This article proposes that late medieval English men may have outnumbered women by a significant margin, perhaps as high as 110 to 115 men for every 100 women. Data from both documentary and archaeological sources suggest that fewer females survived to adulthood and that those who did may have died younger than their husbands and brothers. Historians of medieval England have said little about the possibility of a skewed sex ratio, yet if women were indeed “missing” from the population as a whole in a significant and sustained way, we must reinterpret much of the social, economic, gender, and cultural history of late medieval England.

Early modern London burned quantities of dirty coal that were unparalleled anywhere in Europe before industrialization, and the consequent smoky air was a matter of more serious and sustained concern than has been appreciated by either early modern or environmental historians. During the 1620s and 1630s, King Charles I and his government sought to remove smoky industries, above all large brewhouses, from the vicinity of the court in Westminster. This was part of a broader campaign for order and beauty that has been described by other scholars, but a focus on smoke highlights the very partial successes achieved by attempts to reform the real spaces of royal government. The improvement of Westminster's air during Charles's personal rule displays an early modern variety of environmental concern that was expressed through courtly display, hierarchy, distinction, and exclusion.

This article recounts the legal proceedings against those Puritan activists who challenged the government of Charles I in the 1630s. It demonstrates that most of our knowledge of these events has come from the highly colored accounts written by the defendants themselves. Closer examination demonstrates that Leighton, Prynne, Bastwick, Burton, and Lilburne set out to challenge the government, first by writing incendiary tracts about religion and then by refusing to recognize the jurisdiction of the courts into which they were brought. While they saw their causes as cases of conscience, Caroline officials saw them as attacks upon the legal and political system. They were convicted in formal legal proceedings, and while the penalties they received appear barbaric to our sensibilities, they were typical in such cases.

Many historians of plebeian marriage have accepted David Kent's findings that married men in eighteenth-century London enlisted to desert their wives. This article argues that this was far from always the case. Enlistment could serve as a family survival strategy for pauper husbands, particularly during mobilization periods. Bounties, shorter terms of service, and pensions could entice responsible providers. The militia or guards regiments appealed to family men because of their stable income and low risk of foreign deployment. Accounts of agonized quayside partings indicate that some married recruits who left British soil had expected the army to allow their wives to accompany them. Kent considered every army wife who sought parish relief as abandoned, yet resort to the parish might form part of a complex family survival strategy that included wives’ begging and soldiers’ taking on extra work and sending home their pay. Some men used military service as a way to fulfill husbandly duties, not to avoid them.

The struggle for the “Great” Reform Act was one of the most serious crises of the nineteenth century, stirring controversy not only in Parliament and the political unions but in churches and chapels across the country. For many of its supporters, reform was a holy cause; for its opponents, it was a “Satanic” measure. This article seeks to reestablish reform as a religious controversy, paying special attention to the religious press and to the hundreds of sermons preached by the Anglican clergy. Anglicans mobilized an array of scriptural authorities against the reform bill, contributing directly to the rising temperature of debate. This was a “Constitution in Church and State,” and the church possessed both an authority and an audience that few institutions could match. Restoring it to the center of debate helps us to understand what was at stake in the reform bill and why it aroused such bitter passions.

Between 1841 and 1904, fourteen of Sir Christopher Wren's City of London churches, accounting for over a third of the City's forty Wrens, were demolished. But for certain deficiencies in the legislation enabling City church demolition, the toll would have been much higher. At one point during the late 1860s, well over half of all City churches had been selected for demolition. City church demolition was the most focused and yet also the most sustained episode of Victorian “vandalism,” and it therefore offers a uniquely appropriate case study through which to draw larger conclusions about late Victorian attitudes to the relative merits of historic preservation and development. The debates surrounding the demolition of Wren's City churches suggest that many advocates of historic building demolition were not, as William Morris would have us believe, “utilitarian philistines.” Nor, for that matter, were all preservationists motivated by heritage concerns.

This article explores the lay-clerical relationship in Catholic Ireland from 1850 to the 1930s through an analysis of oratory, rhetoric, and storytelling. It examines how words, speech, and storytelling constructed and complicated the lay-clerical relationship. The Catholic priest's spoken word was a valuable tool in his parish mission; by preaching and making announcements from the pulpit, he transmitted the ideas of Ireland's postfamine Catholic revival, known as the “devotional revolution,” to the laity. Yet as the Catholic Church came to dominate much of cultural life and the position of the parish priest expanded, he sometimes found his authority undermined by parishioners who challenged his clerical performances and who employed their own forceful words and long-standing oral traditions, including legends and storytelling, to qualify clerical power. As a result, the local existence of the Irish Catholic priest was complicated and contested, and the Catholic laity successfully tempered and moderated clerical power.

This article examines pictures taken by the British photographer Roger Mayne of Southam Street, London, in the 1950s and 1960s. It explores these photographs as a way of thinking about the representation of urban, working-class life in Britain after the Second World War. The article uses this focused perspective as a line of sight on a broader landscape: the relationship among class, identity, and social change in the English city after the Second World War. Mayne's photographs of Southam Street afford an examination of the representation of economic and social change in the postwar city and, not least, the intersections among class, race, generation, and gender that reshaped that city.