Harold Godwinson, the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, was pacing around a field in southern England on Sunday, giving a thunderous speech to energize his troops before a battle against the forces of William the Conqueror, the Norman invader who was trying to steal his throne.
“People of England,” Godwinson bellowed, “I ask for you to believe in me, believe in our England!”
If they did, Godwinson added, history would remember them as the heroes who “drove the Norman dogs back into the sea whence they came.”
As Godwinson’s rousing speech reached its climax, the bearded king punched the air in celebration, and, like a rowdy sports crowd, the dozens of onlookers chanted his name. “God-win-son! God-win-son!”
It was a stirring moment — at least until one of Godwinson’s aides broke the authenticity of the historical re-enactment by asking if anyone wanted a selfie with the king.
Each fall, about 1,000 history enthusiasts gather in Battle, a town in southern England, to recreate the Battle of Hastings — the main event depicted on the Bayeux Tapestry, the 220-foot-long medieval artifact that the British Museum in London is displaying as part of a blockbuster exhibition. The re-enactment takes place on the very landscape where the conflict unfolded on Oct. 14, 1066, and, this year, thanks to the tapestry exhibition, the crowds have been more teeming than usual. Some 13,000 spectators watched across two days.
It’s part of a wider trend as the tapestry’s return to Britain for the first time since it was made almost 1,000 years ago spurs increased interest in the historical period. A spokeswoman for English Heritage, the nonprofit that maintains the 1066 battlefield, said that visitor numbers this fall had boomed at some of its Norman sites. Some embroidery schools have also reported surging interest. And Paula Kitching of the Historical Association, another nonprofit, said that over 650 people had paid for its new course on Norman history.
English people typically learn about the events of 1066 at school when they’re too young to fully comprehend them, Kitching said. But now, she added, many adults want to re-examine the period to “understand what the fuss is about” — including how William the Conqueror’s victory overhauled English society and reshaped the country’s culture and language.
On Sunday before the battle, spectators toured the site where the re-enactors had set up rival Norman and Anglo-Saxon camps. Inside canvas tents, the re-enactors cooked medieval meals, showed children how to wield weapons (all blunted) and sewed scenes similar in style to those in the Bayeux Tapestry.
Matthew Mills, 31, an investment consultant from London, said he had decided to attend after seeing the tapestry at the British Museum. “It’s nice to bring it to life,” he said, adding that he wanted to hear “the clash of swords” in conflict.
Matt Straker, 27, a comedian and self-described history nerd, said that “1066 is up there with my top battles,” and so seeing the events play out in person made for an entertaining, and slightly absurd, day out. Straker said that he and his friends had tried to write some fun chants to shout out, but so far only had a memorable one for William the Conqueror. “He’s big / he’s bad / he doesn’t know his dad,” the chant went, in reference to the monarch once commonly known as William the Bastard.
Some re-enactors said they hoped the event would educate visitors about the people involved in the battle as much as entertain. Mitch Lawrence, 32, a British Army engineer who was portraying Harold Godwinson, said that most English people knew the Anglo-Saxon king only as a man who died when an arrow flew into his eye.
Lawrence said that Godwinson was actually a great military leader who, according to the tapestry at least, once saved two soldiers by pulling them out of quicksand. “It takes a selfless character to put yourself in danger for others like that,” Lawrence said.
As the battle started on Sunday, about 6,500 spectators gathered around a sloping field in the shadow of Battle Abbey, a structure that William the Conqueror had built as penance for the blood spilled. Then several hundred Anglo-Saxon re-enactors, most holding large shields, trudged to the top of the slope, the elevation serving as a key part of their defense.
A few hundred feet away, the Norman side, which included about 20 fighters on horseback and dozens of archers, prepared to attack. Just before they did, many of the soldiers knelt down in the grass and a nun among the re-enactors blessed them with incense.
Unlike the real Battle of Hastings — which lasted a full day, with perhaps about 7,000 men on each side, many of them suffering brutal deaths — the re-enactment was scheduled to be finished within an hour, and no one would be hurt, aside from maybe the odd sprained ankle.
As the drama began, the Norman archers fired arrows at their opponents (the weapons had rubber tips to prevent injury), and then the Norman infantry and cavalry raced up the slope in waves, trying to smash through Godwinson’s shield wall. As the fight intensified, a commentator excitedly narrated the action over loud speakers, at one point declaring, “The slaughter will be tremendous, the blood spilled in gallons.”
The Norman victory came, suddenly, about 45 minutes in when some of its soldiers pretended to flee in panic and Godwinson’s forces foolishly gave chase, breaking up their previously unified ranks. Godwinson sensed the mistake and ran after them, only for a Norman archer to fire an arrow straight into his eye. In reality, Lawrence, the re-enactor playing Godwinson, wasn’t hurt, but swiftly held a blunted arrow to his face.
With Godwinson’s death, it was a victory for the Norman side — as it is every year — and the crowd loudly, and comically, booed the result.
Meredydd Summers, 22, a recent graduate in medieval studies, said afterward that he and his friends were desperate to see the tapestry at the British Museum, if they could secure tickets. Still, he added, the re-enactment had one advantage over the exhibition. “You can’t drink at the British Museum,” Summers said, clutching an almost empty bottle of mead.
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