Early Medieval Dorset #2: What the hell is the Cerne Abbas Giant?

 

Photo credit: Ben Birchall/PA

I had the rare opportunity to visit the famous Giant of Cerne Abbas, Dorset earlier this week, it was a little smaller than I'd hoped but it got myself thinking about what exactly the Giant is supposed to represent. You can only really see it properly from the opposite hill or by helicopter, and to the passing walker it's nothing more than a series of lines etched into the soil. Personally, I find it hard to believe that it was intended to terrify or drive the fear of god(s) into local villagers, and the fact that Cerne Abbas is far away from any past political boundary, save perhaps the Iron Age boundary between core Durotrigan territory and looser Dobunnic/Atrebatic territory.

So what, then, was the Giant for? Recent archaeological analysis by Mike Papworth and Mike Allan, on behalf of the National Trust, has challenged the old assumptions about the Giant. It was thought that it was either a relic of the Bronze or Iron ages, emblazoning the local war-deity or warrior chieftain onto the landscape, or a caricature of Oliver Cromwell, who had sought to wrestle supreme political power away from its religious connotations - if the lord protector did not need a divine right to rule, perhaps his sovereignty rested on the blessings of giants and fairies instead. However, using samples taken from successive layers of chalk, the two archaeologists arrived at a date of between 700 and 1000 C.E. during the late Anglo-Saxon period. This was confirmed by the presence of two snail species known to have migrated to the U.K. around this time, in the earliest chalk layer.

If neither Celtic symbol nor royalist caricature, the reason for the Giant's etching is hard to determine. The Cerne Abbey was founded in 987 C.E., in dedication to the 9th-century Hermit Eadwold, who was apparently the long-lost brother of King Edmund of East Anglia, killed by the Great Viking Army. Those building the abbey would certainly have been aware of the Giant in their day-to-day lives, as it is clearly visible from the site; there is no evidence that it was destroyed or purposely meddled with at any point, so there must not have been a great objection to it..

One possible explanation is that the Giant represents a late flourishing of Anglo-Saxon paganism, borne out of necessity; as Viking armies and Mercian kings marched across the region, the local folk, dimly remembering the nature of the old gods and their power in battle, drew the Giant to ward off those who sought to rape and pillage. The names Grim's Dyke, Woden's Burh and the Wansdyke, all in the south-west, might have arisen out of similar desires; preserving the memory of the pre-Christian religion to erect spiritual barriers between one region and another.

It might have indeed been a caricature, but not of Cromwell, but of the Viking warlords, reducing their aura of terror and invincibility to a crude impression on the hillside. The monks of the abbey may have had a hand in its creation, mocking the Scandinavian warrior gods as blundering giants, ignorant of the universal power of the Lord. Alternatively, given the phallus that has given the giant fame was in all probably a much later addition, as late as the Victorian period, and that the trace of a lion's pelt or loincloth was once held by the Giant's right hand, it may have been a Christian symbol, referring to one of the apostles, the story of David and Goliath, or the story of Daniel in the lion's den.

Mike Papworth, who excavated at the site and has written in detail about the archaeology of Dorset, such as in his 2009 publication The Search for the Durotriges, has suggested that soon after its first creation, it was neglected for several centuries, before being rediscovered and rechalked, perhaps during the Norman period or later. This would explain why the records of Cerne Abbey, or the writings of visiting ecclesiasts such as Aelfric of Eynsham, do not mention the giant, with it being grown over with grass. While this might rule out a direct association with the abbey, it does not rule out the giant being evidence for a localised syncretism, borne out of necessity or otherwise; the flickering memory of the beliefs, that were once taken for granted, given new life as a means of protection. God may have been the heart and soul of the Anglo-Saxons, but the old gods and the old symbols were still there, just in case they were needed.