Today is William of York's feast day – a flawed but endearing saint for our times

It’s the feast of St William of York on 8 June. You’re more than forgiven if you greet this news with a shoulder shrug and then ask: “Who?” 

William was archbishop of York in the mid-12th century. It’s no understatement to assert that he’s among the more obscure saints of medieval England. His claim to sainthood rests not on a cracking story featuring heroic deeds, mass conversions or a gruesome martyrdom but rather on a dignified response to mild injustice and disappointment. To be perfectly frank, even in the Middle Ages, he was considered a bit boring.

This distinct lack of glamour is precisely why I find William so interesting. And I especially relate to the saint this year, when, like countless others, Covid-19 has thwarted so many of my plans and ambitions. 

So who was William and why should anyone care?

Born in around 1090, William was the poshest of posh boys. His family held extensive estates in Yorkshire, which doubtless lubricated William’s appointment in 1114 to the prestigious role of treasurer at York Minster. 

William was reported to be kind, easy-going and generous, especially to “those in penury”. But there doesn’t seem to have been anything especially holy about his conduct at this time. One contemporary, while acknowledging William’s many good qualities, also commented on the future saint’s indolence and “a certain looseness of morals”. Such flaws were far from unusual in highborn, high-ranking, cathedral clerics at this time. 

William was thrust into the limelight in 1141 when the canons (senior clergy) of York Minster elected him as successor to Archbishop Thurstan. This high accolade was somewhat tinged by William being the second choice candidate, the canons’ preferred option blocked by King Stephen for political reasons. Moreover, his election was met with widespread opposition, especially by the Cistercians, an order of austere monks which had recently arrived in Yorkshire with the support of the late-lamented Thurstan. 

The Cistercians accused William of numerous offences including violating his vow of chastity and selling church property. Historians have traditionally taken the side of his opponents, but in reality, William’s offences don’t seem to have been anywhere near as heinous as the high minded and somewhat holier-than-though Cistercians asserted. Pope Innocent II ruled that William’s election could go ahead provided he was cleared of his alleged wrongdoing and swore on oath that he was innocent. These indeed happened and William was duly consecrated archbishop of York. 

But the dispute was far from being resolved. Bernard of Clairvaux, the greatest Cistercian of his day and a future saint, threw petrol on the smouldering fire, denouncing William as “a man rotten from the souls of his feet to the crown of his head”. Henry Murdac, the recently elected Cistercian abbot of Fountains, joined Bernard in his campaign against the archbishop. To make matters worse for William, a Cistercian in the shape of Pope of Eugenius III now occupied the Chair of Peter.  

The archbishop journeyed to Rome to press his case. However, the burning of Fountains by William’s supporters provided Pope Eugenius with an excuse to deprive William of his archbishopric, appointing Henry Murdac in his place.

The defeated William lost heart. After dallying around Sicily, he returned to England and settled at Winchester Cathedral Priory. Disappointment and failure pricked William into a period of reflection. He eschewed the comforts of the episcopal palace, adopting instead the routines and hardships of the priory’s monks. According to his medieval biography or “Life” William “dyd great penaunce in hyghe scylence and quyet maners”.

His patience and penance were rewarded. By fortuitous coincidence, all three of his Cistercian arch-opponents dropped dead in 1153. The path was therefore cleared for William’s second election as archbishop of York. 

During William’s triumphal entry to his cathedral city in May 1154, the bridge spanning the Ouse collapsed. The future saint’s benediction miraculously saved the multitudes thrown into the river. 

William’s ascendancy was short-lived. He became violently ill after celebrating Mass at the high altar of York Minster on 1 June and died a week later. One of William’s long-term opponents in the cathedral chapter was suspected of murderously poisoning the chalice used by the archbishop. If true, this would have made the archbishop’s slaying every bit as sacrilegious as the cutting down of St Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral 16 years later. 

Although the murder allegation was unproven, the Minster’s canons soon realised they had a potential saint on their hands. They saw in William an opportunity to remedy their cathedral’s greatest deficiency: the absence of a saint’s body resting within its walls. 

William was therefore buried before the high altar of his Minster. Sure evidence of his sainthood was provided by the numerous miracles that occurred at his tomb. In 1226 Pope Honorius III issued a formal bull of canonisation. 

But in keeping with the disappointments and mundaneness of William’s life, his veneration never took off. St William’s deeds couldn’t compare with those of the great Anglo-Saxon saints who’d converted northern England to Christianity. Nor could his misfortunes match those of St Thomas Becket and his horrific martyrdom.

Successive archbishops of York nevertheless did their best to promote William’s cult. In the early 15th-century, the magnificent “William Window” was installed close to the saint’s shrine. Paid for by a local aristocrat family, it depicts scenes from William’s troubled life, as well as his miracles and pilgrims seeking his aid. Whatever boost this gave to William’s fame was short-lived. The saint’s shrine was destroyed and cult suppressed during the Reformation of the mid-16th century. The flickering memory of St William was kept alive by a few of the faithful, antiquarians and most recently by über-nerds like me. 

It’s probably clear by now that I rather like humdrum St William. This is partly for very selfish reasons. The lack of enthusiasm that greeted his cult has turned out to be something of a blessing for my research on medieval monastic libraries. 

Even in the Middle Ages, celebration of his feast on 8 June was more or less confined to Yorkshire. Its presence in the liturgical calendars of several previously unrecorded medieval books has enabled me to state with confidence that they were once owned by monasteries in God’s (and St William’s) own county.