The Death of Heritage: playing in the ashes of the past...

Today saw the launch of the new look English Heritage and Historic England, born from the forced severance of the old English Heritage organisation. Until now the historic environment in England has been largely the legal responsibility of one organisation; English Heritage. Established in 1983, it was the natural successor to the old Department of Works, responsible for the care of over 420 historic properties in public hands. However, it has been an uneven and, in the view of many, a restrictive role that saw the one organisation have two very distinct and separate hydra like heads. On the one hand English Heritage were responsible for the maintenance and care of the many hundreds of historic buildings that litter our towns and countryside like so much historic confetti; everything from medieval monasteries and castles to iconic World Heritage Sites such as Stonehenge and large parts of Hadrian's Wall. They were responsible for the visitor experience, the retail outlets and the overflow car park on busy bank holiday weekends. However, on the other hand the same organisation was also responsible for implementing and enforcing current planning legislation in respect of the historic environment; offering advice and comment on everything from Scheduled Ancient Monuments to how the erection of an illuminated shop sign might impact upon the setting of a Listed Building. The two heads of the hydra were not seen by many as entirely obvious, or comfortable, bedfellows.

Well, the uneven marriage has finally ended in divorce. From the 1st of April (no irony apparently intended) English Heritage is to be split into two. The care of the historic properties will now be run by a charitable trust, still to be known as English Heritage, into which the government will invest about £80 million  for immediate repairs and consolidation. This is the new body that will be responsible for the historic houses and castles we visit, the interpretation of our heritage on the frontline and, of course, the gift-shops full of pencils, rubbers and shiny branded notebooks so beloved of visiting school parties. The rest of the responsibilities held by the old organisation, including most aspects of planning, advice and heritage protection are to be vested in a new body to be known as Historic England. This new body, according to Culture Secretary Sajid Javid speaking at the official launch of the organisation, will remain part of the government's responsibility and they intend to keep  "its functions close at hand."

So it appears that all is glowing and rosy in the world of heritage protection. However, looks can be deceiving. Is this, as Sajid Javid insists, simply the adapting of an old organisation "to suit the age in which we now live", or is it one of the final stages in something more fundamental; the systematic dismantling of all forms of environmental and heritage protection that has taken place over the last five years? Given the evidence it is difficult to conclude that it is anything other than the latter.

When the Tory party came to power five years ago one of their key ambitions, much promoted within business communities and elsewhere, was the doing away with 'red tape'. They were going to be a friend to business, remove the perceived 'brakes on development' and allow us to build our way out of recession. However, it soon became clear that their perception of what constituted red tape was anything that might slow down or hamper development. Anything that caused delay or expense to developers was their enemy and it had to go - and go it did.

The first to go was planning legislation. Seen as complex and restrictive, over 1500 pages of planning law was reduced to a single document of a little over 50 pages in length. The National Planning Policy Framework (NPPF) was to give a clean slate to the planning process and a green light to developers. Guidelines and well crafted legislation, that often left little or no room for ambiguity, and had been developed over a period of more than half a century, was thrown out of the window in favour of a document that contained more gray areas, ambiguities and contradictions in its fifty odd pages than the average Dr Who script.

The next 'brake on development' targeted by the government were those bodies who actually had their legal responsibilities for ensuring the protection of our heritage and environment. These included the Environment Agency, Natural England and English Heritage, all of whom suffered swingeing cuts to their funding and resulted in job losses. In the case of the Environment Agency the government went even further, appointing Sir Phillip Dilley, a noted planning and development specialist, as the new chairman. The cuts had the intended effect, leaving the agencies stretched and able to undertake only the barest minimum of their legal duties. There were reported cases of agency officers being unable to undertake site visits for even major developments due to budget constraints, preferring to rely upon viewing the site on Google Earth.

In the case of protection for the historic environment cuts within English Heritage caused a pervasive culture of fear. Individual officers relate stories of being told by their superiors not to intervene in planning issues that had already become 'live' (plans that had essentially already been approved by local authorities) for fear that they would be seen as further stifling development and bringing further cuts in their direction. This change in attitudes was soon picked up upon by planning officers within local authorities. When dealing with applications that might be considered controversial, it became a matter of policy rather than oversight within certain 'rogue' councils not to consult with English Heritage until after the application had been initially passed by their own development committees; thereby effectively ruling out possible interference from English Heritage until such point as their hands were already tied.

The final levels of heritage protection beneath English Heritage, the county based 'Historic Environment Services' (HES) who are directly responsible for offering archaeological advice upon planning applications, was actually even easier for the government to undermine. General cuts to local authority budgets has led to the need for cost savings on a massive scale, and sadly it has been the county Historic Environment Services that have found themselves in the front line. Services have been reduced, posts have been lost and workloads increased. In recent weeks one county council (West Sussex) has stated that it is actually completely ceasing to offer archaeological planning advice to most of the local authority planning departments in their area, leaving them to make their own arrangements with external contractors, whilst another (Northamptonshire) has stated that it aims to outsource 95% of all of its services - with no indication whatsoever of who, if anyone, will be offering archaeological advice to planners.

Having dismantled the mechanisms and agencies whose role was to protect the historic environment the government continues to attack all forms of heritage protection. More local governments cuts are being put forward, the Portable Antiquities scheme is once again under threat and Judicial Review, the last line of defence against bad and ill informed planning decisions, is to be made much harder and more expensive to undertake. Whilst each exercise in 'cutting red tape' seen in isolation may be regarded as simply removing the occasional brick from the wall of heritage and environmental protection, the cumulative result has been that the wall now has more holes than bricks.

The question must be whether, putting aside the destruction of heritage and environmental protection, the government has actually succeeded in what they set out to achieve? Have they managed to do away with what they regarded as the greatest enemy of development, developers and big business? Have they actually reduced the dreaded 'red tape'? Today the term 'red tape' is seen in almost wholly negative light, with connotations of overly heavy handed bureaucracy and top-down policy implementation for the sake of implementation; a political and media short-hand for restrictive practices and over regulation. However, it's worth remembering that every piece of this red tape legislation has been put in place by a former government, many of them Tory, for what was considered the protection of heritage and the environment. The development of the Green Belt, over a thousand pages of planning legislation and the Scheduling of Ancient Monuments were not simply pieces of political whimsy pulled from the air on after a brief discussion in the House of Commons bar. They were the result of a perceived and recognised need, extended periods of practical engagement with the subject and a wish to preserve irreplaceable heritage and environment assets for generations, rather than just the term of the next parliament. As any planning officer of whatever political persuasion will now tell you, the reduction of planning legislation to a little over fifty pages of the NPPF has not simplified the planning process. It has simply done away with areas of certainty that did exist in the old legislation, created a mass of grey areas and directly resulted in the publishing of multiple 'guidelines', designed to run alongside the NPPF, that are now almost as long as the original legislation it sought to replace. Planning by legislation and consent is largely being replaced by planning by litigation; where those who can afford the bigger barristers carry the day. There is, it would appear, sometimes a need for red tape.

There are those who believe that we are fiddling whilst Rome burns; watching generations of heritage protection being dismantled around us with no coordinated opposition, or potential for the future reversal of some of the most damaging measures. However, the view from the frontline of heritage and archaeology in England is that, when we look back on this period in a decade or two, we will realise that we weren't watching Rome burn at all - we were already simply playing in the ashes. Heritage protection has been, and continues to be, dismantled at every turn and with each week and month that passes. Today, however, the great and the good gathered together in the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey to celebrate the launch of two new organisations that, in the words of Sajid Javid, "will be free to explore new ways of engaging with communities. New ways of protecting and promoting our heritage." Let us all hope that there is some real truth in Javid's words, and that today's celebration doesn't turn out to be an expensive wake for a long lost past.

NOTE: Since originally writing this post it has caused some controversy. It has been stated that it is a purely political piece of propaganda. That was never the intention. Whatever my personal political views I do not believe that there is an major party that, at the present time, takes heritage and environmental matters seriously. I would also add that every statement made in the blog above can be backed up with facts and figures. For instance, the Natural England case referred to was that for the development of a 7 acre lorry park (classed as a 'major development' by the planning authority) on designated environmentally sensitive land in the Wensum valley, Norfolk. Natural England did not make a site visit, citing budget constraints, and are on record in the minutes of the Development Committee meeting as saying they relied instead on viewing the site from Google Earth. Local opposition groups offered to pay for either their bus fare or a taxi to visit the site. The offer was not taken up.

In addition, since the publication of this piece the government has issued its formal response to the Commons Select Committees investigation into the first two years running of the National Planning Policy Framework (NPPF). The Commons Select Committee was tasked with examining how the NPPF had been operating in practice and what could be done to improve it. The Committee, after much study and deliberation, put forward a list of recommendations, most of which were aimed at clarifying areas of the NPPF that were considered ambiguous and addressing "the growing number of concerns about unsustainable development". The Committee considered that many of these concerns were "significant and need to be tackled". 

On the 27th February 2015 the government issued its response to the Committees recommendations - the vast majority of which were completely rejected. The Chair of the Communities and Local Government Committee, Clive Betts M.P., responded by stating that he was "very disappointed by the Government’s response to my Committee’s recent report... Sadly, the Government’s response shows it is burying its head in the sand about these important public concerns."

The Knights Templar Conspiracy: the secrets on the wall...

Everyone likes a good conspiracy theory don't they. Everything from 'Who really shot President Kennedy' and 'Area 51', to 'Richard III and the Princes in the Tower' and 'Why the Marathon bar was really re-named Snickers'. There's simply no getting away from it. People love a good mystery; the idea that there is a 'real' and 'hidden history' to which only a few worthy types know THE TRUTH. I suppose it fits rather nicely with mankind's general paranoia; that because we rarely understand everything that is going on in the world about us, that there must be something that is being deliberately kept from us. Some great secret that, if only we could hunt down the clues, might help us understand what is REALLY going on. That there are mysterious and shadowy organisations out there, hidden from the rest of humanity, that have for centuries been quietly pulling all the strings - steering the world in the direction that the 'Secret Masters' have mapped out for us all.

Well, when it comes to medieval studies there really isn't a more enduring and popular conspiracy theory than that concerning the Knights Templar. According to 'received wisdom' (the general term applied to something for which there is no evidence - but which will sell paperbacks by the tens of thousands) the Templars were a shadowy military order whose mysterious rise to power and subsequent downfall has been linked to everything from the Holy Grail to the hidden bloodline of Christ (which, according to some works are actually one and the same thing). According to some theories they were the guardians of a 'great treasure' of 'great secret', that they had found something in the remains of Solomon's Temple that allowed them to blackmail the Pope and hold the whole Catholic Church to ransom. That they, the military arms of the Church, were the true rulers of the Christian Middle Ages. The most enduring of all the conspiracy theories concerning the Templars is that they themselves actually endured; that after their order had been disbanded and destroyed elements of the order remained in hiding, carrying on their secret work down through the centuries. Protecting their great secret until the time of revelation is upon us...

Interestingly the shadowy presence of the Knights Templar has also wormed its way into the study of medieval graffiti inscriptions. At any one time there will be half a dozen dedicated souls out looking at the medieval churches of England looking for the 'hidden signs' left behind by the Templars - and what could be better than to discover hidden graffiti on the walls; messages that have been seen by no one for centuries? As a result you'll be amazed (or not) at the number of messages I receive from individuals who claim to have either found these secret messages of the Templar, or who want to point out that some of the graffiti WE have been finding was undoubtedly the work of the Templars. That the inscriptions were secret messages left by the Templars for those that came after them, leading them one step closer to discovery of this 'great secret'. Sadly, it appears that nothing I can say or do, that no hard evidence presented before them, will deter them from this view. Indeed, by arguing against their view, WE become part of the conspiracy - part of the mysterious organisation(s) designed to keep people from THE TRUTH! We're probably responsible for that whole Marathon/Snickers thing too...

The problem with medieval graffiti though is that there are some sites that simply ASK to have conspiracy theories woven into their very fabric. Royston Cave in Hertfordshire is one such site and it is here that the ideas/theories/conspiracies of Knights Templar graffiti has really found its greatest flowering. The cave was discovered by accident in the middle of the eighteenth century beneath the town of Royston itself. It was carved out of the soft local chalk and is actually rather small, being only about three metres in diameter. When discovered it was found that just about every wall surface in the cave had been craved and inscribed with symbols, motifs and images - many of which were clearly medieval in origin. However, at the time none of the local antiquarians had ever seen anything quite like it. They had no idea what function the cave had originally served, although some speculated that it might have been a chapel, and no idea at exactly what date it had been made - and by whom. It was a complete mystery; and eighteenth and nineteenth century antiquarians, when faced with a medieval mystery, always had one idea to fall-back upon - the Knights Templar!

And so it began. The association between the Templars and Royston cave. It has been described as a hidden Templar chapel, and secret meeting place for members of the order and a secret chamber in which the English Templars would keep their great treasury - and their own secrets. Even today crowds of Templar enthusiasts visit the site - trying to decipher the hidden meaning on the walls...

Right, well here's the thing chaps - and you probably aren't going to like this one little bit - but the carvings at Royston cave aren't unique. In fact, except in terms of quantity, they aren't even very unusual - and they certainly have absolutely nothing to do with the Knight Templars. Sorry! You see, the thing is, we come across carvings and graffiti like the ones in the cave absolutely all the time. The symbols and motifs are EXACTLY what we would expect to find in any late medieval chapel, and those at Royston are most probably just that - late fourteenth or fifteenth century - centuries after the disbanding of the Templars. Indeed, if you look at the medieval chapel that survives in Norwich castle, or the passageway to the chapel at Carlisle Castle, you will find exactly the same thing - and I do mean 'exactly'. "Ah.. castles", I hear the conspiracy theorists whisper, "castles where knights would be...". It isn't just castles where such graffiti is to be found either. Cathedrals and parish churches across England are crammed full of just such inscriptions; St Catherine and her wheel, scenes of the crucifixion and images of swords, shield and daggers are scattered across the medieval stonework. All of these inscriptions, as far as my studies have made clear, were created by the  everyday folk of the medieval parish. Indeed, to the best of my knowledge (and I'd love to be proved wrong on this) there isn't a single piece of medieval graffiti in this country that can be positively identified as being Templar in origin.

Sorry. But there it is. There is no hidden message from the Templars scratched into the walls of our churches. And why would there be? By the time of the great rebuilding of many of our East Anglian churches the Templars had been gone for centuries. And what message would they want to leave behind anyway? Seriously? Would members of one of the richest and most prestigious military orders in medieval history really scratch hidden messages into the walls, leaving details of their 'secret dealings', just so that they can be rediscovered centuries later by a bunch of conspiracy theorists? And let's be honest here. I don't know about you, but I suspect that if there really are 'Secret Masters' out there, shadowy organisations of illuminati, then they are pretty unlikely to have their own websites and facebook groups are they? Tell you what, you can decide on that one...

Here's the thing though. The walls of our churches ARE full of hidden messages. The do conceal great mysteries and many of them haven't been seen for centuries. However, rather than being the mysteries of long lost knights and crusaders bent on world domination, they are the everyday mysteries of medieval faith and belief. They are the mysteries of life, love, marriage and death in the medieval parish; the mysteries of people dreams, hopes and fears. For me, wandering the stunning medieval churches of eastern England, that is more than enough of a mystery...

 

Chasing the dead

I appear to have spent a lot of time recently chasing the dead. Chasing after notes, fragments and details of the long dead - and looking at the tiny, and sometimes immaterial, monuments they have left behind them. Many of course left nothing. The majority of the medieval population of England have no memorials, no monuments to lives well lived - or otherwise - but passed through this world leaving not a single lasting mark upon it. The dead and unseen of the past. The brasses and monumental marble effigies were for the rich; those who could afford the cash and time to ensure that they would, in name at least, be remembered. The less wealthy, but still well off, gave money towards church improvements or the gloriously painted rood screens and stained glass that still grace many of our churches. Their names inscribed into the churchwardens records, and often the object itself, to stand as a permanent testament to their three score years and ten. For the rest, in an age before gravestones and burial registers, the most they could hope for was a decent send off with family and friends. A few candles and masses, should they be lucky enough to belong to a local guild that supported such activities, and bread and ale distributed to the needy poor after they had taken their place back in the deep soil of their parish.

There was, however, one group of individuals that left their mark all over the parish churches of England, cut deep in to the stonework of piers, walls and doorways - the merchant classes. The rising middle class of the late middle ages or, to give them their more recent title amongst trendy post-revisionist historians, the 'middling sort'. Don't ask me what a 'post revisionist historian', or even  the earlier model 'revisionist historian', actually is.  I don't know. Along with 'multi-vocality' it is a closed book to me.

The merchant classes of the later middle ages were ambitious. Ambitious people in an aspirational church. Where wealth and status were sought not as a means to an end, even a spiritual end, but as the end in itself. One need only read the accounts of people such as Margery Kempe or Chaucer's Wife of Bath prologue to realise that wealth and status were, for some, their own reward. Eyes that should have gazed heavenward in search of salvation darted to left and right instead, undoubtedly costing to the nearest penny the Alderman's wife's new gown or checking to see that everyone had noticed your own new attire. And for the most ambitious of this middling sort, those who made their chinks in trade and industry, the rewards of this generation were sometimes not enough. Those who really made their way in the world, and piled away the gold and silver, could expect to buy a marriage for their children that took them way above the expectations of their own humble birth and in to the lower ranks of the gentry. If they were ambitious enough, and rich enough, their grandchildren would be born in to the nobility. Had they lived long enough then, in all likelihood, they'd not have been welcome guests at their own grandchildren's weddings.

However, as with all ambitions, great oaks from small acorns grow. The ambitions of the merchant classes had many, many outlets - and their need for memorialisation was only one amongst many that jostles for position. In terms of church graffiti the most obvious symbol is the 'Merchants Mark' - a device or motif supposedly unique to an individual merchant that acted in much the same way as a logo does for a modern company. A symbol that was easily recognised by both the literate and illiterate alike, and one that was associated with one particular merchant. Merchants used these marks to mark their goods, to sign documents and even to adorn their houses. For those that made it in to the ranks of the very rich these same marks are found adoring their own memorial brasses or alabaster tombs. A small but proud mark of the humble trading origins of a merchant of note. They were, in effect, a type of heraldry for those of too low a class to be entitled to have their own coat of arms. The ultimate in aspirational motifs.

I come across a great many merchant's marks scattered across the walls of our medieval churches and cathedrals. Neatly executed and bordering on the 'professional' they are often to be found in small groups, huddled together against a mass of surrounding inscriptions. In some cases they are to be found in distinct patterns, concentrated around areas that might be deemed spiritually significant; side altars, image niches and shrines. Here they cluster like notes upon a prayer tree; each a little request for the benevolence of the Almighty to fall upon the owner of the mark. A prayer for an ambition achieved. And yet here is the thing. Many of these merchant's marks, these unique identifiers, are just that - unique. They don't adorn the brasses and tombs of rich merchants. They don't decorate large timber framed merchants hall, and they don't appear in the port books or alderman's records of the great trading towns. In many cases they are the only example of that particular mark; the symbol of ambitions that never bore fruit and fortunes that were never made. They are the last mark on this world of hopes that were dashed by either misfortune or ill chance. The last message of a shattered dream.

I spend a lot of time chasing the dead. Sometime they leave far too little to find...

The BEST graffiti church in England - and a bit about blowing up moles...

In terms of medieval graffiti there are certain churches that are simply legendary. Churches that are just so damned good that they have become a Mecca for graffiti hunters everywhere. Places where you would fight hostile churchwardens and evangelical happy-slappy guitar playing vicars simply to be allowed to step over the threshold. These are the GREAT graffiti churches. The churches such as Lidgate, Blakeney and Bedingham. However, all these amazing churches pale into insignificance at the mention of one particular church. It's very name makes graffiti hunters go weak at the knees and dribble to leak from the corners of the mouth in anticipation. It is the cream of graffiti churches, the best of the best. The one graffiti church that has been subject to intense study - and it is Ashwell in Hertfordshire.

I'm a contrary sod at the best of times. You say black and I will invariably say white. It isn't really just to disagree with you - more just to see what the reaction will be. A bit like licking you fingers and then sticking them in a power socket. You know it's wrong - but can't help wondering just what will happen (2nd degree burns as it turns out). Or the time I experimented with using gun powder as a deterrent for moles - all in the interests of healthy experimentation and being a contrary bugger. The mole experiment, just in case you want to try this at home, wasn't a great success. However, I did learn that it was possible to sleep through the night with your hand in a bucket of cold water. Right... where was I? Ah, yes, Ashwell church. Well, here's the thing, if somebody tells me that a church is THE greatest graffiti church in England then I will immediately take such a statement with a really, really big pinch of salt. I will, to be blunt, blow raspberries in their general direction and assume that they don't know what the hell they are talking about. Sure, Ashwell might be good - but have they been to Lidgate? To Blakeney? To Bedingham?

So, finally, this week I went to Ashwell. I have been before, but that was many years ago - before I really knew what I was looking at - so a return trip was in order. I had to go across to Oxford earlier this week to give a lecture at the university (I know, I know... it isn't Cambridge - but beggars can't be choosers etc) and Ashwell was sort of on the way. Give or take.

So there I was, camera and torch in hand, faced by what the world has come to think of as the 'great' medieval graffiti church. I had about an hour to wander round and, if I was lucky, should get in a good deal of sneering and bad comparisons in that time. I ventured inside...

Ok. So it is good. One of the best. Actually quite superb... Holy crap I was shaking after ten minutes of running a torch across the surface of the stone walls! It was, not to put too fine a point upon it, immense. Just about every single surface I looked at was covered in a mass of early graffiti. The tower, the piers, the western wall - everywhere. Layer upon layer of inscriptions and symbols. I was, quite simply, in graffiti OMG heaven. Here's the thing. Ashwell IS the best known graffiti church, and certainly the most extensively written about. It has been studied by Hine, Coulton and Sherlock, and had TV archaeologists and historians crawling through its nave. However, they've all been getting terribly excited for completely the wrong reasons.

Ashwell is really known for the massive number of medieval text inscriptions to be found in the church - and it does contain a really unusually high number of early Latin inscriptions. They range from the inscription in the tower, which records the arrival of the Black Death in this small Hertfordshire village, to a tiny inscription in the south aisle which records the peasants revolt. There are texts of moralising verse - and Latin insults describing the Archdeacon as 'an ass'. There are excerpts from the bible and comments upon the quality of the mason's workmanship. You name it - it's there - and they are wonderful. However, the text inscriptions, all of which are open to interpretation, are a tiny, tiny fragment of what else is there. Probably less than 1%.

Ashwell church is full of early graffiti. Images of people, faces, buildings, animals and ritual protection marks galore. 'vv' markings cover one side of the tower arch, compass drawn designs are everywhere - and a hand raised in the act of blessing adorns the pier at the eastern end of the south aisle. Wherever you look there are devotional markings; the hopes, fears and dreams of the medieval congregation etched deep in to the walls of the parish church. The text inscriptions are good too - but they are an embellishment. The gilding of the lily. Even without them, and their multiple and enigmatic interpretations, Ashwell would still be a jewel in the crown of graffiti studies everywhere.

Graffiti, Gaza and THE GIRL: Why I do what I do (with a passing reference to Cornish pasties)

Being someone who stares at the walls rather more than most people, and someone who believes that graffiti has a certain value as a historic record, it is rather odd when I am confronted with the most obvious question - why study graffiti? It happened a couple of days ago in the city of York, that noble tourist magnet and coffee shop haven of the north. I was in the city to fill the civic parking meters with cash, deliver chocolate to members of the Council for British Archaeology (Thorntons - no messing about!) and take some pictures of the graffiti in the minster. As you'll probably already know I was in the city a month or so back leading some lovely American academics on a tour of the medieval graffiti in the minster. Much was found, pics were taken - some of which were subsequently found to be 'rather poor'. I blame the previous evenings visit to the Yorkshire Terrier. As a result new pictures were required and chocolate delivery seemed a perfect pretext (just so you know - the CBA now 'demand' that ALL visitors supply them with chocolate - cookies at a push - but not the yucky ones with smarties on the top).

So I went to the minster. I crept in the back door (there isn't one - don't bother looking) and began to shine a torch on the walls and take a few pics. Now the first thing that usually happens is that a cathedral guide will sidle up and ask what you are up to? Their role, as custodians of the 'public' face of the minster/cathedral, is to check that you are...

a) sober

b) not a complete nutter

c) not a spot check by the diocese (which may involve a combination of the above)

A quick mention of mason's marks and 'lovely' C18th graffiti (which they know about) is usually enough to send them happily on their way - leaving you to scour the walls for the really interesting stuff. However, if you shine a light on the walls of a minster, church or cathedral it does tend to attract a certain amount of attention. The kids will be the first. They will drag their reluctant parents towards you, demanding of them to know exactly what you are doing. Let's face it, for many of them this is the most exciting thing that's going to happen in the building until they get to blow months of hard earned paper-round money in the gift shop. Are you looking for cracks? Is the whole thing about to tumble down around their ears? Will they get a chance to post the pics on facebook/tumblr/twitter etc? The parents are obviously reluctant to ask. After all, every modern city dweller has spent decades training themselves to ignore the weird guy talking to the walls/light fittings/invisible aliens in the tin-foil hats. Why start now - after all, they're on holiday? However, eventually, pressured by the un-ending questions from little Jimmy/Emma/Jordan, and aware that the weird wall staring guy 'can' actually hear them, they will sidle across and ask what you are looking for.

This is the point it gets interesting. You tell them. You explain all about medieval graffiti, how much of it still lays undiscovered, how it can tell us a great deal about the people who built and worshiped in this building, what some of it means. Suddenly they are engaged. Graffiti - now that is something they can relate to. They understand the concept. It isn't some weird academic concept involving ancient liturgy - but an immediate and tangible point of access to 'real' medieval people. It is at about this point that you should read them the health warning - that states that medieval graffiti hunting can be, upon occasion, more addictive than crack cocaine, Ginsters Cornish pasties after one pint too many and those odd purple jelly babies - all combined together.

However, this time was different. This time there was the girl. Actually, let me rephrase that. This time there was THE GIRL. Early teens I'd say, American from the accent (east coast) - and obviously destined to be either a nuclear scientist or civil rights activist who will be the bane of all right wing western government. She was obviously smart. I mean really smart. Her parents were obviously dragging her around the cultural sites of Europe in the hope of widening her education, or perhaps to distract her from beginning her own left wing civil rights movement at her obviously expensive private school.

Mum and Dad were the first to come across to see what I was up to. Both just a little too keen to be honest. A little too loud. A little too 'gee whiz'. Both obviously trying to interest THE GIRL and get her to put down the iphone and 'take an interest'. So, we got to talking...

THE GIRL did eventually put down the phone and listen. In fact by the look of concentration on her face she appeared to be listened pretty darned hard. It was clear that, as far as she was concerned, if her parents found the wall staring guy fascinating then she wasn't going to be fascinated. She, intent on showing off her remarkable and expensively acquired intellect, was going to utterly destroy him and all he had to say. So she was going to listen, find the faults in the arguments and then DESTROY!

The problem was, of course, that she couldn't. I'm not trying to brag here about what I do, it's just that there aren't really any arguments to debate. We simply show them what's there, make it available to them, and let them think it through themselves. After ten minutes even THE GIRL was running her hands across the stonework, feeling for inscriptions that haven't really been seen for over five centuries, and asking questions. And then it came. Just as they were leaving. THE GIRL, who had by this time become 'the girl', drew herself up, remembered that she was in fact a teenager and therefore, without question, NOT interested - asked the question. "Why", she asked, "is this stuff important? I mean, like, these people have been dead for centuries - so what does it matter what they wrote on the walls? There are hundreds of people dying in the world - in Gaza (parents frowned), Iraq and Syria - why is this old stuff important?"

BLOODY good question really. One I've asked myself a lot recently, I can tell you. Surely all the graffiti volunteers, and myself, and every other community archaeologist out there, would be far better off devoting our time, talents and energy to working in a food bank or relief agency? Surely it is better to try and help the living than recording the graffiti of the long dead?

But this is the answer I gave her. The people who left the marks on this wall were just like you and me. Just like the people suffering today in Gaza and the Middle East. They too had hopes, dreams and fears. They too had joy and suffering. However, unlike some of the people today their story remains untold. They had no internet, no facebook and no twitter - just the walls. So they scratched their messages here - laid down their prayers in the stonework - in the hope that someday God or someone would take note. For many of those long dead people these markings may be the only thing they have left on this planet. The only mark that they have left upon this world. Their only testament to existence. They left these messages in many cases in the hope that they would be read - much like the people of Gaza are leaving messages on the walls today. And perhaps, just perhaps, by beginning to understand just a little bit more about those people of the past we will try and not replicate their mistakes. Perhaps.

It's what I told her - and she nodded, put her iphone in her pocket and wandered off after her parents - undoubtedly exiting via the gift shop. And if still not sure that it was the right answer...

A fascination with choirboys... and the bits Wiki never mentions

Following on from the last 'rant' about the mass dials, or scratch dials, I thought it worth expanding upon a couple of themes I touched upon earlier. Well, to be honest, it's probably just going to end up being another rant if truth be told. I blame the BBC. No, honestly, I do!

Last weekend the lovely BBC (God bless 'em. Worth every penny, etc etc) ran a pretty big story about the medieval graffiti surveys. Despite the focus being on the lovely Lincolnshire survey we all got a good deal of feedback. Hundreds of thousands of hits on the websites, hundreds of emails, a card from my mum - that sort of thing. However, apart from drowning the start of my week in replying to lovely emails, it had a less obvious downside. It got people talking about medieval graffiti. Chatting on facebook, tweeting on twitter and generally talking about the subject in a way we rarely see. Hardly a bad thing you'd think? Certainly not. The only downside was to see repeated, time and time again, the same old fallacies, the same old clichés and misconceptions.

It was bound to happen I guess. I'm generally too busy looking at images of graffiti to jump in on every debate going on, and being generally a technophobe whose idea of programming a computer involves an axe, I usually only get to see the debates long after they have taken place. Which rather leaves the field clear for the other 'experts' to wade in.

You've probably all come across them. The type that see a question unanswered and, having once read a book on the subject, or at least having thought about borrowing it from the library, feel they have to answer it. The type of person who, armed with a selection of 1960s text books, spends their spare time editing wiki entries - removing anything put there by recent scholars because "if it isn't in the book...". Does that sound bitter? Sorry. Actually some of my best friends are wiki editors. Obviously they are all academics who fill wiki full of complete nonsense just to keep their students on their toes (don't smirk - this happens. A good percentage of wiki entries are factually incorrect 'for a reason'. There is also a reason Wiki's logo is a jigsaw with bits missing... just saying...).

 Sorry, where was I? Ah, yes... and so it was last weekend I saw the old chestnuts well and truly brought out to get a good airing. In no particular order we have 'bored choirboys', 'crosses around doorways were made by pilgrims', 'masons marks were so the master mason knew how much to pay his men' and, yes you guessed it, 'the daisy wheel is an ancient sun symbol, proving that the pagan religion survived well in to the middle ages'. Actually I could name a few more - but will spare you this evening as I have a glass of wine and am feeling vaguely generous.

Now obviously I fully realise that this is MY fault and my fault alone. If we'd been getting our message across in a more efficient manner all talk of choirboys, excepting amongst certain specialist interest groups, would be a thing of the past. As it is we are putting out about five or six academic articles each year, have a book out next year and try and get our message out via popular media and events as much as possible. Last year I personally did over 35 talks, Colin and Pat also handled a good number, we attended over a dozen major events, two conferences - and we were all over the national and regional press - but this is obviously not enough. Terry's suggestion that we make individual home visits, armed with powerpoint projectors and laminated overlays, simply isn't practical, and Jeff's suggestion that we begin with the choirboys themselves is... frankly suspicious.

So here's the plan. We knock down each and every fallacy, every untruth and every misconception one by one. We'll pull the bricks out until the whole thing collapses, and then rebuild the story stone by stone. We aren't planning on rebuilding any great monumental truth, but what we can do is help people question the truths they 'thought' they knew, and hopefully, like the idea that medieval knights had to be winched on to their horses due to the weight of their armour, such misconceptions will eventually fade away. Eventually. No promises eh...

So where to begin? Well I guess the most obvious place is with the choirboys (steady there Jeff!). It is after all the story that probably gets repeated most.  People see graffiti in a church and the assumption is that was the work of those mischievous little chaps in the white gowns howling at the front of the church. A story repeated in church guides, websites and by tour leaders. Church graffiti equals bored choirboys. So why is this? Why is the assumption made in the first place and why is it so universal? Well actually I believe that this touches upon one of the most fundamentally difficult questions relating to medieval graffiti - that of legitimacy.

We view the church graffiti, even that created five centuries ago, with modern eyes and modern sensibilities. To us today graffiti is seen as something bad; something anti-social and inherently destructive. The bane of our underpasses (joke- I live in Norfolk) and bus shelters. Vandalism pure and simple. Therefore ALL graffiti is viewed in the same way; and church graffiti must also be destructive and anti-social. It certainly can't have been something that was either accepted or encouraged - and therefore must have been created illicitly by those urchins in white who carry the name 'choirboys'.

Well, to state the obvious, there are a few problems with this interpretation long before we begin to look at the graffiti in any detail. Firstly there is the dating of much of the graffiti - created in many cases long centuries before the church even had choirboys. Churches certainly had singers, and often groups of 'singing men', but boy choirs are actually a pretty recent innovation in all but a very few high status chapels. Secondly, if these early inscriptions were the work of choirboys then, at the very least, their schoolmasters are to be congratulated. Their knowledge of Latin, including the use of contractions and abbreviations, is excellent, their handwriting often superb, and their knowledge of astrology and geometry certainly boast a very high level of learning! Indeed, given the level of education and the obvious amount of time they spent at their books, it is rather surprising that they actually had any time to create graffiti (for those readers for whom English is not their first language this was a poor attempt at the use of sarcasm).

So if not the choirboys then who? Who felt the need to scratch their names, prayers, hopes and fears into the very fabric of their village church? Well here the graffiti itself begins to tell its own tale.  In the case of Ashwell, Ludham and Wood Norton it was the parish priest. In the case of Troston it was the lord of the manor. In the case of Lidgate it was, perhaps, a monk and medieval poet. In short, it was just about everyone, from just about every level of society. At Wiveton and Blakeney it was the rich merchants. At Cley it was a builder and his labourers. At Parham it was a musician and organ enthusiast. And at Stoke by Clare it may even have been the singing men... not the choirboys... but their ancient forebears who left their musical portraits scattered across the church walls.

And the reason all these people left their marks on the walls? Quite simple really. Graffiti wasn't seen in the same way as we see it today. Graffiti wasn't seen as destructive and anti-social. It wasn't frowned upon or prohibited. Given that the majority of the early inscriptions we record actually have a spiritual dimension, and many are clearly prayers, it would appear that these inscriptions were far more than just tolerated. They were both accepted and acceptable. As much a part of the everyday experience of the church as the mass.

So, next time you hear a church guide dismissing graffiti inscriptions as the work of bored choirboys, passing quickly over to look at the 'lovely' Victorian glass, remember that the problem lies with them. It is their views, their experience and their preconceptions that make it so. Now if they would open their eyes just a little wider, and actually 'read' what was written on the walls, then they, like myself, would realise that sometimes questions are far more interesting than answers...

 

Although if they will run about in cloisters...
 

 

 

 

Time for Mass and kicking tradition up the arse.

The problem with spending quite so much time immersed in medieval graffiti is that, despite my very best intentions, it does tend to raise far more questions than it answers. What once appeared relatively simple and straightforward suddenly becomes, under the weight of masses of new evidence, highly questionable. Although, in retrospect, describing any of this as straightforward in the first place is probably pushing it a bit. Or a lot.

I suppose this is the same problem that faces anyone working in a relatively new area of study. A severe lack of reference points - and those that do exist, you discover, are built upon foundations of sand. If you are lucky. Whenever I give a talk or present a paper I always make a joke of the point that I tend to use the term 'the current theory is', or 'it appears likely', rather a lot. Sadly I'm not joking. Think about it. Here we are, faced with a massive new corpus of medieval material, with almost no reference points. There's only ever been one book published on the subject; and even the author herself admitted that that particular work was hardly blemish free. We are blindfold, in the dark, groping from one hand-hold to the next. Can it get any more difficult? Well, yes, it can actually. It gets worse at the point when you realise that the hand-holds you were using to guide you actually turn out to be as insubstantial as smoke. That all the 'taken as reads' haven't been, and that all the accepted wisdom actually refers to the same untruth or misconception just being repeated long enough and often enough.

So where do we start? At which point do we begin to pull out bricks and see just how many we can remove before the structure collapses around our ears? Mason's marks? Pilgrim crosses? Medieval board games on the walls? Nope. Let's begin where it all began. Where the study of graffiti inscriptions, in a rather odd manner, actually began - with Mass Dials.

Now just about everybody who has taken the time to wander around a few medieval churches will have come across these distinctive little markings. Also known as 'scratch dials', they are most usually to be found on the south side of the church, scratched in to a buttress, sometimes near the priest's door into the chancel and quite often inside the porch. The traditional interpretation is that these are simple sundials; designed to inform the congregation of the time that the daily mass would begin. They are also one of the few areas of inscriptions in church fabric that have received any level of formal study. Indeed, there is a whole sub-group of the British Sundial society that goes around and records these early timepieces - and therein lies part of the problem.

Putting aside the question of dating these inscriptions, where tradition states that the cruder the manner of execution the earlier they are likely to be (based upon absolutely no evidence whatsoever as far as I can see), the real problems begin to occur when you examine the traditional interpretation as to their use. They are, in many instances, very clearly sundials - designed to mark off the hours. However, there are rather a lot of examples that simply don't fit the pattern - and raise some really quite interesting questions. In the first place there are those actually found within porches - most usually carved into the framework of the south door. The traditional interpretation is that these were actually in place prior to the porch being erected. Then there are those on the north side of the church; where tradition states that the stone has most probably been moved or re-used. Then there are those found inside the church itself - where tradition states that the stone has again been moved or re-used. That, in short, is rather a lot of 'tradition' - and appears to be a very convenient way of avoiding asking some really quite important questions.

Just examining one particular site can highlight exactly how weak the traditional interpretation really is. Let's take one church - Worthing in Norfolk - a tiny and isolated church set in the Wensum valley. The church is an ancient one, with a round tower and many early Norman features, that has seen much change and alteration over the centuries. On the south side, now covered by a late medieval porch, is a most striking and beautiful early Norman doorway - into which are inscribed at least three mass dials. Yes, you heard me - at least three. Ok, so let us agree with a little tradition - and assume the mass dials were inscribed prior to the porch being built (see, I can be reasonable). Why then are there three identical dials? All appear to be to the same standard, and incised in a similar manner - so why do you need more than one? What are they doing? Showing the time in London, Rome and Jerusalem? I think not.

And it isn't just at Worthing that these supposedly simple dials don't fit in to the traditional story. I see too many examples of multiple dials, dials set on the north side of the church, or even inside, to believe that all of these are re-used or moved bits of stone. The weight of actual observed evidence would appear to be leaning against a convenient tradition. Yes, many of these are simple time-keepers located in the right place - but many, many others don't fit the pattern.

So what is going on? What was the function of these familiar markings on our medieval churches? Well, to be honest, I really can't say. I can make a few suggestions based upon what I have observed, but I don't have any hard and fast answers. Not yet anyway. All I can say is that the traditional and accepted ideas associated with them are no longer, if you'll excuse the pun, set in stone. We have to throw tradition out of the tracery window and begin to look at the actual evidence with fresh eyes. We have to begin to question what has remained unquestionable and no longer accept 'accepted wisdom'.

And don't even get me started on pilgrim crosses...