20. ST MARY’S INSTITUTE OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH INCIDENT REPORT
Competition entry by Frances Harris
The Owain Glyndwr incident
Tidied up and scanned, the moment had arrived.
“Report!”
I stood in that upstairs room, my team behind me. Behind me, because they had all stepped back, the more to expose me to Senior Management. I shuffle my report, thinking
“Why do I have to read it out, they all have a copy.”
The answer, my inner voice told me, was so they could torture me over my mistakes.
“This was not my fault!”
“Tell that to Senior Management” the inner voice replied.
Breathing deeply I focused on the nice painting on the wall, the one of the sinking ship.
Mission:
As part if the wider investigation of the Welsh fight for independence 1400 – 1415, this Pathfinder jump was to identify Owain Glyndwr’s grave. Possible sites for investigation: Monnington Court, Kentchurch Court, Llanwdra and Kimbolton.
Context:
Owain Glyndwr has no known grave, he ended his days in secrecy. Of rumoured sites Monnington Court and Kentchurch Court are strong contenders as they were manors owned by John Scudamore the husband of Glyndwr’s daughter Alys.
Parameters:
To investigate Monnington Court in the Herefordshire March. Starting October 1414 jump forward monthly looking for signs of a funeral and/or recent burial. Establish dates for other jumps to follow up.
Team:
Frankonia Westland: Team Leader
Carlos Humphries: Pathfinder, welsh speaker
Ivor Pare: Security
Sallyann Gowersby: Pathfinder
Hester Trope: Pathfinder
Incident:
We proceeded with our monthly scans, reaching May 1415, with no evidence of a grave so far. Myself, Humphries and Pare exited the pod at dawn, just before 4am, a time planned to avoid notice. Gowersby and Trope remained to monitor, with instructions not to leave the pod. There was no obvious new grave, no coffin stood in the church. We were standing by the altar when a contemporary entered, an older man, a Grey Friar. Humphries quickly hid our recorder in his leather script and we knelt as if to pray. Our cover story was that we were pilgrims on our way to Shrewsbury. The Friar prayed with us, then Humphries and he exchanged a few words in Welsh. As we turned to take our leave the Friar leaned over, grabbed Humphries’ script and pushed a small wooden box into his hand.
This was serious, our recorder was in that script.
The Friar headed towards the door, beckoning for us to follow.
“What did he say” I whispered to Humphries
“I think he said we are going in the same direction, so we can travel together. He has a pack donkey, that’s where the script has gone. But we couldn’t understand each other very well.”
“But you were both speaking Welsh?”
“Yes, but modern Patagonian Welsh apparently isn’t much like mediaeval welsh. I had to say I was from Navarre like the Queen, he seemed to accept that.”
I think I might have rolled my eyes at that moment, but told them we needed to keep him in sight, I hoped we weren’t going all the way to Shrewsbury.”
Pare at that point asked what was in the box.
Humphries explained it was a reliquary. The Friar had said as pilgrims, we could carry it and receive the blessings of the saint while we travelled together.”
Pare opened the lid. Inside was a finger on golden tapestry. Not a nice finger, it was brown and shrivelled with a nasty yellow nail. Pare snapped the lid shut and told Humphries he was definitely carrying it.
I asked Humphries if he knew the identity of the saint but this seemed to be information lost in the linguistic confusion.
Outside the Friar eagerly started up the lane, leading the donkey. We had no option but to chase after our script. I told Trope and Gowersby on the com to hold tight and we followed the Friar. Humphries and he got over their linguistic difficulties and chatted away, Pare and I trudged along in silence. Two days later we reached the Benedictine monastery at Leominster, and were finally able to swap grim reliquary for script, say goodbye and head back to Monnington Court. We ran out of compo rations on the third day and Humphries and I had enormous blisters. Pare helpfully informed us that he always kept his own boots and was feeling fine.
Back in the pod, as we debriefed and finally had a cup of tea, Humphries dropped his bombshell.
He told us we could be pretty sure Owain Glyndwr was still alive in May 1415.
I asked why, and he informed me we had just walked all the way to Leominster with him.
As Team Leader I must formally protest that vital evidence was withheld from me, I disagree with Humphries who maintained that had I known I would have started acting weird and blown our cover.
Conclusions:
We can’t be sure that Owain Glyndwr stayed on in Leominster, however one suggested site for burial is Kimbolton church, owned by the Benedictines of Leominster. This will need investigating by another pathfinder team. We continued our monitoring of Monnington Court through to February 1416 but have gathered no conclusive proof of a burial.
Injuries:
Frankonia Westland: blisters
Carlos Humphries: blisters
Hester Trope: bruising, trampled by sheep
“Thank you Westland, a jump that has perhaps been more informative by accident than design” said the Boss. “A detailed write up please Humphries.”
“One last thing,” said one of the managers, “in your report you state Trope was trampled by sheep, when did that happen?”
“Gowersby and Trope can elaborate” I smiled, stepping back and folding my arms.
“It was a mission of mercy” said Gowersby, “whilst the team were away Trope noticed a sheep stuck on it’s back.”
“That is very bad” chipped in Trope “they can die.”
“So against your orders you left the pod?” asked the manager, enjoying herself I think.
“It was an emergency.” continued Gowersby. “I don’t like sheep, but Trope strode up like she knew what to do.”
“I did” said Trope indignantly.
“I think the sheep was just enjoying a rest, but Trope grabbed it’s fleece and pulled. It rolled over very suddenly, the momentum took Trope, so she fell and was suddenly under the sheep. It wasn’t happy, it got up and walked up and down on Trope a couple of times before gambolling off and joining it’s friends. They then formed a sit down protest outside the pod. We didn’t dare open the door in case they all piled in.
“What did you do?” asked the manager.
“We slept under the hedge” answered Gowersby.
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