Well, if it’s 4 September, it must be… YES, OF COURSE: 1,024th anniversary of the ‘Translation’ of St Cuthbert — meaning the occasion of his relics being interred in the forerunner to Durham Cathedral.
Cuthbert was described by the (splendidly named) Right Rev. Edmund Power in the 1980 book Benedict’s Disciples as having: “the reserved, humble personality that attracts by its peace and gentleness” — in other words, he had a more eventful life than he wanted.
He spent many years as a hermit on the Farne Islands, being bothered by people who wanted blessings, before being ‘persuaded’ to become a bishop by a delegation which included King Ecgfrith. Then, after he died, people kept digging the poor sod up.
Firstly, according to Chambers’ Book of Days, the monks had a peek at him in 698, and found him miraculously preserved:
Chambers had got that from Bede, and the incorruptness of the body apparently enhanced the reputation that his remains were starting to develop for their ability to perform miracles.
They reburied him in a decorated oak coffin, apparently, but in 793 Lindisfarne Monastery was attacked by Vikings, so when they were threatened again in 875 by the Great Heathen Army (another rather good name), it was time to exhume once more.
The monks, the remains, and the Lindisfarne Gospels all wandered in the wilderness until 883 when they were given a church at Chester-le-Street — apparently, ironically, by a Danish king who had converted to Christianity.
All was quiet for Cuthbert’s afterlife until 995, when more marauding Danes loomed on the horizon, so off he went to Ripon for a few months, and then set off back for Chester-le-Street WHEN SUDDENLY (Chambers again) they were “miraculously arrested”.
That is, the cart carrying the coffin suddenly stopped and couldn’t be shifted.
The leader of the community, Bishop Aldhun, had a vision of St Cuthbert demanding to be taken to a place called ‘Dunholme,’ but nobody knew where it was
That was handy. You can see this event immortalised in stone on the walls of Durham Cathedral to this day in the form of the Dun Cow relief.
Well, it might have been that, or… Bishop Aldhun was father-in-law to the Earl of Northumbria, who had given him lots of land for the church, including a peninsula protected by a river with steep banks, aka Durham. An onsite saint, of course, meant pilgrims, and pilgrims meant money for the Earl to build with, so then Cuthbert was safely at rest.
At least until 1104 when the cathedral was finished, and it was time to move him to a new shrine behind the altar. (During this process, they found the St Cuthbert Gospel among his remains.)
Oh, and during the 11th century, according to John Crook, author of English Medieval Shrines:
Alfred, son of Westou, sacrist of Durham Cathedral … used to open the saint’s wooden reliquary-coffin, combing the hair and clipping the fingernails of the incorrupt body.
Alfred’s grandson Ailred also used to tell:
Then, after the shrine was destroyed in the Reformation, Cuthbert was reburied again in 1542.
After that, allegedly, his location was a closely guarded secret — in such a way that I can’t help wondering if this description of it in Chambers’ Book of Days became part of Grail lore — or at least Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade lore:
For the greater part of three centuries more, the body of St Cuthbert lay here undisturbed. He was not forgotten during this time, but a legend prevailed that the site of his tomb was known only to the Catholic clergy, three of whom, it was alleged, and no more, were intrusted with the secret at a time, one being admitted to a knowledge of it as another died – all this being in the hope of a time arriving when the shrine might be re-erected, and the incorrupt body presented once more to the veneration of the people. It is hardly necessary to observe, that this story of a secret was pure fiction, as the exact site of the tomb could be easily ascertained.
Still the poor bugger wasn’t safe, though, because his location wasn’t actually secret at all, and he was dug up again in 1827 by cathedral librarian James Raine — who didn’t have permission, but wanted to put an end to all that miracle business.
This, apparently, is what he looked like at the time:
…and Chambers says:
it was plain that the swathings had been wrapped round a dry skeleton, and not round a complete body … a fraud had been practised … for the purpose of imposing on popular credulity.
However, when he was dug up, yet again, in 1899, there was …
…and, apparently, the right eye socket contained
a plug, showing traces of a laminated structure, and with some deposits of whitish magnesium salt on the outer surface
and possibly
the muscles, the circle of the pupil, and rows of marks where eyelashes had been.
Still, whatever was true about the decomposition process he’d been through, he got a more respectful reburial in 1899. The 1827 job, unauthorised as it was, was rather hurried, and mostly involved chucking him in a wooden box and back in the hole — and not alone…
There are bones of other bishops of Lindisfarne in there, salvaged when the monks left, plus skull fragments of St Oswald, and bones from small children, who were, according to medieval relic lists, Holy Innocents — children killed by Herod.
And that, finally, is the end of poor old Cuthbert’s insufficiently reverential afterlife. I don’t think you need to sign up to the whole believing in saints business to think that that wasn’t really living up to either the spirit or letter of the phrase requiescat in pace.
