Members' Diaries and Articles
Over the years of Sceaftesige's existence, a few members have written diaries to recount their experiences with
Regia Anglorum. They have been sucked out of the previous websites and word documents, and adapted for pleasurable
reading at your convenience.
Below is the text of the poem, choose whether you would like to see it in the original Ænglisc, the modern English or in runes, which were still used
in Cædmon's time, but as usage varied significantly there is no knowing which runes Cædmon may have used.
Below is the text of the poem, choose whether you would like to see it in the original Ænglisc, the modern English or in runes, which were still used
in Cædmon's time, but as usage varied significantly there is no knowing which runes Cædmon may have used.
Below is the text of the poem, choose whether you would like to see it in the original Ænglisc, the modern English or in runes, which were still used
in Cædmon's time, but as usage varied significantly there is no knowing which runes Cædmon may have used.
Below is the text of the poem, choose whether you would like to see it in the original Ænglisc, the modern English or in runes, which were still used
in Cædmon's time, but as usage varied significantly there is no knowing which runes Cædmon may have used.
The transcript below is from the early 10th-century "Tanner Bede", currently held at the Bodleian Library in Oxford (the hymn starting half way through the first line). It is from this manuscript that most West-Saxon recensions of Cædmon's Song originate, although it is by no means the only source.
This is not the earliest of transcripts for Cædmon's Song. The earliest source is either the one found in the 7th-century "Moore Bede", currently at Cambridge University Library, or the similar transcript in the "St Petersburg Bede" (or the "Leningrad Bede") in the National Library of Russia. Both of these, however, are Northumbrian versions of the hymn.
The very last page of the Moore Bede contains a copy of the hymn on the first three lines.
The St Petersburg Bede is written in two columns, but the Ænglisc version of the hymn spans both columns at the bottom of the page. The same page also has a Latin translation of the hymn.
When it became obvious that Alan was indeed going to join up, I asked him if he would write a diary of his impressions and expectations. What follows on the linked pages are his entries.
My intention was and still is to edit these as little as possible — I'm interested in real views, not a sanitized version for public consumption. However, when Alan sent me 'In The Beginning...' he sent it as a MS-Word8 document which I could not handle. Fortunately, I have a text editor which allows me to display files in their raw format — so I had the complete history of all the edits Alan had made; all I had to do was re-construct it into a document. 'In The Beginning...' is the document re-constructed by me and approved by Alan (no coercion involved).
The second installment, titled by me as 'Acquiring some status...', arrived in rtf format and just required converting to html — with a few minor tweaks for grammar. As with 'In The Beginning...' I've added the odd comment here and there. These are all enclosed in square brackets [ ].
Preparation: The long march of Winter and the close season progresses. But there's always training, and that new item of kit...
A Digression: Speaking of kit - never open your mouth and do it properly the first time. It saves on embarrassment...
A cold field all to ourselves: The season commences in earnest - and what better way to start it than by knocking seven bells out of your mates with no public about...
A warmer field in Dorset: It comes to us all - time to meet the public...
Educating Rita: Undaunted by the public - time to face a tougher challenge altogether...
The Village Fair: Life's not all roses - beware the dreaded drink...
Full Circle: We've now reached the show that inspired me to join - but take the stories of the "old timers" with a pinch of salt...
Season's Swansong: There's an old adage in life that's just as true in re-enactment - everything comes to he who waits. We'll we've reached the end of my first full season and the end of this years "shows", and the season saved the best till last...
Addendum - 14th December 1999
Wychurst is a Saxon Manorial Burgh, that is a Saxon Longhall with attendant dwellings surrounded by a ditch, earthwork rampart and wooden palisade. The buildings inside the fort will consist of a 60'×30' Longhall, stone Chapple, Bauhouse, Stables, Forge, and Bakery, whilst outside the ramparts there will be several artisans cottages. The picture (right) shows an artists impression of the gate house as seen from the cottage.
By June 2001 the oval for the fort (some 65 yards by 75 yards) had been rough cleared of timber, the ditch and pond dug, earthwork rampart constructed, and the area for the Longhall cleared and levelled.
In July 2001 the Society took delivery of 23 tons of green oak, rough cut to the approximate size and length needed to construct the Longhall. In
the week following the August bank holiday a gallant crew began work on preparing the main timbers for assembly. Working on the main uprights, some
19' in length (when cut to size) and 10" square, and their corresponding crossbeams, some 16' in length (when cut to size) and 10" square, three sets were
man-handled from their storage, cut and jointed.
October 2001 saw the second working weekend of the project. With a large amount of additional manpower movement of the aisle posts and tie beams became a simple task. This allowed rapid progress to be made in sizing and jointing the remaining two sets of posts. In addition the manpower enable work to commence on cutting and jointing the aisle plates and all bar two of the eight were completed.
We also took the opportunity to hire a mini-digger which allowed us to cut a rear access to what will become our Living History Exhibit overflow and 20th-century camping area. In addition we managed to dig the holes for the posts, which was a learning experience in its own right.
To bring yourself up-to-date, follow this link...
I have been asked this question many times. Unfortunately the answer is not short neither is it exact. This is a short introduction with a pick 'n' mix of a few of the more important dogs around in the period.
To start with we must look at the early history of dog breeding. The Egyptians were probably the first to initiate selective breeding with a particular look and ability as the end result. This was some two thousand years BC. The most notable of the breeds that survive today – almost untouched – are the Pharaoh Hound and the Ibizan Hound. Both closely related to each other and are often referred to as Baleric Greyhounds.
The Egyptians are also accredited with the creation of the Great Dane, although the pictures on the temples and palaces of Assyrian Kings are probably Mastiff-Hound crosses, that later became known by that name. Later in Greece, Aristotle wrote about dogs. In his texts he gives an important insight into the idea of "breeds"; giving hounds and sheep dogs the same breed name. Certainly in Greece, it would seem that dogs from an area were given a breed name as an expression of quality rather than standardized looks.
The Romans too were fond of dogs (apart from the unfortunate festival in June) and, along with the Phoenicians, helped move many dogs to different countries. The most obvious breed linked with the Romans is the Mastiff – frequently depicted as a war dog complete with spiked collar. A more unusual breed and probably the first terrier breed mentioned is the Maltese; the Roman Governor of Malta is documented as having owned one. A further breed also existing in the area at the time was the Italian Greyhound, which can easily be mistaken for a Whippet (a breed which is not authentic). The Romans were probably one of the first to acquire, out side of their native lands, the Saluki and the Sloughi (a depressed looking Greyhound).
Certainly many of the breeds made it to Britain with the Romans. However, once the invaders left how long they would have survived is debatable. Certainly the more useful would have been kept. Through the intervening years with such a small genetic pool the chance of them remaining unchanged is non-existent. Climate and social status would also have played a part, only the rich would have been able to feed a large Mastiff or keep a thin-skinned Mediterranean hound alive during the winter. Britons of the time did not seem inclined to be as selective about breeding as the Egyptians. When non-native breeds are mentioned it is more a status symbol. These were usually given in pairs as gifts and there seems to be no mention of unusual packs of dogs (e.g. Pharaoh Hounds). This would seem to indicate that any puppies were crosses with native dogs, resulting in the generic Lurcher (a hound/hound cross or herder/hound cross).
The types of dog used could be split roughly in to groups:
Today's breeds that can trace their ancestry back to 'dark age' Britain and Northern Europe are few. Even for some of these the claims are dubious. In this country the Deerhound and Irish wolfhound are the most recognizable of the hounds. The only other dog written about, that is a native breed, is the Corgi. In the Code of Laws written around AD 900 a cattle dog is mentioned that fits the description. Iceland, Norway, Finland and Sweden have more breeds available although these are predominantly of the Spitz type. They include:
It is very important to remember that dogs then would not have looked then like they do today. They have been selectively bred for hundreds of years and some breeds almost completely lost during the First and Second World Wars have been recreated again (mostly the bigger breeds). Dogs for Regia's historical period would probably had a distinct mongrel look about them compared to their modern day counterparts. Size would also be different — in the main today's dogs are much larger.
If you want a dog that will fit in with Regia as an "authentic breed" (I use the term extremely loosely)
then the local library and internet are both excellent starting points. Do research your chosen
breed; no obviously New World breeds (Labrador, Chesapeake, Chihuahua), Oriental breeds (Chow Chow, Pug,
Akita) or modern breeds (Doberman, Pit Bull, Bull Mastiff, Whippet). Remember, hunting dogs
will chase, guarding dogs will want to protect, big dogs need a sizable house and bank balance, some
dogs are hard to train, etc. A perfect place to see the breed and talk to breeders is Discover
Dogs in London early November. Alternatively contact the Kennel Club,
they should be able to put you in touch with breed societies. I also have a list of breed advisers
published through Dogs Today. Also some dogs are not yet available in this country and some are
on the import register and are likely to be expensive or very hard to obtain.
In all honesty, after looking at current photos of the "authentic breeds", a suitable dog is most likely to be found in a local rescue centre — that scruffy flea-bitten looking mongrel. The Kennel Club also provide a Dog Rescue Directory complete with all the breed rescues and a few of the general rescues. I have a copy along with a few more that are not listed.
-Elisabeth Da'Born
"Go on Thursday evening after sunset to the helenium. Sing the Benedicite and Pater Noster and a litany, and stick your knife
into the herb. Then go away. Come again at the time for Matins; cross yourself and ask for God’s protection and go in
silence, and if any sort of supernatural being or frightening creature meets you don’t say a word to him until you come to the herb.
Then sing the Benedicite, Pater Noster and litany again, dig up the herb with the knife still in it and go straight and quickly to
church. Put the herb with the knife still in it under the altar. When the sun rises take it out, wash and make into a
drink with bishopwort and lichen off a crucifix. Boil in milk three times. Sing over it the Pater Noster, Credo,
Gloria and Excelsis Deo and a litany. Mark it with the cross on three sides using a sword then let the man drink it.
Soon he will be well."
From this it can be seen that medicine was a highly ritual, pious yet essentially magical activity, conceived of as a battle against dangerous spirits. The Christian influence is extremely strong in the Leechbook, less so in the Lacnunga (also circa AD900) — a poetic lay largely in praise of the nine sacred herbs:
Not all the herblore was quite so exotic — Yarrow for example was recognised for the useful wound herb it is. Bone setting was quite advanced using soaked birch-bark which will harden around a limb to form a light but rigid cast. Nor were the herbalist confined to treating just serious and mysterious illness: They turned their attention to cures for such various things as aching feet (mugwort in the shoes), wives who won’t shut up (the husband must fast and eat radishes), and baldness (bees burnt to ash and rubbed on the head with a paste of honey).
It’s not possible to give more than a taster of the strange and wonderful world of Anglo-Saxon medicine — a world that makes it plain that however much we think we understand them, we probably don’t — in such a short space. The four surviving manuscripts: Bald’s Leechbook, Lacnunga, and Saxon translations of the Herbarium Apuleii Platonici, and On Schools of Petronius of Salerno, are available for serious research. Alternatively, and much easier, Eleanor Sinclair Rohde’s Old English Herbals (Dover Publications 1971) will tell you most of what you want to know. As a parting shot, interestingly, the Anglo-Saxon term for a sudden and devastating illness still survives; elf-shot was also known as elf-stroke, and in modern days just “Stroke”.
-Wulfwaru
Before I joined, I wanted to touch base with them get an impression of the group and the people within. An e-mail to the membership officer as listed on the main Regia site went unanswered but I had found and dusted off an e-mail address on the old Sceaftesige site and thankfully, Ketil still checked that address. Before long I was invited down to the Regia permanent site of Wychurst in Kent.
By the time I parked the car at the end of New Road, the dirt track on which Wychurst is located, I had learnt a bit more about Regia Anglorum, including seeing a few pictures of the Ealdorman of the group — a white-bearded man by the name of Kim Siddorn — and approaching the entrance to the Wychurst enclosure revealed that very man presiding over the works in the way an Ealdorman of old would have done — sitting in a chair letting everyone else do the work.
No-one was in period kit, as Ketil had previously explained, and the site looked as much like a Dark Age settlement as 1943 Stalingrad looked like a thriving bustling centre of economic activity. Regia’s equivalent of hundreds of slaves and serfs to help with the labour is 21st-century power tools and construction vehicles. Two men were putting up steel scaffolding at the entrance and one towering individual soon approached. He looked like a Viking, a thick black beard and a glaring look straight out of the Dark Ages. I probably stepped back a couple of feet, but soon he was upon me and tore my hand from my arm in what actually transpired to be a friendly greeting, this was the son of Thorkul, the Sceaftesige group leader known by his authentic Dark Age name of Ketil.
The visit round Wychurst served its purpose of getting to know Ketil, Kim and a few others. At least it did not put me off and I returned home pretty sure that this was the group I was going to join, although a decision would wait until after my summer holiday.
Easier said than done, the postcode on the Fayre’s web-site took me to the village of Cranborne, and it was only by asking in a friendly pub that I knew how to proceed at all. The directions the pub’s patron gave me had more twists and turns than Hampton Court maze but with the aid of a hastily scribbled, yet very informative map, I soon found myself following AA signs, only now did I dare breathe easy. The signs directed me to a farm, and after a moments hesitation, I ventured further into the darkness until I found a campsite. It was now pitch black and I was still not too sure that I was in the right place. I parked the car and ventured into the darkness, focusing on one of many small campfires and approached it with caution — although not enough caution to prevent myself from walking straight into a rope which was cordoning off a part of the field. I eventually found someone and asked if he knew where Regia Anglorum were.
“Yes”, he said, “We’re here!”
Phew!
The next few hours saw me get acquainted with some of the members, including Alan, over a pint of some seriously strong cider that flowed in this corner of Dorset. After the cider, we turned in for the night, I slept in a flimsy plastic tent, which meant I was a good five minute walk from the rest of the Regia members, who had pitched in the “authentic” section with their period tents.
Between 7 and 9 the following morning, I helped Alan make cups of coffee (very important), helped Ketil erect the wyc — the epicentre for Sceaftesige activity — and got to know a few of the other members including two who were still feeling the affects of too much cider the night before.
At 9, ropes were used to demark the boundary between 21st-century Cranborne Chase and 11th-century Lamerwic, the name of this village set in the Domesday year of 1086. I was still in 21st-century garb so was ejected from Lamerwic like a piece of unwanted garbage. Alan soon prepared some clothes for me, and I was allowed momentarily to dart into his authentic tent to change.
My t-shirt, trousers and all accessories (wallet, keys, mobile phone and the like) were discarded in a corner of the tent. Instead I wore a linen tunic, some woollen trousers and leather shoes. The shoes were made by Alan himself and were comfortable enough when walking on grass, although gravel was unpleasant enough to make me think twice before attempting a journey to the port-a-loos situated in a gravel-rich car-park. On top of the linen tunic, I wore one of Ketil’s old woollen tunics, complete with blood stains from some previous altercation in which he no doubt came off the better. This was a welcome addition, as it was still rather nippy. The trousers were a size 100, and the pull-cord required a lot of adjusting before I convinced them to stop falling down. I helped the trousers by securing around my waist one of Alan’s leather belts. Finally, a yank on the woollen tunic allowed it to drape over the belt, thus mostly obscuring it, in what is currently believed to be the style of the age.
I was now a fully clad 11th-century individual, and stepped from the tent a citizen of the village of Lamerwic.
I was not yet a warrior, for the 21st-century health and safety rules meant that proof of my self control with a 9-foot spear was first required. I had never held a spear before, apart from a short Tanganyikan assegai which decorates my parent’s house, and so was completely new to everything involving fighting with mêlée weapons. Because of this, I was expecting to be a non-fighting Lamerwic serf for the whole of the weekend.
I had met Kettlewell the Elder (Paul) in the cider tent, and once he had got over his hangover, he suggested I get to know the basics with him. The first thing he went over was the target areas, unlike true Dark Age combat, the head, joints and lower legs are no-go, or no-stab, areas. This is for obvious safety reasons and to preserve Regia’s membership, which could otherwise be adversely affected. He invited me to stab his hand with the spear I was now holding, and I did so, getting his hand with the lightest of taps unless he held it by his head or some other no-stab area. Half an hour of this was enough for me to learn the basics. At 10:30 there was a training session in the central arena, both Kettlewells and many others went to entertain the public, but I was not yet ready, so Alan used this time to take me out of the way and have another session with him. An hour later, I felt more at home with the spear and Alan was convinced I wasn’t a liability on the field.
The decision was not his, however, and the Master-at-Arms, a charismatic warrior straight out of some heroic Hollywood legend said it would have to wait until to-morrow.
In the meantime, I had to watch the main battle from the sidelines with another newbee — Jess — and help with the collection of firewood from a nearby copse.
“Hit me”
I stabbed him in the stomach.
“Good”, he said, “again”
I stabbed him in the chest, then in the hip.
After a while of this he then started attacking me, we both acknowledged each other’s hits. After no more than 20 minutes, he said that was enough, and confirmed to the Master-at-Arms that I was battle-ready.
I didn’t even leave the arena, but found myself in a loose shield wall advancing towards another shield wall in a series of training sessions. Alan (or Ulf I suppose, since we’re now in character) was our army’s leader, but I couldn’t understand a word he said. Some mumble meant Advance, another incomprehensible shout meant Weapons Ready, I only knew what to do by mimicking the others.
I found myself facing a man with similar clothes as me. He too was armed only with a spear, but something told me that this was no easy kill. Two of us faced him, as he seemed distracted by the other I jabbed out, but he deflected my spear like shooing a fly. Before I had recovered, a jab from a spear, maybe his, into my guts had me fall to the floor.
The next session followed in a similar vein, and it was only in my third session that I could claim a “kill”. I’m still not sure that this was my kill, for the victim was cornered by three people, and as I jabbed into his buttocks, two other spears from two other warriors stabbed his front and he fell down a convincingly lifeless mass.
Another practice, I found myself alone and facing the backs of three warriors fighting off three more. I approached, ready to stab them in the behind, when I suddenly realised that I didn’t know whose side they were on. I hesitated, in what must have been obvious confusion, for the Master-at-Arms yelled at me, saying:
“They’re on your side!”
But I didn’t know of whom he spoke, so just hovered there until one of the sides prevailed. Luckily it was my side who won and I wasn’t then chopped to pieces.
Another time had me face, mano-a-mano, the same individual who I had faced before. He was armed only with a spear, or so I thought, for as I jabbed at him, he dropped his spear, ran behind me, grabbed me and sliced me across my chest with a sword in what must have been the most visually pleasing kill of the day.
Soon, the thegn who had okayed me changed the game to a one-on-one combat. By this time, the Master-at-Arms had joined the other team and he stepped into the arena with an obvious confidence. Someone from our team stepped in, was stabbed, and had to withdraw. This happened to about six more of our warriors, including Ulf. The Master-at-Arms as yet undefeated. I didn’t want to be last, so stepped in thinking that maybe he’d go easy on a newbie like me. I saw a grin on his face, and he adorned my shoulder with an extra bruise before I realised the combat had even begun. I retired. No-one defeated him that round.
The final training session was an interesting one. We all paired up with someone, one had the shield, and one had the weapon. I was with Ulf, and had the spear. This was the time when I had my first undisputed kill, for as Alan held the spear of our opponents, I circled round and stabbed them in the arse. I repeated this two more times before I was eventually felled. The next two rounds saw us get disposed of very promptly, first by the backstabbing Westcentingas who stabbed me in the back, and secondly by that same duo in more even combat.
The training was over, and I went back to the wyc for lunch. Soon would be the battle.
Lunch was soup, and a very nice soup too. Carole, wife of Alan and head of the wyc, had prepared the soup during the morning practice and seeing it poured into a wooden bowl I’d borrowed was a very welcome sight. Being in the year 1086, the soup was sans potatoes, but did have orange carrots which I suppose can be forgiven — I just made sure I ate them before some smartalec member of the public pointed out that carrots weren’t orange in 1086. This was a real danger, as there were many members of the public who were curious enough to ask intelligent questions. One question I was asked was why there weren’t any potatoes in my soup — too close to the carrots for comfort!
Between our wyc and the neighbouring wyc of the Hæstingas, the Sussex Regium, Paul — another Paul — spent the whole weekend lighting and putting out fires, which never failed to draw a crowd. He started by striking some high-carbon steel against a flint to get a spark. Ordinarily this microscopic sliver of steel would cool and disappear into the aether before its heat could be harnessed, but Paul held a small square of charred linen, which caught and smouldered slowly. Then he placed it in a bundle of dry grass and blew upon it until it burst into flames. All this time he answered questions from the curious public, and he was the only person to draw a crowd from amongst the 11th-century population as well.
Half an hour before the battle, we mustered behind the row of tents. Here we had our weapons
checked once more by the Master-at-Arms and were then divided quite randomly into two groups
– one would fight for the previous English king — Eadgar II “the Ætheling”, whilst the other would
fight for the incumbent King William I “the Conqueror”. Or rather, one would fight for Thegn Eadric
and the other for Duke fitzAmos in a small skirmish forming part of
Eadgar the Ætheling’s last attempt to re-claim the English throne. I was very close to the spear
point which divided the two teams, but found myself in Thegn Eadric’s shieldwall.
There are some in Regia who will never fight for a Norman, and a few of these people made themselves known by walking to the English side of the spear. I personally see no problem in fighting as a Norman, a Norseman or an Anglo-Saxon, you can’t re-create a battle with only one side after all, but deep down I was happy that my first battle saw me amongst an English shieldwall.
We took to the field before the Normans, and marched up and down to please the crowd. Some of us walked to the perimeter so the public could see our matériel, all as instructed by the Master-at-Arms, who was in the rôle of Eadric and therefore our army’s leader.
We re-formed the shieldwall in good time for fitzAmos and his retinue to approach. The Duke was riding a horse, but his retinue were infantry in a loose shieldwall like us. Thegn Eadric and the Duke stepped forward to discuss the situation: the Battle of Hastings was 20 years ago and we were berated for taking to the field. I was only 5 or so yards behind the Eadric, and held my spear in a way that hopefully the audience interpreted as a loyal warrior ready to defend his master, but I was more concerned with not startling the horse, so my actions were somewhat muted.
The parley concluded, the battle begun as fitzAmos rode back behind his shieldwall.
I had been told that the battle was comprised of three sections:
1st Mêlée:
The shieldwall advanced with the heavily armoured troops on the left flank and us lightly armoured warriors on the right. We soon found ourselves facing fitzAmos’ retinue, I thrust my spear against the white shield of the warrior facing me as my shield was also hit. This continued until Eadric instructed us to withdraw.
Us lightly armoured warriors withdrew in good order, but the heavier troops kept fighting and Eadric ran out to restore discipline and had them reform some 20 yards from the Norman line, we then withdrew a little further. The Norman Lord rode around us on his horse, but apart from that the two forces stood motionless facing one another. Eadric walked up and down the line, telling us the next mode of attack: the heavy troops would advance, with the light warriors following three seconds later.
2nd Mêlée:
I counted to three and advanced, only to find myself facing the same white shield as before. I turned momentarily to strike and a green, white and red shield to my left, and a spear got round my shield and brushed my stomach. Ordinarily that would have been a kill, and I instinctively fell back whilst yelling “argh” in recognition of the hit. I would have fallen to the ground and remained a lifeless lump for the rest of the battle had I not realised that it was still Mêlée № 2, and hits didn’t count.
We fell back again and were about to advance once more into the fray. My heart was pumping, I hadn’t had this much exercise since climbing hills in Scotland five months ago, and I felt I could do with a few minutes respite. This was provided, I am thankful to say, by the Norman Duke who rode out in front of Eadric and silently blocked our advance. Despite being on a horse, he would have been an easy kill as his shieldwall was some 30 yards behind him, but this signified another parley and I leant on my spear making the most of the rest.
Parley over (I don’t recall what was said — something about us all being hunted down like the treacherous dogs we were), the mounted Lord retreated behind his shieldwall and the battle continued.
3rd Mêlée:
This was it, this was the deadly battle. I heard Kim say something about weapons feeling heavy in the hand, but I felt okay after that small break. This time I was on the right flank, and carefully kept the line of the shield wall as I advanced. I fully expected to die, yesterday the Normans had prevailed and everyone was saying how a newbie always dies in his first few battles. Right on cue, as I faced a line of Norman shields and spear points, a spear thrust past my shield and struck me on the thumb, continuing down to just past my wrist. Again I exclaimed “urgh”, but since that isn’t the agreed target area, I continued fighting. I looked to the left of the line as we fell back against the Norman onslaught, and saw one of the Westcentingas had fallen and was lying beneath his distinctive kite shield.
Somehow I found myself one of three members pitched against a single Norman, I hadn’t even properly registered this fact before he was felled by a forest of spears. The three of us then circled round to flank the remaining Norman line, and found that only a couple remained. I advanced toward them, approaching just as the final Norman soldier was felled not two yards from the observing public. I looked around, expecting to see half the Duke’s retinue still fighting, or even a trap which would see us all cornered and stabbed in the back. But the whole Norman army was dispensed. Only fitzAmos himself remained, dismounted and locked into combat with Eadric. I marched towards the two leaders, and soon I held one of many spears which surrounded him. Eadric now gave him the chance to live, but it was not taken and he was dispatched with a sword cut across the chest.
Eadric’s retinue was all-but intact. The whole of Sceaftesige had survived. It is practically unknown for a newbie to survive his first battle but so overwhelming was our victory that my survival seemed nothing special, although I wasn’t sure what had hit me. I mentioned to Alan that I fully expected to be slain, and that I was slightly looking forward to the rest which dieing would present.
The dead had arisen and the public were in the arena examining our weapons and armour. We answered
questions and let the curious spectators handle spears and shields; a kid asked to look at Alan’s sword;
Alan duly handed it across and was rewarded by a swift jab in the guts.
Once the public had dispersed, a simple deathmatch was initiated, and I faced Alan over the rim of my shield. He closed the distance and shortened his spear accordingly, my weapon was useless and he stabbed me in the buttocks. As I fell to the ground, I heard him say:
“Enjoy your rest”
Despite this, I was hailed as a lucky charm, a newbie who survived his first ever battle. For the next few hours, “I survived” never strayed far from my lips as I made sure everyone in Lamerwic knew.
As is traditional, I started the day by getting lost, and almost found myself amongst a happening football game. I thought about opening the gate and seeing whether the path continued, but the boisterous game seemed too dangerous and I turned around. A normal Sunday football game looks far less appealing than spears and swords pointed in my direction by battle-hardened members of Sceaftesige.
I approached another building, negotiating a narrow alleyway sided by high chain-link fences and was relieved to see the black and yellow shields of Sceaftesige Garrison resting against Alan’s car. There was a newcomer, an individual who contacted Ketil at around the same time as myself, but who didn’t have the means to make it to Kent or Dorset. Once he paid the hefty one-day insurance charge, he joined us in battle practice.
Both Kettlewell the Elder and Younger were there, as was Gareth. Together with Alan, Mark (the new newbie) and myself, six people were ready for practice. There were only five shields, so while a sixth was summoned forth by Carole, and whilst Alan introduced Mark to the concepts of re-enactment fighting just as he had with me a week before, the rest of us practiced.
A week ago, my tactic was to cower behind my shield and stay with the main shieldwall. It had worked well in the battle, although a few of the training sessions had me stabbed, sliced and disposed of in other ways. Now, as Kettlewell the Elder instructed us to dispose of our shields, I found myself fighting with only my quick feet, parries and wits for protection. But to my surprise I was quite comfortable, facing three much more experienced fighters, I somehow found ways through their defences and repeatedly stabbed them in the chest, stomach, thigh and backside. I was struck too of course, Gareth gave me a very respectable bruise just above the knee, he was surprised that it was a valid hit, thinking that it was on the knee and therefore an illegal hit.
Soon the spare shield, an old and battered relic from Alan’s past, was brought forth and all six of us could fight, spear and shield in hand.
A series of three-on-three actions followed, on a couple of occasions I demonstrated my ability to survive until it was three-on-one, and then heroically died in a frenzy of lashing spearheads and cries of “Kill ‘im!”. Other fights had me die depressingly quickly, but I think I can confidently say that my ability to survive was better than my ability to kill.
I was also introduced to the “Bridge Game”, where our shields were used to demark a bridge. Two from each team stepped forth to fight on the bridge, with the third in reserve. As Mark thrust his spear into my stomach and as I fell lifeless into the torrent below (stepped backwards), I thought to myself that this is a lot of fun. I expected it to be fun, but I am surprised as quite how much fun it actually is. My regret is not finding it sooner.
We paused for a cup of tea, but apart from that continuously fought for the whole morning. My Philadelphia World Champions Baseball t-shirt was dripping in sweat, a stout bruise was developing just above my knee (thanks Gareth) and I was pathetically out-of-breath. I don’t go to the gym, it is just too boring; if I am ever to keep fit — this is the way I’ll do it.
After a nice soup, fighting was over and the Witan could begin. Witan — meaning wise man — is the name given to the annual meeting. It is called a Witan because “Witan” is a nice Anglo-Saxon word, and to compensate for the lack of wise men who take part — I think. Ketil, who had sat in silence for the last hour, started the session. He sat at the head of the table with Alan by his side. The children, who until now were playing on a computer were ejected from the room and the computer was usurped by Alan, who read out the minutes of the previous year’s Witan. It involved a lot of actions on Ketil, which resulting in him sniggering to himself behind his beard.
As Alan read out the previous minutes, a few people made comments or jokes. Ketil mentioned in passing that this Witan must be earlier than last year’s. He also mentioned that this was the first Witan in a while which was quorate, although I’m not sure why that mattered.
Once the minutes had been read, he started to speak. He started by saying “It’s been another year.”, and then confirmed that he’d completed none of his actions from last year.
Before he went on, I pointed out that if the previous Witan was later than this year, it can’t have been another year. Ketil smiled (I knew I’d just made a mistake) and then demoted to me to slave.
“But” I said “I’m already a slave!” and then instantly thought “You idiot, I could have got away with that”
Alan and Ketil then took away my clothing privileges, as I didn’t own any period clothing, this was a problem. I shut my trap. I wonder if I’ll ever make Thegn…
The reports came in from all the officers:
After the reports came the elections:
Then issues were discussed. This was my time to shine. The newly unopposed group leader looked at me and smiled in the same way as just before he revoked my clothing privileges. He reminded everyone that he’d asked me to do a new members diary. I confirmed that I’d have a go at it, but promised nothing (little did he know I’d already finished the previous three sections). He also stated that Mark could also do one — it would have been interesting to see how our experiences differed, had he joined…
The next issue was the state of the Sceaftesige web-site. Finding the Sceaftesige web-site proved particularly difficult when I searched, as previously mentioned, and it was agreed that something needed to be done. A few people, including Mark, had ideas or offered to help in some way, but everyone expertly succeeded in sidestepping the issue. Occasionally, after a suggestion or comment, Ketil would say something like “Sounds like you’re volunteering”, which was a very good way of shutting them up.
After a few minutes of this, and as the topic started to drift, I thought to myself that this is a silly situation, I have the skills to do a web-site — or at least I claimed to have — and I can probably find the time, so I took a gulp, and volunteered myself. Hopefully my clothing privileges might be restored… But it transpired that the Web-Site Officer was called Marnie, and since she wasn’t there, I’d have to make the offer to her at some later date.
Ketil had just reminded us that he is the only group leader to control two whole modern counties (Berkshire and Buckinghamshire), and this was the next point. There were seldom any battle practices in Bucks. It was agreed to have more, but where and when was left for another day, and being a resident of the Royal County, I didn’t feel I had much to offer on this topic, so kept quiet.
I had intended to make all my own clothes, but many weeks of effort resulted in only one tunic, and with Christmas out of the way, the need to get a move on with my other items became pressing. I recruited the help of a useful relative, and in good time for the feast I had 2 tunics and a pair of warm trousers. Authentic socks weren’t required, which was good, and Alan once again leant me shoes, a belt and a very nice cloak.
I arrived in good time and once I’d staked a claim to a small corner of the nearby scout hall, inflated an air bed and dumped two bags in a way which would hopefully deter anyone else from taking the spot next to me, I started to say hi to people.
I collected a few things out of my bag and showed them to Alan, the first one was a knife. A knife is useful in feasts, but I didn’t have an authentic one so rummaged through the drawer looking for a suitable alternative. Before long I had found my grandfather’s old knife — re-handled by him — and sharpened so much that it was barely half its original breadth. I had high hopes for this find in the darker depths of my kitchen drawer, but upon seeing it, Alan said something along the lines of:
“I want to say this in the nicest possible way, but you buy the most awful things”
I took that as a no.
But when it comes to buying things, I’ve had rather a lot of success. After the Witan, I had bought a spoon, a combat seax, many rolls of cloth for clothing and two shield bosses. All of them had been passed, including the seax which got Alan’s praises when I presented it to him now. Not only that, but a member of Milites de Bec — the evil Norman group — came over to ask where I bought it – that must be ringing endorsement.
I hung Holly around the hall, transported things up and generally stood about chatting to people. Before long, more people arrived and I went to get into kit. Alan produced a piece of leather from his car and fashioned a belt there and then. Together with his shoes and his cloak, my costume was complete.
Sceaftesige sat on our own table, away from the high and low tables of the honoured guests and
from the roaring heat of the fire. If anything this was good, the weather was extremely mild for early
January and the hall was very adequately warm. Next to the Sceaftesige table was that of Hwitmearum,
towards the door was Y Cantref Breiniol, and hidden in the corner away from the door, and as far from the
food as we could get away with, was the large retinue of the evil de Bec.
A few people were going from table to table photographing the individual groups. They had to be quick about it, as at six o’clock a horn was sounded — this was the start of the feast and no-one was now allowed to take photos, use phones or other modern beepy things.
Then the feast began. The only light was from the candles on the tables and the roaring fire in the middle, sparks shooting up towards the timbers and oak roof tiles. The food was brilliant, especially the Norfolk dumpling, which I hope to find again at some point. The food wasn’t traditional, mainly because no-one knows much about what they ate — the ingredients are known, but the recipes remain a mystery.
Various individuals of note decided to address the hall, from toasting the Queen, to singing 19th-century
songs, to hearing about the history of the Longhall, to harp playing, entertainment was
varied, traditional, inclusive and inspiring. One which I particularly liked was the story of taking the
Bear (one of the longships) to the Lake District and the catalogue of disasters which followed. But
instead of telling the story as he might down his local pub, he translated all of the modern terms
into historick ones which proved to be great entertainment for all. It occurred when a great Bear was travelling
south from a lake, or mere, where it was windy, some might call it Windermere. Low-loaders became Land Lizards,
punctures became injured paws and so it went on; much to everyone’s amusement.
I did feel we came as close as is feasible to a great Dark Age feast, but the modern world was never too far away. I was particularly thankful during the night, as instead of an uncomfortable straw bed, I had a technologically advanced inflatable mattress. I was slightly disappointed that my idea of placing a bag to get me more space had failed, and even more so during the night when he out-snorred everyone in the room. But in the end I slept well enough to be fully refreshed, to enjoy breakfast, spill muesli over the floor, get to know the evil members of Milites de Bec and earn a few brownie points by cleaning the scout hall.
Islip is the birthplace of King Eadweard III — Edward the Confessor — and a small mosaic above the village hall advertises the fact. It was in 2005 that Regia first came to Islip, to commemorate Eadweard’s millennium and the society has returned in force each year since for training sessions.
I woke early on Saturday 28th January, thankfully not near anyone who snored, but my inability to fully inflate the mattress had affected my back, and a slight ache informed me of such. I got straight into authentic gear, and exchanged a coin for a bacon roll with ketchup for breakfast. The previous night had seen some rain, but to my relief the ground was not as muddy or as slippery as I had feared.
Practice started at ten o’clock and the first duty was for my shield to be checked. As at Cranborne, shields and weapons must always be checked for sharp edges which may cause undesirable injury. This was the first time my own hand-crafted shield was checked, and although I was confident, it was a relief when it passed.
Mêlée commenced, and I was stabbed and died many times. The day took the form of a number
of exercises, each slightly different. Some would reduce everyone to one hit-point, whereas others
would allow the more armoured individuals to endure all three. Some would be “with honours”
which I think meant we weren’t allowed to stab anyone in the back or sneak up on them — not that
I was ever in a situation to do that of course. After each skirmish, a few of the more experienced
marshals, who were dictating terms of combat to the rest of us, would criticize or commend our
tactics and actions, before altering the teams and maybe adjusting the rules.
Although I had been introduced to the Old Ænglisc commands at Sceaftesige’s Witan, I learnt them here. They are what is thought to be the most likely Anglo-Saxon commands for the time:
There were a few others, but they were few and far between enough for me to forget what they were.
I loved this. For some reason, the part I liked the most is when we’ve Nameth’d Weapna and are Gengething Forth towards an enemy line who has already Reareth’d Weapna. Something about marching un-armed and defenceless against a line of hostile pointy sticks is so different from anything else that afflicts our 21st-century lives that for that split second — before the command Reareth Weapna made you a defensible line — you were in a completely alien situation. At some point half way through the battle, I saw a black and yellow shield of Sceaftesige on the far side of the field. My fellow group members had arrived.
The day proceeded in similar fashion. We were divided up into teams — usually by allocation of a number. Some games had but two teams, others had four or five. Games we played included:
Regia Anglorum members are all given a passport sized membership document and for every day
at a public show (such as Cranborne Chase) or a training day (such as Islip), your book would be
stamped. Stamps are used to demonstrate your experience in a certain weapon. Before Islip, I
had two stamps.
The Regia hit-system is somewhat related to stamps. Only after obtaining 6 stamps with a two-handed spear are you allowed to take your spear test. Once you’ve passed your spear test you gain your second hit-point. You are also allowed to migrate to a short-arm once the spear test is passed. The glamour of a sword mean that most migrate to short-arms as soon as they pass their spear test.
On one occasion, us two-handed spearmen were training separately from the short-arms, and it
was therefore a given that the majority of us would only have one hit-point. We then trained in
shieldwall tactics against each other for the better part of an hour. After this we then fought the
short-arms, all of whom would have two hit-points and many who might have three (the third hit-point
is dependent on the armour worn on the occasion).
We outnumbered the short-arms, but in terms of hit-points they outnumbered us by about two-to-one. Their weight of experience also shewed, and the first time we faced each other we were steam-rolled over. In theory, shieldwall fighting is easier with a spear, the advantage in reach this gave us, together with greater actual numbers, meant that defeat was not a foregone conclusion. The next clash started with a boar-snout attack — a wedge of warriors charged through our line with intent to smash it. But our trainers had planned for this, and the line opened and closed behind them, with the more experienced spearmen containing them. The boar-snout was very close to me, but passed me by and we then received the rest of the short-arms in good order. This time discipline held, and we eventually saw off the attack by weight of numbers. I survived this skirmish — a rarity for the day — and we were all commended in the way we defeated a superior foe.
Islip was not just military training, numerous craft events were held. People partook in less militaristic activities such as spoon carving, embroidery, leatherwork and arrow making. Such activities were occupying Carole, Ketil and Liz whilst Alan, the Kettlewells and I were fighting in the mud of Islip football pitch. I did manage to go and say hi to Carole and Liz, but was eager not to miss any of the combat so hardly said anything to either of them. Hannah — the formidable Viking child of Hwitmearum — also consumed a lot of my time negotiating terms on which I should push her on the park swing.
After combat was finished, I took part in a leatherwork class where we learnt the basics of sewing and decorating leather straps and seax sheaths. By the time this finished, everyone from Sceaftesige had gone home.
I was the sole representative of the garrison on Sunday, and rose early, exchanged another coin for another bacon bap and stepped out with a borrowed spear ready for the day’s fighting.
What greeted me on the steps of the village hall were three gentlemen, in football strips, one on the phone frantically trying to explain to his somewhat dubious acquaintance that there were “warriors” on the pitch and that he thought they’d “been had”. The person on the other end of this conversation only seemed convinced when one of his mates photographed me in a threatening pose and sent it to him.
The idea that these people — who I assume were the away team — arrived at the designated football ground to find a dozen or so early morning Saxon warriors cleaning spears and donning shields, was an amusing one.
Because of the football, we were relegated to the far side of the cricked green — until now the area used for the archery — and started familiar practices whilst the archery was relegated to a dark corner of the field even further away.
Training continued pretty much as the day before. Line fights ensued, I stabbed, I got stabbed, I killed, I got killed. One feisty Cornish girl managed to stab me in the groin — the look on her face as I plummeted to the ground seemed to indicate that she was hurt more than I. I wasn’t hurt, and since the groin isn’t a legal area, I could have continued fighting, but I was already collapsing to the ground by the time this thought had been properly processed and filed in the bureaucracy of my brain, so I took the hit. It is a pity that I can’t say I was hit in the groin but carried on fighting — that’d be a worthy boast.
The same wasn’t true when, on the Saturday whilst fighting in a shieldwall, an enemy’s spear ricocheted off my neighbour’s shield and struck me square in the jaw. This didn’t hurt so much as it shocked, I staggered back from the shieldwall, gave myself a once-over: no blood; no pain. With this established, I re-entered the shieldwall (the head is not a legal area so I didn’t take the hit). As is good practice, the guilty individual came up to me after the battle to apologise.
I found myself apologising on the Sunday, after my spear rode a little too high during a skirmish and I clipped someone’s helmet. He was fine, but as soon as I heard the metal on metal “clink” I stumbled backwards, paralysed with shock at the fact that I’d come so close to someone’s head. He could have dispatched me with ease, but he didn’t press home his attack and just let me stumble backwards. I was in a daze, until I was brought back into the real world by the call of “Arrows! Arrows!” I had stumbled backwards into the archery area, directly behind the targets where live, sharp arrows were being flung in my direction. That was not a good skirmish.
But apart from that I found myself improving. I was dying a lot, and perfected my death screech to the extent that it was commended by someone, and one spear-jab I took to the leg brought worried apology from someone who thought it was a cry of genuine pain.
Towards the end of training on Sunday, the novices and veterans, who had been practicing
separately for most of the day, joined up in a few final clashes. As I advanced in one clash, I found
myself facing the Master-at-Arms — Mike Everest — who had dispatched me and everyone else with so much effortless
ease during the Cranborne Chase training. To his right, perhaps of more concern, was the armour-clad baron of
the evil Milites de Bec — Clanky. This time in a shieldwall, with his attention elsewhere, I
saw Mike’s kite shield leave a gap of about a foot and with confidence and speed absent from my
earlier engagements, thrust through and stabbed him straight in the ribs.
He looked at me, and in a split second used a subtle facial expression to say “well done, but it won’t happen again”. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, which meant he only had two hit-points, one more hit and I would have single-handedly dispatched one of the most formidable fighters on the field. I tried, but failed, and it wasn’t long before Clanky’s winged spear felled me with a hard jab in my back, just shy of my spine. That hurt!
There was one more chance for glory. Throughout the weekend I had been dispatched time and again by flanking individuals who had circumnavigated the shieldwall. I now found myself in a similar position as the enemy’s shield wall was broken in two just in front of me. As one section fell back, I found myself behind the other section and gaily dispatched them one-by-one by stabbing them in the arse — three times each for good measure. When I told Alan this, he said “very good, don’t do it again” — obviously not the done thing for a pitiful little spearman.
The final challenge at the end of the day was a bridge game. As described above, the bridge was demarked by spears and shields on the grass and we fought, about four abreast, with the longest spears we could find. I still had the borrowed 9’ spear and dispatched many opponents — including the person who had leant it to me. I was dispatched myself, but before falling into the raging torrent of water below the bridge, managed to pass the long spear to a mate without fail.
We won the first engagement, and with every victory we lost a member of our group to the other side, but we went on to win every engagement without exception. It also transpired that the guy who’d lent me his spear was dispatched by his own spear on every occasion — either by me or by someone I’d handed it to as I fell to my watery grave.
Now, fully trained in the art of spearmanship, I was ready to either face the Vikings of Jórvík or face the Saxons as a Viking of Jórvík — depending on which side I’ll be allocated to in three weeks time.
The warriors and soldiers of Regia Anglorum, along with two other groups who tagged along — Crusade and Draum Broedr — stayed in a school just south of the city centre. Alan drove Garath and myself there and we arrived at about five o’clock, about 1½ hours ahead of the key to the school. Alan abandoned us there and fought through rush-hour York to his B&B.
“This looks suspiciously like a queue for the key” was one comment as more people arrived, adding to the clumps of Regia members standing outside this otherwise peaceful primary school. It could have been worse — some people were desperate for the loo!
Eventually the key arrived, and the doors were flung open. We started to transport our belongings up to the school’s first floor hall. We were allowed to park in the hall or the library, and although I had already plonked my stuff next to some scary papier-mâché heads, the idea of the library appealed and I moved in with Gareth. This proved to be a good idea, the library was quieter, more secluded and probably much more comfortable than the open expanse of the hall. We even had psudo-walls dividing it up into distinct cubicles that gave some illusion of privacy.
With beds inflated and new friends made, we headed towards the designated public house, which was a nice mile walk. Knowing my priorities, this was the only place I had a map to. We wiled away the afternoon drinking with two members of Oskorei (an unaffiliated group from Bristol) who were taking part as guests of Regia Anglorum — and who had occupied the neighbouring cubicle in the library. Occasionally, I would concentrate on someone coming through the door to see if I could match them with any Facebook profile picture on the Regia page.
Together with Cerdic and Dalla, the two aforementioned members of Oskorei, we ventured into York early on Saturday to meet Alan and to shop. We started by going to the Merchant Adventures Hall, where we browsed some stalls and met some familiar faces, including Alan. We then ventured to the St Sampson’s Square Marquee, where a more cramped collection of traders were selling their wares. I was minding my own business, browsing wares, trying not to knock anything off tables with my new cloak, buying the odd nail for my shield, contemplating investing in a sharp knife for authentic eating, when a trader spotted me and said “nice cloak”, I looked up and it was Anwar Ali — the gentleman who had sold me the material for the cloak after an extremely complex logistical operation where I skilfully avoided postage charges by sending numerous e-mails and recruiting the help of a useful sibling. It is good to know he recognises his products.
After purchasing a brooch for the cloak and a belt, I left the hall and waited for Cerdic and Dalla. Whilst waiting, I was asked by an innocent bystander where the battles were, but I did not know. It was a flaw in the planning that those Vikings that the public might encounter can’t tell the public when and where the show is going to be. I regretfully had to advise him to ask someone else.
We walked back to the school (about a mile) collected shields, spears and dropped off purchases, marched back into York and joined the rest of the re-enactors outside Yorkminster. We missed a chance to feature as some tiny background specs in a new BBC documentary series, whose producers were no doubt hoping to get some cheap shots of Saxons and Vikings.
Somehow we ended up on the Saxon side, and before long we were marching through the city of York, occasionally yelling out the traditional Regia Anglorum cry which I had first heard at Cranborne Chase:
“Vivat Rex”
“Vivat Rex”
“Vivat Rex Anglorum”
which for the non-Latin speaking amongst you means
“Long Live the King”
“Long Live the King”
“Long Live the King of the English”
and is a cry still used in our coronation ceremonies to-day (Her Majesty The Queen was hailed with the words “Vivat Regina” in 1953).
Then we were in the shadow of York Castle, where the Saxon line formed to face the Vikings of Eric Bloodaxe. The sun was shining directly in my eyes, and I was forced to pull my hood up to have any chance of seeing the Viking army when they lined up to face us. The line commanders told us that there would be two show clashes before competitive fighting began.
We did a little more yelling:
“Vivat Eadred, Rex Anglorum”
“Long Live Eadræd, King of the English”
We marched towards the enemy and made as much noise and movement as possible. I decided I’m not good at these fake clashes, they tire me out and I just find myself standing there with spear harmlessly and silently tapping the enemy’s shield. It is something I need to work on — re-enactment is a performance and the audience don’t want a line of silent motionless people poke sticks at another equally vegetative line. Luckily the Vikings facing us were better at it, and one of the Crusaders repeatedly hit my spearhead with his sword, thus making the kind of battle sound which is expected.
We backed off, only to have the Viking line descend upon us. I performed in a likewise pathetic manner until the Viking line retreated. There might have been some more yelling now, I can’t really remember, but soon we found ourselves advancing against the army of Eric Bloodaxe again, this time in competitive combat.
I fully expected to die again, and I soon found myself facing someone who fully expected to kill me. His spear constantly aimed for my slightly exposed shoulder, either missing or bouncing off the rim of my shield. The line seemed pretty quiet, I bided my time and waited for an opening for a quick spear jab. A few did occur, but I had neither the speed nor the confidence to capitalise, but then someone rotated his shield just slightly for just too long and I pounced. Thrusting in front of the Viking who was aiming for my shoulder, I managed to get my spear between the shields and square in his ribs. He fell to the ground — my first kill in a public show. His friends were soon falling at the hands of my comrades.
Their shieldwall started to fold as both flanks collapsed, we pressed on. Weight of numbers began to shew and soon I found myself flanking an individual whose shield was facing her attackers in front of her. Bringing my spear into a suitable location proved to take longer than I had planned, but I still managed to bring the tip into her stomach and felled her too.
Soon there was a field of dead, one of whom was looking around the field in the way I might if I wanted to see what was going on after being killed. I yelled “he’s moving, kill ‘im” and thrust my spear between his guts and the ground — he reacted appropriately with screams of pain and subsequent motionlessness.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but the battle which had just resulted in a glorious Saxon victory over the Viking host was a last-minute affair. The original plan was for a normal Regia training session, but so many bystanders had been attracted to the castle by the parade through the city of York that some five-hundred were now accumilating around expecting a clash. Somehow the powers that be arranged this in good time and our lines clashed in the way described above. The training sessions followed the battle.
Still in view of the public, these training sessions were not really designed for their pleasurable viewing. The first of these sessions was single combat, where I ended up facing someone with a sword each time. I didn’t stand a chance and was easily dispatched by the first. The second had the better of me too, he got me in the leg (usually a legal hit but this practice was torso hits only), and then sliced me in the jaw. I expected a final decisive blow but he stepped back and opened his shield. I didn’t know what to make of this, so I thrust at his guts and he fell in suitable fashion. After he fell, he looked up and said “I got you in the back didn’t I?” I hadn’t felt a thing! Was that defenceless pose his way of asking why hadn’t I died? Perhaps a sort of insult — “No point fighting you if you’re not going to take your hits!”. I hate people to think I’m not taking my hits — it ruins their enjoyment of the event and makes me look like a git, so this troubled me. It actually transpired that the defenceless pose was the result of his completely painless slice around the jaw, their society (the Crusaders) has a tradition of offering a free shot if they hit you in the head, as he had done by slicing my jaw.
Following this was the traditional Islip-style training session, where we are divided into two teams and I get killed. These proved exhausting, and we finished by three o’clock. Alan, Gareth and me all went to York for a cup of coffee and a rest. I procured some food before the big evening battle at the notorious York Racecourse.
Busses ferried us to the racecourse, where we were welcomed by officials who told us to wait out in the wind and cold of the field. Eventually they found some communal showers for us to wait in (someone described it as an Auschwitz moment — entering a room with shower heads with a horde of other people), but there weren’t any seats here either so it was little better.
Eventually we went out and prepared for battle. Both sides were given a team talk which outlined the chronology of the battle.
The Vikings would march on and line up at the top of the hill
The Saxons would then march on and prepare to charge up the hill
The negotiations would be fruitless
The Saxons will charge up the hill
The Vikings would beat them back
The Vikings would charge down the hill
The Saxons would beat them back
Eric Bloodaxe will fight four champions and defeat them all
The Saxons would look depressed
The Vikings left flank would charge the Saxon right flank
The ensuing mêlée would rotate the line of battle
The competitive combat would begin
The Saxons will win the battle
Eric Bloodaxe is betrayed and killed by his bodyguard
It was dark and windy. I marched on with the rest of the Saxon army and faced the Vikings at the top of the hill. We were yelling out “Death to the Vikinga”, which I make sound quite pirate-like “Death to the Viking arrrr” and other slogans already described “Vivat Eadred, Rex Anglorum”.
The Viking army looked formidable on the top of the hill with their huge banner fluttering in the wind. To face it, at the top of the hill, with a line of Vikings either side silhouetted against the dark floodlit sky was an exhilarating feeling. Even the comment from someone that they could smell the petrol from the longship ready to go up in flames post-battle failed to ruin the atmosphere — because the atmosphere wasn’t being immersed in history, it was being on a cold field facing your enemy across an expanse of grass, the smell of petrol, the bright floodlights, the crowds of onlookers couldn’t take that away; the comments about petrol and similar friendly banter between me and my comrade-in-arms only added to it.
We charged up the hill.
The battle proceeded exactly as outlined, nothing eventful happened. I was mournful at the defeat of the four Saxon champions, but how clear that was to the public is hard to know. Once again I enjoyed it more once competitive combat started, the instruction that the Saxons will win gave me confidence, but didn’t affect my fighting much.
The line split and I was left with a choice as to whether I should join the mêlée in the centre, or deal with a lone Viking flanking us. He was fighting two Saxons and defending himself admirably, I advanced and stabbed him in the chest. The two Saxons already fighting him disappeared, whether they thought the Viking was dead, were themselves killed, or ran off I can’t remember. But the Viking wasn’t dead and he lashed out with his sword against my shield. I had already stabbed him twice and this time my spear remained stuck in his chest, he continued to lash out in a futile gesture. The fact that my spear was quite securely entering his heart was of little reassurance, I have not got a good track record of fighting one-on-one with swordsmen. But he eventually collapsed, and I wasn’t risking anything. I stabbed him in the chest again, and again, twisting the spear this time before leaving his twitching corpse and advancing towards the now all-but defeated Viking army.
Around me were dead bodies, there was nothing else to do. Unbeknown to me, Alan had been mortally wounded and Gareth was looking after him, but as he died, the Saxons were victorious. At some point Eric Bloodaxe was killed by his mate, and we were told to loot the dead. During the looting, a wounded Viking lashed out at a startled Saxon, who stumbled back with the knife wound. I used the advanced reach of my spear to dispatch him. My first thrust was parried away, but the second struck him in the chest and I pressed it home, more forceful than with the resilient Viking earlier, twisting it to make sure no life remained within him. He yelled in pain before remaining motionless.
The dead rose, I returned my looted sword to its owner and we ended with the traditional Regia charge towards the crowd. Somehow, I was miles from the crowd line, so instead of the normal stepping forward, I charged direct towards one woman with a camera, stopping at the line where the rest of the army was. I didn’t expect the round of applause which now erupted from the whole crowd, muffled slightly by winter gloves and muted by others’ cold hands, but I got the impression that they thoroughly enjoyed the show. As we exited the field, the crowd witnessed the finale — the impressive consumption by fire of the Viking longship and subsequent fireworks display.
We returned our weapons to the school and went to the pub again for a meal and a drink. I was absolutely knackered, I hardly had the energy to eat my meal. Despite the cold wind, no-where to sit before the battle and poor organisation, I thoroughly enjoyed the show. Dispite aching feet, pulled muscles and barely having the energy to eat a home-made steak pie, I’d do it again.
When we set up the local branch of Regia Anglorum we wanted to tie it to a local settlement rather than just a county title. At the time we were practising in the paddock of an 8th century church in Cookham, but rather than take it from the town we used the island fort of Sceaftesige.
This article sets out not only to describe what the group knows about the original Sceaftesege Garrison, but also how the information was found out. Hopefully this will provide ideas to others who are looking for information on local historical sites. (It will also confirm with referees of the Cthulhu game why the library use roll takes so long and what it means!)
Our total knowledge of Sceaftesige at the time of setting up the group was a single entry in "Britain Before the Norman Conquest" by the Office of Ordinance survey. This was:
Sceaftesege SH903858
First port of call was the local library, checking the local history books there and then using the library computer to search for references in any of the counties books. This drew a blank. Next stage was to follow up the reference in the Ordinance Survey: Unidentified Forts of the Burghal Hildage, Medieval Archaeology 1964 Vol VIII (pp74-90). Back copies of this journal where not available at local or county libraries, nor did any of the local 'antique' book shops in Windsor Eton stock it. Most archaeologists I knew did not go back that far.
Eventually I found that the British Library holds copies of all major (and not so major) journals published in Britain. They do not loan out these journals, you have to request to study them on site. However if you can quote journal reference and page numbers they will photostat and send you extracts for a small fee. This paper gave me a date the site was believed to exist from and some information why it may have been built.
Next stage was to try and establish how long the fort was around for. I started by checking the Domesday references for Berkshire & Buckinghamshire (old maps show Cookham or Cockham to be part of the hundred of Beynhurst). This showed no reference to the fort, so it probably did not exist by 1086. The Domesday entry reads:
Next step was to try another resource that had come to light while checking out the local college library, the Berkshire CC Heritage Group. Berkshire County Council has a Heritage Group under the responsibility of the Highways and Planning Dept. Part of their role is to see what you could be burying when you seek planning permission. The Historic Structures Records database and the Sites and Monuments Record are available by prior arrangement. Mr David Hopkins of this dept was most responsive to my letters, providing the results from a database search and other information they knew of. They viewed Sceaftesege as a temporary fort set up to guard the Thames, Cookham becoming the main development for the area. A lot of the evidence for the site was covered in silt when the Thames Conservancy board dug a new lock in 1830. The victorian view of conservation obviously differed to ours. The database search provided the following information:
It was at this time Martin Trepte a member of ours working for the Maidenhead Advertiser, came into contact with Luke Over, a local historian of note. Luke was making a video of Cookham and its history and was keen to have us as living demonstration of the past. We also lead off a sponsored walk from Sceaftesege island in full kit (okay we ditched shields & spears after two miles but the rest of the ten miles was done in kit, some members wearing mail).
Luke was able to pass on much information about the surrounding the area including the digging of the lock covering visible evidence of earth works and finds of spear heads and also a hammer head. Some of these were with Reading Museum, others were with the British Museum. Later there was an excavation of Sashes island but we couldn't wangle a way into it. A lot of this information was then published in Lukes books "The Royal Hundred of Cookham" and "The Royal County of Berkshire". In some ways this was useful and some ways disappointing as it included most of what had taken us time to find over the years, yet it added a lot more to our knowledge.
So what was found out of all this digging?
The work below is mostly taken from existing sources with some suppositions of my own. Sceaftesiege is very much linked to Cookham and its history and there is a wealth of information and finds concerning this town and the area. The details below are a summary and I hope to expand on them with time.
The name Sceaftesige (shaftsey) or Sceaftesege is thought to derive from "Sceaftes", a personal name and "ege", a common name ending for small islands on the Thames, also for nearby water meadows. The current name for the area is Sashes Island, through the years there has been many variations on the spelling and form.
There have been buildings found preserved in peat from the Maidenhead area dating back to around AD620. The local place names of Cookham, Waltham, Bisham, Hurley, Taplow and Holyport are all Saxon in origin. At this point the Thames was a barrier between Mercia and Wessex, so Cookham was very much a frontier town. That the site was important is shown by the evidence of a monastery being passed between the King and the Archbishop of Canterbury throughout the 700s; sometimes passed on, sometimes bequeathed and sometimes stolen!
Æthelred II (the Unready) held a Witan at Cookham in 997. The palace used for this witan is thought to be under the paddock next to the old church (a former Sceaftesige practice site). The information on this Witan comes from a will whose adjudication was part of the Witan. Attending the Witan were 1 arch bishop, 3 bishops, 2 aldermen, 3 abbots and numerous lords from West Saxons, Mercians, Danes and English. As such there is plenty of evidence for Sceafesege portraying a mixture of backgrounds in the group. A number of burial mounds of individual people have been found in the area as well as the famous burial site of Tæppa in Taplow Court.
Sceaftesige came about in the late 800s, how long it remained for is unknown. It is first mentioned in the Burghal hildage documents of 914-8 so it must have been built by this point. If the Witan of 997 stayed at Cookham it was unlikely to be chosen in preference to a nearby fort, so Cookham had superseded Sceaftesige by this point. It was the only island fort of the Burghal hildage covering a roman road and the Thames. Not many years before its creation, the vikings had rowed up the Thames, past Sceaftesige and on to Reading, holding it from AD870 to 871.
I've not been able to find a translation of the Burghal Hildage document, but sources say the fort had a palisade of 1,375 yards, enough to cover half of the 54 acres of the current island. As it was protected by water on most sides it already had good natural defences. I've frequently seen figures of one man per ten feet of wall used for defences which would make the garrison around 400 strong. This was a large army for the time so it was probably a lot smaller than this with many being vilagers called to the walls as needed. Cookham from Domesday was 20 hydes, about 2,400 acres.
The earliest owner I've found is the Shire Reeve (Scirefas) Ælpheah, who passed on his lands to the king between 965 and 975. From here it was a royal manor held. The Domesday book states the area was owned held by the King still.
As a lot the information was in single lines here and there over the years, I'm missing a lot of the sources used. To those people who's work I've missed, apologies and thanks. Listed here are the principle texts used.
-Dave Telford
- Cædmon's Song
- New Member's Diary 2011-2012
- New Member's Diary 1998-1999
- Old Wychurst Diary
- Dark-age Dogs
- Anglo-Saxon Medicine
- The Real Sceaftesige
CÆDMON'S HYMN
Wulfwaru, scribe and storyteller, has recited a West Saxon rendition of the only surviving work of Cædmon — the earliest known English poet:
Nu ƿe sculon heriᵹean heofonrices ƿeard,
meotodes meahte ond his modᵹeþanc,
ƿeorc ƿuldorfæder, sƿa he ƿundra ᵹehƿæs,
ece drihten, or onstealde.
He ærest sceop eorðan bearnum
heofon to hrofe, haliᵹ scyppend;
þa middanᵹeard moncynnes ƿeard,
ece drihten, æfter teode,
firum foldan, frea ælmihtiᵹ.
meotodes meahte ond his modᵹeþanc,
ƿeorc ƿuldorfæder, sƿa he ƿundra ᵹehƿæs,
ece drihten, or onstealde.
He ærest sceop eorðan bearnum
heofon to hrofe, haliᵹ scyppend;
þa middanᵹeard moncynnes ƿeard,
ece drihten, æfter teode,
firum foldan, frea ælmihtiᵹ.
CÆDMON'S HYMN
Wulfwaru, scribe and storyteller, has recited a West Saxon rendition of the only surviving work of Cædmon — the earliest known English poet:
Now we must praise the Protector of the heavenly kingdom,
the might of the Measurer and His mind's purpose,
the work of the Father of Glory, as He for each of the wonders,
the eternal Lord, established a beginning.
He shaped first for the sons of the Earth
heaven as a roof, the Holy Maker;
then the Middle-World, mankind's Guardian,
the eternal Lord, made afterwards,
solid ground for men, the almighty Lord.
the might of the Measurer and His mind's purpose,
the work of the Father of Glory, as He for each of the wonders,
the eternal Lord, established a beginning.
He shaped first for the sons of the Earth
heaven as a roof, the Holy Maker;
then the Middle-World, mankind's Guardian,
the eternal Lord, made afterwards,
solid ground for men, the almighty Lord.
CÆDMON'S HYMN
Wulfwaru, scribe and storyteller, has recited a West Saxon rendition of the only surviving work of Cædmon — the earliest known English poet:CÆDMON'S HYMN
Wulfwaru, scribe and storyteller, has recited a West Saxon rendition of the only surviving work of Cædmon — the earliest known English poet:The transcript below is from the early 10th-century "Tanner Bede", currently held at the Bodleian Library in Oxford (the hymn starting half way through the first line). It is from this manuscript that most West-Saxon recensions of Cædmon's Song originate, although it is by no means the only source.
This is not the earliest of transcripts for Cædmon's Song. The earliest source is either the one found in the 7th-century "Moore Bede", currently at Cambridge University Library, or the similar transcript in the "St Petersburg Bede" (or the "Leningrad Bede") in the National Library of Russia. Both of these, however, are Northumbrian versions of the hymn.
The very last page of the Moore Bede contains a copy of the hymn on the first three lines.
The St Petersburg Bede is written in two columns, but the Ænglisc version of the hymn spans both columns at the bottom of the page. The same page also has a Latin translation of the hymn.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 1998-1999
A word from the Group Leader
When Alan first applied to join, back in August'98, it occurred to me that it would be useful as a recruiting tool to record the impressions
of a raw recruit as they joined and progressed within the group.When it became obvious that Alan was indeed going to join up, I asked him if he would write a diary of his impressions and expectations. What follows on the linked pages are his entries.
My intention was and still is to edit these as little as possible — I'm interested in real views, not a sanitized version for public consumption. However, when Alan sent me 'In The Beginning...' he sent it as a MS-Word8 document which I could not handle. Fortunately, I have a text editor which allows me to display files in their raw format — so I had the complete history of all the edits Alan had made; all I had to do was re-construct it into a document. 'In The Beginning...' is the document re-constructed by me and approved by Alan (no coercion involved).
The second installment, titled by me as 'Acquiring some status...', arrived in rtf format and just required converting to html — with a few minor tweaks for grammar. As with 'In The Beginning...' I've added the odd comment here and there. These are all enclosed in square brackets [ ].
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 1998-1999
At Kevin's request I have taken up an ongoing "Diary" which will, I hope, show what goes through the mind of a newcomer to the world of Regia Anglorum.
First, however, a brief word about myself. My name's Alan Tidy. I'm thirty, a Civil Servant for all of my working life and am happily married. I heard
about Regia on the internet. What prompted me to join up is a complicated business, but I'll do the best I can to explain. I'm no too sure of the reasons
myself, so pardon me if I'm a bit hazy.
I come from a history of role playing - table-top mainly - but recently have crossed over into re-enactment territory, and with a friend have co-written and run two "LARP Freeforms". These events could be best described as an occasion where a number of persons (generally in costume) are each given a "Character" to become. They then act as these persona would within a predefined (but unknown to them) story. The last one I helped write 'most of' was for forty players and consisted over fifty thousand words of Characterisations. It goes without saying that with this amount of effort required we only run one a year! Anyhow, these freeforms were based around the Arthurian mythos. That is, set in the fifth century (when the 'real' Arthur was supposed to exist) and 'based on Geoffrey of Monmouth's texts as well as other reference works.
My interest in the Anglo-Saxon period evolved from the desire to increase the freeform's sense of authenticity, I decided to acquire a better grasp on the "real world aspects" and history of the era. I then began to research into the Dark Ages era (AD 400 to AD 500's approx.). I wasn't surprised to find that most of the info was vague and based on a multitude of hypothesise with regard to people and events - so I turned to a better known age, that of pre Norman conquest - I felt that I could extrapolate the information in a backwards sense and get what information I needed that way.
However, not all my motivation to join Regia Anglorum, is based on research for a game. Participating in the combat side, does hold some animal fascination for me. It also provides me with a useful hobby that I can develop. Reading up on history, was never my forte before, but I have quite happily accumulated a couple of heavy weight history books, both of which I am wading through, so I can get the background. I refuse to limit my research to one hundred years before the Battle of Hastings. That seems too narrow minded. In my humble opinion and this might seem bold coming from an outsider, you must have some knowledge of the background to any topic you are to research to have any conviction to your teaching. But I may be proven wrong.
The research also, of course provides you with a talking point with strangers when coming into any circle of friends.
But enough about ' Why' , I suppose everyone has their own personal reasons for joining the society, and in the end, I doubt as though it makes much difference, it seems to be a social group with a common interests, and as such, its sole purpose is to 'have fun'.
Over the following months my interest grew. The freeform came and went, and I finally went along to the History in Action event ran by English Heritage at Kirby Hall. During that time a friend of mine had joined a medieval reenactment group, and it sounded an enjoyable (but potentially expensive) pastime. However my interest lay in earlier times. Anglo-Saxon to be precise.
So I went. I saw. And I liked. I was given a leaflet by a Regia representative, and a few internet "surfs" later I got into contact with Kevin Cowley, the leader [Thegn (pronounced 'Thane')] of my "local" group of Regia members [Sceaftesige (pronounced 'shafts-see') Garrison]. Before long, myself and my wife went around his house for a preliminary chat. I had already decided to join, but it always pays to see the people who you're going to socialise with. They maybe a bunch of weirdoes and loons, smokin' dope, etc. etc. Well, they were perfectly normal, friendly and very approachable. Quite a relief! We talked about what gear I' d need to get and how much it' d cost (it ain't cheap) and what I could expect during one of the events. I expressed my desire to know more and was cordially invited to the next weapons practise 'held locally' and went along dressed in thick, old clothing; well prepared for a rough and dirty time.
My first battle practise was good fun. There were five members there, and for the next three or so hours I was led through the basics of using a spear. Regia operate an 'advancement' scheme, which effectively means that the more you put into the pasttime, the more you get out of it.
Practically, this has two aspects
As an addendum, I went to Kevin' s house earlier this week, and finally paid my dues to make me a full member of the society. I received a thick book of reference material 'produced by Regia', which was unexpected but welcome.
All I have to do now is make my shield, get a shaft for my spear, and persuade my wife -who will become a member when she' s given birth to our first child next year- to make my clothing for me, and think of a 'character' name. Then it' s all systems go.
With my shield and spear grasped, total immersion into 10th Century Anglo-Saxon England begins.
Alan Tidy - The latest Saxon to be living in Blackwater, Camberley
I come from a history of role playing - table-top mainly - but recently have crossed over into re-enactment territory, and with a friend have co-written and run two "LARP Freeforms". These events could be best described as an occasion where a number of persons (generally in costume) are each given a "Character" to become. They then act as these persona would within a predefined (but unknown to them) story. The last one I helped write 'most of' was for forty players and consisted over fifty thousand words of Characterisations. It goes without saying that with this amount of effort required we only run one a year! Anyhow, these freeforms were based around the Arthurian mythos. That is, set in the fifth century (when the 'real' Arthur was supposed to exist) and 'based on Geoffrey of Monmouth's texts as well as other reference works.
My interest in the Anglo-Saxon period evolved from the desire to increase the freeform's sense of authenticity, I decided to acquire a better grasp on the "real world aspects" and history of the era. I then began to research into the Dark Ages era (AD 400 to AD 500's approx.). I wasn't surprised to find that most of the info was vague and based on a multitude of hypothesise with regard to people and events - so I turned to a better known age, that of pre Norman conquest - I felt that I could extrapolate the information in a backwards sense and get what information I needed that way.
However, not all my motivation to join Regia Anglorum, is based on research for a game. Participating in the combat side, does hold some animal fascination for me. It also provides me with a useful hobby that I can develop. Reading up on history, was never my forte before, but I have quite happily accumulated a couple of heavy weight history books, both of which I am wading through, so I can get the background. I refuse to limit my research to one hundred years before the Battle of Hastings. That seems too narrow minded. In my humble opinion and this might seem bold coming from an outsider, you must have some knowledge of the background to any topic you are to research to have any conviction to your teaching. But I may be proven wrong.
The research also, of course provides you with a talking point with strangers when coming into any circle of friends.
But enough about ' Why' , I suppose everyone has their own personal reasons for joining the society, and in the end, I doubt as though it makes much difference, it seems to be a social group with a common interests, and as such, its sole purpose is to 'have fun'.
Over the following months my interest grew. The freeform came and went, and I finally went along to the History in Action event ran by English Heritage at Kirby Hall. During that time a friend of mine had joined a medieval reenactment group, and it sounded an enjoyable (but potentially expensive) pastime. However my interest lay in earlier times. Anglo-Saxon to be precise.
So I went. I saw. And I liked. I was given a leaflet by a Regia representative, and a few internet "surfs" later I got into contact with Kevin Cowley, the leader [Thegn (pronounced 'Thane')] of my "local" group of Regia members [Sceaftesige (pronounced 'shafts-see') Garrison]. Before long, myself and my wife went around his house for a preliminary chat. I had already decided to join, but it always pays to see the people who you're going to socialise with. They maybe a bunch of weirdoes and loons, smokin' dope, etc. etc. Well, they were perfectly normal, friendly and very approachable. Quite a relief! We talked about what gear I' d need to get and how much it' d cost (it ain't cheap) and what I could expect during one of the events. I expressed my desire to know more and was cordially invited to the next weapons practise 'held locally' and went along dressed in thick, old clothing; well prepared for a rough and dirty time.
My first battle practise was good fun. There were five members there, and for the next three or so hours I was led through the basics of using a spear. Regia operate an 'advancement' scheme, which effectively means that the more you put into the pasttime, the more you get out of it.
Practically, this has two aspects
- Regular practise means that you are allowed to use other 'more glamorous and more dangerous' weapons -like axes or swords- during 'National' events. You effectively have to prove your competence with a weapon before you move onto weapons which require more skill.A sound idea in my opinion, though I felt a bit hard done-by at the time, about not being taught to use a sword. However I had no problems using the spear, and had a great time using it against the more experienced members. Apparently I'm not too bad. At least I'm not dangerous with it, which is quite reassuring.
- The more research/devotion put into costume and generally learning as much as you can, seems the surefire way of progressing up a hierarchical system of promotion within the society. You aren't going to become a "commander" if you do not dress like one.
As an addendum, I went to Kevin' s house earlier this week, and finally paid my dues to make me a full member of the society. I received a thick book of reference material 'produced by Regia', which was unexpected but welcome.
All I have to do now is make my shield, get a shaft for my spear, and persuade my wife -who will become a member when she' s given birth to our first child next year- to make my clothing for me, and think of a 'character' name. Then it' s all systems go.
With my shield and spear grasped, total immersion into 10th Century Anglo-Saxon England begins.
Alan Tidy - The latest Saxon to be living in Blackwater, Camberley
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 1998-1999
The battle practices are continuing on a monthly basis, with varying attendance - cold weather and rain influences the motivation of even the hardiest
warriors. But, aside from missing one through being on holiday, I have been a regular attendee. I intend to be the best as I possibly can with the shield
and spear. Its gives your morale a boost when your leader comments that you are "too good for a new member". I don't know whether he thinks I have had more
experience than I have claimed, but it is reassuring to know I ain't all that bad.
Supplying my own kit is now high on my priority list. I have made my own shield and spear, spilling no small amount of blood in the process. Some might say it would bring good luck in battle! My wife simply shrugs.
Having decided to make them from scratch I had to interrogate Kevin as to the manufacturing method. There are no plans available currently for new members, but I had the forethought to make notes from our conversations. I may suggest to Kevin that such plans are published on the web [Suggestion noted; I like a volunteer :-) ]. The spear was fairly easy to construct, merely tapering the end of the nine foot ash spear to fit tightly into the spearhead, and drilling a 4mm hole through them both, pushing a sturdy nail through it sawing off the pointed end and bashing it to give it the appearance of a rivet.
"Rivets" seem to be the basis of most of the construction techniques for all the weaponry, seeing that screws and bolts as they are today weren't used. Unfortunately rivets are rather difficult to come by, at least those of appropriate size and strength, so sawn off coach bolts make do.
The shield was slightly more complicated, involving a couple of large 'Dog Chews'(rawhide) softened in hot water for a couple of hours and nailed onto its circular rim with 9mm carpet tacks. When dried, they offer excellent protection for the 12mm plywood rim. Someone recently suggested that you could sew the dog chews together and stretch it over the rim like a bicycle tyre. I may give that a go next time. I may still toy with other methods later on.
Without going into too much detail, the trickiest bit in making the shield was riveting (customised coach bolts, that is) the shield boss (metal bowl in centre of shield) onto the shield itself. A good metal drill is worth investing in, one with a variable speed, as I melted one by drilling at too high a speed. I may search hardware stores for alternatives. Although it was suggested to beat the bolt end down to form a rivet - like appearance, I lacked an anvil, so I made do with grinding them down instead. Looks the same.
The tunics and trousers are the next on the (my wife's) agenda. We visited the Blackbird Leys(Near Cowley, Oxford) Re-enactors market in October and bought wool and linen of suitably authentic (loose) weave and colour (non-intense, natural colours), some tablet weave and a strap-end and buckle for my belt. When they're done, I'll be fully kitted out, and I'll feel more like a full time member.
My next purchase'll be a helmet, as I've already witnessed one eyebrow gashing during a practise, so it sounds a worthwhile investment, let alone a cool accessory. [A rare occurrence, but with all contact sports the risk of injury is ever present. In perspective in nine years of re-enactment I've had two injuries requiring a visit to casualty and innumerable bruises. In the nine years I've attended close on 30 National Events (2 days per event), 20 Local Events (1 Day events), 20 school shows (3 hours per time), and 70 battle practices.]
One advancement I have witnessed before a battle practise - to try and avoid injury - is a warming up session. At the moment this only involves running up and down a hill! Though most of us are out of shape and provides little in the way of improving our fitness, it makes you aware of your body (I don't know how else to put it!) and improves co-ordination when you actually start training. This came about by several persons turning up "cold" after a longish period away and promptly falling over their own feet. Though bloody funny (once it was aware it wasn't serious) it did drive home the importance of warming up. [Whilst actually not totally correct we have had a tendency to skip the warmup if there are only a few of us in attendance.]
The lesson to be learnt from these and other incidents is that you can not expect to turn up for practise after six months and then expect to perform at your normal level!
At the last practise of 1998, I was actually given the chance to try my hand at fighting with a Langseax, (a long knife). It was, admittedly, quite nerve-wracking as I was expected to go for the areas which I had been deliberately avoiding before, namely the upper shoulders. Still it was quite an experience to fight close up for a change. Hurts the knuckles though, as a Langseax doesn't have a guard. Thick gloves are therefore a must have.
Anyhow, that's all I have to say for this instalment.
See you all soon.
Supplying my own kit is now high on my priority list. I have made my own shield and spear, spilling no small amount of blood in the process. Some might say it would bring good luck in battle! My wife simply shrugs.
Having decided to make them from scratch I had to interrogate Kevin as to the manufacturing method. There are no plans available currently for new members, but I had the forethought to make notes from our conversations. I may suggest to Kevin that such plans are published on the web [Suggestion noted; I like a volunteer :-) ]. The spear was fairly easy to construct, merely tapering the end of the nine foot ash spear to fit tightly into the spearhead, and drilling a 4mm hole through them both, pushing a sturdy nail through it sawing off the pointed end and bashing it to give it the appearance of a rivet.
"Rivets" seem to be the basis of most of the construction techniques for all the weaponry, seeing that screws and bolts as they are today weren't used. Unfortunately rivets are rather difficult to come by, at least those of appropriate size and strength, so sawn off coach bolts make do.
The shield was slightly more complicated, involving a couple of large 'Dog Chews'(rawhide) softened in hot water for a couple of hours and nailed onto its circular rim with 9mm carpet tacks. When dried, they offer excellent protection for the 12mm plywood rim. Someone recently suggested that you could sew the dog chews together and stretch it over the rim like a bicycle tyre. I may give that a go next time. I may still toy with other methods later on.
Without going into too much detail, the trickiest bit in making the shield was riveting (customised coach bolts, that is) the shield boss (metal bowl in centre of shield) onto the shield itself. A good metal drill is worth investing in, one with a variable speed, as I melted one by drilling at too high a speed. I may search hardware stores for alternatives. Although it was suggested to beat the bolt end down to form a rivet - like appearance, I lacked an anvil, so I made do with grinding them down instead. Looks the same.
The tunics and trousers are the next on the (my wife's) agenda. We visited the Blackbird Leys(Near Cowley, Oxford) Re-enactors market in October and bought wool and linen of suitably authentic (loose) weave and colour (non-intense, natural colours), some tablet weave and a strap-end and buckle for my belt. When they're done, I'll be fully kitted out, and I'll feel more like a full time member.
My next purchase'll be a helmet, as I've already witnessed one eyebrow gashing during a practise, so it sounds a worthwhile investment, let alone a cool accessory. [A rare occurrence, but with all contact sports the risk of injury is ever present. In perspective in nine years of re-enactment I've had two injuries requiring a visit to casualty and innumerable bruises. In the nine years I've attended close on 30 National Events (2 days per event), 20 Local Events (1 Day events), 20 school shows (3 hours per time), and 70 battle practices.]
One advancement I have witnessed before a battle practise - to try and avoid injury - is a warming up session. At the moment this only involves running up and down a hill! Though most of us are out of shape and provides little in the way of improving our fitness, it makes you aware of your body (I don't know how else to put it!) and improves co-ordination when you actually start training. This came about by several persons turning up "cold" after a longish period away and promptly falling over their own feet. Though bloody funny (once it was aware it wasn't serious) it did drive home the importance of warming up. [Whilst actually not totally correct we have had a tendency to skip the warmup if there are only a few of us in attendance.]
The lesson to be learnt from these and other incidents is that you can not expect to turn up for practise after six months and then expect to perform at your normal level!
At the last practise of 1998, I was actually given the chance to try my hand at fighting with a Langseax, (a long knife). It was, admittedly, quite nerve-wracking as I was expected to go for the areas which I had been deliberately avoiding before, namely the upper shoulders. Still it was quite an experience to fight close up for a change. Hurts the knuckles though, as a Langseax doesn't have a guard. Thick gloves are therefore a must have.
Anyhow, that's all I have to say for this instalment.
See you all soon.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 1998-1999
Preparation: The long march of Winter and the close season progresses. But there's always training, and that new item of kit...
Training:
Well, things have moved on apace since writing my last entry. Training has continued on a regular basis at The Lookout. Attendance has been sporadic due to inclement weather and a marriage, but there have been a couple of good bashes. Things will quieten down in the summer as the vast number of events will make training sessions redundant. But also there's often a training session at every major show and even a "National Training weekend" at Shrewsbury (which I attended - but more on that later).
Shopping:
Winter seems to be a time for sanding spears, scraping layers of mud and paint off shields, making clothes and more importantly, buying stuff. At the time of writing this entry, there are two re-enactment fayres held at Blackbird Leys Leisure centre in Cowley (near Oxford) in the March and November of each year. They are good times to buy, not because they are any cheaper (they aren't) but because you are able to meet up with your mates and shop at leisure without worrying about rushing back to the living history encampment.
There is a myth that the good stuff is held back until these occasions, but I'm not too sure of that!
If you cannot make it to Blackbird Leys, then go to a major show (such as Kirby Hall, or Hastings) and you'll find most of the same people there - they're like camp followers, of a sort.
Since my last shopping expedition, Carole, my wife kindly manufactured for me a woollen over-tunic, a pair of trousers and a linen undertunic. At £5 a Metre, it wasn't too expensive - though the favours I now owe my wife may take quite a while to repay.
My purchase this time was merely intended to be some wool for a cloak and a Scramsaex. I ended up spending much more.
Yes, I found the wool for my cloak and I did get my Scramsaex, but I also found a bone spoon, a leather pouch to carry it in (as well as my valuables), a silver cross (my Regia character is a good Christian, even if I ain't!) and a rather good book about Anglo-Saxon weapons and combat (by Richard Underwood) Oh, and a sword (an impulse buy). I mean, I haven't even passed my spear test. But I wanted one to at least practise with, and with my wife heavily pregnant, I might not have the money to spare/waste in the future!
At a later date I also bought another, somewhat more vital piece of kit, for "eventing". A tent.
As it will be some time before little Owen is hardy enough to survive a night in a tent (let alone drag Carole out in one) a two-berth tent was the order of the day. Throw in one portable gas stove, a kettle and saucepan, and apart from something to sleep in (which I already had) and food, that's all you need to survive. Time will tell if I missed out something important.
There is always the option of sharing, but sometimes you just can't wait for other, sleepier fellows to wake up before you have your early morning cuppa.
Well, things have moved on apace since writing my last entry. Training has continued on a regular basis at The Lookout. Attendance has been sporadic due to inclement weather and a marriage, but there have been a couple of good bashes. Things will quieten down in the summer as the vast number of events will make training sessions redundant. But also there's often a training session at every major show and even a "National Training weekend" at Shrewsbury (which I attended - but more on that later).
Shopping:
Winter seems to be a time for sanding spears, scraping layers of mud and paint off shields, making clothes and more importantly, buying stuff. At the time of writing this entry, there are two re-enactment fayres held at Blackbird Leys Leisure centre in Cowley (near Oxford) in the March and November of each year. They are good times to buy, not because they are any cheaper (they aren't) but because you are able to meet up with your mates and shop at leisure without worrying about rushing back to the living history encampment.
There is a myth that the good stuff is held back until these occasions, but I'm not too sure of that!
If you cannot make it to Blackbird Leys, then go to a major show (such as Kirby Hall, or Hastings) and you'll find most of the same people there - they're like camp followers, of a sort.
Since my last shopping expedition, Carole, my wife kindly manufactured for me a woollen over-tunic, a pair of trousers and a linen undertunic. At £5 a Metre, it wasn't too expensive - though the favours I now owe my wife may take quite a while to repay.
My purchase this time was merely intended to be some wool for a cloak and a Scramsaex. I ended up spending much more.
Yes, I found the wool for my cloak and I did get my Scramsaex, but I also found a bone spoon, a leather pouch to carry it in (as well as my valuables), a silver cross (my Regia character is a good Christian, even if I ain't!) and a rather good book about Anglo-Saxon weapons and combat (by Richard Underwood) Oh, and a sword (an impulse buy). I mean, I haven't even passed my spear test. But I wanted one to at least practise with, and with my wife heavily pregnant, I might not have the money to spare/waste in the future!
At a later date I also bought another, somewhat more vital piece of kit, for "eventing". A tent.
As it will be some time before little Owen is hardy enough to survive a night in a tent (let alone drag Carole out in one) a two-berth tent was the order of the day. Throw in one portable gas stove, a kettle and saucepan, and apart from something to sleep in (which I already had) and food, that's all you need to survive. Time will tell if I missed out something important.
There is always the option of sharing, but sometimes you just can't wait for other, sleepier fellows to wake up before you have your early morning cuppa.
A Digression: Speaking of kit - never open your mouth and do it properly the first time. It saves on embarrassment...
Work, Work, Work.
In my last entry I suggested that it would be a "good idea" if there were a set of standard instructions for new members for the creation of a shield. The words "Sounds like a volunteer" were uttered by my illustrious mentor in his editorial comment, so I did it!
A step by step series of instructions should soon [a re-enactment term meaning don't hold your breath] be available in the Sceaftesige homepage when the drawings [and photographs] are sorted out.[Yes, I know I've got this to do as well]
It may look complicated but it's really simple once you get started. I messed up at first, by NOT removing the bolts before bashing the ends down into "rivets". You may not think people would notice, nor indeed care (like me), but, as it turned out in August's "History in Action IV" at Kirby Hall, the authenticity officer - whatever his name was - DID care so I was forced to borrow one of Kevin's spare shields. Ho-hum, you live and learn. These defects were swiftly rectified, later at home.
However, back in April, I fitted a new handle on my Scramsaex which I purchased the previous month. Unfortunately for me, the original handle was about two inches too short to be comfortable. So I hacked off the old wooden grip, cut out the rivets holding it together and with an angle-grinder, and ground down the tang (the narrow metal bit which forms the basis of the handle). I then sandwiched the now considerably narrower tang with two pieces of Beech wood filched from an old bedstead, with one side hollowed out in the shape of the tang and screwed it in place. The two pieces of wood were then glued together with two-part epoxy adhesive and shaped to fit my grip. The result looked much more authentic that the riveted method.
Search Regia's own web-site for the way they believed the handles were fitted onto the blade.
In my last entry I suggested that it would be a "good idea" if there were a set of standard instructions for new members for the creation of a shield. The words "Sounds like a volunteer" were uttered by my illustrious mentor in his editorial comment, so I did it!
A step by step series of instructions should soon [a re-enactment term meaning don't hold your breath] be available in the Sceaftesige homepage when the drawings [and photographs] are sorted out.[Yes, I know I've got this to do as well]
It may look complicated but it's really simple once you get started. I messed up at first, by NOT removing the bolts before bashing the ends down into "rivets". You may not think people would notice, nor indeed care (like me), but, as it turned out in August's "History in Action IV" at Kirby Hall, the authenticity officer - whatever his name was - DID care so I was forced to borrow one of Kevin's spare shields. Ho-hum, you live and learn. These defects were swiftly rectified, later at home.
However, back in April, I fitted a new handle on my Scramsaex which I purchased the previous month. Unfortunately for me, the original handle was about two inches too short to be comfortable. So I hacked off the old wooden grip, cut out the rivets holding it together and with an angle-grinder, and ground down the tang (the narrow metal bit which forms the basis of the handle). I then sandwiched the now considerably narrower tang with two pieces of Beech wood filched from an old bedstead, with one side hollowed out in the shape of the tang and screwed it in place. The two pieces of wood were then glued together with two-part epoxy adhesive and shaped to fit my grip. The result looked much more authentic that the riveted method.
Search Regia's own web-site for the way they believed the handles were fitted onto the blade.
A cold field all to ourselves: The season commences in earnest - and what better way to start it than by knocking seven bells out of your mates with no public about...
Shrewsbury Training Weekend : April 1999
April 17th saw my first organised National Regia event. Only fourteen days after the birth of our son (Owen) I was compelled to only stay one night, being kindly put up by Kevin, in his roomy tent.
Leaving in the early hours of Saturday morning I set off for Shrewsbury.A hefty two and a third hours later, I arrived at the dew laden camp site, where I drove through hordes of apparently undead Regia folk. My fellow Garrison members had (just) roused, but Kevin was not to be seen for a good hours or so. Coffee was drunk and the others scoffed their break fast whilst informing me of what to expect.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain in full what went on, but I shall try to impart to you the colour of the day and a half's proceedings. The activities started at 10am (as usual, I would soon learn) where the group that had assembled there proceeded to practise line fighting in a shield wall. A "shield wall" is meant to offer maximum protection whilst the "armies" try to wear each other down. There are inherent problems in that the only weapon to have any real affect is a spear, and the longer the spear the better.
Eventually one of the shield walls will break down, and the successful side separates and (supposedly) finishes off the enemy using the theory that the side which was broken will have less fighters in it and be more easily dispatched. Once one side is outnumbered, there is little need for the shield wall and the warriors on the offensive side break out of formation. However tempting to go it alone it is advisable to fight alongside another warrior, to reduce surprise attacks - as I myself have learnt on no small number of occasions.
This continued for quite some time, until the group showed signs of boredom. Then came the "games".
Stepping stones: Shields are place on the ground a the teams are split into two sides. The idea is, as usual to kill the enemy and invade their space. The trick is, to stay on the shields whilst fighting. The purpose of this is to try and teach you balance. If you fell off the shields, you were "dead" and had to leave the field of battle.
Long-ship: Spears are laid out in two triangular formations, one signifying the bow of s ship, the other - the front end. The object is to invade the other boat. The shield wall technique is used again here. Of course, as before, if you fell off the boat you were "dead".
Bridge: Similar to the Long-ship game, but a parallel set of spears were used to signify a bridge. Islands : As before but a number of zones were marked out using spears. The difference in this game is the presence of a threat from a number of sides.
Two hours later, it was lunch and time to say "Hi!" to our group leader who managed to crawl out from his tent - suffering for his recent surfeit of playing computer games! A remarkable lack of sympathy and respect was shown by all. There was a brief interlude in which the "Old Walrus" (the pseudonym of the leader of Regia, Kim Siddorn) led an informal discussion on the "Wild Wood" project which revolved around a co-operative venture forming to create a permanent site in Kent. Unsurprisingly, some people seemed quite doubtful about the idea - mostly (from what I have seen and heard) from people unlikely to use it, due to their remoteness from the site. I won't comment too much on the hearsay, but I think that anything that both teaches, entertains and brings in an income, can only be a good idea! Nothing can improve or indeed survive without change. But onto the training; The rest of the working day (four hours or so!) was spent yomping through the nearby woodland where battles were fought in a variety of locations. At a crossroads, up a hill, in a valley, by a ravine (whilst pretending to be Orks and Elves), being ambushed on the return leg on a number of occasions and finally a rollicking hack and slash amongst thorny hedges.
Damn good fun I must say! My fighting technique was praised by a number of occasions, as was my clothing. The day was rounded off with food and drink at a pub not too far away "considering our remoteness", screaming abuse at each other and jumping over / walking through a furiously fuelled camp fire. My first night under canvass for many a year was completely without sleep for a variety of scatological reasons (steer clear of tinned vegetable curry!!!!) and the fact that it was bloody cold, was ended at five o'clock impressing people with my culinary skills, by cooking an impressive fry-up over the rekindled and much more subdued camp fire. The morning was spent having another session of training similar to the day before, but a good deal more relaxed. Finally, after giving the small contingency of archers something interesting to shoot at (in preparation for the event to take place in Hastings later in the year), the festivities drew to a close. A large number left at twelve to vote on the Wild Wood project idea, which after what was an apparently heated discussions, the idea was accepted. I personally look forward to next Easter, when the first planned event will be staged there. At a later date, unless something appears on another site, I will fill you in on the details of the project, and how it fared. Until then, adieu. N.B. : "Wildwood" (or Wychurst) was host to a Regia event later that same year, and by all reports, it was a success.
April 17th saw my first organised National Regia event. Only fourteen days after the birth of our son (Owen) I was compelled to only stay one night, being kindly put up by Kevin, in his roomy tent.
Leaving in the early hours of Saturday morning I set off for Shrewsbury.A hefty two and a third hours later, I arrived at the dew laden camp site, where I drove through hordes of apparently undead Regia folk. My fellow Garrison members had (just) roused, but Kevin was not to be seen for a good hours or so. Coffee was drunk and the others scoffed their break fast whilst informing me of what to expect.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain in full what went on, but I shall try to impart to you the colour of the day and a half's proceedings. The activities started at 10am (as usual, I would soon learn) where the group that had assembled there proceeded to practise line fighting in a shield wall. A "shield wall" is meant to offer maximum protection whilst the "armies" try to wear each other down. There are inherent problems in that the only weapon to have any real affect is a spear, and the longer the spear the better.
Eventually one of the shield walls will break down, and the successful side separates and (supposedly) finishes off the enemy using the theory that the side which was broken will have less fighters in it and be more easily dispatched. Once one side is outnumbered, there is little need for the shield wall and the warriors on the offensive side break out of formation. However tempting to go it alone it is advisable to fight alongside another warrior, to reduce surprise attacks - as I myself have learnt on no small number of occasions.
This continued for quite some time, until the group showed signs of boredom. Then came the "games".
Stepping stones: Shields are place on the ground a the teams are split into two sides. The idea is, as usual to kill the enemy and invade their space. The trick is, to stay on the shields whilst fighting. The purpose of this is to try and teach you balance. If you fell off the shields, you were "dead" and had to leave the field of battle.
Long-ship: Spears are laid out in two triangular formations, one signifying the bow of s ship, the other - the front end. The object is to invade the other boat. The shield wall technique is used again here. Of course, as before, if you fell off the boat you were "dead".
Bridge: Similar to the Long-ship game, but a parallel set of spears were used to signify a bridge. Islands : As before but a number of zones were marked out using spears. The difference in this game is the presence of a threat from a number of sides.
Two hours later, it was lunch and time to say "Hi!" to our group leader who managed to crawl out from his tent - suffering for his recent surfeit of playing computer games! A remarkable lack of sympathy and respect was shown by all. There was a brief interlude in which the "Old Walrus" (the pseudonym of the leader of Regia, Kim Siddorn) led an informal discussion on the "Wild Wood" project which revolved around a co-operative venture forming to create a permanent site in Kent. Unsurprisingly, some people seemed quite doubtful about the idea - mostly (from what I have seen and heard) from people unlikely to use it, due to their remoteness from the site. I won't comment too much on the hearsay, but I think that anything that both teaches, entertains and brings in an income, can only be a good idea! Nothing can improve or indeed survive without change. But onto the training; The rest of the working day (four hours or so!) was spent yomping through the nearby woodland where battles were fought in a variety of locations. At a crossroads, up a hill, in a valley, by a ravine (whilst pretending to be Orks and Elves), being ambushed on the return leg on a number of occasions and finally a rollicking hack and slash amongst thorny hedges.
Damn good fun I must say! My fighting technique was praised by a number of occasions, as was my clothing. The day was rounded off with food and drink at a pub not too far away "considering our remoteness", screaming abuse at each other and jumping over / walking through a furiously fuelled camp fire. My first night under canvass for many a year was completely without sleep for a variety of scatological reasons (steer clear of tinned vegetable curry!!!!) and the fact that it was bloody cold, was ended at five o'clock impressing people with my culinary skills, by cooking an impressive fry-up over the rekindled and much more subdued camp fire. The morning was spent having another session of training similar to the day before, but a good deal more relaxed. Finally, after giving the small contingency of archers something interesting to shoot at (in preparation for the event to take place in Hastings later in the year), the festivities drew to a close. A large number left at twelve to vote on the Wild Wood project idea, which after what was an apparently heated discussions, the idea was accepted. I personally look forward to next Easter, when the first planned event will be staged there. At a later date, unless something appears on another site, I will fill you in on the details of the project, and how it fared. Until then, adieu. N.B. : "Wildwood" (or Wychurst) was host to a Regia event later that same year, and by all reports, it was a success.
A warmer field in Dorset: It comes to us all - time to meet the public...
Wareham - Late May Bank Holiday: 1999
The Saxon festival at Wareham is a regular Regia event Wareham is a pretty little place with appealing pubs and picturesque cottages lining the streets quite unassuming at first impressions. Hardly the place to host a hoard of rampaging Vikings and Saxons. But regardless of this, the big thing for me, was that it was my first ever "real" Regia event (drum rolls please!!!)
So, still being limited to one night's absence from Carole and the screaming (and later, to be discovered, hungry) Owen, I arrived on the Sunday morning. Catching Paul's eye through the fence, I managed to find my way INTO the encampment and the 20th century campsite, where I could change into more appropriate gear. On my way I passed other members of our group packing up - who were under similar curfews from their respective other halves! Kevin and Liz (and their baby, Finn) were there at the Wic (the authentic campsite) so I was not alone. I had little time to relax, as that morning's training session was about to begin. As I had and still do intend to be able to use my sword as soon as possible, I leapt into the organised fray, and died hideously time and time again. Well - to do myself some credit - I didn't die that often, but I died more than I'd like!
The layout of the arena was sprawling. There was one large 20th century - style trading tent stuck all alone in one part of the field, and on the same side was the authentic section. This was cramped in comparison and could have done with spreading itself about a bit. The other two sides of the quadrangular arena were dotted about with food tents. It isn't as bad as it sounds on paper, but the layout could have been better in my opinion. Shortly after I came off the field, I was swiftly approached by a gentleman (whose name I have forgotten) and asked whether I would like to help row the longship they had moored on the river which passed through the village. Being new, I quickly accepted and joined the other applicants on the dray horse carriage which took us ploddingly to town free of charge. They did try and suggest that we (and other Regia society members) pay for this speedy form of transport, but they got no money from us in the end.
The boat was situated by two (remember that, TWO) pubs! And after the (assumedly) new Regia member was told to put a cloak over his 20th century clothes, we rowed away and vast speeds. There isn't a lot you can say about rowing, except it was hard work (I'm sure I was the only one rowing really hard), unless something goes wrong. Well something did not dramatically, but the commander's friend ( I do remember his name, but I shall avoid embarrassing him too much. He knows who he is) took command - I think he had done it before, but I'm not sure. At a particularly nasty bend, he realised his limitations as we almost ran aground. Cue lots of reversing (yes you can reverse a longship) and sheepish looks. We did return eventually and received lots of second looks from tourists who were walking along side the river and after negotiating a ratbag who took our mooring position the main event was about to begin. So no refreshments!!!
I forget the format of the show, but it revolved around locals offering money to avoid being ransacked by the Vikings (one of whom was me). A pittance would be offered to us, we would reject it, fight and fall back. They would then throw a bag full of bones at us, as payment instead. We would take this as an insult and attack. But disaster struck, as my shield strap came undone moments before the attack began, so until the initial clash was finished, I swapped my two handed spear with Paul's single hander. In the majority of battles, there is always an "initial" clash, where all we do is make lots of noise and "ham" it up. This was easily achieved, and once completed, I re-threaded by strap and took up my two-hander again. In the end, it was a bloodbath and we were on the wrong end. The enemy out manoeuvred us, by flanking our shield wall on both sides. We were disorganised and our morale dissipated. But all in all, it was rather good fun! A bit like battle practise, but a lot shorter. After the public were invited onto the field, and questions were asked and, with an assumed air of authority, answered by yours truly, I left the field to do a serious bit of shopping. I shan't bore you with the details of my shopping spree, but in the end, I put an order in for a made-to-measure helmet (cost £150).
Originally it was to have been of a Viking (spectacle) design, but as my character was ultimately Saxon, and all of my other kit was Saxon, and of later age, I changed my mind and vouched for a standard nasal helm. This helmet, I can use in practically all of Regia's events, and made a lot more (financial) sense. My time at Wareham was over far too quickly, and I look forward to being there for the duration, next year - perhaps with the family - and perhaps in a tent (or B&B for Carole and Owen?)
The Saxon festival at Wareham is a regular Regia event Wareham is a pretty little place with appealing pubs and picturesque cottages lining the streets quite unassuming at first impressions. Hardly the place to host a hoard of rampaging Vikings and Saxons. But regardless of this, the big thing for me, was that it was my first ever "real" Regia event (drum rolls please!!!)
So, still being limited to one night's absence from Carole and the screaming (and later, to be discovered, hungry) Owen, I arrived on the Sunday morning. Catching Paul's eye through the fence, I managed to find my way INTO the encampment and the 20th century campsite, where I could change into more appropriate gear. On my way I passed other members of our group packing up - who were under similar curfews from their respective other halves! Kevin and Liz (and their baby, Finn) were there at the Wic (the authentic campsite) so I was not alone. I had little time to relax, as that morning's training session was about to begin. As I had and still do intend to be able to use my sword as soon as possible, I leapt into the organised fray, and died hideously time and time again. Well - to do myself some credit - I didn't die that often, but I died more than I'd like!
The layout of the arena was sprawling. There was one large 20th century - style trading tent stuck all alone in one part of the field, and on the same side was the authentic section. This was cramped in comparison and could have done with spreading itself about a bit. The other two sides of the quadrangular arena were dotted about with food tents. It isn't as bad as it sounds on paper, but the layout could have been better in my opinion. Shortly after I came off the field, I was swiftly approached by a gentleman (whose name I have forgotten) and asked whether I would like to help row the longship they had moored on the river which passed through the village. Being new, I quickly accepted and joined the other applicants on the dray horse carriage which took us ploddingly to town free of charge. They did try and suggest that we (and other Regia society members) pay for this speedy form of transport, but they got no money from us in the end.
The boat was situated by two (remember that, TWO) pubs! And after the (assumedly) new Regia member was told to put a cloak over his 20th century clothes, we rowed away and vast speeds. There isn't a lot you can say about rowing, except it was hard work (I'm sure I was the only one rowing really hard), unless something goes wrong. Well something did not dramatically, but the commander's friend ( I do remember his name, but I shall avoid embarrassing him too much. He knows who he is) took command - I think he had done it before, but I'm not sure. At a particularly nasty bend, he realised his limitations as we almost ran aground. Cue lots of reversing (yes you can reverse a longship) and sheepish looks. We did return eventually and received lots of second looks from tourists who were walking along side the river and after negotiating a ratbag who took our mooring position the main event was about to begin. So no refreshments!!!
I forget the format of the show, but it revolved around locals offering money to avoid being ransacked by the Vikings (one of whom was me). A pittance would be offered to us, we would reject it, fight and fall back. They would then throw a bag full of bones at us, as payment instead. We would take this as an insult and attack. But disaster struck, as my shield strap came undone moments before the attack began, so until the initial clash was finished, I swapped my two handed spear with Paul's single hander. In the majority of battles, there is always an "initial" clash, where all we do is make lots of noise and "ham" it up. This was easily achieved, and once completed, I re-threaded by strap and took up my two-hander again. In the end, it was a bloodbath and we were on the wrong end. The enemy out manoeuvred us, by flanking our shield wall on both sides. We were disorganised and our morale dissipated. But all in all, it was rather good fun! A bit like battle practise, but a lot shorter. After the public were invited onto the field, and questions were asked and, with an assumed air of authority, answered by yours truly, I left the field to do a serious bit of shopping. I shan't bore you with the details of my shopping spree, but in the end, I put an order in for a made-to-measure helmet (cost £150).
Originally it was to have been of a Viking (spectacle) design, but as my character was ultimately Saxon, and all of my other kit was Saxon, and of later age, I changed my mind and vouched for a standard nasal helm. This helmet, I can use in practically all of Regia's events, and made a lot more (financial) sense. My time at Wareham was over far too quickly, and I look forward to being there for the duration, next year - perhaps with the family - and perhaps in a tent (or B&B for Carole and Owen?)
Educating Rita: Undaunted by the public - time to face a tougher challenge altogether...
School Shows
Show 1 - Oakland's Junior School. Friday 11th June
This is the flip-side of Regia activities, and a surprisingly enjoyable one. As part of the national curriculum, Regia is asked to give a talk on what life was like in the "Settlers and Invaders" module (Kevin, you may wish to comment here!!)[I'll pick up the hint later - must write a specific page on this].
At Oaklands Junior School, our venue was the school hall. I must say that it was odd, turning up at the school and waiting for the rest of the team, in the teacher's staff room. I felt as though I had done something wrong! Eventually, of course the gang turned up and we set out a display of our kit at one side of the hall and waited for the children to arrive.
First, the various ranks were described, while one of us, dressed appropriately stepped forward to give Kevin (who was addressing the children) a visual reference. A certain amount of interplay was made between the person being described and the speaker, to liven things up for the children. In my case, I was the humble peasant; bare-footed and subservient to my Lord, Ketil. Cue lots of cowering and humble looks.
Athelstane, dressed in his gambeson walked up next and finally Bassa, in his chain-mail and helmet, who attempted to frighten the children by attempting mock charges and stabbing himself with an obviously sharp knife [our chainmail is remarkably effective - even against modern knives].
Interspersed with all this, were staged fights between the warriors. It made a hell of a racket, in the hall. I wonder what the other children in their classrooms thought was going on? Also breaking up Kevin's talk, were Marnie and Liz, who spoke about our lifestyle, what we wore, how it was made, and what we ate. A personal favourite of Liz's is going through the entire body of a deer, describing how each organ was used. Watching the children's faces as she spoke about sausages being made from the intestines and how the bladder was used to carry water, was most amusing!
Rounding off the talk was a question and answer session. This is a hit and miss affair, and generally depends on the children, and whether they talk to us in "character" or as people who have an interest in Anglo-Saxon life. In all, I quite enjoyed the experience. It was fairly rewarding to see the children look "interested" in what was effectively a dramatised history lesson. Why wasn't this sort of thing going on when I were a lad?
Show 2 - St Margaret Clithero RC School. Saturday 12th June (The Donkey Derby)
The only difference between this and the day before's was the outdoor venue (a school's sports field), the presence of the Wic, and a variation in format. Liz and Marnie didn't address the public from the arena, but stayed at the authentic site, speaking to the general public there. There were a few more warriors present, as Animal and Andy turned up. Animal, however, was soon incapacitated - by fracturing a finger - early on in an over enthusiastic fight with Andy. But that's Animal for you. [A hazard of our hobby — however on a participant comparison basis with Rugby, we have about 1% of the injuries and most are nothing more than bad bruises.]
This was the second time our group was asked to do this show, but the previous year, the weather turned foul and the event was a washout. This year, it was much improved, though during our second display the heavens began to open up, bringing the display to a speedy conclusion. So yet again we got rather damp.
Show 1 - Oakland's Junior School. Friday 11th June
This is the flip-side of Regia activities, and a surprisingly enjoyable one. As part of the national curriculum, Regia is asked to give a talk on what life was like in the "Settlers and Invaders" module (Kevin, you may wish to comment here!!)[I'll pick up the hint later - must write a specific page on this].
At Oaklands Junior School, our venue was the school hall. I must say that it was odd, turning up at the school and waiting for the rest of the team, in the teacher's staff room. I felt as though I had done something wrong! Eventually, of course the gang turned up and we set out a display of our kit at one side of the hall and waited for the children to arrive.
First, the various ranks were described, while one of us, dressed appropriately stepped forward to give Kevin (who was addressing the children) a visual reference. A certain amount of interplay was made between the person being described and the speaker, to liven things up for the children. In my case, I was the humble peasant; bare-footed and subservient to my Lord, Ketil. Cue lots of cowering and humble looks.
Athelstane, dressed in his gambeson walked up next and finally Bassa, in his chain-mail and helmet, who attempted to frighten the children by attempting mock charges and stabbing himself with an obviously sharp knife [our chainmail is remarkably effective - even against modern knives].
Interspersed with all this, were staged fights between the warriors. It made a hell of a racket, in the hall. I wonder what the other children in their classrooms thought was going on? Also breaking up Kevin's talk, were Marnie and Liz, who spoke about our lifestyle, what we wore, how it was made, and what we ate. A personal favourite of Liz's is going through the entire body of a deer, describing how each organ was used. Watching the children's faces as she spoke about sausages being made from the intestines and how the bladder was used to carry water, was most amusing!
Rounding off the talk was a question and answer session. This is a hit and miss affair, and generally depends on the children, and whether they talk to us in "character" or as people who have an interest in Anglo-Saxon life. In all, I quite enjoyed the experience. It was fairly rewarding to see the children look "interested" in what was effectively a dramatised history lesson. Why wasn't this sort of thing going on when I were a lad?
Show 2 - St Margaret Clithero RC School. Saturday 12th June (The Donkey Derby)
The only difference between this and the day before's was the outdoor venue (a school's sports field), the presence of the Wic, and a variation in format. Liz and Marnie didn't address the public from the arena, but stayed at the authentic site, speaking to the general public there. There were a few more warriors present, as Animal and Andy turned up. Animal, however, was soon incapacitated - by fracturing a finger - early on in an over enthusiastic fight with Andy. But that's Animal for you. [A hazard of our hobby — however on a participant comparison basis with Rugby, we have about 1% of the injuries and most are nothing more than bad bruises.]
This was the second time our group was asked to do this show, but the previous year, the weather turned foul and the event was a washout. This year, it was much improved, though during our second display the heavens began to open up, bringing the display to a speedy conclusion. So yet again we got rather damp.
The Village Fair: Life's not all roses - beware the dreaded drink...
WING
Ah, I had heard so much about Wing during the previous year, how the streets were lined with pubs and. . . .well, I suppose the pubs seemed to be the focus of the conversations. Unfortunately this was yet another event I was obliged to turn up for only one day. I plumped for the Friday. My logic was that there would be more socialising that night rather than on Saturday. I was wrong. But more on that later...
Leaving Blackwater on Friday, 4pm was (in hindsight) a daft idea, as the traffic going `round the M25 and more importantly joining the M1, was obscene. I should have guessed from tales Kevin, our group leader told me, of nightmarish Friday evening journeys. Never again!. Either I go up straight after Friday lunchtime, or I go on the Saturday morning (but that has its own pitfalls). In the end, by the time I got there and had put up my tent, it was gone nine.
Kevin and Liz weren't going to be there due to a mechanical problem with their Land Rover, so I was prepared to be amongst strangers. Fortunately both Simons and Matt was there. Matt (a keen drinker) and I both had the mind to get to the pub quickly, as the light was diminishing quickly at the same rate that our thirst was increasing. However the mysterious "things" that women do coupled with random conversations with infrequently met friends delayed the pleasure of alcohol more and more. So much more, that I left Matt (whom I had thought of as being a kindred spirit in the boozing club) and went to the pub myself and downed a swift pint or two before emerging to see the others finally gathering together themselves to join me. We took over the dining area (all of four tables) and drank the night away. I drank rather energetically compared to them and was in a rather jolly frame of mind by the time I crawled into my tent. Jolly good pub that! I just wish I could remember it's name!
Please note: I don't want you all to think all I like to do in Regia is drink, drink and drink - it is a glorious pastime and an essential part of male bonding - and without other forms of entertainment nothing more is inspiring for unique topics of conversation than five pints of real ale!
It was during the following morning's (very fine) pub breakfast, that I learnt of my mistake of arriving on a Friday. The pub whose hospitality I had frequented was donating a barrel of real ale (Green King IPA, I believe) to the group. Free beer! Free Beer? I missed out on free beer? Oh well, how was I to know? Coping with the disappointment quite well, I reminded those (very) few people who were allegedly organising the event, that the barrel was awaiting delivery and swiftly changed into Regia kit. I helped (someone) beat into the iron hard ground vast quantities of wooden stakes, and as the temperature rose steadily to the late 80s, we settled down to an informal practise session. It was still rather quiet on the public front, when we were called to join the parade. We were placed towards the front of the parade directly behind a group of pipers, who were leading the procession. Matt spent most of the time trying to scare children and women, whilst I was attempting to be the proper upstanding member of Regia Anglorum that I always aspire to be. I've got plenty of time to develop a Regia personality (though I am sure that Matt's Viking personality is all his own!) It was a long slog around the backstreets of Wing, by which time I had firmly decided to do some adjustments to my second hand shoes (bought at Kirby Hall the previous year). Several cans of fizz later, the event was about to begin.
The theme of this "battle" was to be a group of Vikings asking tribute from a small settlement (the Living History site). This small settlement basically tells them to "soddeth offeth" and a battle commences. The only real points of note worth mentioning, is that firstly, a hit point system was trialled, whereby unarmoured (squishies) get one hit - in the normal approved areas, and the armoured fellows in chain, would need three hits in the appropriate areas for them to go down. The obvious outcome from this, is that on the whole, only the armoured men survived the fight.
Secondly, a Dane axe system of shield destruction was enforced, where if the axe was swung realistically, then the owner of the shield which was struck, would be required to dispose of said shield as soon as possible, whilst role- playing having it smashed. This was brought about because of the crap way Dane axes were used in the past. They were wielded like glorified spears. Hardly befitting a weapon of mass destruction I anyone's opinion! The only modifications to their use, is that the wielder must wear full armour and have their shield strapped to their back if they insist on carrying one.
The actual battle lasted quite a while and was thoroughly enjoyable - one of the more rewarding fights I had been in so far. Part of the added enjoyment was getting to know the other regulars better and better!
This is what Regia is all about.
Ah, I had heard so much about Wing during the previous year, how the streets were lined with pubs and. . . .well, I suppose the pubs seemed to be the focus of the conversations. Unfortunately this was yet another event I was obliged to turn up for only one day. I plumped for the Friday. My logic was that there would be more socialising that night rather than on Saturday. I was wrong. But more on that later...
Leaving Blackwater on Friday, 4pm was (in hindsight) a daft idea, as the traffic going `round the M25 and more importantly joining the M1, was obscene. I should have guessed from tales Kevin, our group leader told me, of nightmarish Friday evening journeys. Never again!. Either I go up straight after Friday lunchtime, or I go on the Saturday morning (but that has its own pitfalls). In the end, by the time I got there and had put up my tent, it was gone nine.
Kevin and Liz weren't going to be there due to a mechanical problem with their Land Rover, so I was prepared to be amongst strangers. Fortunately both Simons and Matt was there. Matt (a keen drinker) and I both had the mind to get to the pub quickly, as the light was diminishing quickly at the same rate that our thirst was increasing. However the mysterious "things" that women do coupled with random conversations with infrequently met friends delayed the pleasure of alcohol more and more. So much more, that I left Matt (whom I had thought of as being a kindred spirit in the boozing club) and went to the pub myself and downed a swift pint or two before emerging to see the others finally gathering together themselves to join me. We took over the dining area (all of four tables) and drank the night away. I drank rather energetically compared to them and was in a rather jolly frame of mind by the time I crawled into my tent. Jolly good pub that! I just wish I could remember it's name!
Please note: I don't want you all to think all I like to do in Regia is drink, drink and drink - it is a glorious pastime and an essential part of male bonding - and without other forms of entertainment nothing more is inspiring for unique topics of conversation than five pints of real ale!
It was during the following morning's (very fine) pub breakfast, that I learnt of my mistake of arriving on a Friday. The pub whose hospitality I had frequented was donating a barrel of real ale (Green King IPA, I believe) to the group. Free beer! Free Beer? I missed out on free beer? Oh well, how was I to know? Coping with the disappointment quite well, I reminded those (very) few people who were allegedly organising the event, that the barrel was awaiting delivery and swiftly changed into Regia kit. I helped (someone) beat into the iron hard ground vast quantities of wooden stakes, and as the temperature rose steadily to the late 80s, we settled down to an informal practise session. It was still rather quiet on the public front, when we were called to join the parade. We were placed towards the front of the parade directly behind a group of pipers, who were leading the procession. Matt spent most of the time trying to scare children and women, whilst I was attempting to be the proper upstanding member of Regia Anglorum that I always aspire to be. I've got plenty of time to develop a Regia personality (though I am sure that Matt's Viking personality is all his own!) It was a long slog around the backstreets of Wing, by which time I had firmly decided to do some adjustments to my second hand shoes (bought at Kirby Hall the previous year). Several cans of fizz later, the event was about to begin.
The theme of this "battle" was to be a group of Vikings asking tribute from a small settlement (the Living History site). This small settlement basically tells them to "soddeth offeth" and a battle commences. The only real points of note worth mentioning, is that firstly, a hit point system was trialled, whereby unarmoured (squishies) get one hit - in the normal approved areas, and the armoured fellows in chain, would need three hits in the appropriate areas for them to go down. The obvious outcome from this, is that on the whole, only the armoured men survived the fight.
Secondly, a Dane axe system of shield destruction was enforced, where if the axe was swung realistically, then the owner of the shield which was struck, would be required to dispose of said shield as soon as possible, whilst role- playing having it smashed. This was brought about because of the crap way Dane axes were used in the past. They were wielded like glorified spears. Hardly befitting a weapon of mass destruction I anyone's opinion! The only modifications to their use, is that the wielder must wear full armour and have their shield strapped to their back if they insist on carrying one.
The actual battle lasted quite a while and was thoroughly enjoyable - one of the more rewarding fights I had been in so far. Part of the added enjoyment was getting to know the other regulars better and better!
This is what Regia is all about.
Full Circle: We've now reached the show that inspired me to join - but take the stories of the "old timers" with a pinch of salt...
KIRBY HALL: HISTORY IN ACTION IV
August 14th and 15th 1999
I'll skip the "journey to" sequence and the rather tedious moaning about the traffic. I shall avoid mentioning the (non "Regia") idiots talking near by throughout most of the night, while I tried to sleep and shalln't mention the fact that the only way (for me) to get sleep before four o'clock in the morning, is now to get hideously drunk! I will not talk about the vast amount of time spent looking for ways to spend hundreds of pounds on chain mail and other nick knacks. Nor the (seemingly) hours spent slaving over a smouldering pan of bacon on Sunday Morning. Instead, I will talk about what it was like to be on the other side of the barrier, having attended History In Action III, the year before as a member of the public.
I was, in a way, expecting too much from this event. It would never live up to any of my ideals. I'm not saying that it wasn't fun; it was. In hindsight, it just wasn't any better that Wing or Wareham. The main problem with Kirby Hall, was that you felt a very small part of a very big machine and I get a lot of that working for the civil service! Though I said I wasn't going to talk about it, I have to say the shopping was fun. I got a bloody good deal on a suit of chainmail which was made up into a Romper suit (ala Bayeaux tapestry images) No living person could get into the thing and pull the hood up, as surprise, surprise, the hood didn't stretch. You would have to cut you own head off to pull it up! An average chainmail suit will cost about ,350 to ,400 pounds. I got this for ,150. Considering there were other suits on sale for twice that, without arms and considerably shorter in length. I must have been blessed. Many thanks to Paul, who drew my attention to it. I owe him one! With regards to the battle(s) that Regia was there to re-enact, the event in question was Stamford Bridge. An event that was to be recreated by us, later in October. This gist of it went like this.
There were two forces. The Vikings, who were led by Harald Hardrada and the Saxons led by Harold Godwinson. Each side was composed of a central core of armour, flanked by two sides of what is cruelly termed "squishies" that is, unarmoured spearmen. The (very rough) plan was that each side would only face off their opposite number throughout the battle. If the Vikings won the battle however, they would run off. If the Saxons won, then they would "ham it up" by pretending to rob the dead and finish off any dying warriors.
The battle on the first day was a complete non-event as far as the right flank (my flank) was concerned. All we did was rattle our spear at each other until the final charge went off, by which time the enemy (Saxon) armour had dispatched our armour and came at us from behind. Dashed unsporting, I say! The following day was a hell of a lot more interesting and well worth turning up for!
The added bonus was having Carole and Owen there to "see" me in action. They were, unfortunately, at the other end of the battlefield, and only really saw me as I walked off at the end. Neither battle was as much fun as when it was recreated in October, at Battle (see next instalment).
Apart from a humorous incident involving me and an egg, where I spent ages, at breakfast, cooking my egg lovingly over the fire, only to have it "leap" into the cinders, the only real event I can remember is the final parade where every single re-enactment group filed in front of the crowd at the main arena. After which we lined the campsite road and applauded all the other enactment groups (and whistled at the nuns, jeered the Germans, and so on) until our legs gave out. I didn't stay until the Grand Mêlée, where all the societies battled each other, as I was eager to get out before the mad rush. Besides, it all sounded like complete chaos and rather silly as well. Maybe next year.
As an aside - in December I saw an article on History in Action IV in FHM (or Maxim, it wasn't mine, so I cannot remember) in which, apart from the usual patronising / sarcastic remarks about how "sad" we re-enactors are, it mentioned an incident regarding a number of jolly fellows (all white incidentally) dressing up in "Zulu" outfits, wearing brightly coloured curly haired wigs and fighting British infantrymen. Whilst I thought it was just plain silly at the time and cared little for such antics, the article itself implied that the incident was offensive to the ethic minority present at the event.
Being a civil servant, we are constantly criticised and nay, dare I say it, conditioned to think "equal opportunities" during every working hour. With this in mind, such activities can only harm Regia's and indeed any re-enactment society's reputation (I am not sure to which group they belonged to - but that hardly matters, as we are guilty by association) How are we, as a society, going to be able to flourish in a multi-ethnic society if such racial stereotypes are going to be portrayed.
There. Said it. Now on with the diary...
So, having been on both sides of the barrier, which is better. I think being a member of the public is more fun, especially for the first time, when confronted with such a large event as this. But being on the re-enactment side is a tad more fulfilling. Not many people actually ask questions. Our group leader was either lying comatose in front of his tent, or off at a pre-battle meeting, Liz was manning a trading stall, for someone else who couldn't seem to be bothered and mostly every one else seemed to be off shopping. It was more of a "barely living" history exhibit...
Perhaps one reason for our poor attraction, was that we were tucked away in a corner, just in front of the market. So the majority of people simply passed us by onto other things.
It all seemed such a mess from my re-enactor's P.O.V. You don't have the freedom to simply wander around the other sites than if you were Joe public! Perhaps next year I'll turn up just for the battle and wander around the rest of the day with Carole and Owen! Or perhaps not. I don't know. I suppose the basic problem with Kirby Hall, is that, like the Phantom Menace I was so overloaded with the sense of anticipation, that I would never have thought it was a "great" event, no matter what it was like. For all its size, it was simply OK.
I definitely prefer events of only our own period. The event in October, which was almost as big as this, was far more enjoyable - indeed it was the highlight of my year!
August 14th and 15th 1999
I'll skip the "journey to" sequence and the rather tedious moaning about the traffic. I shall avoid mentioning the (non "Regia") idiots talking near by throughout most of the night, while I tried to sleep and shalln't mention the fact that the only way (for me) to get sleep before four o'clock in the morning, is now to get hideously drunk! I will not talk about the vast amount of time spent looking for ways to spend hundreds of pounds on chain mail and other nick knacks. Nor the (seemingly) hours spent slaving over a smouldering pan of bacon on Sunday Morning. Instead, I will talk about what it was like to be on the other side of the barrier, having attended History In Action III, the year before as a member of the public.
I was, in a way, expecting too much from this event. It would never live up to any of my ideals. I'm not saying that it wasn't fun; it was. In hindsight, it just wasn't any better that Wing or Wareham. The main problem with Kirby Hall, was that you felt a very small part of a very big machine and I get a lot of that working for the civil service! Though I said I wasn't going to talk about it, I have to say the shopping was fun. I got a bloody good deal on a suit of chainmail which was made up into a Romper suit (ala Bayeaux tapestry images) No living person could get into the thing and pull the hood up, as surprise, surprise, the hood didn't stretch. You would have to cut you own head off to pull it up! An average chainmail suit will cost about ,350 to ,400 pounds. I got this for ,150. Considering there were other suits on sale for twice that, without arms and considerably shorter in length. I must have been blessed. Many thanks to Paul, who drew my attention to it. I owe him one! With regards to the battle(s) that Regia was there to re-enact, the event in question was Stamford Bridge. An event that was to be recreated by us, later in October. This gist of it went like this.
There were two forces. The Vikings, who were led by Harald Hardrada and the Saxons led by Harold Godwinson. Each side was composed of a central core of armour, flanked by two sides of what is cruelly termed "squishies" that is, unarmoured spearmen. The (very rough) plan was that each side would only face off their opposite number throughout the battle. If the Vikings won the battle however, they would run off. If the Saxons won, then they would "ham it up" by pretending to rob the dead and finish off any dying warriors.
The battle on the first day was a complete non-event as far as the right flank (my flank) was concerned. All we did was rattle our spear at each other until the final charge went off, by which time the enemy (Saxon) armour had dispatched our armour and came at us from behind. Dashed unsporting, I say! The following day was a hell of a lot more interesting and well worth turning up for!
The added bonus was having Carole and Owen there to "see" me in action. They were, unfortunately, at the other end of the battlefield, and only really saw me as I walked off at the end. Neither battle was as much fun as when it was recreated in October, at Battle (see next instalment).
Apart from a humorous incident involving me and an egg, where I spent ages, at breakfast, cooking my egg lovingly over the fire, only to have it "leap" into the cinders, the only real event I can remember is the final parade where every single re-enactment group filed in front of the crowd at the main arena. After which we lined the campsite road and applauded all the other enactment groups (and whistled at the nuns, jeered the Germans, and so on) until our legs gave out. I didn't stay until the Grand Mêlée, where all the societies battled each other, as I was eager to get out before the mad rush. Besides, it all sounded like complete chaos and rather silly as well. Maybe next year.
As an aside - in December I saw an article on History in Action IV in FHM (or Maxim, it wasn't mine, so I cannot remember) in which, apart from the usual patronising / sarcastic remarks about how "sad" we re-enactors are, it mentioned an incident regarding a number of jolly fellows (all white incidentally) dressing up in "Zulu" outfits, wearing brightly coloured curly haired wigs and fighting British infantrymen. Whilst I thought it was just plain silly at the time and cared little for such antics, the article itself implied that the incident was offensive to the ethic minority present at the event.
Being a civil servant, we are constantly criticised and nay, dare I say it, conditioned to think "equal opportunities" during every working hour. With this in mind, such activities can only harm Regia's and indeed any re-enactment society's reputation (I am not sure to which group they belonged to - but that hardly matters, as we are guilty by association) How are we, as a society, going to be able to flourish in a multi-ethnic society if such racial stereotypes are going to be portrayed.
There. Said it. Now on with the diary...
So, having been on both sides of the barrier, which is better. I think being a member of the public is more fun, especially for the first time, when confronted with such a large event as this. But being on the re-enactment side is a tad more fulfilling. Not many people actually ask questions. Our group leader was either lying comatose in front of his tent, or off at a pre-battle meeting, Liz was manning a trading stall, for someone else who couldn't seem to be bothered and mostly every one else seemed to be off shopping. It was more of a "barely living" history exhibit...
Perhaps one reason for our poor attraction, was that we were tucked away in a corner, just in front of the market. So the majority of people simply passed us by onto other things.
It all seemed such a mess from my re-enactor's P.O.V. You don't have the freedom to simply wander around the other sites than if you were Joe public! Perhaps next year I'll turn up just for the battle and wander around the rest of the day with Carole and Owen! Or perhaps not. I don't know. I suppose the basic problem with Kirby Hall, is that, like the Phantom Menace I was so overloaded with the sense of anticipation, that I would never have thought it was a "great" event, no matter what it was like. For all its size, it was simply OK.
I definitely prefer events of only our own period. The event in October, which was almost as big as this, was far more enjoyable - indeed it was the highlight of my year!
Season's Swansong: There's an old adage in life that's just as true in re-enactment - everything comes to he who waits. We'll we've reached the end of my first full season and the end of this years "shows", and the season saved the best till last...
BATTLE
October 16th and 17th 1999
The climax to my first Regia season turned out to be, by far, the most enjoyable and the most fulfilling. Arriving on Saturday morning, after a ninety minute journey, I arrived at Battle in East Sussex at around half ten. The light smattering of mid morning shoppers in this small picturesque country town, was sprinkled with the occasional Saxon or Viking strolling up and down the high street. Very amusing. Moments after erecting my tent, and in a similar vein to my Wareham visit, I discovered that training was soon to commence. Training? That wasn't mentioned in the blurb sent to me earlier in the week! However, eager to gain more experience, and hence more training stamps in my membership book, I speedily changed into my Regia gear and raced to the field where it was supposed to happen. There I met the two Simons and various other persons from other areas whom I knew by sight. They had come down the previous evening and had set up camp at the Living History Encampment (LHE) site.
"Treefrog", the National training officer, soon joined us and organised the training session which lasted for the next two hours. No games were played this day, but training was centred around good, old fashioned separating the group into teams and simply beating each other up.
One minor variation was introduced towards the end of the training session, where we were divided into two teams. One third of each team was allowed to use only a shield and no weapons, one third was only allowed the use of a spear, and the final third, allowed only the use of a short weapon, be it an axe, sword, whatever. This worked surprisingly well and made each side work together with their respective other two thirds, that is; the shield bearer was forced to work in tandem with the swordsman and the spearman.
A cunning ploy was conceived by one of the Simons, whereby the shield bearers would charge up and grab the enemies spears, whilst being backed up by the armed warriors who would attempt to cut down the now defenceless fighter. By the end of the training, everyone was completely knackered from their exertions and training stamps were given out. It was then that I was informed that the following day I would be allowed to take my spear test. AH! I thought. "At last"! From then on, all my thoughts were directed to improve my skills that weekend, so I would be able to start using my sword in the next season.
But first, I had to go find my fellow Sceaftesige members down at the LHE site. This was the first time I had been to the English Heritage site, and had I known the distance to and the energy required to travel there, I wouldn't have bothered. Of the all the locations; the Battlefield, the 20thC camp site, the LHE site and the training ground, all required walking uphill to a degree. This is one of the reasons that by the time the weekend was over, I was a complete, physical wreck. I think that from now on, I shall copy the behaviour of our group leader, and take every opportunity to collapse in a heap and rest.
But that is now - back then I was ignorant about such topographical matters . To say that the site was sprawling would be an understatement. I didn't even have time to explore the entire location, as I was never really given the time. Only half an hour after the training session had finished, we were expected to muster for the first battle of the day. Stamford Bridge.
So swiftly saying my hellos to Kev, Liz, Andy, Marnie, Paul, the two Simons and Steve Ethridge, who whilst not a part of Sceaftesige, is well known by most of the group, I had to trot all the way back up the hill and submit myself to the master at arms check. This time (unlike Kirby Hall) my shield passed with flying colours. My Scram scabbard was criticised for being shabby yet again, but it was allowed onto the battlefield. I didn't actually us it during the entire weekend, and may not, once I start using my sword, bring it on at all in the future, or at least until I have made a new scabbard...
During this battle, Kevin was portraying Harald (or Harold, depending on which side of the fence you sit on) Hardrada, the leader of the Norwegian host. Consequently I was forced to portray a Viking. I was doomed to be on the losing side of the four "planned" battles that weekend. I never saw the Fulford Gate re-enactment, as I was undergoing training at the time. Next year I might take time out and watch it! It all depends how I get on with my sword. (....thoughts start straying to my next weapon purchase. An axe I think! ...shakes head and returns to writing!!!)
STAMFORD BRIDGE
I shalln't go into every specific of who was where, what they did and when, as no amount of narrative could capture the entire proceedings. You had to be there. Besides, I told you all about it in the previous diary entry! In effect, it was supposed to be a replay of the script used at Kirby Hall. It didn't quite work on the first day, as the Saxon army had their backs to the spectators. Not a pretty sight.
By all accounts it wasn't supposed to happen that way, there had been a misunderstanding between the two line commanders. In any case, I was placed amongst the left flank on the upper part of the sloped battlefield. There began the usual exchange of insults between the leaders; Tostig, Hardrada (Kevin) and Harold, while they were waiting for the narrator to start commentating over the micro. It didn't come.
You could see their consternation as they struggled to pad out their verbal ripostes, but eventually a voice rang out over the microphone ending their torment and we could get down to the serious matter of battling each other. Don't ask me what the commentator said, as I wasn't listening, but all I remember of the first day, was that once the initial, noise making, shield beating and shouting was over, and we all started taking hits, I looked around me to find that my entire flank had run away!?
They later told me that they had seen large numbers of armoured Huscarls advancing on our flank and had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and they all buggered off without a thought to tell me!
I swiftly totted up the pros and cons of dying under a mass of Saxon armour, and elected to join my brethren in their hasty retreat up the hill. I survived that first day, even though a chappy on horseback and an archer, attempted to harry me on the way. But the archer's aim was off, and the horseman, who I think may have been Harold, elected that he didn't stand too much of a chance against a solitary spearman, turned and fled. The following day's event flowed much more smoothly. The two sides were better situated side-on to the majority of the audience, and the commentary was well timed and apt. Myself and all the Vikings died as they ought to. Everybody was happy. Even the audience.
THE HASTINGS BATTLE
This was the biggest battle I had ever been in. A total of three societies fought side by side; Regia, Conquest and The Vikings.
At the end of Saturday's proceedings, Kim summed up his opinion on how things went with "I've been to many Battle of Hastings and this was one of them".
Whilst it could have flowed better than it did, and wasn't the totally gob smacking spectacle I had thought it was going to be, I had a fine time with a good, high body-count, before I, myself was overrun by Normans. In the back of my mind, I was thinking that I should merely provide a token resistance, but the majority of my conscience thought "bollocks to the Norman scum, kill the whole bloody lot of `em". So I tried. I killed about five Normans, mostly twits in chain who thought their armour would scare the "squishies". I keep myself warm at nights by remembering their look of surprise as a mighty thrust of my spear caught them squarely in the guts.
A number of people have likened my fighting techniques to Kevin's, in that I am an exceedingly aggressive user of the spear. I my humble opinion, defence has its place, but it won't make the buggers fall over in the long run!
On Sunday, the mounted Normandy warriors and the Archers were in greater number and were by far, much improved as a fighting unit compared to the day before and the whole atmosphere of the day was that of being much more relaxed and free and easy. People weren't expecting much, and because of that, they were generally pleasantly surprised on how it turned out. Myself included. I fact the whole of Sunday made the entire weekend "perfect" and was an excellent way to finish the year.
THE SPEAR TEST
But the year wasn't over yet! I had to pass my spear test. Treefrog and two other miscreants collected those other poor victims and proceeded to terrify and harass them in unison for what seemed like an age.
It was not one of my most favourite experiences, I can tell you, but like going to the dentists, the build up is worse than the actual process of having your teeth looked at. Of course, if you need a filling the whole experience can leave you slightly traumatised and nervous the next time. But not for me, as I passed. Hurrah!
My secret to passing the spear test (and don't blame me if you fail, when heeding what I am about to suggest) is as follows;
1 Do not panic. If you panic you WILL fail.
2 If they present you with a target, then HIT IT.
3 If they turn their backs on you stab them in it (safely)
4 Don't hit them where you're not supposed to, or hit them too hard.
5 If you make a mistake, apologise and admit it.
6 Attempt to remain in control of the situation. Very hard considering they outnumber you!
7 Never drop your spear! If you do, it shows them that you aren't in full control of it!
8 Do not be intimidated. They are very, very experienced and will not hurt you. Much.
Finally, whatever you do, even if you fail miserably, don't argue or disagree with `em, even if you think their opinion sucks. It will do you no favours in the long run. Laugh your failure off and try again ASAP. They'll probably admire that. Nobody likes a bad loser.
Case in point: I heard that a prospective member of a new group had acted in what was apparently a dangerous manner and proceeded to disagree vehemently with Treefrog. He was subsequently banned. Plonker!
October 16th and 17th 1999
The climax to my first Regia season turned out to be, by far, the most enjoyable and the most fulfilling. Arriving on Saturday morning, after a ninety minute journey, I arrived at Battle in East Sussex at around half ten. The light smattering of mid morning shoppers in this small picturesque country town, was sprinkled with the occasional Saxon or Viking strolling up and down the high street. Very amusing. Moments after erecting my tent, and in a similar vein to my Wareham visit, I discovered that training was soon to commence. Training? That wasn't mentioned in the blurb sent to me earlier in the week! However, eager to gain more experience, and hence more training stamps in my membership book, I speedily changed into my Regia gear and raced to the field where it was supposed to happen. There I met the two Simons and various other persons from other areas whom I knew by sight. They had come down the previous evening and had set up camp at the Living History Encampment (LHE) site.
"Treefrog", the National training officer, soon joined us and organised the training session which lasted for the next two hours. No games were played this day, but training was centred around good, old fashioned separating the group into teams and simply beating each other up.
One minor variation was introduced towards the end of the training session, where we were divided into two teams. One third of each team was allowed to use only a shield and no weapons, one third was only allowed the use of a spear, and the final third, allowed only the use of a short weapon, be it an axe, sword, whatever. This worked surprisingly well and made each side work together with their respective other two thirds, that is; the shield bearer was forced to work in tandem with the swordsman and the spearman.
A cunning ploy was conceived by one of the Simons, whereby the shield bearers would charge up and grab the enemies spears, whilst being backed up by the armed warriors who would attempt to cut down the now defenceless fighter. By the end of the training, everyone was completely knackered from their exertions and training stamps were given out. It was then that I was informed that the following day I would be allowed to take my spear test. AH! I thought. "At last"! From then on, all my thoughts were directed to improve my skills that weekend, so I would be able to start using my sword in the next season.
But first, I had to go find my fellow Sceaftesige members down at the LHE site. This was the first time I had been to the English Heritage site, and had I known the distance to and the energy required to travel there, I wouldn't have bothered. Of the all the locations; the Battlefield, the 20thC camp site, the LHE site and the training ground, all required walking uphill to a degree. This is one of the reasons that by the time the weekend was over, I was a complete, physical wreck. I think that from now on, I shall copy the behaviour of our group leader, and take every opportunity to collapse in a heap and rest.
But that is now - back then I was ignorant about such topographical matters . To say that the site was sprawling would be an understatement. I didn't even have time to explore the entire location, as I was never really given the time. Only half an hour after the training session had finished, we were expected to muster for the first battle of the day. Stamford Bridge.
So swiftly saying my hellos to Kev, Liz, Andy, Marnie, Paul, the two Simons and Steve Ethridge, who whilst not a part of Sceaftesige, is well known by most of the group, I had to trot all the way back up the hill and submit myself to the master at arms check. This time (unlike Kirby Hall) my shield passed with flying colours. My Scram scabbard was criticised for being shabby yet again, but it was allowed onto the battlefield. I didn't actually us it during the entire weekend, and may not, once I start using my sword, bring it on at all in the future, or at least until I have made a new scabbard...
During this battle, Kevin was portraying Harald (or Harold, depending on which side of the fence you sit on) Hardrada, the leader of the Norwegian host. Consequently I was forced to portray a Viking. I was doomed to be on the losing side of the four "planned" battles that weekend. I never saw the Fulford Gate re-enactment, as I was undergoing training at the time. Next year I might take time out and watch it! It all depends how I get on with my sword. (....thoughts start straying to my next weapon purchase. An axe I think! ...shakes head and returns to writing!!!)
STAMFORD BRIDGE
I shalln't go into every specific of who was where, what they did and when, as no amount of narrative could capture the entire proceedings. You had to be there. Besides, I told you all about it in the previous diary entry! In effect, it was supposed to be a replay of the script used at Kirby Hall. It didn't quite work on the first day, as the Saxon army had their backs to the spectators. Not a pretty sight.
By all accounts it wasn't supposed to happen that way, there had been a misunderstanding between the two line commanders. In any case, I was placed amongst the left flank on the upper part of the sloped battlefield. There began the usual exchange of insults between the leaders; Tostig, Hardrada (Kevin) and Harold, while they were waiting for the narrator to start commentating over the micro. It didn't come.
You could see their consternation as they struggled to pad out their verbal ripostes, but eventually a voice rang out over the microphone ending their torment and we could get down to the serious matter of battling each other. Don't ask me what the commentator said, as I wasn't listening, but all I remember of the first day, was that once the initial, noise making, shield beating and shouting was over, and we all started taking hits, I looked around me to find that my entire flank had run away!?
They later told me that they had seen large numbers of armoured Huscarls advancing on our flank and had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and they all buggered off without a thought to tell me!
I swiftly totted up the pros and cons of dying under a mass of Saxon armour, and elected to join my brethren in their hasty retreat up the hill. I survived that first day, even though a chappy on horseback and an archer, attempted to harry me on the way. But the archer's aim was off, and the horseman, who I think may have been Harold, elected that he didn't stand too much of a chance against a solitary spearman, turned and fled. The following day's event flowed much more smoothly. The two sides were better situated side-on to the majority of the audience, and the commentary was well timed and apt. Myself and all the Vikings died as they ought to. Everybody was happy. Even the audience.
THE HASTINGS BATTLE
This was the biggest battle I had ever been in. A total of three societies fought side by side; Regia, Conquest and The Vikings.
At the end of Saturday's proceedings, Kim summed up his opinion on how things went with "I've been to many Battle of Hastings and this was one of them".
Whilst it could have flowed better than it did, and wasn't the totally gob smacking spectacle I had thought it was going to be, I had a fine time with a good, high body-count, before I, myself was overrun by Normans. In the back of my mind, I was thinking that I should merely provide a token resistance, but the majority of my conscience thought "bollocks to the Norman scum, kill the whole bloody lot of `em". So I tried. I killed about five Normans, mostly twits in chain who thought their armour would scare the "squishies". I keep myself warm at nights by remembering their look of surprise as a mighty thrust of my spear caught them squarely in the guts.
A number of people have likened my fighting techniques to Kevin's, in that I am an exceedingly aggressive user of the spear. I my humble opinion, defence has its place, but it won't make the buggers fall over in the long run!
On Sunday, the mounted Normandy warriors and the Archers were in greater number and were by far, much improved as a fighting unit compared to the day before and the whole atmosphere of the day was that of being much more relaxed and free and easy. People weren't expecting much, and because of that, they were generally pleasantly surprised on how it turned out. Myself included. I fact the whole of Sunday made the entire weekend "perfect" and was an excellent way to finish the year.
THE SPEAR TEST
But the year wasn't over yet! I had to pass my spear test. Treefrog and two other miscreants collected those other poor victims and proceeded to terrify and harass them in unison for what seemed like an age.
It was not one of my most favourite experiences, I can tell you, but like going to the dentists, the build up is worse than the actual process of having your teeth looked at. Of course, if you need a filling the whole experience can leave you slightly traumatised and nervous the next time. But not for me, as I passed. Hurrah!
My secret to passing the spear test (and don't blame me if you fail, when heeding what I am about to suggest) is as follows;
1 Do not panic. If you panic you WILL fail.
2 If they present you with a target, then HIT IT.
3 If they turn their backs on you stab them in it (safely)
4 Don't hit them where you're not supposed to, or hit them too hard.
5 If you make a mistake, apologise and admit it.
6 Attempt to remain in control of the situation. Very hard considering they outnumber you!
7 Never drop your spear! If you do, it shows them that you aren't in full control of it!
8 Do not be intimidated. They are very, very experienced and will not hurt you. Much.
Finally, whatever you do, even if you fail miserably, don't argue or disagree with `em, even if you think their opinion sucks. It will do you no favours in the long run. Laugh your failure off and try again ASAP. They'll probably admire that. Nobody likes a bad loser.
Case in point: I heard that a prospective member of a new group had acted in what was apparently a dangerous manner and proceeded to disagree vehemently with Treefrog. He was subsequently banned. Plonker!
Addendum - 14th December 1999
That's it. No more re-writing. I had promised Carole that I'd let her proof it. But life has been hectic of late. Sick relatives. Sick me (one of the prices of having infant
children is that they carry germs like nobody's business!) and a major amount of interior decorating (now 98% finished) has resulted in me missing several battle practises and
numerous Tuesday evenings of role-playing. I did manage to get back for the emergency Witan meeting.
My group leader might possibly be thinking that I've lost that early enthusiasm. Well, it would be tempting to think that on a cold Tuesday evening with one's nose streaming with a cold (still!) and perhaps at the moment I have lost a bit of the old spark. But there has been a lot to do at home and the majority of it did (and will still do) come before Regia.
Fortunately, as I have said, the majority of it has been done. There's only Christmas to get through and I can (as can we all) relax in the glorious newness of the year 2000.
See you next year.
Alan Tidy (a.k.a. ULF)
My group leader might possibly be thinking that I've lost that early enthusiasm. Well, it would be tempting to think that on a cold Tuesday evening with one's nose streaming with a cold (still!) and perhaps at the moment I have lost a bit of the old spark. But there has been a lot to do at home and the majority of it did (and will still do) come before Regia.
Fortunately, as I have said, the majority of it has been done. There's only Christmas to get through and I can (as can we all) relax in the glorious newness of the year 2000.
See you next year.
THE EARLY WYCHURST DIARY
The Wychurst Project
Wychurst is Regia Anglorum's permanent site under construction near Canterbury in Kent. Whilst it has its own dedicated web pages,
this is an overview of Sceaftesige's involvement in the project.Wychurst is a Saxon Manorial Burgh, that is a Saxon Longhall with attendant dwellings surrounded by a ditch, earthwork rampart and wooden palisade. The buildings inside the fort will consist of a 60'×30' Longhall, stone Chapple, Bauhouse, Stables, Forge, and Bakery, whilst outside the ramparts there will be several artisans cottages. The picture (right) shows an artists impression of the gate house as seen from the cottage.
Construction Diary
Work started on the project in early 2000 with the construction of the Gruben House (peasants hovel). This was mainly an exercise to learn some
of the construction techniques that would be required to build the Artisans cottage completed later the same year.By June 2001 the oval for the fort (some 65 yards by 75 yards) had been rough cleared of timber, the ditch and pond dug, earthwork rampart constructed, and the area for the Longhall cleared and levelled.
In July 2001 the Society took delivery of 23 tons of green oak, rough cut to the approximate size and length needed to construct the Longhall. In
the week following the August bank holiday a gallant crew began work on preparing the main timbers for assembly. Working on the main uprights, some
19' in length (when cut to size) and 10" square, and their corresponding crossbeams, some 16' in length (when cut to size) and 10" square, three sets were
man-handled from their storage, cut and jointed.October 2001 saw the second working weekend of the project. With a large amount of additional manpower movement of the aisle posts and tie beams became a simple task. This allowed rapid progress to be made in sizing and jointing the remaining two sets of posts. In addition the manpower enable work to commence on cutting and jointing the aisle plates and all bar two of the eight were completed.
We also took the opportunity to hire a mini-digger which allowed us to cut a rear access to what will become our Living History Exhibit overflow and 20th-century camping area. In addition we managed to dig the holes for the posts, which was a learning experience in its own right.
To bring yourself up-to-date, follow this link...
AUTHENTIC DOG BREEDS
"Can you tell me about authentic dog breeds?"I have been asked this question many times. Unfortunately the answer is not short neither is it exact. This is a short introduction with a pick 'n' mix of a few of the more important dogs around in the period.
To start with we must look at the early history of dog breeding. The Egyptians were probably the first to initiate selective breeding with a particular look and ability as the end result. This was some two thousand years BC. The most notable of the breeds that survive today – almost untouched – are the Pharaoh Hound and the Ibizan Hound. Both closely related to each other and are often referred to as Baleric Greyhounds.
The Egyptians are also accredited with the creation of the Great Dane, although the pictures on the temples and palaces of Assyrian Kings are probably Mastiff-Hound crosses, that later became known by that name. Later in Greece, Aristotle wrote about dogs. In his texts he gives an important insight into the idea of "breeds"; giving hounds and sheep dogs the same breed name. Certainly in Greece, it would seem that dogs from an area were given a breed name as an expression of quality rather than standardized looks.
The Romans too were fond of dogs (apart from the unfortunate festival in June) and, along with the Phoenicians, helped move many dogs to different countries. The most obvious breed linked with the Romans is the Mastiff – frequently depicted as a war dog complete with spiked collar. A more unusual breed and probably the first terrier breed mentioned is the Maltese; the Roman Governor of Malta is documented as having owned one. A further breed also existing in the area at the time was the Italian Greyhound, which can easily be mistaken for a Whippet (a breed which is not authentic). The Romans were probably one of the first to acquire, out side of their native lands, the Saluki and the Sloughi (a depressed looking Greyhound).
Certainly many of the breeds made it to Britain with the Romans. However, once the invaders left how long they would have survived is debatable. Certainly the more useful would have been kept. Through the intervening years with such a small genetic pool the chance of them remaining unchanged is non-existent. Climate and social status would also have played a part, only the rich would have been able to feed a large Mastiff or keep a thin-skinned Mediterranean hound alive during the winter. Britons of the time did not seem inclined to be as selective about breeding as the Egyptians. When non-native breeds are mentioned it is more a status symbol. These were usually given in pairs as gifts and there seems to be no mention of unusual packs of dogs (e.g. Pharaoh Hounds). This would seem to indicate that any puppies were crosses with native dogs, resulting in the generic Lurcher (a hound/hound cross or herder/hound cross).
The types of dog used could be split roughly in to groups:
- Hunting dogs - those that were effective hunters either singularly or in a pack, using sight only (gaze hounds) or using nose, ears and eyes.
- Sheep herding dogs - any dog that could be taught to round up livestock.
- Sheep guarding dogs - these are primarily large and possess the cunning ability to blend in to a flock of sheep, consequently they are nearly always white and somewhat single-minded.
- Guard dogs - large, often mastiff type.
Today's breeds that can trace their ancestry back to 'dark age' Britain and Northern Europe are few. Even for some of these the claims are dubious. In this country the Deerhound and Irish wolfhound are the most recognizable of the hounds. The only other dog written about, that is a native breed, is the Corgi. In the Code of Laws written around AD 900 a cattle dog is mentioned that fits the description. Iceland, Norway, Finland and Sweden have more breeds available although these are predominantly of the Spitz type. They include:
- Icelandic Sheepdog Widely considered to be an ancestor of the Shetland Sheepdog.
- Norwegian Buhund Bu means farm or homestead. An all round herder/hunter first mentioned in AD 874.
- Norwegian Lundehund or puffin-dog. This breed unusually has six toes and is thought to have originated from Canis Forus rather than Canis Familiaris. There is a fatal genetic flaw in this breed and it is unlikely that is will continue to be bred.
- Finnish Spitz A hunting dog with an ear piercing bark easy to locate in dense woodland.
- Finish Lapphund Cousin to the Swedish Lapphund. Both have a distinct collie cross look about them.
- Swedish Valhund Frequently mistaken for a Corgi and most certainly a close relation. This Forest Dog was around in the 8th and 9th-centuries and exists today with little change.
- Samoyed Probably the oldest of the Scandinavian types.
- Siberian Husky a product of rigorous natural selection. Through Belgium and France there is little information on exact types; only the Belgian Shepherd, referred to as the Black Dog of Belgium (probably meaning an ancestor of the Groenendael).
- Briard Very popular around 1,200 years ago and a big hit with the Mongolian invaders too.
- St Huberts Hound Modern day descendents are the Basset Griffon Vendeen and Griffon Vendeen, Grand. (No exact dates available.)
It is very important to remember that dogs then would not have looked then like they do today. They have been selectively bred for hundreds of years and some breeds almost completely lost during the First and Second World Wars have been recreated again (mostly the bigger breeds). Dogs for Regia's historical period would probably had a distinct mongrel look about them compared to their modern day counterparts. Size would also be different — in the main today's dogs are much larger.
If you want a dog that will fit in with Regia as an "authentic breed" (I use the term extremely loosely)
then the local library and internet are both excellent starting points. Do research your chosen
breed; no obviously New World breeds (Labrador, Chesapeake, Chihuahua), Oriental breeds (Chow Chow, Pug,
Akita) or modern breeds (Doberman, Pit Bull, Bull Mastiff, Whippet). Remember, hunting dogs
will chase, guarding dogs will want to protect, big dogs need a sizable house and bank balance, some
dogs are hard to train, etc. A perfect place to see the breed and talk to breeders is Discover
Dogs in London early November. Alternatively contact the Kennel Club,
they should be able to put you in touch with breed societies. I also have a list of breed advisers
published through Dogs Today. Also some dogs are not yet available in this country and some are
on the import register and are likely to be expensive or very hard to obtain.In all honesty, after looking at current photos of the "authentic breeds", a suitable dog is most likely to be found in a local rescue centre — that scruffy flea-bitten looking mongrel. The Kennel Club also provide a Dog Rescue Directory complete with all the breed rescues and a few of the general rescues. I have a copy along with a few more that are not listed.
-Elisabeth Da'Born
ANGLO-SAXON MEDICINE
Ask the average twentieth century man in the street what are the causes of disease and the chances are that he will say “germs”
or “viruses”. Ask the average Anglo-Saxon and he would’ve said “elves”. These are not the pretty little fairy folk of
modern culture but powerful supernatural beings, marked with the mark of Cain, existing in the wild places beyond the tamed world
of Man: the moors; the marsh; the forest; the night. Many illnesses, but particularly the sudden mysterious onset of
something crippling or deadly, were due to their invisible arrows. In the Leechbook of Bald — surviving manuscripts
which date from AD900-950 (though the Bald of the title may have been a physician to King Ælfred) — the following instructions
are given to combat elf-shot with elecampane (Inula helenium):
"Go on Thursday evening after sunset to the helenium. Sing the Benedicite and Pater Noster and a litany, and stick your knife
into the herb. Then go away. Come again at the time for Matins; cross yourself and ask for God’s protection and go in
silence, and if any sort of supernatural being or frightening creature meets you don’t say a word to him until you come to the herb.
Then sing the Benedicite, Pater Noster and litany again, dig up the herb with the knife still in it and go straight and quickly to
church. Put the herb with the knife still in it under the altar. When the sun rises take it out, wash and make into a
drink with bishopwort and lichen off a crucifix. Boil in milk three times. Sing over it the Pater Noster, Credo,
Gloria and Excelsis Deo and a litany. Mark it with the cross on three sides using a sword then let the man drink it.
Soon he will be well."
From this it can be seen that medicine was a highly ritual, pious yet essentially magical activity, conceived of as a battle against dangerous spirits. The Christian influence is extremely strong in the Leechbook, less so in the Lacnunga (also circa AD900) — a poetic lay largely in praise of the nine sacred herbs:
- Mugwort
- Waybroad (Plantain)
- Steem (Thyme)
- Atterlothe (probably Bistort)
- Maythe (Chamomile
- Wergulu (Nettle)
- Crab Apple
- Fille
- Fennel
Not all the herblore was quite so exotic — Yarrow for example was recognised for the useful wound herb it is. Bone setting was quite advanced using soaked birch-bark which will harden around a limb to form a light but rigid cast. Nor were the herbalist confined to treating just serious and mysterious illness: They turned their attention to cures for such various things as aching feet (mugwort in the shoes), wives who won’t shut up (the husband must fast and eat radishes), and baldness (bees burnt to ash and rubbed on the head with a paste of honey).
It’s not possible to give more than a taster of the strange and wonderful world of Anglo-Saxon medicine — a world that makes it plain that however much we think we understand them, we probably don’t — in such a short space. The four surviving manuscripts: Bald’s Leechbook, Lacnunga, and Saxon translations of the Herbarium Apuleii Platonici, and On Schools of Petronius of Salerno, are available for serious research. Alternatively, and much easier, Eleanor Sinclair Rohde’s Old English Herbals (Dover Publications 1971) will tell you most of what you want to know. As a parting shot, interestingly, the Anglo-Saxon term for a sudden and devastating illness still survives; elf-shot was also known as elf-stroke, and in modern days just “Stroke”.
-Wulfwaru
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Contact: 21st August 2011
After the long and complex process which finally had me deciding to join an Anglo-Saxon era re-enactment
group, I started the process of finding a suitable one to join. Regia Anglorum was
an obvious front-runner from the start, and the local Regium was listed as Sceaftsige. I started
rummaging around the internet for information about them and after discovering that the spelling
is actually Sceaftesige, I eventually chanced upon an old 20th-century web-site which looked like
a long forgotten corner of the World Wide Web. I started exploring, avoiding the long-expired
adverts for companies which no longer existed, and eventually found a diary for a new member,
written by a certain Alan Tidy, over a decade before. Little did I know that, when I eventually
joined, I would be requested to write the next diary of a new member by the omnipresent group
leader Ketil Thorkulson.Before I joined, I wanted to touch base with them get an impression of the group and the people within. An e-mail to the membership officer as listed on the main Regia site went unanswered but I had found and dusted off an e-mail address on the old Sceaftesige site and thankfully, Ketil still checked that address. Before long I was invited down to the Regia permanent site of Wychurst in Kent.
By the time I parked the car at the end of New Road, the dirt track on which Wychurst is located, I had learnt a bit more about Regia Anglorum, including seeing a few pictures of the Ealdorman of the group — a white-bearded man by the name of Kim Siddorn — and approaching the entrance to the Wychurst enclosure revealed that very man presiding over the works in the way an Ealdorman of old would have done — sitting in a chair letting everyone else do the work.
No-one was in period kit, as Ketil had previously explained, and the site looked as much like a Dark Age settlement as 1943 Stalingrad looked like a thriving bustling centre of economic activity. Regia’s equivalent of hundreds of slaves and serfs to help with the labour is 21st-century power tools and construction vehicles. Two men were putting up steel scaffolding at the entrance and one towering individual soon approached. He looked like a Viking, a thick black beard and a glaring look straight out of the Dark Ages. I probably stepped back a couple of feet, but soon he was upon me and tore my hand from my arm in what actually transpired to be a friendly greeting, this was the son of Thorkul, the Sceaftesige group leader known by his authentic Dark Age name of Ketil.
The visit round Wychurst served its purpose of getting to know Ketil, Kim and a few others. At least it did not put me off and I returned home pretty sure that this was the group I was going to join, although a decision would wait until after my summer holiday.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Event: 08th October 2011
Shortly after joining, I enthusiastically started to build a shield, it seemed straightforward enough,
but after a few weeks I still only had random pieces of wood which would be as useful as deflecting
blows as a cumbersome ironing board. My first event was the Cranborne Chase Woodfair on the
second weekend in October, three weeks after joining. I still had zilch in the way of period kit, but
Alan, with whom I’d been liaising since joining, said there would be equipment to borrow when I
arrived at Cranborne Chase. So all I had to do was get there.Easier said than done, the postcode on the Fayre’s web-site took me to the village of Cranborne, and it was only by asking in a friendly pub that I knew how to proceed at all. The directions the pub’s patron gave me had more twists and turns than Hampton Court maze but with the aid of a hastily scribbled, yet very informative map, I soon found myself following AA signs, only now did I dare breathe easy. The signs directed me to a farm, and after a moments hesitation, I ventured further into the darkness until I found a campsite. It was now pitch black and I was still not too sure that I was in the right place. I parked the car and ventured into the darkness, focusing on one of many small campfires and approached it with caution — although not enough caution to prevent myself from walking straight into a rope which was cordoning off a part of the field. I eventually found someone and asked if he knew where Regia Anglorum were.
“Yes”, he said, “We’re here!”
Phew!
The next few hours saw me get acquainted with some of the members, including Alan, over a pint of some seriously strong cider that flowed in this corner of Dorset. After the cider, we turned in for the night, I slept in a flimsy plastic tent, which meant I was a good five minute walk from the rest of the Regia members, who had pitched in the “authentic” section with their period tents.
Between 7 and 9 the following morning, I helped Alan make cups of coffee (very important), helped Ketil erect the wyc — the epicentre for Sceaftesige activity — and got to know a few of the other members including two who were still feeling the affects of too much cider the night before.
At 9, ropes were used to demark the boundary between 21st-century Cranborne Chase and 11th-century Lamerwic, the name of this village set in the Domesday year of 1086. I was still in 21st-century garb so was ejected from Lamerwic like a piece of unwanted garbage. Alan soon prepared some clothes for me, and I was allowed momentarily to dart into his authentic tent to change.
My t-shirt, trousers and all accessories (wallet, keys, mobile phone and the like) were discarded in a corner of the tent. Instead I wore a linen tunic, some woollen trousers and leather shoes. The shoes were made by Alan himself and were comfortable enough when walking on grass, although gravel was unpleasant enough to make me think twice before attempting a journey to the port-a-loos situated in a gravel-rich car-park. On top of the linen tunic, I wore one of Ketil’s old woollen tunics, complete with blood stains from some previous altercation in which he no doubt came off the better. This was a welcome addition, as it was still rather nippy. The trousers were a size 100, and the pull-cord required a lot of adjusting before I convinced them to stop falling down. I helped the trousers by securing around my waist one of Alan’s leather belts. Finally, a yank on the woollen tunic allowed it to drape over the belt, thus mostly obscuring it, in what is currently believed to be the style of the age.
I was now a fully clad 11th-century individual, and stepped from the tent a citizen of the village of Lamerwic.
I was not yet a warrior, for the 21st-century health and safety rules meant that proof of my self control with a 9-foot spear was first required. I had never held a spear before, apart from a short Tanganyikan assegai which decorates my parent’s house, and so was completely new to everything involving fighting with mêlée weapons. Because of this, I was expecting to be a non-fighting Lamerwic serf for the whole of the weekend.
I had met Kettlewell the Elder (Paul) in the cider tent, and once he had got over his hangover, he suggested I get to know the basics with him. The first thing he went over was the target areas, unlike true Dark Age combat, the head, joints and lower legs are no-go, or no-stab, areas. This is for obvious safety reasons and to preserve Regia’s membership, which could otherwise be adversely affected. He invited me to stab his hand with the spear I was now holding, and I did so, getting his hand with the lightest of taps unless he held it by his head or some other no-stab area. Half an hour of this was enough for me to learn the basics. At 10:30 there was a training session in the central arena, both Kettlewells and many others went to entertain the public, but I was not yet ready, so Alan used this time to take me out of the way and have another session with him. An hour later, I felt more at home with the spear and Alan was convinced I wasn’t a liability on the field.
The decision was not his, however, and the Master-at-Arms, a charismatic warrior straight out of some heroic Hollywood legend said it would have to wait until to-morrow.
In the meantime, I had to watch the main battle from the sidelines with another newbee — Jess — and help with the collection of firewood from a nearby copse.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Battle: 09th October 2011
I woke after a slightly warmer, if not more windy, night and before I knew what had hit me I was
in the main arena with a spear and shield. The Master-at-Arms examined my weapons, checking
the spear point and the shield rim for any sharp areas which might cause actual 21st-century
injury. After this I found myself facing a warrior in a bright red tunic — indicating that he was a more
wealthy individual than me, maybe even a thegn or a baron. This mattered now, he was the man
who would determine if I could fight in to-day’s battle. He started by saying two words:“Hit me”
I stabbed him in the stomach.
“Good”, he said, “again”
I stabbed him in the chest, then in the hip.
After a while of this he then started attacking me, we both acknowledged each other’s hits. After no more than 20 minutes, he said that was enough, and confirmed to the Master-at-Arms that I was battle-ready.
I didn’t even leave the arena, but found myself in a loose shield wall advancing towards another shield wall in a series of training sessions. Alan (or Ulf I suppose, since we’re now in character) was our army’s leader, but I couldn’t understand a word he said. Some mumble meant Advance, another incomprehensible shout meant Weapons Ready, I only knew what to do by mimicking the others.
I found myself facing a man with similar clothes as me. He too was armed only with a spear, but something told me that this was no easy kill. Two of us faced him, as he seemed distracted by the other I jabbed out, but he deflected my spear like shooing a fly. Before I had recovered, a jab from a spear, maybe his, into my guts had me fall to the floor.
The next session followed in a similar vein, and it was only in my third session that I could claim a “kill”. I’m still not sure that this was my kill, for the victim was cornered by three people, and as I jabbed into his buttocks, two other spears from two other warriors stabbed his front and he fell down a convincingly lifeless mass.
Another practice, I found myself alone and facing the backs of three warriors fighting off three more. I approached, ready to stab them in the behind, when I suddenly realised that I didn’t know whose side they were on. I hesitated, in what must have been obvious confusion, for the Master-at-Arms yelled at me, saying:
“They’re on your side!”
But I didn’t know of whom he spoke, so just hovered there until one of the sides prevailed. Luckily it was my side who won and I wasn’t then chopped to pieces.
Another time had me face, mano-a-mano, the same individual who I had faced before. He was armed only with a spear, or so I thought, for as I jabbed at him, he dropped his spear, ran behind me, grabbed me and sliced me across my chest with a sword in what must have been the most visually pleasing kill of the day.
Soon, the thegn who had okayed me changed the game to a one-on-one combat. By this time, the Master-at-Arms had joined the other team and he stepped into the arena with an obvious confidence. Someone from our team stepped in, was stabbed, and had to withdraw. This happened to about six more of our warriors, including Ulf. The Master-at-Arms as yet undefeated. I didn’t want to be last, so stepped in thinking that maybe he’d go easy on a newbie like me. I saw a grin on his face, and he adorned my shoulder with an extra bruise before I realised the combat had even begun. I retired. No-one defeated him that round.
The final training session was an interesting one. We all paired up with someone, one had the shield, and one had the weapon. I was with Ulf, and had the spear. This was the time when I had my first undisputed kill, for as Alan held the spear of our opponents, I circled round and stabbed them in the arse. I repeated this two more times before I was eventually felled. The next two rounds saw us get disposed of very promptly, first by the backstabbing Westcentingas who stabbed me in the back, and secondly by that same duo in more even combat.
The training was over, and I went back to the wyc for lunch. Soon would be the battle.
Lunch was soup, and a very nice soup too. Carole, wife of Alan and head of the wyc, had prepared the soup during the morning practice and seeing it poured into a wooden bowl I’d borrowed was a very welcome sight. Being in the year 1086, the soup was sans potatoes, but did have orange carrots which I suppose can be forgiven — I just made sure I ate them before some smartalec member of the public pointed out that carrots weren’t orange in 1086. This was a real danger, as there were many members of the public who were curious enough to ask intelligent questions. One question I was asked was why there weren’t any potatoes in my soup — too close to the carrots for comfort!
Between our wyc and the neighbouring wyc of the Hæstingas, the Sussex Regium, Paul — another Paul — spent the whole weekend lighting and putting out fires, which never failed to draw a crowd. He started by striking some high-carbon steel against a flint to get a spark. Ordinarily this microscopic sliver of steel would cool and disappear into the aether before its heat could be harnessed, but Paul held a small square of charred linen, which caught and smouldered slowly. Then he placed it in a bundle of dry grass and blew upon it until it burst into flames. All this time he answered questions from the curious public, and he was the only person to draw a crowd from amongst the 11th-century population as well.
Half an hour before the battle, we mustered behind the row of tents. Here we had our weapons
checked once more by the Master-at-Arms and were then divided quite randomly into two groups
– one would fight for the previous English king — Eadgar II “the Ætheling”, whilst the other would
fight for the incumbent King William I “the Conqueror”. Or rather, one would fight for Thegn Eadric
and the other for Duke fitzAmos in a small skirmish forming part of
Eadgar the Ætheling’s last attempt to re-claim the English throne. I was very close to the spear
point which divided the two teams, but found myself in Thegn Eadric’s shieldwall.There are some in Regia who will never fight for a Norman, and a few of these people made themselves known by walking to the English side of the spear. I personally see no problem in fighting as a Norman, a Norseman or an Anglo-Saxon, you can’t re-create a battle with only one side after all, but deep down I was happy that my first battle saw me amongst an English shieldwall.
We took to the field before the Normans, and marched up and down to please the crowd. Some of us walked to the perimeter so the public could see our matériel, all as instructed by the Master-at-Arms, who was in the rôle of Eadric and therefore our army’s leader.
We re-formed the shieldwall in good time for fitzAmos and his retinue to approach. The Duke was riding a horse, but his retinue were infantry in a loose shieldwall like us. Thegn Eadric and the Duke stepped forward to discuss the situation: the Battle of Hastings was 20 years ago and we were berated for taking to the field. I was only 5 or so yards behind the Eadric, and held my spear in a way that hopefully the audience interpreted as a loyal warrior ready to defend his master, but I was more concerned with not startling the horse, so my actions were somewhat muted.
The parley concluded, the battle begun as fitzAmos rode back behind his shieldwall.
I had been told that the battle was comprised of three sections:
- 1st Mêlée — a weapon on shield action where no-one dies.
- 2nd Mêlée — another weapon on shield action where no-one dies
- 3rd Mêlée — the final competative action where people die if hit.
1st Mêlée:
The shieldwall advanced with the heavily armoured troops on the left flank and us lightly armoured warriors on the right. We soon found ourselves facing fitzAmos’ retinue, I thrust my spear against the white shield of the warrior facing me as my shield was also hit. This continued until Eadric instructed us to withdraw.
Us lightly armoured warriors withdrew in good order, but the heavier troops kept fighting and Eadric ran out to restore discipline and had them reform some 20 yards from the Norman line, we then withdrew a little further. The Norman Lord rode around us on his horse, but apart from that the two forces stood motionless facing one another. Eadric walked up and down the line, telling us the next mode of attack: the heavy troops would advance, with the light warriors following three seconds later.
2nd Mêlée:
I counted to three and advanced, only to find myself facing the same white shield as before. I turned momentarily to strike and a green, white and red shield to my left, and a spear got round my shield and brushed my stomach. Ordinarily that would have been a kill, and I instinctively fell back whilst yelling “argh” in recognition of the hit. I would have fallen to the ground and remained a lifeless lump for the rest of the battle had I not realised that it was still Mêlée № 2, and hits didn’t count.
We fell back again and were about to advance once more into the fray. My heart was pumping, I hadn’t had this much exercise since climbing hills in Scotland five months ago, and I felt I could do with a few minutes respite. This was provided, I am thankful to say, by the Norman Duke who rode out in front of Eadric and silently blocked our advance. Despite being on a horse, he would have been an easy kill as his shieldwall was some 30 yards behind him, but this signified another parley and I leant on my spear making the most of the rest.
Parley over (I don’t recall what was said — something about us all being hunted down like the treacherous dogs we were), the mounted Lord retreated behind his shieldwall and the battle continued.
3rd Mêlée:
This was it, this was the deadly battle. I heard Kim say something about weapons feeling heavy in the hand, but I felt okay after that small break. This time I was on the right flank, and carefully kept the line of the shield wall as I advanced. I fully expected to die, yesterday the Normans had prevailed and everyone was saying how a newbie always dies in his first few battles. Right on cue, as I faced a line of Norman shields and spear points, a spear thrust past my shield and struck me on the thumb, continuing down to just past my wrist. Again I exclaimed “urgh”, but since that isn’t the agreed target area, I continued fighting. I looked to the left of the line as we fell back against the Norman onslaught, and saw one of the Westcentingas had fallen and was lying beneath his distinctive kite shield.
Somehow I found myself one of three members pitched against a single Norman, I hadn’t even properly registered this fact before he was felled by a forest of spears. The three of us then circled round to flank the remaining Norman line, and found that only a couple remained. I advanced toward them, approaching just as the final Norman soldier was felled not two yards from the observing public. I looked around, expecting to see half the Duke’s retinue still fighting, or even a trap which would see us all cornered and stabbed in the back. But the whole Norman army was dispensed. Only fitzAmos himself remained, dismounted and locked into combat with Eadric. I marched towards the two leaders, and soon I held one of many spears which surrounded him. Eadric now gave him the chance to live, but it was not taken and he was dispatched with a sword cut across the chest.
Eadric’s retinue was all-but intact. The whole of Sceaftesige had survived. It is practically unknown for a newbie to survive his first battle but so overwhelming was our victory that my survival seemed nothing special, although I wasn’t sure what had hit me. I mentioned to Alan that I fully expected to be slain, and that I was slightly looking forward to the rest which dieing would present.
The dead had arisen and the public were in the arena examining our weapons and armour. We answered
questions and let the curious spectators handle spears and shields; a kid asked to look at Alan’s sword;
Alan duly handed it across and was rewarded by a swift jab in the guts.Once the public had dispersed, a simple deathmatch was initiated, and I faced Alan over the rim of my shield. He closed the distance and shortened his spear accordingly, my weapon was useless and he stabbed me in the buttocks. As I fell to the ground, I heard him say:
“Enjoy your rest”
Despite this, I was hailed as a lucky charm, a newbie who survived his first ever battle. For the next few hours, “I survived” never strayed far from my lips as I made sure everyone in Lamerwic knew.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Witan: 16th October 2011
One week after our crushing victory over Nigel’s Normans, I attended my first Sceaftesige get-together,
which happened to be the Annual meeting of the Witan. Theoretically this is when
important things are decided, but I had absolutely no idea what to expect, so I just took myself to
the agreed locale, which happened to be just outside of Sceaftesige’s land-grant — in the neutral
territory of Hampshire.As is traditional, I started the day by getting lost, and almost found myself amongst a happening football game. I thought about opening the gate and seeing whether the path continued, but the boisterous game seemed too dangerous and I turned around. A normal Sunday football game looks far less appealing than spears and swords pointed in my direction by battle-hardened members of Sceaftesige.
I approached another building, negotiating a narrow alleyway sided by high chain-link fences and was relieved to see the black and yellow shields of Sceaftesige Garrison resting against Alan’s car. There was a newcomer, an individual who contacted Ketil at around the same time as myself, but who didn’t have the means to make it to Kent or Dorset. Once he paid the hefty one-day insurance charge, he joined us in battle practice.
Both Kettlewell the Elder and Younger were there, as was Gareth. Together with Alan, Mark (the new newbie) and myself, six people were ready for practice. There were only five shields, so while a sixth was summoned forth by Carole, and whilst Alan introduced Mark to the concepts of re-enactment fighting just as he had with me a week before, the rest of us practiced.
A week ago, my tactic was to cower behind my shield and stay with the main shieldwall. It had worked well in the battle, although a few of the training sessions had me stabbed, sliced and disposed of in other ways. Now, as Kettlewell the Elder instructed us to dispose of our shields, I found myself fighting with only my quick feet, parries and wits for protection. But to my surprise I was quite comfortable, facing three much more experienced fighters, I somehow found ways through their defences and repeatedly stabbed them in the chest, stomach, thigh and backside. I was struck too of course, Gareth gave me a very respectable bruise just above the knee, he was surprised that it was a valid hit, thinking that it was on the knee and therefore an illegal hit.
Soon the spare shield, an old and battered relic from Alan’s past, was brought forth and all six of us could fight, spear and shield in hand.
A series of three-on-three actions followed, on a couple of occasions I demonstrated my ability to survive until it was three-on-one, and then heroically died in a frenzy of lashing spearheads and cries of “Kill ‘im!”. Other fights had me die depressingly quickly, but I think I can confidently say that my ability to survive was better than my ability to kill.
I was also introduced to the “Bridge Game”, where our shields were used to demark a bridge. Two from each team stepped forth to fight on the bridge, with the third in reserve. As Mark thrust his spear into my stomach and as I fell lifeless into the torrent below (stepped backwards), I thought to myself that this is a lot of fun. I expected it to be fun, but I am surprised as quite how much fun it actually is. My regret is not finding it sooner.
We paused for a cup of tea, but apart from that continuously fought for the whole morning. My Philadelphia World Champions Baseball t-shirt was dripping in sweat, a stout bruise was developing just above my knee (thanks Gareth) and I was pathetically out-of-breath. I don’t go to the gym, it is just too boring; if I am ever to keep fit — this is the way I’ll do it.
After a nice soup, fighting was over and the Witan could begin. Witan — meaning wise man — is the name given to the annual meeting. It is called a Witan because “Witan” is a nice Anglo-Saxon word, and to compensate for the lack of wise men who take part — I think. Ketil, who had sat in silence for the last hour, started the session. He sat at the head of the table with Alan by his side. The children, who until now were playing on a computer were ejected from the room and the computer was usurped by Alan, who read out the minutes of the previous year’s Witan. It involved a lot of actions on Ketil, which resulting in him sniggering to himself behind his beard.
As Alan read out the previous minutes, a few people made comments or jokes. Ketil mentioned in passing that this Witan must be earlier than last year’s. He also mentioned that this was the first Witan in a while which was quorate, although I’m not sure why that mattered.
Once the minutes had been read, he started to speak. He started by saying “It’s been another year.”, and then confirmed that he’d completed none of his actions from last year.
Before he went on, I pointed out that if the previous Witan was later than this year, it can’t have been another year. Ketil smiled (I knew I’d just made a mistake) and then demoted to me to slave.
“But” I said “I’m already a slave!” and then instantly thought “You idiot, I could have got away with that”
Alan and Ketil then took away my clothing privileges, as I didn’t own any period clothing, this was a problem. I shut my trap. I wonder if I’ll ever make Thegn…
The reports came in from all the officers:
- Ketil started with the group leader report.
- Alan continued with the 2iC report.
- Liz with the Authenticity Officer’s report
- Carole with the Wyc Officer’s report
- The Treasurer wasn’t in attendance so Carole also did that.
- Ketil and Alan, as joint training officer, made a two-word report on training.
After the reports came the elections:
- Ketil, in a big booming voice, started: “Who dares oppose me as group leader?” Well, he didn’t really say that but the result was the same — no-one did.
- No-one opposed Alan either.
- Carole pleaded that someone replace her as Wyc Officer — but no-one wanted that responsibility.
- Liz is the only one who has the expertise to continue as Authenticity Officer, I’m not even sure if the question was asked.
- The Treasurer was duly re-appointed too, as his name is on the bank account.
Then issues were discussed. This was my time to shine. The newly unopposed group leader looked at me and smiled in the same way as just before he revoked my clothing privileges. He reminded everyone that he’d asked me to do a new members diary. I confirmed that I’d have a go at it, but promised nothing (little did he know I’d already finished the previous three sections). He also stated that Mark could also do one — it would have been interesting to see how our experiences differed, had he joined…
The next issue was the state of the Sceaftesige web-site. Finding the Sceaftesige web-site proved particularly difficult when I searched, as previously mentioned, and it was agreed that something needed to be done. A few people, including Mark, had ideas or offered to help in some way, but everyone expertly succeeded in sidestepping the issue. Occasionally, after a suggestion or comment, Ketil would say something like “Sounds like you’re volunteering”, which was a very good way of shutting them up.
After a few minutes of this, and as the topic started to drift, I thought to myself that this is a silly situation, I have the skills to do a web-site — or at least I claimed to have — and I can probably find the time, so I took a gulp, and volunteered myself. Hopefully my clothing privileges might be restored… But it transpired that the Web-Site Officer was called Marnie, and since she wasn’t there, I’d have to make the offer to her at some later date.
Ketil had just reminded us that he is the only group leader to control two whole modern counties (Berkshire and Buckinghamshire), and this was the next point. There were seldom any battle practices in Bucks. It was agreed to have more, but where and when was left for another day, and being a resident of the Royal County, I didn’t feel I had much to offer on this topic, so kept quiet.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Feast: 7th January 2012
One of the things that so endeared me to Regia Anglorum was the Wychurst Longhall in Kent,
the idea of feasting on good traditional food with comrades around a hearth with stories being told
was almost irresistible. This is a four-year Regia tradition, held on a weekend in early January to
celebrate Twelfth Night.I had intended to make all my own clothes, but many weeks of effort resulted in only one tunic, and with Christmas out of the way, the need to get a move on with my other items became pressing. I recruited the help of a useful relative, and in good time for the feast I had 2 tunics and a pair of warm trousers. Authentic socks weren’t required, which was good, and Alan once again leant me shoes, a belt and a very nice cloak.
I arrived in good time and once I’d staked a claim to a small corner of the nearby scout hall, inflated an air bed and dumped two bags in a way which would hopefully deter anyone else from taking the spot next to me, I started to say hi to people.
I collected a few things out of my bag and showed them to Alan, the first one was a knife. A knife is useful in feasts, but I didn’t have an authentic one so rummaged through the drawer looking for a suitable alternative. Before long I had found my grandfather’s old knife — re-handled by him — and sharpened so much that it was barely half its original breadth. I had high hopes for this find in the darker depths of my kitchen drawer, but upon seeing it, Alan said something along the lines of:
“I want to say this in the nicest possible way, but you buy the most awful things”
I took that as a no.
But when it comes to buying things, I’ve had rather a lot of success. After the Witan, I had bought a spoon, a combat seax, many rolls of cloth for clothing and two shield bosses. All of them had been passed, including the seax which got Alan’s praises when I presented it to him now. Not only that, but a member of Milites de Bec — the evil Norman group — came over to ask where I bought it – that must be ringing endorsement.
I hung Holly around the hall, transported things up and generally stood about chatting to people. Before long, more people arrived and I went to get into kit. Alan produced a piece of leather from his car and fashioned a belt there and then. Together with his shoes and his cloak, my costume was complete.
Sceaftesige sat on our own table, away from the high and low tables of the honoured guests and
from the roaring heat of the fire. If anything this was good, the weather was extremely mild for early
January and the hall was very adequately warm. Next to the Sceaftesige table was that of Hwitmearum,
towards the door was Y Cantref Breiniol, and hidden in the corner away from the door, and as far from the
food as we could get away with, was the large retinue of the evil de Bec.A few people were going from table to table photographing the individual groups. They had to be quick about it, as at six o’clock a horn was sounded — this was the start of the feast and no-one was now allowed to take photos, use phones or other modern beepy things.
Then the feast began. The only light was from the candles on the tables and the roaring fire in the middle, sparks shooting up towards the timbers and oak roof tiles. The food was brilliant, especially the Norfolk dumpling, which I hope to find again at some point. The food wasn’t traditional, mainly because no-one knows much about what they ate — the ingredients are known, but the recipes remain a mystery.
Various individuals of note decided to address the hall, from toasting the Queen, to singing 19th-century
songs, to hearing about the history of the Longhall, to harp playing, entertainment was
varied, traditional, inclusive and inspiring. One which I particularly liked was the story of taking the
Bear (one of the longships) to the Lake District and the catalogue of disasters which followed. But
instead of telling the story as he might down his local pub, he translated all of the modern terms
into historick ones which proved to be great entertainment for all. It occurred when a great Bear was travelling
south from a lake, or mere, where it was windy, some might call it Windermere. Low-loaders became Land Lizards,
punctures became injured paws and so it went on; much to everyone’s amusement.I did feel we came as close as is feasible to a great Dark Age feast, but the modern world was never too far away. I was particularly thankful during the night, as instead of an uncomfortable straw bed, I had a technologically advanced inflatable mattress. I was slightly disappointed that my idea of placing a bag to get me more space had failed, and even more so during the night when he out-snorred everyone in the room. But in the end I slept well enough to be fully refreshed, to enjoy breakfast, spill muesli over the floor, get to know the evil members of Milites de Bec and earn a few brownie points by cleaning the scout hall.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Training: 28th & 29th January 2012
My shield, completed in Alan’s shed not one week before, had its first test on 28th Jan, when I
stepped forth into the fray for the first time in 2012. I had arrived the day before and spent the
evening chatting, renewing friendships and making new ones. With no spear, I was relying on
Alan to lend me his, but as he was only attending one day, the need to forge new friendships would
be crucial to my ability to take part on the Sunday, it wasn’t long before a spear was earmarked for
my Sunday use.
Islip is the birthplace of King Eadweard III — Edward the Confessor — and a small mosaic above the village hall advertises the fact. It was in 2005 that Regia first came to Islip, to commemorate Eadweard’s millennium and the society has returned in force each year since for training sessions.
Saturday
I woke early on Saturday 28th January, thankfully not near anyone who snored, but my inability to fully inflate the mattress had affected my back, and a slight ache informed me of such. I got straight into authentic gear, and exchanged a coin for a bacon roll with ketchup for breakfast. The previous night had seen some rain, but to my relief the ground was not as muddy or as slippery as I had feared.
Practice started at ten o’clock and the first duty was for my shield to be checked. As at Cranborne, shields and weapons must always be checked for sharp edges which may cause undesirable injury. This was the first time my own hand-crafted shield was checked, and although I was confident, it was a relief when it passed.
Mêlée commenced, and I was stabbed and died many times. The day took the form of a number
of exercises, each slightly different. Some would reduce everyone to one hit-point, whereas others
would allow the more armoured individuals to endure all three. Some would be “with honours”
which I think meant we weren’t allowed to stab anyone in the back or sneak up on them — not that
I was ever in a situation to do that of course. After each skirmish, a few of the more experienced
marshals, who were dictating terms of combat to the rest of us, would criticize or commend our
tactics and actions, before altering the teams and maybe adjusting the rules.Although I had been introduced to the Old Ænglisc commands at Sceaftesige’s Witan, I learnt them here. They are what is thought to be the most likely Anglo-Saxon commands for the time:
| Sounds like | Loose Translation | Action |
|---|---|---|
| A Wican | Stand to Attention | Feet together |
| Nameth Weapna | Make Ready | Spear on shoulder ready for combat |
| Stepan | Step Forth | Take one step forward in a defensive pose |
| Gengeth Forth | Advance | March towards the enemy |
| Reareth Weapna | Present Weapon | Spear ready, facing the enemy’s line |
There were a few others, but they were few and far between enough for me to forget what they were.
I loved this. For some reason, the part I liked the most is when we’ve Nameth’d Weapna and are Gengething Forth towards an enemy line who has already Reareth’d Weapna. Something about marching un-armed and defenceless against a line of hostile pointy sticks is so different from anything else that afflicts our 21st-century lives that for that split second — before the command Reareth Weapna made you a defensible line — you were in a completely alien situation. At some point half way through the battle, I saw a black and yellow shield of Sceaftesige on the far side of the field. My fellow group members had arrived.
The day proceeded in similar fashion. We were divided up into teams — usually by allocation of a number. Some games had but two teams, others had four or five. Games we played included:
- Line fight:
two teams advancing towards each other in classical shieldwall action.
- Castle game:
two teams fight each other in the confined space of a castle, marked by spears on the ground.
- Kill-the-leader:
up to five teams each have to fight and protect their group leader. Once the leader dies, the whole group dies (some variations had the surviving soldiers of that team join the team who killed their leader).
- Bridge game:
two teams fight on a bridge, demarked by shields or spears on the ground.
Regia Anglorum members are all given a passport sized membership document and for every day
at a public show (such as Cranborne Chase) or a training day (such as Islip), your book would be
stamped. Stamps are used to demonstrate your experience in a certain weapon. Before Islip, I
had two stamps.The Regia hit-system is somewhat related to stamps. Only after obtaining 6 stamps with a two-handed spear are you allowed to take your spear test. Once you’ve passed your spear test you gain your second hit-point. You are also allowed to migrate to a short-arm once the spear test is passed. The glamour of a sword mean that most migrate to short-arms as soon as they pass their spear test.
On one occasion, us two-handed spearmen were training separately from the short-arms, and it
was therefore a given that the majority of us would only have one hit-point. We then trained in
shieldwall tactics against each other for the better part of an hour. After this we then fought the
short-arms, all of whom would have two hit-points and many who might have three (the third hit-point
is dependent on the armour worn on the occasion).We outnumbered the short-arms, but in terms of hit-points they outnumbered us by about two-to-one. Their weight of experience also shewed, and the first time we faced each other we were steam-rolled over. In theory, shieldwall fighting is easier with a spear, the advantage in reach this gave us, together with greater actual numbers, meant that defeat was not a foregone conclusion. The next clash started with a boar-snout attack — a wedge of warriors charged through our line with intent to smash it. But our trainers had planned for this, and the line opened and closed behind them, with the more experienced spearmen containing them. The boar-snout was very close to me, but passed me by and we then received the rest of the short-arms in good order. This time discipline held, and we eventually saw off the attack by weight of numbers. I survived this skirmish — a rarity for the day — and we were all commended in the way we defeated a superior foe.
Islip was not just military training, numerous craft events were held. People partook in less militaristic activities such as spoon carving, embroidery, leatherwork and arrow making. Such activities were occupying Carole, Ketil and Liz whilst Alan, the Kettlewells and I were fighting in the mud of Islip football pitch. I did manage to go and say hi to Carole and Liz, but was eager not to miss any of the combat so hardly said anything to either of them. Hannah — the formidable Viking child of Hwitmearum — also consumed a lot of my time negotiating terms on which I should push her on the park swing.
After combat was finished, I took part in a leatherwork class where we learnt the basics of sewing and decorating leather straps and seax sheaths. By the time this finished, everyone from Sceaftesige had gone home.
Sunday
I was the sole representative of the garrison on Sunday, and rose early, exchanged another coin for another bacon bap and stepped out with a borrowed spear ready for the day’s fighting.
What greeted me on the steps of the village hall were three gentlemen, in football strips, one on the phone frantically trying to explain to his somewhat dubious acquaintance that there were “warriors” on the pitch and that he thought they’d “been had”. The person on the other end of this conversation only seemed convinced when one of his mates photographed me in a threatening pose and sent it to him.
The idea that these people — who I assume were the away team — arrived at the designated football ground to find a dozen or so early morning Saxon warriors cleaning spears and donning shields, was an amusing one.
Because of the football, we were relegated to the far side of the cricked green — until now the area used for the archery — and started familiar practices whilst the archery was relegated to a dark corner of the field even further away.
Training continued pretty much as the day before. Line fights ensued, I stabbed, I got stabbed, I killed, I got killed. One feisty Cornish girl managed to stab me in the groin — the look on her face as I plummeted to the ground seemed to indicate that she was hurt more than I. I wasn’t hurt, and since the groin isn’t a legal area, I could have continued fighting, but I was already collapsing to the ground by the time this thought had been properly processed and filed in the bureaucracy of my brain, so I took the hit. It is a pity that I can’t say I was hit in the groin but carried on fighting — that’d be a worthy boast.
The same wasn’t true when, on the Saturday whilst fighting in a shieldwall, an enemy’s spear ricocheted off my neighbour’s shield and struck me square in the jaw. This didn’t hurt so much as it shocked, I staggered back from the shieldwall, gave myself a once-over: no blood; no pain. With this established, I re-entered the shieldwall (the head is not a legal area so I didn’t take the hit). As is good practice, the guilty individual came up to me after the battle to apologise.
I found myself apologising on the Sunday, after my spear rode a little too high during a skirmish and I clipped someone’s helmet. He was fine, but as soon as I heard the metal on metal “clink” I stumbled backwards, paralysed with shock at the fact that I’d come so close to someone’s head. He could have dispatched me with ease, but he didn’t press home his attack and just let me stumble backwards. I was in a daze, until I was brought back into the real world by the call of “Arrows! Arrows!” I had stumbled backwards into the archery area, directly behind the targets where live, sharp arrows were being flung in my direction. That was not a good skirmish.
But apart from that I found myself improving. I was dying a lot, and perfected my death screech to the extent that it was commended by someone, and one spear-jab I took to the leg brought worried apology from someone who thought it was a cry of genuine pain.
Towards the end of training on Sunday, the novices and veterans, who had been practicing
separately for most of the day, joined up in a few final clashes. As I advanced in one clash, I found
myself facing the Master-at-Arms — Mike Everest — who had dispatched me and everyone else with so much effortless
ease during the Cranborne Chase training. To his right, perhaps of more concern, was the armour-clad baron of
the evil Milites de Bec — Clanky. This time in a shieldwall, with his attention elsewhere, I
saw Mike’s kite shield leave a gap of about a foot and with confidence and speed absent from my
earlier engagements, thrust through and stabbed him straight in the ribs.He looked at me, and in a split second used a subtle facial expression to say “well done, but it won’t happen again”. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, which meant he only had two hit-points, one more hit and I would have single-handedly dispatched one of the most formidable fighters on the field. I tried, but failed, and it wasn’t long before Clanky’s winged spear felled me with a hard jab in my back, just shy of my spine. That hurt!
There was one more chance for glory. Throughout the weekend I had been dispatched time and again by flanking individuals who had circumnavigated the shieldwall. I now found myself in a similar position as the enemy’s shield wall was broken in two just in front of me. As one section fell back, I found myself behind the other section and gaily dispatched them one-by-one by stabbing them in the arse — three times each for good measure. When I told Alan this, he said “very good, don’t do it again” — obviously not the done thing for a pitiful little spearman.
The final challenge at the end of the day was a bridge game. As described above, the bridge was demarked by spears and shields on the grass and we fought, about four abreast, with the longest spears we could find. I still had the borrowed 9’ spear and dispatched many opponents — including the person who had leant it to me. I was dispatched myself, but before falling into the raging torrent of water below the bridge, managed to pass the long spear to a mate without fail.
We won the first engagement, and with every victory we lost a member of our group to the other side, but we went on to win every engagement without exception. It also transpired that the guy who’d lent me his spear was dispatched by his own spear on every occasion — either by me or by someone I’d handed it to as I fell to my watery grave.
Now, fully trained in the art of spearmanship, I was ready to either face the Vikings of Jórvík or face the Saxons as a Viking of Jórvík — depending on which side I’ll be allocated to in three weeks time.
NEW MEMBER'S DIARY 2011-2012
First Jórvík Viking Festival: 18th February 2012
I did debate whether it was worth doing an entry about the Jórvík Viking Festival — arguably Regia Anglorum’s flagship event.
It wasn’t my first event after all. But York was very different from Cranborne Chase, and probably very different from any other event.
The main battle is after dark, the hustlers and traders are in the city of York itself, in mediaeval buildings and in marquees in the city centre. The warriors and soldiers of Regia Anglorum, along with two other groups who tagged along — Crusade and Draum Broedr — stayed in a school just south of the city centre. Alan drove Garath and myself there and we arrived at about five o’clock, about 1½ hours ahead of the key to the school. Alan abandoned us there and fought through rush-hour York to his B&B.
“This looks suspiciously like a queue for the key” was one comment as more people arrived, adding to the clumps of Regia members standing outside this otherwise peaceful primary school. It could have been worse — some people were desperate for the loo!
Eventually the key arrived, and the doors were flung open. We started to transport our belongings up to the school’s first floor hall. We were allowed to park in the hall or the library, and although I had already plonked my stuff next to some scary papier-mâché heads, the idea of the library appealed and I moved in with Gareth. This proved to be a good idea, the library was quieter, more secluded and probably much more comfortable than the open expanse of the hall. We even had psudo-walls dividing it up into distinct cubicles that gave some illusion of privacy.
With beds inflated and new friends made, we headed towards the designated public house, which was a nice mile walk. Knowing my priorities, this was the only place I had a map to. We wiled away the afternoon drinking with two members of Oskorei (an unaffiliated group from Bristol) who were taking part as guests of Regia Anglorum — and who had occupied the neighbouring cubicle in the library. Occasionally, I would concentrate on someone coming through the door to see if I could match them with any Facebook profile picture on the Regia page.
The morning
Together with Cerdic and Dalla, the two aforementioned members of Oskorei, we ventured into York early on Saturday to meet Alan and to shop. We started by going to the Merchant Adventures Hall, where we browsed some stalls and met some familiar faces, including Alan. We then ventured to the St Sampson’s Square Marquee, where a more cramped collection of traders were selling their wares. I was minding my own business, browsing wares, trying not to knock anything off tables with my new cloak, buying the odd nail for my shield, contemplating investing in a sharp knife for authentic eating, when a trader spotted me and said “nice cloak”, I looked up and it was Anwar Ali — the gentleman who had sold me the material for the cloak after an extremely complex logistical operation where I skilfully avoided postage charges by sending numerous e-mails and recruiting the help of a useful sibling. It is good to know he recognises his products.
After purchasing a brooch for the cloak and a belt, I left the hall and waited for Cerdic and Dalla. Whilst waiting, I was asked by an innocent bystander where the battles were, but I did not know. It was a flaw in the planning that those Vikings that the public might encounter can’t tell the public when and where the show is going to be. I regretfully had to advise him to ask someone else.
The afternoon
We walked back to the school (about a mile) collected shields, spears and dropped off purchases, marched back into York and joined the rest of the re-enactors outside Yorkminster. We missed a chance to feature as some tiny background specs in a new BBC documentary series, whose producers were no doubt hoping to get some cheap shots of Saxons and Vikings.
Somehow we ended up on the Saxon side, and before long we were marching through the city of York, occasionally yelling out the traditional Regia Anglorum cry which I had first heard at Cranborne Chase:
“Vivat Rex”
“Vivat Rex”
“Vivat Rex Anglorum”
which for the non-Latin speaking amongst you means
“Long Live the King”
“Long Live the King”
“Long Live the King of the English”
and is a cry still used in our coronation ceremonies to-day (Her Majesty The Queen was hailed with the words “Vivat Regina” in 1953).
Then we were in the shadow of York Castle, where the Saxon line formed to face the Vikings of Eric Bloodaxe. The sun was shining directly in my eyes, and I was forced to pull my hood up to have any chance of seeing the Viking army when they lined up to face us. The line commanders told us that there would be two show clashes before competitive fighting began.
We did a little more yelling:
“Vivat Eadred, Rex Anglorum”
“Long Live Eadræd, King of the English”
We marched towards the enemy and made as much noise and movement as possible. I decided I’m not good at these fake clashes, they tire me out and I just find myself standing there with spear harmlessly and silently tapping the enemy’s shield. It is something I need to work on — re-enactment is a performance and the audience don’t want a line of silent motionless people poke sticks at another equally vegetative line. Luckily the Vikings facing us were better at it, and one of the Crusaders repeatedly hit my spearhead with his sword, thus making the kind of battle sound which is expected.
We backed off, only to have the Viking line descend upon us. I performed in a likewise pathetic manner until the Viking line retreated. There might have been some more yelling now, I can’t really remember, but soon we found ourselves advancing against the army of Eric Bloodaxe again, this time in competitive combat.
I fully expected to die again, and I soon found myself facing someone who fully expected to kill me. His spear constantly aimed for my slightly exposed shoulder, either missing or bouncing off the rim of my shield. The line seemed pretty quiet, I bided my time and waited for an opening for a quick spear jab. A few did occur, but I had neither the speed nor the confidence to capitalise, but then someone rotated his shield just slightly for just too long and I pounced. Thrusting in front of the Viking who was aiming for my shoulder, I managed to get my spear between the shields and square in his ribs. He fell to the ground — my first kill in a public show. His friends were soon falling at the hands of my comrades.
Their shieldwall started to fold as both flanks collapsed, we pressed on. Weight of numbers began to shew and soon I found myself flanking an individual whose shield was facing her attackers in front of her. Bringing my spear into a suitable location proved to take longer than I had planned, but I still managed to bring the tip into her stomach and felled her too.
Soon there was a field of dead, one of whom was looking around the field in the way I might if I wanted to see what was going on after being killed. I yelled “he’s moving, kill ‘im” and thrust my spear between his guts and the ground — he reacted appropriately with screams of pain and subsequent motionlessness.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but the battle which had just resulted in a glorious Saxon victory over the Viking host was a last-minute affair. The original plan was for a normal Regia training session, but so many bystanders had been attracted to the castle by the parade through the city of York that some five-hundred were now accumilating around expecting a clash. Somehow the powers that be arranged this in good time and our lines clashed in the way described above. The training sessions followed the battle.
Still in view of the public, these training sessions were not really designed for their pleasurable viewing. The first of these sessions was single combat, where I ended up facing someone with a sword each time. I didn’t stand a chance and was easily dispatched by the first. The second had the better of me too, he got me in the leg (usually a legal hit but this practice was torso hits only), and then sliced me in the jaw. I expected a final decisive blow but he stepped back and opened his shield. I didn’t know what to make of this, so I thrust at his guts and he fell in suitable fashion. After he fell, he looked up and said “I got you in the back didn’t I?” I hadn’t felt a thing! Was that defenceless pose his way of asking why hadn’t I died? Perhaps a sort of insult — “No point fighting you if you’re not going to take your hits!”. I hate people to think I’m not taking my hits — it ruins their enjoyment of the event and makes me look like a git, so this troubled me. It actually transpired that the defenceless pose was the result of his completely painless slice around the jaw, their society (the Crusaders) has a tradition of offering a free shot if they hit you in the head, as he had done by slicing my jaw.
Following this was the traditional Islip-style training session, where we are divided into two teams and I get killed. These proved exhausting, and we finished by three o’clock. Alan, Gareth and me all went to York for a cup of coffee and a rest. I procured some food before the big evening battle at the notorious York Racecourse.
The evening
Busses ferried us to the racecourse, where we were welcomed by officials who told us to wait out in the wind and cold of the field. Eventually they found some communal showers for us to wait in (someone described it as an Auschwitz moment — entering a room with shower heads with a horde of other people), but there weren’t any seats here either so it was little better.
Eventually we went out and prepared for battle. Both sides were given a team talk which outlined the chronology of the battle.
The Vikings would march on and line up at the top of the hill
The Saxons would then march on and prepare to charge up the hill
The negotiations would be fruitless
The Saxons will charge up the hill
The Vikings would beat them back
The Vikings would charge down the hill
The Saxons would beat them back
Eric Bloodaxe will fight four champions and defeat them all
The Saxons would look depressed
The Vikings left flank would charge the Saxon right flank
The ensuing mêlée would rotate the line of battle
The competitive combat would begin
The Saxons will win the battle
Eric Bloodaxe is betrayed and killed by his bodyguard
It was dark and windy. I marched on with the rest of the Saxon army and faced the Vikings at the top of the hill. We were yelling out “Death to the Vikinga”, which I make sound quite pirate-like “Death to the Viking arrrr” and other slogans already described “Vivat Eadred, Rex Anglorum”.
The Viking army looked formidable on the top of the hill with their huge banner fluttering in the wind. To face it, at the top of the hill, with a line of Vikings either side silhouetted against the dark floodlit sky was an exhilarating feeling. Even the comment from someone that they could smell the petrol from the longship ready to go up in flames post-battle failed to ruin the atmosphere — because the atmosphere wasn’t being immersed in history, it was being on a cold field facing your enemy across an expanse of grass, the smell of petrol, the bright floodlights, the crowds of onlookers couldn’t take that away; the comments about petrol and similar friendly banter between me and my comrade-in-arms only added to it.
We charged up the hill.
The battle proceeded exactly as outlined, nothing eventful happened. I was mournful at the defeat of the four Saxon champions, but how clear that was to the public is hard to know. Once again I enjoyed it more once competitive combat started, the instruction that the Saxons will win gave me confidence, but didn’t affect my fighting much.
The line split and I was left with a choice as to whether I should join the mêlée in the centre, or deal with a lone Viking flanking us. He was fighting two Saxons and defending himself admirably, I advanced and stabbed him in the chest. The two Saxons already fighting him disappeared, whether they thought the Viking was dead, were themselves killed, or ran off I can’t remember. But the Viking wasn’t dead and he lashed out with his sword against my shield. I had already stabbed him twice and this time my spear remained stuck in his chest, he continued to lash out in a futile gesture. The fact that my spear was quite securely entering his heart was of little reassurance, I have not got a good track record of fighting one-on-one with swordsmen. But he eventually collapsed, and I wasn’t risking anything. I stabbed him in the chest again, and again, twisting the spear this time before leaving his twitching corpse and advancing towards the now all-but defeated Viking army.
Around me were dead bodies, there was nothing else to do. Unbeknown to me, Alan had been mortally wounded and Gareth was looking after him, but as he died, the Saxons were victorious. At some point Eric Bloodaxe was killed by his mate, and we were told to loot the dead. During the looting, a wounded Viking lashed out at a startled Saxon, who stumbled back with the knife wound. I used the advanced reach of my spear to dispatch him. My first thrust was parried away, but the second struck him in the chest and I pressed it home, more forceful than with the resilient Viking earlier, twisting it to make sure no life remained within him. He yelled in pain before remaining motionless.
The dead rose, I returned my looted sword to its owner and we ended with the traditional Regia charge towards the crowd. Somehow, I was miles from the crowd line, so instead of the normal stepping forward, I charged direct towards one woman with a camera, stopping at the line where the rest of the army was. I didn’t expect the round of applause which now erupted from the whole crowd, muffled slightly by winter gloves and muted by others’ cold hands, but I got the impression that they thoroughly enjoyed the show. As we exited the field, the crowd witnessed the finale — the impressive consumption by fire of the Viking longship and subsequent fireworks display.
We returned our weapons to the school and went to the pub again for a meal and a drink. I was absolutely knackered, I hardly had the energy to eat my meal. Despite the cold wind, no-where to sit before the battle and poor organisation, I thoroughly enjoyed the show. Dispite aching feet, pulled muscles and barely having the energy to eat a home-made steak pie, I’d do it again.
THE REAL SCEAFTESEGE
Discovering the Real Sceaftesige
When we set up the local branch of Regia Anglorum we wanted to tie it to a local settlement rather than just a county title. At the time we were practising in the paddock of an 8th century church in Cookham, but rather than take it from the town we used the island fort of Sceaftesige.
This article sets out not only to describe what the group knows about the original Sceaftesege Garrison, but also how the information was found out. Hopefully this will provide ideas to others who are looking for information on local historical sites. (It will also confirm with referees of the Cthulhu game why the library use roll takes so long and what it means!)
Our total knowledge of Sceaftesige at the time of setting up the group was a single entry in "Britain Before the Norman Conquest" by the Office of Ordinance survey. This was:
Sceaftesege SH903858
First port of call was the local library, checking the local history books there and then using the library computer to search for references in any of the counties books. This drew a blank. Next stage was to follow up the reference in the Ordinance Survey: Unidentified Forts of the Burghal Hildage, Medieval Archaeology 1964 Vol VIII (pp74-90). Back copies of this journal where not available at local or county libraries, nor did any of the local 'antique' book shops in Windsor Eton stock it. Most archaeologists I knew did not go back that far.
Eventually I found that the British Library holds copies of all major (and not so major) journals published in Britain. They do not loan out these journals, you have to request to study them on site. However if you can quote journal reference and page numbers they will photostat and send you extracts for a small fee. This paper gave me a date the site was believed to exist from and some information why it may have been built.
Next stage was to try and establish how long the fort was around for. I started by checking the Domesday references for Berkshire & Buckinghamshire (old maps show Cookham or Cockham to be part of the hundred of Beynhurst). This showed no reference to the fort, so it probably did not exist by 1086. The Domesday entry reads:
In Beynhurst hundred Cookham. King Eadweard held it.
Then 20 hides, but it never paid tax.
Land for 25 ploughs. 32 villagers and 21 cottagers with 20 ploughs 4 slaves; 2 mills at 22s 6d; 2 fisheries at 13s 4d; meadow, 50 acres; woodland at 100 pigs; the other half is in Windsor forest; from the new market which is now there 20s.
Value of the whole before 1066 £50; later £? 50s; now £36; however it pays £45
Of these 20 hydes, Reinbald the priest has 1. 5 hydes from the king in alms, and the church of this manor with 8 cottagers and 1 plough; meadow, 15 acres; value 50s. Two other clerics have 0. 5 hyde of it and 2 cottagers with 2 ploughs; meadow, 8 acres; value 5s.
References from other sources gave that Æthelred II held a witan at Cookham in AD997, but no mention was found
of a fort being there.Then 20 hides, but it never paid tax.
Land for 25 ploughs. 32 villagers and 21 cottagers with 20 ploughs 4 slaves; 2 mills at 22s 6d; 2 fisheries at 13s 4d; meadow, 50 acres; woodland at 100 pigs; the other half is in Windsor forest; from the new market which is now there 20s.
Value of the whole before 1066 £50; later £? 50s; now £36; however it pays £45
Of these 20 hydes, Reinbald the priest has 1. 5 hydes from the king in alms, and the church of this manor with 8 cottagers and 1 plough; meadow, 15 acres; value 50s. Two other clerics have 0. 5 hyde of it and 2 cottagers with 2 ploughs; meadow, 8 acres; value 5s.
Next step was to try another resource that had come to light while checking out the local college library, the Berkshire CC Heritage Group. Berkshire County Council has a Heritage Group under the responsibility of the Highways and Planning Dept. Part of their role is to see what you could be burying when you seek planning permission. The Historic Structures Records database and the Sites and Monuments Record are available by prior arrangement. Mr David Hopkins of this dept was most responsive to my letters, providing the results from a database search and other information they knew of. They viewed Sceaftesege as a temporary fort set up to guard the Thames, Cookham becoming the main development for the area. A lot of the evidence for the site was covered in silt when the Thames Conservancy board dug a new lock in 1830. The victorian view of conservation obviously differed to ours. The database search provided the following information:
- A find in Sashes field, 1830, =a number of skeletons, roman swords and javelin heads. Now in possession of Lord Boston.
- "An interesting but dubious report" on the proximity of a road from Silchester to Verulamium and that a settlement would be expected at Cookhams location. I've since found other texts describing a roman road from Sante Albanestoe to Cookham with its course lost just after Cookham.
- Nicholas Brooks work on the Unidentified Forts of the Burghal Hildage
- Dredging of lock cut in 1856 uncovered a number of iron weapons dating to the period of the viking attacks and in 1860 spear heads were found in another dredging exercise. Another in 1896 brought up a danish winged axe head and in 1958 a barbed spearhead was found while working on the island banks. These were now in the possession of Reading Museum.
It was at this time Martin Trepte a member of ours working for the Maidenhead Advertiser, came into contact with Luke Over, a local historian of note. Luke was making a video of Cookham and its history and was keen to have us as living demonstration of the past. We also lead off a sponsored walk from Sceaftesege island in full kit (okay we ditched shields & spears after two miles but the rest of the ten miles was done in kit, some members wearing mail).
Luke was able to pass on much information about the surrounding the area including the digging of the lock covering visible evidence of earth works and finds of spear heads and also a hammer head. Some of these were with Reading Museum, others were with the British Museum. Later there was an excavation of Sashes island but we couldn't wangle a way into it. A lot of this information was then published in Lukes books "The Royal Hundred of Cookham" and "The Royal County of Berkshire". In some ways this was useful and some ways disappointing as it included most of what had taken us time to find over the years, yet it added a lot more to our knowledge.
So what was found out of all this digging?
The Real Sceaftesege
The work below is mostly taken from existing sources with some suppositions of my own. Sceaftesiege is very much linked to Cookham and its history and there is a wealth of information and finds concerning this town and the area. The details below are a summary and I hope to expand on them with time.
The name Sceaftesige (shaftsey) or Sceaftesege is thought to derive from "Sceaftes", a personal name and "ege", a common name ending for small islands on the Thames, also for nearby water meadows. The current name for the area is Sashes Island, through the years there has been many variations on the spelling and form.
There have been buildings found preserved in peat from the Maidenhead area dating back to around AD620. The local place names of Cookham, Waltham, Bisham, Hurley, Taplow and Holyport are all Saxon in origin. At this point the Thames was a barrier between Mercia and Wessex, so Cookham was very much a frontier town. That the site was important is shown by the evidence of a monastery being passed between the King and the Archbishop of Canterbury throughout the 700s; sometimes passed on, sometimes bequeathed and sometimes stolen!
Æthelred II (the Unready) held a Witan at Cookham in 997. The palace used for this witan is thought to be under the paddock next to the old church (a former Sceaftesige practice site). The information on this Witan comes from a will whose adjudication was part of the Witan. Attending the Witan were 1 arch bishop, 3 bishops, 2 aldermen, 3 abbots and numerous lords from West Saxons, Mercians, Danes and English. As such there is plenty of evidence for Sceafesege portraying a mixture of backgrounds in the group. A number of burial mounds of individual people have been found in the area as well as the famous burial site of Tæppa in Taplow Court.
Sceaftesige came about in the late 800s, how long it remained for is unknown. It is first mentioned in the Burghal hildage documents of 914-8 so it must have been built by this point. If the Witan of 997 stayed at Cookham it was unlikely to be chosen in preference to a nearby fort, so Cookham had superseded Sceaftesige by this point. It was the only island fort of the Burghal hildage covering a roman road and the Thames. Not many years before its creation, the vikings had rowed up the Thames, past Sceaftesige and on to Reading, holding it from AD870 to 871.
I've not been able to find a translation of the Burghal Hildage document, but sources say the fort had a palisade of 1,375 yards, enough to cover half of the 54 acres of the current island. As it was protected by water on most sides it already had good natural defences. I've frequently seen figures of one man per ten feet of wall used for defences which would make the garrison around 400 strong. This was a large army for the time so it was probably a lot smaller than this with many being vilagers called to the walls as needed. Cookham from Domesday was 20 hydes, about 2,400 acres.
The earliest owner I've found is the Shire Reeve (Scirefas) Ælpheah, who passed on his lands to the king between 965 and 975. From here it was a royal manor held. The Domesday book states the area was owned held by the King still.
Sources of Information on Sceaftesege
As a lot the information was in single lines here and there over the years, I'm missing a lot of the sources used. To those people who's work I've missed, apologies and thanks. Listed here are the principle texts used.
- The Unidentified Forts of the Burghal Hidage By Nicholas Brooks Medieval Archaeology 1964 Vol VIII pp74-90
- The Royal Hundred of Cookham — Luke Over. Published by Cliveden Press
- Domesday book — Berkshire. Phillimore edition
- Domesday book — Buckinghamshire. Phillimore edition
- Anglo Saxon Chronicles — Anne Savage translation Published by Coombe books.
- Anglo Saxon England — Sir Frank Stenton Published by Claredon Press
- The Story of Maidenhead
- The Royal County of Berkshire — Luke Over Published by Cliveden Press
- Middle Thames in Antiquity — R.F.Denington, S. Morgan Editors. Published Slough & Eton Branch of the Workers Educational Association.
-Dave Telford