The St Scholastica Day Riot

Introduction: A Riot Remembered

On 10 February 1355, the feast day of St Scholastica, Oxford erupted into one of the most infamous episodes of urban violence in medieval English history. What began as a petty quarrel over the quality of wine in a tavern escalated into two days of armed conflict between townspeople and members of the University of Oxford. By the time order was restored, nearly one hundred people were dead, property lay in ruins, and the relationship between town and gown had been violently redefined. Known as the St Scholastica Day riot, this event has long occupied a symbolic place in the history of English universities, serving as a cautionary tale about social tension, institutional privilege, and the fragility of civic peace.

The riot was not merely an outburst of drunken anger or youthful excess. It was the product of decades of accumulated resentment, structural inequality, economic rivalry, and cultural misunderstanding between two communities forced to coexist in a confined urban space. The medieval university was not an isolated ivory tower but a powerful corporate body embedded within the town, competing for resources, legal authority, and moral legitimacy. Oxford in the mid-fourteenth century was a pressure cooker: a recovering economy after the Black Death, a shrinking population, shifting labor relations, and a youthful, often unruly student body with special legal protections.

Oxford Before 1355: A Town and a University in Tension

By the mid-fourteenth century, Oxford had already been a university town for more than two centuries. The University of Oxford emerged in the late twelfth century as scholars migrated from Paris and other centers of learning. Over time, it developed into a self-governing corporation of masters and students, recognized by both Church and Crown. This institutional autonomy was a source of pride for the university but a source of constant friction with the townspeople.

The town of Oxford was economically dependent on the university in many respects. Students and masters rented lodgings, bought food and drink, and paid fees that sustained local trades. Yet this dependence was double-edged. Students were numerous, transient, and often poor. Many were young men living away from home for the first time, prone to disorderly behavior, drinking, gambling, and fighting. Their presence strained urban resources and disrupted daily life. Townspeople complained of unpaid rents, damaged property, and insults to local customs and authority.

At the heart of the conflict was the issue of jurisdiction. University members were subject to ecclesiastical courts or university courts rather than the town’s civic authorities. This meant that when a student committed a crime against a townsman, he was often tried leniently or not at all by university officials. To the townspeople, this legal immunity was deeply unjust. It created a class of residents who benefited from the town’s economy while remaining above its laws.

The imbalance of power increasingly favored the university. Royal charters granted the chancellor and masters authority over markets, weights and measures, and even the regulation of bread and ale. These were traditionally civic prerogatives and vital sources of income and prestige for the town. Each new concession to the university was experienced by townspeople as an erosion of their autonomy. By 1355, resentment had hardened into a sense of collective grievance.

The Shadow of the Black Death

The St Scholastica Day riot cannot be understood without considering the broader context of the Black Death, which swept through England in 1348–1349. Oxford, like most towns, suffered devastating losses. Perhaps half of its population died. The demographic shock destabilized social and economic relationships, creating labor shortages and undermining traditional hierarchies.

For townspeople, the post-plague world was marked by uncertainty and opportunity. Labor became more valuable, and survivors sought higher wages and better conditions. For institutions like the university, however, the Black Death was a threat to continuity and authority. Student numbers declined sharply, and revenues fell. In response, the university sought to consolidate its privileges and protect its interests, often at the expense of the town.

These competing strategies intensified existing tensions. Townspeople saw a powerful institution doubling down on its advantages at a moment when ordinary people were struggling to rebuild their lives. The university, in turn, viewed any challenge to its authority as an existential threat. In such an atmosphere, even minor disputes could take on symbolic significance.

St Scholastica’s Day: The Spark

On the morning of 10 February 1355, two university scholars—often named in later accounts as Walter Spryngeheuse and Roger de Chesterfield—entered the Swindlestock Tavern, a popular establishment in the center of Oxford. They ordered wine and, upon tasting it, complained that it was poor quality. Such complaints were not uncommon in medieval taverns, where standards varied and disputes over pricing and quality were frequent.

What followed, however, was extraordinary. After an argument with the tavern keeper, John de Croydon, one of the scholars threw the wine in his face. This act was both an insult and an assault. Words were exchanged, tempers flared, and violence quickly followed. The tavern keeper was struck, and he responded by calling for help.

Church bells were rung—a traditional signal for the townspeople to assemble in defense of their community. University members, alerted by their own networks, also gathered. What might have ended as a tavern brawl instead escalated into a street fight involving clubs, knives, and bows.

From Brawl to Battle

The violence did not subside as night fell. Instead, it spread. Armed townspeople attacked scholars in the streets, while students barricaded themselves in halls and colleges or mounted counterattacks. The geography of Oxford played a crucial role: narrow streets, clustered buildings, and defensible courtyards turned the town into a patchwork of battle zones.

On the second day of the riot, reinforcements arrived from the surrounding countryside. Townspeople called on friends and relatives from nearby villages, who entered Oxford armed with bows, axes, and farm tools. Their involvement transformed the conflict from a local riot into something closer to a small-scale civil war.

University members were at a disadvantage. Though some scholars were armed and experienced in fighting, many were unprepared for sustained violence. Several halls were looted and burned. Scholars attempting to flee were attacked and killed. Clerics, who were supposed to enjoy the protection of their status, were not spared.

Contemporary accounts suggest that at least sixty-three scholars and perhaps thirty townspeople were killed, though exact numbers are impossible to determine. What is clear is that the scale of violence shocked contemporaries and drew the attention of royal authorities.

The Role of Authority: Absence and Intervention

One striking feature of the St Scholastica Day riot is the apparent absence of effective authority during the violence. The mayor and bailiffs of Oxford were either unwilling or unable to restore order. The chancellor of the university likewise failed to control the scholars. For two days, the town existed in a state of near-anarchy.

This vacuum of power reveals much about medieval governance. Authority was fragmented, overlapping, and often contested. In moments of crisis, institutional rivalries could paralyze response. The riot demonstrated that peace depended less on formal structures than on mutual restraint—something that had broken down completely.

When royal authority finally intervened, it did so decisively. King Edward III ordered an inquiry into the events and summoned representatives of both town and university to account for their actions. The outcome reflected the Crown’s longstanding support for the university.

Judgment and Punishment

The verdict was devastating for the town. The mayor and bailiffs were imprisoned in Marshalsea prison. Oxford was fined heavily, and its civic liberties were curtailed. Most famously, the town was required to perform an annual act of penance: every St Scholastica’s Day, the mayor and bailiffs were to attend a mass at the University Church of St Mary the Virgin and pay a penny for each scholar killed in the riot.

This ritualized humiliation lasted for nearly five centuries, until it was abolished in the nineteenth century. It served as a constant reminder of the town’s subordination to the university and of the Crown’s judgment in the conflict.

The university, by contrast, emerged with its privileges not only intact but reinforced. New charters confirmed its authority over markets and legal jurisdiction. In effect, the riot became an opportunity for the university to consolidate power.

Memory and Narrative

How the St Scholastica Day riot was remembered mattered as much as what actually happened. University chroniclers emphasized the innocence of the scholars and the savagery of the townspeople. The riot was framed as a massacre of learning by ignorance, a moral drama in which the university stood for civilization and the town for barbarism.

Town perspectives, though less well preserved, likely told a different story—one of long-simmering injustice and provocation. The throwing of wine was not just a rude gesture but a symbol of arrogance. The riot, from this view, was an explosion of collective anger against an unaccountable elite.

The dominance of the university narrative shaped later interpretations. For centuries, the riot was cited as evidence of the need to protect scholars from hostile towns. Yet modern historians have increasingly questioned this one-sided view, emphasizing the structural causes of the violence.

Violence and Identity

At its core, the St Scholastica Day riot was about identity. Townspeople and scholars saw themselves as distinct communities with competing values and loyalties. Violence became a way of asserting belonging and defending honor. The ringing of bells, the gathering of armed groups, and the targeting of symbolic spaces all reflect the communal nature of medieval violence.

This was not random chaos but patterned conflict. Both sides understood the rules, even as they broke them. The riot followed familiar scripts of medieval urban unrest, in which insults escalated into collective action and authority was challenged through force.

Long-Term Consequences

The immediate outcome of the riot was a decisive victory for the university, but the long-term consequences were more ambiguous. Town-and-gown relations remained tense, though outright violence became less frequent. Over time, the growth of colleges, the professionalization of administration, and changes in legal structures altered the balance between town and university.

The annual penance ritual became increasingly anachronistic, resented by townspeople and awkward for university officials. Its eventual abolition symbolized a new phase in the relationship – one less overtly hierarchical, though still marked by inequality.

The riot also entered English cultural memory as a lesson in the dangers of unchecked privilege and communal hostility. It stands as an early example of how institutional power can both provoke and survive violent challenge.