By Terry Kelly

HISTORIANS never write in a cultural or political vacuum.
They are affected by the times they inhabit and their take on history is therefore partial, or even prejudiced.

According to Ian Wood, Professor of Early Medieval History at the University of Leeds, the Venerable Bede (673-735 AD), the greatest scholar of the so-called Golden Age of Northumbria, was no different when it came to writing about the early days of the monastic community at Jarrow.

In his new 40-page study, called The Origins of Jarrow: the monastery, the slake and Ecgfrith’s minster (Bede’s World, Jarrow, 2008), Professor Wood suggests Bede played down the role of King Ecgfrith, in favour of Benedict Biscop, the man traditionally cited as the mastermind behind the monastery.

Professor Wood said: “Benedict Biscop’s name simply isn’t there on the dedication stone of the monastery at Jarrow.

“In fact, at the time of the dedication, on April 23, 685, Benedict Biscop was in Rome. I think Jarrow was founded by Ecgfrith, as part of the policy on the lower Tyne.

“Even Jarrow Slake was known as Ecgfrith’s Harbour.”

In the first of what is hoped to be several publications in the Bede’s World Series, Mr Wood reproduces the words on the dedication stone from St Paul’s Church, Jarrow: “The Dedication of the basilica of St Paul on the 9th day before the Kalends of May in the 15th year of King
Ecgfrith, and in the 4th of Abbot Ceolfrid, founder, by the guidance of God, of the same Church.”

But although the stone clearly states Ceolfrid as the founder of the monastery, Bede’s later book, History of the Abbots, appears to play down the role of King Ecgfrith, with Benedict Biscop, the founder of Wearmouth, dominating the narrative.

So was Bede, generally considered the greatest scholar of early medieval times, indulging in some New Labour-style spin doctoring?

Mr Wood writes: “The differences between the narrative accounts and the dedication stone itself have caused some raised eyebrows, but little more, and the most recent solution has been to suggest that part of the
inscription is missing.

“I have to say I find this proposition difficult to accept, and would rather reconsider the problem within the context of the early years of the monastery at Jarrow.”

Mr Wood guesses that King Ecgfrith may have actually been at the dedication ceremony at Jarrow, and there is a suggestion he even chose the spot where the altar should stand.

But less than a month after the dedication ceremony at Jarrow, King Ecgfrith was killed at the Battle of Nechtanesmere, near the River Tay, in Scotland.

After Ecgfrith’s death, his half-brother Aldfrith returned from exile in Ireland to take over the role of king, sparking a sea-change in the political climate. This perhaps created problems for the church community at Jarrow, considering its previous links with the slain king.

Mr Wood believes there are definite question marks about the monastery’s links with the old royal order, suggesting “Jarrow was suffering from its association with Ecgfrith immediately after the king’s death.

“This was, after all, a time when Aldfrith, the half-brother who Ecgfrith had so desperately opposed, was establishing himself as king.”

Royal politics may also have played a role in the thorny question of the early links – or lack of them – between the Jarrow monastery and its sister community at Wearmouth, Sunderland.

As the new book states, “both monasteries were founded on land given by Ecgfrith, and his successors may well have eyed the properties.

“What seems clear is that the monasteries continued to act as separate entities, even under Ceolfrid.”

Mr Wood suggests Jarrow and Wearmouth were not originally intended to be a joint site, and became caught up in squabbles over property rights and church politics, adding: “The end of Ecgfrith’s reign was a crisis period that must have impinged on Jarrow.”

The new book, which is illustrated with maps and a photograph of the dedication stone from 685 AD, also explores the early Viking raids at Jarrow, plus the early naming and siting of Jarrow as Donemutha, which is made more problematic by Bede rarely referring to the community on the banks of the River Don in his writings.

Mr Wood explains: “We need to remember quite how different the lower Tyne looked, before the dumping of vast amounts of ballast along its banks, and before the creation of docks in the 19th century – let alone the transformation of the remains of Jarrow Slake into a car park in the late 20th.

“Indeed, early maps show that before the creation of Tyne Dock, the Don entered the Tyne effectively at High Shields.

“It is to the east rather than to the west of Jarrow Slake that we should place D
onemutha.”

Because of gaps in historical documentation, Professor Wood admits that some of his ideas may be hypothesis.

But he maintains that it’s clear the foundation of the monastic community at Jarrow “took place during a period of political crisis”.

And it’s also clear that Bede’s writings only afford a partial picture of those unsettled times.

Mr Wood concludes: “Jarrow, I think, impinges more on Bede than we often realise. Jarrow had been a Royal estate.

“Political and family interests in the site did not go away once it had been alienated to the Church.

“They must serve as a background to Bede’s historical and hagiographical writing. Jarrow deserves attention, not just as Bede’s home for much of his working life, but also as an important centre in the Northumbrian kingdom.”

The new book is available now from Bede’s World, in Church Bank, Jarrow, priced £6.