One of the most menial positions in an ancient feudal household was that of turnspit. A person too old or too young for more important duties usually performed the work. John Lydgate, the monk of Bury, who was born in 1375, and died in 1460, gives us a picture of the turnspit as follows:-- "His mouth wel wet, his sleeves right thredbare, A turnbroche, a boy for hagge of ware, With louring face noddynge and slumberyng." Says Aubrey that these servants "did lick the dripping for their pains." In the reign of Edward III., the manor of Finchingfield was held by Sir John Compes, by the service of turning the spit at His Majesty's coronation. This certainly appears a humble position for a knight to fill in "the gallant days of chivalry." The spits or "broches" were often made of silver, and were usually carried to the table with the fish, fowl, or joint roasted upon them. The humble turnspit was not overlooked by the guests in the days of old, when largess was bestowed. We gather from "Howard's Household Book" that Lord Howard gave four old turnspits a penny each. When Mary Tudor dined at Havering, she rewarded the turnbroches with sixteen-pence. Dogs as well as men performed the task of turning the spit from an early period, and old-time literature includes many references to the subject. Doctor Caius, the founder of the college at Cambridge bearing his name, is the earliest English writer on the dog. "There is," wrote Caius, "comprehended under the curs of the coarsest kind, a certain dog in kitchen service excellent. For when any meat is to be roasted they go into a wheel, where they, turning about with the weight of their bodies, so diligently look to their business, that no drudge nor scullion can do the feat more cunningly, whom the popular sort hereupon term turnspits." We have seen several pictures of dogs turning the spit, and an interesting example appears in a work entitled "Remarks on a Tour in North and South Wales," published in 1800. The dog is engaged in his by no means pleasant work. "Newcastle, near Carmarthen," says the author, "is a pleasant village. At a decent inn here a dog is employed as turnspit. Great care is taken that this animal does not observe the cook approach the larder; if he does, he immediately hides himself for the remainder of the day, and the guest must be contented with more humble fare than intended."