Hello Old Friends

It has been almost a year since our last post. Things have been rather chaotic. It is astonishing just how much can happen in a year. There have been highs and lows, and some immense changes but one in particular has been the most overwhelmingly beautiful we could have imagined, the birth of our son, Felix William Joseph Campbell.

He is a smiley, noisy bundle of dynamite who looks almost identical to his sister at the same age, and we could not be happier to welcome him to the world.

Of course, we have already been on a number of history focused family adventures, more to come on this very soon!

I just wanted to add this quick post to say we are still here, still smiling and there will be more Archaefam Adventures coming soon. In the meantime, here’s the new member of the clan!

We look forward to sharing our family travels and epic adventures this holiday season!

Stay tuned x

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.

Calkenstein, Or the modern Frankensomething

The low soupy mists were slow to shift on this early Autumn morning. I awoke to the angry vibrations of a mobile phone from some dark corner of our bedroom. Not expecting any such wake up call, and struggling to see through bleary morning vision, I strained to see the culprit… Unknown Caller!

I do not often answer calls from unknown numbers. I have retained the same phone number for many years, and as such, it appears to have found its way onto endless lists of call centre criminals. Yet something about the timing of the call was curious, and before I could consider the potential dangers ahead, I had clicked the green symbol to accept the call.

To my surprise, the caller did not confront me with an awkward quizzing about some imaginary accident for which I could be due compensation, but was a low, learned voice who offered a direct introduction and some intriguing instructions. She was sharp and to the point.

There was an old house nearby, by the name of Calke Abbey. The house had a rather mysterious history and held a treasure trove of antiquarian hoarding, filled with countless trinkets of a spectacular, surreal, macabre and sinister nature. In recent weeks, a strange incident had occurred upon the nearby Staunton Harold Reservoir. The caller recounted a tale of melancholy, terror and woe.

A mournful figure had been rescued from a raft, way out in the most isolated of reservoir waters. After some time assisting the man, it became clear he was of a surprisingly intellectual nature but appeared severely troubled. When pressed, he admitted to being out so far in the wilderness pursuing what he called, a Daemon. The poor soul went on to explain how his story was connected to Calke Abbey, a terrifying and mind expanding episode in the human endeavour for godliness.

Being aware of our family interests, the lady on the phone wished for us to visit the property, hear the tale in full and explore certain objects in the Calke Abbey collections which were, he claimed, connected to the unfortunate stray.

It was an unusual time for investigations. Dark spirits are frequently abound during this season. As far back as traditions reach, All Hallows Eve has been considered a liminal period, a time when the veil between the dead and the living could be lifted. A good time to stay home and stay safe, but the call had piqued our interest and so we gathered supplies, called in reinforcements from the Archaeograndfolk and set off for Calke Abbey.

Calke Abbey is a Baroque mansion which stands on the site of an Augustinian priory, with origins in the 12th century. Following the migration of the priory Canons to Repton, the site became a subordinate cell of Repton Priory. The estate passed through several hands following the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII. The first to buy the lease for the estate was John Prest or Priest, a member of the London Grocers Company.

This is where our unfortunate drifter’s story began. For the ancient origins of the Apothecaries is tied to that of the Grocers. ‘Grossers’ had originally been responsible for the import and dealing of wholesale goods, including medicines, drugs, confectionaries, perfumes, spices and many other unique and exotic items. Since medicines in the 16th century were mostly based on imported herbs, London apothecaries and grocers were extremely familiar and as such, many of the apothecaries were members of the Grocers Company of London.

John Prest had sinister associations with such exotic imports, and it seems, a penchant for the dark arts. Our rescued gentleman spoke of secret laboratories in the deep catacombs of the estate, where Prest had dabbled in various forms of ancient magic in an attempt to reanimate the dead. His attempts had been unsuccessful, but had laid the foundations of scientific curiosity that would plague the heirs to the estate for centuries to come.

In 1585, the house was sold to extreme protestant Robert Bainbridge. Most believed that Bainbridge chosen Calke as a home knowing the parish was not under the control of a Bishop, therefore his puritan worship could remain unnoticed. According to the mysterious, recently rescued gentleman however, there was another more ominous reason for his being drawn to Calke.

Bainbridge was imprisoned in the Tower of London for disagreeing with Queen Elizabeth’s Church settlement. Whilst here, rumours spread that he was visited frequently by that most curious of characters, Dr John Dee. Dee was a mathematician, astronomer and teacher but was perhaps better known for his obsession with the occult. Our fellow claimed that Dee had been intrigued by the ancient alchemy of John Prest and between himself and Bainbridge, a plan was hatched to conduct experiments using ancient potions with modern technologies of the age. Little is known of the results, but there were unusual screams and wails witnessed on the estate over the decades following Bainbridge’s release from the Tower.

Calke Abbey eventually found its way into the hands of Henry Harpur in 1622, for the bargain price of £5350. The estate would remain in this family for twelve generations before the National Trust took over stewardship in 1985. It was Henry, 7th Baronet, who was responsible for beginning the vast collection of natural history which still adorns the house. During this period of 18th century enlightenment, the pursuit of intellectual science was considered of particular refinement and interest to many in high society. He also had a great interest in art, built a library and studied technology and society.

The fellow found adrift explained that during this period, the first glimmer of success had been attained. Henry’s so called interest in natural history combined with a fascination in modern science and technology had a more alarming objective. The gathering of corpses, the selection of anatomical literature, it all led to the same end, reanimation. The goal was gathering pace.

Following the death of Henry, 7th Baronet in a riding accident, the devout Christian, George Crew became the 8th Baronet. George focussed his mind on the community, rebuilding churches and funding new schools, ensuring better conditions for local people. He devoted his life and time to his family. He retained a passion for collecting and added many important artworks to the house. Whilst the unnatural pursuits quietened during this period, it seems they did not altogether cease, personal tragedy and family turmoil ensured the practice continued throughout the coming generations, albeit to a lesser extent. It only regained its fierce thrust in the practice upon the introduction of Sir Vauncey!

The 10th Baronet, Sir Vauncey Harpur-Crew continued the family fetish for natural history, delighting in the house gardens and adding to the already globally significant natural history collection, bringing all manner of specimens from various hunting expeditions.

Our storyteller explained how these respectable pursuits masked a far more insidious desire. To bring back a life from the dark clutches of death! And eventually, or so our drowned desolate castoff claimed, the age old desire had recently become an achievement!

Using the mass of collected artefacts and documents in the house, ancient relics of curative magic, dedicated, thorough studies of science and technology, medicines, herbs, spices, potions, literature, spells and blended with more than a little demonic ritual, a life had been wrenched from the eternal nothingness of death. Our friend on the reservoir had been hunting the demon, a demon that he himself had created. His hunt had been to no avail. The creature he had brought back to the world had taken on a will and strength of its own, and had left the poor creator in a very sorry state.

Hearing this incredible tale upon our arrival at Calke Abbey, we were keen to explore the house and discover the life producing laboratory for ourselves. Audrey led the way beneath the stone doorway and into the waiting room…

We were instantly face to face, with death.

Death was in the air and all around us. It hung on the walls in rows of severed heads and limbs. It stared back from macabre landscapes in curious glass cabinets. It was delicately stacked upon rickety shelves, masking the peeling wall paper and crumbling plaster. It was in the sombre faces of ancient portraits, each long removed from this mortal realm. Death was definitely on display. But what of life?

We continued through the incredible mansion. Dim lamp light illuminated countless stacks of curiosities covered in dust, faded paint and rusty metals, unmoved for centuries. Faces stared back from the dark, all kinds of faces, the waxy dead eyes of ancient portraits, the black hole cavities of dolls and rocking horses, the tentacled and teeth laden terrors of the insect and animal world. Libraries were stacked to the ceiling with ancient manuscripts covering every interest and intrigue of previous owners. Prehistoric weapons, items of ritual, medieval curiosities, worldwide trinkets of the macabre, all clustered together and labelled erratically. The entire house was a true cabinet of curiosities and we were gawp as if at the zoo.

Having scaled the heights of the building, we finally descended into the tombs, tunnels and catacombs. We rushed through pitch black alleys, moved delicately through old kitchens and stores where butchery was rife and the deliveries of all manner of specialist merchandise would arrive. Eventually we reached a tunnel, it was lit by candles alone and stretched hauntingly into the unknown darkness. There was no end in sight but we were informed this was where the demonic creature had been risen from its place in the underworld.

Treading carefully, we made our way through the brick lined passage, darkness engulfed us. Strange noises seemed to escape from the very stone we stood upon, the temperature seemed both blisteringly hot and freezing cold at once. We huddled close for safety and stumbled forwards, not knowing what fortune might await us. Ahead a light flickered menacingly. We picked up pace, hoping that light meant safety, desperate to retreat from the gloom and terror. As we reached the glowing chamber, we discovered the incredible miracle our host had described. The creature had returned to its place of rebirth. From the grasps of agonising death, it had risen, stronger and more wonderful than it had ever been in life. It was a spectacular site, its body and limbs renovated and conserved, the light burning bright. Rescued from the cliff edge of destruction, a survivor of death.

We gasped in unison as we looked upon… the National Trust gift shop, a testament to the heroes responsible for the resurrection of this incredible estate.

With another successful adventure complete, we enjoyed hot chocolates and cake before heading for home. If you are curious to see a corpse brought back to beautiful life, then Calke Abbey is definitely the place for you, but beware… it still seeks a bride!

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!

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.

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.”

Heaving at Hever

We often opt for the lesser travelled path, for a little-known historical monument or an underappreciated ancient landscape. It is satisfying to explore the unknown, to venture beyond the obvious. There is a certain element of intriguing peril to it, the exhilarating anticipation of never quite knowing what to expect. It pounds the heart a little faster, fizzes the senses, accelerates the mind as we immerse ourselves, entering the brave world of the adventure action hero.

Then, some days we do not do that.

Some days we go all out, tacky tourist, history fanfam!

This was one of those days.

For years now we have known of the hugely popular, world famous, epic historical mega centres on our doorstep. There are loads of them. Kent is packed with historic houses. The proximity to the continent and to London have ensured a continued importance in this region. We constantly see the road signs as we drive around the county and always promise ourselves to “visit one day”, but schedules and distractions had always interfered, until now.

Finally, we ventured to that famous old family home, Hever Castle.

Of course, having had such a long time to plan a visit, we chose completely the wrong day! It was a special Mother’s Day adventure treat that we decided upon, which at first seemed like a lovely idea. But of course, we weren’t the only people to have that particular thought, and so from the very beginning, it was busy!

There were queues at the gates, masses of people streaming through the gardens, waiting for the facilities, packed into the cafes and shops. Thankfully, the grounds are extensive enough to accommodate such throngs, so wandering through the various elaborate gardens, mazes, water features and beautifully crafted landscapes was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Audrey adored racing across the luscious lawns, up and down the rolling hills and through the plant peppered forests. The water maze added some slightly soggy excitement, whilst watching the archery was delightful fun, if sometimes slightly comical. Of course the promise of ice cream under the glorious spring sunshine led to smiles all around.

The house was a slightly different story. It was a little smaller than I had thought, having seen it in period dramas, documentary series and countless photographs. This is not a criticism, bigger certainly does not mean better in such architectural wonders and for a Tudor household it was still on a grand scale, I only mention it as it was my first impression, beautiful, stylish but smaller than I had imagined.

Then it became even more apparent as hundreds of us attempted to explore the narrow halls, compact rooms, and cosy corridors of the house. It is a truly stunning place, both inside and out. The décor is an astonishing mix of original Tudor and a stylish array of later additions. The walls are adorned with spectacular portraits, royalty and family staring down upon the countless crowds of visitors to the manor. The furniture is delightfully crafted and ornately decorated. Even despite the crowds, it was easy to feel the function of the place, and even to imagine living in such a building, with its politicised spaces and obvious impressions of power and importance.

Sadly though, with so many crammed inside, there was also a serious sense of claustrophobia. Impatience and frustration swelled as some moved slowly, some whizzed by, and others stood completely still, causing long queues and awkward shuffles. It is not quite so easy to imagine a sixteenth century saunter through the historic house when surrounded by protruding limbs extending smart phones, cameras flashing in all directions and the ambient audio of hundreds of voices chatting about their latest employment woes, dinner plans, drunken exploits and fashion faux pas… although to be fair, these may have been precisely the same conversations being conducted within these very walls five hundred years previous. Aisi sera groigne qui groigne!

Hever Castle began life following the Norman Invasion of England, as a Motte and Bailey castle, surrounded by kitchens, barns, stables and outbuildings. Around 1270 the castle was strengthened with a medieval gatehouse and walled bailey, owned by the 1st Baron Saye and Sele, James Fiennes. During the fourteenth century a moat, further defensive walls, towers, and the great hall were added to the property. A curtain wall surrounded a number of timber buildings, and the castle took on its familiar shape, though its image would have been rather different, as a bright, whitewashed fortress. The house continued to grow throughout the fifteenth century when it was purchased by its most famous family inhabitants, the Boleyn’s.

The Boleyn family seem to have their origins in Boulogne in France and moved to England in the years following the Norman invasion, setting up home in Norfolk, but they are best known for their association with Hever Castle. The property was converted into a manor in 1462 by Geoffrey Boleyn, adding a prominent Tudor building within the imposing castle walls.

Of all the eras of Boleyn residence, it is of course the sixteenth century occupants who attract the most attention in the pages of history. Thomas Boleyn inherited the house in 1505 and went on to live in Hever Castle with his wife, Lady Elizabeth Howard (of the very powerful, Tudor era, Howard family and herself lady in waiting to Catherine of Aragon) and their children, George, Mary and of course, Anne Boleyn.

Recent studies have highlighted modern parallels with life at Hever. During 1528, the country was gripped by the sweating sickness, a deadly disease sweeping through the population of the island, fatal to commoner and aristocrat alike. Hever was used as a quarantine for the Boleyn’s. Anne and several family members suffered with the sickness but were fortunate to survive it. Henry VIII even sent his second-best physician to aid Anne in her hour of need, his first choice being unavailable. We have always been at risk of fast spreading disease, something that all ages will likely experience and sadly, lockdown isolation is nothing new.

The story of Anne has been replayed in endless history books, novels, theatre, television programs, movies and more. The impressive rise from maid of honour to queen, and the dramatic plummet from favour to decapitation are engrained in the well documented narrative of British royal legend. It seems everyone has their opinion on whether Anne was a scheming control freak desperately climbing the social ladder of elite power, a cunning, stylish, ambitious image of sixteenth century power politics, a victim of petty and fleeting male obsessions, a pawn in a family playbook, a scapegoat in a wild and mentally unstable court, an innocent young girl who fell in love with the wrong man, or a little bit of it all?

It has been so widely discussed that I shall not venture into the lives of Anne Boleyn and King Henry VIII here, but merely direct any readers curious for more information on this most famous of tragic love affairs, to the multitude of reference materials available.

In all honesty, the volume of argument and discussion, media and mentions of Anne Boleyn has often put me off exploring the subject. Diving into to the minefield of opinion on every over analysed moment of her life seemed a little exhausting, but this apprehension was washed away a little upon visiting the incredible home of the Boleyn’s. Being able to walk in the spaces they frequented, see the rooms they lived within, the space not dissimilar from how it would have been half a Millenia ago, brought a human element to the story we had not encountered in Hollywood blockbusters and glamorous historical fiction.

Despite the spectacular fall from grace suffered by the Boleyn family, Hever continued to be an important residence after Annes death and was owned and occupied by a string of wealthy and important individuals through the centuries. This included another of Henry VIII wives, Anne of Cleves, who of course, managed to keep her head but not her crown. Anne of Cleves almost found herself embroiled in the infamous Wyatt rebellion, which rose nearby in Kent against bloody Queen Mary, but somehow, she seems to have avoided serious accusation.

After this, Hever was mostly the home of tenants who farmed the vast estates and worked the lands. It changed hands on a number of occasions but was rarely extended or renovated, allowing its historic fabric to remain mostly intact to this day. One interesting tale comes from the later history of the house. In 1808, a gruesome murder occurred on the estate. A possible love triangle led to the murder of John Humphrey Jr, shot dead as he walked along the footpath to the castle. His wife later married a certain local farmer who seemed to have more knowledge of the frightful business that he ought to have. It has been said, the ghost of John Humphrey Jr returned to Hever to haunt his wife and her new husband. Things became so bad at the castle that the local clergy were called in to exorcise the house with water from the red sea and wax candles.

We left the impressive house and its masses of happy tourists and made for an even more chaotic castle. The playpark!

Now, Hever Castle on a busy day can be overwhelming, but Tudor Towers… that place is pure bonkers! I mean, it is an incredible play space, as a four-year-old, I imagine I would have been in a medieval fantasy dreamland. As a forty+ year old however, desperately trying not to lose a wildly overexcited four-year-old whirlwind of energy, it is a very different experience! Audrey dashed through inner mazes, under tarpaulins and through tiny narrow tunnels, slides, and chutes, appearing in some random other location I had no idea how to find. Thousands of children raced manically through the dark echoey spaces, screaming and shouting, laughing, and screeching. It was a scene straight from my nightmares, I was losing my head... My child appeared one second, only to disappear completely the next! I am no doubt over cautious, Audrey had everything under control, and I did not see any other parents quite as terrified, but still, I needed a strong cup of tea and a long quiet rest after the ordeal!

Audrey absolutely, bloody loved every minute of it 😊

As we made our way back into the elegant gardens of Hever, enjoying tea and juice and the fresh spring air, a desire to sit, relax and perhaps eat dinner suddenly struck. A local pub was advertised just beyond the outer perimeter of the castle grounds, a rustic old building with an ancient charm. We made our way out of the gardens and to the pub, but alas, just as the house had been full to bursting, so too was the tavern. No space to even sit and enjoy a final drink in the medieval landscape. So, a little dejected and a lot exhausted, we made our way slowly to the car and made for home.

It had been a wonderful day, despite the crowds and the chaos, we had revelled in the famous home of historic legends. Hever is definitely worth a visit, probably more than just a visit! But perhaps hold out for a quiet spot on the calendar and avoid the better-known holiday options, if you can.

From our Archaeofam to yours,

La Plus Heureuse

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.

The Thames on the Eve of Londinium - exploring a late Iron Age landscape in London

There has been a recent stir of interest and a flurry of newsworthy London discoveries from the Iron Age period. I haven’t been all that proactive in the promotion of my PhD research, nor discussed the topic in any great detail here or on my social media, but I made a promise to myself, to make my work in progress a little more visible in this brand new year of ours. So here goes with an introduction.

There has long been an attitude that London was mostly devoid of Iron Age activity, save that of a few scattered farmsteads and a possible ritual area on the river, nestled between the territories of opposing communities with differing leaders and strongholds.

London is said to have emerged following the arrival of the Romans in AD 43 and quickly grown into one of the most important towns in the province of Brittania.

The problem with challenging these age-old opinions is that evidence of Iron Age London is hidden amongst hundreds of scattered reports, grey literature, chance finds, and datasets old and new. It would take a lot of digging to gather this material, to go through the crumbs of evidence with a fine-tooth comb, and then attempt to reconstruct the truth from the tapestry of fragmentary findings.

This is precisely the challenge I have set myself, and I love it.

It is far from easy, the material is complex and there are many varied opinions on what is represented, but with a bit of luck and a lot of hard work, I hope to comprehensively map the environments of the London region before the arrival of the Romans in AD43.

As a way of introduction, I have recorded a 20-minute presentation on my initial foundational studies as I attempt to understand the character of the region during the late Iron Age. This initial offering introduces the issues and challenges faced when attempting this particular topic as well as some initial findings and the direction of the study going forward.

I hope you find it of interest, it is fascinating to me, but I am a total geek when it comes to this topic!