I truly believe that one of the greatest achievements of
writing 'the book' was the fact that I managed to get a reference to Harry
Potter in there. Sounds odd? It shouldn't. Not to those that know me. They'll
tell you that I quite like the Harry Potter books and movies, that I have been
known to turn up at the Warner Brothers Studio Tour (but only during Dark Arts
week obviously...) and that Sirius Black and I share the same stylist. They'll
comment that I 'may' have exclusive access to Mad Eye Moody's wardrobe, as well
as possessing Severus Snape's kind and cheerful demeanour. However, much as I
obviously can't deny any of the above (although it was a blatant tabloid lie
concerning myself and Tonks), the real achievement of getting a Harry Potter
reference into the book was that it sets it well and truly apart from the standard
academic work.
Don't misunderstand me. I am not suggesting that readers of
Harry Potter books are not exactly academic, and I could point out a good few university
professors who would far rather be teaching at Hogwarts (put me down for
Defence Against the Dark Arts obvs...), but that I really wanted to ensure that
the book was accessible to everyone; everyone and anyone with an interest in
the past. It isn't a great academic tome - which will undoubtedly appear at
some point (you've been warned) - but rather a collection of stories and
incidents that tell the tales behind exactly why the graffiti was made - or at
least some of the current theories. It is something that looks at the bigger
picture, and puts it all, I hope, into a little context. It may not exactly
explain what all the markings on the wall mean - but it may help us come to
them with a more open mind, and an understanding of 'some' of the motivations.
Actually, I confess, there is far more to the Harry Potter
thing than that. There, I've said it now. The Harry Potter books have, as far
as I am concerned, actually opened rather a lot of people's eyes to a couple of
very odd concepts; odd that is in modern terms. Most obviously they have opened
people's eyes and minds to the concepts that surround belief in magic.
Let's be clear here. I don't believe in magic. I don't
believe in anything much really. If someone tells me the sky is blue I tend to
be the awkward bugger that argues that actually it isn't; all you are seeing is
a refraction of light through the atmosphere. As you can imagine, I'm a real
hoot at parties. Having said that, I really have no idea how half the gizmos
and gadgets in my life, including this computer, my phone and possibly even the
fridge actually work - so it could all be magic as far as I know. However, the
last five years of studying medieval graffiti has meant that I have had to
spend rather a lot of time looking at, studying and examining areas of medieval
belief that we would today consider to be within the realms of magic. I'm not
talking here of the everyday magic of the medieval church, the miracles of the
saints and the transformation of one substance into another. I'm talking about
the fringes of belief, the ideas and concepts that sit outside the orthodox
teachings of the church, the ideas that burn upon the edge. Let me explain.
The medieval church was one in which magic was an accepted
everyday phenomena. It happened. Deal with it. Bread and wine were/are
miraculously transformed into real flesh and blood. Saints really could/can
cure the sick. Devils and demons really did take on physical form to drag
sinners down to the raging pits of hell. This was the everyday of the medieval
church. The norm. However, even for the medieval church there were boundaries
that should never be crossed. Prayers to bring healing were acceptable. Prayers
that sought to bring ill health upon others were also acceptable - as long as it
was the righteously aggrieved seeking the downfall of 'evil' oppressors.
However, a 'prayer' to summon a demon to bring healing, or to cause illness in
others, was not acceptable. Curses certainly weren't acceptable - except those
used and issued by the church - which were...
Confused? You should be. You see, the thing is, that the
boundaries that should never be crossed weren't really very well defined. It
was really rather easy to cross those boundaries without ever realising you had
done so. In fact, it's best not to think of it all in terms of black and white
- but rather differing shades of grey. What we know about much of the magical
practise in late medieval and Tudor England actually comes from the records of
the church courts, from the prosecutions of those accused of having crossed
those shifting boundaries. The thing is that those self same records make it
clear that even the church is not entirely sure as to what actually constituted
crossing from the orthodox and acceptable into the areas of the heretical and
devilish. They are decidedly vague. A 'cunning man' brought up on charges by
the church courts could claim that the cure he is accused of effecting was
entirely the result of praying to God. The old lady who had cured her
neighbours cattle could, and did, claim that she had simply prayed to the right
saints. What could the church do? Punish someone who, on the face of it,
appeared to be fully supporting and justifying their own position? Indeed, what
then was to be made of the Vicar of Wanstead who, in 1523, proclaimed a curse
against everyone in the parish who refused to pay their tithes? Tricky...
Which brings me, in a rather round about way, back to Harry
Potter. For those that have read the books or seen the films you will know that
they are full of magic. The magic is not tied to any religious belief, and its
origin is never made clear. It is more of an elemental force than one borne of any
particular deity. However, even the magic in Harry Potter has form, it has
structure. It does, I would argue, even
have a hierarchy. At the far end of the spectrum there are the curses, and most
particularly the 'unforgiveable curses', which will see anyone who uses them
imprisoned. Then of course there are 'spells', the general everyday magic
formula that cause someone to either hang from the ceiling by their ankle, or
aid in the execution of everyday household tasks. Then there are 'charms' - a
fairly non-distinct area that appears to involve more minor magical actions.
All happy with that? All pretty straightforward? No major theological questions
raised? No urges to go out and set fire to a school library? Just checking...
So, to steal a much loved Bill Bryson phrase, here is the
thing. Here is the philosophical question. What is the difference between a
spell and a curse? What sets one magical act aside from another? Curses are
obviously designed to inflict injury on those that they are directed at. They
mean to harm. However, many of the other 'spells' used in the Harry Potter
world can be almost as nasty as the curses; sometimes being used in a benign
manner, but in others being used to cause harm or incapacitation to an
individual. The same spell, in theory, could slice a loaf of bread, or cut an
opponent to bleeding ribbons of flesh. Where then are the boundaries? What line
must one cross for a spell or charm to become a curse? A few of you may have
spotted it, but a few moments ago we ceased talking Harry Potter and went back
to talking about medieval graffiti...
You see this isn't just a question that faces fans of a
certain bespectacled boy, but to anyone discussing the magic of the medieval
world. When does a charm stop being a charm and become a curse? For example, medical
charms were the mainstay of the late medieval 'cunning man' and 'wise woman',
and in a society of limited medical knowledge actually formed much of the frontline
in the battles against illness and an early death. Charms against the plague, charms
against the fistula, charms against miscarriage, charms against the ague - all
of which appear in written examples of the period, and occasionally amongst the
graffiti we find on the walls of our churches. Charms to protect. Charms to
heal. What though are we to make of the charm recorded as being commonplace in
Norfolk until quite recent centuries?
"A charm against the ague... go to a four crossways at
night all alone, and just as the clock strikes 12 turn yourself about 3 times
and then drive a ten penny nail into the ground up to the head. Walk away from
the place backwards before the clock is done striking; and you'll miss the ague - but the next person who passes over the nail will take it in your
stead..."
The boundaries, it would seem, were very blurred indeed...
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