History Shorts: snippets of local history

Today, just six species of sloth remain, split between two families: two-toed and three-toed. But in prehistoric times, sloths were far more diverse—and some were massive compared to the tree-dwellers we know now. If you’ve been to the Natural History Museum in London, you might have seen the striking replica skeleton* of Megatherium americanum , one of these ancient giants. New research from a team of scientists from the Americas sheds light on how these now-extinct sloths reached such impressive sizes—and why they eventually vanished. Bigger sloths, grounded lives Unlike modern sloths, which live exclusively in trees, the largest prehistoric species were ground-dwellers. Some were tall enough to pull leaves from treetops while standing upright. Megatherium , for example, lived in the grasslands of South America until about 10,000 years ago. Fossil footprints from Argentina suggest it walked on hind legs, using its tail for balance. The scientists analyzed ancient DNA and more th...

T he diaries of 17th century Oxford antiquarian Anthony Wood offer a fascinating glimpse into academic and social life in the university city, with a mixture of history, commentary and anecdotal material.  A new kind of feaver One particularly curious entry caught my eye: Memorandum, Friday, Aug 14 1657, Mrs Read of Ipston departed this life, who three weeks before her death was taken with a fit of vomitting and vomitted a live spider. Her name was Acton before she married. This summer rages a new kind of feaver, especially in the country villages. — Excerpt from The Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Antiquary of Oxford (1632–1695), Described by Himself, Vol. I (1632–1663), collected from his diaries and other papers by Andrew Clark, M.A., Fellow of Lincoln College, published 1891. Concern for illness is a common theme in 17th-century diaries but I will assume the note about a live spider is drawn from local hearsay as opposed to being a symptom of a "new kind of feaver". The I...

As a cycling fan, it was a bit of a thrill once to cycle down the dreaded Arenberg trench, a legendary cobbled segment of the Paris-Roubaix spring classic. That I was on a hired city bike with a front basket was only partly the reason why I mostly cycled on the much safer dirt track alongside the pavé... In this part of the Nord-Pas de Calais we are deep in coal-mining country. The Arenberg trench, Trouée d'Arenberg-Wallers (official name the Drève des Boules d’Hérin), is a 2.3km road that cuts straight through the Arenberg forest on the edge of a large mine. The segment was only introduced to the Paris-Roubaix race in 1968 but has become a permanent fixture - apart from one year when surface damage caused by the collapse of abandoned subterranean mining tunnels was finally deemed bad enough to warrant repair. It's been the site of notable crashes over the years and can make or break a rider's day very easily. I'm glad to report however that our hired bicycles were safe...

It sometimes doesn't feel real: I lived through an actual pandemic, what should be the stuff of history or fiction. I know I'm reflecting from a place of privilege even saying that. Five years ago today the British government announced lockdown restrictions as part of a "huge national effort" to stop the spread of the Covid-19 virus. Many vulnerable people had been effectively under lockdown before then. In the period that followed some didn't feel the need for restrictions or vaccinations.  Was it too late? Was it a step too far? Historians will look back and draw different conclusions. As a society we're still dealing with the aftermath of the virus, the restrictions, the conspiracy theories, the mental health issues, our approach to collective responsibility, the realities of hybrid working - positive for me and many others, not so much for some. We can say the pandemic deepened existing inequalities and exposed vulnerabilities in our health and social care...

A sign in the little village of Corfe Castle in Dorset proclaims that Edward the Martyr, King of Wessex, was treacherously stabbed by his stepmother Elfrida (also Ælfthryth or Alfrida) in AD 978. What evidence is there that the evil stepmother did it? Well, none of course! Edward's reign was short, lasting less than three years before his violent death. Byrhtferth, writing around 1000, is an almost contemporary source. He describes the murder as an act of treachery but does not name Ælfthryth as responsible:  One day towards evening the remarkable and elected king, seeking the consolations of brotherly love, arrived at the house where his beloved brother was living with the dowager queen, as we have said. The magnates and leading men went to meet him, as was only fitting; he [the younger son] remained inside with the dowager queen, his mother. Those magnates had agreed among themselves a wicked plot: they were possessed of so damnable an intention and so murky and diabolical a blin...

It's now associated around the world with Guinness, wearing green, and claiming a bit of Irish ancestry. But the feast day of Saint Patrick, 17 March, should perhaps be a more sombre affair - this after all is considered to be the date of the saint's death.  While 17 March is the accepted date, the actual year varies and could be 461, 492 or 493. Patrick is generally credited with bringing Christianity to Ireland in the fifth century of the Common Era, though he either followed in the footsteps of Palladius or was one and the same as Palladius - the later Annals of Ulster seem to mix the two. Muirchú, writing a hagiography in the late seventh century, tells us that an angel came to St Patrick to tell him about his death, and that he shouldn't make his way to his 'beloved' Armagh to die but go to Saul (near present-day Downpatrick and where he perhaps founded his first church after returning to Ireland on his Christian mission). "Return therefore as I tell you, ...

It caught my eye while driving past on a visit to the area—a tree-topped mound outside Portglenone with a slight but distinct dominance over the surrounding landscape. Given its location near the River Bann, long associated with early settlement in Ireland, I assumed it might be a prehistoric hillfort. But it’s not listed on the Atlas of Hillforts of the UK and Ireland . Still, it seemed the site, officially called Knockanhead (the flat-topped hillock), and known locally as Clement’s Hill , had a story to tell. Historical maps offered bare facts. It was recorded as 102 feet on the Ordnance Survey First Edition (1829–1835), though later editions round it down to 100 feet. PRONI’s historical map viewer however referenced something more intriguing - an entry on the  Sites and Monuments Record of Northern Ireland (SMR )  describing it as an earthwork and a “possible military encampment”. It was just a hint, but a vivid one. The SMR draws from the Ordnance Survey Memoirs , which ...

The early Christian figure known today as St David was canonised and declared patron saint of Wales in the 12th century more than 500 years after his death (supposedly on 1 March 589). Today's St David's Cathedral in Pembrokeshire stands on the site of a monastic community founded by David in the 6th century. He was an important figure in the region well before canonisation, certainly if the story of a visit to the site by William the Conqueror is true. His canonisation probably helped cement Norman influence in the region. The pope who canonised him, Callixtus, declared St David's Cathedral in Pembrokeshire as a place of pilgrimage so important that two pilgrimages here were equivalent to one in Rome.  And it effectively remains a place of pilgrimage today, albeit for tourists as well as worshippers. The Shrine of St David was constructed in the 12th century but damaged during the Reformation. The version seen today is a 21st century restoration, featuring icons by artist ...

Or, The brief existence and mysterious demise of Littletown Site of Littletown (Destroyed A.D. 1838). Image: CC-BY NLS It’s clearly marked on OS maps from the 19th and 20th century: Littletown, Destroyed A.D 1838. It sounds dramatic, right? An official record of a noteworthy event. At the very least, something that would warrant a mention in a local newspaper. Well, apparently not. Indeed, evidence of Littletown’s actual existence is scant, never mind its apparently sudden demise.  Location, location, location  The site where Littletown (sometimes Little Town) once stood is in present-day Oxfordshire, though in an area that was part of Berkshire until 1974. Its location is close to the river Thames, on the northern edge of Little Wittenham parish on its boundary with Long Wittenham parish. The nearby pair of wooded hills known as Wittenham Clumps or Sinodun Hills, one of which was the site of an Iron Age hillfort, are a familiar landmark. The wider area has yielded Bronze Age,...