Geoffrey Ashe in association with Debrett’s Peerage: The Discovery of King Arthur
Debrett’s Peerage 1985
Humans make history, and histories about individual humans are particularly fascinating if not always fashionable among scholars. Occasionally popular and scholarly tastes overlap, as we have seen in the case of the discovery of Richard III’s body under a car park in Leicester. But if anybody’s hoping in similar fashion to discover the body of King Arthur they might just be whistling in the dark.
Why? Well, frankly the historical documentation for Arthur is, to put it mildly, very sparse, some might say non-existent.
Geoffrey Ashe: “A Certain Very Ancient Book”;
Traces of an Arthurian Source in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History. Speculum 56, 2: 1981
Geoffrey Ashe in association with Debrett’s Peerage The Discovery of King Arthur
Debrett’s Peerage Limited 1985
A recent guest post by Katie Wilkins of Doing Dewey on Lory Hess’s blog Emerald City Book Review introduced a 1985 publication that stimulated some discussion. It prompted me to look up some reviews I penned of Geoffrey Ashe’s book at the time, plus one of the academic papers that preceded it.
Below is the slightly edited texts of those reviews with some linking commentary, for those who like to muse on the historical origins of the Arthurian legends. The Speculum review is from Pendragon XIV/3, summer 1981, and the book review appeared in Pendragon XVII/4, autumn 1984 (published February 1986). Of necessity the arguments are involved and rather complex — I hope it all has a little more than just historical curiosity!
P D James and T A Critchley
The Maul and the Pear Tree:
the Ratcliffe Highway Murders, 1811
Faber & Faber 2010
I deliberately began reading The Maul and the PearTree exactly two hundred years to the day that the horrific killing spree known as the Ratcliffe Highway murders began, on December 7th 1811. Four innocent people, including a babe in arms, were butchered in London’s East End that first night, stretching the rudimentary resources of the parish, the local magistrates and the Thames police based in Wapping. It inaugurated a period of terror, suspicion and xenophobia in St George’s and the neighbouring parishes and, through the medium of the press, a few weeks of morbid fascination in the public at large. It also led to questions in Parliament on the adequacy of current policing by neighbourhood watchmen, with a scornful analysis by the playwright Sheridan on the floor of the House of Commons.
Panic really set in when, twelve days later, a second attack resulting in three more horrific murders took place, also around the witching hour of midnight.
Gerald Morgan Castles in Wales: A Handbook
Y Lolfa 2008
It’s often claimed that, per square mile, Wales has the largest number of castles in the world.¹ Whether it’s the Welsh bigging themselves up or one of those memes that’s just accepted, it’s certainly true that the country has over 600 examples. As Wales is over 8000 square miles — nearly 20,800 square kilometres — in area,² this means there is a castle for every 13 sq miles (35 sq km) of land. Nowadays that works out at around one castle for every 5000 head of population, whereas in the Middle Ages, when the inhabitants of Wales may have fluctuated between 150K and 300K, each castle was on average meant to overawe between 250 and 500 Welshmen and -women. That’s some comment on the fears of the mostly Norman and Plantagent overlords who built them and on the rightfully bolshie attitudes of the native peoples.
When we imagine castles it’s odds-on we picture something like Disneyland’s Sleeping Beauty Castle, partly modelled on the 19th-century castle at Neuschwanstein, or perhaps one of the French chateaux of the Loire. The fact is that castles come in all shapes and sizes and with varying degrees of function. Gerald Morgan makes this point very clearly in his introduction to this Welsh castle handbook: while the simplest definition could be ‘a medieval European fortified stronghold’ (thus excluding prehistoric earthworks, Roman camps and Victorian follies and fancies, for example) it can include everything from ringworks and motte-and-bailey structures to fortified manor houses and walled palaces, as well as the great military showpieces that typify the Welsh castle in the popular mind.
• Living in Wales means living in a landscape where the past is never too far away — eloquent place names, ancient monuments, local legends and folklore. A particular class of monuments are those so-called Dark Age memorial stones inscribed with words, runes, pictograms and abstract patterns that litter the countryside, not just here in Wales but around the north and west of Britain. This repost of a review (it first appeared online in May 2014) looks at one man’s interpretation of what some of these enigmatic inscriptions might mean.
Charles Thomas Christian Celts: Messages & Images
Tempus Publishing 1998
This is a book that is worth persevering with. Despite its often complex arguments it is shot through with Thomas’ dry wit and apposite asides, and — coming as it does from an acknowledged expert in the field of church history and archaeology — it is also worth taking seriously. He introduces the historical, educative and commemorative contexts that post-Roman inscriptions fitted into; he discusses the insular background in the Celtic-speaking regions of Scotland, Ireland, Wales and Cornwall; and he also delves into the religious implications of some of the texts. But he does more than just give an overview of these enigmatic messages.
Robert Carse The Castaways:
A Narrative History of Some Survivors from the Dangers of the Sea
Ronald Whiting & Wheaton 1967 (1966)
I don’t usually start reviews with a biographical note, but since I knew nothing about Robert Carse I felt it was only fair to find out what constrained him to write this rather curious narrative history. I discovered that he was a pulp fiction author whose first effort was published in 1928, with stories appearing frequently in Argosy magazine and The Saturday Evening Post. Born in 1902 (he died in 1971) he became a sailor on the Great Lakes at seventeen, later becoming chief mate at sea. Having extensively sailed the world’s ocean he then embarked on a career as a maritime historian: it’s said that Carse claimed to have spent half of his life on water, and must have spent the other half writing about it, some of his work drawing on his experiences as a merchant seaman during the war.
With a back catalogue of short stories, serials, articles and books, both fiction and non-fiction, Carse’s output was aimed variously at children and adults. Thus The Castaways could as easily appeal to young adults as to older readers. His nine chapters include nine men who went ashore in foreign parts and one woman, and they include stories ranging from the Tudor period to the 19th century. With such a wide experience of seafaring and of being published Carse should have come up with a Narrative History that both impresses and convinces. But I found that this was a tantalising and not totally satisfying read.