The ploughland is clearly a non-fiscal
measure of fiscal land. What it is telling us is that,
although this land is paying tax at so many hides there is in fact that much
land there. We can begin to
perceive that the ploughland was, then, a measure of the capacity of the
hidated land to pay the geld assessed upon it. Where ploughland matches hide
there was a balance between field and fiscal units, while an excess indicated a
surplus of land for the geld assessed upon it. Conversely, a deficit indicated
over-taxation. In these terms, it is clear that the ploughland figures was most
easily assessed by simply counting the number of ploughs that could work the
hidated area of his manor. But where this was not possible an estimate could be
made to the same end. That the ploughland in many parts of the North is conventional
is irrefutable. In Rutland, for example, it is stated that Alstoe Wapentake was
divided into two twelve-carucate hundreds in each of which was 24 ploughlands.
In some parts of Lincolnshire the same ratio of carucate to ploughland is found
in estate after estate. Why such an expedient should have been employed in the
North is not entirely clear. It may have been a function of the complexity of
tenure, the relative weakness of lordship, the predominately pastoral nature of
the economy, or simply the prominence of the twelve-carucate hundred in the
communal life of the Danelaw. Whatever, from the point of view of the
commissioners, the effect was the same: the
ploughland figures afforded some measure of the efficiency with which the
wealth of hidated England was taxed.
In uncovering the extent of geldable
land the king clearly seems to have had in mind an increase in the yield of the
geld. In the event geld was only reimposed upon the lord’s demesne (certainly
by 1096, and almost certainly in 1086). Beneficial hidation and exemption of
demesne had indeed made considerable inroads into tax returns but it had done
so by diverting geld into the lord’s pocket. This, at least after the Conquest,
was seen as the corollary of personal service, a legitimate perk if you like.
Sensibilities, then, had to be observed. Even in his most avaricious dreams
William cannot have believed that the ploughland figures could ever constitute
a new assessment. A compromise was struck. The king assumed the right to geld
over the hidated demesne while the tenant-in-chief retained the spare capacity
that existed in the lands of his tenants. The ploughland figures would seem to
have informed a process of negotiation.
It is a process which probably
underlies the reality of early medieval assessment in general. Hide, carucate,
and sulung are all terms with areal referents that speak of agricultural
practice. To be credible all taxation must be founded in fact. Equally,
taxation is about people and relationships: whatever assessment is imposed upon
a community must reflect agreement. The real and the fiscal are not an
irreconcilable dualism but complementary quantities. The ploughland figures are
the more precious because they uniquely attest a stage in a process of
assessment that is otherwise unrecorded in English medieval sources. The
nearest approach is the assessment of the carucage of 1198, but there only a
handful of returns survive.
What light, then, does the ploughland
cast on late eleventh-century England? Clearly, it is of only limited and local
use in determining the extent of arable in 1086. Were all land in England
assessed to the geld, then it would presumably provide a fairly accurate
measure. Here and there, indeed, it can be shown that ploughlands are directly
related to the yardlands of the later medieval period. But the equation is far
from the rule. A real measure of fiscal land is as uninformative as the fiscal
assessment itself when its extent is unknown. At most the ploughland provides
an index of minima.
More obliquely, in conjunction with the
record of ploughs the ploughland may cast light upon the extent of inland. It
seems to me that overstocking, the excess of ploughs over ploughlands, is best
explained by the inclusion of the ploughs of unassessed land in the account of
the Domesday manor. On the overstocked Burton estates in Staffordshire the
extra ploughs in 1086 correspond with the ploughs on the inland in 1114.
Tenants of the warland also held inland and it would seem that the Domesday
commissioners counted all of their ploughs, probably because they owed service
with all of them at their lord’s hall. This is a pattern that is repeated
wherever inland is noticed in later sources. Overstocking is characteristic of
under-assessed shires where unassesed land is likely to be the most prevalent.
The phenomenon is the best guide we have to a phantom Domesday resource.
Given the near invisibility of inland in the Domesday corpus, this was probably not an outcome that the commissioners appreciated, let alone anticipated. By contrast, it is certain that, in demanding the statistics, they had an even more lucrative phantom Domesday resource within their sights. In the summaries preserved in GDB, IE, and Exon, the ploughlands are collected by fee and juxtaposed with geld assessment, ploughs, population, and value of the demesne and enfeoffed lands. Assessment, resources, and income are indexed against the land available providing a measure of how much the tenant-in-chief raked off from the geld. The excess of ploughlands over hides is an index of a resource that is not otherwise quantified in Domesday Book. King William used the information to divert some of the income into the treasury. What use the historian can made of the figures remains to be seen.
ÓDavid Roffe, November 2002