The month of love... (and pancakes, haircuts, football, cakes and snow ducks!)

February is of course, the month of love. Hearts, flowers and cute teddy bears are to be found in all quarters. During a normal year, every restaurant would likely have been full to bursting with cosy tables for two, flowing red wine and sweet music filling the air... and of course, St Valentine, or perhaps Cupid, floating around, firing an arsenal of love into the unsuspecting masses.

Of course, not everybody enjoys the romantic undertones of February quite as frivolously as others. Romance is not equally distributed, some long for it but may never find it, whilst others are more than happy without it. Some have differing ideas of what love entails and all have a unique and individual taste that cannot always be easily explained.

The word may be a human invention, but the sentiment is a universal experience, an emotion that embraces us all at some point in our lives, in one way or another.

So in our little Archaeofam, we like to make the most of a day to celebrate love. It seems silly, because in truth, we celebrate our love for each other every day, in a million different ways, some visible, some not so much but always genuinely and completely. Still, the chance to fill the house full of novelty hearts and flowers is something we quite enjoy, particularly Audrey, who has a mild obsession with drawing hearts and placing heart shaped stickers on everything... EVERYTHING!

St Valentine is thought to have been a Roman priest and physician during the 3rd century. He would become the Patron Saint of lovers, epileptics and beekeepers... obviously! It is unclear whether the life of Valentine is based upon one or multiple characters but according to legend, Valentine defied an Emperor and married couples so that the husbands would not be made to go to war.

Valentine was martyred during the persecution of Christians by the Emperor Claudius II Gothicus on February 14th sometime around the year 270. Claudius the Cruel believed that the comfort of family life was restraining Roman men from becoming soldiers in his army. He therefore banned all marriages in Rome. Valentine resented the cruel Emperor and behind his back, continued to marry young lovers, but his deeds were discovered, and he was sentenced to death.

Another account of Valentinus saw him imprisoned for preaching the gospel and spreading the word of Jesus. He attempted to convince the Emperor Claudius to embrace Christianity, but failed to do so and was sentenced to death.

Whilst imprisoned, Valentine sent a farewell letter to his jailer’s (or judge’s in some accounts) daughter. He had healed the girl from blindness and befriended her. He signed the letter, from your Valentine, a symbol that remains in universal use today.

Having been sentenced to death, Valentine was beaten by clubs and then had his head cut off. Not quite as romantic huh?!

There is a suggestion that the feast day of St Valentine, February 14th, gained its connection to romance thanks to a link with the pagan festival of Lupercalia. This festival saw young women’s names placed into a box and drawn out by hopeful men, a little bit like the car keys in the fruit bowl of modern swinger’s parties... apparently. In 496 AD, Pope Gelasius dedicated the day to St Valentine and banned the celebration of Lupercalia. From here its popularity as a day of love grew into our modern exchange of romantic gestures and gifts.

Cupid has a deeper classical mythology as the god of desire, erotic love, attraction and affection. He is believed to have been the son of the love goddess, Venus, and the God of War, Mars. Cupid, from Cupio (to desire) is often visualised as a chubby baby, complete with wings and a bow to fire his arrows of love, infecting whomsoever should be struck with instant desire and passion. In early representations of Cupid, he does not appear so young, nor so plump. Cupid is seen as a slender attractive youth, but the other attributes remain. The wings of Cupid are said to represent the fickle flightiness of love, his youth relates to the irrationality of the emotion and his arrows indicate the wounds of the heart. Once you are struck of course, the lure of love is an uncontrollable tsunami, so you had better be sure to be looking towards your heart’s desire...

In our locked down world, we accepted a quiet but cosy celebration this year, with a mildly extravagant dinner and just above affordable champagne, sparkling grape juice for Audrey and some tasty water and treats for Bramble. The unique aspect of the experience this year was that I took over the kitchen! Usually, as Emily Archaeomum is by far the more accomplished chef of the family and finds a bizarre pleasure in creating incredible meals, I am more than happy to accept permanent dish washing duty. However, since it was a special occasion, I took the reins.

I attempted a spice-crusted tofu with kumquat radish salad. It was a Japanese inspired vegan salad I found online, and I must admit, I didn’t manage to find all the ingredients, so some may have been substituted... but overall it came out pretty nicely, I think! Of course, it took me about three hours longer than the guide suggested, I think if I were to be in charge of more meals, we would most likely starve!

I also made vegan steak and chips for a main meal, and everything was eaten, which must be a good sign, right? We lounged about afterwards, enjoying a glass of bubbly and some sweet family snuggles before bed.

The rest of our February has been occupied by a heavy work schedule. I myself have been immersed in the pre-Roman Iron Age of the south-east, and Emily has been focusing on Victorian England! Audrey Archaeobeeb has taken a shine to astronomy and space exploration, whilst Bramble Archaeopup is mostly content with long walks in the countryside and her basket of chewable treasures.

So, to all the lovers, and all the dreamers in the house, this one is for you. Happy belated Valentines. We wish you all the love in the world as you traverse 2021. Soon we will be able to embrace once more, to meet loved ones and hopefully enjoy the expanse of a relatively Covid-free country.

Until then, from isolated safety, we send you all our love,

From your Valentine x

Nae man can tether time or tide

Time, it is fleeting, and it is flying by. The first restrictions and closures due to Covid19 began almost a year ago. It may have been a difficult, terrifying and isolated year, but boy does it seem to have flown by when I look back. So whilst we remain housebound, our Archaeofam have tried to make the most of every opportunity to have some fun, and for us, no celebration is more glorious, than January 25th

It is not all that often we get a chance to relish in our Scottish roots. Despite being born in Perth and spending my earliest years in the quaint historic village of Abernethy, I have since lived in England for almost all of my life and sadly I have few memories of my formative Scottish infancy.

I often argue that as a minority Scotland fan, isolated in competitive schools packed full of rival England supporters, I have earned a Scottish national hero status following years of jibes, ridicule and abuse. Yet throughout the decades of sporting heartache and struggle, I stood firm and still wear the dark blue of my home nation with pride!

Even as an American, Emily Archaeomum has probably spent more time in Scotland than I have. Moving from the States to Edinburgh to study archaeology, Emily enjoyed almost a decade in the spectacular Scottish capital, travelling extensively during that time and enjoying many of the scenic delights and stunning wonders Scotland is so rightfully famous for.

In the future, we hope to make a permanent return north of the border, to embrace the near fairytale nation and be closer to family and friends there, but for now, at least once a year we get to bask in the delights of all things Caledonian as we celebrate the spectacular genius of that globally admired Scottish bard, Robert Burns.

January 25th is Burns night, a chance to recite the unmistakeable lyrics of the Ploughman Poet, to eat (vegetarian in our case) Haggis, neeps and tatties, and enjoy a wee dram or five of our favourite Scotch whisky (Laphroaig is still king in this household). It is a tradition we have maintained throughout our romance, and now one that Audrey is entirely delighting in also! (Not the whisky drinking of course) Even Bramble loves the chance for a little Haggis in her dinner and I’m sure she enjoys the poetry, however poorly the accents may be attempted!

The life and works of Robert Burns are both fascinating and spellbinding, and deserve far more space than I can offer it here or even profess to understand. Indeed he is regarded of such national importance that Glasgow University have an entire centre dedicated to detailed study of the man. I will therefore only attempt a brief life history here and follow up, as I feel is more fitting, with a wonderful piece of his work that I admire, and that I badly recited to my horrified and embarrassed family before the centrepiece vegetarian haggis was enjoyably consumed!

Rabbie Burns was born on the 25th of January 1759 in Ayrshire, the eldest of seven children. Burns was mostly homeschooled and assisted in farm labour whilst growing up in and around the village of Alloway. His rise from relative poverty and hardship seems to have only inspired his art, and as Burns moved around Scotland and experienced love, lust and a range of employments, his poetry blossomed. Eventually, he settled in Dumfries with his long time love, wife and muse Jean Armour. He rests there still, in a grand mausoleum built posthumously for the famous bard, his original gravestone deemed unworthy of the great man by the romantic generation of artists he inspired.

Here is a melancholy little piece of his that literally oozes dark and atmospheric charisma and delight…

To the Owl

Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth,

To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour?

Is it some blast that gathers in the north,

Threatening to nip the verdure of thy bower?

Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade,

And leaves thee here, unshelter’d and forlorn?

Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade?

Or friendless Melancholy bids thee mourn?

Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather’d train,

To tell thy sorrows to th’ unheeding gloom;

No friend to pity when thou dost complain,

Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home.

Sing on, sad mourner! I will bless thy strain,

And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song:

Sing on, sad mourner! to the night complain,

While the long echo wafts thy notes along.

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek

Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall?

Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break?

Less happy he who lists to Pity’s call?

Ah no, sad owl! nor is thy voice less sweet,

That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief is there;

That Spring’s gay notes, unskill’d, thou canst repeat;

That Sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair.

Nor that the treble songsters of the day

Are quite estranged, sad bird of night! from thee;

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray,

When darkness calls thee from thy reverie.

From some old tower, thy melancholy dome,

While the grey walls, and desert solitudes,

Return each note, responsive to the gloom

Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods;

There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee

Than ever lover to the nightingale;

Or drooping wretch, opress’d with misery,

Lending his ear to some condoling tale.

Whilst this post is a little late, we hope you all had a happy Burns night, wherever you happened to be. We also hope that you were able to enjoy a whisky or two and some good food with great company. I wholeheartedly recommend browsing some of Robert Burns’s incredible works if you have not already done so.

We are fiercely proud of our Scottish heritage and we embrace its history with utter delight, even if we sometimes leap into various stereotypes with an over-eager abandon.

How swiftly have we reached the end of this wintry January? Time is accelerating at a frightening pace these days and we have barely had a chance to reflect before the next adventures are upon us. Even in a world of lockdown, we try to enjoy every moment we can with loved ones, near and far. Reach out, connect, and drink in every moment, if you blink, you may miss it all. As the great bard said himself;

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.

So from our Archaeofam to yours,

Slàinte Mhath

Happy New YYYEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! (or the relief of a planet)

Well...

That was a bit weird wasn’t it?

2020, who could have predicted that? I mean, aside from medical professionals and scientists of course, who might have mentioned once or twice the dangers humanity faced from rapid spreading pandemics and the grossly underfunded health service that would struggle to cope with such catastrophic events...

But we won’t mention that.

This has been a difficult, lonely, isolated and heartbreaking year for many. It has required new ways of living, working, socialising, coping and surviving on an unprecedented scale. The whole world was affected. Some have struggled far more than others, but all have had to adapt.

Today, I sit at my computer, fatigued from a full year of relentless tragedy, soul destroying news and doom and gloom projected through media and social outlets. It is hard to wake every day and be bombarded with death tolls, disasters, poor management of difficult situations, economic collapse and more. It is worse for those directly affected by the traumas of 2020, but let’s face it, there are few people left who have not come into direct contact with one of the many nightmares this surreal year has brought with it.

So today we say goodbye to this crazy year that will certainly never be forgotten and we move on to the next, 2021!

The earliest evidence of New Year’s celebrations seems to come from Mesopotamia around 2000 BC. The celebrations took place in March when the first full moon following the Vernal Equinox symbolised the beginning of a new year and was celebrated with days of festivities.

In Egypt the year began with the flooding of the Nile and the rising of the star Sirius. The second new moon after the Winter Solstice marked the New Year in the Chinese calendar. March had been widely accepted as the first month of the year, but as calendars and agricultural importance improved, dates for the New Year altered.

January and February were apparently added to the calendar by Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome, in the 8th century BC and in 46BC Julius Caesar consulted with astronomers and mathematicians to align the whole system in a structured workable timeline for the year.

The god Janus, whose name is honoured by the month of January, is the god of new beginnings. Janus had two faces, allowing him to look back to the past and forwards to the future. Caesar initiated January 1st as the start of a new year and the Roman public would celebrate with sacrifices and wild parties. The goalposts have shifted now and again since then, but as it stands, January 1st remains the beginning of a new year for many of us, particularly here in Europe... and we still sacrifice our vices and have wild parties... well comfortable parties maybe in our case.

As someone born in the 1970’s (just), 2021 seemed like a Sci-Fi future that would see flying cars and mixed communities from outer space mingling on Stations in galaxies far, far away. We’re not quite there yet I guess, but I have seen some crazy dancing robots that would have been pure fantasy in my childhood!

This year has been a difficult one, but I do not want to dwell on the bad times. I thought to use this opportunity to highlight some positives from our 2020 in the hope it might lift a tiny part of the veil of unhappiness and cheer the spirit. It may not be a lot, but if I can help end the year with even the hint of a smile, then I will consider it a win. And if we go into the next year smiling, then anything can happen!

A few unexpected side effects of a mass pandemic...

This year, our little family were gifted with the one thing we have been begging for since at least when Audrey was born. Time to spend together!

For years, we have been busy. Busy with work, busy with commutes and busy with meetings, busy with fixing things and moving and when we do get to spend time at home we find ourselves busy cooking and cleaning and tidying things. We have been busy with writing and illustration and music projects, making videos and lesson plans or homework. Now, don’t get me wrong, many of these things can be enjoyable, and who doesn’t like a tidy house? But when you are busy with so many things, other things get neglected. The simple things that you take for granted.

This year as the world ground to a halt, our eyes were opened, and we realised just how much we had missed. How much more rewarding it was to go for long walks outdoors as a family, to have movie nights and to read at bedtime, to play games and enjoy each other’s company without the panic of impending commitments and deadlines. We made time in the past for such things, but it always felt limited to a set time or space. This year we were a family without so many constraints, and it was glorious.

We also got to know our neighbours! It sounds silly, but we didn’t really talk to very many of the people on our street or in our community, there just wasn’t time. Everyone was pleasant enough. They said hello when we passed them in the street, but it was just good manners, never any real connection. Then everyone had to stay at home, everyone became visible, approachable, friendly. Conversations began, the applauding of our medical professionals brought everybody out together, and then the pleasant hello’s became how are you’s, and so it grew. The community glowed from new found friendships. We are now closer than ever and it is a wonderful feeling, particularly for our three year old tornado of a child who loves her neighbourhood!

I have done more exercise this year than almost any other time I can remember. I must have been in my teens the last time I ran so much. A combination of being able to claim back the hours usually stuck on a bus or a train, or otherwise engaged in some taxing pursuit, and the allowance of time outdoors strictly for exercise purpose during the various lockdowns, led to a desire to retain a level of health and fitness that I hadn’t considered possible in recent years. I feel great for it. I don’t miss the sluggish foggy feeling of years gone by. My mind and body are feeling kind of good. It is perhaps a shame I left it until I was an old man, had I started earlier, I might have been competing for a place in the Olympics.... or maybe not.

Finally, we have had a number of small successes this year of which we are very proud. Emily Archaeomum followed her passions and acquired an amazing role teaching history, whilst also continuing her own education with a PGCE. I was delighted to be awarded a full scholarship to study a PhD in Archaeology, a long time dream of mine. We have both been heavily involved in various creative pursuits including novel writing, illustrated children’s books, music projects and TV work.

Audrey is growing up remarkably fast, her current passions lay somewhere between being an astronaut, a veterinarian, a fairy princess, a chef and a scientist. Her counting is coming along, her writing seems incredible for a three year old, she is a swimming sensation and her sense of humour utterly kills me. I have never laughed so much at anyone’s deliberate comical moments as I do Audrey’s, she is hilarious.

As for Bramble, she is in dream world! For a year, the whole family has been together at home almost all of the time. It is a golden age for the puppies of the world. Family walks are now far more frequent, she has a whole repertoire of new tricks under her belt, and she was spoilt at Christmas so has an overflowing basket of new toys to play with.

We have tried to help and support people as much as possible during this difficult year. Emily Archaeomum signed up to the volunteer NHS support army, as well as offering her medical expertise in other areas. We have offered help and support to people in our network and try to keep an eye on the community for any who might be struggling. We are always here to help if we can, to anyone who needs to reach out.

It hasn’t been an easy year for anyone, but we feel incredibly fortunate that we have been able to spend this time together. We realise many have not been so lucky and our hearts go out to those who have struggled. Reach out, talk to friends and family as much as you can, and with a little bit of luck and a lot of science, the world will return to something a little more familiar in 2021. Tonight will undoubtedly be less frivolous than years gone by, no crowds along the Thames for epic fireworks displays, but the clock will tick past midnight and a new year will be born. We will be looking forward to a brighter year, but also continuing some of our new found family pleasures into the next. Here is to new beginnings and bright horizons.

For the final time this year,

from our Archaeofam to yours,

Happy New Year Everyone xx

Seasons Greetings from the Top of the Tiers!

I had an idea to offer something a little bit festive for this strangely isolated end of 2020. We had, like many, hoped to see family over Christmas, but alas the continued restrictions mean we are in Tier 78 or something and will be spending this Christmas just the four of us.

It got me to thinking about the Xmas holiday in its modern guise, and what it means to our little family. It also got me thinking about the many histories behind our current ceremonious displays and colourful traditions at this time of the year.

Now, I admit to being an absolute Christmas nut! I love the festive period, I get completely carried away in it. It is the contemporary character of the holiday that really brings me cheer. I love the incredible lights and decorative displays across the globe, I adore the utterly ridiculous movies and music that accompany the final manic month of the year and I have a Christmas jumper collection that could be the envy of anyone.

In years gone by, I have always found this time of the year to be filled with happiness and warm feelings. Families and friends make that extra bit of effort to reconnect, to meet and enjoy the winter evenings and weekends in cosy pubs and cafes, travelling long distances to see loved ones, the mass exchange of thoughtful gifts, consumption of spectacular food and drink combinations, good company and a surreal sense of celebration which has evolved from a complex history of fascinating spiritual events, far too intricate to unpick in any family blog offering.

As the chilly darkness of the year reaches its dramatic climax and finally retracts, bringing with it the hope of warmth and wonders to come, our little family finds itself wide eyed and excited about the imminent approach of that most famous of festive figures....

Santa Claus

Santa has gone by many names over the centuries, St Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Sinter Klaas and many more. These are merely the multitudinous segments of our jolly modern hero. We know him as a large, rosy faced, joyous old gentleman with a fluffy white beard and stylish red suit who once a year, delivers gifts to the good children all across the planet on Christmas Eve. The North Pole is both his home and the location of his workshop, where every year, he is assisted in the creation of fabulous toys by a relentlessly hardworking Elfish labour pool. He flies a fantastic sleigh through the midnight skies; fearlessly led by his nine trusty reindeer... can you name them all?

This is the magical character development as it currently stands. If history tells us anything, it is that his evolution is not yet complete. Santa Claus will undoubtedly continue to shift to meet the desires of contemporary audiences worldwide.

So where did it all begin? Well, as you can probably imagine, the threads of historical understanding regarding this phenomenal figure are varied, wide spread and rather difficult to explore without an occasional stretch of the imagination.

Our story seems to begin in the 3rd – 4th century AD, when a Christian monk in modern day Turkey performed a number of fantastic feats which inspired his veneration. Folk tales about St Nicholas of Myra include him giving away all of his wealth to help the poor and destitute and achieving such accolades as halting a violent storm to save stranded sailors, giving money to a father so he would not have to sell his daughters into a life of prostitution, and even the resurrection three brothers who were dismembered by a cruel butcher.

Stories of St Nicholas and his gift giving spread across Europe and his image was taken on by many as an inspirational figure. He became the patron saint of several subjects including sailors, archers and wolves, but most importantly... children.

In the Dutch language, St Nicholas became Sinterklaas. His legend grew to include all manner of fantastic folklore and festive magic. Separate figures emerged across the globe. In England, during the Tudor period, people celebrated the spirit of Father Christmas, focusing on a celebration of the 25th December rather than St Nicholas name day of December 6th. This early Character of Father Christmas was a huge jolly man in scarlet robes with a white beard, contrary to various internet rumours which would have us believe Coca Cola the inventors of our modern vision of Santa! The French Father Christmas was known by the name of Père Noël, who went house to house on his Christmas donkey filling the shoes of good boys and girls with gifts on Christmas Eve.

A happy old elf called Jultomten apparently delivered gifts to the little children of Scandanavia, in a fabulous goat drawn sleigh! Well behaved Swiss and German children were said to be visited at Christmas by Christkind or Kris Kringle, a wondrous angel who often accompanied old St Nicholas. Amongst the ancient northern pagan populations, Santa Claus is sometimes closely associated with Odin, whose white beard, hooded cloak and adventures soaring through the midnight skies on the Yuletide wild hunt, all the time giving gifts to the worthy, can all be closely compared to our modern icon.

As the years went by, countless reimagining’s would eventually conflate the various images into a universal figure of the Christmas Spirit, our modern Santa Claus, a common hero for boys and girls everywhere.

Then of course, there is a darker side to the Christmas legends, the anti-Santa if you will. In many countries around the world, Santa may visit the good girls and boys. However, if there happen to be any naughty children out there, they can expect a visit from an altogether more sinister figure... The Krampus!

The Krampus is a half man half goat figure who probably emerged from pagan traditions. His name and image seem to have evolved within Austrian Alpine folklore. He is one of a number of Christmas villains to have been created from the traditional fears of winter and darkness. Whilst Santa travels the globe rewarding all the good little girls and boys, the Krampus would seek out those naughtier children, and drag them to hell!

So, whatever you do girls and boys... be sure to be good...

Since Emily Archaeomum and I met, we have spent Christmas day in no less than four different cities, as well as visiting family homes for additional Christmas adventures. Throughout, we have managed to keep several personal traditions alive including the wearing of penguin pyjamas, having the same Xmas tree, stockings and Santa sack, and some absolute mammoth marathon movie sessions! (this year we are approaching around thirty Christmas movies viewed, I think our record may have been somewhere in the seventies... back when we had less distractions!)

This year is a wondrous one for us. It is the first Christmas that Audrey has really gotten excited about. She is eagerly awaiting, in her own words, Santa coming on Christmas Day and giving all of my toys back!...

Well, she almost gets it

As we reach the final furlong, with gifts wrapped and stockings filled, advent calendars looking bare and batteries replaced in all the fairy lights, I am pleased to say that despite a difficult year in many respects, we are fortunate to be able to spend it together.

More than this, thanks to the many marvels of Science and Technology, and despite the horrors of a pandemic stricken planet, we find ourselves amongst the most fortunate as we will still have the power and ability to connect remotely with those we love on Christmas day.

Our little Archaeofam could not be more thankful for this. Whilst it will be a very different Christmas to any we have ever experienced before, we will try to make the very best of it. We feel incredibly grateful for such modern marvels and worldly wonders.

So from our Archaeofam to yours, with our greatest festive spirit slightly bruised, but not altogether battered, it only remains for us to wish you all a very Happy Christmas, Happy Holidays or just a wonderful weekend. We hope to see you all in a future adventure, during a brand new year.

Oh, and if you were struggling...

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and of course, Rudolph!

Tonbridge... A Tale of Two Castles

All lockdown and no adventure makes Archaeofam awfully sad

All Lockdown and no Adventure makes Archaeofam aWfully sad

All lockdown and NO adventuremakes Archaeofam AWfullY sad

aLl LOckDown and No Adventure mAkes Archaeofam 4wfu11y SAD

AlL L^*KdowN aNd N£ A&venture M@kes #rchAeofaM ^W£ullY $ad

It seems to have been terrorising us forever, this awful, heartbreaking pandemic. It is a truly foul and frightening situation and our family are fully committed to doing our part, staying in isolation and away from others to help stem any spread of infection.

Of course, that doesn’t mean we don’t utterly miss being free to explore the sublime world around us. It seems strange to think back on adventurous days almost a year ago when we could make thrilling plans and travel to new unseen parts of this wonderful island, to witness fresh and fascinating feasts for our eyes and to revel in the awe-inspiring histories littering every inch of Albion.

Yet despite the current lamentable situation of the virus stricken planet, we are not completely caged, for as long as we are vigilant, it is safe to venture out on short isolated walks for exercise purposes. We cannot stress enough how important we believe it is to remain socially distanced from all who are not part of a bubble, but this has been a unique opportunity for us to explore some of the curious wonders closer to home.

In a recent poll, Tonbridge was named the happiest place to live in the whole of south-east England! (as long as you don’t count Richmond Upon Thames, which came out above Tonbridge and is in fact in the south-east of England, but let’s just ignore that, for now, shall we?!)

We are fortunate enough to currently call this cosy little corner of the world home. On a couple of former journal entries, we explored certain parts of the historic town, but the lockdown has been a wonderful chance to really get to know this quirky little community and its remarkable landmarks.

For us, Tonbridge is a tale of two castles.

The earliest of these is the incredible, though lesser-known, Iron Age hill fort upon Castle Hill.

There are actually two hillforts upon Castle Hill, both of which were excavated during summers between 1969 and 1971. The late S E Winbolt, who was under the impression there was only a single hillfort, had conducted earlier work in 1929. It was not until aerial photography was utilised that this mistake was understood and early plans of this ancient monument were revised. The fortifications on the arable segment of land have been largely ploughed out, but evidence remains intact in the forested areas.

This particular position in the landscape was an important aspect of high ground, 400 feet above sea level, controlling a northwest to southeast route to the river at Tonbridge, a frequent crossing point of the magnificent Medway.  British Museum radiocarbon dates of charcoal at the site indicate the forts were in use between 315 – 228BC. The earlier of the two forts appear to have suffered fiery destruction, though it is unclear whether this was an accidental or deliberate action. The volume of burnt timbers suggests a dramatic and sudden event. This first fort was subsequently abandoned and a second soon occupied.

Archaeologists argued the residents of these fortifications were probably farmers or peasants, protecting themselves from unclear outside threats, perhaps Belgic invaders, early Roman influence or rival neighbouring tribes, or something altogether more ghastly. They utilised the forested landscape and built oak palisades and revetting fences along the ramparts. The main outer rampart of the first fort was 30 feet wide and 12 feet deep, the inner rampart 15-18 feet wide.  Inside the rampart from an entrance to the east, the surface was cobbled with ironstone.

Our meanderings have often concluded in strolling by this magnificent hidden gem. The surrounding countryside is so peaceful and stunning. It is one of the things that drew us to Tonbridge, to begin with. A town with all the amenities we could possibly require, yet a short walk in any direction and we could be wandering through green pastures and witnessing stunning hilltop landscapes and a scattering of historic villages and buildings.

The other, more famous of Tonbridge’s Castles is... Tonbridge Castle!

The castle sits at the heart of the town, majestically crowing a small rise by the river. It bravely commands the main river crossing, now part of the high street and is an easy point of reference for residents and visitors alike.

The castle came to be shortly after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. It was a simple fort of earth and timber, a Motte-and-Bailey castle which guarded the crossing of the River Medway. The castle was built by Richard Fitz Gilbert who was granted the land by William the Conqueror. It is thought that between 30,000 and 50,000 tonnes of earth were shifted to create the moat and erect the Motte.

The Castle continued in the family and was handed down to the De Clare family, descendants of Fitz Gilbert. This family continued the development of the castle, replacing the wooden structures with stronger stone-built fortifications. They were to make a big mistake however as they rebelled against King William II, whose army besieged the castle and burnt Tonbridge to the ground.

The De Clares were allowed to retain the castle and continued to improve its defences. In the thirteenth century, a stone curtain wall connecting great towers at each corner was built around the whole town for protection and a twin-towered gatehouse was erected.

During the reign of Henry III, the castle was said to be one of the strongest fortresses in England. His niece, as well as Edward I daughter, was a mistress of the castle.

The castle ceased to be a residence after the 16th century, apart from a brief period when it was occupied during the Civil War, though it saw little action, with the warring parties clashing elsewhere nearby.

On days when a lengthy adventure seems too much of a trial, a wander to the Castle is a perfect tonic. We often stroll across the green, Audrey loving the opportunity to hunt for treasure or run through the grassy fields. If the weather isn’t the greatest, this whole area can become inundated with water. It was perhaps added security in days gone by, now, however, it is a convenient messy playground for our little explorer.

Whilst the original structure that adorned the Motte-and-Bailey is long gone, it is still possible to climb the imposing mound and view the ruins at its peak. This is a great opportunity to witness the spectacular strategic landscape which made the area perfect for such a defensive powerbase.

One of the most wonderful things about our little town is the abundance of worthy public house options! There are watering holes for all tastes. Rustic old pubs like the Vauxhall Tavern or the Tudor built Rose and Crown, both old coaching inns, or the Chequers Inn, itself dating back to the 15th century but on a site where an Inn has likely stood since 1264.

Nearby the Chequers was the traditional spot for punishments in the town, which included stocks and a whipping post. In July 1555 Margery Polley was burnt here for her religious beliefs and in July 1575 Katherine, the wife of Edmund Brystowe, was burnt for poisoning her husband.

You can also find great Sports Bars like the George and Dragon or the Gatehouse, or homely, artsy wonders like two of our very favourite places, The Foresters Arms and the Beer Seller, both with delightful decor, the best range of beers and even fantastic deals on pizza!

A short drive opens a whole new range of wonderful options including our old local, the first place we ever enjoyed a drink in this part of the world, The Poacher and Partridge, a stunning country pub with an amazing beer garden. There are of course countless more options and we will undoubtedly try to get around them all.

In any of our usual adventures we would sign off by finding one of these local pubs for a refreshing final beverage, but with the current difficult health and safety issues and the unfortunate closing of such establishments, we must refrain. Luckily, as we are in our home town, we can safely enjoy our favourite tipples from the comfort of our own living room.

Home sweet home!

Arthur... World Away

On a beautiful bright summer’s day, whilst Emily Archaeomum was hard at work, Audrey and I kidnapped the grandparents and made off on a brief but mystical adventure to the very heartlands of British folklore and mythology.

We were hot on the trail of that most iconic hero, the unrelenting pillar of importance in these ancient and magical lands, none other than the legendary King Arthur.

Arthur is the mythical British king of relentless legend. He is said to have pulled the sword from the stone, befriended ladies in lakes and ruled over all England with his round table of fearless and slightly adulterous Knights. Arthur was advised by a powerful wizard buddy and embarked upon all manner of quests and trials in the name of God, country, chivalry and honour!

There has been much speculation on the origins of the legend of King Arthur, and fierce historical debate as to whether any such King existed at all. The most popular opinion appears to be that Arthur is an idealistic amalgamation of a number of poignant protagonists of the islands rich history. Popularised by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Great Britain, Arthur took a central role in the vision of what a great King of England should be.

Tintagel famously appears in Geoffrey’s incredible tales of Arthur. Legend has it that whilst Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, was at war, he left his wife, Igraine, in the oppidum of Tintagel. The wizard Merlin disguised Uther Pendragon as Gorlois who entered Tintagel and impregnated Igraine. The child she was then said to have conceived was Arthur.

It was here at Tintagel, that we would make our brief pilgrimage, fearlessly following the trail of our infamous hero king.

The scenic drive to Tintagel is incredibly enjoyable, especially during the summer months, though some of the roads in this corner of the island are more than a little hair-raising, narrow winding snake-like stems of concrete flanked by high blinding hedgerows and occasional forested tunnels which twist this way and that through the continuing countryside. Towns and villages appear from nowhere and are gone again just as quickly as they arrived, rustic spectres in a mystic landscape.

We arrived into Tintagel, a kind of bizarre circus-like dream town bustling with tourists and traders. Every shop, bar and cafe is geared towards the legend of Arthur. Imagine if Disneyland bought a quaint English fishing village and shipped in its plastic brand en-masse. Parking wasn’t easy to secure and even trickier to navigate once through the gate, a veritable Battle Royale of vying visitors.

Once parked up, we were able to make our way towards the gem of this incredible outcrop, the cliff edge fortifications that convinced generations of scholars and fantasists that this might be the conception place of the legendary King Arthur. Tintagel is run and maintained by English Heritage. There is a charge to enter for non-members. The fee’s go towards the undoubtedly astonishing costs related to keeping such an important historical landmark safe and sustainable. A worthy cause indeed to keep this spectacular site soaring.

A shuttle bus service was available to ship visitors up and down the long road to the ruins. We decided, however, that as the weather was wonderful and the queues were dreadful, we would walk. This was a good decision, it wasn’t too far and even with Audrey taking full advantage of the daddy packhorse commute, it wasn’t too much of a strain.

Tintagel has a deep and rich history of human activity. An assemblage of Romano British artefacts has been unearthed in the area of the Castle, hinting at the occupation of the peninsula during this period. There could have been a settlement of the British tribe, the Dumnonii, possibly mining and trading tin, which made the area such an important source of wealth and resources.

A later high-status settlement was uncovered on the site, dating to between the 5th and 8th centuries, smack bang in the postulated era of Arthur! Originally hypothesised as the site of a monastery, more recent interpretations have suggested that this was a royal residence. The site was defended by a ditch and the natural barriers of the sea and cliff sides. Evidence from this period included a substantial quantity of imported pottery, suggesting a significant amount of trading activity.

The most fascinating and intriguing archaeological discoveries also came from this period. In 1998, a slate stone, known as the Artognou Stone, was discovered during excavations. The 5th–6thc stone was inscribed in Latin, illustrating the regional use of this language even after the collapse of the Roman Empire. It gained notoriety due to the inscribed name Artognou, argued as a variant of Arthur. Just as incredibly, during 2017 investigations, archaeologists discovered a 7th-century slate window ledge inscribed with a mixture of Latin, Greek and Celtic language and names, indicating a highly connected and literate society on this incredible promontory. A copy of the Artognou Stone, along with a wealth of artefacts uncovered at Tintagel, is on display in the castle museum.

It was later, in the 13th century that the main fortifications and battlements were built by Richard, 3rd Earl of Cornwall. This castle was built after Geoffrey of Monmouth’s fantastic works, which claimed Tintagel to be the conception place of Arthur. Richard, it seems, was keen to keep the connections alive and illuminate his residence as the famous seat of Cornish Kings. It was built in an ancient style and the Arthurian legends were suitably reflected.

Our adventure to Tintagel occurred prior to the creation of an impressive new bridge leading to the castle ruins. Our own experience involved the narrow, slightly death-defying trek up a tiny stairway hugging the cliff edge, terrifying... especially with a toddler on your back! A good exercise to get your heart pumping though and a real sense of grandeur as you look upwards towards the imposing ruins above.

Whilst the experience was one shared in close proximity to a horde of tourists and travellers, Tintagel Castle is definitely worth the visit. I can’t imagine there is ever a quiet moment in this historical corner of the globe so steeped in legend and fantasy. Gallos, the now-famous statue of Arthur, was constantly surrounded by amateur photographers jostling to get the money shot holiday snap. Whichever way you attempt it, you are probably destined to have a strangers family immortalised in your perfect picture! Yet despite the anthill experience of it all, to see the castle ruins, the earlier archaeological traces and most impressively, the spectacular coastal splendour and stunning sea views, was well worth the effort.

We had considered finding a little pub in Tintagel town for a beer and some food, but similar to the castle, the town was swamped in Arthurian revellers. We made our way back to the car and drove through the stunning Cornish countryside again until we found a quieter spot to sit, reflect on our quest, and enjoy some cool refreshing summer lager, wine and juice.

We may not have uncovered the Holy Grail, but we had scaled a fortress and witnessed the wonders of Albion from perhaps its most iconic and ancient point. I’m sure, as Audrey’s first Cornish Castle assault... Arthur would have been most impressed.