Birthday PandeBodiam

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Society Soirees and Villa Adventures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Above photographs courtesy of Kent Archaeological Society.

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

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

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.

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

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.

A year revisited, a New Year on the horizon

A brand new year lurks suspiciously beyond the shadowy corner of midnight, and to be honest, our little family are currently reclining in a lethargy of regular, everyday vibes. We are not always overly enticed by the regulated party that is New Years Eve celebrations. In our youths, we spent countless hours queuing for drinks in overcrowded venues and hugging strangers at the stroke of midnight in a less than sober state. I didn’t always understand the glamour of it back then, so now with a firecracker four year old that has no chance or interest in being awake at midnight, the appeal is even further from my comprehension.

We will be together as a family as the year ticks over and 2022 is born. That is plenty enough to be grateful for, and I shall celebrate that with a comfortable beer or three this evening, perhaps we will even set an alarm and rouse ourselves a few minutes before midnight, to pour and half consume a glass of something fizzy.

As for most people over the past couple of years, things have been weird, at times difficult, at times fun and lovely, but very different to the way things used to be. Well, for us at least, because Audrey has now spent practically half her life in a world affected by Covid. Masks, lockdowns, isolation, working from home, these are just things she is all too familiar with, a normal way of life. We do everything in our power to allow her to experience things considered normal before Covid hit. We try to go on adventures, to see incredible sights and do fun family activities, albeit with safety precautions in place.

So I want to take a little look back at the year and revisit some of the best and most enjoyable moments we experienced. I see so many posts from people glad to see the back of the year, and I understand completely, but for the moment I would like to focus on the great things we managed to do this year. Looking back, there have been a lot of highlights.

We began the year with a flurry of winter wanderings, through Tonbridge and Penshurst, and all the surrounding countryside. I tried to up my running schedule and even attempted to sport a lockdown mullet, of which I was incredibly proud... but it wasn’t allowed to stay for long! Audrey began to emulate Emily in her artistic ability, drawing fantastic representations of families and landscapes in every medium available, including canvasses such as the carpets and walls. We enjoyed crafts and creations, and even got to play in some snow, though not enough for a substantial snowman to be formed... and thus we welcomed SnowDuck into existence!

As the world gradually warmed in temperature and temper alike, we were able to spread our wings further afield, to get out on more adventures and to fill those darling wide eyes of our little girl with brand new wonders. Even when stuck indoors, we created pirate adventures and explored undersea worlds, we learned new things every day and were surprised and delighted as our curious little explorer soaked up so much.

Having spent an eternity indoors over the past couple of years, we decided to go on a number of camping trips this year and explore the wilds of the southern Britain. Our first such adventure was mainly to test our camping gear and check we would all fit in the car, beeb, dog, tent and all.

First, we headed over to Chertsey in Surrey, where the wonderful watery landscape of the Thames Valley creates a beauteous tapestry of glorious blues and greens. We explored the ancient Abbey site, and searched for evidence of Iron Age features scattered within the wetlands. It was confused slightly by the occasion of the Euro’s and football fever taking over the country, but we managed to disconnect from the chaos to enjoy some outdoor serenity, and learnt lots about packing up tents in the rain!

Our next outdoor adventure was a trek to the south coast, to a wonderful little newly opened campsite at Herstmonceux. Here we not only visited a Tudor castle and a mid 20th century hilltop observatory, but we also studied a Saxon shore Fort at Pevensey and finally sat out under a spectacular meteor showered night sky with a stunning fire pit warming our souls. It was utter bliss, the heavens put on a show that will stay in our hearts forever more.

We embarked upon our final camping adventure with some family friends, and crossed the ocean... a little, to the Isle of Wight. Here we spent a glorious few days drinking in the history of the island, witnessing ancient Abbey’s, military strongholds, port side castles and natural wonders. The Isle of Wight has a character and personality that is completely unique, despite its close proximity to the mainland. We learned a lot, saw a lot, and got practically blown off a mountain top in epic gusts of wind, family fun at its greatest.

As the days shortened and the nights yawned over us, the holiday season excitingly approached. We made the most of them this year. The slowly disrobing trees glowed in golden browns and the temperature gradually cooled so that winter wardrobes were sought. Audrey hosted her first ever Halloween party, which was a roaring success, even the slightly gruesome autopsy table was a big hit! We attended a fireworks display in only a pleasant drizzle of evening rain and gazed upon the incredible bonfire burning brightly throughout the night. We celebrated birthdays and Thanksgiving before finally preparing for the big one, Xmas day.

This year we not only got to visit my parents half way across the country, but we were also joined by Emily’s mum from halfway across the world. It was wonderful to reconnect with family after a year of such distance. We visited Santa no less than 3 times to make sure he had received Audrey’s letter and knew what a smart and caring girl she had been throughout. This year she asked Santa for a pooping turtle!? Thankfully, Santa said he knew the one. After a lot of Christmas movies and decorations, the day arrived, and so did the pooping turtle, more dismay for our poor carpets, but sheer joy for our little super girl.

A stand out moment of the year was of course, Audrey’s first Lego set, which she completed expertly with only a little assistance. The biggest thing to occur for Audrey this year however, was starting school. Terrifying and exciting, but mostly terrifying, Audrey had a rollercoaster start to her new world. Being one of the youngest in the school, it must have been daunting, but she is a brave little warrior and made plenty of new friends whilst continually challenging the authority of hierarchy and more than holding her own against anyone who gave her trouble. We would never endorse any form of misbehaviour of course, but it is nice to know she does not simply fade timidly into the background, as I am certain I have done most of my life. She is vocal, wishes to understand the reason behind everything and will not stand for any form of oppression. She makes her mummy and Daddy very proud.

Emily was adding to her expertise and achievements with new teaching qualifications and endorsements, she is in her element in front of eager learners, flying high and inspiring minds is her superpower. It was also a privilege and passion of hers to be involved with a number of community and inclusion associations, particularly working the Enabled Archaeology Foundation, created and driven by her dear friend, the late Theresa O’Mahoney. It was the year Emily completed her first full illustrated children’s story, currently at the printers and soon to be released to the world. Finally, there were big changes in her employment as she was successful in an application for a role creating and leading a University Masters programme in Cultural Heritage. Take a bow Professor Archaeomum.

For my part, this year I have been immersed in my PhD study, revelling in all things Iron Age London. I passed my upgrade interview so I am officially a PhD student. It was a wonderful and relieving experience and I adore this opportunity to continue my research. I presented my work in progress at a number of conferences and seminars, and it seemed to go down pretty well. I also edited over 50,000 words of my never ending novel during NaNoWriMo. This was a lovely separation for my brain, so used to studying reports and journals, a chance to run free and create, to imagine and dream things from nothingness into a kind of reality. I ran 1283 KM this year, my most productive exercise year ever as far as I can remember. One of the absolute personal highlights of my year came in the theatre of music. Since I picked up a guitar for the first time many decades ago, I always dreamed of being a rock star. The pinnacle of this dream had always been the idea of having a song played on the radio. This year, along with my good friend and music genius Bobbles Clifton, our musical outfit 1907 had an original song played on the BBC introducing show. I sat up with Emily and a snoozy Audrey, listening gleefully as it was broadcast live. We shared champagne and sang along. Perhaps a little self appreciative, but we were very proud and excited.

All in all, a pretty successful year

On top of all this, we visited countless museums, historic sites, science centres, monuments and natural wonders. We kept busy, always trying to explore, always asking questions and seeking adventure. Our Archaeofam achieved so much, but most of all, we enjoyed so much together. So many perfect family moments went by in a blur. It blazes on, a never ceasing runaway train. I often wish I could hit pause, it is all going by so quickly, yet for Audrey a year must feel like an eternity which is why we try to fill it with so much to widen those eyes and expand that ever growing mind. We have no idea what 2022 holds in store for us, I have given up trying to plan for much these days, all I know is that we will take every opportunity to adventure, every opportunity to help those who need it, and every opportunity to see the friends and family we love so much.

So, for the final time this year, from our Archaeofam to yours, goodnight and happy New Year x

Reliving the past – family adventures through time. Part 1 – Butser Ancient Farm

We had heard of Butser Ancient Farm on countless occasions. It is frequently mentioned by a multitude of high-profile historians and archaeologists, it has turned up in countless TV shows and movie scenes, and most importantly, it is perhaps the beating heart of experimental archaeology in Britain.

We were well past due a visit since we now reside on the same side of the island and our interests are all covered by its amazing exhibits, so on a slightly rainy August morning, we jumped in the car and made the one and a half hour journey towards the south coast to experience some fascinating recreations.

For anyone unfamiliar with Butser Ancient Farm, it is a not-for-profit, education, and research centre based in the South Downs National Park where ancient theories and technologies are tested and an array of spectacular experimental buildings represent British architecture through the ages.

Butser Ancient Farm began in 1970 when the Council for British Archaeology hoped to establish a working ‘ancient farm’ where archaeologists could experiment to test theories on how people lived in Iron Age times. Work started on Little Butser in 1972, with the first public Open Day in 1974. The project was run by Dr. Peter J Reynolds, a pioneer in the field of experimental archaeology. The site soon moved and expanded, first to the nearby Valley of Hillhampton Down in 1976, and then to its current location at Bascomb Copse in 1991.

We arrived early in the morning as rain clouds peppered the sky. Deep greys and lagoon blues intertwined above us, an awe-inspiring backdrop to the ancient landscape occupying the emerald green valley. Wisps of smoke rose gently from the earthy buildings scattered across the site as we entered the pleasant gates and were greeted by smiling guides and cheerful staff.

Audrey’s attention was immediately captured by the central pen and its goat population. She was desperate to see and feed the lively residents. We bought a very reasonably priced bag of goat food and entertained the historically accurate goat family who were clearly loving life!

After conversing with furry friends, we made our way around the circuit of Butser Ancient Farm. It is conveniently set out so that you can circumnavigate the features in chronological order, starting in the Mesolithic with some temporary shelters and then on to a large Neolithic house based upon one excavated at the Kingsmead Quarry, Horton, Berkshire. The excavated site was on a floodplain where the River Thames would have had many more tributaries when the house was originally constructed. A reed thatch roof stretched all the way to the floor, so that the roof rafters were ground-fast, providing additional strength.

We sat by an open hearth, with the warmth of the fire proving more than adequate shelter from the autumn chill. The buildings here are completed with accurate tools, accessories, and furnishings. It was fascinating to imagine such a grand structure existing in the Neolithic floodplains of Britain.

We next moved into the Iron Age (the recently constructed Bronze Age roundhouse, built by volunteers and staff for Operation Nightingale had yet to be started). This is probably the most immersive and extensive area of the farm. A fenced enclosure with an additional bank and ditch surrounds six roundhouses and a number of further features including a granary, chicken house, storage pits, herb garden, bread oven, and even a conjectured Iron Age toilet!

The roundhouses were based upon a number of examples that have been excavated around the country including Little Woodbury, Danebury Hillfort, and Glastonbury Lake Village. Each is again furnished with the possessions and technologies of its age, and warmed by an open fire, the smoke seeping through thatch above, containing the warmth whilst also ensuring bugs and unwelcome creatures are kept clear of the organic building materials.

As we explored, we were suddenly surrounded by residents from millennia gone by. Iron Age warriors and workers were going about their business, weaving, cooking, checking tools and weapons, and keeping out intruders, which we were quick to announce we were not!

Having narrowly escaped suspicion, we left the enclosure and wandered into the Romano British age. Here we first found a number of locals feeding the impossibly cute lambs. Most of the animals in the farm are rare-breed animals including Manx Loaghtan Sheep, English Goats, and Gloucestershire Old Spot Pigs, illustrating different varieties of livestock from prehistory, and as such tend to be miniature versions of what we would recognise today, which of course only makes them appear all the cuter.

After Audrey had spent a few moments watching the lambs, but more time trying to leap over a series of log stumps which made for a far more interesting playground, we entered into a stunning white-walled Villa complex based on excavations from Sparsholt near Winchester, complete with painted plaster walls and mosaic floors. Smart furnishings and a luxurious new way of living were immediately apparent. A guide introduced us to the emerging currency of coinage, with a dazzling display of Roman wealth (whilst coins existed in Iron Age Britain, their precise utility is arguable). It was slightly whistle-stop whilst inside the villa, due to the difficulties of maintaining safe social distance from other visitors, but we saw enough to indicate a very different way of life.

We continued our adventure into the Anglo Saxon period, where some of the glamour of Romano Britain fell away, but the homely warmth of earlier periods returned in buildings based upon excavations from the nearby village of Chalton. The structures perhaps showed more solid construction than some earlier eras, but generally had an organic feel.

By this time, Audrey was beginning to tire, all this time travel really takes its toll, so it was time to hit the cafe and fuel up on tea and cakes as we gazed over the whole site and its spectacular constructions.

The farm hosts regular events, from storytelling to Celtic Festivals, concerts, and re-enactments. It is a glorious experience and an important educational tool for those with early interests in ancient lives and for professionals and scholars of British prehistory and early historical periods.

Audrey rounded off her day with a quill pen from the gift shop and we set off again, but not immediately for home, as we were aware of a number of nearby areas of interest. First off, it had felt like an age since we had seen the ocean, and with the coast so close, we couldn’t help ourselves. We found the nearest available, parking friendly, spot and wandered down to the water, which was busy with sailors and swimmers, despite the temperamental weather. From this vantage point, I witnessed my first sight of Hayling Island, an important sacred site during the Iron Age, Romano British and Anglo Saxon period. It was too late in the day to explore the island, but it was fantastic to witness a space so revered through the ages.

We then decided to make one final stop, Fishbourne Palace was close by. Fishbourne is a Roman palace with an astonishingly native character and intriguing evidence of a pre-Roman invasion, Roman occupation. Sadly, upon arrival, we quickly discovered that the site was closed. A shame, but perhaps for the best, as by this time, our brave little explorer had given in to the powerful lure of slumber.

We drove home after an unforgettable adventure through time. If you get a chance, we fully recommend it.

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.

Chertsey Shore

In that most devilish of years, AD 666, a portion of the ancient Thames was selected for supreme spiritual significance. The awe inflicting island riverscape of the Thames, with gleaming silver mists clinging to dark grey pools of gently whispering waters, a mirror of the ever menacing sky above, must have appeared other-worldly to all who traversed it.

A soon-to-be Saint pondered the potential of this ancient space. It was a landscape straight from a dream, perhaps the exact vision which greeted many early adventurers who took Britain to be the Elysian Fields of ancient mythology.

Its prime, powerful and poignant position on a marshy island surrounded by the Thames, convinced Erkenwald (a religious man of Royal ancestry) to found a great Benedictine Abbey at which he himself would serve as Abbot. At the same time, he founded another, Barking Abbey further downstream, where his sister, Aethelburg, was to be Abbess.

It is not a stretch to imagine this liminal landscape as a gateway to the ethereal limits of existence, a place where gods and monsters could stalk the mortal realm. The river and wetlands still dominate here and amidst this celestial landscape, Chertsey remains a mysterious little treasure, a town whose character continues to cling to an old-world origin.

We were keen to explore this fulcrum of ancient spiritual reverence. From prehistoric deities bound to the river and islands, marshes and woodland right through to a centre for Christian worship and godly dominance. This area clearly held unrivaled spiritual importance. We decided that a simple day trip would not suffice. With a certain Archaeomum’s birthday celebrations in mind, we set aside a long weekend to camp under the stars and experience life in this sacred landscape firsthand.

After a short while on the road, an eager Audrey and over-excited Bramble could not hide their glee as the tent eventually towered above them and our weekend home emerged from the bulging baggage squashed into the back of our trusty transport. The campsite, right on the banks of the Thames, was perfectly positioned for adventure. We couldn’t wait to explore.

Prior to the emergence of the Abbey, archaeological excavation and investigation have discovered Roman tiles on the site and a Roman presence in this landscape seems reasonably likely. The wider area is littered with late Prehistoric unenclosed settlements and interestingly, along with a number of deposits in watery contexts, a series of structures have emerged, which have been considered as possible temples.

Chertsey Abbey was founded in AD 666 on marshes known as Cerotaesei and a gravel island called the Isle of Cerot. The original Abbey was a humble affair, with wattle and daub walls and a roof of thatched reeds, but Erkenwald, a Lincolnshire religious man thought to be related to King Offa, dedicated the Abbey to St Peter and it continued to grow. He was Abbot at Chertsey for nine years before becoming the Bishop of London.

Chertsey Abbey would grow to become the fifth largest Abbey in England, with over 50,000 acres of land. In 871, Danish Vikings sacked the Abbey, setting it on fire and pilfering all of its valuable contents. There is a belief that Abbot Beocca, a character well known to telly fans of the Last Kingdom, was murdered during these raids. Yet the Abbey was rebuilt and thrived, absorbing more land and becoming an important religious centre until it was dissolved during the dissolution of the Monasteries in 1537.

Little remains of the Abbey today. Fourteenth-century fishponds are visible as long troughs in a quaint garden. The Kitchens and ovens, also later additions to the Abbey and away from the main building, can be witnessed in reconstructed walls and monuments in the public park. The stone minister was a far more elaborate affair but is now completely absent; any remains buried under private residences and impossible to view without permission. We took a polite wander around the perimeter, but the ‘warning, beware of dog’ signs kept us at a distance!

We ventured into Chertsey to explore a little of the town, it has retained an image of old-fashioned cuteness but functions as most modern towns do, with a busy commercial centre filled with supermarkets and coffee shops. As we returned to the campsite, a decision was made (not a difficult one) to enjoy a beer or two in a delightful pub by Chertsey Bridge, the Bridge Hotel. We sat in the beer garden overlooking the glorious river and were able to rest, breathe and smile. It was a serene and calm space, despite Audrey’s eagerness to adventure and Brambles ever keen eye on other people’s dinner.

A storm was brewing in the distance though, and we raced for the comfort of our camp. The tent was mostly waterproof, and when we were safely zipped inside, the machine-gun patter of heavy raindrops was amplified in the enclosed space, a hypnotic melody of ceaseless hammering waves. We snuggled in, safe from the cold and wet, and let the gods sing us to sleep... with one eye on the encroaching drips around the edges!

The following day, we wandered along the grassy path following the Thames as it meandered through the fields and meadows. Boats cruised happily along the slow-running waters, canoes and paddleboats, barges and yachts all enjoying the splendour of the river route. Swimmers were clustered at easy access points, immersing themselves in the rejuvenating waters. Buzzing happily in the grassy meadow was all manner of wild creatures and insects, a spectacular dance of minuscule life. Audrey found an enchanting pattern, a monumental fairy ring, the haunt of fairytale creatures, and timeless magic. She danced with bramble inside the ring, tempting the mystical inhabitants to reveal themselves.

After a final night of cosy tent togetherness, complete with the distant joyous yells of elated football fans, we drifted to sleep, once again serenaded by the cloudburst sonnets from above. It had been a wet and wonderful escape, a few days to switch off from the world and be present in the moment. It was a landscape brimming with vibrant dynamism and primordial mystique. Reluctantly we packed up our temporary home, toweled off the excess drizzle, said goodbye to our kind and welcoming camp neighbours, and headed for home.

En route, we did attempt a final adventure. We were hoping to discover an Iron Age/Romano British Temple in the countryside. Armed with a vague map, an idea of where it should be in the landscape, and a possible route, along with the Sat Nav if needed, we set out. The impenetrable path was near impossible, confusing signage and disappearing tracks made progress difficult, there was no way to negotiate the track and the horizon offered nothing in the way of evidence regarding our ultimate destination. In the end, stood in the centre of a vast cow field, I gave up and headed back to the car. It was only later that I checked the satellite view and realised I was mere meters away from the site.

Next time!

So I hope you will all enjoy a drink with us to celebrate Emily Archaeomum’s landmark birthday, the big... 21...

With hope you all have a delightful, adventurous month,

From our Archaeofam to yours,

Happy July!