Sunday, April 6, 2014

Clod Pates, Sapsculls and Noddies: Fools in the Regency Era


Francis Grose, author of Dictionary of he Vulgar Tongue
by Maria Grace

Since I am a writer, language captivates me, especially in the way it relates to a culture. With three teen aged sons living at home I get to hear a lot of the slang they encounter. I never cease to be fascinated by the terms that come up, and how often I haven't a clue what they are referring to.

Since every era has its own unique slang, I thought it would be interesting to share some Regency era slang from time to time. Today's offering: calling out a fool in a Regency appropriate way.

A Fool

  • AddlePate, Clod Pate, Shallow Pate
  • Ben
  • Buzzard


  • Chaw Bacon. A countryman. A stupid fellow.


  • Cod's Head


  • Dummie: A wooden man. A fool.


  • Gudgeon: One easily imposed on. from the fish of that name, which is easily taken.


  • Gull: A simple credulous fellow, easily cheated.


  • Jack Adams


  • Jacob


  • Jolter Head: A large head; metaphorically a stupid fellow.


  • Loggerhead


  • Lout: A clumsy stupid fellow.


  • Mud


  • Nick Ninny, Nickumpoop, or Nincumpoop, Ninny, or Ninnyhammer


  • Nickin, Nikey, or Nizey. A soft simple fellow: also, a diminutive of Isaac.


  • Nocky Boy


  • Noddy


  • Nokes


  • Paper-scull,  Sapscull


  • Pig-widgeon


  • Ralph Spooner


  • Rum Cull: A rich fool, easily cheated, particularly by his mistress.
  • Simkin


  • Simon: Sixpence. Simple Simon; a natural, a silly fellow;


  • Simpleton: Abbreviation of simple Tony or Anthony, a foolish fellow.


  • Spoony: Foolish, half-witted, nonsensical; a man who has been drinking till he becomes disgusting by his very ridiculous behavior, is said to be spoony drunk; and from hence it is usual to call a very prating shallow fellow, a rank spoon


  • Tom Coney


  • Tony

  • To Describe a Fool Plainly
    • Beetle-headed, Buffle-headed, Chuckle-headed, Fat Headed, Leatherheaded, Mutton-headed
    • Benish
    • Bird-witted: Inconsiderate, thoughtless, easily imposed on.
    • Cakey
    • Clumpish
    • Cork-brained
    • Sammy
    • Sappy
    • Squirish
    • Windy
    To Describe a Fool more colorfully
    • A poor honey: a harmless, foolish, good-natured fellow.
    • A hubble-bubble fellow: a man of confused ideas, or one thick of speech, whose words sound like water bubbling out of a bottle.
    • He is no burner of navigable rivers: he is no man of extraordinary abilities; or, rather, he is but a simple fellow.
    • He is a young chub, or a mere chub: a foolish fellow, easily imposed on: an allusion to a fish of that name, easily taken.
    • His garret, or upper story is empty, or unfurnished: He has no brains, he is a fool.
    • He is like a rope-dancer's pole, lead at both ends: a saying of a stupid sluggish fellow.
    • Pudding-headed Fellow: A stupid fellow, one whose brains are all in confusion.
    • He was rocked in a stone kitchen: his brains having been disordered by the jumbling of his cradle.
    • Sleeveless Errand: A fool's errand, in search of what it is impossible to find.
    To Make a Fool of Someone
    • Bam. A jocular imposition, the same as a humbug. See
    • Humbug. Bamboozle. To make a fool of any one, to humbug or impose on him.

    Quoted from: Grose, Captain (Francis). (2004) Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, 1811 ed. Ikon Classics
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~
     Maria Grace is the author of Darcy's Decision,  The Future Mrs. Darcy, All the Appearance of Goodness, and Twelfth Night at LongbournClick here to find her books on Amazon. For more on her writing and other Random Bits of Fascination, visit her website. You can also like her on Facebook, follow on Twitter or email her.
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    Saturday, April 5, 2014

    The Siege of Badajoz ~ 6 April 1812

    by M.M. Bennetts

    The Peninsular War had been raging for four years--since 1808.  But now it was early 1812, a moment of transition during which Napoleon withdrew over 15,000 troops for his intended invasion of Russia.

    Not only that, but from his imperfect understanding of the situation in Spain, the emperor issued very dodgy orders to his Marechals, sending them off in different directions to take on what they were led to believe was a much smaller and disease-weakened British army.

    Those orders couldn't have been more wrong or misdirected.

    The Duke of Wellington, the Commander in Chief of the combined British, Spanish and Portuguese forces, sensed the tide was turning and moved from his winter quarters in Portugal to take on the two great fortresses which guarded the two main roads into Spain, Ciudad Rodrigo in the north, and Badajoz in the south--known as the keys to Spain.

    Ciudad Rodrigo fell to the British on 19 January 1812.

    Within days, by the 25th, Wellington was making preparations to move south to take Badajoz--the fortress they'd twice already failed to take.

    But upon their arrival before the walls of Badajoz on 16 March, the British troops discovered what Wellington had known since the 6th March, when he had privately reconnoitred there.

    Bordered to the north by the raging Guadiana River, the fortress's towering ochre walls and angular bastions--all of them 30 feet high, and all glowing warm and golden in the afternoon sun--were nearly impregnable now, thanks to the work of the French commander, General Armand Phillipon. The western side of the fortress had been heavily mined, the castle to the northeast had been fortified as had the outlying forts to the south (which was now attached to the main defences) and on the north side of the river. 

    The eastern side was now virtually impassable due to the damming of a small stream...Not only that, but an additional outwork had been constructed in the south-eastern corner, called Fort Picurina.

    It didn't look good.

    Still, Wellington had had his 52 iron guns brought up from Elvas, and over 27,000 troops available--though the corps of miners and sappers which he had repeatedly requested from the Government had not been provided. Nevertheless, in the heavy rain of 17th March, at dusk, the siege began, with the British troops digging to open up the first parallel not more than 200 yards from Fort Picurina.  (The many Irish troops viewed the date a good omen.)

    The howling of the wind and the heavy rain had drowned out the sounds of the digging, of the picks and shovels, and by morning, the parallel was defensible.

    But not for long.

    For the French opened up a ceaseless barrage of heavy artillery to pour down on their besiegers. On the 22nd, as the rain fell violently and in torrents, flooding the trenches, the rapidly rising waters of the Guadiana swept away their pontoon bridge, cutting Wellington's army in two.


    Unfazed, the British carried on.  And when the weather cleared on the afternoon on the 24th, the French could look down on six batteries of artillery, armed with 28 heavy cannon. The French had nothing more than a few Portuguese-built, ancient brass pieces, used in previous sieges. At 11 a.m. on the 25th, the British guns opened fire on Fort Picurina and at nightfall, the Allies stormed it.

    After a long night of fighting, and some 250 casualties (about the same number on both sides) the fort was taken.

    Over the next several days, additional batteries were established, and the walls of the fortress were now under the constant fire of Wellingtons' 38 guns.  But Allied casualties were high too.

    Then, on the 6th April, Easter Sunday 1812, Wellington was informed that by nightfall, three breaches would be opened up in the fortress's southern sector.  Furthermore, he received news that the French, under General Soult, were stirring in southern Spain, and to the north, Ciudad Rodrigo was in danger too.

    Though he might have wished for more time, now it seemed he no longer had that luxury.  The storming was ordered for 7.30 that evening, led by the Light and 4th Divisions.  In the event, it was not launched till 10.00.

    It was a launching into hell itself.

    Unbeknownst to the British, the breaches had been cleared of the rubble and booby-trapped, mined, laid with trains of powder, and fitted with planks studded with spikes a foot long, and chevaux-frises (iron crows' feet).  The ditches too had been laid with fougasses (small mines) and pitted with mudholes.   The defenders were further armed with hand grenades, incendiaries, and extra muskets.  And across the breaches too were hundreds of captured sword blades--the finest of Toledo steel, sharpened and fastened down with chains. In the fraught silence of that humid night, the troops waited.

    Then, a single fire-ball lit the sky, casting its bright light over the scarlet columns of the advancing British and the shadowy hunched figures awaiting them atop the fortress walls.

    The first 500 of the 'forlorn hope' stormed forward with their ladders.  An instant later, they were all dead, blown to pieces by exploding mines and powder-barrels rolling down on them from the ramparts.  So too, the second 'forlorn hope'.

    Over the next two hours, more than 40 assaults would be launched and driven back under murderous fire and defences, until the ditch--a space of quite literally less than 100 yards across--was filled with the bodies of dead and dying troops, some 2200 men.

    As one survivor, William Lawrence wrote:  "I was one of the ladder party...On our arriving at...the wall...a shower of shot, canister and grape, together with fireballs was hurled...amongst us.  Poor Pig [Harding] received his death wound immediately...while I myself received two small...shots in my left knee, and a musket shot in my side...Still, I stuck to my ladder and got into the [ditch].

    "Numbers had by this time fallen, but...we hastened to the breach.  There, to our great...discouragement, we found a cheval de frise had been fixed...Vain attempts were made to remove this fearful obstacle, during which my left hand was fearfully cut by one of the blades, but, finding no success in that quarter, we were forced to retire for a time...My wounds were still bleeding, and I began to feel very weak.



    "My comrades persuaded me to go to the rear, but this proved a task of great difficulty, for on arriving at the ladders, I found them filled with the dead and wounded, hanging...just as they had fallen...so I crawled on my hands and knees till I got out of reach of the enemy's muskets."

    George Simmons of the Light Division wrote:  "Our columns moved on under a most dreadful fire...that mowed down our men like grass...Eight or ten officers and men innumerable fell to rise no more.  Ladders were resting against the counter-scarp...Down these we hurried and...rushed forward to the breaches, where a most frightful scene of carnage was going on.  Fifty times they were stormed, and as often without effect, the French cannon sweeping the breaches with a most destructive fire."

    Other combatants wrote of how some 21 officers of their regiment were either killed or wounded or how upon reaching the heights their fellows were pushed back to fall onto the bayonets of their comrades below. 

    By midnight, the night air laden, clotted with cordite and gunpowder, the thunder and shrieking of artillery and the screaming cries of dying men, it appeared that all was lost.

    Setting his face though, Wellington sent orders to General Picton to lead one final assault to storm the Castle in the north-east corner. It succeeded.  And although Picton himself was wounded, his men of the 3rd Division gained a foothold.

    Furthermore, to the north-west, the 5th Division managed to scale the walls, and running through the town, attacked the French defending the breaches from the rear.

    Resistance collapsed.  The French garrison were forced to lay down their arms.

    The British and Portuguese troops who now flooded the streets of the city exacted a terrible revenge for the butchery of the past hours.  Maddened with drink, frenzied with rage over the hideous loss of so many of their comrades there and at Ciudad Rodrigo, wild with vengeance, they pillaged, raped and murdered in the worst atrocity committed by Wellington's troops during the whole of the Peninsular Campaign.

    It was not so much a sacking--which the then 'rules of war' deemed appropriate or at least understandable after such a siege of enormous cost--but a mutiny.

    As Robert Blakeney wrote:  "There was no safety for women even in the churches, and any who interfered or offered resistence were sure to get shot.  Every house presented a scene of plunder, debauchery and bloodshed committed with wanton cruelty...When the savages came to a door which had been locked or barricaded, they applied the muzzle...of a dozen firelocks...and fired them off together into the house and rooms, regardless of those inside...Men, women and children were shot..."

    Officers who tried to control their men were themselves shot. On the morning after the siege, Wellington visited the dead and at the sight of so many of his men, and his friends, destroyed--nearly 5000 of them--he broke down and wept  in front of his astonished staff.

    Still weeping, he returned to his tent and wrote to the Minister for War in London:  "The capture of Badajoz affords as strong an instance of the gallantry of our troops as has ever been displayed.  But I greatly hope that I shall never again be the instrument of putting them to such a test..."

    He also issued a General Order that "It is full time that the plunder of Badajoz should cease..." 

    Unwisely, the drunken troops ignored his order.

    So on the next day, the 8th, the Bloody Provost was sent in to stop their 'enjoyment' by erecting a gallows and overseeing the flogging of many. It was a terrible aftermath--so terrible that when the reports became public in London, there were those MPs who, appalled by the ruination and damning dishonour, demanded an end to all British involvement on the Peninsula.   

    Yet, through the sacrifice of so many, Spain was now open to the Allied troops.  And from this position of strength, they would defeat the French and force them out of Spain, and would eventually advance all the way to Paris and an end to the Napoleon's domination of Continental Europe.

    (And yes, Jane Austen knew...)

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    M.M. Bennetts is a specialist in early 19th century British and European history and the Napoleonic wars and is the author of two novels, May 1812 and Of Honest Fame set during the period.  A third novel, Or Fear of Peace, is due out in 2014.

    For further information, please visit the website and historical blog at www.mmbennetts.com

    Thursday, April 3, 2014

    Was Richard the Lionheart a Homosexual?

    by Rosanne Lortz

    I still remember watching it for the first time. The Lion in Winter. The first historical piece that I encountered which asserted that Richard the Lionheart was a homosexual.

    Naturally, I could hardly help wondering whether the portrayal was accurate. What evidence did the playwright and screenwriter James Goldman have for depicting Richard in this manner? Why had none of the history books I had read during my teenage years mentioned it?

    Doing a little research, I discovered that no one had seriously mooted the idea that Richard the Lionheart was a homosexual up until the middle of the twentieth century. At this time a case for Richard's homosexuality was made based on these three points:

    1. He had no children (except for possibly one illegitimate son);
    2. He didn't seem very interested in getting married (deserting his wife Berengaria right after they tied the knot);
    3. In his early days, he had a very close relationship with Philip Augustus of France. 

    When I saw these three points, I had to wonder if the case they made for Richard’s homosexuality was actually a compelling one. I researched a little more….

    The first fact, that Richard had no children, is neither here nor there. It does not take a genius to think of other reasons for childlessness than being a homosexual. And in the medieval world, a homosexual king would have likely also been married (to a woman) and fathered children (the kings Edward II and James I come to mind), because no matter what one’s sexual proclivities were, producing an heir and preserving dynastic succession was paramount.

    The second assertion, that Richard wasn’t very interested in marriage or in Berengaria, is, if you believe the well-respected novelist Sharon Kay Penman, surprisingly incorrect. In an interview with the Historical Novel Society, Penman said:
    Another myth is that Richard was reluctant to wed Berengaria and Eleanor had to push him into it; he was actually the one who negotiated the marriage with Berengaria’s father…. I was surprised to discover that Richard went to some trouble to have her with him during their time in the Holy Land.
    Although their marriage does not appear to have been one of the world’s greatest love matches, there is no evidence of “reluctance to marry” on Richard’s part, a fact which has been used to bolster the argument for his homosexuality.

    Philip Augustus and Richard the Lionheart

    The final piece of evidence used to prove Richard’s homosexuality is his relationship with the French king Philip Augustus. One of the most pertinent primary source excerpts says:
    And after this peace, Richard the Count of Poitou remained with the king of France against the will of his father; and the king of France was honoring him in such a way that each day they would eat together at one table from one dish, and in the night their bed did not separate them. And because of this exceeding love which appeared between them, the king of England [Henry II] was struck with much astonishment and marveled at this, and being on his guard for himself in the future, sent his messengers frequently to France to recall his son Richard....
    So, there you have it. “In the night their bed did not separate them.” But does this text give a homosexual connotation to Richard and Philip sharing a bed? Not really. It seems to be just another way that Philip was honoring Richard. Although my husband would probably object to sharing a bed with another man, we must remember that in the Middle Ages, men (yes, heterosexual men) shared beds all the time.

    Some have read into this text that Richard's father Henry is upset about the strange relationship developing between his son Richard and Philip, the King of France. The text clearly shows that he is upset, but it does not seem to be from a fear of homosexual activity. His son Richard is befriending the longtime enemy of England, and Henry is trying to stop them from allying against him.

    Judging this quote by the standards of the time it was written in, I think it is fair to say that the author is making no implications, veiled or otherwise, of homosexual relations between Richard and Philip.

    So, given what we know about the evidence, was James Goldman within his rights to depict a homosexual relationship between Richard the Lionheart and Philip Augustus? Certainly. His play The Lion in Winter is, after all, a work of historical fiction. But viewers (and readers) must always keep in mind that the historical fiction writer deals with the realm of possibility, and not necessarily the realms of plausibility or probability.

    ____________________________

    Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of two books: I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince, a historical adventure/romance set during the Hundred Years' War, and Road from the West: Book I of the Chronicles of Tancred, the beginning of a trilogy which takes place during the First Crusade.

    You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

    Wednesday, April 2, 2014

    Castles and Witches by Anita Davison

    I’m researching 17th Century Exeter - again - a city I love because it’s packed with so much visible history. I am reading about Rougemont Castle, named after the characteristic red stone prevalent to the area from which it was built. It’s a romantic looking ruin now tucked into the ancient city walls, but contemporary drawings show a substantial Medieval fortress designed to withstand a seige.

    Rougemont Castle Circa 13th century

    After the Norman conquest of 1066, the Saxons of the West Country rallied at Exeter in support of the remnants of the Godwin family, together with Harold Godwinson’s mother, Gytha, who lived in Exeter. After an eighteen day siege by William, Exeter capitulated (Gytha escaped).William then ordered a castle built at the highest point, inside the city wall on a volcanic outcrop to safeguard his position.

    Baldwin FitzGilbert constructed a deep ditch and internal rampart with 600 ft high sides. A large stone gatehouse, which still survives, was built into the bank at the south side which showed long-and-short quoins and double triangular-headed windows suggesting it was built by Anglo-Saxon masons on the Normans' orders. In the early 12th century a chapel dedicated to St Mary was added within the castle walls.

    In 1136, Baldwin de Redvers seized the castle as part of his rebellion against King Stephen. Redvers held it for three months, until the failure of the castle water supply, the advancing use of siege engines after this prompted the construction in the late 12th century of an outer bailey.

    King Richard III visited Exeter in 1483 and in Shakespeare's Richard III, the bard makes him recall a premonition of his death when he is shown the castle and confuses Rougemont with Richmond.

    In the second Cornish uprising of 1497, Perkin Warbeck and 6,000 Cornishmen entered the city, and by 1600 the castle was said to display "gaping chinks and an aged countenance.”

    In 1607 a courthouse was built within the castle walls, and a chapel. The castle did not play a major role during the Civil War, although in late 1642 Parliament fortified the city and repaired the castle and the gatehouse was used as a prison. The castle housed four artillery batteries but the city fell to the Royalists in 1643, then to the General Fairfax in 1646, after which Rougemont ceased to be a military fortress.

    This is where we come to the Bideford Witches who were arrested and tried in August 1682. Mary Trembles, Temperance Lloyd and Susannah Edwards were convicted of witchcraft at the Exeter Assizes, and subsequently hanged - the last to be executed for this offence in England. Their chief crime appears to be that the three accused were female, old, poor and confused.

    The Bideford Witch Trials

    Lloyd was accused of causing the death of several persons through the black arts to which she confessed. Trembles and Edwards were accused of causing sickness through witchcraft. Trembles blamed Edwards for leading her astray and Edwards likewise blamed Lloyd. Lloyd confessed she had been a witch for 20 years, and that she had sunk ships at sea. She went to the gallows in the usual cart: "all the way eating, and seemingly unconcerned".

    It appears the women made deliberately suicidal confessions, and their parish was determined to have them die rather than live on charity.

    In his charge to the Jury Sir Thomas Raymond gave his opinion (as he recounted it in a later pamphlet) that "these three poor women were weary of their lives, and that he thought it proper for them to be carried to the Parish from whence they came, and that the Parish should be charged with their Maintenance; for he thought their oppressing poverty had constrained them to wish for death". An outcry by their indignant neighbours swayed the Jury, nevertheless, to convict.

    In 1685, an Alice Molland was sentenced to death by Chief Baron Montagu at Exeter. She left for execution, but no record of the actual hanging itself exists. There is a plaque on the ruined gatehouse at Rougemont Castle that bears the names of Temperance, Susannah and Mary as well as Alice, which would suggest she was hanged.The inscription reads:

    The Devon Witches. In memory of Temperance Lloyd, Susannah Edwards, Mary Trembles, of Bideford, died 1682, Alice Molland, died 1685, the last people in England to be executed for witchcraft, tried here & hanged at Heavitree. In the hope of an end to persecution and intolerance.

    Legend says there was an actual tree located a mile outside the city on Magdalen Road where hangings were routinely carried out. Heavitree - appears in Domesday Book as Hevetrowa or Hevetrove, and in a document of c.1130 as Hefatriwe. There was a known execution site at Livery Dole and has contained an almshouse and chapel since 1591, it is thought most likely to derive from heafod–treow (old English for "head tree"), which refers to a tree on which the heads of criminals were placed. Maybe the exact location will never be known.

    "Livery Dole" is from the Old English Leofhere, a man who owned the land, and dole, meaning a piece of land. From 1531 to 1818 hangings were performed on a nearby site known as "Magdalen Drop".

    Andrew Alleway's Mural in Exeter

    A mural in Musgrave Row, Exeter, was painted in 2008 as part of the refurbishment of the city centre, represents the Bideford three in pointed hats round a cauldron with Rougemont Castle in the background.

    The Gatehouse of Rougemont Castle
    'Pardon Temperance Lloyd, Susannah Edwards, Mary Trembles’ is an online petition calling for the government to annul their conviction “for actions they could not have committed.”


    It closed in August 2013 with 426 signatures.


    Author whose latest release, ‘Royalist Rebel’ a biographical novel set in 17th Century England, is released by Pen and Sword Books under the name Anita Seymour

    =============================================
    BLOG: http://thedisorganisedauthor.blogspot.com
    FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/anita.davison?
    GOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/AnitaDavison
    TWITTER: @AnitaSDavison
    =============================================

    Tuesday, April 1, 2014

    Writing In Insula Avalonia – Suspending Disbelief

    by Adam Alexander Haviaras

    I’m walking into fabled mists today and, historically speaking, I may be on shaky ground.

    I want to write about Glastonbury.

    To most, the mere mention of this town’s name will conjure images of wild, scantily clad or naked youths and aged hippies. One thinks of thousands of people covered in mud as they wend their way, higher than the Hindu Kush, among the tent rows to see their favourite artists rock the Pyramid Stage.

    It’s a great party, but to me that’s not the real Glastonbury.

    Removed from the fantastic orgy that is the music festival, this small town in southwest Britain is an ancient place of mystery, lore and legend. It’s a place that was sacred to the Celts, Pagan and Christian alike, Saxons, and Normans. For many it’s the heart of Arthurian tradition, and for some it’s the resting place of the Holy Grail.

    Across the Levels

    I lived outside of Glastonbury for about 3 years, and I never tired of walking around the town and exploring the many sites that make it truly unique. The religious practices that have been carried out in this one place span from the Neolithic to the Celtic, early Christian, and beyond.

    Today, Glastonbury is a place where those seeking spiritual enlightenment are drawn. The New Age movement is going strong here, yet another layer of belief to cloak the place.

    Now I find myself back there not in person, but in story.

    With my current novel, I’m in an interesting position. Some of the scenes in the story take place in what is now Glastonbury, in the early 3rd century A.D. Some of the characters I’m writing about are a Celtic priestess, a Druid (in hiding), an early Christian ‘priest’, and of course my Roman protagonist.

    It would be easier, I think, to avoid the whole religious mélange and focus on my Roman protagonist. That way, I wouldn’t risk confusion or inaccuracy.

    However, if I did that, I feel that I would be doing an injustice to the place, and missing out on a wonderful clash or confluence of beliefs that would add to the story. The Roman Empire was vast and encompassed many different religions. Many beliefs, gods or goddesses, were adopted by the Empire, others were persecuted, especially the Jewish, Druidic and Christian religions.

    For the purposes of my current work-in-progress, I don’t think I can honestly write about Glastonbury in Roman Britain without touching on the mysteries and religious beliefs that run so deep there.

    But what sites or aspects of Glastonbury should I incorporate?

    There are so many historic and legendary treasures that make up this wondrous place known as the Isle of Avalon.

    The Tor
    From where I lived on the other side of the peat moors, I awoke every morning to see Glastonbury’s most prominent feature shrouded in mist – the Tor.

    Tor is a word of Celtic origin referring to ‘belly’ in Welsh or a ‘bulging hill’ in Gaelic. Glastonbury Tor thrusts up from the Somerset levels like a beacon for miles around. Every angle is interesting.

    Habitation of this site goes back to around 3000 B.C. It has been a religious centre and a Dark Age stronghold.

    Somerset Levels flood
    In Arthurian lore, the Isle of Avalon is a sort of mist-shrouded world that is surrounded by water and can only be reached by boat or secret path. In fact, during the Dark Ages and into later centuries, until the drainage dykes were built, the Somerset levels were prone to flooding. This flooding made Glastonbury Tor and the smaller hills around it true islands. With the early morning mist that covers the levels, this watery land would have been a relatively safe refuge for Druids and early Christians seeking to avoid too much contact with Rome.

    In Celtic myth, Glastonbury Tor was said to be the home of Gwynn ap Nudd, the Lord of Annwn, the Celtic otherworld.

    Gwynn ap Nudd was the Guardian of the Gates of Annwn, which the ancient Celts believed to be at the Tor. It is at Samhain that the gates of Annwn open. This was also the place where the soul of a Celt awaited rebirth.

    Wearyall Hill and Thorn
    Another place that I should like to include in my story is Wearyall Hill, which is home to one of Glastonbury’s most ancient treasures – the Holy Thorn.

    Across the street from the Safeway, you can climb up Wearyall’s gentle slope to see a hawthorn tree known as the Glastonbury Thorn, or ‘Holy Thorn’. One popular legend associated with Wearyall Hill and the Holy Thorn is that in the years after Christ’s death, his uncle Joseph of Arimathea came with twelve followers by boat to Glastonbury. When they set foot on the hill, tired from their journey, Joseph plunged his staff into the ground and it took root.

    There is actually archaeological evidence for a dock or wharf on the slopes of Wearyall Hill that date from the period. Did Joseph of Arimathea actually arrive in Britain with the Holy Grail?

    Well, that depends on what one believes. And Glastonbury is just that, an amalgam of beliefs living, for the most part, in harmony.

    The Thorn
    Cuttings of the Thorn grow in three places in Glastonbury. What is interesting is that this type of hawthorn is not native to Britain, but is rather a Syrian variety. Curiously, it flowers at Christmas and Easter, both sacred festivals for Pagans and Christians. Every holiday season, the Royal family is sent a clipping of this very special tree that hails from the earliest days of Christianity in Britain.

    The current Thorn is not the original, but rather a descendant of the original which was burned down by Cromwell’s Puritans in the seventeenth century as a ‘relic of superstition’. How much destruction has been wrought on the ancient sites of Britain during the wars waged by Henry VIII and Oliver Cromwell? It’s horrifying to think about.

    Whatever legend or myth one believes, or doesn’t believe, about Wearyall Hill is up to the wanderer. The stories are many and convoluted, but such is the fate of great and sacred places of the past.

    Since my own days In Insula Avalonia, it seems that tragedy has struck Wearyall Hill. During the night a couple of years ago, vandals came and cut off all of its limbs leaving only a stump. It was heartbreaking to see those pictures. But the Thorn has seen worse, and I feel hopeful that it will carry on.

    Chalice Well Fall
    Another place of pilgrimage for some in Glastonbury is what is known as The Chalice Well, which lies at the foot of the Tor.

    The Chalice Well is one of those places that you don’t quite know what to make of at first. When you enter under the vine-covered pergola you are met by colour, soft light, and the gentle trickle of water playing about your senses.

    Chalice Well Yew Trees
    You see young, wildly coloured blossoms exploding from the soil, and Yew trees that have seen centuries of summers.



    The thing about this place is its overwhelming sense of peace and harmony, from which all can benefit.

    But what exactly is the Chalice Well?

    Scientifically-speaking, Chalice Well is an iron-rich spring, the source of which is unknown. Some believe it comes from deep in the Mendip Hills to the north. The Chalice Well is where it comes out of the ground.

    Springs were sacred to the Celts. To those who inhabited this area from the pre-historic era on, the Well may have been a healing place beside the Tor. The waters that run red were sacred to the Goddess and were perhaps considered her water of life.

    Chalice Well Gardens
    It is also believed that Glastonbury was the site of a Druid ‘college’ of instruction and that the avenue of sacred Yew trees, some still remaining in the Chalice Well gardens, were part of a processional way to the Tor, passing beside the Well.

    Later legend, and the reason for the name given to the Well, relates how Joseph of Arimathea brought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury around A.D.37. It is said that he buried the Grail near the Well and that the water runs through it, hence the redness of the water.

    The Goddess’s blood was replaced by that of Christ, and though that has changed, the sanctity of the place remains intact. The spring has never failed, even in drought.

    Just over the hill from the Chalice Well, giants still dwell in Glastonbury.

    They are tall, and broad, and green, and together they have stood the test of time. Their names are Gog and Magog.

    The giants of which I speak are not the evil powers of the Old and New Testaments, nor the giants of the British foundation myth in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae.

    Gog and Magog
    They are in fact two magnificent oak trees that represent the last of the great oaks of Avalon.

    Gog and Magog are all that remain of an avenue of oaks that once led to the Tor, and which was used as a processional way by the Druids in ages past.

    Sadly, the avenue was cut down for farmland in 1906, and these two trees are all that remain.

    Oak trees like Gog and Magog were sacred to worshippers of the Great Mother, and later the Druids. Before Rome and mass farming came to Britain, the whole of the south of Britain was covered in forests from Hampshire to Devon.

    Oak groves were sacred and were the sites of the Goddess’ perpetually burning fires. They were also where the Druids, who used oak leaves in their rituals, held their rites.

    The sanctity of the oak was not relegated to Celtic Europe either, but also goes back to ancient Greece. At the sanctuary of Zeus at Dodona, priests would glean the will of Zeus from the rustling of the leaves in the sacred oak groves.

    At Glastonbury, Gog and Magog would likely have seen many a ritual or procession.

    If they could only speak in a way we could understand, I’m sure they would have some fantastic tales to tell.

    Going from the town, past the Tor, and down Paradise Lane to see Gog and Magog was always one of my favourite walks. Because there are no roads nearby, the sound of cars is absent and all that can be heard is the chirruping of birds and the whisper of the wind as it blows across the Somerset levels.

    Glastonbury Abbey
    What about the site of Glastonbury Abbey? In the early third century A.D. it was certainly not there. The lovely ruins that can be seen today are a medieval creation, the remains of which date from the twelfth to sixteenth centuries. But the place itself is said to be the site of the first Christian church and oldest religious foundation in the British Isles.

    According to tradition, Joseph of Arimathea and his followers built a wattle church on the site on land he was given by the local king, Arviragus, around the middle of the first century A.D.

    Lady Chapel

    Circa A.D. 160, two Christians named Faganus and Deruvianus are supposed to have added a stone structure on the site of what is the Lady Chapel. It is here that there is an ancient well dedicated to St. Joseph.

    St. Joseph's Well
    Perhaps this structure and the well would have been there when my protagonist comes onto the scene? It would have been a much simpler place than the magnificent ruins of the abbey we see today.

    Somerset was settled by Romans after Vespasian stormed the southern hill forts. The people became Romano-British and the Roman peace began. There was lead mining in the Mendips, a thriving villa economy, and larger settlements like Illchester and Aquae Sulis.

    But Glastonbury was more neutral, or on the fringe, during the centuries of Pax Romana in the south, and seems to have remained untouched by polytheistic Roman religion. It was an island of sorts, surrounded by wealthy villa estates.

    Despite its isolation, and because of the direction my story is taking, my Roman protagonist will come into contact with the three characters mentioned above, the priestess, the druid, and the Christian who dwell in their sacred isle, away from the wider Roman world.

    What sort of place was Glastonbury like then? If my Roman somehow finds his way there, what will the people be like? How will they receive him?

    The prospect of thrusting Lucius into this world is exciting for me as a writer and historian. It’s the ‘What if?’ of various situations that I like the most.

    Glastonbury is suffused with layers of history, legend, and belief, and I have but scratched the surface of its secrets. I think it only fitting that some of that mystery be reflected in my story.

    And in order to do that, I will need to believe.

    Thank you for reading!

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Adam Alexander Haviaras is an author of historical fiction/fantasy set in the ancient world. He has studied history and archaeology in Canada and the United Kingdom. Adam blogs weekly on his website, Writing the Past, about ancient and medieval history and historical fiction. You can Tweet him at @AdamHaviaras or find him on Google+ and Facebook. He loves to hear from readers, writers, and fellow history-lovers.

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