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.

Isle be back!

There were tales of a misty island, full of magic and wonder, lying just across a small stretch of turbulent ocean. It was an island full of folklore, fantasy and infamy. Kings and Queens, witches and warlords, minstrels and magicians all dwelled upon this little emerald gem, and at its heart, a fiery furnace of fantasy had lain dormant for eternities. It was an island so close to the gods, that their touch could be plainly felt in the wild conditions of its extremities. Most importantly, this island was not so far distant from us that the effects of an ongoing pandemic existence could restrict our careful expedition.

We set out on a voyage of discovery, our furthest in quite some time, an odyssey of intrigue, to explore the spectacular scenic curiosity of the Isle of White.

Audrey was keen to ensure our investigations were a success and so the travel inventory was extensive. Tents, utensils, headquarters, even a toilet, all crammed into the back of the trusty transport, with us humble adventurers squeezed between.

After a substantial drive, we made the port of Portsmouth, our platform to reach the beautiful Island just visible across the rolling ocean, through the hazy morning mist. Portsmouth was a maze of old roads and historic buildings, scattered amongst new builds and modern technological wonders. The port is vast and some of the vessels here are more like seafaring cities, huge floating hulks built for epic long-distance voyages to unimaginable worlds.

Whilst our journey would explore an awe-inspiring isle, it was not one of such intense distance, and our ferry voyage was comfortable and swift. The brisk ocean breeze and dazzling sunlight made the trip exhilarating and a bottle of Isle of White brewed beer only added to the refreshing experience.

As we neared the island, strange and magnificent monuments peered down upon us from the tree peppered hillsides, an ever-casting eye on our approach. Was our character being tested at this early stage? Audrey looked on heroically; she was certainly a well worthy wanderer.

After disembarkation, the drive through the island was pleasant, only stalled as we made our way through the central mini-metropolis of Newport, where a historic townscape is now furnished with all the amenities of modern living. Eventually, we arrived at our base camp, nestled beneath a canopy of trees, hugging the luscious green valley beneath and beautifully isolated from the humdrum of humanity.

Once our temporary home base was all set up, and an invigorating tea was fully consumed, it was time to get to work. We had heard stories of strange happenings on this island, bizarre occurrences at some of the most time-worn monuments, a shiver down the spine of the ancient isle. Could it be connected? Could it be that Ollpheist, the Mother of all Dragons, was stirring from her slumber? Could the nation’s subterranean saviour have been roused into action?

Our first tiptoe into the mystery began at Yarmouth Castle. Building work began at this castle in 1547, to protect against the fear of French invasion. From its brave bastion, the sites of shipwreck and seashores smother the horizon. The Santa Lucia was lost off the coast nearby in 1567, a Spanish merchant vessel that may have foundered before reaching the harbour of Yarmouth. The sturdy stone walls of Yarmouth Castle have withstood centuries of defence, straddled bravely atop the dragon’s tail. Yet now they buckled, the winds whipping over the walls, its guns aimed at invisible foes.

Audrey led us through the castle, fearlessly investigating the surroundings, certain that the clues we required lay hidden nearby. She took notes and tested the battlements before demanding a strategic break for ice cream. One delicious chocolate cone and a stroll around the village later and it was time to continue our examinations.

Our next stop was of vital importance. If the dragon truly stirred, we would need to see it for ourselves.

When sleeping dragons ache, it is their tails that first awake.

The needles lie at the furthest western point of the Island. They jut from the ocean like sharpened knives, slicing the blue waters in stuttered blasts. The trek to this distant treasure involved an ever-increasing climb to the heavens, with stunning views of the choppy channel on one side and the humped spine of the sleeping dragon on the other. Here the extremities of a liminal world are felt most fiercely. We battled the howling winds, violent whispers from the gods themselves. Finally, we reached the summit and stared over the tip of the dragon’s tail. It did not flinch to our eyes, though it felt as though the entire island shook in some great rage, up there on that peninsula peak.

Our investigations of the day complete, we ventured back to camp. Night crept in, a darkness beyond the normality of night. The campfire burned brightly and our spirits were raised by the warmth as we enjoyed a beer, cider, juice, and tea. Then to bed, a cosy tent for our family snuggle, Bramble stretching out over half the space, and the rest of us huddled in our sleeping bags for warmth.

We woke early, as is always the case for Audrey, so much to do, so much to see, so much to explore. Of course, there were the usual difficulties, too many bubbles in her morning milk and not enough rainbows in her breakfast bowl, everything too loud and not loud enough for a bright, brave four-year-old adventure princess.

The morning air was supernatural. As the fog rolled in, the veil between worlds thinned. The island slid beneath invisible realms and spirits swarmed across the hallowed shoals. Audrey knew all too well, the tales of Wihtgar and Stuf, of the sons of Arwald, of Princess Elizabeth, doomed daughter to that most unfortunate of monarchs, Charles I and even of old Jack. She took precautions and armed herself, for the protection of the party, her sturdy sword, and shield to save us all.

Our focus today would be Carisbrooke Castle, a fortress as old as the legends of the Island. The earthworks here had perhaps originated as a Roman fort, but certainly, a Saxon burial ground had been here and later a fortified settlement. Carisbrooke dominates a prominent hilltop of the island and was first constructed to protect against those vicious Viking raiders. After the Norman invasion of Britain, the Saxon burh was embellished with a strong stone defended enclosure. The castle remained a crucial stronghold of the island and survived centuries of dynasty and disaster.

During the English Civil War, Carisbrooke fell into Parliamentary control and gained the most famous of prisoners, none other than King Charles I. His children were also imprisoned in the castle and his daughter, Elizabeth died there at the tender age of 14. Despite desperate attempts by Charles to escape his captivity, the prison was unbreakable and Charles would not see freedom.

With so many tortured souls on this tiny rock, it was little wonder the dragon stirred. Not least because these turbulent histories had left a legacy of spilled blood on sacred soil, nor because the unity of humans became so fractured in this ancient land, but worse, the fierce fortunes of the island were in danger because Ollpheist was being forgotten, the only true reason for the Mother of all dragons to stir.

Not so much forgetting the stories of this ancient creature, for the traditions continue well, but the problem lies in the belief. Our impatient twenty-first-century attentions focus on modern luxuries, grinding the mystical side of our minds thin. Dreams of dragons and magic are buried deep beneath the monotonous mountain of the mundane. She is forgotten, or at least she is no longer real to us, and so she stirs.

It was important that we altered the island’s delicate fate. There was only one hope; we would need to soothe the soul of this sleeping giant. And so we rushed to a place of deep connection and spiritual power of the land, to Quarr Abbey. If any place held the power of hope, belief, and island strength, it was here. Quarr, named for its stone quarries from the earliest of histories, was occupied by Cistercian monks in 1132 who built a significant church here on the coastal reaches of the island. It had clearly always been an area of some importance. A deeper power resided in the earth and a magic emanated from the ocean spray which caressed its banks. An Abbey flourished on the site, particularly thanks to the great trade in wine that passed through from French shores. The Monks were evicted from the Abbey in 1536 following the dissolution of the monasteries and the beautiful building fell into disrepair. It wasn’t until 1907 when the poet of brick, Dom Paul Bellot, built the stunning monastery nearby, a spectre of the ancient Abbey and a monument in use to this day.

It was in this incredible space that Audrey whispered words of unconditional kindness and offered the sort of unfaltering belief only a child may possess in a world so full of rule and regulation. With our hearts in our mouths, we anxiously awaited a sign... or a signal for escape.

Audrey smiled, her words had been true, Ollpheist would sleep soundly again, secure that her memory lived on, so long as Audrey’s adventure would be written on the modern manuscripts of our age. The mother of all Dragons would find her way into the minds of those who perhaps had not heard of her courageous charge and her stealthy slumber could continue unmolested.

With the day almost done, we made our weary way back to the ferry, for a final voyage over the deep blue sea. The waters gently swayed in the regular breath of the sleeping Draconem. We bid the delightful Isle of Wight a fond farewell, and enjoyed a final island ale to toast our adventure.

To sleeping Dragons, may they forever rest peacefully in our hearts

Look to the Pevens...ey

5, 4, 3, 2... 1! We have ignition! The space rocket ‘red-tent’ lifts off and brave Captain Audrey prepares her motley crew for an unrivaled exploration beyond the limits of the known universe. To boldly go where no Archaeobeeb has gone before is the mission. Intelligence has indicated an incredible substance in realms unknown, perhaps capable of prolonging life itself! Who knows what dangers await? Who can tell what wonders may be witnessed?

...and who doesn’t love a good space adventure? Basking in the open expanse of the heavens, living with just a bag or two of necessary possessions, simple food, focused minds and enjoying our wild and wonderful galaxy firsthand?

Whilst it remains difficult to book any kind of travel across planet earth, space travel in our trusty ‘red-tent’ rocket is a perfect opportunity to escape. We have certainly fallen in love with the cosy shuttle over the last year, heading out to some stellar locations that we might have otherwise missed.

Our latest intergalactic adventure was a voyage to the peculiar planet of Pevensey. Nestled between the well-known solar systems of Eastbourne and Hastings, Pevensey is a little treasure, packed with a veritable universe of historical intrigue and impressive architecture.

Before we could fully engage in our objective, we needed to set up a base upon the far moon of Herstmonceux. It was uncharted territory. We were the very first humans to set foot on this unspoiled landscape, testing the untouched terrain on a wonderful patch of cosmic countryside. This was the first opportunity to challenge our understanding of the universe. Captain Audrey checked the atmosphere for safety and gave the order to go forth and explore.

Herstmonceux is a tantalising treat for any budding intergalactic adventurer. During the Neolithic period, the ocean reached much further inland than today. Evidence of activity has been recorded all along this ancient coastline. An abundance of flint tools have been discovered in and around what would have been rich coastal woodland. During the immediate pre-Roman period, the elevated area became an important burial ground and perhaps ritual centre, with a number of cremation burials in Roman-style urns unearthed.

Over time the location became the estate of a prominent Anglo Saxon family, (hyrst being Anglo Saxon for a wooded hill) it was transferred to Drogo De Monceux, a great-grandson of William the Conqueror, following the Norman Invasion of England. Drogo’s son, Ingleram, married Idonea De Herst and so the Herstmonceux line was born.

Herstmonceux Castle was extended from a manor house in 1441 by Sir Roger Fiennes, a descendant of the Herstmonceux’s, who had fought alongside King Henry V at Agincourt and later became treasurer of the household of King Henry VI. The castle passed through the family, along with titles old and new, until Thomas Fiennes, 9th Baron Dacre, inherited the lands in the 1530s. Thomas appears to have been quite the gangster and led a poaching escapade into a rival’s territory which ended in the murder of a gamekeeper. Thomas Fiennes was found guilty of the murder, led from a cell in the Tower of London to a noose at Tyburn, where he was hanged for his crime.

The estates were confiscated by Henry VIII but would later be reinstated by Queen Elizabeth and remained in the family until the early 18th century, when another Thomas, Lord Dacre, blew his family fortune on over extravagant indulgences and gambling and was forced to sell the property. The castle fell into disrepair and was gutted to create a ruinous gothic folly for aesthetic tourism purposes. It wasn’t until the 20th century when the castle was renovated and gradually restored to its current magnificence.

We set out on a mini-expedition to secure the base, forage, and explore. The castle was heavily fortified and well prepared for space invaders, yet we managed to gain access through its imposing gateways and into the alien architecture beyond. The gardens were spectacular and the vast array of stunning extraterrestrial species was a thing to behold, a cacophony of colour exploding in all directions. Captain Audrey took the lead, guiding us past perilous moonstruck mazes, around hostile alien creatures, and through tricky exotic terrain. We made our way into a gloomy wooded area, with strange gravity-less mechanisms and unusual pyramid structures dotted throughout the undergrowth, evidence of intelligent life perhaps, certainly it gave us the confidence we were on the right track.

Then we spied it, a huge intergalactic control centre on the peak of the imposing hill, with futuristic garden green domes penetrating the lush canopy of dense woodland that had disguised it so well until now. Surely this was the great eye in the sky? Surely this was the security required to protect something special?

Carefully hacking into the mainframe computers, we learned the unique history of these enormous space pimples. As the city of London expanded, and false light encroached upon the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, a new location was required for the astronomical scientific equipment. Herstmonceux was chosen thanks to its remote hilltop location and in 1958 the work was completed, with its green, telescope housing domes dominating the skyline. The Royal Greenwich Observatory Herstmonceux no longer functions as it was originally designed. The complex is now a centre for space and science education and the phenomenal telescopes were dismantled and relocated to the Canary Islands. Yet it was once the pinnacle of scientific space exploration.

Being careful not to be discovered by the great eye in the sky, we found supplies, investigated a number of anomalies, some further bizarre constructions, and a wild unusual alien life form. With our reports complete, Captain Audrey directed us onwards to complete our primary mission. It was time to blast off to Planet Pevensey.

The name Pevensey comes from the Anglo Saxon personal name of Pefen, along with ea meaning river, and so River of Pefen. The most dominant architectural feature of this ancient town is its spectacular Shore Fort. Constructed in the 290’s AD, the fort protected the Roman populous from increasing barbarian raids of the Saxons and Jutes. It was at Pevensey that William the Conqueror landed his invasion troops in 1066. The incredible defensive Shore Fort was strengthened following the invasion and a castle was built within the walls. Robert, Count of Mortain, half brother of William, built upon these defenses, and much of that original stonework remains today, despite multiple attempts to demolish the fortress throughout the years. It even became a prison for some time, with James I of Scotland amongst its most famous prisoners, such was the impenetrable nature of its defences.

Captain Audrey cautiously directed us through the ancient battlements. She was certain that such a defensive structure was key to the mystery of this perplexing planet. We followed through the high stone walls, intricately arching above us with an ominous presence, built to inflict an awe-inspiring terror. The blazing sun beat down upon us, such a heat emitted from that spectacular star, we were forced to don our most protective apparel. Having scouted the structure, we were strangely lured towards a wide expanse of gleaming gold and blue in the distance.

Was this it, the substance we had traversed the heavens to discover, the life rejuvenating wonder, hidden in an alien landscape, the treasure our fearless and fantastic Captain had so keenly sought?

Audrey led the way, the golden band spread before us, a billion tiny golden brown bulges from horizon to horizon and beyond it... blue, endless perfect gleaming blue.

We landed our small search craft and set up a makeshift base in a defendable position. Our experiments would require a certain amount of time and careful consideration. Captain Audrey set us to work and immediately made for the beautiful blue. It was all we had dreamed it would be. New life pulsated through our veins as the refreshing liquid consumed our baking bodies. Bramble relished the cool freedom it furnished, despite being somewhat unsure of what lay beneath! Perhaps it was in the name all along, the River of Pefens, emptying its eternal treasures into the oceans beyond. Our mission had been a success. Our exploration had revealed otherworldly wonders. It was time to head back to our moon base of Herstmonceux.

As we prepared for our final flight through the galaxy, the closest bright blazing star fell beyond the line of gently swaying trees and a billion balls of fire sketched a vast complex pattern on the inky black curtain above. Swirling clusters of light illustrated all manner of heavenly bodies. The flame of our ‘red-tent’ rocket ship warmed our weary bodies, and as we gazed into the eternal endless night, a shower of lights swooped across the sky like the tip of a conductor’s baton, a stunning symphony of wondrous wandering stars.

Tomorrow we would fly for earth, but for tonight, with beer, blankets, the Perseid meteors and loved ones close by, we were truly amongst the gods.

There and YAC again

In a hole in a Bridge, there lived an Audrey. Not a nasty, dirty, wet Bridge, filled with cobwebs and bird poo, nor a dry bare Bridge with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a TonBridge, and that means comfort.

By some curious chance, just the other day in the quiet of Tonbridge, where there was less noise and more green, Audrey was standing at the door after breakfast eating an enormous chocolate ice cream, when a wizard came by!

The Wizard Neil, if you only knew a quarter of what I know about him, and I only know very little of all there is to know, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales of adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion.

This particular Wizard had a very important place on our little island. It was his sworn duty and his life’s work to protect all the castles and the treasures, the fortresses and the fountains, the tombs and the tunnels, the sites steeped in magic and myth, and the places that made us who we are today. 

In his spare time, the Wizard Neil also doubled as the executive director of the Council for British Archaeology. He had not been down this way for ages and ages, but on this particular morning, he was looking for someone to share in an adventure he was arranging.

Though apprehensive at first, Audrey’s undeniable thirst for adventure could not be quelled, and along with some short-hairy companions (Myself and Bramble) and a beautiful elfish princess (Emily Archaeomum) we set out on a quest that would be remembered for... days at least!

The quest was plunged into peril almost immediately. Not too far from home, as we wandered into the mysterious wild, the expedition was ambushed by a gang of greedy trolls. These creatures, we learned, were keen to gobble up the funds of archaeological academia. Several victims had already suffered the fatal consequences of these gluttonous ghouls. Thankfully, the wise Wizard Neil knew of a cunning plan to confuse the foolish trolls. An intrepid band of warriors from the north, led by Courageous Chloe and Dashing David had drawn up a troll-busting manifesto. Neil set the plan in motion and as the trolls argued amongst themselves, the sun rose on the brutish beasts and their greedy schemes turned to stone and crumbled to dust.

The Wizard Neil led us to a stunning elfish paradise on a mountain top. Here an elder elf revealed certain secrets to assist us on our adventure. She told us of the magical Cobham Wood Mausoleum. This ancient mausoleum had been forged by great Dwarf architects, to hold the mortal remains of the Earls of Darnley beneath a vast stone pyramid. It was a construction that had cost the riches of a kingdom to create, yet the gods did not approve of the tomb, deeming it too beautiful for the earth and so cursed the mausoleum. It remained empty of humans for all eternity and this is why the Elves had made it their home, safe from interruption.

We continued on our adventure, finding ourselves plunged into the depths of darkness beneath misty mountains. This perilous corrupt underworld was suffocating. Goblins roamed here, governing by fear. These vile creatures had once been just like us, but greed and selfish ambition had corrupted their souls. They had severed ties with the continent during the famed Orxit ordeal, demoralising the heart of the nation and its workforce. The Goblins had us surrounded. It was only with the most powerful of magic that the wise Wizard Neil was able to rescue us from these fiends, blinding the foes with the crystal of common sense; we were just able to flee.

Audrey found herself alone during the melee. In the midnight labyrinth of mountain passageways, she discovered a tiny circular treasure, a gleaming ring with the gift of invisibility. Unsure what to do with the treasure she slipped it into her pocket before continuing through the maze, where she stumbled upon a rare and desperate being. This strange and reclusive creature challenged Audrey to a game of riddles but had treachery in mind.

“How can the past benefit present and future generations?” it asked.

Fortunately, Audrey had a quick mind and clever wit.

“Archaeology unearths new information on our past, improves the ties to our heritage, and provides economic means for our future” she replied.

Having solved the rapscallion’s riddles, she countered with one of her own.

“Why is the wealth of a few worth more than the heritage of so many?”

The creature was stunned. It agonisingly wailed in lament, having no answer. Audrey used the confused breakdown to escape from its cruel clutches and sped from the mountain.

Much to our joy, Audrey appeared safely from the mountains and embraced us ecstatically. We had barely escaped the gruesome goblin horde and their wicked wolf companions but were pursued by them in our flight through the wild. Had it not been for the asylum of a skin-changing Great Beer... Seller, we might have been lost. The refuge was homely and warm, with very welcome refreshments and the safety and security of our mysterious host. We enjoyed a chance to relax and make plans for the future of the expedition. Audrey danced and sang in the welcome warmth. It was precisely what we needed, but our quest called, so after a brief break, we set off again.

We found ourselves in a dense murky wood. The trees were close and claustrophobic, light danced between the branches, causing all kinds of tricks to play out before our eyes. Audrey dashed this way and that, splashing in the haunting mirror-like pools and trampling the swampy squishy mud. Despite Bramble’s close guard, danger approached. A tangle of webs had been spun upon the ancient trunks of archaeological investigation. Together, they formed an illusion that archaeology was a barrier to development. It was a complex fabrication by villainous creatures desperate to ensnare us in their trap and suck away our life.

Fortunately, Audrey was equal to their cunning and had etched incantations into powerful amulet stones, such as Archaeology makes up just 0.13 % of all construction spending, making it a tiny expense and professional archaeological intervention at an early stage prevents delays and saves up to £1.3 billion for construction companies. Slipping on her magic ring, she launched the stones at the spiders. One was a direct hit! It read, fewer than 0.01 % of planning applications are rejected for reasons including archaeology: archaeology is almost never the sole reason that construction does not take place. Audrey bravely led the spiders away and came back to rescue us from the tangle of their deceptive webs.

After a tricky tussle with some wood elves and a brief stop for ice cream in the lake village of the humans, we finally reached the Lonely Mountain of Tonbridge, the Dragon’s lair. The Wizard Neil directed us through the winding passageways to the heart of the lair, where Audrey discovered the dozing demon upon its treasure horde. The dragon, Jaycubri Smaug, was a most specially greedy, strong, and wicked worm. Audrey was not afraid and with the deft and nimble skill of a burglar, she crept into the lair and discovered the weakness of the hideous dragon, its yellow belly!

In fury, Jaycubri Smaug rose into the thunderous skies and threatened destruction on all of archaeology forevermore. From its flared nostrils, it shot scorching plumes of planning permissions and budget cuts. The world cowered in fright at this fearsome beast; heritage teetered on the brink of defeat... until a hero emerged!

The Brave Bard of Backfill and brand new Council for British Archaeology President, Raksha, fired a single direct arrow into the foul yellow belly of the dragon, ending its cruel reign of terror once and for all, practically saving archaeology and heritage in a single stroke!

There was no time for celebration, however, as the evil armies of governing goblins and wicked wolves were fast approaching. Their swelling numbers seemed immeasurable, their threat impossible to withstand.

Only the joint strength of three great armies prevailed. The commercial, community, and academic armies combined their efforts, and together with the Wizard Neil, Heroic Raksha, Courageous Chloe, and Dashing David, we fought hard and won the day. A powerful symbol of a just cause, the battle of these five armies highlighted Commercial archaeology’s contribution of almost £250 million to the economy. With the famous blade of heritage tourism, they supported 386,000 jobs, contributing over £20 billion to the UK's GDP, constantly reinvigorated by fresh archaeological discoveries. It was a famous victory that would be sung by poets and troubadours in tantalising tales for all time.

Exhausted but victorious, it was time for us to head for home. We said fond goodbyes to new friends and old and bid farewell to the wise Wizard Neil, who promised to return and enjoy our next Archaeofam adventures. Audrey looked puzzled.

“You know of our adventures?” she asked

“You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Audrey Archaeobeeb, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!"

"Thank goodness!" said Audrey laughing, and handed him an ice cream.

It had been a most wondrous expedition for a brave little burglar, who slept soundly in her bed, dreaming of the safe and accessible heritage of her little island home.

From our Archaeofam to yours,

Namárië

Hexham, Hugs and Rock and Roll!

How about a little bit of time travel, a nostalgic glance to adventures past?

It is a strange and scary truth that today, for a trip to witness the historical treasures scattered across our island landscape, you risk jail time or plague. Since the continued pandemic restrictions hold steady, we are yet to venture too far beyond our doorstep (hopefully not for much longer) so here instead is a recollection of an older adventure, when bizarrely, we would come perilously close to both...

This expedition was a particularly dangerous one, traversing frontier lands, tip-toeing across disputed borders steeped in age-old cultural animosities. This was the haunt of raiders and conquerors, of invaders and refugees, of peasants, farmers, merchants and warriors, Queens, priests, soldiers and slaves, prisoners and of course... ghosts. It is a place at the very ends of the known earth, or the very beginning, depending on your point of view, we were spoilt for choice in this unique liminal landscape.

Our expedition arose due to Emily ArchaeoMum being asked to appear on the quirky aquatic television show, River Hunters. Thanks to her underwater exploits, Audrey and I took the opportunity to explore the local historic hot-spots, of which there were many! Little did we realise our investigations would reveal a dark and terrifying past, and require the daring rescue of an imprisoned monk and his brave rodent companion.

We began our ramblings just a short wander from our lovely hotel in the centre of town. Hexham is a delightful little market town in Northumberland. It sits on the south side of the River Tyne and has been an important strategic position in the landscape since at least Roman times. Indeed it lies close to the world famous Hadrian’s Wall, that monumental architectural feat separating the barbarous North folk from the civilised Romans in the South... or maybe the other way round!

The picturesque town itself grew from a Benedictine monastery, founded by Wilfred in 674AD having been granted the land by Queen Etheldreda, making it one of the earliest seats of Christianity in England. The monastery was partially built from reused stone. It was phenomenal to witness material from the Roman ruins of the nearby epic boundary wall and its adjoining forts and Vicus.

We ventured into the ancient Abbey as it stands today. The Anglo Saxon Chronicle records AElfward, King of the Northumbrians being buried here in a Church after being slain by Sicga around the year 788. By the year 875, it is said that Halfdane Ragnarsson (the only child of the famous Ragnor Lodbrok to have been shunned in the Vikings saga by a cruel and ruthless Take 5 Productions) plundered and pillaged much of Tyneside. He burned Hexham monastery to the ground in a vicious raid, yet the religious building continued on after his incursions.

It wouldn’t be the last time Hexham was subjected to a violent onslaught. Scottish raiders regularly attacked the town, burning buildings, destroying shrines and any relics they found. In 1297 that most famous of Scottish superheroes, Mel Gibso... erm William Wallace, AKA Braveheart attacked the town and destroyed what remained of the monastery. Even this could not suppress the establishment, and its continuation illustrates the resilience and importance of the place. It is a building of singular beauty today.

Carefully navigating the spiritual sanctuary, Audrey and I explored some of the treasures hidden within its walls. The relics of a truly historic past were on display, not just glittering gold and precious stones in pristine cases, but also adorning the walls, carved into the furniture and even forged into the building itself. The reuse of ancient inscribed stone gave the Abbey an ancestral character, like a tattooed Druid contemplating a newly imposed religion. One particular block went for many years unnoticed as a floor slab, until it was discovered to be the face-down headstone of a Roman soldier, incredible reuse of elaborate masonry.  The original Saxon crypt still exists, rediscovered during 18th-century building works, and here, in the dwindling amber glow, Audrey and I peered upon the poor unfortunate who had been incarcerated in this place for so long. Audrey decided we had to rescue this desperate spiritual soul.

With the grateful monk securely under Audrey’s protection, we made a daring escape from the Abbey. Guards were positioned at the doors and the courtyard was occupied by soldiers and religious leaders going about their business. It was far from easy but we expertly slipped out and made our way through the town, disguising ourselves amongst the locals. Most seemed genuinely unaware of the plight of the prisoner. It was unlikely he was alone in his captivity, but we only had the time to rescue one imprisoned monk on this occasion.

Yet having freed him from the clutches of evil, he begged of us a further favour. A companion of his had also been detained and placed in The Old Gaol. If we could rescue his furry friend, he assured us it would be a sign of freedom and justice and a blow to the oppressing forces at work. We could not ignore his plight.

The Old Gaol gives a unique portrait of Hexham’s troublesome past. It is said to be the oldest Gaol in all of England, built by the order of the Archbishop of York in the year 1330. Prisoners would be placed in chains or even in the stocks and thrown mercilessly into the dungeons of this imposing building, where they would suffer awfully in the darkness amongst the vile monsters that dwelled there... not the fleas or the lice, but the inmates, and worse, the wardens!

Prisoners were charged extortionate prices for their very incarceration and could even end up paying corrupt officials for preferential treatment. With a lack of hygiene, poor conditions and only a little care for the residents, lice spread, quickly spreading infection and serious discomfort. It would of course lead to the spread of plague, a frequent and ruthless horror throughout the history of the Gaol.

There is a curious relic housed in the Gaol, the skull of Colonel Sir John Fenwick. It is said that Fenwick fought in the Royalist army during the Civil War but was hit from behind in the head by an axe during the battle of Marston Moor in 1644, meeting a brutal end. The helmet is rumoured to have once belonged to the Duke of Somerset, who was killed during the Wars of the Roses. Fenwick is said to have removed the helmet from the burial place of the Duke in Hexham Abbey... didn’t do him too much good in the end though. Folklore has it Fenwick’s skull has a favoured room in the Gaol. Whenever it is moved from its preferred position, the skull mysteriously finds its way back, though no one quite knows how it makes the journey!

Audrey and I carefully descended the prison confines, from its comparatively luxurious rooms at the top to the dark and gloomy dungeons deep below the earth. It retains a sinister and sombre atmosphere throughout. If our new friend had a companion in this place, we had to help. At last, we found the poor captive, held against her will in the confines of these depressing prison walls. It was with difficulty that we were able to sneak Bumble (the furry rodent friend of our monk) out of that place. The dangers still torture my thoughts, had we been caught, perhaps we would all be locked up, rotting away in that damp, dark, devastating dungeon still.

With our daring escape completed, and our new companions desperate to enjoy the delights of freedom, fresh air and wide-open space, we loaded our vehicle and set out on a final adventure to see where it all began for urban settlement in this region.

Corbridge Roman town is situated just three miles from Hexham and was a bustling supply town on the Roman frontier from the late first century right through to the fifth. We walked amongst the ancient foundations, the stone footprints of a world long gone by. We wandered along streets two thousand years old and still scarred upon the landscape. It was an awe-inspiring experience, imagining the multitude of feet that we were following. Audrey gave her companions a grand tour and basking in their newfound freedom, the smiles were plentiful.

We perused the treasures of Corbridge, a hoard of weaponry, tools, writing tablets, armour, textiles and papyrus. There were everyday luxuries and essentials, a priceless glimpse into the lives of the ancient inhabitants, so much buried in the landscape for so long.

Finally it was time for our journey to end. It had been a whirlwind of action, adventure and exploration. Exhausted but elated we made our way back to the hotel and awaited Emily’s return. The TV crew and celebrity hosts trundled in for a delightful dinner, good music and a few well-deserved beers (milk for Audrey) before we called it a night.

The Beeb, the Underwater Archaeologist, the Archaeodad, the Monk and the Rat, we all slept as soundly as I think it is possible that night.

It was as perfect an adventure as I can remember.

Tonbridge... A Tale of Two Castles

All lockdown and no adventure makes Archaeofam awfully sad

All Lockdown and no Adventure makes Archaeofam aWfully sad

All lockdown and NO adventuremakes Archaeofam AWfullY sad

aLl LOckDown and No Adventure mAkes Archaeofam 4wfu11y SAD

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

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

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

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

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

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

For us, Tonbridge is a tale of two castles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home sweet home!

Beam Me Up Scotney!

Sometimes, you just have to find a place that sells Ice Cream.

This was our mantra today.

Sometimes... you just HAVE to find a place that sells Vegan Ice Cream!

That was our challenge.

We had heard whispers of a nearby fortification, ancient and glorious. It was within our reach, it would be a challenge to hammer down the battlements, to storm the towers, to take the castle, but we were prepared for action.

Audrey was the keenest amongst us, no doubt a cauldron of ambitions arising from the sweet cool promise of ice cream, and curious rumours of her ever elusive rainbow stone, hidden in the grounds of the famous manorial seat. She spurred the way, corralling Emily Archaeomum, Bramble and I into our trusty transport and en route to Scotney Castle.

As things currently stand during our troubling world situation, access to the National Trust Property is somewhat restricted. A pre-booking system is required to secure a place in the castle car park. This however, is easily achieved online and completely free to National Trust members.

The new Scotney Castle was built in 1837 by Edward Hussey III in the Tudor Revival architectural style. It was crafted from sandstone, quarried from the grounds of the old castle. Within that same quarry, now a spectacular garden, we later discovered that a 100 million-year-old impression of an Iguanodon dinosaur footprint can be found. Audrey has already expressed her desire to return and find this magnificent marvel

It is rumoured the Hussey family were great hoarders. There is little doubt that unlimited treasures are stacked beyond the imposing walls of the grand mansion, fascinating artefacts just waiting to be discovered. Indeed it is said there is even a secret door in the library disguised as a bookcase. Such intriguing mysteries tantalised our imaginations. Sadly, thanks to the continuing pandemic, the doors were firmly closed to us on this occasion. There was, however, still plenty to see.

Edward Hussey III also influenced the design of the estate, hiring architect Anthony Salvin and gardener William Sawrey Gilpin to design the spectacular picturesque garden, cleverly incorporating the original medieval castle.

As we gradually descended from the lavish authoritative mansion, we found ourselves transported into an entirely different world. The atmosphere of serious power and wealth seemed to melt away as we stepped through thick foliage into a secret universe of imaginative wonder. The old medieval castle emerged from the stunningly sculpted gardens of rhododendrons and azaleas, wisteria, hydrangea and English rose. The picturesque landscape was like something from a dream, a secret fairytale world far beyond our own, disguised by great forested hills and spectacular scenic fields.

Scotney Old Castle sits in the valley of the River Bewl at the centre of a small lake, offering a natural moat for defence. A history of occupation in the area of the moated manor house dates back to 1137 when Lambert De Scoteni owned the estate. The castle itself was built later by Roger Ashburnham, between 1378 and 1380 and saw several reconstructions and renovations through the centuries.

Amongst the many intriguing tales of the castle is that of father Richard Blount. Between 1591 and 1598, the castle owner, Thomas Darrell, hid the Jesuit father in the castle whilst he ministered illegal catholic sermons. Authorities raided the castle to arrest the priest, but the holy man fled over a wall, into the moat and escaped persecution. There have been a number of hidden priest holes discovered amongst the ruin, illustrating its continued importance during these tumultuous religious oppositions.

We circumnavigated the mystical ruin, delving inside for a brief glance around its ancient walls before following a quiet path leading to the lush wilderness beyond. As if to amplify our immersion in the dream-like experience of the fantasy landscape, a brave Kestrel considered us from on high, its ancient eyes peering curiously from the bright blue heavens above. It observed our every move from its perch on a spindly limb-like branch of an eerie tree. Crickets chirped from the long flowing grass on all sides. Butterflies danced before our eyes, birds sang sweetly from clusters of brazen trees.

The Kestrel watched.

We made our way back towards the castle, back towards the impressive manor house. From this new aspect it was clearly a commanding seat of power at the crest of the hill. Audrey spied a number of pebbles, some with intriguing colours akin to the rainbow stone, but none with all the particular qualities of that most elusive treasure.

Still the Kestrel followed. Still the Kestrel Watched.

Back in the smart and lavish house grounds, we found a delightful little cafe. In safe socially distanced comfort we enjoyed a locally brewed beer, a cup of tea, and most importantly... a refreshing, sweet, tasty vegan ice cream! Our family weekend mission was complete.

By the time the purring engine of our trusty car was turned on, Audrey had drifted into a pleasant dream filled slumber, no doubt discovering her hidden treasures within the fairytale fantasy world we had just experienced.

Scotney Castle, we will most definitely be back soon.