St Eanswythe of Folkestone An early Anglo-Saxon saint and her relics
An unusual gathering of archaeologists, scientists, curators and ecclesiastics have been working in a church in Kent. Andrew Richardson explains what they found
In June 1885, during work to install decorative alabaster panels in the chancel of St Mary & St Eanswythe’s church, Folkestone, a small cavity was discovered in the north wall. Inside was a badly damaged lead vessel with a crudely fashioned lid, which contained human remains. The casket and bones were investigated by Canon Scott Robertson, who published his findings the next year in Archaeologia Cantiana. The remains were deemed to be those of a young woman, and the vicar, Matthew Woodward, wrote to the Times declaring that they were the lost bones of St Eanswythe. This caused something of a sensation, which reached as far as the New York Times.
There was some basis for Woodward’s bold assertion. Eanswythe (alternately spelled Eanswith) is briefly mentioned in a late Anglo-Saxon document detailing the lives and resting places of Kentish royal saints. This records that she was the daughter of Eadbald (king of Kent from ad616/ 18 to 640) and his Frankish queen Imme (Emma). It also says that St Eanswythe “rests at Folkestone”. Her name has long been associated with the foundation of one of the earliest AngloSaxon minsters, and it is presumed that her tomb or relics were housed within the now-lost minster church.
A Benedictine abbey was established on the site of this minster in 1095. By the 1130s it was decided to construct a new priory church, and in 1138 St Eanswythe’s relics were translated into this, on September 12 – which is now her feast day. There are several late medieval references to her shrine in the church, including donations in wills, and in the 1530s John Leland, a poet and antiquary, visited Folkestone and noted of the church, “Ther is St Eanswide buried”.
Folkestone Priory was surrendered to the Crown on November 15 1535. The church remained as the parish church for the town of Folkestone, but the fate of St Eanswythe’s relics after
the Dissolution had been unknown. Thus, the discovery in 1885 raised hopes that these were indeed the lost remains of Folkestone’s royal saint – though many were sceptical.
A lab in the church
In 1980 the bones were examined under the supervision of Tim Tatton-Brown, then Director of the Canterbury Archaeological Trust. This investigation concluded that they were the remains of a female aged 18–25. No further scientific analysis was carried out, and the relics were returned to the small alcove that had been created following their discovery in 1885. But interest in the bones, and whether they really could be those of a seventhcentury Kentish royal saint, remained.
In 2017 Canterbury Christ Church University secured funding, primarily from the National Lottery Heritage Fund and the Roger De Haan Charitable Trust, for a community heritage project entitled Finding Eanswythe: The Life and Afterlife of an Anglo-Saxon Saint. It was directed by Lesley Hardy, a senior lecturer in history at Christ Church, along with her colleagues Ellie Williams, Mike Bintley and Alex Kent. The Canterbury Archaeological Trust was commissioned to lead the archaeological side of the project.
Finding Eanswythe aimed to take a holistic approach to investigating, interpreting and celebrating the life and legacy of St Eanswythe, and to bring fresh perspectives on her to the people of Folkestone. It has been a great success, involving dozens of volunteers and engaging thousands of people in the archaeology and history of Folkestone, with Eanswythe and some of the mysteries surrounding her as a central focus. It had originally been intended that the project would include further investigation of the relics still housed in the church but, in the event, it proved impossible to obtain the necessary permissions ahead of the Lottery bid. Nonetheless the initial permissions and a Faculty were secured, to lay a sound foundation for future investigations.
The relics called out for further research. Funding to carry out this new work was provided by Folkestone Museum. The museum, transferred from the Library, had recently been relaunched in the Town Hall by Folkestone Town Council, again with funding from the National Lottery Heritage Fund and the Roger De Haan Charitable Trust. In early January the church was closed for five days, and our team moved in, setting up an osteological lab in the vestry and a conservation lab in the nave. We included myself, Lesley Hardy, Ellie Williams (lecturer in archaeology at Canterbury Christ Church University), who led the analysis of the human remains, and Dana GoodburnBrown (of amteccic), who led the conservation of the lead vessel. There were also a small number of volunteers from the Finding Eanswythe project.
Several of us slept overnight in the church, for reasons of security as well as to get everything done in the short time available. The church wardens and members of the Parochial Parish Council provided invaluable support throughout, as did the Archdeacon, Darren Miller, and the Reverend Dr John Walker, now installed as mission priest at Folkestone, who said prayers before the work commenced. Hardy had herself recently been ordained as a deacon, and overall the project to investigate the relics represented a real coming together of heritage specialists – archaeological, osteological, historical, curatorial and conservation – with the church and local community. A highlight of the week was a visit by the Bishop of Dover, who took a very keen interest in the work.
Dating the bones
The analysis established that the bones were indeed those of a single young person, with age of death estimated at around 17–20 years, 22 at the most. About half the skeleton was present, rather more than expected, although many of the bones were in a poor or fragile condition. The only visible pathology consisted of minor trauma injuries to the right foot and two fingers on the left hand. The teeth showed no sign of stress. Biological sex was probably female, although we should be cautious, particularly given the state of preservation and completeness of the skeleton. However, nothing was noted that was inconsistent with these being the remains of St Eanswythe.
The lead container was also of interest. It was examined by myself, Goodburn-Brown and Paula JardineRose, and illustrated by Barbara Mcnee. It was found to be originally an oval or circular tank, with its side formed from a single decorated panel, possibly part of a re-used Roman lead coffin. It had an everted rim, and two vertical seams which flared towards the top edge. It is paralleled by two other examples from Kent, at Wychling and Rochester, and several similar vessels from eastern England. All appear to date to the eighth to ninth centuries ad, although there is debate about their original function. It is likely that the Folkestone example was part of the equipment of the old minster church and that it was transferred into the new church in 1138, although whether it was associated at that time with the relics of St Eanswythe is impossible to say. At some point the vessel was remodelled into a sub-rectangular shape, and a large and heavy lid fashioned from a separate piece of lead to fit this new shape.
At the conclusion of the analysis in the church, everything looked promising for the remains being those of St Eanswythe – and certainly, it seemed very probable that they were indeed the relics recorded as being translated into the church in 1138. Would radiocarbon dating support this? We don’t know exactly when Eanswythe was alive, but a reasonable estimate can be made. Her parents probably married in or shortly before 624, and her father king Eadbald is recorded as dying in 640. This gives a maximum range of 624–641 in which she can have been born. If the bones are hers, an age of death estimated at 17–22 means she would have died sometime between 641 and 663.
A tooth and a foot bone were despatched to the 14chronoCentre at Queen’s University Belfast. The results came back very quickly, indicating that this individual had almost certainly died in the second half of the seventh century, probably after
ad653 – consistent with the evidence of history and archaeology. The two radiocarbon dates pull her death towards the later end of the range: she is likely to have been born around 633–641, and died around 653–663.
Female monasticism
Taken together, the evidence strongly suggests that these are the bones of Eanswythe; indeed, that is by far the simplest explanation to account for their presence in the wall of a 12thcentury church. Thus, it is likely the church dedicated to her in Folkestone holds the remains of the second earliest female Anglo-Saxon saint to have existed (in this she is just pipped at the post by her aunt Ethelburga). She is also the only member of the Kentish royal house whose remains have been found, the Kentish royal graves at Canterbury having been destroyed during the Dissolution. She is the granddaughter of king Ethelberht, who welcomed the arrival of the Augustinian mission to Kent in 597, and of his Frankish queen Bertha, daughter of the Merovingian king Charibert i (d 567). Samples have been sent off for stable isotope analysis and the extraction of adna, holding out the hope not just of learning more about Eanswythe herself, but also of providing genetic insights into the Kentish and Merovingian royal lines.
Archaeological and historical analysis of this discovery is still at an early stage. But the two radiocarbon dates, together with an age-at-death of around 17–20, suggest a fresh historical narrative for Eanswythe’s short life, most of which appears to have been lived under the reign of her older brother Eorcenbert (r 640–664) rather than that of her father. Traditionally, she has often been assumed to have been born early in her father’s reign, and to have died around the same time as him. This is partly because several much later sources attribute the founding of the minster at Folkestone to Eadbald, apparently with no evidence whatsoever. More recently,
most historians have argued that the minster was more likely to have been founded during the reign of Eorcenbert.
Barbara Yorke has suggested that the earliest monastic institutions for women in England may have been inspired by the policy of Queen Balthild, who was regent of Neustria – the western part of the Frankish kingdom, principally northern France without Brittany – from 657–665. Balthild was a slave, possibly of AngloSaxon birth, gifted in 650 to Clovis ii by Erchinoald, mayor of the palace of Neustria from 641 until his death in 658.
It has been suggested, on the basis of similar naming patterns, that Erchinoald may have been a close relative, perhaps a brother, of Eanswythe’s mother Emma. If that was the case, then as Eanswythe emerged into young adulthood, she would have been perfectly positioned to be the figurehead for a new type of female monasticism in England, inspired by Frankish models.
Folkestone would have been a perfect place to establish such an institution, within site of the Frankish coast. She may also have been a key figure in recementing the old links between the kingdoms of Kent and Neustria, a role that was tragically cut short by her early death. But her memory has lived on and her bones have been kept ever since in the town that she helped to found. Now the present generation must take their turn in the continuing task of curating these fragile and Sacred remains.