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)

Gargoyles and Restoration

The concept of restoration is rapidly falling out of fashion in favour of conservation. The days of Viollet-le-Duc's personal re-imagining of medieval architecture seem relegated to the past, and now conservators are often explicit in the ways in which they conserve a building or work of art, revealing the modern conservators hand rather than attempt to disguise it.

Gargoyle by Viollet-le-Duc at Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris

There are many questions at the heart of the resoration/conservation debate. Firstly, to restore a building assumes restoring it to an 'original' form, which does not account for the way buildings age, develop, grow or shrink. To take an example from painting, many oil painters knew that the varnish on their paintings would darken over time, and thus would compensate to adjust for this change over time by brightening the pre-varnished paintings. Restorers would then remove every layer up to and including the original varnish to reach 'the artists hand', i.e. his true intention. This completely ignores the painting's life beyond the point of creation. The same can be said for buildings. 

Secondly, with decaying and crumbling buildings, intervention is often unavoidable and parts need to be rebuilt, sculptures replaced, etc. The question then is whether a viewer wants to be fooled into imagining the restored building to be completely aesthetically 'original' in style, in the manner of a Viollet-le-Duc or should modern additions be explicitly obvious?

                                                              

Chichester Cathedral, 

exterior view of the south side aisle, south transept, and tower

This question has resonance for Chichester Cathedral where I observed these two guys peering down at me from an exterior side-wall:

Sculptures from Chichester Cathedral

They are delightfully humourous scultures, and although modern in relation to the building in both age and style, they represent the type of whimsy and humour, and also vulgarity, often at play on medieval buildings:

Examples of Romanesque 'humourous' sculpture

Perhaps some may view the Chichester gargoyles as jarring in the context of a medieval cathedral, but surely it is better to have something there representative of the spirit of medieval carvings instead of either a crumbling sculpture or modern fake. In the case of Chichester, I admire the medieval whimsy and playfulness at play in the sculptures, but I am under no illusion that they are by the hands of a modern sculpture. I enjoy not being duped into reading medieval authenticity and originality when there is none, and I enjoy the enduring skill of sculptors to the present day.

To end on a fun note, we may not have developed much further in style from our medieval designers. Any fan of Kilpeck Church and/or vintage early 90's LucasArts video games may appreciate this:

Left: Sculpture from The Church of St Mary and St David, Kilpeck, Herefordshire, 12th century

Right: Sam and Max Hit the Road [LucasArts]

Richard III and Thomas Cromwell

How does Richard III fit with Thomas Cromwell, you ask? Well, it's a question of revisionist history and emotional detachment (or a lack thereof) in my humble opinion. Here, I should point out that I am a medievalist, with a specialisation in the twelfth century, and these are just personal thoughts that I have noted or been thinking about for a while now.

I admit that I was fascinated watching the first Channel 4 documentary about the discovery of Richard III's bones and the science behind proving it was both scholarly, scientific, and wholly engaging. Yet, as a historian, I was both baffled and bemused by the emotions and intent at play from the woman at the centre of the hunt - Philippa Langley - and the Richard III society more broadly, who sought to restore Richard III's character from the "villainy" imposed on him by Tudor propaganda and Shakespeare. And while initially they sought to restore Richard III from the famous hunchback depiction, the discovery of his scoliosis may prove that some of the historical depictions of him were correct, if not exaggerated.  I am all for balance and nuance when it comes to how we write or depict controversial or famous figures in the past. But at what point does the urge for balance result in an imbalance in the other direction?

I am a fan of Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, and especially enjoyed the BBC series with its nuanced and deeply personal depiction of Thomas Cromwell by Mark Rylance. And while I appreciated and admired the attempt to understand Cromwell, I wholeheartedly disagreed with the depiction of Thomas More who seems grossly denigrated in order to promote Cromwell. So, although Cromwell may now appear a more balanced figure to many people, More's historical standing comes at the expense.

I feel a similar sentiment with Richard III and the emotional rhetoric attached to his re-burial at Leicester. I was astonished that people were queuing for four hours to view his coffin. Perhaps it is as a mark of respect, such as those according to monarchs or leaders who lie in state, but surely we can only respect Richard III through a revisionist approach to him as a historical figure? Without further evidence surrounding issues such as the Princes in the Tower, we cannot say one way or the other whether he was 'good' or 'bad' (as basic, diametric, and polarising as those terms are). And if he is still to be considered 'bad' or a 'villain' this reburial accords such an honour to one solely based on nobility, royalty, and not any sort of merit.

The cynic in me sees this whole reburial issue as one of PR, I'm sorry to say. I do not judge those who queue to see the coffin, but seek to understand the motivation. In the end, perhaps, it is just the lure of infamous figures and infamous histories. One only needs to visit the Tower of London to see people's emotional reactions to stories and places related to Anne Boleyn. Perhaps I just find it difficult to remove my historian's hat!