Save The Whithorn Trust

Sculptured cross at Whithorn (illustration from The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland, 1903)

The Whithorn Trust has a funding shortfall of £18,500 and will be forced to shut down this summer. If this happens, its museum and visitor centre will also close. The news was announced yesterday at the Trust’s website.

The visitor centre tells the story of Whithorn from its Early Christian beginnings to the time when its medieval priory was a renowned pilgrimage venue. With a history spanning more than 1500 years, Whithorn stands alongside Iona and St Andrews as one of the most important religious sites in Scotland. It began sometime around AD 500, as a monastery and trading centre with links to the Mediterranean. Later, in the seventh century, it was taken over by the Anglo-Saxons and became the headquarters of a Northumbrian bishopric. Throughout the Middle Ages it was a major destination for pilgrims who came to see the shrine of Saint Ninian, the monk who is said to have founded the first monastery.

As well as the visitor centre, the Whithorn Trust has a small museum housing a collection of archaeological finds. Many of these were unearthed during excavations undertaken by the Trust itself. They provide an essential context for the early medieval sculpture displayed in the nearby Priory Museum. By visiting both museums, the visitor obtains a full picture of Whithorn’s story, from Ninian’s time to the pilgrimage era. The Priory Museum, which has the Latinus Stone and other famous monuments, is maintained by Historic Scotland and is not threatened with closure, but the experience of visiting the Priory site and the sculpture will be lessened by the demise of the Whithorn Trust.

If the Trust’s museum closes, its collection of Anglo-Saxon coins and pilgrim artifacts will be placed in storage by the local council or transferred to another museum. They are unlikely to remain at Whithorn, their place of origin. There is no guarantee that they will still be accessible to the public.

Closure of the museum will remove one of Galloway’s main tourist attractions and will inevitably have an impact on the local economy. Galloway, like other rural regions of Southern Scotland, has always had to compete with Edinburgh and the Highlands for a share of the tourism market. Attracting new visitors, and presenting them with interesting places to explore, is surely the way forward. The loss of a museum seems a backward step.

If you feel that the closure of the Whithorn Trust will be a tragedy for Scotland, click the link below and sign the petition.

Save the Whithorn Trust

The campaign also has a Facebook page.

* * * * * * *

Whitby

Whitby Abbey

As this blogpost is about a place in England I’m putting it in my ‘non-Scottish’ category, but that’s not the whole story, because Whitby has an important connection with early medieval Scotland.

Today, Whitby is a busy town and seaside resort on the coast of North Yorkshire. Its most striking landmark is the ruined abbey on a high headland overlooking the harbour. The abbey stands near the site of an Anglo-Saxon monastery which was the venue for a hugely significant event in AD 664: an ecclesiastical synod where matters of grave concern were discussed. The synod was hosted by Abbess Hild, a princess of the English kingdom of Northumbria, who also chaired the debate. Among the attendees was the Northumbrian king Oswiu (husband of Hild’s kinswoman Eanflaed) at whose request the gathering was summoned.

At stake in the debate was the future direction of Christianity in Oswiu’s kingdom. Would the Northumbrian churches continue to follow the ‘Celtic’ religious customs of Iona, the Hebridean island monastery founded by Saint Columba? Or would they instead adopt the so-called ‘Roman’ customs practised throughout much of Western Europe? The Celtic case was put by Colmán, bishop of Lindisfarne, while the chief spokesman for the Roman side was Wilfrid, abbot of Ripon. After hearing the arguments and counter-arguments, King Oswiu decreed that the Northumbrian churches should adhere to Roman customs alone. At a stroke, Iona’s authority among the Northern English clergy was ended. Even those who felt strong loyalty to the old Celtic ways, such as Hild herself, were obliged to obey the royal command.

Nothing now remains of the seventh-century monastery at Whitby. Although archaeologists have found traces of timber buildings on the seaward edge of the headland, as well as a large cemetery of Anglo-Saxon graves beneath a car park near the Abbey, the precise layout of the monastic site is unknown. Modern visitors are instead left to imagine how the headland might have looked in Hild’s time. When they reach the top of the 199 steps leading up from the town, they encounter an impressive rendition of an Anglo-Saxon cross.

Caedmon’s Cross, Whitby.

This monument, known as Caedmon’s Cross, was erected in 1898 to commemorate Caedmon, a herdsman at the Whitby monastery, whose talent for poetry caught the attention of Hild. Both he and the abbess are carved on the front, together with Jesus Christ and the Israelite king David.

Caedmon’s Cross: St Hild, abbess of Whitby.

Caedmon’s Cross: Caedmon the poet

Caedmon’s Cross: commemorative text

The cross stands in the graveyard of St Mary’s Church, an interesting old building which is well worth a visit. The church has a number of stained glass windows depicting key figures connected with the Synod of Whitby (Hild, Wilfrid and Colmán) as well as Caedmon and two seventh-century Northumbrian kings (Oswiu’s brother Oswald and Hild’s kinsman Edwin).

St Mary’s Church: Hild and Wilfrid

St Mary’s Church: Caedmon and Colmán

Finally, a Scottish connection from a rather later period: a stone memorial, high on a wall inside St Mary’s Church, honouring the English general Peregrine Lascelles (1685-1772) who fought in the battle of Prestonpans near Edinburgh in 1745. This famous Jacobite victory, in which an English army was flung into disarray by a wild Highland charge, evidently niggled the old general to the end of his days. His memorial refers to a fruitless exertion of his Spirit & ability at the disgracefull rout of Preston pans.

General Lascelles (left) and his memorial at St Mary’s Church, Whitby (right).

* * * *

All photographs in this blogpost are copyright © B Keeling.

I’ve written in more detail about the Synod of Whitby in my book on Saint Columba.

Hild has been brought vividly to life by award-winning author Nicola Griffith in a historical novel scheduled for publication later this year.

* * * * * * *

Restoration of St Oran’s Cross

St Oran’s Cross: front and back of the upper arm (photographs by J.B. Mackenzie in J.R. Allen & J. Anderson The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland, 1903)

News of an interesting project relating to St Columba and the monastery on Iona. This year – the 1450th anniversary of the monastery’s foundation – the museum at Iona Abbey will be unveiling the newly restored St Oran’s Cross.

Standing more than 11 feet tall, this magnificent free-standing cross is one of the finest early medieval monuments in Scotland. It was carved in the 8th century, probably at the request of a king, and would have been a prominent feature in the monastic precinct. In more recent times it has lain in a horizontal position in the Iona Abbey museum, broken into five pieces. Experts from Historic Scotland have put the pieces together and will re-erect the cross as part of a new exhibition of Iona’s carved stones. Visitors will then be able to fully appreciate how impressive this monument must have looked during the monastery’s heyday.

For further information, see this article at The Scotsman website and the entry for St Oran’s Cross on the Canmore database.

For a good illustration of the carvings, take a look at Ian G Scott’s brilliant drawing.

I am grateful to Michelle Ziegler for pointing me to a news item at medievalists.net.

I’ve written about the history of Iona in my recent book on Saint Columba.

* * * * * * *

Blogging about Pictish Christianity

The Isle of May, with the ruined medieval priory in the foreground.

Earlier this month I wrote a blogpost about the presumed Pictish ritual site at Dunino Den, a place seemingly used for pagan ceremonies before being taken over by Christianised Picts in the 8th century or thereabouts.

I had hoped to continue this religious theme by reporting on my visit last year to the Isle of May, a small island in the Firth of Forth. There I explored the remains of a 12th-century priory occupying the site of an earlier church allegedly founded by St Ethernan 300 years earlier. Ethernan seems to have been active in Fife and other Pictish territories in an era of Viking raids.

Unfortunately, I haven’t got around to writing it. I’ve been keeping it on the back-burner because I first wanted to read Peter Yeoman’s paper ‘Pilgrims to St. Ethernan: the archaeology of an early saint of the Picts and Scots’ which I figured would give my report some useful scholarly beef. I still haven’t made any effort to obtain this paper, but I’m now thinking I should go ahead and write something about St Ethernan anyway. So that’s what I’ll do – but not just yet, as I’ve got an item on the Strathclyde Britons in the pipeline for Heart Of The Kingdom, and (like most of you, no doubt) I never seem to have enough time to do all the things I want to do with social media.

In the meantime, and in the absence of my delayed blogpost on Ethernan, those of you with an interest in Pictish Christianity should hike over to A Corner Of Tenth-Century Europe where Jonathan Jarrett has written an excellent and enlightening summary of the current state of play, woven around notes on a lecture delivered last year by Alex Woolf. Our old pal St Ninian or Nynia – formerly a key figure in the story but now increasingly remote – gets a namecheck, as does the slightly less enigmatic St Columba (about whom I have written a book).

In his blogpost Jonathan reminds us that the traditional picture presented by Bede simply doesn’t hold water. What this means for Columba and Ninian is that neither of them can justifiably be called ‘The Apostle of the Picts’, regardless of what Bede says. The old image of two well-organised ‘missions’, respectively evangelising the northern and southern Picts, can no longer be sustained. It’s ecclesiastical propaganda designed to promote the interests of later generations of clerics in Pictland and elsewhere. The story also has to take account of new archaeological evidence from major sites such as Portmahomack. The picture of how Christianity became established in Pictland seems instead to be a multi-textured patchwork of individual missionary endeavours, woven by an unknown number of largely unsung characters working quietly in various districts, setting up their own churches and liaising with local secular elites. These patches were somehow knitted together to form what we now think of as the ‘Pictish Church’ with its primary centres at St Andrews and Dunkeld, but it must have been a slow process. Somewhere along the way, at quite a late stage, St Ethernan slots into the picture. He gets a mention in Jonathan’s blogpost, and Peter Yeoman’s paper gets cited too. As for me, I’m reminded to write my long-overdue report about the old ruined church on the Isle of May.

* * *

Reference:

Peter Yeoman, ‘Pilgrims to St Ethernan: the archaeology of an early saint of the Picts and Scots’, pp.75-91 in Barbara Crawford (ed.) Conversion and Christianity in the North Sea World (St Andrews, 1998).

See the notes at the end of Jonathan’s blogpost for other useful books and articles on Pictish Christianity.

* * * * * * *

Dunino Den: a Pictish ritual site?

Dunino Den

Some places associated with the ancient past have a special aura, a hint of the Otherworld. I say this as someone who is not renowned for being particularly receptive to mystical vibes. It has to be a pretty obvious aura to be picked up by my radar, and it doesn’t happen very often. In England, two memorable examples are Durham Cathedral and Avebury, both of which give me a buzz which seems to be more than dumbstruck awe. In Scotland, two places that really stand out are Doon Hill near Aberfoyle (an actual fairy stronghold ) and the famous Callanish stones on the Isle of Lewis. To these I can now add Dunino Den in Fife.

I visited the Den last year, because I’d seen it mentioned in a couple of books about the Picts. Elizabeth Sutherland in A Guide to the Pictish Stones described it as ‘a magical place’, so I was curious to see what she meant by that. My visit left me in agreement with her description.

Dunino is a small inland village in the East Neuk of Fife, nestling on a road between St Andrews and Anstruther. It’s a quiet little settlement, the kind of place easily missed by tourists following the usual guidebooks. I suspect it’s not even on the itinerary of those visitors (such as myself) who seek traces of the Picts. It’s very much ‘off the beaten track’ as far as heritage tourism is concerned, and there isn’t really anything to indicate the nearby presence of something ancient and strange.

A little signpost off the main highway points to the church, which is reached via a narrow lane. A path alongside the churchyard disappears into woodland, before descending towards a stream in a tree-lined gorge. The path eventually brings the visitor to a rocky outcrop at the edge of the gorge, high above the water. There, hollowed out of the stone, is a shallow pool, next to a carved footprint. Rough steps, hewn out of the living rock, descend from the outcrop to Dunino Den.

Carved footprint (after a rain shower!)

Rock-cut steps leading down to Dunino Den.

Dunino Den, looking towards the steps.

At the bottom of the steps we find ourselves on a strip of ground beside the stream (the Kinaldy Burn). Steep walls of mossy stone enclose this space on two sides, making it feel sheltered and secluded. Tall trees grow there, but the spaces between them allow sunlight to reach down through the high canopy of leaves. During my visit, the light was bright enough to dapple the clear water of the stream.

Cross carved on a rock face at Dunino Den.

On one of the rock-faces is a ringed cross of Celtic type, 9 feet high, incised in the stone. Although weathered at the top, it can be clearly seen. So clearly, in fact, that many people assume it to be modern, an example of deliberate ‘Christianization’ at a site of ancient pagan ritual. There is actually no reason to assign it to the modern era. Its design suggests that it could be early medieval.

The rock-cut pool, carved footprint and incised cross all point to the Den being a place where sacred rites were conducted in ancient times. The footprint is reminiscent of others elsewhere in Scotland, such as the well-known example at Dunadd. Carved footprints were used in inauguration rituals, such as the anointing of kings and chieftains, and it seems plausible that the one at Dunino was used for similar purposes.

The badly weathered Pictish stone in Dunino churchyard (note the coins on top).

The other side of the Dunino churchyard stone, showing an incised cross.

Above the Den, in the churchyard, stands the weathered remnant of a rectangular stone, a little over 2 feet high, incised with crosses on two sides. It is a Pictish monument of c.800 AD, perhaps the tombstone of a priest. People now leave coins on its flat top but it formerly supported a sundial erected in 1698. Another Pictish stone, a fragment of a cross-slab, was found in the churchyard by a grave-digger. It is now in the museum at St Andrews, but the slab from which it came still lies buried in the churchyard at Dunino.

Fragment of Pictish cross-slab from Dunino churchyard. Illustration from Allen & Anderson (1903).

The present-day Dunino church, built in the early 19th century, probably occupies the site of an important Pictish church or monastery whose patrons were local chiefs or kings. These rulers presumably used the carved footprint in their inauguration ceremonies. A small excavation at the church in the 1990s discovered old foundations that might be medieval, but further investigation would be required to place these in context. What does seem certain is that the church is just one feature in a ‘ritual landscape’ used by local people for more than a thousand years. According to folklore, a stone circle once stood in nearby farmland, before being broken up for wall-building. On the rocky outcrop above the Kinaldy Burn, the pool and footprint may be pre-Christian in origin, and both may have been used in pagan ceremonies long before the foundation of the first church. This long continuity of ritual is very much alive, as I saw when I visited the place last year. As I walked through the Den, I came across the stump of an old tree, its bare trunk festooned with ribbons and flowers. Many of these offerings looked fresh and new. They had been placed there only a day or two earlier, by people who clearly recognized – as I did – that this is still a sacred place.

Coloured ribbons and other offerings on a tree-stump at Dunino Den.

* * * *

Notes

The photographs in this blogpost are copyright © B Keeling.

Elizabeth Sutherland’s description of Dunino Den is on page 35 of A Guide to the Pictish Stones, published in 1997 by Birlinn Books of Edinburgh.

For bibliographical references, see the site entries on the Canmore database for Dunino Church and its Pictish stones, the incised cross at the Den and the prehistoric stone circle.

The cross-slab fragment was described by Joseph Anderson and John Romilly Allen in The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland (Edinburgh: 1903) on page 365, with the drawing by Allen on page 366.

* * * * * * *

New book on Saint Columba

This is my fourth book, a biographical study of Saint Columba, the founder of Iona. Like my previous books it draws on primary and secondary sources to present a narrative history of its subject. In this case the main primary source (Adomnán’s Life of St Columba) is so central to the narrative that its author features almost as prominently as Columba himself. In fact, I’ve used Adomnán as my chief guide. My narrative sticks fairly closely to the Life throughout the first part of the book, which deals with Columba’s career in Ireland and Scotland. The second part looks at Columba’s legacy: the cult that grew around him and the federation of churches that regarded him as their patron.

One aspect of Columba’s story that particularly interests me is his interaction with secular powers, especially with ambitious rulers such as his kinsman Áed mac Ainmerech in Ireland, Áedán mac Gabráin of Dal Riata and the Pictish king Bridei. His relationships with these three, and with other powerful lords, are examined in this book, as are his dealings with folk of lesser social status.

Contents
Introduction: Finding Columba
Chapter 1 – The Sources
Chapter 2 – From Ireland to Iona
Chapter 3 – King Áedán
Chapter 4 – Abbot
Chapter 5 – Iona and her Neighbours
Chapter 6 – The Picts
Chapter 7 – Saint
Chapter 8 – Paruchia and Familia
Chapter 9 – Legacy

Like my second book The Men of the North: the Britons of Southern Scotland, this one has detailed references which are gathered into a Notes section at the rear, with an accompanying bibliography. Illustrations include maps and black-and-white photographs.

Columba is published in Edinburgh by John Donald. It is available from Amazon UK and Amazon US.

* * * * * * *

The Aberlady Cross

Aberlady Cross reconstruction (Photo © Ian Malcolm)

Ian Malcolm of Aberlady Conservation and History Society recently sent me a leaflet about the stunning reconstruction of Aberlady’s Anglo-Saxon cross. Only one fragment of the original monument has survived, having been discovered in a garden wall beside the parish church in 1863. The fragment is carved on all four sides in typical Northumbrian style, with scroll-work, intertwined beasts and an angel among the notable features. Indeed, it is so similar to three fragments of a cross from nearby Abercorn that both crosses are likely to be the work of the same craftsman. One particular point of interest at Aberlady is a quartet of seabirds whose intertwined legs form a geometric knotwork pattern: a strikingly similar image is found in the early 8th-century Lindisfarne Gospels which are contemporary with the Aberlady and Abercorn crosses.

Even with only one surviving fragment it has been possible to recreate how the original Aberlady Cross would have looked. By reference to the Abercorn designs and to those on the magnificent Ruthwell and Bewcastle crosses a reconstruction drawing was made. This was turned into a full-size replica by master stonemason Barry Grove, whose reconstruction of the Pictish cross-slab at Hilton of Cadboll can be seen via one of the links at the end of this post. The replica of the Aberlady Cross can be seen in the Memorial Garden next to the church.

I intend to visit Aberlady as soon as possible, to see the replica and to explore the area’s early medieval history. It is likely that the parish church stands on the site of a major Anglo-Saxon monastery, perhaps a daughter-house of Abercorn which was the base of Northumbria’s short-lived ‘bishopric of the Picts’. Having a keen interest in the North Britons I’m curious to know how Aberlady relates to the old native kingdom of Gododdin which once held sway along the southern shore of the Firth of Forth. Ian tells me that the Society has produced a leaflet for ‘St Aidan’s Way’, the Aberlady to Lindisfarne stretch of the pilgrimage route from Iona. Other projects are in the pipeline, so watch this space … or visit the Society’s website … or drop by Aberlady and see how things are going.

Relevant links:

Aberlady Heritage website

Dave Berry’s blogpost about the unveiling of the replica cross at Aberlady on 6 December 2011

Barry Grove’s reconstruction of Hilton of Cadboll (on the cover of Iain Forbes’ book on the Pictish stones)

* * * * * * *

The monastery at Dacre

Dacre Church: front entrance and Norman tower.

In February I finally got around to visiting Dacre, a small village on the southeastern fringe of the Lake District in Cumbria. It has been on my ‘get to’ list for a long time, not only because it’s a very picturesque place but also because of its history. In early medieval times the site of the present-day church was occupied by a monastery mentioned by Bede. He described it as being ‘near the river Dacore from which it received its name’, a reference presumably to the Dacre Beck or to the River Eamont into which it flows. Bede referred to a miraculous event that occurred at the monastery in 728, during the abbacy of Swithberht. At that time one of the brethren – a priest called Thrythred – had in his possession a piece of St Cuthbert’s hair. The hair cured a young monk of an untreatable condition that would otherwise have left him blind in one eye. By 731, when Bede published his Ecclesiastical History, the abbacy had passed to this same Thrythred, but this is the last we hear of Dacre until after the Norman Conquest. The names Swithberht and Thrythred are English and indicate that the monastery lay in Anglo-Saxon (i.e. Northumbrian) hands in the early 8th century. However, we do not know the date of foundation, so we cannot assume that the monks had always been English. It is possible, for instance, that the original brethren were Britons who fled in fear of Northumbrian warbands during the conflicts of the previous century.

Dacre Church: Norman arch (12th century).

Excavations in the churchyard in the early 1980s found evidence of the monastery, even though none of its buildings has survived. One early feature was a covered drain running across the southern part of the churchyard. This was found to be lined with shaped stones that may have come from a Roman structure (possibly a bridge) somewhere in the vicinity. Archaeologists also found traces of two timber buildings – one rectangular, the other circular – slightly northwest of the present church. The purpose of these is unknown but the circular one eventually fell into disuse and its space seems to have been given over to metalworking – this, at least, is suggested by the presence of hearths and copper pins. Another discovery was a large cemetery of more than three hundred graves, the majority of which are most likely of pre-10th century date. This is presumably where generations of monks were interred and where the 8th-century abbots Swithberht and Thrythred were laid to rest.

Dacre Church: the southeast corner.

Although little evidence of the daily life of the monastery has survived, a few small items have come to light. These include a writing-stylus, a belt buckle, a gold ring and a Viking coin. Together they provide evidence of a thriving community. Inside the church two sculptured fragments testify to the site’s high status in early medieval times. Both are from cross-shafts that must once have stood within the monastic enclosure. They are, respectively, of 9th and 10th century origin. The smaller of the two is the earlier and is of typical Northumbrian workmanship, with finely detailed carvings of a serpent and a winged lion. Its sculptural style is superior to that of the larger piece which looks unsophisticated by comparison. As soon as I saw this later fragment – which is usually attributed to Norse influence – I was reminded of the similarly crude sculpture of the Strathclyde Britons. The two human figures with linked hands are reminiscent of a pair on a contemporary cross-shaft from Cambusnethan in Lanarkshire, while an animal peering backward is a common motif on several Strathclyde monuments. Thus, although ‘Viking’ is a label often applied to the two Dacre fragments, I wonder if they represent a more complex set of cultural affinities. The monastery may have undergone several changes of ownership – in terms of ecclesiastical jurisdiction and secular patronage – between Bede’s era and the Norman Conquest. In the 9th century it is likely to have been a target of Norse raids and was no doubt affected by the collapse of Anglo-Saxon Northumbria in the 860s. After c.900 its abbot probably became answerable to a new set of local lords, an immigrant elite of Cumbric-speaking Britons installed by the kings of Strathclyde. In 927 one of the Clyde kings attended a royal conference at a place called Eomotum - an unidentified site on the River Eamont. His name was Owain and he was a key player in the political manoeuvring between Viking, English and Celtic powers that eventually led to the great battle of Brunanburh in 937. The Eamont almost certainly marked the southern boundary of Owain’s kingdom and thus an appropriate setting for a meeting of kings. Indeed, Dacre’s position on one of the tributaries of this river led the 12th-century chronicler William of Malmesbury to suggest that the conference took place at the old monastery itself rather than at a site further downstream near the village of Eamont Bridge.

9th-century Northumbrian cross-shaft fragment.

Fragment of cross-shaft (10th century).

Animal and human figures on the 10th-century cross-shaft.

I’ve assigned this blogpost to the category ‘non-Scottish’ but this does not mean that Dacre had no connection with Scotland in early medieval times. Constantin II, one of the most famous kings of Alba, attended the royal meeting in 927 alongside his Strathclyde ally Owain. Both of these rulers can be regarded as ‘Scottish’ in the context of modern political geography. Even if Dacre is not the mysterious Eomotum (and I do not think it is) we cannot assume that it played no part in the meeting. We know it was an important site at the time because of the date of the larger cross-fragment. Perhaps the monastery hosted a religious service for the royal delegates after their high-level political discourse?

* * * * * * *

Appendix: The Dacre Bears

The churchyard at Dacre contains four free-standing animal sculptures, each positioned near one corner of the church. Their date and purpose are unknown, but they are usually known as the ‘Dacre Bears’. Three are too weathered to show much detail but the fourth has a mane and a long tail and is probably a lion. Two others appear to be grappling with some kind of smaller animal. What all this means is a complete mystery. Were the ‘bears’ carved in early medieval times, or do they post-date the Norman Conquest? Are they, in fact, of pre-Christian origin?

One of the Dacre Bears.

* * * * * *

Notes & References

The Church of St Andrew, Dacre (2008) [booklet produced by the parish community]. Includes at pp.29-30 an archaeological summary by Rachel Newman, ‘The early history of the church site’.

Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Book iv, chapter 32.

All photographs in this blogpost are copyright © B Keeling.

* * * * * * *

Is King Arthur buried in Scotland?

The Yarrow Stone (Photo © B Keeling)

The answer to this question is Yes, at least according to Damian Bullen of Edinburgh, whose thoughts on the topic have been reported fairly widely in recent days. He thinks Arthur’s grave-marker is the Yarrow Stone, an Early Christian monument standing in the valley of the River Yarrow near Selkirk. A number of Scottish newspapers have picked up on his theory, two of these being the Daily Record and the Southern Reporter.

The Yarrow Stone is one of the most important ancient monuments in Scotland. It bears a Latin inscription, probably carved in the early 6th century, commemorating the princes Nudus and Dumnogenus (‘Nudd’ and ‘Dyfnyen’), two sons of Liberalis. Nothing else is known about these people but they belonged to a prosperous ‘royal’ family that had been Christian for at least a generation. The names of the deceased show that they were Britons or, more precisely, that their family favoured the use of Brittonic names rather than Anglo-Saxon or Gaelic ones. Liberalis (‘Generous’) presumably held land and authority in the Yarrow Valley.

There is no mention of Arthur in the inscription, nor is there any obvious reason to connect him with the stone. Hence, not everyone agrees with Mr Bullen’s view that it marks the grave of the historical figure behind the legends. Simon Stirling, author of the forthcoming book The King Arthur Conspiracy: How a Scottish Prince Became a Mythical Hero, is rightly sceptical of the Yarrow theory and has his own views on Arthur’s true identity. Simon supports the idea that the historical Arthur was really Artúr of Dál Riata, a son of Áedán mac Gabráin. On his blog he offers an alternative location for the burial-place and will no doubt say more about it in his book. In the meantime, I recommend Michelle Ziegler’s comprehensive study of Artúr mac Áedáin in the Arthurian-themed first issue of The Heroic Age. Dál Riata is also the setting for another ‘Historical Arthur’ candidate, as explained in an interesting blogpost by Mak Wilson.

Another note of caution on Mr Bullen’s theory is sounded by Melissa Snell who, like me, prefers to keep an open mind on the question of Arthur’s historicity. After discussing the Yarrow idea, Melissa adds a summary of her own views: ‘Arthur may have existed — I have never denied the possibility. But until some real, physical, unequivocal, archaeological or documentary evidence comes to light that supports his existence, I must continue to tell you We don’t know.’ More of Melissa’s wise words can be found in an older post entitled The Truth of Arthur.

It’s always interesting to see what local historians think of a new theory relating to their area. Selkirk-based Walter Elliot, well-known for his research on the Roman fort of Newstead (Trimontium), was reported by the Selkirk Weekend Advertiser as saying: ‘Mr Bullen has certainly researched the Yarrow Stone and the various stories about Arthur very well. Whether the two can be joined together is a matter of question.’ Walter’s comments appear in a longer article which can be found via this link.

Historic Scotland also reserve judgment on the matter: ‘The Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland (RCAHMS) records indicate that ‘the Yarrow Stone was set up to mark the grave of two British Christian chieftains. It dates from the early 6th century and falls into place in the early Christian series more richly represented in Wales and Cornwall.’ As such, we certainly believe it is of national importance.’ This quote is from an article in Archaeology Daily News.

I can’t see many people being convinced by Mr Bullen’s theory. On the other hand, I do think he might be on the right track when he suggests that the name Dumnogenus means ‘born of the Dumno’ in the sense of ‘member of the Dumnonii’. The latter were a people of Devon and Cornwall who gave their name to the early medieval kingdom of Dumnonia. A Roman map shows a similar name Damnonii on the western side of the Forth-Clyde isthmus around what is now the Greater Glasgow urban area. If, as seems likely, Damnonii is a misprint for Dumnonii, then the ancient Glasgwegians and their Cornish compatriots belonged to two geographically-separated groups who happened to bear the same name. If the prince Dumnogenus/Dyfnyen buried at Yarrow was given this name because he was a member of a northern Dumnonian gens then we might envisage the territory of this people extending a considerable distance southward and eastward of Glasgow. This seems broadly consistent with later evidence (or a very strong hint, at least) that the kingdom of Strathclyde – the presumed successor of the Damnonii or Dumnonii – encompassed Teviotdale and other tributary valleys of the Tweed in the 10th and 11th centuries. The River Yarrow eventually flows into the Ettrick Water which itself joins the Tweed near Selkirk. Perhaps the native inhabitants of this area considered themselves ‘Dumnonian’ in post-Roman times as well as answering to Clyde-based kings five centuries later?

Postscript: I discuss the Yarrow Stone and its historical context on pp.34-5 of my book The Men of the North: the Britons of Southern Scotland.

* * * * * * *

The St Andrews Sarcophagus

Photo © B Keeling

In 1833, during the digging of a grave in the cemetery of St Andrews Cathedral, several pieces of sculptured stone were unearthed. It soon became clear that these were the broken remains of what had once been an ancient coffin or sarcophagus. Some parts were missing and have not been found but the surviving fragments have been reassembled to show what the original sarcophagus looked like. This assemblage can be seen today in the museum in the Cathedral grounds. It is one of the most impressive of all Pictish monuments.

Only one of the long side-panels, three of the four cornerstones and one end-panel are complete. The sarcophagus originally had a stone lid but this, too, is missing. Fortunately, the figures carved on the surviving side-panel give us an important clue as to what the monument was for.

Photo © B Keeling

This is the largest of the carved figures. It represents the Israelite king David, a ruler regarded in early medieval times as a role-model for Christian kingship. He is killing a lion by pulling its jaws apart, a motif seen also in Irish and Anglo-Saxon sculpture. This image suggests that the Sarcophagus was connected with royalty and, more specifically, that it commemorated a particular Pictish king. Here, the face of David might represent this king, like a portrait in stone.

Photo © B Keeling

This figure is a mounted huntsman accompanied by hounds. He is tackling a ferocious beast that rears up at him on its hind legs. Below him is a man on foot armed with a spear and shield. Stags and other animals fill the remaining space on the panel. It is possible that this rider, rather than David, represents the Pictish king.

Whom did the Sarcophagus commemorate? Although this question cannot be answered with certainty, the sculptural style suggests a probable date and a likely candidate. Archaeologists and art-historians have deduced that the monument was carved between 750 and 850. It was clearly meant to be seen and admired rather than buried in the earth. There can be little doubt that it was displayed in a prominent position in a church or chapel where people could walk around it to fully appreciate its craftsmanship. Being primarily a richly decorated coffin or ‘tomb shrine’ it would have contained the mortal remains of an important person, someone who had connections with Pictish royalty and with the monastery at St Andrews. An old legend identifies the founder of the monastery as a king called ‘Hungus’ whose name in the Pictish language would be Onuist or Unuist (Gaelic: Oengus). This name was borne by two kings, either of whom might be the ‘Hungus’ of the legend. One died in 761, the other in 834. Both were sons of fathers called Uurguist (Gaelic: Fergus) The more famous of the two Onuists was the earlier, a mighty warlord who dominated North Britain in the middle of the 8th century. He is one of the most famous of all Pictish kings, his greatest achievement being the conquest of Dál Riata, the land of the Scots. Having achieved many great victories he certainly fits the martial image of David the lion-slayer. It is possible, or even probable, that the St Andrews Sarcophagus was his tomb.

The hunting scene (Photo © B Keeling)

Further reading:

The St Andrews Sarcophagus: a Pictish Masterpiece and its International Connections, edited by Sally M. Foster (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998) [a collection of studies by eminent historians and archaeologists]

St Andrews Cathedral (Photo © B Keeling)

————————-