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Poet of the Medieval Modern: Reading

the Early Medieval Library with David


Jones Francesca Brooks
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  

Poet of the Medieval Modern


 

Elaine Treharne Greg Walker


Poet of the Medieval Modern
Reading the Early Medieval Library
with David Jones

F R A N C E S C A BR O O K S

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S E R I E S E D I T O R ’S P R E F A CE

Oxford Textual Perspectives is a series of informative and provocative


studies focused upon texts (conceived of in the broadest sense of that
term) and the technologies, cultures, and communities that produce,
inform, and receive them. It provides fresh interpretations of funda-
mental works, images, and artefacts, and of the vital and challenging
issues emerging in English literary studies. By engaging with the con-
texts and materiality of the text, its production, transmission, and
reception history, and by frequently testing and exploring the bound-
aries of the notions of text and meaning themselves, the volumes in the
series question conventional frameworks and provide innovative inter-
pretations of both canonical and less well-known works. These books
will offer new perspectives, and challenge familiar ones, both on and
through texts and textual communities. While they focus on specific
authors, periods, and issues, they nonetheless scan wider horizons,
addressing themes and provoking questions that have a more general
application to literary studies and cultural history as a whole. Each is
designed to be as accessible to the non-specialist reader as it is fresh and
rewarding for the specialist, combining an informative orientation in a
landscape with detailed analysis of the territory and suggestions for
further travel.
Elaine Treharne and Greg Walker
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book began its life as a research project funded by the London Arts
and Humanities Partnership and the Arts and Humanities Research
Council, without whose support it would not have been possible.
I could not have embarked on this project without the mentorship of
Clare A. Lees and Joshua Davies, who, along with Sarah Salih and the
medievalist community at King’s College London more broadly, fos-
tered a research culture that was open, collaborative, and incredibly
inspiring. I am grateful for the advice and encouragement of the Early
Career Research Forum in the Centre for Late Antique and Medieval
Studies, who offered feedback on an early draft of this book, and
especially for my friends and collaborators Fran Allfrey, Charlotte
Rudman, Bethany Whalley, Charlotte Knight, and Carl Kears. I hope
that I will always be able to count them amongst my friends and
colleagues: the field of Medieval Studies will be richer for them. Much
of the editing process took place in the margins of a teaching post at
University College London, where I was sustained and inspired by my
colleagues, especially Xine Yao, Susan Irvine, Natalie Jones, Ezra Hor-
bury, and Rachel Holmes. I owe the greatest debt here to my students,
who challenged me during this time to continually think in new ways
and to be a better, more critical thinker and writer.
I am grateful for the generosity and dedication of the archivists,
librarians, and curators at the National Library of Wales (Llyfrgell
Genedlaethol Cymru), the Tate Gallery Archives, Camberwell College
of Arts, The Ditchling Museum of Art and Crafts, Thomas Fisher Rare
Book Library, the Georgetown University Booth Family Center for
Special Collections, and the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript
Library, particularly to Jennifer Toews at the Thomas Fisher and
Adrienne Sharpe at the Beinecke for transatlantic scans of documents
I realized were important when I was already halfway back across the
world. I am also grateful for permission to reproduce extracts from
David Jones’s published works, unpublished manuscripts and corres-
pondence, as well as images of some of his artworks, from Faber and
Faber Ltd, Bridgeman Images, The David Jones Society, and above all
from The Estate of David Jones. Funds from the Leverhulme Trust
viii | 

and the Leavis Fund at the University of York have made the repro-
duction of text and image in this book possible. Thanks also must go
to Greg Walker, Elaine Treharne, Aimee Wright, Jayaprakash P., Ian
Brookes, and the anonymous reviewers, who have all helped to make
this a better book.
Special mention must be made of the Facebook group venator for-
marum: the David Jones exchange; I am also thankful for words of
wisdom, warmth, and support from fellow David Jones scholars and
enthusiasts including Hilary Davies, Kathleen Henderson Staudt, Paul
Robichaud, Tom Goldpaugh, Anne Price-Owen, Bradford Haas, and
Anna Svendsen, amongst many others. I am indebted to all those who
have taught and mentored me throughout my development as a
researcher, especially to Virginia Langum, who gave me the idea that
I might one day become a medievalist, to Leo Mellor, who first pointed
me in the direction of David Jones, and to Chris Jones and Elaine
Treharne, who have made navigating the first few years after my PhD
feel full of possibility and potential.
To my variations on a theme Rebecca, Natalie, Cat, Sophie, and
especially Michaela, my superstar proofreader, thank you for more
than a decade of love and friendship. I could not have asked for better
friends throughout this process than Charlotte and James, who have
continually raised me up—they really are the dream team. Thanks also
to my Nanny Bobby, Grandpa Colin, and aunts Sue and Sally, whose
love and support has taught me not to be shy of ambition. To my
Grandma Patty, who, as well as sharing bottles of Prosecco and family
histories with me on my way to and from the archives in Aberystwyth,
has always cheered my successes. To my mum and dad, Gini and Sam,
to whom I owe so much I do not know how to begin—thank you for
your endless support and encouragement; it has made all of this
possible. Finally, this book is for Brian, who knows what his love,
partnership, and wisdom mean to me.
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

The Ana The Anathemata: Fragments of an attempted


writing, David Jones (Padstow: Faber and Faber,
 [])
A Commentary René Hague, A Commentary on The Anathemata
of David Jones (Wellingborough: Christopher
Skelton, )
Guthlac’s Vita Vita Sancti Guthlaci Auctore Felice
The Library The Library of David Jones, National Library of
Wales, Aberystwyth
Sweet’s Reader Henry Sweet, An Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and
Verse with Grammar, Metre, Notes and Glossary
(Oxford: Clarendon Press,  [])
Thorpe’s Analecta Benjamin Thorpe, Analecta Anglo-Saxonica:
A Selection, in Prose and Verse, from Anglo-Saxon
Authors of Various Ages with a Glossary (London:
John Russell Smith, )

Abbreviations for archival holdings


BRBML Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale
University, New Haven, USA
CCA Camberwell College of Arts, University of the Arts
London, England
GUBFC Georgetown University Booth Family Center for
Special Collections, Washington D.C., USA
NLW National Library of Wales (Llyfrgell Genedlaethol
Cymru), Aberystwyth, Wales
TFRBL Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of
Toronto, Canada
TGA Tate Gallery Archive, London, England
REFERENCES TO ARCHIVES:
AN EDITORIAL NOTE

All transcriptions from correspondence, handwritten manuscripts, or


notes and marginalia from books in The Library of David Jones,
National Library of Wales, are diplomatic. I have not reproduced
here crossed-through words, phrases, or sentences, unless they are
specifically of interest. This is primarily because they generally repre-
sent misspelt repetitions of words or things that have subsequently
been rephrased by Jones and therefore do not provide us with any
additional insight.

National Library of Wales


Items from the David Jones (Artist and Writer) Papers at the National
Library of Wales are referenced in the following way: NLW, reference
code for the fonds, reference code for the sub-sub-fonds, (item num-
ber), item description, date of creation where given.
The following is a key to the codes for fonds, sub-fonds and sub-sub-
fonds, which correspond to those provided by the National Library of
Wales.
David Jones (Artist and Writer) Papers – GB  DJONES [Fonds]
Literary Manuscripts – L [Sub-fonds]
- The Anathemata – LA
- Other Literary Papers – LO [Sub-sub-fonds]
Correspondence – C [Sub-fonds]
- Letters to David Jones – CT
- Draft Letters from David Jones – CF [Sub-sub-fonds]
Research, articles, and accumulated papers – R [Sub-fonds]
- Articles, Scripts, and Poems – R [Sub-sub-fonds]
Reference has also been made to NLW, MS E, David Jones’s
Letters to Stuart Piggott.
xiv |   :   

References to books from the Library of David Jones are footnoted


throughout and include their NLW call number in brackets, for
example: (NLW ). Any dates related to Jones’s acquisition of the
volume will be included in square brackets the first time the book is
referenced.

Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library


Items from the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library are referenced in the
following way: location, reference code for the fonds, box. no., item
description, date of creation where given. The items in the David Jones
Papers are locatable via their date of creation—they are not organized
by folder.
Jones (David) Papers MS Coll 
Letters and Notes from David Jones to René and Joan Hague.
–. – Box 
Letters and Typescripts by René Hague. –. – Box 

Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library


and Georgetown University Booth Family
Center for Special Collections
Items from the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library and the
Georgetown University Booth Family Center for Special Collections are
referenced in the following way: location, reference code for the fonds,
box. no., folder no., item description, date of creation where given.

Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library


Some of the letters from the Beinecke archive could not be consulted in
situ at the library as it was closed at the time of my visit. These were
consulted at Georgetown instead, where Xerox copies are kept. As I do
not have folder numbers for these letters, their exact location is pro-
vided with reference to the GUBFC box.
  :    | xv

David Jones letters to Harman Grisewood, – [One box] –


GEN MSS 

Georgetown University Booth Family


Center for Special Collections
Harman Grisewood Papers,  – GTM-GAMMS
Box  [sub-fonds]
- Correspondence II: Jones to Grisewood [series]
Box 
- Xerox copies of Letters from the Beinecke
Box 
- Correspondence V: About David Jones
Box 
- About David Jones (miscellaneous)
Box 
- David Jones Manuscripts
Michael Richey Papers,  – GTM-GAMMS
Correspondence [One Box]
Pamela Donner Papers, – GTM-
Correspondence [One Box]

Tate Gallery Archive


Items from the Tate Gallery Archive are referenced in the following
way: location, reference code for the fonds, item description, date of
creation where given.
File of nine letters from David Jones to E. C. Hodgkin (–) –
TGA /
The Nicolete Gray Archive at the Tate Gallery Archive is a family loan
(Gray Archive (Loan)). It does not have an archival reference number
and is not searchable in the online archive catalogue. The archive
includes letters from David Jones to Nicolete Gray and Helen
Sutherland.
xvi |   :   

Camberwell College of Arts


Items in the Camberwell College of Arts Archive are unsorted. Items
from this archive will be referenced in the following way: location,
reference code for the fonds, item description, date of creation where
given.
Camberwell College of Arts – GB 
LIST OF TABLE AND FIGURES

Table
. Table of Old English words and compounds from Henry
Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader found in The Anathemata.
Source: Author’s own 
Figures
. David Jones reading. Still photograph from the Mabon
Studio film of David Jones, Calvary Nursing Home, Harrow,
. With thanks to Anne Price-Owen, Jasmine
Hunter-Evans, and the David Jones Society 
. Exiit Edictum, , inscription in opaque and watercolours,
.   cm, Tate Gallery, London. Photo © Tate.
By permission of the David Jones Estate/Bridgeman Images 
. Notes in the flyleaf of Collingwood and Myres, Roman
Britain and the English Settlements (NLW ). Reproduced
with permission of the Licensor through PLSclear. Scan
© Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru/National Library of Wales 
. An example of Jones sight-reading Old English from
Benjamin Thorpe’s Analecta Anglo-Saxonica (NLW ).
Scan © Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru/National Library
of Wales 
. Manuscript page from the Pastoral Care sent by King
Alfred to Worcester, reproduced in Hodgkin, A History
of the Anglo-Saxons (NLW ). Scan © Llyfrgell
Genedlaethol Cymru/National Library of Wales 
. Press-cutting found between the pages of Thorpe,
Analecta Anglo-Saxonica (NLW ). Scan © Llyfrgell
Genedlaethol Cymru/National Library of Wales 
. St Gregory and the Slaves, , watercolour,    cm,
Ditchling Museum of Art and Craft, Ditchling. Photo
© Sam Moore. By permission of the David Jones
Estate/Bridgeman Images 
xviii |     

. NLW, GB  DJONES, LO/, (), map of early


medieval Britain. By permission of the David Jones
Estate. Scan © Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru/National
Library of Wales 
. Ongyrede hine, , inscription in watercolours,
.  . cm, Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru/National
Library of Wales. Photo © Llyfrgell Genedlaethol
Cymru/National Library of Wales. By permission of the
David Jones Estate/Bridgeman Images 
. Engraving  from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, –,
copper engraving,   . cm. Photo © The British
Library Board. By permission of the David Jones
Estate/Bridgeman Images 
. TFRBL, MS Coll , Box , unpublished letter to
Hague,  August . Scan © Thomas Fisher Rare
Book Library. By permission of the David Jones Estate. 
[B]y merely calling to remembrance the Lindisfarne Gospels, the
Glastonbury thorn, the Alfred jewel, we experience a heightening of
our perceptions—forgotten things begin to shape—we sit up and take
notice.
David Jones, ‘The Roland Epic and Ourselves’
Introduction
Medieval Modern Anglo-Welsh Identities

or sixteen days in  a debate raged in the correspondence pages


F of The Times about the place of Beowulf and compulsory Old
English in the English Literature course at the University of Oxford.1
The initial headline on  November, ‘Dons battle over Anglo-Saxon’,
had, according to the Leader on the following day, opened a ‘gulf
between the attack and the Saxon defence’ that was ‘as broad as
Offa’s Dyke’.2 In defence of Beowulf Professor Campbell wrote of the
dangers of English becoming a ‘soft option’ amongst students, while
those attacking its inclusion in the syllabus suggested that it ‘failed to
prepare the student for anything’. Academics including J. N. L. Myres,
Dorothy Whitelock, Peter Clemoes, J. Dover Wilson, Rosemary Woolf,
and even Bertram Colgrave with his perspective on the ‘American
Example’, all weighed in.3 On  November the Leader claimed

1
The Times, correspondence pages,  November– November . Accessed via
Gale News Vault <https://www.gale.com/intl/primary-sources/historical-newspapers>
[accessed: ..]. All subsequent references to The Times in this introduction were
accessed via Gale News Vault.
2
The Times, editorials/leaders: ‘Dons Battle over Anglo-Saxon’,  November ; ‘Is
Beowulf Really Necessary?’,  November .
3
School teachers and even the novelist Bryher, who had written a  novel titled
Beowulf: A Novel, also contributed to the debate along with members of the general

Poet of the Medieval Modern: Reading the Early Medieval Library with David Jones. Francesca Brooks,
Oxford University Press. © Francesca Brooks 2021. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198860136.003.0001
 |     

‘Beowulf the Conqueror’ in the ‘preliminary skirmish before next year’s


nine hundredth anniversary of the Norman Conquest’.4 ‘[T]he shield-
wall’ of the ‘Beowulfians’ was proclaimed ‘unbroken’: the Leader sug-
gested that ‘flourishing again in the home of lost causes, [Beowulf
might] now prove immortal’.5
The poet and artist David Jones (–) missed the correspond-
ence in the daily papers but was sent the clippings by a friend so that he
could belatedly follow the debate. In a letter written to his friend
E. C. Hodgkin, son of the Oxford historian and the author of A History
of the Anglo-Saxons, Robert Howard Hodgkin, Jones wrote that he was
glad the Leader had taken the side of the defence. Yet, he continued by
protesting that they had done so:
just a shade too flippantly I rather felt. The attitude of some of these
confounded dons & educationalists re Old English (language & lit)
reminds me of those Classical dons I occasionally met in the s
who always not only as a tactical public pose but even in private
conversation, defended the teaching of Greek and Latin on utilitarian
grounds—that it made men write and think clearly (which was at best
a half-truth and at worst just obvious balls) they ought to have
defended it because it is part (and an essential part) of our whole
cultural heritage.6
An anecdote in a  letter to Colin Wilcockson, a medievalist and
friend of Jones, confirms the depth of Jones’s admiration for Beowulf as
an essential part of British culture. Jones wrote that ‘a chap came to see
me a bit back who talked a lot about Beowulf ’. The visitor apparently
claimed that ‘Beowulf is Our Lord’ and Jones added his passionate
agreement, ‘[w]ell, of course’.7 In the letter to Hodgkin, Jones went on

public. Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Is Beowulf Needed’, and Peter Clemoes, ‘Prose and Poetry?’,
The Times,  November , correspondence pages; J. Dover Wilson, ‘Is Beowulf
Needed?’, and Rosemary Woolf, ‘Vernacular Literature’, The Times,  November ,
correspondence pages; J. N. L. Myres, ‘Sound Grounding’, The Times,  November ,
correspondence pages.
4
‘Beowulf the Conqueror’, The Times,  November , editorials/leaders.
5
‘Beowulf the Conqueror’.
6
TGA, /, unpublished letter to E. C. Hodgkin,  November .
7
Letter to Colin Wilcockson,  December , published in Colin Wilcockson,
‘Notes on Some Letters of David Jones’, in Agenda,  (), –.
 | 

to suggest that in their defensive position on Beowulf and Old English


the dons ‘were like those Welshmen for whom though Welsh is an
actual living language as yet never bestir themselves in the defence of
that heritage on the one ground on which it must be defended’.8 Here
David Jones, an Anglo-Welsh poet and artist whose archive is held at
the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth, and who is lauded as one
of the great figures of Welsh modernism, defends Old English in the
same terms with which he would defend the Welsh language and Welsh
tradition. Old English was an essential part of Jones’s living heritage.
In beginning here with Jones’s response to the Beowulf correspond-
ence, I want to underline the central tenets of this book. Firstly, that
David Jones’s engagement with Old English and Anglo-Latin material
represents a major creative and scholarly project that deserves to be
included in our histories of twentieth-century medievalisms. Secondly,
that within studies of Jones’s work we cannot fully understand this poet
and artist’s engagement with Welsh materials unless we are also atten-
tive to the ways in which this is entangled both antagonistically and at
times productively with the English tradition. Just as Seamus Heaney’s
 Beowulf translation revivified the Old English epic in an Ulster
voice, so that an Irish poet might ‘come to terms with that complex
history of conquest and colony, absorption and resistance, integrity and
antagonism’ that had both preceded and followed the poem, Jones’s
reworking of early medieval literature and culture grapples with a long
history of Welsh and English violence and coexistence, collusion, and
oppression.9 This book uses new archival evidence to illuminate the
influence of Old English literature and language, and early medieval
history and culture from England, on David Jones and his long, late
modernist poem The Anathemata: Fragments of an Attempted Writing
().10 The focus on Jones’s visual and verbal incorporation of

8
TGA, /, unpublished letter to E. C. Hodgkin,  November . Jones made
the same comparison of the position of Welsh and Old English tradition in an undated
essay published posthumously as ‘On the Difficulties of One Writer of Welsh Affinity
Whose Language is English’, in The Dying Gaul and Other Writings (London: Faber and
Faber, ), pp. –.
9
Seamus Heaney, ‘Translator’s Introduction’, in Beowulf: A Verse Translation, ed.
Daniel Donoghue (London: Norton, ), pp. xxiii–xxxviii (p. xxxviii).
10
David Jones, The Anathemata: Fragments of an Attempted Writing (Padstow: Faber
and Faber,  []). Subsequent references to The Anathemata will be cited parenthet-
ically within the text. On ‘late modernism’, see: Tyrus Miller, Late Modernism: Politics,
 |     

material from the early medieval English tradition will illuminate the
political implications of Jones’s construction of Anglo-Welsh and
Catholic identities in The Anathemata, presenting the poem as a
challenge to nationally charged representations of early medieval
Britain across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. At a time when
the Middle Ages are increasingly weaponized in far-right political
discourse and the future of the United Kingdom is threatened by Brexit,
this study examines how the early medieval past has been resourced to
both shore up and challenge English hegemonies across British culture
and asks how one Anglo-Welsh poet tried to re-envision this dynamic.
A note on terminology becomes necessary here. Over the course of
the past few years, the field of Early Medieval Studies has begun to
acknowledge the racialized, racist, and nationalist implications of the
term ‘Anglo-Saxon’ and the active violence that clinging to this ter-
minology can do in our work as scholars, teachers, and public academ-
ics. A significant element of this work has involved recognition of the
fact that the process of, as Mary Dockray-Miller writes, freighting
‘Anglo-Saxon’ with racialized ‘assumptions of privilege and superiority’
is not just a problem that happens ‘out there’ on, for example, far-right
white nationalist web forums, but has been central to the disciplinary
construction of ‘Anglo-Saxon Studies’ throughout its history.11 As
Cord J. Whitaker and Matthew Gabriele affirm, ‘it is clearer than ever
that the ghosts of scholarly racism and imperialism also have the
potential to haunt the future of medieval studies’.12 Work by scholars
such as Sierra Lomuto and Mary Rambaran-Olm has been key here to
raising public and academic awareness.13 In this book I assert my

Fiction, and the Arts Between the World Wars (Berkeley: University of California Press,
); Thomas S. Davis, ‘Late Modernism: British Literature at Midcentury’, Literature
Compass,  (), –; and Leo Mellor, ‘The s, the Second World War and Late
Modernism’, in The Cambridge History of Modernism, ed. Vincent Sherry (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, ), pp. –.
11
Mary Dockray-Miller, ‘Old English has a serious image problem’, Arts &
Culture Daily,  May  <https://daily.jstor.org/old-english-serious-image-problem/>
[accessed: ..].
12
Cord J. Whitaker and Matthew Gabriele, ‘Mountain haints: Towards a Medieval
Studies exorcized’, postmedieval,  (), –.
13
Sierra Lomuto, ‘White Nationalism and the Ethics of Medieval Studies’, In the Middle,
 December  <http://www.inthemedievalmiddle.com///white-nationalism-and-
 | 

commitment to reimagining the field of Early Medieval Studies as a


more inclusive space by moving away from the term ‘Anglo-Saxon’ and
replacing it in many instances with more accurate terminology that
locates this early medieval culture and history in the particularities of
time and place.14
The reader will have already noticed, however, that I do retain
‘Anglo-Saxon’ when referring to David Jones’s library of materials
related to the period after the withdrawal of the Romans and before
the Norman Conquest. The reasons for this are twofold. Firstly, this
reflects Jones’s own terminology and the terminology of the scholarship
he was engaging with; it is useful, therefore, in historicizing Jones’s own
understanding of the literature and culture of the period. Secondly, as
this book seeks to demonstrate, for Jones there was no such thing as
‘Anglo-Saxon England’: his poetry is invested in contesting rather
than accepting the ideological artefact of the ‘Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms’
with their discrete borders and originary histories. However, in order to
make this argument I have had to address this mythology directly:
the ghost has to be named before it can be exorcised. In her book,
Imagining Anglo-Saxon England: Utopia, Heterotopia, Dystopia, Cath-
erine Karkov argues that ‘Anglo-Saxon England is ultimately empty
space onto and into which identities and ideologies have been written,
a floating signifier’.15 As Karkov demonstrates, the imagining of
‘Anglo-Saxon England’ may have begun in the early Middle Ages
with texts like Alfred’s preface to the Pastoral Care or Beowulf, but
this ‘floating signifier’ continues to haunt the UK and USA as self-
professed ‘heirs of the Anglo-Saxons’.16 Jones’s Anglo-Saxon Library
also represents the imagining of an Anglo-Saxon England in the twen-
tieth century as manifested in historiographical and philological

ethics-of.html> [accessed: .. ]; Mary Rambaran-Olm, ‘Misnaming the Medieval:


Rejecting “Anglo-Saxon” Studies’, History Workshop,  November  <https://www.
historyworkshop.org.uk/misnaming-the-medieval-rejecting-anglo-saxon-studies/> [accessed:
..].
14
There are, however, parallel problems with the use of ‘early English’ or ‘early England’,
which I and other scholars are still grappling with, as this may reinforce a sense that the true
or pure origins of a modern England lie in the early medieval kingdoms.
15
Catherine E. Karkov, Imagining Anglo-Saxon England: Utopia, Heterotopia,
Dystopia (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, ), p. .
16
Karkov, Imagining Anglo-Saxon England, p. .
 |     

scholarship, editions, translations, catalogues, and artefacts of popular


history (from Ordnance Survey maps to BBC radio broadcasts). This
was the ‘Anglo-Saxon England’ Jones was grappling with as he tried to
write a new poetic history of British Catholic identity at the mid-
century.

David Jones as poet of the medieval modern


In his cross-chronological art historical study, Medieval Modern: Art
Out of Time, Alexander Nagel proposes that ‘[w]e are in a position now
to see that encounters with medieval art mark the whole history of
modernism and its aftermath’.17 The present book takes up the terms of
Nagel’s study to argue that David Jones is a poet of the medieval
modern: his visual and verbal work is ‘shot through’, to paraphrase
Walter Benjamin, with points of connection with the medieval past, its
language, culture, history, traditions, and institutions.18 In Derek Jar-
man’s Medieval Modern, Robert Mills insists that ‘[t]he aim [ . . . ] is not
to medievalise Jarman as such, forcing his life and work into yet another
periodising cage. It is to let loose Jarman’s historical imagination,
following the artist himself as he pursues the Middle Ages out of
bounds.’19 Tempting as it may be to follow the medievalizing example
of the Northumbrian late modernist poet Basil Bunting in comparing
Jones to Bishop Eadfrith, scribe and illuminator of The Lindisfarne
Gospels, Jones also pursued the Middle Ages out of bounds.20 In his
poetry and art Jones treated the language, literature, and cultural
artefacts of the Middle Ages as a form of live material with the
power, when recalled to memory, to ‘[heighten] our perceptions’ and
set in motion the process of ‘shaping’ ‘forgotten things’.21 This shaping

17
Alexander Nagel, Medieval Modern: Art Out of Time (London: Thames and
Hudson, ), p. .
18
Nagel introduces his book with an epigraph from Walter Benjamin’s ‘On the
Concept of History’.
19
Robert Mills, Derek Jarman’s Medieval Modern (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer,
), p. .
20
Basil Bunting, Basil Bunting on Poetry, ed. Peter Makin (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, ), p. .
21
David Jones, ‘The Roland Epic and Ourselves’, in The Dying Gaul and Other
Writings (London: Faber and Faber, ), pp. – (p. ).
 | 

is an active and malleable process because, as Mills attests of Jarman,


David Jones’s Middle Ages were plural, multiple, contradictory: open
to being consistently reinvented as he crafted his visual and verbal sign
of modern British Catholic identity. As Joshua Davies concludes in
his study on cultural memory and the ‘untimely’ Middle Ages, ‘the
archive of the Middle Ages is defined by its diversity rather than its
consistency’.22
Although this book draws on poetry, essays, art, and correspondence
produced throughout Jones’s lifetime, the focus will be on Jones’s 
poem The Anathemata. The Anathemata is a poetic history of Britain
told through the history of man-as-artist, with all art understood, in
light of Jones’s Catholicism, as a form of worship.23 The poem’s eight
sequences—‘Rite and Fore-Time’, ‘Middle-Sea and Lear-Sea’, ‘Angle-
Land’, ‘Redriff ’, ‘The Lady of the Pool’, ‘Keel, Ram, and Stauros’,
‘Mabinog’s Liturgy’, and ‘Sherthursdaye and Venus Day’—move us
from the pre-historical geological formations that created the islands
of Britain and Ireland, to an ‘anamnesis’ of the Crucifixion of Christ
during the Mass, via Celtic Britain, the Roman Empire, early medieval
England, and the multi-temporal pool of London, to name only some of
its predominant interests.24
The poem’s publication in  places it at the mid-point of a
century rich with examples of literary medieval modernism. The
same year also saw the publication of Edwin Morgan’s translation of

22
Joshua Davies, Visions and Ruins: Cultural Memory and the Untimely Middle Ages
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, ), p. .
23
Jones converted to Catholicism in  and his faith was an essential part of his
identity as an artist. See, for example, ‘Art and Sacrament’, in Epoch and Artist: Selected
Writings by David Jones, ed. Harman Grisewood (London: Faber and Faber, ),
pp. –, originally published as ‘Art and Sacrament: An Enquiry’, in Catholic Approaches,
ed. E. Pakenham (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, ), pp. –.
24
The concept of anamnesis was central to Jones’s sacramental poetics and it informed
his sense of the vital presence of the past in the present. In a note in The Anathemata
Jones wrote: ‘Anamnesis. I take leave to remind the reader that this is a key-word in our
deposits. The dictionary defines its general meaning as “the recalling of things past”. But
what is the nature of this particular recalling? I append the following quotation as being
clear and to the point: “It (anamnesis) is not quite easy to represent accurately in English,
words like “remembrance” or ‘memorial’ having for us a connotation of something absent
which is only mentally recollected. But in the Scriptures of both the Old and New
Testament anamnesis and the cognate verb have a sense of ‘recalling’ or ‘re-presenting’
before God an event in the past so that it becomes here and now operative by its effects.”
Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy, p. .’ (, n. ).
 |     

the Old English poem Beowulf, while in  Faber and Faber had
published the Argentinian-born Welsh poet Lynette Roberts’s sequence
Gods with Stainless Ears: A Heroic Poem, redolent with early medieval
Welsh literary references, saints, and ruins. Although all three poems
wear their relation to contemporary events and politics with varying
degrees of consciousness and force, taken together they suggest the
particular resonance of the early Middle Ages for the battlegrounds and
bombsites of the Second World War and its aftermath in late modernist
culture. This mid-century moment does not stand alone, however, and
neither does Jones’s work as a medieval modernist within the broader
arc of the century. A line of influence can be drawn, for example, from
the Anglican medievalism of Jones’s friend and editor at Faber and
Faber, T. S. Eliot, through Jones’s work, and to that of later poets such
as Geoffrey Hill, whose Mercian Hymns () reimagines the eighth-
century King Offa as ‘overlord of the M’, and Seamus Heaney, who
recognized that ‘as a poet of Christ’s passion and incarnation’ David
Jones’s lineage went ‘suddenly past Hopkins to the Anglo-Saxon Dream
of the Rood’.25 Despite the fact that Jones is frequently namechecked in
studies that explore this twentieth-century tradition of medievalism, he
is rarely one of their subjects. However, as the connections detailed
above suggest, Jones’s work did have a profound impact on twentieth-
century poetry in Britain and Ireland and his influence continues to be
felt today in the work of poets and writers such as Pauline Stainer,
Robin Robertson, and Max Porter.
Here, it is worth saying something briefly about Jones’s engagement
with Old English as ‘play’ in both the radical, modernist, and the
sacramental sense. Throughout this book I discuss Jones’s engagement
with Old English language, texts, and artefacts in terms of play. This
arises partly out of an understanding, which has grown during my

25
Seamus Heaney, ‘Now and in England’, The Spectator,  May , . For further
discussion of the relationship between Jones’s poetry and that of Eliot and Hill, see, for
example, Steven Matthews, ‘Provincialism and the Modern Diaspora: T. S. Eliot and
David Jones’, English,  (), –; Steven Matthews, ‘ “Felt Unities”: Geoffrey Hill,
T. S. Eliot and David Jones’, Literary Imagination,  (), –. I am indebted to
Anna Johnson’s ‘ “Wounded Men and wounded trees”: David Jones and the Anglo-Saxon
Culture Tangle’, in Anglo-Saxon Culture and the Modern Imagination, ed. David Clark
and Nicholas Perkins (Cambridge: Brewer, ), pp. – for introducing me to
Seamus Heaney’s Spectator article on David Jones.
 | 

archival research, of the extent of Jones’s passion for languages and for
linguistics, but it is also an acknowledgement of Jones’s considerable
debt to the writings of Joyce. In a  letter to Harman Grisewood
Jones wrote that ‘[w]hat I don’t understand is why more has not been
done with this language thing—why are there not a whole lot of
leaders—up-to-&-from-Joyce—I mean the pleasure is endless & the
possibilities infinite’.26 These pleasures and possibilities can certainly be
felt in Jones’s engagement with Old English. Indeed, Jones reveals as
much in his ‘Preface’ to The Anathemata when he associates the ‘word-
hoard’, the Old English compound for a poetic store of words, with
instruction in play: ‘names linger, especially when associated with some
sort of disciplina ludi. They go into your word-hoard, whether or no
you ever attempt to unlock it’ (). However, Jones’s play with language
is not merely frivolous but informed by a belief in the evocative power
of words. In his essay ‘Art and Sacrament’ Jones discussed the collo-
quial appreciation of the arts by people as ‘fun’, linking it to the
‘gratuitous’ quality of ars that he believed was inherent in the sacra-
mental work of art:
We can better appreciate the nature of this kind of ‘fun’ or ‘play’
when it is Holy Wisdom herself who says ludo. In the famous passage
in the Book of Proverbs she is made to say ludens in orbe terrarum.
She was with the Logos when all things were formed, ‘playing before
him at all times’ and as the Knox translation puts it: ‘I made play in
this world of dust, with the sons of Adam for my play-fellows.’27

For Jones play is an artistic and spiritual mode of perception that leads
to a deeper knowledge of the thing engaged with. To play with the past
is to create and recreate or, in Jones’s sacramental sense, to ‘make this
thing other’ (The Ana, ), and in doing so to ask fundamental ques-
tions about the nature of history and Christian being.
Although Jones’s account of the First World War, In Parenthesis
(), is the best known of his poetic works, The Anathemata repre-
sents the central work in Jones’s oeuvre as poet and artist.28 Most

26
BRBML, GEN MSS , Box , unpublished letter to Grisewood,  March 
[GUBFC, GTM-GAMMS, Box , ].
27
Jones, ‘Art and Sacrament’, p. .
28
Over the past few years David Jones has garnered greater prominence in public and
critical consciousness. This has been, in part, due to the centenary commemorations of
 |     

significantly for this book, as Appendix : The Anglo-Saxon Library


attests, Jones’s interest in Old English literature and language, and early
medieval English history and culture, gained momentum from the
s onwards and increasingly became a part of his intellectual
landscape and poetic vocabulary. Old English literature and language
is creatively reworked throughout Jones’s poetic corpus: for example, in
Jones’s allusions to Widsith in the famous Dai Boast’s passage of In
Parenthesis, in the relationship between The Dream of the Rood and
Jones’s shorter poem ‘The Fatigue’ (), or indeed in the Old and
Modern English hybridized compounds found throughout the poetic
fragments of the posthumous collections The Roman Quarry (),
Wedding Poems (), and The Grail Mass and Other Works ().29
However, The Anathemata is a pivotal text in Jones’s development as a
poet and represents the beginning of a new way of ‘making a writing’:30
it is here that the influence of Old English emerges in a close and
sophisticated poetic rereading. Indeed, Old English language and early
medieval English history and culture are central to Jones’s reshaping of
British cultural identity in The Anathemata and his ambitions to
disrupt the hegemony of English culture.
The centrality of The Anathemata to Jones’s oeuvre is also made
clear by the extent to which it dominated the latter half of Jones’s life.
The  publication was embedded in around two decades of making
and thinking. As Jones wrote in the ‘Preface’ to The Anathemata,
the work ‘had its beginnings in experiments made from time to time

the First World War with In Parenthesis representing an obvious focus. In , for
example, Faber and Faber republished In Parenthesis as part of its commemorative ‘Poets
of the Great War’ editions, alongside works by Siegfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, Edward
Thomas, and others, in what Faber described as ‘an essential gathering of our most
beloved war poets’—a significant inclusion given that Jones has been frequently excluded
from First World War anthologies. ‘In Parenthesis’ <https://www.faber.co.uk/
-in-parenthesis.html> [accessed: ..].
29
In Parenthesis (London: Faber and Faber,  []), pp. –; ‘The Fatigue’, in
The Sleeping Lord and Other Fragments (London: Faber and Faber,  []),
pp. –; The Roman Quarry and Other Sequences, ed. Harman Grisewood and René
Hague (London: Agenda Editions, ); Wedding Poems, ed. Thomas Dilworth (Lon-
don: Enitharmon, ); David Jones’s The Grail Mass and Other Works, ed. Thomas
Goldpaugh and Jamie Callison (London: Bloomsbury, ).
30
In his essay ‘Autobiographical Talk’, Jones discusses the difficulties involved in the
‘making of a writing’. Epoch and Artist, pp. – (p. ).
 | 

between  and ’, which were then ‘reshuffled and again
rewritten intermittently between  and ’ (–), with the
earliest of the reproduced artistic works dating from .31 In addition
to being the labour of several decades, The Anathemata’s themes and
ambitions continued to consume Jones’s later writing. As the editors of
posthumous collections of Jones’s poetry have noted—René Hague and
Harman Grisewood, and more recently Tom Goldpaugh and Jamie
Callison—the majority of the poems and drafts written and published
after  were Mass poems that emerged from materials and drafts
discarded or begun during the writing of The Anathemata.32 With this
in mind, this book often draws on Jones’s later poetry, essays, and
correspondence in which Jones is revising and reflecting on his earlier
work and thought to elucidate The Anathemata. In particular, a group
of letters and typescripts sent to Hague in  and now held in the
archive at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Toronto, have been
especially fruitful.33 In  Hague was writing his A Commentary on
The Anathemata of David Jones, a detailed page-by-page study of the
allusions and references that contribute to the poem’s dense intertext-
uality.34 Hague was writing the book during the last eighteen months of
Jones’s life, but Jones sent many detailed letters expounding his work
and even read and responded to Hague’s draft manuscripts, providing
an invaluable gloss on this complex and at times obscure poetic history
of Britain.
Chronologically speaking, as he admitted in his  ‘Preface’ to his
collected essays Epoch and Artist, Jones was an artist before he was a
writer.35 However, he came to think of himself as a ‘maker’ with all

31
On the relationship between The Anathemata and World War II, see: Neil
Corcoran, The Song of Deeds: A Study of The Anathemata of David Jones (Cardiff:
University of Wales Press, ), p. ; Leo Mellor, Reading the Ruins: Modernism,
Bombsites and British Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ),
pp. –.
32
Hague and Grisewood, ‘Introduction’, in The Roman Quarry, pp. xiii–xiv. Gold-
paugh and Callison, p. .
33
TFRBL, MS Coll , Box  and Box .
34
René Hague, A Commentary on The Anathemata of David Jones (Wellingborough:
Christopher Skelton, ).
35
See Jones’s discussion of the interrelated nature of his visual and verbal processes of
creation in ‘Preface by the Author’, Epoch and Artist, pp. – (p. ).
 |     

creative acts of ars united by the sacramental impulse of man.36


Although the medium changes, the act of making does not: ‘man is
man-the-maker’ Jones affirms, and thus poiesis, ‘making’, is ‘his native
and authentic mode of apperception and in the end his only mode’.37
The Anathemata thus brings together Jones’s lifelong formal innov-
ation in both visual and verbal arts with his most significant intellectual
interests: the history and culture of Britain, particularly its medieval
past, and how this is ordered by Christian history. The Anathemata is
introduced with a ‘Preface’, which will be the focus of Chapter , and is
accompanied by copious notes that elucidate obscure references and
direct the pronunciation of words in other languages. The poetic
sequences are also interspersed with reproductions of Jones’s visual
work: seven ‘painted inscriptions’ (as Nicolete Gray, the medievalist,
lettering historian, and friend of Jones dubbed them), a drawing in
pencil and body-colour entitled Merlin-land (), and an unfinished
engraving entitled He Frees the Waters ().38
Jones’s painted inscriptions represent something of a unique innov-
ation and were described by Gray as an art form ‘between poetry and
painting’.39 The examples published in The Anathemata span more
than a thousand years of historical and literary reference from the
Roman Empire to James Joyce, fusing languages and letter forms
from Latin, Welsh, Old English, and even the colloquial vernacular of
Joyce’s Irish washerwoman, Anna Livia Plurabelle. In this sense, they
are also touchstones for the poem’s vast and eclectic interests
and suggest the extent to which visual and verbal forms are intertwined
in the overall scheme of the poem. A composite of ‘fragments’ of

36
See Jones, ‘Art and Sacrament’, Epoch and Artist, pp. – (p. ).
37
‘Poiesis’ is the Ancient Greek philosophical term for ‘the activity in which a person
brings something into being that did not exist before’. See Jones, ‘Preface by the Author’,
p. .
38
See Nicolete Gray, The Painted Inscriptions of David Jones (London: Gordon Fraser,
). For more recent work on the painted inscriptions, see ‘Word and Image’, in Ariane
Bankes and Paul Hills, The Art of David Jones: Vision and Memory (Farnham: Lund
Humphries, ), pp. – and Elizabeth Powell, David Jones and the Craft of
Theology: Becoming Beauty (London: Bloomsbury Academic, ).
39
Gray, The Painted Inscriptions, p. .
 | 

prose, poetry, notes, and visual work, The Anathemata is multimedia,


multi-scripted, multilingual, and rich in formal innovation.40
Yet this radical innovation, which is undoubtedly modernist in
character—taking its greatest high modernist lead from James Joyce’s
ludic, allusive, and richly multilingual prose—is also indebted to a
Catholic aesthetic theology.41 Named after the ‘blessed things that
have taken on what is cursed and the profane things that are somehow
redeemed [. . .] the donated and votive things [. . .] Things set up, lifted
up, or in whatever manner made over to the gods’ (‘Preface’, The Ana,
), The Anathemata is also designed as a votive object: a sign made in
devotion to God and all of God’s works.42 Framed by the rituals of the
liturgy and introduced as a kind of mind-wandering inspired by the
actions of the Mass, The Anathemata is ultimately an expression of, as
Gray so eloquently put it, Jones’s ‘sense of revelation working through-
out history and of all human activity and perception interpenetrated
with this light’.43 Jones’s politics and their contribution to his vision of
British culture should neither be explained away nor apologized for.
His interest, however quickly it was left behind after the Second World
War, in European fascism and the way it spoke to his belief in the
importance of history to contemporary culture is undoubtedly tied up

40
Gray, The Painted Inscriptions, p. . Elsewhere Gray described the inscriptions as
‘visual poems’: Nicolete Gray, Lettering as Drawing: The Moving Line (London: Oxford
University Press, ), p. . On other visual techniques that may have influenced
Jones’s poetic composition, see Thomas Dilworth, ‘The Deluge: Engraving the Modern
Long Poem’, Journal of Modern Literature,  (), –.
41
Jones’s work has been at the centre of a recent debate about the relationship between
Catholicism and modernism. See, for example: Adam Schwartz, The Third Spring:
G. K. Chesterton, Graham Greene, Christopher Dawson, and David Jones (Washington,
D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, ); Erik Tonning, Modernism and
Christianity (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, ); and Jamie Callison, Paul Fiddes,
Anna Johnson, and Erik Tonning, eds., David Jones: A Christian Modernist? (Leiden: Brill,
).
42
On Jones’s sacramental poetics, see, for example: Kathleen Henderson Staudt, At the
Turn of a Civilization: David Jones and Modern Poetics (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, ); W. David Soud, Divine Cartographies: God, History and Poiesis
in W. B. Yeats, David Jones and T. S. Eliot (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ); Daniel
Gustaffson, ‘Saying more and making other: Poetry as Sacrament’, in Callison, Fiddes,
Johnson, and Tonning, pp. –.
43
Nicolete Gray, ‘David Jones –’, in David Jones: Inscriptions (London:
Anthony D’Offay, ) [n.p.].
 |     

with his medievalist impulses and needs to be addressed.44 It is


necessary to contextualize Jones’s work within wider literary and cul-
tural trends. Both Jed Esty and Marina MacKay have argued for how
the shrinking of Britain’s Empire at the mid-century (Esty) and the
aftershocks of the Second World War (MacKay) contributed to a
resurgent interest in English national culture, what Esty describes as
a ‘nativist and culturalist turn’.45 Jones’s The Anathemata is very much
a part of this wider ‘nativist’ trend in the literature of the twentieth
century, yet Jones equally offers a corrective to the insularity of this
vision by challenging the narrow strictures of an English culture with a
richer and more interconnected account of the culture and history of
Britain and Ireland.
When it comes to the early medieval past, Jones’s work is primarily
recognized for its interest in Roman Britain and the matter of Wales.
Although many critics have long been aware of Jones’s interest in, for
example, The Dream of the Rood or Old English battle poetry, there has
been no detailed study of his engagement with Old English and Anglo-
Latin literary and material culture and history. The question Thomas
Dilworth asked in , namely: ‘[w]hat does [Jones] owe to the Anglo-
Saxon poems he alludes to, and to the language in which they are
written?’, a question this book intends to address, still remains largely
unanswered.46 David Blamires’s short essay ‘The Medieval Inspiration
of David Jones’ () surveys many of Jones’s Old English allusions in
brief. However, Blamires ultimately argues that knowledge of Jones’s
reading and a hand-list of The Library of David Jones, National Library
of Wales, which was not available when he was writing, would make
a full study of Jones’s medievalism possible—a challenge this book
takes up.47 The first full study to make extensive use of The Library,

44
See further: Elizabeth Ward, David Jones: Mythmaker (Manchester: Manchester
University Press, ), and Tom Villis, British Catholics and Fascism: Religious Identity
and Political Extremism between the Wars (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, ).
45
Jed Esty, A Shrinking Island: Modernism and National Culture in England
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, ), and Marina MacKay, Late Modernism
and World War II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ).
46
Thomas Dilworth, The Shape of Meaning in the Poetry of David Jones (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, ), p. .
47
David Blamires, ‘The Medieval Inspiration of David Jones’, in David Jones: Eight
Essays on his Work as Writer and Artist, being the first transactions of Yr Academi
Gymreig, ed. Roland Mathias (Llandysul: Gomer Press, ), pp. –. I am also
 | 

Jonathan Miles’s Backgrounds to David Jones (published in advance


of Huw Ceiriog Jones’s  catalogue of The Library of David Jones
but drawing on the unpublished research) completely neglects the
Old English contexts of Jones’s work. By choosing to skip over
‘Angle-Land’, the sequence of The Anathemata that is largely focused
on the period in British history after the withdrawal of the Romans
and during the adventus Saxonum, Miles misses an opportunity
to reflect on the role of early medieval English contexts within
Jones’s larger poetic project.48 This book redresses this neglect by
dedicating two chapters to the rich terrain represented by ‘Angle-
Land’, Chapters  and .
Miles’s approach to Jones’s source materials reflects a wider
attitude to the poet–artist’s engagement with Old English textual
and material culture, which has been perpetuated by a sense that
early medieval literature is largely inaccessible to those who are not
specialists. This leads to an important argument I wish to make
about Jones’s knowledge of Old English contexts; although Jones’s
knowledge of Old English is often dismissed as superficial, or quali-
fied by a sense of its limits, Jones’s interest in this early medieval
culture was, in fact, both creative and deeply researched.49 Jones was
an autodidact but we should not underestimate the reach of his
knowledge.
More recently, Old English literature and culture has found an
increasingly prominent place within studies of Jones’s work. Paul
Robichaud’s Making the Past Present (), recognizes Jones’s poetry,
and The Anathemata in particular, as a ‘mosaic of Celtic, Anglo-Saxon,
French and Latin cultures’, arguing that this ‘has been both a source of
critical misunderstanding’ and an obstacle to his acknowledgement as

immensely grateful for the archival work of Huw Ceiriog Jones and his catalogue of The
Library; without it my own research would not have been possible: Huw Ceiriog Jones,
The Library of David Jones (–): A Catalogue (Aberystwyth: The National Library
of Wales, ).
48
Jonathan Miles, Backgrounds to David Jones: A Study in Sources and Drafts (Cardiff:
University of Wales Press, ).
49
See Michael Alexander, who repeats Jones’s claim that he ‘did not know any Anglo-
Saxon’: ‘From “David Jones” ’, in David Jones: Man and Poet, ed. John Matthias (Orono:
National Poetry Foundation, University of Maine, ), pp. – (p. ).
 |     

a major modern poet.50 Robichaud discusses some of Jones’s Old


English influences but looks at Jones’s medievalism more broadly
and therefore gives limited space to Jones’s playful work with the Old
English word-hoard.51 In addition to the contribution of Making the
Past Present, shorter studies have been dedicated to close readings of
Jones’s work alongside its Old English sources. Anna Johnson’s chapter
in Anglo-Saxon Culture and the Modern Imagination () makes a
significant case for why Jones’s engagement with Old English is a
particularly productive focus for analysis and gestures towards the
place of Old English literature in his wider poetic oeuvre.52 Johnson
argues that although initially ‘Jones’s use of Old English sources seems
to polarize and to pit cultures against one other’, ultimately it succeeds
in uncovering the ‘similarities between cultures’: this emphasis on
dialogue and cultural renewal also informs my own reading of Jones’s
medieval modern poetics.53
Renewed public attention on Jones for the First World War centen-
ary commemorations has gone hand in hand with a flourishing of
critical work on David Jones. The last decade alone has seen the
publication of a new monograph on Jones’s visual art, the long-awaited
biography by Thomas Dilworth, a volume on the David Jones archive
from Bloomsbury Academic’s Modernist Archives series, a new collec-
tion of unpublished poetic drafts, a special journal issue, an edited
collection, and a number of monographs that have been dedicated to

50
Paul Robichaud, Making the Past Present: David Jones, the Middle Ages and
Modernism (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, ),
pp. –. There is also an unpublished PhD thesis by Kirsty Louise Black, which is
primarily focused on high and late medieval contexts: ‘ “Those been the cokkes wordes
and not myne”: Medieval Influences on the Structure of David Jones’s The Anathemata’
(unpublished doctoral thesis, Goldsmiths University, London, ).
51
Robichaud does engage with ‘Angle-Land’, the sequence neglected by Miles, and
discusses Jones’s engagement with the Mercian Saint Guthlac as well as his use of the Old
English language (see further Chapter ) pp. –, and he deals briefly with Jones’s
interest in The Dream of the Rood, pp. –. His conclusion usefully sets Jones’s
medievalism within the context of figures such as Geoffrey Hill and Seamus Heaney,
who are better known for their engagement with Old English materials. Making the Past
Present.
52
Anna Johnson, ‘ “Wounded men and wounded trees”: David Jones and the Anglo-
Saxon Culture Tangle’, in Anglo-Saxon Culture and the Modern Imagination, ed. David
Clark and Nicholas Perkins (Cambridge: Brewer, ), pp. –.
53
Johnson, p. .
 | 

or included chapters on Jones.54 Some of this new energy has been


directed towards understanding the creative reuse of Old English
materials in Jones’s work and, indeed, finding a place for Jones within
Early Medieval Studies—a trend that has undoubtedly been inspired by
the expansion of medievalism as a field of study and enriching new
work on literary medievalisms.55 This book, with its in-depth focus on
Jones’s poetic engagement with early medieval artefacts, as well as Old
English and Anglo-Latin texts, its presentation of new archival mater-
ials and its methodology of reading with David Jones, hopes to lay the
foundation for future research on Jones’s innovative, playful, and richly
researched engagement with Old English language, literature, and early
medieval culture.
Drawing on archival materials from repositories across the United
Kingdom and North America, this book makes particular use of The

54
Bankes and Hills; Thomas Dilworth, David Jones: Engraver, Soldier, Painter, Poet
(London: Jonathan Cape, ); Thomas Berenato, Anne Price-Owen, and Kathleen
Henderson Staudt, eds., David Jones on Religion, Politics and Culture (London:
Bloomsbury, ); Goldpaugh and Callison, The Grail Mass and Other Works; ‘David
Jones Special Issue’, ed. Jasmine Hunter-Evans and Anna Svendsen, Religion and Litera-
ture,  (); Jamie Callison, Paul Fiddes, Anna Johnson, and Erik Tonning, eds., David
Jones: A Christian Modernist? (Leiden: Brill, ). Monographs that have devoted
chapters to Jones include: Stephen McInerney, The Enclosure of an Open Mystery:
Sacrament and Incarnation in the Writings of Gerard Manley Hopkins, David Jones and
Les Murray (Bern: Peter Lang, ); Heather O’Donoghue, English Poetry and Old Norse
Myth: A History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ); and, Soud.
55
Elaine Treharne, ‘Naming the Western Fringes’, unpublished paper given at ISAS:
International Society of Anglo-Saxonists Eighteenth Biennial Meeting, University of
Hawai’i at Manoa,  July . Treharne’s research on Jones will form part of her
forthcoming book, The Aesthetic Book: Arts and Crafts to Modernism. I should also note
here that David Jones has been mentioned in several recent publications on medievalism:
Chris Jones describes Jones as part of a ‘modernist medievalism’ in ‘Medievalism in
British Poetry’, in The Cambridge Companion to Medievalism, ed. Louise D’Arcens
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), pp. – (p. ); and David Matthews
discusses Jones’s ‘The Quest’ in similar terms in Medievalism: A Critical History (Cam-
bridge: Brewer, ), pp. –. On recent developments in Medievalism Studies, see, for
example: Louise D’Arcens, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Medievalism (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, ), and Elizabeth Emery and Richard Utz, eds.,
Medievalism: Key Critical Terms (Cambridge: Brewer, ). For work on literary med-
ievalisms over the past few decades see, for example: Chris Jones, Strange Likeness: The
Use of Old English in Twentieth-Century Poetry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, );
M. J. Toswell, Borges the Unacknowledged Medievalist: Old English and Old Norse in his
Life and Work (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, ); Tom Birkett and Kirsty March-
Lyons, eds., Translating Early Medieval Poetry: Transformation, Reception, Interpretation
(Cambridge: Brewer, ); Joshua Davies, Visions and Ruins.
 |     

Library of David Jones at the National Library of Wales in order to


develop a new methodology for reading with Jones. The collection of
 books belonging to David Jones was deposited in the National
Library of Wales in  by the David Jones Estate with the hope that
the books would be useful to future researchers.56 Filled with inscrip-
tions and dedications, collected ephemera, and lengthy marginal notes,
The Library of David Jones promises to reveal, as Joseph Nicholson
argues writers’ libraries do, the ‘mysterious connection between [the
writer’s] reading and their own work’.57 The process of reading with
David Jones has not always led me where I might have predicted. In
following the development of Jones’s knowledge through his books
unexpected dialogues emerge between, for example: Jones and
J. N. L. Myres’s contribution to R. G. Collingwood and J. N. L. Myres,
Roman Britian and The English Settlements () (Chapter ), or
between Jones, the eighth-century Vita Sancti Guthlaci Auctore Felice
and its treatment in twentieth-century historiography (Chapter ).
These routes through Jones’s poetic work and the textual traces of the
early Middle Ages make clear the extent to which history has the
potential to be reframed and adapted by the pressures and concerns
of the present moment, whether in historiographical or literary works.
Appendix : The Anglo-Saxon Library is at the heart of the central
arguments of this book and represents a subsection I have identified
and isolated in Jones’s personal collection of books. The Anglo-Saxon
Library demonstrates Jones’s passion for Old English literature, lan-
guage, and culture, and his serious interest in following the latest
developments in scholarship, translation, and textual editing.58 There

56
For details of the acquisition, see Adrodiadd Blynyddol/Annual Report –
(Aberystwyth: National Library of Wales, ), p. . See also, Huw Ceiriog Jones. It
is clear from much of the correspondence from GUBFC, GTM-GAMMS, Box , that
the motivation for the preservation of The Library came from the National Library of
Wales itself, where the librarian, David Jenkins, had shown an interest in the acquisition
of The Library, alongside Jones’s other manuscripts and papers, even while Jones was
alive. See, for example, GUBFC, GTM-GAMMS, Box , , unpublished letter from
Saunders Lewis to Grisewood,  December .
57
Joseph Nicholson, ‘Making Personal Libraries More Public: A Study of the
Technical Processing of Personal Libraries in ARL Institutions’, RBM,  (),
– (p. ).
58
Hereafter, The Anglo-Saxon Library will be used to refer to this subsection of The
Library of David Jones I have identified in my research.
 | 

is also a clear sense of Jones’s increasing engagement with, and


commitment to, Old English contexts from the s onwards. Each
of the chapters of this book begins with the evidence of marginalia from
the books in The Anglo-Saxon Library in order to establish Jones’s
knowledge of particular early medieval contexts, illuminating how
Jones was reading and interpreting these texts, artefacts, and historical
studies. In each case the marginalia form the basis of a close rereading
of Jones’s poetry, attentive to his playful reworkings of early medieval
history, language, and culture. As a poet of the medieval modern, Jones
plays with and reworks early medieval English histories, narratives, and
artefacts in order to challenge the singularity and exceptionalism of an
‘Anglo-Saxon’ canon.

David Jones and Anglo-Welsh Identity


David Jones was born in Brockley, London in  to Welsh and
English parents: his father, Jim Jones, was originally from North
Wales, while his mother, Alice Bradshaw, was a London native who
had grown up in Rotherhithe in a family of carpenters and ship-
wrights.59 Jones is often described as ‘Anglo-Welsh’, yet this hardly
does justice to the competing claims made about Jones and his work, or
indeed to his own claims for his identity. In ‘Welsh Modernist Poetry’
(), John Goodby and Chris Wiggington propose that Jones is one
of the most important figures of Welsh modernism, claiming that
Welsh modernism was itself ‘hybrid, and much concerned with [. . .]
(in)authenticity’, that ultimately it embodied ‘the hyphenated condi-
tion of Anglo-Welshness’.60 Within a Welsh context this is not a
controversial claim. Although Jones is not a canonical figure within
English institutions and the wider cultural consciousness, his work is an
important part of the Welsh art collection at the National Museum of
Wales/Amgueddfa Cymru and of the archives at the National Library

59
Dilworth, Engraver, Soldier, Painter, Poet, p. .
60
John Goodby and Chris Wigginton, ‘Welsh Modernist Poetry’, in Regional
Modernisms, ed. Neal Alexander and James Moran (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, ), pp. – (p. ).
 |     

of Wales, and it was Welsh National Opera that staged and toured the
libretto of In Parenthesis in .61
However, Jones’s apparent legacy as a Welsh cultural figure leaves us
in danger of placing too much emphasis upon the poet–artist’s
imaginative longing and nostalgic hiraeth—the Welsh word that is
without cognate in English, which expresses something akin to, but
deeper than, homesickness—for Wales without acknowledging the
particular power of his more local contexts.62 In this sense, Ariane
Bankes and Paul Hills’s  retrospective of Jones’s visual work,
‘Vision and Memory’, did subtle but insightful work in reminding us
of the London and Sussex contexts that informed Jones’s vision.63 The
inverse of this argument, that Jones should be considered an English
poet and artist, is nevertheless equally problematic. When introducing
Dai Greatcoat: A Self-Portrait of David Jones in his Letters, René Hague,
Jones’s friend and editor, made the claim that Jones belonged wholly to
the English tradition: ‘[i]n spite of all David’s attempts to Cambrianize
his work [. . .] it was the English tradition that was most completely
assimilated, and everything in his work that is most convincing, sincere,
and based on real knowledge and understanding is English’.64 Hague’s
position establishes a dichotomy between ‘Englishness’ and ‘Welshness’
that leaves no room for nuance; indeed, Hague reinforces a perspective

61
In the summer of , Welsh National Opera premiered a new libretto based on In
Parenthesis written by Emma Jenkins and David Antrobus and with music by the young
British composer Iain Bell. The libretto was commissioned by the Nicholas John Trust
with – NOW, the UK’s arts programme for the First World War Centenary. The
libretto premiered at the Wales Millennium Centre, Cardiff ( May– June), and toured
to the Birmingham Hippodrome ( June) and the Royal Opera House, London (
June– July). ‘In Parenthesis’, WNO <http://inparenthesis.org.uk> [accessed: ..].
62
‘hiraeth’, in GPC <https://geiriadur.uwtsd.ac.uk> [accessed: ..].
63
‘David Jones: Vision and Memory’, Pallant House Gallery,  October –
February  <http://pallant.org.uk/exhibitions/past-exhibitions//david-jones-
vision-and-memory/david-jones-vision-and-memory> [accessed: ..].
64
René Hague, ed., Dai Greatcoat: A Self-Portrait of David Jones in his Letters
(London: Faber and Faber, ), p. . Hague was not alone in espousing this dichot-
omy: in his Welsh-language foreword to a  exhibition catalogue, Saunders Lewis
wrote that Jones ‘feeds his meditation and his imagination on the Welsh past; it is a key to
his work as English poet and as painter’ [Mae’n meithrin ei fyfyrdod a’I ddychymyg ar
orffennol Cymru a dyna un allwedd i’w waith eff el bardd Saesneg a pheintiwr.]. ‘Note by
Way of Preface’, in David Jones: An Exhibition of Paintings, Drawings and Engravings
(Cardiff: The Arts Council of Great Britain, ), pp. –.
 | 

that is entirely at odds with Jones’s own sense of the entangled nature of
British traditions.
Roland Mathias points out that what Hague is introducing here is a
selective ‘portrait based on letters to English friends’, suggesting that the
‘Welsh enthusiasms have been editorially shaded out’.65 Yet, Hague’s
assertion has been frequently reinstated by the many critics who have
argued that Jones’s Welshness represents an imagined experience of
landscape, culture, and language that is fixed in the Welsh past. Jeremy
Hooker, for example, describes Jones’s relationship to Wales as ‘tan-
gential’ and suggests that this might explain the ‘persistent tendency to
resolve the Welsh landscape and Welsh communities into “the Other
World” ’.66 Dilworth, in his recent biography, reinforces this argument
by describing Jones’s Welshness as an ‘intellectual-imaginary’ that is
‘figured against a London-English social-cultural ground’.67 It is true
that Jones is often imaginatively inhabiting Wales, Welsh landscape,
and Welsh history from the physical spaces of England. Indeed, Jones
spent relatively little time in Wales: there were several childhood visits
to his grandparents in North Wales, and from  to  Jones spent
periods of time staying with Eric Gill and his family in Capel-y-ffin in
the Brecon Beacons, and made trips from here to Caldey Island.68
Jones’s experience as a private in the Royal Welch Fusiliers during
the First World War was no doubt also important in shaping his
experience of Welsh culture at a distance from Wales.69 However,
this need not be seen as an inauthentic, or purely imagined, experience
of Welshness.

65
Hague, Dai Greatcoat, p. .
66
Jeremy Hooker, John Cowper Powys and David Jones: A Comparative Study
(London: Enitharmon Press, ), p. . In a  chapter, Hooker would go on to
admit that it is not ‘easy to dismiss Jones’s idea of Wales as a romantic dream’, suggesting
that Jones had something important to say about ‘the complex situation of the modern
Anglo-Welsh writer, a situation brought about by the social and economic pressures
behind Anglicization in his father’s generation’. Jeremy Hooker, ‘David Jones and the
Matter of Wales’, in David Jones, Diversity in Unity: Studies of his Literary and Visual Art,
ed. Belinda Humfrey and Anne Price-Owen (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, ),
pp. – (p. ).
67
Dilworth, Engraver, Soldier, Painter, Poet, p. .
68
See Roland Mathias’s full catalogue of Jones’s visits to Wales in A Ride Through the
Wood: Essays on Anglo-Welsh Literature (Bridgend: Poetry Wales Press, ), p. .
69
See also William Blissett, ‘The Welsh Thing in Here’, in David Jones: Artist and Poet,
ed. Paul Hills (Aldershot: Scolar Press, ), pp. – (pp. –).
 |     

Jones’s own habit was to describe himself as ‘a Londoner, of Welsh


and English parentage, of Protestant upbringing, of Catholic subscrip-
tion’ (‘Preface’, The Ana, ). He actively avoided referring to himself as
‘English’, always choosing the more localized designation of ‘Lon-
doner’, but he was equally reticent about making any claim to being
‘Welsh’.70 This self-definition exposes a tension in Jones’s own sense of
identity that drives his engagement with the inheritance of the islands
of Britain and his passionate interest in early medieval British culture
and history. Rather than thinking about his relationship to an English
or a Welsh tradition, this book argues that Jones engages with the
dynamic between these two traditions. In order to understand what it
means to be Anglo-Welsh for Jones, we must look to the contested,
shared, and hybrid spaces of early medieval Britain that Jones explored
in his poetry and writing in an attempt to resolve his English and Welsh
inheritance into a representative British tradition. Although the ques-
tion of whether Wales can be considered postcolonial, or if there is such
a thing as postcolonial Welsh literature or culture, is a contested one,
I do occasionally draw on postcolonial theory to discuss Jones’s remap-
ping of what he would have recognized as a colonial early Middle Ages
and its legacies.71
On a number of occasions Jones located his identity in the Welsh
borderlands and their early medieval history, which he described in his
poem ‘The Sleeping Lord’ as ‘these whoreson March-lands/of this
Welshry’ that ‘[n]o wiseman’s son born do know’.72 In an illuminating
note on the Celtic kingdom of Loidis, or Elmet, in The Anathemata

70
In a talk broadcast by the BBC Welsh Home Service, Jones began by introducing himself
as ‘one whose father was a Welshman’ and went on to say that his subject is ‘the matter of
Wales as seen by a Londoner’. ‘A London Artist Looks at Contemporary Wales’, in The Dying
Gaul, pp. – (p. ), originally broadcast on the Welsh Home Service of the BBC.
71
See, for example: Neil Evans, ‘Internal Colonialism? Colonization, Economic
Development and Political Mobilisation in Wales, Scotland and Ireland’, in G. Day and
G. Rees, eds., Regions, Nations and European Integration: Remaking the Celtic Periphery
(Cardiff: University of Wales Press, ), pp. – (p. ). However, more recently
critics have begun to explore meaningful ways of applying postcolonial theory to Welsh
history and contemporary culture; see: Kirsti Bohata, Postcolonialism Revisited: Writing
Wales in English (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, ); Jane Aaron and Chris
William, ed. Postcolonial Wales (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, ); Michael
A. Faletra, Wales and the Medieval Colonial Imagination: The Matters of Britain in the
Twelfth Century (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, ).
72
Jones, ‘The Sleeping Lord’, in The Sleeping Lord, p. .
 | 

Jones wrote that ‘[i]n my text the name “Loidis” must be taken
symbolically of any pocket of resistance in times of confused and
shifting frontiers [. . .]’ (, n. ). Loidis comes to represent Jones’s
faith in the mobility of identity, but more importantly his belief in the
survival and resistance of the Welsh across Britain. As Jones consist-
ently reminds his readers, ‘what’s under works up’ (The Ana, ). The
history of areas like the Welsh marches and early kingdoms such as
Loidis mean that Wales is as much of a presence in England as England
is in Wales: both countries are inhabited by culturally composite
communities as a result of their colonial and colonized histories. To
be Anglo-Welsh, or as Jones prefers to put it in his ‘Preface’ to The
Anathemata ‘a Londoner, of Welsh and English parentage’ (), there-
fore, can provide insight into the sociopolitical, cultural, and geo-
graphic dynamic between England and Wales that has existed in
some form for more than fifteen hundred years.
In his  BBC broadcast on the Welsh Home Service, Jones began
his ‘Autobiographical Talk’ by speaking about how the defeat by the Welsh
Owain Gwynedd of Henry II’s Anglo-Norman and Welsh forces at the
Battle of Ewloe (Coleshill) in  was responsible for his Anglo-Welsh
affinities.73 Jones explains that:
Holywell, where my father, James Jones, was born, is about three
miles north-west of the battle-site. The birth of a son to John Jones,
Plastrwr, Treffynnon, in  would indeed seem a matter of no
apparent connection with the battle won by the great Owain Gwyn-
edd in  [sic]. But however unapparent, the connection is real
enough; for that victory symbolized the recovery of a tract of Britain
that had been in English possession for well over three centuries. Had
that twelfth-century recovery not occurred the area around Holywell
would have remained within the Mercian zone of influence. In which
case its inhabitants would, centuries since have become wholly Eng-
lish in tradition, nomenclature and feeling. [. . .] You see by what
close shaves some of us are what we are, and you see how accidents of
long past history can be of importance to us in the most intimate
sense, and can determine integral things about us.74

73
Jones, ‘Autobiographical Talk’, in Epoch and Artist, pp. – (p. ). Originally
broadcast on  October .
74
Jones, ‘Autobiographical Talk’, in Epoch and Artist, p. .
 |     

Although Jones is discussing an Anglo-Norman battle against Welsh


forces, he cites the Mercian history of the landscape (explored further
in Chapter ), invoking the deeply layered history of Anglo-Welsh
contestation of that area. Jones emphasizes his belief that history
conditions identity. His Anglo-Welsh inheritance is not a product of
a nineteenth-century marriage, but rather of the shifting early medieval
borders of what would become Wales and England.
Jones’s desire to link the violence of the Battle of Ewloe with his
father’s family is clearly also tied up with his association of his grand-
father with Offa’s Dyke, the earthwork thought to have been built by
King Offa of Mercia in response to conflict between the Mercians and
the Britons.75 In his Descriptio Cambriæ, Gerald of Wales (–)
wrote of how ‘[s]icut rex Offa suo in tempore; qui et fossa finali, in
longum extensa, Britones ab Anglis exclusit’ (‘King Offa shut the Welsh
off from the English by his long dyke on the frontier’).76 Offa’s Dyke,
traditionally thought of as a defensive boundary between the English
and the Welsh, is a fitting metaphor for Jones’s sense of disinheritance
from the language of his paternal family, for which he felt his
grandfather—who had beaten Welsh out of his eldest son, Jones’s
father—was responsible.77 Yet Jones also felt great affection for his
grandfather. Dilworth recounts that when they first met in 
Jones, who had been determined to hate his grandfather, felt a sense
of the powerful connection he offered him to the ‘ancient past’.78 Offa’s
Dyke, then, represents both a boundary that keeps Jones at a distance
from his Welsh heritage, and a permeable border, much like the
borderland around Ewloe and Holywell, that draws Jones into Welsh-
ness and is responsible for his hybrid Anglo-Welsh identity.
This conception of Offa’s Dyke as both a border marked by conflict
and a space in which Anglo-Welsh identities might be forged is in tune

75
Dilworth, Engraver, Soldier, Painter, Poet, p. .
76
‘Descriptio Kambriæ’, in Giraldi Cambrensis Itinerarium Kambriæ et Descriptio
Kambriæ, ed. James F. Dimock (London: Longmans Green, ), p. , II. VII. ‘The
Description of Wales’, in Gerald of Wales: The Journey through Wales and The Descrip-
tion of Wales, trans. Lewis Thorpe (Harmondsworth: Penguin, ), p. , Book II,
Chapter .
77
See Jones, ‘A London Artist Looks at Contemporary Wales’, in The Dying Gaul, for
Jones’s discussion of his father’s attitude to the Welsh language.
78
Dilworth, Engraver, Soldier, Painter, Poet, p. .
 | 

with some of the most recent studies of the Dyke, including Lindy
Brady’s Writing the Welsh Borderlands in Anglo-Saxon England and
Ian Bapty and Keith Ray’s study (), which claimed to offer a
‘revised, but not wholly revisionist’ understanding of the earthwork.79
Although Bapty and Ray agree that it is undeniable that the Dyke was
constructed in aggression against the Britons and was designed to
enforce and increase the visibility of a Mercian hegemony, they also
argue that the earthwork was conceived to ‘permit a degree of perme-
ability’ at points with a ‘connective purpose’ in mind.80 Despite the
inevitable colonial violence evident in the Dyke’s connective ambitions,
Bapty and Ray propose that it represented a frontier zone rather than a
boundary, in which some English and Welsh communities were
brought together, laying the groundwork for the development of a
‘march’: ‘a hybrid border region that rather than simply delineating a
frontier, created instead a buffer zone that was permeable when needed,
and “fixed” when needed’.81 This changing understanding of Offa’s
Dyke is part of a broader reassessment of early medieval evidence,
which increasingly emphasizes zones of cultural exchange in historio-
graphies that have been characterized by narratives of English hegem-
ony and dominance in the past.82 Jones’s own scholarly and poetic
investigation of the early medieval past, where English histories inter-
sect with Welsh histories in particular, represents a parallel shift in
perspective.
In his reading of and engagement with early medieval materials
Jones recognized what he described as the ‘culture tangle’:83 the com-
plex networks of connection, translation, and influence that produced
early medieval culture. In his unpublished essay on ‘Wales and Visual
Form’ Jones provided perhaps the best definition of what he meant by
the ‘culture tangle’:

79
Lindy Brady, Writing the Welsh Borderlands in Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester:
Manchester University Press, ); Ian Bapty and Keith Ray, Offa’s Dyke: Landscape
and Hegemony in Eighth-Century Britain (Oxford: Windgather Press, ), p. .
80
Bapty and Ray, p. .
81
Bapty and Ray, p. .
82
See, for example, Brady, especially pp. –.
83
Jones uses this phrase in his own analysis of a passage from Gerard Manley Hopkins
in ‘The Roland Epic and Ourselves’, The Dying Gaul, pp. – (p. ). I am also
thinking of Anna Johnson’s use of the phrase in the title of her chapter on Jones and the
Old English tradition, in Clark and Perkins.
 |     

The motifs, the ingredients of the decoration may, in a given work,


derive in part from as far away as Ravenna or Syria, and the Angle
who made the given work may have learned to handle his tools in a
Celtic monastery, but the Angle imprint may very well be on his
angels none the less. And the Goidel who gave to some particular
work a feeling which we recognise as Irish-Celtic may very well have
been under the tuition of a master whose stock-in-trade of motifs was
derived from the same or similar sources as the Angle craftsman –
but with very different results. There were no doubt many tendencies
at work and this movement or movements included in its effective
influence such masterpieces as the Books of Kells, the Lindisfarne
Gospels, the great crosses of Northumbria and elsewhere in Britain
and Ireland [. . .]84
The OED defines ‘tangle’ as a ‘[a] tangled condition, or concr. a tangled
mass; a complication of threads, [etc.], confusedly intertwined or inter-
laced’, a ‘complicated and confused assemblage’, and informally as a
‘fight, argument or disagreement’.85 The ‘culture tangle’ thus acknow-
ledges both the tribal and territorial power struggles of early medieval
Britain and Ireland and the beauty of the knotwork of the illuminated
pages of the Book of Kells and the Lindisfarne Gospels, which this tangle
also produces. In this book I have sometimes found it useful to think
about this culture tangle in postcolonial terms as an early medieval
manifestation of hybridity, which Homi K. Bhabha defines as the
representation of ‘the cutting edge of translation and negotiation, the
inbetween space – that carries the burden of the meaning of culture’.86
Jones expresses this space of translation and negotiation as a ‘move-
ment or movements’ of ideas and motifs through cross-cultural train-
ing, and he also uses the Lindisfarne Gospels, along with the stone
crosses of Northumbria, as an example of this early medieval, hybrid
culture tangle (see further Chapter ). Jones’s comment about how the
‘Angle imprint may very well be on his angels none the less’, which
references Bede’s account of Gregory’s meeting with the Angle slaves

84
Undated essay, published as ‘Wales and Visual Form’, in The Dying Gaul, pp. –
(p. ).
85
‘tangle, n.’, in OED <https://www.oed.com/> [accessed: ..].
86
Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (Oxford: Routledge, ), p. . See also
Catherine Karkov’s use of hybridity in an early medieval context in Catherine E. Karkov,
The Art of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell, ), p. .
 | 

(see Chapter ), nevertheless acknowledges the tension inherent in this


‘culture tangle’ and the unequal power dynamics at play in these early
medieval translations and contacts.87 The early medieval past is there-
fore an especially productive site for Jones’s exploration of both the
tensions and the creative possibilities of his own hybrid, Anglo-Welsh
identity.
This book also argues that Jones’s search for hybrid, Anglo-Welsh
histories in the Old English and Anglo-Latin record can provide insight
into broader historiographical changes in the study of early medieval
Britain and its popular perception. Reading Old English and Anglo-
Latin texts and artefacts with Jones, or indeed through his late mod-
ernist poem The Anathemata, can help us to be more attentive to the
social and political ideologies that informed medieval processes of
historicization, as well as nineteenth- and twentieth-century efforts to
historicize the medieval past. In order to establish this argument, I want
to briefly trace the trajectory of Jones’s reading in early medieval
history, demonstrating how Jones increasingly reconciled his English
identity to his Welsh heritage and offering a kind of potted history of
popular and scholarly attitudes to the history of early medieval Britain.
In a copy of Geoffrey of Monmouth gifted to Jones in  by ‘T.P.’
the dedication reads: ‘Walter David Jones / “champion of the ancient
welsh” / From a converted Saxon’.88 The dedication reflects the linger-
ing influence of Victorian and Edwardian Anglo-Saxonism and
nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century nationalism that set the charac-
ter of the ‘Teuton’ against that of the ‘Celt’, and is something we can see
reflected in Jones’s early reading in medieval history and literature.89
Accounts of his childhood attitudes are almost caricature-like in their
suggestion of Jones’s love for Wales and contempt for all things

87
I am well aware of the problems of ‘hybridity’ as well, particularly in a medieval
context: see, for example, Lindy Brady, p.. For the story in Bede, see Bertram Colgrave
and R. A. B. Mynors, eds., Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Oxford:
Clarendon, ), pp. –, II..
88
Sebastian Evans, trans., Geoffrey of Monmouth (London: Dent, ) [November
] (NLW ).
89
See Stephanie Barczewski, Myth and National Identity in Nineteenth-Century
Britain: The Legends of King Arthur and Robin Hood (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
). On Victorian Anglo-Saxonism, see Matthew Townend, ‘Victorian Medievalisms’,
in The Oxford Handbook of Victorian Poetry, ed. Matthew Bevis (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, ), pp. –.
Another random document with
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Fig. 246.—Sepia officinalis L.,
with mantle cut away to show
position of internal shell, × ½.
(The ends of the tentacular
arms are cut off.)
The Belemnitidae are believed to have been gregarious, and to
have lived in shallow water on a muddy bottom. Specimens are
sometimes found in which even the ink-sac can be recognised in
situ. The relative proportions of rostrum and phragmocone vary
greatly in different groups, the rostrum being in some cases two feet
long, in others only just enclosing the phragmocone. As a rule the
rostrum is the only portion which has been preserved.
Fam. 3. Belosepiidae.—Phragmocone short, slightly curved,
chambers small, placed at the posterior end of a sepion, rostrum
solid, obtuse.—Eocene (Paris, Bracklesham, etc.).
Fam. 4. Belopteridae.—Sepion not known; phragmocone curved,
siphuncle on the ventral margin, rostrum well developed, pointed.
Principal genus, Spirulirostra.—Miocene of Turin.
These two families, with their small, curved phragmocone and (in
the case of the Belosepiidae) large sepion, are clearly intermediate
between the Phragmophora and Sepiophora. Some authorities place
them with the latter group.

Fig. 247.—Shell of Spirula Peronii Lam. A,


Cutside view; B, showing last chamber and
position of siphuncle; C, in section, showing
the septa and course of siphuncle; D, shell
broken to show the convexity of the inner
side of the septa; E, portion of a septal neck.
Fig. 248.—Spirula Peronii Lam.:
d, terminal sucker; f, funnel;
s1, s2, projecting portions of
shell, the internal part of
which is dotted in. (From
Owen and A. Adams
combined.)
B. Sepiophora.—Shell internal, consisting usually of (a) an
anterior cancellated portion, (b) a posterior laminated portion, the
laminae enclosing air. It terminates in a very rudimentary
phragmocone and a rostrum, but there is no siphuncle.
Fam. Sepiidae.—Eyes with cornea complete, body oval, fins
narrow, lateral, as long as the body, generally united behind; sessile
arms short, tentacular arms long, acetabula generally in four rows,
fourth left arm in the male hectocotylised near the base (Fig. 249).—
World-wide.
The sepion or ‘cuttle-bone’ runs the whole length and width of the
body. In Sepia it is very thick in front, while the posterior ventral end
is concave and terminated by a prominent spine, the rostrum or
mucro which points downwards. The whole shell is surrounded by a
thin chitinous margin, which forms a lateral expansion. Other genera
are Sepiella, Hemisepius, and Trachyteuthis (fossil only).
C. Chondrophora.—Shell (gladius or pen) long, chitinous.
(a) Myopsidae:[400] cornea entire, species mostly sub-littoral.
Fam. 1. Sepiolidae.—Fins large, dorso-lateral; tentacular arms
retractile; two first dorsal arms in the male hectocotylised; gladius
narrow, half as long as the body.—World-wide.
Principal genera: Sepiola, dorsal mantle connected with the head
by a broad cervical band, ventral mantle with the funnel by a ridge
fitting into a groove; Rossia, dorsal mantle supported by a ridge,
arms with never more than four rows of acetabula; Inioteuthis,
Stoloteuthis, Nectoteuthis, and Promachoteuthis.
Fam. 2. Sepiadariidae.—Fins not as long as the body, mantle
united to the head on the dorsal side, fourth left arm in the male
hectocotylised; no gladius. Principal genera, Sepiadarium,
Sepioloidea.—Chiefly Pacific Ocean.

Fig. 249.—Hectocotylised arm (h.a.) of Sepia


officinalis L., shown in contrast to one of
the ordinary sessile arms; m, mouth; p,
pocket into which the tentacular arm is
retracted.
Fam. 3. Idiosepiidae.—Fins very small, terminal; fourth pair of
arms in the male hectocotylised, bare of suckers.
The only genus, Idiosepion, with a single species (I. pygmaeum
Stp.) is from the Indian Ocean, and is the smallest known
Cephalopod, measuring only about 15 mm. in length.
Fam. 4. Loliginidae.—Body rather long, fins varying in size,
tentacular arms partially retractile, gladius as long as the back,
pointed in front, shaft keeled on the ventral side.—World-wide.
Loligo proper has a pointed body with triangular posterior fins
united behind; sessile arms with two rows of acetabula, tentacular
arms with four; fourth left arm hectocotylised at the tip; funnel
attached to the head. Other genera are Loliguncula, Sepioteuthis,
and Loliolus. Belemnosepia, Beloteuthis, Leptoteuthis, and
Phylloteuthis are fossil genera only, differing in the shape of the
gladius.
(b) Oigopsidae: cornea more or less open; species pelagic.
Fam. 5. Ommastrephidae.—Body cylindrical, fins generally
terminal, united together, regularly rhomboidal, sessile arms with
varying number of rows of acetabula, mantle connexions elaborate;
gladius horny, narrow lanceolate, with a hollow cone at the posterior
end.—World-wide.

Fig. 250.—Architeuthis princeps, Verr., E. America: f, Right


fin; fu, funnel; f.c, fixing cushions and acetabula on the
tentacular arms (t, t). (After Verrill, × 1/60.)

Ommastrephes proper has a natatory web on the sessile arms;


the wrist of each club has a series of acetabula with corresponding
cushions on the other wrist. In Thysanoteuthis (often made a
separate family) the sessile arms have two rows of cirrhi, with lateral
expansions of the skin; fins as long as the body. In Architeuthis, to
which belong the largest Cephalopoda known, the fins together are
shaped like a broad arrow-head; acetabula of sessile arms strongly
denticulate; tentacular arms very long, with equidistant pairs of
acetabula and fixing cushions throughout their entire length, and a
group of the same at the base of the club. The acetabula and
cushions correspond on the opposing tentacles, and enable them to
pull together. Other genera are Dosidicus, Todarodes, Illex,
Bathyteuthis and Mastigoteuthis.
Fam. 6. Onychoteuthidae.—Body cylindrical, fins terminal or
lateral, mantle-locking apparatus elaborate, tentacular arms very
long, sessile or tentacular arms furnished with retractile hooks,
gladius lanceolate, with a terminal cone.—World-wide.
The prehensile apparatus of Cephalopoda reaches its maximum
of power and singularity in this family. In Onychia, Onychoteuthis and
Ancistroteuthis, the sessile arms have acetabula only, in Gonatus
and Abralia they have hooks as well, while in Verania, Ancistrochirus
and Enoploteuthis, the sessile arms have hooks only. The number of
rows of hooks or acetabula varies with the different genera.
Fam. 7. Chiroteuthidae.—Head nearly as large as the body; fins
terminal, tentacular arms very long, sessile arms slightly webbed,
acetabula denticulated; mantle-supports consisting of cartilaginous
ridges on the mantle, which fit into corresponding depressions on the
funnel, gladius expanded at each end.—Atlantic Ocean.
The six dorsal arms in Histioteuthis are united by a broad web,
while in Histiopsis the web only reaches half way up the arm. In
Chiroteuthis the tentacular arms have scattered sessile suckers
throughout their whole length, and four rows of very long
pedunculate suckers on the clubs.
Fam. 8. Cranchiidae.—Head small, body rounded, barrel-shaped,
fins terminal, eyes often very large, sessile arms short, tentacular
arms long, thread-like.—World-wide.
Cranchia proper has the tentacular clubs finned, with eight rows of
suckers, body sometimes covered with warty tubercles. Loligopsis
has a very attenuated body, with fins terminally united; some species
are spotted with colour, or have rows of tubercles on the ventral side.
Taonius (Fig. 251) is doubtfully distinct from Loligopsis.

Fig. 251.—Taonius hyperboreus


Stp., N. Atlantic: e, e, eyes; f,
f, fins; t, t, tentacular arms.
(After Hoyle, × ¼.)

Order Tetrabranchiata
Cephalopoda with four branchiae and four kidneys; animal
inhabiting the last chamber of an external multilocular shell; funnel
consisting of two separate lobes; tentacles numerous, without
suckers or hooks; no ink-sac.
The shell consists of two layers, the outer being porcellanous, and
the inner, as well as the walls of the chambers or septa, nacreous.
The septa vary greatly in shape. In most of the Nautiloidea they are
regularly curved, as in Nautilus, or straight, as in Orthoceras, but in
the Ammonoidea they are often exceedingly complex. The edge of
the septum, where it unites with the shell-wall, is called the suture,
and the sutural line, which is not seen until the porcellanous layer is
removed, varies in shape with the septum.

Fig. 252.—Nautilus pompilius L., in section, showing


the septa (s, s), the septal necks (s.n, s.n), the
siphuncle dotted in (si), and the large body
chamber (ch).
The septa are traversed by a membranous tube known as the
siphuncle, which in Nautilus is said by Owen to connect ultimately
with the pericardium. The septal necks, or short tubular
prolongations of the septa where they are perforated by the
siphuncle, are in the great majority of the Nautiloidea directed
backwards (Fig. 252), i.e., they project from the front wall of each
chamber, while in nearly all Ammonoidea they are directed forwards.
When the siphuncle is narrow, as in the Ammonoidea, it is simple,
but when wide, as in many of the Nautiloidea, its walls are often
thickened by the deposition of masses of calcareous matter, or by
rings and radiating lamellae of the same material. In position, the
siphuncle is sometimes central, sometimes sub-central, sometimes
(Ammonoidea) marginal. In some cases its position is believed to
change during the growth of the individual. The precise object served
by the siphuncle is at present unknown. Some hold that it preserves
the vitality of the unoccupied chambers, by connecting them with the
soft parts of the animal; others have regarded it as a means for
lightening the shell by the passage of some gas into the chambers.

Fig. 253.—Ammonites
(Cadoceras) sublaevis
Sowb., Kellaway’s Rock,
showing the marginal
position of the siphuncle (si).
The initial chamber in Nautiloidea consists of an obtuse incurved
cone, marked on the outer surface of its posterior wall by a small
scar known as the cicatrix, which may be slit-like, round, oval, or
cruciform in shape. It has been held that the cicatrix originally
communicated with the protoconch or larval shell, which probably
dropped off as development proceeded. In the Ammonoidea, on the
other hand, there is no cicatrix, and the initial chamber probably
represents the protoconch, as seen in the nucleus of many
Gasteropoda.
Sub-order 1. Nautiloidea.—Shell straight, bent, or coiled,
aperture simple or contracted; siphuncle often narrowed by internal
deposits, position variable; septal necks short, usually directed
backwards; septa concave towards the aperture; initial chamber
conical, with a cicatrix on the posterior wall.
The Nautiloidea, of which Nautilus is the sole living
representative, date back to the Cambrian epoch, and attain their
maximum in the Silurian and Devonian. At the close of the
Palaeozoic era, every family, with the sole exceptions of the
Orthoceratidae and Nautilidae, appears to have become extinct. The
former disappear with the Trias, and after the lapse of the whole
Secondary era, Aturia, a form closely related to Nautilus, makes its
appearance.
(a) Retrosiphonata: septal necks directed backwards.
Fam. 1. Orthoceratidae.[401]—Shell straight or slightly curved,
aperture simple, body-chamber large; siphuncle cylindrical, position
variable. Single genus, Orthoceras (Fig. 254). Cambrian to Trias.
Fam. 2. Endoceratidae.—Shell straight, siphuncle wide, marginal,
septal necks produced into tubes fitting into one another. Principal
genera: Endoceras (specimens of which occur six feet long), and
Piloceras—Ordovician.
Fam. 3. Actinoceratidae.—Shell straight or slightly curved,
siphuncle wide, contracted at the septa by obstruction-rings.
Principal genera: Actinoceras, Discosorus, Huronia, Sactoceras.—
Ordovician to Carboniferous.
Fam. 4. Gomphoceratidae.—Shell globular, straight or
considerably curved, aperture narrowed, T-shaped, body-chamber
large, siphuncle variable in position. The aperture is in some cases
so narrow that probably only the arms could be protruded. Principal
genus, Gomphoceras (Fig. 255).—Silurian.
Fam. 5. Ascoceratidae.—Shell sac-like or flask-shaped, apex
truncated, unknown, body-chamber occupying nearly the whole of
the shell on the ventral side, contracting at the aperture, last few
septa coalescing on the dorsal side and encroaching upon the body-
chamber. The young form has a symmetrical shell like Orthoceras,
attached to the sac-like shell above described; as growth proceeds
the former portion is thrown off. Principal genera: Ascoceras,
Glossoceras.—Ordovician and Silurian.
Fig. 254.—A, Section of
Orthoceras, showing the
septa (s, s), and siphuncle
(si, si); B, portion of the
exterior of Orthoceras
annulatum Sowb., × ½.
(Woodwardian Museum,
Cambridge.)
Fam. 6. Poterioceratidae.—Shell fusiform, contracted at both
ends, aperture simple, siphuncle variable in position, inflated
between the septa. The form generally resembles Gomphoceras,
except for the simple aperture and fusiform shape.—Ordovician to
Carboniferous.
Fam. 7. Cyrtoceratidae.—Shell conical or sub-cylindrical, slightly
curved, body-chamber large, siphuncle variable in position. Single
genus, Cyrtoceras.—Cambrian to Carboniferous.
Fam. 8. Lituitidae.—Shell coiled in a flat, sometimes loose spiral,
last whorl straight, containing the body-chamber, often greatly
prolonged. Principal genera: Lituites, Ophidioceras.—Ordovician and
Silurian.
Fam. 9. Trochoceratidae.—Shell helicoid, with seldom more than
two whorls, dextral or sinistral, last whorl sometimes partly uncoiled.
Principal genera: Trochoceras, Adelphoceras.—Ordovician to
Devonian.
Fam. 10. Nautilidae.—Shell with few whorls, more or less
overlapping, septa simple, siphuncle central or sub-central, aperture
not contracted.
The ‘tentacles’ are about 90 in number, and consist of four groups
each of 12 or 13 labial tentacles surrounding the mouth, two groups
each of 17 larger (brachial) tentacles on each side of the head, two
thicker tentacles which combine to form the ‘hood,’ and two small
tentacles on each side of the eye. When the animal swims, the
tentacles are extended radially from the head, somewhat like those
of a sea-anemone. The direction of the many pairs of tentacles at
constant but different angles from the head, is the most striking
feature in the living Nautilus, and accounts for its being described,
when seen on the surface, as ‘a shell with something like a
cauliflower sticking out of it.’[402] The funnel is not a complete tube,
but is formed by the overlapping of the margins of two thin fleshy
lobes (which are probably morphologically epipodia), so that when
the two lobes are parted, a broad canal appears, leading to the
branchial cavity. The head is conical, and the mouth and its
appendages can be retracted into a sort of sheath, over which fits
the ‘hood.’
Fig. 255.—A, Gomphoceras
ellipticum M’Coy, Silurian: B,
aperture (ap) of same; s, s,
septa; si, position of
siphuncle. (After Blake.)
Other genera are Trocholites, Gyroceras, Hercoceras, Discites,
Aturia.—Ordovician to present time.
Fam. 11. Bactritidae.—Shell straight, conical, siphuncle small,
marginal, septal necks long, funnel-shaped, sutures undulating, with
a sinus corresponding to the siphuncle. This family, from the form of
its sutures, appears to constitute a passage to the Ammonoidea.
Single genus, Bactrites.—Silurian and Devonian.
(b) Prosiphonata.—Septal necks directed forwards.
The two genera are Bathmoceras (Ordovician), shell straight,
conical always truncated, siphon marginal; and Nothoceras
(Silurian), shell nautiloid with simple sutures.
Sub-order 2. Ammonoidea.—Shell multiform, straight, curved, flat
spiral, or turreted, sutural line more or less complex, siphuncle
simple.
Some authorities hold that the members of this great sub-order,
now totally extinct, belong to the Dibranchiata, on the ground that the
protoconch resembles that of Spirula rather than that of the
Nautiloidea. Others again regard the Ammonoidea as a third, and
distinct Order of Cephalopoda. Their distribution extends from the
Silurian to (possibly) the early Tertiary. No trace has ever been found
of an ink-sac, mandible, or hooks on the arms; the shell was
undoubtedly external.

Fig. 256.—Diagram of the sutures of Ammonites: A,


an elaborate suture (Phylloceras); B, a simple
suture (Ceratites); s.s, siphonal, s.v, ventral, s.l,
first lateral, s.l´, second lateral saddles; s.a, s.a,
auxiliary saddles; l.v, ventral, l, first lateral, l´,
second lateral lobe; l.a, l.a, auxiliary lobes. The
arrow points towards the aperture. (From
Woodward.) Compare Fig. 258.
The sutural line, which indicates the septa, and is generally
concealed beneath the outer layer of shell, consists of a number of
lobes or depressions, the concave part of which is directed towards
the aperture. Between these lobes lie corresponding elevations, or
saddles, the convex part of which is directed towards the aperture.
There are six principal lobes (Fig. 256): the siphonal or ventral,
which is traversed by the siphuncle, the dorsal, and a superior and
inferior lateral on each side; smaller auxiliary lobes may succeed
these latter. The adjacent saddles have received corresponding
names. As a rule the sutural line is very complex, but in some cases
(Goniatites, Lobites) it is simple (Fig. 258, A). The first saddle of a
large number of genera serves as a means of classification,
according as it is broad or narrow. Some authorities reverse the
terms ventral and dorsal, as applied above. It is probable, however,
that the position of the animal of Ammonites in its shell resembled
that of Nautilus. The siphuncle is dorsal (internal) in Clymenia only,
ventral (external) in all other genera.
The aptychus of Ammonoidea is a corneous or calcareous valve-
like body, generally formed of two symmetrical parts (Fig. 257). It has
been regarded by some as the covering of the nidamental gland, and
hence as occurring only in the female, by others, with more
probability, as an operculum, covering or imbedded in a hood
formed, as in Nautilus, of modified arms. Sometimes the Aptychus is
in a single piece (Anaptychus), sometimes the two pieces are united
on the median line (Synaptychus).

Fig. 257.—Aptychus of Ammonite


(Trigonellites latus). Kimmeridge
Clay, Ely. × ½.
The Ammonoidea are thus classified by Dr. P. Fischer:—
(a) Goniatitidae.
Retrosiphonata
(b) Prosiphonata No Aptychus First Arcestidae, Tropitidae,
or saddle, Ceratitidae, Clydonitidae.
Anaptychus wide
corneous, First Pinacoceratidae,
single saddle, Amaltheidae,
narrow Ammonitidae,
Lytoceratidae.
Aptychus calcareous, Harpoceratidae,
valves Stephanoceratidae.
double or united
(a) Retrosiphonata. Fam. 1. Goniatitidae.—Shell nautiloid, whorls
sometimes disjoined, siphuncle ventral or dorsal, sutures simple.
Principal genera: Clymenia, Goniatites (Fig. 258, A).—Devonian to
Carboniferous.
(b) Prosiphonata. Fam. 2. Arcestidae.—Shell globular, smooth or
striated and rayed, body-chamber very long, aperture often with a
projecting hood, umbilicus closed by a callosity, lobes numerous,
foliaceous, aptychus present. Principal genera: Arcestes, Lobites.—
Principally Trias.
Fam. 3. Tropitidae.—Differs from Arcestidae mainly in the more
highly ornamented surface, which is decorated with ribs which
become granular at the periphery. Principal genus, Tropites.—Trias
and Lias.
Fam. 4. Ceratitidae.—Shell ribbed and tuberculated, body-
chamber short, lobes denticulated, saddles simple. Principal genera:
Ceratites (Fig. 258, B), Trachyceras.—Principally Trias.
Fam. 5. Clydonitidae.—Shell variable in form, body-chamber short,
sutural line undulated, simple. Principal genera: Clydonites,
Choristoceras, Rhabdoceras, Cochloceras.—Trias.
Fam. 6. Pinacoceratidae.—Shell discoidal, usually smooth, body-
chamber short, sutural line very complex, lobes numerous. Principal
genera: Pinacoceras, Sageceras.—Carboniferous to Trias.
Fam. 7. Amaltheidae.—Shell broad, keeled, last whorl concealing
most of the spire, sutures with auxiliary lobes, incised.—Principal
genera: Amaltheus, Schloenbacia, Sphenodiscus.—Trias,
Cretaceous.

Fig. 258.—Various forms of Ammonoidea: A, Goniatites


crenistria J. Phil., Carb. Limestone; B, Ceratites
nodosus de Hann., Muschelkalk; C, Ammonites
(Parkinsonia) Parkinsoni Sowb., Inf. Oolite; D,
Phylloceras helerophyllum Sowb., Upper Lias; s, s,
sutural lines.
Fam. 8. Ammonitidae.—Body-chamber long, whorls narrow,
uncovered, more or less ribbed, aperture simple, sutural line normal,
aptychus single, corneous. Principal genera: Ammonites, Aegoceras.
—Principally Lias.
Fam. 9. Lytoceratidae.—Shell discoidal, body-chamber short,
aperture simple, no aptychus. Principal genera: Lytoceras,
Phylloceras (Fig. 258, D).—Trias to Cretaceous.
Fam. 10. Harpoceratidae.—Shell discoidal, compressed, margin
keeled, surface with straight or arched ribs, aperture with lateral
projections, suture with accessory lobes, aptychus in two pieces.
Principal genera: Harpoceras, Oppelia, Lissoceras.—Jurassic to
Cretaceous.

Fig. 259.—A, Turrilites


catenulatus d’Orb, Gault; B,
Macroscaphites Iranii d’Orb,
Upper Neocomian. (From
Zittel.)
Fam. 11. Stephanoceratidae.—Shell discoidal, helicoid or straight,
whorls sometimes disunited, surface often with bifurcating ribs,
which are tubercled, aperture often with lateral projections, sutural
line incised, aptychus in two pieces, sometimes united.
In the discoidal group, Stephanoceras is strongly ribbed, tubercled
at the point of bifurcation, Cosmoceras has long lateral projections of
the aperture when young, Perisphinctes has a large body-chamber
and numerous smooth ribs. Other genera are Acanthoceras,
Peltoceras, Aspidoceras, and Hoplites. Among the loosely whorled
genera, Scaphites (Fig. 260, A) has the last whorl produced and bent
back again in horse-shoe form, while the early whorls are concealed;
Hamites, Hamulina, and Ptychoceras have a shell shaped like a
single or double hook, the sides of which may or may not be united;
Crioceras (Fig. 260, B) in form of whorls resembles a Spirula,
Ancyloceras a Scaphites with the first whorls disunited.
Macroscaphites (Fig. 259, B) is similar, but with the first whorls
united and not concealed. Turrilites (Fig. 259, A) is turreted and
sinistral, while Baculites is quite straight, with a long body-chamber.

Fig. 260.—A, Scaphites aequalis Sowb.,


Cretaceous; B, Crioceras bifurcatum Quenst.,
Cretaceous. (From Zittel.)
CHAPTER XIV
CLASS GASTEROPODA—AMPHINEURA AND PROSOBRANCHIATA

Order I. Amphineura
Bilaterally symmetrical Mollusca, anus at the terminal end of the
body, dorsal tegument more or less furnished with spicules.
Sub-order 1. Polyplacophora (Chitons).—Foot co-extensive with
ventral surface of the body, dorsum with eight transverse plates,
articulated (except in Chitonellus), a row of ctenidia on each side
between the mantle and the foot. Silurian ——.
The Chitons are found in all parts of the world, ranging in size
from a length of about half an inch to six inches or more in the giant
Cryptochiton. Although in the main sub-littoral, they occur at very
great depths; the Challenger dredged Leptochiton benthus Hadd. at
2300 fathoms. Chiton Polii exceptionally occurs at Malta—teste
MacAndrew—above sea margin, but within reach of the ripple. As a
rule, the Chitons live in concealment, on the under surface of stones
or in deep and narrow fissures in the rocks. When the stone to which
they are attached is turned over, they crawl slowly to the side which
is not exposed, as if disliking the light. An undescribed species,
however, which I took at Panama, crawled quite as fast as an
ordinary snail. Chiton fulvus Wood, apparently is accustomed to
crawl with some rapidity. MacAndrew took it in abundance on his
anchor chain in Vigo Bay every time his yacht was got under weigh.
He also found it crawling in sand on the shore, to which habit is no
doubt due its extreme cleanness and freedom from the foreign
growths which are so characteristic of many of the species. When
detached a Chiton contracts the muscles of the whole body, and rolls
up into a ball like a wood-louse.

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