Notwithstanding the repeated censuring of my betters against impious Heathen ways, I have to admit that Anglo-Saxon charms are, quite simply, fascinating. But then I am a bit of a naughty monk at times.
Surviving in a range of manuscripts, the earliest of which are tenth-century, these incantations provide us with insight into the way facets of pagan heritage and culture endured within Anglo-Saxon Christian society. Many of the charms relate to medicine, for curing things like ague, diarrhoea and elf-hiccup – what do you mean elves don’t cause hiccups? Of course they do! Other charms may be sung for protection when you're about to embark on a long journey; others for improving the productivity of your land. Some of the charms, such as the one I’m going to focus on here, have been to some extent Christianised. You may be required, for example, to utter the Paternoster (the ‘Our Father’ prayer) over your neighbour’s nasty black ulcers, or nine times invoke an angel and the Lord whilst spitting on his painful leg – let’s hope you’re good friends!
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Doreen Gunkel is an independent researcher from New Mexico, USA, who with great gusto is getting to grips with her ambitious plan to recreate a medieval woman's garment, from fleece to final product. The original garment is from Greenland; and, funny enough, it is now popularly known as 'the Greenland gown'.
I had the great pleasure of interviewing Doreen in order to find out what motivated this intrepid re-creator to take on what must be the ultimate in retro-style makeovers. The Trial of Penenden Heath: It conjures up images of King William honouring the native laws of his newly conquered land, wheeling out (quite literally) the frail Bishop Æthelric, learned in the laws and customs of the English, to espouse the old ways. The Anglo-Saxon Monk asks if we should go along with this drama ... Grande Chronique de Normandie, British Library (Brussels, c. 1460-1468). Left, William the Conqueror's funeral; right, Archbishop Lanfranc crowning William Rufus. The Rochester version of the Trial of Penenden Heath, between Lanfranc and Bishop Odo of Bayeux, was recorded some time after William the Conqueror's death in 1089. This image is PUBLIC DOMAIN. Please click on it to go to the source.
I had the pleasure, this past Thursday evening, of attending Professor Gale Owen-Crocker’s retirement celebration. What a wonderful scholar! In the field of Anglo-Saxon studies she stands as one of the greats. She has pioneered the study of Anglo-Saxon dress, has used her weighty interdisciplinary skills to open up new ways of reading our most famous poem Beowulf, and has compelled us to look ever closer at the Bayeux Tapestry.
It’s certainly not difficult to enumerate her academic achievements, though you would need to utilise a medieval monk’s mnemonic techniques in order to recall her huge list of publications! What we don’t always get to hear, though, about someone who has been as successful as Gale, are the personal accounts of kindness, humility and sense of fun. King Alfred. We all know he was Great. Resilient, doughty warrior and subduer of Vikings. Champion of education, lawmaker and military reformer. Not so good at baking, mind you. Let’s just say that he wouldn’t have got his cakes past that devil in disguise Mary Berry and her blue-eyed tormentor Paul Hollywood.*
*Non-UK readers: Mary and Paul are the feared judges on one of the UK’s most popular TV shows, The Great British Bake-Off. Now I mentioned just now that Alfred was a lawmaker. Yes, indeed. He wrote the largest piece of early medieval legislation in Old English. Well, he probably got some lowly scribe to work the quill. Someone like me. Part of the reason that his law-code was rather long was because he wrote a preface to it, in which he actually translated several chapters from Exodus, the second book of the Bible. Now, all you blessed theologians out there will know that Exodus incorporates the law attributed to Moses (big white beard and ten plagues of Egypt fame), which includes, at its heart, the Ten Commandments, written initially by the finger of God on a couple of stone tablets (handily knocked up by God, too, I imagine), and subsequently transcribed by more human means onto a human-prepared medium, this following Moses’ smashing of the tablets in a moment of righteous indignation (see DVD image above). By now I’m sure you’ve anticipated me and you realise that King Alfred actually translated The Ten Commandments in his lawcode. Well, actually, he didn’t. Alfred produced The Nine Commandments. Moreover, not content to omit one of God's own big laws, he also took his legislative pruning shears to a couple of the others. Kingly privilege, my blessed readers, kingly privilege. Now as you read his version through, below, and compare it to the version that appears in the Bible, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind thinking about possible reasons Alfred may have had for engaging in – what shall I call it? – a moment of shrewd editing. |
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