Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin G. Welch 9781407307510, 9781407321981

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Opening Photo
Table of Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Contributors
Martin G. Welch MA DPhil FSA: An appreciation
Tabula Gratuloria
An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire
Continuity in Cambridge? Pot-stamp evidence for continuity from the fourth to fifth centuries AD
Work-boxes or reliquaries? Small copper-alloy containers in seventh century Anglo-Saxon graves
Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context
Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard: the Portable Antiquities Scheme and early Anglo-Saxon archaeology
Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions
A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire
The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent, and early cross-Channel migration
Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex (fifth-seventh centuries)
The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600
Foreign identities in burials at the seventh-century English emporia
Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England
Gender representation in early medieval burials: ritual re-affirmation of a blurred boundary?
‘The Weight of Necklaces’: some insights intothe wearing of women’s jewellery from Middle Saxon written sources
Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley and associations with Neolithic and later monuments
Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex
Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames
Boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms: the example of the South Saxons
A reconsideration of East Wansdyke: its construction and date - a preliminary note
The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence
Martin Welch – a bibliography
Index of People and Places

Citation preview

BAR 527 2011 BROOKES, HARRINGTON & REYNOLDS (Eds)

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin G. Welch Edited by

Stuart Brookes Sue Harrington Andrew Reynolds

STUDIES IN EARLY ANGLO-SAXON ART AND ARCHAEOLOGY

BAR British Series 527 2011

B A R Brookes 527 cover.indd 1

18/01/2011 16:11:48

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin G. Welch Edited by

Stuart Brookes Sue Harrington Andrew Reynolds

BAR British Series 527 2011

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR British Series 527 Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin G. Welch © The editors and contributors severally and the Publisher 2011 The authors' moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781407307510 paperback ISBN 9781407321981 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407307510 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2011. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

BAR PUBLISHING BAR titles are available from:

E MAIL P HONE F AX

BAR Publishing 122 Banbury Rd, Oxford, OX2 7BP, UK [email protected] +44 (0)1865 310431 +44 (0)1865 316916 www.barpublishing.com

Contents

List of Figures

iv

List of Tables

vi

List of Contributors

vii

Preface: Martin G. Welch MA DPhil FSA – An appreciation, by Andrew Reynolds and Sue Hamilton Tabula Gratuloria

x xi

1. An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire, by Charlotte Behr

1

2. Continuity in Cambridge? Pot-stamp evidence for continuity from the fourth to fifth centuries AD, by Diana Briscoe

7

3. Work-boxes or reliquaries? Small copper-alloy containers in seventh century Anglo-Saxon graves, by Catherine Hills

14

4. Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context, by Noël Adams

20

5. Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard: the Portable Antiquities Scheme and early Anglo-Saxon archaeology, by Helen Geake

33

6. Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions, by Andrew Reynolds and Sarah Semple

40

7. A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire, by Nick Stoodley

49

8. Ringlemere in reference to early cross-Channel relations, by Sonja Marzinzik

55

9. Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex (fifth-seventh centuries), by Jean Soulat

62

10. The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames 450-600, by Andrew Richardson

72

11. Foreign identities in burials at seventh-century English emporia, by Christopher Scull

82

12. Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England, by Sue Harrington

88

13. Gender representation in early medieval burials: ritual re-affirmation of a blurred boundary? by Heinrich Härke

98

14. ‘The Weight of Necklaces’: some insights into the wearing of women’s jewellery from Middle Saxon written sources, by Barbara Yorke

106

15. Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley and associations with Neolithic and later monuments, by Stephen J. Sherlock

112

16. Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex, by Sue A. Tyler

121

17. Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames, by Nathalie Cohen

131

18. Boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms: the example of the South Saxons, by Mark Gardiner

139

19. A reconsideration of East Wansdyke: its construction and date - a preliminary note, by Bruce Eagles and Michael J. Allen

147

20. The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence, by Stuart Brookes

156

Martin Welch – a bibliography, compiled by Sue Harrington

171

Index

175

iii

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

List of Figures

Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4

Gold A-bracteate from Scalford. a. Photograph, b. Drawing The J motifs classification with definitions Map showing the sites where Anglo-Saxon swastika stamps have been found Left: sherds from St John’s Cricket Field. Centre left: drawing of the Girton motif. Centre right: drawing of the St John’s motif. Right: cast of the Girton stamp Fig. 5 Left: close-up of the Colchester bowl. Centre: the sherd from Ridgeons Garden, Cambridge. Right: sherds from the Bromleyhall Farm kiln, Much Hadham Fig. 6 Map showing the sites where the J 2aiv motif has been found Fig. 7 Westfield Ely Grave 2 plan and photograph Fig. 8 1) Rectangular buckle, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo; 2) Triangular ‘dummy buckle’, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo; 3) Tabular buckle and strap ends, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo Fig. 9 1) Weingarten type buckle and strap end, Gračanica , Croatia; 2) Ennery type buckle set and strap end, Bifrons Grave 73; 3) Concevreaux type buckle set, Elgg (ZH), Switzerland Fig. 10 1) Belt mount Guilton Grave 23; 2) Belt mount Guilton, stray find; 3) �������������� Belt mount Altenstadt, stray find; 3) Belt mount Altenstadt, stray find Fig. 11 1) Rectangular buckle and mount, Bopfingen 1; 2) Rectangular buckle and mount, Xanten I (St. Victor); 3) Belt mounts, Bifrons 39 Fig. 12 1) Kidney-shaped buckle, Rüdern; 2) Top of pommel, Krefeld Gellep Grave 1782 Fig. 13 1) Belt Mount, Maria Ponsee Grave 53, Austria; 2) Bay leaf strap end, Guilton Grave 23; 3) Belt mount, Rödingen 97 Fig. 14 1) Disc brooch, Schwenningen 4; 2) Disc brooch, Herbrechtingen; 3) Disc brooch, Täbingen Fig. 15 Seventh-century horse-harness mount from Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan Fig. 16 Early-medieval dress accessories recorded on the PAS database, broken down by sub- period Fig. 17 The ninth or tenth-century ‘Beagnoth’ seax from the River Thames at Battersea Fig. 18 A late tenth or eleventh-century Scandinavian battle axe from the River Thames Fig. 19 A tenth-century sword from the River Witham, Lincolnshire Fig. 20 Plan of Weston Colley Grave 3 Fig. 21 The supporting-arm brooch Fig. 22 The buckle Fig. 23 The bossed Buckel urn from cremation Grave 14 Fig. 24 Silver-gilt belt buckle before excavation in the British Museum’s conservation studios Fig. 25 X-ray of the cloisonné pursemount from Grave 49 Fig. 26 ?Carbonised wood remains, Grave 20 Fig. 27 Select mid-fifth-century Frankish artefacts from Sussex Fig. 28 Objects from Grave 42, Abingdon (Oxfordshire), and Grave 6, Winterbourne Gunner, (Wiltshire) Fig. 29 Distribution of Anglo-Saxon sites with Merovingian artefacts Fig. 30 Select sixth and seventh century Merovingian artefacts from Sussex

iv

2 8 9 10 11 12 15 21 22 24 25 26 27 28 34 35 42 44 45 50 51 51 56 57 58 58 64 65 66 67

List of Figures



Fig. 31 Objects from Grave 655 of Eastbourne (Sussex) Fig. 32 Distribution of Merovingian artefacts in Kent Fig. 33 Distribution of brooches and brooch types recorded by the Portable Antiquities Scheme in southern Britain, 1997-2007 Fig. 34 Distribution of Jutish/North Sea Coastal Zone artefacts in Kent, late fifth to sixth century AD Fig. 35 Distribution of Kentish square-headed and class 2.1 Kentish disc brooches Fig. 36 The Anglo-Saxon ‘female kit’ (Dover-Buckland grave 13) Fig. 37 The Anglo-Saxon ‘male kit’ (Dover-Buckland grave 56) Fig. 38 Proportions of sexed and gendered burials in a sample of 1637 Anglo-Saxon adult burials Fig. 39 Frequencies of Anglo-Saxon weapon burials over Fig. 40 Grave types of the three phases of the cemetery of Klin-Yar (Russia): Koban (362), Sarmatian (365) and Alanic (360) Fig. 41 Location of the Tees Valley and the sites discussed Fig. 42 Plan showing the graves and structures at Street House Fig. 43 Plan showing the extent of excavations at Street House showing cemetery within enclosure Fig. 44 Western side of the cemetery with graves overlying the ring ditches of Iron Age structures two and three Fig. 45 Plan of sunken feature building (mortuary house) Fig. 46 Plan of posthole building within the cemetery Fig. 47 Distribution of sites mentioned in the text Fig. 48 Early Saxon settlement features at Heybridge (shaded) Fig. 49 Distribution of Early Saxon burials at Springfield Lyons Fig. 50 Springfield Lyons later Saxon settlement plan Fig. 51 Reconstruction of the inter-tidal fish trap at ‘The Nass’ Fig. 52 Site location plan Fig. 53 Early Saxon fish trap at Putney Fig. 54 Early Saxon fish trap at Barn Elms Fig. 55 Early Saxon fish trap at Hammersmith Fig. 56 Early Saxon fish trap at Nine Elms Fig. 57 Sampling the possible fish trap at Kew Fig. 58 Bronze shield mount in the shape of a fish from the foreshore at Barnes: sixth-seventh centuries Fig. 59 The boundary between Sussex and Hampshire near Idsworth Fig. 60 The pre-1844 boundaries of Sussex and Hampshire near Liphook Fig. 61 Sussex and adjoining counties showing the character of the features followed by the boundary Fig. 62 Plan of a) course of Mid to East Wansdyke and b) the area of Shepherd’s Shore to Milk Hill Fig. 63 Photograph of Wansdyke near Shepherd’s Shore looking west Fig. 64 Pitt Rivers’ sections of Wansdyke Fig. 65 Plan of Wansdyke on Tan Hill showing a number of Bronze Age linear ditches Fig. 66 The lathes of Kent in 1086 as reconstructed by Thorn (1992). Also shown in this figure is an approximation of the Late Anglo-Saxon coastline as derived by Brookes (2007a) and the possible location and etymology of hundred meeting-places as defined by Anderson (1939) Fig. 67 The density of early Anglo-Saxon burial sites in Kent, showing the number of sites per 2km2. Top: Sites of phases A (475-575) and AB (475-650). Bottom: Sites of phases B (575-

68 69 75 77 78 99 100 101 101 102 113 115 116 116 117 117 122 123 124 126 128 132 134 134 135 135 136 137 142 143 144 148 149 150 151 157

161

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology 650), BC (575- c.720+) and C (650-c.720+) Fig. 68 Trend surfaces of counts of artefacts of ‘Anglo-Saxon’ and ‘Imported’ provenance Fig. 69 The Anglo-Saxon estate centres and pays of eastern Kent Fig. 70 Thiessen polygons defined around the gē settlements and lathe boundaries in eastern Kent

162 164 165

List of Tables

Table 1 Details of single celled structures in non-monastic Yorkshire cemeteries Table 2 Key Romano-British items recorded from Brown’s Barn

vi

118 152

List of Contributors

Noël Adams received her PhD from University College London in 1991. She is a garnet cloisonné specialist and has published widely on a range of early Medieval topics. She has worked as a Special Assistant in the Department of Prehistory and Europe on various exhibitions and British Museum catalogues and publications, most recently Intelligible Beauty: Recent Research on Byzantine Jewellery. She curated two exhibitions at the National Trust property at Sutton Hoo: Far-Fetched Treasures in 2003 and Between Myth and Reality in 2004. Currently she is a consultant to the J. Pierpont Morgan Museum and Library in New York for their Early Medieval collections and works as the London administrator for the Furusiyya Art Foundation. Mike Allen started his archaeological interest as a schoolboy, which included digging on the Saxon site of Bishopstone Sussex, and attending Sussex Archaeological Society conferences where he first met Martin Welch, some 5 years before he studied archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology, London where Martin was later his lecturer in Anglo-Saxon archaeology. Mike concentrated, however, on environmental and geo-archaeology, being the first environmental officer then manager at Wessex Archaeology and setting up their environmental archaeology section. He left after nearly 20 years and is a freelance environmental archaeologist and Visiting Research Fellow at Bournemouth University. He has worked and published on sites including Stonehenge and Avebury and on the chalklands of southern England from Dorset to Cambridgeshire. Charlotte Behr studied at the universities of Freiburg/Br., Aix-en-Provence and Münster where she completed her doctoral thesis on signs and symbols on gold bracteates in 1990. She is now Senior Lecturer in the Department of Humanities at Roehampton University. In her research she focuses on early medieval material culture and iconography in northern Europe. Her most recent publications include ‘New Bracteate finds from Early AngloSaxon England’ in Medieval Archaeology 54 (2010) and ‘The Power and Function of Images in Northern Europe during the Migration Period’ in Cultural and Social History 7 (2010). Diana Briscoe is the daughter of Teresa Briscoe (née Home) and grand-daughter of Grace Briscoe, both archaeologists, although she has spent most of her professional career as an editor in book publishing. Her first degree was in English Literature from the University of London; her second was in History and Archaeology from Birkbeck College; she is currently working towards a PhD on the stamped pottery of 4th-century Roman Britain under Professor Clive Orton at the UCL Institute of Archaeology. She started working for the Archive of Anglo-Saxon Pottery Stamps (AASPS), founded by Teresa Briscoe, as a collector of stamps in the 1980s, and took over its running after her mother’s death in 1995. Stuart Brookes studied at the UCL Institute of Archaeology from 1993 until 2003. Since completing his PhD he has been Research Associate at the University of Nottingham and UCL Institute of Archaeology, and sessional lecturer for Birkbeck College and Oxford University Department of Continuing Education. His recent publications include Landscapes of Defence in the Viking Age (with J. Baker and A. Reynolds)(2011), The Kingdom and People of Kent AD 400-1066 (with S. Harrington)(2010) and Economics and Social Change in Anglo-Saxon Kent AD 400-900 (2007). He is currently researching Anglo-Saxon landscapes of governance as part of major Leverhulme-funded project. Nathalie Cohen read Medieval Archaeology from 1991 to 1994, completed an MA in Maritime Archaeology in 2006-7, and is currently an Honorary Research Associate at the UCL Institute of Archaeology. She has worked for Bournemouth University and the Museum of London, and as a sessional lecturer for City University, Huron University, Birkbeck College and Oxford University Department of Continuing Education. She is the Honorary Archaeology Editor for Transactions of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society, and is currently employed as the Team Leader for the Thames Discovery Programme and as the Cathedral Archaeologist for Southwark Cathedral. Bruce Eagles joined the Salisbury field office of RCHME following postgraduate studies at London University. During his time at the RCHME he participated in field projects and publications which included Iron Age and Romano-British Monuments in the Gloucestershire Cotswolds; Long Barrows in Hampshire and the Isle of Wight; West Park Roman Villa, Rockbourne, Hampshire and The Archaeology of Bokerley Dyke. His interest in the late Roman

vii

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology and Anglo-Saxon landscape was stimulated by the late Herman Ramm of RCHME’s York Office and resulted in the publication of The Anglo-Saxon Settlement of Humberside, his doctorate, which was supervised by Professor V. I. Evison. Similar research interests underlie The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Blacknall Field, Pewsey, written jointly with the excavator, the late Ken Annable, and an ongoing series of topographical papers which focus upon Wessex. When still with RCHME Bruce transferred from the field staff to the NMR, from which he retired before his appointment as a Visiting Research Fellow at Bournemouth University. Mark Gardiner studied for his doctorate in the Department of Medieval Archaeology at University College London from 1980-84 and subsequently was appointed as a field officer for the Field Archaeology Unit at the Institute of Archaeology, London. He later acted as Deputy Director for the Field Archaeology Unit. In 1996 he moved to Belfast as a lecturer in archaeology at Queen’s University, where he currently works. He has been editor of Archaeological Journal (2002-07) and is currently President of the Society for Medieval Archaeology (2010-13). Helen Geake ����� was an undergraduate with Martin Welch at UCL and completed her doctorate at the University of York. After working at Norwich Castle Museum she joined the Portable Antiquities Scheme, first as finds liaison officer for Suffolk and then as the Scheme’s early-medieval finds adviser, based at the University of Cambridge. She encourages research into PAS data, firstly by ensuring that the records of objects are both retrievable and of excellent quality, and secondly by promoting the use of the data as a vital archaeological source. �������������� principal Sue Hamilton is Professor of Prehistory at the Institute of Archaeology, University College London. Her research interests are in landscape archaeology, particularly from social and sensory perspectives, and issues of archaeological field practice. Her published work has focused on the later prehistory of Britain and Continental Europe, the contexts of ceramic production, the theory of field practice, and Pacific traditions of stone monumentality. She has conducted major field projects in Britain, France, Ireland, Italy and the Pacific and currently is Director of the Rapa Nui (Easter Island) Landscapes of Construction Project. Her recent publications include the books Stone Worlds (with B. Bender and C. Tilley) and Archaeology and Women (with R. Whitehouse and K. Wright). Heinrich Härke (born 1949) studied at the universities of Göttingen, Edinburgh and Oxford. In 1988, he submitted his Dr.phil. thesis on ‘Anglo-Saxon Weapon Burials of the fifth to seventh Centuries’ to Göttingen University. He held lectureships in archaeology at Queen’s University Belfast from 1984 to 1989, and at the University of Reading thereafter. In 2007, by then promoted to Reader, he took early retirement in order to devote more time to archaeology. He now lives in the North German countryside, enjoys fieldwork and research in Russia and other countries of the former Soviet Union, and does some teaching (without the administration) at Tübingen University where he was appointed Honorarprofessor in 2010. Sue Harrington is an Honorary Research Associate of the Institute of Archaeology, University College London. She studied there from 1994 and completed her PhD on gender and craft production in early Anglo-Saxon Kent in 2003, supervised by Martin Welch and Sue Hamilton. From 2006 to 2009 she was the research assistant on the Leverhulme Trust funded ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ project, directed by Martin. The project database is in preparation and will be published with ADS as the Early Anglo-Saxon Census. Recent publications include The Kingdom and People of Kent AD 400-1066 (with S. Brookes) (2010), the Anglo-Saxon Kent Electronic Database (coedited with S. Brookes) available via the ADS (http://ads.ahds.ac.uk/catalogue/archive/asked_ahrc_2008/) and Aspects of gender identity and craft production in the European migration period (BAR Int. Series 1797, 2008). She currently works for the Thames Discovery Programme and is also a freelance researcher specialising in early Anglo-Saxon material culture and textiles. Catherine Hills� read history at Durham where she was taught by Rosemary Cramp, did a PhD at Birkbeck London with Vera Evison, excavated the Anglo-Saxon cemetery of Spong Hill, North Elmham in the 1970s and has been a lecturer in the Department of Archaeology, University of Cambridge since 1977. Sonja Marzinzik studied Prehistoric and Early Medieval Archaeology at the University of Munich before specialising on the early Anglo-Saxons at UCL’s Institute of Archaeology and at the University of Oxford. She is curator of the Insular Early Medieval Collections at the British Museum, comprising the Anglo-Saxon, MedievalCeltic and Viking collections from the British Isles. Her publications include Early Anglo-Saxon Belt Buckles (late 5th to early 8th centuries A.D.): Their classification and context (2003) and The Sutton Hoo Helmet – object in focus (2007). Andrew Reynolds is Professor of Medieval Archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL, where he read for the BA Medieval Archaeology (1993) and gained a PhD (1998). His research interests include the archaeology and history of state formation in post-Roman societies, with a particular focus on the nature of early state administrative structures. He has conducted fieldwork in Britain, Ethiopia and Russia, and has just completed large-scale fieldwork examining early medieval rural settlement in the Spanish Basque Country (with J. A. Quiros Castillo). His recent

viii

List of Contributors publications include Anglo-Saxon Deviant Burial Customs (OUP, 2009), (ed. with R. Gilchrist) Reflections: 50 Years of Medieval Archaeology, 1957-2007 (Society for Medieval Archaeology, 2009) and (ed. with J. Escalona) Scale and Scale Change in the Early Middle Ages (Brepols, 2010). Andrew Richardson is Finds Manager at the Canterbury Archaeological Trust. Between 2002-2008 he worked for the Portable Antiquities Scheme and Kent County Council as the Finds Liaison Officer for Kent. His doctoral thesis on the Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of Kent, which he undertook at Cardiff, was awarded in 2000 and published by BAR in 2005. Christopher Scull read Archaeology and Anthropology at Cambridge University. After postgraduate research at the Institute of Archaeology in Oxford, he taught early medieval archaeology successively at Durham University and the Institute of Archaeology London before working in contract archaeology and then joining English Heritage, where he was Research Director from 2005 until 2010. His research has focused on the relationships between material culture and socio-economic dynamics of the fifth-seventh centuries AD. His interests include music and sailing and he is a life-long supporter of West Ham United. He is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London and Honorary Visiting Professor at the Department of Archaeology and Conservation, Cardiff University. Sarah Semple is a Senior Lecturer in early medieval archaeology in the Department of Archaeology, Durham University. She completed a first degree at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL in the early 1990s before working in commercial field archaeology for several years. She then completed her postgraduate training at the Institute of Archaeology at Oxford University, before holding a postdoctoral position at St. Cross College, Oxford. She began teaching at the new University of Chester and moved to Durham in 2006. Her research interests include early medieval uses and perceptions of ancient prehistoric and Roman remains, Anglo-Saxon religion and belief in a landscape context, and political uses of landscape in Britain and the Continent. Current research and fieldwork in England and Sweden explores the related themes of power of place, changing perceptions, perspectives of landscape and monumentality across the conversion, assembly places and practices in Northern Europe, and pre-Christian and Christian popular beliefs and practices in a landscape context and the impacts of Christianity on the English landscape. Stephen Sherlock is a professional archaeologist who has worked in northern England for over 30 years. He has published on archaeology of all periods from the Iron Age through to post-medieval industrial archaeology and nineteenth-century workers’ houses. Since 2000 he has been researching Iron Age settlement and in 2010 submitted his thesis on Iron Age settlement in north-east England to the University of Leicester. Jean Soulat is a PhD Student in early medieval archaeology at the University of Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne. His research theme is cross-Channel exchange and the study of Merovingian and Anglo-Saxon grave-goods in south-eastern England. Since 2009, he has been engaged at the Musée d’Archéologie Nationale (MAN to SaintGermain-en-Laye) and also an associate researcher at the Centre de Recherche d’Archéologie Médiévale at Caen (CRAHAM). His research interests also include ports between the sixth and eighth centuries. He has published on these subjects, including a monograph entitled Le materiel archéologique de type saxon et anglo-saxon en Gaule mérovingienne (2009). Jean has been involved in several additional research programs, including ‘Quentovic, a port of trade between Ponthieu and Boulonnais’ (2006-2010) directed by L. Verslype. Nick Stoodley is a freelance archaeologist specialising in the burial practices of the early Anglo-Saxon period. He is also Honorary Research Fellow at the University of Winchester. Sue Tyler is a graduate of University College London where she studied Anglo-Saxon and early medieval European Archaeology under the tutelage of Martin Welch. Sue is currently Historic Environment Officer with Essex County Council and her published work includes (with Hilary Major) The Early Anglo-Saxon Cemetery and Later Saxon Settlement at Springfield Lyons, Essex (Chelmsford: East Anglian Archaeology 111, 2005). Barbara Yorke is Professor of Early Medieval History at the University of Winchester. She has worked, and published papers, on many different topics relating to the history of Anglo-Saxon England, with a particular interest in royal houses and the interrelationship of ecclesiastical and secular authority. Her books include Kings and Kingdoms of Early Anglo-Saxon England (1990), Wessex in the Early Middle Ages (1995), Nunneries and the Anglo-Saxon Royal Houses (2003) and The Conversion of Britain. Religion, Politics and Society c.600-800 (2006). She is currently working on a book on ‘The Origins of Anglo-Saxon Kingship’.

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Martin G. Welch MA DPhil FSA: An appreciation ANDREW REYNOLDS AND SUE HAMILTON

This volume of papers is offered to Martin on the occasion of his retirement from UCL in 2010. It is a celebration of his long career of teaching and research in early medieval archaeology, particularly Anglo-Saxon England and its neighbours in the fifth to seventh centuries, and of his many contributions to the working life of the University, most notably in his role more latterly as Faculty Tutor for the Faculty of Social and Historical Sciences.

promoted amongst us a truly interdisciplinary approach which required a working knowledge of Germanic languages, written sources, place-names, art history and so on. Martin, for example, first taught me (AR) about Anglo-Saxon charters, a body of material formidable on first inspection but all the more manageable with the guiding hand of one who had himself worked with these documents. Martin taught us not to back away from written evidence but to engage fully with it in a critical fashion and for that I am grateful: my first essay for him, for example, taught me about property regulations in the written legal sources for medieval Winchester working from Derek Keene’s massive volumes in the first few weeks of my university career – no superficial skimming from secondary works for the BA Medieval Archaeologists!

The ways in which his teaching, publications and related academic activities have contributed to the field of medieval archaeology is reflected in the papers by his friends and colleagues in this volume, many of them former students. After studying Modern History at Oxford as an undergraduate (his post-graduate studies at Keble College, Oxford were completed under the supervision of Sonia Hawkes in 1979), Martin took up a post at the Ashmolean Museum in 1973, a job that he enjoyed until 1978. Martin was then appointed to a Lectureship in Medieval Archaeology at University College London, which at that time was a subject based in the History Department at UCL prior to crossing the road and joining with the Institute of Archaeology in 1991. In the latter respect, Martin’s career has spanned the growth and maturation of medieval archaeology as a discipline, first firmly associated with history and then set on its own feet as a fully-fledged sub-field of archaeology.

At that time, in the early 1990s, essays were handed back and discussed in small groups of three or four and we were lucky again to be able to take advantage of intensive critical feedback on our work. Such discussions were held in Martin’s office on the top floor of the history department – a location reached by stairs treacherously steep for an undergraduate, let alone Martin with Mercian bicycle slung over his shoulder (a ‘proper’ bike to anyone acquainted with ‘proper’ cycling). Martin’s approach to teaching medieval archaeology was to ensure that one completed a course with a detailed knowledge of the material upon which ideas and interpretations were based. While such a perspective became unfashionable in certain quarters in the later 1980s and 1990s – with concepts (many of them bizarre) foregrounding material – it cannot be doubted that knowing one’s ‘stuff ’ remains fundamental to developing understanding. The influence of an approach based on genuine knowledge can be traced through the literature emanating from his former students and from his current research projects.

One of us (AR) had the great privilege of studying for the (sadly now defunct) BA Medieval Archaeology, starting the course in 1990. Students of the time were fortunate to enjoy the high scholarly standards set by Martin and his then colleagues James Graham-Campbell and Chris Scull, with Gus Milne replacing Chris in 1992.



While students elsewhere were being encouraged to take a fiercely archaeological stance in studying the early middle ages, our teachers took a different view and

Having had Martin as an undergraduate tutor, he then became second supervisor for my PhD (with James Graham-Campbell as first supervisor). Prior to finishing, I took up a half-time lectureship at the Institute of Archaeology and my first ‘home’ was a desk in Martin’s office on the second floor of the Institute, a space now fittingly occupied by my co-editors – and fellow medievalists – Stuart Brookes and Sue Harrington.

contributing to student learning and welfare went far beyond the bounds of just teaching one’s topic(s) and supervising their research. It therefore seemed wholly apt when Martin, a decade and more ago, became the UCL Faculty Tutor for Social and Historical Sciences and continued in this post until last year. Martin’s hugely wise and gentle manner in this post was such a help to so many people. Departmentally we frequently turned to him for guidance on student-related and procedural matters and he would regularly provide advice on UCL matters to our Departmental Staff Committee and Teaching Committee meetings. A particularly important aspect of this post was seeing and advising students in difficulty and his immense kindness concerning this rescued and reassured numerous students, enabling them to successfully complete their studies. All of this comes out of the person that Martin is. Beyond his administrative and academic contributions, and his extraordinarily knowledge of Anglo-Saxon archaeology, is the essence of Martin, which is that he gifts to others a quiet appreciation of the arts of life – be it of paintings, music or a fine claret and more particularly – of what it is to be a human being.

Martin’s work at UCL, however, engaged him beyond the medieval world and brought him into the domain of contemporary university management. As an archaeologist of Sussex since my teens I (SH) knew of the academic Martin – particularly his work on the Apple Down cemetery, near Chichester, West Sussex, long before I first met him as a colleague on my arrival in 1993 as a lecturer at the Institute of Archaeology. Although medieval archaeology had recently joined the Institute, Martin’s office still remained in a separate building and was a good exercising climb up many rickety flights of stairs – to arrive breathless at his door. Here, where he supplied mugs of cafeteria coffee to his visitors, Martin provided me with the perspective that working in a UCL department was more than just that – that universities were institutions that had frameworks which supported their staff and had contexts in which we could all contribute to their running and to the welfare of the student body. Today this would be called ‘mentoring’ and in doing so he engendered the philosophy that

In conclusion, Martin’s willingness to share his expertise in the art and archaeology of early medieval Europe and his concern for academic management has benefitted very many people over the years and, on behalf of his friends and colleagues, we dedicate this book to him.

Tabula Gratuloria Barry Ager, Lyn Blackmore, Sandra Bond, Barbara Brown, Birte Brugmann, Helen Clarke, Tania Dickinson, Angela Care Evans, John Hines, Sue Hirst, Robert Kirby, Christina Lee, Jackie McKinley, Judy Medrington, Katie Meheux, Gustav Milne, Frans Theuws, Gabor Thomas, Penelope Walton Rogers, Leslie Webster

xi

An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire

An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire

1 CHARLOTTE BEHR

An A-bracteate was found in July 2010 in Scalford, Leicestershire (BM treasure number 2010T414). This gold pendant adds to the small number of bracteates known from Leicestershire and Rutland. It constitutes a rare precious-metal object of early Anglo-Saxon date in the Melton district to which Scalford belongs. Its image is stylistically closely related to A-bracteates found in Scandinavia and in northern Germany, but the motif is unique among bracteates. The conical object that is depicted in front of the mouth of the male head is here discussed as a possible representation of a precious glass drinking vessel. If this identification were correct, the scene of a drinking man who was equipped with Roman imperial insignia could be interpreted as an attempt to visualize an important social and symbolic activity of a Germanic leader, the feasting and drinking in the hall, that has often been referred to in early medieval literature and through grave goods in princely graves.

A recurrent theme in Martin Welch’s archaeological studies of the early Anglo-Saxons is the nature and chronology of their contacts across the Channel and the North Sea. The recent find of an A-bracteate in Scalford, Leicestershire (IK 635) provides a new example for the close contacts between Britain and northern Europe in the early Anglo-Saxon period but it also demonstrates graphically how material culture developed independently in Anglo-Saxon societies. Whilst the new bracteate is clearly modeled on Abracteates from Scandinavia and northern Germany the image has been adapted to depict a scene that is – so far – unique among the more than 1000 bracteates. It may provide a rare representation of an early Anglo-Saxon ‘drinker’ (Figures 1 a and b).

of iconographical transformation and intellectual reinterpretation changed into the figurative scenes that are explained as representations of some of the myths that were associated with the Germanic god Odin or Woden and are known from later written sources (Hauck 1994; Wamers 2003, 927–8 ; Axboe 2007, 99–100). At what stage in this process the meaning of the bracteates shifted from Roman imperial notions into expressions of Germanic religious or mythical ideas is difficult to determine. It is likely even the early bracteates that had images close to representations of the Roman emperor, like the bracteate from Scalford, functioned as amulets because of the apotropaic quality of the Roman imperial image (Axboe 1991, 191–5). Anglo-Saxon bracteates depended iconographically and stylistically on the Scandinavian bracteate images that were characterized by a high level of standardization and long series of pendants that were linked by motif and style with only minor variations (Pesch 2007, 370–8). It seems to be significant that several of the Anglo-Saxon finds like Scalford show distinct deviations from the Scandinavian designs. The bracteates from Northbourne (IK 616), Undley (IK 374), Brinton (IK 584) and Market Overton (IK 123) are other examples for what appears to be specific Anglo-Saxon developments of bracteate design and interpretation. In contrast to the

Bracteates were produced from about the middle of the fifth century when they were first modeled on the image of the emperor on Roman medallions from the fourth century (Axboe 2007, 67-70). Almost all gold medallions that have been found outside the Roman Empire were fitted with suspension loops and they were worn as symbols of power. The image of the Roman emperor mattered and the pendants conveyed the status, prestige and rank of the wearers (Bursche 2001). The image of the emperor on the medallions was imitated on the round one-sided gold foils and in a gradual process



Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Fig. 1 Gold A-bracteate from Scalford. Scale 3:1 a. Photograph The Trustees of the British Museum, b. Drawing by Jane Sandoe

Scandinavian bracteates, however, they remained single experiments that did not lead to new series - at least that is what the current find situation implies (Behr 2010, 70).

known so far; they all come from graves. One silver bracteate has been found in East Leake (IK 602), some 17km distant, and a fragment from a silver bracteate in Broughton Lodge, Willoughby-on-the-Wolds (IK 227), some 10km west from Scalford. A gold pendant with the unique image of a bird above the quadruped instead of the male head that is common for C-bracteates comes from Market Overton (IK 123) about 12km to the east of Scalford.

As a metal-detector find the archaeological context of the new find is uncertain. No further finds have been reported in its immediate vicinity that point to one or more graves to which this pendant may have belonged. Alternatively, it may have been a single deposition in a ritual context (ibid., 77–80). Pre-Roman, Roman and Anglo-Saxon activity is well attested in the district of Melton to which Scalford belongs by a number of archaeological finds including an early Anglo-Saxon cemetery and evidence for a contemporary settlement (Liddle and Middleton 1994, 85), and many Anglo-Saxon stray finds (Liddle 1988, 90; Scott, pers. comm.). In the parish of Scalford the fieldname ‘Harrowe’ or ‘Harrow’ that may denote OE ‘hearg’ is recorded (Cox 2002, 214). The term ‘hearg’ has been translated as ‘pagan temple’ or ‘hilltop sanctuary’ (Semple 2007, 370–2). The reference to a possible sacred site is interesting when considering the find of an object whose burial in a grave or in a sacrificial deposition is commonly interpreted as having religious or amuletic connotations, still, a connection cannot be postulated because the field is not located and the record of its name is rather late. Future fieldwork may provide more relevant evidence.

The bracteate from Scalford is in many respects a typical A-bracteate showing a male head in profile. The image is closely related to other Scandinavian, northern German and Anglo-Saxon A-bracteates. The round golden pendant is 24mm in diameter, weighs 2.48g and the gold content is 89% on the surface with no significant difference under the loop where the gold foil appears to have a redder colour (La Niece and Simpson 2010). The pendant is now bent and the surface is scratched in several places. A simple gold strip was attached as a loop. No framing wire surrounded the gold flan but its edge was thickened and decorated with incisions giving the impression of a beaded wire. These technical details, the absence of a framing wire and a simple unadorned loop are unusual features of Scandinavian bracteate finds but quite common among the English finds and suggest that the bracteate was not imported from Scandinavia but produced locally (Behr 2010, 67–9).

Leicestershire and Rutland are not known for many bracteate finds. Three very different pendants are

Whilst the male head is shown in profile and turned to the left the bust is facing the viewer. The hairstyle



An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire consists of parallel strands that are divided by a double row of dots indicating the imperial diadem that ends in front of the head in a framed triangle of three dots and a spiral. Behind the head the ribbons of the diadem form crossing double lines ending in dots. The hair appears to reach behind the neck through an elongated triangle to the border of the garment. The face is framed by a contour line, has a straight nose, an oval eye with a pronounced eyebrow, a spiral-shaped ear and what appears to be an open mouth. The particular variants of these design elements suggest according to Axboe’s seriation of the details of the great anthropomorphic heads on bracteates a similar date in H2 (last quarter of the fifth or early sixth century) as the earliest AngloSaxon bracteates, the A- and B-bracteates from Undley (IK 374), St Giles’ Field (IK 323), Bifrons (IK 23) and Brinton (IK 584) (2004, 122–32). Underneath the ear, in the centre of the image, is the imprint of the hole from the compasses in the die. Four fields with hatching indicate the folds of a garment in the tradition of the imperial coat on Roman coins. Along the collar the garment is bordered by a line of dots denoting beads, a second dotted border is on the lower edge of the image. Two fields on the shoulders end in mirror-image spirals in the middle of the chest. On the left shoulder are three lines ending in semicircular features that can be best described as pendilia with lunulate pendants hanging on the brooch that was holding the coat on the shoulder. The brooch is barely visible and appears to be covered by the folds of the garment. Brooch and pendilia can be paralleled with the three pendilia of the brooches worn by emperor Justinian and empress Theodora on their right shoulders in their dedication mosaics in the apse of S. Vitale in Ravenna (Stout 1994, 83–5). Coin images indicate that the brooch with three pendilia was ‘reserved for imperial rank’ by the time of the emperors Valens and Valentinian I (364/65) (ibid., 89). Shoulder brooches with three much smaller and rather misunderstood pendilia are on several A-bracteates from Jutland (IK 162, 1 and 2, IK 225). It is noticeable how pronounced the imperial insignia are shown on the bracteate from Scalford; the diadem with its sizeable central jewel above the forehead and its flattering ribbons possibly decorated with further jewels and the pendilia hanging on the shoulder brooch are exceptionally large. A bent right arm seems to be shown in front of the garment with a hand holding in front of the mouth a conical object with three parallel lines at the upper end. Along the edge of the image are letters and signs imitating the Latin coin inscriptions. From left to right are in front of the head a circle or ‘O’ followed by an equal-armed cross with short straight lines at the end of each arm, a triangle and a ‘T’, and behind the head are a zigzag line, a mirror-image ‘N’ and a square with circular corners. Whilst crosses are among the relatively common signs that were added to Scandinavian bracteate images, this example is the first cross on an Anglo-Saxon bracteate

(Behr 1990, 121–7). Like the Scandinavian examples and the crosses on early Anglo-Saxon disk and other brooches it raises the question of possible Christian influence or the knowledge of the cross as a powerful sign well before the arrival of Christian missionaries. The square with the circular corners is without parallel among the signs used on bracteate images or even any other contemporary object. The conical object that was added to the conventional A-bracteate image is a unique pictorial element on bracteates. Its shape, decoration and position in front of the mouth suggest a conical glass beaker. The three parallel lines may depict a straight top and two horizontal glass trails that are a typical form of decoration on glass beakers whilst vertical loops are not shown which may have been a level of detail that could not be achieved on the small size of the object. The base of the vessel that appears to be rounded is also a common feature of this type of drinking vessel that made it impossible to put down unless it was empty. Harden subdivided cone beakers into six main groups according to their decorations with glass trails and loops, their colours, shapes of the body and straight or flared rims. Their production and use overlapped chronologically and most groups were represented already in the fifth century (1956, 140). As imported objects they were valuable and prestigious items. No evidence for the production of glass vessels exists in Anglo-Saxon England during the fifth and sixth centuries (Evison 1972, 48). Comparisons with the distribution of Continental finds suggest that they were manufactured in the middle Rhine area (ibid., 62–3). Conical glass vessels have been found mostly in well-furnished graves but occasionally fragments were also discovered in settlement excavations (Evison 2008, 11–2). The evidence of the graves indicates that they were objects signifying high social status in early AngloSaxon society. A comparison with the Continental graves with conical glass beakers points to a difference in their uses on either side of the Channel. Whereas on the Continent almost all cone beakers are found together with weapons suggesting male graves, in England they are found together with grave goods relating to men and to women (Evison 1972, 53–6, 61–2; Koch 1989). The majority of conical glass beakers are found south of the Thames. From Leicestershire only two glass fragments are recorded that belonged to cone beakers (Liddle and Middleton 1994, 81, 83; Evison 1972, 55). Still, it is possible to postulate that the object on Scalford-A could be a glass beaker. If this identification of the conical object were correct the image from Scalford would provide a rare new representation among early medieval images of someone holding or drinking from a beaker. Whilst there are no examples for a similar scene among Anglo-Saxon images, it features on several contemporary and near contemporary Scandinavian images.



Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Over 100 gold foils and five patrices have been discovered in house 2 in the ‘central place’ of Uppåkra, Skane (Watt 2004). They can be dated to the transition of Migration to Merovingian periods. Among the finds are three ‘guldgubbar’ and one bronze patrix showing a single man in profile wearing a long coat, holding a staff in one hand and raising a beaker in the other hand to his mouth that appears to overspill (Watt 2004, 173–5). A very similar patrix has been found in a settlement excavation in Smørenge. Closely related are several gold foils from Sorte Muld and a fragment from Møllegård, all three on the island of Bornholm (Hauck 1992, 519–21; Watt 2004, 175).

them ceremoniously. Whether the scenes were meant to illustrate mythical or secular situations, the conduct of men and women point to familiar customs. The important social and symbolic roles of gathering, feasting and drinking in the hall are well attested in early medieval literature (Magennis 1999, 21–8). Even though accounts of ritualized feasting and drinking were literary constructs, set in heroic and mythical realms and not realistic reflections of contemporary events, they still bear witness to the ideological significance of these gatherings where relationships between individuals and between a leader and his retinue were defined and reinforced. Carousals played a large role in the narratives of Germanic heroic literature relating ritual celebrations in the annual cycle of sacrifices and feast days, or crucial transitions in the lifecycle, like marriages and deaths, and the decisive steps in the career of a warrior. Drinking among men created community and belonging. For instance when Beowulf first arrived in Heorot, he was offered a place and was invited to drink, he was tested in an argument and then admitted in a drinking ritual (lines 489ff.; Magennis 1985). During drinking the hierarchical order of the group was reasserted by the sequence in which the men got the beaker and drank. Solemn promises were typically connected with drinking rituals, for instance when Beowulf vowed to kill the monster Grendel (lines 631ff.). Similar elements of social drinking and symbolic rituals remained themes in later Scandinavian heroic literature (Grönbech 1931, ch 9).

Among the single female figures in Uppåkra one gold foil shows a woman in profile with long hair, wearing a long cloak and holding a drinking horn in one hand. On one of the patrices is a comparable but not identical figure (Watt 2004, 187–8). Two similar images are known from Bornholm. The identification of the figures on the gold foils as divine, mythical, or secular is controversial (Hauck 1992, 530–40; Simek 2002; Enright 1988). Still, the other attributes of the small figures that can be discerned, including staffs or scepters, neck rings, collars, beads, weapons and belts have been interpreted as signs of rank and status, suggesting that the drinking vessels too had some significance as status indicators. Margrethe Watt has recently suggested that the difference between the drinking vessels and gestures on the gold foils may indicate that the women holding the horns used them as jugs to fill the smaller glass beakers of the men who are shown drinking (2004, 213–4). On two gold foils with embracing couples from Helgö in central Sweden, beaker-type objects are depicted, either between the couple (715) or held by the man (962) (Lamm 2004, 68–9). Similarly, on one gold foil depicting a facing couple from Lundeborg, Funen the two figures appear to be holding a horn from which they are drinking (Hauck 1992, 514–5, 519–23). A female figure carrying a large drinking horn is also depicted on the longer horn from Gallehus, Jutland, dated to the early fifth century (Axboe, et al. 1996, 332). In a frequent scene on picture stones from Gotland a woman is shown who appears to offer a drinking horn to a horseman, a scene commonly interpreted as a valkyrie welcoming a dead warrior to Valhalla (Nylen and Lamm 1978, 68–73; Ellmers 1964/65, 24–5). Examples include the stones from Lillbjärs (III), Tjängvide (I) and Hunninge (I), all dated to the eighth entury. The only male figures depicted with drinking horns on a Gotlandic picture stone are the five men on Tängelgårda (IV) who were shown with raised horns apparently drinking to each other (Ellmers 1964/65, 35). Despite the debates about the interpretation of the gold foil figures and the picture stone scenes, a distinct pattern is apparent in these representations; men tend to be shown drinking, whilst women appear to be holding drinking vessels or offering

Grave good assemblages in princely graves are often characterized by numerous drinking vessels and containers which suggest similar practices and expectations. The dead kings or leaders buried at Sutton Hoo, Taplow and Prittlewell, to name just the most impressive early Anglo-Saxon collections of feasting equipments, were well equipped to continue their role as generous hosts to their retinues (Lee 2007, 72–6). Assuming that the identification of the conical object on Scalford-A is correct, what could a drinking scene signify on the golden pendant? The imperial insignia with which the male figure was equipped are adapted from Roman traditions and continued to indicate leadership in the Germanic context. Hospitality was an essential and celebrated element of Germanic leadership as archaeological, literary and pictorial evidence attests. The visual representation of a valuable glass beaker and the act of drinking may have been an attempt to emphasise this essential role of the leader within Germanic ideology in addition to the Roman insignia. If drinking can be interpreted as a ‘Germanic’ attribute of leadership, it may be possible to explain this bracteate’s iconography by analogy with Scandinavian examples where ‘Roman’ and ‘Germanic’ symbols of rulership



An unusual new gold A-bracteate find from Scalford, Leicestershire were combined. For example, on the C-bracteate from Funen (IK 59) the male head is shown wearing the Roman diadem together with long plaited hair (Axboe 2007, 100–3). Long hair was according to Gregory of Tours a sign of royalty for the Merovingian kings (HF iii 18; viii 10) but probably for kings and leaders of other Germanic peoples as well. It was visually represented, for example, on the signet ring of king Clovis I (Axboe 2007, 100) but also on a medallion of the Ostrogothic king Theoderic (Conti 1995, 24).

Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 83–102 Conti, P. M. G. 1995 ‘Gli Ostrogoti dalle sponde del Dnestr all’Italia’, in I Goti a San Marino. Il Tesoro di Domagnano. Milano: Electa, 17–33 Cox, B. 2002 The Place-names of Leicestershire, part two: Framland Hundred. Nottingham: English Place-Name Society Ellmers, D. 1964/65 ‘Zum Trinkgeschirr der Wikingerzeit’, Offa 21/22, 21–43 Enright, M. J. 1988 ‘Lady with a mead-cup. Ritual, group cohesion and hierarchy in the Germanic warband’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 22, 170–203 Evison, V. I. 1972 ‘Glass Cone Beakers of the “Kempston” Type’, Journal of Glass Studies 14, 48–66 Evison, V. I. (ed. S. Marzinzik) 2008 Catalogue of Anglo-Saxon Glass in the British Museum. London: The British Museum Press Grönbech, V. 1931 The Culture of the Teutons, vol. II. London: Oxford University Press Harden, D. B. 1956 ‘Glass Vessels in Britain and Ireland, A.D. 400-1000’, in D. B. Harden (ed) Dark-Age Britain. London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, ������������ 132–167 Hauck, K. 1992 ‘Frühmittelalterliche Bildüberlieferung und der organisierte Kult (Zur Ikonologie der Goldbrakteaten, XLIV)’, in K. Hauck (ed), Der historische Horizont der Götterbild-Amulette aus der Übergangsepoche von der Spätantike zum Frühmittelalter. Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Phil-Hist Klasse, Dritte Folge 200. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 433–574 Hauck, K. 1994 ‘Altuppsalas Polytheismus exemplarisch erhellt mit Bildzeugnissen des 5. – 7. ������������������ Jahrhunderts (Zur Ikonologie der Goldbrakteaten, LIII)’, in H. Uecker (ed.), Studien zum Altgermanischen. ������������������������ Ergänzungsbände zum RGA 11. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 197–302 HF =������������������������������ �� Gregorii ����������������������������� Episcopi Turonensis Libri historiorum X, ed by B. Krusch and W. Levison. MGH SRM 1,1. Hannover: Hahn IK = Axboe, M., Düwel, K. and Hauck, K. (eds) 1985-1989 Die Goldbrakteaten der Völkerwanderungszeit. Ikonographischer Katalog 1-3. Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 24,1-3. München: Wilhelm Fink Verlag; and for new finds since 1989: W. Heizmann and M. Axboe (eds) (in print) Die Goldbrakteaten der Völkerwanderungszeit – Auswertung und Neufunde. Ergänzungsbände zum RGA 40. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter Koch, U. 1989 ‘Spätrömisch-fränkische hohe konische GlasBecher’, Kölner Jahrbuch für Vor- und Frühgeschichte 22, 193–203 Lamm, J. P. 2004 ‘Figural gold foils found in Sweden: a study based on the discoveries from Helgö’, in Excavations at Helgö XVI. ������������������������������������������ Stockholm: Kungl. ������������������������ Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 41���� –��� 142 La Niece, S. and Simpson, A. 2010 Report for the coroner on the analysis of a bracteate from Scalford, Leicestershire. Item of potential treasure 2010T416 (sic) File No. 7462, unpublished report of the Department of Conservation and Scientific Research. London: The British Museum Lee, C. 2007 Feasting the Dead. Food and Drink in Anglo-Saxon Burial Rituals. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press Liddle, P. 1988 ‘Archaeology in Leicestershire and Rutland 1987’, Transactions of the Leicestershire Archaeological and

In conclusion, Scalford-A adds a new motif to the corpus of bracteate images and may be interpreted as an attempt to give visual expression to important characteristics of Germanic leadership: hospitality and drinking.

Acknowledgements I should like to thank Wendy Scott from the Portable Antiquities Scheme in Leicestershire who first alerted me to this new find and provided me with additional information about metal-detector finds in the Melton district. I should also like to thank Dr Morten Axboe, National Museum Copenhagen, Dr Sonja Marzinzik, British Museum, and Dr Tim Pestell, Norwich Castle Museum, for very helpful discussions about the object. Many thanks to Jane Sandoe who did the drawing and to the Leicestershire Archaeological and Historical Society. for providing the funding for the drawing.

References Axboe, M. 1991 ‘Guld og guder i folkevandringstiden. Brakteaterne som kilde til politisk/religiøse forhold’, in C. Fabech and J. Ringtved (eds), Samfundsorganisation og Regional Variation. Norden i romersk jernalder og folkevandringstid. Jysk Arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter 27. Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 187–202 Axboe, M. 2004 Die Goldbrakteaten der Völkerwanderungszeit – Herstellungsprobleme und Chronologie. Ergänzungsbände zum RGA 38. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter Axboe, M. 2007 Brakteatstudier. Nordiske Fortidsminder Serie B 25. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab Axboe, M., Nielsen, H. F. and Heizmann, W. 1996 ‘Gallehus’, in H. Beck, H. Steuer and D. Timpe (eds), Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 10. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 330–44 Behr, C. 1990 Die Beizeichen auf den völkerwanderungszeitlichen Goldbrakteaten. Frankfurt ����������������������������� am Main: Peter Lang Behr, C. 2010 ‘New Bracteate Finds from Early Anglo-Saxon England’, Medieval Archaeology 54, 34–88 Beowulf, transl by S. Heaney 1999. London: faber and faber Bursche, A. 2001 ‘Roman Gold Medallions as Power Symbols of the Germanic Élite’, in B. Magnus (ed.), Roman Gold and the Development of the Early Germanic Kingdoms.



Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Historical Society 62, 72–93 Liddle, P. and Middleton, S. 1994 ‘An Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Wigston Magna, Leicestershire’, Transactions of the Leicestershire Archaeological and Historical Society 68, 64–86 Magennis, H. 1985 ‘The Beowulf Poet and his druncne dryhtguman’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 86, 159–64 Magennis, H. 1999 Anglo-Saxon Appetites. Food and Drink and Their Consumption in Old English and Related Literature. Dublin: Four Courts Press Nylén, E. and Lamm, J. P. 1978 Bildstenar. Visby: Barry Press Förlag Pesch, A. 2007 Die Goldbrakteaten der Völkerwanderungszeit – Thema und Variation. Ergänzungsbände zum RGA 36. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter Semple, S. 2007 ‘Defining the OE hearg: a preliminary archaeological and topographic examination of hearg place names and their hinterlands’, Early Medieval Europe 15, 364–385

Simek, R. 2002 ‘Goddesses, Mothers, Dísir: Iconography and interpretation of the female deity in Scandinavia in the first millenium’, in R. Simek and W. Heizmann (eds), Mythological Women. Studia ������������������������������������� Medievalia Septentrionalia 7. Wien: Fassbaender, 93���� –��� 124 Stout, A. M. 1994 ‘Jewelry as a Symbol of Status in the Roman Empire’, in J. L. Sebesta and L. Bonfante (eds), The World of Roman Costume. Madison, Wisc.: The University of Wisconsin Press, 77���� –��� 100 Wamers, E. 2003 ‘Io triumphe! Die Gebärde der ausgestreckten Hand in der germanischen Kunst’, in W. Heizmann and A. van Nahl (eds), Runica – Germanica – Mediaevalia. Ergänzungsbände zum RGA 37. Berlin/New ������������������������ York: Walter de Gruyter, 905���� –��� 931 Watt, M. 2004 ‘The Gold-Figure Foil (“Guldgubbar”) from Uppåkra’, in L. Larsson (ed.), Continuity for Centuries. A ceremonial building and its context at Uppåkra, southern Sweden. Uppåkrastudier 10. Lund: Almqvist & Wiksell, 167–221



Continuity in Cambridge?

Continuity in Cambridge? Pot-stamp evidence for continuity from the fourth to fifth centuries AD

2

DIANA BRISCOE

The mission statement of the Archive of Anglo-Saxon Pottery Stamps declares that its aim is to produce material for comparison between sites which may be far apart, in order to discover any patterns in distribution that might lead to more information regarding the early Anglo-Saxon settlers, their movements, trade patterns and perhaps even their religious beliefs. An obvious extension of this is to identify where these settlers originated and when they came to Britain. There are probably as many theories about this as there are early medieval archaeologists and historians working in this area, but very little hard evidence. This paper represents work in progress to examine whether continuity can be established between the Roman and the Anglo-Saxon periods.

Introduction

stamp), and vice versa. It should be noted that different dies are required for left-facing and right-facing stamps – this is not always recognised.

The question of what happened in Britain during the transition from Roman rule in the late fourth century to the appearance of the visible Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in the late sixth century is one of the most vexed in all of British history. The two hundred year gap in the historical record (apart from Kent) has allowed many scenarios to be propounded, utilising what archaeological evidence was available at the time. The Archive of Anglo-Saxon Pottery Stamps (hereafter the AASPS) has a unique insight into one aspect of the archaeological record and this article presents some evidence for possible continuity in one location in Britain: Cambridge.

Swastika motifs form only a very small section of the total AASPS collection. With only 146 examples recorded out of a total of over 13,000, they form just over one per cent of the collection. However, that one per cent includes some of the most complex and beautiful designs in the whole classification (over 670 motifs in 2010). There are 26 different J motifs recorded to date, but as each design can face either left or right, the potential count doubles to 52 (Figure 2). Swastika motifs have been found at thirty-six different Anglo-Saxon sites across Britain from Carisbrooke Castle, Isle of Wight (Young 2000: 97), to Sancton (Myres and Southern 1973; Timby 1993) and West Heslerton (Haughton 1999) in Yorkshire (Figure 3). The vast majority, however, come from the Norfolk / Cambridgeshire / East Midlands / East Yorkshire axis around the Wash and the Humber, in the territories usually considered to have been settled by the Angles.

Anglo-Saxon Swastika stamps In the classification developed by the AASPS (Briscoe 1981; 1983), Category J covers swastika and triskele stamps. In the AASPS’s definitions, ‘Negative’ means that the described part of the design is below the surface of the pot; ‘Positive’ means that the described part of the design forms part of the pot’s surface, so they are never proud of the surface as with Samian ware or Terra Sigillata. ‘Left-facing’ refers to what can be seen on the pot, so the die (the implement used to make the impression) is right-facing (as is a cast taken from the

The J 2aiii/iv motif These motifs are defined as: J 2aiii: a left-facing negative swastika in a negative ring, J 2aiv: a right-facing negative swastika in a negative ring.



Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

J: Swastikas & Triskeles J 1ai/ii: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika

J 1aiii/iv: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika with positive central dot

J 1av/vi: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika with rounded ends to arms

J 1bi/ii: Outlined positive left-/right-facing swastika

J 2a/iii: Positive left-/ right-facing swastika in a negative circle

J 2aiii/iv: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika in a negative ring

J 2bi/ii: Positive left-/rightfacing swastika in a negative square

J 2biii/iv: Positive left-/ right-facing ornate swastika in a negative square

J 3ai/ii: Left-/Right-facing, ornate positive swastika with negative outline

J 3bi/ii: Ornate square shapes containing left-/right-facing positive swastika

J 3ci/ii: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika with multiple arms

J 3ciii/iv: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika with central positive dot and ornate background

J 3cvii/viii: Pairs of negative bars forming a left-/ right-facing swastika

J 3di: Negative tau crosses forming a swastika

J 3diii/iv: Left-/Rightfacing positive swastika with birdhead terminals in negative circle

J 3dv/vi: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika with multiple arms in negative square

J continued

Classification of the Archive of Anglo-Saxon Pottery Stamps

J 4ai/ii: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika made by crossing two H 1a stamps

J 4aiii/iv: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika made by crossing two H 2 stamps

J 4bi/ii: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika made by crossing two segmented H 2 stamps

J 4biii/iv: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika made by crossing two H 2dix/x stamps

J 5ai/ii: Left-/Right-facing negative triskele

J 5bi/ii: Left-/Right-facing outlined positive triskele

J 1biii/iv: Outlined positive left-/right-facing swastika with central positive dot

J 3cv/vi: Left-/Right-facing negative swastika with multiple rounded arms

J 4av/vi: Left-/Right-facing positive swastika made by crossing two H 1ci stamps

J 5ci/ii: Left-/Right-facing triskele in negative shape

Classification of the Archive of Anglo-Saxon Pottery Stamps

Fig. 2 The J motifs classification with definitions. Please note that in all cases the left-hand motif is illustrated

There are no examples of the J 2aiii motif in the AASPS’s collection. The only J 2aiv examples come from the Anglo-Saxon cemeteries at Girton and St John’s Cricket Field, both on the outskirts of Cambridge. There are three examples from Girton and two from St John’s, all measuring 9mm x 9mm (Figure 4). They were probably all made with the same die. All the stamps occur on sherds and there is only one group where enough of the

pot remains to make an estimate of its shape. That pot came from St John’s and was probably a wide-mouthed bowl. ������������������������������������������������������� A brief description of the 1881 excavation at Girton College was published over forty years later (Hollingworth and O’Reilly 1925), and the library of Girton College holds a copy of the site diary (such as it is) for the excavation. Dr Sam Lucy is currently transcribing the site diary for the St



Continuity in Cambridge?

Anglo-Saxon sites where swastika stamps have been found

¯

W.Heslerton # Boynton

#

Sancton 1&2

#

Brough

#

Cleatham

Riby Park

#

#

West Keal # Newark # Caythorpe # # # Old Sleaford

Willington # Mowbray Melton

#

Eye, Cambs # N.Luffenham#

Pensthorpe # Spong Hill # Castle Acre# MarkshallCaistor-by-Norwich Illington

#

#

Shropham Ixworth # Girton Lackford# # Snape St John's# # # # Lt. Wilbraham

Eye

Baginton # Longthorpe

#

#

Barrow Hills

# Mucking

#

Theale

#

Carisbrooke

#

0

25

50

100 Miles

Fig. 3 Map showing the sites where Anglo-Saxon swastika stamps have been found

There are seven known examples of the J 2aiv motif from the Roman period (Figure 5). None of the stamps appears on a complete vessel, and they come from three different locations:

Cambs. Cambridge Ridgeons Gardens J 2aiv 1 Essex Colchester 22 Crouch Street J 2aiv 1 Herts. Much Hadham Bromleyhall Farm kiln J 2aiv 5

None are included in Roberts’ study of ‘Romano-Saxon’ pottery and its associated stamps (Roberts 1982).

John’s excavation, which is in the Fitzwilliam Library (pers. comm.). Otherwise there is only a brief reference to the site in Fox’s Archaeology of the Cambridge Region (1923, 242–243).



Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Fig. 4 Left: sherds from St John’s Cricket Field. Centre left: drawing of the Girton motif. Centre right: drawing of the St John’s motif. Right: cast of the Girton stamp

Cambridge: Ridgeons Garden

showed that it had been shuttered to hold back the soft sand. ‘It was most probably a well. … The shaft appeared to be of about 3 ft diameter’ (ibid.).

Ridgeons Garden (previously named Phoenix Gardens) was excavated in at least eight campaigns under at least ten different directors between 1962 and 1976, and was not published until 2000. As a result, the excavation report is sketchy in places (Alexander and Pullinger 1999).

Among the contents of the well were 168 coins issued by at least nineteen different emperors from the fourth century AD. There was also a human skull and thigh bone; bird bones; silver jewellery; iron nails; painted wall plaster; and assorted pottery vessels. These included half a mortarium; sherds of a very large globular vase of ‘fine polished red ware’ with painted and rouletted decoration; a Rhenish-ware beaker; and ‘half a large hemispherical bowl in polished red ware, shaped and decorated in imitation of a T[erra] S[igillata] f. 37, with impressed ovolo and medallions containing [a] stylised floral motif and swastikas’ (ibid., 248).

The sherd came from the series of excavations under the site number RGS III and was found in one of the campaigns between 1972 and 1976. The context was a circular kiln or furnace cut into the top of Pit 3c, near the edge of Castle Street. This kiln is described as having a ‘black fill containing charcoal, many late Roman sherds, and tile cut into a kiln spacer’ (ibid., 73). The sherd is so small that it is impossible to discern what type of vessel it came from. The J 2aiv stamp is incomplete, but enough is present to give a fairly reliable measurement of 15mm x 16?mm (Figure 5 centre). It is associated with a stamp, which I have tentatively classified as A 2di (14 x 15? mm). The AASPS defines this motif as ‘a stamp with multiple negative circles, which may or may not have a central negative dot’. Neither stamp is complete and only one example of each is present, but I would judge that the design probably used them alternately. This is an unusual, but not unknown, design scheme.

Assuming the published drawing is accurate (Hull 1958, fig. 111: 4), the stamp measures approximately 13mm x 14mm. I have classified the other motifs as A 2ci (two positive circles, which may or may not have a central dot), G 1biv (two or more positive arches or horseshoes – in Samian Ware terminology, they are ovolos), and Q4bi (a negative ‘bush’ motif in a negative circle). The swastika, circles and ‘floral’ motifs alternate around the bowl (Figure 5, left).

Much Hadham: Bromley Hall Farm

The late Bernard Barr spent many years excavating the Hadham pottery production centre in Hertfordshire. None of his finds have been published to date and I am informed by Hertford Museum that the complete assemblage from his various campaigns fills over 270 boxes.

The sherd is associated with other stamped vessels from the same context. Two of these have been identified as Oxford type ware, described as a bowl and a ‘large red polished Oxford type vessel’, both dated to the fourth century (ibid., 156).

Colchester: 22 Crouch Street

In 1964, he was excavating the kilns at Bromleyhall Farm, which lies to the north-west of the village of Much Hadham. Among much else, he excavated five stamped sherds. One sherd is from a waster and bears a swastika stamp, which appears to be a J 2aiv. The other four are Hadham colour-coated ware and bear stamps, which are very similar if not identical, to the bowl from Colchester. Two of the sherds, not contiguous

This site was excavated in February 1935 in advance of the demolition of a ‘piece of Roman walling’ to make way for a rockery (Hull 1958, 245). The excavators discovered a Roman building ‘some 110 ft long, of unknown width, with an apse at the east end … Opposite the south end of the apse, and quite close to it, there was a small pit, cut 6–7 ft deep (ibid.,). Remains of wood at the bottom

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Continuity in Cambridge?

Fig. 5 Left: close-up of the Colchester bowl. Centre: the sherd from Ridgeons Garden, Cambridge. Right: sherds from the Bromleyhall Farm kiln, Much Hadham

The Swastika as a motif

but probably from the same vessel, have a G 1biv and a Q 4bi stamp as described above. Another has the G 1biv stamp and may possibly be from a separate vessel. The last sherd probably alternates the G 1biv stamp and a swastika stamp, which I have again classified as J 2aiv and measures 15 x 16 mm (Figure 5 right). This is slightly larger than the Colchester stamp, but it is possible that they were made by the same die because the impression made by the same die can vary by up to 2 mm on the same pot depending on how dirty the die is and how dry the clay of the pot is.

The symbol of the swastika has a long and honourable history and has appeared in cultures all over the world. The oldest images I have managed to find are on Indus Valley seals dating from around 2000 BC. The swastika motif was certainly known in northern Germany in the late fourth century AD. Engelhardt illustrated a bone comb decorated with a swastika, from the sacred lake known as Nydam Mose (bog), Denmark (1865, 64, pl. 5–9). Notable examples of swastikas in Romano-British mosaics appear in Pavement B from Insula 2 of Colchester (Hull 1958); in the Star mosaic of the villa at Aldborough in North Yorkshire (Rule 1974); in the Geometric mosaic from Rudston in East Yorkshire (Smith 2005); in a mosaic from the villa at Piddington in the Nene Valley (Ward 1999); and in the ‘semi-geometric’ mosaic of Bignor villa in West Sussex (Frere 1982). Swastika designs do appear in mosaics elsewhere in the Roman Empire, but all examples found to date have come from North Africa (Blanchard-Lemée 1996).

Swastika motifs on other RomanoBritish pottery There are four other occurrences of swastika motifs on Roman pottery in Britain: Derbys. Holbrook II kiln

Left-facing, negative swastika (on underside of flange) Oxfs. Abingdon Right-facing, negative (Ashville Trading swastika (between burnished Estate) arcades) North Malton (vicus) Left-facing, ornate positive Yorks. swastika with negative outline Essex Billericay Left-facing, negative swastika with multiple arms

J 1ai J 1aii

Swastikas also appear on jewellery and silverware during the Roman period. The British Museum holds an unprovenanced silver ring, dated to the second or third centuries, with a left-facing swastika design in niello set into the bezel (ex. G. Owen collection). It does not appear to have been designed as a seal ring, so presumably the motif either pleased the maker and purchaser or had some symbolism for them. The British Museum also holds a bronze buckle found in Kent, dated to the fourth or fifth centuries. The buckle has an oval loop with animal head terminals, attached to a rectangular plate with chip-carved swastikas on the external side.

J 3ai J 3di

Only the Malton example is stamped (Wenham and Heywood 1997, 422). The Billericay motif is hand-drawn and may not be a swastika (Weller et al. 1974, 283), while the Abingdon version is sgraffito (Parrington 1978, 78) and the Holbrook example is painted (Brassington 1980, 46). Interestingly, the stamp from Malton appears in close proximity to an ‘S-shaped’ stamp (H 1ai in the AASPS classification).

Turning to examples on pottery, the magnificent Colchester Vase shows four gladiators in combat. One of

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Fig. 6 Map showing the sites where the J 2aiv motif has been found

through Colchester on their way to their next posting to report to the governor or Count of the Saxon Shore and obtain their orders. Commissioning the local pottery at Hadham to produce items stamped with their personal symbol would be a logical action, particularly if they were expecting to remain in the same post for some years. Interestingly, the J 2aiv is not the only Anglo-Saxon swastika motif with a special connection to Girton and St John’s. The J 1avi (a plain right-facing negative swastika with rounded arms) has only been found at those two sites and on one no-provenance urn sold by McAlpine Antiques in the 1980s (possibly from Rockland All Saints). There is another swastika motif which is unique to Spong Hill, and a third which is only found at Spong Hill and Caistor-by-Norwich.

them, the secutor Secundus, has a swastika on his shield. This vase was found in 1848 in a grave at West Lodge, Colchester, and was probably made around AD 175 by a local potter. It is highly possible that the potter copied the design of Secundus’s shield from the original because the design is quite detailed (Toynbee 1962).

Discussion

There is also an interesting correlation between Roman and Anglo-Saxon occurrences of the A 5di motif (a segmented negative ring) which has been found at Ridgeon Gardens, Girton and St John’s. There are 125 sites where this motif occurs (66 Roman and 59 AngloSaxon), but there are only six overlaps where the motif either occurs on the same site or within 2–3 miles of each other. This would appear to be a significant occurrence, which, combined with the other instances, makes the possibility of continuity considerably more likely.

I would be the first to agree that the designs of the J 2aiv motifs found on the Roman and Anglo-Saxon pottery presented above, differ substantially from each other. Although the die (or dies) used to make the stamps on the urns from Girton and St John’s are extremely similar, they are smaller and far better made than the die or dies used on the Roman vessels. In this they follow the overall pattern of Roman and Anglo-Saxon dies – the latter are almost always smaller, better made and used with more finesse. However, the only places where this particular motif appears, of all those that the Anglo-Saxons designed, fall within half a mile (St John’s) and two miles (Girton) of a securely stratified Roman example (Figure 6).

I accept that it will never be possible to prove definitively that there is continuity between the Roman and AngloSaxon periods by means of the pot stamps or indeed any other archaeological evidence, but I do believe that the evidence for continuity around Cambridge, which I have presented in this paper, is the best evidence for an instance of continuity that we are likely to achieve without some major scientific advances in the dating and sourcing of pottery.

The occurrence of the Roman stamp at Colchester can possibly be explained if the J 2aiv motif can be accepted as a tribal or military unit’s private symbol. It would not be surprising if an auxiliary or foederati unit came

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Continuity in Cambridge?

Acknowledgements

topographical study of the bronze, early iron, Roman and AngloSaxon ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Frere, S. S. 1982 ‘The Bignor villa’, Britannia 13, 135–195 Haughton, C. 1999 West Heslerton, the Anglian cemetery. Yedingham: Landscape Research Centre, 2 vols Hollingworth, E. J. and O’Reilly, M. M. 1925 The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Girton College, Cambridge: a report based on the M.S. notes of the excavations made by the late F. J .H. Jenkinson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Hull, M. R. 1958 Roman Colchester. London: Society of Antiquaries Myres, J. N. L. and Southern, W. H. 1973 The Anglo-Saxon Cremation Cemetery at Sancton, East Yorkshire. Hull: Hull Museum Publication No. 218 Parrington, M. 1978 The Excavation of an Iron Age settlement, Bronze Age ring-ditches & Roman features at Ashville Trading Estate, Abingdon (Oxfordshire) 1974–76. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 28 Roberts IV, W. I. 1982 Romano-Saxon pottery. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 106 Rule, M. 1974 Floor Mosaics in Roman Britain. London: Macmillan Smith, D. J. 2005 Roman mosaics at Hull. Hull: Hull Museums & Art Gallery Timby, J. 1994 ‘Sancton I Anglo-Saxon cemetery: excavations carried out between 1976 and 1980’, Archaeological Journal 150, 243–365 Toynbee, J. M. C. 1999 Art in Roman Britain. London: Phaidon Ward, C. 1999 Iron Age & Roman Piddington: the Roman ceramic building materials, 1979–1998. Northampton: Upper Nene Archaeological Society Weller, S. G. P., Westley, B., and Myres, J. N. L. 1974 ‘Exhibits at Ballots: 4. A late fourth century cremation from Billericay, Essex’, Antiquaries Journal 54, 282–285 Wenham, L. P. and Heywood, B. 1997 The 1968 to 1970 excavations in the vicus at Malton, North Yorkshire. Leeds: Yorkshire Archaeological Society Young, C. J. 2000 Excavations at Carisbrooke Castle, Isle of Wight, 1921–1996. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology Report 18

I would like to thank Quinton Carroll of Cambridgeshire Archaeology, Sara Taylor at Hertford Museum and Anne Taylor at the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Cambridge, for access to and permission to photograph items. Chris Lydamore, Harlow Museum, provided photographs of the Colchester bowl and it is reproduced with his permission and from Paul Sealey of the Colchester and Ipswich Museums. The late Mary Cra’astor gave the AASPS access to the collections of the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology in 1983, providing vital data for the Girton and St John’s cemeteries, which we have never been able to acknowledge before. Lastly my thanks go to Professor Clive Orton who commented on the text of this paper.

References Alexander, J. and Pullinger, J. 1999 ‘Roman Cambridge: excavations on Castle Hill 1956–1988’. Proceedings of the Cambridge Antiquarian Society 88, 3–268 Blanchard-Lemée, M. 1996 Mosaics of Roman Africa: floor mosaics from Tunisia. London: British Museum Press Brassington, M. 1980 ‘Derby Racecourse Kiln Excavations 1972–3’, Antiquaries Journal 60, 8–47 Briscoe, T. 1981 ‘Anglo-Saxon pot stamps’ in D. Brown, J. Campbell and S. Chadwick Hawkes (eds), Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology & History 2, 1–36. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 92 Briscoe, T. 1983 ‘A classification of Anglo-Saxon pot stamp motifs and proposed terminology’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 4, 57–78 Engelhardt, C. 1865 Nydam Mosefund 1859–1863. Copenhagen: GEC Gad Fox, C. F., Sir. 1923 The archaeology of the Cambridge region; a

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Work-boxes or reliquaries? Small copper-alloy containers in seventh century Anglo-Saxon graves

3

CATHERINE HILLS

Martin’s research has often focussed on the relationship between Anglo-Saxon England and the continent, especially Frankia (Welch 2002). This paper is on a topic which I hope to demonstrate is very relevant to that theme, the so-called ‘work-boxes’ found in seventh century female graves in England.

The boxes in question are small cylindrical containers, made from copper-alloy sheet. I became interested in these objects when I contributed to the publication of a small cemetery from Westfield Ely (Cambridgeshire), which included a grave containing a workbox (Figure 7) (Lucy et al. 2009). Most have some indication that they could be suspended: they have attachment loops and/or chains, a few have semi-circular extensions from the side. They have a diameter between 50mm and 60mm and heights between 40mm and 70mm (Geake 1997, 34). There are also narrower cylinders, with diameters around 25mm, from Sibertswold (Kent), Prittlewell (Essex) and Cuxton (Kent) (Blackmore 2006, 35–7; Hirst et al. 2004, 28). Most of the main group have simple decoration of repousse dots in lines or bands of zig-zags. The exception to this is the example from Burwell (Cambridgeshire) Grave 42 with Style II zoomorphic ornament (Lethbridge 1931, pl. III). There is also incised ornament on the boxes from North Leigh (Oxfordshire) and Cuxton, discussed further below. Some boxes contained pieces of fabric and/or metal objects, for example linked silver pins and two dress hooks at Harford Farm (Norfolk), while others appeared to contain nothing when found, like the Ely Westfield example, filled only with local sand. Geake listed ‘up to 49’ boxes to which should be added new finds from Ely, Southampton, Prittlewell and Cuxton (Geake 1997, 34). The distribution plotted by Evison of the thirty known to her (Evison 1987,

14

fig. 117) shows a slight concentration in Kent, but otherwise a widespread distribution mostly north of the Thames in the midlands, Yorkshire and as far north as Northumberland. Recent finds add more in East Anglia and the Thames valley. Most cemeteries include only one or two graves with boxes but there are a few, for example Uncleby (Yorkshire), which produced four or five. Where there is a recorded context they were found in the graves of adult females or with children, usually only one in each grave. The unpublished example from the apparently male princely grave at Prittlewell is atypical both because it is of the narrow cylindrical form and also because the grave appears to date to the earlier half of the seventh century, earlier than the other graves with boxes (Hirst et al. 2004). A seventh-century date was first argued by Lethbridge, because of the Style II ornament on the box from Burwell, and also by Leeds (Leeds 1936, 101–2) who identified them as belonging to the assemblages of his ‘Final Phase’ of furnished burial. Geake put boxes in her group D, mid seventh to early eighth century, and in fact found no securely associated boxes in contexts before the last quarter of the seventh century (Geake 1997, 35). At Ely Westfield we suggested therefore a similar date for Grave 2, although Grave 1 from the same small cemetery contained glass vessels with a mid seventh century date (Lucy et al. 2009, 128). A date at the end of the century is further indicated by the two graves with boxes which also contained series B sceattas, at Southampton and Harford Farm (Birbeck

Work-boxes or reliquaries?

Fig. 7 Westfield Ely Grave 2 plan and photograph

et al. 2005, 33; Penn 2000, 18–9). On the basis of the coins Blackburn argued ‘the burial in Grave 18 (at Harford Farm) can be dated with some confidence to the period c. 690-710’ (Blackburn 2000, 75). It is not easy to establish whether any of the boxes were old when buried, because they are made of thin sheet, easily crushed in burial, and so often found in a fragmentary condition. Lethbridge described the Burwell box with Style II ornament as ‘much worn’ (Lethbridge 1931, 55), but the object is so fragile it is now difficult to assess its original condition.

near the head (Hawkes and Grainger 2006, fig. 2.2) but most were deposited near to the legs, often the lower left leg. Recently published examples with clear traces of box or bag include Westfield Ely Grave 2 (Lucy et al. 2009, fig. 2), Lechlade (Gloucestershire) Grave 14 (Boyle et al. 1998, figs. 5.3, 5.41), Southampton Grave 4202 (Birbeck et al. 2005, fig. 17). Harford Farm Grave 18 may also have included a wooden box containing the workbox and other objects (Penn 2000, fig. 25, 18) but the plan of Cuxton Grave 306 shows no obvious indications of box or bag (Blackmore 2006, fig. 24). If they were in larger boxes or bags the fragile metal workboxes may well have been wrapped in cloth. Textile probably played a significant role in Anglo-Saxon burials, including the wrapping of valuable objects (Harrington 2007).

It has often been stated that the boxes hung from the girdle of those buried with them. However, they would have been rather large and unwieldy, also fragile and likely to break, causing the presumably valuable contents to fall out if banging against a wearer’s hip or knee, let alone by the lower leg, which is where many of them were buried. Their burial context is not always clear, but in a number of cases it seems that they were not suspended directly from the waist, although they might have been in a bag which was so suspended. The box from Finglesham Grave 8 was buried within a pot

The function of the boxes has been disputed. The various names given to them indicate different interpretations: work box, thread box, relic box. Early interpretations were practical: Faussett compared the box from Kingston Down (Kent) Grave 96 to a flour dredger (NIS) and Leeds refers to them as ‘thread boxes’ (Leeds 1936, 101). Lethbridge describes them as work

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology boxes, does not discuss their function, but suggests other objects found in wooden boxes in graves were ‘little useful things which might be handy at some time’ (Lethbridge 1931, 70). Sonia Hawkes discussed them in relation to the example from Polhill (Kent)(Hawkes 1973). She distinguished between the boxes found in English graves and small containers found on the continent and interpreted by Werner as amulet capsules with Christian significance (Werner 1950). Hawkes argued that the continental containers could not easily be opened whereas the lids of the English boxes could be easily removed indicating that they had ‘a straightforward domestic use’ (Hawkes 1973, 197). The continental objects are mostly smaller than the English boxes, some cylindrical, others spherical, and there are also longer narrower cylinders. Some contained organic material, including remains of plants or sponges. They were discussed by Evison in relation to the box from Dover (Kent), who also noted the difference between English and continental examples, except for one from Grave 87 at Nocera Umbra, a Lombardic cemetery in northern Italy, a copper sheet container of very similar shape and size. Evison is noncommittal re function: she refers to ‘normal functions of an openable container for needlework material’, but also notes the Christian intent of some of the ornament and concludes, following Meaney ‘it seems likely that they were a symbol of the status of their owner’ (Evison 1987, 106–8). However, the practicality of these boxes was doubted by Brown (quoted in Meaney 1981, 184), who pointed out that no needles had ever been found in one of these boxes, and that the pieces of textile preserved were too small to have been of any use. Meaney agreed ‘surely she would have kept it (her collection of scraps) in something much bigger’ and suggested the boxes might have been only symbolic of womens’ role as textile producers, not of practical use. Meaney provides the most detailed discussion of possible functions. She explored the possible relevance of magic ‘weaving spells’, Christian relics, and especially medicinal functions, as several Anglo-Saxon medical texts refer to treatments using cloth or thread of specific texture or colour. She concluded by emphasizing their symbolic function, perhaps protective and curative and acting as ‘symbolic first aid boxes’ (Meaney 1981, 189). Crowfoot examined all the surviving pieces of textile found in boxes and found a variety of textiles and threads, all small fragments, several of good quality fabric, embroidery, tablet weave and silk. She did not see these as relating to weaving skill or even status, but suggested that they convincingly corresponded to the description of relics given by Meaney, perhaps fragments from the clothes or vestments of holy people, although she felt that Christian practice ‘had never suggested the burial of relics, they are prestige possessions to be displayed and venerated’ (Crowfoot 1987, 51).

buried in churches, for example the ‘Capsella Africana’ found in the ruins of a Christian basilica in Algeria (Stiegemann and Wemhoff 1999, IX.29, 646). They could also be personal and private. A Christian interpretation has been favoured for continental ‘amulet capsules’ of sixth-seventh century date since Werner published the example from Wittislingen, Germany (Werner 1950). These include examples decorated with Style II – a form of ornament also used on some gold foil crosses in Alamannic graves. Egon Wamers discussed these objects in the catalogue of the exhibition held at Paderborn in 1999 to celebrate the anniversary of the visit by pope Leo III to Charlemagne (Stiegemann and Wemhoff 1999, 7–9, 440–2). Wamers strengthened the Christian interpretation, changing their name from ‘Amulettkapseln’ to ‘Kapselreliquiaren’. They are found in early medieval female graves, predominantly of the seventh century, including at least a hundred Merovingian examples mostly from the Rhineland, and many Anglo-Saxon. Both the spherical and the cylindrical form derive from classical and ancient bullae, worn as amulets around the neck. Early Christian gravestones show the deceased wearing such amulets, and many of the Kapseln have Christian ornament, so it is clear the concept of the ancient pagan amulet has been taken over into early Christianity. Wamers suggests the Anglo-Saxon boxes also should be seen as private reliquaries and this suggestion is examined in the second part of this paper. The derivation of the cylindrical form from classical and ancient bullae is clearest with the narrow cylinders from Sibertswold (NIS) and Cuxton (Blackmore 2006, fig. 25). A gold amulet formed part of the Thetford treasure, deposited in the late fourth century (Johns and Potter 1983, pl. 3, fig. 18, no. 30). This was a gold tube 3.9cm long, 1cm diameter with two suspension rings on one side, for horizontal suspension rather than vertical as with the later objects. Parallels referenced range from ancient Egypt to medieval Persia. Some contained inscriptions on thin sheets of gold, others sulfur or white silk. The concept of a small container with contents of some religious or magical significance and attachment for suspension, probably a personal possession, is very ancient, and it continued from the classical world into early Christian practice. The larger Anglo-Saxon boxes would be less easy to wear or attach to clothing, but are still small and private, unlike the better-known large jewelled boxes, the prestige possessions referred to by Crowfoot. Early Christian relics have been the subject of much scholarly research – as well as the original medieval hagiography. It is in fact surprising that relics became such a significant element in medieval Christianity. Originally, Christian teaching was that the dead could not communicate with the living, and that an

However, boxes containing relics have been found

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Work-boxes or reliquaries? individual’s fate in the afterlife depended on their behaviour when living, not on any intercession from the living (Dunn 2009, ch 2). But the strength of popular belief in the possibility of communication with the dead, and the intrinsic power of the remains of the holy dead, was too great. From the fourth century onwards the burials of saints became the focus of veneration, starting the process whereby relics came to play a significant role in ecclesiastical and lay politics (Smith 2010). The magnificence of the containers for some of these relics and their public display in churches might suggest they had little to do with small boxes in burials.

to have been an English slave, and it was where Hild was planning to join her sister Hereswith when Aidan called her to return to Northumbria (HE IV.23). Relics from the Holy Land and elsewhere reached Chelles at a time when Anglo-Saxon women were living there, and in contact with their relatives back in England, Some could easily have been taken to England, providing a means for the dissemination of ideas about relics perhaps specifically associated with women. A collection of relics was assembled in a cedarwood box by pope Leo III at the end of the eighth century. This was then enclosed by subsequent popes in more elaborate containers, within the ‘sancta sanctorum’ in the Lateran palace. In 1905 permission was given to open this collection, from which came a silver casket with images of the cross, Christ and apostles, dated by stamps of Heraclius to the seventh century (Stiegeman and Wemhoff 1999, IX.30, 647–8). One publication contains a photograph of other contents (Lauer 1906, fig. 15). These are a miscellaneous assortment of small containers and silk bags, including ivory and silver cylindrical containers. The photograph has no scale but these could be similar in size – as they are in shape – to the Anglo-Saxon boxes. The inscriptions attached to these relics were finally fully published a century after the original opening (Galland 2004). This catalogue includes an illustration and translation of each label, together with earlier catalogue entries. It shows the kind of item thought worth preserving with such care in the papal collection. Galland No. 78, for example, is described as earth in a violet silk bag, labelled as from Mount Sinai. Other items include: carbonized material; a piece of parchment which had been wrapped around a stone; a piece of the sponge of Jesus Christ; fragments of wax and sponge in a silk bag; a piece of cloth which had contained stones from the grave of St Peter (Galland nos. 73,93,55,30, 95).

However, sanctity could also reside in secondary relics, objects which had been in contact with saintly bodies, and also with the actual fabric of holy places, the soil and stones from places recorded in the bible, as well as the many fragments of the true cross. This kind of relic could be a small fragment of almost any substance including cloth – part of a saint’s clothing or simply a cloth dipped in water which had washed the saint, or oil which had been blessed in a holy place. Holy oil was put into small containers of clay, metal or glass, (ampullae) decorated with inscriptions and scenes showing biblical scenes. Collections of sixth-century ampullae survive in Italy, at Monza and Bobbio (Elsner 1997), probably presented by the Lombard queen Theodelinda. These relics are associated with pilgrimage, also a phenomenon of early Christianity. McCormick has analysed historical accounts of pilgrimage and also the sources of relics in collections with early medieval labels, which survive in France at Chelles and Sens (McCormick 2001, ch 10). The labels could have been attached to the relics after their arrival in France, and there is still room for debate over the precision of the dating assigned on palaeographical grounds, but the earliest do seem to belong to the seventh and eighth centuries. McCormick’s analysis shows that while the majority of the relics were local, from Gaul, or from Rome, a significant number were from the Holy Land. Even after the spread of Islam, pilgrims were still reaching the Holy Land and bringing back their holy souvenirs. This runs slightly counter to the evidence from imported pottery at the Crypta Balbi site in Rome, where eastern Mediterranean imports dwindle after the seventh century (display in Il Museo di Roma nel Medioevo).

The Anglo-Saxon boxes are comparable in size and shape to attested contemporary relic containers. Their preserved contents, textile and other organic fragments, are consistent with other secondary relics, while the more elaborate finds, the silver linked pins from Harford Farm, may have once belonged to a saintly woman. The boxes with no preserved contents may once have held earth or stones from the Holy Land, or more local sources. Bede tells of miracles and relics associated with king Oswald (HE III.2.) Splinters from the cross he set up are put in water which then cures the sick, as does soil from the place Oswald died, and also the earth soaked by water which had washed his body. Abbess Aethelhild took some of this earth, wrapped it in a cloth, and put in a casket. Later she cured a man possessed of a devil with this soil (HE III.2). St Wilfrid had a reliquary, taken from him by queen Jurminburg, which was small enough for him to wear it on his neck and for the queen also to wear

Relics were well known in England after the conversion (Rollason 1989) but most of the accounts relate to those collected by or given to royalty and high profile ecclesiastics like Wilfrid, whose churches at Ripon and Hexham had crypts designed to contain and display relics. One of the collections studied by McCormick is at Chelles, in northern France where Bede tells us AngloSaxon women went to become nuns before there were many religious houses in England (HE III.8). Chelles was founded by Balthild, a Frankish queen who is said

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology it, ‘iuxta se pependit’ which suggests suspension. This did her no good - she became ill and only recovered after returning the relics (Colgrave 1927, Eddius Stephanus, chs 34, 39).

The incised images on both of the containers make direct reference to the crucifixion. The relics originally within both containers must have come from the Holy Land, if not a piece of the true Cross itself then something which had been in contact with it, or with the place of crucifixion. Dust from Calvary? The woman buried with these relics may have been a pilgrim, or she may have been sent these valuable relics as a gift showing her very high esteem. The faintly incised motifs may not have been clearly visible to anyone apart from their owner suggesting they were private. Other workboxes should be examined carefully to see if any carry similar designs, easily missed if not looked for.

Many of the Anglo-Saxon boxes are decorated with a cross at one or both ends (Gibson and Harris 1994, figs 3, 4 and 5). Gibson argued against a Christian interpretation of these, but this flies in the face of comparative evidence. The incised cross on the North Leigh box is clearly a Christian Greek cross, while the other repousse dot crosses, although simple, are deliberately placed at one or both ends of the object, they are not accidental inclusions in a geometrical pattern. Comparison with contemporary coins, pendants and brooches shows how widespread a motif the equal-armed cross was in seventh to eighth-century England and how likely it is that many if not most do have an intended Christian significance (Gannon 2003, fig. 5.5). At this point the new finds from Cuxton, Kent become relevant. These have been described, illustrated and discussed in detail by Lynn Blackmore in a report deposited with the Archaeology Data service, but they are not yet as widely known as they deserve (Blackmore 2006; Glass et al. in press). Grave 306 at Cuxton is a female grave containing pendants, girdle hangers and a knife as well as two small metal containers, both of which have incised decoration with explicitly Christian significance. One container is a narrow tapering cylinder, compared by Blackmore with finds from Kingston Down, Prittlewell and continental finds, and argued to be an import from the eastern Mediterranean. This has incised decoration in two bands, one band showing three separate crosses each on a mound, the other three crosses on one mound, which also contains crosses, as well as two further single crosses. A beast’s head emerges from the mound. The second container is in form similar to the main English workbox group with repousse decoration of concentric rows around the sides and the ends. In the middle of each end is a quatrefoil, perhaps intended as a cross. The most remarkable feature is the suspension attachment on which is incised a group of three Latin crosses, the central one larger, standing on a mound. The interpretation of the designs on both containers is clear: this is Calvary, the cross of Christ between the two thieves, the most explicit of all Christian images. The Cuxton images are drawn from a repertoire of early Christian imagery and allow for no ambiguity in their interpretation. Three crosses representing the crucifixion appear on some pilgrim ampullae (Elsner 1997, fig. 2). A cross on a mound or steps appears on a few early Anglo-Saxon gold coins (Gannon 2003, fig. 5.2), and a cross on a mound is shown on Luidhard’s medalet, dating to c. AD 600 (Gannon 2003, fig. 5.1). The idea of showing images within a mound, perhaps the dead within a burial mound, is seen on the Franks casket (Webster 2010, fig.13).

The Cuxton finds strengthen very considerably the case for interpreting the ‘workboxes’ as reliquaries, because that is what these two objects were. They belong to the phase of Christianization where new artifacts were imported from the Mediterranean to increase knowledge and understanding of the Christian religion, albeit, as Dunn has explained, a version of Christianity which may have drawn on earlier pagan practices (Dunn 2009). The enthusiasm for relics apparent from the fourth century in the Mediterranean world was clearly adopted energetically in seventh century England. Women played a significant role in the early AngloSaxon church, historically recorded in the activities of women such as Hild at Whitby and Aethelflaed at Ely. It is not surprising to find one of these reliquaries in the grave of a girl buried probably within sight of the monastery founded by Aethelflaed at Ely. They might well have been relatives (Lucy et al. 2009). Connections between the continent and England manifested themselves in different ways, many explored by Martin Welch in his writings. This paper has highlighted one aspect of the archaeological evidence for the religious women who wove religious and social connections in many ways, including the possession of valuable relics, in small containers, wrapped and put in larger caskets and buried in their graves.

Acknowledgements A lecture by Julia Smith on the ‘Sancta Sanctorum’ papal relics inspired me to think more about relics and reliquaries. I am grateful to Julia for the lecture, for discussion and for sending illustrations, to Sam Lucy for inviting me to contribute to the Westfield Ely report, to the Cambridge Archaeological Unit for permission to use an illustration from that report, to Anna Gannon for discussion and useful references and also to Andrew Reynolds for alerting me to the new finds from Cuxton in Kent.

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Work-boxes or reliquaries? I met Martin Welch when we were both graduates, probably at the seminar led by David Wilson at UCL in the 1970s. We have been colleagues for many years in England, reading each other’s research, teaching and examining each other’s students, and meeting at conferences across Europe and in the UK.

A. and Munby J. in press, Tracks Through Time: the Archaeology of the Channel Tunnel Rail link. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology Harrington, S. 2007 ‘Soft furnished burial: An Assessment of the Role of Textiles in Early Anglo-Saxon Inhumations, with Particular Reference to East Kent’, in S. Semple and H. Williams (eds), Early Medieval Mortuary Practices. Oxford: Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 14, 110–6 Hawkes, S. 1973 ‘The Dating and social significance of the Burials in the Polhill Cemetery’, in B. Philp, Excavations in West Kent 1960-1973. Dover: Kent Archaeological Rescue Unit, 186–201 Hawkes, S. and Grainger, G. 2006 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Finglesham, Kent Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology Monograph 64 Hirst, S. 2004 The Prittlewell Prince. London: Museum of London Johns, C. and Potter, T. 1983 The Thetford Treasure. London: British Museum Lauer, P. 1906 Le Tresor du Sancta Sanctorum. Paris Leeds, E. T. 1936 Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press Lethbridge, T. C. 1931 Recent Excavations in Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries in Cambridgeshire and Suffolk. Cambridge: Cambridge Antiquarian Society Quarto Publications New Series III Lucy, S., Newman, R., Dodwell, N., Hills, C., Dekker, M., O’Connell, T., Riddler, I., and Walton Rogers, P. 2009 ‘The Burial of a Princess? The later seventh-century cemetery at Westfield Farm, Ely’, The Antiquaries Journal 89, 81–141 McCormick, M. 2001 The Origins of the European Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Meaney, A. 1981 Anglo-Saxon Amulets and Curing Stones. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 96 Penn, K. 2000 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Harford Farm, Caistor St Edmund, Norfolk. Gressenhall: East Anglian Archaeology 92 Philp, B. 1973 Excavations in West Kent 1960-1973. Dover: Kent Archaeological Rescue Unit Rollason, D. 1989 Saints and Relics in Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford: Blackwell Smith, J. 2010 ‘Rulers and Relics c.750-c.950: Treasure on Earth, Treasure in Heaven’, Past and Present (Supplement 5), 73–96 Stiegemann, C. and Wemhoff, M. (eds) 1999 Kunst und Kultur der Karolingerzeit. Mainz: ����������� von Zabern ������ Wamers, E. 1999 ‘VII.7-VII.9’ in C. Stiegemann and M. Wemhoff (eds), Kunst und Kultur der Karolingerzeit. Mainz: von Zabern Webster, L. 2010 The Franks Casket. London: British Museum Welch, M. 2002 ‘Cross-Channel Contacts between AngloSaxon England and Merovingian Francia’ in S. Lucy and A. Reynolds (eds), Burial in Early Medieval England and Wales. London: Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph 17, 122–31 Werner, J. 1950 Das Alamannische Furstengrab von Wittislingen. Munich: C. H. Beck

References Abbreviations: Bede, HE: Colgrave, B. and Mynors, R. A. B. (eds), 1969 Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Oxford University Press NIS: Novum Inventorium Sepulchrale: Kentish Anglo-Saxon Graves and Grave goods in the Sonia Hawkes Archive, July 2007. http://web.arch.ox.ac.uk/archives/inventorium Birbeck, V. 2005 The Origins of Mid-Saxon Southampton. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology Blackburn, M. 2000 ‘The two sceattas of Series B from Grave 18’, in K. Penn, The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Harford Farm, Caistor St Edmund, Norfolk. Gressenhall: East Anglian Archaeology Report 92, 75–6 Blackmore, L. 2006 The small finds from Cuxton Anglo-Saxon Cemetery, Kent. Archaeology Data Service: CTRL specialist report series Boyle, A., Jennings, D., Miles, D., and Palmer, S., 1998 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Butler’s field, Lechlade, Gloucestershire. Oxford: Thames Valley Landscapes Monograph 10 Colgrave, B. (ed) 1927 The Life of Bishop Wilfrid by Eddius Stephanus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Crowfoot, E. 1987 ‘Textile fragments from ‘relic-boxes’ in Anglo-Saxon graves’, in P. Walton and J. P. Wild (eds), NESAT III: Textile Symposium in York May 1987. London: Archetype Publications, 47–56 Dunn, M. 2009 The Christianization of the Anglo-Saxons c.597c.700. London: Continuum Books Elsner, J. 1997 ‘Replicating Palestine and reversing the Reformation. Pilgrimage and collecting at Bobbio, Monza and Walsingham’, Journal of the History of Collections 9:1, 117–30 Evison, V. 1987 Dover: The Buckland Anglo - Saxon Cemetery. London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission Galland, B. 2004 Les Authentiques de reliques du Sancta Sanctorum. Rome: Studi e Testi 421 Vatican City Gannon, A. 2003 The Iconography of Early Anglo-Saxon Coinage. Oxford: Oxford University Press Geake, H. 1997 The Use of Grave-Goods in Conversion-Period England. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 261 Gibson, T. and Harris, P. 1994 ‘Analysis of Anglo-Saxon solder deposited on a copper-alloy disc from the cemetery at Marina Drive, Beds’, Bedfordshire Archaeology 21, 108–18 Glass, H., Garwood, P., Champion T., Booth, P., Reynolds,

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Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context

NOËL ADAMS

The kingly seventh-century grave at Sutton Hoo Mound 1 contained a rectangular cloisonné buckle (Bruce-Mitford 1978, 46973; BM P&E 1939,10-10.11)(Figure 8.1), which falls within a well-defined sequence of buckles found in England and across the near continent to central Europe and the Balkans in the middle decades of the sixth century. Many of these have distinctive tongue shields, broadly trapezoidal in outline, with a flat back edge engineered to correspond precisely to the width of the buckle plate. The plates are either rectangular or square and are distinguished by decorative dome-headed rivets at the ends. Although chronologically later than much of his core research material, a discussion based upon this buckle type seems apt as a tribute to Martin for two reasons. First, he published one of the Anglo-Saxon rectangular buckles, from Grave 21 at Alfriston in Sussex, in his doctoral thesis (Welch 1983, 100-1, 199, 353, fig. 7b). Second, the question of cross-Channel contacts and the correlation of continental dating schemes to Anglo-Saxon material culture have been topics taken up by him with regard to the settlement period in the fifth century. I am indebted to him for his skilled guidance in many areas throughout my career and hope he finds these remarks of some interest.

Introduction The gold and garnet cloisonné buckles in Sutton Hoo Mound 1 remain unparalleled in the large corpus of early medieval buckles (Bruce-Mitford 1978; BM P&E 1939,10-10.10-14; 449-55, 469-81) (Figure 8.1-3). This naturally reflects the exceptional status of the burial and in any discussion we must accept that to some extent such objects may always stand outside established typologies of lesser status material. It is clear, however, that the rectangular buckle and the triangular scabbard slide (the ‘dummy buckle’) correspond to sixth-century continental forms. Rectangular buckles first appear late in Böhner’s Stufe II or Ament’s AM (Ältere Merowingerzeit) I (c. 450/80-520/30) (Schulze-Dörrlamm 1990, 244). They are not, for the most part, found on the continent after c. 580, nor do they appear in Langobardic finds in Italy post AD 568. Triangular buckles with mushroom-shaped tongue shields are characteristic of graves on the lower Rhine dated to the period from c. 565-80/90 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 77-8, abb. 7, Phase 5, Gür-3A 5) and appear ����������������������������������������������������������� These were previously assigned to Rhineland Phase 6 (570-

in Langobardic Italy at Nocera Umbra in Phase I (c. 572-90) (Rupp 1996, 30, fig. 6). For the moment we will leave aside the tabular buckle and matching strap mounts which do not slot as neatly into any well-defined buckle sequence. The most remarkable feature of the Sutton Hoo buckles is not their form, although they display some unusual features, but rather their decoration with sophisticated cloisonné. After the abundant production of inlaid buckles with kidney-shaped plates in the socalled ‘Flonheim-Gültlingen’ phase (c. 480-520) (Figure 12.1), garnet cloisonné buckles virtually disappear from male graves on the continent. The paper begins by reviewing rectangular buckles and their related fittings in Anglo-Saxon England vis-àvis the continental European types. The next section outlines some classes of belt sets which offer indirect evidence for the continued production of high-status male belt fittings in cloisonné in the decades preceding the great floruit of ‘mushroom’ cloisonné and the corresponding faux cloisonné patterns inlaid into iron in the last third of the sixth century. After examining a few 80/90) (Nieveler and Siegmund 1999, 14, fig. 1.9).

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Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context

1

3

2

Fig. 8 1) Rectangular buckle, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo, L: 7.3 cm; 2) Triangular scabbard slide, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo, L: 7.6 cm.; 3) Tabular buckle and strap ends, Mound 1, Sutton Hoo, L: 4.6 cm. All courtesy of the British Museum

parallels for the cloisonné cellwork on the Sutton Hoo Mound 1 buckles, the essay re-considers the dating and implication of these in an Anglo-Saxon framework.

plates were almost square, some were flat, others had recessed panels or were hollow cast with raised boxes. As noted above, all are distinguished by the presence of domed rivets. Such buckles have been found in both male and female graves; in higher status graves they were accompanied by strap end/s and/or matching square or rectangular mount/s. In some male graves their associations suggest they functioned as buckles for sword belts. Unsurprisingly, not all of these variants of rectangular buckles can be slotted into tidy groups; Windler’s 1989 study distinguished five types, based upon the design and decoration of the plates.

Current continental typo-chronologies are followed here, but these are continually being refined and, as a general rule, moved backwards in time. All nonetheless remain anchored on the frameworks established by Böhner (1958) and Ament (1976). The sequencing of male object types still relies upon Menghin’s 1983 classification of swords and weapon sets, with the revisions to the dating limits for Zeitgruppen D and E proposed by Reiß in 1994. The question of how closely Anglo-Saxon grave goods can be related to continental chronologies has primarily been examined in relation to female finds (Brugmann 1999; but see also Penn et al. 2007), so remarks in this paper regarding male object types remain to some extent provisional.

The corpus of rectangular buckles organised by Windler is not a large one – she recorded less than 30 examples which fitted into her categories. More finds have been recorded since she wrote (inter alia: Schulze-Dörrlamm 1990, 244, (Kobern-Gondorf 1454-7 and 1461-3); Janssen 1993, 183-5 taf. 4.5 (Rödingen 7); Geisler 1998, 60, tafn 56.1 and 360 (���������������������������� Straubing-Bajuwarenstraße I 223); Bóna and Nagy 2002, 125, tafn 11.23.3 and 72.2 (Hódmezővásárhely-Kishomok 23); Cseh et al. 2005, 156-9, abb. 19-20 and taf. 59.2-3 (Szőreg-Téglagyár 68); Ivanisevic, Kazanski, Mastykova 2006, 24, figs. 12,10, 41,1 (Viminacium 141, Serbia)) and a revision of the corpus is of course beyond the remit of this paper. Many of the excavated examples in Anglo-Saxon England have recently been brought together by Marzinzik in her 2003 survey as Type II.15a.

Overview Rectangular buckles were made primarily in copper alloy and silver, more rarely in gold and garnet cloisonné and hardly ever in iron with wire inlay. They have oval loops, round or polygonal in section; the integral tongue shields, although conventionally referred to as ‘trapezoidal’, vary considerably, with straight, curved, notched or stepped sides. Some ‘rectangular’ buckle

The following discussion takes into account the full range of related belt and strap mounts and not just buckles alone, as complete suites of such fittings were

��������������������������������������������������������� For a synchronisation of a number of German and French schemes see Nieveler and Siegmund 1999.  He ���������������������������������������������������������� moved the division between these phases earlier making Group D c. 560/70 - 610/15 and E c. 610/15-650 (Reiß 1994, 51).

����������������������������������������������������������� The group also included buckles which are not related to the material discussed here.

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2

3

Fig. 9 1) Weingarten type buckle and strap end, Gračanica , Croatia; L: 6.1 cm. Courtesy of Dr. Mihailo Milinković; 2) Ennery type buckle set and strap end, Bifrons Grave 73; W (loop): 3.1 cm. After Hawkes 2000, fig. 31; 3) Concevreaux type buckle set, Elgg (ZH), Switzerland; W (buckle plate): 2.5 cm. After Windler 1989, Abb. 1

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Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context not always included in every grave. As Theuws and Alkemade 2000 have demonstrated with relation to sword and scabbard fittings, the evidence suggests that valuable belt fittings were not infrequently detached from their original belts and, whether traded, gifted, inherited or stolen, deposited in different contexts.

mounts, in her Ennery type (1989, 188-90, abb. 13 and 197-8, lists 3 and 4). The copper alloy buckle with two mounts from Bifrons 73 (Hawkes 2001, 52, fig. 31, Figure 9.2) and the tinned copper alloy buckle and belt mounts from Dover 265B (Marzinzik in Parfitt and Anderson forthcoming) provide further examples of the Ennery type in England. The buckle and mount from a female grave, Mill Hill 33 (Marzinzik 2003, 44), relate to the Jouey-le-Comte-type, found in north-western France and Saxony (Windler 1989, 188, 197, abb. 12).

Weingarten, Ennery and Joueyle-comte-type buckles

Anglo-Saxon examples of these three types of buckles follow continental models quite closely and some of them may have been imports. The Anglo-Saxon chronology, insofar as we understand it, throws some light onto the continental picture. Jouey-le-Comte buckles, for example, lack dating criteria on the continent (Windler 1989, 188) but the example at Mill Hill was found in a grave which can be assigned to Kentish Phase II, c. ?500-530/40 (Parfitt and Brugman 1997, 133-4, 168, figs 23, 31h, tab. 11; Richardson 2005, 37). Unfortunately, the only ‘excavated’ Weingarten buckle in this country, which rightfully should have belonged in the high-status female Grave 45 at Chessell Down on the Isle of Wight, was mixed up in the recording so we cannot be sure whether it was found in that grave (Arnold 1982, 27, fig. 28, unprovenanced 86; Marzinzik 2003, 44).

Windler’s Weingarten and Ennery types bear parallel decoration along their plates (horizontal in all but one case), with the former worked with multiple stamped and engraved grooves/ridges and the latter made with clusters of ridges and grooves along longer rectangular plates (Figures 9.1-2). Examples are known in silver gilt and niello as well as copper alloy. High-status Weingarten-type buckles were worn with short Ushaped strap ends and in some cases with a matching belt mount; Ennery-type buckles have been found with matching mounts and, in Anglo-Saxon England, in combination with leaf-shaped strap ends. The undecorated Jouey-le-Comte buckles are copper alloy, in one case accompanied by a mount. The absolute chronology for rectangular buckles depends upon two coin-dated Weingarten-type buckles. The buckle from Gračanica, Croatia (the site of the ancient Ulpiana/Iustiniana Secunda) was found in the grave of a 30-year old woman buried with an obolus – a freshly minted solidus of Justinian struck in Constantinople between 538 to 565 (Milinković 2003) (Figure 9.1). Another Weingarten-type buckle, probably from the male in a double burial in Speyer-Germansberg Grave 11, was found with an Ostrogothic tremissis imitating a Justinian I issue of AD 527 (Windler 1989, 190). Koch considered nielloed silver buckles of this type typical of depositions in SD-Phase 6 (c. 555-80) in southern Germany (2001, 85); the burial of a warrior at Alternerding 674 with a Weingarten-type buckle assigned by Menghin (1983, 246-7, no. 94) to his Group C (c. 530-70) has now been synchronised into SD-Phase 6 (Koch 2001, 39, 57, abb. 23, buckle coded Y20).

The buckles in Bifrons 73 (Figure 9.2) and Dover 265B were found with bay-leaf strap ends; these were originally an Elbegermanen and Thuringian type, found occasionally in Bohemia, Scandinavia and in highstatus male graves in the Rhineland (e.g. Krefeld 1782 and Beckum) (Wieczorek 1987, 433-4). In Langobardic cemeteries in Moravia they are already present in Phase MD 4 (510/20-540/50) (Tejral 2005, 151-2, abb. 12). In Anglo-Saxon England they are found primarily in Kent, in both male and female graves, where they span the sixth century (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997, 75). Evison placed the bay-leaf strap ends found in Dover Buckland 14 and 98 in her Phase 2 (c. 525-75) and Phase 3 (575625), respectively (Evison 1987, 87, 175, 219, 239-40, fig. 15b, 25-6). The analysis of a further 244 graves excavated at the Dover cemetery in 1994, however, now proposes earlier dates of c. 510/30-550/60 for Phase 2a and b and 550/60-580/600 for Phase 3a (Parfitt and Anderson forthcoming).

Grave 136 at Fridingen an der Donau with an Ennerytype buckle belonged in Level 1 of the cemetery dated c. 570/80 (von Schnurbein 1987, 31, 90, 134-5, taf. 30.68). Both forms have been recorded on the middle and upper Rhine and upper Danube; Ennery type buckles have also been found in north-eastern France (Windler 1989, abb. 22-3).

Maastricht-type buckles Windler (1989, 190-91, 198) placed the Anglo-Saxon buckles from Alfriston 21 and Bifrons 22 in relation to ������������������������������������������������������� The grave group is on display in the British Museum; as a contributing author, thanks to Keith Parfitt and Barry Corke, I have seen some of the pre-publication text on this cemetery.

Windler included the Anglo-Saxon buckles from Chessell Down and Saxonbury, Sussex in her type Weingarten and that from Bifrons 43, with two matching

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Fig. 10 1) Belt mount Guilton Grave 23, L: 3.8 cm. After Åberg 1921, fig. 231; 2) Belt mount Guilton, stray find, L: 6.4 cm. After Åberg 1921, fig. 230; 3) Belt mount Altenstadt, stray find, L: 5.1 cm. After Veeck 1931, taf. 62.12

2

3

her Maastricht type, a variant with two recessed panels on the plates which originally held inlays or simple punched decoration. Two of these were found with long tongue-shaped strap ends. The Maastricht type is in turn related to Gondorf-type buckles whose flat plates with four openwork slots were not hinged to the oval loops with trapezoidal tongue shields (Schulze-Dörrlamm 1990, 242-3). Gondorf-type buckles are of particular interest for Anglo-Saxon production, as the loops are consistently chamfered along the inner edge – a feature characteristic of Anglo-Saxon rectangular buckles, but not seen on all continental types.

Concevreaux-type buckles Windler’s Concevreaux-type buckles are widely distributed from northern France (Dept. Aisne) and Belgium to the central Rhineland (Koblenz), SW Germany (Baden-Württemberg) and Switzerland (Windler 1989, 186-7; Figure 9.3); Schulze-Dörrlamm 1990, 244, tafn 48.2-3, no. 1462 and 105.12-13). No buckles of this type have been found in England, but the rectangular belt mounts found in the sandpits at Guilton in eastern Kent in the 1760s must derive from the Concevreaux type. One in silver gilt and niello with a recessed panel of gold filigree wire was recovered from Grave 23 by the antiquarian the Rev. Bryan Faussett; another, in silver, gold and garnet cloisonné, was a stray find which entered the Boys collection at around the same time (Faussett 1856, 11, pl. 8.2 and xxix, fig. 1; Figure 10.1-2). It is notable that the finds preserved in Anglo-Saxon England are of higher quality than many surviving continental buckles, made in copper alloy with silver filigree wire. An exception is a rectangular belt mount, a stray find from the Alamannic cemetery at Altenstadt (Kr. Geislingen) (Veeck 1931, 318, taf. 62.12) which, like the Anglo-Saxon mounts, combined garnet cloisonné and filigree wire.

In this case, there is a marked divergence in AngloSaxon England from continental types, which may suggest local production copying other models present in Europe. Welch (1983, 101) dated Alfriston 21, which included a mount with symmetrical knot-work, to the later sixth century. A buckle from Mill Hill 63 (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997, 172, 139, 172, fig. 35d-e) shares features with both the continental Gondorf and AngloSaxon Alfriston and Bifrons buckles; in this female grave it was associated with bay leaf-shaped strap ends found between the legs, attached either to garters or very long decorative straps. If the latter were proper garters, these first appear in Mode Phase F of female dress in south-western Germany (c. 550-70) (Theune 1999, 28).

���������������������������������������������������������� These derive from Byzantine types, represented in finds from Visigothic Spain, the Caucasus and Black Sea. They came into fashion in Europe early in Böhner’s Stufe III, i.e. c. 520/30; Schulze-Dörrlamm (1990, 242-3) suggested that Mediterranean models may first have been copied in northwest Frankish workshops.

������������������������������������������������������ ‘Guilton: Investigation History’, Novum Inventorium Sepulchrale: Kentish Anglo-Saxon Graves and Grave Goods in the Sonia Hawkes Archive, July 2007, 1st Edition, http:// web.arch.ox.ac.uk/archives/inventorium/siteoverview.php. Accessed: 12 December 2010.

 ������������������������������������������������������������� As the loop and plate were fixed separately, this belongs in Marzinzik’s Group 1.3 (2003, 21-2, pl. 7).

24

Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context

1

2

3

Fig. 11 1) Rectangular buckle and mount, Bopfingen 1, L: 4.8 cm. After Windler 1989, abb. 18; 2) Rectangular buckle and mount, Xanten I (St. Victor), L: 3.6 cm. After Windler 1989, abb. 18); 3) Belt mounts, Bifrons 39, L: 3 cm. After Hawkes 2000, fig. 17, 2-4

Buckles and mounts with faux cloisonné patterns

11.1-2). The gilt and nielloed Bopfingen buckle was accompanied by a fragmentary belt plate; this, like the Xanten buckle, was decorated with an X formed of stepped lines. On the Bopfingen buckle plate the X is crossed by vertical and horizontal stepped lines with a triple-looped snake engraved across the pattern; on the accompanying mount, ring and dot motifs punctuate each quarter. A stepped rhomboid in niello is engraved on the tongue shield of the Xanten buckle and a flattened rhomboid between ring and dots decorates the Bopfingen tongue shield.

The plate and tongue shield of the highest-quality surviving Weingarten buckle from Gračanica bear three raised panels separated by gilded channels (Figure 9.1). The nielloed designs on these and the strap end – rows of single steps and honeycomb patterns – imitate cloisonné cellwork first seen on objects from the FlonheimGültlingen phase of production (cf. Menghin 1983, 225,no. 56.12 (Planig 1) and replicated well into the seventh century (e.g. Martin 1991, tafn. 1, gr.11II,1-2; 9, gr. 146,2; 39, gr. 602,1; 63, gr. 1056, 9-14, 84,1-4). If the dating of this grave is seen to correspond closely to its mint-condition solidus (see above), the cellwork patterns represented on this buckle and strap end were being produced in the decades from 538/45 to 565.

No buckles of this type have come to light in AngloSaxon England but similar motifs decorate three of the square belt mounts in Bifrons 39 from eastern Kent (Hawkes 2003, 24-5, fig. 17; Figure 11.3). One mount has stepped lines radiating outwards from a central square to half arrow shapes in the corners, another displays swastikas in the fields between the X.

A second group of faux cloisonné patterns are represented by Windler’s heterogenous Group 6, which included silver buckles from Bopfingen 1 (Kr. Neresheim) and Xanten I (St. Victor; Kr. Wesel am Niederrhein) (Figure

While the taste for X-shaped, ring and dot and swastika ornament may well owe something to late fifth-century belt sets (cf. Hirst and Clark 2009, i, 182-3, fig. 94; ii,

25

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

1

Fig. 12 1) Kidney-shaped buckle, Rüdern, W (of loop): 3.9cm After Christlein 1972, taf. 57.1b; 2) Top of pommel, Krefeld Gellep Grave 1782, L: 6.2 cm. After Pirling 1964, taf. 51.1

2

530-4, figs 282-3, 285; Mucking II 823 and 933), it does not seem unreasonable to regard the stepped patterns on these fittings as having evolved in imitation of garnet cloisonné cellwork. Examples of such tightly stepped cell walls appear on late fifth and early sixth century kidney-shaped buckles (e.g. Horedt and Protase 1972, tafn 32, 34.2-3, 39.3, 40.8, 48.3-4 (the Fürstengrab at Apahida); Christlein 1972, 259, taf. 1, Rüdern in Bavaria (Kr. Esslingen); Figure 12.1). Similar cellwork also decorates the top of the pommel from Krefeld-Gellep 1782, coin-dated to AD 518 and deposited c. 520/30 (Pirling 1964, tafn. 47.3 and 51.1; Figure 12.2).

reviewed above with patterns drawn from cloisonné cellwork may represent, not just an awareness of high-status cellwork from the preceding decades, but also the continued production of male belt sets with overall cloisonné which has not been preserved in the archaeological record. A third type of faux cloisonné cellwork, based upon a half stepped rhomboid enclosed by an arch, is related to the cloisonné on the Sutton Hoo Mound 1 buckles and swivel mount. Four of these motifs decorate each half of a rectangular belt mount from Grave 53 in the early Lombardic section of the cemetery at Maria Ponsee, Lower Austria, executed in silver inlaid into copper alloy (Stadler in Menis 1990, 26-7, I.9o) (Figure 13.1). This burial of a wealthy Elbegermanische Langobard (his horse and dog were placed in the adjacent grave) includes finds which suggest a deposition date in the third quarter of the sixth century. A similar pattern is nielloed on the silver-gilt bay-leaf strap end from Guilton 23 in Kent with a panel of disjointed interlace below (Faussett 1856, 11-12) (Figure 13.2).

The Xanten I buckle was a stray find in the area of much later graves (Siegmund 1998, 466-7, taf. 251.3; Phase 10-11 (670-740). Menghin placed the Bopfingen 1 and Bifrons 39 weapon sets towards the end of his Group C (530-70) (1983, 243, 245, nos 89 and 92; Fischer 2008, 424). Other regional surveys have proposed narrower time frames for rectangular buckles of this general type; these vary from c. 550-70 (Reiß 1994, 50, Beilage 2, following Menghin 1983) to, more recently, c. 530-50 (Thuene 1999, 29, SW II D, Langenenslingen type).

The fourth and most famous category of faux cloisonné was executed in inlaid wire on iron buckles with triangular or circular plates. In its initial phase this style is characterised by complex interlocking patterns, often centered around clusters of mushroom cells set end to end to create quatrefoils (e.g. Paulson 1967, tafn. 31-2, 34; Martin 1991, abb. 51.4-5).

As noted in the introduction, following the FlonheimGültlingen phase of cloisonné buckles with kidneyshaped plates, cloisonné buckles are rare in male graves before the Sutton Hoo burial. This may be due in part to the absence of rich male graves from Ostrogothic Italy where one might expect such ornaments to have been produced.10 The decoration of the belt furniture

1978, 215, 221, taf xcii.6). The X-shaped composition of the Langenensligen-type buckles and mounts bears some general similarity to the design of wide rectangular buckles with garnet, or more generally glass cloisonné, found in female contexts in the Ostrogothic period in Italy and in Visigothic-period graves in Spain and France; these are dated ca 525-60. Only the Ostrogothic buckles of this type have stepped cellwork and then only arranged in rows of stepped rhomboids (Adams 2010, 89-90, pl. 4.4).

���������������������������������������������������������� Davidson’s (1962, 67) suggestion that the swastikas and zig-zag ‘lightening’ motifs on the Bifrons objects were seen as magical symbols connected with Thunor cannot be proven nor denied. ������������������������������������������������������������� An Ostrogothic-period gold buckle tongue with trapezoidal shield from Castel d’Ario (Mantova) must have accompanied a rectangular buckle plate; it was engraved with a cross and inscribed ‘QUIDDILA VIVAS IN DEO’ (Bierbrauer

26

Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context

1

Fig. 13 1) Belt Mount, Maria Ponsee Grave 53, Austria, L: 4.5 cm. After Menis 1990, no. I.9o; 2) Bay leaf strap end, Guilton Grave 23, L: 4.6 cm (tip broken). After Åberg 1921, fig. 239; 3) ��� Belt mount, Rödingen 97, L: 5 cm. After ������ Janssen ���������������������� 210, taf. 32,3

2 3

These cellwork patterns never appear on rectangular buckles. For example, the cellwork in silver inlaid into an iron rectangular belt mount in Rödingen 97 derives from the patterns in the third group above, but with the addition of elbow cells arranged as a knot and pairs of mushrooms (Janssen 1993, 210, taf. 32,3) (Figure 13.3); the deposition date of this grave is c. 600. Likewise, on the rectangular iron belt mount in gold and silver Tauschierung from Niederstotzingen 9, the half stepped rhomboid cells with arches are reduced to narrow Tshapes and doubled-up within each quadrant (Paulsen 1967, 34-7, abb. 10-12, taf. 32); the mount accompanied a modified triangular buckle with a mushroom-shaped tongue. In the most recent seriations, the deposition date of Niederstotzingen 9 falls in SD-Phase 7 (580600) (Koch 2001, 88). Tellingly, the silver rectangular buckle in the high-status male Grave 7 at Rödingen (Janssen 1993, 184, taf. 4.5), recently dated c. 570-610 (Herget 2006, 124-5), is nielloed with masks typical of the Weihmörting phase of belt mounts.

Mound 1 buckles: cloisonné With this background, we return to the Sutton Mound 1 rectangular buckle. Windler illustrated the buckle following the Maastricht type with little comment (1989, 191-2) and it is true that the length and proportions of the belt plate of the Mound 1 buckle are closest to the Maastricht and Concevreaux types. On the Mound 1 buckle prominent gold strips define the trapezoidal tongue shield and outline three panels along the plaque, two narrow panels flanking a wider central field with short perpendicular sections at either end. The development of designs incorporating two flanking and one central panel is apparent on high-status Weingarten buckles found in Langobardic graves (i.e. Gračanica, Croatia (Figure 9.1) and Mosonzentjános 1 (Győr-Moson-Sopron), Hungary) while the addition of perpendicular sections closing the ends of the composition appears on buckles of Maastricht and Concevreaux type.

This class and its later variants have a long life on male buckles and horse trappings made from the last decades of the sixth century throughout the first half of the seventh century, i.e. from late Zeitgruppe D (c. 560/70 610/15) throughout Zeitgruppe E (c. 610/15-650). Long U-shaped strap ends in copper alloy and iron found in female graves in southwest Germany in the period from 570-90/600 (Theune 1999, fig. 2.3, 27-8, mode phases III F and early G) include rows of mushroom cells but also recapitulate a wide range of known cloisonné cell shapes including the cloisonné motifs of the rectangular buckles and earlier ‘omega’-shaped cells. It is clear from this brief survey that a specific body of cell shapes and combinations were well known to craftsmen from the late fifth into the seventh centuries, even if they appear unevenly in the archaeological record.

The cloisonné on the Mound 1 rectangular buckle incorporates truncated spearhead-shaped plates as the primary cell shapes in the central panel; half mushroom shapes run along the edges, with filler or auxiliary cells also derived from mushroom shapes. The borders consist of interlinked half arrowheads and half mushrooms, both with stepped stems. On the tongue shield the patterns are worked around two half stepped-rhomboid shapes. The triangular scabbard slide displays graded clusters of spearhead and mushroom cells as the primary motif. A centred stepped rhomboid on the toe and interlocked half-stepped mushrooms and arrowheads complete the pattern along the sides and tongue shield.

27

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

1

2

3

Fig. 14 1) Disc brooch, Schwenningen 4, D: 4.1 cm; 2) Disc brooch, Herbrechtingen, D: 4.3 cm. 3) Disc brooch, Täbingen, D: 4.5 cm. Figures 1 and 3 after Christlein 1978, tafn 48 and 69; figure 2 after Veeck 1931, I, taf. F.II

These cell-shapes and their combinations are quite rare on the continent. Spearhead and angular mushroom cells appear together on a cloisonné brooch from Schwenningen 4, one of the richest graves of the early sixth century in Alamannic southern Germany, deposited c. 530 (Koch 2001, 56, SD-Phase 5) (Figure 14.1); the grave goods included a silver gilt and nielloed strap end of Weingarten type. In addition, as BruceMitford pointed out, the cloisonné pattern bordering the central panel on the Sutton Hoo triangular scabbard slide finds a close parallel on the outer zone of the disc brooches from Saint-Denis 49, a high-status grave which may be the burial of the Frankish Queen Arnegundis (Bruce-Mitford 1978, 477-8). Recent scientific research has established that the occupant was 61 years old when she died, giving an estimated deposition date between 572 and 583 based on the Arnegundis/Aregonde identification; even if this identification cannot be substantiated, Perin has argued that the grave goods alone suggest a deposition date of c. 580 for the grave (Perin and Calligaro 2005, 199-200).

spearhead cells, a zone with individual mushrooms, and around the centre, half-stepped rhomboids within arches (Veeck 1932, 58-9; Figure 14.3). The grave goods included a silver square-headed brooch of north German type, which must have been an heirloom in the grave whose assemblage of jewellery finds parallels in other rich female burials deposited c. 600 (cf. von Freeden 2000, 102).

Earlier? The above analysis suggests that, if the Sutton Hoo rectangular buckle were to be dated on the basis of the continental evidence, the typology and cloisonné could support a date of manufacture in the third quarter of the sixth century, around or before 580. The likelihood that the cloisonné cell shapes in garnet evolved within a tradition that encompassed male as well as female ornaments is suggested by the inlaid faux cloisonné cellwork on rectangular buckles discussed above. The style and workmanship of the rectangular and triangular triangular scabbard slides suggests they may have been from the same workshop tradition. If triangular buckles with mushroom-shaped tongue shields were being deposited on the lower Rhine by c. 565-80/90 and in Italy in the first phase of Langobardic settlement from 572-590 (see above), the triangular scabbard slide could also have been made within this time frame or not long after.

Given the longevity of some cell-shapes, any comparative dating based upon these must also take into account the typology of the objects on which they are found. It is noteworthy, therefore, that cellwork related to the third group discussed above, with half stepped rhomboids within arches, appears on a garnet cloisonné disc brooch from the grave of a rich Langobardic woman at Herbrechtingen (Kr. Heidenheim) (Veeck 1931, I, 176, taf. F.II.3); the deposit included an S-brooch, a pair of Langobardic bow fibulae (one with an uninterpreted runic inscription) and an amethyst necklace with 6 gold imitations of a tremissis type of Justinian I, struck in Italy between 555-87; the grave has been dated to the last third of the sixth century (Quast 1999, 396) (Figure 14.2). Finally, the cellwork on an empty disc brooch from Täbingen (Baden-Württemberg) is of interest to this study. This displays a combination of cellwork: an outer border of interlocking half-mushroom and half-

The deposition of Mound 1, of course, took place in the first decades of the seventh century. But the possible production dates reviewed above are not so far off recent assessments of the oldest coins in the grave, which give an absolute t.p.q. for three of the coins of 595 (Williams 2006, 177–81 and 192). This interpretation of the Mound 1 cloisonné buckles could suggest that the rectangular buckle was made on the continent.

28

Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context

Later?

The Sutton Hoo cloisonné tradition must also been seen in the light of further developments on rectangular cloisonné buckles found in Anglo-Saxon England. A buckle from Tostock in Suffolk, (MacGregor and Bolick 1993, 199, no. 34.27), mounted with one of the largest known garnets from antiquity, and a much damaged buckle from Faversham in Kent,11 with unique rectangular garnet frames around blue glass, represent extraordinary skill and access to materials. They should be considered alongside a rectangular buckle from Sarre 232 (Brent 1866, 313) and a rectangular belt mount from Rijnsberg (Peddemors and Carmiggelt 1993, 28, no. 7). These copper alloy pieces combine garnet, white inlay and blue glass, the latter cut as spearhead and halfrhomboid shapes on the Rijnsberg mount; blue glass appears on other Sutton Hoo Mound 1 cloisonné, but not on the sword belt suite.

One striking feature of the Mound 1 rectangular buckle, which we have not yet addressed, is the fact that the plate and tongue shield are not articulated but made as a single unit. Windler (1989, 190, abb. 14) identified another small buckle made in the same manner, from Schwarzrheindorf (Kr. Bonn), so it is possible this method of fabrication was more widespread than the archaeological record has preserved. The triangular scabbard slide, fashioned with a false tongue, was also conceived in this fashion; similarly the mushroomshaped ‘tongue shield’ on the tabular buckle is not a tongue shield at all, but an integral part of the body of the buckle, outlined with gold to suggest its shape (Figures 8.2-3). Schulze-Dörrlamm (1990, 244) remarked that when rectangular buckles occur in seventh-century contexts, they represent either heirlooms or archaising forms. The argument could be made that, on the basis of their unusual construction, the Mound 1 buckles were all archaising conceits, produced as ‘exemplars’ of recognised status buckle types. This is a sophisticated conception; it is difficult to imagine that sumptuous fittings for an élite continental client would be anything other than representative of current fashions.

None of these came from datable contexts, but taken together, they suggest that the final phase of rectangular buckles was represented by the emergence of new cloisonné traditions, produced in workshops operating in the regional orbit of the North Sea, supplying clients in Anglo-Saxon England, the lower Rhineland and eventually Scandinavia. The tabular cloisonné buckle and U-shaped strap ends in Mound 1 (Figure 8.3), made by a different hand than the other two Sutton Hoo buckles and lacking continental parallels, could be seen as further evidence of this. A tabular buckle from Chartham Down in east Kent12 and the presence of short U-shaped strap ends in Gotlandic graves (Nerman 1969, taf. 21.222-228, 230), similar to those found with Weingarten-type buckles, might point to some of the origins of these new workshop traditions.

On the other hand, it should be pointed out that in Anglo-Saxon England, where developed continental forms were received ‘second-hand’, there was a tendency to wear combinations of objects from different traditions or phases of production. This is shown in the combination of rectangular buckle forms with bay-leaf strap ends discussed above and can be further illustrated by the grave goods from Guilton 23 (Faussett 1856, 1112). In addition to the Concevreaux-type belt mount and bay leaf strap end, the grave included a triangular buckle with a large mushroom-shaped garnet plate on its tongue shield and an inset panel with triple-strand Style II zoomorphs with a matching counterplate (Speake 1980, pl. 7a).

Finally we must note that several of the recent finds from the Staffordshire hoard combine spearhead and mushroom cells, in varying degrees of scale and competence (e.g. K674, K715, K722, K1160). How these are dated will ultimately impact the conclusions drawn here. The entire suite of Mound 1 sword belt fittings – the rectangular buckle, triangular triangular scabbard slide, the swivel mount and four rectangular belt mounts – are

The filigree on the latter relates closely to the remarkably uniform series of gold triangular buckles with Style II filigree found in Anglo-Saxon contexts dated to the early seventh century (Speake 1980, pls 6c-g; 7b-c, f). The rectangular buckles from Rijnsberg, Netherlands, and from Guilton, combining cloisonné with inset filigree panels (Speake 1980, pl. 9b and g), represent the latest examples in the series we have examined. The origins of the filigree ornament on these can be traced back to rectangular buckles with interlaced snake imagery, such as that the Bopfingen 1 buckle (Figure 11.1) or the silver buckle from Langenslingen 1 (Kr. Sigmaringen) with linked snakes in gold filigree wire (Menghin 1983, 247, no. 95).

�������������������������������������������������������� ‘Faversham: Dis-associated Finds: 2. 2.4.85.4 Copperalloy buckle and plate with gold-foil and inlays’, Novum Inventorium Sepulchrale: Kentish Anglo-Saxon Graves and Grave Goods in the Sonia Hawkes Archive, July 2007, 1st Edition, http://web.arch.ox.ac.uk/archives/inventorium/ gravegood.php. Accessed: 30 December 2010. ��������������������������������������������������� ‘Chartham Down Further Barrows: 7. White metal? buckle and inlaid plate’, Novum Inventorium Sepulchrale: Kentish Anglo-Saxon Graves and Grave Goods in the Sonia Hawkes Archive, July 2007, 1st Edition, http://web.arch. ox.ac.uk/archives/inventorium/gravegood.php. Accessed: 12 December 2010.

29

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology technically and stylistically very close, yet represent different typological forms and display cellwork relating to more than one phase of cloisonné. The rectangular buckle stands as the earliest type, followed by the triangular scabbard slide, with the grouping ending with the swivel mount, which is closer to the faux cloisonné patterns of group four above (pp 26-7), and the belt mounts, which I have recently suggested (2009, 91, 5.1-3) can be related to the rectangular belt mounts of Weihmörting type, made c. 570-610. Whether these represent sequential production in the same workshop or simply a master jeweller demonstrating his expertise and knowledge remains to be determined.

expanded ends and two gold spiral finger-rings), a Pannonian phase Langobardic brooch of mid-sixth century type, and, most intriguingly, two small silvergilt square-headed brooches of the disc-on-bow type, related to those preserved in Anglo-Saxon England. A recent assessment of these brooches in east Kent proposes that their production began around 530 and lasted until c. 560/70 (Richardson 2005, 33-4, fig. 11), a date which would accord with the coin date of the Gračanica grave. In the early Byzantine period Ulpiana was a thriving city, with a military unit stationed there which included, amongst others, the Thuringian prince Amalafred and the ex-king of the Heruls, Suartas, both of whom were in Byzantine military service. As Milinković (2003, 178) has pointed out, it is not necessary to follow early attempts to associate the grave directly with these historical figures; the grave goods clearly characterise the early process of acculturation of northern Germanic tribes in the Balkans, with people linked to Scandinavia and England already moving south from the Carpathian Basin by the mid-sixth century.

Conclusions The archaeological record suggests that rectangular buckles were made in the decades marking the disintegration of the Ostrogothic kingdom and the consolidation of Merovingian power. The range of faux cloisonné motifs which appear on these suggest that cloisonné production of male belt sets may have continued throughout the middle decades of the sixth century, prior to the emergence of faux mushroom cellwork in Tauschierung on iron.

The presence in Anglo-Saxon England of high-status belt mounts related to the Concevreaux type raises another series of questions. Windler argued that Concevreauxtype buckles were Frankish in origin, proposing that the example found in Elgg 164 in Switzerland (Figure 9.3) with a weapon set of mid-sixth century type belonged to an ‘official’ and was a consequence of increasing Merovingian authority in the region after c. 536-7 (1989, 181-7, 197). The isolated Anglo-Saxon belt mounts do not permit this kind of speculation. Given the dating range of the rectangular buckles and mounts, some of these could have found their way into Anglo-Saxon England by other means before the hypothetical exercise of Merovingian hegemony in Kent in the late sixth and early seventh centuries (Wood 1992, 237). Finds like the Staffordshire hoard have not only expanded the known lexicon of forms and styles, but also confirmed the impression that valuable, detachable fittings such as sword and scabbard mounts were assembled and retained by overlords and kings, to be gifted and perhaps withdrawn, subject to practices of which we know little. Might this also have been true of high-status belt fittings?

In Anglo-Saxon England we can trace several phases of these buckles reaching these shores; these reveal different facets of continental relations. Some examples, perhaps imported, were already worn before the middle of the sixth century; the range of buckles which take off from continental prototypes like Gondorf-type buckles suggest local production existed after the middle of the century. Some rectangular buckles seem to have been worn by men with official status in society. Dover 265B included a weapon set of sword, spears and shield, together with a balance and weight set. Like the Dover C grave, this burial might have been that of a port official, responsible for commercial transactions and perhaps also for social, judicial or jurisdictional business (Scull 1990, 196–208). Perhaps his Ennery-type belt set and bay leaf strap ends formed part of his ‘uniform’ of authority. Belt furniture like the bay-leaf strap ends associated with rectangular buckles in Anglo-Saxon England points towards another nexus of contacts – with the Elbegermanen tribal confederacies with ties north to Scandinavia, east of the Rhine and north of the Danube. The grave at Gračanica, presumably deposited prior to the Langobardic invasion of Italy in AD 568, gives a flavour of these connections. In addition to the Weingarten-type buckle, the coffin burial included Scandinavian jewellery (three silver armrings with

The strong links between the material culture of southeast England, Frisia and southern Germany which various authors have pointed out (e.g. Schoneveld and Zijlstra 1999, 199-200) fits not only with the distribution of higher-status rectangular buckles and mounts, but also with some of the cloisonné cellwork we have reviewed. It is not yet clear how we should interpret these apparent connections. We might speculate upon structures of authority but the

30

Earlier or later? The rectangular cloisonné buckle from Sutton Hoo Mound 1 in context location of workshops and the structure of patronage at the high level represented by the Sutton Hoo buckles is poorly understood. Production and exchange within élite circles may have superseded political and regional affiliations. It may be that someday we will find further evidence of the evolutionary steps leading up to the extraordinary Mound 1 cloisonné buckles; this in turn might clarify precisely when and where in the second half of the sixth century these buckles were produced.

Grabfund von Esslingen-Rüdern’, Germania 50, 259-63 Christlein, R. 1978 Die Alamannen, Archäologie eins lebendigen Volkes, Stuttgart und aalen: Konrad Theiss Verlag GmbH Cseh, J., Istvánovits, E., Lovász, E., Mesterházy, K., Nagy, M. Nepper, I.M., Simonyi, E. 2005, Gepidische Gräberfelder am Theissgebiet II (Monumenta Germanorum Archaeologica Hungariae 2), Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum Evison, V. I. 1987 Dover: The Buckland Anglo-Saxon Cemetery, London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission Faussett, B. (C. Roach Smith, ed) 1856 Inventorium Sepulchrale: an account of some antiquities in the county of Kent, from A.D. 1757 to A.D. 1773. London: ������������������� T. Richards Fischer, S. 2008 ‘Les Seigneurs des Anneux’, Bulletin de liaison de l’Association française d’Archéologie mérovingienne, Hors série no. 2, Inscriptions runiques de France, tome 1, 2nd edition, Condé-sur-Noireau: Corlet Numérique Von Freeden, U. 2000 ‘Das Ende engzelligen Cloisonnés und die Eroberung Südarabiens durch die Sasaniden,’ Germania 78: 97-124 Geisler, H. 1998 Das frühbairische Gräberfeld StraubingBajuwarenstraße I, Katalog der archäologischen Befunde und Funde (Internationale Archäologie 30) Rahden/Westf: Leidorf Hawkes, S. C. (E. Cameron and H. Hamerow (eds)) 2000 ‘The Anglo-Saxon cemetery of Bifrons in the parish of Patrixbourne, East Kent’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 11, 1-94 Herget, M. 2006 Das fränkische Gräberfeld von Rödingen, Kr. Düren, Chronologie und Belegungsabfole, Marburger Studien zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 22, Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf GmbH Hirst, S. and Clark, D. (eds) 2009 Excavations at Mucking, volume 3, The Anglo-Saxon cemeteries, London: Museum of London Archaeology Horedt, K. and Protase, D. 1972 ‘Das zweite Fürstengrab von Apahida (Siebenbürgen)’, Germania 50, 174-220 Ivanisevic, V., Kazanski, M. and Mastykova, A. 2006 Les nécropoles de Viminacium à l’époque des grandes migrations. Paris: Association des amis du Centre d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance, Monographies 22 Janssen, W. 1993 Das fränkische Reihengräberfeld von Rödingen, Kr. Düren. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag Koch, U. 2001 Das alamannische-fränkische Gräberfeld bei Pleidelsheim. Stuttgart: ������������������������������� Konrad Theiss Verlag MacGregor, A. and Bolick, E. 1993 A Summary Catalogue of the Anglo-Saxon Collections (Non-Ferrous Metals), Ashmolean Museum. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 230 Marzinzik, S. 2003 Early Anglo-Saxon Belt Buckles (late 5th to early 8th centuries A.D.), their classification and context. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 357 Martin, M. 1991 Das spätrömisch-frühmittelalterliche Gräberfeld von Kaiseraugst, Kt. Aargau, Basler Beiträge zur Urund Frühgeschichte Band 5a (1991), Band 5B (1976). Derendingen-Solothurn: Habegger Verlag Menghin, W. 1983 Das Schwert im Frühen Mittelalter. Stuttgart: Konrad Theiß Verlag Menis, G. C. (ed) 1990 I Longobardi. Milan: ������������� Electa Milinković, M. 2003 ‘O tzv. Zenskom germanskom grobi iz

Acknowledgements I am grateful as always to Angela Care Evans for her comments and feedback on this paper. Dr Mihailo Milinković in Belgrade kindly provided illustrations and sent me a copy of his paper on the Gračanica grave following our stimulating discussions in Budapest in 2001.

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Ulpijane’, in R. Bunardžić and Ž. Mikić (eds), Spomenica Jovana Kovačević. Belgrade: ��������������������������������� Želnid Belgrade, 143-78 Müssemeier, U., Nieveler, E., Plum, R., Pöppelmann, H. 2003 Chronologie der merowingerzeitlichen Grabfunde vom linken Niederrhein bis zur nördlichen Eifel. Materialien zur Bodendenkmalpflege im Rheinland, Heft 15, Köln: Rheinland-Verlag GmbH Nerman, B. 1969 Die Vendelzeit Gotlands. Stockholm: ����������� Almqvist and Wiksell Nieveler, E. and Siegmund, F. 1999 ‘The Merovingian chronology of the Lower Rhine area: results and problems’ in J. Hines, K. Høilund Nielsen and F. Siegmund (eds), The Pace of Change: Studies in Early-Medieval Chronology. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 3-21 Parfitt, K. and Brugmann, B. 1997 The Anglo-Saxon cemetery on Mill Hill, Deal, Kent. London: Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph Series 14 Parfitt, K. and Anderson T. (eds), forthcoming The AngloSaxon Cemetery at Dover, Buckland, Excavations 1994. London: Canterbury Archaeological Trust and British Museum Paulsen, P. 1967 Alamannische Adelsgräber von Niederstotzingen (Kreis Heidenheim), Stuttgart: Verlag Müller and Gräff Peddemors, A. and Carmiggelt, A. 1993 Archeologie van middeleeuws Nederland. Rijksmuseum �������������������������� van Oudheden, Amsterdam: Bataafsche Leeuw Penn, K., Brugmann, B. and Høilund Nielsen, K. ����� 2007 Aspects of Anglo-Saxon Inhumation Burial: Morning Thorpe, Spong Hill, Bergh Apton and Westgarth Gardens. East Anglian Archaeology 119. Dereham: Historic Environment, Norfolk Museums and Archaeology Service Perin, P. and Calligaro, T. 2005 (2007) ‘La ����������������������� tombe d’Arégonde. Nouvelles analyses en laboratoire du mobilier métallique et des restes organiques de la défunte du sarcophage 49 de la basilique de Saint-Denis’, Antiquités nationales 37, 181-206 Pirling, R. 1964 ‘Eine ������������������������������������������ fränkisches Fürstengrab aus KrefeldGellep’, Germania 42, 188-216 Quast, D. 1999 ‘Herbrechtingen’, Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 14, Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 396 Reiß, R. 1994 Der merowingerzeitliche Reihengräberfriedhof von Westheim (Kreis Weißenburg- Gunzenhausen), Wissenschaftliche Bericht zum Anzeiger des Germanischen Nationalmuseums, Bd. 10. Nürnberg: Verlag des Germanischen Nationalmuseums. Richardson, A. 2005 The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries of Kent. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 391 Rupp, C. 1996 “La necropolis longobarda di Nocera Umbra (loc. Il Portone): l’analisi archeologica”, in Umbria longobarda. La necropoli di Nocera Umbra nel centenario della scoperta. Nocera Umbra, Museo Civico 27.7.1996-10.1.1997, Rome, 23-39

Schoneveld, J. and Zijlstra, A. 1999 ‘The Wijnaldum brooch’, in J. C. Besteman, J. M. Bos, D. A. Gerrets, H. A. Heidinga and J. de Koning (eds), The Excavations at Wijnaldum, Reports on Frisia in Roman and Medieval times, vol. 1. Rotterdam/Brookfield: A.A. Balkema, 191-201 Schulze-Dörrlamm, M. 1990 Die Spatrömischen und Frühmittelalterlichen Graberfeld von Gondorf, Gem. KobernGondorf, Kr. Mayern-Koblenze. Stuttgart: GDA series B 14 von Schnurbein, A. 1987 Der alamannische Friedhof bei Fridingen an der Donau (Kreis Tuttlingen). ������������������������� Stuttgart: Konrad Theiss Verlag Scull, C. 1990 ‘Scales and weights in early Anglo-Saxon England’, Archaeological Journal 147, 183-215 Siegmund, F. 1998 Merowingerzeit am Niederrhein. Die frühmittelalterlichen Funde aus dem Regierungsbezirk Düsseldorf and dem Kreis Heinsberg. Rheinsiche Ausgrabungen 34. Köln: Rheinland-Verlag GmbH Speake, G. 1980 Anglo-Saxon Animal Art and its Germanic Background. Oxford: Clarendon Press Tejral, J. 2005 ‘Zur Unterscheidung des vorlangobardischen und elbergermanisch-Langobardischen Nachlass’, in W. Pohl and P. Erhart (eds), Die Langobarden. Herrschaft und Identität, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters, Bd 9. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichisden Akademie der Wissenschaften, 103-208 Theune, C. 1999 ‘On the chronology of Merovingian-period grave goods in Alamannia’ in J. Hines, K. Høilund Nielsen and F. Siegmund (eds), The Pace of Change: Studies in EarlyMedieval Chronology. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 23-32 Theuws, F. and Alkemande, M. 2000 ‘A Kind of Mirror for Men: Sword Depositions in the Late Antique Northern Gaul’ in F. Theuws and J. L. Nelson (eds), Rituals of Power. Leiden: Brill, 401-76 Veeck, W. 1931 Die Alamannen in Württemberg. Berlin and Leipzig: Walter de Gruyter and Co Veeck, W. 1932, ‘Ein reiches alamannisches Frauengrab aus Täbingen (OA. Rottweil)’, Germania 16, 58-61 Welch, M. G. 1983 Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 112 Wieczorek, A. 1987 ‘Der frühmerowingischen Phasen des Gräberfelds von Rübenach’, Bericht der RömischGermanischen Kommission 68, 353-492 Williams, G. 2006 ‘The circulation and function of coinage in conversion-period England’ in B. Cook and G. Williams (eds), Coinage and History in the North Sea World c. 500-1250, Essays in honor of Marion Archibald. Leiden: ��������������������� Brill, 145–92 Windler, R. 1989 ‘Ein frühmittelalterliches Männergrab aus Elgg (ZH), Bemerkungen zu einem filigranverzierten Schnallentyp’, Jahrbuch der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Ur- und Frühgeschichte 72, 181-200 Wood, I. 1992 ‘Frankish hegemony in England’ in M. O. H.� Carver (ed), The Age of Sutton Hoo: the seventh century in north-western Europe. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 235-41

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Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard

Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard: the Portable Antiquities Scheme and early Anglo-Saxon archaeology

5

HELEN GEAKE

The records of unstratified, mainly metal-detected, objects on the Portable Antiquities Scheme’s (PAS) database are sometimes seen as the poor relation of data from objects conventionally recovered from archaeological excavations. In fact, PAS data offers us the first chance to study a different range of activity in the past, because the objects have undergone different processes, and this is especially useful for the early Anglo-Saxon period.

Introduction

to record archaeological finds made by members of the public. Many of the Scheme’s finders are metaldetectorists, so the majority (currently 88%) of the records are of metal objects.

The first time I met Martin was when he interviewed me as a prospective undergraduate. He didn’t seem worried by my inability to remember the names of the books I’d been reading (I described them by the picture on the front and he identified them) or by my hopeless underachievement at the school I’d recently left. When, to my great surprise, I was accepted at UCL, Martin became my undergraduate tutor. Through courses on both the archaeology and art of the early Anglo-Saxons, he opened my eyes to the beauty and mystery of their art and the almost other-worldly quality of their craftsmanship. It was Martin who laid the foundations on which I have tried to balance ever since.

The information available from these finds is sometimes seen as inferior to that available from conventional archaeological recovery methods. It is true that PAS finds do not have a stratified archaeological context, but they have other attributes that make them an important source of data in their own right. I offer these thoughts to Martin in the hope that he might find them an interesting complement to his work; perhaps a small salad next to the hearty main course of his own research.

Metal-detected early AngloSaxon finds

Martin also tried to instil in me a rigorous approach to research and a forensic precision when it came to interpretation; in these he was not entirely successful. Nevertheless, I came to UCL as a feckless teenager who had come close to failing all her A levels, and who wanted a job which involved being outdoors in the sun not having to think too hard, and I left after three years with Martin as a reasonably competent archaeologist about to start doctoral research.

Each year, about 80% to 85% of the objects recorded on the PAS’s database are found by metal-detectorists. Detectorists use machines which can locate items at a depth of not more than about 20 to 30cm, depending on the size of the object and how much metal it contains. Almost all the time the machines are set to signal nonferrous metal only, because of the amount of barely identifiable ferrous ‘junk’ that there is in fields, such as nails, washers and bits of agricultural machinery.

Martin’s legacy to me has been a love of the objects that the Anglo-Saxons made, especially their metalwork. It has been a happy coincidence that I have been able to put these to good use while working for the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), which exists in order

The PAS finds of early Anglo-Saxon metalwork fall

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology into two main categories; firstly those from sites or monuments brought into the topsoil through agricultural operations, and secondly accidental losses in antiquity. There are also exceptions, of course. There may be some casual discarding of small broken pieces of metalwork, despite the ease with which these could be melted down and recycled. There may also be a few deliberate deposits other than in graves. Until 2009 it seemed that hoarding was not a feature of this period, but since the discovery of the Staffordshire Hoard (Leahy and Bland 2009) we have to acknowledge either that the early Anglo-Saxons did apparently occasionally hoard (whatever this may mean in terms of motivation in the past), or there could sometimes be accidental loss on a catastrophic scale.

Fig. 15 Seventh-century horse-harness mount from Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan (PAS database record no. NMGWEA7D22). Scale 1:1

The plough-damaged sites, of course, will yield the same sort of non-ferrous metal finds when metal-detected as they do when excavated, albeit with no recoverable context and the loss of all finds of other non-metallic materials. This, of course, is a huge and appalling loss, and will be returned to later in this paper; for now, though, it should be stressed that the character of the metal finds from agriculturally eroded sites will not be very different from those recovered through excavation.

object lost in a field or woodland is unlikely to make its way into a cut feature, and will probably stay in the topsoil; detailed archaeological examination of topsoil is (understandably) still not routine practice. Even if it makes its way into a nearby ditch, a field boundary is less likely to be fully and carefully excavated than a feature within a settlement or a cemetery. Archaeological excavation is an intensive process which must cover a relatively small proportion of the landscape compared to fieldwalking or metal-detecting, and it concentrates on those parts of the landscape which were intensively used in the past – just those places which favour the recovery of lost items at the time of, or soon after, their loss.

The finds from accidental losses, however, are both theoretically and in practice quite another question. It has long been recognised by numismatists that accidental losses (‘single finds’) are more representative of real circulating wealth than deliberately deposited hoards. Thanks to the PAS, similar distinctions between accidental losses and assemblages formed by deliberate deposition (for example in graves) can now be acknowledged and investigated by specialists in other artefact types as well.

For example, excavated Anglo-Saxon settlements rarely yield evidence for horse-harnesses; it is only in graves that a few harnesses, and re-used mounts, are found (Fern 2005). On the PAS’s database, however, metal-detected finds of elaborately decorated mounts (e.g. Figure 15) are becoming more and more common through metal-detector finds (e.g. Dickinson et al. forthcoming). Shiny gilded mounts which would be easily retrieved when lost within a settlement are very hard to find when they fly off into a bush at full gallop, and they tend to stay lost until found in modern times by a metal-detectorist. The findspots of these horse-harness items is distinctly different to that of most early AngloSaxon objects. In addition to the expected concentration in central, southern and eastern England, there are now examples from Llandow in south Wales and (outside the PAS but covered by Scottish Treasure Trove) from South Leckaway in Angus (Dickinson et al. 2006) and Dornoch in Highland region, over 160 miles north of South Leckaway (Youngs and Shiels 2005).

Accidental losses Circumstances can be imagined where accidental losses in the past are either more likely to occur, or are more likely not to be retrieved, or both. For example, an object dropped within an area of high footfall, or on a paved surface, is likely to be spotted and retrieved. Conversely, the loss of an object dropped into long grass or a bramble bush may not be noticed at the time (McLean and Richardson 2010, 165). It will also be harder to find before it enters the topsoil and is lost to view, usually through worm action, as in the classic paper by Charles Darwin (1881).

Spectacular individual finds, such as those of horseharness mounts, are obvious additions to our knowledge, but it is also becoming apparent that we have a mass of early Anglo-Saxon metal-detected objects whose more subtle differences from material found by more conventional means is just beginning to be teased out.

The problem with accidental losses hitherto has been that they are difficult to recover by conventional archaeological means, because they are unlikely to be encountered in an excavated context. Obviously an

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Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard The excavation discovered no activity beyond field boundaries, and the conclusion drawn was that the field had been used for agriculture for millennia. The finds were the result of countless peasants tilling the soil, sowing, weeding, harvesting and in the process losing belt- and shoe-buckles, strap-ends, brooches, pins and the occasional coin. Every so often a horse would be used in the field – or ridden along its edges – and so there were also a few mounts from horse-harness. Many of the later finds were not accidental losses but deliberate discards – low-value objects such as broken pottery added to other rubbish and spread on the fields as manure – but this cannot be demonstrated for the medieval and earlier finds, which were of recyclable material and appear to have been simply losses (Thompson 2007).

Fig. 16 Early-medieval dress accessories recorded on the PAS database, broken down by sub-period

The archaeological use of accidental losses

When the numbers of early Anglo-Saxon dress accessories recorded by the PAS are plotted against the numbers of middle and later Anglo-Saxon items, there is an immediate and obvious imbalance. Figure 16 shows the early-medieval dress accessories on the PAS database broken down by sub-period, as of November 2010; the object categories included were brooches, buckles, strap-ends, hooked tags, pins, pendants, girdle-hangers, wrist-clasps, finger-rings and bracelets. The sub-period field searched on was ‘sub-period from’, so the late period will be slightly under-represented, because many items with a broad date-range (such as strap-ends and hooked tags) will be recorded as ‘from’ the middle ‘to’ the late sub-periods, and so by this very crude analysis will be counted as the former.

An age-old problem with early Anglo-Saxon archaeology is that because of the greater visibility and drama of the furnished cemetery, it is easier to see and interpret what happens at the brief moment when someone dies rather than their activity in life. Even though early Anglo-Saxon settlements are now well known and understood, they still yield a very different kind of evidence to the cemetery and it is often hard to relate the two. We interpret the evidence from graves – the costumes, the weapons, the structures, the effort – as if they applied to the living, when in fact we only know that they applied to the dead. The places of the living, the settlements, often contain very little that can be directly compared with the evidence from the graves. For example, the ‘understanding of Anglo-Saxon cemeteries has been dominated by the study of the objects which accompanied so many of the burials’ (Welch 1992, 54), but similar objects tend to be rare on settlement sites (Chester-Kadwell 2009, 69-73). Although both the classic sites of Mucking and West Stow have produced relatively large collections of ‘small finds’, a more typical example is Yarnton, where the early Anglo-Saxon settlement produced just one copper-alloy object (Hamerow 1993, 60-64; West 1985, 60-64 and 122-24; Hey 2004, 277). The two types of site may be seen as complementary, but they are so hard to compare that they might equally be thought of as poles apart.

Despite the drawbacks of this rough count, it will be apparent that the ‘early’ sub-period has over twice as many dress accessories (2924 items) as the ‘middle’ and ‘late’ sub-periods (1384 and 991 items respectively). These extra items are likely to come from dress accessories deliberately deposited as grave-goods, and so they will be from the ploughed-out cemeteries, whose latest grave-goods are deposited in the earliest years of the eighth century. The other half of the ‘early’ items, like the ‘middle’ and ‘late’ items which cannot come from graves, will probably consist mainly of accidental losses. Very occasionally there is an excavation which shows us the reality of accidental loss in the past. Time Team were invited to Warburton (Greater Manchester) in 2006 because of the number of Roman artefacts which had been found by metal-detectorists in a single field. During the project, two members of the PAS’s staff re-identified the material and discovered that a lot of the ‘Roman’ items were in fact Victorian. There was no more Roman material than medieval, or post-medieval, or modern; there were plenty of finds from all periods.

Accidental losses, however, offer the chance to recover the everyday costume and accessories of the living, and to assess the differences between these costumes and the specially-constructed tableaux of costume in furnished graves. There are hints emerging from southern England that these differences may be distinct. In Kent, Keith Parfitt noticed in the early 1990s that the range of early Anglo-Saxon brooches being reported by

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology metal-detectorists was different to the range of brooches that he was used to seeing from excavated cemeteries. The establishment of the PAS in Kent in 1997 allowed systematic recording and comparative analysis of the two datasets, and indeed the differences are remarkable. Of the metal-detected brooches, nearly 20% are cruciform, a brooch type that makes up just 1.75% of the excavated sample. The graves contain far more of the distinctively ‘Kentish’ types, such as square-headed, polychrome disc, bird and radiate-headed brooches (McLean and Richardson 2010, 162).

past than rubbish deposits. PAS data can therefore perhaps go some way towards correcting the traditional archaeological bias against the recovery of high-value metal objects. Of course, even PAS data cannot be seen as a true reflection of wealth in the past, as another factor influencing the contemporary recovery of a loss is its value, whether sentimental or intrinsic. The lady in the Bible who loses her coin lights a lamp, sweeps the house (thankfully she did not lose it while working in the fields), searches diligently for it, and finds it in the end (Luke 15, 8-9). If the loss had been less valuable, or the lady perhaps richer, the search might have been given up earlier. Despite the inevitable biases, though, PAS data is likely to be more useful than excavated data in reconstructing levels of wealth and economic activity in the past.

There are some possible alternative reasons which could contribute to these differences (McLean and Richardson 2010, 165-7; Chester-Kadwell 2009, 73-77). The different brooch designs and different uses on the costume might result in some brooch types coming unfastened more often than others, and some losses being more quickly noticed than others. Methodological recovery reasons have also been suggested, with different patterns of original shape and consequent breakage possibly making some brooch types more easily retrievable by metal-detector than others, but McLean and Richardson consider this unlikely. Another reason suggested for the imbalance in Kent is variation in burial practice; a ‘minimalist’ fifth-century inhumation style could be responsible for the low numbers of fifth-century cruciform brooches excavated from burials (McLean and Richardson 2010, 167). In this case, accidental losses would act as a ‘control’, alerting us to variation in other, more demonstrative, activities.

Was the Staffordshire Hoard the most catastrophic accidental loss ever? Kevin Leahy has commented that the entire hoard, weighing some 6.5kg in its uncleaned state, would have fitted into a large shoebox (Leahy 2010). It is possible to reconstruct a scenario in which a box or bag destined for the goldsmith was stolen, then briefly hidden, perhaps in a hollow tree or other effective hiding place, while the hunt died down or the thief tried to throw off the scent. If the thief then did not survive to recover it, then we would be left with what we can reconstruct archaeologically – a group of material which appears to have been buried extremely shallowly, if at all (Dean et al. 2010, 144; Gearey 2010). If this is what happened – and it seems unlikely that we will ever know for sure – then it is less of a hoard, and more of an accidental loss. This imaginary scenario is similar to one conjectured for the Crondall hoard, dating to c. 645, which contained 98 tremisses, three blanks, and two chains each with one hooked terminal and one triangular mount set with cloisonné and with attachment holes. These chains, hooks and mounts were illustrated by Baldwin Brown (1915, pl. iii, p. 69-70), but are now lost. It was suggested at the time of discovery that the entire assemblage represented a purse (Sutherland 1948, 7; Akerman 1855, 66-7, n. 1) and it could well have been an accidental loss.

Another possibility which must be borne in mind is a probable difference between the everyday costumes of the living and the funeral costume of the dead. The motives underlying the choices of costumes in life are likely to have been very different to the ideas and needs of those organising a burial (Carver 2000). Before the PAS, archaeologists had to rely on extraordinary and peculiar discoveries to preserve something of costume in life. The lady in the well at Mildenhall in Wiltshire, presumably fallen or pushed in (and crushed under a rock) but with a knife, two iron buckles, and three glass and amber beads, is one of those rare cases (Meyrick 1949-50). Now that the PAS offers new and different data, new possibilities emerge; perhaps funerary costumes hint at idealised identities, hopes which are not so clear-cut in the everyday costume of the living.

It has always been a curious feature of the early AngloSaxons that they do not apparently hoard, despite several later poetic references to the practice. Of course the start of the period, the early to mid fifth century, is a time of turmoil during which hoards are buried, but they appear to have been deposited by late Romans rather than anyone recognisably Anglo-Saxon. The assumption is almost that the Romans (or ‘sub-Romans’ or ‘post-Romans’) were wealthy slave-owners who understood the value of coin and bullion, whereas the early Anglo-Saxon subsistence farmers put no locks on their doors and didn’t do anything so greedily capitalist as hoarding! The discovery of the Staffordshire Hoard,

Hoards and high-value objects As metals are very valuable, and of course supremely recyclable, they are unlikely regularly to have made their way into casually discarded rubbish. Because of this, accidental losses are likely to contain a much more realistic sample of actual possessions in the

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Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard although dating to the end of the early Anglo-Saxon period, has helped us to examine our prejudices and perhaps to think more clearly about what might actually have happened and why.

In Norfolk, there are 204 early Anglo-Saxon sites known, either through excavation or metal-detecting or both, which are probably or certainly cemeteries (ChesterKadwell 2009, 91). As there are over sixty cemeteries in the county which have received at least some excavation (Chester-Kadwell 2005, 72), this leaves about 140 early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries which are known wholly through metal-detecting. The situation is likely to be similar in other counties which have not received such systematic research. In Suffolk, for example, systematic work up to c. 1990 revealed 66 sites with excavated early Anglo-Saxon burials and 19 further sites of ‘unusually rich scatters of objects’, most discovered through metaldetecting (West 1998, 272). In the years since, about one to three new sites per year have been noticed through the recording of metal-detector finds (Faye Minter, pers. comm.), and there must be many more less noticeable sites.

Is it possible to recognise an early or mid fifth-century hoard as anything other than Roman? Richard Abdy has argued that the Patching hoard (deposited c. 470) should be considered not as a very late Roman hoard, but as ‘Britain’s earliest early-medieval coin hoard’ (Abdy 2005) but this is the only one. Earlier hoards, such as that from Hoxne (buried after 407/8) are considered Roman, and the few contemporary or later groups of coins, including Crondall (above), can all be considered as either grave finds or accidental losses, until the early eighth century at least (see list in Abdy and Williams 2005). Perhaps the early Anglo-Saxon equivalent of hoarding portable wealth was to wear it on their body. There are advantages to this method; one, it is safe because the owner can keep an eye on it, and two, everyone else can see how rich you are, thus avoiding the problem referred to in Beowulf that buried treasure was ‘useless to men now as it ever was’ (l. 3168; also see Hines 2010, 167-8). Is a reluctance to put portable wealth into the ground related to the habit of furnished burial?

The loss of archaeological information that a metaldetected cemetery site represents is distressing, and the natural reaction of many archaeologists is to want to stop the objects coming out of the ground in such an uncontrolled way. But to blame the detectorist for this haemorrhage of information is essentially to shoot the messenger. The grave-goods within inhumation burials were originally deposited at or close to the bottom of graves, usually about a metre deep, and copper-alloy dress accessories at even at half this depth of soil will be completely inaccessible to metal-detector users. The real problem is the effect of agricultural processes on the historic environment, such as ploughing, sub-soiling, drainage, root-crop harvesting and stone removal. The early Anglo-Saxon cemetery is simply more visible when damaged than other, less metal-rich site types (such as early Anglo-Saxon settlements) which can be, and are, easily destroyed without anyone noticing.

These questions have newly arisen as a result of the discovery of the Staffordshire hoard, and another unexpected find will create different but equally interesting questions.

Plough-damaged sites When groups of early Anglo-Saxon metal finds are discovered, it is likely that they will have come from a plough-damaged cemetery, whether composed of inhumations, cremations or both. This has been established for Norfolk by Mary Chester-Kadwell (2009, 69) and her conclusions are likely to stand for the rest of early Anglo-Saxon England as well.

The discovery of predominantly cremation cemeteries by metal-detecting is much rarer than the discovery of new inhumation cemeteries; the average rate of discovery of new predominantly cremation cemeteries in Norfolk is running at about one per decade. It is likely that they were always very much rarer than inhumation cemeteries, but the slow rate of new discoveries may also be because the original burial depth of cremationrelated grave-goods was very much shallower than that of inhumations. Because of this, the sites were eroded into the topsoil, becoming visible to the fieldwalker or even just the casual walker in fields, much longer ago (Andrew Rogerson, pers. comm.).

Fieldwalking does not seem to be able to effectively recover the metalwork finds of the inhumation cemetery; metal-detecting is the only technique which can do this. Conversely, fieldwalking is the best technique for locating the pottery which is characteristic of both settlement sites and cremation cemeteries, and large assemblages of pottery allow a distinction between domestic and funerary pottery to be made. A combination of the two techniques of surface recovery is ideal, particularly as metal-detecting is also effective in identifying the heat-distorted artefacts of the cremation cemetery.

The PAS’s identification of seriously eroded early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries alerts us not only to the loss of information about the cemeteries themselves, but also warns that we may be silently destroying countless other

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Acknowledgements

archaeological resources (Geake 2000). This is clearly not a sustainable position as, despite some measures to lessen agricultural damage over the past decade, the cemeteries continue to be discovered within the topsoil.

Thanks to Tania Dickinson, Faye Minter and Andrew Rogerson for information on their unpublished research and forthcoming publications.

Agricultural damage to archaeological sites has been recognised as an intractable problem for many years. Early attempts to mitigate the damage, such as Norfolk’s Monuments Management Programme, were focused on visible earthworks, but a major change came in 1998 when English Heritage’s Monuments At Risk Survey was published, clearly stating that agricultural damage was the largest single source of cumulative damage to archaeology (Darvill and Fulton 1998, 122; also 128-31). The subject was further studied, and recommendations made, in a DEFRA-funded study by Oxford Archaeology (2002).

References Abdy, R. 2005 ‘After Patching: imported and recycled coinage in fifth- and sixth-century Britain’, in B. Cook and G. Williams (eds), Coinage and History in the North Sea World c. 500-1250: essays in honour of Marion Archibald. Leiden: Brill, 75-98 Abdy, R. and Williams, G. 2005 ‘A catalogue of hoards and single finds from the British Isles c. AD 410-675’ in B. Cook and G. Williams (eds), Coinage and History in the North Sea World c. 500-1250: essays in honour of Marion Archibald. Leiden: Brill, 11-73 Akerman, J. Y. 1855 Remains of Pagan Saxondom. London: J. R. Smith Baldwin Brown, G. 1915 The Arts in Early England vol. 3: Saxon art and industry in the pagan period. London: John Murray Carver, M. O. H. 2000 ‘Burial as poetry: the context of treasure in Anglo-Saxon graves’ in E. Tyler (ed), Treasure in the Medieval West. York: York Medieval Press, 25-48 Chester-Kadwell, M. 2005 ‘Metal-detector finds in context: new light on the ‘Dark Age’ landscape of Norfolk’, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 20:1, 70-96 Chester-Kadwell, M. 2009 Early Anglo-Saxon Communities in the Landscape of Norfolk. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 481 Darvill, T. and Fulton, A. K. 1998 MARS: the Monuments At Risk Survey of England, 1995. Bournemouth and London: Bournemouth University and English Heritage Darwin, C. 1881 The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms, with Observations on their Habits. London: John Murray Dean, S., Hooke, D. and Jones, A. 2010 ‘The ‘Staffordshire Hoard’: the fieldwork’, Antiquaries Journal 90, 139-52 Dickinson, T. M., Fern, C., and Hall, M. A. 2006 ‘An early Anglo-Saxon bridle fitting from South Leckaway, Forfar, Angus, Scotland’, Medieval Archaeology 50, 249-260 Dickinson, T. M., Fern, C., and Richardson, A., with Holton, A. and Walton Rogers, P. forthcoming ‘Early Anglo-Saxon Eastry: archaeological evidence for the beginnings of a district centre in the kingdom of Kent’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 17 Fern, C. 2005 ‘The archaeological evidence for equestrianism in early Anglo-Saxon England, c. 450-700’, in A. Pluskowski (ed.), Just Skin and Bones? New perspectives on human-animal relations in the historical past. Oxford: BAR International Series 1410, 43-71 Geake, H. 2000 ‘We plough the fields and scatter’, Rescue News 84, 4-5 Gearey, B. 2010 ‘The potential of environmental archaeology to shed light on the hoard and its findspot’, in H. Geake (ed), Papers from the Staffordshire Hoard Symposium. http://www. finds.org.uk/staffshoardsymposium)

The continued acknowledgement of the problem by English Heritage (including the Ripping up History campaign, launched in July 2003), in combination with pressure from the PAS, led to the launch of the Environmental Stewardship scheme by Natural England in March 2005. Both the Entry Level (ELS) and Higher Level (HLS) tiers of Environmental Stewardship are now working well to offer protection to some sites, including several identified through metal-detecting, mostly in the form of reverting arable to pasture. Of course it is a long-term essential to use the information gained from plough-damaged early AngloSaxon cemeteries to prevent the destruction occurring in the first place, but in the short term it is also necessary to stop it continuing and salvage what remains; the metal objects in the topsoil through detecting if this is all that is possible, but ideally the rest of the cemetery as well through excavation. Occasional excavations, such as those at Barrington (Malim and Hines 1998) and Oxborough (Penn 1998) show that the excavation of plough-damaged cemeteries, even those subject to long-term damage and many years of metal-detecting, can be very worthwhile despite the difficulty of funding this kind of work. The challenge of rescuing many hundreds of plough-damaged sites may be politically and economically unacceptable, but if we shrink from the attempt to find an answer to the problem we will perhaps be guilty of colluding in their loss. The early Anglo-Saxon finds of metalwork reported through the PAS therefore represent a new and different kind of archaeological resource, and one that is just beginning to be tapped. The data will certainly amplify but should also be able to alter our understanding of early Anglo-Saxon life.

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Accidental losses, plough-damaged cemeteries and the occasional hoard Hamerow, H. 1993 Excavations at Mucking volume 2: the AngloSaxon settlement. London: English Heritage Hey, G. 2004 Yarnton: Saxon and medieval settlement and landscape. Oxford: Oxford Archaeological Unit Hines, J. 2010 ‘Units of account in gold and silver in seventh-century England’, scillingas, sceattas and peningas’, Antiquaries Journal 90, 153-173 Leahy, K. 2010 ‘The contents of the hoard’, in H. Geake (ed), Papers from the Staffordshire Hoard Symposium http://www. finds.org.uk/staffshoardsymposium Leahy, K. and Bland, R. 2009 The Staffordshire Hoard. London: British Museum Press Malim, T. and Hines, J. 1998 The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Edix Hill (Barrington A), Cambridgeshire. York: Council for British Aarchaeology Research Report 112 McLean, L., and Richardson, A. 2010 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon Brooches in Southern England: the contribution of the Portable Antiquities Scheme’, in S. Worrell, G. Egan, J. Naylor, K. Leahy and M. Lewis (eds), A Decade of Discovery: proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme conference 2007. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 520, 161-72 Meyrick, O. 1949-50 ‘A Saxon skeleton in a Roman well’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 53,

220-222 Oxford Archaeology 2002 The Management of Archaeological Sites in Arable Landscapes. http://randd.defra.gov.uk/ Default.aspx?Menu=Menu&Module=More&Location =None&Completed=0&ProjectID=8412 Penn, K. 1998 An Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Oxborough, West Norfolk: excavations in 1990. Gressenhall: East Anglian Archaeology Occasional Papers 5 Sutherland, C. H. V. 1948 Anglo-Saxon Gold Coinage in the light of the Crondall Hoard. Oxford: Oxford University Press Thompson, S. 2007 Moss Brow Farm, Warburton, Greater Manchester: archaeological evaluation and assessment of results. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology Report no. 62510.01, http://www.wessexarch.co.uk/reports/62510/moss-browfarm-warburton Welch, M. G. 1992 Anglo-Saxon England. London: English Heritage/Batsford West, S. 1985 West Stow: the Anglo-Saxon village. Ipswich: East Anglian Archaeology 24 West, S. 1998 A Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Material Found In Suffolk. Ipswich: East Anglian Archaeology 84 Youngs, S. and Shiels, J. 2005 ‘Dornoch: 7th-century AngloSaxon mount’, Discovery and Excavation in Scotland n.s. 6: 80 and 180, fig. 122, Treasure Trove number 39/05

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6

Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions

ANDREW REYNOLDS AND SARAH SEMPLE

This short paper revisits and extends existing discussion of non-funerary weapon depositions from Anglo-Saxon England. Despite extensive study of such material more widely in the Northern World, the chronological and geographical details of English weapon finds recovered from contexts other than furnished inhumation burials of the pre-Christian period remain to be fully charted. We consider below the degree to which previous work has treated such material and then present numerous examples, which highlight the need for a comprehensive study. We suggest that while votive activity may underlie certain weapon depositions, a further motivation was to render ‘powerful’ or ‘living’ weapons ‘safe’. This discussion is offered as a preface to further research on the part of both authors and should therefore be regarded as a preliminary consideration of aspects of the topic preparatory to more detailed analysis.

Introduction It is fair to say that the study of weaponry in Anglo-Saxon England, across the whole period (i.e. from c. 400-1100), has been dominated by a stylistic approach (Bone 1989; Gale 1989; Peirce 2002). As with so many other aspects of the archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England, weapons have been studied on the basis of their chronological/ cultural setting, with a focus on material from furnished inhumation graves of the fifth to seventh centuries on one hand and on non-funerary weapon finds, largely of eighth century and later date on the other. Our view is that much more work is needed with regard to contextual aspects of non-funerary weapon finds in order to understand the full complexity of deposition over time. We suggest that more nuanced interpretations are required to explain such behaviour, which was almost certainly the result of varied circumstances and motivations, but with an underlying function: to deal with ideologically charged objects. We offer this short paper to Martin as a debt of gratitude for his scholarship and for teaching us both much about the material culture of Anglo-Saxon England and continental Europe while we were under his tutelage at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL. In post-Roman England between the fifth and early eighth centuries, weapons – here defined as objects

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of an explicitly martial character – are found almost exclusively in funerary contexts, although there are exceptions, certain of which are considered further below. There are chronological variations within the fifth- to eighth-century grave finds with a longrecognised peak in weapon burial during the fifth and sixth centuries where 15-20% of graves are furnished with weapons, a figure which declines to c. 12% in the late sixth and seventh centuries dropping to about 3% in the late seventh and eighth centuries (Härke 1989; Geake 1997, 75). Helen Geake’s study of Conversion Period burials found that 6% of burials of seventh- to eighth-century date contained weapons (Geake 1997, 75). How such figures might be understood is much debated (Härke 1989; 1990; 1992; Halsall 2003, 163), and beyond our present enquiry, but it is clear that the inclusion of weapons can be connected to the construction of social identities at a range of scales (see Härke 1990; 1992). By the early eighth century (c. AD 720-30), the last gasp of what was by then a long tradition of burying weapons with males can be observed in a handful of graves containing swords or seaxes (Geake 1997, 138-9, table 6.1), for example at Tissington, Derbyshire and Harrold, Bedfordshire, the latter of which might be dated as late as the middle of the eighth century (ibid., 71). Following the conversion of the pagan English to

Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions Christianity, weapon finds are known mainly from a range of non-funerary contexts and, on the basis of an unquantified preliminary review, many more finds derive from situations other than graves from the eighth century and after: the very few pagan Scandinavian graves from England form the only exceptions as furnished warrior burials of the ninth and tenth centuries AD (Graham-Campbell 2001).

distribution thus indicates the parallel use of watery locations and ancient monuments as appropriate places for the deposition of weapons from at least the Neolithic period onwards. Finds such as the Bronze Age shield hoard from Fröslunda, Sweden, show that items other than swords and spearheads can appear in votive weapon deposits (Bradley 1998, 7, pl. 1). English examples include the Bronze Age Nipperweise shield now in Chertsey Museum and a second similar type from Long Wittenham (Needham 1979, 111–34, especially 127–8).

Weapon finds from across the whole period in England have been made in both dry-land and ‘watery’ situations, although there are attendant issues relating to establishing the contemporary environments in which depositions were originally made in contrast to the modern ones in which they are found, a situation which Lotte Hedeager has considered in relation to Danish finds of the first millennia BC and AD (Hedeager 1992, 33–4). Further issues can be raised with regard to the relationship between the initial place of deposition and that of recovery. Hooper and O’Connor, in discussing Bronze Age spearheads from river and wetland contexts, suggest, for example, that spearheads from rivers which retain traces of their shafts could have floated, enabling them either to be recovered or become eventually lodged at some distance from the point where they were flung into a watercourse (Hooper and O’Connor 1976). In a similar vein, Nathalie Cohen (2003, 9–10) has commented on the varied activities in riverine environments that could generate individual finds in such contexts.

The votive deposition of objects is also an accepted tradition in the late Roman Iron Age and Migration Period in Scandinavia (Ilkjær and von Carnap-Bornheim 1990-1996). In late prehistory it was just one component of the religious rituals played out in extensive sacred landscapes (Hårdh 2000, 640–8, fig. 3; Brink 2001, 26–32). At Skåne, Sweden, for instance, a spring, well or pond – Röekillorna – produced animal and human bones, pottery, tools and objects of stone and iron, with deposition lasting from the early Neolithic through the Iron Age (Stjernquist 1987). Large deposits are known too in Viking-age contexts, such as the Vikingage hoard of five hundred spearheads associated with the burial mounds at Uppåkra, Lund, Sweden (Hårdh 2000), pointing to the long-term use of locations. Finds located in relation to prehistoric monuments, which are discussed below, usually involve single objects, occasionally more. Ritual deposition need not comprise a pre-determined range of artefact types, but it is usually defined by evidence for repetitive activity (see for example the evidence for modern votive practices at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, where a wide range of personal items are left in the Kivas (ceremonial meeting places of the Pueblo Indians)(Finn 1997, 169–78)).

We acknowledge the manifold problems of reconstructing past environments and of modes of recovery of objects, but set these to one side for the purposes of this paper for we feel that there are sufficient secure instances of non-funerary weapon depositions to justify further discussion. Equestrian equipment, which may also be fairly described as martial, lies beyond the remit of this paper, although elements of the known corpus, notably stirrups, exhibit similar contextual associations to weapon finds, i.e. they are also found in watery places as, for example, at Magdalen Bridge, Oxford (two – odd - stirrups found with a range of other objects) and Seagry, Wiltshire (a fine stirrup of late tenth or eleventh century date, dredged up with a seventh- or eighth-century hanging bowl mount and a seax) (Seaby and Woodfield 1980, 114–18). A full contextual study of this latter body of material is also required.

Non-funerary weapon depositions of early medieval date are now widely accepted as the outcome of votive behaviour, particularly in the light of work on prehistoric hoards and depositions of single artefacts in north-western Europe, particularly in Scandinavia, and most notably in Denmark (Bradley 1987; 1987b; Hansen 2003; Halsall 2000, 267–8; Stocker and Everson 2003; Crawford 2004; Lund 2005; 2010). We accept this view, but wish to develop a further line of interpretation, which suggests that the focus of certain depositions was the weapons themselves and their perceived innate power. Julie Lund’s excellent comparative discussion of English and Scandinavian perceptions of watery places notes how since the 1980s interpretations have broadened to consider depositions as individual social actions with a range of purposes (Lund 2010, 49–50). This latter approach differs in emphasis from votive interpretations in that rather than constituting part of a process as an offering by people to gods, weapons can be viewed as significant in themselves with their own

The votive deposition of weapons by prehistoric societies has long been recognized (Bradley 1998, 1–42), with the variety of objects and their findspots offering a rich analogy for the range of depositional practice observed in the early medieval period. Watery contexts and ancient monuments – notably burial mounds – are noted as typical locations at which ritualised hoarding or deposition might occur (Levy 1982). The

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Fig. 17 The ninth or tenth-century ‘Beagnoth’ seax from the River Thames at Battersea. Length: 81cm. © Trustees of the British Museum

‘biographies’ and ‘personality’ (Ellis Davidson 1962, 171–3).

outside the grave (see Härke 1990; 1992), has emphasised the ‘powerful mnemonic agency of weapons’ in the fifth and sixth centuries AD (Williams 2005, 268–9). Such a role, however, appears evident throughout the early middle ages.

Here, careful attention to definitions is required. Hedeager (1992, 33), for example, defines votive finds as ‘ritual deposits of valuable objects’ seeing them as ‘an expression of ritual investment/deposition on a par with [the] grave finds’. The OED defines ‘votive’ as meaning something ‘offered or consecrated in fulfilment of a vow’ (Thompson 1995, 1571). We suggest that the rendering ‘safe’ of ‘powerful’ weapons cannot in itself be seen as a votive act and we follow Lund’s view that ‘The act of deposition could […] be a way of handling an object with a complex social biography’ (Lund 2010, 51). As a footnote to the above discussion, it worth remembering that in contrast to Scandinavia and parts of the Continent, early medieval non-funerary weapon finds in England are almost exclusively single finds in contrast to the mass high-status depositions observed in Scandinavia, and later in date, suggesting this method of disposing of weapons may have had a different set of motivations and rationales.

Many weapons of early medieval date are known with personal names inscribed or inlaid on their blades, which is a feature normally interpreted as recording either the maker or the owner of the object. Such interpretations have been applied, for example, to the exceptionally well-preserved ninth- or tenth-century seax recovered from the River Thames at Battersea, which is inscribed not only with the name ‘Beagnoth’, but also with 28 characters of the (31 character) Anglo-Saxon runic alphabet, or futhorc (Ellis Davidson 1962, 43–4; Haith 1984, 101–2) (Figure 17). Perhaps ‘Beagnoth’ was actually the weapon itself and there can be little doubt that this particular object would have been viewed as particularly ‘powerful’ – perhaps even ‘polluted’ through its association with particular individuals, events or memories. A weapon can have multiple meanings, both simultaneously and at different points in its lifecycle. Lotte Hedeager has suggested that grave assemblages represent a single action of deposition, whereas hoards – whether ‘religious’ or ‘secular’ might take their final shape following a considerable period of reduction, augmentation and so on (Hedeager 1992, 35). While this perspective is arguable, following Hedeager (ibid., 33) and, more recently, Sally Crawford (2004), we consider the two contextual categories – grave assemblage and hoard – to have been inextricably socially linked up to the time of deposition. In other words, a sword may be brought out from a treasury – i.e. a hoard – for the purposes of burial with its former owner, whereas the contents of a hoard may be variously manipulated prior to deposition as might the adornment of a corpse prior to burial. It is clear from detailed work on a number of early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries that swords might be over 100 years old (i.e. have passed through three generations) by the time they were deposited in graves (Ager 2006, 10) thus, although early Anglo-Saxon

Weapon biographies An important issue to bear in mind with regard to any consideration of chronology and interpretation is the curation of objects over generations. It is clear from a range of archaeological examples (which are not listed here) that swords could be augmented with additional fittings, such as rings, repaired in more practical terms (although powerful memories are likely to have been associated with damage and repair) and be subject to disassembly. There are fundamental implications for such behaviour with regard to the accumulation of a ‘biography’, real or imagined, for a given item of material culture, which might imbue that object with social agency in its own right (Gosden and Marshall 1999). It is obvious enough that weapons are particularly suited to acquiring long and colourful ‘life histories’. Howard Williams, building on Heinrich Härke’s consideration of weapons as ‘multi-vocal symbols’ with ritual significance

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Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions graves are indeed sealed contexts, with the exception of robbed or disturbed examples, the relative ages of the objects found within might not be dissimilar to that found in certain hoards. The recently excavated later fifth- to seventh-century cemeteries at Saltwood, near Folkestone, Kent, for example, present well-excavated and expertly studied examples of ‘old’ weapons in grave assemblages (Ager 2006; Glass et al. in press).

distinction must be made between blade and fittings, but further discussion of this matter must be left for future consideration. The question then arises as to why certain individual weapons were deposited in the ways that they were? Objects with ‘personality’, we suggest, are likely to generate strong social reactions, both positive and negative, and we consider this aspect further below.

Following the cessation of furnished burial, archaeological, iconographic and written evidence each provide instances of ‘old’ weapons in later contexts: a few examples will suffice. Among the 86 pommel caps and 135 other sword fittings from the now famous Staffordshire Hoard are objects ranging in date between the late sixth century and the late seventh, while one of two known pagan Scandinavian burials from Nottingham appears to have contained a spearhead of ninth-century type together with a sword of tenth- or eleventh-century form (Leahy and Bland 2009, 11; Graham-Campbell 2001, 106). A sword said to have belonged to King Offa of Mercia (759-796) is recorded in the early eleventh-century will of Atheling Athelstan (eldest son of Æthelred the Unready) (Whitelock 1968, 548–50, no. 130), while iconographic sources such as the early eleventh century Cotton Claudius BIV manuscript and the late eleventh century Bayeux Tapestry contain images of swords with lobed pommels, a type which first emerges in England in the ninth century (Bone 1989, 66). The principal lessons to be learned, of course, are: 1) that the date of manufacture of a given object cannot be assumed necessarily to correlate even broadly with the date of disposal, which highlights a fundamental caveat with regard to establishing a refined chronological view of non-funerary weapon depositions; and, 2) that ancient weapons remaining in circulation was a cultural feature throughout the early medieval period in England, but that this applied perhaps also to a fraction of weapons that had acquired long and famous/infamous biographies.

Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon finds: a contextual approach Cases of ritual deposition in rivers in England seem in general to be situated in a post-conversion setting (Halsall 2000, 267–8). While the significant number of early Anglo-Saxon spearheads from rivers suggest that weapon deposition was occurring in the early AngloSaxon period (Swanton 1974, 28–90, although disputed by Hines 1997, 381), overall, the date-range for river finds leans strongly towards the eighth to eleventh centuries (Blair 1994, 99; Hines 1997, 381; Halsall 2000, 267). In his 1965 consideration of finds of swords from dry-land and ‘watery’ sites, however, Wilson noted that the weapons he had studied could all be dated to between AD 800-1100 (Wilson 1965, 51): a careful analysis of the data now available is necessary before solid conclusions can be reached. This largely neglected corpus has traditionally been explained in terms of casual losses, the result of battles or water erosion (Wilson 1965, 50). However, the quantity of objects and their condition renders these explanations implausible and these finds are now considered by many as a form of votive deposition following Wilson’s suggestion that the river finds in particular ‘represent an unrecorded sacrificial custom’ (ibid., 51).

What is unknowable is just how common, or not, the handing down of weapons as heirlooms was, either during the pre-Christian period, across the century or more of conversion to Christianity or afterwards. Several Anglo-Saxon wills, however, in addition to that of the Atheling Athelstan noted above, refer to swords, and include that of the great midlands magnate Wulfric Spott who bequeathed ‘two silver-hilted swords’ among his many possessions (Whitelock 1968, 541, no. 125). As noted above, it can be shown that weapons made in the pre-Christian period remained in circulation for one, two, or more, generations. as shown by the Staffordshire Hoard, perhaps longer. Was the sword that belonged to King Offa already ancient when it was in his ownership? This latter suggestion is a distinct possibility in the light of the Staffordshire Hoard. With regard to swords, a

John Blair has commented that several swords (including examples from the River Thames) have apparently been ritually ‘killed’ by bending, recalling the ancient Scandinavian tradition of making ritual deposits in rivers and bogs (Blair 1994, 99). John Hines considers that the condition of the majority of such weapons indicates that loss in battle is practically out of the question, and deliberate deposition must be regarded as highly probable (Hines 1997, 381). Guy Halsall notes three axes, seventeen spears, two swords and three seaxes from fen or river contexts in Cambridgeshire, and comments that accidental loss is extremely unlikely (Halsall 2000, 267–8). The sword, especially, was a large, expensive and highly prized item (Ellis Davidson 1962, 211–6) and it is problematic to consider all those recovered from rivers or fens to be

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Fig. 18 A late tenth or eleventh-century Scandinavian battle axe from the River Thames. Length: 28cm. Width: 24.4cm. © Trustees of the British Museum

1977). The deposition of Roman coins on prehistoric barrows is known from Dunstable (Bedfordshire) and Walkington Wold (East Yorkshire) (Reynolds 2009a). A hoard of six Roman coins found around the entrance area at West Kennet long barrow comprised late thirdand five late fourth-century examples (Piggott 1962, 55), while eighty-four Roman coins were located during the excavation of one of a pair of barrows east of the henge at Avebury (Merewether 1851). It is likely that just as the tradition of constructing square shrines (Blair 1995) seems to have continued throughout the Iron Age, Roman and early Anglo-Saxon periods, both river and dry-land deposits reflect long-lived ritual practice.

accidental losses (Wilson 1965, 32–54; Hines 1997, 375– 401, 380–1; Halsall 2000, 268). Axes of Scandinavian type are also known as river finds, notably from the River Thames at London in the form of the wellknown hoard from London Bridge and single finds, including a fine late tenth or eleventh-century blade from a doubled-handed battle axe (Wheeler 1927, 18– 23; Graham-Campbell 1980, 74) (Figure 18). Is ‘votive’ deposition as defined above really sufficient to explain all such finds? We suggest a further factor - that of the concept of ‘living’ weapons - as an additional, and potentially common, motivation behind early medieval weapon deposition.

The River Witham presents a strong case of long-term ritual behaviour. Here a timber causeway running into the River Witham at Fiskerton (Lincolnshire) was associated with Iron Age weapons, tools, pottery and animal bone, as well as Roman and later material (Parker Pearson and Field 2003). The Witham Pins, three fine conjoined silver-gilt pins of eighth-century workmanship were found at Fiskerton, as was an eighth-century hanging-bowl and an important ninthcentury sword (Wilson 1965, 33–5, 1984, 67; Stocker and Everson 2003, 281). A further extremely fine sword of tenth-century date from the River Witham at Lincoln is a nineteenth-century find and is illustrated in Figure 19 (Maryon 1950). As a result the River Witham has been the focus of much interest, with the Fiskerton excavations producing a substantial collection of metal and organic objects apparently deposited in a ritual context in and around a series of causeways leading to a crossing point of the river. Although the majority of items are of prehistoric date, detailed analysis of the objects retrieved has provided examples of swords and other objects of early medieval date as noted above, and weaponry, notably swords, of post-Conquest date too (Parker Pearson and Field 2003), these latter seemingly the last in the sequence of deposits left in and around

River deposits represent a continuance of a longlived ritual practice, whatever the underlying cause. Evidence from British prehistory and from Iron Age and Migration Period Scandinavia has been introduced to assist with defining Anglo-Saxon deposits as votive material. Votive deposition of objects in rivers, springs, pools and lakes was a strong theme in Romano-Celtic tradition (Alcock 1965, 1–12) and objects have been recovered from the Thames (Piggott and Daniel 1951, pls. 53, 55, 56), the Witham and the Tyne (Toynbee 1962, pls. 35–6; Alcock 1965) among other watercourses. Traditions of depositing objects in watery contexts evidently continued after the Iron Age and throughout the Romano-British period as seen, for example, in the large fourth-century hoard of metalwork from a well at Silchester (Alcock 1965, 10). The deposition of coins and other objects around prehistoric monuments featured in the Roman period too. The most famous example is the great passage tomb at Newgrange (Co. Meath). Roman artefacts, coins, finger rings and brooches were recovered around the south side of the monument and particularly towards the entrance area (Carson and Kelly

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Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions

Fig. 19 A tenth-century sword from the River Witham, Lincolnshire. Length: 91.5cm © Trustees of the British Museum

the causeway and crossing. The excavations have thus provided a secure context for the long-term deposition of weaponry and other materials.

contexts or as items lost in a skirmish (Halsall 2000, 268). Non-funerary weapon finds from prehistoric monuments range from the late fifth to tenth centuries, but it is apparently a rare practice, or perhaps rarely recognised. Finds from rivers are largely eighth to eleventh century and later. Prior to the eighth century most weapons are found in graves. It seems possible, then to observe a correlation between the cessation of furnished burial in England and the flourishing of weapon depositions in ‘watery’ places. Whereas the material from rivers suggests repetitive activity at certain sites, the objects found at prehistoric monuments are single deposits, perhaps suggestive of individual rather than group actions.

With regard to the early Anglo-Saxon period, a relatively small number examples of dry-land non-funerary weapon depositions is known, particularly in association with pre-existing features such a barrows, hillforts and other eminences. At Swallowcliffe Down, Wiltshire, the excavation of a high-status female bed-burial of the late seventh century also revealed an iron spearhead in the (re-used Bronze Age) mound covering the grave, with the angle of the find suggesting that it had been thrust into the body of the mound (Speake 1989). Also in Wiltshire, a collection of weapons, including a seax, spearheads and knives has been recovered from the Barbury Castle hillfort (Cunnington 1932–34, 174). Further examples of dry-land depositions are known. The vast majority of finds from the early Anglo-Saxon period, however, are from rivers and take the form of spearheads (Lund 2010, 53). During the Conversion Period, patterns of non-funerary deposition change to a situation whereby the majority of weapon finds are of swords from ‘watery’ places, namely rivers, with most objects recovered as a result of dredging activities, although a wide range of other object types is also represented from rivers.

It might be suggested that the passing down of weapons, particularly swords, as heirlooms was the norm in Anglo-Saxon society in which case the onus of the problem must be situated in terms of explaining why weapons found in both graves (in the fifth to early eighth centuries) and rivers (from the eighth century onwards) ceased to play an active role in society to the extent that special measures were required to remove them from circulation rather bequeathing them. Even thought they may indeed reflect status, are swords from early Anglo-Saxon furnished inhumation graves exceptional as much for having been deposited in the first place as for their indications of rank? Are such burials those of warriors without heirs or clear kin relations? Comparative anthropology suggests that the presence of disenfranchised males reflects the ability of a given society to engage in warfare (Wilson and Daly 1985) and cast in such a light there are grounds for suggesting that certain early Anglo-Saxon warrior graves represent individuals competing for influence, but whose behaviour set them socially apart, a factor that may have been viewed both positively and negatively. A few later fifth- and sixth-century multiple burials of warriors is known from England where either their isolation or spatial situation with respect to further burials suggests a degree of ‘otherness’ was at play (Reynolds 2009a, in press). Do swords deposited in weapon burials perhaps reflect the inability of such males to produce eligible heirs?

What explanations might account for such a change in practice? Why are swords seemingly singled out for deposition during and following a period of religious and social change? Many more questions might be posed, but we explore now in our discussion an avenue further to ‘votive’ motivations as to why weapons continue to receive special treatment throughout our period and across episodes of fundamental change in other social arenas.

Discussion Whilst it is appropriate to approach possible ritual deposits with caution, it is may also be that the functionalist approaches to early medieval archaeology which characterised the 1960s to the 1990s encouraged weapon finds to be interpreted in pragmatic terms, for example as objects derived from eroded funerary

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology What of the Conversion period and after? Why rivers? Written evidence from Late Anglo-Saxon England provides one clear exposition of how a sword might make it into a ‘watery’ context in the form of a charter of AD 962 which records in its preamble the forfeiture of estates and subsequent drowning of a certain Ecgferth (Robertson 1956, 93, no. 44). Ecgferth is said to have been drowned with ‘the sword that hung at his hip’, an extraordinary statement which allows a clear link to be made between a weapon deposition, a disgraced man and his (presumably judicial) execution. In sharp contrast to his landed estates, was Ecgfrith’s sword simply too tainted by his misdemeanours to be acceptable in the hands of another? Julie Lund notes that ‘personified’ objects can be found in the Old English poetic corpus, for example in the tenth-century Dream of the Rood (Lund 2010, 51). While such notions can be observed in explicitly Christian literature, taken together such evidence is indicative of a society where objects could be ‘powerful’ outside of the mainstream Christian milieu (the latter factor also partly explains the general resistance of medievalists to the study of non-funerary weapon deposition in that such behaviour could not be easily placed within a Christian cosmology). Although Stocker and Everson (2003, 281) suggest that depositional behaviour might itself have undergone ‘conversion’ to make it acceptable in a Christian environment, and depositional practices have also been identified in Christian contexts in Roman Britain (Petts 2002), there is no good reason why such practice should not also be seen as a commonly understood but private undertaking independent from – and thus beyond the jurisdiction of – the Church.

Overall, we have emphasised a social approach to weapon deposition, which is hardly original in itself, but we have attempted to argue for a nuanced approach to the material whereby multifarious motivations are likely to underlie a common desire to set objects with a ‘living’ character into a safe setting. While ‘votive’ practices with religious or cultic overtones may well explain certain weapon depositions, we hope to have brought a neglected interpretation forward in an attempt to invigorate debate. A further underlying theme which we have identified is that parallels can be suggested for the mentalities underlying the deposition of weapons in other contexts, notably the treatment of the deviant dead and of patterns of ritual behaviour observed at an increasing number of settlements of the period (Hamerow 2006; Thomas 2008). It may be possible, therefore, to advance a significant new contribution to our understanding of Anglo-Saxon cosmology, a notion also recently considered by Julie Lund (Lund 2010). Much of the current theoretical framework within which deposits of material culture are interpreted is derived from prehistoric archaeology and comparative anthropology, and both disciplines have rightly broadened avenues of enquiry into the possible meanings of material culture in past societies. We take the view, however, that the ability to observe practices with a deep time signature emerging ‘from memory to the written word’ – from prehistory to the Middle Ages – has much to offer in return to scholars working on other periods and in other places. The next steps in our enquiry will include a full review of the contextual evidence of non-funerary weapon finds to include a consideration of landscape setting and of national and chronological distributions. Only once the available data have been gathered and analysed, can the full social implications of Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions be placed in wider comparative perspective.

In a broadly similar vein, Charlotte Fabech has considered the medieval Scandinavian practice of depositing swords in places where they could not be recovered when their owners became unable to use them or had no heir to whom to give the weapon to (Fabech 2006, 29). If we follow the view that certain weapons – namely swords – were imbued with personality, then a parallel can be drawn between the ways that Anglo-Saxon society dealt with the unwanted or dangerous dead. It is firmly established that boundaries, including rivers, were viewed as appropriate places to dispose of the corpses of the unwanted or excluded dead, with isolated interments known from the sixth century onwards and outcast cemeteries documented archaeologically from the later seventh and eighth centuries (Reynolds 2009a, 2009b). ‘Living’ swords, perhaps, also required specific conditions of disposal, especially if the weapon’s owner was a wrongdoer, a suspicious character or had no eligible heirs, or the weapon itself was perceived as guilty of wrongdoing.

Acknowledgements This paper presents preliminary thoughts on AngloSaxon non-funerary weapon deposition prior to more extensive research. AR is grateful to Sue Brunning for discussions in the context of her ongoing PhD research into ‘The “Living” Sword in Anglo-Saxon England and Scandinavia’ currently underway at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL. SS would like to thank Howard Williams for helpful comments on this paper during its preparation.

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Anglo-Saxon non-funerary weapon depositions

References

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Ager, B. 2006 ‘Swords’, in B. Ager, E. Cameron, S. Spain and I. Riddler, Saltwood Funerary Landscape: Early Anglo-Saxon Weapons. Archaeology Data Service: CTRL Integrated Site Report Series, 1–10 Alcock, J. 1965 ‘Celtic Water Cults in Roman Britain’, Archaeological Journal 122, 1–12 Blair, J. 1994 Anglo-Saxon Oxfordshire. Stroud: Alan Sutton Blair, J. 1995 ‘Anglo-Saxon Pagan Shrines and their Prototypes’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 8, 1–28 Bone, P. 1989 ‘The Development of Anglo-Saxon Swords from the Fifth to the Eleventh Century’, in S. C. Hawkes (ed), Weapons and Warfare in Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 21, 63–70 Bradley, R. J. 1987 ‘Time regained: the creation of continuity’, Journal of the British Archaeological Association 140, 1–17 Bradley, R. J. 1998 The Passage of Arms. Oxford: Oxbow Books 2nd edn Brink, S. 2001 ‘Mythologizing Landscape: Place and Space of Cult and Myth’, in M.Stausberg (ed), Kontinuitäten und Brüche in der Religionsgeschichte. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 76–112 Carson, R. and O’Kelly, C. 1977 ‘A catalogue of the Roman coins from Newgrange, Co. Meath and notes on the coins and related finds’, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 77C, 35–55 Cohen, N. 2003 ‘Boundaries and settlement: the role of the river Thames’, in D. Griffiths, A. Reynolds and S. Semple (eds), Boundaries in Early Medieval Britain. Oxford: AngloSaxon Studies in Archaeology and History 12, 9–20 Crawford, S. 2004 ‘Votive deposition, religion and the AngloSaxon furnished burial ritual’, World Archaeology 36, 1, 87–102 Cunnington, M. E. 1932-34 ‘Wiltshire in Pagan Saxon Times’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Society Magazine 46, 147–75 Ellis Davidson, H. 1962 The Sword in Anglo-Saxon England: Its Archaeology and Literature. Oxford: Clarendon Press Fabech, C. 2006 ‘Centrality in Old Norse Mental Landscapes: A Dialogue Between Arranged and Natural Places’, in A. Andrén, K. Jennbert and C. Raudvere (eds), Old Norse Religion in Long-Term Perspectives. Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 26–32 Finn, C. 1997 ‘Leaving more than footprints’: modern votive offerings at Chaco Canyon prehistoric site’, Antiquity 71, 169–78 Gale, D. 1989 ‘The Seax’, in S. C. Hawkes (ed.), Weapons and Warfare in Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 21, 71–83 Geake, H. 1997 The Use of Grave Goods in Conversion-Period England, c.600-c.850. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 261 Glass, H., Garwood, P., Champion, T., Booth, P., Reynolds, A. and Munby, J. in press Tracks Through Time: The Archaeology of the Channel Tunnel Rail Link. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology Gosden, C. and Marshall, Y. 1999 ‘The cultural biography of things’, World Archaeology 31:2, 169–78 Graham-Campbell, J. 1980 Viking Artefacts – A Select Catalogue.

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Speake, G. 1989 A Saxon Bed Burial on Swallowcliffe Down. London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission Stjernquist, B. 1987 ‘Spring-cults in Scandinavian Prehistory’, in T. Linders and G. Nordquist (eds), Gifts to the Gods. Proceedings of the Uppsala Symposium 1985. Uppsala, Boreas 15, 149–58 Stocker, D. and Everson, P. 2003 ‘The Straight and Narrow Way: Fenland Causeways and the Conversion of the Landscape in the Witham Valley, Lincolnshire’, in M. Carver (ed), The Cross Goes North: Processes of Conversion in Northern Europe, AD 300-1300. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 271–88 Swanton, M. 1974 A Corpus of Pagan Anglo-Saxon Spear Types. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 7 Thomas, G. 2008 ‘The Symbolic Lives of Late Anglo-Saxon Settlements: A Cellared Structure and Iron Hoard from Bishopstone, East Sussex’, Archaeological Journal 165, 334–98 Thompson, D. (ed) 1995 The Concise Oxford Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press Toynbee, J. M. C. 1962 Art in Roman Britain. London: Phaidon Press for the Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies Wheeler, R. E. M. 1927 London and the Vikings. London: London Museum Whitelock, D. 1968 English Historical Documents c. 500-1042. London: Eyre and Spottiswode Williams, H. 2005 ‘Keeping the dead at arm’s length: Memory, weaponry and early medieval mortuary technologies’, Journal of Social Archaeology 5:2, 253–75 Wilson, D. M. 1965 ‘Some neglected late Anglo-Saxon swords’, Medieval Archaeology 9, 32–54 Wilson, M. and Daly, M. 1985 ‘Competitiveness, risk taking, and violence: The young male syndrome’, Ethnology and Sociobiology 6, 59–73

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A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire

A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire

7

NICK STOODLEY with contributions from Garrard Cole, Chris Fern and Stephany Leach

This article describes and discusses a fifth-century inhumation burial of an adult female from central Hampshire. The assemblage of grave goods contained a number of rare objects of which the origin and chronology are considered. The hypothesis that the individual was a first generation immigrant from the Continental homelands of the Saxons is tested by an analysis of strontium isotopes. Finally, the grave is compared to some contemporary, but little known, evidence which is starting to reveal that the earliest Saxon evidence in this part of central Hampshire has a strong association with late Roman sites.

Introduction

Elbe region of north-west Germany. Brooches of nonlocal design, such as cruciform, small square-headed and radiate-headed do however point to influences from outside the region (Stedman 2004, 111-112; Stedman and Stoodley 2000, 135). Yet it is clear that Hampshire firmly belonged to the Saxon material culture province centred on southern central England.

As a research student investigating patterns of gender in early Anglo-Saxon burial, I found Martin’s work on Sussex (1983) valuable. In particular, his detailed typological analysis of the grave goods helped me to examine the development of gender from a chronological perspective. Unlike his wide-ranging study of Sussex, this article focuses on a single burial, and is offered to Martin as an acknowledgment of his important contributions to the archaeology of early Anglo-Saxon England. It examines a grave that was investigated in 2003 during the excavation of an early Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Weston Colley, Micheldever (Hampshire). The grave contained the inhumation of an adult female buried in traditional Saxon folk costume. It is dated to the middle decades of the fifth century, which makes it one of the earliest Saxon burials to have been excavated in the county. The hypothesis that the woman was an early immigrant from north-west Germany was tested by an analysis of strontium isotopes.

Analysis of assemblages, as opposed to individual grave goods (Hines 1990), had indicated that the earliest graves dated to the final quarter of the fifth century, for example Worthy Park (Hawkes and Grainger 2000), Portway East (Cook and Dacre 1985) and Alton (Evison 1988). There did not appear to have been a genuine fifth-century phase, as identified in neighbouring Saxon areas, for example the Upper Thames Valley (Booth et al. 2007, 81-83). The work at Weston Colley, in combination with discoveries at several other sites in the general locality, is however forcing a revision of this idea.

The Weston Colley cemetery

Hampshire in early Anglo-Saxon times

The early Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Weston Colley is located in a small hamlet close to the village of Micheldever, in the picturesque Dever Valley (SU 505396). It is situated on the crest of a hill at 90m OD and is lying about 250m to the north of the River Dever. The burial ground was situated over a layer of Clay-with-

The majority of Anglo-Saxon brooches from Hampshire are circular in form with firm antecedents in the Weser-

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Fig. 20 Plan of Weston Colley Grave 3

flints that overlies the Upper Chalk. Fieldwalking has found evidence of a Roman site directly below the hill in the valley bottom. There were two main orientations: the head being in either a westerly or southerly direction; and with the exception of two burials, all the dead were interred extended and supine. Grave goods accompanied most of the individuals. An earlier phase of burial is characterized by shallowly dug grave pits that were not associated with any form of elaboration in terms of coffins or other structural features. A later phase of burial is dated to the seventh century. These graves were located on the western edge of the excavated area and differ by being deeper and also having produced structural evidence.

The cemetery had been encountered on several occasions in the nineteenth century (Meaney 1964, 98), although the main discoveries were made during the construction of the London to Southampton railway. Only a brief record survives, yet it gives a ����������������������������� tantalising������������������ insight into the cemetery and is sufficient to show that it was originally a large, mixed-rite and wealthy one (Gunner 1849, 399, quoted in Milner 1924): …and at the same spot in which so many other objects of interest were discovered during the formation of the railway. It was there that the fibula and three glass beads were found…It was there also that the swords, spear-heads, knives, and bosses of shields…were found. In the same spot were also found many other pieces of armour and helmets, which I have been unable to trace; besides numerous skeletons, urns, beads and other objects.

Thus a range of burials, both in terms of chronology and burial practice, was recovered. The main part of this article is, however, concerned with a single grave because it contained what is arguably one of the earliest Saxon burials to have been excavated in Hampshire and at the time it was considered to have belonged to a first generation immigrant from Northern Germany.

Over time the cemetery and its location were gradually forgotten, although local rumours about ghosts materializing in the area has, however, kept a general belief of ‘an ancient grave yard’ alive in the memory of the local folk.

Grave 3 Archaeology, by Chris Fern

Between 2003 and 2006 a small excavation and fieldwork project was undertaken with the aim of rediscovering the cemetery and, if any graves remained, assessing their state of preservation. In 2003 three inhumation graves (Fern and Stoodley 2004) were investigated, while further work between 2004 and 2006 recovered additional inhumations, plus evidence for cremation. In total, twelve inhumations and seven cremations were excavated. The burial ground was long-lived; in use from at least the middle of the fifth century until the end of the seventh.

The grave was sub-rectangular in plan, with a rounded head-end, vertical edges, and a flat base. The body was extended supine, orientated NW-SE, the head at the west end (Figure 20). The burial was cut into a geological soil of Chalk and brown Clay-with-flints, sealed by recent plough soil. It measured approximately 1.60m long by 0.50m wide, though the foot-end had been largely truncated away. It

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A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire

Fig. 21 (left) the supporting-arm brooch, Fig. 22 (right) the buckle

b) Fragmentary applied brooch (upper right chest). Originally with gilt foil face that now survives as numerous small fragments. The details of the face cannot be discerned. The pin attachment is fragmentary. Diameter (backplate) 33mm. c) Copper-alloy pin (lower left chest) with perforated head (damaged). Bent with its point missing. Measures 65mm length; maximum width 1.5mm. d) Iron knife (left of waist) incomplete and in two pieces. The cutting blade curves up to meet a straight back: Böhner (1958) Type B knife blade. Measures 137mm; blade length 87mm; maximum height 16mm. e) Iron buckle with semi-circular plate (right of waist) (Figure 22). The loop is oval in shape and measures 47mm by 28mm. The pin is still extant but has been reduced by corrosion. The plate has suffered from corrosion especially its outer edge; it measures 39mm by 30mm. The plate is folded around the loop and three rivets would have fastened the belt between the opposing plates. Textile remains exist on the underside of the plate. Closest to a Marzinzik (2003) Type II.8. f) The fill of the grave produced a heavily worn facetted rock crystal ‘spindle whorl’ in smoky quartz, shaped into a short eight-sided cylinder. Diameter of 35mm; central perforation of diameter 8mm.

was shallow at 0.20m deep from the top of the geological sub-soil; hence, 0.40m below the top of the modern surface. The backfill was very similar to the surrounding natural soil.

Human remains, by Stephany Leach Up to 90% of the skeletal remains had survived and belonged to a poorly preserved individual judged to be possibly female and aged between 25 and 40 years old. Slight calculus formation was present on the teeth, but evidence of caries was absent. A certain degree of alveolar resorption was noted on the mandible, possibly indicating the presence of gum disease. Linear enamel hypoplasia was noted in the left and right mandibular canines. An in situ measurement suggests that the stature of this woman was approximately 157cm or 5’1”. The muscle attachment sites on the proximal femora and the linea aspera appeared particularly well developed, providing an indication of elevated muscular activity in this region of the body.

Associated finds a) Supporting-arm brooch (left clavicle) (Figure 21). Copper alloy brooch, consisting of rectangular head with three horizontal grooves, a long and narrow bow and a foot with four horizontal grooves and a slightly upturned end. At either end of the head are two perforated projections that would have supported the iron axis bar of the pin. The brooch is in good condition with some slight wear to both the footplate and headplate. The pin survives as a rusted fragment on the headplate. The artefact measures: length 37mm; width 18mm. Textile remains exist on the pin. Böhme (1974) Typ Perlberg group.

Discussion Supporting-arm brooches are dated to the first half of the fifth century in England (Evison 1977), although they could have been buried later in the century. Very few examples have been excavated from graves (Evison 1977), however, the majority of recent finds being provided by metal-dectorists, and the graves that have produced supporting-arm brooches come from areas with strong Saxon attributes. The closest to Weston Colley is Berinsfield (Oxfordshire) Grave 64 of

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology a child of between one and two years, which produced a single example (Mahndorf type) (Boyle et al. 1996). At Orpington (West Kent), the adult female in Grave 74, also had a single fragmentary brooch of Perlberg type. The supporting-arm brooch from Mucking (Cemetery II Grave 987: closest in form to a Mahndorf type) (Essex) was worn with a different brooch type (small-long brooch) (Hirst and Clark 2009, 488).

England include Grave 105 from Mill Hill, Deal (Kent) (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997 56) and Grave 13 (skeleton 20B) from Edix Hill (Cambridgeshire) (Malim and Hines 1998, 211) which both date to the sixth century. In common with the Continent, these objects have an association with wealthier females (Hirst 1985, 70), and their special status is increased by the fact that the quartz is likely to be imported from the Highland Zone of Britain (Meaney 1981, 77), or from an upland area of Continental Europe.

This writer’s research has found that in the Continental homelands of the Saxons supporting-arm brooches were the second most popular type of fastener in inhumations of the later fourth and first third of the fifth century (19/119:16% of brooches). Although they were paired with a wide range of brooches, there is a slight preference for them to be found with applied brooches. At Weston Colley, the supporting-arm brooch was also associated with an applied brooch and the pair was found in the area of the upper chest. It is important to note that it was functioning as a costume fastener, and along with the applied brooch was probably securing a peplos type dress.

Overall, the various objects from Grave 3, and the potential range of locations that they derive from, suggest that this woman enjoyed a position of some significance within her community. The supporting-arm brooch is dated to the first half of the fifth century. Yet the buckle is probably a later fifth- to early sixth-century type, while the rock crystal ‘spindle whorl’ is later still, although going by Continental parallels a date in the second half of the fifth century is also applicable. The assemblage of grave goods can therefore be dated to the second half of the fifth century. It is significant, however, that the supporting-arm brooch was being used as intended, i.e. as a costume accessory. This suggests that the burial took place while the fashion for displaying these fasteners was still current, or at least very shortly afterwards. Taking into consideration all the evidence a date in the third quarter of the fifth century for the burial seems probable. If this is correct, then it is the earliest known female Saxon inhumation burial to have been excavated in Hampshire.

The Weston Colley burial is important because it has provided contextual information about how supportingarm brooches were used in England, and the associations that they had. There are two other artefacts however that contribute to the burial’s significance. The iron buckle is rare, and it is hard to find an exact parallel for it, although Marzinzik (2003, 38-39) discusses a small corpus of buckles with semi-circular plates. The group does not provide a perfect match for the Weston Colley buckle because its members exhibit decorative features in the form of wire inlay and copper alloy or silver sheet. These buckles are found in England and on the Continent in contexts of the second half of the fifth century to the early sixth (ibid.). There is an undecorated iron buckle from a fifth-century context from Liebenau (grave H8/B1) (Kassel, Germany), which is a better match (Brieske 2001, 188, Abb. 73, 4).

The grave has produced material from several different locations; this marks it out as significant and raises questions about the geographical origin of the female that it contained. The clearest cultural associations are provided by the brooches; they have unambiguous parallels in the Saxon homelands. Moreover, the wearing of a peplos dress fastened by such a combination of brooches supports this idea. The cultural associations signified in this grave are complicated, however, by the buckle and rock crystal ‘spindle whorl’ which both derive from entirely different locations. It was in response to these mixed messages that a strontium isotope assessment was undertaken. The method compares the strontium isotope signature (87Sr/86Sr) in the tooth enamel to signatures from geological regions to identify where the diet was obtained during childhood. Three samples of tooth enamel were prepared and processed at The National Oceanography Centre Southampton by Tina Hayes and Garrard Cole. An average value of 0.7087 was given, which is very close to the strontium isotope results from a group of late Roman burials from Lankhills of local origin (Evans, Stoodley and Chenery 2006). The result supports an indigenous origin for the

A faceted rock crystal ‘spindle-whorl’ was recovered from the fill of Grave 3. Its association with the burial is uncertain and this needs to be remembered during the following discussion. The relatively large size of these artefacts has given rise to the term spindlewhorl, but they may have had a variety of uses: sword beads (Guido 1999, 24); amulets (Meaney 1981, 200-2); belt fasteners; and spindle-whorls (Hirst and Clark 2009, 538). The edges of the Weston Colley ‘spindlewhorl’ are heavily worn, which suggests that it could have been used in an industrial (textile) context. In England, crystal ‘spindle-whorls’ are most frequently found in contexts of the first half of the sixth century (Dickinson 1976, 206-7), although they were occurring in rich female graves on the Continent during the later fifth (Hirst and Clark 2009, 539-40). Examples from

52

A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire

Conclusion

burial in Grave 3, i.e. that she was present in Hampshire during her childhood.

This article has aimed to show that at Weston Colley, and at several other locations in central Hampshire, Saxon burial practices were present earlier than previously anticipated. But what is just as interesting is that the earliest Saxon evidence is associated with late Roman sites. Whether or not these sites were still occupied cannot be known, yet it seems clear that the late Roman settlement pattern played an important role in the fifth century and the beginnings of a Saxon identity in Hampshire. The social, political and economic factors that underpinned this process will only be understood in greater detail when further research and fieldwork takes place. But for the time being it is hoped that the evidence discussed in this article has shed a faint glimmer of light on the complex issue of the transition from Roman Britain to Anglo-Saxon England in central Hampshire.

When she died the woman was between 25 and 40 years of age (median 33 yrs). If her burial took place between AD 450 and 475, she must have been born at some point during the first half of the fifth century, possibly as early as the first quarter. This woman was either the product of an immigrant family from north-west Germany who had arrived in this area of Hampshire before AD 450, or she was born to native parents who had adopted Saxon burial customs. The latter still assumes, however, that Germanic influences were circulating in the first half of the fifth century. Such an early date for the appearance of Saxon practices in Hampshire had, until recently, seemed unlikely. The Weston Colley female should however be considered alongside a weapon burial disturbed during the construction of a gas trench at Itchen Abbas (in the Itchen Valley) in 1984 (McCulloch 1992, 6-7). An unusually long Swanton K2 spearhead was recovered with a sword and two pieces of late Roman military belt equipment (tubular belt attachment plate of Hawkes and Dunning 1961 Type VII; and tongue-shaped strap end of Hawkes and Dunning 1961 Type VA) and a date in the middle of the fifth century seems plausible. Further investigations have revealed that the grave belonged to an extensive cemetery, which contained both late Roman and early Anglo-Saxon burials. Roughly 5km to the south-west of Itchen Abbas at Headbourne Worthy, in the Itchen Valley, metal detectorists have recovered a large number of finds spanning the late Roman to late Saxon periods. The corpus includes late Roman military belt fittings, several cruciform brooches and three supporting-arm brooches.

References Böhme, H. W. 1974 Germanische Grabfunde des 4. bis 5. Jahrhunderts zwischen unterer Elbe und Loire. �������� Munich: Münchener Beiträge zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 19 Böhner, K. 1958 Die Fränkischen Altertümer des Trierer Landes. Berlin: GDV B 1 Booth, P., Dodd, A., Robinson, M. and Smith, A. 2007 The Archaeology of the Gravel Terraces of the Upper and Middle Thames. The Early Historical Period: AD 1-1000. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology Thames Valley Landscapes Monograph 27 Boyle, A., Dodd, A. and Miles, D. 1996 Two Oxfordshire AngloSaxon Cemeteries: Berinsfield and Didcot. Oxford: Thames Valley Landscapes Monograph 8 Brieske, V. 2001 Schmuck und Trachtbestandteile des Gräberfeldes von Liebenau, Kr. Nienburg/Weser. �������������� Oldenburg: Studien zur Sachsenforschung, 5, 6 Cook, A. M. and Dacre, M. W. 1985 Excavations at Portway, Andover 1973‑1975. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, Monograph 4 Dickinson, T. M. 1976. The Anglo‑Saxon burial sites of the Upper Thames Region and their Bearing on the History of Wessex c. A.D. 400‑700, Oxford University, unpublished DPhil dissertation Evans, J. A., Stoodley, N. and Chenery, C. A. 2006 ‘A strontium and oxygen isotope assessment of a possible 4th century immigrant population in a Hampshire cemetery, southern England’, Journal of Archaeological Science 33, 265–72 Evison, V. I. 1977 ‘Supporting‑arm and equal‑arm brooches in England’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 1, 127-148 Evison, V. I. 1988 An Anglo‑Saxon Cemetery at Alton, Hampshire. Gloucester: Hampshire Field Club Monograph 4 Fern, C. and Stoodley, N. 2004 The Early Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire. An Interim Report on Excavations and Fieldwork Undertaken in 2004 and a Project Design for the 2005 Program of Investigations. Winchester: unpublished interim report

The Dever valley has produced other Saxon sites that were probably established in the fifth century, and which are also associated with Roman evidence. At Northbrook, c.1km to the east of Weston Colley, a pair of sunken-featured buildings was discovered during the investigation of a Roman site (Johnston 1998) in the valley bottom. A large number of artefacts, including several of fifth-century date, were also recovered by metal detectorists from an early Saxon cemetery located on the side of the valley. More recently, a range of artefacts, which again included fifth-century pieces, has been discovered by metal dectectorists at Barton Stacey. This probable cemetery is adjacent to the Winchester to Cirencester Roman road and is also close to a Roman enclosure. In addition, the cemetery is strategically located on the crest of the valley above where the Roman road crossed the River Test, and also overlooks the confluence of the Dever and the Test.

53

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Guido, M. (ed. M. Welch) 1999 The Glass Beads of Anglo-Saxon England c. AD 400-700: A Preliminary Visual Classification of the More Definitive and Diagnostic Types. Woodbridge: Boydell Hines, J. 1990 ‘Philology, archaeology and the adventus Saxonum vel Anglorum’, in A. Bammesberger and A. Wollmann (eds), Britain 400-600 Language and History. Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 17-36 Hirst, S. M. 1985 An Anglo-Saxon inhumation cemetery at Sewerby, East Yorkshire. York: York University Archaeological Publications 4 Hirst, S. M. and Clark, S. 2009 Excavations At Mucking: Volume 3, The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries. Part ii Analysis and Discussion. London: Museum of London Archaeology Hawkes S. C and Dunning G. C. 1961 ‘Soldiers & Settlers in Britain, Fourth to Fifth Century’, Medieval Archaeology 5, 1-70 Hawkes, S. C. and Grainger, G. 2003 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Worthy Park, Kingsworthy near Winchester, Hampshire, Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology Monograph 59 Johnston, D. E. 1998 ‘A Roman and Anglo-Saxon site at Northbrook, Micheldever, Hants’, Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 53, 79108 Malim, T. and Hines, J. 1998 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at

Edix Hill (Barrington A), Cambridgeshire. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 112 Marzinzik, S. 2003 Early Anglo-Saxon Buckles: their Classification and Context. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 357 Meaney, A. L. 1964 A Gazetteerr of early Anglo-Saxon Burial Sites. London: George Allen and Unwin Meaney, A. 1981 Anglo-Saxon Amulets and Curing Stones. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 96 McCulloch, P. C. 1992 ‘Itchen Abbas Anglo-Saxon cemetery – major discoveries’, Winchester Museums Service Newsletter 12, 6-7 Milner, A. B. 1924 History of Micheldever, Paris: Herbert Clarke Parfitt, K. and Brugmann, B. 1997 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery on Mill Hill, Deal, Kent. Leeds: Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph Series 14 Stedman, M. 2004 ‘Two Germanic migration period metalwork pieces from St. Cross, Winchester, Hampshire’, Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 59, 111-115 Stedman, M. and Stoodley, N. 2000 ‘Eight early AngloSaxon metalwork pieces from the central Meon Valley, Hampshire,’ Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 55, 133-141 Welch, M. 1983 Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 112

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The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent

The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent, and early cross-Channel migration

8 SONJA MARZINZIK

Cross-Channel migration is a recurrent strand of investigation in Martin Welch’s oeuvre. Some new evidence contributing to the debate is presented here. At Ringlemere Farm, East Kent, a large number of inhumation and cremation graves in several groups around a Bronze Age barrow were recently discovered. Grave ritual as well as grave goods and potentially also stable isotopes signatures from human teeth can be closely paralleled along the North Sea littoral from France to Schleswig Holstein and also in the Rhine valley. Due to the early nature of much of the material, it is possible that the burial community here comprised first-generation incomers of the middle and second half of the fifth century.

Site overview

is not much further (cf. Dickinson forthcoming, map fig 4). Nearby, Anglo-Saxon finds were made during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, for example at Woodnesborough, Eastry I, Ash and Wingham (cf. Richardson 2005, II.357f, II.30f, II.2f, II.357; Dickinson s.a.; Dickinson forthcoming), situating Ringlemere in a wider Anglo-Saxon landscape.

In 1991 Martin Welch published a still seminal paper entitled ‘Contacts across the Channel between the fifth and seventh centuries: a review of the archaeological evidence’ in Studien zur Sachsenforschung (Welch 1991). His paper and other writings later inspired my own migration to London to study with Martin and up to this day the interest in the early Anglo-Saxons he stimulated has remained a focus of my work.

It was here that in 2001 a metal-detectorist found a Bronze Age gold cup, which led to a research excavation to establish its context. The remains of a turf mound, Monument 1, were discovered on terrain sloping towards the Durlock Stream. Due to agricultural activity since the Iron Age and the recent excavations, the mound is no longer visible but it originally had a diameter of c. 41.5m with the gold cup roughly in the centre. The mound was surrounded by a ditch approximately 2m deep and 5m wide (Needham et al. 2006).

This contribution on an Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent, presents some evidence for unusually early cross-Channel movements of people and goods during the second half, perhaps even middle, of the fifth century AD. Post-excavation analysis of the site continues and hence the data discussed here represents work in progress.

The first secure traces of an Anglo-Saxon presence were a small pot, set down upright in the turf core of the mound but without any traces of having been a cremation vessel, and a post-hole structure, most likely a Grubenhaus, which can tentatively be dated to the seventh century. At a distance from these features, several separate groups of mixed inhumation and cremation burials came to light over three field seasons (cf. Marzinzik 2009). All groups are clearly referring to the curvature of the western and southern edges of the mound and ditch, which must therefore still have been visible in the early medieval

Ringlemere Farm lies about 2km from what was the Wantsum Channel, which separated the Isle of Thanet from mainland Kent in the early medieval period (Marzinzik 2006, map p. 58; Brookes 2007, 41–4). The Roman road from Dover to Canterbury is approximately 1km away, while the turn-off towards Richborough ���������������������������������������������������������� An earlier version of this contribution was held at the AFAM meeting at Caen in 2006 and is awaiting publication (Marzinzik forthcoming). Some of the issues raised here were explored in greater detail in Marzinzik 2009.

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Fig. 23 The bossed Buckel urn from cremation Grave 14

period. Anglo-Saxon cemeteries surrounding prehistoric barrows are also known from other East Kentish sites, for example Dover Buckland (Evison 1987) and Mill Hill near Deal (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997).

analysis allowed for the identification of fifteen possible or probable females and five possible or probable males (McKinley 2010, tables 3, 4). Archaeologically, suggestions on the gender of the people buried here are even more skewed. An assessment of the accoutrements suggests that there are twelve definite and two possible female assemblages, and sixteen gender neutral ones. There are no weapons and hence no archaeologically visible males.

The fifty-one burials at Ringlemere are unusal, in so far as they comprise at least eleven cremations. This is significant, as it was long thought that cremations were exceptional in east Kent. They are still uncommon and those from Ringlemere represent the largest number known from any one site in this region (Richardson 2005 I.90f; Welch 2007, 209). Several characteristic Buckel urn sherds imply a likely date in the second half of the fifth century for at least some of them (Figure 23, detail; Marzinzik 2009, fig. 2). An early date is also supported by a Stützarmfibel (supporting arm brooch), unfortunately a stray find, of Böhme’s type Mahndorf. Originally from the Elbe-Weser area of northern Germany, the type begins in the first half of the fifth century (Böhme 1974, 13f; Böhme 1986, 530f).

A small copper alloy fitting may conceivably come from a type of sword scabbard fittings current on the Continent in the second half of the fifth century (Quast 1993, 23, Taf. 2.1a, 6.2, 22, 24). If this identification proves correct, the otherwise ungendered Grave 11 would contain the only male gender expression at Ringlemere Monument 1. Unusual as this may seem, the absence of weaponry in fifth-century Kentish graves has been observed at other sites as well (T. Dickinson, pers. comm.), even though fifth-century swords are known from sites elsewhere in southern England, for example at Abingdon, Berkshire, and Petersfinger, Wiltshire (Leeds and Harden 1936, pl. XIX.42; Leeds and Shortt 1953, pl. I right).

Little human bone was preserved in the inhumations, but cremations fared somewhat better. In total, osteological

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The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent

Selected finds and their Continental connnections In order to give an impression of the finds spectrum and present some thoughts on their connections to the Continent, select finds and contexts are presented here. A wide range of copper alloy brooches were excavated. Some, like the trefoil-headed small-long brooch from Grave 36, are typically Anglo-Saxon forms of the late fifth or perhaps early sixth centuries (Welch ������������ 1983, 67f��� ), but others were less common. Grave 45 contained a pair of miniature bow brooches of Chessell Down type. This type is found in Kent and the southern English coastal region, with one example from Nouvion-enPonthieu, Dept. Somme (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997�� ������, 39 and fig. 12����������������������������������������� ), while its shape is an exact match for the Continental miniature brooches of Type BullesLauriacum (Sindelfingen), the Anglo-Saxon variety is distinguished by a different style of decoration (Koch 1998, 157-62����������������������������������������������� ). Type Bulles, named after a find spot in the Dept. Oise, is dated to the middle and last third of the fifth century, but it seems to have gone out of fashion by the end of that century (ibid., 162). Likewise, the Chessell Down type is dated to the middle or second half of the fifth century (1998, 163). Lastly, a pair of cast saucer brooches of Böhme’s Krefeld-Gellep type, which is known from several sites in the Rhineland, should be mentioned. Brooches of this type from Rhenen on the lower Rhine are dated to the middle or second half of the fifth century (Böhme 1974, 30f, Taf. 64.3 and 4).

Fig. 24 Silver-gilt belt buckle before excavation in the British Museum’s conservation studios

the necklaces contained large numbers of small, blue, translucent glass beads. The type is difficult to date as in England such beads were popular since the Iron Age (Guido������������������������������������������ 1978, 66f�������������������������������� ), although such necklaces were replaced by other bead combinations in the course of the sixth century (Hirst 1985, ����������������������������������� 71f, 77; cautiously Brugmann 2004, 47������������������������������������������������ ). Some of the other bead types and a number of very distinctive pieces compare well with beads current on the Continent in the fifth to early sixth centuries (Brugmann 2008; Marzinzik 2009, 94). Two graves contained glass and amber beads on silver wire rings. Rings such as those at Ringlemere are securely dated to the fifth century (������������������ SGUF 1979, 44 and Abb. 5; Martin ����������������������������� 1991, Abb. 36; Legoux et al.������������ 2004, 54��� ). Strings of them have been observed elsewhere as well, for instance at Mucking, Essex, in northern France and northern Germany (Marzinzik 2009, 94).

Surprisingly, a number of silver brooches, some of them with traces of gilding still visible, were found as well. This is exceptional as Anglo-Saxon brooches on the whole are made from copper alloy as are imported types. Grave 44 contained a total of eight brooches, including two pairs of silver bow brooches. One of the pairs is of a rare Frankish type (Marzinzik forthcoming, fig. 1). The three knobs and beaded decoration framing the headplate and footplate suggest that this brooch belongs to Koch’s Wissant type, which is mainly found in the Départements Somme and Pas-de-Calais. These brooches date to the middle and last third of the fifth century, but they seem to have gone out of fashion before the beginning of the sixth century (Koch 1998, �������������� 174-6��� ). In Grave 44, all brooches were arranged from the neck to the pelvis in a more or less straight row. Although not a typically Anglo-Saxon way of wearing brooches, similar arrangements were observed at Mill Hill, Kent (Parfitt and Brugmann 1997, 46-8), and perhaps at Alfriston Grave 43, Sussex (Welch 1983, 168, 360).

In addition to glass beads, the site also yielded six glass vessels. One of them is a brown claw beaker of Evison’s type 3c (Marzinzik 2009, fig. 6). This is the most common type of claw beaker from Anglo-Saxon sites and Evison has suggested that they were made in England, albeit probably outside of Kent (Evison 2008, 14). On the other hand, two light-green footring beakers belong to a widespread type of vessel, whose distribution centres on the Rhine Valley. Such beakers are thought to date to the late fifth or perhaps early sixth century (Koch 2001, 244), while type 3c claw beakers belong to the sixth century, perhaps the to the middle of that century (Evison 2008, 14); hence these three glass vessels may be among the latest datable objects from the site. Turning back to metalwork, there is a remarkable belt buckle from the ungendered Grave 34 (Figure 24). It is made from silver, which is unusual for Anglo-Saxon England (Marzinzik ����������������� 2003, 55, Tables �� & ������������� Graphs 17 to 19����������������������������������������������������� ), and conservation has revealed substantial remains

Glass beads came from numerous graves, with molten glass beads present in one of the cremations. Some of

57

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Fig. 25 X-ray of the cloisonné pursemount from Grave 49 Fig. 26a and 26b ?Carbonised wood remains, Grave 20

of gilding on both the buckle loop and plate. It is of Glauberg type (Siegmund 1998, ��������������������������� 21������������������� ) and such buckles with a kidney-shaped plate and three rivets have late Roman roots. Apart from a small number of English finds, there are examples ranging from France to the Hungarian basin and Russia (Swift 2000, 191, figs. 231–2; Marzinzik ����������������������������������� 2003, 40; Nagy 2005, Abb. 26������� ). The type was most popular in the second half of the fifth century (Marzinzik 2003, ���������� 40�� ). Lastly, several purse-mounts were found. An iron, silver-inlaid piece (Marzinzik forthcoming, fig 3; cf. Böhme 1994, 89 and Fundliste 2) and a cloisonné variant (cf. Brown 1977, 458–9, 462–7, esp. Abb. 11) point to production in Merovingian Gaul (Figure 25).

Burial Rites An unusual burial rite at Ringlemere includes traces of burning, charring and charcoal inside some of the inhumation graves. In some cases it appears as if coffin boards were charred, in other times large areas of charcoal were found. In some cases the form of the patches of burning appear to represent burned twigs (Figure 26a and 26b). Similar phenomena were reported from various sites in southern England during the nineteenth century and interpretations ranged widely, from partial burning of the body inside the grave pit to purification ceremonies held by the grave side (Baldwin Brown 1915, 148–9). Comparable features were observed at Issendorf in Northern Germany (������������������������������ Häßler 2002, 30f�������������� ) and further research into this phenomenon, whether it has natural causes, for example naturally occurring chemical carbonisation processes, is being carried out by the British Museum’s Science Group. Alternatively,

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The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent

The cultural setting at Ringlemere

burning could perhaps be evidence for elaborate grave rituals involving fire. Both in northern Germany and at Ringlemere, it is certain that the charcoal found in graves is not the result of disturbed cremations as it is does not contain burnt bone or artefact fragments.

The cultural connections of finds and grave rituals uncovered at Ringlemere are varied. Among the characteristic accessories are typically Anglo-Saxon materials, such as the stray find of a button brooch and numerous disc brooches from inhumation graves. The bow brooches represent both Anglo-Saxon types with Continental parallels and Continental types current in northern Gaul and the Rhineland. Some of the other metalwork has close parallels with or is thought to be of a type made in the Merovingian area. Glass vessels and beads comprise both Anglo-Saxon and Continental types.

Further investigation of the parallels between Ringlemere and Issendorf and other continental-Saxon cemeteries is clearly necessary. Nevertheless, similarities in artefact evidence, including pottery forms and the occurrence of large numbers of tiny beads that were probably sewn onto women‘s costumes (cf. Häßler ����������������������������� 2002, ���������������������� ���������������� 200 and Abb. 4��) and in grave ritual suggest that the people at Ringlemere not only had contacts with the northern French-Belgian region, but also to the Weser-Elbe area. The contribution of Anglian settlement areas on the Continent is at present elusive, but may be reflected in ceramic forms. Other pottery parallels point to the Frisian and Dutch coastal areas, although some of the forms found there may have come from England (Knol 2009). Likewise, comparable northern French finds are considered Anglo-Saxon imports (Fischer and Soulat 2009, 75–7; Kazanski and Périn 2009, 161).

An inscribed plaque, a spoon and perhaps also a pair of broad-banded annular brooches (cf. Ager 1985, 24) from the site could stem from connections with the RomanoBritish population. Alternatively, they may represent the curation of recovered Roman material. Nearby place names with Romano-British roots could be significant in this context, as they may provide evidence for local continuity of the indigenous population (Welch 2007, 195).

Isotope evidence

The finds imply a chronological spread in the second half of the fifth century, possibly starting as early as the middle of that century. Some of the objects may well date to the sixth century, although currently there is no need to assume that any of the material was deposited later than the early sixth century. As far as the inhumation evidence goes, the burial community at Ringlemere had some affluent members and certain graves are wellequipped, even if weaponry is conspicuously absent.

A study of stable oxygen and strontium isotopes extracted from the enamel of molars or pre-molars of eight inhumed individuals, as well as faunal and environmental samples from Ringlemere, was carried out by the NERC Isotope Geosciences Laboratory, Nottingham, and at the School of Life Sciences, Bradford. For comparative purposes, early medieval material from Sannerville and Giberville in Normandy (Laboratoire de Paléoanthropologie [SB S11], Université de Caen) and from Hannover-Anderten in Northern Germany (Niedersächsisches Landesmuseum Hannover) was also analysed.

It is difficult to specify what exactly the cross-Channel ‘contacts’ or ‘influences’ represent. Most likely, there was a culturally mixed milieu here, similar to what F. Vallet has proposed for the northern-French region in the fifth century. There, brooches from different ethnic backgrounds can be found in the same grave (Vallet 1997, 226, 231�������������������������������������������� ). A detailed analysis of the jewellery and brooches, especially the way they were combined and worn (cf. Parfitt and Brugmann 1997, 113–7), will shed some light on the question of whether the women buried at Ringlemere wore a costume comparable to those, for instance, in the Elbe-Weser area or in the Merovingian sphere. This will give an idea of whether we are here looking, for example, at incoming settlers or exogamy, or whether the items of costume may have come to England through formal or informal exchange mechanisms.

The study identified distinct patterns at Ringlemere Farm. There appear to be two groups of individuals based on strontium and two groups based on δ18 oxygen values, although these groups are not congruent. While it is likely that migration of some individuals may underlie the patterning, with some individuals possibly from western Frisia, the evidence of the analyses coupled with the correlation of the strontium and oxygen results is not conclusive enough to argue a case with certainty. Further research, especially on the isotope profiles of coastal populations on the Continent, is necessary (Evans et al. 2010).

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The Kentish context

References

Ringlemere also needs to be situated in its wider Kentish context. In the fifth century, the previous Roman presence in Kent will still have been clearly visible in form of walled towns, for example Canterbury, of Roman shore forts, such as Richborough, and in Roman roads (cf. Welch 2007, 197–9; Dickinson forthcoming). It is also probable that part of the late Roman population still continued to live here after the official Roman withdrawal from Britain in AD 410, despite its ‘very low archaeological visibility’ (Richardson 2005, ������������ I.54; cf. also Brookes and Harrington 2010, 27f�� ).

Ager, B. M. 1985 ‘The smaller variants of the Anglo-Saxon quoit brooch’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 4, 1–58 Baldwin Brown, G. 1915 The Arts in Early England vol. 3. London: John Murray Böhme, H. W. 1974 Germanische Grabfunde des 4. bis 5. Jahrhunderts zwischen unterer Elbe und L oire . Veröffentlichungen der Kommission zur Archäologischen Erforschung des spätrömischen Raetien der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Münchener Beiträge zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 19, Munich: Kommission zur Archäologischen Erforschung des spätrömischen Raetien der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Böhme, H. W. 1986 ‘Das Ende der Römerherrschaft in Britannien und die Angelsächsische Besiedlung Englands im 5. Jahrhundert’, Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 33 2, 469–574 Böhme, H.W. 1994 ‘Der Frankenkönig Childerich zwischen Attila und Aetius’, in C. Dobiat (ed), Festschrift für OttoHerman Frey zum 65. Geburtstag. Marburger Studien zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 16, Marburg: Hitzeroth, 69–110 Brookes, S. 2007 Economics and Social Change in Anglo-Saxon Kent AD 400-900: Landscapes, Communities and Exchange. BAR British Series 4321 Oxford: BAR Publishing Brookes, S. and Harrington, S. 2010 The kingdom and people of Kent AD400-1066. Stroud: The History Press Brown, D. 1977 ‘Firesteels and pursemounts again’, Bonner Jahrbücher 177, 451–77 Brugmann, B. 2008 The beads from the Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Ringlemere, Kent (RXW-EX-04, 05, 07). Unpublished analysis report for the British Museum Dickinson, T.M. s.a. Eastry: Early Anglo-Saxon archaeology and the eastern district of the kingdom of Kent. http://www. spase.org.uk/PSworkshops.html#Dickinson, accessed 10/12/2010 Dickinson, T.M. forthcoming ‘The formation of a folk district in the kingdom of Kent: Eastry and its Anglo-Saxon archaeology’, in R. Jones, D. Parsons and S. Semple (eds, Sense of Place in Anglo-Saxon England Evans J., Montgomery J., Brettell R. and Marzinzik S. 2010, ‘Strontium and oxygen isotope results from tooth enamel from Migration period individuals from Ringlemere, Kent and three continental locations’ Unpublished summary report for the British Museum, Nottingham and Bradford Evison, V. I. 2008 Catalogue of Anglo-Saxon Glass in the British Museum. (S. Marzinzik ed) British Museum Research Publication 167. London: The British Museum Evison, V. I. 1987 Dover: The Buckland Anglo-Saxon Cemetery. Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission for England Archaeological Report. London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission for England Fischer, S. and Soulat, J. 2009 ‘Runic swords and raw materials – Anglo-Saxon interaction with northern Gaul’, Acts of the 58th International Sachsensymposium Trondheim, 1-5 September 2007, Vitark 7, 72–8 Geake, H. 1997 The Use of Grave-Goods in Conversion-Period England, c. 600 - c. 850. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 261

Germanic settlers started arriving during the fifth century and the consensus seems to be that this took place from around the middle of the century. It appears that they did not make an attempt to re-occupy Roman towns until the later sixth or even seventh centuries (Richardson ����������������������������������������� 2005, I.56������������������������������� ). While there is scant secure evidence for Anglo-Saxon occupation sites of the fifth and early sixth centuries, Richardson lists 38 locations of either fifth-century burials or of material likely to have come from burials (��������������������������������� 2005, I.64����������������������� ). The problem is that many finds are from old excavations, some going back to the nineteenth century, while others are stray finds. The pattern of these sites suggests settlement radiating out from the Thames valley and estuary and from the Wantsum Channel, as well as from their tributaries (������������������������������������������������������� 2005, I.68��������������������������������������������� ), while the Roman road system seems to have been relevant as well, in particularly in the sighting of cemeteries (Brookes 2007, esp. 59–65 , 67–9; Dickinson forthcoming). Set against this background, the enormous potential of Ringlemere lies in the fact that it is a site that has been excavated to modern standards, and that it seems to represent an extremely early stratum of incomers, perhaps including some of the earliest arrivals in Kent. The people buried here had clear connections to Merovingian France and Northern Germany, but we also catch glimpses of late or sub-Roman associations. These mixed influences will in future certainly contribute to revisiting models of early contacts across the Channel.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank the editors for their invitation to contribute to this Festschrift. Tania Dickinson kindly gave permission to refer to her forthcoming publication on Eastry. Keith Parfitt mentioned to me that he had somewhere seen an old reference to the burning of coffins, which I followed up here.

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The earliest Anglo-Saxons? The burial site at Ringlemere Farm, East Kent Guido, M. 1978 The Glass Beads of the Prehistoric and Roman Periods in Britain and Ireland. Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London 35. London: Society of Antiquaries of London Häßler, H.-J. 2002 Das sächsische Gräberfeld von Issendorf, Landkreis Stade, Teil 4. Studien zur Sachsenforschung 9.4. Oldenburg: Issensee Verlag Hirst S. 1985 An Anglo-Saxon inhumation cemetery at Sewerby. East Yorkshire, York University Archaeological Publications 4, York: York University Archaeological Publications Hirst, S. and Clark, D. 2009 Excavations at Mucking. Volume 3, Anglo-Saxon cemeteries, vol. 1 and 2. London: Museum of London Archaeology Kazanski, M. and Périn, P. 2009 ‘“Foreign” objects in the Merovingian Cemeteries of Northern Gaul’, in D. Quast (ed), Foreigners in Early Medieval Europe: Thirteen International Studies on Early Medieval Mobility. Monographien des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums 78. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 149–167 Knol, E. 2009 ‘Anglo-Saxon migration reflected in cemeteries in the northern Netherlands’, in D. Quast (ed), Foreigners in Early Medieval Europe: Thirteen International Studies on Early Medieval Mobility. Monographien des RömischGermanischen Zentralmuseums 78. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 123–129 Koch, A. 1998 Bügelfibeln der Merowingerzeit im westlichen Frankenreich vol. 1 and 2, Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum Monographien 41. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Koch, U. 2001 Das alamannisch-fränkische Gräberfeld bei Pleidelsheim, Forschungen und Berichte zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte in Baden-Württemberg 60. Stuttgart: Theiss Verlag Leeds, E.T. and Harden, D.B. 1936 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Abingdon, Berkshire. Oxford: Ashmolean Museum Leeds, E.T. and Shortt, H. de S. 1953 An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Petersfinger, near Salisbury, Wilts. Salisbury: Salisbury, South Wilts and Blackmore Museum Legoux, R., Périn, P. and Vallet, F. 2004 Chronologie normalisée due mobilier funéraire mérovingien entre Manche et Lorraine, Bulletin de liaison de l’Association française d’Archéologie mérovingienne, numero hors série: Association française d’Archéologie mérovingienne Martin, M. 1991 ‘Tradition und Wandel der fibelgeschmückten frühmittelalterlichen Frauenkleidung’, Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 38.2, 629–80 Marzinzik, S. 2003 Early Anglo-Saxon belt buckles (late 5th to early 8th centuries A.D): their classification and context. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 357

Marzinzik, S. 2006 ‘Early Cross-Channel contacts revisited: The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Ringlemere, East Kent’, Bulletin de liaison 30, Association française d’Archéologie mérovingienne: 57–58 Marzinzik, S. 2009 ‘But Where Did It All Come from? Production and Raw Materials in an Early AngloSaxon Cemetery at Ringlemere, East Kent’, Acts of the 58th International Sachsensymposium Trondheim, 1-5 September 2007. Vitark 7, 90–99 Marzinzik, S. forthcoming ‘“Early cross-Channel contacts” revisité : Le cimetière ancien anglo-saxon de Ringlemere, East Kent’, in C. Lorren (ed) La Gaule mérovingienne, le monde insulaire et l’Europe du Nord Ve-VIIIe siècle) McKinley, J. 2010 Ringlemere, Kent (RFW-EX): Human Bone Report. Unpublished analysis report for the British Museum Nagy, M. 2005, ‘Zwei spätrömerzeitliche Waffengräber am Westrand der Canabae von Aquincum’, Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae LVI.4, 403–486 Needham, S., Parfitt, K., and Varndell, G. 2006 The Ringlemere Cup: Precious Cups and the Beginning of the Channel Bronze Age. British Museum Research Publication 163. London: The British Museum Parfitt, K. and Brugmann, B. 1997 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery on Mill Hill, Deal, Kent. London: Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph 14 Quast, D. 1993 Merowingerzeitliche Grabfunde aus Gültlingen (Stadt Wildberg, Kreis Calw). Forschungen und Berichte zur Vor-und Frühgeschichte in Baden-Württemberg 52. Stuttgart: Landesdenkmalamt Baden-Württemberg and Theiss Verlag Richardson, A. 2005 The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries of Kent. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 391 SGUF 1979 Ur- und frühgeschichtliche Archäologie der Schweiz Band VI: Frühmittelalter. Ed. Schweizerische Gesellschaft für Ur- und Frühgeschichte. Basle: Schweizerische Gesellschaft für Ur- und Frühgeschichte Siegmund, F. 1998 Merowingerzeit am Niederrhein. Rheinische Ausgrabungen 34, Cologne, Bonn: Rheinland Verlag Vallet, F. 1997 ‘Regards critiques sur les témoins archéologiques des Francs en Gaul due Nord à l’epoque de Childéric et de Clovis’, Antiquités Nationales 29, 219–44. Welch, M. G. 1983 Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 112 Welch, M. G. 1991 ‘Contacts across the Channel between the fifth and seventh centuries: a review of the archaeological evidence’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 7, 261–269 Welch, M. 2007 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent’, in J.H. Williams (ed), The Archaeology of Kent to AD 800. Woodbridge: Boydell and Kent County Council, 187–248

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Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex (fifth-seventh centuries)

9

JEAN SOULAT

In Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex, the presence of Frankish grave-goods dated to the fifth century is associated with the fall and the legacy of the Litus Saxonicum, while the sporadic discovery of Merovingian artefacts dating mainly from the sixth century illustrates the existence of a particular relationship between both sides of the Channel. These objects are found in several AngloSaxon cemeteries, including Alfriston, Eastbourne and Highdown; they suggest that various motivations were at stake at different periods, including migration, trade and cultural influences, but they clearly indicate a similar connection between Sussex and Merovingian Gaul as is known between Merovingian Gaul and Kent.

Introduction Transformations, exchanges and migrations of populations took place from east to west in the Early Middle Ages. In north-west Europe, the Channel-North Sea area was the playground of the ‘Germans of the sea’. In the fifth century, groups of Saxons, Angles and Jutes landed on the shores of later Roman Britain. These foreign groups were also represented on the coasts of Gaul, though to a lesser extent. In the sixth century, trade across the Channel and exchanges between AngloSaxon and Merovingian kingdoms increased at several levels. According to accounts by Bede and Gregory of Tours it seems that the Franks occupied the south-eastern part of Anglo-Saxon England more or less permanently and that Anglo-Saxons were settled on the northern coast of Merovingian Gaul. These assumptions are supported by archaeology with elements of Merovingian and Anglo-Saxon material culture identified in sixthand seventh-century cemeteries on both sides of the Channel (Soulat 2009, 37; 2010, 50–1 ) and suggest the existence of a sphere of cultural influence across and beyond the Channel.

Historical context According to written sources, Merovingian political influence was strong in Kent, and several events witness

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this ‘Merovingian hegemony’ (Wood 1983, 16–7) during the sixth century. First, a diplomatic marriage took place in 568 between Æthelberht son of Eormenric, to whom he succeeded as king of Kent in 565, and Bertha, daughter of Charibert I, the Frankish king of Paris. This union sealed a pact between the kingdoms for the royal control of trade. It is possible that this marriage also allowed Æthelberht to affirm his sovereignty over Kent with the support of the Merovingian aristocracy, since he was not yet king at that time (Wood 1983, 16–7). It has also been suggested that Liudhard, Bertha’s chaplain, was a representative of the Merovingian Church in Canterbury (Kent). The influence of Bertha in Kent may have encouraged Pope Gregory I to send Saint Augustine as a missionary from Rome to Anglo-Saxon England. Around 596, St Augustine arrived in Canterbury, accompanied by forty monks from the monastery of Mount Cælius and with the mission of restoring Christianity in Britain, which had been sporadically Christianized under the Roman Empire by the Britons who had by then been subdued by incoming Saxons according to traditional views. Around 597, in a letter about the mission of St. Augustine to Thierry II of Burgundy, king of Orléans (†613), and to Theodebert II, King of Austrasia (†612), Gregory I considered the Anglo-Saxons as the subjects of both these Merovingian kings (Wood 1992, 240). Law codes, including that of Æthelberht, were influenced by Frankish Salic Law, which was itself inspired by imperial models and aimed at regulating traditional Germanic practices (Wood 1992, 238–9). Although such written

Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex evidence should be considered with care, it provides important clues about the relationship between the two kingdoms and the ascendancy of the Merovingian aristocracy upon the Anglo-Saxon elite in the sixth century.

became advanced custom posts controlling the economy, i.e. import and export, and the movement of military groups between Britannia and the Continent (Welch 1993, 270). In Sussex, certain graves have yielded plate buckles dating from the fifth century, seven in total, which reflect continental influences or at least suggest exchanges across the Channel. At Alfriston, three graves are particularly interesting (Welch 1983). Grave 10 included an iron plate-buckle dating from the mid-fifth century with inlaid silver ornaments decorated in Quoit Brooch Style and interlacing geometric patterns (Welch 1983, 94–5). In Grave 17, a plate-buckle in copper alloy was found together with a fluted kidney-shaped buckle and a plate encrusted with discoid glass ornaments and decorated with zoomorphic motifs in Quoit Brooch Style dated to the mid-fifth century (Welch 1983 90–1). In Grave 20, a plate-buckle in copper alloy is decorated with Quoit Brooch Style and is associated with a square plate with Quoit Brooch ornamentation (Welch 1983, 91). Finally, in Grave 24, a plate-buckle, with the buckle decorated with damascene silver ornaments and the copper-alloy plate with animal motifs and geometric ornaments, is also an example of Quoit Brooch style. An iron axe-hammer was also found together with this platebuckle, confirming a mid-fifth century dating (Legoux et al. 2006). In the Highdown cemetery, two graves can be associated with Channel material culture: Grave 12 comprised a plate-buckle with zoomorphic ends in Quoit Brooch Style together with a small-long brooch of Saxon type from the mid-fifth century (Welch 1983, 92); Grave 26 yielded a belt buckle with bird ends typical of the fifth century and two Anglo-Saxon brooches, a small-long brooch and a Quoit brooch (Welch 1983, 93). Finally, in the Eastbourne cemetery, Grave 752 contained a platebuckle in copper alloy with niello ornament in silver characteristic of the Quoit Brooch Style and a small-long brooch of Saxon type dating to the mid-fifth century (Archaeology South-East, forthcoming).

The Franks in South-Eastern England during the fifth century? British archaeological historiography concerning the installation of Frankish groups in south-eastern England in the fifth century is quite substantial. This question has been treated in numerous publications, beginning with V. I. Evison’s The Fifth Century Invasion South of the Thames in 1965 which suggests that groups of Frankish warriors were settled in the Thames Valley based on evidence from the cemeteries at Mucking (Essex) and Abingdon (Oxfordshire), as well as at Alfriston and Highdown (Sussex) along the Channel coast (Evison 1965, 36–7). These last two examples support the hypothesis of a Frankish migration in the mid-fifth century in Sussex. S. C. Hawkes, taking over the themes previously discussed by V. I. Evison, acknowledges that the kingdom of Sussex was founded under the impulse of the Saxons and the Franks in the middle of the fifth century, thus explaining the presence of certain characteristic elements of their material culture and a mixture of Anglo-Saxon and Frankish objects (Hawkes 1979, 89). According to her, Frankish warriors married local Saxon women who arrived before the Franks in the first half of the fifth century (Hawkes 1961, 40), a hypothesis confirmed by finds from Alfriston and Highdown (Welch 1993, 274). At that time, according to finds from burial contexts, a strong link is visible between the Thames Valley and the Meuse Valley which prefigures the exchanges of the sixth century. However, the presence of both Anglo-Saxon and Frankish artefacts in fifth century cemeteries in south-east England should be considered with care in order to determine the ethnic identity of these people. Objects decorated in Quoit Brooch Style (belt buckles and brooches) show that it is difficult to determine whether they were manufactured in south-east Britannia or in northern Gaul. Indeed, this ornamental style, which combines Gallo-Roman-Briton and Germanic influences, is found on both sides of the Channel (Böhme 1986, 523–6). However, the presence of axes, swords and belt buckles related to the male costume suggest the presence of Frankish contingents along the main river valleys and coastal areas (Welch 1993, 274). As V. I. Evison and S. C. Hawkes have shown, these characteristic objects imported from the mainland or manufactured locally reflect a clear connection to Gaul inscribed in cross-Channel exchanges and framed by the military system of the fifth century. Indeed, coastal forts, established originally for defence, gradually

As mentioned by S. C. Hawkes, graves comprising Saxon and Frankish artefacts are found in Sussex where they represent a material culture associated to a specific region in a similar way as in the Thames Valley (Figure 27). The mid-fifth century Grave 24 at Alfriston is particularly interesting since it combines a belt buckle decorated in Quoit Brooch Style and an axe-hammer with a symmetrical truncated edge, the Frankish weapon par excellence (Welch 1983, 125; Legoux et al. 2006, 16). In the same cemetery, three further axes dating to the second half of the fifth century were discovered in Graves 26, 39 and 91 (Welch 1983, 177–8). The axe in Grave 26 was associated with a pyramidal sword hilt and a spearhead while the axe in Grave 39 was accompanied by a glass cone-beaker of Kempston type (Welch 1983, 125). Finally, the axe from Grave 91 was

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Fig. 27 (opposite page) Select mid-fifth-century Frankish artefacts from Sussex (after Welch 1983) Fig. 28 Objects from Grave 42, Abingdon (Oxfordshire), and Grave 6, Winterbourne Gunner, (Wiltshire) (after Evison 1965)

deposited together with a spearhead, a decorated tube in copper alloy and a horse bit which indicates that the deceased was probably a rider (Welch 1983, 125). These four weapon graves, three of which were located in the easternmost and earliest part of the cemetery with Graves 10 and 17, show that they probably belong to the foundation of the cemetery (Härke 1992). At Selmeston, a further axe with curved back was found out of context, but can be dated to the second half of the fifth century on stylistic grounds. In addition, we can note the presence of shield-bosses of Rhenen-Vermand and Liebenau types belonging to the same chronological phase, with examples from Alfriston Grave 40, Brighton , Kingston-by-Lewes Grave 15 and Highdown (Welch 1983, 138). Finally, two graves dating of the mid-fifth century similar to those from Sussex are Grave 42 at Abingdon (Oxfordshire) and Grave 6 Winterbourne Gunner (Wiltshire) (Figure 28). The Abingdon grave has a sword with a scabbard chape with an anthropomorphic motif which has been identified in the Meuse Valley (Menghin 1983, Karte 18), while the grave at Winterbourne Gunner produced an axe of francisca type (Evison 1965, 42). The location of these graves in south-east England at this period, in strategic areas surrounded by the sea and crossed by major river valleys, supports the hypothesis of the arrival of Frankish contingents to defend the coastal limes.

The sixth century: Merovingian influences in Sussex Seven cemeteries have produced Merovingian artefacts in Sussex (Figure 29). At Alfriston, four items are listed, including two belt buckles, a buckle-plate and a chatelaine plate. At Highdown, seven artefacts have been identified as belonging to this cultural milieu including two belt buckles, two scutiform rivets, a pair of bird brooches and a cone-beaker. At Eastbourne, seven

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objects have been recorded including two franciscas, a bird-headed pin in copper alloy, a S-shape animal brooch, a plate-buckle and two claw-beaker glasses. At Apple Down, the scutiform tongue of a buckle was the only find of Merovingian type. Axes are known from Hassocks and at Lewes. At the Anglo-Saxon settlement site of Old Erringham an equal-arm brooch was found (Holden 1980). These Merovingian objects can be dated from the late fifth to the seventh century, between the phases MA1 and the MR2 (Legoux et al. 2006). At that time, Merovingian artefacts are not as well represented as for the fifth century. Indeed, these objects are found only sporadically in graves, except perhaps for Grave 655 at Eastbourne which contained three characteristic features. It is therefore difficult to decide whether the individuals buried with these objects were from Merovingian Gaul or not. Nevertheless, these 33 objects do indicate the presence of exchange during the sixth century between Sussex and Gaul (Figure 30), as it is also the case for Kent, Hampshire and the Isle of Wight.

South-East forthcoming). Concerning shield-bosses belonging to Dickinson and Härke’s (1992) Group 3, five were discovered at Alfriston, in Graves 34, 35, 55, 69 plus another without context, two at Selmeston, one from Grave 3, two unstratified examples come from South Malling with single examples from Hangleton and Highdown (Welch 1983, 137). Dating from the sixth century, similar items are present in the Meuse Valley and the Rhine valley, including Grave 5 at Flonheim and a princely grave at Cologne (Dickinson and Härke 1992, 15).

Regarding weapons, four axes, two seaxes and eleven shield bosses can be included in this inventory. Some examples have no reliable archaeological context, but they were most likely originally from graves. At Lewes, an axe dating from the late fifth to the first quarter of the sixth century (phase MA1) has been found (Welch 1983, site 29), while in Hassocks, an axe with symmetrical edge developed into a peak from the same chronological period was found (Welch 1983, 125). Moreover, at Lewes, two straight edge seaxes also dating from the MA1 period have been discovered (Welch 1983, 124). At Eastbourne, the axe in Grave 66 and another miniature in Grave 206 were both dated to phase MA1 (Archaeology South-East forthcoming). Finally, still at Eastbourne, a spear-head of Swanton’s group E3 in grave 798 reminds us of certain Merovingian objects of the late seventh century (phasesMR1-MR2) (Archaeology

Regarding dress items, four brooches, a chatelaine plate and a pin are known. Among the brooches, a pair of bird brooches was found in Grave 19 at Highdown (Welch 1983, 76), an S-shaped animal brooch in Grave 655 at Eastbourne (Archaeology South-East forthcoming) and a copper alloy equal-arm brooch at the Old Erringham settlement (Welch 1983, 76������������������������� –7). The two silver bird brooches from Grave 19 at Highdown are similar to examples found at Chessell Down (Isle of Wight) and can be dated to the mid-sixth century (phase MA2). Regarding the S-shaped animal brooch, it belongs to a common type known in northern Merovingian Gaul, for example from Grave 39 at Hérouvillette (Calvados) and from Grave 90 at Sannerville (Calvados) (Decaens 1971; Pilet 1992). It can be dated to the mid-sixth century (phase MA2) (Legoux, Perin, Vallet 2006). Finally, an equal-arm brooch in copper alloy dating from seventh

Fig. 29 Distribution of Anglo-Saxon sites with Merovingian artefacts (by J. Soulat after Welch 1983) Fig. 30 (opposite page) Select sixth and seventh century Merovingian artefacts from Sussex (by J. Soulat)

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Fig. 31 Objects from Grave 655 of Eastbourne (Sussex) (after Archaeology South-East forthcoming)

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Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex

Fig. 32 Distribution of Merovingian artefacts in Kent (by J. Soulat)

to eighth centuries (phases MR2-MR3) has close parallels in Saint-Denis (Île-de-France) and Domburg (The Netherlands) (Thörle 2001). A copper alloy plate with perforated snake from a chatelaine discovered in Grave 87 at Alfriston is dated between the late sixth and early seventh centuries (phases MA3-MR1) and is of a type commonly found in Northern Merovingian Gaul, notably in Grave 56 at Fréthun (Pas-de-Calais) and at Uzelot (Pas-de-Calais) (Bellanger, Seillier 1982; Routier 1993). Finally, the bird-headed pin in copper alloy and inlaid with garnets from Grave 655 at Eastbourne is again well known from Merovingian Gaul. The head of the pin is reminiscent of the bird brooches found widely in the Merovingian world including finds from Marchélepot (Somme) or Trivières (Hainaut) (Haimerl 1996). From the first half of the sixth century (Legoux et al. 2006), these bird-headed pins are found, for example, in Grave 99 at Vron (Somme) and Grave 230 at Nouvion-en-Ponthieu (Somme) (Seillier and Gosselin 1975; Piton 1985).

of buckle is well known in Merovingian Gaul and dates from the late fifth to the early sixth century (Legoux et al. 2006). Finally, the plate-buckle from Grave 831 at Eastbourne, which was composed of a reniform buckle and a rectangular plate decorated with incised lines, also belongs to the Merovingian material culture of the sixth century (Archaeology South-East forthcoming; Legoux et al. 2006). Finally, five glass vessels associated to these graves may also reflect a continental influence. Three cone-beakers were found at Alfriston and Highdown. The first one, from Grave 43 at Alfriston, is of Kempston type and was associated with a pair of square-headed brooches dated to the sixth century (Welch 1983, 144). The second comes from the same cemetery but was found without context. It is not decorated and can be dated to the sixth century (Welch 1983, 144). A third conebeaker was located in Grave 27 at Highdown and can be dated to the early sixth century (phase MA1) (Welch 1983, 144; Legoux et al. 2006).This type of cone-beaker is also found in the cemetery at Eastbourne, where two claw-beakers were discovered, one in Grave 655 and the other in Grave 811. They are both dated to the midsixth century (phases MA1/MA2) (Archaeology SouthEast forthcoming; Feyeux 2003). Similar examples are commonly found in large quantities in Northern Merovingian Gaul, especially in the Meuse valley (Welch 1983, 144; Evison 1987, 95–7).

Concerning belt buckle elements, three oval buckles with scutiform tongue in copper alloy were found in Grave 48 at Alfriston associated with a sword and a shield boss, at Highdown (No. 3438), where the buckle’s tongue is marked with a cruciform pattern, and at Apple Down (No. 21). These belt buckles are dated to the first half of the sixth century (phases MA1-MA2). An oval buckle in copper alloy without tongue associated to two scutiform rivets was encountered in Grave 39 at Highdown and also dates from the mid-sixth century (phase MA2) (Welch 1983, 99). In Grave 6 at Highdown (Welch 1983, 99), an Anglo-Saxon belt buckle is formed of an oval buckle with a decor often associated with tronconical tongue type from Lavoye/Cutry/Trivières (Legoux et al. 2006) dated to the early sixth century (phase MA1). A sword was found next to this plate-buckle (Welch 1983, 121). Finally, an oval buckle in iron damascene comes from Grave 52 at Alfriston (Welch 1983, 95). This type

Conclusion In Sussex, the presence of Frankish artefacts in the fifth century and of other objects belonging to the Merovingian material culture of the early sixth century is interesting for several reasons. Frankish artefacts dating from the late Roman Empire and found in grave

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology assemblages suggest the installation of groups coming directly from northern Gaul, more specifically from the Channel coast and the Meuse Valley (Böhme 1986, 512; Welch 1993, 269). This is particularly the case for Alfriston and Highdown, but also for other cemeteries such as Winterbourne Gunner (Wiltshire) and Abingdon (Oxfordshire). Although the archaeological evidence, constituted mainly of weapons and belt artefacts, is limited, it witnesses the dynamism of a relationship established in the late third century between both sides of the Channel. These exchanges are also supported by evidence for trade in, for example, Black-Burnished pottery (Blaszkiewicz 1993; Daeze and Sellier 2005) and tin vessels (Sellier 1980, 30–1) produced in Britannia and particularly in Cornwall; these goods are found along the coasts of Roman Gaul until the first half of the fifth century. From the late third century onwards, the construction of the Litus Saxonicum over both sides of the Channel and the relocation of Roman troops on the coast led to the installation of groups of Germanic origin in coastal garrisons. These groups included some Franks who continued to protect trade between South-East England, Kent, Hampshire, and Northern Gaul. From the beginning of the sixth century, Merovingian artefacts were present in Sussex as they were in Kent and the Isle of Wight. However, they are fewer and more scattered between cemeteries than in Kent, where their distribution presents a more homogenous picture. The presence of Frankish communities in Sussex is thus difficult to ascertain, but the archaeological material does reflect cross-Channel exchanges between AngloSaxon Sussex and Merovingian Gaul. Some assemblages like that from Grave 655 at Eastbourne (Figure 31) show that Merovingian dress fashion had spread along the south-east coastline of England, Kent and Hampshire in the sixth century. The cemeteries at Alfriston, Highdown and Eastbourne, show continuous contacts with Gaul from the first half of the fifth century until the early seventh century. Future archaeological discoveries in Sussex will hopefully provide further evidence to enlighten the question of relations between Sussex and Gaul, as in Kent where more than 800 Merovingian artefacts have been identified to date (Figure 32) (2010 Soulat, 50).

Sachsensymposium, Caen, 1988, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 8, 1��� –�� 11 Böhme, H. W. 1974 Germanische Grabfunde des 4. bis 5. Jahrhunderts, Zwischen Unterer Elbe und Loire, Studien zur Chronologie und Bevölkerungsgeschichte. 2 vol., C.H.Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, München Böhme, H. W. 1986 ‘Das Ende der Römerherrschaft in Britannien und ide angelsächsische Besiedlung Englands im 5. �������������� Jahrhundert’, Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum Mainz 33.2, 469���� –��� 574 Dhaeze, W. and Seillier, C. 2005 ‘La céramique de l’égout collecteur du camp de la Classis Britannica à Boulognesur-Mer (Pas-de-Calais)’, Actes du congrès de Blois, S.F.E.C.A.G 44, 609���� –��� 638 Decaens, J. 1971 ‘Un nouveau cimetière du haut Moyen Age en Normandie, Hérouvillette (Calvados)’, Archéologie Médiévale I, 1–125. Dickinson, T. M. and Härke, H. 1992 Early Anglo-Saxon Shields. London: The Society of Antiquaries of London Evison, V. I. 1965 The Fifth-Century Invasions South and Thames. London: Athlone Press Evison, V. I. 1987 Dover: Buckland Anglo-Saxon Cemetery. London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission for England Feyeux, J.-Y. 2003 Le verre mérovingien du quart nord-est de la France. Paris: de Boccard Haimerl, U. 1996 Die Vogelfibel der älteren Merowingerzeit. Untersuchungen zur Typologie, Chronologie, Herkunft und Trachtgeschichte sowie zu Aspekten der soziologischen und symbolischen Bedeutung der Vogelfibel im frühen Mittelalter. Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung des Doktorgrades der Philosophie an der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität zu München Härke, H. 1992 Angelsächsische Waffengräber des 5. bis 7. Jahrhunderts. Cologne Hawkes, S. C. 1961 ‘Soldiers and Settlers in Britain, Fourth and Fifth century’, Medieval Archaeology 5, 2��� –�� 70 Hawkes, S. C. 1979 ‘La pénétration des Anglo-Saxons dans la Grande Bretagne romaine’, Dossiers de l’Archéologie 37, 85��� –�� 89 Holden, E. 1980 ‘Excavations at Old Erringham’, Sussex Archaeological Collections 118, 257��� –�� 97 Legoux, R. Périn, P. and Vallet, F. 2006 Chronologie normalisée du mobilier funéraire mérovingien entre Manche et Lorraine. Bulletin de liaison de l’AFAM, Hors-Série Menghin, W. 1983 Das Schwert im Fruhen Mittelalter. Stuttgart: Theiss Pilet, C. 1992 ‘Le village de Sannerville « Liroze », fin de la période gauloise au VIIe siècle apr. J-C’, Archéologie Médiévale XXI,: 1���� –��� 189 Piton, D. 1985 La nécropole de Nouvion-en-Ponthieu (Somme). Dossiers Archéologiques, Historiques et Culturels du Nord et du Pas-de-Calais, Berck-sur-Mer Routier, J.-C. 1993 La nécropole mérovingienne de Fréthun. Mémoire DEA Université Charles-de-Gaulle, Lille III Seillier, C. 1980 ‘Du bas-empire au haut moyen âge, Les nécropoles à inhumation dans le Nord de la France’, Septentrion 1, 30��� –�� 34 Seillier, C. and Gosselin, J.-Y. 1975 ‘Trois épingles de coiffure mérovingiennes à Vron (Somme)’, Septentrion 5, 61–67 Soulat, J. 2009 Le matériel archéologique de type saxon et anglosaxon en Gaule mérovingienne. Mémoires de l’AFAM XX,

References Archaeology South-East, forthcoming Late Iron Age settlement and an Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at St Anne’s Road, Eastbourne, East Sussex. Spoilheap Monograph Series Bellanger, G. and Seillier, C. 1982 Répertoire des cimetières mérovingiens du Pas-de-Calais. Arras. Bulletin de la Commission Départementale d’Histoire et d’Archéologie du Pas-de-Calais, numéro spécial Blaszkiewicz, P. 1993 ‘Caractérisation et diffusion des céramiques britanno-romaines et anglo-saxonnes en Normandie’, 39th

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Between Frankish and Merovingian influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex Condé-sur-Noireau Soulat, J. 2010 ‘Des Mérovingiens en Angleterre’, Histoire et Images Médiévales 34, 49��� –�� 55 Thörle, S. 2001 Gleicharmige Bügelfibeln des frühen Mittelalters. Universitätsforschungen zur prähistorischen Archäologie 81, Bonn, Habelt Welch, M. G. 1983 Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 112 Welch, M. G. 1993 ‘����������������������������������������� The archaeological evidence for federate

settlement in Britain within the fifth century’ in M. Kazanski and F. Vallet, L’armée romaine et les barbares du IIIe au VIIe siècle, Mémoires de l’AFAM XI, 269–277 Wood, I. 1983 The Merovingian North Sea. Alingsas, (Occasional Papers on Medieval Topics, I) Wood, I. 1992 ‘Frankish Hegemony in England’��������������� , in M. Carver, The Age of Sutton Hoo : the Seventh Century in North-Western Europe. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 235–241

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The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600

10 ANDREW RICHARDSON

This paper considers the question of ‘non-Saxon’ identity in Britain south of the Thames during the later fifth and sixth centuries AD. It is argued that some sort of related cultural, ethnic or social identity was being expressed (most visibly through the medium of female costume and dress accessories, but also by other means) in east Kent, the Isle of Wight, Hampshire and surrounding areas during this period. This identity or group of related identities has had a number of labels applied in the past, including Jutish, Frankish and Kentish. Although none of these ethnic labels alone adequately encompass what was a complex, multifacetted and evolving identity, it is argued that a geographically and chronologically discrete identity or set of identities can be distinguished from alternative and to some extent mutually exclusive identities within southern Britain between c. AD 450 and 600.

Introduction This paper is concerned with identity in Britain south of the Thames during the fifth and sixth centuries AD. Specifically, it is focussed on an identity, or set of identities, that past researchers have perceived in both historical and archaeological records. It is in the nature of historians and archaeologists to identify patterns and attempt to label and define them. In the case of group identity in post-Roman Britain, ethnically specific labels were first applied by historians and latterly by antiquaries and archaeologists to perceived differences in the historical and/or archaeological record. In terms of the written record, this approach was initiated by the Venerable Bede in the early eighth century (see below). Bede established a model of the ethnic subdivisions of Anglo-Saxon England that still influences thinking today. The recognition by nineteenth- and early twentieth-century researchers of regional variation in the archaeological record of lowland Britain during the fifth and sixth centuries, and of links with the material culture of the continental ‘homelands’, led to the application of ethnically-specific labels to geographical areas and material cultural complexes within early Anglo-Saxon England, notably ‘Jutish’, ‘Saxon’, ‘Anglian’, ‘Frankish’, ‘Kentish’.

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More recent research has tended to highlight the pitfalls of using such ethnic labels, and in many cases has indeed rejected their application (see for instance Lucy 2000). However, these terms remain in common use amongst non-specialists and interest in defining and explaining regional, cultural and ethnic distinctiveness in the immediate post-Roman period remains high and therefore a valid topic of research. Furthermore, whilst it is now clear (rather unsurprisingly) that the material culture of the early Anglo-Saxon period does not neatly reflect the Anglian, Saxon and Jutish zones as defined by Bede, it is also clear that regional variation in material culture is apparent. Specifically, it has long been clear that the archaeological record of Kent (and particularly east Kent) in this period differs from that of surrounding areas. To what extent this was the result of differing ethnic, cultural or other group identities remains debatable. It is the intention here to consider these questions in the light of new evidence, particularly that provided by the systematic recording of metal detector finds via the Portable Antiquities Scheme.

The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600

Jutish, Frankish and Kentish identity in southern Britain: historiography

fifth and sixth centuries, it does not follow that there was a straightforward ethnic basis for these differences. Nonetheless, the framework of ethnic/tribal divisions set out by Bede continued to influence researchers well into the late twentieth century. Attempts to get to grips with this framework and its relationship with the growing corpus of archaeological material, with specific reference to Kent or the Jutes, include papers by Christopher Hawkes (1956), Leeds (1913; 1936; 1946; 1957), Evison (1965; 1981), Myres (1970) and Sonia Hawkes (1969; 1979; 1982; 1989 and with Pollard 1981).

The earliest reference to a Jutish identity in southern Britain, distinct from that of the Angles and Saxons, is found in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, written circa AD 731. The relevant passage (HE, I.15) has been quoted many times since, but is worth reprising here:

A response by several of these scholars to the problem of Kent’s diverse material culture during the fifth and sixth centuries was to propose a series of sequential cultural phases, commencing c. AD 450 with an initial Jutish phase, followed by a Frankish phase, and finally by a Kentish phase (Leeds 1936; Hawkes 1956; Hawkes and Pollard 1981; see Richardson 2005, I, 18-19 for a summary of these schemes). These all posited variants of a model in which an initial settlement of east Kent by Jutish migrants arriving during the late fifth to early sixth centuries was followed by a phase dominated by Frankish material culture, arriving as a result of either trade, gift exchange and/or migration. This was followed, sometime during the mid to late sixth century, by a Kentish phase in which a newly created Kentish identity was signified by locally-made products that represented a fusion of Scandinavian and Frankish styles. One of the key problems with these schemes (apart from the inherent problems of defining chronological phases in such ethnically-specific terms) is that there is no neat chronological divide in Kent between the use of items of Scandinavian origin or influence and those of Frankish origin. Whilst it is true that most of the demonstrably Scandinavian material seems to date to before c. 525, and that objects of continental Frankish type occur frequently in Kent long after this, there is certainly evidence of potentially Frankish material culture in the Kentish archaeological record during the second half of the fifth century (for example in cemeteries such as Lyminge II and Ringlemere). Indeed, Evison (1965) argued for a dominant role by the emerging Frankish polity in the transformation of sub-Roman southern Britain during the fifth century. Furthermore, no purely Jutish burial assemblages have been identified in Kent; the few demonstrably Jutish grave goods identified always occur alongside Frankish and/or Kentish objects in graves.

‘They came from three very powerful Germanic tribes, the Saxons, Angles and Jutes. The people of Kent and the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight are of Jutish origin and also those opposite the Isle of Wight, that part of the Kingdom of Wessex which is still today called the nation of the Jutes. From the Saxon country, that is the district now known as Old Saxony, came the East Saxons, the South Saxons, and the West Saxons. Besides this, from the country of the Angles, that is, the land between the kingdoms of the Jutes and the Saxons, which is called Angulus, came the East Angles, the Middle Angles, the Mercians, and all the Northumbrian race (that is those who dwell north of the river Humber) as well as other Anglian tribes. Angulus is said to have remained deserted from that day to this. Their first leaders are said to have been two brothers, Hengest and Horsa’.

The problems and shortcomings of this part of Bede’s account have been much discussed elsewhere; it is clear that his listing of groups reflects his contemporary (seventh to early eighth centuries) political situation rather than that of the migration period. The Tribal Hidage records a much more complex arrangement of smaller groups and polities, suggesting that the formation of the traditional kingdoms of the ‘Heptarchy’ (now a rather outmoded concept) resulted from the amalgamation of numbers of smaller political units. It could be considered that Bede’s attribution of tribal or ethnic labels charts the actual or assumed identities of various seventh- or eighth-century political elites, rather than the identities of actual fifth century migrant populations. Certainly few of the states referred to by Bede are likely to have been in existence before the late sixth century at the earliest (Yorke 1990, 4). Bede is also the only primary source to mention Jutish settlement in Kent. In contrast, Procopius (History of the Wars, IV.20), writing in the sixth century (albeit from Byzantium) stated that Britain was settled by Angles, Frisians and Britons. Furthermore, the kingdom of Kent’s close links to the Merovingian Franks have long been apparent both historically and archaeologically. Thus, whilst it seems clear that the socio-political organisation and material culture of the kingdom of Kent differed markedly from other areas of Britain during the

From the early 1980s onwards, migration as a major explanation for change, and the use of ethnicity to define and explain patterning within material culture, were amongst a range of approaches that came under increasingly sustained attack. Models of an Adventus Saxonum based upon mass migration across the North Sea were (and continue to be) challenged (e.g. Higham

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology 1992; Lucy 2000). The model of a Jutish settlement of Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire, which had already proven difficult to define archaeologically, was particularly vulnerable in this context. Arnold, in his study of the Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of the Isle of Wight (1982), argued that there was no archaeological evidence for Jutish settlement on the Isle and that the similarities between the cemeteries of the Isle of Wight and Kent had been exaggerated, with only Chessell Down Grave 45 showing more than superficial similarities to Kent.

ethnic, cosmological and/or iconographic milieu. Whilst most of the examples found in Kent were probably produced there, they closely follow the technological and artistic parameters of their Jutlandic precursors, and the notion that they were the handiwork of migrant Jutlandic craftsmen of the first order, or (in the case of bracteates) were initially produced from imported dies, remains credible. Cruciform brooches (in copper alloy) and pottery, on the other hand, probably represent objects likely to have been available to a wider cross-section of the population. However, both cruciform brooches and the particular type of pottery identified by Myres as ‘Jutlandic’ (1977, 115), although found in Jutland, also occur much more widely throughout southern Scandinavia and around the coastal zone of the southern North Sea (including Anglian England). Furthermore, up to the late 1990s only relatively small numbers of either had been found in Kent, with virtually none from the Isle of Wight or southern Hampshire (Kruse noted only a single fragment of a cruciform brooch found by metal detector on the Isle of Wight; Kruse 2007, 338, 348). Up to this time, however, systematic recording of metal detector finds via the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) was still in its infancy, and qualitative and quantitative data on metal detector finds was not widely available.

More recently, Pernille Kruse (nee Sørensen), has comprehensively examined the evidence for Jutish migration to, and identity in, Kent, southern Hampshire and the Isle of Wight (Sørensen 1999; Kruse 2007). She concluded that the presence and use of a range of Jutlandic objects and symbols in Kent, as well as the traditional, place-name and documentary evidence for Jutish identity there and in the Isle of Wight / Hampshire, were best seen in the context of the establishment of an elite based on an ideology of Scandinavian origin and warrior status (Kruse 2007, 348). She concurred with Arnold in seeing Jutish identity in the Isle of Wight / Hampshire as being a product of Kentish, rather than direct Jutlandic, influence (ibid.). She rejected the notion of a single large-scale migration direct from Jutland to Kent, instead favouring a model of a longerterm ‘migration stream’, drawing on a wider area than Jutland.

Kent was one of the areas included in the initial pilot PAS which commenced in 1997, followed by Hampshire in 1999 with the rest of England (including the Isle of Wight) only coming into the Scheme in 2003. Liaison between some Kentish archaeologists and metal detectorists had started during the early 1990s, with archaeologists such as Keith Parfitt attending large-scale metal detector rallies held in east Kent in an effort to record some of the thousands of artefacts removed from the ground during these events (McLean and Richardson 2010, 161). Parfitt (pers. comm.) was surprised to note that cruciform brooches appeared to be the commonest type of early medieval brooch recovered as detector finds at these events. This contrasted with their infrequent occurrence as grave goods in Kentish burials, compared to types such as annular, square-headed, button and disc brooches. With systematic recording of detected finds across Kent by the Finds Liaison Officers (FLOs) of the PAS (encouraged and supported by the launch of the ‘Kent Anglo-Saxon Brooch Project’ by Martin Welch, Keith Parfitt and Michael Lewis in 2001), this pattern was consistently maintained; cruciform brooches remain the most frequently recovered type of early medieval brooch found by detectorists in Kent. Various factors may be contributing to this pattern (see McLean and Richardson 2010 for a discussion of these), but it is apparent that cruciform brooches, along with a range of other types (notably small long brooches and button brooches) were in wider circulation during the fifth

Thus by the end of the twentieth century the basis of the use of the term ‘Jutish’ to describe either the people or provinces of Kent, the Isle of Wight or southern Hampshire, was, amongst specialists at least, firmly out of favour. In its place, a paradigm was emerging which saw the identity of Kent as constructed by an elite displaying a mixture of Scandinavian and Frankish connections, with the Isle of Wight and southern Hampshire being seen as more closely related archaeologically to surrounding areas of southern Britain (Sussex, Surrey, the Upper Thames region) than to either Kent or Jutland.

The impact of metal detecting A range of potentially Jutlandic pottery and metalwork, representing a subset of the material culture of Jutland, has been recognised in Kent; decorated hand-made pottery, relief brooches carrying Nydam Style and Style I decoration, cruciform brooches and bracteates (Kruse 2007, 262–86). The relief brooches (in silver) and the bracteates (in gold) represent considerable investment both in terms of exotic raw materials and skilled craftworking. They can be interpreted as products laden with symbolic meaning designed to identify the (female) wearer as a member of an elite operating within a specific

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The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600

Fig. 33 Distribution of brooches and brooch types recorded by the Portable Antiquities Scheme in southern Britain, 1997-2007. © Portable Antiquities Scheme

and early sixth centuries in Kent than the burial record alone suggests. If we are correct in thinking that most of the detector finds represent lost or discarded brooches rather than coming from disturbed burials (ibid.) then these finds represent a new dimension of the material culture of the fifth and sixth centuries, in addition to that recovered from excavated settlements and burials.

regarded as markers of ethnicity (e.g. saucer = Saxon, cruciform = Anglian/Jutish) with Bede’s defined areas of Anglian, Saxon and Jutish settlement. With regard to square-headed brooches, she argued that the division between small/Kentish square-headed brooches and great/Anglo-Saxon square-headed brooches was far from clear and that in fact the two types overlapped. Similarly, she pointed to the occurrence of button brooches in all three cultural zones as evidence that they were not an ethnically discreet type.

It is certainly the case that the corpus of early AngloSaxon metalwork has been dominated by finds from burials ever since antiquarians began to excavate large numbers of barrows in the eighteenth century. Thus our thinking about things such as costume and dress accessories has been heavily influenced by patterns identified in the funerary record. Lucy (2000) ably summarised the extensive burial corpus from early Anglo-Saxon England as it stood at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Her work included a discussion of various types of brooch (including cruciform, small long, button, saucer and square-headed brooches) and their distributions (ibid., 134-137, f. 5.5-5.7). Whilst regional variation was apparent in those distributions (based almost entirely on finds from graves), Lucy emphasised the overlapping of brooch types that had hitherto been

Whilst many of Lucy’s points are valid, she overstated the case and an analysis of the distribution of brooches recorded through the PAS has demonstrated, in the south at least, that regional patterning is very apparent. Moreover, this patterning suggests a division between Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire (along with areas of West Sussex and Wiltshire) on the one hand and the areas such as the Upper Thames, Sussex and Surrey on the other (Figure 33, and McLean and Richardson 2010). In terms of brooches recovered as detector finds (and likely to represent a mix of lost, discarded and burial finds) the former areas are characterised by a diverse range of brooch types dominated by cruciform, small

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology long, small (Kentish-type) square-headed and button brooches. The other areas that produce significant quantities of finds tend, in contrast, to be characterised by a much more limited range of brooch types (notably saucer, disc and button brooches) with some types (cruciform and small square-headed brooches for example) almost completely absent. Some of the distribution patterns (e.g. of saucer brooches) closely match those established by the burial record. Others, notably of cruciform and small long brooches (common as detector finds, rare in southern burials) and annular brooches (common in burials, almost never found as detector finds) show marked disparities (for example the increasing corpus of cruciform brooches from Isle of Wight and Hampshire). This strengthens the view that the detector finds are providing a fresh perspective on material culture in this period, one not completely dominated by the burial record.

Both classes occur in Jutland, but also more widely, and they are best attributed to a ‘North Sea coastal zone’ origin. Further discoveries of Scandinavian relief brooches in Kent (at Eastry and Gillingham) have added to the corpus of these high status items, but no similar finds have been made elsewhere across the south, suggesting these were indeed largely limited to an emerging elite based in east Kent. It has been theorised (Bakka 1958; Suzuki 2000 and 2008) that a migrant Jutish craftsman was responsible for the production of at least some of the relief brooches found in Kent and that he went on to initiate the production of Kentish square-headed brooches, a production sequence that continued until c. 560/70. Whether or not the ‘Kentish Master’ existed as a real individual or not, Scandinavian relief brooches are generally accepted as providing the basis for the production of Kentish square-headed brooches (see for example Leigh 1980). Recording of detector finds has strengthened the distribution of small square-headed brooches, with many more copper alloy examples (Leigh’s Series III) being recovered alongside some silver examples (Leigh’s Series I-II). Overlap and links between the production of small and great squareheaded brooches notwithstanding, the distribution of the former has been reinforced by detector finds as being largely confined to Kent, the Isle of Wight and the Hampshire area, whilst great square-headed brooches mostly continue to have a ‘Saxon’ and ‘Anglian’ distribution. It is likely that at least some of the small copper alloy square-heads represent local production based on Kentish models, although Leigh’s model of a single east Kentish workshop for the majority of Series I and II silver brooches remains credible. At least one copper alloy small square-headed brooch has also recently turned up as a detector find in western Jutland (Claus Feveile pers. comm.).

Brooches seem to have played a key role in the expression of identity through the medium of female costume from the mid fifth century onwards. The evidence from metal detected finds is building a picture of brooch use between c. 450 and 570 in which Britain south of the Thames can be divided into three main zones: areas which produce no or very few brooches (the west and south-west, the Weald); areas dominated by a limited range of mainly disc or saucer-shaped brooches (Sussex, Surrey, the Upper Thames); and Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire (along with parts of Wiltshire and West Sussex). The latter areas correlate remarkably well with those areas characterised as Jutish by Bede. In these areas cruciform and small long brooches occur frequently, alongside a range of early continental brooch types, from the mid fifth to the early sixth centuries. All the cruciform brooches found in the south appear to be early types corresponding to Åberg’s groups IIII or Mortimer’s types A-C (Åberg 1926; Mortimer 1990); in contrast to Anglian England, import and/or production does not seem to have continued beyond the very early sixth century. This may be a factor affecting the type’s infrequent deposition in southern graves, given the rarity of identified fifth-century burials. Small long brooches had a wider spatial and chronological distribution across the south, occurring in most zones, but this may be a product of the ill-defined nature of this type; the term ‘small long’ is something of a catchall for small bow brooches that do not clearly fit into other established classes. The category therefore covers a variety of brooch forms, including simplified copies of other brooch types, but also brooches that are likely to be discreet developments in themselves. At least some of the small long brooches recovered in Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire are of types (notably those with a florid cruciform head-plate) that are closely related to cruciform brooches (with individual elements such as bows often interchangeable between the two classes).

Two classes of circular brooches appear to have emerged as separate products from the Scandinavian relief / Kentish square-headed tradition; both class A1 button brooches (c. AD 480) and class 2.1 Kentish disc brooches (c. AD 530/40) seem to have originated as decorative discs on the bows of relief and Kentish square-headed brooches respectively (Suzuki 2008; Leigh 1984). The initial development and production of button brooches thus took place in east Kent, as a local innovation by crafters familiar with Scandinavian Style I. Button brooches are frequent metal detector finds in Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire, but also occur in Sussex, the Upper Thames area and further north, and in northern France. However, the earliest class A brooches are largely restricted to Kent and the Isle of Wight, with some in Hampshire. The form of the button brooch, resembling a small saucer brooch, seems to have made it culturally acceptable in areas where

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The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600

Fig. 34 Distribution of Jutish/North Sea Coastal Zone artefacts in Kent, late fifth to sixth century AD. © Canterbury Archaeological Trust

saucer brooches were produced and worn, in contrast to other types of brooch identified with a North Sea coastal zone or Kentish origin; hence it was adopted, produced and developed in areas such as Sussex and the Upper Thames, with production continuing after button brooches had ceased to be made and worn in Kent. It is possible that in its initial class A form, the button brooch supplanted cruciform, small long (and perhaps annular) brooches as a relatively widely available copper alloy dress fastener.

Faversham becoming a centre for the production of both high quality brooches and glass vessels, then it is likely to have been established at the direction of the east Kentish elite. For the remainder of the sixth century, Kentish-type disc brooches also occur particularly on the Isle of Wight, in Hampshire and its immediate environs (parts of Wiltshire and West Sussex) and detecting has added a number of finds to the corpus. Some of these, especially on Wight, may well be Kentish imports. Elsewhere they include copper alloy variants that are more likely to represent local copies. In either case, they attest to a continuing readiness to utilise Kentish type dress accessories in these areas.

The series of Kentish garnet-inlaid disc brooches that originated c. AD 530/40 with Avent’s (1975) class 2.1 initiated a production sequence that culminated in the composite disc brooches of the first half of the seventh century. They also represent a Kentish variant of the Frankish garnet-inlaid disc brooch, a type that occurs not infrequently in both Kent and the Isle of Wight. Despite some additional detector finds, class 2.1 brooches remain confined to Kent south and east of the Stour. Subsequent classes occur more widely, with a concentration in the King’s Field cemetery at Faversham suggesting that a specialised craftworking centre may have been established there before the middle of the sixth century. If this was the case, with

Scandinavian relief, Kentish small square-headed, button and garnet-inlaid disc brooches can be seen as representing an inter-related group of dress accessories, originating out of the Kentish employment of Scandinavian Style I. During the first half of the sixth century this production was infused with decorative techniques such as garnet-inlay that are likely to have been acquired under Frankish influence. In Kent the distribution of these brooches closely mirrors that of bracteates and cruciform brooches (Figures 34-35), with marked concentrations in Kent south and east of

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Fig. 35 Distribution of Kentish square-headed and class 2.1 Kentish disc brooches. © Canterbury Archaeological Trust

the Stour, especially around the southern inlets of the Wantsum Channel, whose importance to the emerging Kentish kingdom is thus underlined. Elsewhere in southern England, small square-headed brooches (especially copper alloy examples), Kentish-type garnetinlaid disc brooches (again sometimes in copper alloy) and earlier forms of button brooch are again broadly coterminous with cruciform and some types of small long brooch. Other North Sea coastal zone artefact types, and a range of continental Frankish types (including brooches but also buckles and belt fittings) also seem to be more prevalent in these areas (Kent, Isle of Wight, Hampshire and environs) compared to areas that display more north German (Saxon?) cultural affinities. Frankish material culture seems to be somewhat more widely distributed than North Sea coastal zone/Kentish material, perhaps indicating that it was more generally accepted.

continental Frankish and Kentish/Kentish-style dress accessories. This contrasts with the material culture of areas such as the Upper Thames, Sussex and Surrey/ west Kent, which is predominantly characterised by northern German dress accessories and art styles, and their insular descendants. It is true that at least one example of virtually every brooch type has been found in Kent, but this is largely a product of the wealth of the Kentish archaeological record compared to other areas of southern Britain.

In summary, systematic recording of detector finds has strengthened the case for seeing a relationship between the material culture of east Kent, the Isle of Wight and parts of Hampshire and its immediate environs from the mid fifth to second half of the sixth centuries AD. This material culture is predominantly characterised by a mixture of southern Scandinavian, North Sea coastal,

If the picture of similarities in material culture, in contrast to that of surrounding areas, between Kent, the Isle of Wight and parts of Hampshire from c. AD 450-570 is correct, then it is hard to avoid the conclusion that there is a link between this and Bede’s characterisation of these areas as Jutish rather than Anglian or Saxon. On the other hand, as Kruse and others have

It is also worth noting at this point that Quoit Brooch Style metalwork (now regarded as an insular south eastern British metalworking tradition that adapted to cater for a new Germanic elite during the mid fifth century; Suzuki 2000), is hardly represented amongst metal detector finds at all. This suggests very limited circulation compared to other types of metalwork.

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The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600 demonstrated, a straightforward transposition of Jutish material culture to these areas clearly did not occur and direct archaeological links to Jutland (rather than a wider southern Scandinavian / North Sea coastal / Frankish continental zone) remain infrequent and largely confined to east Kent. We still have much to do to get to grips with these problems, but in the next section an explanatory model will be suggested, which attempts to set the metal detecting data within a wider archaeological and historical context.

wealth and power may have led to the adoption of ‘Jutish’ as an encompassing label for Scandinavian / North Sea coastal / Frankish (or, more simply, ‘non-Saxon’) identity in southern Britain. ‘Jutish’ may also have been preferred by the elite of the Isle of Wight and Hampshire because its use did not imply subordination to either Kent or the Frankish state, Jutland being a suitably distant locale compared to those much nearer powers. Nonetheless, Kent continued to exert cultural influence over these areas well into the second half of the sixth century, as is evidenced by the use and local copying of Kentish-type square-headed and disc brooches. It may be that the on-going relationship between Kent and the Isle of Wight / Hampshire is best characterised as a ‘maritory’, a term developed in relation to Bronze Age maritime interactions by Stuart Needham (2009). Needham defined a maritory as:

Identity in Kent, the Isle of Wight and southern Hampshire: A Kentish maritory? It is a contention here that significant regional variation, at least in terms of costume, is apparent in the archaeological record south of the Thames in the later fifth and sixth centuries. As was noted above, female costume (of which brooches and bracteates were components) played a key role in communicating messages about identity and ethnicity during much of the early Anglo-Saxon period. Thus the picture of a related material culture between some areas of southern Britain does lend weight to the idea that those areas shared some form of collective identity. The production of the textiles that made up these costumes may also exhibit similar regional patterning (Walton Rogers 2007, 232-234, f.6.2). When this is set alongside other aspects of the archaeological record, such as some similarities in funerary rites, and the traditional, documentary and place-name evidence that collectively represent an oral tradition of a common identity linking Kent, the Isle of Wight and part of Hampshire, then the case that this identity had some basis in fifth and sixth century reality seems strong.

‘…a definable zone of privileged or relatively high-flux interaction used for the execution of certain specialist maritime ‘exchanges’. Those exchanges may be few or many in kind, highly focussed or diverse- the possible range includes non-local raw materials, exotic artefacts and esoteric knowledge- but also people, for example, marriage partners, adoptees, ambassadors, interns or craftsmen. The relative intensity of such a system may have been in part self-reinforcing since some of the exchanged items and ideas may have been consciously or sub-consciously contrived to facilitate the counterflow of others. This in turn can help promote a sense of cohesion.’ (ibid., 18).

This definition could also be employed to describe Kent’s relationship with the Merovingians, with Scandinavia, and perhaps as far to the south west as Aquitaine if the material attributed to Herpes actually did derive from there. As in the Bronze Age, Kent’s pivotal location on one side of the narrows between the Channel and North Sea is brought into focus by such a model.

But it is also clear that this identity was not exclusively or even predominantly ‘Jutish’ (at least in the sense of representing actual migrants arriving direct from Jutland). Rather, this is a term that was appropriated and applied to signify a more complex common identity. So why use Jutish, rather than other (perhaps on the face of it more plausible) alternatives, such as ‘Frankish’ or ‘Kentish’? The Kentish state emerged early (compared to other post-Roman polities in southern Britain, on the basis of written evidence) from within a wider North Sea cultural zone, possibly under Frankish influence and hegemony. Although it is unlikely that Kent ever exercised direct political control over areas like the Isle of Wight, it is not hard to imagine that for a time (until the rise of Wessex?) it became culturally dominant within that zone. If the apex families of the emerging Kentish state actually were from Jutland (and there is no reason to think that this wasn’t the case), then Kentish

The appropriation and adaptation of Jutish identity outlined above does not differ markedly from that suggested by Kruse (2007), or indeed conflict with other recent discussions of the Jutes in a Kentish context (e.g. Welch 2007, 212–20 ; Brookes and Harrington 2010, 37–43). The model of an extended migration process (a ‘migration stream’) encompassing the North Sea coast from Jutland to Kent via north-west Germany and the Netherlands (Welch 2007, 219) is also supported. The evidence from metal detecting (throughout this zone) has only really emerged since Kruse’s research (undertaken in the late 1990’s) and strengthens the migration stream model. It is the contention here that the metal detecting evidence also supports a model of a broader-based migration than that suggested by Kruse. In this model, the Jutish elite that transforms into the sixth century Kentish elite is underpinned by a wider migrant population drawn from across the

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology North Sea coastal zone. This population is at least as visible in the archaeological record (and therefore at least potentially as numerous) as any of the other possible ethnic components of the post Roman Kentish population (including British, Anglo-Saxon or Frankish elements). Migration itself had a transformative effect on both native and migrant populations across lowland and eastern Britain, who coalesced into newly created identities, of which the ‘maritory’ of Kent / Isle of Wight / Hampshire is one.

Hawkes, C. F. C. 1956 ‘The Jutes of Kent’, in D.B. Harden (ed.), Dark Age Britain: studies presented to E. T. Leeds with a bibliography of his works. London: Methuen Hawkes, S. C. 1969 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon Kent’, Archaeological Journal 126, 186-192 Hawkes, S. C. 1979 ‘Eastry in Anglo-Saxon Kent: its importance, and a newly found grave’, in S. C. Hawkes, D. Brown and J. Campbell (eds), Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History I. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 72, , 81-113 Hawkes, S. C. 1982 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent c.425-725’, in P. E. Leach (ed.), Archaeology in Kent to AD 1500. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 48, 64-78 Hawkes, S. C. and Pollard, M. 1981 ‘The gold bracteates from sixth-century graves in Kent, in the light of a new find from Finglesham’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 15, 316-370 Hawkes, S. C. 1989 ‘The south-east after the Romans: the Saxon settlement’, in V. A. Maxfield (ed.), The Saxon Shore: a handbook. Exeter: Exeter Studies in History 25, 78-95 Higham, N. J. 1992 Rome, Britain and the Anglo-Saxons. London: Seaby Kruse, P. 2007 Jutes in Kent? ��������������������������������������� On the Jutish nature of Kent, southern Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. Oldenburg: Probleme der Küstenforschung im südlichen Nordseegebiet Band 31 Leeds, E. T. 1913 The archaeology of the Anglo-Saxon settlements. Oxford: Clarendon Press Leeds, E. T. 1936 Early Anglo-Saxon art and archaeology. Oxford: Clarendon Press Leeds, E. T. 1946 ‘Denmark and early England’, Antiquaries Journal 26, 22-37 Leeds, E. T. 1957 ‘Notes on Jutish Art in Kent between 450 and 575’, Medieval Archaeology 1, 5-26 Leigh, D. 1980 Square-headed brooches of sixth century Kent. Unpublished PhD thesis, University College, Cardiff Leigh, D. 1984 ‘The Kentish keystone-garnet disc brooches: Avent’s classes 1-3 reconsidered’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 3, 65-76 Lucy, S. 2000 The Anglo-Saxon Way of Death: burial rites in early England. Stroud: Sutton Publishing McLean, L. and Richardson, A.F. 2010 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon brooches in southern England: the contribution of the Portable Antiquities Scheme’, in S. Worrell, G. Egan, J. Naylor, K. Leahy and M. Lewis (eds), A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007. Oxford: British Archaeology Reports 520, 161-171 Mortimer, C. 1990 Some aspects of early medieval copper alloy technology, as illustrated by a study of the Anglian cruciform brooch. University of Oxford, unpublished PhD dissertation Myres, J. N. L. 1970 ‘The Angles, the Saxons and the Jutes’, Proceedings of the British Academy 56, 145-174 Myres, J. N. L. 1977 A corpus of Anglo-Saxon pottery of the pagan period. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Needham, S. 2009 ‘Encompassing the sea: ‘maritories’ and Bronze Age maritime interactions, in P. Clark (ed.), Bronze Age connections: cultural contacts in prehistoric Europe. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 12–37 Procopius History of the Wars E.H. Warmington (ed), H.B. Dewing (trans). 1968. London Richardson, A. F. 2005 The Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of Kent. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 391

Conclusion: ethnicity, identity and labels Labels are useful because they can handily identify more complex entities with one or two words. This is probably why ‘Jutish’ came to be a short-hand for a much more complicated identity in parts of post-Roman Britain. In that sense the term served a purpose for some people during the early Anglo-Saxon period. Can it still serve a purpose for modern historians and archaeologists? We would perhaps be on safer ground describing this identity in a negative sense as ‘non-Saxon’, but the term ‘Saxon’ is itself an ethnically-specific label and therefore gives rise to similar problems. Perhaps if we remember that ethnicity is always a socially-constructed entity, then the distinction between a Jutish identity as expressed in Jutland during the first to fifth centuries AD (if Tacitus’s Eudoses can be equated with the Jutes of the fifth century) and the ‘Jutes’ of Kent, the Isle of Wight and Hampshire doesn’t seem so stark. Problematic the term may be, but these people were not, by and large, either Angles or Saxons; is the term ‘Anglo-Saxon’ any more valid when applied to them?

References Åberg. N. 1926. The Anglo-Saxons in England during the Early Centuries after the Invasion. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksell Arnold, C. J. 1982 The Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of the Isle of Wight. London: British Museum Publications Ltd Bakka, E. 1958 ‘On the beginning of Salin’s Style I in England’, Universitetet i Bergen Årbok 1958, Historisk-antikvarisk Rekke 3. Bergen Bede, HE: Colgrave, B. and Mynors, R. A. B. (eds), 1969 Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Oxford University Press Brookes, S. and Harrington, S. 2010 The kingdom and people of Kent AD 400-1066: their history and archaeology. Stroud: The History Press Evison, V. I. 1965 The fifth-century invasions south of the Thames. London: Athlone Press Evison, V.I. (ed) Angles, Saxons and Jutes: Essays presented to J.N.L. Myres. Oxford: Clarendon Press

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The Third Way: thoughts on non-Saxon identity south of the Thames AD 450-600 Sørensen, P. 1999 A reassessment of the Jutish nature of Kent, southern Hampshire and the Isle of Wight, University of Oxford, unpublished DPhil dissertation Suzuki, S. 2000 The Quoit Brooch Style. Woodbridge: Boydell Press Suzuki, S. 2008 Anglo-Saxon button brooches: typology, genealogy, chronology. Woodbridge: Boydell Press Tribal Hidage - D.N. Dumville, ‘The Tribal Hidage: an introduction to its texts and their history’, in S. Bassett (ed) 1989 The origins of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, 225-230.

Leicester: Leicester University Press Walton Rogers, P. 2007 Cloth and Clothing in Early Anglo-Saxon England. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 145 Welch, M. 2007 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent’, in J. H. Williams (ed.), The archaeology of Kent to AD 800. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press and Kent County Council Yorke, B. 1990 Kings and kingdoms of early Anglo-Saxon England. London: Seaby

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology

Foreign identities in burials at the seventh-century English emporia

11 CHRISTOPHER SCULL

A small number of seventh-century graves at Ipswich, London and Southampton may be convincingly interpreted, on the basis of accompanying material culture assemblages, as the burials of individuals from the continent. Other graves display elements which demonstrate overseas contacts or express identities which look towards the continent. Taken together, they confirm the importance of overseas contacts to these communities and suggest that these were places where long-distance exchange acted to promote cultural interaction.

Introduction Major themes running through Martin Welch’s scholarship, from his doctoral study of Sussex to his work on an Anglo-Saxon presence in north-west France in the sixth century, have been the usefulness of material culture and burial practice as indicators of past cultural or ethnic identity, and their value in turn for an understanding of contacts across the North Sea and Channel in the Migration Period and Merovingian Period. In this, Martin – an historian by training – has accepted and developed the legacy of the culture-historical approaches which underpinned the development of early AngloSaxon studies as a coherent research arena in the early and middle years of the twentieth century. This inheritance came under sometimes savage attack as the orthodoxies of processual archaeology became widespread in the 1960s and 1970s, and remained marginalised as these in turn lost ground to the bundle of post-processual perspectives in the two decades that followed. None the less, many of its fundamental assumptions have proved surprisingly robust in the face of sophisticated critical examination. As the dust settled on paradigm shifts and the discipline of archaeology came to terms with a pluralistic theoretical landscape it became apparent that many concerns of traditional culture history foreshadowed those of post-processual agendas. Our understanding of identities – individual and

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collective – and their relationship with the archaeological fossils of cultural practice is now more nuanced, and in some critical respects has been transformed by advances in biological techniques, but it no longer seems quaint or theoretically-retarded to be concerned with questions of identity and individual agency. In this spirit, this paper is offered to a friend and colleague as a brief contribution towards an understanding of aspects of identity and its contexts in the archaeology of seventh-century England. It is, however, something of an interim statement, drawing heavily on recently published analysis of cemeteries at Ipswich and tempered by the preliminary conclusions of current research which will be the subject of more detailed future publication.

Background: emporia and seventhcentury England Four major international trading and manufacturing settlements (termed wics or emporia by archaeologists) of Middle Saxon England can be identified with confidence from archaeological evidence: at Southampton, London, Ipswich and, less certainly, York (Hodges 1982a; Vince 1990; Morton 1992; Kemp 1996; Scull 1997; Hill and Cowie 2001; Blackmore 2002; Malcolm and Bowsher 2003). They are conventionally interpreted as Gateway

Foreign identities in burials at the seventh-century English emporia

Ipswich

Communities, urban or proto-urban in character, established and operating under royal oversight to channel international trade and the benefits in profit and prestige accruing from this (Hodges 1982b). In their full extent and complexity, however, these sites are a phenomenon of the eighth and ninth centuries and where there is evidence for a seventh-century antecedent this is different in scale and character. At London and Ipswich smaller precursor settlements saw rapid and substantial expansion from the late seventh or early eighth century (Blackmore 2002; Scull 2002; Scull 2009, 313-16). The weight of evidence suggests something similar at Southampton, although here the precursor may have been a high-status establishment, perhaps one of two or more settlement foci that were superseded by the planned settlement of the 8th century (Birbeck et al. 2005, 194-96). At Ipswich and Southampton the scale and character of the change to both physical and social space argues planned re-foundation by royal authority. At Southampton this is attributed to Ine of Wessex (reigned AD 688-726) (Loyn 1962, 138); at Ipswich, probably Aldwulf of East Anglia (reigned AD 663-713) (Scull 2009, 319).

The main cemetery serving the seventh-century settlement and community at Ipswich was excavated at Buttermarket in 1988-89 and has recently been fully published (Scull 2009). It was in use from the early seventh century and its abandonment by AD 700 gives the terminus post quem for the subsequent expansion of the Ipswich settlement. Other isolated graves or small burial groups contemporary with the Buttermarket cemetery are also known. Both furnished and unfurnished burial were practised contemporaneously at Buttermarket and there is evidence for a range of grave structures and containers. Material culture types and other elements of burial practice in the majority of graves at Buttermarket sit comfortably within the range known from East Anglia and more widely in south and eastern England at this time. However, some elements in a minority of cases express, more or less forcibly, continental identities or affiliations. This is seen at its strongest in a small number of graves with continental material culture assemblages or material culture types, of which Grave 1306 is the clearest example.

The model that would see each of the major Anglo-Saxon kingdoms served by a single main emporium may be oversimple, and it is now clear that models of settlement and economy must accommodate more complex landscapes of production, consumption and redistribution, and a range of other coastal and riverine sites which were engaged in trade periodically and at a variety of scales (Gardiner et al. 2001; Pestell and Ulmschneider 2003; Davies 2010; Pestell forthcoming). None the less – and notwithstanding the likelihood that major early trading sites remain to be recognised archaeologically in Kent (Cowie 2001, 15; Brookes 2003, 86) – Southampton, London and Ipswich are set apart by the unequivocal archaeological evidence for size, organisation, population density and commercial activity on a scale not seen at any other contemporary settlement in England.

This is a coffined burial with a continental grave assemblage datable to AD 630/40-660/70, consisting of a broad heavy seax with an elaborate sheath and baldric fittings, a knife, a composite belt-set, two spearheads, a shield boss, and two palm cups deposited in a wooden box. The seax and sheath, belt-set, shield boss and complete spearhead are all continental types. The belt-set is best paralleled by examples from northern France, notably Armentières; the shield boss appears to be a rare type otherwise unknown in England and represented on the continent by a few examples from the lower Rhineland and the Netherlands (Scull 2009, 247-254, 293). It is highly probable that this was the grave of an individual from the continent, buried by people attuned to continental practice. If so, the material culture assemblage and the presence of two palm cups points towards an origin in the Frankish areas of northern France, Belgium and the southern Netherlands. There may be other explanations, of course: the ownership of imports need not denote a foreigner and this may be a local man buried with items acquired through exchange contacts or someone who had travelled to the continent. Any such alternative interpretation, though, still requires an explanation of why there should be so strong and deliberate an expression of continental identity or affiliation in burial.

Because of their status as international ports there has been discussion of whether and how any foreign element in their populations might be identified archaeologically. The presence of continental traders is legitimately assumed but has proved difficult to demonstrate (Holdsworth 1980, 39; Timby 1988, 118). However, the discovery and publication of important seventh-century cemeteries and burial groups at Ipswich, London and Southampton now provides evidence which bears directly on the earliest populations and communities at the settlements which became major emporia. Among the insights they afford are indications of the range and character of overseas contacts at these sites in the seventh century, inferred not from the debris of trade but from intentional acts of identity in mortuary practice.

Two further male burials at Buttermarket, Graves 2297 and 3871, have continental belt-sets datable to AD

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology 610/20-640/50 (Scull 2009, 248, 293). Grave 2297, which had been heavily disturbed, also contained fragments of a broad heavy seax. Both may reasonably be interpreted as burials of individuals from the continent. A female burial, Grave 2962, shows a different use of foreign material culture items. The grave assemblage is insular, with dress jewellery and other items typical of the period in England, but the chatelaine includes one element – an openwork disc and surrounding ring – which is continental in inspiration if not manufacture (Scull 2009, 243-44, 293). In life this would have been a highly visible component of an item linked to feminine statusidentity (Stoodley 1999, 35, 74) and its selection for inclusion in the burial must be seen in this light.

hinterland, looking across the Channel and towards the North Sea world.

Southampton At Southampton there is evidence for at least two formal cemeteries which were in use during the seventh century, at Cook Street and St Mary’s Stadium. Other sites may also indicate burial before c. AD 700 and there is also at least one isolated burial of the seventh century (Morton 1992; Garner 1993; Scull 2001; Birbeck et al. 2005; Cherryson 2010). For the purposes of this discussion the key site is the St Mary’s Stadium cemetery.

There are also other aspects of burial at Buttermarket that are uncommon in contemporary England and may be best explained with reference to continental practice. The first is burial in log coffins or dugout coffins. There are a very few other examples known from seventh-century East Anglia, of which Sutton Hoo Mound 17 is one, but this is a widespread practice on the contemporary continent from Switzerland to the Netherlands, Belgium and northern France, and its occurrence at Buttermarket should be seen against this continental picture (Scull 2009, 274). The other feature is the provision of structures and linings in graves. More than ten percent of the excavated graves at Buttermarket had elaborate revetments and structures, including grave covers. Only two would be considered true chamber graves by the criteria accepted for the Merovingian-period continent but both the complexity and frequency of structures and linings are unusual in southern and eastern England. This aspect of burial practice might therefore be explained as a response to, or emulation of, the use of wooden structures and chambers in contemporary continental burial-practice, as can be seen in many contemporary cemeteries in Belgium and in the Netherlands (Scull 2009, 272-74, 291-95).

There are striking material culture parallels between Buttermarket Grave 1306 and St Mary’s Grave 3520. This was a double burial of two adults, each buried with a broad heavy seax. That accompanying skeleton 3549 had a sheath or scabbard with elaborate fittings very similar to that from Buttermarket, and also associated with this burial was a continental belt-set which represents the best parallel from England for that from Buttermarket Grave 1306. This grave is archaeologically contemporary with Buttermarket 1306 and on the same grounds may also be considered a very strong candidate for the burial of an individual from the continent. By extension, it seems likely that the second individual in this grave (skeleton 3521) was also that of a continental individual. Interestingly, a burial with a long seax at Melbourne Street (SOU 20), identified by Holdsworth as possibly the burial of a continental individual (Holdsworth 1980, 39; Scull 2001, 71), can now be seen to be part of the St Mary’s Stadium cemetery. Stoodley (2005; 2010) has emphasised that the St Mary’s cemetery stands out in southern and eastern England at this time by virtue of the high proportion of weapon burials, a likely indicator of the high status or special nature of the community (or elements of the community) that it served. It might be legitimate to take this further and remark on the unusually high proportion of seaxes, especially broad and long seaxes, in weapon burials here. These are types which are proportionately more common in continental than in insular male burials of the seventh century. Although there are only two or three graves at St Mary’s which are in strong likelihood those of continental individuals, the choice of weapons may suggest that the elite masculine identity expressed in some other burials here consciously included an element that looked towards the Merovingian continent. Also echoing features seen at Buttermarket is St Mary’s Grave 4202 where an otherwise insular feminine assemblage includes a single foreign item, a Frisian gold pendant (Hinton 2005a, 65). It is also suggested that the goldand-garnet pendant from female Grave 5508 may have

There is no reason to doubt that the majority of the population buried at Buttermarket was local but a minority of furnished burials are either those of individuals from the continent or express elements of identity or affiliation that look towards the Merovingian continent. A larger number of burials, though again a minority of the excavated sample, have features that may be explained as adoptions or adaptations of aspects of burial-practice on the other side of the North Sea and the Channel. The burial record thus supports ceramic evidence from the seventh-century settlement core to confirm that cross-Channel exchange contacts were important to this settlement and community from the outset. Further, it indicates that during the seventh century an element of the permanent population was developing and expressing identities linked to but distinct from those of the immediate south-east Suffolk

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Foreign identities in burials at the seventh-century English emporia been made in Frisia or by an itinerant craftsman with Frisian connections (Hinton 2005a, 65-67).

not an exclusive one) between continental contacts or cultural affiliation and the position and identity of some higher-status individuals or groups. This can be discerned at two levels within the small number of graves concerned: those which may be convincingly interpreted as the burials of individuals from the continent, and those where the burial of individual pieces suggests some degree of cultural emulation or assertion of affiliation. The evidence from St Marys at Southampton can be read in a similar way (although here it is possible to propose that emulation is a feature of both masculine and feminine identities), and so can that from London. The frequency and complexity of grave structures at Buttermarket are not seen at Southampton or London, though annular ditches and some simple structural features are known from Southampton at the Cook St cemetery (Gardner 1993).

London The burial evidence from London is more fragmentary than at Ipswich or Southampton but two formal burial areas or cemeteries in use during the seventh century may be identified in the Covent Garden area and at St Martin-in-the-Fields, as well as isolated burials (Scull 2001; Blackmore 2002, 278-281). As at Ipswich, the Covent Garden burial area was abandoned and built over towards the end of the seventh century as the settlement expanded northwards (Blackmore 2002, 281-284; Scull 2002; Malcolm and Bowsher 2003, 17-54). Burials are recorded from a number of interventions in the Covent Garden area. These include a grave at Long Acre which contained a probable male skeleton with a continental belt-set of the late seventh century. This is silver-plated iron with copper-alloy inlays. Its affinities are with examples from northern France and Belgium, in particular examples from France at Armentières (Dept Aisne) and Bulles (Dept Oise), and again this burial is most plausibly interpreted as that of an individual from the continent (Scull forthcoming). On the continent a belt-set such as this would normally form part of a more elaborate masculine assemblage, including weapons. The Long Acre burial had been truncated and was not fully excavated, and so it is possible that there were other grave goods.

There appears to be a gender distinction in that the most compelling evidence for the burial of foreign individuals is provided by masculine grave assemblages for which there are no continental-style feminine counterparts at any of the cemeteries concerned. The material culture links of these assemblages at all three settlements would point to contacts with the Frankish areas of northern France, Belgium and the Rhineland. A case can be made that Ipswich’s foreign contacts in seventh century were initially focused on Merovingian Frankish elites, and perhaps mediated at first via Kent (Scull 2009, 316-19). Given their respective geographical locations, it is perhaps surprising that Frisian contacts should be apparent in seventh-century burials at Southampton but not at Ipswich. It has been suggested that signalling of identity and affiliation at the St Mary’s cemetery was positively Frisian or at least anti-Kentish (Hinton 2005a, 65) but the range of material culture evidence from the cemetery for overseas contacts perhaps suggests a more complex reality. It seems likely, in contrast to the eighth- and ninth-century picture of large-scale commercial trade articulated by international middlemen, that the exchange mediated through these sites in the early and middle years of the seventh century was still heavily embedded in elite social and political relationships, directed towards and primarily controlled by magnate lineages (Saunders 2001; Scull 2009, 316-319). If so, then the identities apparent in the burials of men from the continent might indicate the primary axis of these contacts and relationships. The deposition in female burials of individual pieces of exotica, which might ultimately have been acquired from further afield through the wider networks of which this direct cross-Channel relationships were a component, should perhaps be seen as statements of belonging by a social group defined in part through engagement with such links.

At St Martin-in-the-Fields, excavation in 2006 confirmed that finds made in 1722 during construction of the church portico were part of a larger cemetery (Burton 2007). Among the graves excavated in 2006 was a male burial with a hanging bowl, a palm cup and a silver finger-ring. The finger-ring is a Merovingian or Merovingian-inspired form, clearly cognate with contemporary continental seal rings. Its possible significance as part of this burial assemblage is discussed below.

Discussion The expression of cultural identity in burial at Ipswich Buttermarket is complex and layered, and foreign elements are only part of a complex picture (Scull 2009, 291-95). Where identities or affiliations that looked to the Merovingian continent are expressed through material culture they are articulated through elements which represent the investment of portable wealth and which most emphatically symbolize gender-identity, status, and social roles. There is therefore a link (though

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Grave 1306 at Buttermarket has been seen as that of a port reeve (Hinton 2005b, 75; Hodges 2008, 115) but the probable continental identity would seem to rule out a royal administrative functionary unless we see the Ipswich settlement as directly administered in whole or part by Frankish elites in middle of the seventh century. Grave 1306 is certainly, on the basis of the material culture assemblage, the pre-eminent male grave at the cemetery. However, it is more impressive in an English context than it would be on the contemporary continent (Scull 2009, 293) and the badly-damaged weapon-burials in Graves 3243 and 3659 are probably better candidates for high-status local men. More interesting in this respect is the grave at St Martin-in-the-Fields, London. The hanging bowl is insular, and there is little reason to doubt that the burial is that of an English native of high status. He was buried, though, wearing a seal-ring or an imitation of a seal-ring, a rare item which in the Merovingian world symbolised the need to endorse documents and was linked to status and official administrative duties. If there is to be a candidate for the grave of a port reeve then surely this is it? In this insular context the ring may be read as representing the adoption of administrative practice from the continent, or the appropriation of a continental symbol of status and authority – perhaps because of a need to deal with transactions involving individuals from the continent? Either way, it reinforces the impression of close cognitive and cultural links with the Frankish Merovingian world.

would have been places of enhanced cultural interaction. Cognitive and cultural transactions arise from exchange contacts, and the particular circumstances of these special-purpose settlements may be seen as having created an environment in which the renegotiation of roles and identities – including some assertion of a continental affiliation – might have carried social and economic advantages, and in which other cognitive and cultural models were accessible.

The burial evidence at Ipswich allows us to draw a number of inferences about individual identities and the character of community in the seventh century which suggest that this special-purpose settlement had a distinctive social character. The use of a single major cemetery suggests a degree of cohesion among the burial community consistent with a sense of place and belonging, and there is evidence that household and kin were the social foundations of the settlement (Scull 2009, 301-303). Against this, the diversity of identities and origins suggests a segmented population with elements looking inwards to Suffolk and East Anglia, overseas to the Frankish Continent, and to the North Sea coastal region. Without imposing any simple uniformity of interpretation, the contemporary burial evidence from Southampton and London would also be broadly consistent with this reading. The character and contexts of the material culture evidence for continental identity or affiliation are consistent with the view that cross-Channel exchange contacts were sociallyrestricted and mediated by elite groups. The diversity of burial-practice at Buttermarket and the complexity and ambiguity of cultural expression may perhaps be taken as more widely characteristic of the populations of the seventh-century emporia. By their nature as foci of long-distance exchange these sites and communities

Acknowledgements

These provisional thoughts are heavily dependent upon inferences drawn from the geographical distribution of material culture types deposited in burials and features built in to graves. As such, they rely upon the proposition that material culture and cultural practice were used in the construction and expression of identities linked to place and region, and that the deployment of such explicit signifiers of identity in other regional and cultural contexts requires explanation beyond a generalising evocation of commercial contact. It is also conceded that new discoveries from inland sites in England may in future alter the weight of the observed archaeological distributions so as to falsify or to force radical revision of the interpretations proposed here. For the moment, though, it is suggested that the model usefully fits the available data and allows the identification in burial of identities which quite literally embody the long-distance contacts on which these special-purpose settlements were based.

I should like to thank Andrew Reynolds, Stuart Brookes and Sue Harrington for the invitation to contribute to this volume; Alison Telfer and Lyn Blackmore (Museum of London Archaeology) for access to unpublished finds from St Martin-in-the-Fields and permission to refer to them in print; and Professor David Hinton (Southampton University) and Dr Sonja Marzinzik (The British Museum) for their helpful comments at very short notice on a first draft of this paper. Responsibility for the opinions expressed, however, remains mine alone.

References Birbeck, V., Smith, R. J., Andrews, P. and Stoodley, N. 2005 The origins of mid-Saxon Southampton. Excavations at the Friends Provident St Mary’s Stadium 1998-2000. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology Blackmore, L. 2002 ‘The origins and growth of Lundenwic, a mart of many nations’, in B. Hårdh and L. Larsson (eds) Central places in the Migration and Merovingian Periods. Papers form the 52nd Sachsensymposium Lund, August 2001. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 273-301.

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Foreign identities in burials at the seventh-century English emporia Brookes, S. 2003 ‘The early Anglo-Saxon framework for middle Anglo-Saxon economics: the case of east Kent’, in T. Pestell and K. Ulmschneider (eds), Markets in early medieval Europe. Trading and ‘productive’ sites, 650-850. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 84-96 Burton, E. 2007 ‘From Roman to Saxon London: Saxon burials at St-Martin-in-the-Fields’, Medieval Archaeology 51, 255-58 Cherryson, A. 2010 ‘“Such a resting-place as is necessary for us in God’s sight and fitting in the eyes of the world”: Saxon Southampton and the development of Churchyard burial’, in J. Buckberry and A. Cherryson (eds), Burial in later Anglo-Saxon England c 650-1100 AD. Oxford: Oxbow, 54-72 Cowie, R. 2001 ‘English wics: problems with discovery and interpretation’, in D. Hill and R. Cowie (eds), Wics. The early medieval trading centres of northern Europe. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 14-21 Davies, G. 2010 ‘Early medieval “rural centres” and west Norfolk: a growing picture of diversity, complexity and changing lifestyles’, Medieval Archaeology 54, 89-122 Garner, M. F. 1993 ‘Middle Saxon evidence at Cook Street, Southampton (SOU 254)’, Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 49, 77-127 Gardiner, M., Cross, R., MacPherson-Grant, N. and Riddler, I. 2001 ‘Continental trade and non-urban ports in MidAnglo-Saxon England: excavations at Sandtun, West Hythe, Kent’, Archaeological Journal 158, 161-290 Hill, D. and Cowie, R. (eds) 2001 Wics. The early medieval trading centres of northern Europe. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press Hinton, D. 2005a ‘Gold pendants’, in V. Birbeck, R. J. Smith, P. Andrews and N. Stoodley, The origins of mid-Saxon Southampton. Excavations at the Friends Provident St Mary’s Stadium 1998-2000. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology, 6467 Hinton, D. 2005b Gold and gilt, pots and pins: possessions and people in medieval Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press Hodges, R. 1982a Dark Age economics. The origins of towns and trade AD 600-1000. London: Duckworth Hodges, R. 1982b ‘The evolution of gateway communities; their socio-economic implications’, in C. Renfrew and S. Shennan (eds), Ranking, resource and exchange: aspects of the archaeology of early European society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 117-123 Hodges, R. 2008 ‘Fifty years after Dunning: reflections on emporia, their origins and development’, in T. Abramson (ed.), Studies in early medieval Coinage 1: two decades of discovery. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 113-118 Holdsworth, P. 1980 Excavations at Melbourne Street, Southampton, 1971-76. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 33 Kemp, R. 1996 Anglian settlement at 46-54 Fishergate. York: Council for British Archaeology

Loyn, H. R. 1962 Anglo-Saxon England and the Norman Conquest. London: Longman Malcolm, G. and Bowsher, D. 2003 Middle Saxon London. Excavations at the Royal Opera House 1989-99. London: Museum of London Archaeology Service Monograph 15 Morton, A. 1992 Excavations at Hamwic: Volume 1. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 84 Pestell, T. and Ulmschneider, K. (eds) 2003 Markets in early medieval Europe. Trading and ‘productive’ sites, 650-850. Macclesfield: Windgather Press Pestell, T. forthcoming ‘Markets, emporia, wics and ‘productive sites’: pre-Viking trade centres in Anglo-Saxon England’, in H. Hamerow, S. Crawford and D. Hinton (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Anglo-Saxon archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 572-595 Scull, C. J. 1997 ‘Urban centres in pre-Viking England?’, in J. Hines (ed), The Anglo-Saxons from the migration period to the eighth century: an ethnographic perspective. Woodbridge: Boydell, 269-310 Scull, C. J. 2001 ‘Burials at emporia in England’, in D. Hill and R. Cowie, (eds), Wics. The early medieval trading centres of northern Europe. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 67-74 Scull, C. J. 2002 ‘Ipswich: development and contexts of an urban precursor in the seventh century’, in B. Hårdh and L. Larsson (eds), Central places in the migration and Merovingian periods. Papers form the 52nd Sachsensymposium Lund, August 2001. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 303-316 Scull, C.J. 2009 Early medieval (late 5th – early 8th centuries AD) cemeteries at Boss Hall and Buttermarket, Ipswich, Suffolk. Leeds: Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph 27 Scull, C. J. forthcoming ‘The composite belt suite’, in R. Cowie and L. Blackmore, Lundenwic: excavations in Middle Saxon London, 1987-2000. London: Museum of London Stoodley, N. 1999 The spindle and the spear. A critical enquiry into the construction and meaning of gender in the early AngloSaxon burial rite. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 288 Stoodley, N. 2005 ‘Discussion: the early cemetery and its place within southern England’, in V. Birbeck, R. J. Smith, P. Andrews and N. Stoodley, The origins of midSaxon Southampton. Excavations at the Friends Provident St Mary’s Stadium 1998-2000. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology, 75-81 Stoodley, N. 2010 ‘Burial practice in seventh-century Hampshire: St Mary’s Stadium in context’, in J. Buckberry and A. Cherryson (eds) Burial in later Anglo-Saxon England c 650-1100 AD. Oxford: Oxbow, 38-53 Timby, J. 1988 ‘The middle Saxon pottery’, in P. Andrews (ed.), The coins and pottery from Hamwic. Southampton: Southampton City Museums, 73-125 Vince, A. Saxon London: an archaeological investigation. London: Seaby

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Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England

12 SUE HARRINGTON

Understanding of the nature of early Anglo-Saxon kin groups and the kinds of relationships they formed through marriage strategies remains elusive, the wealth of diverse material in their funerary assemblages notwithstanding. It is argued here that implicit assumptions about the nature of marriage and exogamy have percolated through research into Anglo-Saxon society, but have remained by and large unquestioned and accepted, particularly within archaeology. This paper reviews discussion to date and raises questions for future research that can contribute to the study of the formation of early medieval kingdoms in southern Britain.

Introduction The recently completed Leverhulme Trust funded ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ project, directed by Martin with the present author as research assistant, has examined in depth the landscape and economic underpinnings of the earliest attested Anglo-Saxon polities and kingdoms of Britain south of the Thames (Harrington and Welch forthcoming). Our research questions addressed issues of the continuity of Late Roman landscape structures, the relationships between areas with unequal environmental resources and whether processes of state formation were uniform over time and space. Our methodology involved mapping the entire cemetery and finds spot evidence from the region south of the Thames, recording details of artefact weight and provenance, within three phases: A (400 to 575), B (575 to 650), C (650 to the end of furnished burial, c. 720). This approach provided an unparalleled opportunity to map and analyse the data at multi-scalar levels, in the search for over-arching themes and explanations for the dynamics of the period. Martin’s perceptive, if at times controversial, understanding of the artefactual evidence facilitated the fine-grained project database, where each burial assemblage is now logged to form the basis for analysis (3,500 locations, 12,000 burials, 28,000 objects). Essentially, the project database (acronym EASC – the Early Anglo-Saxon Census) is framed around a unique record for each excavated individual from the period. The concept of a census of early Anglo-Saxon people,

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derived from their funerary biographies, encounters similar problems to those found within modern examinations of demography. Whilst it is possible to list a simulacrum of an individual’s identity (in this case, the unique coded identification for each person comprising county/parish/burial site code/grave number) and to place them amongst their contemporaries and to relate those people to place, issues of the nature of their kin groups, and the social and cultural relationships within and between communities, however defined, remain elusive. Built into the project research design was a fundamental principle to examine the data from the ground up – taking the view that processes of social reproduction at the base, the actions of both men and women, were as instrumental in the construction of social hierarchy as the activities of emerging elites. That most basic and ubiquitous of formal social relationships – marriage – thus had a potentially crucial contribution to the dynamics of the period, but one that has been neglected archaeologically, perhaps because it is all too easily accepted as a given and carries with it a range of implicit assumptions. By examining the spatial distributions of gender-distinct female dress fitments (FDFs) in phase A, which might, but not necessarily, be explained by developing marriage strategies of emergent hierarchies as well as those of base layer communities, further enquiries can be raised.

Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England

Exogamy and marriage

the genetic impact of near-kin reproduction resulting from endogamy, perhaps manifesting as a prohibition against very close relatives at the level of first cousin as a safeguard. Nevertheless, the Roman Empire provides a prime example of its advantages in the lively machinations of the Julio-Claudian emperors (Augustus through to Nero) and their rise to hierarchical dominance from the second half of the first century BC until mid way through the first century AD (Stone 2000, 208–28).

Why look at this particular area now? Primarily to take the opportunity to explore Martin’s concerns, reflected in his writings and lectures, for the humanity behind the objects. This example from Anglo-Saxon England: ‘Each daughter could have taken copies of her mother’s stamps to her husband’s settlement on marriage…. Similar decoration… can appear in as many cemeteries (or settlements) as there were eligible daughters to be married off ’ (Welch 1992, 110)

Exogamy is based on the precept of the non-mating of primary kin and promotes clear rules about conjugality. Anthropological studies (Fox 1967, 53–5; Stone 2000, 200–7) have demonstrated that the rules of exogamy could force groups to look outside of themselves and thus become proactive in forming alliances with other groups. Effectively this marriage strategy could mitigate against hostile relationships and act as a means for resolving conflict through formal unions. However, it would seem that the two apparently contrasting strategies were not always clearly demarcated.

These words jumped off the page and into my undergraduate brain – at last, real human actors engaging in productive social activities rather than the monumentality and impersonal theorising of prehistory (this was in the 1990s). Women as the carriers of culture; social structure enabled by exogamous marriage; the potential for gender identity to underpin craft production, all providing an arena for societal change (Martin perhaps remains to be wholly convinced about the last point, although this has led to some goodhumoured debate between the traditional socialist and the second-wave feminist). An awareness of contingency, however, cautions against too facile a deployment of definitive statements about marriage and as a corollary causes one to ask about the nature and impact of exogamy over time.

For early Anglo-Saxon society, it appears that the spatial context of marriage was a major issue within the formation of alliances, discussed in greater detail below, but suggested as being reflected in the geographical distributions of brooch types recovered archaeologically, an outcome of the movement of women. There may have been several scenarios at work. A woman (assuming that she was the exogamous component) could move to a new kin group in another place. She might move to another place but still be part of an extended kin group, marrying at the prescribed blood-distance. Alternatively, she might stay in the same place but marry into another kin group within the same community, assuming the co-existence of different kin groups in the same place. These alliances may be reflected in the polyfocal and sometimes-amorphous layout of burials within cemeteries, which may not clearly demarcate kin groups if individuals had a foot in several camps.

It is inescapable that a major concern of any human group is successful reproduction. As an anthropologist explains it: ‘When intercourse results in reproduction, a whole host of laws, norms, and values come into play to define the situation … The meanings of “marriage” and “divorce”, and the idea of “legitimacy”, are all a part of how different human groups handle reproduction. Kinship is everywhere a part of the social and cultural management of reproduction’ (Stone 2000, 2).

Marriage is essentially a social union that has a legal or formalised element and works as a means of creating kinship between people, if unrelated. In most cultures there are prohibitions regarding whom one might marry (Fox 1967, 53) broadly divided to marrying within the kin group (endogamy) or marrying outside the kin group (exogamy). Yet, although the pot stamps argument above is taken to imply exogamy, admittedly perhaps all too readily here, can endogamy be dismissed easily as a marriage strategy pertinent to early Anglo-Saxon society? The main disadvantage of endogamy is that there is no opportunity to make marriage alliances with other descent groups, but it has the clear advantage of maintaining control over wealth, in that none of the kin’s resources are given away to another group as a dowry with females. Clearly there are implications for

Yet, also from structural anthropological studies, it appears that significant social processes such as migration can be instrumental in breaking down traditional gender relationships, particularly within kin groups (Lewis 1982; Gulati 1993; Chant 1992). If migration disrupts the cohesiveness of kin groups, how then do they reform in their new domicile and what degrees of mutual support do they require from each other to survive and then socially and practically reproduce themselves? At what point in the settlement process could these peoples constitute themselves to arrive at marriage strategies that involved, as one might suggest, a linear continuity of males with place and the reciprocal exchange of females to form alliances, analogous to the warp and weft of cloth (March 1983). Whilst there may be ‘elementary

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology structures’ to kinship present in early Anglo-Saxon society, following Levi-Straussian precepts, it is attractive to follow Bourdieu’s line that rules dictating whom one can marry may not necessarily be followed to the letter and one can thus postulate social agents who acknowledge the rules but develop strategies to manipulate them (Deliège 2004, 70). Such strategies may in turn engender an institutionalised backlash enforcing prohibitions designed to halt such actions. An example might be the restriction on marriage between cousins closer than the third degree that was the subject of an embargo by the church in the seventh century, as decreed by Pope Gregory (Whitelock 1952, 150). Here one must therefore question whether it is still tenable or necessary to follow the view (Lancaster 1958) that this particular stricture did not relate to earlier arrangements. Indeed, what might be the implications for a wide range of issues about state formation through the dynamics of the fifth and sixth centuries if it did indeed relate to earlier, explicitly dynastic, impulses promulgated through close-kin marriage strategies?

explanations, which have already embedded assumptions about human behaviour, particularly regarding the actions of powerful men by introducing a normative masculinity that creates a homogenous category. At the very least, gender studies have cautioned us not to treat any category as undifferentiated and to consider interaction with other elements of an individual’s life course – age, ethnicity and kin (Stoodley 1997; Lucy 1997, 1997a, 1998; Härke this volume). A focus on reproduction can dangerously characterise men as wholly rapacious, following the line of Calvin Wells in his infamous and (too?) vivid description of early Anglo-Saxon sexual violation (Hawkes and Wells 1975). Rather we should emphasise males as social beings, living within defined and long-standing cultural norms about relationships that had long served to formalise and provide a context for such activities for the good of the community where necessary. As a corollary, women can be too simply categorised as passive, a view that runs counter to the character, content and location of certain female burial assemblages throughout the study period – here one could point to Chessell Down Grave 45 on the Isle of Wight; her contemporary in the mid- sixthcentury in Sarre, Kent, Grave 4; the woman with the famous composite jewelled disc brooch from Kingston Down Grave 205; and the woman in the bed burial at Swallowcliffe Down, Wiltshire, the latter pair dating to the seventh century, to identify but a few. Indeed, by the second half of the seventh century elaborate burials are female rather than male (Geake 1997).

Troublesome masculinities? The enduring problem of assessing the scale of the Anglo-Saxon migration has prompted proposals in some quarters that the Roman-British population was ethnically cleansed by a large-scale immigration of warrior males, although as Catherine Hills comments (2009, 134), the size of the group required and the ability of a leader to assemble such a horde can only prompt questions as to how realistic a scenario this might be. Sykes (2006) introduces the idea of powerful men who then have the ability to monopolise women and maximise their reproductive potential. There is a problem, though, in that this kind of scenario appears to equate all men of the warrior elite with the same reproductive capacity and as an undifferentiated group, that is, with no internal power hierarchy. It is in no man’s interest, particularly if at the top of the hierarchy, to have lesser men with a threateningly greater reproductive capacity and perhaps strategies would need to be introduced to assert control over them, via marriage. In this way, marriage may have been part of a control strategy by certain men over other men. However, if one factors age into the internal group structure, then the reputed ‘sexual prowess’ of the older warrior may have been enough to deter younger males from competing with him, and in turn may have deflected their competiveness towards each other.

DNA and reproduction Can we instead look to scientific work on DNA to contribute to our understandings of the mechanisms of social reproduction during the earliest phases of the Anglo-Saxon settlement? Does recent research support a view of the movement of genetically distinct human stock, in a wholesale replacement of the Romano-British population. If so, could we propose that an intact society, with embedded concepts of marriage and associations between kin groups, was the basis for the development of local polities and regional kingdoms? Or rather, were marriage strategies manipulated, consciously or organically, as a means of overcoming conflict and melding together disparate cultural communities into a larger whole? Clearly it would be an error to assume that the Romano-British population was a coherent ethnic group with firm marriage strategies in place at the end of the fourth century. The presence of troops drawn from throughout the empire, include Germanic federates, clearly involved the presence of wives, off-spring and kin, although these may have been recruited in previous tours of duty throughout the empire (Allason-Jones 2005, 50), creating multi-ethnic families settled over time amongst other, indigenous people.

The image of the rapacious and perhaps uncultured warrior does not bode well for analyses of the creation of a distinctive Anglo-Saxon culture and the purposeful construction of a hierarchical society, unless one views it as a natural outcome of biological behaviour. Perhaps the major problem here is the search for mono-causal

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Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England As Catherine Hills points out in her recent review of research in this area (Hills 2009), current media interest in the Anglo-Saxon ‘takeover’ is an outcome of the espousal of a particular narrative and one that is likely to be propounded in the literature for many years to come. The genetic research of Thomas et al. (2006) proposes ‘apartheid’ as the mechanism whereby a small group of dominant males could make an overwhelming genetic contribution to the later population, as the data appeared to show. Essentially Thomas et al. propose as an explanation that incoming males excluded indigenous males from access to females, reproduced themselves, had more sons and that over five generations (in chronological terms probably by the end of the sixth century) had made a lasting genetic imprint. One can question whether this was an overtly dynastic strategy that was a consequence of migration. Cynically, we can now add the image of sexually potent males impregnating the local women at a ferocious rate to the other impedimentary shibboleths now popularly lodged in the national psyche – the unknowable Dark Ages, the departure of the Roman Legions as the cause of collapse and the regeneration of woodland across a deserted landscape eventually felled by heroic Germanic colonists. This study of genetics can be interrogated from a variety of perspectives: particularly in the light of subsequent migrations; the presence of some common genetic traits in the make-up of prehistoric communities around the North Sea; that scientific projects and research designs are strongly conditioned by original questions derived from history, producing circular argument; and that mathematical models using modern genetic patterning may not necessarily be supported by analyses of ancient DNA. More interestingly, although a perhaps too deceptively attractive set of proposals, there seems to be firmer ground in the assertions that during the medieval period, entire families settled in Orkney from Norway, that the Western Isles had some Norse incomers, but no females and that in Iceland the males were Norse, but that the females came from elsewhere, possibly from the British Isles. Here these seem to have been the outcomes of clear reproductive and marital strategies that were adjuncts of migration strategies. Hills’ review (ibid.) concludes that the genetic structure of the British Isles is actually prehistoric in origin, strongly so in the matrilineal line, but with some evidence of Saxon and Dane on the patrilineal side.

to exercise control over female and male reproductive activity in one part, but it is also the main formal mechanism for the distribution of property and resources and to provide a means for social reproduction. Would migration cause a group to flagrantly disregard their own cultural norms because they find themselves in a new set of circumstances in a new domicile? Certainly, as anthropological researches (Chant 1992; Gulati 1993; Lewis 1982) have demonstrated, the act of migration can be disruptive to gender identities and formative of new social constructs; these new circumstances can free people from earlier constraints if they are no longer viable or useful. Alternatively, would they rather choose to continue to apply what they know to be correct behaviour in this regard, particularly if the new circumstances were not significantly different from those of the homeland? Yet, the underlying impulses towards migration, be they related to environmental conditions, population issues or conflict, may have already begun to deconstruct and fragment their cultural norms whilst still in their homelands. It is argued that there are implicit assumptions about the nature of marriage and exogamy that have percolated through research into Anglo-Saxon society, but have remained by and large unquestioned and accepted, particularly within archaeology. The presence of male and female separated gender identities and the formal unions between binary constructs are so fundamental to society that they can become normative, unquestioned starting blocks for research into a range of wider issues. A critical review is necessary that allows us to test our assumptions within cultural contexts. What were the markers of marriage, for men and for women, and what did marriage mean in practical and political terms? The key nodal point in the early Anglo-Saxon canon was the marriage of the minor royal Bertha, daughter of a deceased Merovingian king of Paris, to Kentish prince and heir to the throne Æthelbehrt in the later sixth century, yet this involved the cementing of bonds between dynasties of unequal status. It did however usefully create a window of opportunity for the Augustinian Mission, and was followed up in the seventh century by the marriage of his son Eadbald to Ymme, another Frankish bride, clearly placing ‘marriage’ within the nexus of aristocratic dynastic power strategies. Intermarriage may have been something of a one-way street, however, as it has been suggested that ‘Saxon women brought no prestige to Merovingian men’ (Wood 1992, 240). On the other hand, an attractive Anglo-Saxon slave girl could become a queen and queen regent in the seventh century, as apparently might be the case with Bathild (Nelson 1978). At the local level, the relative political values of ethnically or culturally different potential spouses may have been more nuanced. One might conjecture a strategy involving Kentish women marrying Anglo-Saxon men or vice versa to achieve or

Emerging marriage strategies The standpoint of this review is that masculine gender identity is historically contingent and culturally embedded and that marriage as a concept has a key role to play in assisting us to develop a more nuanced perspective on societal changes in phase A, to the end of the sixth century. Clearly a purpose of marriage is

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology cement local political alliances within southern Britain. By the seventh century, once Anglo-Saxonn hegemony was well established, it may well have been in the best interests of British families to acquire Saxon kinsmen (Barbara Yorke pers. comm.).

post-migration has prompted a realignment of the cultural underpinnings regarding the transmission of weaponry at least. One would normally interpret swords as markers of status derived from fealty to an overlord, whose gift of arms sealed the obligations of overlordship and military service in early Anglo-Saxon society. Nevertheless, it is noted that the ring on a ringsword may have symbolised a pledge between two (male) parties. There are also literary allusions to the custom in medieval Germany of the bride and groom placing their hands on the hilt of a sword when swearing fidelity to one another (Davidson 1994, 76).

But, how much more was there to marriage strategies than this? Sonia Chadwick Hawkes (1982, 70) was keen to view this strategy as occurring further down the hierarchy at the level of Kentish entrepreneurial trading families forming cross-channel alliances for mutual benefit via reverse exogamy and suggested that this group maintained links with their point of origin through continuing immigration, particularly of brides, who were subsequently buried with their Jutish jewellery. The presence of occasional Kentish female burial assemblages on the coast of France, as at Giberville Grave 27, Lower Normandy, with keystone garnet disc brooch and weaving beater (Pilet 1990) and the unassociated Kentish-type weaving beater at Herpesen-Charente, supports this view of strong-cross channel links facilitated by the movement of females (see Soulat, this volume). Elisabeth Crowfoot and Sonia Chadwick Hawkes (1967) interpret sixth century women with gold braided vittae as exogamous brides, cementing marriage links with local families for the Kentish royal household and emphasising their Frankish cultural links (1967, 65). EASC lists 25 such burials in southern Britain, mostly in Kent, but also in the coastal and riverine areas, that exhibit strong Kentish contacts through the deployment of female dress fitments (FDFs).

Michael J. Enright (1991) comments on the cultic significance of weaving in relation to destiny, prophecy and warfare throughout the Indo-European world. He cites later literary sources illustrating that metaphors around weaving could be used for both war and its cessation, with a woman exogamously married to create an alliance called (in Old English) a freođuwebbe or ‘peace weaver’. Literary images of the first millennium AD that relate to religious belief and the role of significant men and women appear to refer to stories about the lives and experiences of these deities living in parallel worlds (North 1997). This sense of narrative may have been a contributory factor in the selection of objects for the furnished burial, perhaps in preparation for the deceased to act out a role that was a much altered image of everyday life. But what role was there for marriage and kin allegiances within such a narrative? Archaeologically they are difficult to decipher and may transcend modern perceptions of masculine/feminine binary opposites. As Hilda Ellis Davidson (1993, 142) remarks, the symbolism of the journey to the Otherworld probably provided a framework for the acceptance of death and a continuation of symbolically meaningful activity, although the specific narratives underlying these actions, as presented in local forms of furnished burial, are perhaps beyond reconstruction.

Whatever the practicalities of marriage in the fifth and sixth centuries, we have only the comments of Tacitus to temporally bookend the historically attested marriages of the late sixth and seventh centuries. The Germania written in the late first century AD and purporting to be an ethnography of Germanic peoples, is necessarily a source of questionable direct relevance to the early Anglo-Saxons, yet echoes of its comments regarding marriage dowries recur in much later texts. He states (ch 18) that the dowry was brought by the husband to the wife, rather than by the wife to the husband, which at marriage consisted of ‘oxen, a horse with its bridle, or a shield, spear and sword’. But she in turn gives a present of arms to her husband as an interchange of gifts. Tacitus asserts that the woman enters the man’s home, although no mention is made of any kin relationship, perhaps indicating that exogamy may have been the rule. The statement that the wife must hand over the gifts, representative of ‘toil and perils’, to her children for her sons’ wives to receive ‘intact and undepreciated’ raises concerns for the context of furnished burial in the fifth and sixth centuries, where these objects are consistently found. Although one need not necessarily interpret the presence of these items in the burial as markers of marriage, it does suggest that the context of settlement

It appears that a feminine role in the transmission of arms and wealth is still visible within cognatic kinship in Anglo-Saxon England between the seventh to eleventh centuries AD (Lancaster 1958). Such material may well have been separate from the ‘morning gift’, attested in later texts, given by the husband after the consummation of the union, which may have been of a more personal nature – one can intimate that brooches, either newly commissioned or heirlooms, and textiles in the form of costume or soft furnishings may have fulfilled this particular role. For those better endowed, this may also have included title to land. Carole Hough (1996) comments on the meaning of morgengifu in the laws of Aethelbehrt, which clearly indicates that the morning gift became the wife’s personal property. However, place-name evidence supplies examples of morgengifu as a component term, illustrating that land or an estate could

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Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England be part of a marriage settlement. The surviving placenames are of sufficient quantity to emphasise that ‘the marriage gift represented an important concept in landownership throughout the early Middle Ages’ (ibid., 20). The Kentish law codes, particularly those of Æthelbehrt generated before Christian involvement, highlight a concern to secure the property rights of widows and that if childless her property would revert to her kin and not to the family of her spouse (Fell 1984, 4).

to this are unstated; also the ‘illicit unions’ noted in the Laws of Wihtred of Kent of AD 695. Bede condemned the marriage of Eadbald of Kent to his stepmother in the early seventh century, which Dorothy Whitelock (1952, 150) saw as a Germanic practice, related to the inheritance potential of the widow. Barbara Yorke (1990, 167) comments on the strategic use of both male and female relatives to cement bonds, so one must question whether exogamy, usually associated with women moving to the community of a male descent group, at some point in the dynastic strategy is also linked to men moving away from the royal house to become sub-kings in new territories and to forming marriage alliances with local elite. In any case, by the seventh century marriage did not seem to be for life – there are frequent enough examples in the literature of widows or marital breakdown (both perhaps caused by feuding kin and inlaws), where the woman might return to her kin with or without her wealth (Barbara Yorke pers. comm.).

Marriage and kin Lorraine Lancaster’s 1958 discussion of a generalised Germanic kinship system, drawing on documentary sources later than the project study period of the fifth to late seventh centuries, offers a guide through the complexities of terminology and meaning. Kin are described as persons descended from a common ancestor, arranged by sibship and degrees of nearness, characterised as body parts (ibid., 232), with the parents at the head, siblings at the neck and so on down the body to describe the degrees of distance, although apparently there was no sociological reality to this system. Evidently the bond uniting siblings into a social group was important, and indeed this may have had implications if we consider the founder burials in a given community. Is there any necessity to assume that the first half of the sixth-century burials 203 and 204 at Finglesham, Kent were a married pairing (Hawkes 1982) rather than siblings? If this latter scenario were the case, then their ability to maximise their marriage alliances would be doubled and could cement their kin’s position in the locality.

But, there is no precision to the use of the term ‘marriage’ in the context of the archaeology of early Anglo-Saxon England. Linguistic sources point towards a diversity of terminology related to kin, that precludes confident recognition of marriage within or outside the group, however defined. The type of descent mechanism is key. In a unilinear system of descent, association with kin linked to either parent is minimised leading to demarcated kin groups, persisting from generation to generation, as in the nuclear family. In bilateral or cognatic kinship descent may be traced through both males and females from ancestors and gives affiliation to a set of kinsmen. In bilateral relationships each group of siblings has associations with a different set of cognatic kin, but this has no structural persistence over time and is made anew with each generation (Lancaster 1958, 232). Anglo-Saxon kinship systems appear to have been non-unilineal, so that every individual had their own set of kin affiliations. This actually makes kin difficult to define as a group and even more so if these relationships existed within a very diffuse spatial context. Can we necessarily assume propinquity of kin, especially if FDFs are found rather far from home, for example small long brooches in Kent, or indeed isolated examples of Anglian type pot stamps in Sussex (Diana Briscoe pers. comm.). Thus, it also becomes difficult to link individuals in terms of their proximity within a cemetery plan as kin groups may not have had such a clear structure to be reflected in the spatial arrangement of burials. Conversely, if a cemetery was used by a community of ostensibly separate kin groups within a settlement or associated group of settlements, some of whom were actually linked together through descent and a marriage strategy that included kith or near neighbours, then the placing of each burial might reflect diversity of kin associations rather than a direct marriage association.

The usual term for kin (itself the basis for the word ‘king’) was maga, but as there was no precise limit to the maga, then marriage within or without is unknowable in practical terms. Old English terminology makes a distinction based on sex, thus different words are used, for example, for a father’s brother and a father’s sister, although they were at the same kin level to one individual. However, the dynastic aspect of kingship is based on agnatic links, that is descended through males, excluding descendants of females, as clearly some of the key relationships were ostensibly male-to-male in order to facilitate landholding, war and administration. (It has been suggested that a marker of fealty was to have a spiral or single band finger ring in copper alloy or silver. Whilst these are a statistically minor find they do occur regularly in female burial assemblages of the sixth century) The imprecations by the church to regularise marriage unions in the seventh century are well known: in AD 601 Pope Gregory forbade marriage between certain degrees of kinship; later the church added prohibitions on incest, although the actual kin limits

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology If the royal dynasties of the seventh century were in actuality close-knit kin groups organised to retain their hold on wealth, what then was their marriage strategy? Did they marry out or did they stay within their kin group and marry at the level of cousin? As peripatetic landowners, the entire household would move around to consume their organic wealth from estate holdings. However, if land was held on both sides of the North Sea, then marriage within the kin group could explain the presence of more distinctively Frankish women in southern Britain (see Soulat, this volume), that is, they were part of the same kin group and possibly linked to the Frankish men also evidenced in burial assemblages. In all likelihood these were not women of the highest status within the royal court, however, as the evidence involves the presence of relatively ordinary sixth-century artefacts, such as matched pairs of both miniature and radiate-headed bow brooches (Crowfoot and Hawkes 1967; Brugmann 1999). It is of note that the frequency of gold braid in Kentish burials is unusual within a European context (Harrington forthcoming) and this may signify an attempt to make more overt the Frankish association. Nevertheless the physical and notional content of the associated dowries can only be conjectured. It may have comprised esoteric personal artefacts, wealth in terms of treasure and perhaps entitlements to land in southern Britain.

early, paired male and female founder burials. However, the concept of a male-only migrationary strategy might imply that they themselves were adventurous surplus males needing to create new communities and new power bases as part of an organic colonisation process, in which case, the male assemblages might be significantly earlier than the female ones. There is no particular evidence to support this view from fifth century burials, although it is noted that the earliest Germanic objects in southern Britain are FDFs, such as equal arm and supporting arm brooches, dated by Martin Welch as being deposited in the mid fifth century (Welch 1987) 2. Marry into the local community, however constituted. This may not be visible archaeologically, unless DNA can positively identify Romano-British women with Germanic status objects. However, if the local community has no status equivalent to their own, then there is no immediate strategic value in marrying in, although in the longer term this would assist in the establishment of an agnatic dynasty, in that the female line and her associated kin could be subordinated. This would not be the same as having a reproductive strategy with local females which may have existed as a parallel activity. 3. Import women to marry from the homeland community but obeying the cultural rules of allowable marriage, therefore embedding the homeland group as an exclusive unit in the new domicile. This strategy would institute a hierarchy within the context of the other indigenous people that they do not marry into and may again move towards unilineal descent. However, in the context of the war band, there would have to have been a supply of women at suitable levels to maintain the status structure within the male group – it is perhaps unlikely that the war leader would always have had sufficient female relatives to satisfy all needs. Thus, marriage alliances may have been made from throughout the strands of the homeland cultural group and in this context bracteates may be markers of exogamous brides from southern Scandinavia in the sixth century.

Possible marriage strategies in the fifth and sixth centuries Clearly there was a dynastic impulse based around the agnatic line by the seventh century, but it is perhaps useful to consider how this situation might have been arrived at since the first phases of migration. I propose a range of possible strategies that may fit the circumstances of the fifth century advent of Germanic settlement, dependent on the composition of the earliest settling groups and which are possibly reflected in the archaeological record. Firstly, one must conjecture the make-up of a male war band that may have established itself as an elite group. Were they a leader and kin, as perhaps indicated by the origin myths of father and sons or similarly named brothers, together with their followers already tied by tribal affiliation, fealty or kinship? Once ensconced in an area, with sufficient resources to live above subsistence level, that is without needing to directly produce from their own resource base (given that tools associated with subsistence tasks are noticeably absent from male burial assemblages, contra Härke, this volume), a range of marriage strategies might be deployed.

4. Alternatively, if war band members were granted land and encouraged to move on, into an appropriate sub area within the group leader’s landholdings, then this may have been the point at which the cultural precepts could be stretched to accommodate strategic variations that may have included the females from other groups and may have facilitated the emergence of differently constituted local elites.

1. Once settled, import their existing wives and families. Archaeologically, this may be seen through

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Beyond exogamy: marriage strategies in Early Anglo-Saxon England 5. Import women to marry from another high status community in order to enhance their own status within their own group and to formalise alliances with another powerful, but external group. This strategy may explain the number of Frankish-type women present in the mid sixth century, such as those women with gold braided headbands and radiate-headed brooches and by extension of this strategy the presence of females with Kentish-type material outside of Kent, for example the girl from Holywell Row Grave 11 in the Anglian region or, later, the woman with a Kentish-type weaving beater from Butler’s Field Lechlade Grave 187.

scenario are Market Lavington and Collingbourne Ducis in Wiltshire, Poverest Road, Orpington, Kent and Weston Colley, Hampshire (see Stoodley, this volume). However, if the incoming group have no particular status in their new domicile or they are not viably constituted to reproduce themselves, then they could embed themselves by making marriage alliances for mutual benefit with the indigenous population. The processes of intermingling over generations would be advantageous in terms of generating labour and perhaps the melding of landscape parcels to form workable environmental units. Such a strategy would appear to be wholly localised, however, and would not necessarily explain the presence of Frankish women. In terms of colonisation of the landscape, if these were spatially diffused groups of settlers, then marriage alliances with other Germanic communities would offer an explanation of the subsequent pattern of landholdings perhaps, and this idea has some probability in Saxon areas. The alternative is for the new communities to remain rather isolated until such time as the expanding early kingdoms moved westwards and subsumed them in the seventh century. The question here is whether there is a bottom up process of localised marriage alliances - exogamous in that this strategy would optimise access to the landholdings of the patrilocal group. However, the time scale that would be required to unite coherent landscapes, if new alliances were made over every generation and given the presence of suitable offspring or kin to unite, is debatable. Does this scenario genuinely offer a mechanism for bottom up state formation? One must declare that it in all probability does not.

In none of these strategies do the men intermarry with the indigenous population, yet one must also consider the possibility that women from the homeland communities of southern Scandinavia and Northern Germany were imported to marry into the indigenous population, as a means of cementing local power structures and to tie communities together, perhaps in advance of, but at least contemporary with, the Germanic male presence. Here one might comment on one of the findings of the Beyond the Tribal Hidage Project that the spatial distribution of FDFs in the sixth century extends beyond the western edge of the Anglo-Saxon cemeteries, albeit evidenced in the main by unassociated finds. Perhaps there is evidence of moving women from Anglo-Saxon communities out into the unsettled spaces of the Western Britain - as a secondary phase of marriage strategy and spatial dominance. On the same tack, a question arises whether there are any hints of women being married in to existing British structures in the fifth century before the main phases of settlement, for example families or kin of British overlords marrying into federate families to cement bonds of obligation, or vice versa, Germanic federate leaders forming marriage alliances with extant British hierarchy. It is a moot point as to whose rules of marriage would take precedence, with possible conflict in terms of the property rights within the different groups – here the fifth century burials at Dorchester on Thames (Welch 1992, 100–2) may provide an example.

Should one also question the notion that all people, regardless of status, married at some point in their life course? Indeed, is it possible to introduce into the social landscape of early Anglo-Saxon southern Britain the notion of men and women who did not marry nor reproduce, acting as a very useful pool of labour to support the households of their kith and kin? Chris Wickham (2005, 552) comments that partible inheritance worked as a strategy as there was no intention to make offspring poor through this process. Some families may have been childless, so any inheritance would go to nearest kin, thus recombining property. If daughters co-inherited with sons, or were given a marriage dowry, then marriage could be the means through which property could be recombined, particularly if they were marrying close kin. It is noted that the Franks (ibid., 554) were relatively generous to daughters and by the eighth century seventeen percent of land in Francia was owned by women, possibly derived from marriage portions, as Frankish customs allowed morning gifts to be a proportion of landed estates.

To look now at the other major migration model, that of whole communities moving en masse, possibly arriving shortly after the elite war bands if one follows Bede’s outline of the process. Here one assumes that kin groups were already constituted, in that they were already married and had no need to marry in to indigenous groups. If the entire community had migrated from the homelands, then there were no new people left to come over and thus links were severed with the homelands. Thus the very early FDFs are present with the first phase of settlers, but thereafter new local styles are developed. Example cemetery communities in this

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Archaeological markers of marriage?

only expressed and transmitted in the man’s family, in contrast there would be reason if the woman had inheritance rights. The suggestion of spatial variations in the use of these strategies in Denmark is useful and one that would merit further investigation in early Anglo-Saxon southern Britain.

Whatever the conjecture laid out above, what we clearly lack from the archaeology is an understanding of the markers of marriage and indeed how these might represent themselves through markers of ethnicity and status. Substantial but worn brooches must be interpreted as heirlooms, such as the Jutlandic bow brooch from Grave 14 at Apple Down, Sussex, part of the assemblage of a 20-25 year old woman, to add to her pair of saucer brooches and Kentish/Frankish type buckle (Down and Welch 1984). Does the presence of brooches in itself suggest married status? The phase A burials in the project database offer 45 examples of female children aged 3-6 years with brooches, from throughout the study region, but at the edges and not in the middle – no examples were found for Hampshire and Surrey, indicating perhaps a concerted effort to cement relationships around the main coastal and riverine trading routes. There are a smaller number of children, estimated age at death 3-6 years and assumed to be male, buried with spearheads – 12 in phase A, 13 in phase B and 7 in phase C, although swords do not occur with anyone younger than juvenile (age at death 7-15 years). Would there be grounds for interpreting these burials as examples of males given enhanced masculine identity at the point of marriage and indeed what kind of circumstances could be envisaged that this would have been a marriage strategy? Additionally, are iron keys a marker of marriage, indicating control over household wealth? Again these occur with females of all ages and occasionally with men. The gold braided vittae have been noted above, but these also occur with children, such as Dover Buckland Grave 20 and Holywell Row Grave 11. Finger rings are common enough (133 examples) but are by no means ubiquitous. Cemetery plans likewise give little indication of formal unions between males and females. Double burials of a male and a female, as at Mill Hill Deal Grave 105, are less frequent than same sex burials of people who died at the same time and were buried in parallel. Perhaps, the question then is one of whether marriage is marked at all in the burial?

Conclusions What had begun as a straightforward appreciation of the influence of Martin’s approach and the questions that it raised for me, clearly demands an in depth review of the whole issue of marriage and exogamy. My initial assumption of exogamy as the main mode of group alliance making now appears to have been too hasty. Were early Anglo-Saxon communities genuinely marrying out or were they marrying within their kin groups, at the cousin level, as a means of retaining control over their communal wealth? This begs the question of the nature of wealth, as portable material goods, or rather something more intangible but more important, specifically landholding. The presence of Franks around the coastal and riverine edges of the study region could indicate that they were holding land on both sides of the Channel and used marriage as a means of sending out, possibly minor, members of the kin to deal with the more distant estates and to assert control over trading rights. It is possible to suggest the use of a range of marriage strategies rather than a single norm, co-existing and spatially variant in the fifth and sixth centuries. The range of impulses for these strategies was both practical in terms of the generation of coherent landholdings, but also dynastic within a context of social hierarchy. Clearly the Franks were conversant with state hierarchy and top level marriage strategies and these appear in the first third of the sixth century in southern Britain, as a means of formalising relationships between powerful men and suggests the existence of a functioning hierarchy, in Kent at least, contemporary with that strategy. Yet, for the majority, the formation of new settlements, albeit referencing Late Roman landscape structures in their choice of location and acknowledging the probable presence of Romano-British people, may have refreshed attitudes to marriage. The mixing and matching of female dress fitments, denoting a range of cultural references, may have been another facet of individuals finding their own, new identities in a new place, freed from the constraints of the past. In this new context, marrying through mutual consent and affection may have had as much to do with cementing the Anglo-Saxon presence as the marriage strategies of the elites.

Indeed, Lotte Hedeager (1992, 155) questions how important marriage was in the Germanic world of the mid first millennium AD. She argues that kinship and marriage had only a minor role to play in the organisation of communities, as it was subordinate to economic and political relationships, stating that ‘ kinship and marriage systems are directly dependent upon the economic and political structures... a symptom rather than an explanation of the more basic traits of the structure of a community’. She could see no reason for furnishing women with rich grave goods if status was

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Acknowledgements

interpretation of Old English legal terminology’, Leeds Studies in English New Series XXVII, 19–48 Lancaster, L. 1958 ‘Kinship in Anglo-Saxon society, partsI & II’. British Journal of Sociology 9, 230–50, 359–77 Lewis, G. 1982 Human Migration. London: Croom Helm. Lucy, S. 1997 ‘Housewives, Warriors and Slaves?’, in J. Moore and E. Scott (eds), Invisible People and Processes. London: Leicester University Press, 150–68 Lucy, S. 1997a. ‘Reinterpreting Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries’, in G. De Boe and F.Verhaeghe (eds), Death and Burial in Medieval Europe. Instituut voor het Archaeologisch Patrimonium: Papers of the Medieval Europe Brugge 1997 Conference 2, 27–32 Lucy, S. 1998. The early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of East Yorkshire: an analysis and interpretation. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 272 March, K. 1983 ‘Weaving , writing and gender’, Man 18, 729–44 Nelson, J. 1978���������������������������������������������� ‘Queens as Jezebels: the careers of Brunhild and Bathild in Merovingien History’, in D. Baker (ed), Medieval Woman. Oxford: Blackwell for the Ecclesiastical History Society, 31–77 North, R. 1997 Heathen gods in Old English literature. Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 22. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Pilet, C. 1990 ‘Les nécropoles de Giberville (Calvados)’, Archéologie Médiévale 20, 3–137 Soulat, J. 2011 ‘�������������������������������������������� Between Frankish and Merovingian Influences in Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex (5th-7th centuries)’, ������ in S. Brookes, S. Harrington and A. Reynolds (eds), Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin Welch. British Archaeological Reports Stoodley, N. 1997 The spindle and the spear: a critical enquiry into the construction and meaning of gender in early Anglo-Saxon inhumation burial rite. University of Reading, unpublished PhD thesis Stoodley, N. 2011 ‘������������������������������������������� A fifth-century female from Weston Colley, Micheldever, Hampshire’, ����������������������������� in S. Brookes, S. Harrington and A. Reynolds (eds), Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin Welch. British Archaeological Reports Stone, L. 2000 Kinship and gender: an introduction. Oxford: Westview Press Sykes, B. 2006 Blood of the Isles. London: Bantam Press Tacitus, Cornelius  The Agricola and The Germania. London: Penguin Thomas, M., Stumpf, M. and Härke, H. 2006 ‘Evidence for an apartheid-like structure in early Anglo-Saxon England’, Proceedings of the Royal Society B, Biological Sciences 273, 2651–7 Welch, M. 1987 ‘A Saxon equal-arm brooch from Keymer, Sussex’, Antiquaries Journal 64, 364–5 Welch, M. 1992 English Heritage Book of Anglo-Saxon England. London: English Heritage Whitelock, D. 1952 The Beginnings of English Society. Harmondsworth: Penguin Wickham, C. 2005. Framing the early Middle Ages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wood, I. 1992 ‘Frankish hegemony in England’, i����������� n M. O. H. Carver (ed), The Age of Sutton Hoo: the seventh century in north-western Europe. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 235–41 Yorke, B. 1990 Kings and kingdoms in early Anglo-Saxon England. London: Seaby

I am extremely grateful to Andrew Reynolds, Stuart Brookes and Barbara Yorke for their insightful comments on the earlier draft of this paper and regret that time constraints precluded a fuller exploration of the many issues that they raised. The errors and biases of interpretation remain those of the author, however.

References Allason-Jones L. 2003 Women in Roman Britain. York: Council for British Archaeology Chant, S. 1992 Gender and migration in developing countries. London: Belhaven Press. Crowfoot, E. and Hawkes, S.C. 1967 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon gold braids’, Medieval Archaeology 11, 42–85 Davidson, H.E. 1993 The lost beliefs of Northern Europe. London: Routledge. Davidson, H.E. 1996 The sword in Anglo-Saxon England. Corrected reprint. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press Deliège, R. 2004 Lévi-Strauss today: an introduction to structural anthropology. Oxford: Berg Down, A. and Welch, M. ‘A Jutlandic square-headed brooch from Apple Down, West Sussex’, Antiquaries Journal 64/2, 408–13 Enright, M.J. 1991 ‘The Goddess who weaves: some iconographic aspects of bracteates of the Fürstenberg type’, Frümittelalterliche Studien 24, 54–70 Fell, C. 1984 Women in Anglo-Saxon England. London: British Museum Publications Fox, R. 1967 Kinship and marriage. Harmondsworth: Penguin Geake, H. 1997 The use of grave goods in Conversion period England c.600-c.950. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 261 Gulati, L. 1993 In the absence of their men. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Härke, H. 2011 ‘���������������������������������������� Gender representation in early medieval burials: ritual re-affirmation of a blurred boundary?’,���� in S. Brookes, S. Harrington and A. Reynolds (eds), Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology: Papers in Honour of Martin Welch. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports Harrington, S. Forthcoming ‘The gold braid’,���������������� in Archaeology ������������ South-East Late Iron Age settlement and an Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at St Anne’s Road, Eastbourne, East Sussex, Spoilheap Monograph Series Harrington, S. and Welch, M. Forthcoming Beyond the Tribal Hidage: the economic landscapes of the early Anglo-Saxon kingdoms south of the Thames. Monograph of the Leverhulme Trust funded research project 2006 – 2009. Hawkes, S.C. 1982 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent c.425-725’, in P. Leach (ed), Archaeology in Kent to 1500. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Reports 48, 64–78 Hawkes, S.C. and Wells, C. 1975 ‘Crime and Punishment in an Anglo-Saxon cemetery?’, Antiquity 49, 118–22 Hedeager, L. 1992 Iron Age Societies. Oxford: Blackwell Pubs Hills, C. 2009 ‘Anglo-Saxon DNA?’, in D. Sayer and H. Williams (eds), Mortuary practices and social identities in the Middle Ages. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 123–40 Hough, C. 1996 ‘Place-name evidence relating to the

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Gender representation in early medieval burials: ritual re-affirmation of a blurred boundary?

13

HEINRICH HÄRKE

The expression of gender boundaries was a major feature of burial ritual in the fifth to seventh centuries AD in England, Scandinavia, and Continental Europe from France to the North Caucasus. In many societies, a very large proportion, in some cases the majority, of adults and adolescents were buried with an unambiguous, almost stereotypical gender display which is highly visible in the archaeological evidence, and is likely to have been even more visible to the mourners. It is suggested here that the erosion of traditional gender roles, and perhaps a more general fluidity of social norms and group distinctions, in this period of high individual and group mobility led to a reaffirmation in death of boundaries that were becoming less distinct in life. This explanation is well compatible with social anthropologists’ views on the nature of ritual; and it might help to understand the post-Roman emphasis in burial ritual not just on gender boundaries, but also on other, social and ethnic boundaries.

Introduction

The archaeological evidence

In the final discussion of the 2004 conference on Early Medieval Mortuary Practices at Exeter (Semple and Williams 2007), Martin Welch quizzically asked if the fashionable critique of ‘Victorian stereotypes’ might not perhaps overlook that the Victorians were closer, in time and in attitude, to the Anglo-Saxon past than we are today. It is in this spirit of healthy skepticism that this paper is offered to Martin as a tribute to his contributions to Anglo-Saxon burial archaeology and its debates.

A marked gender display can be found in the archaeological burial evidence of the fifth to eighth centuries AD (in some areas up to the tenth century) right across Europe, from England to the North Caucasus, among the Anglo-Saxons, Franks, Alamanni, Scandinavians, Slavs, Avars, Alans and others. This display was absent in the Christian Celtic societies of the west and north of the British Isles, and in the Mediterranean where only a few immigrant Germanic groups (mainly Goths and Lombards) included a gender display in their burial ritual.

Among the social differences expressed in the burial rites of early medieval Europe, sex (the biological difference) and gender (its cultural counterpart) are highly visible in the archaeological record (cf. Gilchrist 1997, 47-50). This suggests that early medieval societies had specific ideas about sex and gender differences, and that they felt it necessary to display these differences in a funerary context. This, in turn, raises the question of why the display was considered necessary, and what intentional or subconscious purposes it may have served. After all, modern industrial societies largely suppress or ignore gender differences in funerary display; and ethnographic cases demonstrate that not all societies with clear gender roles express these in their burial ritual (e.g. the Dakota; Whelan 1991, 30), let alone unambiguously (cf. the Inuit; Crass 2001).

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The main features of this display can be illustrated using the case of the early Anglo-Saxon burial rite in the fifth to seventh centuries AD (Welch 1992; Lucy 2000). There are a number of reasons for choosing this case study: Anglo-Saxon archaeology has seen a debate on gender issues since the 1980s; the early Anglo-Saxon burial rite is fairly typical of early medieval funerary customs; and a computer database of 3,401 Anglo-Saxon inhumation burials (including physical anthropological data) has been available for detailed analysis (compiled by Härke 1992; Stoodley 1999). Martin Welch’s database project ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ will make data from the burials of some 12,000 individuals available, allowing to check the patterns noted here against an even larger

Gender representation in early medieval burials

Fig. 36 The Anglo-Saxon ‘female kit’ (Dover-Buckland grave 13; after Evison 1987, 280, fig. 9; copyright English Heritage)

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Fig. 37 The Anglo-Saxon ‘male kit’ (Dover-Buckland grave 56; after Evison 1987, 302, fig. 31; copyright English Heritage)

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Gender representation in early medieval burials 100 36% female gender

36% fem ale gender representation representation

21% 21%male m algender e gender representation representation

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60 48%

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18% gender 18% male m alwithout es w ithout gender representation representation

14% without gender 14% females fem ales w ithout gender representation representation

11% adults 11%unidentified unidentified adults

23%

20

0

5th/6th century

7th/early 8th century

8th century and later

Fig. 38 (left) Proportions of sexed and gendered burials in a sample of 1637 Anglo-Saxon adult burials (data from Härke 1992; Stoodley 1999; pers. comm.). Fig. 39 (right) Frequencies of Anglo-Saxon weapon burials over time (data from Härke 1992)

database. Anglo-Saxon cremations have to be ignored in the following discussion, but their gender-related features are closely similar to those of inhumations (cf. Williams 2005). Gender representation in Anglo-Saxon inhumations was achieved mainly by the use of dress items and additional grave-goods, not by grave construction or spatial differentiation within graves or cemeteries. Female adults (according to physical anthropological sexing) were buried with two or three brooches, pairs of sleeve clasps, bead necklaces, bracelets, rings, pins, and several keys or other items suspended from the belt (Figure 36). By comparison, the male dress is archaeologically almost invisible and consists only of belt fittings (in 40% of male adult burials), in very rare cases also a single brooch, pin, or key. Adult males (again, as identified by physical anthropology) are better equipped with separately deposited grave-goods: weapons, tools for metal- and woodworking, and less frequently horse harness, drinking horns, gaming pieces, and musical instruments (Figure 37). Females were accompanied by tools of textile production (spindle-whorls, loom weights and weaving battens) and so-called ‘needle-cases’ (cf. also Harrington 2008). Gender-neutral grave-goods included knives, tweezers, firesteels, boxes and vessels. Pottery was more often found with women, and wooden drinking vessels (including ‘buckets’) with men, but not exclusively so.

Thus, the Anglo-Saxon burial rite emphasized different aspects for the two genders (Brush 1988, 1993): in the case of females, the body and in the case of males, warfare and feasting. And it is surely significant that the male and female kits as described above are mutually exclusive: they never appear mixed in undisturbed single graves (Härke 1992, 179-182). It is equally significant that these gender differences are clearly expressed only from the age of 10 to 12 years onwards, i.e. approximately from the age of puberty; by the age of 15 to 16 years, AngloSaxons were buried with the full adult kit according to their gender (Härke 1997, 127-128; Stoodley 2000). It should be noted, however, that not all Anglo-Saxon adults received such gendered treatment in death: of the 1637 undisturbed adult graves in the analyzed sample, 913 (or 56%) had gender-indicating dress items or grave-goods, with women being overrepresented in this group (Figure 38). The latter is an effect of the higher frequency of female dress items compared with that of weapons. It is also important to note that the frequency of gender display changed over time: weapon burials declined from 48% of anthropologically sexed male adults in the fifth/sixth centuries, to 23% in the seventh/early eighth centuries (Figure 39). Female gender display peaked in the sixth century, with 60% of sexed female adults accompanied by gender-indicating items, and then declined more slowly than the weapon burial rite. The funerary display of both genders all but disappeared in the first half of the eighth century AD: from then

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Fig. 40 Grave types of the three phases of the cemetery of Klin-Yar (Russia): Koban (362), Sarmatian (365) and Alanic (360)

on, the vast majority of burials were gender-neutral. But as late as the ninth century, the will of King Alfred the Great referred to the ‘spear side’ and ‘spindle side’ of the family (Whitelock 1979, 537, note 1), implying a continuity of the old gender symbols. But these were no longer put into the graves because of the, by then Christian, burial ritual in which gender display (if any) was much more subtle and mainly limited to religious males (Hadley 2004). It is, however, worth noting that the Franks were Christian, at least nominally, throughout the period of their most pronounced grave-goods custom and gender display in the sixth and seventh centuries (James 1988). Before the fifth century, gender display was more muted or absent. In Britain, there were a few different brooch types for males and females in Late Roman graves, but no mutually exclusive gender kits (Philpott 1991, 233). In the Anglo-Saxon emigration areas on the European Continent, gender representation had been marked in the first and second centuries AD, including genderseparate cemeteries (Gebühr 1997). But these forms of representation largely disappeared in the third and fourth centuries AD, i.e. in the last two centuries before the Anglo-Saxon emigration to England.

Similar features of gender display, and similar patterns of change over time can be found in the early medieval burial rite across Europe. An instructive case is the large cemetery of Klin-Yar in the North Caucasus (Stavropol region, Russian Federation) where the presence of three cultural phases allows the observation of chronological changes at one burial site (Härke and Belinsky 2000; 2008). The inhumation graves of the Late Bronze Age/ Early Iron Age Koban Culture are characterized by a marked gender display which uses not only grave-goods, but also body position: males were buried crouched lying on their right side, females on their left side (Figure 40). By contrast, the burial rite of the succeeding Sarmatian period was much more variable, and while there were distinctions between male and female grave-goods, their numbers were small, and many graves were only equipped with gender-neutral pottery vessels. In the third phase, that of the early medieval Alanic period, the burial rite became again more standardized, and gender display became very marked, using a large number of gendered dress items and grave-goods as well as space in the multiple-burial catacombs: men were deposited in the southern half of the catacombs, women in the northern half (Figure 40). The use of a spatial distinction here is vaguely reminiscent of the separation in some medieval churchyard cemeteries of western and northern Europe where men were buried south of the church, and women north (Gilchrist 1997, 45; Staecker 1996).

Interpretation Three questions need to be addressed when studying these patterns. Is the gender display described above linked to the sex of the buried individuals, or did biological sex and cultural gender occasionally diverge? Were there more than two genders in early medieval

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Gender representation in early medieval burials societies? And most importantly: what was the reason for the marked gender display in early medieval societies? Until the beginnings of the archaeological debate on gender in the 1980s (Gero and Conkey 1991; Brandt 1996; Gilchrist 1999), it was generally assumed that the cultural artefacts and dress items in early medieval graves truthfully reflected the biological sex of the deceased (cf. Effros 2000). This direct equation was supported by the vast majority of anthropological sex determinations, with any discrepancies easily explained with the error span of the sexing methods (typically 5% to 10%). While some of those explanations may look simplistic or hasty today, a more recent trend has been in the opposite direction: contradictions between gender-diagnostic artefacts and anthropological sexing in a few Anglo-Saxon graves have been explained with the existence of a third and fourth gender in AngloSaxon society (Lucy 1997; 1998). However, most of these ‘cross-gender’ cases (biological males with brooches, biological females with weapons) are from disturbed graves, double burials, or badly documented excavations. Excluding these, most of the remaining 29 ‘cross-gender’ cases known from AngloSaxon contexts are concentrated in two cemeteries: Dover-Buckland (Evison 1987) and Norton (Sherlock und Welch 1992). That fact alone should have led to concerns about the reliability of records or data from these sites, and about the extent to which the specific sexual dimorphism of the respective local populations was, or was not, taken into account. An attempt was made in the mid-1990s to solve the questions posed by these cases with an interdisciplinary project involving a re-assessment of their archaeology (N. Stoodley) and physical anthropology (T. Molleson), and the application of DNA sexing (J. Bailey). While the project remained unpublished because DNA sexing, then a new and as yet undeveloped tool, did not produce clear results, the new anthropological sexing showed sufficiently clearly that the weapon graves among these cases were those of males, and most graves with dress ornaments were those of females (N. Stoodley pers. comm.). That leaves only a tiny proportion of possible cross-gender cases in the analysed sample of 1401 Anglo-Saxon inhumations: 1.16% of anthropologically sexed men were buried with dress ornaments, and 0.24% of females with weapons (Stoodley 1999; pers. comm.). Elsewhere in western Europe, for example in Frankish cemeteries, the situation is similarly clear-cut, and the incidence of ‘cross-gender’ cases similar (cf. Effros 2000; Halsall 2001). In central and eastern Europe, this issue does not seem to have been subject to serious study. While cross-gender cases (where confirmed) in early medieval cemeteries may well represent cases of special social or ritual status (cf. Gilchrist 2009), their number is hardly sufficient to infer a third and fourth gender. It

is also worth emphasizing that these cases differ in one crucial detail from the uncontroversial cases of ‘amazons’ in Scythian and Sarmatian contexts: no undisturbed Anglo-Saxon or Frankish single graves have been found to contain weapons and female artefacts, as is the case with quite a number of eastern European nomad burials (Rolle 1980; Guliaev 2003). The historical nomads of eastern Europe and western Asia, in particular the Iranian-speaking peoples, seem to represent a concept of gender display which differed from that of their western contemporaries. Overall, whilst allowing for a very small number of exceptions, we can reasonably safely assume a coincidence of biological sex and funerary gender display in early Anglo-Saxon England, and most likely in other early medieval Germanic societies of western, central and northern Europe. This leaves us with the second question: are the individuals buried in Anglo-Saxon graves without gender-indicating grave-goods (44% of anthropologically sexed individuals) representatives of a fifth and sixth gender, as is claimed by Lucy (1997; 1998)? This is an interesting question, but it is not one that can be answered on the basis of archaeological evidence; any attempt at an answer would be a conclusio e silentio. Written sources do not supply evidence for more than two genders in early medieval European societies; supporters of this idea always have to refer to the same ethnographic cases from North America and India. This brings us to the third, and probably most important, question of why was there such a marked gender display in the early medieval burial rite across Europe, irrespective of ethnic and religious differences? Leaving aside the issue of afterlife beliefs, the straightforward interpretation would be that this funerary display reflects distinct gender roles in life: those of armed warriors and adorned housewives (overview in Brugmann 1996, 73-75). This particular idea has been criticized heavily during the gender debate in archaeology over the last 15 or so years. The most specific charge has been that this interpretation rests on the transfer of the stereotypical gender perceptions of modern industrial societies of the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries into the past (e.g. Lucy 1997, 150-151, 153-155). However, the alternative scenarios of gender equality and gender flexibility drawn up by the critics suffer from a similar problem: that of the transfer of late twentieth century, liberal academic ideals into the early Middle Ages. A key issue here is not just the projection of modern stereotypes into the past, but the projection of ‘value’ onto these social categories (R. Gilchrist, pers. comm.). In the case of funerary evidence, there is an additional, fundamental problem to any straightforward inferences of gender roles: graves are not mirrors of life. It is now

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology widely accepted, certainly among West European and North American archaeologists, that burial rites and grave-goods are intentional, i.e. they reflect ideas and ideology, not (or not necessarily) social realities (Härke 1994; Parker Pearson 1999) – and this obviously extends to gender (Hodder 1991). If actual gender roles were represented in graves, Roman gender display should have been much more marked than it actually was. An alternative interpretation of grave-goods has been suggested some time ago by Childe (1945) who saw the deposition of wealth in graves as part of the status competition which is typical of instable societies. Halsall has recently revived this idea for the interpretation of gender representation in early medieval Frankish cemeteries: in a society without fixed social hierarchy positions, the death of an individual would lead to a competitive display by the mourners, and to a representation of the specific social and economic loss through the death of this individual, i.e. motherhood and domestic work in the case of a woman (Halsall 1996, 12-22). This might explain the difference between the muted gender display before and after the early medieval period because the state societies of the Roman and high medieval periods had a much more fixed and stable social order which did not leave as much room for status competition. However, this interpretation does not explain why gender was specifically chosen for display. After all, the competitive funerary display could have been done, in principle, without reference to gender roles. A third interpretation, and the one suggested here, starts out from the particular nature of early medieval societies which were characterized by high individual and group mobility. Migrations and mobility can lead to a blurring or even disappearance of cultural, social and political boundaries, and this process can also affect the boundaries between traditional gender roles, as is shown by diasporas in the Roman Empire (Eckardt 2010) and by cases of modern colonial and settler societies. In fact, historians have observed that early Anglo-Saxon gender roles were characterized by a greater flexibility and equality than those of preceding and succeeding societies (Dietrich 1980, 44; Fell 1984; Stenton 1957, 348). The blurring or even disappearance of traditional boundaries and distinctions can, in turn, lead to uncertainty about social norms and to an identity crisis. It is, therefore, relevant that Pauli (1975, 212) has identified the early Middle Ages as a period of ideological uncertainty, on the basis of the large number of deviant burials and of amulets in graves (cf. Meaney 1981). In such a situation, one can expect the ritual emphasis and reaffirmation of boundaries which had become blurred in real life. This is, after all, one of the functions

of ritual: to represent and reaffirm the order of society as it should be, not as it is (Leach 1964). And indeed, the law codes of the early Middle Ages are characterized by a preoccupation with boundaries and differences (T. Noble pers. comm.). Ethnic, linguistic, religious, social, and legal boundaries were defined and redefined time and again across Europe in laws, prose, riddles, and ritual - at a time when we have reason to think that these boundaries were, in reality, much less marked than they had been before the social order was upset and transformed by mobility, migrations, conquests and settlements. Gender boundaries and distinct gender roles may, therefore, have been displayed and emphasized in early medieval burial ritual precisely because they were becoming less distinct in real life.

Acknowledgements I am indebted to my former departmental colleague Roberta Gilchrist (Reading), who read and commented on a draft of this paper. Nick Stoodley (Winchester) kindly collaborated with me on an earlier German version for which he supplied the additional data for Figure 38. Hella Eckardt (Reading) generously found the time in a hectic teaching term to send me information about Roman diaspora communities. I am also very grateful to Margaret Mathews who prepared the figures for publication and to English Heritage for permission to use Figures 36 and 37.

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Gender representation in early medieval burials communities in Roman Britain’, in H. Eckardt (ed), Roman Diasporas: Archaeological Approaches to Mobility and Diversity in the Roman Empire (Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement 78). Portsmouth, Rhode Island: JRA, 99-130 Effros, B. 2000 ‘Skeletal sex and gender in Merovingian mortuary archaeology’, Antiquity 74, 632-9 Evison, V. I. 1987 Dover: The Buckland Anglo-Saxon Cemetery. London: HBMCE Fell, C. 1984 Women in Anglo-Saxon England. London: British Museum Gebühr, M. 1997 ‘The Holsteinian housewife and the Danish diva: early Germanic female images in Tacitus and cemetery evidence’, Norwegian Archaeological Review 30:2, 113-22 Gero, J. G. and Conkey, M. W. (eds.) 1991 Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory. Oxford: Blackwell Gilchrist, R. 1997 ’Ambivalent bodies: gender and medieval archaeology’, in J. Moore and E. Scott (eds), Invisible People and Processes: Writing Gender and Childhood into European Archaeology. London: Leicester University Press, 42-58 Gilchrist, R. 1999 Gender and Archaeology: Contesting the Past. London: Routledge Gilchrist, R. 2009 ‘Sex and gender’, in B. Cunliffe, C. Gosden and R. A. Joyce (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1029-47 Guliaev, V. 2003 ‘Amazons in the Scythia: new finds at the Middle Don, Southern Russia’, World Archaeology 35:1, 112-25 Hadley, D. M. 2004 ‘Negotiating gender, family and status in Anglo-Saxon burial practices, c 600-950’, in L. Brubaker and J. M. H. Smith (eds), Gender in the Early Medieval World: East and West, 300-900. Cambridge: ��������������������� Cambridge University Press, 301-23 Halsall, G. 1996 ‘Female status and power in early Merovingian central Austrasia: the burial evidence’, Early Medieval Europe 5, 1-24 Halsall, G. 2001 ‘Material culture, sex, gender and transgression in sixth-century Gaul: some reflections in the light of recent archaeological debate’, in L. Bevan (ed), Indecent Exposure: Sexuality, Society and the Archaeological Record. Glasgow: Cruithne, 130-46 Härke, H. 1992 Angelsächsische Waffengräber des 5. bis 7. Jahrhunderts. Cologne and Bonn: Rheinland-Verlag and Habelt Härke, H. 1994 ‘Data types in burial analysis’, in B. Stjernquist (ed), Prehistoric Graves as a Source of Information. Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 31-9 Härke, H. 1997 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon social structure’, in J. Hines (ed), The Anglo-Saxons from the Migration Period to the Eighth Century: an Ethnographic Perspective. ������������ Woodbridge: Boydell, 125-70 Härke, H. and Belinsky, A. 2000 ‘Nouvelles fouilles de 19941996 dans la nécropole de Klin-Yar’, in M. Kazanski and V. Soupault (eds), Les sites archéologiques en Crimée et au Caucase durant l’Antiquité tardive et le haut Moyen Age. Leiden : Brill, 193-210 Härke, H. and Belinskij, A. 2008 ’Trauer, Ahnenkult, Sozialstatus? Überlegungen zur Interpretation der Befunde im Gräberfeld von Klin-Yar (Nordkaukasus, Russland)’, in C. Kümmel, B. Schweizer and U. Veit with M. Augstein (eds), Körperinszenierung - Objektsammlung

- Monumentalisierung: Totenritual und Grabkult in frühen Gesellschaften. ��������������������������������������� Münster, New York, München and Berlin: Waxmann, 417-30 Harrington, S. 2008 Aspects of Gender Identity and Craft Production in the European Migration Period. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports International Series 1797 Hodder, I. 1991 ’Gender representation and social reality’, in D. Walde and N. D. Willows (eds), The Archaeology of Gender. Calgary: Archaeological Association of the University of Calgary, 11-16 James, E. 1988 The Franks. Oxford: Blackwell Leach, E. R. 1964 Political Systems of Highland Burma. London: LSE Lucy, S. J. 1997 ’Housewives, warriors and slaves? Sex and gender in Anglo-Saxon burials’, in J. Moore and E. Scott (eds), Invisible People and Processes: Writing Gender and Childhood into European Archaeology. London: Leicester University Press, 150-168 Lucy, S. J. 1998 The Early Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries of East Yorkshire: an Analysis and Reinterpretation. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 272 Lucy, S. 2000 The Anglo-Saxon Way of Death: Burial Rites in Early England. Stroud: Sutton Meaney, A. L. 1981 Anglo-Saxon Amulets and Curing Stones. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 96 Parker Pearson, M. 1999 The Archaeology of Death and Burial. Stroud: Sutton Pauli, L. 1975 Keltischer Volksglaube. Amulette und Sonderbestattungen am Dürrnberg bei Hallein und im eisenzeitlichen Europa. Munich: ������������ Beck Philpott, R. 1991 Burial Practices in Roman Britain. �������� Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 219 Rolle, R. 1980 ’Oiorpata’, in Beiträge zur Archäologie Nordwestdeutschlands und Mitteleurops. Hildesheim: Lax, 275-94 Semple, S. and Williams, H. (eds) 2007 Early Medieval Mortuary Practices. ������������������������������������������� Oxford:������������������������������������ Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 14 Sherlock, S. J. and Welch, M. 1992 An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Norton, Cleveland. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 82 Staecker, J. 1996 ’Searching for the Unknown: Gotland’s churchyards from a gender and missionary perspective’, Lund Archaeological Review 2, 63-86 Stenton, D. M. 1957 The English Woman in History. London and New York: Allen & Unwin Stoodley, N. 1999 The Spindle and the Spear: an Exploration of Early Anglo-Saxon Gender Relations as Reflected through the Inhumation Burial Rite. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 288 Stoodley, N. 2000 ’From the cradle to the grave: age organisation and the early Anglo-Saxon burial rite’, World Archaeology 31:3, 456-72 Welch, M. 1992 The English Heritage Book of Anglo-Saxon England. London: Batsford Whelan, M. K. 1991 ’Gender and historical archaeology: Eastern Dakota patterns in the 19th century’, Historical Archaeology 25:4, 17-32 Williams, H. 2005 ‘Cremation in Early Anglo-Saxon England – past, present and future research’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 15, 533-49 Whitelock, D. 1979 English Historical Documents. Vol. 1. London: Eyre Methuen

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‘The Weight of Necklaces’: some insights into the wearing of women’s jewellery from Middle Saxon written sources

14 BARBARA YORKE

Written sources have a limited, but potentially useful, contribution to make to current debates about the significance of AngloSaxon women’s jewellery. Extracts from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, and other contemporary Anglo-Saxon and Frankish sources concerning queens and princesses who went into the church, show that these authors were aware that in the seventh century necklaces could be an important part of the identity of high status women. The authors seem also to hint that the wearing of such jewellery might be connected with religious roles of elite women, and so might represent an adaptation of pre-Christian practices in the conversion period. Such observations are relevant to current debates about whether certain elaborate female graves with jewellery from the later seventh century could be those of religious women.

Martin’s important work on early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries naturally included the study of women’s jewellery which formed a significant element of wealthier female graves between the fifth and seventh centuries (e.g. Down and Welch 1990; Welch 1992, 7187). His many publications have shown the wide range of information that can be deduced from the study of jewellery especially when viewed in the context of the entire grave assemblages and the cemetery as a whole. The recent project ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’, of which Martin was director, has brought together all the known jewellery finds from southern England (as well as other artefacts), and its database has been drawn upon for this paper. In addition to information about the raw materials, and the technology applied to them, there are potentially wider implications to be drawn from the form and decoration of jewellery about wealth and status, or family, regional and religious affiliations. It would appear that jewellery could be an important signifier of a woman’s identity, and correlation with age at the time of burial suggests that different items may have been bestowed at significant age-threshold events such as puberty or marriage (Stoodley 1999). Written references that are contemporary or, at least, written within living memory of the period of the Final Phase of burials with grave-goods in the later seventh century, are sparse compared to the finds of jewellery from burial or other

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contexts. At first glance they may not seem particularly relevant to the topics that have been illuminated from the archaeological study of jewellery. Nevertheless a careful analysis may enable some contribution to be made to current debates. Unfortunately our known writers are all male ecclesiastics and so not necessarily the best people to provide an objective assessment of the significance of women’s jewellery. Bede strikes a negative, and rather gruesome, note in his description of his major female heroine Æthelthryth of Ely, who had retained her virginity through her two marriages, to Tondbert, princeps of the Gyrwe, and to King Ecgfrith of Northumbria (670-85), before retiring to found a nunnery at Ely in her home province of the East Angles. The reference to necklaces comes as an adjunct to what purports to have been an eye-witness account from Cynefrith, the doctor who was attending her at the time of her death in 679 (HE IV, 19). He recounted how shortly before Æthelthryth’s death he was asked to examine a large tumour beneath her jaw. The miraculous healing, by the time her tomb was reopened sixteen years after her death, of the scar where he had lanced the tumour was one of the occurrences that demonstrated her sanctity. Bede adds after Cynefrith’s account that it was also related (whether by Cynefrith or someone else from Ely is not clear):

‘The Weight of Necklaces’ ‘That when she was afflicted with this tumour and by the pain in her neck and jaw, she gladly welcomed this sort of pain and used to say, “I know well enough that I deserve to bear the weight of this affliction in my neck, for I remember that when I was a young girl I used to wear an unnecessary weight of necklaces (monilia); I believe that God in His goodness would have me endure this pain in my neck in order that I may thus be absolved from the guilt of my needless vanity. So instead of gold and pearls (margaretae), a fiery red tumour now stands out upon my neck’. Such attitudes are what might be expected from a saint, and as with many matters to do with hagiography it remains uncertain how close they are to the subject’s own views. Certainly they are of a piece with Bede’s theme in his poem in praise of Æthelthryth of how her renunciation of the life that she might have enjoyed on earth as princess and queen, wife and mother, better equipped her for her Heavenly Bridegroom alongside female martyrs who had died their own violent or grisly deaths (HE IV, 20). One needs to be alert to possible symbolism in what is an apparently straightforward account. ‘Pearls’ might not seem such a likely component of high status Anglo-Saxon jewellery in the seventh century; the ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ database for southern England provides only one possible example (S. Harrington pers. comm.). Bede may rather have been alluding to the pearls of the ‘Song of Solomon’ as a metaphor for the universal values of the Holy Church that Æthelthryth was believed to embody. Christine Fell observed that the passage would make better sense if Æthelthryth’s necklaces had included garnets as then their fiery glow might have paralleled the red of her tumour (1994, 30), but that must remain no more than an intriguing possibility. Bede’s choice of the term monile may bring us near to the world actually inhabited by Æthelthryth. In classical usage the term could also be used to mean ‘collar’, for instance, as in ‘horse collar’, and so something rather more substantial than a simple necklace (Lewis and Short 1879). One notes that Æthelthryth had more than one of them, presumably worn at the same time. In other words, she may have worn something like the jewelled collars that the Empress Theodora and her ladies wore on the celebrated Ravenna mosaic. This Byzantine court costume of the mid sixth century is thought to have inspired the new trends seen in Anglo-Saxon women’s dress from the late sixth century in which, in much simpler and lighter forms than the Byzantine models, necklaces with pendants came to replace brooches as the main items of female jewellery (Geake 1997, 36-9; S. Harrington pers. comm.). However, as a princess from a wealthy kingdom with international connections (as

demonstrated, for instance, in finds from the Mound 1 ship-burial of Sutton Hoo) Æthelhryth’s monilia may have been closer to Byzantine practice than our surviving Anglo-Saxon examples of necklaces. The so-called ‘chemise’ of Queen Balthild from Chelles, on which two jewelled collars were embroidered on a linen underdress, may best preserve the type of collared necklace that Bede ascribed to Æthelthryth (Laporte and Boyer 1991; Laporte 1998, 71-101). According to the Vita of Bishop Eligius, Balthild had at first continued to dress as a former queen within the nunnery, until her confessor pointed out that this was not entirely suitable and she gave away her jewels in alms (Laporte 1998, 89). One hypothesis has been that her lost jewels were embroidered on her ‘chemise’ instead to demonstrate her status in a more acceptable way. An alternative explanation would be to see the ‘chemise’ as a garment specifically prepared for her burial. One might see its representation of what were presumably Balthild’s most impressive items of jewellery as a modification of the practice of elite burial in rich clothing and jewellery which had for some time been seen in Francia as compatible with Christian belief (Effros 2002, 13-39). Over time such practices came to be seen as inappropriate for Christians: ‘for we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out’ (I Timothy ch. 6, v.7). Instead Christians might demonstrate their humility in death by burial in a shroud, though these might still be of costly materials (Effros 2002, 177-9). Balthild’s ‘chemise’ could be interpreted as a halfway house between fully clothed and shrouded burial in which status was still clearly signalled, but by a representation of jewellery rather than the jewels themselves. Balthild and Æthelthryth had much in common; both were former queens who had retired to nunneries of which they were major patrons. The jewelled collars associated with them may, through imperial associations, have symbolised their queenly status. Balthild had been married to the Frankish king Clovis II, and was then regent for their young son prior to her retirement to Chelles (Nelson 1978). However, Balthild seems to have been by birth an Anglo-Saxon, and the discovery of a seal-ring in East Anglia in the name of ‘Baldahild’ has raised the possibility that this may have been her home province (Webster 1999). Whether this was so or not, Bede records that Chelles was one of the nunneries with close Anglo-Saxon links, and two of Æthelthryth’s sisters were abbesses of nearby Faremoûtier-en-Brie (HE, III, 8). The re-opening of Æthelthryth’s tomb that marked the start of her translation to sainthood was orchestrated by another sister (Seaxburh) and closely modelled on Frankish practice (Thacker 2002, 45-6). The survival of the linen garments in which Æthelthryth had been buried was one aspect of the incorruption of her remains. Had one of them been embroidered with jewelled collars

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology as on Balthild’s chemise, and did that inspire the story of her rejection of this major symbol of her high status that found its way into Bede’s account? We may have our suspicions about elements of Bede’s account of Æthelthryth, but his reference to her monilia, and how heavy they were to wear, would have been something to which his high status female readers or listeners could have related. There are a number of instances where Bede evokes a familiar world through an exact evocation of physical objects. His practice may have been an echo of the loving attention paid to the detail of weapons and other artefacts in the halls of Beowulf, and one of the signs that many of his anecdotes came through the medium of oral tradition (Kirby 1966). The practice is particularly notable in sections relating to the royal house of Deira, and may preserve oral traditions of King Edwin (616-33) and his relatives, perhaps nurtured at Whitby founded by his niece Hild in 657. In the account of the attempt on King Edwin’s life by a West Saxon assassin, for instance, it is specified that the weapon was a double-edged, short sword that was smeared with poison (HE, II, 9). Bearing such evocation of familiar objects of the Anglo-Saxon aristocratic world in mind, we can turn to a rather more positive presentation of a woman’s monile in Bede’s account of the dream of Breguswith, the wife of King Edwin’s nephew Hereric (Bede, HE, IV, 23). In her dream Breguswith is said to have foreseen the murder of her husband in exile, and while fruitlessly searching for him uncovered ‘a most precious necklace’ (monile pretiosissimum) beneath her garment. As she gazed at it, in her dream, it blazed forth with a magnificent light ‘that filled all Britain with its gracious splendour’. What she had foreseen was the future career of her daughter Hild as abbess of Whitby, and we are probably meant to assume that Breguswith was pregnant with Hild at the time of the dream (Fell 1981, 79). This is a variant of a stock hagiographical motif in which dreams or other portents herald the birth of a saint. However, to equate a future saint with an item of jewellery is hardly normal practice. When the mother of the West Saxon saint Leoba had her premonitionary dream, as recounted by Rudolf of Fulda, her vision was of a bell that rang out, a much more appropriate symbol for a future religious leader (V. Leobae, ch. 6). Breguswith’s vision presumably reflects imagery to which an Anglo-Saxon audience could relate. Nevertheless the identification of a future abbess and saint, albeit one who was a princess, with an item of her mother’s jewellery is striking and suggests the importance of jewellery to an Anglo-Saxon woman’s identity, even if that woman was to be an abbess.

Æthelthryth’s sister Seaxburh and her father King Eorcenbert of Kent (640-664). When close to death in the nunnery Eorcengota was granted a vision of the exact time of her death, another of the conventions of medieval hagiography. She foresaw a crowd of men dressed in white entering the nunnery, who said they had been told to bring back with them ‘the golden coin (aureum nomisma) which had been brought thither from Kent’. Just in case there was any doubt about the otherworldly nature of these visitors, when Eorcengota’s death actually occurred, it is reported that there was angelic singing, the sound of a mighty throng entering the nunnery and a great light from heaven. Once again we have a hagiographic convention customised for its AngloSaxon audience, and apparently one that is accurate for the period in which the events were set. The kingdom of Kent from which Eorcengota came is known to have produced gold coins in the mid-seventh century, and one issue was stamped with the name of Eorcengota’s grandfather, King Eadbald (616-640) (Williams 2008, 18-19). Therefore a gold coin was an effective symbol of Eorecengota’s family and status, recognised as such even by an angelic host who were apparently familiar with the practice of referring to Anglo-Saxon royal women by an object of wealth associated with them. Although the gold coin might be alluding to the wealth Eorcengota undoubtedly brought with her to Brie, the possibility must also be allowed that a gold coin was a conspicuous part of the jewellery she wore. It was the fashion in Kent during the Final Phase for the type of jewelled necklaces we have been considering to include gold coins pierced as pendants, and most of the recorded examples contained only one coin per ensemble (Geake 1997, 379; S. Harrington pers. comm.). Comparable pendants appear to have formed part of Balthild’s embroidered jewellery as well. Eorcengota, like Hild, a princess and a member of a nunnery, may also have been symbolically equated with an item of her jewellery that had specific family connections. However, more may have been symbolised in Eorcengota’s case than just wealth, status and family. There is an informative passage in the Vita of St Genovefa, the courageous defender of post-Roman Paris (AA SS, January 3, 137-53). She was given a coin to wear by Bishop Germanus who suggested that she wear it in preference to any other form of jewellery:

With this is mind we can turn to Bede’s account of the death of the nun Eorcengota at the nunnery of Faremoûtier-en-Brie (HE, III, 8). Eorcengota was the niece of Æthelthryth of Ely, her mother being

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‘Then Saint Germanus plucked a copper coin bearing the sign of the cross from the ground … He said to her, ‘Have this coin pierced, and wear it always hanging about your neck as a reminder of me; never suffer your neck or fingers to be burdened with any other metal, neither gold nor silver, nor pearl studded ornament. For, if your mind is preoccupied with trivial worldly adornment, you will be shorn of eternal and

‘The Weight of Necklaces’ celestial ornaments”’(AA SS, 138; McNamara and Halborg 1992, 21). Here we seem to have another halfway house, with promotion in the conversion phase of a type of jewellery more appropriate in an ecclesiastical context, rather than the complete rejection of jewellery by religious women that was promoted by Bede as part of more thorough Christianisation. Not all coin pendants need, of course, be interpreted in this way, but it is worth considering whether there might have been a practice of such coins being blessed by bishops or priests, perhaps at confirmation. The so-called medalet of the Frankish bishop Liudhard, who accompanied the future queen Bertha from Francia to her marriage in Kent, seems have been recovered in the nineteenth century from a burial in the churchyard of St Martin’s, Canterbury, though records are sketchy (Werner 1991). Bede records that Bertha worshipped in St Martin’s (HE I, 26) and so presumably did bishop Liudhard. The coin-like ‘medalet’ that bears Liudhard’s name may have been worn with other pierced coins in one of the most elaborate necklaces of this type recorded from early medieval Kent (S. Harrington pers. comm.). More overtly Christian pendants in the form of crosses, of gold in the most prestigious cases, might also be worn as part of necklaces (Crawford 2003). It would seem that religious allegiance, and perhaps other religious functions, might also be signified by women’s jewellery. A passage from Stephen’s Life of Bishop Wilfrid, written soon after his subject’s death in 710, provides further food for thought. In 678, according to Stephen, Bishop Wilfrid fell out with King Ecgfrith of Northumbria and his second queen Iurminburg who felt that the great wealth he had accumulated and the state with which he travelled round the kingdom was an affront to their own royal dignity (V. Wilfridi. ch. 34-8). Wilfrid was deprived of much of his wealth, including holy relics which he had worn about his neck in a chrismarium that the queen took over instead and displayed as she moved around the kingdom on royal progresses between their estate centres (ch. 39). Naturally in this hagiographical context, the queen was struck down by a severe illness for her presumption and was only cured when she gave back the relics to Wilfrid. We are not told the exact form of the reliquary which Wilfrid wore, but some form of reliquary cross or belt-buckle, with a hollowed out middle that could contain the relics may be indicated, though John Blair has suggested it could have taken the form of the cylindrical ‘thread boxes’ worn at the waist in some Final Phase female burials (Blair, 2005, 173-4). What is of particular interest is the way that Iurminburg took over responsibility for the public display of these relics, perhaps wearing the reliquary as part of her own costume.

The jewellery worn by women – necklaces by the seventh century, prominent brooches before then – might not only have symbolised wealth and status, but could have had a religious significance as well. The cross on the magnificent necklace from Desborough presumably demonstrated its wearer’s Christian allegiance, but also, and perhaps more importantly, would have been seen as an amulet providing protection (Webster and Backhouse 1991, 28-9; Crawford 2003). It seems reasonable to expect that the masks and animals on brooches of the pre-Christian period could have had a similar protective quality and in some way symbolised otherworldly beings that could provide such protection (Leigh 1984). The bracteates worn in several parts of southern and eastern England, but particularly in Kent, could be interpreted in this way as well (Gaimster 1992; Behr 2000). The wearing in the conversion period of coin pendants of the type apparently associated with Genovefa and Eorcengota, that might have been blessed by a priest or included crosses or were in the name of Christian rulers, might have been seen as an appropriate substitution in a Christian context. Women may have protected themselves by wearing such symbols, but conceivably the protection might have extended further to the household or family for whom they were responsible. In the case of royal women that responsibility might run deeper still for the protection of the royal court, or even the protection of the whole kingdom. So when Iurminburg toured Northumbria publicly displaying the reliquary that Wilfrid had worn around his neck it could have been because she and Ecgfrith felt that such display of powerful, protective, religious symbols was as appropriate for a queen as a bishop, especially in the immediate post-conversion period when the proportioning of responsibility for religious leadership was still being negotiated between rulers and bishops. Kings may have expected that they or other members of their families, including queens and princesses, would continue to have some form of cultic role after conversion to Christianity (Yorke 2003a). Royal saints, both male and female, and royal nunneries were an important part of meeting such expectations and habituating them to expected Christian norms. But such transitions were not achieved overnight and the royal nunneries in particular were uneasily poised between the two contrasting worlds of the royal court and the ecclesiastical community (Yorke 2003b). Were royal abbesses primarily religious leaders or members of ruling houses? Should their dress reflect their religious or their royal affiliation? The question was perhaps more problematical than one might at first assume if prior to conversion a woman’s costume could display both affiliations, that is social status and religious responsibilities. Bede signalled clearly through Æthelthryth’s rejection of all her secular trappings what he considered to be the correct response for a royal woman who had retired to a religious

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology community, but it would appear that such sign-posting was still needed at the time he wrote. His views were not necessarily representative of the practice in all AngloSaxon religious communities. Iurminburg is one example of the many widowed or separated Anglo-Saxon queens who retired to a nunnery (Stephen, V. Wilfridi ch. 24). We are not told which one, but the illness that struck her down occurred when she was staying at Coldingham, which was under the control of the king’s aunt Æbbe, and is notorious for being Bede’s example of a lax double house where the female members are said to have spent their free time ‘weaving elaborate garments with which to adorn themselves as if they were brides’ (HE IV, 25). Bede’s unpleasant image of Æthelthryth accepting her tumour as a just substitution for ‘the weight of necklaces’ that she wore in her youth took its power from subversion of a norm in which well-connected women, like Queen Balthild, who retired to religious communities continued to wear the jewellery that was an important medium of display of rank, status and religious affiliation. Aldhelm sought to make a similar argument for the rejection of jewellery to the nuns of Barking in the later seventh century when he included in his galaxy of good and bad behaviour for the nuns the learned vestal virgin Daria who was distinguished by her ‘golden necklace adorned with greenish jewels’, but put aside such adornments when she was converted to Christianity (Aldhelm, De Virgintate, 97-8). These polemical points by Bede and Aldhelm draw attention to the fact that the wearing of jewellery had not been universally abandoned in nunneries at the time they were writing. It is even possible that rich female barrow burials of the Final Phase, like Roundway Down in Wiltshire with its impressive jewellery with Christian symbolism, are those of some of these queens and princesses who founded the first generation of royal nunneries, as John Blair has suggested (Blair 2005, 230-3). Recent excavations in Ely of a number of rich female burials, including one with a necklace and gold pendants, including a cross, have been identified as possibly those of members of Æthelthryth’s own nunnery, who, in that case, would not seem to have been following the example which Bede claimed that their foundress had set (Lucy et al. 2009). The Ely burials belong to a period of transition when a dialogue was taking place between Christianity and traditional social and religious practices. The difference between what was considered appropriate in this transition phase and what Aldhelm and Bede sought to promote as the norms of a Christian Anglo-Saxon society may allow us to see something of pre-conversion practices. Rather surprisingly perhaps, Bede’s manipulation of the story of Queen Ætheltrhryth of Ely to subvert aspects

of traditional behaviour provides some confirmation for the arguments that Martin Welch has helped to promote from analysis of pre-Christian burial assemblages for the importance of jewellery for the identity of women and the families from which they came or into which they married, and perhaps for their religious beliefs and practices as well.

Acknowledgements I would like to warmly thank Martin for his friendship and help over many years. In particular, my knowledge of recent archaeological developments has benefited considerably from my involvement with the Leverhulmefunded project ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ that was led by Martin, with Sue Harrington as principal researcher. I am very grateful to Sue for advice on relevant archaeological finds and providing information from the ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage’ database.

References Written sources and abbreviations

AA SS Acta Sanctorum: 1643 Antwerp: Societé des Bollandistes Aldhelm, De Virginitate: Lapidge, M. and Herren, M. (trans), 1979, Aldhelm: The Prose Works. Cambridge; D. S. Brewer, 59-132 Bede, HE: Colgrave, B. and Mynors, R. A. B. (eds), 1969 Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Oxford University Press McNamara, J. A. and Halborg, J. E. (trans), 1992 Sainted Women of the Dark Ages. Durham: Duke University Press Rudolf, V. Leobae: Waitz, G. (ed.), 1887 Rudolf of Fulda, Vitae Leobae Abbatissae Biscofesheimensis. Hanover: MGH Scriptores XV, 118-31 Stephen, V. Wilfridi: Colgrave, B. (ed.), 1927 The Life of Bishop Wilfrid by Eddius Stephanus. 1927. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press

Secondary works

Behr, C. 2000 ‘The origins of kingship in early medieval Kent’, Early Medieval Europe 9, 25-52 Blair, J. 2005 The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press Crawford, S. 2003 ‘Anglo-Saxon women, furnished burial and the church’ in D. Wood (ed), Women and Religion in Medieval England. Oxford: Oxbow books, 1-12 Down, A. and Welch, M. 1990 Chichester Excavations 7: Apple Down & the Mardens. Chichester: Chichester District Council Effros, B. 2002 Caring for Body and Soul. Burial and the Afterlife in the Merovingian World. Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press Fell, C. 1981 ‘Hild, abbess of Streonaeshalch’, in H. BekkerNielsen (ed.), Hagiography and Medieval Literature. Odense:

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‘The Weight of Necklaces’ Odense University Press, 76-99 Fell, C. 1994 ‘Saint Æthelthryth: a historical-hagiographical dichotomy revisited’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 38, 18-34 Gaimster, M. 1992 ‘Scandinavian gold bracteates in Britain. Money and media in the Dark Ages’, Medieval Archaeology 36, 1-28 Geake, H. 1997 The Use of Grave-Goods in Conversion Period England, c. 600-c.850. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 261 Kirby, D. 1966 ‘Bede’s native sources for the Historia Ecclesiastica’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 48, 34171 Laporte, J.-P. 1998 Le Trésor des Saints de Chelles. Chelles: Ville de Chelles Laporte, J.-P. and R, Boyer 1991 Trésors de Chelles: Sépultures et Reliques de la Reine Batilde et de l’Abbesse Bertille. Chelles: Ville de Chelles Leigh, D. 1984 ‘Ambiguity in Anglo-Saxon Style I art’, Antiquaries Journal 64, 34-42 Lewis, C. T. and Short, C. 1879 A Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press Lucy, S. Newman, R. Dodwell, N. Hills, C. Dekker, M. O’Connell, T. Riddler, I. and Walton Rogers, P. 2009 ‘The burial of a princess? The late seventh century cemetery at Westfield Farm, Ely’, Antiquaries Journal 89, 81-141 Nelson, J. 1978 ‘Queens as Jezebels: the careers of Brunhild and Balthild in Merovingian history’, in D. Baker

(ed), Medieval Women. Oxford : Basil Blackwell for the Ecclesiastical History Society, 31-78 Stoodley, N. 1999 The Spindle and the Spear: A Critical Enquiry into the Construction and Meaning of Gender in the Early Anglo-Saxon Inhumation Burial Rite. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 288 Thacker, A. 2002 ‘The making of a local saint’, in A. Thacker and R. Sharpe (eds.), Local Saints and Local Churches in the Early Medieval West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 45-74 Webster, L. 1999 ‘No. 57 Norwich area, Norfolk: gold swivelling bezel from a Frankish seal-ring’, Treasure Annual Report 1998-9, 31-2 Webster, L. and Backhouse, J. 1991 The Making of England. Anglo-Saxon Art and Culture AD 600-900. London: British Museum Press Welch, M. 1992 Anglo-Saxon England. London: Batsford/ English Heritage Werner, M. 1991 ‘The Liudhard medalet’, Anglo-Saxon England 20, 27-42 Williams. G. 2008 Early Anglo-Saxon Coins. Oxford: Shire Publications Yorke, B. A. E. 2003a ‘The adaptation of the royal courts to Christianity’, in M. Carver (ed.), The Cross Goes North. Processes of Conversion in Northern Europe, AD 300-1300. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 243-58 Yorke, B. A. E. 2003b, Nunneries and the Anglo-Saxon Royal Houses London: Continuum

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Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley and associations with Neolithic and later monuments

15

STEPHEN J. SHERLOCK

This paper briefly reviews the evidence in north-east England for Anglo-Saxon burials found since 1992 when an Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Norton was published by Stephen Sherlock and Martin Welch. The incidence of siting Saxon cemeteries upon or adjacent to Early Prehistoric monuments is also discussed. The second part of the paper presents evidence for the location of an Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Street House in north-east Yorkshire. Street House is within a prehistoric landscape of monuments and an enclosure where some finds from the cemetery reflect this interest in the past. The evidence for structural features and buildings at the site is also discussed.

Introduction Since the publication of the Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Norton on Tees (Co. Durham) (Sherlock and Welch 1992a), further Early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries have been discovered in north-east England. This paper will consider the newly discovered cemeteries in the Tees Valley with particular emphasis upon a seventhcentury cemetery excavated at Street House in North Yorkshire. The Tees Valley is considered to be an area 50km east–west centred upon the mouth of the River Tees and extending 20km to the north and south forming a total area of 2,000 square km. In addition to excavated remains (Figure 41) several Anglo-Saxon finds have been reported to the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) and a number of cemeteries have now been published. In north-east England those finds reported to the PAS of fifth- and sixth-century date have recently been reviewed (Collins 2010). The scope of this paper is to comment upon the sites from a smaller area (Tees Valley) and also incorporate information from recently excavated sites. What is particularly notable with the cemeteries found between 1995 and 2005 is the proximity of Anglo-Saxon cemeteries to earlier prehistoric monuments. The reuse of Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments as cemeteries in the AngloSaxon period is now recognised to be as high as 40% of all cemeteries (Williams 1997, 29). In this paper I will

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discuss the reuse of earlier monuments and artefacts in Tees Valley cemeteries that have been excavated since 1992. I propose to briefly review the evidence for Anglo-Saxon cemeteries excavated since the publication of the Norton cemetery (Sherlock and Welch 1992a), focusing on the Tees Valley. Following this I will present the evidence for stray finds including those reported to the PAS. The final element of the paper concerns the excavation of a seventh-century cemetery at Street House, with highstatus burials and both the reuse of Iron Age objects and the incorporation of the cemetery within a prehistoric monument. This paper will discuss the context of the cemetery and concentrate on its structures. A note on the Anglo-Saxon bed from the site has been prepared (Simmons forthcoming) in advance of a full report on the cemetery (Sherlock and Simmons in prep).

New sites There have been five Early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries found in the Tees Valley study area and recent information is presented relating to two eighth-century Christian cemeteries. The five sites (Figure 41, from north to south with numbers in brackets) are (1) Andrew’s Hill, Easington, (2) Low Lane, Ingleby Barwick, (3) Street House, (4) Scorton Hollowbank Quarry and (5) Catterick

Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley

Fig. 41 Location of the Tees Valley and the sites discussed: 1, Easington; 2, Low Lane, Ingleby Barwick; 3, Street House, Loftus; 4, Scorton Hollowbank Quarry; 5, Catterick Racecourse; 6, Hob Hill, Saltburn; 7, Bishopsmill School, Norton; 8, Hartlepool; 9, Dalton Piercy; 10, Grindon; 11, Greatham; 12, Hart; 13, Piercebridge; 14, Newby; 15, Maltby; 16, Stainton

Racecourse. The cemetery at Easington (County Durham) comprised burials and artefacts associated with nine graves. Most of the cemetery is dated to the sixth century AD, whilst grave 7 is considered to date to the seventh century AD (Hamerow and Pickin 1995, 44). There are no other archaeological sites in the immediate area of the burial and no earlier features were noted within the areas excavated. The cemetery at Low Lane, Ingleby Barwick (North Yorkshire) was excavated in 2003 by Archaeological Services Durham University (ASDU 2004). A total of thirty-two burials were recorded (Tees HER No. 4986). This was a mixed cemetery comprising seventeen inhumations and fifteen cremations. There has been no post-excavation analysis of the finds although based upon the assessment report of the finds, comprising annular and cruciform brooches, the cemetery appears to be of sixth-century date (Tees HER Excavation report 278). The cemetery appears to be similar to Norton (Sherlock and Welch 1992a) in having both inhumations and cremations. This feature was also noted at the cemetery at Hob Hill, Saltburn (North Yorkshire)

(Figure 41.6) where nineteen cremations were noted in a cemetery of at least forty-eight individuals (Gallagher 1987). The cemetery at Low Lane was close to both an Iron Age settlement and a series of seven Early Bronze Age burials 230m to the north-west at Windmill Fields (Annis 1996, 7). Further cremations were uncovered less than 3km to the north at Quarry Farm, Ingleby Barwick (ASDU 2005). Here a Romano-British villa had been founded upon an Iron Age landscape with later Saxon features. Amongst the Anglo-Saxon remains were two Grubenhäuser, argued to date between c. AD 350 and c. AD 520, and fragments of nine vessels including cremation urns. The cemetery at Street House was found during a research project examining Iron Age settlement (Sherlock and Simmons 2008). In North Yorkshire two Early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries have been excavated within the study area (20km south of the River Tees). At Scorton (North Yorkshire) (Speed forthcoming) the cemetery had artefacts dating from the late fifth to early seventh century AD. The cemetery was 50m from an Iron Age enclosure and within 100m there was also a small henge (G. Speed, pers. comm.).

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Excavations at Catterick Racecourse (North Yorkshire) exposed forty-five inhumations that date between c. AD 450 and c. AD 550. The burials were within an Iron Age enclosure and cut into a Neolithic cairn (Moloney 2003). Most of the graves were in the western side of the enclosure, whilst eight cut into the ringwork (ibid., 21). The cemetery at Catterick was north of a Grubenhaus excavated in 1993 as part of the process of evaluating the route of the A1 road through Catterick (Wilson et al. 1996, 10). Further Anglo-Saxon brooches have been found 700m north-west of the cemetery in recent work on the A1 at Catterick (pers. obs.). The sites mentioned above (excluding Easington) all incorporate or have Neolithic or later monuments associated with the cemeteries. This link between pagan cemeteries will be discussed further in the context of Street House. There are two further cemeteries from the Tees Valley that have been investigated in the period 1995–2010. These were both Christian cemeteries and there was no indication of earlier prehistoric monuments. At Bishopsmill School, Norton (Figure 41.7), over 100 burials of eighth-century date were excavated. Some had iron hinge straps and corner pieces from wooden boxes (Johnson 2005). At Hartlepool (County Durham) (Figure 41.8) a burial of eighth-century date associated with the Saxon monastery was excavated at South Crescent in 1999 (Daniels 2007, 79: OxA 9190, cal AD 640–780).

New finds The discovery of Anglo-Saxon objects in north-east England is still comparatively rare. For example, in 2007 there were 264 early medieval finds from north-west Britain and fourteen from north-east England (Portable Antiquities and Treasure Report 2009, 271). It is against this background that the recovery of Anglo-Saxon objects from five locations in the Tees Valley during the period 2003–2010 were reported to the PAS (Collins 2010). The finds comprise three cruciform brooches, one each from Dalton Piercy, Grindon and Greatham (all County Durham) (Figure 41.9–11). Two small long brooches have been found from Hart (County Durham) and a sleeve clasp and girdle hanger was reported from Piercebridge (County Durham) (Figure 41.12–13). South of the Tees at Newby (North Yorkshire) (Figure 41.14), one grave group comprised a square-headed brooch, two small long brooches and a group of eighty-eight amber, glass and ceramic beads (Collins’s report in North Yorkshire HER). These finds are considered to be sixth century in date and do not alter a perceived view of Anglian settlement in the southern part of Bernicia exemplified by the excavated cemeteries at Easington (Hamerow and Pickin 1995) and Norton (Sherlock and Welch 1992a). The treasure finds reported by Collins could be seen to

represent individuals (all female) with the exception of Newby, which is either a higher status grave in the context of the sixth century AD or a collection of objects from more than one grave. One geographical note is that Newby, Low Lane, Maltby (North Yorkshire) (Figure 41.15) (Sherlock and Welch 1992b) and Stainton (North Yorkshire) (Figure 41.16) represent four locations with Anglo-Saxon graves and finds within a 3km arc. Whilst all of the other finds mentioned previously were discussed as sixth-century finds from pagan cemeteries the pendant found at Stainton is different. A gold pendant was found during archaeological work at Stainton church in 2000 (Tees HER No. 4944) and is considered to date to the seventh century AD on stylistic grounds (ASDU 2001). The pendant has a garnet on a cross-hatched bed of gold foil with gold filigree decoration around the edge. The item may have been lost in antiquity because it was without a suspension loop. The pendant was not found within a grave and this would support an argument for casual loss. If the pendant had been found in a grave it would certainly be an unusual find of seventh-century date found within a Christian churchyard. Prior to the discovery of highstatus graves at Street House, the Stainton pendant was the only example of seventh-century high-status jewellery from the Tees Valley. Indeed, there are only a few examples of comparable jewellery known from Yorkshire: for example, the pendant from Grave 12 at Garton Crossing (Mortimer 1905).

The royal Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Street House An interim account of the cemetery at Street House has been published elsewhere (Sherlock and Simmons 2008) and I do not propose to repeat that here. I will discuss the reuse of certain objects within graves and present evidence for buildings within the cemetery. Two of the five high-status graves incorporating gold objects particularly emphasise a reuse or consideration of the past alongside a seventh-century style of dress. Grave 21 contained no human bone but there were eight beads in the presumed area of the chest in a row, as if held by thread, with a gold Iron Age coin at each end. Each coin had been pierced to permit the motif on the rear to reveal a cross-like image. The coins are from the Corieltavi tribe and are considered to date AD 33–53 (Leins 2006). The coins bear the names of tribal leaders Dumno Tigir Seno and Volisios Dumnocoveros. Coins from the Corieltavi are becoming more frequently found north of the Humber with over 100 Iron Age coins reported to the PAS in East Yorkshire between 1998 and 2004 (Worrell 2007, 373). However, their discovery as jewellery reused after 600 years (c. AD 40–c. AD 650, date

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Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley

Fig. 42 Plan showing the graves and structures at Street House

of cemetery) begs the questions, were they found within the Iron Age settlement at Street House and adapted or were they imports from the south in addition to much of the other jewellery? I favour the suggestion that they were imported rather than found on site because they are in very good condition and were perhaps part of a hoard. The reuse of Roman coins as pendants or dress accessories is common in Anglo-Saxon graves, but the reuse of Iron Age coins in Anglo-Saxon graves is rare. Two examples were recorded by Scull from graves at Watchfield (Oxfordshire) and Gilton (Kent), both were from male graves with assemblages interpreted as being from a set of Saxon scales (Scull 1990, 185; 1992, 178). Amongst the objects in Grave 43 was a triangular-shaped gold pendant that is very similar to one excavated by Bateman at Cow Lowe (Derbyshire) in 1846 and drawn by Jewitt (reproduced in Speake 1989, 83, fig. 73). The Street House pendant contains as a setting a fragment of a glass bead of Iron Age date, a type classified by Guido (1978) as Colchester type 6. This reuse of older ‘antique’ pieces of jewellery can also be seen with the deposition of fragments of glass bangles of Iron Age or Romano-British date within grave assemblages. One

fragmentary bangle was the centrepiece of a string with seven other glass beads found in Grave 67 at Street House, whilst an example was found in a purse at West Heslerton (North Yorkshire) (Haughton and Powlesland 1999, 38, Grave 26). The reuse of ‘antique’ jewellery at this seventh-century site indicates a different process of adapting older pieces of jewellery, in contrast to the notion of recycling back into the pot of pieces as suggested by Hirst (1985, 95), based upon ethnographic parallels. At Street House this reuse is considered to be part of a process of reinventing Roman culture, as argued by Geake (1997, 122), possibly associated with kingship. It may be the case that some items such as glass and bangles are broken and distributed amongst family members and these only come into the archaeological record in a piecemeal or fragmentary basis. A parallel for this would be the discovery of potsherds from Iron Age settlements where only a small percentage of the total number of vessels is ever found. At Thorpe Thewles (County Durham) this was estimated to be 1.5% of the total number of vessels by weight (Sherlock forthcoming). In these circumstances it is argued that objects found in pits and ring ditches of

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Fig. 43 Plan showing the extent of excavations at Street House showing cemetery within enclosure Fig. 44 Western side of the cemetery with graves overlying the ring ditches of Iron Age structures two and three

houses had been consciously selected for deposition. In the same manner the fragments of glass vessels, partial bangles and other partial items in Anglo-Saxon graves may be selected for deposition as tokens or symbols of the complete piece.

The cemetery plan ‘[The] association of square enclosures, orthostats and re-adopted sites is a signpost to the sources of the few Anglo-Saxon cult structures known to archaeology’ (Blair 1995, 3). One of the most intriguing aspects of the cemetery concerns the reuse of the earlier monuments and the degree of organisation within the cemetery. AngloSaxon cemeteries sited within prehistoric enclosures are known from Garton Station (East Yorkshire) where a total of thirty-seven Anglian burials were aligned east–west in and around five square enclosures (Stead 1991, 22). At Broomfield (Salop) a cemetery within an Iron Age settlement enclosure contained thirty-one graves, three with objects (Stanford 1995). The graves were aligned east–west and the graves appear to be set in pairs. Notably it is argued that the enclosure would have been visible in Saxon times (ibid., 153). At Tandderwen (Clwyd) eight burials were within individual enclosures and other groups of graves were clustered in three rows (Brassil et al. 1991). Here thirty-nine graves were aligned east–west within an area 40m x 36m within a Christian cemetery with no human remains and no finds. Lastly, it is notable at all three sites that parts of each cemetery contained paired graves, as seen in the north and south rows of graves at Street House (Figure 42). The cemetery at Street House can best be described as an irregular square of 36m east–west and 34m north–south with an entrance in the north-east corner and a further

entrance 14m wide on the south side. The cemetery was sited within the confines of a former Iron Age enclosure that had been backfilled. However, I contend that whilst the enclosure was redeveloped in the south-east by two later Iron Age–Romano-British roundhouses, the enclosure must have been visible as a hollow with a different, perhaps wetter, environment and vegetation. This would have been sufficient to recognise an ancient site, establish the cemetery within the enclosure, and to situate the cemetery entrance in line with the terminals to the enclosure ditch (Figure 43). Moreover, the western side of the cemetery is situated across the ring ditches of Iron Age structures 2 and 3 (Figure 44), but stops and turns east before the enclosure ditch. The north and south sides of the cemetery were defined by a double row of graves with each grave in the row evenly spaced and the distance between each row of graves was 0.70m. There were a total of 109 graves. No graves intercut, suggesting the cemetery was created to a plan and that the graves were inter-visible as low mounds, apart from Grave 42, which had a barrow over a burial chamber, and Graves 65, 102 and 103, which had grave markers. There are further structural elements to the cemetery with a trackway in the north-east corner of the site,

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Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley Street House Cemetery Sunken Feature Building

Fig. 45 Plan of sunken feature building (mortuary house)

Fig. 46 Plan of posthole building within the cemetery

Street House Cemetery Posthole Building

an entrance to the south and two timber buildings. One building, a sunken feature building, is 7m from the southern entrance and a similar distance from the grave containing the bed burial. It is suggested that this structure, 2.4m east–west and 1.4m north–south, was a mortuary chapel (Figure 45). The second structure near the Saxon burial mound and Grave 42 was defined by seven postholes. It was aligned east–west, 7m long and 3m wide north–south, with a possible door on the north side (Figure 46). There are examples of buildings within Anglo-Saxon cemeteries elsewhere. Six are considered here: Mucking (Essex) (Hirst and Clark 2009), Sarre (Kent) (Perkins 1991), Spong Hill (Norfolk) (Rickett 1995), Springfield Lyons (Essex) (Tyler and Major 2005), Yeavering (Northumberland) (Hope-Taylor 1977) and Thwing (East Yorkshire) (Manby in prep). The buildings at Mucking and Sarre are sunken feature buildings whilst those at Springfield Lyons, Spong and Yeavering are post-built structures. It is suggested that at Mucking

Grubenhaus 108 may be a mortuary house (Hirst and Clark 2009, 454) and post-hole group 5 at Spong Hill is considered to be associated with the cemetery (Rickett 1995, 154). At Springfield Lyons buildings 1a and 3 are considered to belong to the cemetery but other buildings are from a later settlement (Tyler and Major 2005, 202). Two buildings at Yeavering were associated with the cemetery: building B was an earlier focus for burials whilst building D2 was thought to be a temple (Hope-Taylor 1977, 158, 164). At Thwing the cemetery dated from the early seventh to the later tenth century AD and was associated with a small timber building 5m east–west and 4m north–south (Hall 2003, 177). I suggest that the sunken feature building from Street House is contemporary with the cemetery. Since both excavation and geophysics have demonstrated that there is no settlement within 30m of the structure, it is argued that it is associated with the seventh-century cemetery. Whilst I acknowledge it is small, it could be a type of mortuary house for bodies to be kept prior to burial.

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology The post-hole building (Figure 46) near the bed burial grave is later than the graves on the eastern side of the cemetery. There are no artefacts or structural features such as hearths to suggest a domestic function or a date for this structure. The size of the building is similar to a series of single cell structures found in several northern cemeteries recognised by Craig (2009). The buildings date to between the seventh and ninth centuries AD at Thwing (Manby in prep), Spofforth (North Yorkshire) (NAA 2002) and Pontefract (West Yorkshire) (Craig 2009) (Table 1). Whilst these structures were within cemeteries and had graves adjacent to them, none of the buildings had burials within the structures. At Yeavering, Thwing and Pontefract, as well as at Street House, these structures are part of a later sequence of activity in the cemetery. All cut through some graves suggesting a change in the focus of the cemetery from when the cemetery was founded. Table 1 Details of single celled structures in non-monastic Yorkshire cemeteries Site

Size Building Alignment external (internal) Thwing 5 x 5m timber east–west (4 x 3m) Spofforth 5 x 5m stone Square Pontefract (2.8m)

stone

Street House

posthole east–west

7 x 3m (6.5 x 2m)

east–west

Date Reference (century) 7th–9th Manby in prep 8th–9th Craig 2009, fig. 7.12 9th Craig 2009, fig. 7.11 post-7th Sherlock & Simmons 2008

The cemetery at Street House incorporates aspects of burial traditions seen at various Anglo-Saxon cemeteries, with the reuse of earlier Neolithic monuments as suggested elsewhere in the Tees Valley at Catterick and Scorton and an Early Bronze Age site at Ingleby Barwick. The Neolithic features for these three sites are discussed above but the evidence from Street House has not been presented. Whilst a Neolithic cairn 200m to the north-west was excavated between 1979 and 1981 (Vyner 1984), excavations at Street House in 2010 revealed what may be the remains of a Neolithic cairn and other structures 12m south of the entrance to the Anglo-Saxon cemetery (Sherlock in prep). The cairn to the north-west will have survived in some form as an earthwork until the seventh century AD. The known Neolithic remains identified beside the cemetery will have been disturbed and adapted during the creation and occupation of the Iron Age enclosure and so are unlikely to have been visible. The reuse of earlier monuments for Anglo-Saxon cemeteries does not only occur during the Late Neolithic period at Catterick, Scorton and Street House;

these sites also have Iron Age settlements and Roman activity. Clearly some locations have been the focus for human activity for millennia and this is not unique to the Tees Valley. Other examples found locally include West Heslerton (Haughton and Powlesland 1999) and nationally include the sites discussed here, at Mucking and Springfield Lyons.

Conclusions In this paper I have examined some recently excavated examples of Anglo-Saxon cemeteries sited beside earlier monuments dating from the Neolithic period and thereafter, finding the Tees Valley sites also have evidence for Iron Age and Romano-British activity. Whilst three of the sites are sixth century in origin, Street House is clearly different for several reasons. It is considered to have good communications, being on the coast and near a possible Roman road (Cleveland Street). The importance of establishing the site in the seventh century AD may also relate to the status of the elite buried at the site and the politics of the midseventh century. Excavations at Street House have demonstrated this was a viable farmstead in the fourth century AD (Sherlock 2010), and as such it may be part of a later, Early Anglo-Saxon estate inherited by the elite buried at the site. It has been argued elsewhere that new monuments can be created to replace earlier sites by elites to seek a legitimacy of tenure and power (Blair 1995) and I suggest this is happening at Street House. Street House also differs from the other Tees Valley sites in several respects. The reuse of monuments, structural features within the cemetery, date of the site and the quality of finds collectively suggests this is a princely or royal site. At Street House it is argued that the reuse of the site involves adapting and reshaping a rectangular enclosure through making a sub-square cemetery defined by the graves. The degree of planning involved is measured with the even spacing of graves, including some that are defined by stone grave markers or structural features within twelve graves. The cemetery contained two buildings and, it is argued, a mound marking the bed burial created by a quarry ditch and potentially the upcast from the Grubenhaus. The burial mound over Grave 42 is believed to be similar to other pagan princely burials in Anglo-Saxon England and is in the tradition of the earlier burial mounds in the immediate area.

Acknowledgements I am grateful to Rob Collins for providing information relating to the PAS finds in the Tees area prior

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Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in the Tees Valley to publication and to Professor Jennifer Price for commenting upon the Iron Age bead from Grave 43. Greg Speed kindly provided information on the Scorton cemetery prior to publication and Paul Johnson supplied information about the Spofforth building. Robin Daniels, Wendy Sherlock, Mark Simmons and Brian A. Smith all commented upon an earlier draft. All errors and omissions remain, as ever, with the author.

References Annis, R. 1996 ‘Early Bronze Age burials at Windmill Fields, Ingleby Barwick, Stockton on Tees’, Teesside Archaeological Society Bulletin 3, 7–11 Archaeological Services Durham University, 2001 Report 795: Stainton pendant. ASDU Grey literature report for client Archaeological Services Durham University, 2004 Archaeological excavations at Low Lane, Ingleby Barwick. ASDU Report 1200 for Stockton Borough Council Archaeological Services Durham University, 2005 A Roman villa and settlement at Ingleby Barwick, Stockton on Tees. ASDU Assessment Report 1174 Blair, J. 1995 ‘Anglo-Saxon pagan shrines and their prototypes’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 8, 1-28 Brassil, K. S., Owen, W. G. and Britnell, W. J. 1991 ‘Prehistoric and early medieval cemeteries at Tandderwen, Near Denbigh, Clwyd’, Archaeological Journal 148, 46-97 Collins, R. 2010 ‘Recent discoveries of early Anglian material culture in the North East’, Medieval Archaeology 54, 38690 Craig, F. E. 2009 Burial practice in northern England c AD 650–850: a bio-cultural approach. University of Sheffield, unpublished PhD dissertation Daniels, R. 2007 Anglo-Saxon Hartlepool and the Foundations of English Christianity. Hartlepool: Tees Archaeology Monograph 3 Gallagher, D. B. 1987 ‘The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Hob Hill, Saltburn’, Yorkshire Archaeological Journal 59, 9–27 Geake, H. 1997 The Use of Grave Goods in Conversion-Period England c 600–850 AD. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British Series 261 Guido, M. 1978 The Glass Beads of the Prehistoric and Roman Periods on Britain and Ireland. London: Society of Antiquaries Research Report 35/Thames and Hudson Hall, R. A. 2003 ‘Yorkshire AD 700–1066’, in T. G. Manby, S. Moorhouse and P. Ottaway (eds), The Archaeology of Yorkshire: An Assessment at the Beginning of the 21st Century. Leeds: Yorkshire Archaeological Society Occasional Papers 3, 171–80 Hamerow, H. and Pickin, J. 1995 ‘An Early Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Andrew’s Hill, Easington, County Durham’, Durham Archaeological Journal 11, 35–66 Haughton, C. and Powlesland, D. 1999 The West Heslerton Anglian Cemetery. Yedingham: Landscape Research Centre Hirst, S. M. 1985 An Anglo-Saxon Inhumation Cemetery at Sewerby East Yorkshire. York: Department of Archaeology, University of York Archaeological Publications 4 Hirst, S. M. and Clark, D. 2009 Excavations at Mucking:

Volume 3, The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries. London: Museum of London Archaeology Hope-Taylor, B. 1977 Yeavering: An Anglo-British Centre in Early Northumbria. London: HMSO Johnson, P. G. 2005 Cemetery excavations at Bishopsmill school, Norton post-excavation assessment and analysis. Tees Archaeology, unpublished report Leins, I. 2006 Report to coroner on two Iron Age coins. Treasure Reference 2005 T540b, dated 10 July 2006 Manby, T. G. in prep Paddock Hill, Octon, a fortified Bronze Age and Anglo-Saxon site at Thwing, East Yorkshire Moloney, C. 2003 Catterick Racecourse, North Yorkshire, The Reuse and Adaption of a Monument from Prehistoric to Anglian Times. Morley: West Yorkshire Archaeological Service Report 4 Mortimer, J. 1905 Forty Years Researches in the British and Saxon Burial Mounds of East Yorkshire. London: A. Brown and Sons Northern Archaeological Associates (NAA), 2002 Cemetery excavations at Village Farm, Spofforth, North Yorkshire. Archaeological post-excavation assessment Perkins, D. R. J. 1991 ‘The Jutish cemetery at Sarre revisited: a rescue evaluation’, Archaeoogia. Cantiana 109, 139–66 Portable Antiquities and Treasure Report 2007, 2009 London: Department of Portable Antiquities and Treasure, British Museum Rickett, R. 1995 The Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Spong Hill, North Elmham, Part VII: The Iron Age, Roman and Early Saxon Settlement. Gressenhall: Norfolk Museums Service/East Anglian Archaeology 73 Scull, C. 1990 ‘Scales and weights in Early Anglo-Saxon graves’, Archaeological Journal 147, 183–215 Scull, C. 1992 ‘Excavation and survey at Watchfield, Oxfordshire, 1983–1992’, Archaeological Journal 149, 124–281 Sherlock, S. J. 2010 The Excavation of a Romano-British Settlement at Street House, North Yorkshire, NZ 7390 1965. Middlesbrough: Teesside Archaeological Society Sherlock, S. J. forthcoming An examination of late prehistoric settlement in north-east England with specific emphasis on the Tees Valley. University of Leicester, PhD dissertation, submitted 2010 Sherlock, S. J. in prep. Excavations on Neolithic and Iron Age sites at Street House, North East Yorkshire Sherlock, S. J. and Simmons, M. 2008 ‘The lost royal cult of Street House, Yorkshire’, British Archaeology 100, 30-7 Sherlock, S. J. and Simmons, M. in prep. The royal Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Street House, North East Yorkshire Sherlock, S. J. and Welch, M. G. 1992a An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Norton, Cleveland. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 82 Sherlock, S. J. and Welch, M. G. 1992b ‘Anglo-Saxon objects from Maltby, Cleveland’, Durham Archaeological Journal 8, 71–6 Simmons, M. A. forthcoming ‘A bed burial from an AngloSaxon cemetery at Street House, Loftus North Yorkshire’, Medieval Archaeology Speake, G. 1989 A Saxon Bed Burial on Swallowcliffe Down. London: Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission for England Speed, G. forthcoming Excavations at Scorton Hollowbank Quarry. Northern Archaeological Associates

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Stanford, S. C. 1995 ‘A Cornovian farm and Saxon cemetery at Broomfield, Shropshire’, Shropshire Historical and Archaeological Journal 70, 98–165 Stead, I. M. 1991 Iron Age Cemeteries in East Yorkshire. London: English Heritage with British Museum Press Tyler, S. and, Major, H. 2005 The early Anglo-Saxon cemetery and later Saxon settlement at Springfield Lyons, Essex. East Anglian Archaeology 111. Chelmsford: Heritage Conservation, Essex County Council Vyner, B. E. 1984 ‘The excavation of a Neolithic cairn at Street House, Loftus, Cleveland’, Proceedings of the Prehistoric

Society 50, 151–95 Williams, H. 1997 ‘Ancient landscapes and the dead: the reuse of prehistoric and Roman monuments as Early AngloSaxon burial sites’, Medieval Archaeology 41, 1-32 Wilson, P. R., Cardwell, P., Cramp, R. J., Evans, J., TaylorWilson, R. H., Thompson, A. and Wacher, J. 1996 ‘Early Anglian Catterick and Catraeth’, Medieval Archaeology 40, 1-61 Worrell, S. 2007 ‘Detecting the Late Iron Age’, in C. C. Haselgrove and T. Moore (eds), The Later Iron Age in Britain and Beyond. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 371-88

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Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex

Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex

16 SUE A. TYLER

Recent archaeological investigations in the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater river valley in central Essex have added to a growing body of information on the nature of Saxon settlement along the course of the river. The evidence gathered so far illustrates the existence of a small amount of peripheral Saxon settlement on late Roman town and villa sites. This was followed by a partial reversion to open pasture during the course of the fifth to eighth centuries. The valley provided the perfect environment for an economy based on cereal farming, sheep rearing and fishing as attested by environmental evidence from excavated features such as wells and rubbish pits. A complex series of fish weirs along the river demonstrate the importance of fishing to the economy during the seventh and eight centuries. Industrial activity in the form of iron smelting is present on two excavated settlement sites.

Introduction The Chelmer-Lower Blackwater river valley divides the county of Essex into two distinct regions: to the south lies an area of wooded hills and London clays which gives way to the free-draining gravel of the Thames terraces, to the north the topography is dominated by the Essex Till, a thick deposit of boulder clay (Hunter 1999, 21-2). Early to Middle Saxon settlement is found primarily along the river valleys and coast (Figure 47). The Thames terraces with their free-draining soils attracted significant Saxon settlement including the impressive fifth- to eighth-century settlement and cemeteries at Mucking (Hamerow 1993; Hirst and Clark 2009). Multi-period sites at Orsett Cock (Milton 1987, 16-33; Carter 1998) and Orsett Causewayed enclosure attest to the apparently common practice for Saxon settlers to utilise prehistoric monuments, in particular enclosed ditched monuments, within their cemetery or settlement layout (this is discussed further on in this paper in respect of sites at Springfield Lyons and Boreham Old Hall). The Southend peninsula has a fair number of early settlement (e.g. Barling Magna) and cemetery sites, primarily cremation cemeteries as at North Shoebury (Wymer and Brown 1995, 46-52) and

Rayleigh (Ennis 2008). It also has a highly significant seventh century cemetery at Prittlewell (Tyler 1988, 91116; Hirst et al. 2004), which includes a princely burial (which finds parallel with the Broomfield burial located within the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater valley). In contrast, settlement on the boulder clay to the north has so far proved to be sparse, attested only by a few pits, post-holes and pottery scatters on sites excavated in advance of the then proposed development of Stansted Airport (Havis and Brooks 2004, 341-54). In the far north west of the county Early Saxon cemetery evidence (primarily from Great Chesterford, see Evison 1994) points to links with Cambridgeshire cemeteries located along the river Cam. The presence of gravel deposits (terrace and glacial outwash) within the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater valley has encouraged the development of fertile soils, well-drained loams overlying the gravel subsoils. This has attracted settlement dating from the Mesolithic period onwards (Wilkinson and Murphy 1995; Wallis and Waughman 1998). In modern times the gravel has been extensively extracted and rescue archaeological excavation in advance of this extraction has facilitated the recording of a number of Saxon settlement sites. This data together with evidence of substantial timber

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Fig. 47 Distribution of sites mentioned in the text

structures surviving in marshland and inter-tidal areas of the estuary detected by both aerial and field survey has enabled a picture to be composed of the evolving economic landscape. Previous archaeological studies, particularly the Hullbridge Survey (Wilkinson and Murphy 1995), suggest that the Blackwater Estuary would have been considerably wider in antiquity, the main channel being fringed by extensive areas of salt marsh, which have subsequently been embanked. Analysis of borehole logs and archaeological evidence would suggest that the former coastline lay some 500m inland of its present position.

Settlement within the ChelmerLower Blackwater valley Romano-British / Early Saxon transition Excavated evidence shows that Saxon settlement in

the Chelmer-Blackwater valley began in the early fifth century and in at least one instance some dwellings appear to have formed part of a late Roman town. At Crescent Road, Heybridge, excavations in 1972 (Drury and Wickenden 1982, 1-40) revealed five sunken-featured buildings (SFBs) and a probable ground-level building, which were interpreted as being contemporary with the late Roman town. This seems unlikely in view of more recent excavated evidence. Further excavations on an adjacent site at Elms Farm, Heybridge demonstrated that features of Early Saxon date had no regard for the town layout and tended to disrupt features, even the roads – the most resilient of infrastructure features (Atkinson and Preston 1998, 101-2). Within the former Roman town two buildings were identified; one located on Road 1 and clearly signalling a disregard for the former Roman settlement, the other positioned toward the lower terrace edge and likely associated with a pit that is deliberately cut into the top of a former well. This activity is perhaps peripheral to an occupation focus, which avoids the, presumably wholly defunct, Roman settlement and is located on higher ground to the north. Three further SFBs are located to the north

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Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex

Fig. 48 Early Saxon settlement features at Heybridge (shaded)

and east of the defunct watercourse and are part of the wider Early Saxon settlement identified from previous and subsequent investigations along Crescent Road (Figure 48). This is the final episode of occupation at Heybridge and does not appear to endure beyond the fifth century. As at Heybridge, the excavation of an area within a development site on the south side of Maltings Lane, Witham, gives little hint at continuity between late Roman settlement and Early Saxon occupation. Six SFBs, grouped in three pairs, a post-built structure (possibly a dwelling) and a scatter of pits and postholes were uncovered (Robertson and Davis 2004). The Saxon features completely disregard the layout of the previous late Roman farmstead and enclosure ditches and indeed overlay some. Significant dumping of Saxon material into late Roman ditches probably represents no more than a convenient means of disposal of rubbish into pre-existing ditches and hollows. The occupation appears to have lasted up to c. AD 550 with the SFBs interpreted as ancillary work buildings (at least two contained significant quantities of artefacts relating to the production of textiles and working of deer antler). The Early Saxon environmental evidence from the site shows an increase in the amount of game bones within the animal bone assemblage from late Roman contexts

which might suggest a change in dietary tastes and/or that food produced from farming was insufficient and was being supplemented by hunting.

Mid-fifth to seventh century settlement The large fifth- to seventh-century Early Saxon cemetery at Springfield Lyons comprised approximately 282 burials (including a small number of uncertain identification) with an almost equal mix of cremations and inhumations (Figure 49). The acidic gravelly soil on site meant that bone survival was minimal but 50% of the inhumations and 15% of the cremations contained grave-goods giving some indication of the relative wealth, status and gender of the cemetery occupants. In particular the inhumations show a defined distribution of richly furnished mid-fifth to mid-sixth century graves in the southern sector of the cemetery in stark contrast to the mostly artefact-free coffined graves with a far more orderly arrangement towards the northern end. Interestingly both richly furnished graves and artefact-free graves had coffined burials. Grave-goods accompanying coffins indicating that this practice began during the second half of the sixth century amongst the richer women in the community and then becomes the norm for all the community during the seventh. This clearly illustrates the change in belief and burial

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Fig. 49 Distribution of Early Saxon burials at Springfield Lyons

practice during the course of the cemetery’s 150 to 200 year period of use. The distribution of the cremations is more difficult to interpret but most seem to lie within the southern and western sectors, on the periphery of the cemetery, encircling the inhumations. At its northern end, the seventh-century graves appear to be confined within the circuit of the Bronze Age ring-ditch that one assumes was still partially extant at this time. This large cemetery must have served a substantial settlement yet to be located. The Broomfield princely burial is not far away some 5km to the north. This burial contained high-status artefacts including gold and garnet sword mounts and glass beakers comparable to examples from Prittlewell and Sutton Hoo (Smith 1903, 320-6). It seems

plausible that this central part of Essex formed a subkingdom within the substantial territory of the East Saxons at this time. Archaeological evidence points to a continuing Saxon settlement in the valley during the course of the sixth and seventh centuries. Excavations at Chigborough Farm, Slough House Farm and at Rook Hall have all produced evidence of Saxon activity revolving around farming and woodland management (Wallis and Waughman 1998). A significant amount of metalworking was taking place at Rook Hall and this is discussed in detail later in this article. Recent excavations at the Chalet Site, Hall Road, Heybridge have revealed an Early Saxon cremation

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Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex cemetery of sixty-six burials that utilises a Late Bronze Age to early Iron Age enclosure ditch as its boundary. Interestingly the site had also been used for burial during the Iron Age period as a number of cremations dating to this period were also excavated. The Saxon cemetery dates from the middle of the fifth century (and could have been in use for a century or more) with adults accounting for 70% of the cremated individuals. Along with the obvious parallel of re-using a prehistoric monument, the cemetery shares a number of other burial practices with Springfield Lyons: including the presence of a double cremation; cremations within ring-ditches; clusters of cremations both within and outside the prehistoric enclosure and the use of marker posts to identify the position of individual cremations. The excavators also identified arrangements of four to six post-holes that could represent miniature wooden ‘houses of the dead’, built to contain cremation deposits from one particular family (Newton 2008). The problem with comparing the spatial characteristics of both cemeteries is that it is quite possible that both extend well beyond the excavated areas (most likely in the case of the Chalet Site cemetery) and it is therefore assumed that the excavated sample is representative of the whole; this may not be the case. At Chigborough Farm, Saxon occupation comprised a boat-shaped building (structure 38); some undated postholes could also be associated. The building measured 20m by 6m and had its long axis aligned approximately north-south. It was constructed using substantial post in sub-circular post-holes. The narrow ends were rounded and the east and west sides curved gently outwards. The excavator (Wallis and Waughman 1998, 106-8) dates the building to the eighth to tenth centuries by analogy with similar structures from Denmark, Holland and northern Germany. The closest parallel for the ground-plan is a longhouse dated to the ninth to tenth centuries from Gasselte in Holland (Waterbolk 1982, fig. 8.3). As with other Saxon settlement sites, associated artefactual evidence is limited but does include a group of seventh- to ninth-century loom weights (Adkins and Adkins 1985). At nearby Slough House Farm the main Saxon occupation evidence comprised a large pit containing metalworking debris (discussed later in this article) and two large timber-lined wells. The timbers used to line the wells was oak, roughly fashioned into planks and put together to form what would originally have been a continuous timber shaft. One well had been lined twice, after a collapse of the sides of the original lining. The first shaft, dated by dendrochronology, returned felling dates of AD 504-8 and AD 539-40 and the second was constructed after AD 599. A scatter of associated features, including pits and gullies may represent part of a settlement truncated by ploughing. The provenance of

the large oaks used to line the wells is discussed by the excavator (Wallis and Waughman 1998, 57); he suggests that the timbers could have been imported from areas of woodland at some distance from the site or there were mature oaks on the site when the wells were constructed in the sixth and early seventh centuries. The macrofossil and pollen evidence from the wells does not indicate a woodland environment but it could postdate the construction of the wells. The woodland could have been quickly cleared in the Early Saxon period as the demand for fuel for metalworking and timber for construction led to large-scale exploitation and presumably some form of woodland management.

Middle to Late Saxon farmsteads The evidence for Saxon settlement along the ChelmerLower Blackwater valley has recently been added to by the analysis of timber structures excavated in advance of housing and infrastructure development. Two such structures have returned Carbon-14 dates belonging to the Middle Saxon period. One site, to the east of Chelmsford on a slight ridge within the river valley was investigated in advance of development of a bus ‘park-and-ride’ scheme. Excavations in 2009 (Brooks and Holloway 2010, 28-30) conducted by Colchester Archaeological Trust discovered two Saxon timber buildings with an associated enclosure. The post walls had been burnt in situ and the resultant charcoal facilitated Carbon-14 dating, the results giving a seventh to ninth century date-range for the farmstead. The farmstead shows two phases of occupation: a small postbuilt hall some 3.5m by 6m was superseded by a larger hall measuring approximately 3.5m by 13.6m (its eastern edge was difficult to define precisely). A stock enclosure associated with the second hall measured some 35m by 32m and cut through the earlier building. As with other excavated Middle- to Late-Saxon farmsteads, artefactual evidence is frugal; the small amount of pottery however, confirmed the Carbon-14 dating and was utilitarian (Tyler pers. obs.). Surprisingly, given its proximity to Roman Chelmsford, the Sandon excavations provided little evidence for Roman occupation, leading Brooks and Holloway to suggest (2010, 29-30) that the area was a block of pasture in a Roman farming estate. Prehistoric remains were far more in evidence and included a Bronze Age barrow. Similarly, at Old Hall, Boreham (lying on the lower slope and floodplain of the river valley, about 3km east of Chelmsford) a hengiform enclosure is associated with timbers of Saxon date. The major features comprised a broad-ditched circular enclosure (width of ditch 5m) with opposed entrances, within which was a series of post-pits. The posts seemed to form an inner ring, roughly following the circuit of the ditch, with an

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Fig. 50 Springfield Lyons later Saxon settlement plan

avenue of posts leading into the ring via the southern gap in the ditch. Samples of the timbers were taken in order to obtain a Carbon-14 dating for the inner ring and avenue. It was thought that the timber circle and avenue could be contemporary with the penannular ditch but the Carbon-14 dates proved otherwise. The calibrated Carbon-14 dates from three timbers were AD 720-885, AD 260-430 and AD 775-965 (Bridge 2009). This wooden structure has yet to be fully interpreted but adds to the growing corpus of recorded Middle Saxon monuments within the valley. Springfield Lyons Excavated in the 1980s and 1990s by Essex County Council’s Field Archaeology Unit, this site has been fully published (Tyler and Major 2005) but it is worth giving an overview for comparison with the newly discovered settlements described above. At Springfield Lyons a complex of large halls and smaller ancillary buildings represents at least four phases of occupation spanning the period AD 850-1200 (Figure 50). Although

the majority of buildings had agricultural functions: granaries, barns, cart-sheds and animal byres, two appear to have been more specialized; one may have been a bell tower and another, a post-mill (Tyler and Major 2005, 127-148). The settlement overlay an Early Saxon cemetery; this made the assignment of some structures to either cemetery or settlement problematic. As with many Saxon settlement sites the number of stratified finds from the structures was small. Often the pottery and small finds assemblage from any particular feature was not enough to date the feature with any certainty. In particular the positioning of a large post-built hall (external length 20.8m) to Early Saxon burials is somewhat suggestive of deliberate association with the building; a cremation adjacent to both the northeast and southeast corners, and a grave immediately to the south of one of the doorways. The pottery from its constituent post-pits, however, failed to confirm this hypothesis, comprising 37g of tenth- to twelfth-century early-medieval ware.

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Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex

Economic activities Farming Results from analysis of exposed sections along the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater river valley have enabled a reconstruction of long-term environmental and agrarian changes in the valley. Environmental evidence shows no post-Roman woodland regeneration but rather continued arable farming. The fifth-century cremations at Springfield Lyons contained charred remains of crop plants and included bread/club wheat, spelt, emmer, barley, oats, rye and possibly peas. Murphy interprets the presence of spelt, which occurs in Roman contexts at Springfield Lyons and elsewhere in East Anglia, as indicative of some degree of agricultural continuity between the Roman and Saxon periods in this area (Murphy in Tyler and Major 2005, 163). Interestingly spelt may have been cultivated well beyond the fifth century appearing for example in contexts from the Middle Saxon minster site at Great Wakering (Dale et al. forthcoming). Its appearance in Late Saxon settlement contexts at Springfield Lyons, however, is seen as a contaminant of free-threshing wheat crops rather than an indicator that spelt was a cultivated crop in its own right at this time. The Late Saxon settlement at Springfield Lyons produced a large body of environmental evidence showing that cereals being grown at the time were bread/wheat, spelt, emmer, barley, oats and rye. The large quantity of oats suggests they were partly being grown as animal fodder. Sparse remains of flax/linseed indicate some cultivation of this crop for fibre or seed. The weed flora suggests that by the Late Saxon period cultivation had at least in part spread from the easily worked gravelly soils to the heavy clay soils (Murphy in Tyler and Major 2005, 163) indicating an intensification of arable farming.

Fishing The importance of fishing to the Saxon economy of the seventh to tenth centuries is attested by the presence of a series of extensive coastal fish weirs situated at the mouth of the river valley, along the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater estuary. The most interesting examples are described below: Inter-tidal fish weir at Sales Point This weir is located around mean low water on the mud flats at Sales Point, some 1.2km NNE of the Saxon Chapel of St Peter’s-on-the-Wall, Bradwell. A cooking pot, most likely of Anglo-Saxon date is recorded as having been found within the internal area of the weir (information from Essex HER). The site has been

surveyed on the ground and from the air and presents itself as a substantial timber structure showing several phases of repair and rebuilding indicating a prolonged period of use. It is made up of three timber walls forming three sides of a rectangle (the longest side measuring some 340 metres); the fourth (western) has no timber wall but is open to the tide and is flanked by two traps. The walls are constructed using large upright timbers infilled with panels of hurdling. It is thought that a walkway along the walls facilitated access to the fish trap areas of the structure. Radiocarbon dating of the timbers dates the weir to AD 659-957. The main fish trap was located within the weir (at its north-east corner) with two subsidiary traps at its open end. Immediately beside the main trap a substantial deposit of fish bones and shell showed processing of fish and shellfish was undertaken on site. A large wattle basket recorded nearby may have formed one of the original traps or may have been associated with fish processing. The positioning of the traps makes this weir unusual as it appears to have been constructed to collect fish on both the flow and ebb tides. Given the proximity of this weir to the seventh century St Peter’s Chapel and associated monastery known to have existed at Othona (generally accepted as St. Cedd’s ‘Ythancester’ as recorded by Bede) it is quite plausible that this weir served the monastery. An eleventhcentury burial recently exposed in salt-marsh deposits on the southern side of the Blackwater estuary may be associated with the Anglo-Saxon monastery at Othona or it could perhaps simply represent the grave of a Late Anglo-Saxon fisherman or perhaps a social outcast. The burial site was located on a salt marsh ‘island’ which would only have been inundated at the very highest tides, similar to Pewet Island today. The area between it and the mainland would have been marshy, perhaps crossed by channels. The body appears to have been laid in a shallow grave, although the actual grave cut was not identified during excavation. It was laid out neatly on his back on a north-south axis, with feet pointing out into the estuary, the arms down the side of the body and the head lying on its side facing west (Medlycott and Heppell 2010). Inter-tidal fish trap at ‘The Nass’ (Figure 51) Located at the mouth of Tollesbury Fleet, this weir exhibits the more usual ‘V-shape’ (a design also used in three weirs close to Mersea Island) with an elongated trap area at the end of the ‘V’. The walls are again constructed using upright timbers infilled with hurdling to make panels. As with the weir at Sales Point, evidence for various phases of construction and repair can be discerned. Radiocarbon dating of this structure confirmed a long history of use (AD 664-882).

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Fig. 51 Reconstruction of the inter-tidal fish trap at ‘The Nass’

Collins Creek fish weirs At Collins Creek, a dispersed site has been recorded by aerial and field survey after it was exposed by erosion and loss of salt marsh. The exposed timber structures cover an area of several square kilometres, with individual rows of timbers being up to 1km long. Radiocarbon dating of the timbers gives similar results to samples taken from other fish weirs (AD 640-75 and 882-957) showing that they were long-lived and could have been in use throughout the Early to Middle Saxon periods. Fishing seemingly maintaining a vital role in the local economy.

Metalworking Rook Hall and Slough House Farm A sixth- to seventh-century settlement at Rook Hall (see Adkins1989 for overview; final publication awaited) had at least SFBs and one post-built hall. A mass of metalworking debris recovered from Rook Hall clearly represents the roasting and smelting of iron ore in substantial quantities. Concentrated in one area of the site, large quantities of ore, cinder and slag and pottery tuyère fragments from a number of pits demonstrate that the process was taking place on site. One feature interpreted as a furnace appeared to have in situ tuyères. Thermoluminescence dating of one tuyère fragment

returned a date range of AD 530±29. Unfortunately, the assemblage still awaits full analysis, however, it is quite possible that the site at Rook Hall, extending into the adjacent site of Slough House Farm, may well prove to be the region’s primary metalworking centre, serving the wider community. It has been described as ‘probably a specialist metalworking centre serving much more than its own needs….. perhaps part of a larger territorial or trading unit in which some or all settlements had specialist functions’ (Wallis and Waughman 1998, 44-53). Some insight into the potential of Rook Hall is given by the analysis of the metalworking debris from excavations at the adjacent site, Slough House Farm. Thought to have derived from Rook Hall and dumped in secondary contexts at Slough House Farm, the assemblage produced evidence for iron smelting and some smithing and was found in association with sixth- to seventh-century pottery. The finds included three furnace bottoms (the smelting slag that collects in the base of the furnace), smithing and ironworking slag, hearth/furnace lining and three pieces of daub (possibly part of a furnace structure). The smelting process appears to have been a non-tapping one whereby the slag was allowed to solidify in the bottom of the furnace rather than being tappedoff into an adjacent pit. This process was also the main

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Early to Middle Saxon settlement in the Chelmer-Blackwater river valley, Essex method of iron smelting used at Mucking (McDonnell in Hamerow 1993, 82-5).

Conclusions The archaeological evidence of the Chelmer-Lower Blackwater valley illustrates the decline in Roman settlement during the course of the fourth century and abandonment of at a least some of the landscape by c. AD 400. A handful of excavated sites give a tantalizing glimpse of mid-fifth century Saxon settlement of a peripheral nature in Roman towns and villas. Germanic incomers settling in the valley during the second half of the fifth century by and large ignored pre-existing field and road systems, although substantial ditches (both prehistoric and Roman) were utilised for both domestic and funerary purposes. The re-use of features such as Roman wells on sites such as Slough House Farm suggests that the period of abandonment was not too long. The sixth to eighth centuries saw the establishment of a series of mixed arable and pastoral farmsteads along the valley whose economy was supplemented by fishing and metalworking. Woodland must have been coppiced to keep up the necessary timber supply for domestic structures and extensive fish weirs. Settlement sites such as Springfield Lyons show how a settlement could expand over decades on roughly the same plot, but environmental evidence suggests that intensification of land-use by the Late Saxon period had forced settlement to spread to the less favourable clay soils beyond the valley.

Acknowledgements Thanks are extended to Essex County Council, Historic Environment Branch for supporting the preparation of this paper. The Graphics Team are thanked for their help: Roger Massey-Ryan (Graphics Officer) prepared Figures 47, 49 and 50 for this paper and produced a grey-scale version of Nick Nethercote’s fish-trap reconstruction (Figure 51). Essex County Council’s Field Archaeology Unit is thanked for Figure 48.

References Adkins, K. P. and Adkins, P. C. 1985 ‘Saxon Loomweights and Roman Pottery from Chigborough Farm, Little Totham’, Colchester Archaeological Group Annual Bulletin 28, 44-5 Adkins, P. C. 1989 ‘Rook Hall’, Current Archaeology 10 (115), 262-3 Atkinson, M. and Preston, S. J. 1998 ‘The Late Iron Age and Roman settlement at Elms Farm, Heybridge, Essex, excavations 1993-5: an interim report’, Britannia 29,

101-2 Bridge, M. 2009 Boreham Henge, Old Hall, Boreham, Near Chelmsford, Essex Dendrochronological Analysis of Oak Timbers. Portsmouth: English Heritage Research department Report Series 84 Brooks, H. and Holloway, B. 2010 ‘Sandon before the parkand-ride’, The Colchester Archaeologist 23, 29-30 Carter, G. A. 1998 Excavations at the Orsett ‘Cock’ Enclosure, Essex, 1976. Chelmsford: East Anglian Archaeology 86 Dale, R., Maynard, D., Tyler, S. and Vaughan, T. forthcoming ‘A Late Iron Age and Roman cemetery, and evidence for a Saxon minster: excavations near St Nicholas’ church, Great Wakering 1998 and 2000’, Essex Archaeology and History Drury, P. J. and Wickenden, N. P. 1982 ‘An Early Saxon Settlement within the Romano-British Small Town at Heybridge, Essex’, Medieval Archaeology 26, 1-40 Ennis, T. 2008 An Early Saxon Cemetery at Rayleigh, Essex. Chelmsford: East Anglian Archaeology 127 Evison, V. I. 1994 An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Great Chesterford, Essex. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 91 Hamerow, H. 1993 Excavations at Mucking Vol.2: the AngloSaxon Settlement. London: English Heritage Havis, R. and Brooks, H. 2004 Excavations at Stansted Airport, 1986-91 Vol. 2: Saxon, medieval and post-medieval; Discussion. Chelmsford: East Anglian Archaeology 107 Hirst, S. and Clark, D. 2009 Excavations at Mucking Vol.3: The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries. London: English Heritage Hirst, S., Nixon, T., Rowsome, P. and Wright, S. 2004 The Prittlewell Prince: the discovery of a rich Anglo-Saxon burial in Essex. London: Museum of London Archaeology Service Hunter, J. 1999 The Essex Landscape. Chelmsford: Essex Records Office Publications McDonnell, G. 1993 ‘Slag and iron-working residues’, in H. Hamerow (ed), Excavations at Mucking Vol.2: The AngloSaxon settlement. London: English Heritage, 82-5 Milton, B. 1987 ‘Excavations at Barrington’s Farm, Orsett Cock, Thurrock, Essex’, Essex Archaeology and History 18, 16-33 Medlycott, M. and Heppell, E. 2010 Saxon Skeleton at Bradwell on Sea, unpublished report in Essex Historic Environment Record Murphy, P. 2005 ‘The environmental evidence’, in S. Tyler and H. Major, The Early Anglo-Saxon cemetery and Later Saxon settlement at Springfield Lyons, Essex. East Anglian Archaeology 111. Chelmsford: Heritage Conservation, Essex County Council, 149-163 Newton, A. S. 2008 ‘A Late Bronze Age to Early Iron Age enclosure and an early Anglo-Saxon cremation cemetery at the Chalet site, Hall Road, Heybridge’, Essex Archaeology and History 39, 57-123 Robertson, A. and Davis, E. 2004 Maltings Lane Witham, Essex, Archaeological Excavation. Chelmsford: Field Archaeology Unit, Essex County Council 1091 Rep.doc Smith, R.A. 1903 ‘Anglo-Saxon remains’, in Doubleday, A.H. and Page, W. (eds) A History of Essex, Victoria County History of Essex, Vol. 1. Westminster: Archibald Constable and Co. Ltd, 315-332 Tyler, S. 1988 ‘The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Prittlewell, Essex: an analysis of the grave-goods’, Essex Archaeology and History 19, 91-116

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Tyler, S. and, Major, H. 2005 The early Anglo-Saxon cemetery and later Saxon settlement at Springfield Lyons, Essex. East Anglian Archaeology 111. Chelmsford: Heritage Conservation, Essex County Council Wallis, S and Waughman, M. 1998 Archaeology and the

Landscape in the Lower Blackwater Valley. Chelmsford: East Anglian Archaeology 82 Waterbolk, H. T. 1982 ‘Mobilität von Dorf, Ackerflur und Gräberfeld in Drenthe seit der Latènezeit’, Offa 39, 97124

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Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames

Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames

17 NATHALIE COHEN

This short paper discusses recent research on fish traps recorded on sites in the inter-tidal zone of the River Thames in London, focusing on four examples dating to the early Anglo-Saxon period (fifth to seventh centuries). The circumstances of discovery of each trap are discussed, and a description of the plan form and materials of the structures is provided. The paper concludes with a discussion of these structures in their wider regional and chronological context.

Introduction ‘A device for catching fish, sometimes a fence or enclosure of stakes made in a river, harbour, etc’. Definition from the National Monuments Record Thesauri Fish traps are temporary or permanent structures that often used the flow of the tide to trap fish and eels within. Most permanent fish traps would have been constructed on the intertidal foreshore where they would be filled by the incoming tide, but progressively emptied by the retreating waters at low tide. Two sides form a ‘V’-shaped structure with a narrow gap at the point of the ‘V’ where a wattle or net trap was placed. As the water level dropped, fish trapped between the sides by the retreating tide were forced towards the narrow gap where they could be collected. Fish traps are normally set slightly diagonally on the shallow foreshore of the river and are angled with the mouth of the ‘V’ in deeper water; as fish will swim deeper when they encounter a barrier, so they can be ‘herded’ into the trap for easy collection (O’Sullivan, 2003, 452). The sides of traps were most commonly made from upright roundwood stakes or piles driven into the foreshore with wattle-work in-between forming the sides. The uprights may have been supported by diagonal bracing posts to help the structure withstand the considerable force of the tide. The central part of the trap may have been made from fibre net, or from woven willow or osier stems, materials that would have been

plentiful alongside the banks of the Thames. Smaller, portable, fishtraps may have been made from woven willow or osiers (Harward 2010).

History During the Anglo-Saxon and medieval periods fish was an important part of the diet, especially on Fridays, feastday vigils, fastdays, and during Lent. Fish traps would have been one way of harvesting fish from the Thames along with line fishing, and hand and cast nets. Fish were farmed in freshwater fishponds, often found on manorial or monastic estates, and traps would also have been fitted to most watermills, such as those that would have been found on the Thames tributaries, to harvest the fish as they passed the mill weir. Fish traps could be very large, especially in estuarine areas, and would have netted massive quantities of fish especially when salmon or eels travelled upriver in shoals. Traps may have been worked on a daily or seasonal basis depending on their intended catch. The required investment of time and materials to build and maintain small timber fish traps in the tidal Thames would not, however, have been that great; most of the construction materials were locally available and cheap, they did not require specialist skills, and a small trap could have been built in a matter of days. The processing of any large catch would however have

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Fig. 52 Site location plan

required further infrastructure to take the fish to market, and, on a possibly industrial scale, to preserve the fish using smoking, air-drying or salting. Fish traps may therefore be associated with manorial or monastic estates from the Saxon period onwards, and Domesday Book makes frequent reference to both river and sea fisheries, especially in eastern England (Dawson 2004, 11). Fish weirs or kidells were so effective in catching fish and thereby depleting stocks upstream, as well as being so numerous that they obstructed navigation, that by the early thirteenth century the Magna Carta orders: ‘All kidells shall be removed from the Thames, the Medway, and throughout the whole of England, except upon the seashore.’

The Thames traps The work of many different archaeological groups, both avocational and professional, has revealed a number of fish traps on the Thames foreshore in central and west London. Further examples have also been recorded on sites which are now located on dry land but would originally have been within the inter-tidal zone. This evidence has been recorded by the Thames Archaeological Survey, the Richmond Archaeological Society, the Wandsworth Historical Society, the Thames Discovery Programme, and commercial units such as Museum of London Archaeology, Pre-Construct Archaeology and Oxford Archaeology. The chronological range of these

structures is very wide, with dated examples ranging from the Bronze Age to post-medieval periods. A brief description of some thirty structures known at the time of writing is provided below, although this paper �������� focuses� on four structures dating to the early Anglo-Saxon period at Barn Elms, Putney, Hammersmith and Nine Elms, near Vauxhall, while a further possible example at Kew is also discussed (Figure 52). Dated prehistoric fish trap structures have so far been recorded at two sites. Excavations at the former Harcros Timber Yard in Hampton Wick by Museum of London Archaeology (site code ������������������� OBG99) showed that a mesolithic peat deposit had formed on the west side of a sand bank or island which acted as a ‘steppingstone’ across the river and may have influenced the siting of medieval Kingston Bridge (Maloney 2003, 50). Two wattle structures recorded at the site dated to the Bronze Age appear to be the remains of a fish trap (Heather Knight pers. comm.) and comprise the earliest such structure so far recorded in the Greater London area. On the foreshore at Vauxhall (site code FLM01), the Thames Archaeological Survey recorded the fragmentary remains of two roughly parallel rows of small stakes, with possible wattle hurdling, which have been dated to the late Bronze Age/early Iron Age. It has been suggested that the stakes formed the inshore half of a fish trap (Haughey 1999, 18). Four fish traps dating to the Middle Anglo-Saxon period (seventh to ninth centuries) have been recorded on the foreshore: a second trap at Barn Elms, one at Isleworth

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Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames and two at Chelsea. The two best preserved examples are at Chelsea (Fish trap 1 – radiocarbon dated to AD 730900) and Isleworth (radiocarbon dated to AD 650-890), both discovered by the Thames Archaeological Survey during the late 1990s. The plan-forms and make up of these traps are very similar; both are V-shaped with a long ‘neck’ in which the trapped fish are held. The traps are made of timber piles 6-13cm in diameter, mainly in the round (with bark still surviving on them in some cases), with six-sided faceted points where they have been driven into the ground. Again, the sides of the fish traps were probably constructed of wattle hurdles, and the smaller posts, which survive at Chelsea, may represent a back brace for the hurdles (Cohen 2003, 12). A possible late Anglo-Saxon/early Norman example has been recorded on the foreshore at Winchester Wharf (Haughey 2003, 66) in Southwark (site code FSW12), although the identification of this structure as a fish trap is not secure. Further east at Chambers Wharf in Bermondsey, another possible fish trap was identified during the 1990s (site code FSW01); samples were taken for radiocarbon dating by the Thames Archaeological Survey and also by the Thames Discovery Programme in 2008; somewhat surprisingly both samples returned early post-medieval dates. Numerous undated examples are also listed in the Thames Archaeological Survey archive; for example, at Erith (site code FBX15/16) parallel rows of stakes, again with surviving wattles, eroding out of the soft riverbank have been interpreted as a possible fish trap. Further possible structures have been noted at Millbank (FWM05), Putney (FWW01), several sites in the London Borough of Richmond (FRM05, FRM10 and FRM18), in Shadwell (FTH07), at Hammersmith (FHM04) and near Chiswick Bridge (FHL15). Finally, it is also possible that the ‘Romano-British’ wattle hurdles discovered on the foreshore at Brentford and Isleworth in 1928 and 1955 by Sir Mortimer Wheeler and Ivor Noel-Hume respectively (Noel-Hume 1956, 43-46) may represent the remains of collapsed fish trap structures, rather than hut floors as originally interpreted by the excavators. This reinterpretation also follows that suggested by Cowie and Blackmore (2008, 115) with regard to structures recorded during the late nineteenth century, again in the Brentford area, by Montagu Sharpe. Here, a series of post alignments were originally described as defensive structures, however, it seems more likely that these represent the remains of fish traps – possibly barrier structures. A further five examples have been identified as a result of commercial archaeological projects. On the foreshore itself, the fragmentary remains of a possible fish trap were recorded at Wandsworth in 2003 during a survey in advance of the installation of new mooring pontoons (site code FWW06); unfortunately the samples from

the structure were not dated and during a subsequent watching brief at the site the structure was no longer visible (i.e. it had either eroded away or obscured by newly laid silt deposits). In Bermondsey, excavation on land at Chambers Street (site code BCB01) by Pre-Construct Archaeology recorded medieval activity centred ������������������������������ on a channel in which a row of postholes was found; these probably formed part of a fish trap or weir (Maloney 2002, 52). Also in Southwark at Borough High Street, and again excavated by PCA (site code BHB00), is a trap of possible Roman date situated on an eyot surrounded by three channels, and in one there was evidence for regularly spaced jetty structures. This channel also had the remains of a fish trap, double fishhook and oyster shell dump (Maloney 2001, 86). Two sites in Westminster have also recorded evidence for fish traps of Saxon and later medieval date. At Arundel House (site code ADL97) the remains of a possible Saxon jetty or a fish trap were located on the western side of the site (Procter, 2000, 51-52), while at Parliament Street (site code PAR87) excavation on the northern edge of the former Thorney Island revealed two fifteenth-century stake and wattle fences up to 10m long and joining at their western ends, which have been interpreted as fish traps (Thompson et al. 1998, 130).

Early Anglo-Saxon traps A or ‘alpha’ numbers represent observations, for example, a cluster of stakes, a barge-bed, a revetment, etc., and form a continuing series within foreshore survey zones as defined by the Thames Archaeological Survey. Recording of these inter-tidal sites, particularly of those areas only exposed at very low tides, (which is where the fish trap structures are found) is restricted by tidal height and the unstable nature of the foreshore surface, making archaeological survey both difficult and hazardous. The posts recorded, and depicted in Figures 53-56, represent those areas accessible in the time available; it may be possible to extend the survey during lower tidal windows. These types of structures are very fragile, and vulnerable to erosion caused by wash from passing vessels, or by changes in the river regime as a result of construction (such as the emplacement of new pontoons) or environmental factors. The results of the foreshore surveys are summarised below.

Putney This structure was first identified and recorded in the early 1970s by the Wandsworth Historical Society as part of a systematic survey of the inter-tidal area within the borough (Greenwood in Cowie and Blackmore, 2008, 116-7). It lies around 150m downstream of Putney Railway Bridge (site code FWW04, feature no. A101) and

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Fig. 53 Early Saxon fish trap at Putney

comprises two apparently parallel rows of 49 roundwood posts set about 1m apart on an E-W alignment, at a height around Ordnance Datum. Evidence for a small section of surviving wattles braced by small stakes was also recorded (Figure 53). Two samples were taken for radiocarbon dating during the 1990s (one oak pile and one elm) and returned dates of cal AD 410-620 and cal AD 420-640 respectively. It has been suggested that the structure represents one branch or arm of a V-shaped trap. There are no artefacts directly associated with the trap, however late Roman and limited early Anglo-Saxon material has been recorded from the foreshore in the immediate vicinity and just downstream, including a mid-late fourth-century jar, a late fourth to early fifth-century coin hoard and four Anglo-Saxon spearheads dating to the fifth / sixth centuries (Greenwood in Cowie and Blackmore, 2008, 118). Fig. 54 Early Saxon fish trap at Barn Elms

Barn Elms 1 This structure was discovered and recorded by the Richmond Archaeological Society during 1995-6, under the auspices of the Thames Archaeological Survey (site code FRM21; feature no A111). Located on the foreshore near the Barn Elms Sports Centre, at an elevation of -0.83m to -1.53m OD, 21 posts were recorded and two samples, both oak, returned dates of cal AD 430-670 and cal AD 560-810. The posts, as surviving, represent a single line of stakes, spaced at 1m intervals, except for two breaks in the line, each c. 3m across (Figure 54), which the excavator suggested, may represent gaps closed off by boxed enclosures to facilitate the removal of fish. From the location and alignment of the posts it is possible that it was designed to catch fish swimming downstream, possibly eels, and it may have stretched across a channel to an eyot, which is shown on post medieval maps of the area but has now disappeared (Wharton in Cowie and Blackmore 2008, 118-9).

Hammersmith In January 2009, the Thames Discovery Programme and Museum of London Archaeology, working with Ove Arup and Partners Ltd (Arup), recorded and sampled a fish trap during three low tide windows at Thames Wharf in Hammersmith (site code FHM04). The structure was discovered during a survey undertaken on the foreshore in advance of riverside wall refurbishment by the Environment Agency (Cohen 2009). ������������� It consisted of a line of small roundwood posts (traced for over 40m) driven vertically into the foreshore surface (A301), with a second line of seven posts (A310) extending back from the structure towards the waterfront. The latter may represent the remains of an access to the trap structure (Figure 55). ����������������������������������������� The site had previously been surveyed by the Thames Archaeological Survey, during which time a possible fish trap was noted (see above), however, the fish trap recorded in 2009 was not observed during that

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Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames

Fig. 55 Early Saxon fish trap at Hammersmith Fig. 56 Early Saxon fish trap at Nine Elms

knife recovered from the Thames at Hammersmith also indicate Saxon activity in the locality.

Nine Elms During fieldwork at Nine Elms near Vauxhall in October 2009, Andy Hawkins, from the Thames Explorer Trust, spotted a line of paired wooden posts (Figure 56) which also turned out to represent the remains of an early Anglo-Saxon fishtrap (site code FWW17: feature no. A301). The structure was sampled and recorded by the Thames Discovery Programme and the Geomatics team from Museum of London Archaeology in March 2010. In total 28 posts were recorded, again set in two parallel rows; three samples were taken from the structure – all of oak – which returned dates of cal AD 550–670.

Kew

work. ������������������������������������������������ Two samples (both oak) were taken from A310 for the purposes of radiocarbon dating���������������������� and the results have shown that the structure dates to the early Anglo-Saxon period (cal AD 420-591). This is a particularly interesting result as it adds further information to the story of early AngloSaxon Hammersmith and the immediate vicinity. Archaeological excavation just upstream at Hammersmith Embankment revealed an early Anglo-Saxon settlement site (see below), while a spearhead, a scramasax and a

This site was first recorded in detail by the Richmond Archaeological Society, as part of the Thames Archaeological Survey (during 1995-7). A particularly enigmatic group of timbers was found below Kew Bridge (site code FRM16), where some 200 posts and stakes have been recorded so far. They appear to represent more than one structure, although no obvious pattern in their layout could be discerned. More recently it has been suggested that the structures represented could include a brushwood ‘platform’ forming a causeway to facilitate crossing at a known fording point, while a second structure may represent the remains of an earlier fish trap. �������������������������������������������� During fieldwork at Kew in August 2010 this possible fish trap (A109) structure was recorded and sampled by the Thames Discovery Programme and the Richmond Archaeological Society. Due to tidal conditions, the structure did not emerge from the water during the survey (Figure 57) and the samples were taken underwater. Both of the samples were elm and the results are expected during early 2011.

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Fig. 57 Sampling ����������������������������������� the possible fish trap at Kew ����������� (photo by ������ C. Drew)

Discussion A recent nationwide survey of early medieval fish traps on estuarine sites across Britain and Ireland noted a wide range of construction techniques, together with differences in the scale and size of the structures, and suggested that the variations observed could be related not only to local/regional building techniques and tidal conditions, but also to social and economic factors (O’Sullivan 2003, 462). It is also interesting to note that only two fish traps in O’Sullivan’s survey are contemporary with the early Anglo-Saxon period – samples from a fish trap from the Fergus estuary in Ireland (AD 442-644), and a trap in Redwick on the Severn Estuary (AD 425-655). Given the small corpus of dated samples from the Thames, it is difficult to make assumptions regarding the possible significance of the four (and possibly five) early Anglo-Saxon examples described in this present paper, yet the chronological and geographical concentration is striking. Within this small sample it is not possible to draw many definitive conclusions regarding the Thames traps, however some tentative hypotheses could be proposed. The first concerns the materials used to construct the traps and their plan forms. It has been noted previously that����������������������������������������� regularity of the material (with regard to the sizes and shapes of the piles) used for the traps suggests the presence of managed woodlands in the local environment (Cohen 2003, 12). This view may be further enforced by the species identifications recorded in this paper – of the samples taken for radiocarbon dating from all five traps, all were identified as either oak or elm. In the case of the trap at Putney, this could be seen to support an argument for possible continuity of settlement during the late Roman – early Anglo-Saxon transition.���������������������������������������������� It is interesting to note that in Putney the very limited artefactual evidence for the early medieval period is largely composed of military equipment such

as early and middle Anglo-Saxon spearheads recovered from the Thames and a middle Anglo-Saxon sword or dagger found at Felsham Road (site code FEL2/76). The importance of the river crossing may have meant the continuity of the Putney settlement, and thus continuity in use of the fish trap, however it may also have meant that the area became a site of conflict and disputed boundaries. Excavated evidence for early Saxon settlement activity in the vicinity of the fish traps is, however, known at only one site – at Winslow Road, just to the north of the Barn Elms and Hammersmith traps. Investigations by the Department of Greater London Archaeology (site code HAM90) and later Museum of London Archaeology (site code HWR99) revealed the remains of at least nine sunken featured buildings, two post-built structures (one possibly a fence), numerous pits, four ovens or hearths, a gully and a ditch. Evidence of Anglo-Saxon metal working was also recovered (Cohen 2009, 5). The presence of an established settlement nearby perhaps indicate that the Barn Elms/Hammersmith fish traps should be viewed as part of a wider managed landscape, relating to a secular estate centre developing in the area during the post Roman period. It is even possible to postulate a change in ownership of the locality over time (from secular to ecclesiastical), which relates to the development of fish traps at different sites in the area. During the middle Anglo-Saxon period, a second trap is constructed at Barn Elms, much closer to the site

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Early Anglo-Saxon fish traps on the River Thames

Fig. 58 Bronze shield mount in the shape of a fish from the foreshore at Barnes: sixth-seventh centuries © Museum of London

of Fulham Palace (the earliest reference to Fulanham [Fulham] is in a charter of AD 704 in which Tyrhtil, bishop of Hereford, grants land there to Wealdhere, bishop of London (Gelling 1979, 96, No. 192; Sawyer 1968, 471, No. 1785), while downstream at Chelsea, the location of a number of eighth/early ninth century ecclesiastical councils, are two surviving middle AngloSaxon fish traps. Although the group of fish traps forms a small sample it is interesting to note a possible difference in plan form between the early and mid Saxon examples. At the time of writing, five examples of barrier fish traps are known (Barn Elms 1, Putney, Hammersmith, Nine Elms and Kew) with a further three V-shaped structures (Chelsea 2, Barn Elms 2 and Isleworth). However, the second fish trap at Chelsea also dates to the middle Anglo-Saxon period and appears to be a barrier structure as currently exposed. With regard to construction technique a further difference can be noted, with the use of a single line of posts at some sites, such as the examples at Kew, Hammersmith and Barn Elms, with paired posts at other sites (e.g. Putney and Nine Elms). It has been suggested that the presence/absence of Thames eyots or islands may be a contributing factor to these variations. For the fish traps to function effectively as ‘barrier’ traps (i.e. those used where the water flow is in one direction only), emplacement within a channel between the river’s edge and an island would allow for ease of construction and collection of trapped fish. In a number of cases as discussed above, there is post medieval cartographic evidence for islands in the locality and it may also be significant that the traps are located close to the sites of crossing points (later bridges), demonstrating the braided nature of the channel in these areas during the early medieval period. It is also of course possible that only one arm or branch of the fish traps have survived and that they all should be considered as V-shaped structures (Cowie and Blackmore 2008, 116). This latter aspect has interesting implications for any discussion of the functioning of these structures with

specific regard to the location of the tidal head during the late Roman to middle Anglo-Saxon period. If they functioned as tidal structures, the fish traps as recorded would seem to suggest considerable episodes of marine transgression and regression. If the barrier traps are indeed that and function with fluvial water flow only, this would suggest that the tidal head was below Nine Elms during the early Anglo-Saxon period. However, if the V- shaped fish traps of the mid Saxon period were designed to function with tidal waters, then by the late seventh century, the tidal head could have been as far west as Chelsea, Barn Elms or even Isleworth. According to recent studies however, this is considered unlikely given evidence from waterfront excavations in central London (Cowie and Blackmore 2008, 133). Thus while it may be that fish traps were designed differently during the early and middle Anglo-Saxon periods, it appears that environmental or climatic changes were not necessarily a deciding factor.

Conclusions The Anglo-Saxon fish traps of the tidal Thames form a small but fascinating sample of these type of structures and add a great deal of information to the picture of early medieval activity in the London area during this period. Artefactual material directly associated with such activity is sorely lacking, while nothing is known of the ‘portable’ fish or eel trap of this period and only rarely have later medieval examples been recorded (for example an eel trap or basket excavated from the Tower of London moat is on display at the Museum of London). While assemblages of Anglo-Saxon material (largely weaponry, such as spears, swords and shield accessories, such as that shown in Figure 58) are recorded from a number of locations along the river – with particular concentrations in the Brentford/Wandsworth areas - only one artefact has been classified as relating to ‘fishing’ and this is dated to the late Anglo-Saxon period (John Clark pers. comm.). In this regard it is also worth

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology mentioning the unique find of a Neolithic wooden club from the foreshore at Chelsea, which may have been used as a fisherman’s ‘priest’ (Haughey 2003, 63). Further examination of the archives of waterfront excavations may also prove illuminating.

Acknowledgements The survey and recording at Thames Wharf in Hammersmith and the production of Figures 52-56 for this paper was funded by the Environment Agency. From Museum of London Archaeology, the author would like to thank Stewart Hoad (project management), Mark Burch, Neville Constantine, Catherine Drew, Gideon Simons and Dan Waterfall (survey at Hammersmith, Kew, Putney and Nine Elms) and Judit Peresztegi for producing Figures 52-56 for this report. The support and advice of English Heritage in dating the samples from Nine Elms and Kew, and especially from John Meadows and Jane Sidell, is gratefully acknowledged as is the work of Eliott Wragg, David Jamieson and Lorna Richardson from the Thames Discovery Programme in sampling the structures at Nine Elms and Hammersmith. I would also like to thank Chiz Harward for research on fish traps undertaken on behalf of the Thames Discovery Programme’s Foreshore Factsheet series, which was funded by the Barbara Whatmore Charitable Trust��. Figure 58 is reproduced with the kind permission of the Museum of London.

References Anon. 1971 ‘Wandsworth Mud Larking’, London Archaeologist 1:11, 248 Barton, N. 1992 The Lost Rivers of London. London: Historical Publications Ltd Cohen, N. 2003 ‘Boundaries and Settlements: the Role of the River Thames’, in D. Griffiths, A. Reynolds and S. Semple (eds), Boundaries in Early Medieval Britain. Oxford: AngloSaxon Studies in History and Archaeology 12, 9-20 Cohen, N. 2006 River Thames Foreshore, Cheyne Walk Moorings, London SW10: foreshore survey report. London: Museum of London Archaeology Service, unpublished report Cohen, N, 2009 River Thames Foreshore, Thames and Palace Wharves, London W6: foreshore survey and watching brief report. London: Museum of London Archaeology, unpublished report Cowie, R. and Eastmond, D. 1997 ‘An archaeological survey of the foreshore in the Borough of Richmond upon Thames’ London Archaeologist 8:4/8:5, 87-93 and 115-121 Cowie, R. and Blackmore, L. 2008 Early and Middle Saxon rural settlement in the London region. London: MoLAS Monograph 41 Dawson, T. 2004 Locating Fish Traps on the Moray and the Forth. St Andrews: SCAPE Trust and Historic Scotland

Gelling, M. 1979 The Early Charters of the Thames Valley. Leicester: Leicester University Press Harward, C. 2010 Fish Traps: Foreshore Factsheet No. 1 (downloaded from http://www.thamesdiscovery.org/about/ foreshore-factsheet-fishtraps) Haughey, F. 1999 ‘The Archaeology of the Thames: prehistory within a dynamic landscape’, London Archaeologist 9:1, 16-21 Haughey, F. 2003 ‘From prediction to prospection: finding prehistory in London’s river’, in A. Howard, M. Macklin and D. Passmore (eds), Alluvial Archaeology in Europe. Lisse: AA Balkema, 61-68 Maloney, C. 2001 ‘Fieldwork Round up 2000’, London Archaeologist 9, Supplement 3, 67-94 Maloney, C. 2003 ‘Fieldwork Round up 2002’ London Archaeologist 10, Supplement 2, 33-60 Milne, G. with Bates, M. and Webber, M. D. 1997 ‘Problems, potential and partial solutions: an archaeological study of the tidal Thames, England’, World Archaeology 29:1, 130-146 Noël Hume, I. 1956 Treasure in the Thames. London: Frederick Muller Ltd O’Sullivan, A. 2003 ‘Place, memory and identity among estuarine fishing communities: interpreting the archaeology of early medieval fish weirs’, World Archaeology 35:3, 449-468 Proctor, J. 2000 ‘Medieval and Post-Medieval Waterfronts at Arundel House/Fitzalan House, 13-15 Arundel Street, City of Westminster’, Transactions of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society 51, 45-80 Salisbury C. R. 1991 ‘Primitive British Fishweirs’, in G. L. Good, R. H. Jones and M. W. Ponsford (eds), Waterfront Archaeology. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 74, 76-87 Sawyer, P. H. 1968 Anglo-Saxon Charters: An Annotated List and Bibliography London: Royal Historical Society Sidell, J., Wilkinson, K., Scaife, R. and Cameron, N. 2000 The Holocene Evolution of the London Thames: Archaeological Excavations (1991-1998) for the London Underground Limited Jubilee Line Extension Project. London: MoLAS Monograph 5 Thompson, A., Westman, A. and Dyson, T. (eds) 1998 Archaeology in Greater London 1965-90: a guide to records of excavations by the Museum of London. London: Archaeological Gazetteer Series 2 Webber, M. D. 1995 The Thames Archaeological Survey 1995: Pilot Study. London Archaeological Research Facility and Museum of London, unpublished report Webber, M. D. 1997 Report on the Thames Archaeological Survey 1996-7. Museum of London, unpublished report Webber, M. D. 1999 Report on the Thames Archaeological Survey 1996-1999. Museum of London, unpublished report Webber, M. with Ganiaris, H. 2004 ‘The Chelsea Club: a Neolithic wooden artefact from the River Thames’ in J. Cotton and D. Field (eds), Towards a New Stone Age: aspects of the Neolithic in south-east England. York: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 137, 124-127 William, J. and Brown, N. (eds.) 1999 An Archaeological Research Framework for the Greater Thames Estuary. London: Essex County Council, Kent County Council and English Heritage

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Boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms: the example of the South Saxons

18 MARK GARDINER

Previous approaches to the early kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon England tended to regard them through glasses clouded by a nineteenth-century perspective. The territory of each kingdom was imagined to have been occupied by people of distinctive ethnicity and with well known borders. More recent views have stressed the diversity of ethnic identity within kingdoms. The fixity of the boundaries of kingdoms is also questioned. It is argued that a better parallel for the early medieval kingdoms is provided by the Anglo-Scots border in the twelfth century which was a nominal line rather than a sharp boundary. The boundaries of the county of Sussex, apparently the same as the kingdom of the South Saxons, are examined. Topography was particularly important in determining the line on the north side, but there were a greater diversity of boundary features on the east and west borders.

Introduction The archaeology of the South Saxons was the subject of Martin Welch’s doctoral research and his first book (Welch 1983). Amongst the many issues which he touched upon in those studies was the problem of the bounds of the South Saxon kingdom. Since his work was published, new light has been cast upon the pattern of the boundaries of the early English kingdoms. It seems appropriate to return to the issue and consider whether we can understand more about how the lands of the South Saxons may have been defined. Sussex is one of a small number of English counties which can trace its origins back directly to an early medieval kingdom. Yet in spite of their remarkable antiquity, and therefore considerable interest, the significance of the limits of the kingdom of the South Saxons has barely been examined. Martin Welch noted that on three of the four sides the boundaries seem to follow natural features (Welch 1983, 260–62; 274–75; Welch 1989, 75–83). To the north they run through the heavily wooded district of the Weald. To the east the kingdom was limited by watery waste of Romney Marsh and to the south by the English Channel. The western side alone was not marked by any striking geographical feature. To understand how these boundaries may have developed, it is necessary to

consider their lines in greater detail. Before we can do so, the background to the boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms needs to be examined. Scholars have expressed differing opinions about the bounds of the early English kingdoms. The view that they consisted of a core separated from neighbours by areas of woodland or upland is of long-standing. Selwood on the Wiltshire and Somerset border certainly formed the boundary of the diocese of Sherborne, and may have been a boundary of Wessex (Asser’s Life of Alfred, §12; for the suggestion that the boundary between Bernicia and Deira also corresponded with a later diocesan boundary, see Blair 1949, 55–57). It was certainly an important boundary in the late ninth century when the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle referred to burhs both west and east of Selwood (ASC, s.a. 894 A). Woods and waste were considered by scholars to be natural buffers which defined different peoples. There was no need to mark the boundaries with any precision because the intervening areas were little used (Blair 1977, 35–36; Stenton 1971, 286). As the population expanded, the boundaries were agreed, presumably by representatives from the neighbouring kingdoms, or indeed may have been decided by animal herders on the ground. This view has recently be restated in a sophisticated manner by Roberts (2007, 76–78) who has suggested that the ‘cultural cores’ of the northern kingdoms of Rheged, Bamburgh, Bernicia, Catraeth

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology and Deira were ‘separated by tracts of wood pasture and open pasture’. That perspective is rather different from the view of early medieval polities outlined by Bassett and subsequently followed by other scholars. The key document in this alternative approach is the Tribal Hidage, a source originating in the seventh or early eighth century. It is evidently a list of tribute paid to the Mercian king. The document appears to show that England was divided not just into a few large kingdoms – the so-called Heptarchy ­– but into a series of territories, some large, others small. These were to some degree autonomous, insofar as they paid tribute independently to Mercia. Their autonomy may have been limited and they may have been effectively under the control of their larger neighbours. Certainly, the polities which emerged more clearly into the historical light in the later eighth and ninth centuries are not this assortment of heterogeneous groups, but a smaller number of larger kingdoms. The means by which the peoples recorded in the Tribal Hidage developed into larger kingdoms is comparatively obscure. Bassett, in his famous footballing analogy, compared the process to a knock-out competition. Even by the time when the Tribal Hidage was compiled most of the little teams have long gone; there are a few potential giant-killers left … survivors only because they have avoided being drawn against the major teams. But the next round will see them off; they have had their brief moment of glory and no more will be heard of them (Bassett 1989, 26). This analogy is good as far as it goes. It certainly makes sense of the heterogeneous nature of the groups listed in the Tribal Hidage, but it cannot be pushed too far and comprehend the territorial aggrandizement which accompanied the competition. It was not merely that the Wessex and Mercia knocked out their opponents on their way to the cup final. If we want to pursue the analogy we have to consider that they also gained control of their clubs, took over their football grounds and conscripted their players. The model which emerged from a number of papers in Bassett’s volume was of an England made up of a number of groups of peoples, each with their own territory. The larger kingdoms of the Tribal Hidage were an amalgamation of smaller units which are often referred to as provinciae. For example, Wessex had expanded through the conquest of the Jutish province of the Geuissae in the sixth century, an area roughly equivalent to Hampshire (Yorke 1989). The territory of the Geuissae was itself probably an amalgam of smaller units. These were perhaps the territories ruled over subreguli. There were at least five reges, perhaps the same as subreguli, in

Wessex in 626 (Campbell 1986, 88; ASC, s.a. 626 E). The smallest units, the atomistic components of kingdoms, were shadowy groups, such as the Stoppingas in the west Midlands and Hrothingas in Essex (Bassett 1989, 19–23). The identifications of the territories or provinciae have been made by mapping later units – parishes with similar names, hundreds and minster parishes. We must admit the weak basis on which we build this interpretation and the tenuous arguments we use to push such units back to their supposed origins in the seventh and even sixth centuries. If we accept that such units did exist and that we can map their origins, then the early medieval kingdoms, far from looking like the cores and intervening zones of common pasture imagined by some, must have been an amalgam of small territories and communities with diverse identities. There were no cores, just groups of peoples. How should we envisage the boundaries of these kingdoms? Were they well defined or, as the older view held, rather vague lines through little-used tracts of countryside. One way to approach this might be to consider a later border – the boundary between England and Scotland in the eleventh and twelfth century. It was defined in broad terms as a result of military action, but in practice was determined by the way local lords lent their allegiance. It was a boundary defined both from above and from below. Aird (1997, 29) has characterized the Anglo-Scots border as ‘merely a notional political construct dividing communities which had more in common with each other than with their nominal political overlords, whose influence was remote’. He continues, suggesting that the border of kingdoms divided up the ancient political units of Strathclyde in the west and Bernicia in the east, and their occupants did not identify with either England or Scotland, but had a separate identity based on their border location (Aird 1997, 29–37). Furthermore, we need to remember that Scotland was a kingdom independent of England only by degree. Scottish kings in the twelfth century acknowledged the overlordship of their English counterparts and did homage to them (Bartlett 2000, 90–92). This is a thought-provoking comparison. The AngloScottish border in the eleventh and twelfth centuries is far in time and space from the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of the sixth and seventh centuries, but it is not a world apart from Bede’s view of early medieval England. He also lived at a time of shifting boundaries and of rulers who asserted influence, though not necessarily power in lands which were nominally in separate kingdoms. England was made up of peoples with various identities and allegiances which had yet to be securely welded together to form nations. In a careful analysis of Bede’s use of language and ideas, Kleinschmidt (1998, 83–84) has suggested the ethnic names – Anglo, Saxons and

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Boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms Jutes – were retrospective labels given to the groups of peoples who were subject to a ruler or rulers, and settled in a single area. The South Saxon kingdom was, therefore, not the area settled by the Saxons, but quite simply the region under a South Saxon ruler. Or, more precisely, using the evidence of the Scots border, the area within which petty lords acknowledged the power of a Saxon ruler. The polity may have been equated with an area of settlement of a gens or people, but that was a myth which naturalized the exercise of power. We can therefore envisage the South Saxon kingdom in the seventh and early eighth century as a region broadly controlled by kings, but not unified by race or yet by identity. On the borders or just beyond the South Saxon kingdom were groups which can be glimpsed in the historical records. To the west there were the Meonware – the people of the Meon valley who were for a short time in the seventh century added to the South Saxon kingdom by the gift by the Mercian king (Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica, IV, 13). Whether they were a group with a self-conscious identity, or whether they were, as the name implies, simply the dwellers in the Meon valley, is unclear. The Mearcsware apparently lying beyond the South Saxon kingdom to the east and within Romney Marsh were another such group with a geographical name who may or may not have possessed a sense of a collective identity (ASC, s.a. 796 E for 798). A group who appear to have had a sense of their own distinctiveness were the Hæstingas, who lived in the Hastings area of eastern Sussex (Welch 1983, 274­–75). They also gave their name to Hastingsford in Rotherfield (Sussex) and Hastingleigh to the east of Brabourne in Kent. It is hard to imagine that the whole of this area was within the Hæstingas territory. Rather these were outlying settlements of peoples identified by their neighbours as Hæstingas (Ekwall 1953, 143–44). Instead of regarding these groups as ‘buffer states’ as they have been in the past, we should think of them as frontier communities or perhaps frontier areas, the inhabitants of which had maintained a distinction in the view of their neighbours by virtue of their position on the edges of kingdoms. Their occupants needed to be courted, cajoled or physically persuaded to acknowledge the authority of the larger polities. Our problem is that we bring to the early English kingdoms nineteenth-century ideas of nations and nationalism. We have been inclined to view these medieval kingdoms as discrete areas occupied by people of one ethnicity. It is unlikely to have been that clear. Instead, there may have been notional borders of the kingdoms occupied by people whose identities and allegiances were very varied. Like the boundaries of England and Scotland in the twelfth century, they may have been defined in theory, but remained rather vague in practice. A charter of 740 refers to the termini

Suthsaxoniae, ‘the boundaries of the South Saxons’ (Sawyer 1968, no. 24), and another charter, probably of the early ninth century, mentions Suþsaxa lond, ‘the land of South Saxons’ (Sawyer 1968, no. 1193; Ward 1933). We should treat these descriptions cautiously. The limits of the first charter may have been purely nominal. The second charter presents other problems for it is close to Lympne in Kent and far from the present limits of Sussex. It is hard to imagine that the border was really that vague. Instead, this may have been an area held by a group regarded in the locality as South Saxons, much like the Hæstingas discussed above. It was in no one’s interest, nor was it practical to push the matter of definition of the early English kingdoms too hard. To imagine that the kingdom of South Saxons was marked by a distinct border patrolled from customs posts topped by flags bearing the martlets of Sussex is an absurd anachronism. The studied ambiguity could not persist. It is impossible to imagine it, for example, in the more precisely defined England of the tenth century, which was divided up into estates with clearly marked and recognized bounds. Sometime between the eighth and tenth century and probably much nearer the former than the latter, the bounds of the kingdom and the shire of Sussex were fixed with greater precision. However, adjustments continued to be made to the boundary of the kingdom as late as the mid-tenth century. The anomaly of Ambersham chapelry (later parish), an island of Hampshire within Sussex must date to some time after 963 when the estate was granted to Meon church in that other county (Gardiner 1984: 81; Sawyer 1968, no. 718). Similar ‘county islands’ existed on the Worcestershire-Gloucestershire border where the situation was further complicated by the dissolution of the county of Winchcombeshire. There too the islands can be attributed to the structure of ecclesiastical estates (Oman 1927, 94; Whybra 1990). The formation of boundaries in early medieval England was not so much an action as a process. The boundaries were gradually defined by competing kingdoms in the sixth and seventh centuries and were subsequently refined and adjusted over centuries to emerge as the counties of late Anglo-Saxon England. Much the same process of boundary definition occurred on the AngloScots border in the eleventh and twelfth century. This presents a considerable challenge to anyone trying to read back the history of these events from the boundary which was eventually agreed. As Austin has argued, we can infer simple processes from morphology, but we cannot determine more complicated ones (Austin 1985, 203). We might guess that boundaries which follow major topographical features will be those which have been boldly marked out at a single time. Those which are more convoluted, following a stream here and a road there, may have a much more complicated history.

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Fig. 59 The boundary between Sussex and Hampshire near Idsworth. Place-names are taken from the present Ordnance Survey 1:25000 map. For the location of the area shown, see Figure 3. © Crown copyright Ordnance Survey. All rights reserved

The boundaries may therefore tell us something of the processes by which they came into existence, though we cannot be very sure. With these thoughts in mind, we may now turn to consider the limits of Sussex.

The boundaries of Sussex The earliest detailed and complete record of the boundaries of Sussex are the tithe maps compiled in the late 1830s and early 1840s. Earlier maps do, of course, show the line of the boundary, but at too small a scale to depict the precise route. For the purposes of this preliminary study the Ordnance Survey first-edition six-inch maps published in the 1870s and 1880s have been used for their ease of access. A further, more detailed study will require an examination of a greater range of sources. Note has been taken of the changes in the county boundary recorded by Youngs (1979, 691), particularly those which occurred in 1844 before the six-inch maps were surveyed. It is convenient to divide the boundaries of Sussex into five sections – the western boundary with Hampshire, the north-west salient, the west Weald, the east Weald, and Romney Marsh ­– and to treat each of these in turn. The Hampshire boundary is the most problematic of these. In broad terms, it runs between the Meon valley in Hampshire and the Marden, ‘the boundary down’ in Sussex (Mawer and Stenton 1929, 51). Bede (Historia Ecclesiastica, IV, 16) described the Isle of Wight as lying ‘contra medium Australium Saxonum et Geuissorum’. This statement has been interpreted by Yorke (1989, 90) to suggest that Bede must have meant that it lay opposite the border of the South Saxons at one side and of the western border of what had been the kingdom of the Geuissae at the other end. This is not a very precise description of the boundary, but Bede was seeking to place the Isle of Wight only in general terms. It does,

however, suggest that the boundary was broadly the same as the present county. The present boundary runs from the coast between Hayling and Thorney Islands and up the river Ems before turning to run through Southleigh Forest. This must have been well wooded country in the early Middle Ages and remained so in the late Middle Ages when the

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Fig. 60 The pre-1844 boundaries of Sussex and Hampshire near Liphook. For the location of the area shown, see Figure 3. © Crown copyright Ordnance Survey. All rights reserved

county boundary marked the edge of the Forest of Bere (Munby 1985, 271). From here it runs along a stream north from Rolands Castle to Markwells Wood. That name is evidently derived from OE mearc and wielle, the ‘spring at the boundary’, though earlier forms must be sought for confirmation. Its line by the wood follows the top of a prominent hill slope above Idsworth until it turns sharply to the north-west (Figure 59). The reason for suddenly breaking away from this hill-edge line is unclear, nor is there any topographical logic in the almost straight course it then follows across the downs until it drops into the valley near to Ladyholt. That sharply define valley is followed almost to the crest of the downs, except for a diversion around a wood named on the Ordnance Survey first-edition one-inch map as Harehurst Wood and on the 1880 six-inch map as The Harrows. An adjoining wood was called The Harris. All these names seem to have the same element, OE hār, ‘boundary’, with the suffix hyrst, a ‘copse’ or ‘wood’ in Harehurst (Mawer and Stenton 1929, 36). A late twelfth-

or early thirteenth-century deed records a virgate which lies with one side by buildings on the boundary between Hampshire and Sussex and on another by Magna Harehurst, confirming that the boundary must have been at or close to the present line (Durford Chartulary, no. 238). North of the Downs, the boundary crosses over the western River Rother, close by the site of Durford Abbey where border of Hampshire was said to be in 1181 (Durford Chartulary, no. 1). It picks up the prominent ridge now followed by the A3 road, and then runs along a further ridge at the edge of Woolmer Forest into the second section which is termed here the north-west salient The salient, at least until it was transferred to Hampshire in nineteenth-century boundary changes, was a narrow strip of Sussex (Figure 60). The western boundary, as we have seen ran along the top of the ridge, while that on the

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Fig. 61 Sussex and adjoining counties showing the character of the features followed by the boundary. The areas covered by Figures 1 and 2 are also shown

east ran along or close to streams at its foot. Between here and Haslemere the boundary largely follows a tributary of the River Wey set in a valley between the highland of Black Down and Hindhead. There was a detached island of Sussex in Hampshire around Bohunt Farm, the name of which suggests that this was part of the manor of Rogate Bohunt held in the early thirteenth century by the de Bohuns of Midhurst (Victoria County History of Sussex, 4, 23). The distinctive character of the Wealden boundary of Sussex in the third and fourth sections has been touched upon elsewhere (Gardiner 2003, 154–56). On the west of the Weald, the third section identified here, the boundary follows a series of ridges (Figure 61). From Haslemere the boundary crosses the ridge of Black Down and the runs along the watershed between streams draining to the northwards and those to the south. It drops into the valley of a tributary of the River Arun near Loxwood. From there as far as North River, another Arun tributary, the boundary resumes its line along the watershed. The country here is rolling, rather than hilly and the relief is subtle. After North River the boundary again picks up the course on the watershed as far as Upper Prestwood Farm. From that point it crosses the flat claylands of Lowfield Heath, now the site of Gatwick airport, in a series of more or less straight alignments. Some of these are probably the result of nineteenth-century enclosure; others are more ancient. From East Grinstead eastwards, identified here as the fourth length of boundary, it follows a series of

watercourses, only briefly leaving these to cross a ridge to join another stream or river. It runs along the Kent Water and then another minor a tributary of the River Medway as far as Tunbridge Wells. From there it picks up the River Teise, and then turns back along the River Bewl as far as its headwaters near Flimwell. It crosses the ridge and picks up the Kent Ditch and continues down it to join the River Rother. It follows the eastern Rother (not to be confused with the western Rother mentioned above) passing south of the Isle of Oxney as far as Romney Marsh. The fifth and final section across Romney Marsh was not defined until twelfth century and parts not until the early thirteenth century and later, reflecting the complex history of settlement of this area (Barber and Gardiner 2008, 284–86). The modern boundary runs across the marsh along Kent Ditch and the late medieval one seems to have been in the same position. For example, an agreement c. 1219 released land near Kapenesse – a lost place – which lay in length by the marches of Sussex (Lambeth Palace Library, MS 1212, p. 94). Kent Ditch seems to have been an agreed boundary between the wetlands held by Sussex manors and those of Kent, perhaps established in the early thirteenth century when the area was being settled (Gardiner 1988, 112–15). However, the south side of the marsh on the shingle adjoining the sea was utilized from at least 741 when pasture land for 150 cattle next to the marsh called Biscopes Wic and extending as far as the wood called Ripp and the bounds of Sussex was granted to abbot Dun (Sawyer 1968, no. 24; Ward 1931). The nominal

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Boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms boundary of the South Saxons in the eighth century must have been close to the position of the nineteenthcentury county boundary. Each of the five sections has a distinctive character. In particular, there is a clear contrast between the western and eastern lengths of the boundary through the Weald, the first following ridges and the second valleys. The character of these two lengths of the boundary of Sussex are so distinctive that they can hardly have emerged. They must reflect either very ancient boundaries which pre-date the early medieval period, or lines which were agreed in an area of little-occupied or perhaps littlevalued countryside. Overall, the boundary seems to have been determined in three ways. In the first the topography was the prime determinant. The route followed a significant linear feature. The second form of boundary line was evidently laid out in a near straight course though not through the work of post-medieval surveyors. The line of Kent Ditch through Romney Marsh is clearly a division of this type. The boundary between Markwells Wood and The Harrows also seem to have had this character. Though it is not perfectly straight, it seems to have been established in a seemingly arbitrary line over the spur extending south-westwards from Ladyholt. The third type is where it follows probable pre-existing features, including roads and field edges. The first is the most common; the last the least. This is what we might expect and indeed reflects that described in what must be one of the earliest records of boundaries between kingdoms in England, the treaty of c. 886 between Alfred and the Danish leader, Guthrun. (The date of the treaty is disputed inter alia by Dumville 1992.) Those boundaries followed in part the rivers Thames and Lea. From the source of the Lea, it was in a straight line to Bedford and then continued up the Ouse to Watling Street (Attenborough 1922, 98-99). All three types of boundary features defined here were followed by the boundary of Danelaw.

Conclusion This study has sought to raise fundamental questions about the significance and form of the boundaries of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. On the one hand it has questioned the character of boundaries and their significance during the complex play of power which must have accompanied the course of aggrandizement of Wessex and Mercia. On the other, it has taken the line of the boundaries as they were eventually established, at least in the form of the limits of counties, and considered its implications. These two approaches are not contradictory, but complementary, for the boundary formation has been regarded here as a process, not a single action. Work since the 1980s has tended to stress

the antiquity of boundaries and their persistence over centuries. That approach at least in the context of early medieval England now needs to be combined with a realization that what a boundary represented was open to qualification and redefinition.

References Aird, W. M. 1997 ‘Northern England or southern Scotland? The Anglo-Scottish border in the eleventh and twelfth centuries and the problem of perspective’, in J. C. Appleby and P. Dalton (eds), Government, Religion and Society in Northern England 1000-1700. Stroud: Sutton, 27–39 Attenborough, F. L. 1922. The Laws of the Earliest English Kings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Austin, D. 1985 ‘Doubts about morphogenesis’, Journal of Historical Geography 11, 201–9 Bartlett, R. 2000. England under the Norman and Angevin Kings 1075-1225. Oxford: Oxford University Press Barber, L. and Gardiner, M. F. 2008 ‘Discussion’, in L. Barber and G. Priestley-Bell, Medieval Adaptation, Settlement and Economy of a Coastal Wetland: The Evidence from around Lydd, Romney Marsh, Kent. Oxford: Oxbow Books,� 275–96 Bassett, S. 1989 ‘In search of the origins of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms’, in S. Bassett (ed.), The Origin of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms. London: Leicester University Press, 3–27 Blair, P. H. 1949 ‘The boundary between Bernicia and Deira’, Archaeologia Aeliana 27, 46–59 Blair, P. H. 1977 An Introduction to Anglo-Saxon England (second edition). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Campbell, J. 1986 Essays in Anglo-Saxon History. London: Hambledon Press Dumville, D. N. 1992 Wessex and England from Alfred to Edgar. Woodbridge: Boydell Durford Chartulary (Sussex Record Society 90), ed. J. H. Stevenson, 2006 Ekwall, E. 1953 ‘Tribal names in English place-names’, Namn Och Bygd 41, 129–77 Gardiner, M. F. 1984 ��������������������������������������������� ‘ Saxon settlement and land division in the western Weald’, Sussex Archaeological Collections 122, 75–84 Gardiner, M. F. 1988 ���������������������������������������������� ‘Medieval settlement and society in the Broomhill area and excavations at Broomhill church’, in J. Eddison and C. Green (eds.), Romney Marsh: Evolution, Occupation and Reclamation. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 112–27 Gardiner, M. F. 2003 ‘Economy and landscape change in post-Roman and early medieval Sussex, 450-1175’, in D. R. Rudling (ed.), The Archaeology of Sussex to AD 2000. King’s Lynn: Heritage Publications, 151–60 Kleinschmidt, H. 1998 ‘The Geuissae and Bede: on the innovativeness of Bede’s concept of the gens’, in J. Hill and M. Swan (eds), The Community, the Family and the Saint: Patterns of Power in Early Medieval Europe. Turnhout: Brepols, 77–102 Mawer, A. and Stenton, F. M. 1929 The Place-Names of Sussex, 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Munby, J. 1985 ‘Portchester and its region’, in B. W. Cunliffe and J. Munby, Excavations at Portchester Castle: 4 Medieval,

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Cantiana 45, 133–39 Welch, M. G. 1983 Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 112 Welch, M. G. 1989 ‘The kingdom of the South Saxons’, in S. Bassett (ed.), The Origin of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms. London: Leicester University Press, 75–83 Whybra, J. 1990 A Lost English County: Winchcombeshire in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries. Woodbridge: Boydell Yorke, B. 1989 ‘The Jutes of Hampshire and Wight and the origins of Wessex’, in S. Bassett (ed.), The Origin of AngloSaxon Kingdoms. London: Leicester University Press, 84–96 Youngs, F. A. 1979. Guide to the Local Administrative Units of England. Volume 1: Southern England. London: Royal Historical Society

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A reconsideration of East Wansdyke

A reconsideration of East Wansdyke: its construction and date - a preliminary note

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BRUCE EAGLES AND MICHAEL J. ALLEN

The date and construction of the Wansdyke has been a subject of archaeological debate since comment by Leland in the sixteenth century. This paper has been prompted, for both of us, by personal discussions with the late Tony Clark, who had long been fascinated by Wansdyke, and here we address, in a preliminary note, some of the key issues concerning the monument which he had set out to explore. It is a great pleasure for BNE to have this opportunity to thank Martin for his greatly appreciated company and for many fruitful discussions about Anglo-Saxon archaeology over very many years, occasions, socially as well as professionally, which it is so enjoyable to recall. Similarly MJA is delighted to thank Martin for spurring a lifelong interest in Anglo-Saxon, and in particular Sussex Anglo-Saxon archaeology, and for his indulgence of my questioning as a schoolboy some five to six years before he was my lecturer in Saxon archaeology. Martin’s advice and encouragement was always warmly and welcomingly given.

East Wansdyke Extending from near Bristol to beyond Marlborough, though it disappears for long stretches in between, Wansdyke comprises, for the most part, a double bank and ditched earthwork with the smaller counter-scarp bank and ditch on the north and main bank on the south. The north-facing East Wansdyke extends across central Wiltshire for about 20km from Morgan’s Hill, and Bishop’s Cannings Down, in the west to the edge of Savernake Forest in the east (Figure 62). In its western part it traverses the high Chalk. There the Dyke generally follows the top of the escarpment, its bank up to 3m (10 ft) high, and together with its Roman type Vshaped ditch (Pitt Rivers 1892; Green 1971), up to 28m (92 ft) across, with a further, counter-scarp bank, itself in places more than 9m (30 ft) across and 1.2m (4 ft) high, on its north side (Figure 63), it is here clearly a military work. East of Shaw House (SU 135653), however, the Dyke changes abruptly, at the point where the Upper Chalk gives way to Clay-with-flints – which takes a natural cover of woodland – to a territorial boundary no more than 1.4m (4½ ft) high and 15.3m (50 ft) across and which lacks the counter-scarp bank. The precise point of change is lost under farm buildings (Fox and Fox 1958; Fowler 2001a; 2001b).

The purpose of this paper is twofold: first, to reexamine elements of the structure and stratification of East Wansdyke as they were revealed by, in particular, Lieutenant General Pitt Rivers in his sections through the Dyke at Brown’s Barn (Section II, SU 064657) and Shepherd’s Shore (Section I, SU 049661: Pitt Rivers 1892, 252–76); and second, to review Tony Clark’s carefully considered opinion – based upon his interpretation of, principally, the Brown’s Barn section – on the important but difficult issue of the dating of the Dyke; an opinion which he expressed in a letter, published later the same year, to Bruce Eagles (Eagles 1994, 23: the letter is quoted in full below). Following these observations by Tony Clark about the age and nature of construction of the Wansdyke and wider research by one of us (BNE), the published excavation sections and reports by Pitt Rivers (1892) were re-examined and several points about the construction, age, nature and significance of the Wansdyke are here re-considered. Pitt Rivers’ excavations and the recorded and mapped earthworks in this locality i.e. Morgan’s Hill and Shepherd’s Shore (south of Bishop’s Cannings Down) to Tan Hill and Milk Hill (northwest of Adam’s Grave) form the basis of part of the preliminary reinvestigation (Figure 62).

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There has been a long interest in the date and significance of the 77km (48 miles) long Wansdyke (e.g. Pitt Rivers 1892; Major and Burrow 1926; Crawford 1932; 1953; 1954; Clark 1958: Fox and Fox 1958; Bonney 1966: 1972, 174-76, fig. 19; Eagles 1994; Fowler 2001a; Erskine 2007), and this contribution aims to provide some further and additional considerations. The length of East Wansdyke considered here has had several small archaeological interventions; those by Pitt Rivers (1892) at Shepherd’s Shore (Section I) and at Brown’s Barn (Section II), and those at Red Shore and New Buildings (Fowler 1968; Green 1971). Tony Clark’s observations included consideration of the nature of a ‘dark brown mould’ over the primary bank, the distribution of pottery within this and the buried soil beneath the bank, and the effect of soil formation processes (wormworking) within these soils and deposits.

Pitt Rivers’ sections at Brown’s Barn (II) and Shepherd’s Shore (I) The elegant and detailed sections across Wansdyke at Brown’s Barn by Pitt Rivers (1892; pl. CCXXIX) provide the basis for both Tony Clark’s and this reexamination.

Construction From the sections cut by Pitt Rivers at Shepherd’s Shore (Pitt Rivers 1892, pl. CCXVI) and Brown’s Barn (ibid., pl. CCXIX), but not at those cut by Stephen Green at Red Shore (Green 1971, figs 2, 4 and 6), it seems clear that the bank (and presumably the ditch and thus Wansdyke itself) is a two phase construction. Asymmetrical to the main (secondary) bank, is a former initial (primary) bank

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Fig. 63 Photograph of Wansdyke near Shepherd’s Shore looking west, showing the bank, ditch and counter-scarp bank to the north; the counter-scarp bank is visible as a shallow rise in foreground, and is masked by snow in the distance (M. Allen, December 2010)

comprising chalk rubble and chalk mould, and capped by a deposit of ‘dark brown mould’ (Figure 64). A clear former old land surface lies beneath both the primary bank and the subsequent secondary enlargement of it. Significantly, however, the thick deposit of ‘dark brown mould’ was laid against the southern side of the primary bank, and subsequently chalk rubble and ‘chalk mould’ have been added to the southern side of the initial bank, doubling or trebling its size both in height and width. Romano-British pottery occurs on and in the buried soil that underlies the banks and in the dark brown mould, but is essentially absent from the chalk rubble of both the initial and later enlarged bank. The lack of any clear soil material or turves beneath the primary bank suggests either that they have been incorporated within the deposits described by Pitt Rivers as ‘chalk mound’ or, as Clark suggests, were put aside and emplaced over the primary bank. Whether the chalk mould can be considered to be the capping of the primary chalk bank or the initial construction of the secondary bank is, therefore, critical to both our interpretation of the construction and of the date of the monument(s). The ‘dark brown mould’ is about 45cm (Section I, Shepherd’s Shore) and 53cm thick (Section II, Brown’s Barn) which Tony Clark calculates to represent a ‘soil’ layer c. 10cm and 20cm thick across the area cut away

by the ditch in the respective sections. Despite the possibility of compaction and loss by erosion, these figures are low for typical rendzina profiles on the chalk which are normally 0.3-0.4m thick. It seems unlikely that turf and topsoil material was put aside and reserved to stabilise the chalk rubble of the primary bank unless this formed a single construction phase. More significant, however, is that the area requiring greatest stabilisation is not the back of the bank, but that in front of the ditch, precisely the area in which there is no dark brown mould (Figure 64). On this basis we assume that this material represents the earliest phase in the enlargement of Wansdyke, this turf and topsoil being stripped from the re-cutting and enlargement of the ditch. Such re-cutting is clearly seen at Shepherd’s Shore (Pitt Rivers 1892, pls CCXVI and CCXVII), but this cannot be determined at Brown’s Barn as Pitt Rivers did not section the ditch there (ibid., pl. CCXIX). Here, therefore, it seems likely that Pitt Rivers eloquently records the presence of an earlier ditch which at this point on the Marlborough Downs was subsequently subsumed, along a part of its length at least, by the construction of the Wansdyke itself, in or after the Roman period. At Shepherd’s Shore where not only does another primary bank exist, here under the outer, or counterscarp, bank (ibid., pl. CCXVI), there is also a clear ‘old

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surface line’ over the outer bank and infilling a hollow at its outer basal edge (Figure 64). If Pitt Rivers is correct in this interpretation, and he clearly can recognise buried soils here and at Wor Barrow under chalk mounds (Pitt Rivers 1898), then this provides evidence for a relatively long duration between the two phases of construction of the outer/counter-scarp bank at least. The counterscarp bank (or outer bank sensu Pitt Rivers) also clearly overlies and seals the Romano-British enclosure ditch at Brown’s Barn (Pitt Rivers 1892, section III, pl. CCXVII).

of deposition and the building of the dyke. Charles Darwin (1883) [sic] demonstrated that burial by worms takes place at an average rate of 4cm in ten years, so that pottery dropped on the surface would reach a depth of 20cm, in fifty years. This process would be upset by ploughing, but the darkness of the old soil underlying the bank at Brown’s Barn is in keeping with an undisturbed turf. Pottery sherds are scattered at all depths throughout this layer; otherwise they are almost completely confined to a mould deposit higher in the bank, probably consisting mainly of turf derived from the excavation of the ditch. In particular, an iron sandal cleat, of a type found by Pitt Rivers in Romano-British contexts, was discovered lying on the old ground surface, and a fourth-century mortarium type was present.

Age of East Wansdyke The Wansdyke is generally considered to be postRoman/Saxon in origin; its existence in the later Saxon period is well documented (see further below). This discussion brings us neatly back to the observations made by Tony Clark in his letter referred to above: ‘A date for East Wansdyke at the end of the Roman period is especially suggested by evidence from the ‘Brown’s Barn’ section II, which was located close to a Romano-British ditched enclosure partly buried by the dyke. The distribution of pottery within and beneath the bank showed that there was little time for worm action to take place between the cessation

This evidence indicates that Wansdyke was built not earlier than the fourth century and soon after the dropping of Romano-British pottery on the surface of the site, with an upper limit of about forty years. If the cleat was associated with the site, its position suggests a much shorter interval; if it was lost by one of the builders of the dyke, it supports the likelihood that they were Roman or sub-Roman.’

Pitt-Rivers’ section shows Romano-British pottery scattered throughout the buried soil beneath the bank, but it is clear that this is a multi-period horizon and that

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the soil beneath the initial bank, and that beneath the later bank, should be considered as two chronologically separate contexts. Archaeological evidence clearly indicates that the main construction of Wansdyke is Roman or later, and most writers (e.g. Fox and Fox 1958; Green 1971; Fowler 2001a) have taken the view that it dates to no later than the early Anglo-Saxon period. The section at Brown’s Barn is next to a Romano-British settlement and the dark brown mould of the base of the second phase bank contains a greater density of Romano-British pottery and artefacts than other layers in the bank, and comparable with that in, and on, the buried soil. Tony Clark argued that Romano-British pottery on (as well as within) the buried soil indicated that ‘there was little time for worm action to take place between the deposition of the pottery and building of the dyke’ (cf. Darwin 1881), but we cannot adhere to the specific depth versus age calculations that Tony made. Furthermore Pitt Rivers seems to record artefacts on, and in, the buried soil indicating that some sherds, at least, had been worm-worked into the A horizon (‘topsoil’) of the buried soil, assuming that the soil had not been mixed by cultivation.

We could postulate that the primary bank and ditch were prehistoric, and possibly related to the complex of Bronze Age linear ditches and land divisions on the Marlborough Downs (Kirkham 2005), and indeed one of the linear ditches in particular seems to run up to and potentially under Wansdyke north of Tan Hill in the area of Brown’s Barn (Figure 65; Kirkham 2005, fig. 14.2). It is tempting, therefore, to suggest that post-Roman or Anglo-Saxon East Wansdyke was in part aligned along a Bronze Age land boundary system (cf. McOmish et al. 2002). General Pitt Rivers’ archaeological recording, however, is so good that we can be confident that Romano-British pottery and postprehistoric iron artefacts occur in the buried soil beneath the primary bank. Although the buried soil is recorded as a continuous and undifferentiated single context beneath the primary mound, the dark brown mould and the secondary bank, Pitt Rivers’ recording was so meticulous that we can differentiate between artefacts recovered beneath each. The excavation was divided by a series of ‘pickets’ (numbered 1 to 8) and all finds were recorded in relation to these pickets. Furthermore the General explicitly observed the recovery of each find and marked it onto a section during the excavation (Pitt Rivers 1892, 263); viz.

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology between Roman activity and construction of the dyke could be relatively short; in the order of a century or so. Most of the illustrated sherds (ibid., pls CCXXICCXXIII) seem to have relatively fresh edges and be largely unworn. Examination of the published drawings shows that the Roman pottery ranges from the first-late second century AD to the third-fourth century AD (Seager Smith pers. comm.), and seems, on preliminary examination, to fall into these two distinct groups. Too few of the illustrated chronologically diagnostic sherds, however, come from key stratigraphic locations to enable us to determine if they all derived from a single mixed deposit associated with the Romano-British settlement, or help provide some dating for the two phase construction.

‘I was watching the digging at the time and saw the cleat and two fragments of Samian picked up by the workmen. They were immediately handed to me, and I took their position with a spirit level, and had them marked at once in the diagram of the section. Mr. James and the other assistants were also present at the time of the discovery. The Rev. J. Penrose and Dr. F.G. Penrose were also present at the discovery of one piece of Samian on the old surface line. I was myself present when every piece of Samian was found, and verified the discovery by examining the spot immediately. The excavations were so carefully watched, that one or other of the assistants saw every piece of pottery picked out of the section. Each piece was at once washed quite clean with a scrubbing brush, to enable its quality to be identified.’

The General goes on ...

Although the excavated sections of East Wansdyke do not, as we have seen, afford any evidence of its prehistoric origin, we cannot discount the possibility that the earlier bank is Roman, as Fowler postulates for East Wansdyke on Overton and Fyfield Downs (2001b). The probability still stands that the second, and possibly the first, phase belong to the Anglo-Saxon period.

‘One piece of Samian was picked out of the old surface line in my presence by a workman, who had come to the diggings on that day for the first time, and who was ignorant of the different kinds of pottery found in the section. He would therefore have been unable, even if he had desired it, by any species of legerdemain [sleight of hand], to have introduced a piece of Samian into the rampart.’

Bronze Age origins for parts of East Wansdyke

He concludes: ‘No grounds for the slightest suspicion exists in regard to the genuineness of every discovery. The very greatest vigilance and accuracy is necessary in recording the finds in the Sections. An experienced excavator must .... also be prepared to meet hypercriticism ...’

As such we can be assured of the location of the finds, and moreover, that his representation of the distribution of Roman finds beneath both primary and secondary bank (Figure 64; Pitt Rivers 1892, Brown’s Barn Section II, pl. CCXIX) is correct (Table 2). Table 2 Key Romano-British items recorded from Brown’s Barn (Section II, Pitt Rivers 1892, pl. CCXXII) Buried soil under Buried soil under primary bank (between primary or secondary pkt 7-4) bank (between pkt 4-3) Iron cleat, no. 1 – Rim globular vessel, no 16 (1st-early 2nd century AD)

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Buried soil under secondary bank (between pkt3-2/1) Rim globular vessel, no. 13 (1st-early 2nd century AD) –

The presence of the Romano-British settlement adjacent to and under the Wansdyke counter-scarp bank at Brown’s Barn is significant, as this provides a direct and local source for the sherds. The calcareous base-rich buried soil is likely to have been subject to considerable worm-working and thus pottery on and in the soil would be incorporated relatively rapidly, and thus the duration

As already noticed, some prehistoric linear ditches can be shown to have a relationship with East Wansdyke (Figure 65; Kirkham 2005, fig. 14.2). Particularly notable is one that branches from a T-junction at the complex of ditches at Tan Hill (SU 090647) to elide, less than 150m to the north, with the Dyke. The date of the complex on the top of Tan Hill (275m OD, a location from which it is possible to view the whole length of East Wansdyke) is unknown, but by analogy it is likely to be of either the Late Bronze Age or the Early Iron Age (linear ditches focus upon hill-top enclosures and other major sites elsewhere: McOmish et al. 2002, 57–8; their dating, beginning c. 1200 BC, has been established only in the Eastern Range of Salisbury Plain Training Area: Bradley et al. 1994, 126; for further discussion see Field 2008, 216–17). Also relevant is the apparent southern termination of three linear ditches to the east of Tan Hill at T-junctions with a fragmentary linear ditch whose course follows the contour and lies parallel to, but c. 225m to the south of, East Wansdyke itself. Another linear, at Morgan’s Hill ‘appears to have been partly subsumed in the line of the Wansdyke’ (Figure 65; Kirkham 2005, 150, 154, fig. 14.2). Such T-junctions are characteristic of the ‘Wessex Linear Ditch System’ (Bowen 1978), where spinal linear ditches are met by secondary ones which demarcate territorial blocks of land (McOmish et al. 2002, fig. 3.1; Bradley et al. 1994).

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Dating Wansdyke As seen above, Pitt Rivers demonstrated that East Wansdyke dated to the Roman period or later. Subsequently it has also been shown that at Morgan’s Hill the Dyke overlies the Roman road from Bath to Silchester (Fox and Fox 1958, 4). East Wandyke was compared by Pitt Rivers to Bokerley Dyke, which demarcates part of the county boundary between Dorset and Hampshire. In excavations at Bokerley Junction, where the Dyke meets Ackling Dyke, the Roman road from Dorchester and Badbury Rings to Old Sarum, he discovered that Bokerley Dyke too lay over a RomanoBritish settlement. The Roman road there had initially been cut by the Rear Dyke, but was then reinstated, the refilling of the Dyke’s V-shaped ditch consisting entirely of clean chalk. The Roman road was then permanently blocked. The argument for a Roman date (Hawkes 1947) for the severing of the road may be strengthened by the identification of a late fourth-century burgustype enclosure set askew the same road at Shapwick, 1.6km beyond Badbury, whose entrances were clearly designed to control traffic along its route. The road was subsequently restored (Papworth 2004). It has also now been demonstrated that, from the early sixth century, Anglo-Saxon settlement extended across the east-facing Bokerley Dyke, from Wiltshire and Hampshire as far into Dorset as Combs Ditch, 22km to the west, clearly making Bokerley Dyke henceforth irrelevant as a frontier (Eagles 2004; Eagles forthcoming). It is therefore now apparent that none of the phases of Bokerley Dyke dates later than c. AD 500. Analytical field survey by the Royal Commission on Historical Monuments showed that a multi-stranded linear earthwork had existed in some form on its line since the Middle Bronze Age, the date of ditched land divisions excavated by Pitt Rivers to the east but not apparent on its west side (Bowen 1990). The identification of prehistoric linears associated with East Wansdyke near Tan Hill now hints at a sequence that may in some ways be comparable to that at Bokerley Dyke. The lack of such a prehistoric predecessor at Red Shore, Shepherd’s Shore and Brown’s Barn, however, indicates that any prehistoric demarcation of the course of East Wansdyke was of an intermittent, rather than a continuous, nature. Fowler’s assertion (Fowler 2001a, 196) that East Wansdyke, in its less pronounced form in West Woods, Overton and Fyfield, was ‘unfinished’ may also be relevant in this context.

Saxon Wansdyke and its cultural implications East Wansdyke has traditionally been assigned to the Anglo-Saxons, not least because of its name, Wodenesdic, and a cluster of associated ‘Woden’ names in its

immediate vicinity where the Dyke has clearly been designed to control movement from the north along the Ridgeway. This is the only point, at Red Shore, Alton Priors, along the Dyke where an original gap has been identified. A date of construction in the late sixth century AD has often been proposed and related to the documented battle of Wodnesbeorg, Adam’s Grave long barrow 1.5km to the south by Red Shore, in 592 according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle – there was another battle there in 715 (Fox and Fox 1958, 40–3; Green 1971; Victoria County History (VCH), Wiltshire, Volume I, Part 2 (1973), 478; cf. Eagles 2001, 205). It has also been considered, particularly on the grounds of the distribution of Iron Age coins, that it may have already demarcated the boundary between the self-governing civitates of the Belgae, centred upon Winchester, and the Dobunni, centred upon Cirencester (ibid., 214–15). Gildas (Winterbottom 1978, ch 21, cf. ch 19) refers to civil war amongst the Britons after the Romans left and this may provide a context for the strengthening of some of the civitas frontiers at this time (Eagles 2001, 215). It has, however, been thought by some that Britons in the fifth century would not have had the capacity to have made such a concerted effort. As we have seen, however, it is now clear that Bokerley Dyke was built by them at this date. A further context for East Wansdyke has been argued to lie in the fifth century, as a bulwark against expansionist Saxons in the upper Thames valley (Myres 1964). Finally, a yet further possible context for East Wansdyke, as pointed out even in the sixteenth century by Leland, is the middle Saxon period and the wars between Wessex and Mercia. The Dyke shares its name with that of the similarly constructed West Wansdyke, which runs above the River Avon in north Somerset from the hill-fort at Maes Knoll to just east of the Foss Way, though its relationship with that Roman road is unknown (Erskine 2007 provides a recent and major reassessment of West Wansdyke, building on that of Fox and Fox 1958). It has been argued that West Wansdyke is then linked to East Wansdyke by a stretch of the Roman road between Aquae Sulis (Bath) and Cunetio (Mildenhall). This view, which was not that of the Foxes, who, following their meticulous field survey, concluded that West and East Wansdyke were separate constructions, has recently been strongly advanced by Reynolds and Langlands. They point out that the ‘dedication’ of the Dyke to Woden does not necessarily imply its date within the early Anglo-Saxon period, as the god’s continuing relevance, as the founder of the royal house of Wessex, into the late Anglo-Saxon period is well evidenced by his incorporation into their genealogies in the late ninth century (Reynolds and Langlands 2006, includes discussion of earlier views of Wansdyke, beginning with those of Leland in the sixteenth century). If the ealdan dic in a charter for Alton Priors refers to East Wansdyke, as is likely, it can, at least, be said that it dates to before 825 (VCH,

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Wiltshire, Volume I, Part 2 (1973), 478). A possible context for such a middle Saxon frontier might be the 730s, when Æthelbald of Mercia had been pressing hard against Wessex, even to the point in 733 when he took the West Saxons’ royal centre at Somerton in Somerset. There appears to have been a prehistoric predecessor to West Wansdyke, just as to East Wansdyke (Erskine 2007, passim).

Conclusions and suggestions for future work What is clear from this preliminary study is that the East Wansdyke is a complex multi-period boundary, and that the construct as seen today appears to have incorporated a number of existing boundary earthworks. First among these are the possible later Bronze Age linear boundaries at Tan Hill. Elsewhere an initial bank and ditch may be Romano-British in date. Consequently the post-Roman East Wansdyke should be seen as linking, and the refurbishment of, older features. The social organisation required for its construct, would therefore, have been considerably less than a completely new planned, managed and built boundary. Following this preliminary note we clearly recognise that further work is needed to explore the suggestions made in this paper. Prime amongst these must be an analytical field survey to define the character and precise relationships between East Wansdyke and other archaeological sites, in particular the prehistoric linear ditches in its vicinity, and fuller recording of the finds, especially the pottery. This is important not only to advance our knowledge of the date and nature of Wansdyke but also to help define its significance as a field monument for management, conservation and preservation plans. The possibility of targeted field investigation and excavation could then be considered.

Acknowledgements Tony Clark’s thought-provoking ideas on Wansdyke, particularly its dating, inspired us to write this paper. We are pleased to thank David Field and David McOmish for their very helpful and supportive comments and Katy Whittaker who made available material in the National Monuments Record of English Heritage at Swindon. Rachael Seager Smith kindly provided detailed comments on the Roman pottery illustrated by Pitt Rivers. We thank Graeme Kirkham for permission to reproduce his figure (Figure 65), and Deborah Cunliffe for supplying it and making modifications. Rob Read produced figures 62 and 64.

References Bonney, D. J. 1966 ‘Pagan Saxon burials and boundaries in Wiltshire’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 61, 25–30 Bonney, D. J. 1972 ‘Early boundaries in Wessex’, in P. Fowler (ed), Archaeology and the Landscape. London: John Baker, 168–86 Bowen, H. C. 1978 ‘“Celtic” fields and “ranch” boundaries in Wessex’, in S. Limbrey and J. G. Evans (eds), The Effect of Man on the Landscape: the Lowland Zone. London: Council for British Archaeology Research Report 21, 115–22 Bowen, H. C. 1990 The Archaeology of Bokerley Dyke (ed B. N. Eagles). London: HMSO Bradley, R. Entwistle, R and Raymond, F. 1994 Prehistoric Land Divisions on Salisbury Plain; the Work of the Wessex Linear Ditches Project. London: English Heritage Archaeological Report 4 Clark, A. J. 1958 ‘The nature of Wansdyke’, Antiquity 32, 89–96 Crawford, O. G. S. 1932 ‘Note on General Pitt-Rivers’ section of Wansdyke’, Antiquity 6, 349–50 Crawford, O. G. S. 1953 ‘The east end of Wansdyke’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 55, 119–25 Crawford, O. G. S. 1954 ‘Appendix 4 Wansdyke’, in Archaeology in the Field. London: J. M. Dent and Sons Ltd., 252-58 (3rd impression revised) Darwin, C. 1881 The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms with Observations of their Habits. London: John Murray edn. pub. 1904 Eagles, B. 1994 ‘The archaeological evidence for settlement in the fifth to seventh centuries AD, in M. Aston and C. Lewis (eds), The Medieval Landscape of Wessex. Oxford: Oxbow Monograph 46, 13–32 Eagles, B. N. 2001 ‘Anglo-Saxon presence and culture in Wiltshire c. AD 450 – c. 675, in P. Ellis (ed), Roman Wiltshire and After. Papers in Honour of Ken Annable. Devizes: Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Society Monograph, 199–233 Eagles, B. N. 2004 ‘Britons and Saxons on the eastern boundary of the civitas Durotrigum’, Britannia 35, 234–40 Eagles, B. N. forthcoming. The Saxon conquest of Dorset. Erskine, J. G. P. 2007 ‘The West Wansdyke: an appraisal of the dating, dimensions and construction techniques in the light of excavated evidence’, Archaeological Journal 164, 80–108 Field, D. 2008 ‘The development of an agricultural countryside’, in J. Pollard (ed), Prehistoric Britain. Oxford: Blackwell, 202–24 Fowler, P. J. 1968 ‘Alton: Wansdyke (SU117647)’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 63, 110–11 Fowler, P. J. 2001a ‘Wansdyke in the woods: an unfinished Roman military earthwork for a non-event’, in P. Ellis (ed), Roman Wiltshire and After, Papers in Honour of Ken Annable. Devizes: Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Society Monograph, 179–98 Fowler, P. J. 2001b ‘Chapter 13: Shaw and East Wansdyke’, in P. J. Fowler, Landscape Plotted and Pieced. Landscape History and Local Archaeology in Fyfield and Overton, Wiltshire. London: The Society of Antiquaries of London, esp 196–200 Fox, A. and Fox, C. 1958 ‘Wansdyke reconsidered’,

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A reconsideration of East Wansdyke Archaeological Journal 115, 1–48 Green, H. S. 1971 ‘Wansdyke, excavations 1966 to 1970’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 66, 129–46 Hawkes, C. F. C. 1947 ‘Britons, Romans and Saxons round Salisbury and in Cranborne Chase’, Archaeological Journal 104, 27–81 Kirkham, G. 2005 ‘Prehistoric linear ditches on the Marlborough Downs’, in G. Brown, D. Field and D. McOmish (eds), The Avebury Landscape; Aspects of Field Archaeology of the Marlborough Downs. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 149–55 McOmish, D. Field, D. and Brown, G. 2002 The Field Archaeology of the Salisbury Plain Training Area. Swindon: English Heritage Major, A. F. and Burrow, E. J. 1926 The Mystery of Wansdyke. London: Burrow and Kingsway Myres, J. N. L. 1964 ‘Wansdyke and the origin of Wessex’, in

H. R. Trevor-Roper (ed), Essays in British History presented to Sir Keith Feiling. London: Macmillan, 1–24 Papworth, M. 2004 ‘Shapwick, excavations at Badbury and Crab Farm, interim report’, Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History & Archaeological Society 126, 181–86 Pitt Rivers, A. H. L. F. 1892 Excavations in Bokerly and Wansdyke, Dorset and Wilts 1888-1891, 245–76. Volume III. Privately printed Pitt Rivers, A. H. L. F. 1898 Excavations in Cranborne Chase, near Rushmore on the Borders of Dorset and Wilts. 1893-1896. Volume IV. Privately printed Reynolds, A. and Langlands A. 2006 ‘Social identities on the macro scale: a maximum view of Wansdyke’, in W. Davies, G. Halsall and A. Reynolds (eds), People and Space in the Middle Ages 300 – 1300. Studies in the Early Middle Ages 28. Turnhout: Brepols, 13–44 Winterbottom, M. (ed), 1978 Gildas. The Ruin of Britain and Other Works. Chichester: Phillimore

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20

The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence

STUART BROOKES

This paper summarises the written, topographical and archaeological evidence for the lathes of Kent. An assessment is made of the form, size, and character of the Kentish lathe and comparisons drawn with the distribution of early Anglo-Saxon burial evidence. In the concluding sections some suggestions are made about the lathe’s origins and purpose, and a number of approaches that archaeology may offer to these debates are outlined.

Introduction I am indebted to Martin Welch for many things he has taught me since I first arrived – a naïve Australian abroad – at UCL, but two research agendas of his, in particular, I have found continue to exert a strong influence on my thinking about the development of early Anglo-Saxon England. Firstly, that the well-trodden archaeology of early medieval southern and eastern England is complex and rich enough to warrant constant re-evaluation, particularly when such a regional focus can be situated within a wider European field of study. Secondly, like Martin, I believe that the ‘barbarian’ invaders of the fifth century were significant agents of change, at least as far as southern and eastern England is concerned. These two foci have recently been addressed again by Martin, together with Sue Harrington, as part of his project Beyond the Tribal Hidage, the results of which will surely enhance significantly our understanding of the social, economic, and political developments of post-Roman England. It is in anticipation of that project’s results that I offer this contribution, which seeks to summarise the evidence for the Kentish lathe, and to outline some of the approaches – as I see them – that archaeology can offer to address questions about its origins and purpose.

both ‘hundred’ – as is common elsewhere in English areas – and ‘lathe’. Occurring as the Latin lest or –let, and deriving from the Old English term læð, the term appears to have been synonymous with ‘jurisdiction’, ‘court’ and ‘authority over landed possessions’ (Jolliffe 1933b, 39–41; Ward 1934; Brooks 1989, 69). At one and the same time it seems therefore to have been both territorial and jurisdictional. Alongside some sixty-two hundreds, in total five lathes and two half-lathes are mentioned in Domesday Book: Aylesford (Ailesford); The Borough (Burhwaralæð), referring to Canterbury; Eastry (Estrea); ‘Limen’ (Limenwaralæð); Wye (Wiwaralæð); and the two half-lathes of Milton (Middeltone) and Sutton (Sudtone) (Brooks 1989, 73; Thorn 1992, 52–4). From the entries it is clear that lathes comprised the larger of the two territorial units, containing a number of smaller hundreds. So, the hundreds of Whitstable, Bridge, Petham, and Thanet, for example, appear in Domesday Book beside the lathe head of ‘The Borough’ (VCH, 179–81; Thorn 1992, 60). Here, it seems, is evidence for a form of intermediary territorial sub-division existing between those of the shire and hundred.

The Lathes of Kent

As far as the latter are concerned, some characteristics of ‘hundreds’ are revealed in written sources. By the late Anglo-Saxon period hundreds rationalised local estates into groups of judicial responsibility. The ‘Hundred ordinance’ produced during or soon after the reign of King Edmund (939–46) served to regulate the schedule

It is a peculiarity of the Domesday Book entry for Kent, that estates are grouped together under the headings of

��������������������������������������������������� The Domesday Monachorum also lists Sandwich as a separate lathe.

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence

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Fig. 66 The lathes of Kent in 1086 as reconstructed by Thorn (1992). Also shown in this figure is an approximation of the Late Anglo-Saxon coastline as derived by Brookes (2007a) and the possible location and etymology of hundred meeting-places as defined by Anderson (1939)

and procedures of the hundred courts in England. From it we learn that free men of the hundred met on a four-weekly basis to adjudicate on local disputes and administer justice, as well as, presumably, to plan local matters and discuss business. These public assemblies took place often at open-air sites, but also royal vills and estate centres, from which the hundred often took its name. Some kind of local system fulfilling the executive processes of Anglo-Saxon law, whatever its origins, may have existed from relatively early times: ‘popular assemblies (popularium conciliorum)’ are mentioned already in a charter of c. 800 (Sawyer 1968, S 1186a), and in the tenth-century laws of Edward the Elder, mention is made of courts held every four weeks (Stenton 1971, 298–9; Loyn 1974; Wormald 1999, 108). However, it seems likely that accompanying the regulations of the ‘Hundred ordinance’ some revisions were also made of the hundreds as territorial units. Revisions have been recognised for example in Cambridgeshire and Northamptonshire, where it is argued that the Domesday hundreds were probably laid out in c. 942 (Hart 1970; 1974), as well as in the emergence of socalled ‘private’ hundreds over the course of the tenth and eleventh centuries (Yorke 1995, 126–9).

Using the evidence from Domesday Book, and two Kentish satellite texts, the Domesday Monachorum and the Excerpta, it has been possible to reallocate all of the hundreds of Kent to their parent lathe (cf. Witney 1976; Thorn 1992; Lawson 2004, 30) (Figure 66). These maps give some impression of the scale and character of the Kentish lathes. Western Kent consisted of the two largest, Aylesford and Sutton half-lathe, comprising 101,383 and 74,470 hectares respectively, which formed large parallel units stretching from the Thames to the Sussex border in the Weald. This same arrangement is partially respected by Milton half-lathe and Wye in central Kent. The former – at 30,330 ha – is the smallest territory and consists of the large hundred of Milton, named after the estate of Milton T.R.E. on the Swale, as well as – according to later sources – the detached Wealden hundred of Marden. The latter forms a somewhat irregular unit stretching from the Isle of Harty in the Thames estuary to the north, to Wealden holdings in Barnfield hundred to the south. Judging simply by the arrangement of these lathes some reorganisation of territories in the area of Eyhorne hundred has evidently taken place before 1086. Indeed, further support of this impression is provided by a charter of c. 975 (S 1481d)

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology detailing the Rochester bridge-works, in which mention is made of Hollingbourne lathe; a territory which seems to correspond to that of Eyhorne hundred, but had become amalgamated with that of Aylesford lathe by Domesday (Ward 1934, 19; Thorn 1992, 64; Brooks 1989, 70; Brooks 1993). The south-eastern corner of the county is made up of the lathe of Limen, which, similarly to the western lathes, forms a corridor of land running from the Kent coast (at Folkestone) to the central Weald (the hundreds of Silverden and Rolveden). To the north-east of the county, however, the arrangement of lathes takes on a somewhat different form. Borough and Eastry lathes both form relatively compact territories occupying coastal plain and downland, with no physical connection to Wealden lands. They are also much smaller than other full lathes: Borough lathe covers an area of 42,184 ha, Eastry only 26,449 ha. Remarkably, the Domesday assessments of these lathes is amongst the highest in Kent: Borough lathe is valued at 168.75 sulungs, Eastry at 186.32, nearly double that of Milton half-lathe (95.88 sulungs), and considerably greater than the larger lathes of Wye (139.5 sulungs) and Limen (142.41 sulungs). Comparison of the size and Domesday assessment of the Kentish lathes demonstrates few clear patterns. This observation is in some contrast to that made by J. E. A. Jolliffe in a number of influential early writings (1929; 1933b). In these Jolliffe attempted to chart the local patterns of administrative boundaries through the retrogressive analysis of evidence from Anglo-Saxon documents, the Domesday Survey and later sources. By drawing a link with documented eighth-century grants detailing Wealden denns lying on limenwara wealde, weowara wealde and in burh waro uualdo (Brooks 1989, 70), as possible allusion to the Wealden pasture of the Domesday lathes of Limen, Wye and Borough, Jolliffe went on to assert that Kent had originally been divided into eleven (or possibly twelve) territories compared with the five and two half-lathes recorded in Domesday Book. According to Jolliffe these reconstituted territories followed a remarkably similar pattern. The assessments of the primitive lathes were internally consistent at round numbers of either 80 or 160 sulungs and the shape each took followed along a similar pattern forming territories stretching from coast to Weald. The apparent symmetry of these older planned units was presented as evidence for the lathe’s antiquity, and that the form which it took in Domesday Book retained an artefact of older institutions (Jolliffe 1933b, 43). As already noted, the figures produced by Jolliffe tally ������ The sulung was a uniquely Kentish form of assessment comparable with the hide elsewhere, and made up of four yokes (i.e. virgates). �� Values ���������������������������������������������������������� are calculated from the tables published by Palmer 2007.

poorly with those calculated from the lathes recorded in Domesday Book, except in two cases. Besides showing a similar composition and form, the lathes of Wye and Lyminge are also remarkably similar in size and assessed value. Wye is 65,203 ha in size, Lyminge, 61,769 ha, and they are valued at 139.5 and 142.41 sulungs respectively. Brooks (1989, 71–2) has already effectively demonstrated that the core assumption of Jolliffe (and Witney 1976), namely that the Domesday assessments of estates was equivalent to those of the seventh century, must be erroneous. However, it is perhaps significant that the three remaining eastern Kentish lathes might be regarded as multiples of these totals, not in hidation but in area. Although the Domesday assessment of Milton half-lathe (95.88 sulungs) bears no resemblance to these figures, its physical size of 30,330 ha is indeed close to half of that of Wye and Lyminge, whilst the size of the combined lathes of Eastry and Borough make a total of 68,633 ha; however, to assert that these calculations can be used to demonstrate some archaic form of standardised assessment requires perhaps too much special pleading. The possibility remains that the lathes were late (possibly post-Conquest) groupings intended as larger and simpler administrative units than the smaller hundred (Thorn 1992, 66). Certainly hundreds are known to have changed their composition for administrative convenience on a number of occasions during their development (e.g. amalgamation under a single bailiff, for shipsoke, or as constituents of larger manorial estates, etc.) and rationalisations of hundreds are known from elsewhere with groupings of 3, 5, 6, 10 and 12 hundreds common (Cam 1933; Hinton 1986; Campbell 1962a, 104–5; Campbell 1962b, 248–9; Finn 1962, 303–4; Lloyd 1962, 373). It seems possible, therefore, that the lathes represent some form of early attempt at simplification, but before this idea can be discussed further it is perhaps important to turn firstly to the putative links between lathes and regiones.

Lathes and Regiones Even if Jolliffe’s attempts to reconstruct something of the early structures of the kingdom of Kent were methodologically flawed, there are some grounds for pursuing his analyses further. Brooks’ (1989) authoritative review of the pre-Conquest evidence for these territories suggested that, even though they are not recorded before tenth century, the four eastern lathes might have a claim as internal subdivisions of the kingdom of east Kent as early as the sixth century. It is possible that such internal provinces, appearing in ��������������������������������������������������������������� Further critiques of Jolliffe’s figures and ways of counting have also been made by Ward (1933), Witney (1976, 35–6), and Thorn (1992, 65).

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence contemporary sources as the Latin regiones, or ‘regions’, may have originated as small-scale tribal areas or folk groups in their own right, or represent a system of regional administration pre-dating that of the hundred (Campbell 1986, 95–6; Bassett 1989; Blair 1989, 98–103; Blair 1991, 12–7; Kirby 1991, 4–12; Yorke 1995, 39–43). Certainly, the existence of local folk groups is suggested by place-names containing the Old English elements –ingas (gen. pl. –inga–) and –ware which are often found grouped into territories defined by natural features, but whether these groupings represented true ethnic affiliations or merely geographical ones is difficult to say with any certainty (Welch 1983, 242–50; Bassett 1989, 18 n. 48; Yorke 1995, 42–52; Gardiner this volume). Charters of 788 (S 128) and 811 (S 1264) already refer to lands in ‘Eastry district’ (in regione eastrgena/easterege) which may be co-extensive with Eastry lathe. Further support for this idea is the occurrence of the Old English element –gē in early forms of Eastry’s place-name. Related to the German Gau, gē elements appears to signify centres of administrative districts (Smith 1956, 82; Hawkes 1982; Welch 2007, 244), and indeed Eastry is identified independently in later hagiography as an important seventh-century royal vill (cf. Liebermann 1889, 11–9 ; Rollason 1982, 11; Yorke 1990, 25, 34–5). To the evidence from written sources can be added that from archaeology: Eastry is the focus for a number of sixth- to seventh-century cemeteries (Hawkes 1979, 96; Welch 2008), from which a unusually high proportion of interred objects have been recovered (Brookes 2007a, 148–51); and is a ‘productive site’ of coin-finds of Middle Anglo-Saxon date (ibid., 162; Dickinson, Fern and Richardson forthcoming). Other instances appear to substantiate a link between Domesday lathes, gē districts and royal vills in eastern Kent, albeit only through more complicated argument. Limenwaralæð appears to refer to either ‘the lathe of the men of Lympne’ or ‘of the men of the Limen’ (a tidal inlet in the area of Hythe/Lympne, Brooks 1988), however, the ‘capital’ of the region on the basis of its –gē element is likely to have been at Lyminge, some six kilometres inland to the north. Certainly, archaeological evidence for Early to Middle Anglo-Saxon activity is stronger for Lyminge than Lympne. To the north of the presentday village is a fifth- to seventh-century inhumation cemetery partially excavated in the 1950s and 2000s (Richardson 2005, II, 48–9; Brookes 2007a, 222), whilst recent excavations in the area of the medieval parish church have revealed extensive evidence for the Middle Anglo-Saxon double-monastery reputedly founded in the seventh century (Thomas 2008; Brookes and Harrington 2010, 101–2). Kelly’s (2006, 104) recent suggestion, based on a reassessment of the foundation legend of Lyminge minster, arguing that this church may have originated as royal mortuary chapel in the

early seventh century, strengthens even further the potential royal connections with the site. The evidence for early medieval Lympne is, by contrast, more sketchy. Even accepting Kelly’s (ibid., 111) attribution of charters S 23 and S 24 to Lympne, rather than Lyminge, this pushes the earliest evidence for the site back only to the 730-40s. From this time, however, it seems that Lympne gradually took on greater importance than its neighbour. The 732 charter (S 23) granted it rights at the beach market at Sandtun; the 740 one (S 24) to a fishery on the bank of the Limen and pasture on Romney Marsh (apparently pre-dating similar rights granted to the Lyminge community in the later eighth / early ninth century (S 21)). Lympne was an important archiepiscopal centre in the early ninth century (S 1188); it may have been a garrisoned stronghold in the late ninth century (Baker and Brookes forthcoming; Brookes forthcoming a); and was a named mint and borough in the tenth (Tatton-Brown 1984, 24). A similar shift in central-place functions appears also to have occurred in Borough lathe. The lathe-name in Domesday Book must refer to Canterbury itself, however, the appearance of Sturry as Sturigao in a spurious charter of 604 (S 4), just 5.4km to the north-east suggests that an earlier territory in this region was administered from there. A significant sixth- to seventh-century cemetery is known from close to Sturry in a field between roads to Broadoak and Shelford Farm. Excavations around 1925 revealed a high-status inhumation of sixth-seventh century date found with two bronze-gilt bird-shaped shield mounts, a spearhead and a shield-boss; to which can be added a number of further finds made by a metal detectorist in 1985 (Meaney 1964, 136; Ager and Dawson 1989; Richardson 2005, II, 39). Another possible royal vill is known to have existed by the late sixth century just 3km to the south-west of Sturry at St Martin’s Hill associated with the early church mentioned by Bede (HE I, ch 26; Rady 1987). This site may have superseded Sturry by the 590s (Welch 2007, 244). Alternatively, both Sturry and St Martin’s might be regarded as two contemporary villae regales clustering around Canterbury, on the model of Cologne (Drewett et al. 1988, 277–8). The St Martin estate itself was in the process of being fragmented in 867 (S 338), so it is likely that any residual central-place functions had long since shifted to Canterbury by this date, probably by the seventh century, and the same is certain to have also been true of Sturry. Potentially of some significance is the close association between gē sites and coastal trading sites, or wics. Sturry is located on the opposite bank of the River Stour to Fordwich, a named eighth-century wic which may have operated as the seaport for a number of settlements

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology strung out along the Stour valley (Rady 1987; Brookes 1998; Brookes and Harrington 2010, 82–90). Recent fieldwork at Sandwich – first mentioned in the early eighth century Life of Bishop Wilfrid – has suggested that the early wic there was located to the east of the present town and linked by a trackway with Eastry to the south (Clarke et al. 2010, 17–22). And as already mentioned, Lympne has charter evidence linking it to the beach market of Sandtun by the early eighth century, perhaps replacing earlier links between Lyminge and sites on the Limen estuary (Gardiner et al. 2002). The patterns established from these three east Kent sites can be contrasted with the evidence for Westergē in Linton parish, 5km south of Maidstone. No early AngloSaxon finds are known from within 3km of the site either through excavation or the Portable Antiquities Scheme. There is no independent charter evidence giving the site a royal connection. It is not closely connected either with the productive site of Hollingbourne, some 16km to the north-east, nor Maidstone itself. Its attribution as a regio-capital must, therefore, remain doubtful. Whatever the origins of the eastern lathes their Domesday coverage may be coterminous with earlier areas of administration of similar extent and character. Archaeological evidence gives further indications that this might be so. Density plots of the distribution of early Anglo-Saxon burial sites in Kent demonstrate the clustering of settlement in key areas (Figure 67) (data from Brookes and Harrington 2008). Particularly noticeable is the concentration of burial sites in the vicinity of Eastry, continuing from the earliest phases of Anglo-Saxon burial (Phase A, c.400-575) into the seventh century (Phase C, 650-c.720+). Perhaps, equally significant is Lyminge’s position relative to burials of the fifth and sixth century in Lyminge lathe. These all cluster in the area of the eastern Holmesdale and Elham Valley, a territory bounded to the south by the Limen, the north by the River Dour, and the west by the River Stour. Not only is Lyminge centrally placed to all of the known burial sites, it also straddles a number of the routes traversing this area (Brookes 2007a, fig. 24). In a similar way Sturry seems to be centrally placed as a focus for fifth- and sixth-century evidence on the lower Stour valley from Canterbury north-east to the Wantsum Channel; though this cluster appears to be more narrowly focussed on Canterbury in the sixth and seventh centuries. Several further points of note are demonstrated by these distributions. Wye and Faversham do not appear as foci of high-density early Anglo-Saxon burial – nor does Milton Regis until Phases B and C – despite being documented as royal centres by the seventh century; though this may reflect a relative paucity of archaeological investigation in these areas (Welch 2007, 245). This pattern appears

to substantiate Brooks’ contention that evidence for regiones or lathes based on these places was weak (1989, 72–3). Alternatively, the possibility of Hollingbourne as an early regional centre (suggested above) might be borne out by significant clusters of burials in this part of the western Holmesdale throughout the early AngloSaxon period, and the same may also be true of the Isle of Thanet, which is mentioned as a discretely assessed unit of 600 hides by Bede (HE I, ch 25). Perhaps most interesting of all is the contrast between west Kent, where burial is closely associated with river valleys, particularly along the Darenth, Medway and Depford Creek, and east Kent, where clusters of burials are more commonly found in coastal and downland areas. In common with this pattern, the boundaries of lathes in west Kent follow along watersheds at a considerable spatial remove from burial sites, whilst in east Kent a significant proportion of burial sites appear to be located at elevated positions on the edges of territories later fossilised as lathe boundaries. Intriguingly, Gardiner (this volume) has contrasted the types of natural features used to demarcate the county boundary of Sussex, recognising a distinction in the border with Kent, which follows along river valleys, and Surrey, which follows watersheds. At least partially this trend is respected by the internal divisions of Kent, with eastern territories, such as that of the Limen, seemingly defined by waterways. Whether these regiones originated as separate tribal units is more difficult to say. The river valley complex of the Darenth in the fifth and sixth centuries might suggest that it once formed a settlement area linked by extended family ties; a suggestion which finds some corroboration in the distinctively Saxon character of the interred grave goods (Tyler 1992; Welch 2007, 230–5). The ‘Limen’ settlement of the eastern Holmesdale provides another possibility. Counts of artefacts of various provenances interred amongst the burials of eastern Kent show a distinctive profile emerge in the cluster of cemeteries from south-eastern Kent (Figure 68; Brookes 2007a, fig. 73–4). In contrast to populations in north-eastern Kent, those of the eastern Holmesdale show a marked paucity of Anglo-Saxon (non-Kentish) and other imported objects particularly during the fifth and sixth centuries. Maps of recently-collated Portable Antiquities Scheme evidence emphasise this distinction with the distribution of bracteates, relief brooches and JutishFrisian pottery found exclusively in the north-east of Kent (Richardson this volume, fig. 34). Significantly, the area of the Weald east of Pevensey is associated with the Hæstingas, a people first mentioned in an entry for 771 when they were conquered by the Mercian king, Offa (HR, 26; Welch 1983, 242–50). The Hastings folk gave their name to Hastings and Hastingford in north-east Sussex, but no early Anglo-Saxon material is known

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Fig. 67 The density of early Anglo-Saxon burial sites in Kent, showing the number of sites per 2km2. Top: Sites of phases A (475-575) and AB (475-650). Bottom: Sites of phases B (575-650), BC (575- c.720+) and C (650-c.720+)

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Number of artefacts 0 - 0.25 0.25 - 0.5

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence from there (Welch 1989, 78). However, they also gave their name to Hastingleigh on the North Downs near Wye, perhaps suggesting that their original lands lay in the area of the ‘Limen’ cemetery cluster. Might this represent a separate ‘folk’ group which was subsumed by a more successful ‘tribe’ from north-eastern Kent?

border formation (Reynolds 2009), and the location of a social outcast such as this – close to the diocesan border between Canterbury and Rochester – suggests that this administrative division, at least, was in place by the eighth century.

The possibility remains that the territorial origins of these regions lay in that of late Roman administration. The continuity of the name of Kent from the Roman civitates of Cantium suggests that the Roman administrative territory continued to be understood as an identifiable unit (Detsicas 1983, 10). Sub-districts (pagi) of Cantium based on the towns and Saxon Shore forts of Canterbury, Richborough and Lympne could conceivably be drawn underlying the regiones of Sturry/Canterbury, Lyminge and Eastry, and it is noticeable that early AngloSaxon activity is concentrated on prime locations in the immediate hinterland of these Roman sites (Brookes 2010, 70–1). Similar clusters of settlement are found behind the other major Roman settlements at Dover (Evison 1987, fig. 36), Westhawk Farm (in the Holmesdale and Stour valleys around Wye), Syndale (at Faversham), Rochester, and the Darenth complex near Springhead (compare Millett 2007, fig. 5.9); however only in the cases of Rochester and Wye, did these (re-) emerge as later Anglo-Saxon administrative districts.

The legal and economic framework

Whatever the precise composition of these regiones, the evidence suggests heavily that the eastern lathes of Borough, Eastry, Limen, and Wye once formed a single larger agglomeration, perhaps equivalent to the original Kentish kingdom (Brooks 1989; Yorke 1983; Thorne 1992, 64). At the beginning of the Domesday Book entry for Kent the men of these four lathes were certainly treated as a discrete organised group, assenting to various royal laws on behalf of all of Kent (VCH 180; Thorn 1992, 64). The origins of this practice might reference the historical overlordship exercised by east over west Kent; at the very least it distinguishes between the administrative organisation of the two parts which were allowed to retain some form of discrete identity. The identification of a putative tribal region in the eastern Holmesdale raises an intriguing possibility: that this eastern Kentish kingdom may itself once have consisted of separate groups which only came under unified rule over the course of the sixth century. Recent evidence from the Channel Tunnel Rail Link excavations provides a terminus ante quem for the fossilisation of these eastern and western districts. Investigations at White Horse Stone at the, intersection of Mgy. 13 and the Pilgrim’s Way, 2.5km east of the Medway, revealed evidence for a crossroad burial, radiocarbon dated to AD 680-980 at 68% confidence (GU-9013)(Reynolds 2011). Such liminal burials have recently been argued to reflect processes of territorial

If questions can be raised about the antiquity of the lathe as envisaged by Jolliffe there can be fewer doubts about his assessment of the economic framework underpinning its physical form. This argument wedded the lathe neatly on the one hand to the mechanics of Anglo-Saxon manorial estates and on the other to the heterogeneous character of the Kentish landscape; concepts taken further to great effect by Alan Everitt (1986). Jolliffe contended that the scattered pattern of multiple holdings visible in Domesday Book was only explicable if these units originally formed much larger estates containing a similar mixture of lands. In this way Kent was seen to have been sub-divided into symmetrical economic units from an early period, centred on the royal estate centre (villa regalis), and containing a mixture of arable and pasture, woodland resources, royal demesne, dependent and freer holdings. He argued that these larger estates were equivalent to the archaic lathes he had identified, citing Sutton and Aylesford lathes as the clearest examples of the economic logic behind the territorial structure; forming extended corridors of land, up to 40km long by 16km wide, from the marsh and sea resources of the coast, across arable and downland pasture to the woodland resources of the Weald. More recent authors have preferred to separate the economic functions of these territories from the legalistic one, referring to them in the more neutral terms of ‘multiple’, ‘federate’, or ‘great estate’ (Jones 1979; 1985; Hadley 1996). Spatially, these estates were formed out of demesne lands, ‘inland’ dependent peasant fields and an ‘outland’ of free peasants, named in later Kentish sources as gavelkinders (VCH , 195; Jolliffe 1933b, 17–8; Witney 1982, 17–20; Faith 1997; Brookes 2007a, 51). The latter were essentially rent-payers, holding land in exchange for food rent and military service (‘warland’). The various forms of laets, described in Æthelberht’s laws, occupying the ‘inland’ by contrast, had no independent claim to their land, although they were still required to pay food rent, and were additionally required to undertake numerous duties for their lord, ranging from picking and storing the lord’s apples, to stocking the hall and herding and droving (Witney 1982, 66). To complete the self-sustaining economic requirements

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of the estate many also maintained a fourth unit; detached pasture and woodland, often physically removed from the primary manor though bound to it through jurisdictional ties (Eales 1992, 11–2). Early forms of the place-name Tenterden suggest that this area had originally served as seasonal habitation for transhumance herders from Thanet (Wallenberg 1934, 335–6), and early charters (e.g. S 9; S 233; S 1611; S 140; S 35-6; S 123; S 125) similarly document links between important manors in the coastal zone and denns in the Weald (Witney 1976). By 1086 this practice appears to have been widespread – Domesday Book lists 48 and three half-denns (VCH, 182) – but settlement of the Weald had evidently not yet become permanent enough to warrant the establishment of more clearly-defined territories; it was only in the thirteenth century that Wealden areas were formally organised into hundreds (Lawson 2004). In a series of recent publications (2007a; 2010) I have

argued that there are strong theories to be found in evolutionary ecology that go some way towards explaining the emergence of tenurially diverse estates based on central caputs (‘estate centres’, villae regales, etc.). In summary, these argue the development of estates drawing on patched resources is one of a range of strategies aimed at alleviating greater economic demand, driven primarily by population growth. The greater inter-dependence of settlement relates it at the same time to increased social hierarchization. Archaeological and written sources in Kent suggest that the pattern of estate centres was still in the process of development through the seventh and eighth centuries (Brookes 2007a, 91–8; 2010). Evidence for many of the sites known from written sources only comes into view during the Middle Saxon period, at around the same time that the first charters detailing rights over patched resources first appear. On the one hand, these developments must relate to the emergence of

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence ecclesiastical estates, and the need to endow de novo minster communities with an adequate resource base (Blair 2005, 266–90). Most, if not all, of the secondary and tertiary estates defined by Brookes (2007a; 2010), are identifiable only through their ecclesiastical presence, often documented by charter, describing discrete holdings across a range of resource patches (Everitt 1986). Although these new estates are distinctive in that they are held by book (Wormald 1984), there is no reason to doubt – certainly on grounds of their location in the landscape (Figure 69) – that they formalised the same economic rationale underpinning the villae regales and other elite centres (i.e. ‘central-place sharing’ in ecological literature, cf. Brookes 2010), even if these were held together by personal (and therefore undocumented), rather than tenurial, bonds. On the other hand, these developments are likely also to relate to societal changes, visible in burial evidence of this period (Shephard 1979; Stoodley 1999), whereby increasingly hierarchical relationships related to rank and role came to replace those of personal and familial associations. One conclusion to be drawn from this trend is that the social personae of individuals were increasingly defined by their place within larger communities. Allied to this must also have been the need to more clearly define the precise nature of people’s social, moral and economic obligations. One reading of the charter evidence, and in particular the emergence of the trinodas necessitas clauses of the eighth century onwards, suggests that military obligation was one of these more clearly defined roles (Abels 1988; Brooks 1971; Brookes and Reynolds forthcoming). Civil responsibility was likely to have been another. It is in this context that territorial distinctions are likely to have first emerged, not as a precursor to, but as a result of, the widening ambit of royal power. As (essentially) free tenants at the limits of royal control were drawn towards the economic and administrative complexes of the great estate, there was an increasing need to formalise these relationships. Unlike the inland, the status of outland was constantly being negotiated with respect to the centres. Two examples from different phases of this process highlight the ways in which territorial and social formations were thus linked: the location of seventhcentury burials; and the pattern of hundreds. The appearance in eastern Kent of visible above-ground funerary structures during the later sixth and seventh centuries is well known (Hogarth 1973; Shephard 1979; Welch 1992, 56–61). Unlike burials of the fifth and sixth centuries, which referenced pre-existing topographical features – commonly Bronze Age barrows – these later cemeteries (or extensions of pre-existing cemeteries) in effect created new mortuary landscapes of

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considerable size and elaboration (cf e.g. Welch 1992, fig. 46), presumably with attendant symbolic significance. It is also evident that these sites were preferentially situated to fall within the view of people traversing in and around Kent (Brookes 2007b; forthcoming b). Particularly noticeable concentrations are found in Thanet and along the route of Mgy. 1a on the ridgetops above the Nailbourne and Dour valleys. This latter cluster is of particular interest, as it adheres closely to the lines of Thiessen polygons drawn around the gē centres of Eastry, Lyminge and Sturry, which are also partially preserved in the lathe boundaries (Figure 70). The inescapable impression is that these communities existed both physically and socially at the limits of centralised power. Recent authors have emphasised some of the ways in which treatment of the dead may have served a range of political purposes for the living (Halsall 1997, 66–8; Härke 1997; Williams and Sayer 2010, 1–22). The dead conferred ancestry, social position, and legitimated access to land and wealth. They provided physical evidence supporting the political machinations of the living. Shepherd’s analysis of Kentish barrow cemeteries (1979) can be viewed in this light. He argued that the seventh century might have witnessed increasingly antagonistic relationships between downland groups and other institutional authority. Group 4 barrow cemeteries of the type found particularly on Thanet and along Mgy. 1a were interpreted as a group strategy aimed at maintaining historical rights to local resources (ibid., 8.3-8.7). The overtly aggressive symbolism of such ostentatious burial suggested to him that this period may have witnessed increased competition for holdings and power; arguably related to the proliferation of estate centres and the formalisation of attendant legal and fiscal ties (Brookes 2007a, 180).

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Similar attempts to institutionalise rights of access are witnessed in the treatment of common land. Recent scholarship has reinforced Jolliffe’s belief that common land within a territory developed from being a resource open to all settlements within that territory to one subsequently parcelled out between individual estates (Witney 1976, 30–103; Ford 1979, 148–51; Hooke 1985, 78–85; Blair 1991, 14–7). Evidence cited above suggests that such claims were being made over Wealden resources throughout the later Anglo-Saxon period, but that this competition had not yet required territorial delineation in 1086. The same was not true of woodland in the more-densely populated areas of downland. In Domesday Book Bircholt hundred was divided between the two lathes of Wye and Limen with access to woodland common shared between the territories. Of interest in this example is the apparent incongruity of the lathe and hundredal system, which Thorne (1992, 64) cites as evidence for the late imposition of lathe boundaries, but may alternatively provide evidence for the different administrative functions of the hundred and lathe. In this regard the shape of lathes can meaningfully be contrasted with that of hundreds in Kent. Unlike their appearance elsewhere in England the hundreds of Kent are unusually small and numerous, coming in a variety of sizes from one yoke (Wechylstone) to 61 sulungs (Hoo) (Thorne 1992, 52). In a large number of cases hundreds are named after the principal vill with contributory vills forming little more than a district around this place (e.g. Fordwich, Sandwich, Sturry, Chislet)(VCH, 181). Some of these hundreds are evidently based on manors of the eleventh century that are the result of the fragmentation of great estates into smaller holdings. In these cases the hundred appears as a jurisdictional appurtenance to the enfeoffed vill, and must therefore be an imposition upon an earlier administrative framework (Jolliffe 1933a; Jolliffe 1933b, appendix; Cam 1963, 69). Certain archaeological evidence supports the idea that these more intense forms of lordship were accompanied by more elaborate forms of territorial division. A recent survey by Reynolds (2011) of late Anglo-Saxon settlements excavated as part of the Channel Tunnel Rail Link, has identified evidence of extensive landscape planning taking place in the immediate pre-Conquest period, particularly in the densely settled eastern Holmesdale. In other cases, particularly when hundreds are named after natural or topographical features, it seems that they may have functioned in a more civil sphere, as the institution through which public judicial responsibilities were carried out. It is particularly noticeable that hundreds named after vills (including manors, hamlets, boroughs and churches) are concentrated in the northeast of the county in the lathes of Borough, Eastry and Wye whilst those named after natural features (fords,

topographical features) are concentrated in the west, centre and south of the county (Figure 66). Put simply, in those areas where strong evidence exists for the lathes originating as early Anglo-Saxon regiones the hundred is closely correlated with sites of ecclesiastical and royal power; where lathes have a more doubtful antiquity, hundreds tend to be named after sites of open-air public assembly. Archaeological evidence from Saltwood, 8km west of Folkestone, suggests that these latter places may have been used to carry out civil affairs from the early Anglo-Saxon period (Reynolds 2011). At this site was revealed a late fifth- to eighth-century cemetery of c. 219 individuals arranged in three plots, each focussed on a Bronze Age barrow, to either side of an Iron Age trackway. Significantly, the site of the cemetery was recorded as the meeting place of the local Domesday hundred, Heane (Heane Wood Barn is still located less than 250m south west of the western cemetery), consisting of the medieval parishes of Saltwood and Postling. Very probably, therefore, this coincidence records the transition from a pagan-period folk cemetery to a hundred meeting-place which continued as a centre of local administration until at least 1279. Hundreds based on late manors may have been revisions of earlier systems of local organisation; a pattern of fragmentation that is recognised elsewhere in England. But in the case of royal vills and other elite manors that gave their names to hundreds many clearly date to the Middle Anglo-Saxon period and earlier. The chronology of these developments can sometimes be determined. Preston hundred, named after the eleventhcentury manor of Preston (Anderson 1939, 145), forms a compact territory on the Wantsum Channel of which nearly half its area is made up of marshland reclaimed in the Late Anglo-Saxon period. The hundred is clearly carved out of a larger territory based on Wingham, a place mentioned as Uuigincgga ham in 825-32 (S1268), and known as a focus of early Anglo-Saxon burials of the late sixth / early seventh centuries (Richardson 2005, II, 83–4). Perhaps significantly, the place-name ‘Wingham’ is probably derived from the Old English Wiga (‘warrior’) and ham (‘homestead’)(Wallenburg 1934, 337), thus denoting a location within the local community associated with persons of some social standing. Could we be seeing in this instance something of the reorientation of civil authority from earlier forms of kindred obligation, to that of a territorial system of local courts organised around manorial estates? This distinction between ‘top-down’ hundred and ‘bottom-up’ ‘public’ hundred could conceivably be seen to underlie the emergence of the lathe. Although an overarching economic logic can be seen to underpin the structure both of estates and lathes, the main

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence purpose of the lathe appears to have been administrative and jurisdictional (Jolliffe 1933b; Brooks 1989, 70). Economically, central-place sharing is a system which may boost the revenue of lords whilst simultaneously linking more people together, but it is not one that leads directly to greater overall prosperity. Whatever the administrative arrangements captured in lathe divisions, therefore, it is likely that these followed a broader legal and fiscal rationale. Contrasts can be drawn in this sense between hundreds based on late manorial complexes and their link with local administration, and the lathe as an extension of this power over territories of more disparate civil authority. The key distinction that existed between these systems was the extent of personal freedoms. The manorial-hundred represented a form of intensive and direct lordship exercised either by kings themselves, or lesser lords. With regards to the latter, Loyn (1974, 13) impresses the need to see the hundred as an extension of royal power aimed at securing assets which has been enfeoffed to local lords. If the courts of the lathes are correctly understood as the structure through which the gavelkinders could seek justice, then it is likely that these and the manorial-hundred developed contemporaneously, though with different functions: one for the control of lords, the other for the maintenance and administration of the gavelkind. Both should perhaps be seen as part of the processes of rationalisation seen in the tenth century, partially replacing earlier systems of civil organisation based on kindred associations (i.e. royal vills and ‘public assemblies’). It is for this reason, rather than economic rationale, that the lathes form corridors of land linked to centres in the early regiones. As the gavelkinders cluster in the more marginal lands of the Weald and downland, their administration is tied to the Wealden and downland appurtenances of primary manors. Though the economics of the multiple estate system is therefore still seen as primary to the geographical form of the lathes, their function may well be a secondary addition pasted onto the existent tenurial settlement pattern.

Conclusions The archaeologies of administration, governance and territorial formation remain amongst the slipperiest, yet fundamental, issues to understanding the operations of past societies. In this paper I have sought to summarise the evidence for these territories in Anglo-Saxon Kent, and some of the possible processes by which these came into being. Whilst some of the themes related to these issues (such as social hierarchisation, state formation, despotic power versus civil society) are each in their own

right enormous, the archaeological evidence is slight, if visible at all. Some of the preliminary conclusions reached by this paper would, therefore, warrant more close examination of the archaeological material. Just four potential lines of analysis are listed here in conclusion: 1) In the preceding argument I have suggested that there are good grounds for seeing a Roman underlay to the lathe / regiones of eastern Kent. To substantiate such a claim much fuller treatment must be made of the Roman material to reconstruct the shape of pagi across the area. Of particular interest are the relationships of pagi to towns / forts, and the relationships of pagi to topography and communications. 2) The link between putative regiones and the distribution of early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries warrants much more detailed analysis, incorporating Portable Antiquities Scheme material and settlement evidence. To this must be added the analysis of interred material itself as a way of charting the spatial patterns of group affiliations and economic consumption. Martin and Sue’s work on this area as part of the Beyond the Tribal Hidage project is eagerly anticipated. 3) The very preliminary treatment of hundred names and hundred meeting-places requires much more fine-grained analysis, including the identification and analysis of meeting-places in the field. This is the subject of a current Leverhulme-funded research project Landscapes of Governance: Assembly Sites in England fifth to eleventh centuries (http://www. ucl.ac.uk/archaeology/research/projects/assembly). Amongst the key questions to be addressed in Kent should be: whether manorial-hundreds represent the rationalisation of earlier groupings based on open-air assemblies; whether distinctions can be recognised between hundredal, lathe, and shire meeting-places; whether further correlations can be made between sites of public assembly and early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries? 4) Our understanding of the evolution of estates and boundaries in Kent remains very hazy despite a relative wealth of written sources. More detailed case-studies of local estate development is urgently required as a precursor to the analysis of territorial development of the kind outlined here.

Acknowledgements I am very grateful to Barbara Yorke, John Baker, Andrew Reynolds and Sue Harrington for their comments on an earlier draft, and to Wendy Davies and Sarah Semple for discussing some of the ideas presented here with me. Mistakes and misconceptions remain my own.

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The lathes of Kent: a review of the evidence Cruithne Press Härke, H. 1997 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon social structure’, in J. Hines (ed), The Anglo-Saxons from the Migration Period to the Eighth Century: an Ethnographic Perspective. ������������ Woodbridge: Boydell, 125-70 Hart, C. 1970 The Hidation of Northamptonshire. London: Department of English Local History occasional papers, 2nd series 3 Hart, C. 1974 The Hidation of Cambridgeshire. London: Department of English Local History occasional papers, 2nd series 6 Hawkes, S.E.C. 1979 ‘Eastry in Anglo-Saxon Kent: its Importance, and a newly- found Grave’, in S. ChadwickHawkes, D. Brown and J. Campbell (eds), Anglo- Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 72, 81–113 Hawkes, S.E.C. 1982 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent c.425-725’, in P.E. Leach (ed), Archaeology in Kent to 1500. London: CBA Research Report 48, 64–78 Hinton, D.A. 1986 ‘The Place of Basing in Mid-Saxon History’. Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 42, 162–3 Hogarth, A.C. 1973 ‘Structural features in Anglo-Saxon graves’, Archaeological Journal 130, 104–19 Hooke, D. 1985 The Anglo-Saxon Landscape: The Kingdom of the Hwicce. Manchester: Manchester University Press HR - Historia Regum, J.H. Hinde (ed) 1868 Symeonis Dunelmensis Opera et Collectanea. Durham: Surtees Society Publications of the Surtees Society, vol. 51 Jolliffe, J.E.A. 1929 ‘The Hidation of Kent’. English Historical Review 44, 612–8 Jolliffe, J.E.A. 1933a ‘���������������������������������������� The Origins of the Hundred in Kent’, in J.G. Edward, V.H. Galbraith and E.F. Jacob (eds), Historical Essays in Honour of James Tait. Manchester: Subscribers, 155–168 Jolliffe, J.E.A. 1933b Pre-Feudal England: The Jutes. London: Oxford University Press Jones, G.R.J. 1979 ‘Multiple estates and early settlement’, in P.H. Sawyer (ed), Medieval Settlement: Continuity and Change. London: Arnold, 15–40 Jones, G.R.J. 1985 ‘Multiple Estates Perceived’, Journal of Historical Geography 11, 4, 352–63 Kelly, S. 2006 ‘Lyminge minster and its early charters’, in S. Keynes and A.P. Smyth (eds), Anglo-Saxons; Studies Presented to Cyril Hart. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 98–113 Kirby, D.P. 1991 The Earliest English Kings. London: Routledge Lawson, T. 2004 ‘Lathes and Hundreds‘, in T. Lawson and D. Killingray (eds) An Historical Atlas of Kent. Andover: Phillimore, 30 Liebermann, F. (ed) 1889. Die Heiligen Englands. Hannover Lloyd, C.W. 1962 ‘Surrey’, in H.C Darby and E.M.J. Campbell (eds), The Domesday Geography of South-East England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 364– 406 Loyn, H.R. 1974 ‘ The hundred in England in the tenth and early eleventh centuries’, in H. Hearder and H.R. Loyn (eds), British Government and Administration: Studies presented to S.B. Chrimes. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1–15 Meaney, A. 1964 A Gazetteer of Early Anglo-Saxon Burial Sites. London: George Allen & Unwin

Millett, M. 2007 ‘Roman Kent’, in J.H. Williams (ed), The Archaeology of Kent to AD 800. Woodbridge: Boydell, 135–185 Palmer, J. 2007 Electronic Edition of Domesday Book: Translation, Databases and Scholarly Commentary, 1086 (first edition). Economic and Social Data Service, http://www.esds. ac.uk/findingData/snDescription.asp?sn=5694, accessed 13/02/2008 Rady, J. 1987 ‘Excavations at St. Martin’s Hill, Canterbury, 1984-5’, Archaeologia Cantiana 104, 123–218 Reynolds, A. 2009 The emergence of Anglo-Saxon judicial practice: the message of the gallows, The Agnes Jane Robertson Memorial Lectures on Anglo-Saxon Studies 1. Aberdeen: The Centre for Anglo-Saxon Studies University of Aberdeen Reynolds, A. 2011 ‘The Anglo-Saxon and Medieval Periods: Burial, Settlement and the Structure of the Landscape’, in H. Glass, P. Garwood, T. Champion, P. Booth, A. Reynolds and J. Munby, Tracks Through Time: The Archaeology of the Channel Tunnel Rail Link. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology Richardson, A.F. 2005 The Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries of Kent. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 391 Rollason, D.W. 1982 The Mildrith Legend. Leicester: Leicester University Press Sawyer, P. 1968 Anglo-Saxon Charters: an annotated list and bibliography. London: Royal Historical Society Guides and Handbooks 8 Shephard, J. 1979. Anglo-Saxon Barrows of the Later 6th and 7th Centuries AD. St. John’s College, Cambridge, unpublished PhD Thesis Smith, A.H. 1956 English Place-name Elements. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Stenton, �������� F. 1971 Anglo-Saxon England. 3rd edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press Stoodley, N. 1999 The Spindle and the Spear: an Exploration of Early Anglo-Saxon Gender Relations as Reflected through the Inhumation Burial Rite. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 288 Tatton-Brown, T. 1984 ‘The towns of Kent’, in J. Haslam (ed), Anglo-Saxon Towns in Southern England. Chichester: Phillimore, 1–36 Thomas, G. 2008 Uncovering an Anglo-Saxon Monastery in Kent Interim Report on University of Reading Excavations at Lyminge, 2008. http://www.reading. ac.uk/archaeology/research/Projects/arch_Lyminge.aspx, accessed 10/12/2010 Thorn, F.R. 1992 ‘Hundreds and Wapentakes’, in A. Williams and G.H. Martin (eds), The Kent Domesday. London: Alecto Historical Editions, 50–72 Tyler, S. 1992 ‘Anglo-Saxon settlement in the Darenth valley and environs’, Archaeologia Cantiana 110, 71–81 Victoria County History of Kent 4 (1932), W. Page (ed). London: The St Catherine Press Wallenberg, J.K. 1934 The Place-Names of Kent. Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktiebolag Ward, G. 1933 ‘Review of ‘Jolliffe, Pre-Feudal England’’. Archaeologia Cantiana 45, 290–4 Ward, G. 1934 ‘The Lathe of Aylesford in 975’. Archaeologia Cantiana 46, 7–26 Welch, M. 1983. Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 112 Welch, M. 1989 ‘The kingdom of the South Saxons: the

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Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology origins’, in S. Bassett (ed), The Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 75–83 Welch, M. 1992. English Heritage Book of Anglo-Saxon England. London: Batsford Welch, M. 2007 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent’, in J.H. Williams (ed), The Archaeology of Kent to AD 800. Woodbridge: Boydell, 187–250 Welch, M. 2008 ‘Report on Excavations of the Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Updown, Eastry, Kent’. Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 15, 1–146 Williams, H. and Sayer, D. 2009 ‘Halls of mirrors: death & identity in medieval archaeology’, in D. Sayer and H. Williams (eds), Mortuary Practices & Social Identities in the Middle Ages: Essays in Burial Archaeology in Honour of

Heinrich Härke. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1–22 Witney, K.P. 1976 The Jutish Forest: a study of the Weald of Kent from 450 to 1380 AD. London: Athlone Press Witney, K.P. 1982 The Kingdom of Kent. London: Phillimore Wormald, P. 1984 Bede and the Conversion of England: the Charter Evidence, Jarrow Lecture 1984. Jarrow Wormald, P. 1999 The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century. London: Blackwell Yorke, B. 1983 ‘Joint kingship in Kent c.560 to 785’, Archaeologia Cantiana 99, 1-19 Yorke, B. 1990 Kings and Kingdoms of early Anglo-Saxon England. London: Seaby Yorke, B. 1995 Wessex in the Early Middle Ages. Leicester: Leicester University Press

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Martin Welch – a bibliography

Martin Welch – a bibliography 1971

1979

‘Late Romans and Saxons in Sussex’, Britannia 2, 232–7

The South Saxons: temporary exhibition at Chichester District Museum May 29th-August 25th 1979. Chichester: Chichester District Museum

1975 1980 ‘Mitcham grave 205 and the chronology of applied brooches with floriate cross decoration. With a note on the pot by J.N.L. Myres’, Antiquaries Journal 55:1, 86–95

Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex fifth to eighth centuries A.D.: the cemeteries and settlements in their archaeological and historical context. University of Oxford, unpublished D.Phil. thesis

1976 ‘Liebenau inhumation grave II/196 and the dating of the Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Mitcham’, Medieval Archaeology 20, 134–6 Highdown and its Saxon cemetery. Worthing Museum and Art Gallery publications no. 11. Worthing Museum and Art Gallery ‘The Finds: iron and bronze’, in B. Cunliffe, Excavations at Portchester Castle, Vol. II: Saxon Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London no 33. London: The Society of Antiquaries of London, 195���������� –��������� 7, 205��� –�� 14

‘The Saxon cemeteries of Sussex’, in P. Rahtz, T. Dickinson and L. Watts (eds) Anglo-Saxon cemeteries 1979. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports British series 82, 255–283 1982 ‘Review of Angles, Saxons and Jutes: essays presented to J.N.L. Myres by V.I. Evison (ed)’, Medieval Archaeology 26, 228�� –�9 1983 Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex. Oxford : British Archaeological Reports British series 112 (2 vols)

1977 Miles, D.����������������������������������������������� and Welch, M. ‘A floriate cross saucer brooch from Longford, Oxfordshire’, Oxoniensia 42, 262–3

‘Review of Die Burgen in Schleswig-Holstein I – Die slawischen Burgen by K.W. Struve’, Medieval Archaeology 27, 257

‘A medieval bronze mount and pendants from Oxfordshire’, Oxoniensia 42, 265 ‘A medieval pottery group from 18 Walton Street, Oxford’, Oxoniensia 42, 266 1978 The Tradescants and the foundation of the Ashmolean Museum. Oxford: Ashmolean Museum, Museum of the History of Science Annual Report

1984 Down, A. and Welch, M. ‘A Jutlandic square-headed brooch from Apple Down, West Sussex’, Antiquaries Journal 64/2, 408��� –�� 13 ‘Anglo-Saxon art in the Merovingian period: a summary’, Journées (VIe) nationales d’archéologie mérovingienne, Rennes 22-24 juin 1984 (Résumés des communications. Bulletin de Liaison, 8), 55–8 ‘Saxon Sussex’, Current Archaeology 8 (9:92), 280�� –�2

‘The new Tradescant Room in the Ashmolean Museum’, Museums Journal 78 no 2, 65�� –�6 ‘Early Anglo-Saxon Sussex: from civitas to shire’, in P. Brandon (ed), The South Saxons. Chichester: Phillimore Press, 13-35, 227–31

‘Review of Britons and the Saxons: the Chiltern region 400-700 by K. Rutherford Davis’, Antiquaries Journal 64, 173�� –�4 ‘The dating and significance of the inlaid buckle loop

171

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology from Yeavering, Northumberland’, Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 3, 77�� –�8

‘A ring-brooch and penannular brooch pin from Kelvedon, Essex’, Medieval Archaeology 33, 151�� –�3

‘Review of Das Sächsische Gräberfeld bei Liebenau Kr. Nienburg (Weser) Teil I’, Medieval Archaeology 28, 295�� –�6

‘The kingdom of the South Saxons: the origins’, in S. Bassett (ed), The origins of the early Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. London: Leicester University Press, 75-83, 254�� –�6

1985

1990

‘Button brooches, clasp buttons and face masks’, Medieval Archaeology 29, 142�� –�5

Down, A. and Welch, M. Apple Down and the Mardens. Chichester excavations 7. Chichester : Chichester District Council

‘Rural settlement patterns in the early and middle Anglo-Saxon periods’, Landscape History: journal of the society for landscape studies 7, 13��� –�� 25 ‘Review of John Hines: the Scandinavian character of Anglian England in the pre-Viking period (BAR 124)’, Norwegian Archaeological Review 18, 1��������� –�������� 2, 133�� –�8

1991 ‘Contacts across the Channel between the 5th and 7th centuries: a review of the archaeological evidence’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung Vol. 7, 261–9

1986

‘Review of Weapons and warfare in Anglo-Saxon England by Sonia Chadwick Hawkes’, Antiquity 65/248, 753–4

‘Review of Hessen in Frühmittelalter – Archäologie und Kunst by H. Roth and E. Wamers (eds)’, Medieval Archaeology 30, 206�� –�7

1992

1987

Sherlock, S.J. and Welch, M. An Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Norton, Cleveland. CBA research report 82. London: Council for British Archaeology

‘Reflections on the archaeological connections between Scandinavia and eastern England in the migration period : some comments on John Hines: The Scandinavian character of Anglian England in the pre-Viking period’, Studien zur Sachsenforschung 6, 251–9

Sherlock, S.J. and Welch, M. ‘Anglo-Saxon objects from Maltby, Cleveland’, Durham Archaeological Journal 8, 71–6

‘A Saxon equal-arm brooch from Keymer, Sussex’, Antiquaries Journal 64, 364�� –�5 ‘Review of The Anglo-Saxon unhumation cemetery at Sewerby, East Yorkshire by S. Hirst’, Medieval Archaeology 31, 193�� –�5

‘Review of The Early Germans by M. Todd’, Antiquaries Journal 72, 204 English Heritage Book of Anglo-Saxon England. London: English Heritage 1993

‘Review of The origins of England 410-600 by M.J. Whittock’, Medieval Arcaheology 31, 211

Discovering Anglo-Saxon England. University Park Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press

1989

‘The Anglo-Saxons’, in Microsoft Corporation Encarta

‘Review of Dover: the Buckland Anglo-Saxon cemetery by V.I. Evison’, Medieval Archaeology 33, 243�� –�5

‘The archaeological evidence for federate settlement in Britain in the fifth century’, in F. Vallet and M. Kazanski L’Armée romaine et les barbares du IIIe au VIIe siècle. Mémoires AFAM 5. Association Française d’Archéologie Mérovingienne, 269–78

‘Review of Die Transalpinen Verbindungen der Bayern, Alemannen und Franken bis zum 10. Jahrhundert by H. Beumann and W. Schröder (eds)’, Medieval Archaeology 33, 247�� –�8 Down, A. and Welch, M. ‘Excavations at Appledown Saxon cemetery and North Marden Farm, Sussex in 1987’, Archaeological Journal 145 for 1988, 387�� –�8

1994 ‘Review of Angelsächsische Waffengräber des 5. bis 7. Jahrhunderts by H. Härke’, Antiquaries Journal 74, 348�� –�9

172

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Studies in the Early History of Europe. London: Leicester University Press, 147��� –�� 59

1995

‘Review of The Quoit Brooch Style and Anglo-Saxon settlement by S. Suzuki’, Antiquaries Journal 81, 436�� –�7

‘Review of A summary catalogue of the Anglo-Saxon collection (non-ferrous metals) Ashmolean Museum Oxford by A. MacGregor and E. Bolick’, Medieval Archaeology 39, 308�� –�9

‘Review of The pace of change by J. Hines, K. Hǿlund Nielsen and F. Siegmund (eds)’, Medieval Archaeology 45, 380�� –�1

‘Review of Illington: a study of a Breckland parish and its Anglo-Saxon cemetery by A. Davison, B. Green and B. Milligan’, Medieval Archaeology 39, 353

‘Review of The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Edix Hill (Barrington A), Cambridgeshire by T. Malim and J. Hines’, Medieval Archaeology 45, 391�� –�3

1997

‘An early entente cordiale? Cross-channel connections in the Anglo-Saxon period’, Archaeology International 2000/2001, 28–30

‘The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at 82-90 Park Lane, Croydon, Surrey: excavation or preservation?’, London Archaeologist Vol. 8 no. 4, 94�� –�7 1998 Drinkall, G. and Foreman, M. under the academic supervision of M. Welch The Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Castledyke South, Barton-on-Humber. Sheffield excavation reports 6. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press 1999

2002 ‘Cross-Channel Contacts between Anglo-Saxon England and Merovingian Francia’, in S. Lucy and A. Reynolds (eds), Burial in early medieval England and Wales. London: The Society for Medieval Archaeology, 122��� –�� 31 2003 ‘Review of The art of the goldsmith by E. Coatsworth and M. Pinder’, Medieval Archaeology 27, 359–60

Guido, M. Edited by Martin Welch The glass beads of Anglo-Saxon England c. AD 400-700: a preliminary visual classification of the more definitive and diagnostic types. Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiqaries of London no. 56. Rochester, New York: Boydell Press/Society of Antiquaries of London 2000

‘Migrating Hordes?’, in M. Ecclestone, K.S. Gardner, N. Holbrook N and A. Smith (eds), The land of the Dobunni: a series of papers relating to the transformation of the pagan, pre-Roman, tribal lands, into Christian, Anglo-Saxon Gloucestershire & Somerset. Committee for Archaeology in Gloucestershire, Council for British Archaeology - South-West, 65�� –�7

‘Croydon Saxon cemetery : the re-discovery of the early Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Croydon in 1992 and its partial excavation in 1999 : trials and tribulations’, Proceedings of the Croydon Natural History and Scientific Society vol. 18 no. 6, 129–42

‘Review of Skovgarde: ein Bestattungsplatz mit reichen Frauengrabern des 3. Jhs. N. Chr. auf Seeland by P. Ethelberg’, Antiquity 77, 296

‘Trade and trading places around the North Sea’, in E. Kramer, I. Stoumann and A. Greg (eds), Kings of the North Sea, AD250-850. Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Tyne and Wear Museums, 67–78

‘Review of Germanic equal-arm brooches of the Migration Period by D. Bruns’, Antiquaries Journal 85, 415–6

2005

2006 ‘Review of Schmalstede: ein Urnengräberfeld der Kaiser-und-Völkerwandrungszeit by M-J Bode’, Antiquaries Journal 81, 351–2 2001 ‘The archaeology of Mercia’, in M.P. Brown and C.A. Farr (eds), Mercia: an Anglo-Saxon kingdom in Europe.

‘Some recent finds of elite warrior burials in AngloSaxon England’, in X. Delestre, M. Kazanski and P. Périn (eds), De l’Age du fer au haut Moyen Age: Archéologie funéraire, princes et élites guerrières. Tome XV Association ������������ Française d’Archéologie Mérovingienne������ , 62�� –�8 ‘Cross-Channel contacts between Anglo-Saxon England

173

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology and Merovingian Francia: an Anglo-French Research Project’, in X. Delestre, M. Kazanski and P. Périn (eds) De l’Age du fer au haut Moyen Age: Archéologie funéraire, princes et élites guerrières. Tome XV Association ���������������������� Française d’Archéologie Mérovingienne�������� , 103��� –�� 11 ‘Review of Thompson, V., Dying and Death in Later Anglo-Saxon England’, Speculum. vol 81 (2, April), 619��� –�� 20 Brookes S.J., Harrington S., and Welch M. ‘Documenting the dead: creating an online census of Anglo-Saxon burials from Kent’. Archaeology International vol 2005/6 (9), 28��� –�� 31 Harrington, S. and Welch M.G. ‘The archaeology of state formation : the creation of kingdoms in Kent, Sussex and Wessex’, Pré-Actes des XXVIIe Journées Internationales d’Archéologie Mérovingienne à Caen (France), 29 septembre-1er octobre 2006, Bulletin de liaison de l’AFAM 30, 55�� –�6

2010 Harrington, S and Welch, M. ‘Beyond the Tribal Hidage: using portable antiquities to explore early Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in southern England’, in S. Worrell, G. Egan, J. Naylor, K. Leahy and M. Lewis (eds), A Decade of Discovery: proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme conference 2007. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 520, 167��� –�� 73 FORTHCOMING ‘A review of the archaeology of the East Saxons up to the Norman Conquest’, in ����������������� N. Brown (ed) The archaeology of Essex from the earliest humans to the 20th century. Proceedings of the Essex Archaeological Symposium, held at Southend-on-Sea, November 15th, 2008 ‘The Eastbourne brooches’, in ������������������������ Archaeology South-East Late Iron Age settlement and an Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at St Anne’s Road, Eastbourne, East Sussex, Spoilheap Monograph Series

2007 La parure de la sepulture feminine 43 de Vron (Somme). Revue Archéologique de Picardie 2007, no.1/2, 27��� –�� 33 ‘Anglo-Saxon Kent’, in J.H. Williams (ed), The Archaeology of Kent to AD 800. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 187���� –��� 248 2008 ‘Report on Excavations of the Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Updown, Eastry, Kent’, in S. Crawford and H. Hamerow (eds), Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History vol 15. Oxford : Oxford University School of Archaeology, 1���� –��� 146

Harrington, S. and Welch, M. ‘The archaeology of state formation: the creation of kingdoms in Kent, Sussex and Wessex AD 410 to 750’ in C. Lorren (ed) La Gaule mérovingienne, le monde insulaire et l’Europe du Nord VeVIIIe siècle) Harrington, S. and Welch, M. ‘������������������� The archaeological evidence for state formation in southern England: a comparison of the early kingdoms of Kent, Sussex and Wessex’, in Panhuysen, T.A.S.M. (ed), Transformations in North-Western Europe (AD 300 - 1000). Proceedings of the 60th Sachsensymposium 19–23 September 2009 Maastricht Harrington, S. and Welch, M. Beyond the Tribal Hidage: the economic landscapes of the early Anglo-Saxon kingdoms south of the Thames. Project monograph of the Leverhulme Trust funded research project 2006–2009

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Index of People and Places Page numbers in italic indicate illustrations, figures or maps Abdy, Richard, 37 Åberg, N., 76 Abingdon (Oxon), Ashville Trading Estate, 11; Saxton Road, 56, 63, 65, 65, 70 Ackling Dyke (Dorset), 153 Adam’s Grave (Wilts), 147, 153 Aebbe, 110 Æthelbald of Mercia, King, 154 Æthelbehrt, King, 62, 91, 93, 163 Æthelflæd, 18 Æthelhild, Abbess, 17 Æthelred the Unready, King, 43 Æthelthryth of Ely, 106–9 Aidan, 17 Aisne, Dept., France, 24 Alamanni, 98 Alans, 98 Aldborough (North Yorks), 11 Aldhelm, 110 Alfred, King, 102, 145 Alfriston (East Sussex), 24, 57, 63, 64, 65–6, 66, 69, 70 Algeria, 16 Altenstadt, Germany, 24, 24 Alterneding, Germany, 23 Alton (Hants), 49 Alton Priors (Wilts), 153 Ambersham (Hants), 141 America, North, 103 Andrew’s Hill, Easington (Co. Durham), 112 Apple Down (West Sussex), xi, 66, 66, 96 Archaeological Services Durham University (ASDU), 113 Armentières, Dept. Aisne, France, 83, 85 Arnegundis, Queen, 28 Arnold, Chris, 74 Ash (Kent), 55 Ashmolean Museum, x Athelstan, Atheling, 43 Augustine, Saint, 62 Avars, 98 Avebury (Wilts), 44 Avent, Richard, 77 Avon, 75 Axboe, Morten, 3 Aylesford (Kent), 156–8, 157, 163 Badbury Rings (Dorset), 153

Baginton (Warks), 9 Bailey, Justine, 103 Baker, John, 167 Baldahild, 107 Baldwin Brown, G., 36 Bamburgh (Northumbria), 139 Barbara Whatmore Charitable Trust, 138 Barbury Castle (Wilts), 45 Barking (Essex), 110 Barling Magna (Essex), 121, 122 Barnfield (Kent), 157 Barrow Hills (Oxon), 9 Barton Stacey (Hants), 53 Bassett, Steven, 140 Bathild, Queen, 17, 91, 107, 110 Beagnoth, 42, 42 Bede, The Venerable, 17, 62, 72–3, 76, 78, 93, 102, 106–10, 140, 142 Bedford (Beds), 145 Belgae, 153 Belgium, 24, 83–5 Bere, Forest of (Hants), 143 Berinsfield (Oxon), 51 Bernicia, 114, 139–40 Bertha, Queen, 62, 91, 109 Bifrons (Kent), 3, 22-4, 22, 25 Bignor (West Sussex), 11 Billericay (Essex), 11 Bishop’s Canning Down (Wilts), 147, 148 Bishopsmill School, Norton (Co. Durham), 113 Black Down (Hants), 144 Blackburn, Mark, 15 Blackmore, Lyn, 18, 86 Blackwater, Estuary (Essex), 122; River, 121; see also ChelmerBlackwater Valley Blair, John, 43, 109–10 Bobbio, Italy, 17 Bohemia, 23 Bohunt Farm (West Sussex), 143, 144 Bokerley Dyke (Dorset), 153 Bopfingen, Germany, 25, 25 Boreham Old Hall (Essex), 121, 125 Bornholm, Sweden, 4 Borough, The (Kent), 156, 157, 158, 166 Bourdieu, Pierre, 90 Boynton (East Yorkshire), 9 Breguswith, 108

175

Bridge (Kent), 156 Brighton (East Sussex), 65, 66 Brinton (Norfolk), 1, 3 Briscoe, Diana, 93 Bristol, 147 British Museum, The, 11 Britons, 73 Brookes, Stuart, xi, 86, 96 Broomfield (Essex), 121, 122, 124 Broomfield (Salop), 116 Brough (East Yorkshire), 9 Broughton Lodge (Notts), 2 Brown’s Barn (Wilts), 148, 148, 150, 153 Brugmann, Birte, xi Bruce-Mitford, Rupert, Brunning, Sue, 46 Bulles, Dept. Oise, France, 57, 85 Burch, Mark, 138 Burwell (Cambs), 14 Caistor-by-Norwich (Norfolk), 12; Markshall, 9 Cam, River (Cambs), 121 Cambridge (Cambs), 7, 12; Girton College, 8, 9, 10, 12, 12; Ridgeon Gardens, 10, 11, 12; St John’s Cricket field, 8–10, 9, 12, 12 Cambridge Archaeological Unit, 18, 157 Cambridgeshire, 43 Canterbury, 60, 62, 156, 159, 163; St Martin’s, 109 Carisbrooke Castle (Isle of Wight), 7, 9 Castle Acre (Norfolk), 9 Catraeth, 139 Catterick (North Yorkshire), 112, 113, 114, 118 Caucasus, North, 98 Caythorpe (Notts), 9 Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, 41 Channel, English, 63, 70, 139 Charibert I, King, 62 Chartham Down (Kent), 29 Chelles, France, 17, 107 Chelmer-Blackwater Valley (Essex), 121, 122, 125, 127, 129; see also Blackwater Chelmsford (Essex), 125 Chertsey (Surrey), 41 Chigborough Farm (Essex), 122, 124–5 Childe, Vere Gordon, 104

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Cirencester (Gloucs), 153 Clark, John, 137 Clark, Tony, 147–51, 154 Clarke, Helen, xi Cleatham (Lincs), 9 Clovis I, King, 5 Clovis II, King, 107 Cohen, Nathalie, 41 Colchester (Essex), 11–2, 12, 122; 22 Crouch Street, 10, 11; West Lodge, 12 Colchester Archaeological Trust, 125 Coldingham, Scottish Borders, 110 Cole, Garrard, 52 Collingbourne Ducis (Wilts), 95 Collins, Rob, 118 Collins Creek (Essex), 122, 128 Cologne, Germany, 66 Combs Ditch (Wilts), 153 Concevreaux, France, 27 Constantine, Neville, 138 Cow Lowe (Derbys), 115 Crawford, Sally, 42 Crondall (Hants), 36–7 Crowfoot, Elisabeth, 16, 92 Cunliffe, Deborah, 154 Cuxton (Kent), 14–6, 18 Cynefrith, 106 Dakota, USA, 98 Dalton Piercy, Hartlepool (Co. Durham), 113, 114 Danelaw, 145 Daniels, Robin, 119 Darenth (Kent), 160, 163 Daria, Vestal Virgin, 110 Darwin, Charles, 34, 150 Davidson, Hilda Ellis, 92 Davies, Wendy, 167 Deira, 108, 139–40 Denmark, 41, 96, 124 Deptford (Kent), 160 Desborough (Northants), 109 Dever Valley (Hants), 49, 53 Dickinson, Tania, xi, 38, 60 Dobunni, 153 Domburg, Netherlands, 69 Dorchester (Dorset), 153 Dorchester on Thames (Oxon), 95 Dornoch, Highlands, Scotland, 34 Dour Valley (Kent), 160, 165 Dover (Kent), 23, 30; Buckland, 16, 56, 99, 100, 103 Dovercourt (Essex), 122 Downley (Hants), 142 Drew, Catherine, 138 Dun, Abbot, 18, 144 Dunstable (Beds), 44 Durford Abbey (West Sussex), 143 Durlock Stream, Ringlemere (Kent), 55

Eadbald, King, 91, 93, 108 Easington (Co. Durham), 113, 113, 114 East Anglia, 14 East Grinstead (West Sussex), 144 East Leake (Notts), 2 Eastbourne (East Sussex), 63, 65–6, 66–8, 70 Eastry (Kent), 55, 76, 156, 157, 158–60, 163, 165–6 Ecgferth, 46 Ecgfrith, King, 106, 109 Eckardt, H., 104 Edix Hill, Barrington (Cambs), 38, 52 Edmund, King, 156 Edward the Elder, King, 157 Edwin, King, 108 Egypt, 16 Elgg, Switzerland, 22, 30 Elham Valley (Kent), 160 Eligius, Bishop, 107 Ely (Cambs), 110; Westfield, 14–5 English Heritage, 38, 104, 138, 154 Enright, Michael J., 92 Environment Agency, 134, 138 Eorcenbert, King of Kent, 108–9 Eorcengota, 108 Eormenric, 62 Essex, 121, 124 Essex County Council, Field Archaeology Unit, 126, 129; Historic Environment Record, 127 Ethelbehrt – see Æthelbehrt Evans, Angela Care, 31 Everitt, Alan, 163 Everson, Paul, 46 Evison, Vera I., 63 Eye (Cambs), 9 Eye (Suffolk), 9 Eyhorne (Kent), 157 Fabech, Charlotte, 46 Faremoûtier-en-Brie, France, 107–8 Faussett, Rev. Bryan, 15, 24 Faversham (Kent), 29, 160 Fell, Christine, 107 Fergus Estuary, Ireland, 135 Feveile, Claus, 76 Field, David, 154 Finds Liaison Officers (FLOs), 74 Finglesham (Kent), 15, 93 Fiskerton (Lincs), 44 Flimwell (East Sussex), 144 Flonheim, Germany, 66 Fordwich (Kent), 159 Fowler, Peter, 152 Franks, 63, 96, 98, 102 Fréthun, Dept. Pas-de-Calais, ����������������������� France, 55, 58, 69, 83, 85 Frisia, 30, 59 Fröslunda, Sweden, 41 Funen (Denmark), 5 Fyfield Downs (Wilts), 152–3

176

Gallehus, Jutland (Denmark), 4 Gannon, Anna, 18 Gardiner, Mark, 160 Gatwick Airport (East Sussex), 144 Gaul, 63, 70 Geake, Helen, 14, 40 Genovefa, Saint, 108–9 Germanus, Bishop, 108 Germany, 1, 124; Weser-Elbe region, 49–50, 56, 59 Geuissae, 140, 142 Giberville, France, 59 Gibson, T., 18 Gildas, 153 Gillingham (Kent), 76 Gilchrist, Roberta, 103 Gondorf, Germany, 24 Goths, 98 Gotland (Sweden), 4 Gračanica, Croatia, 22–3, 25, 27, 30 Graham-Campbell, James, x, xi Great Chesterford (Essex), 121, 122 Great Wakering (Essex), 127 Greatham (Northumbria), 113, 114 Green, Stephen, 148 Gregory of Tours, 5, 62 Gregory, Pope, 62, 90, 93 Grindon (Northumbria), 113, 114 Guilton (Kent), 24, 24, 29, 115 Guthrun, 145 Halsall, Guy, 43 Hamilton, Sue, xi Hampshire, 49, 66, 70–80, 75, 140–3, 142–3 Hangleton (West Sussex), 66, 66 Harden, Donald B., 3 Harehurst Wood (Sussex), 142, 143 Harford Farm (Norfolk), 14–5, 17 Härke, Heinrich, 42 Harrington, Sue, xi, 86, 107–10, 156–7 Harris, The (Sussex), 142, 143 Harrold (Beds), 40 Harrow (Lincs), 1 Harrows, The (Sussex), 142, 143, 145 Hart, Hartlepool (Co. Durham), 113, 114 Hartlepool (Co. Durham), 113, 114 Harty, Isle of (Kent), 157 Harwood, Chiz, 138 Haslemere (Surrey), 144, 144 Hassocks (East Sussex), 66–7, 66 Haestingas, 141 Hastingford (Sussex), 141, 160 Hastingleigh (Kent), 141, 163 Hastings (East Sussex), 141, 160 Hawkes, Sonia Chadwick, 16, 63, 92 Hawkins, Andy, 135 Hayes, Tina, 52 Hayling Island (Hants), 142 Headbourne Worthy (Hants), 53 Heane (Kent), 166

Martin Welch – a bibliography Index Hedeager, Lotte, 41, 96 Helgö, Sweden, 4 Herbrechtingen, Germany, 28, 28 Hereric, 108 Hereswith, 17 Hérouvillette, Dept. Calvados, ������������������ France, 66 Herpes-en-Charente, France, 79, 92 Hexham (Northumbria), 17 Heybridge (Essex), Chalet Site, Hall Road, 124–5; Crescent Road, 122–3; Elms Farm, 122, 122 Highdown (West Sussex), 63, 64, 65–6, 66–7, 69, 70 Hild, Abbess, 17, 18, 108 Hills, Catherine, 90, 91 Hindhead (Surrey), 144 Hines, John, xi, 43 Hinton, David, 86 Hoad, Stewart, 138 Hob Hill, Saltburn (North Yorkshire), 113, 113 Holbrook (Derbys), 11 Hollingbourne (Kent), 158, 160 Holm Hills (West Sussex), 143 Holmesdale (Kent), 160, 166 Holy Land, Palestine, 17 Holywell Row (Suffolk), 95–6 Hoo (Kent), 166 Hoxne (Suffolk), 37 Hough, Carole, 92 Hrothingas, 140 Hull Bridge (Essex), 122 Hungarian Basin, 58 Hunninge, Sweden, 4 Hythe (Kent), 159 Iceland, 91 Idsworth Farm (Hants), 142, 143 Illington (Norfolk), 9 India, 103 Indus Valley, Pakistan, 11 Inuit, 98 Ipswich (Suffolk), 82–3, 86; Buttermarket, 83–5, 85 Ironhill Common (West Sussex), 143 Isle of Wight, 66, 70–80, 75, 142 ; Chessell Down, 23, 66, 90 Issendorf, Germany, 58, 59 Itchen Abbas (Hants), Iurminburg, Queen, 109–10 Ixworth (Suffolk), 9 Jamieson, David, 138 Johnson, Paul, 119 Jolliffe, J. E. A., 158, 166 Jouey-le-Comte, France, 23 Jurminburg, Queen, 17 Justiniam, Emperor, 3 Jutland, Denmark, 3, 74, 79 Keene, Derek, x

Kelvedon (Essex), 122 Kent, 14, 23, 35, 60, 66, 70, 72–80, 75, 96, 165 Kent Ditch, 144, 144 Kent Water, 144 ‘Kentish Master’, 76 Kingston Down (Kent), 15, 18, 90 Kingston-by-Lewes – see Saxonbury Kirkham, Graeme, 154 Kivas, 41 Kleinschmidt, H. 140–1 Klin Yar, Russia, 102, 102 Knight, Heather, 132 Koblenz, Germany, 24 Krefeld-Gellep, Germany, 57 Kruse, Pernille (nee Sørensen), 74, 78–9 Lackford (Suffolk), 9 Ladyholt (West Sussex), 142, 143, 145 Lancaster, Lorraine, 93 Langenshingen, Germany, 29 Langlands, Alex, 153 Lankhills, Winchester (Hants), 52 Lechlade (Gloucs), Butler’s Field, 15, 95 Leahy, Kevin, 36 Lee, Christina, xi Leicestershire, 3 Leicestershire Archaeological and Historical Society, 5 Leigh, David, 76 Leland, John, 153 Leo III, Pope, 16, 17 Leoba, Saint, 108 Lethbridge, Thomas Charles, 14–5 Leverhulme Trust, 88, 167 Lewes (East Sussex), 66–7, 66 Lewis, Michael, 74 Liebenau, Germany, 52 Lillbjärs, Sweden, 4 Limen (Kent), 156, 157, 158, 166 Lincoln (Lincs), 44 Linton (Kent), 160 Liphook (Hants), 143 Little Braxted (Essex), 122 Little Chesterford (Essex), 122 Little Oakley (Essex), 122 Little Wilbraham (Cambs), 9 Liudhard, Bishop, 18, 62, 109 Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales, 34, 34 Lombards, 98 London, 82–3, 85, 131–2, 137; Barn Elms, 132, 134, 134–5, 137; Battersea, 42, 42; Bermondsey, 133; Brentford, 133, 137; Chelsea, 133, 138; Chiswick Bridge, 133; Covent Garden, 85; Foreshore, 132–8, 136–7; Fulham Palace, 137; Hammersmith, 132–3, 135, 135; Hammersmith Bridge, 132;

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Kew Bridge, 132, 132; Kingston Bridge, 44, 137; Long Acre, 85 ; Nine Elms, 132, 135, 135, 137–8; Putney Bridge, 132; Southwark, 133; St Martin-in-the Fields, 85–6 ; Thorney Island,133; Tower of London, 137; Vauxhall Bridge, 132, 132; Wandsworth, 133, 137 Long Wittenham (Oxon), 41 Longthorpe (Warks), 9 Low Lane, Ingleby Barwick (North Yorkshire), 112–3, 113 Lowfield Heath (West Sussex), 144, 144 Loxwood (West Sussex), 144 Loyn, Henry Royston, 167 Lucy, Sam, 18, 75 Lund, Julie, 41–2 Lund, Sweden, 41, 46 Lundeborg, Funen (Denmark), 4 Lyminge (Kent), 73, 157, 158–60, 163, 165 Lympne (Kent), 141, 159–60, 163 Maastricht, Netherlands, 24, 27 Maes Knoll (Somerset), 153 Maidstone (Kent), 160 Maltby (South Yorkshire), 113 Malton (North Yorkshire), 11 Manche, La – see Channel, English Marchélpot, Dept. Somme, France, 69 Marden (Kent), 157 Marden (Sussex), 142 Maria Ponsee, Austria, 26, 26 Market Lavington (Wilts), 95 Market Overton (Rutland), 1–2 Markwells Wood (Sussex), 142, 143, 145 Marlborough (Wilts), 147 Marlborough Down (Wilts), 149, 151 Marzinzik, Sonja, 21, 86 Massey-Ryan, Roger, 129 Mathews, Margaret, 104 McAlpine Antiques, 12 McCormick, Michael, 17 McKinley, Jackie, xi McLean, Laura, 36 McOmish, David, 154 Meadows, John, 138 Meaney, Audrey, 16 Medway (Kent), 160 Melton (Leics), 1, 2 Melton Mowbray (Leics), 9 Menghin, Wilfried, 26 Meon (Hants), 141; Valley, 141–2 Meonware, 141 Mercia, 140, 145 Merovingians, 58–9, 79 Mersea Island (Essex), 127 Meuse Valley, 63, 65–6, 69, 70 Mildenhall (Wilts), 36 Milinković, Mihailo, 31

Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Art and Archaeology Milk Hill (Wilts), 147, 148 Mill Hill, Deal (Kent), 23, 52, 55, 57, 90 Milne, Gus, x, xi Minter, Faye, 37–8 Milton (Kent), 156–8, 157 Milton Regis (Kent), 160 Molleson, T., 103 Møllegård, Bornholm (Sweden), 4 Monza, Italy, 17 Morgan’s Hill (Wilts), 147, 148, 152 Mortimer, Catherine, 76 Mount Caelius, Italy, 62 Mount Sinai, 17 Much Hadham (Herts), Bromley Hall Farm, 10, 11–2, 12 Mucking (Essex), 9, 35, 52, 57, 121, 122, 129 Murphy, P., 127 Museum of London, 138 Museum of London Archaeology, 132, 134, 138; Geomatics, 135 Nailbourne valley (Kent), 165 Nass, The (Essex), 127, 128 Natural England, 38 Nethercote, Nick, 129 Netherlands, 83–4 Newark (Notts), 9 Newby (North Yorkshire), 113, 114 Newgrange, Co. Meath, Ireland, 44 Niederstotzingen, Germany, 27 Noble, T., 104 Nocera Umbra, Italy, 16, 20 Noel-Hume, I., 133 North Leigh (Oxon), 14 North Luffenham (Rutland), 9 North Sea, 90 North Shoebury (Essex), 121, 122 Northamptonshire, 157 Northbourne (Kent), 1 Northbrook, Dever Valley (Hants), 53 Northumberland, 4 Norton on Tees (Co. Durham), 103, 112–4 Norway, 91 Nottingham (Notts), 43 Nouvion-en-Ponthieu, Dept. Somme, France, 57, 69 Nydam Mose (Denmark), 11 Odin (also Woden), 1, 153 Offa, King of Mercia, 43, 160 Old Erringham (West Sussex), 66, 66–7 Old Sleaford (Lincs), 9 Orkney, Scotland, 91 Orpington, Poverest Road (Kent), 52, 95 Orsett (Essex), 122; Cock, 121, 122 Ostrogoths, 30 Oswald, King, 17 Othona (Essex), 127

Ove Arup and Partners Ltd, 134 Overton Down (Wilts), 152–3 Oxborough (Norfolk), 38 Oxford Archaeology, 38, 132 Oxford University, Keble College, x; Magdalen Bridge, 41 Oxney, Isle of (Kent), 144 Paderborn, Germany, 16 Paglesham (Essex), 122 Parfitt, Keith, 35, 60, 74 Paris, France, 108 Pas-de-Calais, Dept., France, 57 Patching (West Sussex), 37 Pauli, L., 104 Pensthorpe (Norfolk), 9 Peresztegi, Judit, 138 Périn, Patrick, 28 Persia, 16 Peter, Saint, 17 Petersfinger (Wilts), 56 Petham (Kent), 156 Pewet Island (Essex), 127 Piercebridge (Co. Durham), 113, 114 Pilgrim’s Way (Kent), 163 Pitt Rivers, Lieu.Gen., 147, 149, 151, 153 Pontefract (West Yorkshire), 118 Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), 33–8, 35, 72, 74–5, 75, 112, 160, 167 Portway East (Hants), 49 Pre-Construct Archaeology, 132–3 Preston (Kent), 166 Price, Jennifer, 119 Prittlewell (Essex), 4, 14, 18, 121, 122, 124 Procopius, 73 Quarry Farm, Ingleby Barwick (North Yorkshire), 113 Rainham (Essex), 122 Rayleigh (Essex), 121 Read, Rob, 154 Red Shore (Wilts), 148, 148, 153 Redwick, Severn, 135 Reynolds, Andrew, 18, 86, 96, 153, 166, 167 Rheged, 139 Rhenen, Netherlands, 57 Rhineland, 23, 55, 57, 59, 66, 83, 85 Riby Park (Lincs), 9 Richardson, Andrew, 36 Richardson, Lorna, 138 Richborough (Kent), 55, 60, 163 Richmond Archaeological Society, 132, 134–5 Ridgeway, 153 Rijnsberg, Netherlands, 29 Ringlemere Farm (Kent), 55, 57, 59, 73 Ripon (North Yorkshire), 17 Rivenhall (Essex), 122

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Rochester (Kent), 158, 163 Rockland All Saints (Norfolk), 12 Rödingen, Germany, 27 Rogerson, Andrew, 37, 38 Rolands Castle (Hants), 143 Rome, Italy, 17; Crypta Balbi, 17; Lateran Palace, 17 Romney Marsh (Kent), 139, 141–2, 144–5 Rook Hall (Essex), 122, 124, 128 Rother, River, 143–4 Roundway Down (Wilts), 110 Royal Commission on Historic Monuments, 153 Rudolf of Fulda, 108 Rudston (East Yorkshire), 11 Rüdern, Germany, 26 Russia, 58 Saffron Walden (Essex), 122 Saint-Denis, Paris, France, 28, 69 Saint Giles Field, 3 Saint Martin’s Hill (Kent), 159 Saint Peter’s-on-the-Wall, Bradwell, Essex, 127 Sales Point (Essex), 127 Salisbury Plain (Wilts), 152 Saltwood (Kent), 43, 166 San Vitale, Ravenna, 3 Sancton (East Yorkshire), 7, 9 Sandon (Essex), 125 Sandtun (Kent), 159 Sandwich (Kent), 160 Sannerville, Dept. Calvados, France, 59, 66 Sarum, Old (Wilts), 153 Savernake Forest (Wilts), 147 Saxonbury (East Sussex), 23, 65, 66 Saxons, 63 Scalford (Leics), 1–2, 2 Scandinavia, 1, 23, 41, 98 Schleswig-Holstein, Germany, 55 Schulze-Dörrlamm, M., 29 Schwartzrheindorf, Germany, 29 Schwenningen, Germany, 27 Scorton Hollowbank Quarry (North Yorkshire), 112–3, 113, 118 Scotland, 140 Scull, Christopher, x, 115 Seager Smith, Rachel, 152, 154 Seagry (Wilts), 41 Seaxburh, 107, 108 Selmeston (East Sussex), 65, 66 Selwood (Wilts), 139 Semple, Sarah, 167 Sens, France, 17 Sharpe, Montagu, 133 Shaw House (Wilts), 148 Sherborne, Diocese of, 139 Sherlock, Wendy, 119 Shepherd, John, 165 Shepherd’s Shore (Wilts), 148, 148–50,

Martin Welch – a bibliography Index 153 Shropham (Norfolk), 9 Sibertswold (Kent), 14–5 Sidell, Jane, 138 Silchester (Hants), 44 Simmons, Mark, 119 Simons, Gideon, 138 Skåne, Sweden, 41 Slavs, 98 Slough House Farm (Essex), 122, 124–5, 128–9 Smith, Brian, 119 Smith, Julia, 18 Smørenge, Bornholm (Sweden), 4 Snape (Suffolk), 9 Somerton (Somerset), 154 Sorte Muld, Bornholm (Sweden), 4 South Leckaway, Angus, Scotland, 34 South Malling, Lewes (East Sussex), 66, 66 Southampton (Hants), 14–5, 82– 6;Cook Street, 85; Melbourne Street, 84; National Oceanography Centre, 52; St Mary’s Stadium, 84–5 Southend (Essex), 121 Southleigh Forest (Hants), 142 Speed, Greg, 119 Speyer-Germansberg, Germany, 23 Spofforth (North Yorkshire), 118 Spong Hill (Norfolk), 9, 12, 117 Spott, Wulfric, 43 Springfield Lyons (Essex), 117–8, 121, 123, 124, 125–7, 126, 129 Springhead (Kent), 163 Stainton (North Yorkshire), 113, 114 Stansted (Essex), Airport, 121; Social Club, 122 Stephen, 109 Stocker, David, 46 Stoodley, Nick, 103 Stoppingas, 140 Stour, River, 160 Strathclyde, Scotland, 140 Street House (North Yorkshire), 112–8, 113, 116–7 Sturry (Kent), 157, 159–60, 163, 165 Suffolk, 37 Surrey, 75–6 Sussex, 11, 49, 75–7, 75, 139, 141, 143, 143–4, 157 Sutton (Kent), 156, 157, 157, 163 Sutton Hoo (Suffolk), 4, 20, 21, 26–9, 84, 107, 124 Swale (Kent), 157 Swallowcliffe Down (Wilts), 90 Switzerland, 24 Sykes, Brian, 90 Syndale (Kent), 163 Tacitus, Cornelius, 80, 92 Tan Hill (Wilts), 147, 148, 151, 153–4

Tandderwen, Clwyd, Wales, 116 Tängelgårda, Gotland (Sweden), 4 Taplow (Bucks), 4 Tees Valley, 112, 118 Telfer, Alison, 86 Tenterden (Kent), 164 Thames, River, 14, 42–4, 42, 44, 131–2, 132, 157 Thames Archaeological Survey, 132–4 Thames Discovery Programme, 132–5, 138 Thames Explorer Trust, 135 Thanet, Isle of, 55, 156, 160, 164–5 Theale (West Berks), 9 Theodebert II, King of Austrasia, 62 Theodelinda, Queen, 17 Theodora, Empress, 3, 107 Thetford (Norfolk), 16 Theuws, Frans, xi, 23 Thierry II of Burgundy, King of Orléans, 62 Thorney Island (West Sussex), 142 Thorpe Thewles (Co. Durham), 115 Thwing (East Yorkshire), 117–8 Time Team, 35 Tissington (Derbys), 40 Tjängvide, Sweden, 4 Tollesbury Fleet (Essex), 127 Tondbert, princeps of Gyrwe, 106 Tostock (Suffolk), 29 Trivières, Dept. Hainaut, France, 69 Tunbridge Wells (Kent), 144 Tyne, River, 44 Tyrhtil, Bishop of Hereford, 137 Uncleby (East Yorkshire), 14 Undley (Suffolk), 1, 3 University College London, x; Faculty of Social and Historical Sciences, x, xi; History Department, x; Institute of Archaeology, x, xi, 40, 46 Uppåkra, Skåne, Sweden, 4, 41 Upper Thames Valley, 14, 49, 60, 63 Upper Prestwood Farm (West Sussex), 144 Uzelot, Dept. Pas-de-Calais, France, 69 Valens, Emperor, 3 Valentinian, Emperor, 3 Vron, Dept. Somme, France, 69 Walkington Wold (East Yorkshire), 44 Wamers, Egon, 16 Wandsworth Historical Society, 132–3 Wansdyke, East, 147–54 Wansdyke, West, 153 Wantsum Channel (Kent), 55, 60, 78, 160, 166 Warburton (Greater Manchester), 35 Watchfield (Oxon), 115 Waterfall, Dan, 138

179

Watling Street, 145 Weald, 76, 139, 142, 145, 157, 163–4 Wealdhere, Bishop of London, 137 Webster, Leslie, xi Wechylstone (Kent), 166 Weingarten, Germany, 23 Welch, Martin, x-xii, 1, 18–9, 24, 33, 40, 49, 55, 74, 82, 88–9, 94, 98, 102, 110, 139, 156, 167 Wells, Calvin, 90 Werner, Joachim, 16 Wessex, 139, 140, 145, 154 West Heslerton (North Yorkshire), 7, 9, 115, 118 West Keal (Lincs), 9 West Kennet (Wilts), 44 West Stow (Suffolk), 35 West Woods (Wilts), 153 Wester (Kent), 157 Western Isles, Scotland, 91 Westhawk Farm (Kent), 163 Weston Colley, Micheldever (Hants), 49, 50, 52, 95 Wey, River, 144 Wheeler, Sir Mortimer, 133 White Horse Stone (Kent), 163 Whitelock, Dorothy, 93 Whitstable (Kent), 156 Whittaker, Katy, 154 Wickham, Chris, 95 Wihtred, King, 93 Wilfrid, Saint/Bishop, 17, 109 Williams, Howard, 42, 46 Willington (Derbyshire), 9 Willoughby-on-the-Wolds (Notts), 1 Wilson, David, 19, 43 Wiltshire, 76–7 Winchcombeshire, 141 Winchester, x Windler, R., 21, 29 Wingham (Kent), 55, 166 Winterbourne Gunner (Wilts), 65, 65, 70 Witham (Essex), 122, 123 Witham, River (Essex), 44, 45 Witham Pins (Essex), 44 Wittislingen, Germany, 16 Woden – see Odin Woodnesborough (Kent), 55 Woolmer Forest (Hants), 143, 143 Worthy Park (Hants), 49 Wye (Kent), 156–8, 157, 160, 163, 166 Xanten, Germany, 25, 25 Yarnton (Oxon), 35 Yeavering (Northumbria), 117–8 Ymme, Queen, 91 York (North Yorkshire), 82 Yorke, Barbara, 92–3, 96, 167 Yorkshire, 14