Lindow Man

When it comes to icons of our ancient British heritage, Lindow Man is certainly up there, claiming his place at the high table.

Discovered by peat cutters in 1984, in Lindow Marsh or Moss, on the outskirts of Wilmslow, just south of Manchester, radiocarbon dating places his life in the first century CE.

In fact, the estimation covers a little more than a hundred years, yet even that small amount of information provokes ideas to rise into possibility: who was he? Was he of the Cornovii, aware of the legions marching north, or did he live and die before Rome had threatened to change the lives of his people forever? Had his tribe already fallen to the storm of Rome’s force, or was his mind filled with the anticipation of their oncoming violence? Had the Brigantian queen, Cartimandua, yet betrayed the Catavellauni, handing Caratacus over to the Romans as she bargained for peace, and how did he feel about that? And when this young man died, had Mamucium been established, the Roman Agricola’s fort that would develop into what is now Manchester? A thousand questions roll into each other.

Naturally, we ask questions, curious about any life. We seek stories, as children, as archaeologists, as human beings.

With one as old as Lindow Man, our answers are inevitably thick with assumptions, with hopes and speculations, for the clues are scant. Those clues we do have, furthermore, are perceived only through the context of his dying, and it is indeed about the nature of his death that the most vigorous questions and answers are put forward. And here is the potential for drama, for the 25 year old Lindow Man did not die a natural death. The debate is ongoing as to whether this lad was murdered and thrown into a deep pool, or sacrificed in some ancient (and possibly consensual) ritual act.

For some, the apparent evidence of a ‘triple death’ supports the latter. He appears to have been bludgeoned, then, strangled with a sinew necklace, his throat cut, before being drowned, face down in the muddy water. While the story sits happily within ideas about Celtic mythology and theology, others see the notion as overly imaginative.

People argue for one theory or another, each proponent putting forward the all important clues that contribute to the story the young man brings with him. The presence in his belly of mistletoe pollen and a burnt grain cake add to the mystery, as does the evidence of manicured nails, neatly trimmed hair and beard, implying that he was neither warrior nor labourer, but a man of some social status. It seems too that his skin was painted with the blue-green earth pigment, vitrum, that was used for tribal body decoration.

My own Pagan tradition of Druidry gives prominence to the value of the oral tradition. It teaches us not to seek out fact or fiction, but instead to honour the power of the story. That isn’t to dismiss science or exploration, for those disciplines too are given their structure by stories: ideas, theories, experience, observations presented. Crucially, however, instead of establishing proven facts, the oral tradition determines the importance of connections and relationships.

Archaeologists and museum curators treasure Lindow Man as the best preserved British ‘specimen’ of his time. Indeed, talking with one recently I was interested to hear him refer to Lindow Man using the pronoun ‘it’; while his respect for the figure was not in doubt, he wasn’t sure how to relate to this ‘exhibit’. Clearly, however, there is more to him than this, both for Pagans and others. But how and why?

Lindow Man is an ancestor. At the heart of most British Pagan traditions, from Druidry to Heathenism, is a profound and ingenerate respect for ancestry. The old stories are kept alive with retelling, achievements and failures are explored in the search for learning, and underlying it all there is retained a perpetual awareness that all we are and all we have is only ours because of what we have inherited. To many Pagans, our ancestors are ‘the Old Ones’, the Honoured Dead, those who have worked this land before, walked its paths, breathed this air, loved and sung and wept and died. In Paganisms within which relationship and connection is integral to religious understanding and practice, those connections are considered sacred; they are magical rivers that bring vision and wisdom. And they exist tangibly across threads of time, not just space.

Just as nowadays, our culture is a fully interwoven fabric of individuals, of families and communities, their experience of life, their impact upon the land and nature’s influences upon them, the same would have been true of any of our countless ancestors. Lindow Man was not an isolated soul; to the Pagan, he is not just the remains of one separate life. The Pagan’s respect broadens his/her mind to perceive within that twisted and brutalized bog-preserved form the songs of a people, a time, an ancient inheritance and a wealth of possibilities - all of which are, in turn, also a part of who we are today.

Yet, Pagan’s reverence for ancestry is not necessary for Lindow Man to be of more value than as just a museum exhibit. It is quite possible, after all, that his bloodline extends to those still living in the Manchester area today. Two thousand years is not a long time in the history of humankind: this lad may not have lived in a house and shopped for food, but he will still have loved and learned, wept and sung, danced and got drunk, laughing with his friends. More than likely, he would have held in his arms an infant son or daughter, playing with his children as they grew, worrying about their safety, their future. He would still have faced crises and reached for courage, held his head in his hands wondering at the point of life, losing faith, finding strength: just like us.

That he would have walked this land that is now Cheshire is a powerful bridge of connection, his feet feeling the mud, this nose picking up its scent, the same winds blowing through his hair that blow through ours. Today his homeland borders on Manchester‘s city suburbs, but still it is a beautiful place, of meres and mosses, where herons fly. The Welsh mountains gleam in the distance across the plain, and hints of Welsh in local place names speak of an ancient ancestry. This young man of Lindow (or Llyn Ddu?) could well have walked along the River Bollin and scrambled down Alderley Edge, places made famous by the Cheshire novelist, Alan Garner, whose beautifully rich children’s stories are drenched in the mysteries of this landscape. Perhaps it was already a place of magic and legend at the time of his life, two thousand years ago.

Whether or not he had been a chieftain, a king or heir, makes little difference to the probability that he felt the land of his people to be his land; we don’t need to own a place to feel an identity based upon that landscape. Mancunians today hold a pride about their city that isn’t dependent on them owning the turf and pavement.

Lindow Man breathed air that his descendants still breathe. His story is a part of the story of that landscape, a story that is still being created, still being told, with each match at Old Trafford, each page turned at the university, each Beeb broadcast from Oxford Road, each newborn’s cry within the walls of St Mary’s , each pint drunk and kiss shared. And indeed, with each plane landing at Manchester airport (just 2 miles away from Lindow Moss).

However, Lindow Man is not in Manchester, nor even in Cheshire. His remains are no longer in the tribal landscape of the Cornovii. He is in London, at the British Museum.

For a long time, he lay in a case at the top of the stairs on the second floor. The area was open and there was a feeling of the dead man’s body being on show without consent, exhibited without dignity. He was a curiosity on display, a shrivelled freak.

Attitudes have changed over the past ten years, some museums adjusting more slowly than others, but the British Museum did move him to a secluded corner. It is easy to miss him now, as a result, unless you know where to look. The low lighting adds to the improved surroundings, providing a better sense of respect, allowing more dignity. Yet, to many, he is still on foreign ground.

The issue of repatriation is now topical in the world of museums. That discussions are now taking place, which will restore human remains and artefacts to the cultures and countries from which they were taken, is profoundly important. Such matters are not within the remit of HAD; however ideas of repatriation are not wholly irrelevant, even where the focus is upon the bones of British dead stored or displayed in British museums.

As a twenty-first century Pagan, with global internet connections and that poignant image of the Earth as a green-blue marble, a wellspring of my religious inspiration is these sacred islands of Britain and Ireland on the edge of the great landmass. Even though I have an overview that allows me a sense of the world as a whole and, when I am away, it is the collection of these British islands that calls me, from their woodlands and moors, their mountains, shorelines and open grassy plains, the valley of my home is utterly distinct within my soul.

Within Britain now, we may acknowledge nations singing out for recognition or even independence; two thousand years ago, there was a very different sense of union. Gathering into tribes through mutually beneficial alliances, for ease of trading or co-operative defence, families or clans would have retained a strong sense of identity, and that identity would have been integral with the landscape of home. Furthermore, these islands may be small, but they are rich with natural diversity : not only between the forests and the moors, the chalk downs and the clay hills, the earth energy changes, as does the quality of light, the fertility, the history, at times over short distances.

In Paganism it is acknowledged that the environment is the foundation to religious practice. The spirits of place - of the city or river, of heritage and ancestry, of pollution, of woodland: every part of that environment, human and non-human, past and present - inform the individual’s understanding, desires and vision, clarity and creativity. Indeed, this is true not only for the individual, but his or her family, community and tribe. So are the stories and qualities of places and peoples forged over time.

When considering ancient human remains, those tribal boundaries are important, and the case of Lindow Man is poignant in this respect. For why is this ancient Cheshire man in London?

The Manchester Museum is in the process of requesting of the British Museum a loan of Lindow Man. The possibility is high, for the BM are refurbishing galleries and it would be useful for them to have the display elsewhere during this time. Indeed, we are hoping that the loan will be arranged for 2008, and the young man will be brought home for an extended visit.

In dialogue with HAD, the museum are already considering how this ancestor of Cheshire heritage can best be presented when he returns to his homeland after 24 years away. Interpretations of his story retold with respect will be at the core of the process, yet told with a sensitivity and awareness of the relevance he holds for the people of Manchester today. For in any modern city, there is poverty and disenchantment, a sense of disconnection with the land and with the past, and a broken threads of hope with regard to the future.

Yet Lindow Man is a surviving story, brimming with the songs of the land and the people, of connected threads. Present within the museum, in a sanctuary of respect and dignity, that respect and dignity can only seep out into his landscape through his descendants. For it is through a respect for history, for the stories of the dead, for lives lived, that we are able to interact with a truly integrated respect for lives being lived today.

There will be a celebration, a welcoming home for this ancestor, quite a celebration!

A growing number are already hoping that this visit will be the beginning of a process that, one day, will bring Lindow Man back to his homeland for good. Such a decision would indeed do good.

Emma Restall Orr

Oct 2005

All photographs are used with the permission of The Manchester Museum, University of Manchester.