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Young Tribune

Archaeology: Past ? Virtually a thing of the

In this era of ‘virtual’ Parish Council Meetings, church services, choir practices, doctors’ appointments, lessons, keep-fit classes and tea parties, it seems you can do virtually everything online, except perhaps archaeology.

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Surface finds from the 3rd to 19th centuries by Greg Prior

...it is virtually impossible to socially distance in a metre-square test pit! Alas! David Hankins’ magic trowel is redeployed as a humble gardening tool and Gregg Duggan’s mighty mattock has been furloughed along with our cones until things are virtually back to the ‘old normal’.

Covid-19 certainly put pay to PAST’s excavation programme in Peakirk this year simply because it is virtually impossible to socially distance in a metre-square test pit! Alas! David Hankins’ magic trowel is redeployed as a humble gardening tool and Gregg Duggan’s mighty mattock has been furloughed along with our cones until things are back to the ‘old normal’.

Meanwhile, what we all can do is to venture outdoors and look at the archaeology of our historic landscape, which is so much more clean-cut now that the harvest is home. Take for example, the view of the depression made by the now defunct Roman watercourse, Car Dyke, where it crosses Mile End Road between Glinton and Northborough and continues across a field of stubble. Following the 6m (19.5 feet) contour between the fens and the gravel uplands for 92km [57 miles] from the River Nene at Peterborough to the River Witham near Lincoln, the Dyke was as an enormous an undertaking as Hadrian’s Wall when it was excavated in the first century AD. What an impact it must have had on the indigenous Iron-Age population (especially on the locals who were forced to dig it) and may be compared with the construction of the railways, in the nineteenth century, and our motorway network, in the twentieth!

Then, after the land has been prepared for winter, walk alongside on the adjacent footpaths to see what the plough has turned up. In some parts of Tribland, you may find sherds of pottery dating back to the Iron Age. Castor is particularly famous for its resurgent Romano-British NeneValley ware, since there were numerous kilns near Ermine Street, in Normangate Field, and

The depression of Car Dyke, near Mile End Road

The crocks lay beneath the soil through war and peace, famine and pandemics including the Great Plague and Spanish ‘Flu, sporadically reemerging after digging or ploughing as insignificantlooking sherds.

there have been occasional surface finds in Peakirk churchyard too. However, most of the domestic pottery that turns up in fields, gardens and allotments was originally discarded on medieval to early twentieth-century rubbish dumps along with other household waste like vegetable matter and human and animal dung, which was later spread on the land as fertilizer.

The crocks lay beneath the soil through war and peace, famine and pandemics including the Great Plague and Spanish ‘Flu, sporadically re-emerging after digging or ploughing as insignificant-looking sherds. Yet to archaeologists, they are fascinating because they are a window into our past and represent morefrugal, pre-Tesco times when the breakage of difficult-to-replace utensils was lamented.

And what will our own welldocumented, throw-away society leave for future generations of archaeologists to ponder over? Land-fill sites packed with plastic and other non-biodegradable materials, evidence of fly-tipping and the latest litter accessory, disposable face-masks? Will our successors feel dismay and resentment at the way we have treated our countryside and try to make amends?

Or will they follow in some of our footsteps, too locked-down in their ‘virtual’ worlds or engrossed in the latest technology and musthave trending gadgets to notice or care?

Peterborough Cathedral

Fiends, Fires and Fiends, Fires and Murder Most Foul!Murder Most Foul!

Forging links with Anglo-Saxon Peterborough

by Dr Avril Lumley Prior

Come September, it will be half a century since I arrived in Peterborough to begin my teaching career. On the first weekend, I joined a tour of the Cathedral, where I learnt that a monastery named Medeshamstede, was founded on the site, in 655, by Prince Peada of Mercia and King Oswiu of Northumbria. It was torched by ‘Vikings’, in 870, and restored by Bishop Æthelwold of Winchester, a century later, only to be accidently burnt down again by a blaspheming baker, in 1116.

Hugh Candidus watching the ‘Nine Days Fire’

Bede (Window, St John’s church)

The Seven Kingdoms

When I asked my guide the source of his information, he recommended that I bought a copy of The Peterborough Chronicle of Hugh Candidus, the life’s work of a twelfth-century monk. It was a fascinating read, even though Hugh had compiled it between 1155 and 1175, some 500 years after many of the events supposedly occurred. Still, it left me wanting to find out more. Unfortunately, it was not until I took early retirement that I had time to delve into Peterborough’s past with conviction, unravelling a saga of desperate times and dark deeds.

But I am jumping ahead of myself here. To put Peterborough’s Anglo-Saxon past in perspective, we must turn to my old friend, Bede, who wrote his History of the English Church and People 200 miles away, at Jarrow, in Northumbria, c.731. He tells us that by the mid-seventh century, our country was divided into seven kingdoms ruled by a handful of aristocratic families, of which Mercia and Northumbria were emerging as two warring superpowers. During a brief detente in 654, the pagan Penda of Mercia (c.628-55) and Christian Oswui of Northumbria (643-70), brokered a marriage alliance between their offspring in an attempt to found dynasties in each other’s territory. It was agreed that Penda’s son and daughter, Peada and Kyneburgha, should marry Oswiu’s daughter and son, Ahlfflæd and Ahlfrith. Oswiu added the codicil that, before any union took place, Peada must first accept Christianity, to which there were no objections. Indeed, Bede reveals that the youth was so smitten by the ‘new’ religion that he promised to be baptised whether he won the princess or not.

For a decade, Kyneburgha remained in Northumbria with Ahlfrith, whose father made him sub-ruler of Deira, a region of Northumbria covering parts of modern County Durham and North Yorkshire. Meanwhile, Penda bestowed upon Peada the clientkingship of the Middle Angles, whose territory is understood to have comprised Leicestershire, Northamptonshire and the old Soke of Peterborough [Greater Peterborough], which includes Tribland.

Peada returned to his province with Ahlfflæd and four Northumbrian-trained priests, perhaps, adopting as his powerbase the abandoned Roman prætorium at Castor, overlooking the Nene Valley. It seems that Penda had no problem with Peada’s campaign to evangelise the area but drew the line at the building of a monastery in Mercia. Bede relates that both nobles and common folk sallied forth in droves ‘to renounce idolatry and be washed in the fountain of faith’, though, doubtlessly, they were being prodded along by Peada!

This Middle-Anglian Utopia did not last long. Within a year, Penda was up to his old tricks, invading Northumbria at the head of a vast army of 30 tribal leaders and their warriors, both pagan and Christian. Oswiu and Alhfrith were hopelessly outnumbered and tried to bribe Penda to withdraw but the Mercian ruler turned a deaf ear, leaving the Northumbrians no option but to fight. Oswiu and Ahlfrith prayed fervently and promised to build twelve new monasteries in exchange for victory. This time their entreaties were heard for the Mercians suffered a crashing defeat, Penda was killed and the grateful Oswiu founded twelve new Northumbrian religious houses.

The murder of Peada by his wife (Jan Jansson, 1646)

Upon Medeshamstede’s completion and the installation of Seaxwulf as abbot, Wulfhere declared it would be dedicated in the honour of St Peter, keeper of the keys to Heaven (hence, its medieval name, St Peter’s Burch, later Peterborough).

Seaxwulf receives Wulfhere’s Charter

Peada, it appears, took no part in the hostilities, and was rewarded by his father-in-law with the clientkingship of Southern Mercia. He was now free to sponsor his own monastery staffed with monks and priests providing pastoral care to prevent his subjects from lapsing into their old pagan ways. Medeshamstede: The Monastery by the Meadow

Until now, (like me) Hugh was relying heavily upon a copy of Bede’s History, a medieval ‘bestseller’ and a must-have for every monastic library, though he was consulting a manuscript rather than the paperback edition! Since Bede only mentions Medeshamstede in passing, revealing that Seaxwulf was its first abbot and that it was situated in the land of the Gyrwe (‘fen-dwellers), Hugh adds his own twist to the tale. He states that Peada and Oswiu colluded to create a high-status religious house, on a rock overlooking the River Nene near a sacred spring called the Mædeswæl [‘meadow-spring’] and named their royal foundation, Medeshamstede.

Hugh describes seventhcentury Medeshamstede as a veritable Paradise. To the west, lay rich meadows, woods and fertile ploughlands. To the east, a deep fen fed by many watercourses rendered the terrain unfit for human habitation except, of course, by the less-fortunate monks of Crowland, Ramsey and Thorney. However, Hugh was writing in the twelfth century, by which time the abbey lands had been cultivated for over 500 years. The church had been rebuilt in Romanesque [Norman] style after the 1116 ‘Nine Days’ Fire’ and the town had been realigned with its marketplace outside the abbey gates, a layout recognizable today. Back in 655, climatic changes and lack of maintenance of the Romano-British drainage systems had reduced the area to a mosquito-infested swamp. Hugh may well have perceived that these water margins were abundant with fish and fowl, but the pioneering monks of early Medeshamstede must have found life exceedingly challenging.

Moreover, before Peada’s the complex was completed tragedy struck. At Easter, 656, he was murdered, allegedly by his Northumbrian wife. Bede informs us that Oswiu swiftly seized control of South Mercia, but his direct rule lasted only three years. In 658, Mercian ealdormen rebelled against their Northumbrian overlords, drove them from their kingdom and appointed Peada’s younger brother, Wulfhere, a devout Christian as their ruler. Hugh adds that Wulfhere’s prime concern was to complete Medeshamstede. With Oswiu off the scene, he sought the advice of his siblings, Æthelræd, Kyneswitha and, crucially, Kyneburgha, now in charge of her own convent in Castor, after Alhfrith mysteriously disappeared (possibly executed by Oswiu following a failed coup.)

Upon Medeshamstede’s completion and the installation of Seaxwulf as abbot, Wulfhere declared it would be dedicated in the honour of St Peter, keeper of the keys to Heaven (hence, its medieval name, St Peter’s Burch, later Peterborough). The king presented it with a spectacular foundation charter, endowing it vast estates stretching from Wansford to the Fens and from the now-drained Whittlesey Mere to the Wash. He also conferred upon the abbey extraordinary privileges. Medeshamstede was to have continued overleaf >> villagetribune 47

>> continued from previous page

Wilfrid, Hexham panel

Agatho issued a dire warning that anyone who tried to diminish the monastery’s status or violate its rights would be condemned to Hell by none other than St Peter himself!

Conjectural drawing of Medehamstede Abbey church, c.700

numerous dependent monasteries, would enjoy supremacy over all other English abbeys, except Canterbury, and her abbot was answerable only to the Archbishop and the Pope.

Next, Hugh describes how Wulfhere sent Wilfrid, an upwardlymobile, young priest (and bishopand saint-in-waiting) to Rome to obtain Pope Agatho’s blessing. So impressed was his Holiness with Wulfhere’s flagship Mercian monastery that he heaped upon it further honours in his Bull of 664. He decreed that Medeshamstede should be exempt from all taxation and military services. It was to be a centre of pilgrimage, ‘a second Rome in England’, so that those who could not travel to Rome could visit St Peter at Medeshamstede instead. Finally, Agatho issued a dire warning that anyone who tried to diminish the monastery’s status or violate its rights would be condemned to Hell by none other than St Peter himself!

When Wulfhere died, he was succeeded by his brother, Æthelræd (677-704), who had married another of Oswiu of Northumbria’s daughters, Osthryth. Copies of authentically-based charters testify that the couple extended Medeshamstede’s sphere of influence by founding a daughter-house at Breedon-on-theHill, Leicestershire, which in turn supported a satellite monastery, at Repton, in Derbyshire, later the mausoleum of Mercian kings. Yet, despite her good works, Osthryth’s increasing influence caused resentment. Even after 40 years, as a Northumbrian, she still was regarded as the ‘old enemy’, whose father slew the mighty Penda and whose fiendish halfsister had dispatched the saintly Peada. According to Bede, in 697, Osthryth was murdered by Mercian noblemen. One of her assassins is thought to have been St Pega’s of Peakirk’s brother, Guthlac, which rationalises his seeking sanctuary at Repton and his subsequent ‘exile’ at Crowland and eventual sainthood.

A Second Rome in England

Pope Agatho’s vision of Medeshamstede as a ‘second Rome’, conjures images of lofty belfries, shady cloisters and studious monks labouring over illuminated texts in a scriptorium. Conversely, the earliest monastery was more likely to have been a cluster of timber-framed structures thatched with reed, materials that Hugh tells us were readily locally. In fact, Bede divulges that, when Benedict Biscop raised his state-ofthe-art monastery at Wearmouth [Sunderland], nearly 20 years later in 674, on land given by Osthryth’s brother, King Ecgfrith, he recruited stone masons and glaziers from Gaul [France] because the skills had been lost after the Roman legions withdrew from Britain, in 410AD. Therefore, it was feasible that Medeshamstede was reconstructed in stone from Barnack quarry not at Peada or Wulfhere’s behest but at Æthelræd’s and Osthryth’s, later in the seventh century.

Although foundations of a stone church were discovered during the underpinning of the Cathedral tower, in 1883, it is impossible to determine how the building may have looked from this fraction of floor-plan. But, by adopting as a model Professor Rosemary Cramp’s reconstruction of St Peter’s, Wearmouth (another ‘second Rome in England’), we may conjecture that Medeshamstede’s late seventhcentury church contained a porch

Castor slab ‘Hædda

Stone’

He explains that Abbot Hædda, sensing impending disaster on the eve of the Danish raid, wrote down the monastery’s history, hitherto preserved as oral tradition. Once finished, he hid it, together with Wulfhere’s charter and Agatho’s Bull behind a loose stone in the church wall and stoically awaited his fate.

or narthex to the west, an aisled nave and a square or apsidal (semicircular), eastern sanctuary, where, the relics of St Peter and Osthryth’s uncle and miracle worker, St Oswald (slain in battle by Penda in 642), were enshrined. Domestic offices probably were limited to a refectory, dormitory, kitchen, necessarium [latrine] and storehouses since cloisters were not introduced until after the Benedictine Reforms of the late-ninth century.

Æthelræd abdicated, in 704, and retreated to Rome where he became monk. His nephew, Cenred, Wulfhere’s son, who succeeded him, joined him in the Eternal City in 709, after which Mercia endured nearly four decades of misrule and regicide until Offa brought a measure of stability, in 757. Nevertheless, Hugh assures us that Medeshamstede continued to thrive throughout the abbacies of Cuthbald, Ecgbald, Pusa, Beonna, Coelred and Hædda. The arts were encouraged and craftsmen set up a stone-carving workshop, producing intricate sculptures to adorn the abbey church and its outliers. One such masterpiece, In the Cathedral, is the so-called ‘Hædda Stone’, depicting Christ, the Virgin Mary and ten of the disciples. Once believed to be a memorial to Abbot Hædda and brethren who were reputedly slaughtered by ‘the Danes’, the Victorians carved the date, ‘870’, on the gable as a reminder of their martyrdom! (Strange that the workshops continued after Medeshamstede had been sacked!) Then, in the 1970s, Professor Cramp calculated that the sculpture preceded the Danish raids by roughly 30 years. It is strikingly similar to a panel thought to be a section of Kyneburgha’s and Kyneswitha’s shrine, at Castor, leading us to speculate that the ‘Hædda Stone’ was intended as a monument for their brother, Peada.

A Fistful of Forgeries

At length, Hugh reveals the source of his additional information relating to pre-870 Medeshamstede. He explains that Abbot Hædda, sensing impending disaster on the eve of the Danish raid, wrote down the monastery’s history, hitherto preserved as oral tradition. Once finished, he hid it, together with Wulfhere’s charter and Agatho’s Bull behind a loose stone in the church wall and stoically awaited his fate. The cache of documents was miraculously discovered by Bishop Æthelwold of Winchester while inspecting the restoration work, in 972. When Æthelwold showed them to his patron, King Eadgar (957-75), he immediately drew up another royal charter, endorsing Wulfhere’s privileges though amending the land-grants to allow for the new monasteries at Crowland, Ramsey and Thorney. All four documents were deemed so significant that copies were embedded in the Peterborough version of the AngloSaxon Chronicle compiled between 1121 and 1154, and in subsequent cartularies or charter books as well as in Hugh’s magnum opus.

EXCEPT that ‘Hædda’s’ house-history, ‘Wulfhere’s’ charter, ‘Agatho’s’ bull – and Eadgar’s’ charter – in their surviving form are all forgeries, composed during the early twelfth-century when the monastery’s fortunes and the brethren’s morale were at their lowest ebb. In 1169, three years after the Conquest, Hereward the fenland freedom-fighter, had breached the abbey walls, looted the treasury and ‘liberated’ its relics, including the undecayed arm of St Oswald, to prevent them (Hereward said) from falling into Norman hands. Then, Abbot continued overleaf >> villagetribune 49

Peterborough Cathedral (1842)

As the written word became more important than an oral tradition, the indigenous brethren of St Peter’s Burch urgently needed hard copies of charters claiming ancient privileges, purportedly granted by AngloSaxon kings.

Bede’s History of the English Church and People is still in print and Hugh Candidus’ Peterborough Chronicle is available in Peterborough Museum and Library Turold de Fécamp (1070-98), the military monk assigned to quell Hereward’s rebellion, had systematically requisitioned the abbey’s portable assets and alienated its estates to support his standing army of 60 knights. Furthermore, consecutive rulers’ campaigns in Normandy were stretching both the monastery’s and the country’s resources to their limits and the once-proud abbey was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.

As the written word became more important than an oral tradition, the indigenous brethren of St Peter’s Burch urgently needed hard copies of charters claiming ancient privileges, purportedly granted by AngloSaxon kings. Through these they could attempt to safeguard monastic property and demand exemption from taxation, military service and interference from both bishops and kings but also appear to comply with Norman law.

When Abbot Ernulf, a Frenchman (not a Norman), consummate lawyer and AngloSaxon sympathiser, arrived from Christ Church, Canterbury in 1107, he was the answer to the monks’ prayers. We now know that there had been a spate of forgeries in favour of Christ Church while Ernulf was prior there and another outbreak at Rochester, after he was elevated to the bishopric, in 1114. Thus, it appears that either Ernulf had the wherewithal to concoct the official ‘paperwork’ or he knew someone who had! It transpires that the Peterborough, Christ Church and Rochester forgeries were so convincing that it took over 800 years for them to be exposed by Professor Wilhelm Levison, in 1943, and until 2005, when I identified Ernulf or his agent as the likely perpetrator.

But ignore the extravagant, totally-spurious privileges tailormade to suit the twelfth-century political climate. Then, carefully read between the lines and you will find clues that the forger had access to genuine but now-lost, materials relating to Medeshamstede’s pre-870 estates. For example, it is still possible to plot Wulfhere’s seventh-century charter bounds using landscape features. And Medeshamstede’s tenth-century domain as defined by ‘King Eadgar’s’ charter neatly corresponds with Greater Peterborough. So, if Oswui established twelve Northumbrian monasteries to celebrate his victory over Penda, wouldn’t the prospect of cofounding a thirteenth with his archenemy’s son and heir and within his former kingdom be too delectably tempting to resist?

If, perchance, you take a guided tour of the Cathedral, you will be told that that a monastery named Medeshamstede, was founded on the site, in 655, by Peada of Mercia and Oswiu of Northumbria. It was destroyed by ‘Vikings’, in 870, restored by Bishop Æthelwold of Winchester, a century later, and accidently burnt down, in 1116. Half a century (and 25 years of research) later, I am completely convinced that this is exactly what did happen!

The Sad Tale of Elizabeth Culpin 1856-1875 of Helpstone

On the 30 January 1856 Martin Culpin, a shepherd born in Castor and his wife Jane [Hobbs] born in Ailsworth, were delivered of a baby girl, Elizabeth in Helpston[e].

According to the 1861 CENSUS the family were living in Maxey Road, although it is very unlikely that the property still exists and is likely to have been a cottage like the one above.

It was a large family with various birth and baptism places named for the children, probably due to Martin looking for shepherding work.

In 1871 as a 14 year old, Elizabeth is listed on the CENSUS as a shepherd, along with her brother George (16), and father Martin (62). The youngest children, under 12 years of age and still at home are recorded as scholars. Martin is 12 years older than his wife and likely needed the help of his children with his occupation as a shepherd. It is quite interesting on this 1871 CENSUS to see how many people are paper makers and rail labourers, two occupations that get mentioned a few years later in Elizabeth’s inquest hearing in the Exeter Arms. I’m not sure how much we should believe the information on the 1871 CENSUS as personally I think the enumerator may have passed by the Exeter Arms first as ‘Elisabeth’ is listed as a son of the head of the family and William is a daughter! It appears from the inquest report, according to the sworn oath of widow, Sarah Holding, that Elizabeth left a room in her mother’s house in Maxey Road at about 9.45pm Saturday 24th April 1875. When she didn’t return to the room, a boy was sent to look for her. As he was not able to find her, a search was started around the local area but she was not found. The witness stated that Elizabeth had been in a low desponding way for some time and had suffered debility. She had visited Doctor Paley that day and had been unwell for some 6 weeks. In the meantime, a driver of a goods train on the down line reported to the clerk in charge of the station at Tallington that he had seen what appeared to be the body of a man on the rails of the up line. On further investigation Horace Clayton found the body of Elizabeth at 11.40 pm and said she appeared to have been dead some little time. She was found about a quarter of a mile from the Lolham Bridges Crossing on the Helpston[e] side. There was no evidence to show whether the death was accidental or suicide.

There was no evidence to show whether the death was accidental or suicide.

This is the description of the cause of death on her death certificate: “Run over by a train running on the Great Northern Railway. Single woman employed at the paper mills. Inquest held 26 April 1875” She was buried in the churchyard on 27 April 1875 being only 19 years old. Elizabeth was one of at least 13 children born to Martin Culpin and Jane Hobbs, not all survived childhood, and with the death of her father in 1872, life must have been quite hard for the remaining family in Helpston 1911 shows one of Elizabeth’s older siblings Mary Ann Bowring (née Culpin), aged 65 and a widow, as a mill hand ‘sorter’ at the paper mill and at her time of death Elizabeth was also working at the paper mill. The newspaper article in the Stamford Mercury on 30 April 1875 reporting Elizabeth’s death.

If you are interested to learn more about the Helpston Local History Group please contact Margaret Courtman at the email address below: margaret.courtman@btinternet.com Jackie Robinson Arborfield Close, Helpston Active Member HLHG

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