Ever since I saw my first pair of bone ice skates at the Jorvik Viking Centre and Yorkshire Museum, I’ve been charmed by them. After a brief period of madness where I convinced myself I could make my own (turns out getting ahold of horse metacarpals in the UK is borderline impossible!) I was delighted to find that Amber Wolf had made a pair. Even better, they were for sale at Jorvik Viking Festival! Just my luck.
Image credit: Amber Wolf Workshop on Facebook. Second pic is the original skate in the Yorkshire Museum.
Bone skates are found all over the Viking world, with examples from Dublin, Hedeby and Birka just to name a few sites. Many pairs of skates were found in historical York, with 42 examples from Early Medieval Coppergate (MacGregor, Mainman and Rogers, 1999.) All of them were made from bone, with horse bones being the most popular, followed by cattle. If you want to learn more about the history of bone ice skates, there’s a fantastic paper by Küchelmann & Zidarov (2005) available free online– it was invaluable not only for historical background but also for technique!
My pair are based on item number 7122 from 16-22 Coppergate, dating to period 3 (mid 9th- early 10th century) though it incorporates a toe hole where the original did not. This skate is unusual among the York assemblage in that it has a fragment of a wooden peg (possibly willow) still stuck within the heel hole, which is suggested to be to aid attachment to the feet with cordage. Only one other skate from York (7930) has wood remaining, though many others retain their heel holes. Like the original skate 7122, my pair are made from horse’s leg bones, which have a natural curve to them.
Figure.942, p.1984. MacGregor, Mainman and Rogers (1999.)
Now to the skating itself. It’s suggested that Viking Age skaters pushed themselves across the ice with sticks, rather than gliding across the ice like modern metal skates. This would be necessary, as the bone skates do not cut through the ice but rather sit flat on it. It’s not known whether skates were used purely for transport during winter or for leisure, but I suppose they could be for both.
Since such propulsion poles would likely be just a wooden stick, maybe with a metal point on one end, none have been identified in the archaeological record. But some depictions and descriptions of skating from the Medieval and Early Modern period still survive and they do show evidence for people across Europe using staffs to propel them on skates. (A good round-up of this evidence can be found here.)
From HISTORIA DE GENTIBVS SEPTENTRIONALIBVS “Description of the Northern Peoples” by Olaus Magnus (1555.)
What I was interested in finding out when trying my skates was of course- how are they to skate on? But also- how do they attach to the foot? Do they stay on? Are they comfortable? All valid questions that if answered will give me a really interesting insight into one aspect of wintry life in the Viking Age.
Unfortunately, I am both terrible at ice skating and a gigantic chicken.
Cluck, cluck (note the kind employee who was sent to make sure I didn’t get into any mischief with my weird skates and sticks.)
The nearest ice rink to me in York is quite a drive away, except for at Christmas, when a pop-up rink comes to the Designer Outlet every December. I decided to seize my chance and visit while my friend Ceara was down in York (for moral and at times quite literal support.)
Ceara is not only pretty great at skating, but is as unafraid of looking a tit in kit as I am. We called ahead, received a bemused thumbs up to the weirdest request they’d had all week at the rink and headed over in our winter best.
Apparently I thought we were posing like cast members at Disneyland. I don’t have any other pictures where I’m not doing that.
The bone skates turned out to be very comfortable and fit excellently onto my York turnshoes, made by my friend Dean. (They have their own article here!) At least with the wooden-pegged model of skates I tried, I found that the most secure way of wearing them was to thread your cordage through the front hole and criss-cross it over the foot in a figure eight, hooking both ends over the wooden peg and back up over the foot. It was easy and provided you use enough tension throughout, I found it to be very secure. It also helps that once you’re on your feet, your body weight kind of holds the skates in place and avoids any forward or backward slippage.
They’re quite comfortable too, far more than the modern skates we used afterwards. I couldn’t comment on their safety (I’m sure modern skates provide more ankle support) but *I* felt that my Viking skates were secure and that I was less likely to slip than on modern skates. The likelihood of me slipping was still worryingly high though, as I am not a good skater- picture Bambi on ice in a Dublin cap. My terror is quite evident in the pictures we took.
On the negative side, the Viking skates do limit your movement. As they are flat and don’t cut the ice, you have to push yourself along with a stick. This means a lot more physical exertion from the top of your body, whereas modern skates mostly require it from the legs to glide. I ended up bending over and kind of shuffling along, which was far from elegant and was pretty tiring. Ceara described it as like watching a 90 year old woman hobble along the ice and I can’t really argue with her.
I have no doubt that someone with more skill in skiing or skating would find them easier to use than I did and likely with practice and time, I would become more adept at using the skates. This would also have been easier if I wasn’t trying to learn on a very busy rink full of other curious skaters! (My terror was not decreased any when I swapped my Viking skates for modern ones.)
On modern skates that crushed our feet horribly, but don’t require poles to push yourself!
My experience skating on Viking Age skates made it clear to me why we switched to using metal blades rather than flat animal leg bones. However, I cannot deny that for the purposes of travel across ice, the skates *do* work and are far preferable to walking across on turnshoes alone. Maybe in the future, I’ll be lucky (and brave) enough to give them a try on a real frozen lake or river, like the people of Viking Age York!
From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all peace, joy and fun new experiences in 2024. Wæs hæl!
MacGregor, A., Mainman, A. J. and Rogers, N. S. H. (1999) Bone, Antler, Ivory and Horn from Anglo-Scandinavian and Medieval York. London: Council for British Archaeology. pp.1948-1999.
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Last year, I published an article on a set of Coppergate-inspired clothing. In that article, I mentioned that the shoes and socks I was wearing with that outfit were not exactly what I had hoped to include. I remedied this not long after we took the photo set and so now I’d like to share the new items with you!
One-piece ankle-shoes, fastened with a single toggle and flap (classified as Style 4a1)
These shoes were made for me by my friend Dean, who is a wonderful shoemaker. They’re entirely handsewn on maple sewing supports, with the purpose of making them as close to the original finds as possible.
Detail of diagram on p.3275 of Mould, Carlisle and Cameron (2003.)
Shoes with a single flap and toggle are dated to c.930/5–c.975 AD in York, with seventeen examples from 16-22 Coppergate. Single examples were found in deposits each dating to the late 9th century and to the 11th century, but it does seem that this style saw its heyday in the mid 10th century. Shoes belonging to this style have been found at other VA sites in York and further afield. (Mould, Carlisle, & Cameron, 2003. p.3304.)
Detail of the upper edge and the goatskin binding.
My shoes are made of soft calfskin uppers and thicker bovine leather for the soles. They have a decorative edge binding along the top edge made from goatskin, which is folded over and whipstitched down on the inside. This binding also serves to stiffen the fine leather of the uppers. To sew my shoes, Dean used a saddle stitch of a strong linen thread coated in shoemaker’s coad, a homemade blend of beeswax and birch tar. The most common stitching medium in the York shoes seems to have been animal fibre such as wool or leather thonging (MacGregor (1978), p.53), however, there is a find from Feasegate that appears to have been sewn with flax.
Details of the toggles.
Something interesting you may notice about these shoes is that both the toggle flaps and the single seams in the uppers are on the inside of the shoe. You will likely have seen many reproductions of boots like these with the toggles on the outside, which might seem more logical. However, the examples of these shoes from York all fasten over the instep and when you put them on, it is indeed easier to fasten them that way!
The toggles are very simple T-shapes of leather, with a slit cut in the top of the T and the length being pulled through in order to roll the toggle itself. The toggles and the loops they go through are secured to the shoe in one of several ways, but the most common is also the most simple- they are threaded through a series of slits cut into the flaps and inner quarters of the shoe. The tension of the leather holds the straps in place, but this method also allows for the fit to be adjusted. (Mould, Carlisle and Cameron, 2003. pp. 3302.)
The original wooden last, item 494 from the Lloyds Bank site. Photo credit Dean Thompson.
The last/support that Dean made my shoes on was based on a find from Lloyds Bank, item 494. (MacGregor, 1982. pp. 144.) The original dated to the 10th century and was made from alder, whereas Dean’s is made of maple. I thought it was interesting to note that item 494 still had pieces of leather attached to the wood with iron nails, but probably not from shoes. It appears that there was an attempt to build up the surface of the last using these pieces of leather, either from wear and tear from use or indeed from being a little axe-happy in the initial shaping of the last.
Dean’s replica in maple wood.
Woollen needlebound (nalbound) socks in York/Coppergate stitch. Based on item 1309 from 16-22 Coppergate (Period 4B.)
One of the most famous surviving textiles of Viking Age Britain: the York sock! For many readers, it will need no introduction. For those who are not familiar with it, I’ll briefly explain what needlebinding (or nalebinding or naalbinding) is and quite why this sock is so special.
Illustration from Walton (1989), pp. 342.
Needlebinding is a technique for making cloth that only uses a single needle and lengths of yarn that have to be added as you go. It’s an ancient technique with examples being found dating back to the 3rd or 4th century AD in Sweden (though it could even have been practiced as far back as the Neolithic.) (Walton, 1989.) There are many different needlebinding stitches and each results in a slightly different texture, pattern, density and level of elasticity. Something that all needlebinding has in common is that it doesn’t unravel, unlike knitting or crochet.
At the time of its discovery, the York sock was the only example of needlebinding found in England. York/Coppergate stitch, the stitch the sock is worked in, was named after the sock and is described in needlebinding terminology as uu/ooo F2. The sock itself is in pretty good condition, with most of its structure remaining. It was made up of undyed S2Z plied wool yarn with a narrow band at the top of the sock being dyed with madder.
In my reconstruction, I chose to use a Shetland sock weight yarn from Highfield Textiles, a local wool producer from East Yorkshire. I hand-dyed the same yarn for the ankle band using madder, which resulted in a lovely rich orange-red. Like the original, my socks are slipper-style and don’t reach above the ankle. York stitch is also super stretchy, so when taken off, they tend to curl up- you can see this in the photos!
Footed short hose, inspired by various historical finds and fragment 1303 (Period 4B.)
The shape of these short hose is entirely speculative. Thunem (2018) gave a comprehensive overview of the topic of socks and hose in the Early Medieval period, which I highly recommend for further information. I made my first pair of these hose during the pandemic in a Zoom class taught by Astri Bryde and this pair is my second (with some alterations to improve personal fit.) As they are cut straight on the bias, they are not stretchy and so are not as tightly-tailored as later Medieval hose.
They’re inspired by earlier finds like the 2nd century stockings from Martres-de-Veyres, later finds like the 14th century Bocksten footed hose and of course the VA fragments from Haithabu Harbour. They’re made in two pieces, a long leg piece and a curved foot piece with the seam going under the foot (like the Skjoldehamn socks!) You might think that this would be uncomfortable, but it’s really not that noticeable and definitely not uncomfortable.
Diagram of fragment 1303, with weaving fault marked by an arrow. (Walton, 1989. pp.324.)
I chose to make these hose from a woven British tweed cloth, inspired by fragment 1303 from Coppergate. This fragment of 2/2 chevron twill was found in association with the naalbound York sock 1309. It is described in Walton (1989) as:
“Fragment, 140 x 60mm, of 2/2 chevron twill with dark combed warp and lighter non-combed weft, and selvedge. (…) Warp hairy fleece type, naturally pigmented, weft hairy medium fleece type, not pigmented. No dye detected. The softer weft has become heavily matted in places. The side of the fragment opposite the selvedge has been cut, there are two overstitches, possibly part of a hem at right-angles to the selvedge: sewing yarn plied wool, S2Z (…)”
Fabric woven in two shades is uncommon in the Viking Age generally, not just in York. Using two different shades for the warp and weft will make the pattern “pop” in a way that is less obvious when using one colour of yarn. Walton (1989) identifies 1303’s similarity to a fragment from Haithabu (thought to be a pair of hose!) and the lack of similar English finds lead her to conclude that 1303 was a foreign import. This idea is supported by the fact that 1303 was found in association with the York sock, also thought to be either a Scandinavian import or the handiwork of a Scandinavian settler.
I find it interesting that matting is mentioned, as I’ve only worn these hose twice and yet matting is visible underfoot and a little underneath the ties at the knee. This is to be expected with the friction, warmth and slight damp that comes with items worn on the feet.
Detail of ties.
The ties I used to hold up the hose were made in a hurry- they are thin braided cords made from fine naturally-pigmented brown wool yarn. Similar cords are found in 10th century levels at Coppergate, however they are generally cabled rather than plaited. Woven or tablet woven garters like the ones worn with later Medieval hose might well be another option in future.
The whole ensemble
Overall, I found this collection of garments comfortable and functional to wear. On both occasions, it was cold winter weather and provided I didn’t take them off to film a reel for Instagram (ahem), my feet were kept dry and well-insulated. I have worn the hose with socks underneath and without and naturally the combination was warmer. The seam underneath the sole of the foot did not affect my comfort and the hose didn’t slip down my leg once tied at the knee.
Being made to fit my feet, my shoes are extremely cosy and supportive. They are of course more comfortable on grass and earth than on concrete, but that is the case for all turnshoes. I am really won over by toggled shoes that fasten on the instep- I already have a pair with ties round the angles and these are just as comfy with a cooler silhouette.
If you’d like to see how this footwear looks as part of a complete outfit and also how they are put on, I made a Get Ready With Me video that features them on my Instagram.
Maybe she’s born with it? Maybe it’s Coppergate…
References
MacGregor, A. (1978). Industry and commerce in Anglo-Scandinavian York. In: Hall, R. A. (Ed). Viking Age York and the North. York: Council for British Archaeology. pp.37-57.
MacGregor, A. (1982). Anglo-Scandinavian Finds from Lloyds Bank, Pavement, and Other Sites. York: York Archaeological Trust. pp.144-145.
Mould, Q., Carlisle, I. and Cameron, E. (2003). Leather and Leatherworking in Anglo-Scandinavian and Medieval York. York: York Archaeological Trust. pp.3185-3535.
Location: Coppergate, Jorvík (York), England. Date: 930-975AD (Periods 4B and 5A.) Culture: Anglo-Scandinavian. Estimated Social Status: Affluent urban freewoman.
This impression combines replicas of some of my favourite items found in the 10th century levels of 16-22 Coppergate. When combining them, I envisioned the daily life of someone living there and what she might wear day-to-day. As you can see, I thought there was nowhere better to photograph this impression than on Coppergate itself.
This, like all my impressions, is a continual work in progress- you can always improve and add to what you have. I’ve got household goods, personal grooming equipment and textile-working tools that would fit within this impression- they will feature in their own articles rather than making this one even longer!
That being said, I feel like this article shows several different ways the fragments and artefacts I have chosen could be pieced together to make a plausible outfit: to be dressed up or down as needed by its owner.
All photographs of me are taken by Sarah Murray. Photographs of the original finds are my own unless otherwise stated, illustrations or other images from archaeological publications are shared for educational purposes.
Zoomorphic bone pin. Item no. 6811, period 4B (c.930-975AD.)
MacGregor, Mainman & Rogers (1999.) p. 1948.
This is described in MacGregor, Mainman and Rogers (1999) as being a “classic Viking Age type” of pin, with a toothy grinning beast atop it. It’s quite short at just over 11cm long and with no hole drilled through it, it would make a poor cloak pin. I chose to use mine as a hairpin and it works fairly well, though I am very precious with it. My replica is a pretty close one (albeit missing a funny little asymmetrical design on the shank) and was made for me by commission by my friend Peter Merrett.
Regarding my hairstyle, it is a really simple braid wound into a bun and secured with my pin and a fine wool braid (dyed with madder to match my dress.) I didn’t base it on anything, it is just an easy way to keep it out of my face without any modern pins or elastics. Amusingly, a friend pointed out how similar my hair looked to a disembodied bun found in the grave of a late Roman lady from York (now kept on the Yorkshire Museum, just upstairs from the Viking items!)
Wool dress in 2/2 diamond twill, dyed with madder. Inspired by fragment 1308, period 4B.
Walton (1989) describes fragment 1308 as follows:
“Tattered fragments, largest c.40x30mm, of reddish 2/2 diamond twill, (…) Dyed with madder. See also 1301.”
1301 is a “red non-reversed 2/2 twill” also dyed with madder. It was suggested that they could have been part of the same cloth originally, though I’m not sure if this implies that maybe one of the two different weaves was in fact a weaving fault. I chose to make my dress out of the diamond twill, a weave found elsewhere in the late Anglo-Scandinavian period at York (Tweddle, D. 1986)
It is interesting to note that 1301 and 1308 were also found in conjunction with another cloth, this time a mineralised grey tabby thought to be vegetable fibre, 1330. If it was indeed a vegetable fibre cloth like linen, hemp or nettle: could this represent an undershirt/dress? I usually wear a simple underkirtle made of linen tabby, but I foolishly chose not to on the hot day we took photos. This made quick costume changes a bit challenging.
In terms of pattern, I kept it very simple. I made a slim-fitting skirted dress with side gores from the waist, underarm gores for movement and a keyhole neckline. The tunics from Skjoldehamn, Moselund and Kragelund (dated to late 10th-early 11thC) all feature similar constructions with mostly rectangular bodies and triangular gores to add width and shape. English sources show ankle-length dresses fitting this silhouette on all female figures. My dress is handsewn using a mixture of madder-dyed wool thread and fine linen thread.
Glass bead necklace. Based on item no. 10350 and a selection of small beads found in 16-22 Coppergate, period 4B.
Mainman & Rogers (2000) p.2594.
289 glass beads and fragments were found in Coppergate. This necklace is a creation of my own design, using a combination of beads found commonly in 16-22 Coppergate. The centre piece is a glass bead based on item no. 10350, described as a “barrel-shaped glass bead. Very dark, appearing black, decorated with green blobs surrounded by a red circle with yellow lines through” (Mainman & Rogers, 2000.) The original measured 14.5mm in diameter. My reproduction is a little more rounded than the original.
The other beads are small monochrome globular glass beads in shades of yellow, green and black. Along with blue, these are the most common colours of globular beads found in Coppergate in period 4B, with the most popular types of beads numerically being Globular (Type 2), Cylindrical (Type 3) or Segmented (Type 7.) Only 10 percent of the beads found in York were polychrome, so I wanted monochrome beads make up most of my necklace. I struggled to get appropriate segmented beads of the type I wanted, so for now I chose to make a necklace using only globular beads. These are all from Tillerman Beads and threaded on a string of linen thread.
Copper alloy ansate brooch. Item no. 10426, period 4B.
Mainman & Rogers (2000.) p. 2570.
Item 10426 is described as follows:
“Equal-armed bow brooch of the ‘caterpillar’ type, with a subrectangular bow with unexpanded subsquare terminals with indented edges. The catch-plate, attachment plate and part of the pin survive on the reverse. The upper faces of the terminals are decorated with incised lines, and the bow with mouldings.” (Mainman & Rogers, 2000.)
I hadn’t seen this type of brooch before and was very surprised to see it dated to the mid tenth century, as it looked alien to me. Apparently, it used to be believed that ansate brooches were most popular between the 7th and 9th centuries, but several finds in York, London and Lincolnshire indicate that they stayed in use until the 10th century.
I’m a sucker for novelty and vintage fashion, so I relished the opportunity for an alternative to the disc brooch. My replica is from Asgard.
Copper alloy toiletry set with glass bead. Item no. 10531, period 5B (c.975- mid 11thC.)
Mainman & Rogers (2000.) p. 2600.
This object is a bit cheeky and I will be replacing it in the future. I included it in my photo set without double-checking date and so despite kicking myself now, here it is. 10531 is a copper alloy toiletry set, with a set of little tweezers set on a twisted suspension ring.
It dates to period 5B, which is approximately 975AD to the early to mid 11th century. The lower end of this scale fits the end of my goal period, but it’s not close enough really. Thankfully, there is a similar pair found on site that dates to period 5A (the same as my silk cap) which is specifically 975AD.
Mainman & Rogers (2000.) p. 2600.
You can also see a peek of what I’m up to here- with my bone needle, I’m making the York sock! It will be the subject of its own article soon, so please don’t think that I forgot the iconic naalbound sock (I could never.)
Silk cap. Item no. 1372, period 5A (c.975)
This cap is a replica of the most complete of several potential silk caps found in VA York, item no. 1372. With the exception of one fragment, they are all believed to be made of undyed silk imported from Iran. (Walton, 1989.) Of course, this would be a very expensive status symbol to own and we can imagine that the original owners would have been proud of them. Similar caps have been found in Lincoln and Dublin, with the latter providing caps made from both wool and silk. (Wincott-Heckett, 2003.)
I made my cap exactly to the measurements of the original, now kept in the Yorkshire Museum. This included placing the linen ties (not extant but indicated by stitch holes and pull marks) about halfway up the front edge of the cap- this didn’t fit me especially well.
It’s my personal opinion that this cap was originally made for an adult, with the ties being added higher up on the cap to alter it for a child’s use. Reuse of caps like this can be seen among the Dublin and York examples alike, with holes and tears being lovingly repaired to extend their use. I think with my next cap, I’ll make it to the same dimensions but attach my ties a little lower at chin level. I think I’ll alter the curve at the crown too, I made it as close as possible to the original measurements but it simply doesn’t fit my head as well as it could.
Bone weaving tablet (item no. 6679) and silk tablet woven braid (item no. 1340.) Both period 4B.
MacGregor, Mainmain and Rogers (1999.) p. 1969.
Firstly, we have a set of bone tablets based on a single example found in Tenement C, 16-22 Coppergate. It’s a very thin bone plate that is almost but not quite square: 27x24mm in dimension. My set is a little more evenly square, but that’s actually better for tablet weaving so I’m not too upset about it.
Weaving tablets from the Viking Age usually tend to be made from wood or bone, however, the average tablet is bigger than the York example at 30-40mm square. MacGregor, Mainman and Rogers (1999) suggest that the dainty nature of item 6679 means it was used for weaving fine silk braids, like the one found contemporarily on Coppergate (1340.)
Walton, P. (1989.) p. 382.
I’ve already written an article on the silk and linen tablet woven band, that you can read here. In short, the original fragment was a tangled length of silk (1.47m) with a knot at one end. A few inches show evidence of having been woven with tablets, with gaps being left in the pattern that it is believed was filled with vegetable fibre, like linen.
Chemical analysis of the fibres indicated that some were dyed with madder and woad, with others only madder or no dye detected. In my recreation, I interpreted the undyed silk as being golden yellow in colour- this was based on a belief on my part that undyed silk would have been golden in period. This came from Walton’s (1989) quoting from an Old English leechbook, describing a jaundiced patient as ageolwað swa god seoluc “yellow as good silk.” If I made another version of this band, I would replace the yellow silk in the border with white or cream silk instead.
White veil in undyed 2/2 twill wool. Inspired by item no. 1300, period 4B.
This alleyway beside the Jorvik Viking Centre had beautiful natural lighting, but was filled with rubbish and leaves. I figured that this was pretty accurate for a Viking street.
My wool veil is mostly inspired in cut by contemporary English art from the 10th century. Women are almost exclusively depicted as veiled, with the only rare exceptions being sinners in religious texts (Lot’s daughters are seen with their heads uncovered, but even they are shown veiled before they sin.)
I chose a light soft wool veil like the fabrics used in the Dublin caps and scarves (Wincott-Heckett, 2003) but unlike the Dublin examples, my scarf is a 2/2 twill, not a tabby. I aim to rectify this in the future, but for now, I feel that the length and drape of my scarf matches the period depictions and 2/2 twill is a commonly found weave in Anglo-Scandinavian York.
This is a little earlier than my general timeline, but I thought it would be a fun thing to include. A panther cowrie shell found in early 10th century levels on Coppergate (11163) must have been brought by traders from abroad, as they are native to the Red Sea area. The original showed signs of saw marks, suggesting that it may have been used in the production of jewellery or ornamentation (Hall & Kenward, 2004.)
My cowrie is whole and shiny, I plan on keeping it that way. However, I am intrigued by the idea of jewellery featuring cut shell- I don’t know of any such jewellery found in York so far!
Low cut shoes. Item no. 15358, period 4B.
My stand-in shoes, based on a find from Hedeby and similar in cut to Style 2 shoes with a centre front seam. I made my socks, they are Oslo stitch and will be replaced by my Coppergate socks. Like the Coppergate sock, they are made of undyed wool.The treacherous articles themselves, mocking me.
I was supposed to have a pair of very simple slip-on shoes made by a lovely friend, based on several pairs of shoes of Style 2. And get them I did- but they do not fit. Harrumph.
Mould, Q., Carlisle, I. & Cameron, E. (2003.) p.3286
Style 2 is described as “low cut, slip on shoes with a seam at centre back” and they were found in copious amounts in York (Mould, Carlisle & Cameron, 2003.) Shoes of this style have also been found in London, Dublin and Hedeby. The York examples were constructed in a fairly standard way but variations exist, with decorative bands being added around the throat, tooling on the heel risers and the uppers being pieced using several pieces of leather.
As a style, this shoe saw popularity in York from Period 3 (mid 9thC-early 10thC) all the way until Period 5B (c.975- mid 11thC.) Interestingly, finds sharply decline to only 1 pair after the mid 11th century: coinciding with the Norman Conquest. Why didn’t the Normans like these cute shoes? We may never know. Perhaps, like me, they couldn’t get a pair to fit!
Mantle. Inspired by fragment 1308, period 4B (c.930-975AD.)
For my mantle, I used another 2/2 diamond twill wool dyed with madder, based on the same fragments that inspired my dress. While it is dyed with the same dyestuff, it is a different shade. I bought this lovely fabric from one of my favourite cloth sellers, A Selyem Turul from the Netherlands.
I drew up the pattern myself as it is quite simple, using several late English illuminations as a guide for the drape and silhouette. Towards the end of the Viking Age in England, mantles of this type replace cloaks increasingly on female figures in English art. I imagine that an affluent citydweller in a cosmopolitan place like York might seek to keep up with the fashion of the English elite by swapping her cloak for a closed garment like this.
Just a small selection of images compiled by me, many more examples exist. Many English sources can be seen in full online on the British Library website, the other sources can be found here.
Of course, a cloak could be just as appropriate for an impression like this- the archaeological record from the Anglo-Scandinavian period has left us a wonderful array of of cloak pins to choose from, as well as heavier textile fragments believed to belong to cloaks or overgarments.
An improvement I would incorporate for my next mantle would be to make the neckline smaller- I did not realise how much it would stretch!
Christianity in Anglo-Scandinavian York
I wanted to represent an aspect of daily life that likely would have been as meaningful to people in the 10th century as it is to people today- faith. York was already well-stocked with churches long before the Scandinavians arrived, though only traces of these early buildings survive today.
I tried to think of my York woman’s calendar and schedule: what would she have spent her time doing? Probably much the same as me: working, doing household chores, shopping, visiting with friends and relatives. Church on a Sunday? I was raised Christian, but don’t attend services regularly. I do however find quiet time to be alone with my thoughts vital. The peaceful surrounds of old stone and silence found in historical buildings is relaxing and comforting. Did early Christians feel the same way?
I wanted to take some photographs inside a church only a stone’s throw away from Coppergate- All Saints Pavement. The current building dates to the late Medieval period, but it is believed that an earlier church and burial ground existed on the site by the 10th century. This could very likely have been my York woman’s local church.
A tiny yet beautiful grave cover was found during excavations at All Saints in the 1960s, dated to the 10th century and probably belonging to a child. Every time I see it, I take a moment to stop and spare a thought for who it belonged to and who they might have become, had they lived. Their passing must have been an enormous loss to their family, who chose to honour their little life by laying them to rest somewhere familiar with a gorgeous carved gravestone covered in sprawling interlaced beasts.
(I feel it’s very important to note that to my knowledge, there are no human remains buried underneath the 10th century grave cover. However, there are other remains buried in All Saints Pavement and it continues to be an active, consecrated place of worship. Sarah and I were quiet and respectful during the entirety of our visit.)
Religion in the Viking Age is a gargantuan topic and one I would be happy to tackle in its own article, should there be interest. I already have several projects on the go that involve churches in York- you’ll just have to watch this space.
Hall, R. (1984) The Viking Dig. London: The Bodley Head Ltd.
Hall, A. & Kenward, H. (2004). Setting People in their Environment: Plant and Animal Remains from Anglo-Scandinavian York. In: Hall, R. A. (Ed). Aspects of Anglo-Scandinavian York. York: Council for British Archaeology. p.419.
MacGregor, A., Mainman, A. J. and Rogers, N. S. H. (1999) Bone, Antler, Ivory and Horn from Anglo-Scandinavian and Medieval York. London: Council for British Archaeology. pp.1948-1949.
Mainman, A. J. & Rogers, N. S. H. (2000) Craft, Industry and Everyday Life: Finds from Anglo-Scandinavian York. York: Council for British Archaeology. p2451-2671.
Tweddle, D. (1986) Finds from Parliament Street and Other Sites in the City Centre. London: Council for British Archaeology. pp.232-234.
Walton, P. (1989) Textiles, Cordage and Raw Fibre from 16–22 Coppergate. York: York Archaeological Trust. PDF.
Wincott Heckett, E. (2003) Viking Age Headcoverings from Dublin. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy.
When I first started re-enacting, I was immediately drawn to tablet woven bands. They’re such a pretty and impressive-looking detail to add to one’s kit, especially if you’re wanting to be fancy.
Sadly, like many cool things in historical costuming, it can be overdone. I personally know of several living historians who no longer use it in their clothing at all (except for perhaps very plain belts) on the basis that it is not well-enough represented in the archaeological record, except for in very rich graves. Such bands are often woven as brocades with silk and precious metal threads- well-known examples in VA re-enactment costume are some of the bands from Mammen (Denmark), Birka (Sweden) and the “Dublin dragons”.
A beautiful example of the Dublin dragon pattern in linen, made as a surprise gift for me by my talented friend Sarah of Sarahjweaving.
I understand their concerns, but don’t go quite as far. I still use tablet woven bands in my impressions, albeit more sparingly than perhaps I used to. I would whinge that “there aren’t any English tablet weaving patterns from the VA”- fortunately, as is often the case, I was talking out of my backside.
In the 4B levels at Coppergate (dating to approximately 930-975AD), the beginnings of a beautiful, narrow silk band (1340) was found. The fragment consists of silk threads dyed with madder and madder+indigotin, as well as several silk threads that had no dye detected. The piece is 1.47m long and appears at first to be a tangled length of threads tied together. There were a few gaps in the pattern that it is believed were originally filled with linen or some other vegetable fibre. I interpreted this as red silk (madder) and purple (madder+indigotin) with the undyed silk and linen being yellowish gold and pale grey, respectively.
Source: Walton, P. (1989) Textiles, Cordage and Raw Fibre from 16–22 Coppergate, p.382.
For my recreation, I was extremely grateful to Alicja of Hrafna Norse Crafts on Facebook for her article on the braid. She wrote up a pattern that I used and it can be found here. In her version of the braid, she used wool and chose a slightly different colourway, which I think is stunning!
When I said the original braid was narrow, it really is: 5mm in width! I am not a very good tablet weaver, but I did manage to keep it somewhere between 5 and 6mm throughout. It’s the teeniest braid I’ve ever woven and my first in silk!
It’s interesting to note that Walton (1989) suggests that fragment 1340 was made domestically in Anglo-Scandinavian York, due to the imported silk threads being made to go further with the inclusion of cheaper linen thread. Indeed, a bone weaving tablet was found nearby to 1340 in the 16-22 Coppergate site. It is believed to be contemporary to the braid, which indicates that braids were being produced in the area at the time.
When filling in the holes left in each tablet with a linen thread, a simple but effective pattern is created. It reminds me a little bit of Snartemo II, though that is far earlier. It’s also asymmetrical, with the undyed silk and madder+indigotin silk forming a corded border on one side of the band. To my taste, it’s an elegant pattern and one that I think I’ll enjoy wearing.
Due to the unfinished nature of fragment 1340, we don’t know what it was intended for. It could have been woven as a stand-alone piece like a fillet or indeed as a trim for a separate garment. However, it is fair to say that the original braid would have been expensive (since it was made of silk threads and contained dyes) and likely was intended for a richer sort. I chose to keep this first attempt as a fillet, mainly because I have a terrible habit of not measuring out enough warp. Perhaps in the future, I’ll have another go and weave enough for a neckline and cuffs of a gown.
Veils and fillets go perfectly with black t-shirts, actually.
References
Walton, P. (1989) Textiles, Cordage and Raw Fibre from 16–22 Coppergate. York: York Archaeological Trust. PDF.
Note: I wrote the majority of this article in Winter 2020 and have learned a lot more about Viking Age food in the meantime. There are things I would do differently in future and I do plan on repeating this experience again, with more planning. I considered abandoning this article and not publishing, but I thought some folks might appreciate it as it is. I’m also interested in seeing what recommendations (hopefully of a yummy kind) I might get before I try it again.
Food is universal, yet what is eaten in a place or time can tell us so much about the culture or people doing the eating. Mealtimes contribute in large to the structure of our day and many of us get huge enjoyment from them. Food is one of the simple pleasures, after all. Food is also something that can be recreated and experienced, just as our forefathers did. To taste a historical dish made with love and careful attention to remaining evidence is to experience a fleeting sense of time travel.
So, I decided before I even started this blog that I wanted to do something with early Medieval food. I attended an modern training event for re-enactors early last year (blessedly just before Covid really kicked off) as a member of the kitchen crew and I met several excellent living historians with a lot of experience cooking Viking Age food in camp. Conversations with them set me thinking about food and the types of things I’d prepared for camp prior.
I was usually the person who cooked for my group, however, I began to realise that much of my knowledge of food and cookery in period was inherited “re-enactor’s knowledge”. People ate a lot of soup and bread, meat was expensive and everyone drank ale instead of the fetid bacterial soup that sat in wells. While this stuff was not wrong per-se, it was very unspecific. I knew that most vegetables at the time were smaller and far less uniform than the hyper-farmed examples we have today and that their carrots were probably not orange. However, I couldn’t tell you what fruits and vegetables were most commonly grown and I certainly couldn’t describe what material evidence there was at various settlements. How much of all that has survived, let’s say in Anglo-Scandinavian York?
It turns out, quite a bit. We don’t have any recipe books from any Viking Age Gordon Ramsays, but cooking equipment and food waste was found in spades here. By examining the animal remains and traces of vegetal matter left behind, we can form a surprisingly varied diet for the 10th century denizen of Jórvík.
Carolyn Priest-Dorman compiled the following list:
Jorvík [York], Danelaw [England]
Meat — red deer, beef, mutton/lamb, goat, pork
Poultry — chicken, geese, duck, golden plover, grey plover, black grouse, wood pigeon, lapwing
I don’t know about you, but I saw this and thought “There’s a lot I can work with there.”
Being in the last week of the second national lockdown and not being one to do things by half, I decided on a week where I would use only foodstuffs from 10th century York. I toyed with the idea of doing a month, but I wasn’t quite that masochistic. This leniency extended to what I drank- I kept drinking water for obvious reasons and I allowed myself my various caffeinated beverages of choice. I didn’t fancy the splitting headaches that would come from going cold turkey and with the low amount of sugar in my 10th century diet, I knew that I would need the pick-me-up.
Furthermore, I must note the additional limitations of this little experiment- I did not pay much attention to seasonality of produce. This is something I would actually like to amend in future with more planning and preparation, however, this was a bit of fun and I just wanted to get stuck in with what I had access to. I also must state that in no way am I trying to claim that my menu is representative of what all Viking Age Yorkies would have eaten regularly, nor that my presentation or ingredient combinations are absolutely accurate. My aim was to educate myself on what foods there is evidence for in York and then to combine them in ways that would allow me to experience the flavour profiles possible with the ingredients available. I had to cook using modern cookware on a modern electric stove, but I did try to use cooking techniques that we have evidence for (e.g. boiling, shallow frying, roasting.) Despite these limitations, I do still believe that my very unscientific endeavour has merit (even if that is only to inspire others to look more into it and because I had fun.) Day One
I decided to start gently today, with meals that wouldn’t look all that unusual in a modern household. It was mostly a day of prepping, as I had to make all my stocks from scratch for meals throughout the week. Today, I made vegetable stock and boiled a ham for the week.
Brunch: Garlic mushrooms in a cream sauce with flatbread.
The mushrooms were shallow-fried in butter and garlic, with a dash of double cream added at the very end to bind it together and capture all the scrummy pan scrapings. The flatbread was (shamefully) shop-bought and consisted of wheat flour.
Dinner: Carrot and coriander pearl barley “risotto”, topped with cottage cheese.
This was super hearty and had me incredibly full- pearl barley is wondrous stuff. I cooked it slowly using some of the vegetable stock I had made earlier, crammed with lots of other veg (onions, carrots, parsnips, celery.) The cottage cheese added some needed creaminess and the coriander cut through the stodge of it all.
Snacks: Mint herbal tea and a handful of raspberries. I went to bed feeling pretty full.
Tuesday
Breakfast: Oat porridge with dried sour cherries, hazelnuts and rosehip syrup. I made the rosehip syrup myself with only 3 ingredients: local honey, distilled water and rosehips I picked nearby.
It’s nice stuff- I’m not sure if it was the honey I used or the rosehips themselves, but it had a very herbal taste. Almost a bit like old school medicinal drops I used to get as a child! However, it’s far from unpleasant and any sweetness is welcome in the 10thC diet. The porridge was made with oats, water, a little dash of milk and a pinch of salt.
Lunch: Viking Age Ploughmans, bread, cottage cheese, water cress, apple, ham, plum chutney.
For some, cottage cheese is a shuddery horror reminiscent of old-school fad diets. I happen to be quite a fan of the stuff, though it certainly needed the strong flavours of the oniony plum chutney and smokey ham. The water cress was just something I had growing at the time, but it added a nice bit of peppery flavour to the cheese. I was quite surprised how much I enjoyed this lunch, despite it not being my usual mature cheddar and Branston pickle affair.
I’ve eaten variations of this simple meal in encampments across Europe and I suspect that this kind of fare would have been common with working people in the Viking Age, as it was among agricultural workers throughout the centuries since. It would work well with dried meats or fishes instead of ham, as well as substituting the cottage cheese with hard cheese or yoghurts too. Eggs are also a fab addition to a Ploughmans, though I didn’t have one with this meal.
Dinner: Braised beef with garlic, roast parsnips and carrots with thyme.
Again, this dish wouldn’t look that unusual on a modern dinner table. The carrots eaten in 10th century York will have likely born more resemblance to wild carrots than the orange behemoths in supermarkets today. Unfortunately for me, wild carrots are not as common as one might hope in the centre of modern York. I did manage however to bag some gorgeous local-grown, organic heritage carrots- at my local Spar of all places! That all might sound very hipster, but they were teeny, sweet and came in all colours. I boiled them with the parsnips before roasting and actually saved the purple boil water to use for stock later in the week- I think you’ll agree that it was too pretty not to.
Thyme has not been found in the archaeological record in York, however, strains of wild thyme are native to the British Isles. It is also mentioned in 10-11th century English medical text the Lacnunga, under the Old English name “bothen” (Wyrtig, 2015.)
Wednesday
Breakfast: Buttermilk pancakes with rosehip honey syrup, topped with blackberries & double cream.
These pancakes were seriously decadent. I whipped up a huge jug of the batter (with honey in place of sugar) and got to frying up a couple of stacks, one for me, one for Eric and another for a dear friend. My friend and I took ours to go in very modern tupperware, while Eric devoured his at home. We had some errands to run in town that afternoon (the pigeons wouldn’t pick themselves up from the fishmongers, you know), so we had our brunch in a little corner near Coppergate itself.
The pancakes themselves were delicious, but very stodgy. I now know that one probably would have sufficed for me, but apparently that day I woke up and chose violence because we each had a stack of 3, plus cream and fruit. The acidity of the blackberries was welcome to cut through the stodge of the pancake, the cream too provided a necessary moistness and sweetness. Despite my whining though, the cakes themselves were very tasty and fluffy- I can’t be doing with a slimy pancake. Such a dish would have been possible with 10th century food stuffs, but I suspect they would have made their batter without a sweetener and relied on the topping for flavour.
Dinner: Mussels and clams cooked in Rhine wine with garlic, onions and coriander.
This was one of my favourite meals of the week and was pleasingly cheap and easy to make. I was inspired by the steamed mussel dish included in An Early Meal (Serra & Tunberg, 2013), but made some changes to suit my own palate. I adore coriander and I think the lovely green brightened up the seafood, as well as giving it a gorgeous aromatic quality. Clams were also on offer and so in the pot they went. The discarded shells were carefully saved and added to the pan of fish stock I made later that night.
I hadn’t a clue what Rhine wine was before this project, so I looked it up. It turned out that we happened to have some dry white wines that were suitable for this recipe already in our wine cupboard, so I popped open a bottle and tried to imagine what wines from the Rhine might have tasted like 1000 years ago. We happily sopped up the wine sauce with bread after the mussels and clams were demolished.
If you like seafood, you’ll know that steamed mussels are a simple but divine pleasure. The rich marine scent of the mussels, combined with the softened onions, garlic and celery was intoxicating. The white wine just made it *chef’s kiss*.
Snacks: An apple, a hard-boiled egg and handful of blackberries.
Thursday
Lunch: Pan-fried cod fillet on crushed fava beans with mint.
This was one of my favourite meals of the week and let me tell you, I needed it. By Thursday, I was feeling quite sluggish and my appetite was much reduced. I think that this was a combination of all the cooking I was doing (I made all my stocks from scratch and some dishes took a long time to slowly stew away) and the relative lack of sugar. Sure, I was eating a lot of vegetables and some fruit, but it was a lot less than my modern diet. I have quite a sweet tooth and look forward to tea and a chocolate chip shortbread during my work day, as well as pudding after dinner often. Hard-boiled eggs and fruit weren’t cutting it.
I got the cod on offer at one of our local supermarkets and being the Yorkshirewoman I am, I rejoiced. I pan-fried the cod in a little butter, making sure to get the skin all crispy. Meanwhile, I quickly boiled some tinned fava beans, drained and mashed them with some salt, butter and some freshly chopped mint leaves. Placing the cod on a little pile of the crushed beans, I added a little cream to the frying pan and made a quick sauce with the pan scrapings.
Like thyme, mint is a plant that has native strains found in the UK and was used extensively in medicine. I used peppermint as it was what I had access to, but other wild varieties would have been lovely too and would be closer to what could be found in Viking Age hedgerows.
Dinner: Traveller’s Pottage with apples, onions and ham.
This was heavily inspired by a fun video I saw on the Grimfrost YouTube channel. Hanna Thunberg (of An Early Meal authorship) made a simple winter dish that she terms a traveller’s pottage, as it contains ingredients that could be carried in a pack on a journey. Conveniently, it’s also exactly the kind of thing you would want to eat after a long hike. Her version is a Gotlandic twist on it, mine is a York kind of deal.
I made a simple porridge of pearl barley and my purple veg stock (it didn’t stay purple!!), combined with fried spring onions, some of my boiled ham chopped finely and some old apples I’d collected on a walk from Riccall to Stamford Bridge in September. Hanna talks about apples in the video, they will last heroically well if kept somewhere cool, dry and dark. They get sweeter over time and when cooked along with the onions, they really are delicious. I didn’t add hard cheese to mine as I didn’t feel confident in choosing a modern cheese that would be similar to historical examples- maybe in the future, I’ll make my own cheese and use that. Snacks: Flatbread with cottage cheese and prune chutney, mint tea.
Friday
Breakfast: Buttermilk pancakes with blueberries, double cream drizzle and chopped hazelnuts.
The pancakes returned with a vengeance. As you can see, I learned from my greedy mistake earlier in the week and only cooked one. This time, I topped my pancake with some blueberries that I quickly softened in a hot pan with a little water, as well as some chopped hazelnuts and cream. I liked this better than the fresh blackberries, though the hazelnuts took quite a bit of chewing.
Blueberries are actually a New World plant, but their Old World cousins bilberries were found in York. However, finding dried or even frozen bilberries in November proved an almost Herculean feat. They do grow in the wild, but are not widely commercially available. So, I committed a cardinal authenticity sin and used blueberries.
Dinner: Whitefish soup with cod, carrots, onions and thyme.
This dish was a bit of a trial. I was still feeling very lethargic and not especially hungry, but I had stunk out our entire flat making the fish stock and damn it, Mama didn’t raise a quitter. So, I fried up some remaining cod with some spring onions, celery and carrots, then topped it all up with the fish stock. A dash of cream later made it look a little less dire and more like a New England chowder. The taste was actually really nice and I do think making my own fish stock was worth it- the smell however lingered in the flat for days. This did nothing for my already diminished appetite.
Snacks: Rosehip tea, chopped ham.
Saturday
Breakfast: Hardboiled hen’s eggs, apple and flatbread.
Unfortunately, I didn’t photograph this. You will all have to console yourselves with imagining hardboiled eggs and apple.
Lunch: Kidney and ham soup with carrots, spring onions and ham broth.
I think soldiering on through Friday’s fish trauma may have rekindled my appetite somewhat. Offal can be a divisive foodstuff for some, but I’m quite partial to it! I got some chopped ox kidney from our butchers for pennies and using veg and the broth saved from boiling my ham (with celery, garlic and ground coriander), I was able to make quite a tasty soup.
Animal remains from Anglo-Scandinavian York indicate that when folks did eat meat, they followed the nose to tail approach. Everything remotely edible on an animal was likely eaten. Personally, I believe that much of our modern snobbery and aversion to offal would have been baffling to Early Medieval Yorkies, who will have lived alongside what were essentially open air abattoirs. That is, however, just my view.
Offal generally is extremely high in vitamins and nutrients, which would have been an excellent supplement to a Medieval person’s diet (not that they would have known this.) Ox kidneys are apparently a great source of vitamin B12, selenium and riboflavin– which among other benefits, boost the immune system and reduce fatigue. Yet, here we are mostly putting them in dog food!
Dinner: Wood pigeon topped with bacon and stewed apple, stuffed with hazelnuts, walnuts and prune chutney.Served with roast mixed veg.
This is another dish that sounds quite posh, like something on the menu of a countryside pub with notions (you know the type I mean.) I had to ask around about where to get wood pigeons, as my grandparents didn’t have any in the freezer and they’re not exactly a common site at the big supermarkets. My grandad, who is a canny countryside gent, suggested that I go ask at the fishmongers on Market Street. I thought he was taking the piss at first- “Oh aye?” “Aye,” he said, so off I went.
Turns out he was right and the fishmongers really do stock wood pigeons, when they can get them. You heard it here first. Quite delighted, I ordered a couple and got some venison while I was at it (naturally, at a fishmongers.)
I roasted my prize bird and stuffed it carefully with the nuts and thick spoonfuls of plum chutney I made earlier in the week. The plum chutney really was gratifyingly easy to make and I think it would be even nicer if using spices and proper onions rather than spring onions. The secret is to use dried plums of the kind that would have been imported into Viking Age York- it makes for a much jammier chutney than fresh plums.
Regarding the pigeon itself, it wasn’t for me. The actual taste of the meat was gamey and almost bitter to my palate, thankfully Eric found it much more to his taste. The chutney and nut stuffing I was fond of, as well as the parsnips and carrots I roasted with the bird.
Snacks: Milk, dried sour cherries, mint tea with honey.
I’ve always been fond of mint tea anyway, but even more so when sweetness is limited. Aromatic herbal flavours seemed a lot more intense to me when I wasn’t eating so much processed sugar.
Sunday
Breakfast: Scrambled eggs with spinach, on toast.
Just as it says on the tin, really. I did cheat somewhat and serve my hen’s eggs and spinach on top of regular sliced wheat bread- sue me. It was a Sunday, my entire home smelled of fish and if you’d asked me to bake a loaf or fry some griddle breads, I’d have strangled you.
Spinach is something I eat regularly in my modern diet, so I didn’t feel like eating it up until the end of the week. Leafy green vegetables like spinach would probably have featured prominently in the yards of Jorvík inhabitants, as they grow well year-round and are incredibly nutrient dense. To quickly wilt spinach with a little garlic and toss them with eggs seems as plausible a way to eat it as any, though I may be biased as this is how I often enjoy it in the 21st century.
Dinner: Braised venison with blackberries and dried sour cherries, with veg (onions, garlic, celery, carrots, parsnips and pigeon stock.)
This was a special dish to end the week. I slowly braised the chopped venison steak over a low heat, adding dried sour cherries and fresh blackberries along with stock I made from the pigeon bones. The dried berries soaked up all the savoury stock and cooking juices from the venison, while imparting a woody sweetness to the dish. It went perfectly with the mixed veg I roasted alongside the meat.
This might have been quite a posh dish in period, with venison being a hunted meat and the dried cherries being imported from the continent. It certainly tasted decadent and I’d say that this is one of the dishes I would definitely make again, perhaps if friends came over to feast.
Closing note
This was most certainly a week. Despite frying everything in oil and butter, I actually lost 4lbs. I believe that this was due to my lack of appetite and most importantly due to cutting out much of the sugar in my diet. Weight loss was absolutely not my intention, but I’d be interested to see what would happen if I followed this kind of diet for a month instead. The lack of sugar had me feeling fatigued and generally pretty crappy for much of the week, but I think this would lessen if I’d have continued.
I found that my diet was pretty varied despite being (mostly) limited to the list above. Of course, it is important to remember that most Viking Age people would have eaten much of the same things most of the time, dependent on the season. It is a virtue of the modern age oft taken for granted that we can open the fridge and say “Huh, yesterday I had BBQ ribs, corn and mashed potatoes. I think today I’ll have a chicken dhansak.” This is a luxury that the huge majority of Early Medieval people simply didn’t have. They had the same kind of ingredients available to them during a given season and if they were lucky, they might zhuzh up a meal with the addition of a little something-something they caught or preserved earlier in the year.
The variety in my diet was a result of modern availability of foodstuffs year round and of refrigeration. Had I stuck to a week of bread and vegetable pottage with grains however, I doubt many of you would have found it all that interesting (the flatulence would have been astronomical, though.)
If I do repeat this week in the future, there’s quite a few ingredients that I didn’t get chance to use- these will come centre stage next time. I also avoided baking my own bread- I absolutely loathe making bread, but it would have no doubt been an essential part of most Medieval women’s day. So, I should probably make more of an effort to get my bake on next time! I’ll pay better attention to seasonality too. For now however, I am enjoying being able to indulge in spices, potatoes, chocolate and hot sauce. Not necessarily all at once.
Location: Jorvík (York), England Date: Mid to late 10th Century Culture: Anglo Scandinavian Estimated Social Class: Middle, wealthy urban
This will hopefully be the first of several speculative York impressions, built to showcase various artefacts and show how they potentially could have been worn/used in their day. It is not based on a grave nor is it to be taken as absolutely representative of the fashion of the place and time. My aim is to show a sensible and plausible outfit based on contemporary artefacts unearthed across York and give context to those remains and fragments.
Excuse my modern garden backgrounds, my 10th century longhouse was in the wash.
Starting from top to bottom:
Headscarf
My veil is a plain weave, pale blue wool scarf. It is not naturally dyed, but in shade it closely mimicks woad. Women are almost exclusively portrayed veiled in Early Medieval English art, yet few examples of such veils are represented in the archaeological record. Fine woollen scarves with tassels have been found in Dublin, dating to the early 10th to mid 11th centuries (Wincott Heckett, 2003, pp.9-43). My veil is closer in size to the larger examples found at VA Dublin, such as the silk scarf DHC17 from Fishamble Street (dated to the early 11th century) but matches most closely with contemporary English manuscript depictions in size.
I wear this scarf several different ways even within the same day, tossing the ends over my shoulders as and when it’s required. The weather was balmy when I took these photos, so pins and a fillet weren’t needed. On windier days or if I’m feeling a little more haughty and austere, I’ll pin my veil onto a cap worn underneath and sometimes a fillet. Period variation in wimple/veil style is supported by English manuscript depictions, which show several different styles were worn. Presumably this was down to preference, though of course it could be an indicator of class or piety.
I could talk all day long about headcoverings, suffice to say that I will cover them in greater detail in a future post if people wish.
Necklace of amber and jet
The whole necklace, threaded on a fine leather thonging. One of the triangular amber pendants.
My necklace is made up of amber and jet, based on pendants and beads found at 16-22 Coppergate and other nearby sites. Extensive evidence for amber working in York was found at Clifford Street and 16-22 Coppergate, with fragments also being found at 22 Piccadilly and elsewhere on the Coppergate site (Mainman and Rogers, 2000). The wedge-shaped pendants I used are a little more rounded than the originals, but they can be replaced as and when I find a gemologist who will make me a more accurate replica. 😁 Many of the amber beads and pendants found at 16-22 Coppergate were dated to period 4B (c.930/5-c.975 AD.)
Found in (Mainman and Rogers, 2000, p.2507)Found in (Mainman and Rogers, 2000, p.2589.)
The evidence for jet working at 16-22 Coppergate is definite, whether or not that evidence belongs to the Anglo-Scandinavian period is a subject of debate. Some items were found in Anglo-Scandinavian levels, but it has been argued that they were Roman items that ended up deposited in later levels through the passage of time. It does however remain possible that some of these jet items were indeed stratified correctly and I am working with that assumption.
The beads I used for my necklace are Whitby jet, dating to the late Victorian or early Edwardian period. They’d been reassembled into a new modern necklace, so I liberated them and used them for this project. Like their amber brethren, they are not perfect- they’re a little too spherical and neat. The jet finds from York consist of finger rings, bracelets, gaming pieces, pendants and manufacturing evidence (Mainman and Rogers, 2000). There was also an item identified as a bead (dated to the 5A period, approx 975 AD) but unfortunately it was stolen. I have included my beads in this impression based on the semi-worked fragments, the lost bead and the similar beads found in glass, amber and other materials.
Dress
The flower I am playing with is from my immortal woad plant, which is busy taking over my poor mum’s raised bed. I am pretending to be sorry about that.
My dress is made of a 2/2 chevron (herringbone) twill wool. I’ve dyed lots of wool blue using woad, but not this wool- it is chemically-dyed mimicking shades of a natural woad vat. It is handsewn by me with wool and linen thread. Textile fragments of broken chevron twill dyed with indigotin (the blue colour compound found in woad) were found at Coppergate, item number 1302 (Walton, 1989). The material was dated to period 4B, indicating a date of c.930/5-c.975 AD. It is described it thus:
“Fragments, largest 140 x 100mm, of mid brown 2/2 chevron twill, 8/Z/0.9 x 5-6/S/1.2 (Fig.134a). Yarn soft and unevenly spun. Fleece type, Z medium, S hairy. Dyed with indigotin. Hard concretions containing cess-like material adhere to parts of the textile.” (Walton, 1989)
In all the surviving textiles from Anglo-Scandinavian Jorvík, woad is represented but it is not the most common dyestuff. Madder- and bedstraw-dyed fragments are the most numerous by leaps and bounds, which indicates a distinctly English taste in Anglo Scandinavian York (I’ll discuss this at more length in a future article.) Woad however certainly did feature in the clothing of Jorvík city dwellers and I just so happened to have some suitable fabric leftover from a dress made for a dear friend many moons ago. Being a Yorkshire lass through and through, regardless of the century, I was using it.
No complete or near-complete garments have survived from Jorvík apart from the famous sock and several head-coverings. I therefore kept the pattern of my dress and undertunic as generic as possible. Women in contemporary English art are always shown wearing ankle length, long-sleeved garments, usually with some indication of skirted construction. It is believed that this might have been the case in Scandinavia too, with women in contemporary art there usually being shown to wear garments that are at least longer than men’s (Ewing, 2007).
An Anglo-Scandinavian cross fragment from All Saints Church in Weston (North Yorkshire), dated to the 9th century. It is believed to show a warrior with a female captive and be a reworking of an original Anglian cross. Source.
Towards the end of the Viking Age in England, the sleeves on women’s overgarments appear to have grown wider, with tight-sleeeved garments being seen peeking from underneath them. I kept the sleeves on my dress relatively close to the arm so it would be more suitable for earlier impressions, with the opportunity to dress it up later with the simple addition of a mantle or baggier-sleeved overdress.
It is also prudent to note that almost all of the women portrayed in contemporary English art were very high in social status or were religious figures. They represent an ideal of the most aristocratic and modest women, not the daughters and wives of merchants (even wealthy ones) who might have walked through Coppergate. So, my York lady may well have worn her dresses with baggier sleeves on special occasions but likely not to go to the market.
Details from various 10-11th century sources: Top left- Folio 10 of the Old English Illustrated Hexateuch, 11thC English. Top middle- Luxoria from Prudentius’ Psychomachia, late 10thC English. Top right- Detail of supplicants from the Benedictional of St Aethelwold, late 10thC English. Bottom left: Detail of Queen Emma from the New Minster Liber Vitae, 1031 AD English. Bottom middle left- Detail from the Bayeux Tapestry, late 11thC English (suspected.) Bottom middle right- Patentia also from Prudentius’ Psychomachia. Bottom right: Mary also from the New Minster Liber Vitae. Source.
Surviving remains of skirted tunics such as the Skjoldehamn, Haithabu and later Herjolfsnes finds show examples of how these women’s garments in the Viking Age could have been constructed. Due to cloth constraints and to better fit my body, I opted for bottle-shaped side gores starting at my underarm. This construction provided the correct period silhouette while remaining comfortable.
My undertunic (or serk) was made in a similar pattern, only in undyed linen with a plain round neckline and triangular gores.
Over my dress, I wear a belt of dyed bone buckle. This is an unusual item, currently kept in the Yorkshire Museum. The museum lists it only as Anglo-Scandinavian and dating to between 866 and 1066. It is generally believed that Early Medieval women did not wear leather belts, either opting for textile belts that have rotted away since or foregoing belts altogether.
However, a 10th century grave of a woman in Cumwhitton (Cumbria) has challenged this assumption. One of the female graves contained a belt buckle and strap end, both made of copper alloy (Paterson, Parsons, Newman, Johnson & Howard Davis, 2014). I am fond of the York dyed buckle and since it was not found in a grave context, I feel comfortable including a leather belt as part of a wealthy female impression.
An interesting discussion of belt hardware surviving in female graves can be found in the bibliography. My replica of the belt and buckle was made by Sándor Tar on Facebook.
Leather turnshoes
Type 4a3 leather turnshoes.
On my feet, I wear leather shoes, based on the Style 4a3. They are of a turnshoe construction and made of vegetable tanned leather. This pair was made by Torvald’s Leather Workshop.
Shoes of Style 4a3 have been found at 16-22 Coppergate from the earliest layers of occupation (mid-late 9th century at the earliest) throughout the whole Anglo-Scandinavian period, but finds of this type are most numerous in the mid 10th century layers (Mould, Carlisle and Cameron, 2003). Shoes of this style were also found at nearby Hungate and fragments indicating this style have been found in Oxford also.
Style 4a3 shoes, image from Mould, Carlisle and Cameron, 2003, p.3306.
I love this style of shoe, I think they’re really cute and so evocative in their style of Viking Age fashion itself. The only problem? The pair I have have the flaps on the wrong side of the foot! A large group of the shoes found in Jorvík had flaps and toggles over the instep- fastening on the inside of the foot, not the outside. Mould, Carlisle and Cameron (2003) even acknowledge that it seems like toggles on the outside of the foot would be more practical, but I found the opposite to be the case when actually putting them on. I’m aiming to replace these shoes in the future with ones closer to the originals, but they are gorgeous nevertheless and being handmade they are very comfortable.
Underneath these shoes, I wore a pair of woollen naalbound socks, loosely based on the Coppergate socks. However, they have graciously served me for several years now in all weathers and are not fit to be seen. I will certainly cover the mighty Coppergate sock in the future though.
Who might have worn this?
The wife or daughter of a wealthy urban merchant perhaps, someone who had the cash spare to afford dyed garments such as my dress and scarf. Worked amber and jet beads too would likely have been status items, with amber being imported from abroad from the Roman period.
It is also possible that a wealthy woman from more rural areas could wear an outfit like this, the wife of a rich farmer perhaps. This is not the kind of clothing one wears during the working day however, so it would be relegated to Sunday best or feasting clothing (I suspect that this would also be the case for an urban woman.)
References
Ewing, T. (2007) Viking Clothing. Stroud: Tempus Publishing. p9-70.
Mainman, A. J. & Rogers, N. S. H. (2000). Craft, Industry and Everyday Life: Finds from Anglo-Scandinavian York. York: Council for British Archaeology. p2451-2671.
Mould, Q., Carlisle, I. & Cameron, E (2003). Craft, Industry and Everyday Life: Leather and Leatherworking in Anglo-Scandinavian and Medieval York. York: Council for British Archaeology. p3306-3310.
Paterson, C., Parsons, A. J, Newman, R. M, Johnson, N & Howard Davis, C. (2014) Shadows in the Sand: Excavation of a Viking-age cemetery at Cumwhitton, Cumbria. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology North.
Walton, P (1989). Textiles, Cordage and Raw Fibre from 16-22 Coppergate . York: Council for British Archaeology. p285-474
Wincott Heckett, E (2003). Viking Age Headcoverings from Dublin. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy. p9-43.
The Eoforwic Project 