The Battle of Senlac Hill

There is nothing like being part of violent history and feeling
confident that you will never come to harm - the thrill of swinging an
axe, jangling a long wooden sword through turf, or riding horses up
hill under a hail of longbow fire. However, there is all ways the
chance that reality might intrude. And it was at the re enactment of
The Battle of Senlac Hill - or The Battle of Hastings - that reality
took a nasty turn.

But before we can go forward we need to go back. Not as far as 1066 -
but back to the time when two people met, sought of fell in love,
married and set about bringing up their two children.

Bobby, became a Broker in the City. Anna pursued a short acting career
before settling down with Bobby's best friend - who also worked in the
Square Mile. Although Bobby never married, there were periods when it
was hoped that he had found the right one. But even his sister would
say, Bobby was probably never going to marry? unless he could no longer
look after himself.

Bobby was not a complicated man. His interests focused on drinking,
and pouring crude and senseless banter delivered with the speed and
accuracy of the Trading floor. At the weekends he would meet his mates
for a 'bevy' before sobering up to meet his 'latest' - who earned
respect for the evening by being a woman. On Sunday he would stroll
onto the football pitch and run off the booze from the night before. In
the afternoon he would sit in front of the
TV and consume two to three litres of coke in order to
re-hydrate.

It was a way of life Bobby successfully managed till he reached his
late Forties. Then things went wrong.

The ageing body is a cruel mechanism that communicates mortality. And
for a short period Bobby was crushed by this notion that he was mortal.
It was a blood thumping depression. Gone was the childlike notion (the
perception) of never being able to see into the future. He could see
clearly, with a crushing sense of defeat, of the inevitable? of the
end.

But it was not just a question of age, of getting older. It was far
more than that...

Bobby had little capacity for the philosophical but what hit Bobby
right between the eyes and sunk its teeth deep into his psyche was an
unnerving trauma. It was if something had gone fundamentally wrong, but
so far back in Bobby's past that there was little he could do about it.
A fleeting glimpse of something that he had missed - a sensation
tickling his consciousness.

In the morning he would not look in the mirror before he went into
work. But by the time he sat on the train he would reflect that he had
no memory of what he looked like. And did it matter? Do those sorts of
things really matter? It is after all only an appearance? A mask. A way
of putting on a face.

His attendance at work became a concern for his employers. There was
conjecture between his workmates that he had finally reached 'burn-out'
and that it was probably time for a job 'upstairs'.

His sister had kept her concerns a way from their parents. Her husband
spent a good few nights talking to Bobby trying to bring him out of
this fatalistic curse. But Bobby did not feel like living anymore. He
saw no reason for carrying on. 'There was nothing left,' he said. 'Once
you were past forty.' Women hated him because he was sexist. He was no
longer picked for the football team. When he drank, his ulcer would
flare up like a Baboons red arse. He had money - but that didn't mean
anything. He was ready to go to India, join the Foreign Legion or throw
himself off London Bridge.

His best mate, his brother in-law, tried his best to understand. It
was the last thing he would have expected. This was a side to Bobby,
which he had never seen before: half the man, shattered and unable to
look forward. Then, one day, everything went back to normal. As if,
overnight, the Fairy Godmother had intervened and lifted the curse,
which had laid Bobby so painfully, low. He voluntarily offered his
services to the new Finance Inspectorate, withdrew gracefully from
'night training' and took his niece and nephew on a trip to the Zoo.
His sexual desire became less superficial and he contacted an old
girlfriend.

Yet somehow it was difficult to believe that had Bobby emerged in one
piece.
His sister was suspicious. No one, she thought, who had been so close
to such a nervous breakdown, would suddenly recover overnight. She
spoke to Bobby about the need to be aware of any demons lurking in the
closet. That now he was feeling better he might gain more benefit from
seeing a Counsellor.

Bobby was sure he was feeling better. But he had to admit that he
didn't quite understand it? that he'd never quite felt anything like it
before and would never wish anything like it on anyone, even his worst
enemy. 'All the more reason,' his sister said. 'To seek that little bit
of professional help in order to ensure that it never returns.'

Then Bobby said something very strange:' I've looked inside the closet
and there's nothing there'. 'You mean you feel empty?' His sister said.
'No. I don't know what it is?I just feel empty now. But before I had a
rage. A mad anger? It was all boiling up inside but I had no legitimate
target. There was no one?No? one? thing? that I could go and shout at
and say: it's you? you're the one to blame!' 'Do you want to blame
someone?' His sister said. 'No and Yes.' Bobby said. 'I just don't
know. I mean?there should be somebody to blame for the way I feel. I
mean?it just can't be all down to me?
I mean... it would be easy to blame our parents but they never showed
us
anything but love and encouragement. How can I blame them?' 'But
why
blame anybody?' His sister said. 'Perhaps you're right.' Bobby said.
'Perhaps I'm not over it?whatever "it" is? It's like a virus, eating a
way at your mind?for no rhyme or reason other than to make you feel
worthless, miserable and pointless. That's no way to live Sis.'

His sister said. 'You really must try and tell somebody why you are
not happy?'

Bobby stared into the coffee cup, which he held tightly in his
hand.

'I don't know,' he said. 'Perhaps it is something deep in the past.
When I was kid maybe. Perhaps mum and Dad were just too good with
us?'

So what is the connection? Well, to do that, we must now move forward
to the re-enactment of The Battle of Senlac Hill.

For the past week rain had lashed down and muddied the earth. On the
battlefield Harold and the Anglo-Saxons stood in a long line of
military preparedness looking down on the Duke of Normandy's Knights,
archers and foot soldiers. The PA system spread it's educating voice up
and down the valley for the embedded crowds to absorb. The
Anglo-Saxon's, the announcer said, were the English, defending St
George against the invading French. Harold was cheered. The Duke of
Normandy was booed. However, the most dramatic event confused some,
amused others and those who were aware of the reality of the situation,
stood horrified and helpless.

Out of the corner of a field a cart drawn by two galloping horses rode
into the middle of the battlefield. On the cart, with their hands tied
behind their backs, wobbled unsteadily two elderly re-enactors. The
cart stopped and the announcer failed to offer any narration. The
driver of the cart, dressed as a Knight, dragged both of them down onto
the earth. Then, with quick and sudden blows, he decapitated
them.

You may have already re-called some of these events as relating to the
case of Bobby M? At the time the media offered up a popularist analysis
and the debate seemed centred around the mental stability of Bobby. At
the trial a plea of manslaughter was rejected and Bobby was convicted
of first-degree murder. The Judge, in his sentencing, offered the
following analysis for Bobby's motivation - the killing of his parents
and Bobby's possible state of mind:

'Bobby M ?You have committed a foul and barbaric act upon your parents
in full view of the Public in some obscure notion of revenge. It is
clear from the evidence presented at this trial that you do not
objectively have any rational reason for seeking to punish your loving
and elderly parents. We have heard in your defence that you had a
period of depression, which you appeared to
have overcome. However, it was at this point that you committed such an
abominable act. There is a contradiction here, which the jury has
resolved by finding you guilty of murder. You have shown no emotion
since your arrest. We have heard testimony from the police that you
have refused to speak
about the event. Even your defence have admitted to the court that they
have had difficulty in presenting your case due to your refusal to
discuss anything to do with the murder of your parents. Either you are
still in some form of denial or you choose quite callously to leave
your surviving relatives to speculate on the motivation for your
behaviour.'

In fact, soon after Bobby's incarceration he was reassessed and sent
to one of the countries top High Security hospitals for
treatment.

But perhaps there is a different interpretation, which may shed some
light. I met, quite by accident, a journalist who was writing about
strange and enigmatic murders of recent times. She mentioned the case
of Bobby, which I informed her I had experience and knowledge of -
especially as I had been at the Senlac Hill re-enactment and witnessed
the tragic events. I think this enabled her to confide in me and reveal
some of the following insights into Bobby's past, his relationship with
his parents and the significance of the murder at the battle
re-enactment.

Bobby had hated his parents with a deep loathing. There was nothing
specific that she could discover that had triggered such a hatred, but
it was formed early on and stayed a hidden facet of Bobby's character,
emotions and feelings. There was certainly no evidence of mental,
physical or sexual abuse. He liked his sister, but his parents induced
the core of festering anger, bitterness and frustration. The tragedy
was, she confided:' is that Bobby never had the chance to express this
feeling. There was never the chance, the opportunity, the occasion when
he could become resentful, bitter and feel that keen sense of injustice
that all teenagers usually go through. His parents had failed to be
unfair. Bobby, she said, was all ways jealous when his mates would talk
about how badly they were treated by their parents - and they all
envied Bobby's situation. But Bobby envied theirs.'

'But why,' I said. 'Such a public murder?' 'That's history,' she said.
'Whose history?' I asked. 'False history. Bobby hated the fact that as
far as he was concerned history was all made up. He couldn't live with
the constant regurgitation of his family as being something, which was
essentially wholesome. Every time he re-visited the family
re-collections were drawn into a constant re-playing of events, which
through time changed slightly and became subverted. It was true, for
instance, that his parents gave Bobby a good childhood. But he hated
it. For Bobby that was only part of the truth. The re-enactments of
history were fact but also slightly or substantially distorted.
Understanding history should teach us something about ourselves. But
for Bobby his history had revealed nothing to him. Tragically, his
history had taught him that he was meaningless, insignificant,
insubstantial and unimportant. You could speculate as why that should
matter to him now - but he had the realization, the existential moment,
which seems to sum up the totality of alienation. He did not know what
he was supposed to learn. He needed an event that would 'make history'
and at the same time serve as substance in his life.'

'What do you believe?' she said. I said: 'I believe it's safer to play
with wooden swords.'

After the Battle of Senlac Hill, an Abbey was built to atone for the
dead. It still stands with its walled rough brown stone and covered
chambers. There are later revisions - or distortions -, but at the
other end of the site two Norman towers stand defiant. This was the
truth of Senlac hill. The embodiment of the events slung
architecturally at the ends of meddled distortion. These were the true
sirens of history - hard Norman stone built for the atonement and the
triumph. Bobby had lit a fuse in his head determined to overcome his
bitter insignificance and to smash the notion of peace. Dressed as
Knight he could act out any bizarre fantasy that happened to occur. He
did not really hate his parents. But then, he did not really care about
his parents.

Perhaps the last thing I will say on the matter is that I am married
to Bobby's sister. I recognised Bobby as soon as he jumped from the
cart. My only regret was that I had told Bobby how I felt about
him.