Two individuals who received chest burial had sharp force trauma injuries to the cranium that occurred at or around the time of death. Skeleton 247 from Spofforth (radiocarbon dated to AD 660-830) and skeleton 1043 from Ailcy Hill were both males, the former aged c. 18-25 and the latter between 35 and 45. In addition to cranial trauma, the young male from Spofforth also showed evidence of strenuous activity including bilateral os acromiale. The older male from Ailcy Hill also showed evidence of a physically active life including widespread spinal and appendicular degenerative joint disease. The kind of cranial trauma identified at Spofforth, assessed by the author (Craig 2008), is characteristic of a single strike to the cranial vault with a sharp edged weapon. Examples of cranial trauma are generally very rare in Anglo- Saxon cemeteries (Roberts and Cox 2003, 169), and therefore it is not clear which individuals may have been particularly predisposed to suffer this sort of trauma. Combatants might potentially be expected to suffer such injuries, but so might non- military individuals caught in conflict. It does, however, seem noteworthy that two individuals who had experienced sharp force trauma, from two different sites, are buried amongst those afforded chest burial.
Another examination of Anglo-Saxon behaviour and mind-sets comes from Härke (1990) in his examination of warrior graves. Härke (1990: 30-32) compares the incidence of graves with weaponry alongside the dates of known battles, finding little congruency with the weaponburial rite peaking at times of few battles. He also notes that while most weapons belonged to the individual (almost always male) they were buried with, many were unable to fight. For instance, weapons are not only found with strong men of fighting age, but also with the very young, the disabled, the infirm and the old; also, weapon burials do not correlate with battle wounds (Härke 1990: 35-37). In addition, Härke (1990: 39) found that individuals buried with weapons were on average 2-5 cm taller than those without weapons in their graves, suggesting that this is because they were of Germanic stock, rather than British. He concludes that burial with weapons is a symbolic act and the ritual demonstrates not the burial of a fighting man, but expression of Anglo-Saxon warrior status (Härke 1990: 43). Although this paper has been rightly critiqued for misuse of osteological data, not taking error ranges into account for the height differential (Trotter and Gleser 1952) and not considering other reasons for that differential (Lucy 2000: 75; Gowland 2002: 79-82; Tyrrell 2000a; Tyrrell 2000b), it has, however, highlighted important symbolic aspects of the burial rite. While examining the deposition of particular classes of grave goods (in this case, weapons), it also grapples with the meaning of their deposition beyond the obvious, and thus provides another glimpse into the mind-set of Early Anglo-Saxon individuals and societies.
Evidence of trauma consistent with the removal of the head was found in five individuals, consisting of two skeletons and three disarticulated crania, while an additional cranium had trauma that, although not consistent with decapitation, is indicative of repeated blows to the back of the head. The Skull associated with Skeleton 1, a young middle adult (26 to 35 years) and probably male, had a peri-mortem blade injury (i.e. one that occurred around the time of death) consistent with decapitation on the posterior of the mandibular body. Skeleton 11, which was fairly complete aside from the cranium, was a young to middle adult male (20 to 35 years) with a peri-mortem fracture to the base of his mandible. This injury is consistent with the follow-through from a blade injury from behind, similar to that observed on the Skull associated with Skeleton 1 (Fig. 3), and appears to have removed the odontoid process of the second cervical vertebra (this area of the bone has been obscured by the use and subsequent removal of consolidant applied at the time of excavation). Skull 2, a young adult male (18 to 25 years), had three blade injuries to the back of his cranium (Fig. 4). The blows were delivered in an upwards direction, indicating that the victim was most likely bent over with their head held in extreme flexion (i.e. with their chin resting on their chest), a position that is unlikely to have occurred had these injuries been the result of armed combat. The injuries are not consistent with decapitation, but the concentration of them on the occipital and the direction of the blows suggest that decapitation may have been attempted. It is, indeed, possible that a further blow or blows succeeded in removing the head at a lower level through the neck region, but this proposition cannot be verified since no vertebrae or mandible were found with this cranium. Nonetheless, this burial is probably best interpreted as a ‘botched’ decapitation. Skull 5, a young to middle adult male (20 to 35 years), had a blade injury cutting into the occipital bone (Fig. 5). A second blade injury to the base of the cranium, slicing off the base of the left mastoid process and zygomatic bone, probably succeeded in decapitating the individual. A possible third injury was present anterior to the large penetrating injury, on the inferior of the occipital. It is possible that either of these Skulls (2 or 5) belonged to Skeleton 11 (or, indeed, Skeleton 7; discussed below), and that the blow to the mandible of this skeleton was the final, terminal, injury. However, due to the state of preservation, it is impossible to verify this, and thus it can only be stated that between three and four individuals suffered sharp force trauma to the back of the head/neck region that is consistent with the use of a large bladed weapon, for example an axe or sword.
unafraid, then, to link the culture of Anglo-Saxon heroism to recent political and militaristic expansionism, and to racial subjugation, even as it finds attractions and advantages in the vocabulary of that culture. In the introduction to this article I suggested that Haynes orients Anglo-Saxon towards postcolonial Africa. That is to say, through the fictional conceit of the verse epistle, Haynes sends Anglo-Saxon into, or towards Nigeria: an act of transmission. In one sense the far past is translated into the contemporary. In another sense, both past and present move, as the poem constantly reminds us, along the same zero-change time-line. As Letter to Patience is also concerned to remind us, other forms of English have been directed outwards from the imperial centre before, and accompanied by similar pedagogical textual materials to those which accompany Anglo-Saxon (and which Letter to Patience at times mimics) such as readers, text-books, glossaries and notes, as part of a programme of colonisation, cultural and literal. Yet this cross-ocean and trans-continental travel also puts us in mind of other migratory journeys Anglo-Saxon has made, or had visited on it: journeys like the one the protagonist of The Wanderer makes. For early in its history Anglo-Saxon crossed another sea to conquer, mark and enclose a territory in its immigrant phonemes. Its speakers too have been enslaved by a quasi-imperial power: it was famously a letter from Pope Gregory the Great, which he wrote after seeing Angles for sale in the slave markets of Rome, then centre of the known world, that began the first missions to Anglo-Saxon England, 36
Some aspects of leisure and commerce may be reflected by the hundred-names in a more indirect way. The earliest type of trading that took place at hundred meeting-places may have differed from the regulated monetary exchange practised at major Anglo-Saxon trading emporia, and was perhaps of a more informal nature, not necessarily involving the use of coinage, nor suitable for sustaining a permanent commercial settlement. Similarly, some forms of recreation and entertainment do not require a specialized playing area. Wherever hundredal gatherings came together, barter and exchange of produce and livestock are likely to have taken place, as are sporting activities of one kind or another. Modern country fairs often combine these two types of activity, and some forms of recreation – horseracing, for example – might have served an important function in advertising the chattel for sale. A considerable number of hundred-names make direct or presumptive reference to animals, and are worth looking at in this context.
community. A king entombed amid generations of his royal predecessors, by contrast, could claim only a fraction of the community’s attention. 5
But it is clear that mundane political interests also informed the kings’ decisions to designate their own burial churches. It is thus with the rise of individual royal entombments that we finally encounter some details about the after-lives of Anglo-Saxon rulers. While posthumous prestige had previously been generated by a body’s proximity to established and successful ancestors, royal tombs now projected status and legitimacy in their own right, no doubt assisted by the promotional efforts of religious communities eager to attract continued royal patronage. This shift conspicuously coincided with an increasing interest in royal sanctity. The Anglo- Saxons’ predilection for posthumously sainting their rulers was especially pronounced from the tenth century, when cults emerged around the tombs of newly martyred or especially pious members of various royal dynasties. 6 The development of such cults was usually a matter of local concern in this period, as there was not yet an official process of canonization which required saints to be recognized by the pope. 7 This is not to say that claims of sanctity were treated lightly or casually. In addition to their value as spiritual intercessors, saints were lucrative business for churches and monasteries, and religious communities went to great lengths to increase the public profiles of their resident saints and to defend their own rights as custodians. Ruling monarchs appealed to public sentiment by cultivating relationships with their saintly predecessors, overtly demonstrating their piety while emphasizing that their ancestral line had attracted divine favor.
Yarrow is an aromatic perennial plant native to the British Isles and found in grassland habitats from sea-level to 1210m. The common name is derived from the Anglo-Saxon word ‘gearwe’, modern synonyms including bloodwort, nosebleed and herba militaris which all refer to its traditional use as a wound herb . It was an AngloSaxon plant of choice for healing wounds, swellings and rashes on the face, headaches, intestinal and abdominal pain, heartburn, difficult digestion, diarrhoea, snake and dog bites. The roots were also eaten on an empty stomach for toothache  (p.187). Modern applications include treating digestive problems, liver and gall bladder conditions, cramps, dysmenorrhoea and fever. In Germany yarrow flower is licensed as a standard medicinal tea and in the USA it is used as a diaphoretic or febrifuge component of traditional cold and flu/fever compounds marketed as dietary supplements . Recent pharmacological studies of plant extracts from all parts of A. millefolium have demonstrated anti-inflammatory properties [21,22], antileishmanial activity of oil from leaves and flowers  and in vivo antinociceptive effects . Known A. millefolium constituents include matricin and other proazulenic sesquiterpene lactones known to yield chamazulene carboxylic acid (Fig. 1.), an anti- inflammatory natural profen which can inhibit COX-2 and has been used for the semi-synthesis of analogues as potential anti-inflammatory drugs [25,26]. The flavonoid constituent casticin (vitexicarpin) shows a moderate inhibition in the reduction of a water soluble tetrazolium salt and a strong inhibition of lipooxygenase with an IC 50 value of 26 μM . In terms of modern drug discovery and the search
demonstrates, writing could itself be an act of prayer that drew on the stuff of regular religious life, including the liturgy, and transformed it through meditation and
While we have seen that the practice of prayer sheds light on some aspects of the composition of biblical literature in Old English, the inverse is also true. Through literature, we can understand more about how Anglo-Saxon authors prayed and how they thought about prayer. Literature connects us, not merely to the external forms of prayer, but to the internal aspects of prayer and the connection between prayer and emotion. Indeed, through the literary text the reader is inculcated into the emotional life of prayer. Emotion is central to Bede’s accounts of prayer, particularly prayer at night when men and women would contemplate judgment and salvation. Bede’s so- called ‘Death Song’, with which this thesis began, shows how the vernacular may have assisted in this process. The poems of Junius 11 and The Dream of the Rood both represent prayer in highly emotive scenes that are structured around the opposition between judgment and salvation.
it is difficult to determine the exact liturgical calendar followed at Rome in the time of Augustine of Canterbury, David Rollason has pieced together various liturgical sources 79 to reconstruct the saints venerated there. He organizes these saints into three groups: “first, those whose tombs were near Rome itself and were places where a celebratory mass was said by the whole Roman church on the feast day; second, the patron saints of the principal churches of Rome; and third, saints not in the city of Rome who were either biblical or widely known.” 80 The apostles Peter and Paul, venerated on 28, 29, and 30 June and 6 July, were naturally included in the first group of Roman saints, and the last group included Philip and James (1 May), Stephen Protomartyr (2 August), Andrew (29 or 30 November) and John the Evangelist (27 December). 81 Thacker also notes that by the late fifth century a feast of the twelve apostles was being celebrated in Rome and continued to be practiced throughout the later sixth century though it was primarily an auxiliary to the feast of Peter and Paul on 29 June. 82 Through Theodore and Hadrian, the Anglo-Saxons also came to venerate several lesser apostles, especially Bartholomew, and companions to the apostles, such as Barnabas, Timothy, and Onesimus the slave, who had been culted in the eastern church. 83
With the establishment in the theater of the director-auteur, reversing the traditional roles of “author-supreme text” and “author-servile perform- ance” has advanced startling forms of writing. In the 1990s, dramatic writing re-emerged from its prior state of hibernation and lethargy, claiming the right to exist on stage not merely as an employee to the per- formance text, but as a powerful partner to the director’s creative ex- pression. Thus the emergence of a certain type of neo-dramatic writing within the Anglo-Saxon literary canon comes to fill up the need for dra- matic language to reveal its performative potential and for new texts for the stage, which dare reinvent theatrical form in order to capture some of the ambiguity, subversion and indeterminacy contained in post-twen- tieth-century sensibilities. The “reformation” of dramatic writing, an “écriture” enriched with the potentialities of the stage, reveals the on- growing need for the theater’s return to the text as well as a need for a strong narrative as a point of departure for performance. Essentially, in neo-dramatic writing textual primacy is restored after having been per- colated through performance considerations. At the same time, the neo- dramatists’ emphasis is on how to grant back to language its immediacy, after many years of clichéd usage.
The first example is the late Saxon pottery industry, which John Hurst already warned us not to map (see above); it will nevertheless be worth a try (Fig. 47 . 10 ). The territories are to some degree exclusive, so that the supplies relate to a particular zone. John Hurst noticed the ‘strong Roman influence’ in late Saxon pottery and assumed it was due to traditional potters migrating from the Low Countries ( 1956 : 48 ). But the references can be more local than that. Just as Stafford Ware seems to reflect the same cheerful orange ware of the Trent Valley (or Severn Valley) potters, the Thetford Ware potters echo the dark Roman fabrics of the local Nene Valley. Some of these factors may have their rationale in the local clays. But like the documented territories, the pottery zones may have even deeper roots than the Roman. Some of the Iron Age pottery zones of the sixth to fourth centuries bc published by Barry Cunliffe (Fig. 47 . 11 ) prefigure those of the tenth and eleventh centuries ad , for example Darmsden–Linton ¼ Thetford Ware; All Cannings Cross–Meon Hill ¼ Cheddar E.; Chinnor–Wandlebury ¼ St Neots Ware. The St Neots ‘territory’ is prefigured by the early-sixth-century East Anglian contact zone at Wasperton (Fig. 47 . 2 ), which may provide a clue to its identity. The distribution actually follows the locus of the Icknield Way, so relating to no political, cultural, or ethnic territory, but simply an ease of communication. The same may be said of Late Saxon Shelly Ware which follows the Thames Valley. Alan Vince ( 1985 : 30 ) might express surprise that these potters exclusively supplied London, but it is logical if they were bringing their wares downstream by boat. For the late Saxon potters we can therefore discern a zonation that depends, to different degrees, on transport, political investment, and a potting tradition that can lie dormant from the Roman period or even from the Iron Age—up to a thousand years or more.
It is difficult to detect lexical change within Old English, since most of our texts derive from a relatively short period, but lexical change can afford valuable insights into cultural change. This paper identifies changes in the semantics of the Old English word ælf (‘elf’) through a rigorous analysis of two textual traditions in which Old English words based on ælf are used to gloss Latin words for nymphs. Around the eighth century, it appears that Old English had no close equivalent to words for the supernatural, feminine and generally unthreatening nymphs: words for supernatural females denoted martial, monstrous or otherwise dangerous beings, while ælf seems not to have denoted females—at least not with sufficient salience to be used as a gloss for words for nymphs. Glossators instead found ways of altering ælf’s gender in order to create a vernacular word for nymphs. By the eleventh century, however, things had changed, and ælf had come to have the female denotation which was to prove prominent in Middle English. Tracing these lexical changes allows us to trace changes in Anglo-Saxon non- Christian belief-systems, and implicitly in Anglo-Saxon gendering more generally.
This paper explores therefore an intermediate route. It is a comparative study of the levels of top income shares and their evolution over the twentieth century, but it is limited to a group of five Anglo-Saxon countries: Australia, Canada, New Zealand, United Kingdom and the United States. By selecting five countries with relatively similar backgrounds, we hope to eliminate some of the respects in which data are not comparable across countries and to hold constant some of the unobservable factors that might have long-run effects on the distribution of top incomes. Our five chosen countries are similar along several dimensions. Each was once under British rule, and each has a common law legal system. All suffered substantial losses in the two World Wars. English is the most commonly spoken language in each country, and migration and trade flows between them were high throughout the twentieth century. Analyzing cross-country GDP growth correlations across the OECD, Otto, Voss and Willard (2001) find that English- speaking countries tend to be more highly correlated with one another, which the authors posit may be due to five factors: trade, exchange rate deviations, legal origin, accounting standards, and technology take-up.
In this chapter, I have turned from a discussion of the sources to a detailed
examination of the contexts in which late Anglo-Saxon prayers are found, focusing above all on the surviving private prayerbooks. A firm distinction between private and liturgical prayer cannot be made in this period, and the books in which these prayers appear contain examples of both. Nevertheless, changes of grammatical number and gender, and the relatively frequent use of the vernacular, are good indicators of the private use of prayer texts. It is evident that Anglo-Saxon monks and nuns deliberately chose to create private prayer sequences which drew on the liturgy with which they were familiar, and which provided them with holy prayers, and yet wanted to make them speak for one person praying on his or her own. Quotations from the psalms and prayers of the church‟s liturgy – which was, after all, how monks and nuns spent much of each day – are woven into private prayers: they provided a formulary of stock phrases, a shared language on which prayer composers drew to make new prayers. For this reason, it must be emphasised that
1.3. Organization of the paper . In Section 2 we perform preliminary analysis of the data set, testing whether there is a significant clustering interaction between points of different types by using common Spatial Statistics tools such as K-cross functions. In Section 3 we define a RPM for complementary clustering and dis- cuss appropriate prior distributions for the cluster partition [see also Section 3.1 of Zanella (2015b)]. The resulting model leads to an intractable posterior distribu- tion. We express such a posterior in terms of matchings contained in hypergraphs. We thus link the problems of sampling from the posterior and finding the posterior mode to the more classical problems of Data Association and Optimal Assign- ment. In Section 4 we design a Metropolis–Hastings algorithm to obtain approx- imate samples from the posterior. We carefully consider the problem of choosing an efficient proposal distribution, we explore the use of Simulated Tempering to overcome multimodality, and we develop a multiple proposal scheme to allow for parallel computation. In Section 5 we analyze the Anglo-Saxon place-name loca- tion data with our RPM, using the algorithm of Section 4. The results support the hypothesis of settlements being organized into administrative clusters and give ex- plicit inferences of various quantities of historical interest. Finally, in Section 6 we discuss future directions of research. Supplementary material includes extensive calculations, additional tables and plots, the settlements data set and R codes to perform the data analysis.