Journals of a Time Traveller

Whilst rebuilding the Thetford Forest Archaeological Survey website, it occurred to me that when examining the late prehistoric Brecks NCA (National Character Area), it is important that we do not divide the district from the nearby Fen-edge. In the sandy, drought-prone soils of the Brecks, water has always been important. Historical parish boundaries in Breckland often stretch out to water supplies, enabling shepherds and herders to reach vital watering spots for livestock. This importance was perhaps equally important during late prehistory. Any forms of settlement most likely concentrated on the river valleys, and along the fen-edge of the Brecks. Just as they still do today.

The rivers of the Brecks flow westwards to discharge into the waterways of the Fen wetlands. The edge of the Fens, was likely attractive to human occupation, then and now. This is supported by the archaeological record.

I have produced this map, highlighting wetlands, rivers, meres, and pingos, known to have existed during Late Prehistory. The red star represents the Grimes Graves Late Neolithic flint-mine site. Here I am showing the rivers and waterways of that period as an extension of the yellow highlighted fen-edge. This is nothing new, but I want to reinforce, that to understand the late prehistory of the Brecks from the Mesolithic through to the Iron-Age, it important not to divide it from the wetlands of the Fens.

The Post-Glacial Landscape of the Fens (c. 10,000 – 6,000 years ago) Early to Mid Mesolithic.

At the end of the last Ice Age, the area wasn't a wetland but a dry, forested valley. The Fens were a very different, dry environment for the visiting hunter-foragers of the Earlier Mesolithic. The rivers we now recognise as the Great Ouse, Nene, and Welland were inland tributaries flowing towards a coastline much further north. As the climate warmed, and sea levels rose, Britain separated from continental Europe. By approximately 7,800 years ago, a major marine transgression began to absorb the dry, forested valleys into a coastal body of water.

The Rise of the Wetlands (c. 6,000 – 2,000 years ago) Early Neolithic to Late Iron-Age

As the sea pushed inland, it created a complex, fluctuating environment: 

The "Black Fens". Inland, away from direct marine influence, impeded drainage caused rivers to flood, creating vast, stagnant freshwater bogs. Here, thick layers of peat accumulated, trapping ancient forests that had once thrived on the valley floor. These are the "bog oaks" often discovered today—remnants of the forests drowned as the water table rose.

The "Silt Fens".  Closer to the Wash, marine and estuarine clays and silts were deposited during successive tidal advances and retreats.

Human Adaptation. Early prehistoric societies lived on the "islands" of higher Jurassic clay (like Ely) and along the fen edges. By the Bronze Age (notably sites like Flag Fen and Must Farm), communities had mastered the landscape, building sophisticated wooden track-ways and platforms to traverse the marshy, water-logged terrain.

One of the most distinct features of the Fenland are the roddons. These are raised, winding banks of silt and sand that stand 2–3 metres above the surrounding peat. They represent the fossilised beds of ancient tidal creeks. As the surrounding peat shrank due to subsequent drainage and oxidation, these silt-filled channels were left standing as positive topographical features, tracing the paths where water once flowed through the marsh.

Benefits of this landscape (Brecks combined with Fen-edge and rivers)

The Breckland Plateau offered light soil that could easily be broken for agriculture. It has been suggested that the sandy soils of Early Neolithic Breckland, would have supported a more open wildwood, a natural woodland pasture for livestock.

It also offered access to incredibly high quality raw material of flint. Not only the hard to obtain floorstone flint. But spread all over the surface of its sandy soils.

The river valleys of the Brecks in turn, offered transport corridors. The prehistoric highways of the British wildwood. Their riparian margins and lower terraces would have offered seasonal alluvial pasture. The westward flowing river valleys of the Brecks, discharged into the ever-changing waterways of the Fens - and onwards to the South and the West. Or northwards to the North Sea and coastal resources.

The Fen-edge offered high-protein hunting and fishing (including eel trapping). And it gave access to building materials of reed and sedge. The edges would have offered rich, seasonal grazing of livestock.

The sands of the Brecks, and the peat of the Fens together, provided an attractive nexus, for trade, and social life. We are aware that on the Fen-Edge itself (and at mere sites in the Brecks), that the open waters and marshes had a ritual, and belief-system value. A meeting of two worlds as epitomised by the Middle Bronze Age Flag Fen site. With such a rich mixture of local resources.

The Thetford Forest Archaeological Project revealed that flint knapping debris, waste cores, and hammer-stones often increase  with frequency on the terraces closest to the rivers.

Above. A fist full of flint flakes in Thetford Forest, Breckland. Picked up on a forest path.

Thetford Forest Archaeology Portal & Local History Hub  - Live website.

I’ve lived through plenty of chapters—more than I suspect most people do. In one, I was a licensed radio amateur (G0AGP), keying in Morse code, studying trans-equatorial propagation and the 11-year solar cycle on the 10-metre band. When I had to move on from that world, I needed new learning curves; I needed to seek the patterns beneath the surface.

Or, as it turned out, on the surface of disturbed soils. I found myself drawn to recognising and searching for prehistoric struck flints. That, too, was a lesson in pattern-matching—a growing fascination with siliceous beauty and conchoidal fracture. I would scan the ground, filtering through the chaos of natural stones for the telltale signs of human intervention: bulbs of percussion, ripples, striking platforms, and flake scars. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the distinct conchoidal curve of a flake struck by a knapper millennia ago. Soon, I saw how these patterns could scale up, mapping themselves onto entire landscapes. With no formal training at the time, I developed my own field techniques and methodology.

Then, computers arrived. I quickly grasped spreadsheets and databases, seeing instantly how they could help me organise and arrange these spatial patterns. Next came dial-up modems. The driving catalyst for buying a 56k modem wasn't to browse, but to build—I wanted a website to share my archaeological data.

That pursuit unlocked a new obsession: web-building. A metal-detecting webmaster of the era once joked on his links page that I would radically transform my website every few weeks. He wasn't wrong. It was a relentless search for a sense of resolution, found only in error-free perfection. In the strict syntax of HTML and XHTML 1.0 Transitional, I found a new universe of patterns.

Twenty-five years ago, web-building was a radically different landscape. There were no AI agents, no VS Code extensions, and no Git. Software packages for building websites were bought on CD-ROM; professional tools were prohibitively expensive, while the cheaper alternatives generated notoriously horrible code—bloated, messy, and unfriendly to browsers.

As an amateur webmaster working on a shoestring budget, I decided the only elegant solution was to learn how to write the code myself. The gold standard at the time had recently shifted from HTML 4 to XHTML 1.0 Transitional. I mastered it, and even taught it to my young daughters. By hand-coding XHTML in basic text editors and early syntax-highlighting code editors, I built a 140-page digital estate—a cluster of interconnected micro-sites. I even wrote a tutorial over twenty years ago on how to code by hand.

Timeline

• 1999 – 2006: Writing XHTML, building and maintaining my websites.

• 2008: Interests had moved on. I stopped paying the server bill and the websites were erased. However, the Wayback Machine had archived copies on web.archive.org. Many of the images were lost, but much remained.

• 2026: A conversation with an LLM triggers a decision to attempt a total restoration and revival of my old sites.

Step 1: The Extraction (Excavation)

Gemini AI guided me to the Archivarix service. All I had to do was select the range of dates over which the Wayback Machine had originally captured the websites. (A little tip for anyone else trying this: choosing a wider date range might have captured a few more of the original images). I decided to pay the $10 USD fee (around £7.38 GBP)—a service well worth paying for. A short while later, the ZIP file was ready.

I operate from a modest Acer Chromebook. Initially, I had some issues trying to extract the files. That process would have been much easier if I had decided to reinstall the Linux (Crostini) environment right away. I have plenty of Linux experience using a variety of distros years ago, and I had used Crostini on this Chromebook before, but right then I was reluctant to set it up again. That was a wrong move. Instead, with Gemini assisting me, I bypassed the extraction issue for the moment and took the archive straight to the next stage.

Step 2: Upload to Live Status (Conservation)

Twenty-five years ago, you either used one of the awful, ad-funded free servers like Yahoo! GeoCities, or you paid for hosting and uploaded your files via FTP. Things have moved on. I prompted the AI to help me find a free home for my website, and found myself at the front door of Netlify.

Initially, I used an AI interface to help process the raw archive data. I fed the archive into the workspace, watched the AI perform its magic, and suddenly the core structure was back online. Next, I updated the URL, choosing https://thetford-forest-archaeology.netlify.app/. Naturally, twenty-five years ago, the .app top-level domain didn't even exist. But boom—there it was.

Restoration of a Broken Website

My websites were once again live on the World Wide Web, no longer confined to a dusty archive. Yet I had massive amounts of work to do. The Wayback Machine had graciously saved the text, but many of the image files were gone (specifically those that lay too many clicks away from the index file). I managed to retrieve some of these from other old repositories, my old Flickr account, and alternative archive sites, but dozens remained lost forever.

I had a lot of tidying up to do. Furthermore, I had hand-coded these 140+ files in XHTML 1.0 Transitional, only to find in 2026 that the world had moved on to HTML5. My pattern-matching tendencies wouldn't tolerate such a structural mismatch. As a hyper-systemiser working in partnership with Gemini and Claude, it took me about three weeks of editing to rationalise everything down to 116 clean web pages, alongside their supporting JPEG, CSS, and XML files.

Step 3: The Coding (Reconstruction)

I finally did what I should have done at the start: I enabled the Chromebook's Linux feature and updated the system. My Linux commands were rusty, but I had my AI friends to guide me. I generated a website folder within the Linux partition and, using Bash commands guided by Gemini, I extracted the compressed files there. Now I had a full local clone of the website sitting in my Chromebook's local storage.

A tip for Chromebook Linux newcomers: The Linux folder partition won't automatically appear in the native ChromeOS Files app unless you have opened the Linux terminal at least once during your session to mount the container.

Next, I installed Flatpak via the terminal, using it to download Visual Studio Code (VS Code) as my environment of choice. While there are countless AI extensions available for IDEs, many require paid tokens or API credits. To keep this project entirely free, I utilised a simpler workflow: I would copy my code blocks, paste them into the free-standing browser interfaces of Gemini or Claude for structural analysis, and paste the corrected code straight back into VS Code. Money saved.

What to do with the websites themselves? Three distinct components were salvageable:

1. Thetford Forest Archaeology

2. Portuguese Thetford

3. Wesley's Metal Detector Finds

I didn't want to completely modernise everything; I wanted to preserve their history while ensuring modern browser compatibility. My approach varied across the four sites:

• Thetford Forest Archaeology: A hybrid approach. I converted the skeleton to HTML5 but maintained the period-accurate CSS and styling of the early 2000s. I updated all .htm extensions to .html. This was always my prized showcase website—the original motivation for me learning to code.

• Portuguese Thetford: I let Gemini take the lead on rewriting the CSS. I didn't just sit back and blindly accept prompts; I meticulously updated the structural tags, but permitted the AI to modernise the responsive presentation layer while keeping the original text fully intact.

• Wesley's Metal Detector Finds: This old site is a classic end-of-the-20th-century creation, complete with an animated GIF and a tiled background. I chose to preserve this one completely untouched, keeping the original code exactly as it was, save for updating the broken hyperlinks.

• How to HTML!: I had entirely forgotten that I wrote this! Originally coded in strict XHTML with .htm extensions, I left the core tutorial preserved, simply removing old CSS references to background graphics that have been lost to time. Later, I decided to delete this micro-site as a distraction and no longer relevant to 2026.

To bridge the personal knowledge gap between XHTML and modern standards, I provided Claude with a link to my old "How to HTML!" tutorial. I asked the AI to use my own 20-year-old text to form the basis of a personalised transition course into HTML5. It felt as though an earlier version of me from 2005 was reaching forward across the decades to teach the 2026 version of me how to code for the modern web.

Isn't that clever? Perfect for a Time Traveller.

Step 4: The Relaunch (Publication)

To handle updates without relying on automated AI build tools, I shifted to Netlify’s direct manual folder deployment feature. This method is entirely free and bypasses the need for automated build credits.

The deployment process is incredibly elegant. It uses a local checksum mechanism: I simply select the entire website folder from the Linux directory on my Chromebook. The interface might flag that hundreds of files are being processed, but it instantly identifies the precise files that have changed and uploads only the modifications. Updates are seamless, uncomplicated, and incredibly fast. The key is simply maintaining that perfect, updated clone within the Linux environment.

I am pleasantly surprised by how straightforward it has become to maintain a web presence today. With the files live, all that remains is some foundational SEO work—submitting updated XML sitemaps to the search engines and tidying up metadata.

Digital Archaeology.  AI Image prompted by Gemini to illustrate this post. An archaeology website that has itself, become a digital artefact.

I just checked Google Search. The index appears using the string: Thetford Forest Archaeology. May the SEO prosper, and a new generation of archaeology students learn from how an amateur did it twenty years ago.

Update - 2026-06-19

I've totally succumbed to modernism and AI intervention, by allowing Anthropic Claude AI to move the Archaeology website into the 2020s, completing its move from XHTML to HTML5, and giving it a complete fresh restyle. I have removed the HTML Tutor website as obsolete.

Back to the Future: Time Travel and Haplogroup Index

It is 480 CE. It is spring, and a boat of new immigrants rows past the Roman Saxon Shore fort at Burgh Castle. The few guards stationed within the massive flint walls are remnants of the local limitanei—frontier militia who have transitioned from soldiers to hereditary farmers in the seventy years since Rome withdrew its administration.

Rome no longer holds jurisdiction here; its bureaucracy has evaporated. It no longer controls the sea estuary nor decides who may enter or depart. My hypothetical 55th great-grandmother would have faced no imperial barriers to her immigration to Britannia, passing under the gaze of men whose only authority was the land they stood upon. Perhaps she brings with her our mitochondrial DNA Haplogroup H6a1a8 private variant F8693412?

They have crossed the North Sea, having departed from their homeland near the Lower Elbe and the peninsula of Angeln (within present-day Schleswig-Holstein, Northern Germany). We would identify them as the Angles—the specific ethnic group who were to give their name first to East Anglia, and eventually to the kingdom of England.

Their ancestors lived beyond the frontiers of the Western Roman Empire. Her matrilineage may have migrated northwards from Alpine or Carpathian sources, following the course of the Elbe and passing through the Jastorf cultures before finally reaching the maritime peoples of the North Sea coast. There, amongst the salt marshes and estuaries, her kin merged into a distinct Anglian identity.

Copyright Source © OpenStreetMap contributors.

The drive to leave their homeland in the Angeln peninsula of present-day Schleswig-Holstein was born of necessity. A deteriorating climate and rising sea levels had turned their traditional coastal farms into waterlogged marshes, creating a desperate environmental push. Conversely, the "pull" of Britain was irresistible; it offered a landscape that was geographically familiar yet significantly more fertile. To these opportunists, the crumbling Roman infrastructure represented a vacuum of power rather than a barrier. They saw a land of established fields and abandoned villas where a new life could be carved out, far from the flooding and tribal volatility of the Germanic north.

The arrival of the Anglian immigrants in the Tas Valley circa 480 CE would have been a moment of profound cultural tension and pragmatic negotiation, played out against the backdrop of the decaying Roman regional capital, Venta Icenorum. By this stage, the town’s orderly grid had largely been reclaimed by the landscape, yet its massive stone walls remained a powerful psychological landmark for the Romano-British locals. These inhabitants—descendants of the Iceni who still viewed themselves as part of a Roman world—likely received the newcomers with a mixture of dread and guarded necessity. Lacking a professional military to defend their farmsteads from northern raiders, the locals may have viewed our fictional 55th great-grandmother’s kin not merely as invaders, but as potential mercenaries or protectors to be settled on the periphery of their territory.

The cultural clash between the two groups would have been immediate and visible. The Britons, likely Christian and still clinging to sub-Roman dress and Latinate customs, would have stood in sharp contrast to the Germanic-speaking Angles, who arrived with their pagan traditions, distinctive cruciform jewelry, and handmade stamped pottery. However, archaeology suggests that this was a period of wary coexistence rather than immediate total conquest. The Angles did not sack the ruins of the town but instead established a "shadow" settlement on the outskirts, utilizing the Roman roads and the river access while maintaining their own traditional timber halls.

Ultimately, the reception in the Tas Valley represented the final, fading heartbeat of Roman authority. The presence of the vast Anglo-Saxon cemetery just outside the walls of Caistor St Edmund indicates that the demographic balance was shifting rapidly. As the Anglian families grew in number and influence, their robust, self-sufficient social structure began to overwhelm the fragmenting Romano-British society. For the locals, the choice was one of gradual integration or retreat, as our ancestor’s people transitioned from being guests on the edge of a ruined city to becoming the new masters of the East Anglian heartland.

Drawing upon the experimental archaeology at West Stow, Suffolk, the primary dwelling our hypothetical ancestors would have constructed upon settling in the Tas Valley was the Sunken-Featured Building, or Grubenhaus. Far from the primitive "pit-houses" once imagined by early historians, these structures were sophisticated domestic units perfectly adapted to the post-Roman landscape. The defining characteristic was a rectangular pit dug into the sandy soil, which served not as a living floor, but as a ventilated air space beneath a suspended timber platform. By supporting the living area above the ground, this design provided crucial insulation and protected the inhabitants from the dampness of the East Anglian earth. Two or three substantial oak posts supported a central ridge pole, upon which rested a steeply pitched roof of water reed or straw thatch that reached nearly to the ground, creating a compact and thermally efficient environment.

Within these thatched dwellings, daily life was dictated by the functional versatility of the space. While they served as primary residences for some, many functioned as specialized craft huts where the naturally humid air trapped beneath the floorboards served a vital purpose. This humidity prevented woollen threads from becoming brittle, making the Sunken-Featured Building the ideal setting for the vertical warp-weighted looms used to produce the tribe's textiles. These buildings were organic and ephemeral; when the timbers eventually succumbed to rot, the community would simply backfill the hollow and erect a new structure nearby, leading to a shifting settlement pattern that contrasted sharply with the fixed masonry of the nearby Roman ruins. For a woman such as our 55th great-grandmother, the construction of these buildings marked the successful transplantation of a continental architectural tradition into the British soil, providing a familiar and self-sufficient home in an uncertain new world.

By 500 CE, the sharp ethnic boundaries of the initial migration had begun to soften into a complex, "hybrid" reality. As Robin Fleming highlights in her work Britain After Rome, the collapse of the Roman state was not just a political failure but a total breakdown of the systems that told people who they were. In this vacuum, identity became something negotiated at the local level, often over the hearth or through the joining of families.

The wedding of a Romano-British bride to a pagan Anglian groom in the Tas Valley would have been a vivid tableau of this social restructuring. For the bride’s father, a man perhaps still clinging to the memory of Roman civitas, the union was likely a pragmatic strategy for survival. By giving his daughter to an Anglian house, he was securing a "blood-bond" with the new military elite who now controlled the flow of grain and the safety of the roads. This was not necessarily a story of romantic integration, but of social re-calibration; the bride’s family provided the local knowledge and agricultural roots, while the groom’s kin provided the protection and the fresh, robust social structure of the comitatus (warband).

Robin Fleming argues that we should look less at "tribes" and more at the re-ordering of daily life. In such a household, the material culture would have become a "creole" of traditions. The bride might have continued to wear a sub-Roman tunic and perhaps a small, hidden lead cross, while her husband displayed the cruciform brooches and great-square-headed fasteners of his Anglian heritage. Their children would grow up in a world where the distinction between "Roman" and "Angle" was increasingly blurred. They might speak a Germanic tongue to their father and a Latinate-influenced Brittonic to their mother, eventually forging the early Old English language.

This "admixing" was the true crucible of the English identity. It was a process of bricolage, where people took the shattered pieces of the Roman past and the raw materials of the Germanic present to build something entirely new. By 500 CE, the Tas Valley was no longer a Roman territory under occupation, nor was it a purely Germanic colony; it had become a frontier zone where the "Roman" was being slowly digested by the "English," creating a society that was tougher, more localized, and ultimately more resilient than the imperial system it replaced.

Back to the Future: Time Travel and Haplogroup Index

I have uncovered a fascinating narrative within my mitochondrial DNA. FamilyTreeDNA has assigned me to Haplogroup H6a1a8, and my mutation list provides a clear map of the maternal journey from the original 'Clan Mother'.

The Genetic Path

My lineage is first defined as part of the wider 'H' clan via key markers such as G2706A. The path narrows into the H6 branch, confirmed by a specific set of coding region markers: A1018G, T3594C, A4727G, and T8655C. The descent continues through H6a (C2885T) and into H6a1, identified in my HVR1 results by the T16298C marker.

The most distinctive feature of my profile—and the key to the F8693412 cluster—is a rare "reversion". While H6a1a8 is typically defined by a mutation at position 3915 (where Adenine changed to Guanine), my results show G3915A. This indicates that my specific maternal line underwent a back-mutation, returning to the ancestral Adenine. This reversion acts as a unique genetic signature, distinguishing my line from the standard H6a1a8 profile and marking my place within the F8693412 cluster.

A Shift in Perspective

This cluster represents relatively new evidence that was unavailable when I first took the mtDNA Full Sequence test. It has fundamentally changed my perspective on my maternal origins. While the standard matching system measures "genetic distance," a private variant like F8693412 can reveal deeper, more specific connections. By filtering my matches to include only those who share this variant, I have found a cohort of nine testers.

This discovery has led to a moment of "enlightenment." It is tempting to view haplogroups as monolithic waves of migration, but the reality is more nuanced. When did the H6a1a8 ancestor arrive in Britain? The presence of different private variants suggests multiple arrivals over many centuries. Some may be ancient; for instance, two H6a1a8 samples excavated in North Berwick, Scotland, date to between 196 BCE and 117 CE. However, others likely represent much more recent migrations.

Many possibilities

From East Anglia to the Continent

Of my nine genetic "cousins," only three of us can trace our maternal lines back to Europe: specifically to East Anglia, Ireland, and Austria. Upon closer inspection, the Irish link appears to be a "red herring"—the ancestor had a Northern English surname and died in England, suggesting "Plantationist" roots rather than a deep Irish origin. This leaves a striking link between England and Austria.

My own earliest recorded maternal ancestor is Anne Carter, born in Carleton Rode, Norfolk, in 1661. Her family appears to have been of "middling" status—likely local yeomanry—evidenced by her ability to marry by licence in a Norwich city church in 1684. The lineage remained endogamous within that parish for several generations, suggesting the DNA had been rooted in Norfolk long before the seventeenth century.

The Anglo-Saxon Hypothesis

A 2022 study in Nature (Gretzinger et al.) revolutionised our understanding of early medieval migration, suggesting that in Eastern England—particularly South Norfolk—roughly 75% of the population was of Continental Northern European (CNE) ancestry. These families migrated from the Netherlands, Germany, and Denmark.

Consequently, I am revising my hypothesis. My mtDNA haplotype (H6a1a8 - F8693412) likely represents a matrilineal heritage that arrived during the early medieval period—part of the Great Migration of Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-Danish peoples between the Late Romano-British and Viking eras. This represents a significant shift in the predicted path of my maternal line, and I shall be amending my records accordingly.

Perhaps an mtDNA ancestor and her daughter, recently arrived from across the North Sea at the ruined walls of Venta Icenorum?

Back to the Future: Time Travel and Haplogroup Index

Back to the Future: Time Travel and Haplogroup Index

It is now 440 CE in the Tas Valley of what is now called Norfolk, England. My 51-times great-grandmother is a young girl, playing in the ruins of the old city of Venta Icenorum. Other than squatters and salvage-hunters, the city has largely fallen into decay and is mostly deserted.

Her people are Romanistas - Romano-Britons. They are the Christian, Romanised Britons of the 5th century, and they have good reason to pray. It has been more than thirty years since the last legions departed Britannia. The shore forts stand derelict. The economy is in crisis, and their society is shattered.

Her father is a decurion, a local magistrate and landowner. He has witnessed the decline throughout his life. His tenants are restless, their economy still clinging to the memory of the coin, yet they scratch the heavy local soils with light ards that barely bite the earth.

​But a new people are settling these lands, arriving from across the North Sea. Their culture is alien, having evolved free of imperial history. They are industrious workers and brave warriors. They use heavy iron-shod ploughs and brute strength to turn the stubborn clay soils. They rely on barter and tender—trading their surplus products rather than coinage.

​The father is wise. He understands the value of cultivating a strong relationship with these new tenants, mercenaries, and trading partners. They may speak in rough Germanic tongues and worship pagan deities, but they promise a way out of the crisis. These are the early arrivals of a people known as the Angles. They have arrived as mercenaries and pioneers, and have brought a dearth of brides. My 51-times great-grandmother was always destined for an arranged marriage.

Her father had made a wise decision. Her husband's family proved they knew how to get the best out of these difficult soils. Their imported culture inspired the local Romano-Britons; by leading through example, they became the new leaders of the valley.

This AI image visualises the aging couple. They sit at home in a comfortable Anglo-Saxon house. I've asked for a cross section to demonstrate the earth pit basement below the wooden floor. These features left archaeological traces known as SFB (sunken feature building).

​Cultures often change, but those who work the soil frequently remain. This underplayed rule applies more so to the women—a rule that can be observed through the mtDNA record.

​Rationale

​Recent genomic studies—most notably the 2022 Gretzinger et al. study—suggest a significant genetic turnover in Eastern England, with up to 74% of the ancestry in areas like Norfolk being attributed to Continental Northern European populations.

​At first, this sounds like support for the old 'mass Anglo-Saxon invasion' story of Hengist and Horsa. However, the researchers stress that this immigration event was spread over as much as 600 years, from the early mercenaries up to and including the 9th and 10th-century Danish (Viking) farmers. This represents a long, drawn-out North Sea Immigration Continuum.

​Therefore, integration was often a more peaceful process, occurring one generation at a time. It is easy to see the economic advantage of marrying into North Sea communities. Was there conflict and coercion? I am sure some existed; horror stories based on fact likely served the tabloid-like religious lessons of early monastic historians like Bede.

​These new arrivals—the 74% of East Anglians who conquered the boulder-clay soils—were certainly prominent among my general ancestry. Their mixed descendants, the founders of an English identity, settled in their farmsteads, largely unmoved by the later Norman aristocracy, eventually becoming my high medieval ancestors.

Anglo-Saxon DNA

I have previously blogged details and a summary of recent investigations into Anglo-Saxon DNA in Anglo-Saxon Migration - the latest genetic evidence 2024. 

Anglo-Saxon copper-alloy brooches, parts of a cruciform brooch or a square-headed brooch recovered by my late father in a field at Morley St Botolph, Norfolk (recorded).

The two options of this early route into Britain (B), and a later Anglo-Saxon entry into Britain (A), now rejoin as we approach the written record.

GO TO NEXT ACT - Late Medieval South Norfolk and the Black Death. 1349 CE

Back to the Future: Time Travel and Haplogroup Index

Photo above by Tom Lee at Flickr

The first wild buzzard that I ever saw was on Dartmoor.  That must have been during the 1980s.  A little later, I saw them in Scotland.  There were no buzzards in East Anglia when I was a kid.  The Victorian gamekeeper had shot and gin trapped them to extinction in SE England.

Move on to the 21st century, and you can see buzzards all over East Anglia.  Over fields, woodlands, even marshes.  They came back, and they came back in force.

Above, Samuel William "Fiddler" Curtis, born in 1852 at Hassingham, Norfolk, the grandson of William Curtis (senior).

My 5th great grandparents, John Curtis, and Ann Annison, were married at Hassingham, Norfolk in 1801.  I have so far been unable to trace where either of this couple originated, or their parents, but there were already Curtis and Annison families in that part of Norfolk prior, and I currently have no reason to think that they had moved into the area from elsewhere.  I just lack their baptism records.  Maybe one day I'll find them.

Hassingham in it's landscape in 1797.

Over the following eleven years, Ann Curtis (née Annison) had five children baptised at the Hassingham parish church of St Mary's, including a John, Richard, Theodosia, William, and finally in 1812, a Priscilla Curtis.

St Mary's of Hassingham.

William Curtis (I)

Their third son, William Curtis, was born at Hassingham during the winter of 1807/1808, and baptised in February at St Mary's.   His father, John may have rented a tract of land, to farm himself, or he may have relied on selling his labour to other farmers.  He may have done both.  The rural poor had lost all of their ancient rights, with the enclosures, but they were free to sell their labour and skills to whoever.  However, as the Agricultural Revolution gained pace - so the market for their labour was reducing, with the gradual introduction of new machinery and agricultural processes.

In 1827, William Curtis married my 4th great grandmother, Mary Ann Rose, at nearby Strumpshaw.  They were both marked down as of being of that parish, both were single, both were illiterate.  An interesting twist for myself looking at that marriage register, is that their witnesses were Mary Ann's sister, Rebecca Rose, and her fiancé, John Shorten.  I only posted about their life a week ago "From Norfolk Labourer to Yankee Gunner".  That couple were to marry in the next entry of that Strumpshaw Marriage Register, in November.  They ended up as farmers in Illinois, USA, with five of their sons serving in the Unionist Army in the American Civil War.  I keep seeing this theme in my Family History.  My direct ancestors were the ones that usually stayed - often never moving far from their village of birth.  But many of their siblings didn't stay.  I'll come back to this theme later in this post.

Between 1828, and 1850, the couple were to have a total of at least eight children, all baptised at nearby Buckenham church: Anne Amelia Curtis (1828), my 3rd great grandfather, William Curtis (the junior, 1830), Henry Curtis (1833), Alfred Curtis (1836), George Curtis (1838), Priscilla Curtis (1841), Sarah Curtis (1848), and Henry Curtis (1849).  A lot of mouths to feed.  How was William supporting these children?  If I look at the 1841 census, I find the family, as it was then, located at Buckenham (Ferry), Norfolk.  William was a 34 year old agricultural labourer.  These had been hard times for agricultural labourers in Norfolk.  Machinery and new agricultural techniques continued to replace much of the traditional labour.  Workhouses had been constructed - and Poor Laws were halting any provision of parish relief for the poor, outside of the workhouse - where inmates would be segrated from their families, and punished for being poor.  The small farmers, once the brothers of the free labourers, were increasingly associating more with other figures of the rural establishment - the squires, the land owners, and the parsons.  They often sat on the poor law union boards, determined to punish the poor.  The Established Church just watched on - and the rural poor were turning to Methodism, and other Non-conformist chapels.

In 1830, the countryside erupted in violence - as labourers swarmed the countryside, attacking workhouses, farms, and in particular, the new threshing machines that were replacing much of their labour.  They often did this under the name of a mythical Captain Swing, and hence this period of machine breaking and rioting was known as the Swing Riots.  Another of my ancestors, on my father's side, was gaoled for leading a local Swing riot, at Attleborough.  It was a period in which many local establishment figures were seriously concerned - the fear of Revolution was still in the air from France - indeed, French spies were often conjured up as being at the root of the problem - rather than their treatment of the rural poor.

It passed.  But things did not improve for the East Anglian rural working class.

In the 1851 census, William, his wife Mary Ann, and their eldest children, were all recorded iin Buckenham as being agricultural labourers.  Only there was now a ninth child.  Richard Curtis.  But he wasn't born at Buckenham Ferry, nor even in the County of Norfolk.  He was born in 1850 at Firsby, Lincolnshire.  This may infer that the family (if not just Mary Ann), had between 1841, and 1851, moved for a a period, to the Skegness area of East Lincolnshire.  People were on the move.  The rural poor were being squeezed out of East Anglia by the unemployment, poverty, and the workhouse.  Perhaps William found more profitable labour in Lincolnshire for a while.  Perhaps his skills with horses, or perhaps - like others he was attracted by the Fen drainage schemes, working as a digger - maybe like other that I've seen - it was work laying the railways?  Firsby railway station opened for business in 1848.  The railways were a part of a phenomena of migration that occurred across Norfolk during the Mid to Late 19th Century - they brought work, often attracted labourers away - and eventually carried many Norfolk families away to the Industrial North, to London, or to sea ports for migration elsewhere.

But by the 1851 census - they were back in their ancestral lands - back in Buckenham, Norfolk, by the River Yare, as though nothing had happened - except for that place of birth for young Richard.

Move on another ten years - the family are not in Buckenham in 1861.  I cannot find William at all.  However, I do find his wife Mary Ann Curtis, with some of their children, living in the Rows at Great Yarmouth, Norfolk.  Mary Ann records her occupation as charwoman - a woman that worked hard, washing clothes and linen for a living.  Their daughter Priscilla Curtis, is recorded as a silk weaver:

I wonder where was William?  He could be at sea, or working away, sending money home.  Too old for the military.  I can't find anything on him in Criminal Records.  What I do find, in the British Newspaper archives, are some references to a cork cutter by the name of William Curtis, living in Great Yarmouth, dating to 1858 and 1864:

Was this our William Curtis (senior)?  Above he was working on Charlotte Street (since renamed Howard Street), Great Yarmouth.  In 1864, he was addressed to the Church Plain, Great Yarmouth.  If it was our William, perhaps he was living with Mary Ann and the children - but was away on business, or perhaps some other work (fishing?), on the night of the census.

William and Mary Ann Curtis, age 61 and 62 years of age, appear to have settled in the Yarmouth and Gorleston area.  On the 1871, William and Mary Ann Curtis were addressed on "the footpath to Burgh".  William recorded his occupation as a marsh man.  Marshmen were responsible for the livestock kept on the marshes - horses, cattle, and sometimes sheep, fattening on the rich drained marsh grasses.  He would have tended to cattle and other livestock along the southern edge of Breydon Water - an enclosed sea estuary, with the ruins of an old Roman shore-fort called Burgh Castle, on the higher ground immediately above the marshes.  I posted an article of Burgh Castle here.

The view over the marshes from Burgh Castle.

Another ten years later, William Curtis (the senior), and his wife Mary, are now living in Litchfield Place, Southtown, Gorleston.  Age 72, he now lists his occupation, for the very last time, as a Steam Engine Driver.  Now that was a surprise.

William passed away in Gorleston, in March 1888.  He was eighty years old.

William Curtis (II)

I mentioned above, that my 3rd great grandfather, William Curtis (the junior), was born at Buckenham, and baptised at Strumpshaw, Norfolk, in 1830.

William Curtis married Georgianna Larke, at Hassingham Church (photo further above) on the 11th February 1852.  They appear to have lived in the village of Hassingham, Norfolk for several decades.  No evidence this time of flits to Lincolnshire, or down river to Yarmouth.  This generation stayed put.  Georgianna was descended from two parish clerks for nearby Cantley.

Georgianna gave birth to at least nine children at Hassingham: my 2nd great grandfather (pictured at the top of this post) Samuel William Curtis (1852), Theodosia Curtis (1854), Priscilla Curtis (1856), Alfred George Curtis (1858), Sarah Ann Curtis (1861), Mary Curtis (1863), Walter Curtis (1865), Eliza Curtis (1867), and finally, Henry Curtis (1870).

Nothing unusual in their 1861 census record - Will was a 30 year old agricultural labourer with his family living in the parish of Hassingham:

Ten years later in 1871 - living at Hospital Cottages in Hassingham, still all as would be expected:

Another ten years later, William, Georgianna, and their sons and daughters Walter, Eliza, and Henry Curtis, are living on Church Road.  No change, William is an agricultural labourer.  Nothing on record happens to this family.  They are the stereotype of the Norfolk rural working class family.  William's 72 year old father was by now a steam engine driver living at Gorleston.

Move on to 1891.  Not a lot of change.  Except that they are living on Hassingham Road (High) and only their daughter Mary remains with them in the household.  Mary is recorded as an assistant teacher.

1893.  I have a record from the British Newspaper Records that looks like our William Curtis (II).  A farmer named John Draper at Burlingham St Edmund, accuses him in court of cheating him of a toll fee.  He had accused William - described as a teamman (a person that has skills at working a team of horses), of fraud.  Draper suggested that he paid Curtis to take two wagons and several horses to Yarmouth via the new toll road - but that he in reality took them via the old roads and pocketed the toll fee that he had been given.  The only witness backed up Will's account - and the case was dismissed:

However, I suspect that William's reputation was tarnished by this case - and there were few employer farmers in the area.  He survived this.  Maybe his personality and reputation was strong enough for other farmers to trust him.  In 1901, he was living at Broad Farm, Hassingham.  Yes, he was now a 70 year old agricultural worker.

He still had labour to sell.  His beloved wife Georgianna died at Hassingham on the 1st April 1911 age 79.  A few months later, the 1911 census record's Williams status.  Age 80, he is still recorded as a working, employed, agricultural labourer.  Now a widower, he had two of his daughters living with him.  Mary who was single and age 45 (a teacher?), and Sarah, now under a married name - Sarah Stephenson.  She had moved many miles away - but as we will see in the next generation with her sister Theodosia, not everything had gone well.  In the wake of her mother's death, she was back home with her elderly father William.

William continued on.  The Curtis's keep doing this - they had longetivity for a number of generations.  He died at nearby Lingwood, age 96 in 1926.  A grandson, J.P. Curtis, registered his death.  Cause, senility and haematemesis. 

Theodosia and Sarah Ann Curtis - sisters.

As I noted above, two of William (II) and Georgianna's daughters, were named Theodosia Curtis (born 1854), and Sarah Ann Curtis (born 1861) at Hassingham, Norfolk.  They had an elder brother named Samuel William Curtis - pictured right at the beginning of this post.  He was my 2nd great grandfather.  This makes Theodosia and Sarah Ann - my 3rd great aunts.

Theodosia met a fisherman at Yarmouth.  Maybe she was visiting on a market day.  The boys working in the fishing fleet must have been exciting - they risked their life's out at sea, they didn't just work the land - they would sail out.  His name was John Mitchell.  In 1874, Theodosia married John.

They had a son:

He was baptised at Yarmouth in November 1877.  It appears that like many Yarmouth fisherman wifes, Theodosia lived in the Yarmouth Rows.  Her grandmother Mary Curtis, had lived there no more than ten years earlier - and with her grandfather, now lived nearby in Gorleston.

Something happened.  You get that sometimes in genealogy.  a family appears smashed up, removed from records.  I'm going to make a guess.  A lot of fishermen were relocating from East Coast harbours like Great Yarmouth, to Kingston Upon Hull, Yorkshire.  My guess is that they moved there as a family between Nov 1877 and 1889.  I don't know what happened to their child.  He disappears.  But so does his father, John Mitchell.  He dies.  I can't find them on either the 1871 or 1881 censuses.  In future, Theodosia, now living in Hull, Yorkshire, declares herself as a widow.  Pushed to guess, I'm going to say that John was lost at sea.  It was a hazardous living then.

On the 1st March 1890 at Hull, Yorkshire, the widow Theodosia Mitchell, married a James Petersen, son of a Christiansen Petersen, an officer.  I'm going to guess that these Scandinavian names may be Norwegian.  James Petersen, like her late husband, is recorded as a fisherman.  I have one record of him - that marriage to Theodosia - then he also disappears.

But .. before I continue on Theodosia, let me move back in time to Hassingham in Norfolk, and to her little sister Sarah Ann Curtis.  

In 1881, 20 year old Sarah, was working as a servant in a Yarmouth household.  Was she still in contact with Theodosia - I think so.  

Like her sister, she moved up to Kingston Upon Hull, in the East Riding of Yorkshire.

The Great Unwritten Migration from Norfolk to Sculcoates, Hull, Yorkshire.

Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration - but I keep seeing Hull in the East Riding of Yorkshire - particularly it's district of Sculcoates, in my Family Tree - as a place that a number of siblings of my direct Norfolk ancestors, moved to.  Both on my mother's, and my father's side.  I feel that this is a history that someone needs to write.  It seems that the establishing of the railways, with stations both in Norfolk, and in Kingston Upon Hull in Yorkshire, facilitated a migration event that is unwritten.  The squeeze was being put onto the Norfolk poor.  Hull offered higher wages, expanding fishing and ship building industries, and a higher living standard.  The word spread through the Norfolk countryside.  It can't just be my family!

Back to Sarah.  In late 1890, Sarah Ann Curtis married Albert Edward Stephenson at Sculcoates, East Riding of Yorkshire.  Somehow she had also ended up in Hull - and my best guess is her closeness to her sister Theodosia.  Her groom was, again, a Hull fisherman.  Perhaps he knew Theodosia?

During the 1891 England & Wales national census, I find this:

The two sisters from Hassingham, Norfolk were living next door to each other in Hull.  That brings them together.  Things didn't go well though for Sarah.  Her husband had some severe financial problems.  Perhaps gambling?  He ends up in Wakefield Prison in Yorkshire, guilty of debt, no less than three times between 1896 and 1907:

No wonder perhaps, that Sarah was keen to be with her father in 1911.

Back to Theodosia.  Her second husband, the fisherman, James Petersen, also just vanishes from record.  Abandonment, lost at sea, I don't know, but for the second time, she starts declaring that she is a widow.

In 1896, the widow Theodosia Petersen (née Mitchell, née Curtis), married a George Theakston at Sculcoates, Yorkshire.  George wasn't a fisherman.  He was a carter and van driver.  Perhaps that saved his life - for he was Theodosia's third and final spouse.  In the 1901 Census, they were living at 60 frances Street, West Sculcoates, Hull, Yorkshire.  They had a daughter called Evelyn:

Theodosia Theakston survived long enough to be recorded onto the 1939 Register at the oset of WW II:

She finally passed away at Hull in 1942, age 87.

Union artillery.  American Civil War.

I could call this post "What My Norfolk-English Family did in the American Civil War".

Thomas Shorten marries Rebecca Rose

3rd January, 1838, Thomas Shorten, a local 20 year old, poor agricultural labourer, married 19 year old Rebecca Rose in her home parish of Strumpshaw in Norfolk, England.  Thomas himself was born nearby in the small parish of Southwood, where incidentally, my mother was born some 140 years later.  We don't move far in our family line.

Rebecca was the 4th great aunt of my mother.  Through my mother, I myself am descended not only from Rebecca's parents, John and Martha Rose (nee Rowland), but also from her uncle and aunt Henry and Margaret Rose (nee Ling).  I am descended from Rebecca's grandparents, Henry and Mary Rose (nee Gorll) of Loddon, Norfolk - twice over.

These were incredibly tough times for the agricultural working classes in East Anglia.  Enclosure had disenfranchised them from their ancestral land.  The land had become privatised.  The threshing machine and other new technologies then made even their labour surplus to requirement.  Poverty was made a crime through the Poor Laws.  My family line were the ones that stayed here - but as I research my family history, so I come across time after time, how many of their siblings and cousins were forced to leave East Anglia, to seek a new life in London, the North of England, or abroad in places such as Australia, New Zealand, Canada, or the USA.

This is the story of one of those families.

Looking for work - Barton Turf

The couple moved from Strumpshaw some fourteen miles north, to a similar Broadland water side landscape at Barton Turf - a small and old  parish adjacent to Barton Broad and to the River Ant in Norfolk.  Maybe Thomas had found precious employment there at a labour fair, or at a market.  There at Barton, it appears that Rebecca gave birth to at least four children between 1843 and 1849 - Rebecca, Thomas, George, and Sarah Ann.  Thomas supported his young family as best as he could - selling his labours and skills to local farmers.  Their children were baptised, not always immediately, at the local Anglican church, the medieval church of St Michael & all Angels.

Irstead Staithe

The growing family appear to have made a small move to the next parish of Irstead - south of Barton Broad.  They lived on the Low Road which I believe was near to the rectory and church at Irstead Staithe, alongside the small River Ant.  The photo of Irstead Church at the top of this post was taken late into the 19th Century from across that river.  A lovely medieval thatched roofed Norfolk church dedicated to St Michael.  Perhaps the family moved along that river on the sailing vessels that passed along, mastered by watermen or a little later, by the wherrymen of Norfolk fame.

At Irstead, Rebecca gave birth to at least four more sons between 1849 and 1854: Henry, Alfred, Robert, and John Shorten.  By the end of that period, they had to feed and to support a total of eight children.  The pressure must have been immense.  They most likely lived in a squalid tied cottage, with no running water.  The children would have been expected to contribute to income or house work as soon as they were old enough.  Boys were expected to earn money in simple agricultural work from around the age of six.

Emigration to New York and the USA

Around 1855 the entire family sailed from England to New York.  I have most of them on passenger lists arriving at New York.  Most of them on one voyage, paid with bonded labour.

New York Passenger List (for some reason the children here were being accompanied by a Mary - although this may have been their mother Rebecca Shorten?).

The family appear then to move westwards across New York State, to the township of Ridgeway in Niagara County.  They were now an East Anglian-American family.

In the 1860 US Census, Thomas and Rebecca, age 51 and 52, are living in the town of Hartland, Niagara, New York.  They have with them George, age 21, Sarah Ann, age 18, Henry, age 16, Frederick (Alfred), age 12, and John, age 7 - all recorded as born in England.  There is also a baby in the household - Priscilla, born in New York.

The American Civil War 1861-1865

Five years after the family arrived in the USA, the election of Abraham Lincoln, and threats to the slave economy of the Southern States, lead to the secession of a new Confederacy from the USA.  The Lincoln government reacted with force.

The Shorten family in Niagara County were not slow to come to the aid of the Unionist Government.  They were now "Yankees".  Their eldest son Thomas, age 24, enrolled in the Union army first - as soon as news reached Niagara - he joined the 28th Infantry Regiment of the New York Volunteers on the 11th May 1861.

His younger brothers followed in 1862.  George Shorten, age 23, Henry Shorten, age 18, and William Shorten, age 17 - all joined the same 25th independent battery, New York Volunteers Light Artillery in the August of that year.  Four sons of Thomas and Rebecca were now fighting on the Union side in the American Civil War - four Norfolk sons.  They grew up in sleepy quiet Irstead, Norfolk, next to the little River Ant.  Now here they were, engaged in a terrible modern war thousands of miles away.  Their Norfolk accents must have still been noticeable.  But their patriotism to their new country undeniable.

All four brothers would have seen substantial action throughout the following years of the Civil War.  In the 28th Infantry of the New York Volunteers, Thomas Shorten (Junior) would have witnessed a number of conflicts with the Confederates during his four years of active service in the Unionist infantry:

His three younger brothers, George, Henry, and William Shorten spent the War together in the same battery of the New York Volunteers Light Artillery:

The death toll of the American Civil War is estimated at 620,000.  The Shorten family were incredibly lucky.  All four brothers came back alive and apparently with no serious physical injuries.  With the victory, they were discharged from their army duties in July 1865.  They could all go home.  Thomas (Junior) after more than four years service, was mustered in South Dakota.  His three brothers all still together in the Light Artillery were discharged in New York State:

Their parents Thomas (senior) and Rebecca were living in Hartland, Niagara County, New York State at the end of the Civil War.  The brothers returned there.  However, five years later, the US 1870 Census records that Thomas (senior) and Rebecca Shorten, now in their early sixties, had moved far to the west, to their own farm in Clinton County, Illinois.  Their youngest sons, Alfred and John still with them.  The poor labourer from Southwood parish had moved a long way.

As for their older sons, I lose track of George after he appears at Hartland, County Niagara in 1865 - but Henry, and William all marry, and go on to father children in New York State.  Thomas (junior) appears in the 1890 Civil War Veterans census in South Dakota, where he had been mustered.

That's what my family did in the American Civil war.