Today’s Silken Yet Truly Morbid Fact!
The most remarkable Roman discovery in London in recent years is that of the Spitalfields Woman. In 1999, archaeologists were working on the excavation of a site earmarked for a new office block. They were expecting to find the remains of one of the largest hospitals in England (Spitalfields derives from ‘St. Mary’s Hospital Fields’), but a greater discovery lay beneath. Under a layer of 8,000 mediaeval burials, they uncovered a cemetery, situated on Ermine Street, the major route north out of London. There were over 200 burials, the most spectacular of which consisted of a stone sarcophagus, dating from the fourth century AD. One of four high-profile burials, it had been placed on a raised area of the cemetery, designed to be seen from the main road. This feature had its drawbacks. Two of the tombs had been broken into, probably during the Late Roman period, and grave robbers had even created a ramp to make it easier to steal the sarcophagus. The latter had been enclosed in a timber mausoleum, long since rotten, although traces of the joists remained. Nearby were the remains of a child.
Unlike the other three, this sarcophagus had never been tampered with. Distracted, perhaps, by another find, or interrupted in their work, the grave robbers had left it intact. Perhaps they intended to return at a later date.
By the thirteenth century, the graves had been built over, which had preserved the sarcophagus for posterity. After scanning with a metal detector indicated that there was something previous inside, the lid was raised to show an elaborately decorated lead coffin, surrounded by mud. Inside was an intricate hair ornament made of jet, and a beautiful glass perfume bottle, suggesting that the inhabitant was a woman.
When the coffin was opened, it revealed the skeleton of a young woman, perfectly preserved, lying on a pillow of bay leaves, and wrapped in an elaborate robe of Chinese silk, decorated with gold thread from Syria.
The Spitalfields Woman sarcophagus and coffin.
The Spitalfields Woman had been prosperous. She came from a wealthy family, the wife or daughter of a senior Government official. DNA testing revealed that she was probably of Spanish origin. Her sarcophagus was limestone, quarried in the East Midlands, possibly selected from a number of sarcophagi kept on hand for important burials by the precursors of the London undertaking trade. Tall for her day at five feet four inches, she showed little evidence of injury or disease; the cause of death was thought to have been an infection. And she had never given birth. DNA testing indicated that the child buried nearby was not related.
The Spitalfields Woman now resides in her coffin, at the Museum of London, for all to see. Reconstruction techniques, pioneered in the discipline of forensic science, have allowed experts to recreate her face. For all the Roman horror of the dead, there is nothing to fear here. We can look into her eyes, and consider the details of her short life, and gain some insight into what it was like to live and die in London, almost 2,000 years ago.
Detail of the coffin and the Spitalfields Woman herself. She was cute!
Culled from: Necropolis: London and Its Dead
Car Crash Du Jour!
One of my favorite books is Car Crashes and Other Sad Stories by Anaheim photographer Mell Kilpatrick. It’s a collection of car crash photos from the 40’s and 50’s, often with corpses still strewn across the enormous interior (or out of it, since there were no seat belts in those days). It combines my love of old cars with my love of morbidity and is the perfect ambulance chaser book!
Red Hill & Rt. 101
Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!
This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).
Here’s today’s entry:
September 7th. Very hot. Ten detachments were taken out. Ten more ordered to be in readiness. Drew a pint of meal, and pork. Holshoult, of the 34th Massachusetts, of our squad, died to-night.
Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost