Subscribe now for full access and no adverts
Oxford’s 50th anniversary
Congratulations to Oxford Archaeology (OA) on achieving 50 years at the forefront of archaeological practice in the UK. Founded in 1973 as the Oxfordshire Archaeological Unit, OA is celebrating its half century with a series of monthly blogs highlighting key achievements, chosen by staff past and present (as well as a feature in this issue; see p.28). One that appealed to Sherds was the blog describing the excavation of the Château de Falaise, birthplace in 1028 of William the Conqueror.
The formidable fortification, set on a rocky outcrop (falaise means ‘cliff’) in the Calvados region of Normandy, was fought over by rival monarchs from both sides of the Channel. It was captured in 1205 by Philippe Augustus (the first to call himself King of France) and recaptured by the English during the Hundred Years War (1337-1453). While working on the site, OA discovered graffiti carved by soldiers on both sides of this latter conflict, filling out the human side to the story that is now told at the Château Guillaume Le Conquérant visitor centre.
Animals in the Bayeux Tapestry
William’s father was Robert I, Duke of Normandy; his mother, Herleva, who went on to marry Herluin de Conteville and to give birth to William’s half-brothers, Robert, Count of Mortain, and Odo of Bayeux. The famous tapestry, commissioned by Odo for his cathedral, is the subject of an article by Gail Owen-Crocker in Medieval Clothing and Textiles (Volume 17) that draws attention to the depiction of animals in the narrative, especially the horses.
Gail reminds us that William the Conqueror adopted the bold plan of using cavalry at the Battle of Hastings, having brought ships full of horses over the Channel from Normandy, while Harold’s army fought on foot. Harold should have been aware that William had this secret weapon, however: scenes in the early part of the tapestry depict Harold fighting alongside William (against Conan of Brittany) in a battle involving horses that anticipates the climactic engagement of 1066.
The critical role of horses is indicated by the fact that they appear in no fewer than 30 of the 58 scenes, amounting to one third of the tapestry’s surviving length. One scene also depicts the use of horses to pull a plough, a relatively new development at the time the tapestry was made. Previously oxen had been employed in this role, but the invention of the horse collar enabled the use of horses, with their greater strength and stamina, to be used in agriculture without the yoke pressing on their windpipes.
The depiction of men on horseback, along with running dogs and gesturing soldiers, helps to give the tapestry its sense of forward momentum and drama, but there might be more than this going on. In her analysis of the depiction of animals, Gale Owen-Crocker observes that subtle insights into the status and emotions of the main characters are indicated through the state of arousal of the horses that they ride.
Early in the narrative, Harold is taken prisoner by Guy, Count of Ponthieu. Harold’s diminished status is indicated by the fact that he rides a gelding (a castrated horse), while Guy rides an anatomically intact stallion. Harold is then ‘rescued’ by William and, while the latter rides a priapic stallion, Harold now rides a mare, indicative of his subservient status.
On his return to England from Normandy, Harold rides a priapic stallion as he approaches King Edward the Confessor’s court, indicating his lust for power. The same interpretation may be put on William’s horse as he rides towards Hastings, and all the Norman horses advancing towards the battle exhibit the same ‘assertiveness’; above them the Latin text of the rallying speech calls on the Normans to approach the battle ‘manfully’.
This is not the end of the horses’ vital symbolic role, however: according to Gale Owen-Crocker, the sprawling horses in the latter part of the tapestry emphasise the scale of the carnage and the horrors of war. Hovering above the dead horses are the doves of peace, introduced subtly by the religious patrons and makers of the tapestry as a condemnation of both sides in the battle.
Of gorse and broom
Sherds has occasionally sung in performances of Benjamin Britten’s Five Flower Songs, written in 1950 as a wedding anniversary gift to the founders of the Dartington Hall Festival, the garden-lovers Leonard and Dorothy Elmhirst. One of the songs – ‘The Ballad of Green Broom’ – is based on an anonymous folk song that tells the story of a young man who comes calling on a rich lady offering to sell her a fine bundle of green broom. Clearly the reference is erotic, and she is so pleased with his green broom that she ends up marrying him.
Sherds has yet to find an explanation for broom as a sexual symbol, unless, with its pea-like yellow flowers, it is being confused with gorse, which is appropriately ‘prickly’, if you will forgive the term. It is also the subject of the saying that ‘when gorse is out of blossom, kissing’s out of fashion’. The point of this aphorism being, of course, that gorse is never out of flower because the various species bloom at different times and have long and overlapping flowering seasons.
Broom is not the only example of a puzzling vegetational symbol. How and why did leeks become the symbol of Wales, for example? One explanation – not very convincing – is that the druids are to blame (aren’t they always?) for promoting the humble leek as a plant with magical properties, a cure for colds and (like garlic) useful for keeping evil spirits at bay. Today, many people prefer to wear a daffodil as a symbol of Welsh nationhood – apparently the Welsh for daffodil is cenhinen Bedr, meaning ‘St Peter’s leek’, but this simply raises further questions: why Peter and not St David, and what do leeks and daffodils have in common?
Internet articles about Welsh leeks and daffodils are no help – they are all prefaced by the nebulous phrases, such as ‘legend has it’ and ‘according to myth’. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the way that leeks are deployed in the food fight that marks carnevale in Ivrea, in the northern Italian Piedmont region. The festival commemorates the revolt of the townspeople against a tyrannical overlord who attempted to exercise droit du seigneur (what we would now call rape) the night before the town miller’s daughter was due to be married. ‘According to tradition’, the leeks and the oranges represent the genitalia of the tyrant and the desire of the community to see them forcefully removed.
The end for Watford Gap services
Talking of ancient sayings, the evidence of how hard it is to pin them down to exact dates, origins, and meanings is provided by the phrase ‘north of Watford’ to indicate the dividing line between southern and northern England. Many would say that it was a mistake – it should be north of Watford Gap, a reference to the service station some 68 miles north of Watford, that opened on 2 November 1959 and that for many years marked the end of the M1 motorway, at which point the drive north slowed to a crawl.
Not so, say others, citing newspaper reports from the 1940s and 1950s in which ‘north of Watford’ is cited as the cultural boundary marker – perhaps, say some, a reference to the last suburban railway station out of London on the line to the north of England.
But what about the claim that there was a coaching inn on the site where the service station was later built, called The Watford Gap? In the 18th century, so it is claimed by the Watford Gap party, this was where you changed horses and where the east, west, and northern coaching routes divided.
Sherds remembers visiting the service station on the way to a memorable youth hostelling week in the Yorkshire Dales in 1967. It appeared then to be the epitome of all things modern. When the BBC broadcast a 50th-anniversary documentary, many of those interviewed spoke of the service station fondly as a destination in its own right, its Blue Boar restaurant sought out as a ‘fine dining’ experience. Now it is seen as jaded and expendable: it is set to be replaced by a new service station, but the phrase (and the Watford/Watford Gap dispute) will no doubt go on long after the building has disappeared.
You must be logged in to post a comment.