Displaying the Dead

The British Museum is an incredible institution and there is no doubt about that. The depth and breadth of the collection is truly astounding, and despite visit after visit I will always find something new to delight and educate me. However, my most recent trip there left me with an uneasy feeling about the way that bodies are displayed and how the visitors interact with such displays.

There were two distinct cases which caused my uneasiness. The first was the neglected and hidden display of Lindow Man, one of the only bog bodies on display in the British Museum.

Lindow Man, displayed at the British Museum

Hidden in a corner you would barely notice his presence, even on a second glance. Nor was there any lead up to the display, a discussion or even a warning of what you were about it see. Bog bodies are preserved in a way which is far more visceral than viewing a skeleton. Irish bog bodies are often so well preserved that the hands are perfectly intact and the distinct Celtic red hair is swept up in an Elvis-like coiff [see Clonycavan Man at the National Museum of Ireland]. 

The Hand of Old Croghan Man, National Museum of Ireland

They are a direct and tangible link to out ancient ancestors, and as such demand our respect. The Lindow Man has little information to put it in context, and so those who did take notice of him simply took pictures and barely took a moment to contemplate the life lost before them.

Gebelein Man was a totally different experience. As I walked into the room I was confronted with a tour group being paraded around him, while cameras and iPhones snapped away. No information was provided to the tour, resulting in a nasty voyeuristic taste in my mouth. The tour group disappeared into the text, allowing me more space to consider the physical display of Gebelein Man, who appears unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the room, again with no preparation for the visitors as to what they are about to see. However, there is at least more information provided for Gebelein Man, especially through a clever interactive autopsy display. Yet, there was still the feeling that there was a lack of sensitivity in the display.

Gebelein Man, British Museum

Perhaps this is down to the fact that I grew up in Dublin, and would frequently drop into the National Museum of Ireland when I had spare time. And when people ask me what they should do in Dublin, the bog bodies at the NMI is usually top of my list. The display treats the bog bodies with respect, while also allowing the visitor time to prepare to see these bodies. They achieve this through a "pod "system, whereby the bog bodies are not simply laid out in a room for all to see. Each individual pod has information about each bog body before entering, allowing the viewer to read about the life of Old Croghan Man, for example. Upon entry to the "pod" you are confronted with the bog body, with no information to distract the viewer from the individual before them. It is deeply respectful, far less voyeuristic, and even reverent at times.

Example of the "pod" display for Clonycavan Man

There are no words that I can give to adequately end a post about bog bodies, when Seamus Heaney has so eloquently written about them. Reading his poem The Tollund Man as a schoolchild, I never fully appreciated the meaning of his words. Now I do.

I                                                         II                                                    III

Some day I will go to Aarhus           I could risk blasphemy,                 Something of his sad freedom

To see his peat-brown head,             Consecrate the cauldron bog         As he rode the tumbril

The mild pods of his eye-lids,          Our holy ground and pray             Should come to me, driving,

His pointed skin cap.                        Him to make germinate                 Saying the names

In the flat country near by                The scattered, ambushed               Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,

Where they dug him out,                  Flesh of labourers,                         Watching the pointing hands

His last gruel of winter seeds           Stockinged corpses                        Of country people,

Caked in his stomach,                      Laid out in the farmyards,              Not knowing their tongue.

Naked except for                             Tell-tale skin and teeth                   Out here in Jutland

The cap, noose and girdle,               Flecking the sleepers                     In the old man-killing parishes

I will stand a long time.                   Of four young brothers, trailed      I will feel lost,

Bridegroom to the goddess,             For miles along the lines.              Unhappy and at home.

She tightened her torc on him

And opened her fen,

Those dark juices working

Him to a saint's kept body,

Trove of the turfcutters'

Honeycombed workings.

Now his stained face

Reposes at Aarhus.

The Tollund Man

Medieval Latrines

A few weeks ago, I posted this on Twitter, and thought nothing much of it:

I realise that my interest in medieval toilets may seem strange if I don't explain!! 

My research has focused on a twelfth-century Latin poem called Urbanus magnus or The Book of the Civilised Man. This is an expansive poem which contains an immense amount of information about daily life in England in the twelfth century: clothing, food consumption, table manners, speech etiquette, and bodily waste! Yes, I am talking about spit, piss, poo and all other kinds of excretory loveliness!!

Toilet habits in the Middle Ages is becoming a growing topic of scholarly interest, and is moving away from being a taboo subject [see further reading at the end]. 

However, Urbanus magnus is still a rather unknown entity in the scholarship of medieval history (which my PhD hopefully will redress!), so I will likely be talking about or referencing it a lot in upcoming blog posts. 

But, to return to toilets. Urbanus magnus has a wealth if information about where and when to go to the toilet, how to clean oneself, the duties of the personal attendant (precursor to the Groom of the Stool). Yet, there was one quote that when I translated it I thought it was quite interesting:

If two men are seated in the privy, one should not rise until the other one has finished.

I translated this line a while ago, but was reminded of it when the Sochi Winter Olympics were about to begin in 2014. Athletes were complaining about some of the facilities on offer, and this photo made the rounds:

As one could imagine, this set-up runs totally contrary to the notion of modern privacy, but historically is is not that unusual! Indeed, total privacy while attending to nature is a rather recent phenomenon. In the medieval times, you could achieve privacy by defecating outdoors (or if you were allowed to use a single garderobe such as that seen in the Tower of London (top image). Yet, what about this description of communal latrines. I imagine that it would look something like this:

Note: This is from Orford Castle in Suffolk, and would have originally had a short wall separating the two privies, but it's enough to give a sense of what Urbanus magnus may have had in mind!

Photo from: https://asuffolklane.wordpress.com/tag/orford-ness/

And this image of an exterior view of a privy, suggests that it was a triple occupancy privy!:

Photo from: http://www.homeharmonizing.com/2013/04/17/a-dummys-guide-to-the-evolution-of-our-toilets/

However, this was nothing compared to the communal latrines of the classical era, which could fit a much larger number of occupants:

                               

             

Top: Communal Toilets from Ostia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latrine)

Bottom: Reconstruction of the Communal Latrines at Housesteads Roman Fort (http://www.heritage-explorer.co.uk/web/he/imagebythemedetail.aspx?id=2773&large=1)

But before we go and think about how far advanced we are, here's another picture from the Sochi Olympic Park (I'm just being a bit cheeky here!):

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-25830617

To return to Urbanus magnus and the twelfth century, although the act of urination and defecation may have been somewhat communal indoors, the quote above does reveal a concern for privacy:

If two men are seated in the privy, one should not rise until the other one has finished.

I have interpreted this as a mark of respect. One should rise together so as to avoid seeing the other's naked bottom or witnessing the act!

But, I would be really interested to hear what other people make of this quote! Please feel free to comment below!

And, if you have any information about double-latrines or medieval communal latrines still in existence, or even archaeological evidence for them, I would be intrigued to find out more!

Further Reading:

M. Bayless, Sin and Filth in Medieval Culture: The Devil in the Latrine (New York, 2012)
V. Allen, On Farting: Language and Laughter in the Middle Ages (New York, 2007)