Some flee the world and shut themselves within walls,
Enclose themselves in stone, and speak but little,
To avoid those sins that human weakness is prey to,
And these we call ankers in common speech.
C15th Friar Daw’s Reply, Unknown Author
The Entrance
So this was it. It was finally happening.
Years of agonising questioning and doubts – she, challenging herself, and her mentors pushing, probing. Hours and hours of disciplined training for the final race.
What did her friends and family think? Was she a fraud? Would the bishop agree to her request?
And what did she think? Was she finally ready? How would she cope? Was her love really big enough? Strong enough to hold her in one place – against the torrents inside her telling her to escape, and against the world, tenderly calling her to come away? She may have thought that her withdrawal would keep her from away from temptation, but would she have the physical and spiritual strength to resist the devil when she was alone with her thoughts and body? She may have wanted solitude to be able to worship God more fully, but if she survived at least ten repetitive freezing winters, would the internal fire still burn brightly?
She knew she was not like other women. She had long since dedicated her chaste self to God and was learning to deny an ache to have children. Two years since she had kissed her old dying mother goodbye for the last time. And with years of practice she had learned to look beyond the glitter of possessions that ultimately turned to dust and to manage with minimal need. But this was more. This was further. It was the ultimate withdrawal before death.
In the early days of her training her priest had talked of her martyrdom. This had terrified her at first. She was not afraid of spending the inevitable time in purgatory before her final release to be with her Saviour in eternal bliss. But a martyr’s death alarmed her. In her limited understanding, what part of what she was intending involved torture and pain? She knew what martyrs had suffered in the past. She did not want to be thrown to wild beasts, to be crucified, to be broken on the wheel, to be burned or boiled alive, or to be raped and then decapitated.
Her priest, sensing her distress, had rushed to reassure her: “You are thinking of Red Martyrdom, when people became martyrs through the shedding of blood. Now that God’s truth is honoured throughout the country, those days are largely gone. But your martyrdom will be white – a holy entry into a waiting death because of love. You are withdrawing from as much of life as you are able to before you die. You are choosing to be alone in order to be so much closer to Him.”
She had lain on the cold church floor, face down before a cross, for a long time – the religious words above her head both a blanket of comfort and a reminder that the ultimate exclusion was about to start. Now they were singing a hymn. The time was getting closer. Her cold, aching body prepared for the next stage. She could smell the flames.
As the music ended, two men, standing either side of her, lifted her from the ground and took her to the altar. As they did so they placed two burning tapers into her hands to carry. She was moving forward with tears and burning light. A glowing flame of love for God and her neighbours. She held them gladly, trying not to shake, while the lessons were read.
She was familiar with the scriptures. Her priest had explained these passages again and again. Someone was reading from the Old Testament, Isaiah 26: “Go, my people, enter into thy chamber, shut thy doors upon thee, hide thyself ...“ The familiar rhythms bounced through her ears. And then the gospel, Luke 10: ” … One thing is necessary. Mary hath chosen the best part, which shall not be taken away from her.” Old and the New, to command and to reassure.
At the end of the readings the tapers were placed in the candelabra at the altar, and she was back, face down on the floor, while a priest expounded the meaning of the lessons. Yet more singing. More prayers. And finally: “Receive me Lord according to thy word, and I shall live, and let me not be confounded in my experience …”
“Receive me Lord according to thy word, and I shall live, and let me not be confounded in my experience …“
“Receive me Lord according to thy word,
“and I shall live,
“and let me not be confounded in my experience …“
And, at last, she was up and escorted into her final place of stillness and isolation.
She had known this place for some time. A small room attached to the church – her perpetual prison. Some cells were smaller, some were bigger, but she had approximately eight feet by eight feet. Some cells already had a grave dug, but this one didn’t. She knew that in the coming months and years she would be expected to dig through the soil and gravel by hand to fashion her final resting place. The difficulty, the pain, the tedium would be part of her final pilgrimage, alongside the prayers for the living and the dead, the meditations, the hymn singing, the embroidery, and the advice given to those who stood outside and dared to ask through the curtained window slot.
“Go stay inside your cell, and your cell will teach you all things.”
The bed was small and uncomfortable, and she lay down. “Here shall be my repose for ever; here shall I dwell for I have chosen it …” The priest started to perform the last rites, the Commendation of the Dying. And as he cast dust on her head he chanted: “From. the earth you formed me, my Lord and Redeemer, raise me up on the last day …”
When the rites finished, he waited.
She rose up to watch him move towards the door. She turned and looked towards the remainder of her days.
The last human ever to have entered her space, until her death, had now departed.
The door was solidly bricked up.
The White Martyrdom had begun.
The History
The word “anchorite” comes from the Ancient Greek “anakhoreo” meaning to withdraw. Religious withdrawal and enclosure were widespread in Europe throughout the Middle Ages. It ended in England with the dissolution of the monasteries in 1537. Within this reclusive vocation, the anchorite would withdraw, to a small cell or building, very frequently attached to a church or other religious institution, where she or he would remain locked up until death. Although it is impossible to give exact numbers (new anchorites are being discovered all the time), Jones quotes figures suggesting that in England there were around 780 anchorites spread across 600 sites. On the continent there were more women than men, but in England there were slightly more men than women.
The rooms themselves varied in size, though they were usually small. A very few might have a garden attached. Each cell had three windows. A small squint window allowed the anchorite to look through to the church altar to view the daily services performed there. Another small window faced outside where people could visit to seek advice and ask for prayers. In the account of her life, Margery Kempe from Lynn records several such visits to the anchorite Julian of Norwich. A third window was accessed by the anchorite’s servant who would prepare food and remove the chamber pot. All three windows would have a curtain or a shutter.
In addition to having a bed, and perhaps a few devotional books, embroidery, and writing equipment, some anchorites had a cat. The official reason for the latter was to help keep down rodents, but of course, the animal may also have provided company.
Before being bricked up, certain practical matters had to be dealt with to the bishop’s satisfaction. Each anchorite had to have at least one sponsor who would guarantee money to provide for food and clothing. It was hoped that people who came for advice, and who asked for prayers to ease their passage through purgatory after death, would make suitable donations. Without such income the bishop himself would have to personally fund the anchorite’s upkeep.
The advantages of having a “living saint” within the community had both potential disadvantages as well as benefits. The increase in possible visitors might have been annoying and disruptive for some. However, the increase in visitors would also help establish the local church as a place of pilgrimage, increasing both its status and income.
The present day All Saints’ Church in King’s Lynn (re-established on the site of the Saxon building in 1095) has an anchorite cell which has housed a succession of men and women who devoted themselves to a life of solitary prayer. These are mentioned in wills and writings of the C13th to the C15th. Some anchorites were wealthy, and Isabella and Katherine are recorded as donating rich sets of vestments to the church.
The present anchorite cell at All Saints dates from around 1500 and is situated on the south wall of the chancel.
© James Rye 2024
Sources
- Hughes-Edwards, M. (2012) Solitude and Sociability: The World of the Medieval Anchorite, https://www.buildingconservation.com/articles/anchorites/anchorites.htm
- Jones, E. A. (2019) Hermits and Anchorites in England, 1200-1550, Manchester University Press
- Litten, J. & Ling, A. (2015) All Saints’ Church, South Lynn: A Short History and Guide, Leaflet
- Mackenzie V. (2023) For Thy Great Pain Have Mercy on My Little Pain, Bloomsbury (A fictitious account of the meetings between Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe, based on both of their writings.)
- Perk, G. S. (2014) The Life of an Anchorite, https://www.academia.edu/8721800/The_Life_of_an_Anchorite?sm=b
- Smith A. (2018) A Day as an Anchorite, https://historymatters.sites.sheffield.ac.uk/blog-archive/2018/a-day-as-an-anchorite
- Wilde, A. (2021) 14th Century Lockdown: The Life of an Anchoress, http://www.caringforgodsacre.org.uk/14th-century-lockdown-the-life-of-an-anchoress/
- Windeatt, B. (Translator) (1965) The Book of Margery Kempe, Penguin (Modern English version)