Nottingham: Nordic Filching, Errant Crumpets and Bearded Men in Tights

It is a fact - well-hidden within the dust annals of academia - that Nottinghamshire was once commandeered by the Vikings in the early 10^th century.  The Norse settlers had already tired of the inhabitants of this strange island and were in fact fairly content to vacate England’s damp and sodden shores. This effectively left the coast clear for the invading French army marching up from Hastings with their funny nasally intonation and cheeses that smelt like a yak’s scrotal region.  However, they (the Vikings that is) were reluctant to surrender this particular area of the East Midlands as it had good turnip-yielding soil and provided ample mooring opportunities for their longboats on the banks of the Trent River.  Consequently, rather than battle it out, they decided that this great shire would accompany them back to Scandinavian shores where they could perhaps utilise it as a large recreational ground for the small children (known as pike-lets) or perhaps turn it into a designated elk-walking area.

        They decided to use the stumps of some old oaks trees that had been felled to make lutes and smoke herring and subsequently attached their ropes to any protruding knobbly bit they could find.  However, dragging Nottinghamshire against the tides and currents of the North Sea proved far too onerous for the oarsmen of the famous Viking ships.  Freakish storms, the constant battering of the waves and a deluge of ‘waste’ effluence (referred to as stinkards and dingle-berries in the Viking chronicles) rendered the whole undertaking completely untenable if not a tad noisome. They were eventually forced to come to terms with the hopelessness of the venture and consequently ordered their longboats to release their cargo. Nottinghamshire apparently sank in a swirling descent just off the shore of Denmark. The aftershock of this cataclysmic event raised see levels, caused rivers to burst their banks and the region’s toilets to flush in unison.

        Meanwhile, England, as a result of this Nordic filching, was left with a gapping chasm between Grantham and Derby. The locals had tried filling it with all sorts of gravel, old cart wheels, garden waste, and even the famous weavers of the Bayeux Tapestry were asked knit something that resembled the missing county. In the end, however, they decided to import copious amounts of rock and sediments from East Anglia (which is why it’s so flat) to rebuild the region we know today as modern Nottinghamshire. This also accounts for the deep fissure that runs between Leicestershire and Lincolnshire that is sneakily concealed beneath an oceanic expanse of traffic cones.

       However, years before the Viking occupation (and their bungled larceny), Nottingham was in fact part of the kingdom of Mercia. And this kingdom boasted a formidable Saxon chieftain named Snot, due to an extended proboscis that would drip revoltingly into the communal soup. He did however have many virtues, including being a formidable warrior, an enthusiastic horseman as well as being rather fond of sewing and home baking.  In fact, he was so well respected that they named their dwelling after him ‘Snottingham’ (the homestead of Snot’s people, some chickens and the odd goat) was established for posterity.

         Unfortunately the course of history never runs smoothly and predictably Snots’ leadership was challenged in 600 AD by a local chieftain named Boozle. There were two warring factions, the Proboscis Fraternity (those in favour of Snots) and the Neo-Proboscians (those opposed to Snots and in favour of Boozle).  It was claimed (by the Proboscians) that Boozle had misled his tribe in terms of his lineage and subsequent right to challenge the throne; in fact the etymology of the modern verb “to bamboozle” (v: to deceive or hoodwink) has his name at its root. Many years of disputes between the two chiefs and their supporters ensued. And as noses were seen as an indication of one’s God given right to command (a relic from the Roman occupation) each claimant was subjected to rigorous nasal examinations. This included measuring, tweaking, pinching and flaring in order to prove the usurper’s appendage was noble enough to warrant kingship.

       A contest was eventually organised.  This famously took place on the infamous Field of Cloth not far from modern day Derbyshire. The current Chief (Snots) and the young pretender (Boozle) met at the appointed hour with their seconds to thrash it out nose to nose.  There followed a gratuitous display of snorting, sniffling and trumpeting until a victor was eventually decided, resulting in the submission and fleeing of Boozle. The old order was maintained to the relief of the Snottinghams but to the chagrin of the radicals.  This dispute was to rage on for many years with pockets of resistance and discontent springing up all across the region, leading to the Hankie-Weavers’ riot of 852.

       However, if take this narrative back a few paragraphs and concern ourselves with the invading French once more, we can perhaps wax lyrical about the wonder that is Nottingham castle. The original structure was built by the Normans from old timbers left over from the great Viking pilfer of 1056, although replaced by a stone construction a few years later. It stands upon a large promontory known as ‘Castle Rock’ which effectively looks down upon anybody wishing to gain entrance. The original medieval castle, however, largely fell into disrepair during the 17^th century until the whole structure slid into the river after it was undermined by some industrious otters. The current castle that now greets the visitor is largely a Victorian construct after its predecessor bunt down after a mishap with some hot crumpets. But perhaps the most interesting yarn concerning the castle is that Richard Coeur de Lion, fresh back from the crusades, wrestled possession of the castle from Prince John who was hoping to stage the East-Midland tiddlywinks derby within its grounds.  The captured prince was subsequently flogged, pinched and marched through the city with his giblets on a pike.

        Nottingham is undeniably better known for its associations with Robin Hood, rather than Richard the Lionheart. And the cult of that surrounds this mischievous woodland squatter lurks deep within the nation’s sub-conscious and has come to embody a spirit of egalitarianism and fair play. He also provides a tenuous excuse for grown men with beards and feathery hats to don tights and gad about Nottingham’s woodland areas shouting “Verily!” “Forsooth!” and “Avaunt!” at the top of their lungs.

        Much of what we know about Robin Hood is actually lifted from popular ballads, mainly from the early 15^th century:

Robyn hode in Scherewode stod,
Hodud & hathud, hosut & schod.
Ffour and thuynti arrowus
he bar in hits hondus...

And although it is generally agreed that he occupied an area known as Sherwood Forest, his origins are often disputed. Many claim that the legend of Robin Hood may have actually originated in South Yorkshire and the early chronicles suggest that he and his Merry Men may have actually hailed from Clifton or Wakefield. However, irrespective of his origins, most of the records irrefutably cite his association with the aforementioned Sherwood Forrest. It was here that he established numerous encampments, no doubt after having cleared away several fridges and old sofas left by Ye Olde Fly-Tippers. The area today is still popular today with local historians, hikers, twitchers and rusty old bangers (or ‘doggers’ in modern parlance).

       The cult of Robin Hood tends to overshadow the numerous literary connections the city can, and often does, boast of.  Byron of course lived on the outskirts of the city at his beloved Newstead Abby which is set amidst glorious surrounds just off the M1. It was whilst residing at Newstead that Byron found fame with Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (c.1812) which attracted the attentions of numerous young women who enjoyed a tumble or two amidst green verdure of the Abby’s grounds. The most famous of these is of course was Lady Caroline Lamb who coined the famous epithet describing Byron as “mad, bad and dangerous to know.”  She also, allegedly, presented the poet with clippings from her pubic region (or Worksop as locals called it) contained within a locket. However, despite the inducement of Lady Caroline’s short-and-curlies, Byron, tired of England and the scandal-mongering, fled to warmer climes. His parting elegy to Newstead reflects his dismay at the attention his infamous goings on seemed to attract amid polite, Regency society:   

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regions lay:
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.

 Byron of course went to live in Greece, attracted no doubt by the proliferation of young boys and mountain goats, before dying of a fever and retuning to Nottingham marinated in brandy in 1824.     

       D H Lawrence is also a famous son of the city and resided at 8a Victoria Street in Eastwood, one of the city’s many suburbs. Many of his books depict the often tumultuous and passionate relationships of the city’s working and lower middle classes. His books include Sons & Lovers (1913) which explores the complex (almost sadistic) relationship between Paul Morel and his mother Gertrude and, most famously, Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928) which examines the illicit fumblings in the potting shed between Constance and the gardener Mellors. Lawrence, like Byron, left England disgruntled by the panning he received from his critics and his famous, farewell sonnet “Bugger off!” (1919) is considered by many to be a literary masterpiece. Lawrence of course went to live in Mexico where he died after chocking on a rogue fava bean hidden within the folds of his vendor-bought taco.

       Nottingham is a wonderful city whose literary heritage is often overshadowed by its gangland shootings and sheep trafficking to nearby Lincolnshire. The city is currently considering suing the King of Norway and other Scandinavian countries for the numerous subsidence problems it is currently experiencing. However, they have issued various appeals through the local media for the city’s residents not to boycott their local Iceland stores.