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Round Yorkshire With A Knife: The Wizards Quest Part 10: Vikings and Thieving Varlets
The image that most have in relation to the Vikings in England is of brutal raiders hell-bent on pillage and destruction, but after the early Viking raids of the 8th century, the Vikings came here to trade, to build, to farm, and to settle. They brought with them their language and customs, their knowledge, their genes, and their religion. Yorkshire was connected to Scandinavia for 200 years, and today the Vikings live on in many place names and in the words of Old Norse that are still part of our daily vocabulary.
But I had heard the Vikings were back in Yorkshire, marching along the streets of York, the city they called Jorvik, encamped in Coppergate, trading and selling weapons in Stonegate and Fossgate. I was determined to go and have a look, and see what I could find. There was only one potential problem, Ragnarok, the Viking apocalypse, was forecast to take place on Saturday (News coverage: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/viking-apocalypse-2014-ragnarok-due-3153959). There was not a moment to lose.
Despite my boozing session with Bod, and an altogether miserable Thursday, I awoke on Friday morning with a spring in my step, well after I got up of course! I breakfasted, put a new Feather blade in my razor, shaved, and slipped my lucky Barlow into my pocket. I made coffee and sandwiches and slipped out of the house in good time for my pre-Ragnarok trip to meet the Vikings in Jorvik.
As I stood at my local bus-stop, little more than a mile out of Leeds city centre, I looked up to see a Red Kite majestically soaring high in the sky. These beautiful birds, which were once endangered, have seen a comeback in West Yorkshire in recent years, but I have never seen one so close to the city before. I hoped it would be a good omen.
I arrived at Leeds bus-station just in time to hop aboard a York-bound bus, and off I set to hopefully snaffle a few slipjoints before Lokis wolf-son Fenrir and the Jotunheim ice giants came and wrecked the place. Perhaps others had also decided on some last-minute York shopping because the bus soon got absolutely packed, so much so that I decided to get off at Tadcaster and see if I could find anything there before I headed on to Jorvik.
Tadcaster is a small Yorkshire town, dominated by three large breweries, of which those of John Smiths and Samuel Smiths are the most famous. It has a good many pubs and small shops run along the main street for half a mile. It was in the back-streets that I thought I might find a small antique shop, but it was not to be. So, after stretching my legs, I jumped on the next bus to continue my journey.
I alighted at Micklegate, one of the impressive entrances through the ancient city walls, and called in to see an antiques dealer who is established nearby. His collection of sword-canes gets more impressive every time I visit, but he had no new slipjoints in. Hes a pleasant old chap and we chatted for ten minutes or so before I again headed down Micklegate, across the River Ouse, and into the heart of the city.
I soon began to see small groups of middle-aged Vikings wandering around. A few of them looked like they were just about to join the queue for Bettys Tea Rooms as I passed. I knew that a couple of special 10th Century markets had been set up, but I hoped that with the influx of all these Vikings and extra visitors to the city, the regular market would be thriving too. As I walked towards the market, I began to pass various street food stalls, the odd mead stall, a mediaeval pottery stand, and WEAPONS stalls, selling knives, bows, axes, etc. People openly fingered the knives, children nocked arrows to bows, fathers felt the weight of a sturdy axe. Strangely nobody was running amok! If only the morons from the charity shops could have witnessed it.
The general market was no bigger than usual, but I was pleased to see that the stall I was looking for was there, filled with various tools and trinkets, a lot of table cutlery, and a few knives. Of course I checked out the slipjoints first, there was a clasp knife, but not in very good shape, a small uninteresting penknife with a blade missing, and a nice-looking MOP penknife, but with the blades hanging. I was a bit disappointed, but decided to look through a box of loose flatware. All the knives were carbon steel, and on a whim I decided to buy a few odd ones made by different Sheffield makers; Abram Brooksbank, Mappin & Webb, Issac Ellis & Sons. I found half a dozen marked Federated Cutlers Sheffield. The lady on the stall was telling me that a few leather workers buy the old Sheffield table-knives as the steel takes a good edge. I accidentally bought a duplicate Isaac Ellis & Sons, and certainly paid over the odds for the lot. I should have haggled a bit really, but I can get a bit daft around knives sometimes.
I decided to walk to nearby Fossgate, where a bridge crosses Yorks second river, the Foss, and where one of the Viking markets was to be found. Down a passage between The Hairy Fig cafe and delicatessen and Coopers Barbers Shop lies one of Yorks many fascinating buildings, the Merchant Adventurers Hall (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merchant_Adventurers'_Hall). Dating from 1357, it is the largest surviving old timber-framed building in the country, and is in beautiful condition. There was a small charge to get into the market, but it was worth it just to see the interior of the Merchant Hall. Up the ancient wooden stairs the market was arranged in the main hall, with costumed traders selling everything from bone combs and needles to exquisitely tooled leather belts. I chatted to a woman who had some bits of antler and horn for sale, buying a couple of strips of buffalo horn from her. A young Swedish Viking was selling flint and striker sets, which he demonstrated to me. He was a nice young chap, but the iron strikers didnt look that good really, and like just about everything else, they were expensive.
I had a good look around, and then went outside to have a look round the building. I walked across the Foss looking for an old junk shop that Id been to before down the bottom end of Fossgate. A sign above an archway said Antiques, but the place looked to have closed down. A bus inspector was re-routing buses opposite, and I asked him if he knew if it had closed. He said he wasnt sure if it had closed down altogether or just closed for the day. I joked that if it was the latter they ought to get a new window cleaner!
I re-traced my steps up Fossgate and walked down The Shambles and into the market again. I had another look at the stall Id bought the table-knives from. There was a nice cigar-cutter, but a bit pricey.
The knives I had seen on display on the Viking stalls looked to be of better quality than Id expected, and Id hoped to procure one, so I headed to another 10th Century Market, this time located in a large tent. There were more stalls here than in the Merchant Hall, perhaps the charge to traders was less here, and it was busy with visitors too. A cheeky young Viking admitted me and I began to look around. There was a lot of jewellry, fur and leather goods, and plenty of spears, axes, swords, bows, and knives. I had a good look around, the best selection of knives were being sold by a Viking trader with a Geordie (from Newcastle and its surrounding villages) accent. Without interference, I had a good look through the knives he had. I asked about the various patterns, and he told me they were accurate copies of old designs, naming the odd pattern aloud. All the blades were wrapped in oil-smeared plastic, and I asked about the steel. Its a high carbon steel, not stainless, he replied. Me main markets re-enactors, so they have to be as accurate as possible. A bloke in Sheffield makes em for me. As he spoke the final words, a bolt of light hit me somewhere between the lugoles, and a large knife begin to twinkle in the light, falling into my hand as I reached for it. I had found the Wizards knife, perhaps the knife of Robin Hood!
After William The Bastard invaded England in 1066, he initiated a scorched-earth policy against the troublesome North, where there was still support for the Viking and Saxon kings, and opposition to Norman rule. William and his army killed every living thing they came across; men, women, children, and livestock. They burnt entire villages, destroying crops, and sowing the ground with salt so that nothing would grow for many years. Thousands were slain or starved to death, and the survivors took to the forests, where even there they were hunted by the King and his men. In 1075, a few days before Christmas, William and his army laid waste to Sheffield with fire and sword, killing men, women, and children alike. Every house was burned to the ground and the survivors were forced to carry the ruins away. To prevent the men of Hallamshire rising against him, or making arms for his enemies, William ordered that the town, (and Hallamshire, the surrounding area, which includes Loxley), should not be re-built, nor iron-works be wrought, nor the inhabitants be suffered to settle as owners of possessions, on pain of the Kings punishment.
Now, what sort of knife a forest-dwelling outlaw might have been carrying a hundred or so years later, I dont rightly know, but I reckon a big old lump of steel like I had just purchased, wouldnt have been a bad choice. Hopefully it could deal with a bit of hacking about, grollocking the Kings deer, poking some fat friars in the backside, relieving the rich of their plundered valuables, avin it with the Normans, and slinging another sausage on the Barbie!
Having bought the knife, and a couple of smaller ones as presents for others, I repaired for a celebratory pint at The Yorkshire Terrier on Stonegate. A group of marauding Scots were down for the weekend for a birthday bash, and I had a chat with them. York has succumbed to invaders of all kinds over the years, from William Wallace to Cromwells forces. On the whole, they dont seem to have done too badly for it.
I returned home with a feeling of contentment, even spotting another hovering Red Kite from the top deck of the bus. I was glad the Wizards Quest was over, the Wizard would have an interesting knife, and I could get on with other things, like earning a living.
The image that most have in relation to the Vikings in England is of brutal raiders hell-bent on pillage and destruction, but after the early Viking raids of the 8th century, the Vikings came here to trade, to build, to farm, and to settle. They brought with them their language and customs, their knowledge, their genes, and their religion. Yorkshire was connected to Scandinavia for 200 years, and today the Vikings live on in many place names and in the words of Old Norse that are still part of our daily vocabulary.
But I had heard the Vikings were back in Yorkshire, marching along the streets of York, the city they called Jorvik, encamped in Coppergate, trading and selling weapons in Stonegate and Fossgate. I was determined to go and have a look, and see what I could find. There was only one potential problem, Ragnarok, the Viking apocalypse, was forecast to take place on Saturday (News coverage: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/viking-apocalypse-2014-ragnarok-due-3153959). There was not a moment to lose.
Despite my boozing session with Bod, and an altogether miserable Thursday, I awoke on Friday morning with a spring in my step, well after I got up of course! I breakfasted, put a new Feather blade in my razor, shaved, and slipped my lucky Barlow into my pocket. I made coffee and sandwiches and slipped out of the house in good time for my pre-Ragnarok trip to meet the Vikings in Jorvik.
As I stood at my local bus-stop, little more than a mile out of Leeds city centre, I looked up to see a Red Kite majestically soaring high in the sky. These beautiful birds, which were once endangered, have seen a comeback in West Yorkshire in recent years, but I have never seen one so close to the city before. I hoped it would be a good omen.
I arrived at Leeds bus-station just in time to hop aboard a York-bound bus, and off I set to hopefully snaffle a few slipjoints before Lokis wolf-son Fenrir and the Jotunheim ice giants came and wrecked the place. Perhaps others had also decided on some last-minute York shopping because the bus soon got absolutely packed, so much so that I decided to get off at Tadcaster and see if I could find anything there before I headed on to Jorvik.
Tadcaster is a small Yorkshire town, dominated by three large breweries, of which those of John Smiths and Samuel Smiths are the most famous. It has a good many pubs and small shops run along the main street for half a mile. It was in the back-streets that I thought I might find a small antique shop, but it was not to be. So, after stretching my legs, I jumped on the next bus to continue my journey.
I alighted at Micklegate, one of the impressive entrances through the ancient city walls, and called in to see an antiques dealer who is established nearby. His collection of sword-canes gets more impressive every time I visit, but he had no new slipjoints in. Hes a pleasant old chap and we chatted for ten minutes or so before I again headed down Micklegate, across the River Ouse, and into the heart of the city.
I soon began to see small groups of middle-aged Vikings wandering around. A few of them looked like they were just about to join the queue for Bettys Tea Rooms as I passed. I knew that a couple of special 10th Century markets had been set up, but I hoped that with the influx of all these Vikings and extra visitors to the city, the regular market would be thriving too. As I walked towards the market, I began to pass various street food stalls, the odd mead stall, a mediaeval pottery stand, and WEAPONS stalls, selling knives, bows, axes, etc. People openly fingered the knives, children nocked arrows to bows, fathers felt the weight of a sturdy axe. Strangely nobody was running amok! If only the morons from the charity shops could have witnessed it.
The general market was no bigger than usual, but I was pleased to see that the stall I was looking for was there, filled with various tools and trinkets, a lot of table cutlery, and a few knives. Of course I checked out the slipjoints first, there was a clasp knife, but not in very good shape, a small uninteresting penknife with a blade missing, and a nice-looking MOP penknife, but with the blades hanging. I was a bit disappointed, but decided to look through a box of loose flatware. All the knives were carbon steel, and on a whim I decided to buy a few odd ones made by different Sheffield makers; Abram Brooksbank, Mappin & Webb, Issac Ellis & Sons. I found half a dozen marked Federated Cutlers Sheffield. The lady on the stall was telling me that a few leather workers buy the old Sheffield table-knives as the steel takes a good edge. I accidentally bought a duplicate Isaac Ellis & Sons, and certainly paid over the odds for the lot. I should have haggled a bit really, but I can get a bit daft around knives sometimes.
I decided to walk to nearby Fossgate, where a bridge crosses Yorks second river, the Foss, and where one of the Viking markets was to be found. Down a passage between The Hairy Fig cafe and delicatessen and Coopers Barbers Shop lies one of Yorks many fascinating buildings, the Merchant Adventurers Hall (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merchant_Adventurers'_Hall). Dating from 1357, it is the largest surviving old timber-framed building in the country, and is in beautiful condition. There was a small charge to get into the market, but it was worth it just to see the interior of the Merchant Hall. Up the ancient wooden stairs the market was arranged in the main hall, with costumed traders selling everything from bone combs and needles to exquisitely tooled leather belts. I chatted to a woman who had some bits of antler and horn for sale, buying a couple of strips of buffalo horn from her. A young Swedish Viking was selling flint and striker sets, which he demonstrated to me. He was a nice young chap, but the iron strikers didnt look that good really, and like just about everything else, they were expensive.
I had a good look around, and then went outside to have a look round the building. I walked across the Foss looking for an old junk shop that Id been to before down the bottom end of Fossgate. A sign above an archway said Antiques, but the place looked to have closed down. A bus inspector was re-routing buses opposite, and I asked him if he knew if it had closed. He said he wasnt sure if it had closed down altogether or just closed for the day. I joked that if it was the latter they ought to get a new window cleaner!
I re-traced my steps up Fossgate and walked down The Shambles and into the market again. I had another look at the stall Id bought the table-knives from. There was a nice cigar-cutter, but a bit pricey.
The knives I had seen on display on the Viking stalls looked to be of better quality than Id expected, and Id hoped to procure one, so I headed to another 10th Century Market, this time located in a large tent. There were more stalls here than in the Merchant Hall, perhaps the charge to traders was less here, and it was busy with visitors too. A cheeky young Viking admitted me and I began to look around. There was a lot of jewellry, fur and leather goods, and plenty of spears, axes, swords, bows, and knives. I had a good look around, the best selection of knives were being sold by a Viking trader with a Geordie (from Newcastle and its surrounding villages) accent. Without interference, I had a good look through the knives he had. I asked about the various patterns, and he told me they were accurate copies of old designs, naming the odd pattern aloud. All the blades were wrapped in oil-smeared plastic, and I asked about the steel. Its a high carbon steel, not stainless, he replied. Me main markets re-enactors, so they have to be as accurate as possible. A bloke in Sheffield makes em for me. As he spoke the final words, a bolt of light hit me somewhere between the lugoles, and a large knife begin to twinkle in the light, falling into my hand as I reached for it. I had found the Wizards knife, perhaps the knife of Robin Hood!
After William The Bastard invaded England in 1066, he initiated a scorched-earth policy against the troublesome North, where there was still support for the Viking and Saxon kings, and opposition to Norman rule. William and his army killed every living thing they came across; men, women, children, and livestock. They burnt entire villages, destroying crops, and sowing the ground with salt so that nothing would grow for many years. Thousands were slain or starved to death, and the survivors took to the forests, where even there they were hunted by the King and his men. In 1075, a few days before Christmas, William and his army laid waste to Sheffield with fire and sword, killing men, women, and children alike. Every house was burned to the ground and the survivors were forced to carry the ruins away. To prevent the men of Hallamshire rising against him, or making arms for his enemies, William ordered that the town, (and Hallamshire, the surrounding area, which includes Loxley), should not be re-built, nor iron-works be wrought, nor the inhabitants be suffered to settle as owners of possessions, on pain of the Kings punishment.
Now, what sort of knife a forest-dwelling outlaw might have been carrying a hundred or so years later, I dont rightly know, but I reckon a big old lump of steel like I had just purchased, wouldnt have been a bad choice. Hopefully it could deal with a bit of hacking about, grollocking the Kings deer, poking some fat friars in the backside, relieving the rich of their plundered valuables, avin it with the Normans, and slinging another sausage on the Barbie!
Having bought the knife, and a couple of smaller ones as presents for others, I repaired for a celebratory pint at The Yorkshire Terrier on Stonegate. A group of marauding Scots were down for the weekend for a birthday bash, and I had a chat with them. York has succumbed to invaders of all kinds over the years, from William Wallace to Cromwells forces. On the whole, they dont seem to have done too badly for it.
I returned home with a feeling of contentment, even spotting another hovering Red Kite from the top deck of the bus. I was glad the Wizards Quest was over, the Wizard would have an interesting knife, and I could get on with other things, like earning a living.
