When that great people, the Romans, perished off the face of the earth, and none succeeded them, their roads began to decay, their bridges and paved fords were broken down or carried away by floods, and the rulers of the nation were for over five hundred years too busily engaged in subduing rebellions at home or in prosecuting wars abroad to attend to the keeping of communications in proper repair. Social disorder, too, destroyed roads and bridges that had survived natural decay and the stress of the elements. Even those roads which existed in otherwise good condition were only fair-weather highways. They were innocent of culverts, and consequently the storm-water, which nowadays is carried off beneath them, swept across the surface, and either carried it away or remained in vast lakes on whose shores wayfarers shivered until the floods had abated. Thieves and murderers were the commonplaces of the roads, and signposts were not; so that guides—who at the best were expensive, and at the worst were the accomplices of cutthroats, and lured the traveller to their haunts—were absolutely necessary.
To the relief of travellers in those times came the Church, for the civil and secular power had not begun even to dream of road-making. The Church did some very important things for travellers, praying for them, and adjuring the devout to include them in their prayers for prisoners and captives, the sick, and others in any way distressed. The very word “travel” derives from travail, meaning labour or hardship. This alone shows how much to be pitied were those whose business took them from their own firesides.
But to pray for them alone would not perhaps have been so very admirable, and so the Church took the care of the roads on itself in a very special sense. It granted indulgences to those who by their gifts or their bodily labour helped to repair the highways, and licensed hermits to receive tolls and alms from travellers over roads and bridges constructed by the brethren, those revenues going towards the upkeep of the ways. Benefactors to the Church frequently left lands and houses, whose proceeds were to be applied for the same purpose; and for many years this trust was respected, and all the road and bridge building and repairing was done by the religious. By degrees, however, this trust was, if not betrayed, allowed to gradually fall into neglect. False hermits set up in remote places, away from the eyes of the bishops, and living idle and dissolute lives on the alms they received, allowed roads and bridges alike to fall into decay. These vicious, unlicensed hermits were great stumbling-blocks to the godly in those times. They were often peasants or workmen, who had observed how fat and idle a living was that gained by those among the licensed who had betrayed their trust and fared sumptuously on alms unearned, and so went and set up in the eremitical profession for themselves. They fared well on bacon, had “fat chekus,” toasted themselves before roaring fires in their too comfortable cells, and lived “in ydelnesse and ese,” frequenting ale-houses and even worse places. Accordingly many of them were eventually removed, or suffered various punishments, and the neighbouring monasteries placed others in their stead.
By this time, however, the bishops and abbots, whose broad acres had often come to them in trust for the welfare of the traveller, began to forget their obligations. It was, of course, a natural process: the possessions of the religious houses had grown enormously, but so also had their hospitality to all and sundry. Travellers had increased, and as it was a rule of conduct with the great abbeys to not only relieve the poor, but also to entertain the great in those days before the rise of the roadside hostelry, their resources must have been well exercised. Meanwhile the statutes of the country had gradually been imposing the care of the roads upon the laity, and at the time when the greater and lesser monasteries were dissolved, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, parishes and landowners were chiefly concerned in endeavouring to comply with their new and strange obligations in keeping their ways passable. Of course they did not succeed, and equally of course, because it was impossible that they could, the pains and penalties threatened for foul and dangerous roads were not enforced.
A curious pamphlet on the condition of the roads in the seventeenth century is that written by Thomas Mace, one of the “clerks” of Trinity College, Cambridge, and published in 1675. Mace, there is no doubt, was a man born out of his time. Had circumstances been propitious, he might have become another and an earlier Macadam. His pamphlet, written both in prose and verse, and addressed to the king, is styled The Profit, Conveniency, and Pleasure for the Whole Nation, and is “a Discourse lately presented to His Majesty concerning the Highways of England; their badness, the causes thereof, the reasons of these causes, the impossibility of ever having them well mended according to the old way of mending; but may most certainly be done, and for ever so maintained (according to this New Way) substantially, and with very much ease.”
We find here, as in other publications until the mid-eighteenth century was well past, that the country was for the most part unenclosed, so that when the traffic had worn the old tracks into deep ruts, or when mud had rendered them impassable, the wagons, carts, and laden horses were taken round by the nearest firm spots. “Much ground,” says our author, “is now spoiled and trampled down in all wide roads, where coaches and carts take liberty to pick and chuse for their best advantages; besides, such sprawling and straggling of coaches and carts utterly confound the road in all wide places, so that it is not only unpleasurable, but extremely perplexing and cumbersome both to themselves and to all horse travellers.”
These pickings and choosings were the original cause of the still existing twists and turns in many of our roads. When we see an old road winding snake-like through a flat country, with no hills or other obvious reasons for its circuitous course, we may, in most cases, safely attribute this apparent indecision and infirmity of purpose to these ancient difficulties, thus perpetuated.
This ancient state of things occasioned many disputes and even fatal affrays between the packhorse men, who carried goods slung across their horses’ backs from one part of the country to the other, and between the market-folk and those who travelled on horseback and coaches. Mace would himself seem to have experienced some of these contentions as to who should take the clean and who the muddy part of the road, for he writes with great bitterness about “these disturbances, daily committed by uncivil, refractory, and rude, Russianlike rake-shames, in contesting for the way.”
“Hundreds of pack-horses,” he continues, “panniers, whifflers, coaches, wagons, wains, carts, or whatsoever others,” fought and schemed for precedence; and a horseman, his horse already exhausted by a long and tedious journey, might, at the entrance to a town, especially on market day, be compelled to go out of his way twenty times in one mile, owing to the peevishness of these whifflers and market-folk. “I have often known many travellers,” he continues, “and myself very often, to have been necessitated to stand stock still behind a standing cart or wagon, on most beastly and unsufferable wet wayes, to the great endangering of our horses and neglect of public business: nor durst we adventure to stirr (for most imminent danger of those deep rutts and unreasonable ridges) till it has pleased Mr. Carter to jog on, which we have taken very kindly.”
His plan was to once get the roads in good repair, and then, he says, with the employment of “day men” to every five miles or so, they could be easily kept in order. The prospect induces him to rise to poetry:
“First, let the ways be regularly brought
To artificial form, and truly wrought;
So that we can suppose them firmly mended,
And in all needful points, the work well ended,
That not a stone’s amiss; but all complete,
All lying smooth, round, firm, and wondrous neat.”
So far good. But then comes the heavy traffic to destroy the good work:
“Then comes a gang of heavy-laden wains
Of carts and wagons, spoiling