The Last Celts in England

It is a commonly held belief that the Anglo-Saxons, upon their migration into what is now England, totally wiped out the Celtic people that were previously living in the area. However, with modern scholarship, we now know that this is not true. In fact, today, every part of this sentence has become controversial. When I say the last Celts in England, I'm referring to the last speakers of a Celtic language in England, the least controversial definition of what a Celt even is. These Britons, or Wailers as the English called them, were likely defined solely by their use of this Celtic language, called Brythonic, and today I'd like to show you some stories that prove that these Celts still existed, right in the heart of England for hundreds of years, despite what so many people think today. Our first story begins in the early 8th century, within the marshlands known as the Fens in eastern England. Here, on an isolated island, an English monk named Guthalac lived, after retiring from being a soldier for nearly a decade. We are told by his biography, written around 740, that he was very unwelcome here, and that the local population, called Devils in this book, regularly tormented Guthalac, ultimately culminating in an attack on his home, where he was only able to drive them off through the power of Christianity. Now, many of the sources I found stopped here, and completely neglected to mention two very important details. That these Devils do not really sound like Biblical demons, and I mean this in two ways. Firstly, they aren't described with the typical hooves, horns, talons or tails, but instead with large beards, big heads and chests, and with horse teeth, bow legs and raggedy hair. Secondly, they literally do not sound like Biblical demons. Instead, we're told that Guthalac actually recognised the language of his attackers, as the Sibilant Speech of the Britons, which he was able to identify thanks to his experience with fighting against them in Wales. So what the life of Saint Guthalac is telling us, is not that this saint was attacked by demons from the underworld, but instead by a mob supposedly numbering around a thousand native Brythonic speakers, who lived amongst the swamps of the Fens. These people appear to have been commoners, at least according to one translation, and we shouldn't imagine them as a wild band of swamp dwellers, but I'll elaborate on what kind of lives they may have had towards the end. Despite this pretty blatant example, there have been some disagreements over the years, the most notable of which was by the historian Bertram Colgrave, who translated the life of Saint Guthalac back in 1956. Colgrave took a lot of issue with this passage for one simple reason, it was not possible for the Britons to be living in this area at this time, because all the Britons were gone, right? This had been disputed for over five decades, but Bertram seems to have just ignored this debate, instead suggesting that this must have been a dream by Guthalac. This, however, ignores the fact that we are explicitly told that Guthalac awoke from his light slumber upon hearing the Sibilant Speech of his attackers. This also begs the question as to why a dream would be included as a saintly miracle, surely Guthalac's accomplishments are more notable if they actually happened, and do they even count as miracles if he dreamt them up? This also, again, ignores the fact that we don't have any evidence that all of the Britons were wiped out. Modern studies of skeletons from this era and area reveal that, while there does seem to have been a large migration of continental north Europeans, there isn't any evidence for the destruction of the two to three million people who were already living here. Instead, what they found were organised grave sites of mixed Anglo-Saxon and Briton skeletons, alongside many individuals with a mixed ancestry. In fact, at the 8th century Sedgeford site, a graveyard from this era and close to this area, around 10% of the DNA of its members was Brythonic. In the earlier and closer site of Ely, this number is as high as 25%. What this points to then is the clear continuation of a Brythonic-speaking community in the fens of eastern England. We should remember that, according to the historian John Davis, the only reason that these people were likely identified as Britons is because they spoke that sibilant speech of Brythonic, which was probably referring to that distinctive th sound found in Welsh. Guthalach wasn't running around doing DNA tests, and if he was, he probably would have found that many of them had Anglo-Saxon ancestors anyway. But instead, he recognised and identified these 1000 people by their language, Brythonic. If you'd like to read more about the Anglo-Saxons, then you should try this video's sponsor, Blinkist. The app that allows you to understand the most important parts of non-fiction books and podcasts in just 15 minutes. With over 5,500 titles on offer in 27 different categories from history, to science, to creativity and entrepreneurship, you're guaranteed to find something that you'll love. I've personally just read Through the Anglo-Saxons by the historian Mark Morris, a fascinating book that tells the story of England from the fall of Rome to the establishment of the Kingdom of England, which even dedicates some time to the topic we're talking about today. Blinkist allows you to fit reading or listening into your everyday life, as you'll be able to get the key information from thousands of titles in just minutes. And now with the brand new feature of Blinkist Connect, you can enjoy two memberships for the price of one, as Blinkist Premium allows you to connect two separate accounts at no extra cost. Get 25% off Blinkist Premium and enjoy two memberships for the price of one. Start your 7-day free trial by clicking the link in the description box today. Guthalach's story may have been a more clear-cut example, but this next one is a bit more dubious. I'm talking about the presence of Britons in the 12th century English story of The Lay of Havelock. The story goes like this. One day, the King of Denmark is overthrown, forcing his son, Havelock, to flee the country to England, landing near Grimsby, a truly horrifying fate. Havelock lived as a fisherman for many years, until eventually becoming employed as a cook by the local king named Alci, who we're told was a Briton, ruling at Lincoln. Havelock was apparently berated by his fellow servants, who supposedly gave him the nickname Curran, meaning cook, in Brythonic, although, as far as we know, this isn't an actual word in this language, and it's probably a mistranslation. Eventually, Havelock returned to Denmark to claim his rightful inheritance, but we aren't interested in that. We're interested in this. King Alci, a Brythonic king with a Saxon name, ruling over a large part of eastern England and employing Brythonic-speaking servants. Now, of course, this story is a work of fiction. It's based on a bunch of other tales from all over the place. These inspirations are exactly why this story is of interest to us. You see, Havelock appears to actually be a Brythonic name, not Danish. Its oldest form is Hablok, seen in the town seal of Grimsby, which bears a striking resemblance to the Brythonic name of Ablok, seen in Welsh chronicles such as Brut i Tawasodden. Now, this could just be a coincidence, but historians have suggested that the old Norman-French version of this story, which used Avlok and Avalok, could easily have derived this name from Brythonic, and likely from a pre-existing Brythonic story. Ablok to Avlok to Avalok to Havelok is not impossible, and if that's the case, then it appears that the very core of this story relies on a much older Brythonic version, likely taken up by the Anglo-Saxons and later transformed into this soup of various different tales by the Normans. So, as the historian Arthur Gray pointed out all the way back in 1911, this means that there may be historical significance to the appearance of a Brythonic king in Lincoln. Maybe he was just invented, or perhaps the story preserves the genuine folk memory of a Celtic king bearing a Saxon name in this area. This wouldn't be impossible either. Archaeology reveals to us that some Britons with zero Anglo-Saxon ancestry were buried with grave goods typically only given to high-status people, such as this Brythonic skeleton in Kent, suggesting that some local warlords or rulers took up Saxon culture. In fact, the most significant Anglo-Saxon dynasty, Wessex, who'd go on to found the Kingdom of England, was begun by a man with a Celtic name, Ceredic, which is likely an Old English form of Ceredic, and is explicitly described as a Celtic name by the 8th century monk Bede, alongside the name of one of his descendants, Cadwalla, the Old English form of the Welsh Cadwason. So while the story of St. Gudalac appears to describe the presence of Brythonic speakers in eastern England in the 8th century, the lay of Havelock instead might describe a folk memory of a Celtic king ruling around Lincoln, surrounded by Brythonic-speaking servants, and who adopted Anglo-Saxon culture sometime after the Anglo-Saxon migrations began. Speaking of stories, here's another one from a very famous 14th century author, Chaucer. The Man of Law's Tale, in the second fragment of the Canterbury Tales, contains a very interesting passage. In all that land no Christian dared assemble, they had all fled from that country, because of pagans that had conquered all about the coast by land and sea. To Wales fled the Christianity of the Old Britons dwelling in this isle. This was their refuge at this time. Now, this passage is essentially just a retelling of the work of a Welsh monk named Gildas, or perhaps more likely the version retold by the English monk Bede. These men described what would become the popular imagination of what happened to the Britons when the Anglo-Saxons arrived. Namely, that almost all of them fled or perished, and that a few remained hiding in the forests or the mountains. Although, as I've said, the validity of this narrative has been questioned or downright rejected for well over a century. We aren't strictly interested in this passage, though, as the following portion is much more interesting. But yet the Christian Britons were not so completely exiled, they were some that in secret honoured Christ and deceived the heathens, and near the castle there dwelt three such Christians. This portion of the story is very strange, because it appears to partially reject the traditional narrative. Gildas claims all the Britons were gone except for a few living in the wild, and yet here we have a few living right next to the castle of the king. You may be thinking, though, that none of this matters at all. This isn't a historical document, it's a story. But just like with the last story that may have contained the lost memory of a Celtic king, some historians believe that there may be a hint of historical truth to this tale of Celtic Christians living next door to the king of Northumbria. You see, Chaucer got this story from someone else, a 14th century monk named Nicholas Trevet, and Nicholas claimed that he got it from the ancient chronicles of the Saxons. If we presume that he wasn't just making up a source, then this story, like the previous one, may have its roots in the early Anglo-Saxon era, and it might genuinely preserve the memory of Prothonic Christians continuing to live amongst not only the Anglo-Saxon society, but right within the presence of the king. So far, we've seen two potential occurrences of Britons in the early days of the Anglo-Saxon migrations, and one more robust occurrence in the Fens during the 8th century. But now it's time to move even closer to the present, all the way to the 11th century. A chronicler from the town of Slap, now known as St Ives, recorded in the year 1002 that the bones of the Cornish St Iver were discovered near the town, and that they were transported to the nearby monastery at Ramsey, where they soon began to produce miracles. One of these miracles is of interest to us, and is written down by the Ramsey monks around AD 1090. Once upon a time, when the savage and untamable Britons were ravaging far and wide in the province of Huntingdon, the country folk of Slap took their property to the church of St Iver for protection. Upon hearing of this, the Britons hastened to the church, broke down its doors, and began carrying off everything inside. One of the Britons coveted the two church bells hanging high above the ground, but as soon as he had climbed up to get them, he suddenly fell, and perished instantly. The rest of the Britons, upon seeing that this place was clearly sacred, brought everything back into the church, and fled. Nowadays, we'd call this gravity, but to the chronicler Ramsey, this was a clear punishment from God for the Britons, who, despite supposedly being Christian, attempted to rob a church. Two things here are of interest to us. Firstly, and obviously, we have a record of Britons roaming around the province of Huntingdon near the fens as late as 1090, about six to seven hundred years after the Anglo-Saxons first began to arrive. Secondly, there are apparently a significant amount of these Britons, as they're supposedly raiding far and wide across the province sometime prior to the writing of the documents in 1090, and after the bones of St Iver were discovered in 1002. One suggestion for when this may have occurred is during the rebellion of Heroward the Wake, who fought against the invading Normans around Ely in the 1060s and 70s, providing ample instability and the perfect environment for bands of Brythonic speakers to start marauding about the place. Another suggestion is that this happened during one of the various Viking raids and invasions that occurred in the early 11th century. King Adalrad supposedly signed a treaty with the Vikings sometime around 991 to 994 that stipulated that neither side could antagonise the thieves, foes or the Waelas found in each other's territory, demonstrating that Brythonic bandits, such as the ones who raided the Ramsey Monastery, were clearly becoming a problem around the fens by as late as the 10th and 11th centuries. These monks at Royston are invaluable for our purposes today, because they actually provide two stories relating to the presence of Britons in the 11th century. This time we find them in the forests and countryside around the village of Thurfield, once again near the fens. The monks at Ramsey owned some land here, and the story as to how they acquired it has some very interesting details. According to the Chronicle, sometime in the early 11th century, a local bishop set about acquiring some land, to make up for the fact that he damaged some of the church bells, and in Thurfield he would find his luck. The land here was owned by a Dane, installed as a local lord by the newly crowned Danish king Cnut, and he was extremely unpopular, so much so that he had to be guarded constantly while he slept. One night the Dane lay awake in his bed, and overheard four guards say the following. What's the good of this? How long are we going to put up with this tiresome job? How long are we going to keep nightly watch for this man, who deserves to be handed over to the Britons to be dealt with? We are wretchedly poor, he has piles of money, and bothers us to protect him. Let's get rid of him, the village won't be troubled with him anymore. The man upon hearing this fled all the way to London to see King Cnut, and here he found our bishop, and immediately sold him his estate for cheap, and returned to Denmark. What we can gather from this story firstly, is that buying a house was way easier back in the day. Secondly, is that those groups of Briton bandits appear to have been a problem during the reign of King Cnut II, who ruled from 1016 to 1035. These bandits could be the same groups that terrorised the monastery at Ramsey that we just heard about, but either way, these two chronicles tell us that groups of Brythonic speakers were roaming about the countryside and causing havoc as recently as the 11th century, nearly 600 years after Gildas had claimed they'd all been dispelled from England, and that they were apparently notorious enough to be a real solution for an angry village's problems. In our final occurrence of the Britons for today, we come to the county of Cambridgeshire. Here, a group of wealthy rural aristocrats known as the Guild of the Thames at Granterbridge met. These men had drawn up a series of agreements to assist and support one another, and one of these agreements involved the payment of a ware yield, or a compensation to the family of someone who had passed away, similar to the Welsh gallanas, and this agreement read as follows. If any of the guilds slay a man, he must compensate for his violence. If the slayed man be a twelfth hound, let each of the guild give half a mark for his aid. If the slain man be a churl, two auras. If he be a weolish, one aura. Or to simplify, a twelfth hound man was an aristocrat, a churl was a free peasant, and a weolish was almost certainly a Briton, who were also called weolas, weol, or wal by the English. And the life of one of these weolish was worth one quarter the life of an aristocrat. This clearly proves that Britons lived at least in Cambridgeshire by the 10th century, but also that their lives were worth quite a bit less than both the wealthy and the free peasants. But why? To explain this, we'll have to acknowledge the secret conclusion that I've been building to this entire video. A mob of swamp dwellers, a group of bandits, the cooks and staff of a royal kitchen, marauders that plagued the countryside for a century, and a group of people whose lives were worth less than a free peasant. Time and time again, these Brythonic speakers are found in low-class jobs. In some cases, the lowest possible class of jobs, living outside of the law entirely. Meanwhile, the wealthiest men are Anglo-Saxons, or Britons who've adopted Anglo-Saxon culture. Some historians in the past have judged this as evidence for some kind of apartheid structure in Britain, where a small group of Anglo-Saxons lived separate and enforcing lives over the native Britons, explaining how their culture, language, and DNA spread so significantly throughout England. However, archaeology reveals to us that this was not the case. As I've already mentioned, Brythonic women are found with less grave goods, but this is not the case with Brythonic men, suggesting that this wasn't necessarily a cultural difference. If these Britons were regarded and lived as separate, then we probably wouldn't expect to find them buried alongside Anglo-Saxons, and we definitely wouldn't expect them to be decorated in such a manner. Furthermore, it's been found that Anglo-Saxon DNA might not actually be all that widespread, with some calculations placing it as low as 20% of modern English DNA, meaning that we don't necessarily need an explanation for it being widespread. Anglo-Saxon culture and language certainly did become widespread though, but this can be explained too, through a theory known as the Prestige Model. High-prestige languages, those used by the wealthy and the ruling class, appear to generally have a huge impact on the language of the lower classes. The Latin of Rome changed Brythonic so much that Welsh today is filled with cognate words to languages found hundreds of miles away. The French of the Norman nobility, despite being so small, had such a huge influence on Old English that you can barely tell that these two languages are related, and it appears that Anglo-Saxon too had a large influence on Brythonic, not just through the borrowing of words, but through the wholesale adoption of the language of Old English. Historians such as N. Hyam and John Davis suggest that the Britons willingly took up the language of the new ruling class, the Anglo-Saxons, as they began to arrive on the shores of England. Roman civilization had been crumbling and collapsing on the island for a long time, and these new arrivals may have presented a much more stable and perhaps even a more just rule. We have records of Brythonic farms maintaining their exact same structure for hundreds of years. We have records of Brythonic kings present in England, from the potentially mythical Alci to the historically invaluable Coretic, alongside the potentially Celtic Mercians, whose king lists are filled with unusual Brythonic-sounding names. These rulers seem to have adopted Anglo-Saxon culture at some point, but this may not have been from the very start like we previously thought. As I've shown you, we have plenty of proof of the continued existence of the Brythonic language and its speakers, the Britons, right in the heart of England for over 600 years since the first Anglo-Saxons began to arrive. These Celts are always present in lower class or lower prestige jobs though, which, as I've shown you, is likely a direct effect of the higher class Britons, from the kings to the landowners to the merchants, learning and adopting the language of the ruling Saxons. Old English may well have had a large impact on the vocabulary of these regions, however, these dialects have now been lost to time, and modern Welsh, where the Anglo-Saxons never conquered, doesn't have all that many borrowed words from this Germanic language. In all, it appears that the last Celts in England led a low prestige life. The workers of the kitchens and the castles and especially the isolated bandits living in the swamps and the forests didn't have the means nor the motive to take up the language of the upper class, leading us finally back to the wheelish population of Cambridgeshire. These men are probably serfs, as are the way less mentioned in the laws of Wessex and Kent, meaning that they are indentured workers attached to a landlord, once again a very low prestige job. They're worth less than a free peasant and an aristocrat, which reflects the societal status, not as an inherent position because they're a Briton, but as a consequence of the higher prestige Britons going on to learn Old English. Meaning that they were probably no longer identified as Britons by the Anglo-Saxons, meaning that the only speakers of this Celtic language left were the low prestige. It's worth noting though that these men weren't valueless, they're worth a quarter the life of an aristocrat. That's less, but it's not nothing. There were still penalties of violence against these people. I've intentionally focused on the east of England today, as this is most likely where the Anglo-Saxons first started to arrive. It's the part of the country with the fewest Celtic place names and it's likely the part of the country that Brythonic disappeared from first. It's no secret that the Brythonic language survived much longer in the west, in Wales it's survived to the present day, and in Cornwall it survived into the 18th or 19th centuries until being revived today. As time moves forwards, historians are relying less and less on this traditional narrative of an Anglo-Saxon replacement that was once central to the core of English identity. Instead it's thought that these people simply arrived in such a huge number over the course of hundreds of years. One day soon we may see a proper examination of when and where the last Brythonic speakers might have lived in eastern England. Whether they're found as bandits in the swamps, labourers on a farm, or as workers in a castle, we know that their language continued to be spoken here for hundreds of years, and elsewhere for thousands, and that the people who spoke it continued to live here all the way up until the present day. Thank you very much for watching. If you'd like to learn more about these prestige models and the disappearance of Brythonic from England, I made an entire video on this missing Celtic language, which you can watch here.