Dispatches from the North: Battle

I watched a special on TV last Monday night about 1066. You know, the year England was conquered by the French. They’re still here, by the way; no one has pushed them out yet. Don’t tell the British, though; they’re a bit touchy on that subject.

Anyway, the special was an historical adaptation and, where it had the opportunity to come over a bit smarmy and/or goofy, it was actually captivating. The second half is on tonight, but I’m travelling for work again and the hotel I’m staying in has a TV stand, but no TV. From the look of this place, I would surmise that the previous guest made off with it, along with all of the hangers (but that’s a story for another day). So I’m going to have to wait until I get home to watch the finale. Shhh! Don’t give away the ending.

All this leads up to a post I have been wanting to write for some time about the Battle of Hastings, which took place not far from where I live and actually occurred near a little Sussex town called Battle. Because there’s no WiFi at this hotel, I can’t do a quick Google search in order to come up with someone else’s idea of whether Battle was called Battle before the battle took place or if they renamed it after the battle in honour of The Battle, as well as to get back some of the glory Hastings stole from them by claiming The Battle for themselves. Or were battles called skirmishes before then and were they ever after called battles in recognition of the locale where The Battle was fought? Or, and this is my theory, is it just a huge historical coincidence? I can envision Harold and William squaring off on the outskirts of Hastings and saying, “You know, there’s a town called Battle not far from here, why don’t we hold the battle there. I mean, a chance like this doesn’t come along every day. Home team gets the high ground.”

Ruin at Battle Abbey

But we know that didn’t happen because Harold and his men were busy racing down the A1 after having beaten back the Vikings at the battle of Stamford Bridge. It was an incredible feat; he marched his army from Sussex to the north of England in only four days to fight the Viking hordes, and then, after giving them a good thrashing, made it back to Sussex, where William the soon-to-be Conqueror was missing out on a great Hearts and Minds opportunity by burning villages, raping woman and generally giving the impression that he was not vying for the Benevolent Monarch of the Year award. It was an unbelievable accomplishment—the march to Stamford Bridge, not the pillaging—but then they didn’t have today’s traffic congestion to content with.

And so it was, that on 14 October 1066, Harold’s tired but plucky army of farmers and shepherds stood atop a low hill overlooking an open slope and about 7,000 Norman Soldiers. The outcome of that epic battle was, well, epic. Despite nearly winning the day, the Harold’s army managed to snatch defeat out of the jaw of victory (it mostly came down to a lucky shot at the very end of the battle, sort of like the Hail Mary pass in the last 30 seconds of a tight game that gets you close enough for a field goal). The English found themselves with a new King and the Normans (who were, as we have established, French) found themselves in giddy possession of an island rich in resources, ripe for the picking. They’re still here. And they’re still picking.

The Battle battlefield. The sheep on the right represent the Normans, the sheep on the left represent the English. Mutton for dinner!

The battlefield is still here, as well, and it makes a lovely day trip. There’s some ruins, an abbey (Battle Abbey, oddly enough), a gift shop where you can buy the kids wooden swords, plastic helmets and coloring books depicting scenes from the battle (hint, buy a lot of red crayons). There is also the battlefield itself, still open and empty and bordered by a path displaying historical plaques telling you what happened where, when and to whom. They are, if you have an interest in history, very interesting; otherwise it’s a nice walk in the countryside. (By the way, if you want to see the original tourist information brochure about the battle, you’ll should visit Bayeux and see The Bayeux Tapestry.)

I’ve seen many battle sites in my time, but the Battle battle site has the prize for being the smallest, packing the maximum historical punch into its few, soggy acres. Gettysburg, Saratoga, the D-Day Beaches—all of them required a car to drive around, but the perimeter tour of Battle is a pleasant half hour walk (unless your companion insists on reading each of the plaques, then it’s a two-hour walk). I expect that was one of the last localized battles, where combatants were relatively few and close enough to jab with a spear, before the Longbow pushed us further along the road toward mechanized warfare.

It remains a desirable destination, and I recommend it; just don’t remind them who won.