LONDON’S FLEET PRISON
What made The Fleet Prison so appealing to the well-off was the renowned Liberty of the Fleet
The notorious Fleet prison was built in 1197. It stood near the side of the Fleet River and was rebuilt frequently. It was used right until 1844 and was finally demolished in 1846. It was the largest and notorious of England’s medieval prisons. Known as the King’s own prison, anyone who held debts to the King would be sent there. During the 18th century, the Fleet Prison was mostly used for bankrupts and debtors.
It typically contained about three hundred prisoners, including their families. For the well off, the Fleet was the prison of choice. If a prisoner was sentenced to another prison for debt, they would state they owed money to the King. They would then get transferred to the Fleet Prison.
What made Fleet Prison so appealing to the well-off was the renowned ‘Liberty of the Fleet.’ If a prisoner could afford to pay the Warden, they didn’t even have to stay in the Prison but could choose to live in an area outside the walls. These were deemed as private dwellings, and illegal for the Warden to enter without permission from the inmate. The Fleet also permitted inmates to travel abroad and go about their business while remunerating the Warden. Although this ended in 1697.
It was such a big problem for the government, parliament passed a law in the 17th century. If anyone tried to transfer to the Fleet after being sentenced, they would have to complete their first sentence in the original prison.
The areas next to the Fleet Prison were a popular place to get married in secret from 1613 until 1754. But why? First, there was an enormous demand for covert marriages for many reasons, including parents forbidding marriage or one partner wanting to conceal a previous marriage.
The only difficulty stopping these marriages from taking place was that legal marriage was only conceivable through banns or licenses. The first method meant the forthcoming marriage would be made public, and the latter process was expensive. Neither process was therefore suitable. What was required was somewhere to perform the ceremony, breaking no law, and without costing a mint. The streets around the prison were such a place. They had one unusual quality in that they were outside the influence of the Church. Giving them the name the Rules of the Fleet. Known as the ‘Liberties of the Fleet.’ This led to the situation where priests in the prison, who required money to pay off their debts and be released, were free to wander the area which was exempt from the church laws.
It didn’t take them long to comprehend they could pay their way out of the Fleet by marrying secretive couples, breaking no Church laws. The word got around, and eloping partners paid to be married in the prison chapel, or in pubs, and other places of ill-repute within the Rules.
During the 1740s, up to 6,000 marriages, a year were taking place around the Fleet expanse. Compared with over 47,000 in England as a whole. One estimate suggests there were between 80 and 100 priests employed in the Fleet area between 1700 and 1755. It was not just a marriage centre for offenders and the poor. Both the well off and the poor availed themselves of the chance to marry speedily or in secret.
The practice ended in 1754, following Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act, which barred marrying outside the Anglican church except if you were a Jew or a Quaker. As with other churches, the ones stated above were required to keep records of every marriage, and some of them still survive today. However, if your descendants were married in a pub, it may be a different story!
In 1666, the Fleet burned down on the third day of the Great Fire of London. The inmates fleeing in the last moments. After the fire, Sir Jeremy Whichcote, acquired Caron House in Lambeth to imprison debtors. Then Whichcote rebuilt the prison on the original site out of his own pocket.
There’s a notion many marriages took place against the will of one or other of the partners. But from the number of marriages made, it seemed more likely the ability to marry without parental consent might well have been the more common incentive.
About the Creator
Paul Asling
I share a special love for London, both new and old. I began writing fiction at 40, with most of my books and stories set in London.
MY WRITING WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH, CRY, AND HAVE YOU GRIPPED THROUGHOUT.
paulaslingauthor.com
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Asling and writers in FYI and other communities.
One of the Crazy Things Rich People Do That's Scary To Think About
They impress us, and sometimes they scare us, but the ultra-rich are always interesting. Some of their famous activities include buying yachts too big to move through channels, buying ridiculously priced cars that could feed the homeless of New York for weeks, and their expensive tastes in sex workers.
By Jason Ray Morton 7 days ago in FYI
The Tale of the Rabbit and the Tortoise: A Lesson in Patience and Perseverance
Once upon a time, in a lush green meadow nestled between rolling hills, there lived a rabbit named Jasper and a tortoise named Theodore. Jasper was known throughout the meadow for his swiftness and agility, while Theodore was admired for his steady determination and unwavering patience. Despite their differences, the two animals shared a deep respect for one another and often engaged in friendly banter about their respective strengths.
By WILLIAM DIAGO RODRIGUES4 days ago in FYI
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.