Norman haircuts and ‘Celtic’ tonsures

On page 95 of my book Viking London, I gave the following description of a group of Normans –

‘their hair long in the back, but shaved from crown to hairline -hardcore mullets, haircuts that led the historian Simon Schama to call the Normans “the scary half-skinheads of the early feudal world.”’

Striking thought his image is, anyone with a passing familiarity with the Bayeux Tapestry will have been puzzled. This is not the way that Normans wore their hair – quite the opposite in fact…

Norman hair was actually left to grow at the front, but shaved at the back – more like a reverse mullet than anything else, rather the opposite of what I described, though still entirely congruent with the idea of the ‘half-skinhead’.

How did I make such a basic error? I’m not altogether sure. It is an object lesson in how two contradictory pieces of connected knowledge can exist simultaneously in the mind. A warped image of the ‘half-skinhead’ had clearly taken root somewhere inside my head, remaining somehow uncontaminated by the real experience of actually looking at the Bayeux Tapestry…

But I think it wasn’t helped by the fact that, around the same time, I had also been thinking about the problem of the ‘Celtic’ tonsure, which has often (incorrectly) been reconstructed along the lines of my erroneous description above. In my current book I have the following to say on the matter (with quotations from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History):

‘British and Irish monks […] shaved the head in a way that was, in the words of St Ceolfrith, “abhorrent and detestable” because it reminded him of the hated figure of Simon Magus and other disreputable wizards. What the insular tonsure actually looked like, however, is hard to determine. The shaved area seems most likely to have resembled a D shape from above, with the straight edge running from ear to ear so that, from the front, it had a “superficial resemblance to a crown”. Only on going around the back would the full horror be revealed, “the apparent crown cut short” a cursed “characteristic of simoniacs and not of Christians”.’

Iceland: legends of the north

 

NOR Nordmennene lander på Island år 872

Oscar Wergeland (1877), The Norsemen landing in Iceland [not an archaeologically accurate depiction, but still rather wonderful]

According to the Old Norse Landnámabók – ‘the book of settlements’ – the first Scandinavian settlers to make their home in Iceland were Ingólfr Arnarson, his wife Hallveig Fróðadóttr and his brother Hjörleifr. According to the legend, they left Norway in 874 after a violent feud, sailing west towards a land of which they had heard rumour. The story goes that when he first sighted land Ingólfr tossed his ‘high-seat pillars’ into the sea and followed them as they drifted towards the shore. They washed up in what is now known as Faxa Bay, in the south-west of the island, and there the family built their farmstead – the first settlement on Iceland, chosen by the tug of wind and tide. Ingolfr watched the smoke, risen from hot springs, drifting low over the water and named his farm Reykjavík, the smoking bay. Continue reading

Silver, swords and wool

This is a lightly edited version of a short piece I wrote last month for Descended from Odin. Not really the weather for it, but …

 

Silver and gold, weapons and slaves, shields and long-ships: these, we might imagine, are the proper accoutrements of the sea-borne rover… wool not so much.

But unless we are foolish enough to believe in the sword & sorcery stereotype of the barbarian-in-naught-but-furry-loin-cloth, a hard life on the north-sea margins demanded proper clothes. And, whilst furs were an important part of Viking dress (and an important trading commodity), it was woollen cloth that was essential to many aspects of Viking life: sartorial, social and nautical.

Continue reading