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NORFOLK Medieval graffiti the medieval economy – the sheep and cattle that created the wealth that actually built many of these magnificent churches – are almost entirely absent, in favour of the beasts and birds of the hunt: deer, hounds, and birds of prey associated with the upper echelons of medieval society. Likewise, while horses do occasionally appear, they are not beasts that would be seen pulling a plough across a rutted field. Rather, they are the war horses of knights – some of whom are shown in the saddle – as at Weybread in Suffolk, where a now badly eroded early 15th-century knight can be seen plunging his lance down towards a long-vanished foe. This martial imagery is repeated across dozens of English churches, and can turn up in the most unlikely places. At Swannington in Norfolk, for example, a whole series of tiny, neatly drawn inscriptions, just a few inches above floor level, show all the equipment of the medieval man-atarms, including pole-arms, shields, and swords. Meanwhile, just over the Suffolk border at Worlington, the walls are scattered with shields and tournament helmets with elaborate crests. Might this bias against mundane images of farm animals and the common plough-boy in favour of chivalric and hunting themes suggest a level of aspiration among those who made the graffiti? ABOVE Medieval graffiti artists seem particularly interested in chivalric and hunting themes, such as this deer from Troston, and knight from Weybread, both in Suffolk. BELOW One of a series of windmill images identified at Lidgate, Suffolk. Writing on the wall One of the most spectacular churches we examined outside Norfolk is at Lidgate, Suffolk. Although the church itself is relatively modest, it was constructed in the outer bailey of a 12thcentury castle, nestling within extremely impressive earthworks. Violet Pritchard examined its 32 current archaeology | www.archaeology.co.uk graffiti in the 1960s, but her investigations were limited by available technology – relying in most cases on taking rubbings and redrawing the results. With modern digital technology, however, even the shallowest inscription can be accurately recorded, and we found that there was far more to see than Pritchard had noted: over 400 graffiti, mostly 15th-, 16th- and early 17th-century in date. Among these is a fine collection of windmill images, clustered in one area of the north aisle and pre-dating the insertion of a late 15th-century screen. Might this concentration hint at the presence of a now-lost aisle altar, perhaps even a Guild altar associated with millers? Aside from these, the church walls bustle with just about every type of graffito imaginable, including texts, religious imagery and depictions of demons, some extremely rare examples of musical notation, and rebus inscriptions – medieval puzzles using a mixture of words, music, and pictures to create a phrase. For example, one wistfully romantic rebus combines the word ‘well’ with a stave of music marked with the notes ‘fa’, ‘re’, ‘mi’, and ‘la’, a picture of a die known in the Middle Ages as a ‘cater’, and letters spelling out ‘yne’. Taken together, this melancholy message reads ‘farewell, my lady Catherine’ (CA 291). It authorship is hinted at by an adjacent inscription that says John Lydgate fecit hoc die sancti Symon et Jude (‘John Lydgate made this on the day of St Simon and St Jude [28 October]’), a possible link to a poet known to have been born in the village in 1370. Over on the north side of the doorway into the tower, we found a small and neatly cut inscription of equal historical interest. Comprising the words ‘18 January 1583, ano Eliz vingtu sext [26th year June 2016 |
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of the reign of Elizabeth I], muster at this town’, accompanied by the initials ‘T S’, this tiny graffito, made five years before the Spanish Armada’s attempted invasion, refers to a mustering of the local militia for training under the command of Thomas Smythe – an event that appears in no other contemporary documents, leaving the inscription as our only record of it having ever taken place. Further afield It is not only Norfolk and Suffolk where graffiti is being recorded: sister-surveys have also launched in Lincolnshire, Surrey, East Sussex, Wiltshire, and Kent, while investigations are planned for Cambridgeshire, Hampshire, Devon, and Cornwall in the near future. There are also two new HLF-funded pilot projects being coordinated by Matt Beresford of MBA Archaeology in Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, and we are working closely with the Council for British Archaeology in hope of expanding the survey nationwide. Recently our research has moved beyond places of worship to explore medieval castles, with intriguing results. Carlisle Castle in Cumbria has long been known to contain fine early carvings, including religious and heraldic imagery, and mythological beasts. These were traditionally attributed to prisoners housed in the keep, but are now thought to be associated with the castle’s chapel. An almost identical pattern can also be seen at Norwich Castle, where the chapel walls are littered with deep and elaborate carvings of saints, other religious images, and heraldic symbols. Meanwhile, at Bodiam Castle in East Sussex, recent work undertaken on behalf of the National Trust revealed a number of 14th-century inscriptions hidden among the masses of tourist graffiti that cover its ground-floor areas, while ritual protection marks were found around almost every doorway and window. The sheer number of these symbols suggests that for the medieval ABOVE This cunning rebus inscription, found at Lidgate church, forms a melancholy phrase: ‘farewell, my lady Catherine’. BELOW A small inscription at Lidgate provides our only evidence for a muster of the local militia in 1583. | Issue 315 inhabitants of Bodiam, the physical defences presented by battlements, gun-loops, and ironbound gates simply were not enough to defend against the forces of evil that might assail them. It is these personal insights that make this material – together with its accessibility and its ‘undiscovered’ nature – so attractive. Graffiti connects us to the past in a way that decorated manuscripts or brightly coloured stained-glass simply cannot: these faint scratchings represent tangible interactions of real, ordinary people. They do not tell stories of the pomp and ceremony of the medieval court, nor of the terrifying violence of battle, but instead they speak of the simple hopes, dreams, and fears of a devout people. They are the lost voices of the medieval church. Ca Matthew Champion, Medieval Graffiti:the lost voices of England’s churches (ISBN 978-0091960414; Ebury Press, £14.99). The book is due to be released in July. further reading  www.archaeology.co.uk | current archaeology 33

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of the reign of Elizabeth I], muster at this town’, accompanied by the initials ‘T S’, this tiny graffito, made five years before the Spanish Armada’s attempted invasion, refers to a mustering of the local militia for training under the command of Thomas Smythe – an event that appears in no other contemporary documents, leaving the inscription as our only record of it having ever taken place.

Further afield

It is not only Norfolk and Suffolk where graffiti is being recorded: sister-surveys have also launched in Lincolnshire, Surrey, East Sussex, Wiltshire, and Kent, while investigations are planned for Cambridgeshire, Hampshire, Devon, and Cornwall in the near future. There are also two new HLF-funded pilot projects being coordinated by Matt Beresford of MBA Archaeology in Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, and we are working closely with the Council for British Archaeology in hope of expanding the survey nationwide.

Recently our research has moved beyond places of worship to explore medieval castles, with intriguing results. Carlisle Castle in Cumbria has long been known to contain fine early carvings, including religious and heraldic imagery, and mythological beasts. These were traditionally attributed to prisoners housed in the keep, but are now thought to be associated with the castle’s chapel. An almost identical pattern can also be seen at Norwich Castle, where the chapel walls are littered with deep and elaborate carvings of saints, other religious images, and heraldic symbols. Meanwhile, at Bodiam Castle in East Sussex, recent work undertaken on behalf of the National Trust revealed a number of 14th-century inscriptions hidden among the masses of tourist graffiti that cover its ground-floor areas, while ritual protection marks were found around almost every doorway and window. The sheer number of these symbols suggests that for the medieval

ABOVE This cunning rebus inscription, found at Lidgate church, forms a melancholy phrase: ‘farewell, my lady Catherine’.

BELOW A small inscription at Lidgate provides our only evidence for a muster of the local militia in 1583.

| Issue 315

inhabitants of Bodiam, the physical defences presented by battlements, gun-loops, and ironbound gates simply were not enough to defend against the forces of evil that might assail them.

It is these personal insights that make this material – together with its accessibility and its ‘undiscovered’ nature – so attractive. Graffiti connects us to the past in a way that decorated manuscripts or brightly coloured stained-glass simply cannot: these faint scratchings represent tangible interactions of real, ordinary people. They do not tell stories of the pomp and ceremony of the medieval court, nor of the terrifying violence of battle, but instead they speak of the simple hopes, dreams, and fears of a devout people. They are the lost voices of the medieval church.

Ca

Matthew Champion, Medieval Graffiti:the lost voices of England’s churches (ISBN 978-0091960414; Ebury Press, £14.99). The book is due to be released in July. further reading 

www.archaeology.co.uk | current archaeology

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