Welcome back to the deep dive. Today, we are
looking at a figure from the 18th century who
is honestly a bit of a paradox. Right. A total
paradox. If you look at the surface, he is a
respected historian, a lawyer, a man of the people.
But if you dig just a little bit deeper into
the biographical records and the history we have,
you find a story that is part biography, part
heist movie. and part tragedy. It really is.
It's a case study that forces us to ask some
uncomfortable questions about how history actually
gets preserved. I mean, we tend to think of history
as something that belongs in museums, you know,
protected by glass and security guards. Right,
completely sterilized. Exactly. But today we're
talking about a time when preserving history
was kind of the Wild West. And the sheriff of
this Wild West town was a man named Thomas Martin.
Now, in the records, he's almost always referred
to by a nickname that, well, once you know his
story, it feels really loaded. Oh, absolutely.
They called him Honest Tom Martin. Which is just
delicious, really, because Honest Tom spent a
good portion of his life embroiled in a controversy
that was anything but honest. That is the thread
I want to pull on today. We are going to look
at how this guy who branded himself as the ultimate
truth -teller. built his entire legacy on something
that looks suspiciously like theft. We've got
the Wikipedia entries, biographical records,
and accounts of his massive collection to guide
us. And we should probably clarify right up front.
This isn't just about a guy who stole some money
or property. It's about a guy who misappropriated
the past itself. So let's set the scene for everyone
listening. Who was this guy before he became
the controversial Honest Tom? Because his start
in life sounds less like a heist movie and more
like, I don't know, a sad indie film. It really
does. So Thomas Martin was born on March 8, 1697
in Thetford. And when I say he's born in Thetford,
I mean he was literally born in the schoolhouse
of St. Mary's Parish. Wait, in the actual schoolhouse?
Yeah, his father was the rector there. Being
born in a schoolhouse sounds like you're destined
for greatness, or at least, you know, destined
to be a massive teacher's pet. You would think
so. But the records specifically say his early
education was neglected. And there's this one
detail that I think explains almost everything
about his personality later in life. What's that?
For a long stretch of his childhood, Thomas Martin
was the only pupil at the Thetford Free School.
Wait, the only student? In the whole school?
Just him. That is wild. Right. Imagine that for
a second. You are a young boy, bright, curious,
and you have absolutely no peers, no playground
politics, no distractions, just you in a building
full of books and silence. that does something
to a kid's brain. You either become incredibly
socially awkward or you develop this intense
singular focus. Precisely. He didn't have friends
so he had history. He started reading everything
he could get his hands on. He became obsessed
with the physical history of Thetford, the ruins,
the old buildings. He knew the town better than
people who had lived there for 50 years. And
that obsession pays off in a huge way when he's
just a teenager. I found this part of the story
almost hard to believe, but it is in the record.
It's 1710, Martin is 13 years old, and a man
named Peter Lenev rolls into town. This is the
absolute catalyst for everything. And we need
to pause on Peter Lenev because his title sounds
like something out of a fantasy novel. He was
the Noroy King of Arms. Okay, yeah, I saw that
in the sources. I assume that doesn't mean he
was an actual king with an army. Not quite, no.
In the British heraldic tradition, the kings
of arms are the top -ranking officers. They are
the ones who grant coats of arms, trace genealogies,
and verify who is actually nobility and who is
just faking it. Wow. Okay. It is a position of
immense prestige and power. Lenev was also the
first president of the revived Society of Antiquaries.
So he is basically the genealogy gatekeeper.
He is a rock star in the history world. A total
rock star. And he comes to Thetford looking for
information. He wants someone to show him the
local antiquities. And the townspeople, adults
mind you, tell him, we don't really know, but
there is this kid, Master Martin. He knows everything.
That is such a cinematic moment. The high society
scholar from London being led around the ruins
by a 13 year old boy. And Lenev was totally charmed
by him. He realized this wasn't just a smart
kid. This was a prodigy. That meeting sparked
a lifelong friendship and mentorship that lasted
for nearly two decades, right up until Lenev's
death in 1729. Wow. Lenev basically adopted him
into the world of antiquarianism. Can we define
that term, actually? Yeah. Antiquarian. We use
it a lot. And I think today people just hear
historian think it's the same thing. Right. But
in the 1700s, it meant something slightly different,
right? It did. A historian. Antiquarian writes
narratives about the past, and antiquarian is
obsessed with the physical remnants of the past.
Documents, coins, seals, ruins. This is much
more tangible. Exactly. It's about collecting
the raw data of history. And often, antiquarians
were seen as a bit eccentric. They were the hoarders
of history. Got it. So they aren't necessarily
writing the textbook. They're the ones saving
the scraps of paper the textbook is based on.
Precisely. And Martin wanted to be part of that
world desperately. He wanted to go to Cambridge
University. But, and here's the barrier, he couldn't
afford it. Which is tragic. The boy genius hits
the financial paywall. It's a very common story,
sadly. So instead of becoming a professor, he
had to get a job. He became a clerk for his brother,
Robert, and eventually he became a lawyer. But
the sources are very clear on this. He disliked
it immensely. He felt trapped by the day job.
He felt like he was wasting his time on legal
paperwork when he should have been studying ancient
manuscripts. But ironically, becoming a lawyer
gave him the exact tools he would later use to
manipulate the system. Okay, so let's fast forward
a bit. He is a reluctant lawyer. He has settled
in a town called Paul Grave in Suffolk. and he's
starting to build his reputation. This is where
honest Tom comes into play. We mentioned earlier
that the nickname becomes ironic, but where did
it actually come from? Was it sarcastic from
the start? No, initially it was completely genuine.
It referred to his personality. We have a description
from a contemporary of his named Cole that paints
a very vivid picture. He calls Martin a blunt,
rough, honest, downright man. So he wasn't a
polite society gentleman. Far from it. He didn't
have the polished manners of the London elite.
He was loud. He was opinionated and his diet.
Well, that is legendary. Oh, I have to read this
quote from the notes because I absolutely love
it. Cole says that while other people were having
tea or coffee for breakfast, Martin would have
get this beefsteak or other strong meat and strong
beer for breakfast. It is such a power move.
I don't need caffeine. I need a porterhouse and
a pint of ale. It tells you everything about
his brand. He was earthy. He was authentic. He
was honest, Tom, because he didn't pretend to
be refined. He wanted people to know him as this
rough -hewn guardian of truth. And he had the
visual to match that reputation. He lived in
a very large house and pole grave, which sadly
was pulled down in 1860, but it had 13 windows
facing the village church. He was a massive local
fixture. He was. And his status was growing,
too. He joined the Spalding Gentlemen's Society.
He became a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries
in 1720. He's moving up in the world. Definitely.
He eventually became their senior fellow. They
even referred to his hoary hairs as a crown of
glory at their anniversaries. People really respected
him. They really did. He was the old guard. But
here is where the tension starts to build, because
underneath this honest beer drinking exterior,
there was a real hunger. Cole mentions that Martin's
thirst after antiquities was as great as his
thirst after liquors. He was an addict. He was.
He needed to possess the past. And that need
led him to the defining moment of his life. The
moment where Honest Tom does something incredibly
questionable. And this involves his mentor, right?
The rock star Peter Lenev. Yes. So Peter Lenev
dies in 1729. Now remember, Lenev had spent his
entire life collecting documents. He had a massive,
invaluable archive of English history. And in
his will, he had a very specific plan for it.
He wanted it to go to a public institution. Which
makes total sense. He is the king of arms. He
wants the stuff preserved for the nation. Right.
And he appointed two executors to make sure that
happened. One was a man named Thomas Tanner.
The other was his old protege, Thomas Martin.
Okay, so Martin is legally responsible for making
sure these items go to the public. That was the
job. But then, life happens. The other executor,
Tanner, moves away to become a bishop. So Martin
is left in sole charge of the estate. And around
the exact same time, Martin's own wife Sarah
tragically dies in 1731, just days after giving
birth to twins. Wow. So he's grieving, he's alone,
and he is sitting on this mountain of history
that belongs to his dead mentor. And then comes
the plot twist. A very short time later, Thomas
Martin marries again. And who does he marry?
Francis. Wait, Francis Lenev? Francis Lenev,
the mentor's widow. You're kidding. I am not.
He marries the widow. That feels incredibly convenient.
It was incredibly convenient. OK. Because under
the laws of the time, by marrying the widow,
Martin basically gained control over the household
goods. He effectively merged Linneb's estate
with his own. So he just bypassed the will entirely.
He completely ignored the public institution
part. He took the collection that was meant for
the public and just kept it. He moved it all
into his big house with the 13 windows in Paul
Grave. Wow. So honest Tom essentially embezzled
a museum. In modern terms, yes, absolutely. Later
historians were furious about this. Richard Go,
for instance, wrote that Martin illegally came
into the possession of the collection. He actually
called it the greatest fund of antiquities for
his native county that ever was collected for
any single one in the kingdom. The greatest fund
of antiquities. And Martin just absorbed it into
his living room. Exactly. I'm trying to get into
his head here. Do you think he did it for the
money? Was he planning to sell it off and get
rich? I don't think so. Not at first. That is
the really complex part of this case study. It
wasn't financial greed. It was intellectual greed.
He just couldn't bear to let the collection go.
He felt, probably quite arrogantly, that he was
the only one who truly understood it. He wanted
to be the keeper of the flame, even if he had
to steal the candle to do it. Yeah, it is the
darker side of being a collector. It is that
Gollum mentality, my precious. It really is.
And he didn't stop there. He kept adding to the
hoard. In 1753, he acquired another massive collection
from a man named Francis Bloomfield. And this
acquisition is really important because it contained
the Pasten letters. I saw that name heavily featured
in the notes. The Pasten letters. Why are those
such a big deal? Is it just because they're old?
Oh no, it is much more than that. The Pasten
letters are arguably the most important collection
of private correspondence from the 15th century
in England. Really? Why? Because usually history
is written by kings and monks. It is all official
decrees and chronicles of battles. The Pasten
letters are letters between family members. A
wealthy Norfolk family during the Wars of the
Roses. They talk about lawsuits, shopping, marriage
problems, and things like, hey, don't come home
today because there's a literal battle happening
down the road. So it is basically the Twitter
feed of the 1400s. Yes. It gives us the texture
of daily life in a way nothing else does. Without
the passing letters, the 15th century goes completely
dark on a human level. And honest Tom had them
sitting in his house, possibly right next to
his breakfast steak and beer. That is terrifying
to think about. If his house burns down, we lose
the texture of the 15th century. That is exactly
the stakes we are talking about. He had concentrated
a dangerous amount of history in one wooden house
in Suffolk. But he did study them, right? He
wasn't just hoarding them like old newspapers
in the attic. To his credit, yes. He was a very
diligent scholar. He annotated them. He organized
them. He knew exactly what he had. In his mind,
he was probably curating the collection better
than any public library would have. Right. I'm
not stealing it. I'm protecting it. That is the
likely rationalization. But the problem with
hoarding history is that eventually, you die.
And you can't take the collection with you. And
this is where the tragedy really sets in. Because
Martin's later years weren't exactly golden,
were they? No, they were not. And there is a
sad irony here. Martin was a lawyer, a man who
should have been good with money and contracts.
But his obsession with the past completely destroyed
his present. He spent so much time on his antiquarian
hobbies that his legal practice collapsed. He
went broke. He was destitute. He had severe money
troubles. And this is the ultimate nightmare
for any collector. To pay his debts, he had to
start selling off the hoard. Oh, that hurts.
Selling the very thing you stole to protect.
Piece by piece. He was selling off precious manuscripts
just to keep the lights on. It must have been
agonizing for him. It was a slow -motion collapse
of his life's work. And when he finally died...
This was in 1771, right? Just one day before
his 74th birthday. Yes. And he was buried in
the porch of the Paul Grave Parish Church. What
was left of the collection at that point? A lot
was still left, but there was no plan. Because
he had illegally taken the collection, there
was no legal framework to protect it. He hadn't
set up a trust. He hadn't contacted a museum.
So when he died, it basically turned into a giant
garage sale. A literal garage sale. Practically.
A man named John Worth bought the bulk of the
remaining collection for 600 pounds. 600 pounds.
Who was John Worth? Was he another historian
or a scholar? No, he was a chemist, a local businessman.
He saw it purely as inventory. That is heartbreaking.
Wolf didn't care about the history at all. He
just cared about the return on investment. So
he immediately started chopping it up to flip
it. He sold the printed books to a firm called
Booth and Berry in Norwich. He sent the precious
manuscripts down to London to be sold. He auctioned
off the pictures and the lesser curiosities at
a sale in Disse. So the very thing Linnav was
afraid of, the scattering of his life's work,
happened precisely because Martin tried to prevent
it. It is the ultimate self -fulfilling prophecy.
By holding onto it too tight, he crushed it.
The collection was fractured forever. The past
and letter survived, thankfully, but they went
one way. The notes on Thetford went another.
It sounds like a complete disaster for English
history. But did anything good come out of this
chaos? Well, this is where we have to look at
the nuance of the situation. Yes, it was a disaster
in terms of keeping the archives intact. But
because the stuff was sold on the open market,
it ended up in the hands of people who actually
could and did publish it. Like who? Well, remember
Richard Goh, the historian who was so mad at
Martin for stealing the collection. Goh ended
up buying a lot of the Setford material from
the sales. And in 1779, he published the history
of the town of Setford. And that was based on
Martin's notes? Almost entirely based on Martin's
notes. Martin had done the hard work. He just
couldn't bring himself to finish it and let it
go. Goff got it across the finish line posthumously.
So Martin gets the credit, but only after he
is gone. Exactly. And the rest of his notes ended
up with collectors like Sir John Cullum and John
Ives. Eventually, a lot of those fragments trickled
into museums or private libraries like the Suffolk
Institute of Archaeology. Even today, you can
find books and papers with Thomas Martin's distinct
handwriting in the margins. His notes are literally
written on the history of England. I want to
go back to something you touched on earlier.
You said his misappropriation might have actually
saved some of this stuff. How do you figure that
if he hadn't stolen it, it would have gone to
a museum, right? Ideally, yes. But let's look
at the reality of 1730s institutions. They weren't
exactly climate -controlled vaults with digital
backups. Public libraries had fires. They had
damp basements. They suffered from severe neglect.
Things got lost in the shuffle of bureaucracy
all the time. So you are saying a public institution
might have just let the steppe rot away. It is
entirely possible, by taking it home, by being
obsessively, jealously in love with these objects,
Martin ensured they were looked at, handled,
and cared for during a very vulnerable period
in history. That is a really provocative thought
for everyone listening to Chew On. Is a jealous,
selfish owner sometimes a better guardian than
a cold and different institution? That is the
Honest Tom Paradox in a nutshell. His methods
were unethical. He broke the law. He betrayed
his mentor's trust. But we still have the past
in letters. We still know the intimate history
of Thetford. The result, in a weird way, almost
justifies the obsession. It really blurs the
line between a hoarder and a curator. It does.
And it forces us to reconsider that nickname,
Honest Tom. Yeah, let's circle back to that as
we wrap up. Do we think he died thinking he was
an honest man? I genuinely think he did. I think
in his mind, he was true to the history. He was
honest about what mattered, which is the preservation
of the past, even if he had to be dishonest about
the laws of the present to achieve it. He was
honest to the objects, not to the people. That
is a brilliant way to put it. So what is the
ultimate takeaway here for us? Aside from, you
know, don't marry your mentor's widow to steal
their books. I think it's about recognizing that
history is not a clean process. We look at an
artifact in a museum and we assume it got there
through a logical, legal, pristine process. But
often that object survived because some eccentric
weirdo in the 18th century decided to hoard it
in his attic and drink strong beer while reading
it. We owe a lot to the weirdos. We really do.
Without the obsession of people like Thomas Martin,
flawed, rough, dishonest people, Our understanding
of the past would be full of massive holes. Well,
that is a fascinating place to leave it. Thomas
Martin of Pallgrave. Yeah. A thief, a genius,
a drunk, and a savior of history. A very complicated
man for a very complicated job. Absolutely. So
to everyone listening, the next time you are
in a museum looking at a pristine manuscript
under glass, just remember, it might have gotten
there thanks to a guy like Honest Tom. And maybe
think of him next time you have a beer for breakfast.
Thanks for diving in with us today. A pleasure
as always. We will see you on the next Deep Dive.
Stay curious.