Groton, Sussex, England
The United States was founded twice, first by 17th-century Puritans and again by 18th-century revolutionaries. The Puritans bequeathed us their concept of the covenant, their apocalyptic moralism, and their unique form of hierarchical communalism. The Revolutionaries gave us our system of divided government, phobia of all forms of tyranny, and the vocabulary out of which Americans would later create a democracy.
When politicians want Americans to come together and do great things, they generally borrow words and concepts from the Puritans rather than from the revolutionary generation. They use their prophetic, Biblical language that’s not found in either the the Constitution or the Declaration of Independence. They speak of destinies, missions, chosen people, and dreams that must be fulfilled. They talk about “a city on the hill,” a phrase uttered in 1630 by John Winthrop, the first Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.
Winthrop used the phrase in his lay sermon, “A Model of Christian Charity,” in which he challenged his fellow migrants to create a pious New World community that would serve as an inspiration to the world. It’s a sermon modern presidents love to quote. Starting with John F. Kennedy, five of the last eight U.S. commanders in chief have lifted that phrase.
Surprisingly, most historians don’t think the sermon was all that remarkable for its time. “City on a hill” was a term frequently used in Puritan sermons across East Anglia, the region from which upwards of 60% of Puritan migrants hailed.
What was remarkable, however —both for its time and today—was the profile of the migrants Winthrop led over the Atlantic. They were highly skilled, literate, principled, and, unlike so many immigrants to the New World, travelled in family units. These are the people who gave New England its distinctive culture.
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Having learned all this, of course I wanted to see the place where it all started, the region Archbishop William Laud, the Puritan’s archenemy, pointed to as being the center of heresy in England. But that required me to drive on the left side of the road, which was a spectacular drag, particularly in those horrible roundabouts. But fortunately my wife was there to guide me across the lanes.
After chipping some paint off my left side rear view mirror on the first day’s drive from London to Cambridge, I figured that the second day through Essex and Suffolk would be a breeze. I was wrong. I innocently thought that forty miles would take us about 40 minutes. Wrong again. I had clearly never driven on English country roads where what appeared to be a one-lane road–flanked by high hedges or stone walls–are also meant to accommodate oncoming traffic. And all that in the rain. It was terrifying.
Before arriving in Groton, where John Winthrop had been lord of the manor, we drove through towns like Haverhill, Sudbury, Newton, each of which have counterparts in Massachusetts. In Groton, we had lunch at the Fox and Hounds pub, and there we imagined how empty the countryside must have felt after this 17th-century exodus. More than 70 people from tiny Groton and nearby villages emigrated with Winthrop. More would follow in the coming years. Nearly 200 of the original 700 emigrants came from Suffolk and neighboring Essex county.
I didn’t know much about Winthrop himself when I walked through the graveyard where his parents are buried and visited St. Bartholomew’s Church, where he once worshipped. But I’ve since read Francis J. Bremer’s sympathetic biography of the man he calls “America’s forgotten founding father.” Emphasizing the multiplicity of views that existed within the Protestant religious movement that came to be known as Puritanism, Bremer credits Winthrop with keeping together a headstrong group of believers and for trying to build a “radically better world while insisting on moderate and traditional measures.” Winthrop, Bremer concludes, was “zealous but not a zealot,” a leader who tried hard to teach the members of his community to love one another.
After Groton, we drove on to Norwich (not the one in Massachusetts) and ended the day in Harwich (no, not the one on Cape Cod), which claims to be the town where the Mayflower was built. But that’s the story of a different Protestant sect, the one that founded Plymouth, Massachusetts, a decade before the Puritans set sail.
As we walked along the promenade by Dovercourt Bay the next morning, the winds were pulling me in two directions. Part of me wanted to take a ferry to Holland, less than 140 miles across the North Sea, where some of the Pilgrims lived for over a decade before sailing to America. The other part of me knew I needed to head to Rhode Island to learn and ponder the story of Anne Hutchinson.
