Sword in the Stone

It is important to always read the small print.

It is a sign of our times that there are those out to mislead, bamboozle and fleece either intentionally or not and they can put a veneer of respectability on it by disclaiming everything in the miniscule text somewhere at the end of a document or on-line application.

In my case the small print was on a nice, compact and glossy brochure for the Cornish Tourist attraction of Tintagel Castle.

It is a magical place, there is no doubt about that whatsoever.

Imagine a perfect location for a fortress, add to it the moody sea, an endless sky, a cave, a tortuous walkway access and a legend.

Tintagel is intrinsically associated with King Arthur and his entourage, the Knights of the Round Table. Everyone knows the tales of gallantry, questing, romance, betrayal and nobility centred on the boy turned king who pulled the sword out of the stone, the mystical wizard Merlin, the heroic Sir Lancelot and the perhaps fickle and impressionable Guinevere.

My first experience of Tintagel could not have been more magical.

We were on a family holiday in a static caravan, incidentally manufactured in our home town some 200 plus miles to the north. On a particularly wet day we had steamed up the car on a drive along the dramatic Cornwall coast looking to tick items off our checklist of the perfect English seaside vacation. We had feasted on battered fish, chips and mushy peas ( the main cause of the aforementioned steamed up vehicle), bought ice creams in a beach-side car park, spent a few pounds in the amusement arcade and looked afar on a huddled group of sad looking donkeys in the lee of a line of camper vans parked up, their owners waiting for the cry of "surfs up".

For all of these highlights the day was still dark, gloomy and wet.

As we headed back on the inland route to our caravan pitch I remembered having seen a leaflet earlier on the noticeboard in the chip shop about a puppet depiction  of the  Arthurian Legend  that very evening at Tintagel Castle. The place was not too much of a diversion.

The idea went down well with the family in spite of their damp clothing and over indulgences.

As if conjured up by Merlin himself the weather improved remarkably. Two hours later, by the time we made our way across the elevated wooden bridge and cliff hugging pathway onto the plateau of the castle ruins it was the the most wonderful summers evening you could hope for.

The performance portrayed by the marionettes and their handlers caught the very essence and mysticism of the characters and storylines. Our children, now all in their 20's often recall with great fondness the ambience, emotion and humour that we were fortunate to see.

Just last year we revisited Tintagel.

Somewhat older and perhaps a bit more cynical and critical there was, nevertheless the same feeling of history and that age of chivalry embodied by Arthur and his Round Table Knights. Rather than a theatrical rendition there was now a visitor centre with film show, gift shop and cafe with everything available in every global language, such is the drawer of the legend.

I sat quietly on a slab of exposed rock at the highest point of the promontory rock looking out to the Atlantic Ocean trying to recall what I knew about the stories of that era.

I knew by instinct that the  Court of King Arthur was the epitome of equality , honour and chivalry. The Cornish ethic of gallantry was a strong strain running through everything. In movies and literature there was humanity, frailty, vulnerability and a deep conflict of emotions surrounding the main protagonists. Even though that period of contemplation was on a cooler september day I felt a warm glow of pride and nationalism at the very thought of being in the very birthplace of  English idealism and spirit.

I thought about getting a memento of my visit. Part of the rocky slab on which I was sat was loose and so I pocketed it in my cagoule. I was happy with a piece of our heritage, and  not at all guilty about vandalising a national monument.

Back at the cafe, sipping a latte I was browsing through yet another tourist leaflet.

The small print left me reeling.

There was no foundation whatsoever that Arthur lived at or even visited Tintagel Castle.

It appears that the whole legend may be a complete fabrication.

There is no authoratative record of anyone called Arthur in that era.

The fifth and sixth centuries were the Post-Roman Period in England when everything was up for grabs by the previously suppressed tribes and European Invaders. There was scope for a hero to come to the rescue and restore peace and tranquility from the anarchy.

It is now thought by academics and historians that the saviour was more likely to have been an ex-Roman Administrator and with Camelot possibly the Romano-British settlement of Colchester.

The Arthurian Legend was embellished in the Medieval Period, some 800 years later by the likes of Geoffrey of Monmouth and other speculative writers under the guise of historical fact.

There may not have been a Round Table.

The French introduced the idea of The Holy Grail in their own versions of folk tales.

I am a bit disappointed by these revelations but not surprised.

It appears that, as we all may have suspected, the very essence of Englishness so often grounded in the Arthurian Legends is in fact based on the matter of fact activities of an  accountant and the imagination of our near neighbours in Europe. Nothing has really changed really, has it?