redistribution. Occasionally, it was used to try to turn the tables. In 1377, a ‘Great Rumour’ began spreading among peasants that Domesday Book granted them ancient rights to land that exempted them from feudal duties. The resulting protests, though short-lived, were a precursor to the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. A similar moment of revolutionary possibility appeared in the aftermath of the English Civil War. Parliament, freshly victorious, carried out a survey of Crown lands belonging to the recently executed Charles I in order to auction them off. But more radical demands to redistribute land and give every man the vote were brutally quashed by Cromwell.
Yet in the past two hundred years, as England has become an industrial democracy, its governments have chosen to survey land ownership on multiple occasions, only to swiftly suppress knowledge of these activities. The past two centuries have seen four ‘modern Domesdays’ carried out by the authorities: the Tithe Maps of the 1830s; the 1873 Return of Owners of Land; the 1910–15 Valuation Maps; and the 1941 National Farm Survey. In each case these investigations faced huge opposition, were hushed up swiftly after they were carried out, and today have been almost entirely forgotten.
The first of these modern Domesdays occurred in the context of the upheaval generated by the French Revolution, which had caused the boulevards of Paris to run red with the blood of guillotined aristocrats and seen revolutionary Jacobins seize their lands. Napoleon ended the bloodshed but imposed new land taxes to finance wars abroad, levied with the help of a new system of land ownership maps called cadastres. These recorded not just the contours of hills and locations of buildings, but also the boundaries of estates – and who owned them. In turn, the Napoleonic Wars prompted the British state to grow, modernise and extend its powers. The British government began counting its population with the first decadal Census, and started to map its territories accurately with the creation of the Ordnance Survey, so that it could better defend them. But in order to impose cadastral maps and land taxes, the authorities would inevitably run into opposition from landowning interests.
In England, it was in fact the Church, rather than the state, that first attempted a system of cadastral maps. The Church was modernising too, through the monetisation of tithe payments. For centuries it had been customary for farmers and landowners to pay to the Church one-tenth of their produce, levied in kind. This continued, despite the Reformation, until modern times. Then in 1836, the Tithe Commutation Act allowed tithes to be paid in cash rather than in goods. As part of the process of commutation, tithe maps were to be drawn up, to show who owned a parcel of land and how much they owed in tithes.
Into this process stepped Lieutenant Robert Dawson, a mapmaker with utopian dreams. Dawson was a cartographer who had been seconded to the Tithe Commission from the Royal Engineers. He knew that for the purposes of collecting tithes, fully accurate maps of land ownership weren’t strictly necessary. But Dawson saw this as an opportunity to push a much larger, more ambitious project – a detailed cadastral survey of the entire country.
The Tithe Commission was at first enthusiastic, and backed Dawson’s proposals. They implored the government to help fund the accurate mapping of landowners, writing to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who appointed a select committee of MPs to examine the matter. But while the committee was hearing evidence, ‘groups of landowners petitioned the House of Commons requesting that the tithe commissioners’ proposals for large-scale maps be defeated’. The English aristocracy feared that a full survey of land ownership might pave the way for new land taxes, as Napoleon’s cadastral surveys had on the Continent, or – worse – lead to social upheaval and even revolution. The committee concurred, and ‘an opportunity for a cadastral survey of the full kingdom was lost’. Many tithe maps were still produced, but their coverage was incomplete, and in many cases lacking in detail.
Others, however, continued to press for a public register of land ownership. In May 1848, Lord Brougham, a lawyer and former Lord Chancellor, made the case in Parliament for a Land Registry complete with cadastral maps. ‘I need hardly dwell on the benefits of a registry for securing titles and facilitating transfers of property,’ he told his fellow peers. ‘England is nearly the only country which is still without this advantage … Connected with a registry should be an authentic and detailed map, the result of a survey of each county or smaller district – what the French call a Cadastre.’
Brougham sought to appeal to the landed establishment, explaining that a register of land could ‘improve the security of its possessors, and … increase the facility of its transfer’. It was an argument he felt should appeal ‘to the Members of this House, peculiarly the lords, as you are, of the soil of England’. But his speech also hinted at support for land redistribution. ‘It was reckoned by Dr. Beke, in 1801, that there were not more than 200,000 owners of land in England,’ Brougham related, compared to many millions of small landowners in France: ‘No one can believe that the working of any system is good which confines landed property to so few hands.’
His was a lone voice, however, and he had to wait: a Land Registry was eventually established, but not until 1862. Moreover, for decades after its creation, it registered pitifully little land – registration was voluntary rather than compulsory – and it was not a public register.
In the absence of a proper public Land Registry, advocates of land reform had to make do with proxy figures. The 1861 Census provoked a commotion among radicals, as its records seemed to show there were just 30,000 landowners in a population of some 20 million people – although the census said nothing about how much each owned. This was grist to the mill of a new generation of radical liberals and socialists who wanted to see the grinding poverty of the Victorian slums redressed through a fairer distribution of wealth. It was also dynamite for democrats advocating an extension of the electoral franchise and the abolition of the ‘property qualification’ – the need to own land or capital in order to vote.
The 15th Earl of Derby – himself a major landowner, and the son of the former Conservative Prime Minister – sought to stamp out calls for land reform by disproving these claims. Addressing the House of Lords on 19 February 1872, he asked the Lord Privy Seal ‘whether it is the intention of Her Majesty’s Government to take any steps for ascertaining accurately the number of Proprietors of Land or Houses in the United Kingdom, with the quantity of land owned by each?’ An accurate survey would be a public service, Derby went on, for currently there was a ‘great outcry raised about what was called the monopoly of land, and, in support of that cry, the wildest and most reckless exaggerations and misstatements of fact were uttered as to the number of persons who were the actual owners of the soil’.
Viscount Halifax, responding for the government, agreed, opining that ‘for statistical purposes, he thought that we ought to know the number of owners of land in the United Kingdom, and there would be no difficulty in obtaining this information’.
Halifax duly tasked the Local Government Board with preparing a Return of Owners of Land. Unlike the original Domesday, this was not produced by sending out surveyors, but by compiling and checking statistics already gathered on land and property ownership for the purposes of the Poor Law. This in itself was no mean feat: as is noted in the preface to the return, ‘upwards of 300,000 separate applications had to be sent to the clerks in order to clear up questions in reference to duplicate entries’. No maps were made, but addresses were recorded.
The Return of Owners of Land was finally published, ‘after considerable but unavoidable delay’, in July 1875. Its initial
