He’s a jolly good Fellow

This is, for now, the last of the posts about my great achievements; I have so much stuff in publication queues that another can’t, hopefully, be too far away, but for now this is the last one. (Then we can get to really clearing backlog… !) I already mentioned these two things in passing, but in the last couple of years I have achieved a certain level of professional recognition that lets me start adding more letters after my name when I really want to show off. In late 2016, I managed to achieve election as a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. Then, in August 2017 I also attained Fellowship of the Higher Education Academy. These two things are quite different in both process and signification so I thought I’d say something briefly about both.

New Royal Historical Society logo as of 2018

The Royal Historical Society is a 150-year-old learned society in the traditional mould, which it is now working to break down a bit as it generates important work about how that ‘traditional’ mould has restricted career progress for anyone who’s not male and white.1 (I was born lucky in this respect, of course.) The way you get to be a Fellow of it is that you make a case to them that your work is a significant achievement in the field, get someone else who already is a Fellow to write agreeing with that, and then they decide. In my case, I had a slight starting advantage in that the book of my thesis was published through the Royal Historical Society and they nearly (alas, only nearly) gave it a prize, so I was pretty sure it was OK in their eyes, and I made it the cornerstone of my case. I took a long time doing this, however, and I will admit that what made me actually apply in the end was a combination of going to hear Katy Cubitt talk at the Society and there being names announced of new fellows whom I thought of as much younger than me (because they are) and became outraged that I hadn’t already achieved this before them—which was my own fault of course—and of trying to achieve some sense of recognition in my new job. But once the application was in it was easy, I was elected and since then it’s just been a matter of remembering to pay my society fees.

Higher Education Academy banner

The Higher Education Academy no longer exists as such and was when I applied a youthful 14 years old. (It is now called Advance HE and is slightly differently constructed, but still awards the Fellowships.) Its focus is entirely on teaching quality. For a while the UK university sector proliferated teaching qualifications, ranging from the nationally-recognised Postgraduate Certificate in Education that schoolteachers take through to various bespoke university ones some of which weren’t recognised even throughout their own institutions, let alone more widely. The HEA Fellowship scheme was, as I understand it, a governmental intervention in that situation to provide a recognisable accreditation for university teachers, and it has become more and more popular, partly because of governmental use of it as a teaching quality benchmark but mainly, I think, because it has allowed universities to apply a universal standard of teaching qualification to the staff they take on. I, for example, hold a Certificate in University Teaching from Birkbeck College London. It was very useful to me, but no other institution could easily find out what it means in terms of training, not least because Birkbeck, University of London (as they now are) no longer offer it. But if you hire someone with an HEA Fellowship you know what they’ve done to get it. One can be a Junior Fellow, a straightforward Fellow or a Senior Fellow and what these more or less mean is “I have some recognised teaching training and experience and some idea that this is a subject of academic study in its own right”, “I am up to speed with modern requirements on university teachers, how we can teach and why the scholarship thinks we should do it so” and “I am all that, but have also made other people change how they teach”. I went for the middle one.

This was a lengthy process. Leeds supplies pretty extensive support, so there were training sessions, other people’s draft applications to read and so on, but it boils down to references from two people who’ve seen you teach, a log of one’s professional development over the previous year, a reflective account of one’s teaching practice with reference to the scholarship, and a form saying you’ve done all those things. The log was the most frustrating of these, and if I’d understood the process better I would have made a better job of it. As you may just remember me saying, on arrival at Leeds I threw myself into quite a lot of training, thinking I wouldn’t have as much of a chance later and conscious that it was one of my probationary requirements. But you may also remember me saying that while applying for Fellowship was also one of those requirements, the University had just, when I arrived, pulled its scheme for doing so, and the national one they were using as backup required you have a year of experience teaching in post first. So, by the time I could do my application, most of my training was already ageing out of relevance! Anyway, leaving that aside, the reflective log was also not something I enjoyed putting together. In the first place, it had to speak the right language, that of the UK Professional Standards Framework. That’s not actually hard to do, and there are worse jargon structures, but it does mean one starts to write in parrot form unless one’s careful, losing one’s own voice in the writing. In the second place, it means one has to at least show awareness of a lot of literature about university pedagogy and, while, there is much good stuff about that out there (I now know) there is also quite a lot of soapboxing or science-by-anecdote, and standards of proof are slippery in much of it. Some of it certainly did challenge me to improve my teaching. Nonetheless, I took a certain vicious pleasure, firstly in citing myself, and secondly in making sure that Hacking the Academy, and especially the chapter therein called “Lectures are Bullshit”, were in the Bibliography, as some kind of reward to myself for having perforce to cite this stuff without space for critique.2

Anyway, it all worked, I got the Fellowship and, eventually, cleared probation, though that is a longer and separate story that will not be told here. And I have to say, looking back over the reflective statement just now, there are things in there I had forgotten I’d done in a classroom, as well as many promises to do things I have yet to follow up. I could be a much better teacher if I followed my own advice… I have, accidentally, created a reflection that deserves further reflection, and in that respect, I have to admit that the process was and will continue to be more useful to me than it seemed at the time I was doing it. I should pay attention to that message! Such are the thoughts on this occasion of Dr Jonathan Jarrett, M. A., Ph. D., F. R. Hist. S., F. H. E. A.


1. See Gender Equality and Historians in UK Higher Education, The Royal Historical Society (London 2015), online here; Race, Ethnicity & Equality in UK History: A Report and Resource for Change, by Hannah Atkinson, Suzanne Bardgett, Adam Budd, Margot Finn, Christopher Kissane, Sadiah Qureshi, Jonathan Saha, John Siblon & Sujit Sivasundaram (London 2018), online here; Promoting Gender Equality in UK History: A Second Report and Recommendations for Good Practice, by Nicola Miller, Kenneth Fincham, Margot Finn, Sarah Holland, Christopher Kissane & Mary Vincent (London 2018), online here.

2. I got myself in there via talking about coins as a teaching tool (on which see Jonathan Jarrett, Coins in Collections: care and use. A Guide to Best Practice by the COINS Project (Cambridge 2009), if you can somehow find a copy). The other cite is of course Jeff Jarvis, “Lectures are Bullshit” in Daniel J. Cohen & Tom Scheinfeldt (edd.), Hacking the Academy: New Approaches to Scholarship and Teaching from Digital Humanities (Ann Arbor, MI, 2013), pp. 66-69. Of what I read without the intent to be smug, Arthur W. Chickering and Zelda F. Gamson, “Seven Principles for Good Practice in Undergraduate Education” in American Association for Higher Education Bulletin (Denver, CO, 1987), pp. 3-6, repr. in Biochemical Education Vol. 17 (1989), pp. 140–141 inter alia, repr. separatim as Wingspread Journal Vol. 9 no. 2 (Racine, WI, 1989) and thence online here, Michael Jackson, “But Learners Learn More” in Higher Education Research & Development Vol. 16 (Abingdon 1997), pp. 101–109, DOI: 10.1080/0729436970160108 and Anoush Margaryan, Allison Littlejohn & Gabrielle Vojt, “Are Digital Natives a Myth or Reality? University Students’ Use of Digital Technologies” in Computers & Education Vol. 56 (New York City 2011), pp. 429–440, DOI: 10.1016/j.compedu.2010.09.004 might be my top three, and John B. Biggs and Catherine So-kum Tang, Teaching for Quality Learning at University: what the student does, 3rd edn. (Maidenhead 2007) would be an incredible resource if trying to implement it wouldn’t clearly kill you from overwork. Philip Race, The Lecturer’s Toolkit: A Practical Guide to Assessment, Learning and Teaching, 3rd edn. (London 2007) is probably the single one I found most practically useful. It’s tempting to give a list of ones I thought were terrible too but that would just make me into a bad person.

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From the Sources XV: Trading in nostalgia in 11th-century Pavia

Posting here with any regularity continues to be difficult; the gaps pretty much coincide with the arrival of marking, and last for as long as it does. None of this is reducing the queue of things I want to talk about, but this post will at least get something out of it. I’ve been meaning to write something about this particular source for three years or so, since my second semester here at Leeds in which I found myself the convenor of an old module that I still run, called ‘Empire and Aftermath: The Mediterranean World from the Second to the Eighth Centuries’. This is more or less a late antique survey of essentially political content, with some pauses to consider other issues, and one of these other issues is the venerable Pirenne thesis, the argument of the early twentieth-century historian of towns Henri Pirenne that despite its political breakdown the Roman world remained an economic and cultural unit until the rise of Islam cut northern and western shores of the Mediterrean off from eastern and southern and ended the commerce on which the whole thing ran.1 I used to worry about teaching the Pirenne thesis, because it seemed to me like a dead debate and I think focusing on those artificially is a bad illustration to students of what we do, but a recent article by Bonnie Effros has revived it somewhat or, at least, shown why it’s still current, and coincidentally makes a great key secondary reading! But the question I was faced with was what to use as a primary source. How do you show a class with no foreign languages a large-scale economy over the course of a century from which there’s very little relevant written evidence?

Sixth-century imported kitchenwares on display a few stories above the rubbish pits in which they were found in the Crypta Balbi, Rome

Sixth-century imported kitchenwares on display a few stories above the rubbish pits in which they were found in the Crypta Balbi, Rome, photo by yours truly. I have honestly thought of compiling these photos, dodgy though they are, and transcriptions of the museum captions into a source-pack, but thankfully have so far stopped myself. Why isn’t there such a write-up?

Obviously, you have to focus on a case study. My first thought was that I wanted a short clear piece of English writing about the ceramic deposit from the rubbish dump in the Crypta Balbi in Rome, which dramatically shrank then stopped over the seventh century. As far as I can see, though, there isn’t such a piece of writing: I could find use of it as an explanation of stratigraphy in a two-page appendix on ceramics in the period in general, or else just diagrams, and everything else is in Italian.2 I even asked someone knowledgeable at the British School of Rome and the best they could suggest was the museum guidebooks, which I duly ordered and were, alas, no use at all for my purposes.3 (The photos came later, and I’ll tell that tale in due course.) So, in the first year I went with the list of travellers from the appendices of Michael McCormick’s Origins of the European Economy, but they’re almost impossible to understand out of the context of the book.4 Next year, inspired by a then-recent paper of Chris Wickham’s, I used the letters of Pope Gregory the Great that talk incidentally about Mediterranean shipping, but that wasn’t ideal either because Gregory was pre-Islamic, so could only show a before, not an after.5 Now I use a charter supposedly issued by King Chilperic II about tolls on shipping at Marseille, and that sort of works, but it took me a while to find it and it’s still not quite ideal because of its complex textual history and some dubious features.6 But this post is about none of these things—though any suggestions and comments would be most welcome—but something I found while looking. (Pirenne does come back at the end, though, there is a plan of sort at work here, honestly.)

Paris, Archives nationales, K3/17

This is not the right charter of Chilperic II, but it does do some of the same things; this is a grant to St-Denis from 716 that survives as Paris, Archives nationales, K3/17, image from ARTEM via Wikimedia Commons

If you are a teaching medievalist, or even just a determined enthusiast, you will of course be familiar with that marvellous phenomenon, the old source reader. While either Patrick Geary’s or Barbara Rosenwein’s big newer ones serve teaching purposes very well, the tradition in which they stand is a very long one.7 If you’ve really looked at the Internet Medieval Sourcebook you may have noticed quite how much of it has names like Henderson, Thatcher, Ogg and so on attached to it, and to be honest while he’s added to the basic corpus, so does Geary’s in many places, and so indeed does pretty much every other modern anthology I’ve used.8 And while the commonest ones are all from the early twentieth-century USA and carry pretty much the same basic content, with a religious and constitutional focus unsurprisingly enough, when you start poking around not only does each of them have one or two things in that only their translators thought were interesting, but also there are some specialist ones constructed because of that thematic focus, these usually being economic.9 And in those latter there’s some really interesting stuff, things that not only have people not translated but which not that many people know exists.10 At least, I didn’t (which I realise is not the same thing). And this post, he finally announces three paragraphs down, is about one of those.

Cover of Robert S. Lopez and Irving W. Raymond (edd./transl.), Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World

Cover of Robert S. Lopez and Irving W. Raymond (edd./transl.), Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World

The anthology in question is about medieval trade, and like most sourcebooks it’s out to provide documentation for a historical argument—I guess they all are, really, if one accepts that ‘these are the roots of our culture and liberties’ is an argument. That argument is the one of the so-called Commercial Revolution, and accordingly the sourcebook is by the man who came up with that, Robert Lopez, along with some help from one Irving W. Raymond.11 And while the things you’d expect to be there—bits of Genizah documentation, letters from Genoa and so on—are here, so is some really interesting other stuff. I was going to do a run of From the Sources posts about these, but then remembered that because there is a second edition of this book, updated by the late lamented Olivia Remie Constable, they’re all still under copyright.12 So you can’t have the Lombard slave sale I thought was such a clear example of people-dealing in the early Middle Ages, but I do want to say something about what Lopez and Woodworth bill as ‘Regulations from the Royal Court at Pavia’.13 I can’t give it you in full translation, because as I say what Lopez and Raymond gave of it is protected by law, but they didn’t use all of it, so I can give you the rest, and when you have that it starts to look like quite a different, and fascinating, but awkward, source. So, here are some rules that someone in Pavia wanted written down, with the bits that Lopez and Raymond covered in square-bracketed summary with references.14 As ever this translation is fast and could probably be improved, but I hope it’s accurate enough to justify the argument I’m going to pull from it.

    “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, ever-eternal God. These institutes of the kings of the Lombards, these royal fasces, these honours of this ancient city of Ticinum should be fixed in solid white marble, lest long age should anywhere succeed in abolishing them. This city, the first to hear Christian words and on this account blessed with the Lord among other cities, Saint Syrus did bless at the beginning of his introduction and said: ‘O blessed city, read! No little, but greatly and copiously shall you be called upon within the limits of cities among other towns, praise shall come to thee from the furthest mountains.’ Rome named Pavia and called it her daughter. And just as Rome crowns the emperor in the church of San Pietro with her pope, so does Pavia with her bishop crown the king in the church of San Michaele Maggiore, where there is one round stone with four other round stones. The royal palace is in this city of Pavia, to which and to the royal presence therein are bound to and should come all the princes of Italy, for so fortune stirred up from the deeds of Ausonia councils to be celebrated with mature deliberation and whatever should have been deliberated in the said council to be observed under the beneficence of the king. For Pavia ought to have counts of the palace, who should hold audiences or courts of law for the whole of Italy in every place as if it were before the emperor and to do justice unto everyone; and she should have a missus of the king, and he should resolve disputes throughout Italy according to precept. Pavia should have a royal advocate and palatine judges. Moreover all the judges of Italy should settle cases by sentence. For they used to come to the general school of this blessed city of Pavia from all the cities of Italy to study in the civil law and to learn the laws, and the best and most honoured were the judges of Pavia. The bishops of Pavia stand out from all the cities of Italy. From all the priests of the church of San Siro, from all the clergy who were of this city, there were vouchsafed many divine graces and blessings.

  1. “All of you whom touch the love, utility and honour of the kingdom of Lombardy, hear with light and equable spirits, how all of the duties that pertain to the royal chamber and palace and all the royal rights of the Lombards were instituted in ancient times!”
  2. [Merchants entering the kingdom paid a tenth of most sorts of produce (horses, slaves, cloth, some metals) at any (maybe all?) of a range of listed toll stations; pilgrims to Rome are exempt.15]
  3. [Anglo-Saxon merchants were also exempt, because they raised so much trouble and complaints that a treaty was brokered by which their king sent a load of luxury goods (silver, dogs (wearing silver), cloaks (probably silver-embroidered…), shields and so on) to the Lombard king every year instead.16]
  4. [Venice had a similar arrangement by which fifty pounds of silver deniers annually and a big cloak buys their merchants free access to all Lombard ports.17]
  5. [Despite that, Venetian merchants coming to actual Pavia paid every fortieth solidus they carried to the monastery of San Martino there, and a delegation from Venice still brings the royal treasurer a pound of pepper, one of cinnamon, one of galanghal and one of ginger annually, plus a comb and mirror or twenty deniers for his wife.18]
  6. [Salerno, Gaeta and Amalfi had the same deal for access to Pavia.19]
  7. [Pavia’s own merchants carry an imperial safe conduct which should get them trouble-free access to all markets in Italy, on pain of a payment of 1,000 mancuses.20]
  8. [Pavia’s mint is farmed out to nine masters each year, who are in charge of the moneyers and pay 12 pounds each to the royal treasury annually for the privilege, and another four to the count of the palace; they are to cut off the right hand of any moneyer making false coin.21]
  9. [Milan can make coins on the same standard as Pavia as long as they pay twelve pounds of them to the royal treasury in Pavia every year; the same rules about forgers apply.22]
  10. “Also there are all the gold-panners who send a levy to Pavia, and they never ought to sell gold to anyone under oath, and they ought to consign it to [the king] and the chamberlain. And they ought to buy all that gold at a rate of two solidi, that is an eighth of an ounce, that is two and a half deniers, for sixteen solidi, that is eleven ounces, in the rivers where they pan for gold, which are these: Padus, Ticinus, Dorica, Sicida, Stura, Misturla, Octo, Amalone and Amalona, Celo, Duria, Blavum, Urba, Salvus, Sesedia, Burmia, Agonia, Ticinus from the Great Lake that runs into Padua. There are also these rivers: Abdua, Oglius, Mentius, Sarno, Adexe, Brenta, Trebia. And they ought to pan for gold in all the other rivers aforesaid.
  11. “There are moreover fishermen in Pavia, who should fund one master from all their goods, and they should have sixty ships, and for each one of the ships they ought to give two denari every Kalends; the which kalendular denari they should give to their master, and they ought to make such savings that, when the king is in Pavia, they may use those denari to buy fish and at the same time bring them honourably daily to the court and to give fish to the chamberlain every Friday.
  12. “There are also twelve tanners, makers of hides, with twelve juniors, and they should make twelve of their hides from the best cows every year and give them to the royal chamber, so that no [other] man be allowed to make hides. And whoever infringes this, let him pay a hundred Pavian soldi to the royal chamber. And when any one of these tanners first enters, the greater ones ought to give four pounds, half to the royal chamber and half to the other tanners.”
  13. [The local boatmen and shipowners also appoint masters, from whom the king and queen each have pre-emption of one ship when they are in Pavia, along with a smaller pilot vessel to clear their passage, all of whose expenses are borne by the court.23]
  14. “And there were soapmakers in Pavia, who used to make soap, and who gave a render every year to the royal chamber of a hundred pounds of soap, and ten pounds of soap to the chamberlain, so that no-one else should make soap in Pavia.
  15. There is also a custom with those women, who are rich, but who do not have tutors or guardians, and who wish to marry, that they should come and entreat the chamberlain, so that he may act for god and for the soul of the king, and give them a tutor or guardian and license to marry whom they wish, according to his law; and that woman ought to offer there a best-quality shield and lance, to give to the chamberlain.
  16. “There is moreover in the church of San Siro a brass lamp, where the chamberlain ought thrice yearly, at Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, for each one of those festivals, to give a pound of Pavian denari in oil, so that that lamp may be filled and lit for the soul of the king. And the twelve retainers who are wardens in the church of San Siro, ought each one to receive linen clothes and each one a pair of boots and at Easter each one a cloak and cord shoes, so that they guard the emperor’s light well; and as many times as the king enters the church of San Siro in procession, thus he ought to give to those same twelve retainers every year for the king’s soul, so that God may answer their prayers. And two of the retainers of San Michaele Maggiore should receive clothes, just as do the retainers of San Siro.”
  17. [No-one is allowed to undertake any of these roles without license from the court, on pain of the bann, and Pavia’s merchants always get first choice in the markets here.24]

Lopez and Raymond stopped there, but actually there’s a load more, and it’s metaphorical gold:

  1. “And the abovesaid men, who hold these duties, which are written above, ought not to arrange or hold any meeting except before the king or the chamberlain.
  2. “And of all these duties, which are written above, the tenth part belongs to the royal chamber, as a benefice, note, the tenth as a benefice of the king, and from all those same duties that pertain to the king, his wife the queen ought to have the third part.
  3. “Know you this, that Gisulf the chamberlain, who was noble and rich, received all those same duties with all honour in the time of King Hugh and his son King Lothar, husband of Adelaide, and in the time of the first King Berengar and in the time of the first Emperor Otto. Once that Emperor Otto was dead, that Gisulf held the chamberlain’s office and his son Ayrald held it after him with all honour, just as did his father, up till the second and third Emperors Otto. With Ayrald the chamberlain having died, Agisulf his son ought to hold the chamberlain’s office, just as his father did.
  4. “Then there came that devil who is named John the Greek, who was a very apostate and a heretic, the Bishop of Piacenza, and he was a counsellor of the Greek empress and her son the third Emperor Otto, who was a child, and the king bestowed all those same duties on John the Greek, and he wanted to hold all those same duties which belonged to the royal chamber in his own hand. And he emplaced two of the Greek empress’s slaves, one of them named Siccus and the other Nanus, and gave them all those duties that are written above. And then that accursed John the Greek did not know the difference between the honours of the chamber and the profits of the royal chamber. And then that John and the bad ministers of the Greek empress with her son Otto, who was a child king and a young man, began to put the royal duties up for sale and to give them out in perpetuity and to disperse all those same duties, and those same duties were never afterwards honourable. And Emperor Henry sold many duties, which, since he had no son, the chamber should have inherited as a royal honour. And if he had been a prudent and honourable emperor, such as the empire should have, he would have had all those grants that have been made from these duties of the chamber cut up and the royal chamber assured of its status and permanence, just as it was from ancient times.
  5. “All these honourable duties and very many others should be in Pavia, with the mercy of God and Holy Mary and Saint Syrus, who sends her bishops to Rome so that they ought to receive blessing and unction and consecration from the hand of the Pope. Just as the Apostle who raised the dead is in Rome, so there is Saint Syrus in Pavia who raised three men from the dead and gave sight back to a blind man, which we have never heard that any of the apostles did, and he did other beautiful and marvellous miracles too. In Rome there is one of the four doctors, Saint Gregory. In Pavia is another holy doctor, Augustine. Also by the mercy of God there was a bishop of Pavia who was from the apostolic see in Rome, who was called Peter by name. O glorious city of Pavia, endowed with a hundred and twenty-seven churches and sixteen monasteries, which are well staffed by night and by day and busy praying to the Lord, so that thou may always be saved with the men and women who are in thee, and with the animals and all the goods!”

You see, isn’t it more interesting when you know how it ends? So, let’s consider here. Lopez and Raymond billed this as “a nostalgic list of the rights and incomes lost by the royal treasury in Pavia”, and seamlessly stitch it together with a tale of burgeoning economic forces that made such royal control of trade impossible: the free market and the communes were coming, and tradition could not stand in their way!25 They offer it, therefore, as a source for what had once been, which apparently included royal trading treaties not unlike ones we’ve looked at here before and a variety of things we might reasonably call guilds, somewhat precociously. Predictably, as we can see, Lopez and Raymond were much more interested in anything that was sold or shipped than anything that was not, especially if it looked like royal throttling of free market exchange; their story was of the triumph of the market. But once you have the coda, it’s clear that that was not what the compilers thought was going on. I think, given how much he comes up, it is clear that those compilers were at the church of San Siro, and it looks rather as if they had somehow wound up either inheriting or championing the claim of the would-be third-generation chamberlain Agisulf to whatever rights they themselves didn’t get, which is why we have this odd mish-mash of commercial and ecclesiastical prerogatives. Clearly, what they thought had happened is that a foreign regime with no respect for their rights had barged in and sold all the offices off. They were still out there, the duties were still being charged as far as we can tell; those sailors were probably still paying their denari, the fisherman were still likely piling up money for fish for the court and for all we know twelve really good hides were still dumped at the palace every year, but San Siro and Agisulf weren’t seeing the profits, and that was the real issue.

Romanesque church of San Michele Maggiore di Pavia

The Romanesque church of San Michele Maggiore di Pavia, as rebuilt at the end of the eleventh century, a fact that will shortly become significant! Image by Slawojar and licensed under Creative Commons via Wikimedia Commons

What does this mean for the source as used by Lopez and Raymond? Well, firstly it means that since the rights were no longer held by the people who claimed them, we can’t be sure that they all ever were. Presumably they did exist, or granting the claim would mean setting up new infrastructure to try and exact them, and there are other sources we’ve looked at here showing extensive market trade in tenth-century Pavia; but lots of these things might not actually have been effective royal claims. For Lopez and Raymond that maybe didn’t matter; as they said, “it commemorates a regime that was already doomed as the document was drafted”.26 And they may have been right about that, but they were also wrong, or (since Lopez knew his Italian history) more likely quietly misleading, about why it was doomed.

Byantine ivory showing Christ crowning Emperor Otto II and Theophanu in 982, Paris, Musée de Cluny

Byantine ivory showing Christ crowning Emperor Otto II and Theophanu in 982, Paris, Musée de Cluny, image by Clio20, licensed under Creative Commons via Wikimedia Commons

The deeper context here, you see, is not economic at all.27 As the source says, Otto III succeeded as a child after his father’s untimely death in 997, and his mother, the Byzantine princess Theophanu, became regent. Perhaps, indeed, she and her cronies didn’t understand how great and magnificent Pavia was supposed to be—from the beginning and end of the source it seems like maybe no-one really can understand this enough. But the problem was not that they gave in to market forces and the clamouring demand for capitalist liquidity; it’s that they didn’t hold court at Pavia. In fact, no-one had done that with any regularity for quite a while. Hugh and Berengar I did, but kings from over the Alps then became Kings of Italy as well as Kings of the Germans with the Ottonian takeover, and obviously then they weren’t there as much. Otto III actually set up in Rome (whose apostles, as we are told here, aren’t a patch on Saint Syrus) and Henry II was barely in Italy at all. Furthermore, when he first came, it was provoked by the need to remove from it a new local king, Arduin, who had been crowned guess where? In Pavia, in San Michaele Maggiore to whose churchwardens the king should be giving fresh linen three times a year but which was actually at this point lying partly ruined after its destruction in 1004, hence the Romanesque rebuild shown above! (You’ll notice there’s no mention of that, or of Arduin, in our source…)

München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4456, fol. 33

I mean, you can see he had his hands full… Coronation image from Henry II’s own sacramentary, now München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4456, fol. 33, image public domain via Wikimedia Commons

So Henry was understandably not friendly with the royal city of the Lombards and in any case, he was largely busy elsewhere. Pavia had just ceased to be a major royal centre. The king or emperor didn’t come and eat the fish any more, no-one needed the hides; even the Anglo-Saxon silver, if it was still being sent, was presumably being sent somewhere else. The disconnection and disenfranchisement of the old capital would become such that, as very very long-term readers may remember or else maybe you already know, in 1037 the citizens would actually burn the palace and then claim, when called to account for it, that since there had been no king at the time there was no blame attached to such actions. King Conrad II thought otherwise, and in so judging sort of invented the idea of the king’s two bodies, but that would be a story for another time.28 The thing is, it wasn’t economic change that had made a backwater out of Pavia, it was good old-fashioned royal dynastic politics. Lopez’s Commercial Revolution has quietly stood the test of time nearly as long as Pirenne’s thesis with which we began this post (remember?), but it’s things like this that make me wonder whether, if we poked it, it would begin to come apart in the same way. It makes you wonder why no-one has tried, doesn’t it…?


1. Referring of course to Henri Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne, trans. Bernard Miall (London 1939). For historiography on it (huge!) see Bonnie Effros, “The Enduring Attraction of the Pirenne Thesis” in Speculum Vol. 92 (Cambridge MA 2017), pp. 184–208, with many many references.

2. Stratigraphy training: Olof Brandt, “Interpreting the Archaeological Record” in Philip Rousseau (ed.), A Companion to Late Antiquity (Oxford 2009), online here, pp. 156-169 at pp. 160-161; diagrams in Simon Loseby, “The Mediterranean Economy” in Paul Fouracre (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval History volume I: c. 500‒c. 700 (Cambridge 2005), pp. 605–638 at p. 609. I think the Italian work of reference would be Daniele Manacorda, Lidia Parola & Alessandra Molinari, “Diletta Romei: la ceramica medioevale di Roma nella stratigrafia della Crypta Balbi” in La ceramica medievale nel Mediterraneo occidentale: (Atti III Congresso Internazionale della Università degli Studi di Siena) (Firenze 1986), pp. 511-544, but I will admit I haven’t read it.

3. I got Daniele Manacorda, “Excavations in the Crypta Balbi, Rome: a survey” in Accordia Research Papers Vol. 1 (Firenze 1990), pp. 73–81 and Daniele Manacorda et al., Crypta Balbi: Museo nazionale romano. English edition, trans. Joanne Berry and Nigel Pollard (Milano 2000), but while both are good, I was after something quite specific.

4. Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce, A. D. 300-900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 799-810.

5. Now best found, despite some reservations, as John R. C. Martyn (trans.), The Letters of Gregory the Great, translated, with introduction and notes, 3 vols (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004).

6. Theo Kölzer, Martina Hartmann and Andrea Stieldorf (edd.), Die Urkunden der Merowinger, Monumenta Germaniae Historica (Diplomata regum ex stirpe merowingicarum) (Hannover 2001), 2 vols, I doc. no. 171.

7. These days available as Patrick J. Geary (ed./transl.), Readings in Medieval History, 5th edn. (Toronto 2016) and Barbara H. Rosenwein (ed./transl.), Reading the Middle Ages: Sources from Europe, Byzantium and the Islamic World (Toronto 2014), so Toronto profit whichever you buy!

8. Referring respectively to Ernest F. Henderson (ed./transl.), Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages (London 1903, many reprints), online here; Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar Holmes MacNeal (edd./transl.), A Source Book for Mediæval History: Selected Documents illustrating the History of Europe in the Middle Age (New York 1905), online here; and Frederic Austin Ogg (ed./transl.), A Source Book of Mediæval History: documents illustrative of European life and institutions from the German invasions to the Renaissance (New York 1907), online here.

9. The one of these I’m not using here, hard to get hold of but very interesting, is Roy C. Cave and Herbert H. Coulson (edd./transl.), A Source Book for Medieval Economic History (New York 1965).

10. Though none of them seem to contain the Raffelstetten Inquest. Why not? You’ll just have to carry on getting it here I guess…

11. Robert S. Lopez & Irving W. Raymond (edd./transl.), Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World: Illustrative Documents Translated with an Introduction and Notes (New York 1967). From this would soon come Robert S. Lopez, The Commercial Revolution of the Middle Ages, 950–1350 (New York 1971), which is therefore I suppose an example of teaching-led research.

12. Robert S. Lopez, Irving W. Raymond & Olivia Remie Constable (edd./transl.), Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World: Illustrative Documents Translated with an Introduction and Notes, 2nd edn. (New York 2001).

13. Leeds only has the first edition, so the following cites all come from Lopez & Raymond, Medieval Trade, not Lopez, Raymond & Constable. In that first edition the slave sale is doc. 13, pp. 45-46, a Lombard sale of a “boy from the Gallic people”. The “Regulations” are doc. 20, pp. 56-60.

14. The Latin can be found in A. Hofmeister (ed.), “Institvta regalia et ministeria camerae regvm longobardorvm et Honorantiae civitatis papiae” in H. Kaufmann, Hofmeister, G. Leidinger, W. Levison, G. Smidt & E. Assman, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores in folio XXX.3 (Leipzig 1934), pp. 1444-1460, online here.

15. Lopez & Raymond, Medieval Trade, doc. 20 at pp. 56-57.

16. Ibid., pp. 57-58.

17. Ibid., p. 58.

18. Ibid.. I have to admit that this seems very very early to me for galanghal to be coming west, which might make us want to ask about the fourteenth-century preservation of this apparently-eleventh-century text (acknowledged Lopez & Raymond, Medieval Trade, p. 56 n. 26). But I’m not going to ask about it now, because this post is already a massive monster…

19. Ibid., pp. 58-59.

20. Ibid., p. 59.

21. Ibid..

22. Ibid., pp. 59-60.

23. Ibid., p. 60.

24. Ibid..

25. Ibid., p. 56, inc.: “The new economic forces help the bishops undermine the power of the emperor and king, but at the same time they also prepare the future downfall of both bishops and imperial officials and the victory of the free Commune.”

26. Ibid..

27. For what follows see most simply Guiseppe Sergi, “The Kingdom of Italy” in Timothy Reuter (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval History volume III: c. 900–c. 1024 (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 346–371, and more deeply Giovanni Tabacco, The Struggle for Power in Medieval Italy: structures of political rule, transl. Rosalind Brown Jensen (Cambridge 1989), pp. 144-222.

28. For this, as well as Tabacco, I’d still cite Hagen Keller, “Das Edictum de beneficiis Konrads II. und die Entwicklung des Lehnswesens in der erste Häfte des 11. Jahrhunderts”, in Il Feudalismo nell’alto Medioevo, Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo Vol. 47 (Spoleto 2000), I pp. 227-261, though I realise that that’s not a massively helpful reference to the casual enquirer.

Name in Print XIX

I don’t really have time to write here, but as with Captain Beefheart and talking about his women, I’m gonna do it anyway.1 If you’re reading this you’re probably aware I’m working against two backlogs, one of reports of my academic life and the other in reporting my academic achievements, and we just had one of the previous so now it’s time for the latter, because I still have unreported successes to report, which I suppose is good. This time it’s a publication, what turned out to be my last one of 2018 in fact though it happened very early on, in February, and has a 2017 date on it. (I currently have four things in press, one more awaiting the editor’s word that it’s in press, and four more under review, some of which have been there a very long time, so it’s not for want of trying, but my life’s bibliography is going to have another gap in it for 2018, sometimes it’s just the way it goes.2)

Cover of Franz Füeg, Corpus of the Nomismata from Anastasius II to John I in Constantinople 713–976: Structure of the Issues; Corpus of Coin Finds; Contribution to the Iconographic and Monetary History (Lancaster 2007)

Cover of Franz Füeg, Corpus of the Nomismata from Anastasius II to John I in Constantinople
713–976: Structure of the Issues; Corpus of Coin Finds; Contribution to the
Iconographic and Monetary History
(Lancaster 2007)

So this piece! This goes back to my time at the Barber Institute, which on looking back was an immensely productive year. Somewhere in it, realising that I was now technically a Byzantine numismatist, the editor of the Numismatic Chronicle lit upon me like a cheery bird of prey, brandishing two books for which he didn’t have a reviewer, extensive studies of the Byzantine gold coinage of Constantinople by a retired professor of architecture by the name of Franz Füeg.3 I thought this was a relatively good way to advertise my participation in this field—and at the time, of course, I didn’t know how long I’d be in the field—and agreed, and then once I got reading realised that I’d let myself in for more than I’d bargained. The two books are complex, brilliant in places and questionable in others, and by the time I had a full stock even of the first volume, my draft review was nearly 4,000 words and also late. I sent it in in March 2017 and the editor kindly but firmly suggested that if it was going to be like this, I might as well do both volumes properly and call it a review article, and use it to comment on the state of the field a bit more broadly as well as these books.

The Numismatic Chronicle for 2017

The Numismatic Chronicle for 2017 in all its glory

Now even that took some time, because of course the job at Leeds had started by now and as you’ll have noticed that has kept me busier than I’ve been before. It also meant some more reading in this field I technically no longer worked in, very largely the works of Cécile Morrisson, and it wasn’t till November 2017 that that text finally went in.4 That was calculated to work with the timetable of the Chronicle, however, and I knew it would be in time; and therefore, it emerged in February 2018 and looks like this.

Jonathan Jarrett, 'Middle Byzantine Numismatics in the Light of Franz Füeg’s Corpora of Nomismata’, Numismatic Chronicle, 177 (2017), 514–35

First two pages of Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Middle Byzantine Numismatics in the Light of Franz Füeg’s Corpora of Nomismata’ in Numismatic Chronicle Vol. 177 (London 2017), pp. 514–35

I am quite pleased with this article. I’m not really sure I have the experience or expertise that should let me comment on Byzantine numismatics like this, even over a constrained period, but it does seem to me that Füeg’s books, while problematic in a huge range of ways, show up problems with our current paradigms over some things, most especially the organisation of the Constantinople mint (and especially officinae, for those who care), artistic seriation of coinages (though that should have looked like a problem already), who the die-cutters were and how many of them were at once, how we define obverse and reverse in the Byzantine coinages, how effective coins could have been as imperial propaganda (a point I’ve been teaching with ever since), and the nature of a possible demonetisation under Emperor Michael III, as well as some more of my points about the reasons for the production of concave coins already discussed.5 In other words, it’s quite wide-ranging—it even takes a few stabs at the literature on the bronze coins while it passes, though my suspicion is that Andrei Gândilá will sort that out before I get round to intervening there—and I think it’s quite clever in places.6 So, if you’re interested in any of those issues, you might want to have a look at it. I can’t post a PDF for two years, that’s the agreement, but obviously as a numismatist you should be subscribing to the Chronicle anyway, right? And if you do, then you’ve already seen this and I didn’t need to tell you, but I am still quite pleased with it.

(Statistics, such as they be given that this isn’t quite the normal peer-review process we’re talking here: one-and-a-half drafts over a period of two years two months; and time from first submission of a full text to print a mere three months, which is kind of amazing. As I said, timing was first bad then crucial…)


1. Cited from Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band, ‘Long-Necked Bottles’, on idem, I’m Gonna Do What I Want to Do (Live at My Father’s Place, 1978) (Rhino Records 2003), since you ask.

2. Just to tantalise you, the things actually in press, that I therefore have some certainty will actually come out—and as we’ll hear soon, that’s never guaranteed—are as follows:

  • Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Coinage in the Western World at the End of the Roman Empire and After: Tradition, Imitation and Innovation’ in Journal of Ancient Civilizations Vol. 33 (Changchun forthcoming)
  • Jonathan Jarrett, ‘La fundació de Sant Joan en el context de l’establiment dels comtats catalans’, transl. Xavier Costa i Badia in Blanca Garí and Costa (edd.), El monestir de Sant Joan: Primer cenobi femení dels comtats catalans (887-1017) (Montserrat forthcoming)
  • Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Outgrowing the Dark Ages: agrarian productivity in Carolingian Europe re-evaluated’ in Agricultural History Review (Reading forthcoming)
  • Luca Zavagno, Rebecca Darley and Jonathan Jarrett, ‘”Not the Final Frontier”: The World of Medieval Islands’ in al-Masāq: Islam and the Medieval Mediterranean, ‘Not the Final Frontier’: The World of Medieval Islands (Abingdon forthcoming)

But which one first? And when? That’s the thing no-one knows…

3. Franz Füeg, Corpus of the Nomismata from Anastasius II to John I in Constantinople 713–976: Structure of the Issues; Corpus of Coin Finds; Contribution to the Iconographic and Monetary History, transl. H. Thomas Hofmänner, ed. Italo Vecchi (Lancaster 2007); Füeg, Corpus of the Nomismata from Basil II to Eudocia 976–1067: Corpus from Anastasius II to John I 713–976 with Addenda; Structure of the Issues 976–1067; The Concave/Convex Histamena; Contribution to the Iconographic and Monetary History, transl. H. Thomas Hofmänner, ed. Italo Vecchi (Lancaster 2014).

4. I would recommend Cécile Morrisson, G. Schaaf and Jean-Michel Spieser, Byzance et sa monnaie, IVe–XVe siècle: précis de numismatique byzantine. Catalogue de la collection Lampart à l’Université de Fribourg, Réalités Byzantines 15 (Paris 2015), in which pp. 7‒104 are a ‘Précis de numismatique byzantine’ that somehow encapsulates much of her expertise, with shiny new diagrams.

5. On which last issue, of course see now Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Why did the Byzantine Coinage Turn Concave? Old Suggestions and a New One’, in Maria Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), Proceedings of the XV International Numismatic Congress, Taormina 2015 (Roma 2017), PDF Addendum pp. 1-4.

6. I’m thinking here especially of Andrei Gândilá, ‘Heavy Money, Weightier Problems: the Justinianic reform of 538 and its economic consequences’ in Revue numismatique Vol. 169 (Paris 2012), pp. 363–402, online here, but he’s been busy and there’s lots more I need to catch up with.

A showcase of my new department (as of 2015)

Tomorrow there will be marking again, if I am to write here at all, it must be tonight… If that sounds a little hunted, I apologise, but the effect of my workload on my ability to blog sadly cannot be denied. At the end of last October I promised you about five posts; here is the first of them, in which I report on an afternoon spent in the bosom of my then-freshly new department, Leeds’s Institute for Medieval Studies, on a day when it was in some sense on display, and since it showed it up so well I thought it would be good to remark on it here, even after such a long time.

The Parkinson Building, University of Leeds

The Parkinson Building, University of Leeds, home of the IMS. Photo by Tim Green from Bradford [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons.

There are in the IMS two long-running seminar series—most of the institutions within the IMS have a long and venerable pedigree by now—and one of these, Medieval Group, is slightly less formal than the other. Whereas the regular medieval history seminar is exactly what one would expect, the Medieval Group has members who are not part of the University and also does extra-curricular activities. Naturally enough that requires some publicity to get people to come, and on Saturday 24th October, 2015, there was therefore held the 22nd Annual Medieval Research Afternoon, and I was there and indeed part of the display.

The afternoon was broken into three parts, ‘Resources and Opportunities’, ‘Collaborations and Projects’, and ‘Research Presentations’. The first of these, maybe obviously, was intended to showcase the various medieval research things you can do in Leeds you can’t do elsewhere, and so we had short presentations from each of Elizabeth Linville, speaking on behalf of the Royal Armouries Museum, Lucy Moore, an ex-IMS student herself and speaking for Leeds Museums and Art Galleries for whom she now works (and indeed used to blog about coins), Rhiannon Lawrence-Francis, on behalf of Special Collections in the University of Leeds itself, and Dr Marta Cobb speaking for the International Medieval Congress, which among its other good works also provides a paid internship for one of our graduate students a year. We tend to have collaborative projects running with the Armouries because we have two staff members who work on, and supervise students in, medieval warfare, and so that was all very clear; we don’t have as much to do with the Museums and Art Galleries because they are cruelly overloaded, and indeed I was even then struggling to put something together with Lucy myself, but watch this space all the same, things are now afoot; and about some of the ways a medievalist might get working with Special Collections you have already heard. So all that made sense and was good and impressive.

‘Collaborations and Projects’ was more like normal paper presentations, so I’ll do it with the now-traditional bullet arrangement:

  • Rene Hernandez Vera and Mike Spence, ‘Digitising the Monastic Past’: this was a report on a project then just winding up to test the possibilities for digitising the very substantial archive of Fountains Abbey, which was the richest Cistercian abbey in England, which would be documents from 1146 till the 1300s, including both originals and their registrations in various record books. To me that sounded like the most interesting bit, the possibility of comparing the originals to what people thought worth preserving, but then I am a colossal charter geek as we know, and it may be that such a database would also serve people who just want to know more about Cistercian land management or the economic structures of pious intercession and so on, and of course of those we do have some famous ones
  • Romina Westphal, ‘Shedding Light on a New Science in the 12th Century: an iconographic study of the Hildesheim candlesticks’: this was a project on two small but intriguing candlesticks that now live in the Hildesheim Domschule. One of them is adorned with images of the three continents (as were then known) and the other with philosophical personifications. At this point Romina and her project boss, Dr Eva Frojmovic, had only just got hold of decent images of the objects and had from that managed to work out that the latter was indeed that, and not as it was previously thought to be images of the medieval school curriculum, the trivium, and further progress was soon expected.
  • Sophie Harwood and Iason Tzouriadis, ‘Leeds Postgraduate Culture and War Conference’: this was more of an advert than a paper, as the conference was then about to happen: entirely postgraduate-organised, but fully academic in its speakers, it’s now heading for its second iteration and is one of the more impressive things we do, I think, though it’s now bigger than just us.

Then there was tea and biscuits, because we are a civilised institution, and then it was the last part of the programme, which broke down like this:

  • Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Low Down and Edgy: Frontier and Settler Societies in Medieval Iberia and Beyond’
  • Pietro Delcorno, ‘Crossing the Alps with Dante: Preaching the Commedia in Fifteenth-Century Europe’
  • Venetia Bridges, ‘Interpreting Alexander the Great in the Middle Ages: Medieval and Modern Challenges’
  • Three speakers from three different schools in the University—while the IMS is in institutional terms part of the School of History, it was born as a more genuinely interdisciplinary cluster and it still has extensive collaborations with other schools. Thus, I spoke for History, as it were, Pietro for Languages (and specifically Italian) and Venetia for English. Long-term readers here may not struggle to guess what I was talking about, though you may justly wonder how I squeezed what was here five long blog posts into ten minutes’ talking; for those without that memory or time to read the blog posts, I basically suggested that all our current models for how medieval frontier societies developed have problems when used as generalisations and that we needed way more case-study data before we tried to develop decent new models, and I asked for people’s help. Pietro had been searching for evidence of people using Dante’s Divine Comedy in preaching, which it turns out is a thing that happened, but it happened especially in a sermon collection he’d found in which a pilgrim with a guardian angel followed Dante’s track and learned preaching points along the way, and of which he had found 15 manuscripts in total, making it a quite important way in which Dante came to be known across the Alps. Dante is quoted and cited in the gloss, so it was not an effort to appropriate; it was genuine use of him for spiritual understanding, which given how weird he is I found quite surprising. Lastly, Venetia described to us her then-forthcoming book on the various medieval romances about the fictionalised adventures of Alexander the Great, and since there is now a book you can read her publisher’s blurb, but it sounded like fun.

The Darial Gorge , on the border between modern Russia and Georgia

This at least links two of the papers? It is the Darial Gorge, on the border between modern Russia and Georgia, one of the places where it has been suggested were once the Iron Gates which texts like Venetia’s suggest that Alexander built to keep the monstrous peoples who lived beyond them away from civilisation. Not necessarily true, but impressive! “Darial-Gorge” by Original uploader was Not home at en.wikipedia – Transferred from en.wikipedia. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

I think that looking back on this the thing that now strikes me is how dynamic the IMS’s population has been in the time I’ve been there already. Of the speakers who spoke for the IMS on this occasion, only Marta, Michael Spence and myself are still there. OK, Marta and I are permanent staff and it’s three years plus on from the event, so that’s not surprising really, but it still strikes me. Rene Hernandez is now at the Universidad San Tomas in Colombia; Sophie Harwood is now teaching English in Berlin and still publishing; Romina taught for me one year and got an ongoing job in a museum in Germany just before the end of that; Iason was one of my postgraduate advisees, passed his doctorate in very good standing and is now “the assistant archivist and assistant curator for the Worshipful Company of Gold and Silver Wyre Drawers”, already; Pietro but lately flew from us to Central European University; and Venetia went to Bristol and is now at Durham. (Links are given above for all of them if you want them.) As I sat in the Le Patourel Room that day I thought I was watching a display of the department’s research power, but I think now that I was actually watching its potential as a professional springboard, and mostly these papers were the first small jump the diver takes to flex the board before making the big plunge…

Name not in Print I

Somehow, as we near the very end of 2018, I still haven’t told you all about my last publication of 2017. Let’s not talk about why that is—words like ‘term’ and ‘marking’ would feature large in such a talk, and now neither of those things pertain—but instead I’ll tell you its story, which is one of those that probably shouldn’t have happened, but since it did it needs explaining. You will remember, I imagine, that I was at the International Numismatic Congress in Taormina in 2015, because I did eventually recount it all here. You may also be aware that the proceedings from that Congress are published, and if you’re very up in the numismatic news loops and could afford the substantial cost of the volumes you may have got them, and realised I’m not in them. And if I’m very lucky, or unlucky, you may have thought: what happened there?

Cover of Maria Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), Proceedings of the XVth International Numismatic Congress, Taormina, 2015 (Roma 2017), vol I.

Cover of Maria Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), Proceedings of the XVth International Numismatic Congress, Taormina, 2015 (Roma 2017), vol I.

Well, I wondered that myself when a colleague who was also there mentioned that they’d had proofs some time ago, that being the first I’d heard since I sent in my text. So, at that point I got in touch with the editors and asked if I’d been rejected and if they could send me feedback at least. And a week or so later I got a short, but slightly shame-faced e-mail explaining that somehow, the editor of the Byzantine section had missed my paper. Well, by this time the volumes were not just in press but some had been sent out. All that could be done was to format my paper as a PDF addendum and include it as an extra with all future sales. So if you now look for the proceedings you will see that their format is advertised as ‘2 voll. + PDF addendum’, and ladies and gentlemen, that PDF addendum is all me, all 4 pages of it. I had extra fun explaining this to my university library when they had to decide what file to put in the open access depository; first I had to convince them it even existed. But it does, and so, I commend it to your notices, and also wish you all a happy 2019.1 There will be more from me in it.


1. Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Why did the Byzantine Coinage Turn Concave? Old Suggestions and a New One’, in Maria Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), Proceedings of the XV International Numismatic Congress, Taormina 2015 (Roma 2017), Addendum pp. 1-4.

Introducing the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive

I am buried in marking, so have to resort to stored content for this week, in the hope of more progress later in the week. This is a post that I’ve had stubbed for so long to complete, indeed, that I have just repeatedly forgotten that it should come next on quite numerous occasions. Now, however, its turn in the sun finally comes! For lo, it was in the year 2015, in the January of that year, while I was still residing in the settlement of Beormingaham, that word reached me of a new digital venture by two of my by-then-bosom colleagues, Dr Rebecca Darley (now of Birkbeck, University of London) and Dr Daniel Reynolds (still, but now establishedly, at Birmingham), called the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive.

Screen capture of the home page of the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive

Screen capture of the home page of the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive

If I have my memories right, and I seem to, this came about because while those two had been in charge of the Barber Institute of Fine Arts coin collection (in which of course they preceded me), they had found in the coin room several cardboard boxes of photographs and ephemera, which on inspection turned out to be nothing less than the photographic archive of the Byzantine excavations of Professor David Talbot Rice, eminent art historian and archaeologist at Edinburgh. Apparently his widow thought the Byzantine materials would be best homed with Birmingham’s famous Centre for Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek Studies of which I once had the honour to be part. It was quite the little hoard, anyway, as most of his photographs had been taken before the Second World War, so he had, for example, pictures of Istanbul (where he’d dug the Great Palace of Constantinople) which showed it completely different to its current state, with things that are now long gone, built over, or otherwise inaccessible visible and inspected with an academic’s precision. And this being our modern digital age, the immediate thought of our bold curators was to get this stuff online.

Pages from David Talbot Rice's notebook from the excavations of the Myrelaeon in Istanbul in the 1920s, image Myrelaion 006 from the David Talbot Rice Archive, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive, licensed under Creative Commons 3.0

Pages from David Talbot Rice’s notebook from the excavations of the Myrelaion in Istanbul in the 1920s, image 386 from the David Talbot Rice Archive, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive

Now, those who know these two will also realise that no plan of theirs ever stays small. After all, though this was a special one, there are a lot of academics with photo archives, and what happens to them usually? If we’re fortunate, they go to a museum collection which may or may not have time to catalogue and/or display them; if we’re not, they either wind up in someone’s attic (or a coin room) or they go to landfill or recycling. What if someone set up a digital archive that could guarantee upload and preservation of such things? And thus was the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive born.

Rihab, St George, Jordan: stone-lined tomb with accompanying grave cover (left and middle). Image 15704362483, Rihab, by Daniel Reynolds, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive, Creative Commons 3.0

Rihab, St George, Jordan: stone-lined tomb with accompanying grave cover (left and middle). Image 15704362483, Rihab, by Daniel Reynolds, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive, Creative Commons 3.0.

Buy-in was pretty rapid. Dan contributed his own photos straight away, and their (indeed, my) then-colleague Matthew Harpster gave a load of his, but these were born-digital and in some ways easy pickings. Rather more of a coup was to obtain the promise, then the delivery, of the photos of Birmingham’s founder Byzantinist and then-living legend, Anthony Bryer, who had also trodden or ridden many a road no longer recognisable. Work to upload those is ongoing, and other scholars’ archives have been promised. But this is work that can use your help! To be maximally useful, these images need tagging. That’s a fair labour in itself, and both Rebecca and Dan now have full-time high-demand jobs that don’t leave much spare effort for tinkering with photographs, but there’s also the basic problem that some of them are unrecognisable, or at least unfamiliar to anyone but the seriously expert. By way of an example: can you identify this church? Because as far as I know, we/they can’t, as yet…

A church somewhere in Trebizond, c.1920, image 002 from the David Talbot Rice Archive, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive, licensed under Creative Commons 3.0

A church somewhere in Trebizond, c.1920, image 002 from the David Talbot Rice Archive, digitised by the Birmingham East Mediterranean Archive, licensed under Creative Commons 3.0

So I, and Rebecca and Dan, invite you to have a look at the archive as it now stands and see what you can find. Please note their terms and conditions, and their careful statement of limitations, but also please note the possibilities, and if you think you can help, I’m sure that they’d love to hear from you!

I got given money for studying frontiers

I would, of course, be catching up on my backlog quicker if I weren’t alternating posts from it with differently-backlogged notices of my various achievements. But what am I supposed to do, either stop achieving things or stop reporting on them? I’m running a blog, the choice against false modesty or even politely refraining from self-publicity was made a very long time ago now. So, here is another achievement post, and it will not be the last such, either. I hope you can cope!

A view from the platform of the Castell de Gurb, Osona, Catalonia

A view from the platform of the Castell de Gurb down the erstwhile frontier of the Riu Ter

All that said, we are still in the past here, and the relevant markers in the past are October 2016 and April 2017. As even fairly short-term readers here will know, since about 2012 I’ve been thinking that the next big thing I’d like to do research-wise, alongside my general refinement of the world’s understanding of tenth-century power and authority as seen from Catalonia, is to get people thinking about frontiers using medieval evidence. I’ve organised conference sessions about this and I’ve even started publishing on it, against some odds (long story, near-future post).1 But I have also been planning a bigger project to do this. It was one of the things I promised, as part of my numerous probation obligations at the University of Leeds, that I would apply for funding for, and the two markers are, therefore, when the bid went in and when I got notice that I had in fact received the money. None of that would have been possible without the support of the Leeds Humanities Research Institute (as it then was), to whom I owe considerable collective thanks for guiding me in my first ‘big’ bid (and to then-Director Professor Greg Radick for scaling it down to a more-likely-successful size from my original aspirations), but obviously the main people who are owed thanks here are the British Academy and the Leverhulme Trust, one of whose Small Research Grants paid for what followed. So this is where I express my gratitude to them all: thankyou folks, I think you chose wisely but I’m very glad you chose me.

Logo of the British Academy

A logo from my sponsor…

Now, the obvious question now is what did I do with the money, indeed what did we do, because this was a network project involving several other fine scholars of such matters. But actually, one of the answers to that was, “start another blog“, which was one of the reasons I was editing here rather infrequently during 2017, when this was all coming off. So, rather than write it all out again here, I will direct you to it on the project website (also my own work) if you’re interested, saying here only that it covers the genesis of the project, its historiographical and methodological bases, a workshop, some connected activity, a triumphant conference (there are pictures), a related conference run by someone else and some of our future plans. If frontiers are your thing, and you didn’t somehow hear about this at the time, you might want to have a look. And if for some reason you just like reading my writing about what I’ve been doing, well, there is another missing chapter of it over there for you. Thankyou, as ever, for the attention and feedback!


1. Jonathan Jarrett, “Before the Reconquista: frontier relations in medieval Iberia, 718–1031” in Javier Muñoz-Bassols, Laura Lonsdale and Manuel Delgado (edd.), The Routledge Companion to Iberian Studies (London 2017), pp. 27–40.