Showing posts with label 1066. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1066. Show all posts

14 October 2012

Last of the 1066 Battlefields - Hastings

On 14th October 1066 much of the English aristocracy fell on Senlac Hill near Hastings.

This is the battle that people think of when considering British history in 1066, but as the last two blogs intimate, a lot of back-story led to the defeat of King Harold Godwinson by the Norman French, not least of which was the weather. How different Mediaeval England might have been if the 'fair wind' had brought William, Duke of Normandy, to the south coast first. His force had been expected all summer and may well have been defeated on the shingle beach. That would have left Harold Godwinson with a single forced march north to tackle the men who had sailed in longships with Harald Hardraada of Norway. Would the English northern fyrd taken the day? Who knows.

It was never my intention to write a long post commemorating this date. Then I came upon a link via The Battle of Stamford Bridge Society, and instead I decided to copy it here. It is from The Battle of Hastings 2006 - a major re-enactment, if nowhere on the scale of the original. It is courtesy of English Heritage and television presenter, Dan Snow, narrates.

If you ever thought re-enactors were soft, here's twelve minutes to prove otherwise. Would you stand in a shield-wall beneath a hail of arrows, albeit not metal tipped? Without wearing a helmet? And that, as the saying goes, is the least of it.

6 October 2012

Paddling Across Mired Battlefields - 1066



It’s that time of year again, the anniversary of when the course of Saxon England irretrievably juddered hard left. Over the past couple of weekends I’ve attended guided walks led by the ebullient Russell Marwood of the York Archaeological Trust. They were a delight and I shall be looking out for some more.

The first was around the battlefield of Gate Fulford when, on 20th September 1066, the invasion led by King Harald III of Norway – Harald Hardraada to most of us – sent the English northern earls and the raised fyrd reeling. We modern battlefield walkers returned to our cars and flasks of hot coffee, leaving the risen ghosts of the victors to finish off the dying and march the couple of miles to the gates of York to demand food and hostages.

Last weekend we were at Stamford Bridge, east of York. Here, on 25th September 1066 the Norse army, or most of it, was disporting itself during a warm and sunny day. Harald Hardraada was awaiting more hostages, this time from northern England, in an attempt to persuade the population to support his march south for the Crown.

Unbeknown to him, the Crown, in the shape of King Harold Godwinson, his crack housecarls and a Midlands fyrd raised enroute, caught them off-guard after a forced march that would take some beating even today - about 185 miles in four days. The result was not so much decimation as obliteration. Mediaeval texts have it that up to 300 longships sailed up the Humber but only 23 sailed down. Harald Hardraada and most of his nobles were not among the survivors.

Russell Marwood doing this thing
Except… did it happen at Stamford Bridge?

As Russell Marwood explained, pinpointing the position of any 1000 year old open battlefield is no easy task. Usually there is little in the way of archaeological deposits. The victors, sometimes even the vanquished, did not leave valuable armour, weapons and accoutrements lying among the dead, even if, as a later writer maintained, the bleached bones of the fallen were still to be seen decades later.

Much of the “evidence” for such a battlefield comes from written texts, by triangulating information from several, in this case mostly from the Norse sagas as the English were, shall we say, a bit busy. Also, routes built by the Romans and maintained – and York would have had plenty - have been lost to us, or their archaeological footprints are still being discovered.

However, our group was led over the current bridge spanning a very swollen River Derwent to gain a view of a “hollow-way”, which sounded, and looked, as if it had come as much from the pages of one of JRR Tolkien’s masterpieces as a descendant of a Roman road. The river had been tidal at this time and Stamford – probably a derivative of “stone ford” – was just that. We learned that it could be crossed on foot at low tide as late as the 1960s. So what need was there for a bridge – the one a single heroic Norseman held for so long before a dastardly Englishman pierced his nether regions from below while in a “tub”, or possibly a coracle?

There are hefty stone foundations behind the older modern houses which might account for a bridge, and an old snicket – a pathway – still leaves the spot, crosses the modern road and rises up between more houses. But once a single thread is pulled, more than one tends to begin unravelling. Why send a fella with a pike out in a boat to skewer an enemy holding a bridge? Why not just loose a sheaf of arrows in his direction? Is the “rock that marks the spot”, or at least commemorates the general area of the deed, out by a couple of miles?

Commemorative seating at Stamford Bridge

 This is where we find there are interesting people among the group. Tom Wiles, from the area, is a re-enactor of the period strutting his stuff under the banner of The Volsung Vikings. He is also one of the locals who have formed the Battle of Stamford Bridge Society with a view to truly commemorating the date of the battle. There was a fascinating exchange between him and Russell Marwood, and the agreed opinion was that the Battle of Stamford Bridge was as likely to be the Battle of Catton, especially as Roman roads have been newly discovered in the area, and possibly the site of a bridge.

Methinks I need to lay my hands on a detailed Ordnance Survey map of the area and do a bit of internet research prior to having another day out. But this is for a series of books on the far horizon so there’s no great rush. Who knows what research others might throw up in the meantime?

As for the Mediaeval power struggle, it wasn’t so much Norse 1 – English 1 as the endgame for them both. King Harold Godwinson of England had no sooner washed the blood from his sword in York than word arrived that fair winds had allowed William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy, to sail across the channel and his men were erecting pre-fabricated fortifications near Hastings.

What must Harold have thought? “Damnit” must have been the least of his epithets. Well, if he could do it once… And so he gathered his housecarls and those uninjured in the battle and set off south with a steely look in his eye. The Battle of Hastings took place on 14th October. Alas, now the steel in his eye turned out not to be just an attitude of mind.

William II, Duke of Normandy became William the Conqueror and, after a series of skirmishes which inflamed his temper no end, he was crowned King of England on Christmas Day 1066. For what happened after that the Brits still bear a grudge.

30 September 2012

Yomping Across Mired Battlefields - 1066



As a novelist using historical settings, I particularly enjoy yomping across the landscapes I'm interested in, even if they aren't necessarily going to feature in my fiction. It is even better when I am part of a small group being taken round by someone knowledgeable.

The past couple of Sundays I’ve been on the Yorkshire Archaeological Trust’s 1066 York Battlefields walks led by Russell Marwood. Russell might be an archaeologist but no mummified air of dry academia enshrouds him. From his wild hair to his bright yellow hiking socks, he is Mr Enthusiasm For His Subject – just what a writer needs to fill in a few gaps and light the flame of inspiration.

A condensed bit of background for those not versed in this part of British history:

In early January 1066 the English King Edward (known as The Confessor) died without leaving a blood heir, never a good idea. Harold Godwinson, his leading Earl, was elected to succeed him and in very short order became King Harold II. However, various people weren’t happy about this, particularly William II Duke of Normandy (modern northern France), and King Harald III of Norway. Each coveted the English throne - the stable kingdom and its efficient tax collection system, more like - believing it had been promised to him alone. Both started amassing ships.

By September it was down to the wire, so to speak, with only the weather, as ever, not being cooperative. Then the wind started coming from the north, and with it the Viking Norsemen, picking up allies in the Isles of Orkney enroute. Between 200-300 longships entered the River Humber close to where I live, sailing its tidal tributaries into the heart of England, then called Northumbria, north of the Humber (get it?). Their sights were set on taking York. Named Jorvik by the Norse a couple of centuries before, it had been their power base when the country had been split under the Dane Law, so it suited Harald III, now known more often as Harald Hardraada, to regain control prior to taking on the south of the country.

The first battle was on 20th September at Gate Fulford, just south of York. With the River Ouse blocking one side, the English set up a shield-wall at Germany Beck – amazingly still running – and awaited the opposition. But with all this water swilling around it was tough to call the axe-blows with certainty. The natural flood plain at that end of the shield-wall turned into a mire. The English couldn’t hold the line and…. English 0 Norse 1.

Russell Marwood gave us a very good rendition of the whys and wherefores as we walked along. He even got us grouped, and moving, as a section of shield-wall on the bank of the Ouse where it is met by Germany Beck. Looking down that gentle slope, as a member of the fyrd, the raised militia, I don’t think I would have been too joyful about standing my ground as one of the four or five deep behind the front shields. England had been at peace for more than a generation. My training would have been cursory at best, and I was supposed to stand against the finest of Norway coming at me in full mail armour and carrying the sort of blood-reputation which has lasted to this day.

We battlefield walkers might have gone off to our warm cars and hot lunches, but the Norse advanced to York, promising to keep the walled city intact if it gave up plenty of food and hostages from among its leading citizens. Would you have argued?

The whistle will blow for the second half next time. Do call back in a few days. I might even have some pictures.

If you are interested in a bit of further reading: