Anglo-Saxons, Death Threats and Misuse of Our Early History

 

One of the many things I love about our country is the complexity of its early history, and the tenacity of historians, archaeologists, geneticists and others, trying to shed light on its mysteries.  We should celebrate our willingness, and our freedom, to challenge “official versions” of history.  Compare that with Putin’s Russia, for example.

As a child I learned much about British history, and prehistory, through Ladybird books (remember them?) I never realised how deeply those stories had seeped in, until many years later I encountered new thinking and new evidence challenging much of it.  I find that exciting, not threatening.

One of the periods challenged by recent research concerns the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons in the Fifth Century.  Elements of the far-right have now latched on to this debate, seeing evidence of a conspiracy to rewrite English history and rob them of their precious identity.  I was shocked when a friend sent me a screenshot of the following comment, posted beneath a video about the Anglo-Saxons:

The targets of the threat are vague, but the intention is clear: to kill experts who challenge their interpretation of English history.  

I reported the death threat to YouTube and I hope it will be removed, but even people twisted by hate can, and sometimes do, change their views.  My question to them is this:

Do you want to know the truth about your country’s past, or not?

If the answer to that is ‘no’, then you are not a patriot.  If your answer is ‘yes, but I don’t trust the experts’, then please read on.

What happened to Britain after the Romans left, and who were the people who became known as Anglo-Saxons? I recently read two books, which present entirely opposing views: The Fall of Roman Britain and Why We Speak English by John Lambshead and The Emergence of the English by Susan Oosthuizen.  Lambshead’s story is closer to the traditional version, of Anglo-Saxons arriving from northern Germany and Southern Denmark, bringing their language and customs to create the kingdoms which would eventually become England.  Oosthuizen presents the sort of revisionist view, which the far-right would condemn.  She paints a picture of gradual migration from all over Europe, leading to peaceful integration, and believes the term ‘Anglo-Saxon’ is misleading.

Interestingly, they sometimes refer to the same ancient documents and recent research, interpreting them in different ways.  One thing they both agree on is that there was no Anglo-Saxon invasion (as historians used to believe).  England is one of the most intensively excavated countries in the world.  From hundreds of digs all over the country, archaeologists have found no evidence of battles or military sites from that period.  Lambshead, who has a military background, presents another argument: the Germanic peoples of northwest Europe did not possess the naval technology to transport an invasion force.  So, if there was no invasion, how did the Anglian and Saxon kingdoms emerge?

Lambshead’s answer is that the new arrivals were “moving into empty space” following the collapse of post-Roman Britain.  He points to the abandonment of towns and villas after the Romans left.  This argument would explain some of the puzzles which experts have debated for years, such as the limited influence of Latin or Celtic languages on Old English. 

Against that view, Oosthuizen provides evidence of continuity, or even increases, in agricultural output.  Archaeological excavations have also revealed mixed communities where people of British origin lived alongside the new arrivals, adopting their material culture, but with no signs of domination.

New technology, allowing geneticists to analyse ancient DNA has cast new light on all of this.  Lambshead and Oosthuizen both refer to a 2015 study, which found some evidence for ‘Anglo-Saxon’ migration, interpreting it very differently.  Lambshead follows the authors of that study in arguing that the two communities lived separately for several centuries, with the Anglo-Saxons dominating the Britons, before they mingled several centuries later.  Oosthuizen shows that the migrants arrived gradually over time, in which case, the inference of delayed mingling could be wrong.  She also questions whether that study, or any of the others were able to prove where the migrants came from.

Since those books were published, a new and much bigger study of ancient DNA has swung the pendulum back towards the traditional view.  It provided the strongest evidence so far that many people did indeed move from the Anglian and Saxon homelands during those centuries – although there were also some others, who came from further South.   Collectively, those migrants replaced much of the gene pool of England, though not Scotland, Wales or Ireland.

Oosthuizen’s book expresses some modern left-leaning sentiments.  To what extent they may have influenced her interpretation of the evidence, the reader may wonder.  But even if her explanation is ultimately disproven, she has helped to advance our knowledge, by asking some of the right questions and providing that evidence of agricultural continuity.  There is still a lot we don’t know about that period, which new evidence may yet reveal.

Whatever historians, archaeologists and geneticists discover about our past may change what I believe, but not what I feel about my country.  Why would it? If loving your country depends on defending a dodgy version of history against new evidence, then what does that tell you about the depth and sincerity of your patriotism?