In this second part of my walk along the Lich Way I continue with my exploration of this medieval corpse route from Bellever to Lydford. This is the approximate path that parishioners of the ancient tenements in the heart of Dartmoor had to take to attend their parish church at Lydford, twelve miles away, or more. The route traversed difficult and remote moorland terrain. Attending church, for them, was quite an undertaking.
In the first blog I examined the evidence and reasons for the existence of the Lich Way. I then used the route to start to discuss how an increasingly powerful and institutionalised church would have exerted more and more control on the lives of people with regards practices around death. By the demise of the Lich Way in 1260 AD, when Bishop Bronescombe gave the parishioners leave to worship at nearby Widecombe, priests would have been dominant players in officiating death. Most pagan practices had by then been replaced by Christian ones. However, some magical ‘ways’ remained, and on inspection, many of the religious ones were in fact Christianised hybrids of a deep-rooted pagan past.
I use this second blog along my journey to look in more detail at some of the spirit beliefs of the middle ages around dying and the dead. It is interesting to ponder how our forebears along this track, the best part of a millennia ago, might have felt about death and ghosts, and what actions their beliefs might have engendered. Vexing questions of coffins are also contemplated – Were bodies placed in a coffin? Did they get ‘boxed’ at Coffin Wood? How did this effect transport and funerary route furniture? Before we get to all these deadly interesting things, I start with a bit of background on Lydford. My intention is to express how very different the town would have felt as a destination for ancient travellers, not at all like it does for those of us walking there today.
Following Hemery, E. (1986). The Lych Way. Walking Dartmoor’s Ancient Tracks: A Guide to 28 Routes. Robert Hale: London.
This is the second in a trilogy of blogs about the Lich Way. In actuality, rather than precisely following Hemery’s route I am instead following the path marked on the OS Explorer map. This is very similar to Hemery, but with a few differences. I talk a little bit about routing in these blogs but, I recommend looking at Hemery (1986) and Fleming (2011) if you are interested in specifics, and comments about bad weather diversions.
The Lich Way: Part 1 – Bellever to Lydford Tor
The Lich Way: Part 3 – Coffin Wood to Lydford
Background
In the Big Smoke – Lydford as a Place of Power
It’s an oddity of Lydford; that discrepancy between its placid and peripheral present, and its powerful and pivotal past. I have been trying to imagine what it would have felt like for mourners heading to Lydford at a time when it was a much more consequential place compared to now. For the late Saxon people of the ancient tenements, their parish church wasn’t any old church, but was the church of one of the most important towns in Devon. Their experience of going to Lydford would have been quite different to today. Lydford was a designed burgh, with a street plan laid out and with town embankments. Little is known of any Saxon church here but it must have had one; possibly a minster. The town was a major seat of power and even had its own mint. To arrive in Lydford was certainly to arrive in a bustling and important place.
Lydford’s fortunes faded, possibly as a result trying to resist the overwhelming Norman invasion (Weeks, 2004) and possibly because the nearby settlements at Okehampton and Tavistock were growing and gaining their own economy and status. In Domesday, Lydford was described as having 40 houses ‘in waste’ (Saunders et al, 1980) and so there would have been a time in the 11th C when travellers to the town would be aware of visiting a damaged or degenerating place, rather than purely a high-status place. Things changed in the late 12th C. The political elite re-invested in the town with the castle we see today, built at this time. This was a prison with a focus for administration, including stannary law (Saunders, 1980). Various courts were held here with different regularity depending on the type of court. These various functions would have generated traffic along this path from the heart of the moor beyond that of just religiously motivated journeys. Secular and religious business meant the ‘Lich Way’ would have been far more than just a corpse road.
The journey to Lydford from the ancient tenements was a long one, even if not carrying burial body or baptismal baby. Getting there and home in one day would have been a challenge. I can only presume it was usual to stay over in the town, particularly in winter when short days would have prohibited the immediate return leg. I wonder what the mechanics and economics of this were? Where would people stay? A funeral party may require accommodation for a number of mourners so how were multiple people accommodated? How many Saxon Inns were there in the town to accomodate travellers? Did people sleep in the church (which in medieval society acted more like a village hall) or did they stay in church house? Wouldn’t this have all got quite costly for poor peasants? What happened if things were busy? It is hardly like these medieval travellers could phone ahead or book online. The logistics and economy of how this Lich Way operated, I can only imagine, were quite complex.
And so, with a mental picture of Lydford focused a bit more on how it was, rather than how it is, let’s crack on with the interesting things …
7 Interesting Things
Leaving Lydford Tor I am conscious that the next few miles are the most remote. They mark the middle of the walk. The path here is divided by a newtake wall that feels old to me but post-dates the Lich Way by over five hundred years. The well-trodden ground at the 'hunting gate' through the wall above Broad Hole is compacted and ponds the water. Stones placed in the gate space for walkers to step on, to aid passage through the watery mud, allow me to teeter and pirouette in a dance with the gate latch. The track briefly turns north to hug the valley side down to the crossing known as Traveller's Ford. Here I negotiate the third river since Bellever - the Cherry Brook, the West Dart, and now the Cowsic. I anticipate, before the Way finally crests over this approaching section, the views opening out to the verdant down-country of West Devon. However, here in the valley bottom, the path feels confined and lonesome and bleak.
1: Contemporary Spirit Encounters
‘This stretch of the way is associated in my mind with a remarkable person I once guided here. In 1953 a man of unusual character and antecendents came to me for two days’ guided walking on the moor: a German royal prince , Frederick of Saxe-Altenberg, to whose great-grandfather Beethoven had dedicated a masterpiece. He was a person of great intellect, in whom dignity and humility were admirably met. The prince had never before visited the West Country and was without any knowledge of Dartmoor’s history, and the choice of the Lych Way for our first excursion was mine. As we walked from Beardown Farm up the Cowsic valley, I resolved to keep my dramatic flourish about the Way until the moment of reaching Traveller’s Ford. But my companion effectually took the wind out of my sails. We had passed through the gateway above Broad Hole and were walking down the sunken way to the ford when, speaking with a quiet conviction I could not forget, he said: “This is an extraordinary place; I feel much sadness, much unhappiness, as though long lines of people have walked here with some burden of sorrow.” Somewhat astonished I told him of the medieval use of the Lych Way, and that it had ceased seven hundred years ago, whereupon he fell silent and walked for some way without uttering a word.’
Hemery, 1983, p399
The path away from the Traveller's Ford out of Broad Hole is soggy. Every step a squelch, even though I am walking this way in high summer. My boots are waterproof, but I still carefully pick my pedestrian way carefully, my feet hunting for the dryness of tussocks. I cannot see any evidence of a sunken way on this slope, but Hemery describes one becoming clearly defined as an S-bend at the head of Conies Down Water, where it swerves to avoid the 'source-mire'. I look out for the stone row to my right; the Lich Way clipping its southern end. The stone row is barely discernible now, but if one removes nearly 1000 years of peat growth since medieval travellers came this way, it would have stood more proudly than today; another useful landscape marker in an environment in which such way points are scarce and vital.
2: Helping the Dead; Hindering the Dead
The people who trod this way to church inhabited a world they shared with spirits. Belief in ghosts was ubiquitous and this belief becomes particularly intertwined with routes such as the Lich Way, where loss, sorrow, and memory stalk the path. Devereux (2010) , who has studied folk myths about death and necromancy, has found consistent themes in folklore that wraiths were thought to travel along such spook routes.
There are contradictory opinions about the linearity of church ways. According to Devereux (2003) corpse routes across Europe vary between being very straight, and not particularly straight at all. He notes examples of folklore that favoured unswerving paths, seemingly because they assisted in the passage of spirits, who liked to fly in straight lines (Devereux, 2003). Bends, crossroads, and stiles were all considered to hinder the gliding of ghosts. People were keen not to obstruct spirits and so its perhaps for this reason why stories indicate the uttering of prayers and hymns at these locations, as this is where, it seems, the spirits got snagged, trapped and confused in their flight paths. In fact, folklore suggests that people went as far as clearing paths they associated with ghosts, such as church ways, by setting up webs of thread to catch the spirits, and sweeping paths with brooms to literally brush away the phantasms. However, I have also seen written that corpse roads purposefully had bends in them to hinder spirits, stopping them from flying home to pester the living.
The Dartmoor Lich Way, as plotted on the map, is fairly straight but with kinks. Some of these convolutions appear to be recent requirements necessitated by modern rights of way rather than anciently designed twists and turns to frustrate ghosts. In fair weather the route taken would have been the most direct one and so, one would imagine, it would tend to straightness, deviating where necessary within the limits of river crossings, hills and valleys. Nobody really knows what precise route the Lich Way took so any interpretations about helping and hindering spirits by how straight or cornered the path was is mere conjecture.
In taking a corpse for burial, there was a widespread belief that this should be done with feet first – pointing away from home – to prevent the revenant making its way back from whence it came (Devereux, 2003). Another way of helping prevent the departed returning was to carry them over open running water, which apparently spooks did not like to cross. There are certainly many places on the Lich Way for spooks to be scuppered by streams; I count eight. Perhaps this is why Hemery’s German prince was able to see the solemn spirits on the road at Traveller’s Ford, snared as they were by the open water of the Cowsic; destined to eternally walk to, but no further than this desolate crossing?
Finally, it would seem from folklore, that sticking carefully to the course of the corpse path was imperative for mourners. If the route was diverted from, then it was the belief that the soul of the dead might return to haunt family or neighbours, or be doomed to drift indefinite through the landscape. Given how many times the distinct ‘Way’ described by Hemery disappeared, or indeed, never showed itself to me on my own walk, I reckon I would be in big trouble for my carelessness in guiding the dead on this Lich Way to their final place of rest.
‘the fear of becoming a wandering, pestilent corpse and being re-buried in profane burial ground was co-opted by authority in order to manage those who did not follow accepted religious or secular teachings.’
Gordon 2013
Another valley; another river. This time the Walkham at Sandy Ford. Here I also cross the prison leat, assisted by a tiny bridge, an additional water course which the funeral parties would not need to negotiate. The landscape here is pocked by tinning that may be as old as Medieval in date; a reminder that the church path plodders would not necessarily have been walking through a barren waste, devoid of all other human company, but one populated in people about their work.
3: Sharing the Path
Here at Sandy Ford there are tinning activities documented from the 1790s (Hemery, 1983), but thought to include workings from much earlier (HERa). This is a reminder that when the Lich Way was actively used as a church route, there was probably a good smattering of tinners dotted along its course. With tin related business, plus other reasons to visit the town (the market and trade, legal and at administrative reasons, family and social connections), tenement dwellers and tinners working along the route would, on occasion, have need to go to the consequential town of Lydford.
Dartmoor today is still grazed by stock, but in the past, men and women would accompany animals and keep a watchful eye on them. The ‘maids’ who tended the cows would milk them and make butter and cheese on the hill slopes (Fox, 2012) In fact, the Lich way passes close to Maiden Hill, and not too far from Smeardon Down above Peter Tavy; smeoru meaning butter – butter making being one of the activities of the maids who watched the cows. Swathes of Dartmoor were also mown in the summer and the hay taken to moor-side farms for winter feed (Fox, 2012). Heather was also gathered for feed and litter. In this ancient agricultural community of stockmen, herders, milk maids and agricultural labourers we can see that, for mourners, their journey may not have been quite so lonesome and isolated as we might imagine.
Although it might have been busier, what what was the perspective of those journeying or working along the Lich route, for purposes other than burial; what impact did its deathly purpose and the sight of corpses being carried on pack horses have on the mind? Did it cause fear? Did it generate ghost stories? Was it only those in a funeral party that deployed rituals to ward off the spirits they believed clung in the air or did all travellers this way say a little prayer or charm? Did everyone shudder a little in the fog, and not just because it was cold?
For the first time since leaving the enclosed lanes of Bellever I can see a discernible holloway and I hope that this is the Lich Way. This section of path shares a line with an ancient route connecting Peter Tavy to Peter Tavy Great Common. Footfall to Peter Tavy and the traffic from tinners and peat workers probably has a lot more to do with the clarity of the path over Cocks Hill than any Lydford bound corpse carriers. On Cocks Hill the views I had been anticipating open up and I can begin to hone in on my destination. It feels like the tipping point of the route, the halfway house between leaving and arriving. This feels like a good place to stop. I sit on White Barrow (Whitaburrow to Hemery), eat my dark chocolate, and finish my coffee.
4: Sitting Out
‘Seers’ of the dead make frequent appearances in chronicles from the past. As we will see later in this blog, necromantic diviners sometimes sat and looked for the dead from a watch post at the church, or at points along corpse roads. There is a still earlier tradition, found in Norse mythologies, which speaks of seers ‘sitting out’ at burial mounds and barrows. Although little is known of how they practiced their art, seers of the pre-Christian world are very likely to have used burial sites in their divination rituals.
The Lich Way over Cocks Hill passes right beside White Barrow. One of the limited way-markers for mourners passing this place, the barrow may have acted as a focus for prayer. Fleming (2011) proposes that just to the NW of the mound is a feature that may be the vestige of a cross location, serving this very purpose. In a pre-Christian land, and before there was a ‘Lich Way’, White Barrow may have been visited by seers whose purpose was to glimpse into the liminal space betwixt life and death, and to divine meaning from the spirits of the dead, just as medieval seers may have done from the church. Pagan practices were hard to shake off and so it might be that, even within the lifetime of the Lich Way, this Neolithic or Bronze Age burial barrow may have continued to act as a focus for spiritual customs, be these Christian, pagan, or hybrid.
In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien created creatures which he called ‘Barrow-wights’. These were dreadful, undead creatures, who inhabit tombs and mounds. He based the fabricated Barrow-wight name on Norse mythology of grave spirits called vǣttr (Larrington, 2015). This is etymologically cognate with wiht in Old and Middle English, andWicht in Old German. The word wiht itself means: a human being; a supernatural being, as a witch or sprite; or any living being or creature (wordreference.com). The strong supernatural resonances are clear. Whilst Tolkien may have made up the word ‘Barrow-wights’, he probably did so because of an observation of the many ‘White Barrow’ places in the landscape, not all of which are white in colour. On our Lich Way, White Barrow may possibly connect to our theme of the dead, not just as an ancient burial place of Neolithic or Bronze Age people, but also through the middle ages, as an uncanny place of the dead, revered and feared by Saxons. Its very name may be an historical way-marker to beliefs about death and the dead that still throws shadows into our post-modern world.
Shortly beyond White Barrow I look for a branch right in the path, off the Peter Tavy path, to keep on my north westerly line to Lydford. Hemery describes a well-defined grass path leading to a ford at the top of Youldon Brook. Once again I miss this on the ground because I am following the mapped Lich Way line; a line that once again is proving not to be entirely accurate. I tread my way across the moist ground, through tussocks of stout reeds and rustling purple moor grass. I head for the edge of the newtake wall - a boundary not here until around the 19th C, long after the Lich Way. I am funnelled down to Roundwood Gate at Bagga Tor, where now control is exercised, not by moormen for herds of cows, but military personnel for squads of soldiers.
5: Theatre of Closure
The death of loved ones entails, not just a transition from the world of the living to the world of the dead in terms of bodily interment, but also a transition in the minds of mourners as part of the process of grief. These mortuary processes, from the washing and shrouding of the body, to interment, are ‘mechanisms by which memories and identities are constructed’, and this is as true for the past as it is in the present (Williams 2011 cited in Harrington et al, 2020). The performance of funerary rites – sometimes elaborate, sometimes simple, often prescribed – is termed by Harrington et al (2020) as ‘theatres of closure’. This theatre is one in which, to understand it we need to be aware of the sequence of choices operating within a socially and culturally mediated conceptual framework. Little of this practice, let alone the nuance, is recorded. It can only be glimpsed at, but as these authors say, funerals would have expressed identity ‘as political and symbolic acts through which wealth, cultural position, gender, ideology and affiliation can be manipulated‘, with the staging of funerary ritual guiding group memories and stimulating collective mythologies’.
For the wealthy, and hence for those which fragments of historical records and artifacts exist, funerals and funeral processions were ‘dramaturgical performances involving time, labour, and the staged display‘ of the consignment of the body (Semple and Williams, 2015). For ordinary folk, such as those inhabiting the ancient tenements of Dartmoor, the resources of pomp could not be afforded, but it is likely that across all levels of society there would have been an element of performance in the procession of the dead – perhaps the saying or singining of particular words, great keening, or the decorative use of particular plants. Fundamentally, quite similar to today!
Now the physiognomy of the path morphs. The Lich Way passes from moor to downland, through the portal of Brousentor Gate. For the first time since leaving Bellever I am enclosed on both sides by ancient walls, most likely contemporaneous with the trackway; walls the medieval mourners would have processed by. Now I am enfolded in foliage and shade as I descend. Passing Brousentor Farm I peel left from the farm road on a track through fields, touring the contours of Baggator Brook. Granite boulders abound. Some are arranged into walls, some seem natural strewn. All snuggle in their counterpane of moss. The sun fills a glade of grass and bracken that allows a view of the oak trunks of Coffin Wood
6: Shrouds and Coffins
Whilst pagans buried their dead in the regalia of life, Christians preferred a shroud as their ‘corpse costume’ of choice. Mui (2015), writing about shrouds, shows how medieval manuscripts illustrate bodies, clad in shrouds, sometimes with faces revealed, other times with faces covered. Shrouding, it is discussed, might be seen in Christian terms as a way of depersonalizing the body in an act of humility to God.
The bodies taken to Lydford would have been shrouded, but would they have been in a coffin? The fact that the Lich Way passes through Coffin Wood has been interpreted as part of the evidence for the exitance of the route through this place. There are also apocryphal accounts that bodies were placed into coffins at Coffin Wood for the final part of their journey to Lydford (e.g. Devereux, 2003). This is a great narrative but is it true?
Wooden coffin burials were not very common in the middle ages. They became more common as the centuries ticked on, but before 1260 AD (an historical marker in the life of the ‘Way’), coffins were not extensively used. The very rich would have been buried in a lead or stone sarcophagus. Wicker basket-like coffins would have been more likely than a wooden box coffin, if used at all. Some of moderate means may interred in a stone lined hole in the ground (Hadley and Buckberry, 2005). Even then, from what I can gather, poor peasants would not be able to afford a coffin of any form and would almost certainly have been buried in just a shroud in a hole in the ground. However, being buried in a coffin is not the same as being transported in a coffin. From what I can glean, at least for those of higher status, they may have been transported in a coffin and then removed from the casket for burial (Gordon, 2013). How much this practice of transpotation in a coffin applied to peasants is obscure as it is likley that the records kept in medieval manuscripts relate to those of higher status – nobility, clergy and members of guilds.
If the use of coffins for peasant burials this long ago is doubtful, why might the wood bear the name Coffin? It seems to be too big a coincidence not to have a connection? The name may well derive from the surname Coffin, which was locally found. Fleming (2011) points out that various fields on the tithe map in this vicinity bear this name and ‘Coffin’ is a surname found locally. For example, Constantina Coffin was one of the benefactors paying for the south aisle of Tavistock church in 1445. The word coffin itself means basket – originally latin cophinus and then into Old French ‘cofin’ and Old English ‘coffer’. The waterlogged valley bottom of the Tavy at this location would have been a good environment for Willow to grow and so it might have been that in the middle ages, this place was known for its basket making. With people taking surnames that related to their profession, it is a possibility that the Coffins of this area might themselves have been descended from basket makers . The name, I think, does not necessarily preclude a link to a burial-related heritage, because basket coffins could have been made here , but it is certainly a more nuanced story than the modern marketing of Coffin Wood along this route would have us think.
To add a finale fly in the ointment, the Historic Environment Record (HER, undatedb) says that Coffin Wood is named because it was from here that timber was used to make coffins for prisoners of war at Dartmoor Prison. It is unclear the basis for this assertion as the source document cited in this listing is obscure, but the fact that prisoners of war would not be afforded the expense and dignity of a coffin at their burial, the distance of the wood from the prison, and the proximity of other woods better connected by tracks to Princetown, make this final twist in the story of the name unlikley.
I look at the Catalloo Steps across the river and decide against crossing here. Despite the river being at low flow, the middle stones are under water and those that do stand proud do not possess what I would consider the essential attributes of a stepping stone; a flat top for secure footing. There is no way I will be able to trip across these, unaided as I am by walking sticks to balance me. I stay on the east bank and instead head up stream to the alternative crossing point, and more importantly, the bridge, at Standon Steps.
7: Funerary Route Furniture
I have noticed in conversation that some people who are aware of the Lich Way seem to think that it possesses a ‘Coffin Stone’, possibly at Coffin Wood. A coffin stone is a flat stone used to place down the coffin so the bearers could take a rest. There is a Coffin Stone on Dartmoor but it is not to be found along the Lich Way, but on Dartmeet Hill on the way to Widecombe. Many corpse roads are thought to be furnished with rest stones but there are no known coffin stones along the Lich Way. With beasts of burden almost certainly used to transport any corpses, and given that coffins were unlikley to have been used on this corpse path, at least over the high moor section, there would not have been a need for any.
That isn’t to say that the funeral party wouldn’t have wanted to stop and take a rest though. Where they stopped to to eat and drink, and allow the pack animal to refuel, would likely have been at traditional spots. Some of these places may have been furnished with crosses, which both marked and protected the way. As we have already observed, at natural stopping points such as rivers and barrows, hymns may have been sung and prayers said. River crossings and junctions were the types of places where spirits were thought to gather, and so there would have been good cause to offer prayers and hymns here. Whilst there are numerous crosses over the moor associated with other routes, there are none along the Lich Way. I wonder why? Perhaps the great era of stone cross marking had not got going before the Lich Way was abandoned as a church route in 1260 AD . Where crosses are seen today, these seem to mark ‘status routes’ between wealthy monasteries. Perhaps the Lich Way was once furnished with more ephemeral and cheaper wooden crosses which perished long ago. As we saw, Fleming (2011) suggests that White Barrow may have been accompanied by a cross. I wonder what other locations along the route may have been marked with a cross?
Conclusion
In this second blog of my trilogy about the Lich Way I have traversed the wildest and most remote part of the route and descended off the high moor to Tavy country. In doing so I have contemplated how medieval people may have felt they were, not just walking with a corpse, but travelling surrounded by spirits, in order to try and get glimmers of medieval minds. In the final part of the trilogy I will be looking at the different route options that may have been taken in bad weather, and at how the original fair weather route likely varies from the one shown on the modern map. Finally, I will be turning my attention to the destination – to the cemetery and the act if burial.
References
Archiuk. Old Maps. https://www.archiuk.com/archi/archi_maps.htm
Devereux, P. (2003). Fairy Paths & Spirit Roads: Exploring Otherworldly Routes in the Old and New Worlds, Chrysalis Book Group: London.
Devon County Council Environment Viewer. https://maptest.devon.gov.uk/portaldvl/apps/webappviewer/
Fleming, A. (2011). The Lich Way: A Path for all Seasons. Transactions of the Devonshire Association. 143, pp91-103.
Fox, H. (2012). Dartmoor’s Alluring Uplands: Transhumance and Pastoral Management in the Middle Ages, University of Exeter Press: Exeter.
Gordon, S. (2013). ‘The Walking Dead in Medieval England: Literary and Archaeological Perspectives’. University of Mancheter Thesis.
Hadley, D.M. and Buckberry, J. (2005). Caring for the dead in late Anglo-Saxon England. In Tinti, F. Ed., Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Vol 6), pp.121-147. Boydell Press.
Harrington, S., Brookes, S., Semple, S. and Millard, A. (2020). Theatres of Closure: Process and Performance in Inhumation Burial Rites in Early Medieval Britain. Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 30 (3), pp.389-412.
Hemery, E. (1983). High Dartmoor. Robert Hale: London.
Hemery, E. (1986). Walking Dartmoor’s Ancient Tracks: A Guide to 28 Routes. Robert Hale: London.
Historic Environment Record (undated)a. Streamworks flanking the River Walkham. MDV65995. https://www.heritagegateway.org.uk/Gateway/Results_Single.aspx?uid=MDV65995&resourceID=104
Historic Environment Record (undated)b. Coffins Wood, Peter Tavy. MDV40642. https://www.heritagegateway.org.uk/Gateway/Results_Single.aspx?uid=MDV40642&resourceID=104
Larrington, C. (2015). The Land of the Green Man: A journey through the supernatural landscapes of the British Isles. Bloomsbury: London.
Mui, S. (2015). Life After Death: shrouded burials in later Anglo Saxon England. Archaeological Review from Cambridge. 30(1), pp150-156.
Saunders, A.D., Miles, T.J., Goodall, A.A.I.H., Dunning, G.C., Geddes, J. and Harcourt, R. (1980). Lydford Castle, Devon. Medieval Archaeology, 24 (1), pp.123-186.
Semple, S. and Williams, H. (2015). Landmarks of the Dead: Exploring Anglo-Saxon Mortuary Geographies. In Clegg Hyer, M. and Owen-Crocker, G.R. The Material Culture of the Built Environment on the Anglo Saxon World. Liverpool University Press: Liverpool.
Weeks, B. (2004). The Book of Lydford: An Ancient Saxon Borough. Halsgrove: Tiverton.
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