St Wilfrid and his Crypts

Last week, on my way back from a research trip to York, I called in at Ripon, to visit the cathedral there, or rather more specifically, to go underneath it. Stunningly beautiful though the cathedral is, it was the rather more mundane and plain crypt which attracted me.

I read recently that the crypt at Ripon is deemed to be 'creepy' but I didn't find it so. Perhaps it helped that there was a concert of organ music going on above while I was down there, but I think the crypt at Hexham, also associated with St Wilfrid, is perhaps the creepier of the two.

Ripon is proud of the fact that its crypt is the oldest in the country, beating Hexham to the title by just a few years.

Wilfrid had been inspired by what he had seen in Rome - ornate stone churches with catacombs - and he used stonemasons from overseas to build his church at Ripon, at a time when most 'English' churches were built of wood. The crypt contained holy relics, connected with St Peter, and it was lit by candlelight, which illuminated gold, silver, and purple wall decorations. The idea was to inspire, and it surely succeeded.

So, who was Wilfrid, and why was he at Ripon?

I think it's fair to say that he had a colourful career and, though he is remembered as a religious man who achieved great things, he also had an uncanny knack of annoying people, so much so that he found himself banished and briefly imprisoned.

He first comes to our notice when, as a fourteen-year-old boy, and according to one tradition, anxious to escape his wicked stepmother, he presented himself to Eanflæd, queen consort of Oswiu, king of Northumbria, who sponsored him and sent him off to study at Lindisfarne. Thereafter his chequered career is too long, and his fortunes too variable, to condense into a blog post (a quick glance at the length of his Wikipedia page will demonstrate that!), and I recommend you read Alan Thacker's detailed article at the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography and his contribution in The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England. 

Suffice to say for this post about the crypts that, after a time abroad, he was heavily involved with the discussions at the Synod of Whitby in 664, a vocal advocate for the argument which won the day on controversial matters such as the dating of Easter. He was appointed abbot of Ripon, but this was one of many contentious events in his career, because he expelled the abbot and the monks there, including the future St Cuthbert. He dedicated his new stone church to St Peter.

By 672, Oswiu of Northumbria had died, and his son Ecgfrith was married to Æthelthryth. It was she who reputedly remained a virgin throughout this, her second, marriage, and was encouraged to do so by Wilfrid. One tradition has her escaping from Ecgfrith (it's likely that he was happy to let her go, given that she was ten years older than him and he had no heir) before she went on to become abbess of Ely. However, whilst still in the north, she gave Wilfrid a large parcel of land at Hexham, where he built another stone church, this time dedicated to St Andrew.

Hexham Abbey is not so very far away from Ripon, but the existing building looks rather different. Wilfrid's church was completed in 678 but partly destroyed by Viking raids in 875. In the early twelfth century, the church became the Priory of Canons Regular of St Augustine and from the mid-twelfth to mid-thirteenth century more building took place.

In 1296, Scottish raiders set fire to the priory, and in the process destroyed shrines, books and relics. It is said that molten lead ran down the night stair and can still be seen to this day. 

But of course for me, the interest is much deeper down, in the crypt. With a good ethos of ‘waste not, want not’ recycled Roman bricks were used, from the remains of the Roman fort and town at Corbridge just a few miles away; Wilfrid's church was probably built entirely from stones taken from this site.

Is it the darker stone that makes Hexham a little gloomier, perhaps a little spookier? Let's have a reminder of Ripon again:

Well, whatever the case, for me it's a thrill to stand in either place, coming so close to the long-ago past, and feeling very in touch with the troublesome love-him-or-loathe-him Wilfrid. There are so few buildings which survive from the pre-Conquest era that a chance to visit those that still exist should never be passed up.

But in case all the gloomy pictures of ancient crypts aren't quite colourful enough, here's another glory of Ripon Cathedral:

Despite his 'interesting' career, he is rightly revered there, and there is also a beautiful painting of Queen Eanflæd by artist Sara Shamma:

Over at Hexham Wilfrid is also rightly remembered, but so too is his patron, Eanflæd's daughter-in-law, Æthelthryth:

Both are beautiful sites. From the outside you would never guess what 'Anglo-Saxon' architecture they are hiding. Here are some more images:

Clockwise from top left:
Hexham Abbey, Hexham Crypt,
Ripon Crypt, Ripon Cathedral

Wilfrid appears in my novel, The Sins of the Father, as do Eanflæd and Æthelthryth. Eanflæd also features heavily in the previous novel, Cometh the Hour, and both women's stories are in my book Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England.

For details of another 'Anglo-Saxon' crypt, this time in Repton, Derbyshire, read my blog post HERE

[all photos by and copyright of the author, taken with all permissions from the relevant authorities at Ripon Cathedral and Hexham Abbey]

Kings' Sons Who Didn't Make It

There are some well-known younger sons in history, who became kings because their elder brothers died young, or left no heirs. 

Henry II was succeeded by more than one of his sons, the last being John. 

Edward III should have been succeeded by his son, the Black Prince. Had he been, perhaps the Wars of the Roses would never have happened.

Henry VII should have been followed by his eldest son Prince Arthur, but instead the country got Henry VIII and the seismic changes which accompanied his reign.

Henry VIII then of course famously had a bit of difficulty siring a legitimate male heir and the one he finally produced, Edward VI, also died whilst still a teenager. What would the country have been without the reigns of Mary I or Elizabeth I?

Charles I was not destined to rule; his elder brother Henry was the heir, but died when still a teenager. Would there have been civil war if Henry had lived and reigned?


Back in Anglo-Saxon times there were also some occasions where the elder brothers' deaths had far-reaching consequences.

A few instances even in the early part of the period leave me thinking, what if?

Offa of Mercia went to a great deal of time and trouble to secure the legitimate succession of his son, Ecgfrith. Offa and his predecessor, Æthelbald, were only distantly related, and neither was directly related to the kings who had come before. In Mercia during the eighth century there were several contenders for the throne upon every death of the king, and Offa was determined to make the way easier for Ecgfrith. Bloodshed was one of the preferred methods, and letters show that it was not approved of . Alcuin of York wrote a letter in 797 in which he said of Ecgfrith: 'You know very well how much blood his father shed to secure the kingdom on his son.'

But Offa went further, having Ecgfrith anointed by Hygeberht, bishop of Lichfield. (It's probable that the archbishop of Canterbury had refused to do it.)

It was all for nothing, however. Ecgfrith died only a few months after becoming king. The history of Mercian kingship for the next almost one hundred years is one of rival families vying for the throne. The secure dynasty which Offa envisaged was not to be. It might not be stretching a point to suggest that had there been a stronger dynasty, Mercia would have remained an independent kingdom instead of being absorbed by Wessex.

Probably one of the most famous kings who should never have expected to rule was Alfred the Great. He was the youngest of the five sons of King Æthelwulf of Wessex (839-858.)

Æthelwulf went on pilgrimage in 855, taking with him his youngest son, Alfred, and leaving his domains in the hands of his eldest son Æthelbald (Wessex) and second eldest Æthelberht (Kent and the Southeast.) When he returned, he had with him his new wife, Judith of Flanders.

The welcome was perhaps not what he was expecting.  Æthelbald refused to hand back Wessex, and for a while the kingdom was divided - although historians argue the precise nature of this division. Upon his father's death, Æthelbald married his stepmother Judith, which earned him the opprobrium of the chroniclers, particularly Asser, who said that his actions were 'against God's prohibition and Christian dignity, and also contrary to the practice of all pagans ... incurring great disgrace from all who heard of it.' Asser went on to report that the king controlled Wessex for only two and half 'lawless' years after his father.

So the crown passed to his brother, Æthelberht, but he died in 865, and was succeeded by the next brother, Æthelred, who died in 871. He had children, one of whom later rebelled, but who must have been too young to rule in 871. Thus Alfred, the fifth son, became king. 

His grandson, Athelstan, famous victor of the battle at Brunanburh, was said to have been a particular favourite of Alfred's. But he was not supposed to be king.

When Alfred's son, Edward the Elder, died in 924, it seems that his legitimate son, Ælfweard, was declared king in Wessex, while it's generally accepted that the supposedly illegitimate Athelstan was chosen as king of the Mercians. The case might not have been quite so simple, but it's irrelevant because a mere sixteen days later, Ælfweard was dead. Another brother, Edwin, described as a king by Folcwin, deacon of St Bertins, drowned in rather suspicious circumstances. 

Athelstan died without issue and the throne passed to two of his half-brothers, and eventually to the young son of one of those half-brothers. This young son, Eadwig, was famous for having reportedly being caught in bed with his wife and her mother, and banishing the cleric, later saint, Dunstan. He lost half his kingdom two years later and was dead by the age of nineteen. He was almost universally loathed, whereas his younger brother, who succeeded, was known as Edgar the Peaceable, whose reign was free from Viking raids, and renowned for monastic reform.

Edgar

Edgar left two sons, the eldest of whom, Edward the Martyr, gained a reputation for having a fierce temper. He was king only for three years and his murder - said by some to have been arranged by his stepmother - ushered in the long, and troubled, reign of Æthelred, whose nickname was Unræd (ill-counselled.)

This reign saw the renewal of Viking raids, and the invasion forces of Swein Forkbeard and then his son, Cnut. Fighting Cnut for control of the country was  Æthelred's son, later known as Edmund Ironside. Energetic, successful as a military commander, he was nothing like his father. Unfortunately, as mentioned in my last blog post he died, possibly murdered, in 1016. He was probably still only in his twenties. 

In fact, Edmund was a son who didn't make it, having followed a brother who didn't make it. His brother, Athelstan, died while still young, and left a will which provides a wealth of information. From it, we learn that his grandmother, usually reviled for her supposed involvement in the murder of Edward the Martyr, played a huge part in his upbringing. It also shows that he was good friends with a family of Mercians who had strong links with Edmund Ironside.

With some of these cases, it might have been viewed as a good thing that the reigns were cut short; Eadwig, who tried to buy the loyalty of his noblemen, was perhaps no huge loss to the monarchy. Edward the Martyr was not shaping up to be the tactician that his father Edgar had been. 

But the loss of Edmund Ironside was perhaps more significant. He didn't die without issue, but these Anglo-Saxons' nicknames are very telling. Edmund's son became known as Edward the Exile, because he spent a considerable amount of his life abroad, some of it in Hungary. His son was a contender, for a while, for the throne in 1066. But whilst being a teenager was no bar for succession, by the time Edward the Confessor died, powerful court factions and a family named the Godwines had changed the political landscape. 

All these kings feature in my book, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, available HERE or HERE