Tag Archives: East Anglia

Castle Camps – an historic deserted village in Cambridgeshire


Image of All Saints Church Castle Camps

An English Scene: All Saints Church at Castle Camps, Cambridgeshire

In a moment of rest     I turned from my ride

Down some old lane     in a summery twist;

A sign by the roadside     stole all of my interest

And lured me this way     by the look of its name.

Castle Camps tells a tale     of curious complexion,

Suggesting in words     some ancient foundation

Of Britons and Romans     in robust aggression

Fighting their battles;     foe-men long before.

Yet no, not quite here,     in this old quiet corner

Cradled in Cambridgeshire     calm in the sun;

Here is some noble     Norman foundation

Nestling in nettles,     nonchalant now.

Yet I knew this place      when it well known,

When de Vere and his men     walked here and rode there;

Lords of a landscape     flat and unlauded,

Drawing the tithes     and troubling the serfs.

But then darkness came,     doleful and deadly,

A breath on the breeze     bringing Black Death;

Creeping and cold     it came without welcome

To kill without warning     those hardworking folk.

Now I see little     of that land which I loved,

Its people with ploughs     perfecting the land;

They have all gone,     and the village abandoned,

Just its lumps and bumps     and nettles in clumps.

Yet the church is still there,     a chilling reminder –

And so too the castle,     though I cannot see much –

Of the village which once      vibrated with life

In this harp-shaped  haven     in the heart of the land

I once knew.

All silent is the village now

The people far and few;

Yet if my mind will still allow,

They talk to me anew.

 


 

About Castle Camps

Castle Camps in Cambridgeshire demonstrates the close relationship between the religious and the secular, between church and castle, in what is now a deserted mediaeval village. The church of All Saints appears to sit over an older bailey to the main, moated castle ringwork (now on private land, housing Castle Farm); it is likely that the church was built when the bailey was expanded some time in the thirteenth century.

The main village is abandoned with the population at some point migrating to Camps Green nearby; it is unclear whether this was as a consequence of plague or whether this was to do with the expansion of a mediaeval park (or both). It is difficult to interpret the layout of the village itself as much is overgrown but the relationship between church and castle is well-stated even today. The size of the ringwork and its proximity to the church gives a strong indication of former wealth; not altogether unexpected with the de Vere connection. 

Historic England Listing Detail with map and history click here


Images of Castle Camps, Cambridgeshire (slide show)

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Filed under British Landscape, Cambridgeshire, Castles of England, English Counties, English History, English Landscape, Historic Churches in England, Historic places to visit in Britain, Sir Gawain and Le Gringalet, Touring Britain, Touring England, Uncategorized

Sutton Hoo, where Raedwald lies


Image of Raedwald of Sutton Hoo

Raedwald of Sutton Hoo - his spirt lives on by the Deben's side at Sutton Hoo.

In times past, when Europe was non-existent and geography was plotted by knowledge rather than maps, Saxon kings moved from place to place by coastal navigation slowly. I should know: I stood on Albion’s shores and watched the raiders come as, indeed, I had seen the Romans before them. Silent rowers, etched in black on silvery waters, moving ever closer to the shore as we watched them from among the gorse and bracken.

Suffolk, named by the Saxons for the South Folk, stands testament to their legacy. As indeed does the whole of eastern England: East Anglia, the home of the East Angles. Here, in this place lay sleeping Raedwald, King of the East Angles; at peace at Sutton Hoo. Let me tell you more…

Today a brooding hough, spur or hoo on the sandlings by the Deben, the mounds at Sutton Hoo once stood proud like temples in the heathland there. When I stand and look now at the shallow ploughed out tumps in the wintry evening light, it fills me with sorrow to think that here, once, great kings imposed themselves on the landscape through death. And before death, of course, life… Life indeed!

Thirteen hundred years ago, the Deben estuary was a different place to now. Not so much a sheltered berth for yachtsmen, tourists and wealthy wives; instead one of the key routes into the East Anglian hinterland from the sea. Picture yourself, reader, arriving from Scandinavia and following the coast of Albion; the Deben, like the Orwell and others beckoned weary sailors to shelter from the dangerous murky sweep of the German Ocean, the great North Sea.

And here it was, all those centuries ago that the people we now called Saxons came to settle, eventually building a magisterial palace at Rendlesham nearby – a palace described by some I knew as “healaerna maest” – the most fabulous of all buildings. East Anglia, as I recall it, was a power base for the early English in these parts: a rich farming land yet with easy communication with friends in distant lands.

This quiet place, far adrift from the heart of England, was the home too of Raedwald, King of the East Angles, a man I remember well. I can see him now in his splendour on the mead bench, distributing rings and gifts to his favoured thanes. In the darkness of the night, he shone by the fire, bedecked in gold and garnets.

His wealth was beyond compare, matchless in these lands; he employed the finest craftsmen to make things for him which even today are almost beyond the wit of those so skilled to mimic.

This warrior lord stood highest in the hall, carrying with him an enormous whetstone, beautifully carved with the faces of his ancestors, as a symbol of his powers. His cloak was clasped with gold buckles inlaid with crimson garnets and finely cut millefiori glass. On his belt, his mighty sword hung by his side. Again gold and garnets glistered there,  while at the centre of his being, a great fire-like buckle interlaced with writhing snakes and weighing as much as a dog’s head, glowed like a hot iron in the smoke-filled room. Hu oa aepelingas ellen fremedon, we might say. How those noblemen wrought deeds of valour!

But now Raedwald’s image in my mind is just that: a memory in the mind’s eye. Yet thanks to providence, we can still today see Raedwald – if not in body then at least in the accoutrements of his power which were uncovered just 70 years ago as I watched in shadows the work of Basil Brown and his colleagues unearthing treasures which today are there for all to see at the British Museum in London.

How I smiled as Brown revealed the remains of the huge ship I saw being dragged up the hill from the Deben so many centuries ago. He did not see what I saw: the ship positioned in the sand and the body of the great king laid to rest with his prize possessions before being sealed within the ship by great oaken boards. He did not see the tears of men and women by the boat-side. He did not witness the last plank being nailed down and Raedwald’s eyes sealed for ever from the glowing sun of this world…

I recall how that ship laid on the hillside for many years before at last the wood began to bend and crack with the sun and the rain and the cold: a vessel stark on the hoo-top, silhoetted against the Suffolk Sky. I remember in my worry that Raedwald would not rest in eternal peace. Yet I need have no fear that the Saxons would not honour their dead.

I remember going back there again a few years later to see the vessel this time being covered in earth so that a great mound – an edifice to a great king – would rise on the Hoo surveying the great Deben and its safe landing places. On the land was a ship and then the ship became the land; Raedwald’s spirit lurked beneath his sandling home. In those days, this place had immense significance – and quite rightly so.

Raedwald was a true king: assertive of his place, protective of his possessions and lands, and, upon his death, commanding such respect and power that for thirteen centuries his body lay undisturbed: free from rabbits, sheep and even the attempted predations of grave robbers. Yet I knew Raedwald and I knew well how he would have laughed to see his worldly goods on display once more for all to see and marvel at.

Sutton Hoo is rightly seen today as one of the world’s great archaeological treasure troves. Yet I recall it when it was a calm inlet to a quiet hinterland. The captains and the kings are now gone again but the treasures of Raedwald will preserve his glorious memory until the ending of the world.

Wel bio paem ye mot aefter deaodaege. Drihten secean ond to Faeder faeymum freodo wilnian! Well will it be for he who after the day of his death may seek out the Lord and ask for peace in the arms of the Father.

Further information:

  • Sutton Hoo is today owned by the National Trust which has an excellent museum in the grounds
  • The Sutton Hoo Treasure is on display at the British Musuem in London, currently on display on the ground floor in an area through the gift display on the right having gone through the entrance
  • There is a special interest group for you to join: the Sutton Hoo Society.

Image of King Raedwald of the East Angles by artist Michael Smith. Copyright Michael Smith 2011. All rights reserved.

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