Wydon Eals Coffins (NY682624)

(image from Archaeologia Aeliana, 1st series, vol 44, 1870)

A little to the north of Featherstone Castle there sits Wydon Eals Farm. Many of the fields hereabouts are rather soggy, low-lying affairs, sitting, as they do, near the River South Tyne. Two centuries ago, a few yards to the NE of the farm, workmen digging drains made an extraordinary discovery in the shape of several ancient log coffins.

The oaken caskets, uncovered in 1825, had been preserved by the swampy conditions, though what few bodily remains still contained within soon turned to dust when exposed to the air. In time, more were discovered – in 1859, 1863 and 1869 – and it is likely that still more remain underground. The most substantial body part found intact across all the finds was that of a skull fragment.

As can be seen from the illustrations, the primitive coffins have the appearance of hollowed-out canoes held together by pegs. For decades they were thought to date from the Bronze Age (c.2500BC – c.800BC), but scientific examination of one of the artefacts in 2011 placed them squarely in the Dark Ages at around the late 7^th – early 8^th centuries. Obviously, the site must have been a small cemetery of sorts, though there is no other evidence around and about to support the theory.

Some of the coffins found their way into the hands of the Society of Antiquaries in Newcastle, and others were kept at nearby Featherstone Castle – with one possibly ending up in Durham Cathedral. No one will perhaps ever know anything of the people who planted these relics (whether, for example, they were Christian or Pagan), although the land hereabouts is recorded as ‘Temple Land’ in 1223, and was at one time owned by the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle.

The Battle of Heavenfield (NY937694)

Site of the Battle of Heavenfield, with 

St.Oswald’s Church in the distance.

The ‘Golden Age’ of Northumbria – the period of Dark Age cultural and military supremacy which spanned, roughly, the mid-seventh to the mid-eighth centuries – was probably the proudest phase of North-Eastern history. Out of this tumultuous century or so came the writings of Bede and the Lindisfarne Gospels (among other spectacular outpourings). And, as is so often the case with such epochs, it all came about as a direct result of a victory in the field – in this case the Battle of Heavenfield.

After the death of Edwin, king of Northumbria, in 632, the struggle was on for the overlordship of the English Heptarchy. Edwin had been the most prominent ruler of this patchwork of kingdoms which then existed in the land, and his demise very much put the cat squarely among the pigeons. Cadwallon, king of the Britons (Welsh) and Penda, a prominent Mercian prince – both of whom had scores to settle with the house of Northumbria – then unified in an alliance against the great northern kingdom. In the months following Edwin’s death, Northumbria was largely laid waste by this troublesome pair.

After months of turmoil, Oswald emerged from his long exile on Iona to seize the Northumbrian throne (his dynastic foes, Edwin and his sons, having been slain). Oswald, a son of Aethelfrith – who had ruled in Northumbria before Edwin – had grown up among the monastic community of Iona together with his younger brother, Oswy. They were both Christians of the Celtic/Irish bent, and determined that their father’s kingdom must be saved from pending collapse. Before Oswald could take the crown, though, Cadwallon and Penda would have to be swept from their old lands.

So, in late 633 (or 634), Oswald marched south with his warband – a motley collection of on-loan Pictish warriors and Irish monks, together with a few hundred Northumbrians which he was able to pick up on the journey south – until he reached the Roman Wall a little to the east of Chollerford. Cadwallon, on the other hand, moved north up Dere Street and along the Wall to the same point. It is likely that Penda did not take part in this phase of the war, though some of his forces may have been involved.

On the night before the battle, Oswald experienced a vision of St.Columba, who promised heavenly support for the young Northumbrian. A cross was erected before the battle, too, around which Oswald rallied his troops. Oswald’s subsequent attack – probably at night – proved devastating, and the Welsh were defeated with surprising ease. Using nearby Brady’s Crag and the Wall itself to their strategic benefit, the Northumbrians were able to nullify their numerical disadvantage – Cadwallon himself being slain in the rout, forever since known as the Battle of Heavenfield.

Oswald was then able to quickly stabilise the kingdom and take the throne. The threat from the Welsh and the Pagan Mercians had been put to bed, at least for the time being. Moreover, the new king dedicated his victory to God, eventually inviting Aidan to found his monastery at Lindisfarne, and thus sowing the seed of Christianity for the English nation-to-be…

… And hence laying the foundation for our ‘Golden Age’.

The Flag of Northumberland

The Northumberland flag is based on an ancient design, the origin of which is buried deep in the Dark Ages – making it, most probably, the oldest flag design in Britain.

The Venerabale Bede, in his famous Ecclesiastical History of the English People, states that a banner of gold and purple hung over the tomb of Northumbria’s 7^th century king, Oswald. During one of several moves of the saint’s remains, they were taken to Bardney Abbey in present-day Lincolnshire in 697AD:

… There is a noble monastery in the province of Lindsey, called Beardeneu, which that queen [Osthrida, queen of the Mercians] and her husband Ethelred much loved, and conferred upon it many honours and ornaments. It was here that she was desirous to lay the venerable bones of her uncle. When the wagon in which those bones were carried arrived towards evening at the aforesaid monastery, they that were in it refused to admit them, because, though they knew him to be a holy man, yet, as he was originally of another province, and had reigned over them as a foreign king, they retained their ancient aversion to him, even after death. Thus it came to pass that the relics were left in the open air all that night, with only a large tent spread over them; but the appearance of a heavenly miracle showed with how much reverence they ought to be received by all the faithful; for during that whole night, a pillar of light, reaching from the wagon up to heaven, was seen by almost all the inhabitants of the province of Lindsey. Hereupon, in the morning, the brethren who had refused it the day before, began themselves earnestly to pray that those holy relics, so beloved by God, might be deposited among them. Accordingly, the bones, being washed, were put into a shrine which they had made for that purpose, and placed in the church, with due honour; and that there might be a perpetual memorial of the royal person of this holy man, they hung up over the monument his banner made of gold and purple; and poured out the water in which they had washed the bones, in a corner of the sacred place. From that time, the very earth which received that holy water, had the virtue of expelling devils from the bodies of persons possessed.

Moreover, Wilfrid and other prominent Northumbrian clerics were known to have worn vestments of gold and purple.

In medieval times, the colours and the flag were adopted by the Earl of Northumberland. The flag is now officially registered as shown above, with eight alternate stripes of red and gold; and by official decrees in 1951 and 1995 was properly adopted by Northumberland County Council as their emblem.

Anyone in the county can fly it – but make sure you get it the right way up, with the gold panel at the top nearest the flagpole!

Norham and North Durham (NT899473)

Anyone who knows anything about the ancient history of Northumbria will be aware of the region’s strong links with early Christianity. Aidan, Cuthbert and Bede dominate the annals of our history from the former’s arrival here as a missionary in 635AD to the latter’s death exactly a century later. And the village we now know as Norham on the very edge of England overlooking the River Tweed played an important role in those formative years.

These days, of course, the castle is the great symbol of Norham’s place in history, but this fine structure didn’t appear in its earliest form until the 1120s. Unlike most other settlements in the North-East, the village had already enjoyed an eventful and quite well documented history up until this point, mainly due to its situate.

Skipping conveniently over its very earliest days, it came to prominence most notably at the dawn of Northumbria’s period of Dark Age dominance in the 630sAD. When King Oswald won the crown of the northern kingdom in 634 he invited the Celtic monks of Iona to establish Christianity in the region – and it was, of course, Aidan who made this happen. He was sent over from the little Scottish island in 635 and, by passing over the Tweed and through Norham en route, he first brought the village into the sightlines of the religious community.

Norham was then called Ubbanford (‘upper ford’), and though Lindisfarne soon became religious HQ, it has been suggested that Norham enjoyed a brief period of superiority beforehand. Even in later years it remained a regular monkish stopping-off point on their journeys to and from Iona. A grant of land was, in fact, made to create a monastery at Norham as early as 655.

The village’s religious links were reinforced during the ninth century when on at least one (and probably two) occasions, the remains of St.Cuthbert were moved there to keep them safe from Viking raids. By the mid eleventh century Ubbanford had become Norham, and was essentially the capital of the County Palatine of Durham’s lands in North Northumberland – or North Durham, as it was for centuries known. So, yes, Norham (or Norhamshire) and a good deal more of the northern reaches of Northumberland weren’t in Northumberland at all, really, from the medieval period to the Victorian era, but rather they were part of County Durham – a curious state of affairs brought on by the enduring religious heritage of these stretches of land. Amazingly, it wasn’t until 1844 that the common sense switch was made by handing North Durham to Northumberland. 

When the castle came along in the 1120s, it was a Bishop of Durham who commissioned it. Built to keep the incursions of the increasingly boisterous Scots at bay, it encouraged the development, in time, of the the village proper. Then another very different phase in Norham’s history began… as a military outpost.

But that’s another story.

Cuthbert’s Foster Mum (NU010347)

A little off the B6525 to the NE of Doddington lies the hamlet of Wrangham. One may not immediately associate this rural backwater – now largely a collection of farm outbuildings – with anything too drastic, history-wise, but this lonely spot has a strong link with one of our most famous individuals.

St.Cuthbert needs little in the way of introduction to anyone with even the slightest interest in the history of our region, but biographical detail of his early life is scanty. Born in the Scottish Borders, he is believed to have come from a noble family – if for no other reason than he was raised by a foster mother (a common upbringing for such offspring). Amazingly, we know the woman’s name, Kenswith, and that she lived at a place called Hruringaham – reckoned to be the Wrangham in question.

At age eight, it seems, he was placed in her care, and became a shepherd boy in the surrounding hills. He was something of a gymnast, he and his friends impressing one another with feats of agility and stamina in their spare time. Then, aged 17, he began his religious training and moved away.

He briefly saw military service with the early Northumbrian armies before settling down to his well-known career path – initially via the newly-established monastery at Melrose. As his responsibilities and reputation grew we are told that he still found time to visit Kenswith ‘often’ from ‘the monastery’ – though we do not know which monastery! There used to be a Wrangham near Smailholm in the Borders quite near to Melrose, but the Northumberland option seems to be favoured by most historians.

And, besides, there is a ‘Cuddy’s Well’ and a ‘Cuddy’s Cave’ nearby, which seems to clinch it for the North-East, thank you very much!

Blaec: Lost Hero of the North? (NZ283581)

On a small prominence at roughly the spot where the Bowes Railway meets the southern-most extremity of Eighton Banks lies, possibly, the burial site of a once mighty Anglo-Saxon warrior. For centuries known as Blackham, or Blackim, Hill, the nondescript piece of wasteland may well be the final resting place of Blaec, a warlord who seems at one time to have held sway over a rather large tract of what we now know as County Durham during the Dark Ages.

The word Blackham/Blackim (Hill) is derived, it is argued, from the Anglo-Saxon word blaecen, meaning ‘of Blaec’ or ‘belonging to Blaec’ – hence ‘Black’s Hill’. And until the Victorian times it seems that there existed a legend that a mighty warrior of this name was buried there. Texts mention the persistent rumour until as late as the 1880s … but nothing much seems to have trickled down to the present.

Despite its twentieth century fall from grace, the land hereabouts has given up signs of ancient human activity – most notably between the wars when shards of worked flint dating back to the Mesolithic age were found. It’s a prominent spot in the landscape, and it stands to reason that humans would have made use of the site through the centuries. Iron Age activity/settlement is certainly likely, the Romans passed by this way … so why not the Anglo-Saxons, too?

No one has any solid evidence as to who this Blaec chap may have been – or even when he lived. It can only be speculated that he rose to prominence during the yawning gap that is 400-1066AD – most likely after Northumbria’s ‘Golden Age’, which ended in the mid-eighth century. So we’re talking about 750-1000AD.

And evidence from maps suggests that his area of influence may have been substantial. One thirteenth century cartographer marked a huge inland tract of land stretching from the Tyne to the Humber as ‘Blachamoz’ – ‘the settlement of the people of Black’. Yet the question remains: if he existed, why was this man excluded from the royal lineages of Dark Age Northumbria? Perhaps he was just a very powerful, non-royal upstart.

Or is it all some woolly North Country myth?

More fascinating reading can be found at www.washingtonlass.com/BlackhamHill.html .

Why not come along to...

The National Family History Fair

NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE

Saturday 7th September 2013

Beowulf’s Burial Place? (NZ749195)

Beowulf, that shady mythical figure from Dark Age Scandinavia, has found himself transformed, almost, into a great British hero thanks to that famous Old English poem. Thing is, he wasn’t from these shores – it being likely that the yarn was re-spun by early Anglo-Saxon immigrants to suit their own tastes (and surroundings) in the early days of their ‘invasion’ of our shores.

The original is most firmly set in modern-day Denmark and Sweden, yet old historians and antiquarians have persisted in giving the story an English twist. The most stubborn myth concerns the great man’s burial – which followed his death in battle with a dragon. It is said that he was laid to rest by his people, the Geats, in a prominent tumulus on high ground overlooking the sea.

Now there is no real reason to suppose that this would have occurred anywhere else other than in the land of the Geats themselves, i.e. southern Sweden. However, more than one ‘expert’ this side of the North Sea has ventured to suggest (principally by fiddling about unconvincingly with place-names) that the spot in question is Boulby Cliff on the Redcar and Cleveland coast.

So we’re talking about a mythical hero from Scandinavia being buried several hundred miles away from his homeland on a cliff top in North-East England.  Mmm.  Mind you, Boulby Cliff certainly measures up at 660ft (the highest sea-cliff on the eastern seaboard), is within spitting distance of the recent Anglo-Saxon Street House Treasure find and is, as it happens, capped by an ancient tumulus.

I wonder…

King Ecgfrith’s Port (NZ345655)

Jarrow Slake, that oddly-named area of reclaimed land on the south bank of the Tyne neighbouring St.Paul’s Church, has a recorded history going back to the time of Bede. The area was then a large expanse of mud-flats into which the River Don wound before emptying itself into the Tyne – but at high tide would fill with water, hence its original name of ‘King Ecgfrith’s Port’, named after the Dark Age Northumbrian king who gifted the land to the monks of Jarrow.

In time, a new name came into use: Jarrow’s Lake – which in turn became corrupted into Jarrow Slake. Little more than a treacherous expanse of gooey mess – as well as an unofficial bird sanctuary – for centuries, it was eventually put to good use in Victorian times as a pond for timber seasoning, for which it served its purpose for around a century from the 1870s. The Slake was also home to an isolation hospital for several years from around 1930, to which access was gained via a catwalk.

In 1972, reclamation work began, and the area was used as a landfill site for some time. Eventually amalgamated into the surrounding landscape, the Slake’s 120-acre muddy expanse finally disappeared for good in the early 1980s. Latterly it has been used as a car distribution terminal for Nissan.

For some fabulous photos of the old Slake, see here. And the area, on a map, as it is now – still, pleasing, called Jarrow Slake!

P.S. The illustrated gibbeting is probably that of William Jobling in 1832 (but that’s another story, see here). Though there is no sign of the cage, the artist may have omitted it in error.

 

Mead: the Mother of Booze (NU126418)

The ancestor of all fermented drinks, antedating the cultivation of the soil.
Maguelonne Toussaint-Samat, historian.

One of Lindisfarne’s most noticeable commercial concerns is St.Aidan’s Winery, producers of the famous Lindisfarne Mead. But what exactly is this strange concoction? Well, basically, it is a mixture of honey and water, fermented with yeast so that the sugars in the honey turn to alcohol. And as for its history, well, it is very likely the oldest alcoholic beverage in the world.

Lindisfarne may well be England’s ‘Cradle of Christianity’, but it can make no such claim when it comes to the old tipple. For mead has been around – in all the major centres of civilisation – for many thousands of years. Earliest references stretch back to around 7,000BC to (very) ancient China; and Africa, too, can claim a lengthy heritage. Anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss argued that the invention of mead marked the passage of man’s development “from nature to culture”. In Europe, the drink probably arrived with the Beaker people around 2,000BC; and Aristotle and his pals were known to have indulged in the heyday of Ancient Greece. The Germanic tribes of northern Europe (the Vikings included) helped make mead very much as popular as ale in the Dark Ages, and this is when it entered our own culture big-time. The word ‘honeymoon’ is derived from the Norse custom of having newly-weds drink the stuff for a whole moon in order to increase their fertility. So I guess it was considered an aphrodisiac.

So quite why the religious houses of Dark Age England took to brewing and drinking mead I shudder to think. Anyway, the monks of Lindisfarne were especially keen, it seems, though they would have probably claimed it was nothing more than a little side-line of their beekeeping hobby. As you can imagine, during its long and colourful history, mead has developed countless variants. Different strengths, the inclusion of fruits, spices and herbs (and sometimes hops), differing maturing periods – and even, recently, the development of carbonated and sparkling versions, as well as dry, semi-sweet and sweet mixes – all helping to enrich the world of the mead aficionado.

Mead has enjoyed its good times and bad. Its popularity waned as the Middle Ages progressed, taxation and strict regulation taking their toll. And when cheap sugar imports began to arrive from the West Indies in the seventeenth century, beekeeping and honey production took quite a knock – and so, then, did mead production. But hang on it did, especially in areas in which grapes could not be grown for the production of wine – and for that we have the monasteries to thank.

So say what you will about these religious types, but on this score, at least, they seem to have got their priorities right.