The mid-seventeenth-century English Revolution remains a decisive turning point in world history. It ushered in the first great bourgeois revolution, shattered the feudal-absolutist state, executed a monarch, abolished the House of Lords, and briefly established a republic. In little more than a decade, the old order’s foundations were violently uprooted and replaced by the first structures of a new one. The political upheavals of the 1640s and 1650s went hand in hand with a profound ideological and religious transformation that reached every parish, pew, and village. As Friedrich Engels observed, the rising bourgeoisie fought its battles in the language of the Old Testament. The Bible became the vocabulary of revolution—the medium through which they expressed and justified class antagonisms.
This fusion of political and religious change is essential to understanding the English Revolution. The overthrow of Charles I and the abolition of episcopacy were more than constitutional adjustments: they directly challenged the ideological and property foundations of the feudal state. The Church of England was not merely a religious institution; it was a central pillar of the old social order, a major landowner, an instrument of social discipline, and a guardian of inherited privilege. Its destruction and reorganisation were therefore integral to the revolutionary process.
In this context, Fiona McCall’s edited volume, *Church and People in Interregnum Britain*, positions itself. The book explores how religious transformation unfolded at the local level in the 1640s and 1650s. Drawing on parish records, church surveys, quarter sessions documents, and clerical correspondence, it reconstructs the lived experience of the “second Reformation”—the sweeping changes Parliament imposed in 1645, when it abolished the Church hierarchy, banned the Book of Common Prayer, and put ecclesiastical lands up for sale.
The book belongs to the Royal Historical Society’s New Historical Perspectives series, which encourages early-career scholars to write tightly focused studies based on archival research. In this respect, *Church and People in Interregnum Britain* reflects both the strengths and limitations of contemporary academic historiography. It is rich in detail, often meticulous in its use of sources, and offers valuable insights into how revolutionary policies were implemented—or resisted—in particular localities. At the same time, it is shaped by the methodological narrowness that has dominated British early-modern scholarship since the “revisionist” assault on Marxist interpretations in the 1970s and 1980s.
The revisionists, led by figures such as Conrad Russell and John Morrill, argued that no English Revolution existed, only a series of local accidents, personal quarrels, and constitutional misunderstandings. Their successors have moved away from the most extreme forms of this argument but retained its methodological core: breaking the revolution into micro-studies, emphasising local variation, and avoiding analysis of the social forces driving events. The result is a historiography that excels at reconstructing parish disputes and clerical careers but struggles—or refuses—to explain why a revolution occurred at all.
This outlook shapes McCall’s volume. Its contributors examine how national initiatives interacted with “local spaces, traditions and personal agendas.” They trace the persistence of traditional practices, the survival of loyalist clergy, the uneven enforcement of godly discipline, and the administrative challenges of reorganising church livings. Yet they say almost nothing about the class dynamics that propelled the revolution: the interests of the merchants, yeomen, and lesser gentry who supported Parliament, or the radical demands of the Levellers, Diggers, and sectaries who pushed religious reform toward social equality.
Yet read critically—and placed within a Marxist framework—the archival material in the volume takes on a sharper meaning. The church surveys reveal a revolutionary state attempting to rationalise medieval property relations. The transfer of moral discipline from church courts to secular magistrates exposes the class content of Puritan “godliness,” which fell disproportionately on labourers and servants. Cromwell’s ecclesiastical patronage reflects the tension between revolutionary energy from below and the need to stabilise a new propertied order.
Church and People in Interregnum Britain is best understood not as an interpretation of the English Revolution, but as a repository of evidence. It shows, from the ground up, how the revolution reshaped everyday religious life and imposed new forms of social discipline—even if its contributors stop short of naming the revolution for what it was.
A “second Reformation” born of revolution
The book’s premise is stated plainly: in 1645, as the First Civil War drew to a close, a “second Reformation” swept through England. Parliament abolished the Church of England’s hierarchy, banned the Book of Common Prayer, and put ecclesiastical lands up for sale. No stable state or cautious government imposed this reform for administrative tidiness. A revolutionary regime fighting for survival amid civil war carried it out, determined to uproot the institutional foundations of the old order. The destruction of episcopacy and seizure of church property were part of a broader assault on feudal authority that accompanied the king’s military defeat.
Expropriating bishops and cathedral chapters directly challenged the ancien régime’s ideological and property foundations. The Church was more than a religious institution: it was one of England’s largest landowners, a central pillar of the feudal state, and a means of reproducing social hierarchy. Its lands, rents, and tithes supported a powerful clerical elite whose interests aligned with the monarchy and aristocracy. Abolishing the hierarchy and selling its estates struck at the economic base of the old ruling class. The sale of church lands was part of a vast property transfer that also accompanied the confiscation of royalist estates. In both cases, the beneficiaries were the rising bourgeois and gentry layers, whose political expression was Parliament.
The “second Reformation” was therefore more than a religious programme: it was a political and social revolution expressed in religious terms. The language of godliness, purity and reformation gave the revolutionary bourgeoisie the ideological vocabulary to justify its assault on feudal property relations. As Engels observed, the English bourgeoisie fought its battles in biblical terms not because it was especially pious, but because religious discourse was the age’s dominant ideological medium. The destruction of the Church’s institutional power went hand in hand with the creation of a new social order based on private property, contractual relations and the authority of Parliament.
This revolutionary transformation extended far beyond the Church’s upper levels, reshaping parish life, abolishing the Book of Common Prayer, and imposing a preaching ministry aimed at changing everyday religious practice. Reorganising livings, merging or dividing parishes, and redirecting tithe income were intended to rationalise a medieval ecclesiastical structure and adapt it to a modernising state. These initiatives achieved only partial success, and the Restoration swept many away. Yet their ambition reveals the scale of the revolutionary project.
Equally significant was the transfer of moral discipline from church courts to secular magistrates. After ecclesiastical jurisdiction was abolished, justices of the peace, overwhelmingly drawn from the local gentry, prosecuted offences such as swearing, Sabbath-breaking, and pew disputes. This shift revealed the class character of Puritan “godliness.” What seemed like a religious campaign for moral reform was, in practice, a way to discipline labourers, servants, and low-income people. Fines and punishments fell disproportionately on those at the bottom of society. The emerging bourgeois order required a sober, orderly and industrious population, and the machinery of godly discipline helped create one.
Seen in this light, the “second Reformation” was not merely an episode of cultural change but a central part of the English bourgeois revolution. It was the ideological and administrative counterpart to the king’s military defeat and Parliament’s political ascendancy. It reshaped property relations, redefined authority, and imposed new forms of social regulation. Understanding it requires examining the class forces that drove the religious upheaval of the 1640s and 1650s.
What the archives reveal
The strongest chapters in Church and People in Interregnum Britain are those that allow the archival material to speak with minimal theoretical interference. Read critically, they reveal the revolutionary pressures acting on the parish, the pulpit, and the machinery of local governance.
Rationalising the medieval church
Alex Craven’s study of parliamentary surveys of church livings exposes the revolutionary state’s attempt to rationalise a chaotic medieval system of benefices. The surveys, preserved in Lambeth Palace Library and the Chancery papers, aimed to unite tiny parishes, divide unwieldy ones, and redirect tithe income to support a preaching ministry. This was not administrative tinkering. It was an embryonic effort to replace feudal endowments with a modern, centralised plan for religious provision.
The inherited ecclesiastical structure was a patchwork of medieval foundations, private patronage rights and uneven tithe arrangements. Parliament’s surveys sought to impose coherence on this jumble, aligning religious organisation with the needs of a revolutionary state that required ideological unity and reliable preaching. The failure of these reforms — swept away at the Restoration — underscores the incomplete character of the English Revolution. But failure does not diminish the scale of what was attempted. The very ambition of the surveys reveals a government determined to remake the religious landscape in accordance with new social and political priorities.
Cromwell’s balancing act
Rebecca Warren’s chapter on Oliver Cromwell’s ecclesiastical patronage between 1654 and 1660 is equally revealing. As Lord Protector, Cromwell controlled many ministerial appointments. His choices illuminate the Protectorate’s political contradictions. On one side stood the revolutionary sects—Independents, Baptists, Fifth Monarchists—whose energy had propelled the New Model Army and whose demands threatened to push the revolution beyond limits acceptable to property owners. On the other stood the Presbyterian and moderate Independent interests, representing the propertied layers determined to halt further upheaval.
Cromwell’s patronage record reflects this tension. He appointed godly, reliable ministers but avoided empowering those whose radicalism might destabilise the new order. Leon Trotsky described Cromwell as a figure who combined revolutionary daring with the determination to build a bourgeois state. Warren’s evidence reflects that dual character. Cromwell sought to preserve the revolution’s gains while preventing its extension into social equality or democratic control. His ecclesiastical appointments were instruments of political management, designed to stabilise a new ruling class while containing the forces that had made its victory possible.
The secularisation of moral discipline
McCall’s own chapter is the most politically significant. With the abolition of church courts, the policing of religious offences — pew disputes, swearing, Sabbath breaking — passed to the justices of the peace. Moral discipline did not disappear; it was transferred to the secular magistracy, dominated by the local gentry. This shift exposes the class content of Puritan “godliness.”
The church courts had been instruments of ecclesiastical authority, often cumbersome and uneven in their enforcement. By contrast, justices of the peace represented the propertied class. Their courts became the arena in which the godly reformation of manners was carried out. Fines for swearing, drunkenness and disorder fell disproportionately on labourers, servants and people with low incomes. The emerging bourgeois order required a disciplined, sober and industrious population. The machinery of secular moral regulation helped produce it.
In this context, Puritanism was not simply a religious movement. It imposed the habits of regular labour demanded by an emerging capitalist economy. The transfer of moral discipline from ecclesiastical to secular authority reveals how deeply the revolution penetrated everyday life. It reshaped not only institutions but behaviours, expectations and the rhythms of work and leisure.
The limits of the “localist” method
The volume’s methodological approach is also its weakness. Each chapter focuses on a specific parish, county or institutional case study, often reconstructed with admirable archival care but framed within a narrow interpretive horizon. The stated aim is to show how national initiatives interacted with “local spaces, traditions and personal agendas.” This formulation has become a mantra in early‑modern British historiography, signalling a commitment to micro‑history and a suspicion of overarching explanations. But it also reflects the intellectual retreat that has dominated the field for nearly half a century.
Since the 1970s, the study of the English Revolution has been shaped by the “revisionist” assault on Marxist interpretations. Conrad Russell, John Morrill and their followers insisted that no English Revolution existed — only a series of local accidents, personal quarrels, administrative breakdowns and religious misunderstandings. They rejected the idea that the conflict had structural causes or expressed the interests of identifiable social classes. In their hands, the revolution dissolved into a mosaic of county studies, parish disputes and elite political manoeuvring.
The post‑revisionist generation has retreated from the crudest versions of this argument. Few now deny that the 1640s witnessed a profound political crisis. But they have retained the revisionist method: fragment the revolution into micro‑studies, emphasise local variation, and avoid analysing the social forces driving events. The result is a historiography that excels at reconstructing the texture of everyday life but struggles — or refuses — to explain why the upheaval occurred at all.
This outlook shapes McCall’s volume. Its contributors examine how national religious policies were implemented, resisted or adapted in particular localities. They trace the persistence of traditional practices, the survival of loyalist clergy, the uneven enforcement of godly discipline and the administrative challenges of reorganising church livings. But they say almost nothing about the deeper forces that propelled the “second Reformation”: the interests of the merchants, yeomen and lesser gentry who supported Parliament; the economic pressures that made ecclesiastical expropriation attractive; or the ideological needs of a rising bourgeois class seeking to legitimise its assault on feudal authority.
The words “revolution,” “class” and “property” scarcely appear. The social groups whose interests the parliamentary cause expressed — the middling sort in towns, the commercially oriented gentry in the countryside, the London merchants whose wealth underpinned Parliament’s war effort — are largely absent. So too are the Levellers, Diggers, and radical sectaries, whose demands for social equality terrified the grandees and revealed the revolution’s deeper logic. The religious radicalism of the 1640s and 1650s cannot be understood apart from these movements, yet they barely register in a volume ostensibly devoted to “church and people.”
Even sympathetic reviewers have noted the book’s narrowness. The “people” in the title are mostly clergy, and “Britain” is overwhelmingly southern England. Two chapters focus on Sussex, one on Dorset, and another on the region from Bristol to the Isle of Wight — a geographical skew that reflects the Portsmouth conference from which the volume emerged. A book on church and people in the revolution that says little about London, the army or the radical congregations is necessarily lopsided. London was the epicentre of revolutionary politics, the New Model Army the decisive instrument of revolutionary power, and the sectarian congregations the crucible of ideological innovation. Their absence is not accidental; it reflects a historiographical approach that avoids the revolution’s most politically charged aspects.
The emphasis on “local spaces” and “continuity” serves a political function. It downplays the period’s revolutionary character, presenting upheaval as a series of administrative adjustments filtered through local traditions. Continuity becomes a way to deny rupture; local variation becomes a way to deny structural change. The revolution appears not as a decisive break in English history but as a set of regional peculiarities, each shaped by personal agendas and parish politics.
This methodological narrowing is not simply an academic choice. It reflects the ideological climate of the late twentieth and early twenty‑first centuries, in which grand narratives, class analysis and structural explanations have been marginalised. The English Revolution, once understood as a foundational moment in the emergence of modern capitalism, is now often treated as a constitutional crisis with religious overtones. McCall’s volume, despite its archival strengths, is shaped by this intellectual retreat.
Continuity and rupture
A recurring theme in Church and People in Interregnum Britain is “continuity.” Bernard Capp’s introduction is pointedly titled “Stability and flux,” and several chapters emphasise the persistence of traditional practices. Historians rightly show that many parishes carried on much as before, that Puritan ministers often remained in place, and that private traditionalism survived beneath the surface of official godliness. No serious scholar denies that elements of the old religious culture endured. The English Revolution, like all bourgeois revolutions, did not sweep away every vestige of the past.
But treating continuity as the main finding downplays the revolution itself. It shifts attention from the structural transformation of English society to the survival of familiar rituals and habits. The persistence of old forms is taken not as evidence of the revolution’s contradictions but as proof that the revolution was limited, superficial, or even illusory. This interpretive move characterises the revisionist and post‑revisionist schools, which have long sought to minimise the revolutionary character of the 1640s and 1650s.
A Marxist analysis sees continuity differently. The survival of old practices reflects the incomplete and contradictory character of a bourgeois revolution that halted halfway, made its peace with the landed interest, and restored the monarchy and episcopacy in 1660. The English Revolution did not abolish the gentry; it strengthened them. It did not destroy the social foundations of landlordism; it reconfigured them. It did not produce a democratic republic; it produced a brief experiment in republican government followed by a conservative settlement. Continuity is therefore not evidence against revolution but evidence of the revolution’s limits.
The emphasis on continuity also obscures the profound ruptures that did occur. The abolition of episcopacy, the king’s execution, the sale of church lands, the transfer of moral discipline to secular courts, the rise of sectarian congregations, and the politicisation of the army were unprecedented developments. They represented a decisive break with the feudal‑absolutist order. The persistence of some parish customs does not negate the revolutionary nature of these transformations. It merely shows that revolutions unfold unevenly, with different tempos in different social spheres.
Moreover, continuity often masks bigger change. A Puritan minister who remained in his parish might preach in familiar tones, but he did so under a radically altered ecclesiastical structure. Parishioners might continue to attend services, but the authority overseeing those services had been uprooted. Traditional practices might survive in private, but the abolition of the Book of Common Prayer and the imposition of a preaching ministry reshaped public religious life. Outward forms can remain continuous even as social relations, property structures, and ideological authority shift profoundly.
The revisionist fixation on continuity serves an ideological purpose. It lets historians present the revolution as a series of administrative adjustments filtered through local traditions rather than a decisive break in English history. It reduces structural transformation to parish‑level variation. It replaces class analysis with micro‑history. It treats the revolution not as a struggle between contending social forces but as a mosaic of local peculiarities. In this framework, the survival of old customs becomes a way of denying the existence of revolution itself.
This approach also reflects the broader intellectual climate of the late twentieth and early twenty‑first centuries, in which grand narratives, class analysis and structural explanations have been marginalised. The English Revolution, once understood as a foundational moment in the emergence of modern capitalism, is now often treated as a constitutional crisis with religious overtones. The emphasis on continuity fits neatly within this depoliticised historiography.
But a Marxist reading restores the revolution to its proper place. Continuity does not negate rupture; it reveals the contradictions of a bourgeois revolution carried out by a coalition of classes with divergent interests. The persistence of old forms shows the revolution was incomplete—not that it did not occur. Historical analysis should understand these contradictions, not use them to deny the revolutionary character of the period.
Why the book still matters
Despite its limitations, Church and People in Interregnum Britain contains valuable archival research. Its open‑access publication is a welcome break from the paywall‑dominated academic industry, which routinely restricts access to scholarship and places historical inquiry behind commercial barriers. The contributors have worked carefully with underused sources, and their findings illuminate aspects of parish life, clerical careers and local governance that are often overlooked. For that reason alone, the volume deserves attention.
But its value lies not in the interpretive framework it offers — which is narrow, localist and shaped by the intellectual retreat of post‑revisionist historiography — but in the evidence it assembles. For readers seeking to understand the English Revolution, the book works best as raw material rather than a guide to interpretation. Read alongside Christopher Hill’s The World Turned Upside Down or Society and Puritanism in Pre-Revolutionary England, the archival fragments here acquire sharper meaning. The church surveys, the secular prosecutions of swearers and Sabbath‑breakers, the stubborn loyalist clergy, the uneasy balancing act in Cromwell’s patronage — all become evidence of a society being forcibly remade.
The English Revolution was not a constitutional quarrel or a series of local accidents. It was a bourgeois revolution that shattered the feudal‑absolutist state and reconfigured English society’s ideological and property structures. The “second Reformation” of 1645 was a central moment. Parliament’s abolition of episcopacy, its ban on the Book of Common Prayer, and its sale of ecclesiastical lands were not administrative reforms. They were revolutionary acts that aimed to destroy the institutional foundations of the old order. The transfer of moral discipline from church courts to secular magistrates was not a procedural adjustment. It imposed a new social discipline aligned with the needs of an emerging capitalist economy.
These transformations cannot be understood through parish‑level micro‑studies alone. They require a framework that explains why the revolution occurred, what social forces drove it, and how its contradictions shaped its outcome. The merchants, yeomen and lesser gentry who supported Parliament; the radical sectaries who pushed the revolution toward social equality; the grandees who halted it; the army that embodied its most advanced democratic impulses — these actors are largely absent from McCall’s volume. Their absence is not accidental. It reflects a historiographical method that avoids structural analysis and treats the revolution as a mosaic of local peculiarities rather than as a decisive break in English history.
Yet the evidence the book assembles points beyond its interpretation. The church surveys reveal a revolutionary state attempting to rationalise medieval property relations. The quarter sessions records show the gentry enforcing godly discipline on labourers and servants. Cromwell’s patronage decisions expose the tension between revolutionary energy from below and the need to stabilise a new propertied order. The persistence of traditional practices reveals the revolution’s incomplete character, not its absence—old forms survived alongside profound ruptures in authority, property, and ideology.
A rising bourgeois class led the English Revolution, using the language of God to break the old order — and then to discipline the people who helped win it. Puritan ideology provided the vocabulary for expressing class struggle. The religious upheaval of the 1640s and 1650s was not a separate sphere of experience but the form through which political and social transformation unfolded. The “second Reformation” was the religious superstructure of the bourgeois revolution.
Despite its methodological constraints, McCall’s volume offers a ground‑level view of that process. It shows how revolutionary policies were implemented, resisted and adapted in the parish, the pew and the village. It reveals the tensions between national initiatives and local realities, between ideological ambition and administrative capacity, between revolutionary rupture and conservative persistence. It deserves attention for what it documents, not for what it concludes.
To understand what it truly reveals, however, requires a Marxist framework — one capable of situating parish‑level evidence within the broader dynamics of class struggle, property transformation and ideological change. Without that framework, the revolution dissolves into continuity, localism and personal agendas. With it, the archival fragments assembled in Church and People in Interregnum Britain become part of a larger story: the birth of modern England through the contradictory, incomplete and world‑historical process of bourgeois revolution.
Articles and Bibliography
Further Reading and Key Articles
The following works provide essential context for understanding the English Revolution, the “second Reformation,” and the broader social and ideological transformations of mid‑seventeenth‑century Britain. They complement the archival material in Church and People in Interregnum Britain and provide the interpretive framework the volume lacks.
- Christopher Hill, “The English Revolution 1640”: A foundational Marxist analysis of the revolution’s class dynamics, property transformations and ideological forms.
- Christopher Hill, “The World Turned Upside Down”: The classic study of radical sectaries, Levellers, Diggers and the democratic impulses suppressed by the revolutionary grandees.
- Christopher Hill, “Society and Puritanism in Pre‑Revolutionary England”: Essential for understanding the ideological and social roots of Puritanism and its role in reshaping everyday life.
- Brian Manning, “The English People and the English Revolution”: A powerful account of popular participation, class struggle and the revolutionary movement from below.
- Brian Manning, “Revolution and Counter‑Revolution in England, 1640–1660”: A detailed Marxist analysis of the revolution’s phases, contradictions and ultimate containment.
- David Underdown, “Revel, Riot and Rebellion”: A study of popular politics and local conflict that complements the parish‑level material in McCall’s volume.
- Michael Braddick, “God’s Fury, England’s Fire”: A modern narrative history that, while not Marxist, provides a comprehensive overview of the political and military crisis.
- Leopold von Ranke, “History of England” (selected chapters):
- Useful for contrasting nineteenth‑century conservative interpretations with modern social history.
- Friedrich Engels, “The Peasant War in Germany”: Not about England, but indispensable for understanding how religious language expresses class struggle in early bourgeois revolutions.
Bibliography
Primary Sources and Archival Collections
- Lambeth Palace Library, Parliamentary Surveys of Church Livings (MS collections).
- The National Archives (Kew), Chancery Papers relating to ecclesiastical surveys and sequestrations.
- Quarter Sessions Records for Hampshire, Sussex, Dorset and Somerset (various county archives).
- Cromwellian State Papers, 1653–1658 (British Library, Thomason Tracts).
- Parish Registers and Vestry Minutes, 1640–1660 (regional archives).
Secondary Works
- Braddick, Michael. God’s Fury, England’s Fire: A New History of the English Civil Wars. London: Allen Lane, 2008.
- Capp, Bernard. England’s Culture Wars: Puritan Reformation and Its Enemies in the Interregnum. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.
- Hill, Christopher. The English Revolution 1640. London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1940.
- Hill, Christopher. Society and Puritanism in Pre‑Revolutionary England. London: Secker & Warburg, 1964.
- Hill, Christopher. The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas During the English Revolution. London: Penguin, 1972.
- Manning, Brian. The English People and the English Revolution, 1640–1660. London: Heinemann, 1976.
- Manning, Brian. Revolution and Counter‑Revolution in England, 1640–1660. London: Pluto Press, 1994.
- McCall, Fiona, ed. Church and People in Interregnum Britain. London: University of London Press / Royal Historical Society, 2021.
- Morrill, John. Revolt of the Provinces: Conservatives and Radicals in the English Civil War, 1630–1650. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1976.
- Russell, Conrad. The Causes of the English Civil War. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990.
- Underdown, David. Revel, Riot and Rebellion: Popular Politics and Culture in England, 1603–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985.
- Woolrych, Austin. Britain in Revolution, 1625–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Marxist and Theoretical Works
- Engels, Friedrich. The Peasant War in Germany.
- Marx, Karl. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte.
- Trotsky, Leon. History of the Russian Revolution (for comparative revolutionary analysis).
- Perry Anderson. Lineages of the Absolutist State. London: Verso, 1974.
Fiona McCall’s Books (Confirmed Publications)
1. Baal’s Priests: The Loyalist Clergy and the English Revolution (Ashgate, 2013)
This is McCall’s major monograph, based on her doctoral research. It examines the experiences of loyalist (royalist) clergy and their families during the English Civil War and Interregnum. The judges of the 2013 Samuel Pepys Prize commended the book.
2. Church and People in Interregnum Britain (University of London Press / Royal Historical Society, 2021)
An edited collection bringing together early‑career scholars working on religion and society in the 1640s–1650s. McCall is the editor and also contributes a chapter based on her research into quarter sessions records and religious discipline.
Forthcoming / In‑Progress Scholarly Projects
These are not yet published as books but are confirmed ongoing projects:
3. Archbishop Matthew Parker’s 1561 Survey of the Elizabethan Clergy (forthcoming)
McCall is a collaborator on a Leverhulme‑funded project producing a modern edition of the Parker Certificates for the Church of England Record Society.
4. The Irresistible Authority of a Troop of Horse: The New Model Army and Parish Life (Article, 2026)
Not a book, but a significant scholarly article relevant to her research trajectory.
