In the steps of Harold’s army, via the B1052
Joins Saxon re-enactors on the march, 950 years after the battle that changed history
ASaxon army is marching through the medieval town of Saffron Walden, travel-weary and weatherbeaten after a fortnight on the road. King Harold and his warriors are heading for the Sussex coast and the most famous battle in English history. Weapons jangling astride their chargers, they make a fearsome sight.
But long before Hastings, there is the Saffron Walden one-way system to contend with and a clutch of temporary traffic lights. “Stop!” roars the commander, as one light changes to red, and an order is passed down the ranks. Bemused customers peer out of Costa Coffee, and grinning mothers stroll past pushing buggies.
Harold winks at them before the light turns green, and once more the soldiers spur their horses into action.
Army is perhaps the wrong word for the Saxon re-enactors presently making their way to Hastings. Indeed, this week their numbers have comprised barely half a dozen. None the less, they are close to completing a feat worthy of any great force in history.
To mark the 950th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, the men are recreating the same epic journey made by King Harold’s men in 1066, when, after beating the Vikings at Stamford Bridge, near York, they marched 250 miles to the south coast to face William’s Norman army.
They plan to arrive in Sussex by next weekend, the anniversary of the battle, where their ranks will be swelled by more than 1,000 other soldiers and cavalry who have travelled from across the world to take part in the fight.
It is the first time the march of Harold’s men has been reconstructed on foot and horseback, according to Nigel Amos, leader of the re-enactors. And if one is to split hairs about it (which, when it comes to matters historical, Amos loves to do), the original Saxons only travelled 250 miles. By the end of next week, they will have completed 310.
Not that it has been easy. In the past fortnight, since leaving Clifford’s Tower in York, they have faced traffic jams, thundering lorries, scorching sunshine (no good in woollen smocks), saddle sores and blisters. They have slept in chilly village halls or churches, huddling together by a radiator, if one can be found. When we met this week, the men admitted to having showered only twice in that time.
Despite the ardours of the road, spending the past few weeks marching in the footsteps of the Saxons has been heaven for the re-enactors.
Brian Mahoney, a retired company director from South Wales, at 60 the eldest of the group, says he even bribed his partner Jenny with a holiday to the Canaries to be allowed to go.
“Yesterday, we were riding down a bridlepath in open countryside and two deer jumped out in front of us,” he says. “You just think: ‘Wow, this is exactly what it would have been like.’”
Most of their route, however, has taken them along rather less bucolic tracks. The modern-day Saxons rely on Google Maps for navigation and, as a result, tend to stick to busy roads.
On the day I accompany them, we head along the B1052 from the Cambridgeshire village of Linton. Cars and trucks veer past us, appearing to come perilously close to the horsemen, but Amos cheerfully says this is one of the better roads they have seen.
“The truckers have been amazing,” he says. “It is only a few drivers who have been really inconsiderate. One road close to Drax power station in Yorkshire was really scary.”
Amos, bearded and sporting a red cloak secured by a brooch, a Saxon dagger and shield, cuts a fast pace on foot that belies his 50 years. Aside from sturdy modern-day walking boots, he says their outfits are authentic – down to the cotton underpants.
In the past, he processed freedom of information requests for Kent Police, but nowadays is attempting to make a living as a professional re-enactor and was approached by English Heritage to organise this march.
His wife, Lucy, is also a re-enactor, and accompanied the otherwise allmale company for the first leg of their tour. Roles for women remains a sore point in re-enactment groups, but Amos says anyone is welcome to join the Saxons, so long as they disguise themselves as male soldiers.
The days are long. Often, the reenactors rise at 6.45am and are on the road soon after, covering around 20 miles before nightfall.
Every few miles or so, they make intermittent stops outside churches and pubs, where the soldiers dismount and refuel on toxiccoloured bottles of Gatorade, fags and Mars bars while the horses munch the village-green grass.
We meet with a rousing reception. As we approach Saffron Walden one resident, Edward Gilden, a 62-yearold retired educational consultant, even cycles out to meet us and guide us through the town. “I knew they were coming and wanted to get my grandchildren along,” he says. “It is a great thing they are doing and very nice to be riding alongside them.”
With Britain’s relationship with Europe in an increasingly fractured state, it is an interesting time to mark the Norman invasion. Amos, who points out signs of William the Conqueror’s legacy all around us, says he wants to propagate a less nationalistic view of 1066.
“The traditional English position is that the Norman conquest was a national tragedy, but we live in a country that was built by them. The idea of the brave Saxon yeomanry going off to fight for England isn’t really correct.”
Our final stop for the day is the Jacobean mansion Audley End House, where the warriors intend to refuel in its stable yard before heading on south.
For such set pieces, they don their full suits of chainmail, which are carried behind in a support van, as the armour weighs roughly 30 per cent of a man’s body weight.
Crowds form as the horseman approach – steel glinting in the sun – and an almighty cheer breaks out. “It has been an amazing thing to do,” says the youngest of the group, 23year-old field biologist Josh Powell.
“Now, though, I’m just getting to the point where I’m looking forward to actually going to have a fight.”
Weary legs or otherwise, next week the Normans better watch out. History may yet be reversed on the battlefields of Sussex.