Birthday PandeBodiam

I was keen to avoid too much celebration this year when it came to my birthday. I have just about lost count of the years anyway, and these days I prefer to focus on family adventures and the many exciting and enjoyable activities on my ‘to-do list’, than to celebrate another spin around the sun.

My family had other ideas however. Whilst respecting my choice to avoid wild celebrations, they were keen to do something, so after a mini celebration with gifts and cake, the Archaeograndfolks suggested we take a little trip out and explore some of the local history on our doorstep.

Armed with National Trust Autumn gift passes, we hopped in the car and pointed ourselves south. There are plenty of fascinating National Trust properties in the south east. We had recently visited Rudyard Kipling’s house, Batemans. A wonderful Jacobean house with Kipling’s original furnishings and collections, and a fantastic used book shop and café. Definitely worth a visit!

We aimed for the same general area again, with a trip to what can only be described as the ultimate in fairy-tale castles.

The landscape around Bodiam Castle in East Sussex has been considered an ideal location for settlement and industry since prehistory, and has many unique traces of activity dating to at least the Iron Age. The River Rother influenced the location of these settlements, particularly during the Roman period, when a small port town with active industry seems to have flanked the river.

The castle itself sits within the Rother valley and was not constructed until the 14th century. It has a spectacular history closely linked to the 100 Year War and a particular English Knight. Built in 1385, the castle was the home of Sir Edward Dalyngrigge, a Knight of Edward III and husband of Elizabeth, the heiress of the Wardeux family, who held the manor of Bodiam since before 1330. The couple lived in the Manor House until work on the castle was completed. Sir Edward had gained prestige and wealth as an English soldier in north-western France.

Sir Edward was given permission to “strengthen with a wall of stone and lime, and crenellate and may construct and make into a Castle his manor house of Bodyham, near the sea, in the county of Sussex, for the defence of the adjacent country, and the resistance of our enemies.” This permission was given as part of a defensive strategy against France during the 100 Year War.

Bodiam has many chambers and a number of inner courts built within its outer defensive walls. In each corner of the quadrangular castle is an imposing fortified crenelated tower. The entire castle is surrounded by a formidable moat, only accessible by a narrow wooden bridge leading to the well protected entrance gateway.

Following the death of Sir Edward Dalyngrigge, the castle passed through several generations of his family until the line became extinct. During the Wars of the Roses, the house was owned by Sir Thomas Lewknor. Sir Thomas supported the House of Lancaster who were on the losing side when Richard III of the House of York became King. Bodiam is believed to have surrendered without much resistance during the Wars, but it was returned to the Lewknor family when Henry VII of the House of Lancaster regained the Kingdom.

The castle was on the wrong side of history again during the English Civil War, as its owner, Lord Thanet, was a Royalist. Thanet was forced to sell the castle to pay for fines levied against him by Parliament. From this period onwards the castle fell out of use and became little more than a picturesque ruin.

The castle saw a number of restoration projects attempted by various owners before Lord Curzon,  1st Marquess of Kedleston and former Viceroy of India, fell in love with Bodiam upon a visit and purchased the castle and land. Curzon, a leading figure in the development of conservation policy,  continued to restore and renovate the castle until his death in 1925, when it was gifted to the National Trust for protection on behalf of the nation.

We skirted the immense murky watered moat of the castle and Audrey delighted in spotting huge fish and snoozing ducks as we crossed the bridge to the castle gate. Once under the ominous entrance tower and into the castle, we were pleasantly greeted by a very knowledgeable guide, directing our adventure and offering little bites of historical intrigue related to the imposing fortress.

There are some very peculiar marks to be found in the stone of the castle entrances and windows. These marks are thought to have been designed to ward off evil. Ritual protection marks of this type are suggestive of a fear from attack and a desire for additional supernatural protection to compliment the huge walls and strong towers of the castle.

We all clambered up narrow spiral stone staircases, leading to the towers and the chambers above. Frequent signs warned not to pick up or touch any of the bats! We would never have considered it, but it was not in fact bat season, so sadly we didn’t see any of the amazing creatures hanging out in the castle rafters.

From the towers of the castle, we soaked up the incredible landscape views. The River Rother had burst its banks and flooded much of the green valley below, blue skies dazzled in the mirror pools of flooded fields. We enjoyed these stunning sites until the wind chill forced us back down into the courtyard.

Exploring the last hidden corners of the castle, Audrey requested a loan of my wellies to dance through some epic puddles in the courtyard. I obliged and watched on as her little welly covered legs splashed through the puddles, she was bursting with laughter and delight. I however, got rather wet socks!

Finally, we bid farewell to the fairy-tale fortress and wandered across into the village where a warm fire and kind hospitality greeted us at the local pub. The pub had quite an extensive choice of vegan dinner options, so we remained for tasty food and chilled beer (hot chocolate for Audrey) before finally heading for home, exhausted, educated and another year older.

Society Soirees and Villa Adventures

As the grizzly grey clouds parted over the soft sweeping Kentish hillside, and the sun clawed its way over the gloom, the endless rows of stubbled grass gleamed and swayed before us like a vast ocean of molten gold. We kicked our way through the remnants of the harvest, towards a stunning sanctuary which had been disguised by the earth for centuries. The remote tranquillity of the region betrayed its once industrious functions, a hub of produce and power, a beacon of technical advancement on a new frontier, one in a string of similar centres stretching throughout the Kent countryside.

We must venture back, around 1800 years back, to an age of Imperial control from distant Rome, yet an island driven by agricultural and economic necessity. Within this incredible landscape, cohabited the ruling classes and the general populations. In this part of the island, those with some power and luxury were often to be found in their decadent country residences, the focus of their fortunes, known to us most commonly as the Roman Villa.

It is to one such Villa that we were drawn on this temperately volatile afternoon, and where we would spend a week carefully exploring what remained of a once magnificent country pile. A week of excavations to reveal what shadows and secrets remained below the rolling golden grounds of north Kent.

This region is particularly dense with some of the most incredible Villa sites known in the country. Many have been excavated and some remain as centres for education and tourism today. Lullingstone is perhaps the most spectacular of those which remain. Its incredible mosaic floors and luxurious heating systems celebrate the height of imperial prestige (see our Archaeofam expedition there previously). Further villas have also been uncovered such as Crofton Roman Villa in Orpington, Otford Roman Villa, Eccles, Mereworth and Horton Kirby, illustrating the importance of this productive locality.

Our summers are often busy, between work commitments, external projects, and an ever-growing arsenal of clubs and classes, it seems there is barely a spare moment. Yet somehow, we managed to squeeze in this little leisure time digging this year! The opportunity was too good to miss.

If you have any kind of interest in archaeology, or even history, it always pays to join your local History or Archaeology Society. It is from these groups that you will gain access to talks, excursions, interesting information and any community excavations which may be occurring nearby.

Our local is the Kent Archaeology Society, and this summer they prepared a week long excavation not far from West Malling, in Kent where a dry summer had revealed crop markings and aroused the interest of local archaeologists.

Preliminary fieldwalking and test pitting had established the presence of possible Roman buildings in the fields, and it was agreed that a project of excavation would help to understand what, if anything, remained beneath the ground, to what extent and condition it remained and offer potential dating and interpretation evidence for the curious features. A resistivity survey corresponded with the cropmarks and a projection of the possible building outlines was created.

The area boasts a fascinating past, ancient ritual monuments such as Coldrum Long Barrow are situated nearby, with further cropmarks suggesting a rich prehistoric landscape. Saxon churches and Medieval Manor Houses can also be found in close proximity. The significance of this well connected region had clearly been long lasting.

Audrey was first to dive into the challenge! Armed with a trowel and a shovel, she was a digging machine… for a few seconds before the overwhelming lure to hunt for flint and stones in the spoil heap took hold. Then even more excitement ensued as she began the creation of a Princess Palace from the spoil and a number of coats, mats and blankets which had, until that moment, been relatively clean. The Palace was a stunning success, it gleamed sparkling pink and a soggy, muddy colour and could be ascended in only specifically assigned gateways under the control of Warrior Queen Audrey. A truly magical construction, fit to match the once architectural splendour of the building now lying somewhere beneath our feet.

Emily and I got to digging, maintaining a tidy trench and cleaning the edges before gradually taking off a little at a time to uncover the features below. As the first day drew to a close, the excavation area was looking tidy and full of potential, and our little family were collectively exhausted, having been out of action for quite some time! We made up for it with hot chocolate and beer in a little country pub on the way home, and some hot chips to keep us going.

The rest of the week I would be alone for the excavations, Emily and Audrey being at work and school until the following weekend. I continued to assist as the Villa began to reveal itself, along with a range of fascinating treasures. Painted wall plaster, roof tiles, brick, pottery fragments, the trace of cobbled courtyards, walls cemented in mortar, a number of delightful metal finds discovered by assisting detectorists such as coins, a key, an arrow head and more. The highlight of the feature was its bathhouse, with apsidal archway and a still standing hypocaust system. The Villa was precisely where it ought to have been, and future work could reveal its full extent and any other mysteries it may yet conceal.

This years work on the site will be published as a number of articles in the Society’s Magazine and in the Kent Archaeology Society Journal, Archaeology Cantiana. Keep your eyes peeled for its release next year. The society conducted additional survey work to understand the extent of activity in the surrounding landscape and hope to return in the not too distant future to conduct further excavations.

Above photographs courtesy of Kent Archaeological Society.

On the final day of the dig, the whole family piled into the car and ventured out to witness the results of our wonderful community excavation. The setting could not have been more serene. The late summer sun blazed down upon us as we explored the traces of ancient avenues, carefully crafted corridors, technologically terrific underfloor heating systems of a Roman bathhouse and all the ghostly remains of a once thriving Roman household and livelihood. We shall certainly be back for more when the opportunity comes knocking again.

And of course, any excuse for those quaint country pubs afterwards!

Dungeness and Dragons

The scorched earth gasped in delight as an unexpected downpour threatened to sweep over the land. However, this brief respite was not the relief they had so desperately prayed for, but the radioactive residue of a devilish scout, scouring the land in search of new prey.

For as long as anyone could remember, the burn had dominated these lands. The air was thick and cruel, pumped full of toxins and choking smog. The life giving green had been well and truly scorched from the face of the desolate island, and all that remained was an ever longing thirst, and of course, the Glow.

Temperatures were rising, heating the core and causing vile things that had lain dormant for millennia to reawaken. Flora and fauna were devolving at unnatural rates to cope with the shifting climate. The world was changing and the Glow was taking full advantage. It was building an army to obliterate all of those unfortunates who were unable to adapt as swiftly or as keenly to the old world order.

The Glow, an inhumane illuminous entity, had survived since the earliest moments of creation. It had adapted on this island at the end of the earth into something modern and dangerous. It swamped the soul with unnatural villainy, causing a horrendous inner change in the infected. Its poison had spread across the land, all it touched were snared in a cruel trap. Soon it would be unstoppable, consuming life and hope like a plague.

Despite the precarious state of the island, The Extended Archaeofam, a band of brave warriors and intellects, set out from their fair homeland in the Bridge of Tons on a quest to vanquish the evil Glow and halt its plans of devastation and cruelty. Six battle hardened warriors, their eager entourage of aspiring apprentices and the brazen beast known only as Bramble knew precisely what dangers lay ahead, yet that brief fiery downpour was a warning, a call to arms they knew must be answered.

Setting off in a host of chariots, including one of the mythical silent variety, the warrior band followed a trail of raging storm clouds left in the wake of the Glow’s demonic scouts. The trail led towards the very end of the known earth. They meandered over antique tracks, through serene hamlets, once thriving, inviting and beautiful, now deserted and abandoned since the Glow had taken control of these remote outposts.

A rare sheltered stretch of golden grassland was chosen to make camp, a safe distance from the imposing danger of the Glow. The companions took great pains to create a fortress fit for their quest. The temporary home of the heroes was fully equipped with everything required to tackle their foe, great halls for feasting, shelters for rest, a kitchen and a communal forum, and an additional vast palace, giant and complex, its construction taking up much of the warriors important drinking time…

That evening the warriors consulted the endless ocean of stars above, brightly sparkling upon the blanket of black velvet oblivion called night, and requested guidance in divination for the adventure ahead. The signs were favourable and thus they celebrated with joyous drinking and merriment, singing songs of old into the evening air and toasting to the hope of a successful quest.

The nearest town with any remaining semblance of life was known historically as New Romney. It was here the fearless troupe would need to make initial forages for supplies and information regarding the location of the Glow and its demonic stronghold.

New Romney was one of the original Cinque Ports, five Anglo Saxon ports on the southern coast, until the harbour began to silt up and the land was reclaimed from the sea and utilised for agricultural purposes. As an old harbour town, New Romney stood at the mouth of the river Rother, a challenging estuary with narrow channels and sand banks. In 1287, there was a great flood of south England. Many parishes were completely destroyed, with muds, silts and debris smothering the dwellings. The river Rother completely changed its course during the floods, to run out into the sea at Rye. New Romney survived, and on a lesser scale remained in use as a port until the 14th or 15th century, when the harbour eventually fell out of use. The town retains a sweet port town vibe despite being over a mile from the current coast.

Having gathered supplies and fortified the camp, the band of warriors armed themselves accordingly and prepared for a showdown. The initial plan was to cautiously approach the shore. When at the ocean edge, they would attempt to secure suitable vessels and attack the poisoned peninsular from a sea route. It was hoped that a surprise from beyond the realms of the island would be the safest option. The plan was scuppered however, as soon as they arrived at the proposed embarkation of Dymchurch.

Dymchurch emerged from the gradual build up of the Romney Marshes. A sea wall existed here from Roman times to protect a port at Port Lympne. A Norman church, built around 1150 and dedicated to St Peter and St Paul is still operating today, though it has seen significant extensions and modifications. During the 19th century it became an important element in the coastal defence program, with the construction of Martello Towers and Redoubt Forts. Since the 1930s, Dymchurch has primarily been a tourist destination and boasts a range of holiday and amusement parks.

The toxic tentacles of the Glow had polluted this region long before our heroes could reach its hallowed shores. Neon nastiness had spread like a glowing bacteria over the once quaint smugglers sanctuary. The raging waters of the encroaching ocean were unnaturally warm and terrifyingly tempestuous. Even the food seemed somewhat polluted by the false contagion of the ghastly Glow. The band of Warriors knew only too well the dangers in attempting to approach the stronghold from this position. Desperate to go unnoticed, they retreated to their camp to regroup.

Unfortunately, they had been spied. The great gaze of the Glow had witnessed its enemy and retaliated in a brutal fashion. That night, our brave warriors were surrounded and savagely attacked. The Glow sent forth a horde of blood sucking demons to destroy its foe. These fiends swooped on our heroes, gorging on their flesh. The warriors would not be defeated so easily. They lit the beacons, flooding the air with fresh scents, deadly to the miniscule monsters hovering above. The enemy retreated. Wounded but victorious, the warriors took rest, ready for the epic battle ahead.

On a mission of reconnaissance, the tenacious team of mini apprentices had discovered a secret route into the heart of the Glow’s evil stronghold. It was an ancient engine, powerful enough to traverse the radioactive wastes and desolate landscape, yet small enough to evade the monstrous guards and the gazing eye of the Glow. It was the perfect plan. The warriors and their entourage armed themselves and set out immediately.

The Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch railway is a 15 in light gauge railway which clings to the coast of Kent between Hythe and Dungeness. The railway had been the dream of racing drivers Captain John Edwards Presgrave Howey and Count Louis Zborowski. It was officially opened in 1927, though King George VI (then Duke of York) had visited and driven the railway during construction in 1926. During the 2nd World War, a miniature armoured train was built for use on the railway by the British Military to patrol the coast in case of invasion. A fleet of locomotives now operate on the line taking approximately 150,000 passengers a year to destinations along the coast.

Sneaking onto the engine via a series of challenging hurdles and trials, the band of warriors sped towards their unsuspecting enemy. The surrounding landscape shifted and opened up, vast and alien, a sparse and haunting desert, dry and desolate at the end of the earth. The unparalleled barren wilderness almost revealed their approach. Fortunately the swift and stealthy engine made it through the soaring black towers and searching lights of the ghoulish guard stations, and to the very gates of the grim loathsome Glow.

Dungeness, or the headland at Denge Marsh, was first mentioned in AD 774 as Dengemersc. It remains one of the largest expanses of shingle in Europe. Dungeness is a designated National Nature Reserve due to its amazing bird and plant life communities. A host of lighthouses remain on the headland, constructed to warn approaching ships of the shallow headland waters. These lighthouses were constantly rebuilt or moved as the coastline altered over the centuries. The most prominent landmarks of Dungeness are its two formidable power stations. These Nuclear Power Stations, built in 1965 and 1984 respectively have both now been decommissioned, though the newer station continues in a defueling state.

Standing at the gates of the enemy, staring up at the gaunt grey towers and phallic funnels beyond, our fearless band of warriors lined up in battle array. The Glow, only realising the danger too late, attempted to organise its odious armies. Toxic plumes of neon waste intertwined and fused into a flurry of foul beasts, zombie sharks and skeletal crabs, blood sucking buzzards, gut-churning gulls and rabid dogs forged forwards. Humanesque creatures consumed by the pestilence of the abominable beastly Glow also emerged from the taverns to guard the vile gates. It would be an epic finale.

The ferocious battle raged on through the stifling merciless heat of the arid afternoon. It took every ounce of strength from our fearless heroes to fight through the throngs of ghastly glowing adversaries. The battle remained on a knifes edge, until the ingenuity of the apprentices produced an opportunity. It was a risky plan, but it had a chance…

The gruesome Glow emerged from its formidable fortress.

Its lethal light and noxious noise filled the air in an all consuming burst of rage and terror. Our heroes stood firm. Producing a collection of rare crystal tubes, the young heroes braced themselves, and in choral perfection, sang an ancient spell which reverberated through the desolate desert. The Glow wailed in agony as the crystal tubes burst open and sucked at its devilish lifeform, draining its dark power and containing it within the tubes forevermore.

The heroes held on tight as the tubes sealed and each shone brightly with the essence of the captured demon. They had done it. The island was rid of an ancient beast which had terrorized the tides so very long.

Weary but jubilant, the band of warriors made a final pilgrimage to the eternal ocean, now free of the vile grip of the Glow. It was a reborn experience, relaxed and wonderful. They cheerfully paddled in the expanse of ocean and mudflats, feasted on the rocky outcrops and bathed in the golden glow of an untainted sun. Soon they would return to the Bridge of Tons and prepare for future adventures and quests, but for now, our victorious heroes basked in the comfort of great company and glories won as the sumptuous sun sunk gently over the horizon.

And no one even thought about the impending horror of repacking the temporary palace… that, as they say, was a story for another time!

Gallivanting in Grantham

It has been a busy old summer, and a hot one of course! So sitting at a computer most days has not been the most desirable hang out. Thankfully, we have managed to sneak in some archaeological and historical adventures despite our heavy workloads and looming deadlines.

By far the biggest event of the summer was Emily’s archaeological field school in Harlaxton, Lincolnshire, just outside of Grantham. Digging Harlaxton was a joint community venture which involved Harlaxton College, The Enabled Archaeology Foundation, Operation Nightingale, Network Archaeology, University of Lincoln, Grantham and Harlaxton community members and many more. The primary goal of the excavations was to offer an accessible program of archaeology to the local community, a number of charitable groups and an educational program to students of Harlaxton College and local schools.

The archaeology itself was formed of two specific sites. The first was located in the walled garden complex of Harlaxton Manor. The walled garden is set to be redeveloped and made accessible to the public, so a number of test trenches were strategically placed in the garden to explore the original Victorian glass houses which are no longer extant. The second site explored an unusual cropmark within a prehistoric landscape nearby. The area had experienced some field walking but no excavation had been previously conducted.

The excavations for this season are now completed and the reports are being written for publication as soon as specialist reports and investigations are conducted on the finds and environmental sampling. The results will be forthcoming when the report is released, but suffice to say there were some incredible discoveries made, some puzzling archaeology discovered, and the field school was a huge success with everyone involved. Community members expressed their joy at feeling involved and were excited to learn the various histories of their locality. The students benefitted greatly from a well-executed project and educational program, and many people who may not have considered archaeology accessible or even interesting, were fully immersed and enjoyed the experience immensely.

Whilst Emily was busy making sure the project sailed smoothly, Audrey and I took the opportunity to help where we could. This sometimes involved assisting in the dig, occasionally meant playing in the mountains of sand produced from the Lincolnshire countryside, and at other times meant heading away on adventures of our own.

We made our way into the town of Grantham to have a look around. Grantham appears in the Domesday book of 1086, though its earliest origin is not entirely clear. The name may refer to a personal name of Granta, or the old English Grand for gravel, therefore Granta/Grand (Granta’s or by gravel) Ham (homestead). The town is well positioned along the River Witham valley where it joins with the Mow Beck river. There are hints at a well utilised prehistoric landscape, with a Palaeolithic axe, Mesolithic flints and a possible Neolithic settlement all discovered in the area. There have also been Beaker pottery finds, and a Bronze Age cemetery located in Grantham. The majority of potential for prehistoric evidence lies just outside the town, between Grantham and Harlaxton, where crop marks display a rich and curious collection of features. Evidence for a number of Romano-British farmsteads have also been found in the form of coins, pottery and the footings of structures.

The town itself is thought to have largely grown during the early medieval period, perhaps during the 7th century. In the Domesday book, Grantham is mentioned as a town and Royal residence, with St Wulfram’s church serving the Parish. It has been argued that Grantham started out as an important Saxon centre and then became a minor local capitol during the Danelaw following Viking incursions.

We wandered into town, and after buying some sparkly rainbow shoes and a princess dress, we made our way to the main historical feature at the centre of Grantham, St Wulfram’s church.

Being an important market town with a strong wool trade, Grantham flourished during the 11th century and the riches brought in, went towards funding St Wulfram’s church. St Wulfram’s has the sixth largest spire of English churches and hosts the first ever public library in England, dating to 1598. The church recently won an award as the finest non-cathedral English church. Only a few stones remain of the original Saxon church but the building was completely restructured during the Norman Conquest. The church saw repeated development through the centuries and was fully restored in 1866-67 by Sir George Gilbert Scott.

Audrey took immense delight in exploring the church. Inside, amongst historical monuments, ancient tombs and epic windows, Audrey quickly discovered a play area full of toys to investigate! Carefully descending some worn stone steps, we ventured into one of the original oldest parts of the building. A door and a number of chests here are original medieval artefacts. Fascinatingly, it is said that this crypt was once used to house a relic of St Wulfram. It also held church valuables and apparently even human remains as a charnel house when the graveyard was full.

After exploring the church, we made our way through the narrow winding streets of Grantham, and back to Harlaxton, but not before sneaking in a quick visit to a traditional local pub. Audrey enjoyed a blackcurrant juice and some crisps, whilst I sampled the local beer before we continued on our journey, fully refreshed.

Back in Harlaxton, we decided to wander the village streets and pine over the dreamy old houses and stunning gardens. It is a delightfully cute little village, once voted English village of the year. We wound our way through the streets and up the hill towards the church, again the main feature at the centre of the locality. Audrey found delight at collecting wild flowers as we wandered, and a variety of rare rainbow leaves. The church is dedicated to St Mary and St Peter and likely originated in the 12th century. It has an early 14th century buttressed tower and a font dating to 1400.

Harlaxton is mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as Herlavestune, or Herelaf-Tun meaning the estate or farm of Herelaf. The village grew around Harlaxton Manor. This Moated Manor house, which was situated close to the current village, was built in the 14th century and is said to have been used as a hunting lodge by the infamous son of King Edward III and friend of Geoffrey Chaucer, John of Gaunt.

After long days of adventuring, we joined back with Emily and the archaeology team at the local pub, the Gregory, so named after the founder of the current Harlaxton Manor House, which you can read all about in our earlier blog “The Harlaxton Shuffle” below. This little region at the heart of England retains a peaceful, rural atmosphere, picturesque and full of charm.

The excavations at Harlaxton are guaranteed to make a significant contribution to the understanding of Harlaxton’s prehistory and the development of Harlaxton Manor during the Victorian period. More importantly, the dig was a milestone in highlighting accessible archaeology. The hope was to create a project in which all participants could feel an equal part of the experience, no matter what restrictions they may have faced for a variety of reasons. Not only was this successfully accomplished, but the reports of techniques implemented will offer an important guidance on such measures for all future projects nationwide.

And there has never been a spoil heap more utilised for its activity centre capabilities than the epic sandy mound of Digging Harlaxton. I am fairly sure some of that sand is still to be found in Audrey’s socks and shoes.

A Gift of Art

Our usual adventures are firmly planted in the wonderful world of history and heritage, ancient events, prehistoric landscapes, historic houses and all manner of other old stuff. Today, however, we dipped our toe into unfamiliar waters as we explored the fascinating field of Modern Art.

One of the most hotly tipped and highly anticipated new artists of our era was embarking on her first major exhibition. Nearly five years in the making, this unique and spectacular collection is challenging the face of the art world, and we were fortunate enough to be invited to its grand opening.

Better still, we had direct access to the artist and were allowed intimate exclusive opportunities to be a part of this incredible journey from concept to stunning conclusion. A collection which not only dazzles, but asks important questions about our place in this chaotic and confusing existence we call life.

Firstly, we must offer our apologies to the artist in advance. Whilst we have permission to reproduce a select number of the immense works here, we are aware that this was never how the artist envisaged the works being experienced. It is questionable whether these works were ever meant to be merely ‘looked at’ and certainly not in such a mundane and obvious presentation as this humble blog may offer. We hope that this may act as a conduit to the genuine immersive experience for the reader in the future.

Somewhat opposed to the routine of context free display, hanging from some whitewashed wall in a lofty open plan building, the artist has been known to work in erratic bursts with no thought of revealing her stunning creations beyond the room in which they were crafted. It is clear that she experiences fleeting moments of artistic clarity before her mind is onto the next work and the last is entirely discarded.

And so the exhibition is simply, a box.

A box of works which span almost five years of a shifting, ever quizzical flamboyant mind. Sublime art which cascades from subject specific conceptual creation to thought provoking abstract imagery and weaves the endless stems of drab reality with an exuberant universe which only exists behind her busy eyes.

One of the curiosities of this unique exhibit lies in its temporally teasing, ever evolving display. As we were amongst the first to experience the works, the collection was in a chronological format. Her latest works were the last entered into the collection and therefore at the top of the box. We saw the last paint from the brush in the very first work. As time goes on, and the collection is scrutinised, examined, enjoyed by countless hands and eyes, the order will change. Things will be disorderly returned, out of context. There are no labels, no number system, no way of knowing for sure, what went where. This is all part of the journey. The first and last people to experience the collection will have very different experiences.

Home is where the Mind Bends

These surreal introductions to the home entice a myriad of questions. There is a discernible shift in the concept of a ‘home’ happening before our eyes. Is it the bastion of comfort and security we are trained to believe a home should reflect? Is there something more within the walls, an escape from the harshness of the world beyond. Are there horrors haunting the delicate bricks and fragile windows, scratching at the invisible glass, false smiles and sunshine attempting to infiltrate the defences? Or is home simply a place the mind can wander and elongate, to stretch and feel safe, an oasis in a calamitous desert? Perhaps, it is a little bit of it all.

The World is but a Blur of Colour

There is something altogether mesmerising in this collection of impressionist landscapes. Do they represent specific memorable spaces, were they seen during daring travels and worldwide wanders before being committed to canvas when the memories had perhaps slightly melted into emotions? Or are these, as I suspect they may be, not in fact the landscapes of the physical realm, but those of the mind. Dreamscapes may be a more accurate term. The epic awe inspiring sunset over some mountain range may be the same as the gates of a hellish scorched underworld island, licked by the unforgiving ocean and surrounded by buzzard like monsters, a shock of wing and terror. In another we see a cauldron of grey clouds peppered with the occasional gap revealing a blue sky beyond. Or do we in fact look directly into the confused unsettled moment of anguish, when things didn’t quite add up, didn’t go the way they were meant to? The desired end is there just out of reach, as the constricting darkness envelops the remaining hope. Finally the green and yellow of our English countryside immediately calms the soul, unless perhaps what we are really witnessing is a sea of jealous envy and its slowly decaying swirls of melancholy. These mindscapes illustrate a maturing mind and an experimental moment of technique and ability.

Unlonely Soul

A clear inspiration to the artist are those who surround her daily life. They appear throughout the works in various guises and the impact they have on the artistic output is clear. Figures are given spiritual symbolism, not only in the depictions offered, but in coded messages hidden within the portraits, like an ancient puzzle to be unlocked. The characters are employed not only as interesting subjects, but as guides through the labyrinth of her dreamlike artistic universe. Other pieces suddenly make sense when somehow directed through the eyes of the guides. Some are caught in their own chaos, others are partnered and proud, but all are images of tender temptation.

Love in Other Fabrics

The artist is not simply interested in paint on canvas. This exhibition illustrates a wide range of technique and design improvisation. There are no limits to the materials for expression, yet in these outstanding works the vibrance of colour and sparkle are prominent. The symbolic vision of love and magic are continuous themes. A treasure of untold worth, the sporadic flutter of glittering jewels on a sea of white clouds, and in the foreground the most valuable of all treasures, a single bumble bee hovers, its colour more vibrant than any jewel could ever hope to achieve. A study in marine sinks the viewer into a world beneath the realms of human sight. And what a realm it is under the waves. Sunlight is rare but it dazzles from the tendrils of a beast in the deep green. Ancient patterns on its body perhaps an echo of some obscure deities creation message. Piercing eyes are all knowing, ever questioning. A tiny single star seems so insignificant against the aching heart beneath it, but it offers an ever present energy, the power of the burning sun to sustain the perils of the heart in an unpredictable world. A multitude of messages dance between these fabulous fabrics, each perfectly placed to tell a thousand forgotten stories.

The Wrong Impression

An earlier experimental phase of impressionism landscapes are found towards the bottom of the galleria box. These works represent an exploration in colour combination and an interpretation of visual stimulation from the world she inhabits. The first, in acrylics, reflects the cascading explosive power of the wave, or perhaps the unpredictable insanity of water ricocheting across the bathroom sink. The rapid movement almost appears visible, a fast flooding flight to the finish. Another explores the intricate life cycle of the leaf. Its wind battered branches dripping from the rain, ever shifting shades of green until the inevitable yellow of decay. A final work in this period is created in the favoured coloured wax. This inspiring image covers an entire landscape, endless fields of varied crop, sweeping ponds with an entire ecosystem of flora covering the still waters, a sky laced with every shade of afternoon autumnal angst. These works show the continuous courage of an artist unafraid to adventure, and never willing to settle on one single voice.

The Hand of God

Some of the artists early works are tactile treasures. Mindscapes etched with the hand, like the examples of art carefully imprinted onto the everlasting walls of cavernous natural temples at the beginning of human history. The message is clear. Some things are engrained in humanity. No culture or class, age or ideas can alter the undeniable desire to create. To wish to see our image in one way or another is as natural as breathing. Our hands create things beyond the necessary or mundane. We dream of pleasure, and we find joy in art.

The Beginning

As we reach the bottom of this cardboard encased collection, the earliest examples of the artist work emerge. Minimalist interpretations of the human form. This is a fascinating study. We visualise the pieces in reverse and witness the growing influence of humanity on the artist. And I do mean growth, the individuals blossom from simple lines into ballooning creatures with soul searching eyes. We are forced to understand the journey, forced to see and even experience just how far the artist has come. The challenges are beyond measure, from a world of unfathomable lines and circles to the complex intricacies of a global existence. Finishing at the beginning leaves a longing for those simpler thoughts. As the blocks collide, and the image grows, the wider picture continues to confuse and blur. An impossible puzzle which will never be completed, yet we continue to place the pieces together in the hope that the moments of joy will stay ahead of the moments of despair.

This exhibition will not see the walls of any national gallery, because it does not belong in those confined spaces. The works here will tell a different story to each and every visitor. A story of hope and love and a world of wonder and magic. By only contemplating the piece in the moment of its creation, the artist has created something truly honest. A window into the experience of creation.

A billion million stars out of ten.

The Society of the Double Cross. A Pirate Mystery! - A British Library Investigation

Dearest Emily,

I apologise for the paucity of correspondence of late, the overwhelming magnitude of material from which I have had the pleasure to examine has kept me incredibly busy. You will no doubt be delighted to learn that during my time at the British Library, I have been positively rewarded with untold treasures from within the dusty tomes of that opulent labyrinth.

Here I shall recount an alluring discovery and intriguing trail. I am certain you are eager to learn of my latest expedition through these folios of fascination, therefore I shall not hinder your curiosity any further.

Some time ago, whilst trawling the meticulous and compelling archives of the Hakluyt Society, and preparing documents for public consumption, I came across a unique package of seemingly unanswered correspondence.

One letter in particular, addressed to the president of the Society, had been sent from a certain Phillip Swann who had undertaken an adventurous sojourn through South America during the 1930’s. On his travels, he and an accompanying Scottish mining engineer were introduced to a humble local family who produced a bundle of documents, apparently the private papers of a secret society known as La Socied de la Doble Cruz.

The Society of the Double Cross!

Now as you are surely aware, I am justifiably dubious when it comes to secret societies and treasure maps, often the work of fiction and fantasy. Yet I was intrigued by the curiously out of place document and made a decision to delve further.

Mr Swann proceeded to describe a number of translated documents referring to various hordes of stolen booty hidden across a multitude of Caribbean hideaways.  It name dropped such legendary figures as Montezuma and Sir Henry Morgan and promised, should the strange hieroglyphs appearing throughout the document be understood, potential lost fortunes might be recovered.

“The papers were found in the shape of a ball, covered with (bitumen) and fastened with two gold pins.  There was also ten small bars of gold, one semi-precious stone, four minted coins very poorly done, a very big key, four or five weights (presumably for weighing gold) a bundle of papers wrapped in a sort of wax and a skeleton with a nail in the head.”

Why you may ask, did Phillip Swann not go on to discover these wondrous treasures?  He may well have?  I could find nothing further on the gentleman from the scant information at my disposal.  He did however give reason for the apparent pause in his research.

“Over a period of two years, my introducer and self, did what we could to investigate the matter, but were hampered by the fact that they did not really trust us, as a considerable number of the documents had already been filched by people they had consulted. I left South America; the war came along, and it is only now, in my retirement, that the interest has become aroused again”

Swann provided a list of potential targets mentioned in the papers, which he hoped to explore further. These included the Booty of Mexico 1635, activities on the Lake of Maracaibo, The Secrets of the Vulgate, The Oath of Istanbul, Buried treasure on the Island of Cuanacoco and an Irish built warship, the K.H-erye, amongst others.

Swann suggested the then President of Venezuela, Vincente Gomez, had financed an expedition in search of the related treasures, but believed the lack of media coverage indicated little if anything had come of these expeditions.

Armed with this letter and little more I decided to do some investigation of my own.  Whilst the Society of the Double Cross failed to secure any hits on our catalogues or produce any contemporary references, the vast ocean of information that is the World Wide Web provided some tantalising leads.

The first involved the famed ship wreck salvager and American treasure hunter Arthur McKee. Art had a history of success finding relics of ancient vessels and the plundered riches of bygone eras.  His notoriety in such expeditions led to advice and accompaniment being sought on all manner of similar adventures.  In his journals, Art documented an experience whereby:

“I was contacted by two men from Venezuela who stated that they wished to discuss with me some strange markings which they had found on some old documents.  These documents were discovered at an old house in Venezuela which had been torn down.”

The journal goes on to describe papers “inscribed on a skin-like material and leather and dated as early as 1557” many of which referred to The organisation of the Doble Cruz. It described the same marks and Hieroglyphs mentioned in Swann’s letter, but Art also found “…a faded but identifiable document which contained one of the coded alphabets”.

Art McKee’s translations mirrored the writing of Swann in a fashion well beyond mere coincidence, dates and names being repeated, but there were just enough slight translation discrepancies to suggest this wasn’t a copy of earlier research. He appeared to be witnessing the very same original documents.

McKee would take the challenge a step further, selecting one of the potential targets to conduct an expedition.  He chose the Forte La Tortuga, a Pirate Fortress located about 110 miles off the coast of Venezuela. He was joined on the expedition by Professor Alberto Cribeiro Valiente and his son, who were all dropped on the deserted island by helicopter with a promise to be picked up 7 days later.  I shan’t go into the details here, the full story can be found online, but the expedition was a disaster. Injury and disorientation from day one led to a very real fight for life, McKee was stranded alone in the searing heat of day and freezing cold of night, with little shelter he survived on nothing more than cactus juice and his fast fraying wits. Eventually, the Army led a rescue 10 days later. The original quest was abandoned and never again attempted.

So another dead end perhaps, but a final trawl of the internet brought my research right up to the present day.  Of all the bizarre places you might imagine discovering an ancient secret society of Pirates, Facebook would not seem the most likely, but there it was, a page dedicated to La Orden de la Doble Cruz.

Once again the page described similar aspects, names and places as the previous sources, but in a new, even more inconceivable twist, the Society were now linked to the Illuminati Templar Order!  The page offered welcome to the fraternal Brotherhood around the globe via their Gmail account, pleading their legitimacy… “evidenced by authentic ancient documents that rest in this city of Maracaibo of the Zulia State, in our beloved country Venezuela.”

So… do the documents exist? Who knows? The archives and libraries of Maracaibo could be scoured, perhaps the documents lay waiting to be fully understood, their tantalizing treasures begging to be finally uncovered?

If you find these swashbuckling tales have tickled your fancy, and should time permit, you might be enticed to dig deeper, for as our curious and compelling mystery provider begged of the Hakluyt Society all those years ago,

“Even now, I still feel there is a glimmer of truth in it all, and it is worth your investigation.”

Happy Mothers Day

In the infinite expressions of which we may consider it, there is nothing more important in this world than the mother. Mother gives life to the young, protects her children, is fertile and powerful, tender and kind. Mother comes in many forms but all of us are influenced by her presence. In almost all cultures and all ages, Mother is the parent of all things, the origin of everything.

The pantheons of godlike figures in which Mother is represented are endless and complex, but a common understanding that the mother represents the beginning and nurturing of life, prevails.

Prehistoric figurines representing mother goddesses have been discovered across the globe. She is often personified as full of life, plentiful and powerful. Carefully placed during important spiritual events, it is believed that many of these offerings were deposited in hope of pleasing mother earth and bringing good health or harvest.

In Egyptian mythology the mother goddess is considered to be of the sky rather than the earth. As Nut, she bore the stars and the god of the sun. The spirits of the dead travel to her to feast and be refreshed.

In Greek and Roman literature, we find Cybele, Ops, Demeter, Tellus, Mater Deum Magna Idaea, Agdistis and Rhea, variants of the same ideals, the mother of the Gods or worship of the great mother. A beginning to the intricate web of existence, for both the divine and the human worlds.

Celtic mother goddess Brighid presided over hearth and home, watching over women in childbirth whilst Danu was the earth mother goddess who suckled the gods and represented fertility, wisdom and the wind. Mother was symbolised in the mountains, in the forests and the wilds of the earth, her life force flowed with the seasons as she interacted with the gods of sky and ocean.

She is found too in Freya, Isis, Durga, Gaia, Mary, Izanami no Mikoto, Mut, Pachamama and so many more. Mother encompasses all life, all existence, all imagination and inspiration. As mother earth, she controls our worldly fortunes. As mother of the sky, she watches us from the endless eternities above.

For every mother out there, in whatever form that motherhood takes, thank you, you have our hearts. There should certainly be more than one day to celebrate motherhood.

So, from our Archaeofam to yours, Happy Mother’s Day X

PS – yes mum, I folded my clothes, got all my work done, made sure that Audrey was wearing the best fitting shoes for school and had eaten all her vegetables before writing this! Love you.

The Harlaxton Shuffle

You might ask yourself what John of Gaunt, the Jesuits, a mysterious international businessman with more family aliases than a Superhero franchise, the first brushless shaving cream, the Sherriff of Nottingham and the very first American University campus in Britain have in common.

Well, I can tell you, the answer is Harlaxton Manor.

I must admit, until Emily Archaeomum applied for a position at the University of Evansville, I had never heard of their study abroad campus at Harlaxton Manor, nor indeed Harlaxton Village. Emily was successful in her application, and so off we went to explore an estate steeped in intrigue, majesty and some rather confused chronologies.

Harlaxton sits on the outskirts of Grantham in Lincolnshire, a grand manor house surrounded by acres of gorgeous green countryside. As we arrived along winding country lanes, the splendour of the house rose into view, indeed an entire hillside had to be excavated in order for the impressive palace to be built. It is a remarkable architectural wonder, a traditional statement of elite residence, but not all was as it seemed.

The house has hints of Elizabethan architecture, but there is also Jacobean and Baroque in there, traces of continental influence are everywhere, a blend of stylistic treasures seamlessly forging a fashionable masterpiece. Yet the house is not as old as it first appears. I mean, it is pretty old, almost 200 years old in fact, but perhaps not as ancient as its image implies.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Audrey was here on business, the business of mystery solving, and this place was bursting with them.

We parked in the estate and walked up the grand driveway to the front entrance, all the while in awe of the enormity and splendour of this mansion. Stunning sculptures stared back at us from every precipice, lions, birds of prey, cherubs and I’m pretty sure we even spied a dragon.

Inside, things only got more decadent. The halls, corridors, state rooms and staircases are like something from a fairy-tale. Gold glittering fittings, shiny marble features, ornately carved wooden decorations, grand stone fireplaces and stunning antique furniture including some astonishing musical instruments. It was a little bizarre to see so many students dashing around such a place. Areas which are often only witnessed from behind rope barriers are simply the regular furnishings of this functional facility.

Of course, any building of this grandeur is guaranteed to contain a wealth of history and some fascinating stories. At Harlaxton though, the tales do not simply involve kings and knights, aristocrats and lavish elite living.

So, let’s start from the beginning. Harlaxton, as a place, is mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as Herlavestune, or Herelaf-Tun meaning the estate or farm of Herelaf. Before the current centrepiece was erected, another Harlaxton Manor existed. This Moated Manor house, which was situated closer to the current village, was built in the 14th century and is said to have been used as a hunting lodge by the infamous son of King Edward III and buddy of Geoffrey Chaucer, John of Gaunt.

The property and estate went through several hands before being purchased by the De Ligne family in the 17th century with whom it remained for some time. Things now begin to get interesting as our first curious rogues enter the fray. When Daniel De Ligne, High Sherriff of Lincolnshire and Knight of King James I, passed the estate to his son and then on to his grandchildren, the natural direct lineage of this family ceased. With no further children it seemed uncertain who would inherit the property.

Enter one George Gregory.

George Gregory was the De Ligne family lawyer. It appears Gregory somehow discovered the closest heir apparent, a descendant of Daniel De Ligne’s sister by the name of Anne Orton. Having made such an important discovery, Gregory conveniently married Anne and became the Lord of Harlaxton Manor and later even the Sherriff of Nottingham. Smooth.

Now, here is where the names begin to get a little ridiculous, try to stay with me. The estate passed to George Gregory’s son, George De Ligne Gregory. He had a brother called William Gregory, who changed his name after inheriting a family estate from his grandmother, Susanna Williams. So, William Gregory Williams (right??).

With no children himself, George De Ligne Gregory left Harlaxton to his nephew, the son of William Gregory Williams. This son, Gregory Williams (seriously?) also inherited his own father’s estate but took his uncles title with the inheritance and became, wait for it, Gregory Gregory (???).

Now I admit, I may have got that wrong, I got dizzy just typing it, but we can now move on to the next curious character in Harlaxton history, and the founder of the modern manor house, Gregory Gregory.

Only a little is known of this elusive figure. He appears to have attended Christ Church College, Oxford at age 19 where he studied Classics, Greek philosophy and Mathematics. He joined the local militia and became a Lieutenant Colonel in 1813. Interestingly, he may well have been involved in the Napoleonic Wars, mirroring the battles fought in France by John of Gaunt centuries earlier. He became a fellow of the Royal Horticultural Society in 1825 and of the Zoological Society of London in 1831.

Gregory Gregory seems to have had an appetite for foreign art and in the aftermath of the wars in France he, like many other English aristocrats, amassed quite a collection of French furniture and artworks from Paris. His next move following three years in France and Italy attached to certain embassies, was to build a home for his vast array of new acquisitions.

Harlaxton Old Manor had been sitting vacant and dilapidated for almost a century by the time Gregory Gregory inherited the estate, along with coal mines, canal and rail companies, considerable property across the midlands and a small fortune. Gregory had the Old Manor house pulled down, only the Balustrade’s, an Iron Gate and some curious Griffin statues were reused in the new build, though there are rumours that some marble interior floors are relics of the ancient dwelling. The architect hired to design the new look Harlaxton, Anthony Salvin, was commissioned to sketch the old Manor before it was pulled down. Had he not, there may have been no visual record of this incredible ancient residence.

A hillside was excavated, and Harlaxton Manor rose majestically onto the landscape. What a creation it was. Though Salvin is credited as architect, Gregory was probably responsible for the mix of architectural styles and perhaps even some of the layout. He would not live to see Harlaxton completed though. Despite overseeing the construction and being instrumental in many of its quirky curiosities, Gregory Gregory died of gout complications in 1854. He left a substantial gift in his will to his “confidential servant” Samuel Baguley. Samuel was named prior to anyone else, indicating an unusual level of importance for a butler. What I wonder, did Samuel have intimate knowledge of?

The intrigues of Gregory Gregory continue. The only known portrait of the secretive international businessman, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. His only remaining contemporary likeness is a profile carved into the ceiling. Secrets and curiosities seem to surround this unusual figure.

Following his death, the estate bounced around a number of not-quite family members. It was used as military barracks and training facilities during the first world war and continued as a home until eventually it was put up for sale in 1937. Had it not been purchased, the Manor was set to be demolished, but it was rescued by arguably Harlaxton’s most fascinating resident, Violet Van Der Elst.

Violet deserves a book of her own, in fact I believe there have been books written about this astonishing character. An eccentric self-made millionaire, entrepreneur, social campaigner and claimed descendant of Sir Guy Gundry, an Elizabethan Sea Dog, Van Der Elst was instrumental in the abolition of the death penalty in Britain. She also invented the first brushless shaving cream. One of the most unusual aspects of her life though, was her obsession with the world of the occult.

Violet had been interested in the supernatural long before her purchase of Harlaxton Manor, but now she had a perfect platform for her experimental attempts to explore the realms beyond our own. Harlaxton was rumoured to house several disturbed spirits. A spectral grey lady was often seen walking along the blue corridor during the night, and there had been a well engrained story of a De Linge baby, prophesised to die before a month old. A nanny had been ordered to keep constant watch and care of the child. She had been so overworked that she fell asleep from exhaustion. As she slept, the baby fell from her arms and into a fire. Baby’s screams and muffled cries have frequently been heard throughout the vast corridors of the eerie mansion.

Despite the abundance of ghostly occupants, it was her own husband with whom Violet wished to connect. John Van Der Elst, a Belgian artist, had died years earlier from a ruptured ulcer and Violet had been devastated by the loss. Apparently, his ashes can be found still, in an urn in the entrance hall where Violet placed him decades ago. Mourning him would not be enough. Violet converted the old library at Harlaxton into a room in which to conduct seances. With the windows draped in dark curtains, the space adorned with pitch black furnishings and herself dressed head to toe in midnight black garments, she tried every means possible to contact the spirit of her dearly departed love. It is not clear whether she managed to reach John, but the intensity of unexplainable occurrences at the Manor seems to have wildly increased following her exploits.

Violet Van Der Elst gave up on Harlaxton after the Second World War and sold the property to the Jesuits, who converted the house into a Noviate. She died in 1966 but perhaps her legacy remained with the house she once occupied.

Multiple occurrences of a woman in black robes or a black dress have been seen around the house, footsteps are frequently heard in the halls, yet no one can be seen. Loud bangs and screams are regularly witnessed from empty rooms and corridors. The scent of cigar smoke has been witnessed in the old servant quarters, doors and furnishings are said to open and close of their own accord, vases have been seen levitating, objects moving by themselves. Many residents have mentioned a feeling of being followed through the manor despite knowing they were alone, and glimpsing strange forms of figures where there were none. A number of occupants in a particular room at differing times admitted to suffering terrible nightmares and waking up to see a subhuman face close to their own, or a creepy dark robed figure hovering in the room.

It is said that when the Jesuits purchased Harlaxton Manor, there were such an abundance of unexplainable disturbances that they had to conduct severe exorcisms of the property. Shrieks were heard bellowing from the chimneys, but the hauntings appear to have continued even after the Jesuits eventually sold the property in the 1960’s.

So why do I mention these strange folk tales you ask. Well, curiously, during Emily’s first stay at Harlaxton, she was given a bedroom beside Violet Van Der Elst’s old library. That night, the room was terrifying, it was so bad Emily booked into a nearby Travelodge. Later she would learn that she was not alone in her inability to remain in the room, many had suffered the same issue, but only there in that specific part of the house. In another rather bizarre experience, we visited the library and witnessed the piano play two notes entirely by itself, no one close enough to have touched the keys. An electric bin is also known to be active in the library, without human intervention. Perhaps these occurrences are caused by a surge or electrical fault (it is an electric piano) or perhaps…

The next day I even noticed a number of scratches on my back which I cannot explain, though they may simply have been from an over excited 4-year-old who needs her nails clipping a bit.

Whatever the cause, you have to admit, despite its relative youth, Harlaxton is fascinating. The history of Harlaxton is filled with riddles, secrets and seances. I haven’t even begun to discuss the mysterious interiors, secret passages and doorways, four of the seven deadly sins depicted in marble, multiple images of Hercules, tapestries and art depicting mythical tales, trojan heroes, saintly sorcery, foreign idols, fantasy creatures and more. At the summit of the Cedar staircase, a statue of Father Time is depicted with a genuine scythe and the floor plans of Harlaxton Manor in his hand. What does all this symbology represent, is it the random collections of eccentric owners, or is something hidden amongst these symbols, is there a deeper meaning? Could there be a reason why Gregory Gregory built the Manor in the way he chose, or why Violet Van Der Elst believed she could contact the dead and immerse herself in the occult here? We have not even begun to explore the vast gardens and estates, but a glance at the OS map shows curious features, springs and wells, caverns and forests, hills and streams. Ancient occupied landscapes revered the site long before either Manor House was conceived. It is surely no coincidence that a frequent visitor to the Manor was Mrs Hargreaves, previously known as Alice Liddell, the real-life model for Alice in Wonderland!

This was the reason Audrey was so keen to explore, these were the questions that drove her to run around the rooms, feet clapping against the polished wooden floors, a maniacal possessed grin on her face as she experimented with the varying echoes produced by high ceilings with ornate plaster work. There are many mysteries inside and out of this incredible architectural feat. Fortunately, we have some time to get to the bottom of them. Down the rabbit hole we go.

We will be sure to keep you updated on our progress.

As the sun fell beyond the tree lined hilltops, we bid a temporary farewell to Harlaxton Manor and watched it disappear in the rear-view mirror. We truly were awestruck by its beauty. A stunning, strange architectural masterpiece so inspired and affected by common continental influence yet perfectly nestled in a beautiful English countryside setting.

From our Archaeofam to yours,

Goodnight.