19 April 2018
Camelot in Carlisle
by J R Thomas
Did the dying King Arthur throw Excalibur in the Solway? Was the Round Table to be found in the Great Hall of Carlisle Castle? Before legions of angry readers pound their keyboards in protest, pointing out that Camelot was located at (feel free to fill in your favourite legendary site here), bear with us as we, somewhat early, mark St George’s Day.
It is rather odd that the English adopted St George as their patron saint. The chap was perfectly worthy, of course, rescuing damsels in distress and knocking off dragons, and a devout Christian to boot, but he seems never to have come anywhere near England. He was born in present day Palestine, of Greek parentage, and served in the Roman army. He was ordered by the Roman Emperor Diocletian to repudiate his Christian faith, refused to do so, and was beheaded. There is a legend that he came to England in the army of Constantine and visited Glastonbury. (Everybody seems to have visited Glastonbury in pre-medieval times, President Trump should add it to his intended tour). Whether he did or no, he seems an obscure figure to pick as a patron saint. Much more to English tastes would be King Arthur, who at least had the advantage of living here.
But then one runs into another little difficulty. There seem to be a number of King Arthurs lurking in various corners of these islands. The most famous one is said to have been conceived and born at Tintagel on the north Cornish coast, to have driven back the invading Saxons, until dissent and betrayal (so unlike modern politics) fatally weakened him, with the final battle at Camlann, by a lake, where the dying Arthur was rowed away in a black-shrouded galley, to be seen no more. There is also a Welsh Arthur, and a Scottish one, and several English regional ones. But it is the Cornish one that endures, even though he is the one with the least historical evidence. His legend has done English Heritage, owners of Tintagel, no harm at all, with vast numbers of visitors dreaming of babies in woven baskets and Merlin, and Round Tables, and courtly knights. Another western Camelot, and a very evocative one, rather oddly gets hardly any visitors and has no teashop to offer Merlin Cream Teas or Arthur keyfobs, in spite of being hard by the A303, a main route to the West Country. This is Cadbury Castle in Somerset, a huge and high ancient hillfort, remarkably complete, and at dusk or in mist a very convincing possibility for King Arthur’s court. Very convenient to Glastonbury too.
One thing common to the Arthur legends is that they seemed to arise at roughly the same time – after the Roman legions had retreated to Italy, but whilst civilian Romano-British society was still fairly intact (and presumably wealthy). Then the Saxons began to arrive from the east, and no doubt a number of those descendants of Rome took up arms to maintain a way of life. But historically the best referenced Arthurs are the Welsh and Scottish ones. The former could certainly have been a local warrior chief, a type ancient Wales was particularly well resourced in. However the Scottish Borders one is perhaps the most interesting, at least to those of us who are fond of northern fells and dales, and think they would look even more wonderful decorated by knights in shining armour.
The Scottish Arthur was no Scot, there being no concept of Scotland (sorry Ms Sturgeon) but a group of tribes occupying former Roman ruled lands north of Hadrian’s Wall, and south of the Clyde. It was from those misty forests that perhaps this Arthur emerged, and his Camelot just may have been Carlisle.
Graham Robb, the historian and writer, lives in the heart of this possible Arthurian country, in the Debatable Lands, that strange piece of country which is part Scotland and part England but mostly neither. Robb’s book of that name explores the pre-Elizabethan (first one, not this one) history of the area. He characterises it as a buffer zone between warring tribes, tribes which evolved, if that is the right expression, into England and Scotland. One thing that fascinated Robb was the number of local place names that began with “Arthur”. He originally dismissed the Arthur/Round Table stuff as romantic legend, unlikely to have any foundation sixteen hundred years after the alleged events. Indeed he felt they might flow from the Clan MacArthur, a south western Scottish clan, until he began to wonder where they got that name from… But then he analysed more carefully the distribution of “Arthur” names and the immediate post Roman history of these wild fells. What has emerged from this is a very interesting link – those Arthur places are all close to Roman roads and settlements. There is a particular sprinkling close to Hadrian’s Wall – Arthur’s Chair and King Arthur’s Well among them. There is clear evidence of a series of battles against the Saxons from the east and major population movements soon after the Roman withdrawal and the abandonment of the Wall as a defensive instrument.
That does not quite prove that buried under the rosy red walls of Carlisle Castle is a great round table, but somehow Arthur as a Romano-British leader, rallying an alarmed people in a vulnerable new world, does sound feasible. And Arthur standing with sword unsheathed on the abandoned Wall, the doors of empty milecastles slamming in the western wind, as his men reopen the Roman well, has a splendid romantic appeal. As does a defeated dying Arthur being rowed out into the Solway as Saxon night literally and figuratively closes over Britain.
(In the interests of fair play to Arthurs everywhere it should be said that there is also evidence of another Arthur type figure fighting on the same ground to rouse the Border tribes against the invading Romans in the Second Century. He lost too.)
There is one wonderful local tale of much more modern times which deserves to be true. At the time it was certainly believed, at least by those who wanted to believe it. A mid-nineteenth century shepherd was looking after his sheep in a remote place in the Cheviots, the great grassy hills which rise to the east of the Debateable Land. One hot afternoon he went to sleep in the sun and awoke to find himself rolling down the hillside and into a great crevice. Recovering, he sat up to find himself in a huge cave. Before him was a great round table, and round it were sleeping figures of knights on horseback and a King wearing a simple gold crown. He knew instantly that he had found King Arthur and his knights, waiting for the hour of England’s greatest peril when legend says they will emerge to save her. He scrambled out and ran to the village many miles away; but when he and his friends returned they could not, in spite of days of searching, find the crevice into which he had fallen.
Never mind patron saints fighting mythical creatures in strange lands, no doubt risking a sexual harassment charge from the maiden who was actually in a complex relationship with on the dragon. Let’s nominate for the job a straightforward King and a full crew of knights, waiting under the northern hills to save us. That’s much more an English sort of thing.
Happy St Arthur’s Day.
Graham Robb’s “The Debatable Land” contains much good reading about a fascinating area of the Borders. Published in 2017 by Picador, from any good bookshop.
