A Wee Woman with a Stool!

On the 3rd Sunday of July, 1637, a riot occurred in the Scottish capital city of Edinburgh, and the roots of the riot lay in a church Service in St Giles Cathedral, that ancient building that stands majestically on the Royal Mile.

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Charles I was the second of the Stuart kings to straddle the thrones of England and Scotland, having ascended to the throne after his father, James 1st of England and 6th of Scotland. Charles was totally convinced that he was divinely appointed, to rule not just the nation, but to rule the church. He had a problem. In Scotland, although the populace were generally supportive of the monarchy, the influence of John Knox and the Presbyterian form of church rule that he introduced had now taken hold, and the church was governed by elders, as taught in the Bible. The elders ruled the local churches, and formed themselves into presbyteries, and held an annual general assembly to regulate the affairs of the church. There was no place in the Scottish church for Royal decrees to be proclaimed and enforced.

For Charles and his advisors, this was a potentially dangerous situation. To govern the people as he wanted, Charles needed the church to be reflective of his own beliefs and policies.  Since those were the days before mass media and instant news commentary, what the people heard from the pulpit was usually what shaped their beliefs and their behaviour. Just as the government today uses the media to influence society, and shape behaviour,  – so Charles used the pulpits. And Charles much preferred rule to be from the top down rather than from the bottom up, with the local parishes ruled by an appointed curate or priest, who was himself ruled by a bishop, and him by an archbishop, with the king himself as the divinely appointed ruler of the church, at the head, keeping the whole ecclesiastical body in order, and so ensuring a compliant and – in his view, orderly society.

Charles began a long strategy to bring the Scottish church into line. By 1637 it was well under way. At that time, the courts of the church were untouched, but he had appointed a few favoured clergymen as bishops, he’d changed the communion table into an altar, he’d compiled a prayer book for ministers to pray by, and he had given the clergy liturgies to chant and surplices to wear. He then refused permission for a meeting of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland.

At this point we meet another actor in this seventeenth century ecclesiastical drama. Charles had consistently promoted high churchmen to prominent positions in the English Church. Among these appointees was Archbishop William Laud, an Anglo-Catholic priest. Laud became Archbishop of Canterbury in 1633, having served two bishoprics previous to his enthronement as archbishop.  He was deeply opposed to Calvinism, and eager to re-establish the pre-reformation liturgical practices of the English Church, an ambition that led him into conflict with the English Puritans, the Congregationalists. 

Let’s cross the sea to Ireland for a moment, where Laud’s influence was also being felt. There, Laud was trying to persuade the bishops to act quickly to regain any ground they had lost to the Presbyterian cause.  At the beginning of the seventeenth century a small number of ministers had practiced Presbyterianism under the benign watch of the godly Archbishop Ussher, under whose authority all the churches in Ireland fell, and whose fifteen ‘Articles of Faith’ were remarkably Calvinistic. Under Ussher’s rule Presbyterians and Anglicans had worshipped together with little conflict for twenty years.  Laud changed that, persecuted the Presbyterians and caused several of their number to flee, among them Rev. Robert Blair of Bangor and Rev John Livingston of Killinchy.

But back to Scotland, where Laud had drawn up a new liturgy for the Kirk, based loosely on the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, and with a heavy Anglo-Catholic emphasis.  It had embedded within it the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, the very essence of Romanism. 

That brings us to the events of 23rd July, 1637, when the Dean of St Giles, Dean Hannay, first read the new Scottish Prayer book, which became known as ‘Laud’s Liturgy’, at the Cathedral in Edinburgh, on the third Sunday in July 1637. 

As the service progressed and the Dean began to read the liturgy, it is said that a vegetable-seller, Janet Geddes, known as Jenny, who was in the church for the service rose to her feet, shouting, in her broad accent, “Deil colic the wame o ye… , “The devil give you bellyache!  You’ll no say mass in my lug!”

Geddes had been sitting on a three legged stool, and she rushed to the front of the church and flung her stool at the Dean. Soon others joined in, and the riot began.  The protest spilled over into the street, general disorder ensued and the whole service was abandoned, as the dignitaries fled to safely. 

News of the riot spread fast, and thousands began to flood into Edinburgh to join the protest, for it had united both the common people and the nobility who shared a common resentment of English interference upon Scottish independence.  

Committees or TABLES were formed, each representing one of the four ‘estates’ of the realm, i.e. the nobles, the barons, the burgesses and the clergy.  The Noblemen’s committee took the lead, calling for a petition, to resist the Scottish Prayer Book and the King’s Reforms.  Charles’s attempts to control Scotland through the manipulation of the church were thwarted, – by a wee woman with a stool.

-oOOo-

The Song of Jenny Geddes by J.S. Blackie.

Twas the twenty-third of July, in the sixteen thirty-seven,
On the Sabbath morn from high St. Giles the solemn peal was given;
King Charles had sworn that Scottish men should pray by printed rule;
He sent a book, but never dreamt of danger from a stool.

The Council and the Judges, with ermined pomp elate,
The Provost and the Bailies in gold and crimson state,
Fair silken-vested ladies, grave doctors of the school,
Were there to please the King, and learn the virtues of a stool.

The Bishop and the Dean came in wi’ muckle gravity,
Right smooth and sleek, but lordly pride was lurking in their e’e;
Their full lawn sleeves were blown and big, like seals in briny pool;
They bore a book, but little thought they soon should feel a stool.

The Dean he to the alter went, and, with a solemn look,
He cast his eyes to heaven, and read the curious-printed book:
In Jenny’s heart the blood upwelled with bitter anguish full;
Sudden she started to her legs, and stoutly grasped the stool!

As when a mountain wildcat springs upon a rabbit small,
So Jenny on the Dean springs, with gush of holy gall;
Wilt thou say mass at my lugs, thou popish-puling fool?
No! No! She said, and at his head she flung the three-legged stool.

A bump, a thump! A smash, a crash! Now gentle folks beware!
Stool after stool, like rattling hail, came twirling through the air,
With, well done, Jenny! Bravo, Jenny! That’s the proper tool!
When the Devil will out, and shows his snout, just meet him with a stool!

The Council and the Judges were smitten with strange fear,
The ladies and the Bailies their seats did deftly clear,
The Bishop and the Dean went in sorrow and in dool,
And all the Popish flummery fled when Jenny showed the stool!

And thus a mighty deed was done by Jenny’s valiant hand,
Black Prelacy and Popery she drove from Scottish land;
King Charles he was a shuffling knave, priest Laud a meddling fool,
But Jenny was a woman wise, who beat them with a stool!