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.

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.

Arthur... World Away

On a beautiful bright summer’s day, whilst Emily Archaeomum was hard at work, Audrey and I kidnapped the grandparents and made off on a brief but mystical adventure to the very heartlands of British folklore and mythology.

We were hot on the trail of that most iconic hero, the unrelenting pillar of importance in these ancient and magical lands, none other than the legendary King Arthur.

Arthur is the mythical British king of relentless legend. He is said to have pulled the sword from the stone, befriended ladies in lakes and ruled over all England with his round table of fearless and slightly adulterous Knights. Arthur was advised by a powerful wizard buddy and embarked upon all manner of quests and trials in the name of God, country, chivalry and honour!

There has been much speculation on the origins of the legend of King Arthur, and fierce historical debate as to whether any such King existed at all. The most popular opinion appears to be that Arthur is an idealistic amalgamation of a number of poignant protagonists of the islands rich history. Popularised by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Great Britain, Arthur took a central role in the vision of what a great King of England should be.

Tintagel famously appears in Geoffrey’s incredible tales of Arthur. Legend has it that whilst Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, was at war, he left his wife, Igraine, in the oppidum of Tintagel. The wizard Merlin disguised Uther Pendragon as Gorlois who entered Tintagel and impregnated Igraine. The child she was then said to have conceived was Arthur.

It was here at Tintagel, that we would make our brief pilgrimage, fearlessly following the trail of our infamous hero king.

The scenic drive to Tintagel is incredibly enjoyable, especially during the summer months, though some of the roads in this corner of the island are more than a little hair-raising, narrow winding snake-like stems of concrete flanked by high blinding hedgerows and occasional forested tunnels which twist this way and that through the continuing countryside. Towns and villages appear from nowhere and are gone again just as quickly as they arrived, rustic spectres in a mystic landscape.

We arrived into Tintagel, a kind of bizarre circus-like dream town bustling with tourists and traders. Every shop, bar and cafe is geared towards the legend of Arthur. Imagine if Disneyland bought a quaint English fishing village and shipped in its plastic brand en-masse. Parking wasn’t easy to secure and even trickier to navigate once through the gate, a veritable Battle Royale of vying visitors.

Once parked up, we were able to make our way towards the gem of this incredible outcrop, the cliff edge fortifications that convinced generations of scholars and fantasists that this might be the conception place of the legendary King Arthur. Tintagel is run and maintained by English Heritage. There is a charge to enter for non-members. The fee’s go towards the undoubtedly astonishing costs related to keeping such an important historical landmark safe and sustainable. A worthy cause indeed to keep this spectacular site soaring.

A shuttle bus service was available to ship visitors up and down the long road to the ruins. We decided, however, that as the weather was wonderful and the queues were dreadful, we would walk. This was a good decision, it wasn’t too far and even with Audrey taking full advantage of the daddy packhorse commute, it wasn’t too much of a strain.

Tintagel has a deep and rich history of human activity. An assemblage of Romano British artefacts has been unearthed in the area of the Castle, hinting at the occupation of the peninsula during this period. There could have been a settlement of the British tribe, the Dumnonii, possibly mining and trading tin, which made the area such an important source of wealth and resources.

A later high-status settlement was uncovered on the site, dating to between the 5th and 8th centuries, smack bang in the postulated era of Arthur! Originally hypothesised as the site of a monastery, more recent interpretations have suggested that this was a royal residence. The site was defended by a ditch and the natural barriers of the sea and cliff sides. Evidence from this period included a substantial quantity of imported pottery, suggesting a significant amount of trading activity.

The most fascinating and intriguing archaeological discoveries also came from this period. In 1998, a slate stone, known as the Artognou Stone, was discovered during excavations. The 5th–6thc stone was inscribed in Latin, illustrating the regional use of this language even after the collapse of the Roman Empire. It gained notoriety due to the inscribed name Artognou, argued as a variant of Arthur. Just as incredibly, during 2017 investigations, archaeologists discovered a 7th-century slate window ledge inscribed with a mixture of Latin, Greek and Celtic language and names, indicating a highly connected and literate society on this incredible promontory. A copy of the Artognou Stone, along with a wealth of artefacts uncovered at Tintagel, is on display in the castle museum.

It was later, in the 13th century that the main fortifications and battlements were built by Richard, 3rd Earl of Cornwall. This castle was built after Geoffrey of Monmouth’s fantastic works, which claimed Tintagel to be the conception place of Arthur. Richard, it seems, was keen to keep the connections alive and illuminate his residence as the famous seat of Cornish Kings. It was built in an ancient style and the Arthurian legends were suitably reflected.

Our adventure to Tintagel occurred prior to the creation of an impressive new bridge leading to the castle ruins. Our own experience involved the narrow, slightly death-defying trek up a tiny stairway hugging the cliff edge, terrifying... especially with a toddler on your back! A good exercise to get your heart pumping though and a real sense of grandeur as you look upwards towards the imposing ruins above.

Whilst the experience was one shared in close proximity to a horde of tourists and travellers, Tintagel Castle is definitely worth the visit. I can’t imagine there is ever a quiet moment in this historical corner of the globe so steeped in legend and fantasy. Gallos, the now-famous statue of Arthur, was constantly surrounded by amateur photographers jostling to get the money shot holiday snap. Whichever way you attempt it, you are probably destined to have a strangers family immortalised in your perfect picture! Yet despite the anthill experience of it all, to see the castle ruins, the earlier archaeological traces and most impressively, the spectacular coastal splendour and stunning sea views, was well worth the effort.

We had considered finding a little pub in Tintagel town for a beer and some food, but similar to the castle, the town was swamped in Arthurian revellers. We made our way back to the car and drove through the stunning Cornish countryside again until we found a quieter spot to sit, reflect on our quest, and enjoy some cool refreshing summer lager, wine and juice.

We may not have uncovered the Holy Grail, but we had scaled a fortress and witnessed the wonders of Albion from perhaps its most iconic and ancient point. I’m sure, as Audrey’s first Cornish Castle assault... Arthur would have been most impressed.