Friday, February 02, 2007

Blogging Norfolk, Part II (Burnhams, Villages, Towns and Friars)

So I'll start with the lovely villages of Burnham, situated west of Wells and Holkham and east of Brancaster, on the North Norfolk coast. Well, sort of -- you see, the coast has receded rather substantially, and now the Burnhams are rather further away from the coast than they used to be. But we'll get back to that. (As appropriate, I have included links to Simon Knott's absolutely wonderful "Norfolk Churches" website. I highly recommend visiting it, because he is clearly a connoisseur of medieval churches, and also takes terrific photos, much better than mine!)

Traditionally, it is said that there are seven Burnhams. When I first went to the Burnhams back in 1982, I first thought the seven referred to the villages you can find on the map. Thus, Burnham Market, Burnham Thorpe, Burnham Overy Town, Burnham Overy Staithe, Burnham Norton, Burnham Deepdale... and then I don't know what I thought the seventh one was. Later, I heard that the seven Burnhams referred instead to the parish churches: Burnham Sutton, Burnham Norton, Burnham Thorpe, Burnham Overy, Burnham Deepdale, Burnham Ulph and Burnham Westgate (St. Ethelbert's of Burnham Sutton is not extant, but there's at least some ruins at "St. Albert's corner" in Burnham Market, and Burnham Ulph church is now "Sutton cum Ulph"). I have now read other explanations, but my favorite is the churches. I suspect that even if there once were other meanings for the seven Burnhams, most people think of them as the parish churches.

Nowadays, the Burnhams are known for two things: 1) The Admiral Lord Nelson was born in Burnham Thorpe, where his dad was the rector, and 2) Burnham Market has become a chi-chi place for weekending celebrities. Go figure. We're not going to deal with either of those factoids, which just aren't medieval, are they?

Let's take a look at what Mapquest has to tell us instead. There are only 6 Burnhams listed on their map, and they are the hamlets, not the churches. So Burnham Overy Town and Burnham Overy Staithe both appear, while Burnhams Sutton, Ulph and Westgate do not. You can see the river Burn wending its winding way from beyond Burnham Thorpe to the sea -- and it is quite clear that the coast isn't even close anymore. Burnham Overy Staithe is still a staithe (harbor), but just barely, and it had clearly better be high tide when you head out to go looking for seals.

For a little moment, I'd like to think particularly about Burnham Overy Town and Staithe. Burnham Overy Town is the one that appears in Domesday Book, though it is merely called "Bruneham" there. Staithe is a much later creation -- how much later I'm not quite sure. The first question I know you're dying to ask has to do with that name: Burnham Overy?? What's up with that? No, this was not an early experiment in feminist utopianism -- Overy has to do with sheep. We can assume this was sheep country (Domesday says that "Godwin" used to have 180 sheep in Burnham Thorpe, for instance). In Domesday Book, the Burnhams were part of the Hundred of Brothercross (brudecros) -- named after the cross at Burnham Overy, the base of which appears in this photo. Crosses like this one were places of assembly in Anglo-Saxon time and later. The cross is usually described locally as the "market cross," and it would make sense that an ancient gathering place of a Hundred would become a market, especially since Burnham Overy was also the harbor. You'd hardly believe it now, since there are hardly any houses there, and the sea is so far away. But the church, St. Clement's, is a beautiful and lovely place, much larger than it seems at first, surrounded by the few houses that remain, and notably dedicated to the patron saint of mariners. There is also a medieval wall-painting of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, inside. Prosperity and population, however, followed the harbor, and when the Burn silted up enough to make navigation impossible this far inland, the harbor moved to Overy Staithe. The church remained where it was, but most of the people moved out. The market may have moved even earlier to what is now called "Burnham Market," though that name only officially dates from the establishment of the railroad. There is a long skinny green located about half way between the churches of Burnham Ulph and Burnham Westgate (both 12th-century), and this may have been purposefully left clear to serve as a market.

What happened to Overy Town also happened to Burnham Norton, situated slightly to the west. St. Margaret's is an enormous and obviously once wealthy church that sits high on a hilltop, visible inland from the Overy Staith-Deepdale road, surrounded by... well, nothing. No village whatsoever. There is, however, a sign for the village of Burnham Norton on the sea side of the same road. Clearly, the village moved as the sea did, and fishermen or others who made their living from the sea headed closer to their livelihood. My fingers were itching for an archeological dig around St. Margaret's. I want to dig there almost as much as I want to dig at Montaillou. Perhaps someday.

I'm not going to drag you through each of the Burnham hamlets or parish churches, lovely and fascinating though they are (though I do especially recommend a little jaunt to Burnham Thorpe, where you can have a pint and/or a meal at the Admiral Lord Nelson pub, under new management). From here, I'd actually like to examine two sets of ruins that will pose a rather interesting conundrum. Let's start with the Carmelite priory, where we are able to visit certain picturesque ruins across the street from the local primary school. This priory, like so many other mendicant convents, was founded in the thirteenth century, in 1241. Judging from the size of this gatehouse, and the size of the various bumpy ruins in the fields, this was a substantial place.

Since about 1970, it has been taken as a truism among medievalists that the mendicants established their priories in urban locations. In fact, Jacques le Goff has notably suggested that the easiest way to distinguish a "town" from a "village" is to find a mendicant convent.* We may not quite be able to tell what is urban and rural from our present vantage point, but the mendicants could, and did, and established their houses there. Better preaching, better begging. So what in the heck were the Carmelites doing building a convent in a crummy little village like Burnham Norton?

The plot thickens when we drive by a place labeled "Peterstone Priory Farm" on the road leading from Overy Staithe towards Holkham (this picture comes from an 1891 map from http://www.old-maps.co.uk/). As this map shows, Peterstone Farm is on the site of St. Peter's Priory or Hospital, an Augustinian foundation of the late twelfth century, commonly known as Peterstone Priory. More mendicants. Two mendicant priories within just a couple of miles?? And not simply was this one a priory, but also a hospital. Moreover, doing a little bit of digging (in the utterly fabulous Historical Atlas of Norfolk), I was able to ascertain that this particular priory was in fact the head of an "enigmatic" congregation of Augustinians, known as the "Order of Peterstone." Not quite sure what the "enigmatic" means here, but I'm guessing it means that we don't have much documentation about them! Nonetheless, it is clear that this priory was the head of the order, which comprised 6 houses (also included Walsingham, Wormegay, Beeston, Weybridge and Great Massingham).

The very same Historical Atlas of Norfolk (p. 66) also tells me that "The Burnhams" were "an important Middle Anglo-Saxon multiple-estate" with "a minster church and royal vill" (the authors of the atlas argue that "minster" churches were some kind of monastic foundation). They also tell us (p. 32) that metal-detectors have revealed the Burnhams to be what they call "productive sites," with finds from the Anglo-Saxon period. So, in Anglo-Saxon times, this was an "important" place -- and by the 13th century, it had two convents of friars. The only other places in Norfolk with more than a single convent of friars were Lynn, Norwich, Yarmouth and Thetford, all clearly towns now, and all clearly towns in the Middle Ages. So would Jacques Le Goff call this a town, and not merely a village? I have to say I think he might. But this town, unlike the others, didn't last.

One conclusion we can certainly draw by looking at the shifting sites and sizes of the Burnhams is that appearances can be very deceiving. And that is something we will see even more of once we get to Blakeney and the Glaven ports.


*There are two articles by Le Goff in Annales E.S.C. that are useful here: 1969 and 1970. But most recent books on medieval towns also discuss Le Goff's research.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Blogging Norfolk, Part I (Introduction)

I spent several days last week in Norfolk, England. Besides eating and drinking and pushing stuck vehicles out of muddy fields (welcome to Mud Season, girls!), I actually did some research for my upcoming book.

So what was it all about? Well, this book I'm trying to write is a general history of medieval heresy, and thus, will have a chapter on the Lollards. And since the overall thesis of the book has to do with the fine line between heresy and orthodoxy in the Middle Ages (how very Grundmann-esque), I will want to explore that issue -- and how better to do it than with Margery Kempe, from King's Lynn (formerly Bishop's Lynn), frequently accused of being a Lollard herself? The north of Norfolk was a Lollard hot spot -- and a completely fascinating place, to boot, what with some of the liveliest of English ports in the Glaven estuary: Blakeney, Cley, Wiveton, etc. Things are very different now, of course -- Blakeney is but a sleepy holiday village, primarily known for the seals on Blakeney Point.

But these three days wandering around North Norfolk allowed me to do a lot of thinking about change: changes in the land, in its use, and in the migration of populations. How we can identify these changes over the long haul. What remains, what disappears. How can geography help with history, and how can history help geography. A lot of this probably won't be very useful for my book. But I do think I can use it in the classroom. So while it's all fresh in my memory, I'm going to think aloud about it here. And I'll do it in a couple of parts:

Blogging Norfolk, Part II (Burnhams, Villages, Towns and Friars)
Blogging Norfolk, Part III (The Glaven Ports and the Evil Silt Monster)

Time to get to work!

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Do Bears Sh*t in the Woods?

Well, I can't really say. Yet. Though I'm certainly still looking. Of course, it's winter, and the bears around here probably aren't sh*tting at all -- though today, it's nearly 60° Fahrenheit, so I suspect many of them have woken up from their "winter" naps to go mosying around. If it weren't raining so hard (flood watch until 6 pm), I would, too. Maybe tomorrow there'll be poop.

You see, Stefano and I have been eagerly reading our new book, Donald and Lillian Stokes' Guide to Animal Tracking and Behavior. We love this book. We've learned so much about red squirrel middens, voles, muskrats, beavers, and, of course and most especially, poop. There is the most amazing section on poop (which they genteelly call "scat" -- pp. 52-67). It even has life-size drawings so you can tell one kind of poop from another! Fascinating.

And I've been putting my newfound expertise to use while wandering through the Norris' sugarbush recently. At the bottom of the trail that leads into the "silent meadow," at the base of the ledges, there was quite a lot of interesting poop the other day. There was one that I naively thought might be bear -- well, it was large! certainly bigger than Astro's poop, which he thoughtfully deposited nearby for the sake of comparison. But when I got home, I compared what I had seen with the drawing -- and the next day, went back again to the poop just to check. Nope. Not bear. It wasn't bear because although it was full of hair, the ends of the poop were tapered, not flat.

So if not bear, what? Several animals have tapered poop, notably fox, bobcat, and coyote. The Stokes say that "the scats of bobcats are very similar in shape and size to those of the fox and coyote, so much so that it is impossible to identify them positively. You must use other clues." (p. 64) So I did. I decided it wasn't bobcat poop, first of all. Bobcat poop would probably be smaller, and moreover, bobcats like to poop "on some slightly elevated spot." We've seen what we now know to be bobcat poop on many trails -- generally on a rock in the middle. Bobcats are showoffs: "look at my poop!" There was actually a nice example of some showoff bobcat poop a little further up the trail. And bobcats do like ledges, according to the Stokes (p. 366), so this would be a good spot for them. In fact, when Astro and I bushwacked our way to the top of the ledges the other day, I think we may have heard a bobcat moving away from a sunny spot on a ledge beneath us.

But back to my poop. While it could have been either fox or coyote, I finally settled for coyote. "The best you can do is compare the diameters of the scats. Scats ¾ inch or more in diameter are probably coyote or one of its hybrids; scats less than 7/16 inch in diameter are probably fox." My mystery poop was closer to an inch in diameter, so I'm calling it coyote poop. Moreover, we've heard coyotes several times (fascinating yipping sounds in the night, sometimes very close!), but we've never seen foxes very close to here (alas!).

So do bears sh*t in the woods? Probably. The Stokes say they do. And since we've actually seen bears on the driveway, I suspect they even sh*t in our woods. But I'm afraid we'll have to wait to spring to find out for sure.

Addendum: Or perhaps not! Stefano spotted a story this morning in La Repubblica about a bear and her two cubs seen wandering across the ski slopes in the Alps. And here's the picture to prove it, with the size of Mama Bear's tracks indicated by this gentleman's cell phone (convincing proof, of course, that the photo was taken in Italy!):