Its no secret that I was a strange child, which probably explains how I grew up into such a smashing and well-balanced adult.* However, throughout my early years, I had sequences of recurring obsessions; books, films, legends, animals, particular subjects that wholly snared my mind and inspired a thousand terrible creative writing exercises and craft days. One such obsession, which has lasted long into adulthood is Robin Hood. My mum’s from Nottingham, and rather ambivalent about it, whereas my grandad – Eric – was the proudest born-and-bred Nottingham lad you could have ever met. He grew up in the slums of Pym Street and lived for football, playing professionally in the late 30s and 40s, although the war years knackered a lot of his opportunities. Nonetheless, he and Nottingham were indivisible. That also meant that he and Robin Hood were peas in a pod. Growing up, Robin Hood wasn’t a legend, but a real historical figure, whose exploits weren’t fairy tales, but records of fact. Robin Hood was my ancestor. And I fully believed it. Then again, when I was a toddler, I fully believed I was a unicorn, so let’s not look to me for rationality.

Nonetheless, my Robin Hood obsession continued well into adulthood, through Kevin Coster, Richard Greene and Michael Praed and well into the written ballads of the 15th and 16th centuries – the translation of which occupied much of my late teens. I loved the Merry Men, I was fascinated by these distinct personalities that accompanied Robin, with each man possessing a strange name and backstory, etched into folkloric tradition. While it’s largely understood today that while the Robin Hood story may have a tiny grain of truth in its origins – there was a man named Robert Hod recorded in York in 1226, and there’s a reference to Robin Hood as an outlaw in 1377, yet the first written ballads originated in the 15th century. This doesn’t mean that the tales were concocted then, as ballads were traditionally conveyed through oral storytelling, and would have been spoken across the country for many years beforehand. One of Robin Hood’s best men, Little John, was one of the first of Robin’s companions to be mentioned, recorded by Andrew of Wyntoun around 1420. An enormous, strong and intelligent man, he was known for being adept with a quarterstaff and for standing at nearly 7 foot tall. One popular tale is of Little John and Robin’s first meeting, where John challenged Robin to a duel as he tries to cross a river. An accomplished fighter, John wins the fight but chooses to join Robin on his journey, and fight as one of his men. (In more recent adaptations, including Prince of Thieves, Robin ultimately wins the duel, but not in the older texts).

While Little John’s existence is disputed, his presence in folklore and in the landscape of Nottingham and Derbyshire is inescapable. With Little John’s life, comes his death. In the churchyard of St Michael and All Angels in Hathersage, Derbyshire, the long grave of England’s greatest ‘giant’ can be found.

Marked by a sign and a steady stream of walkers in the summer, Little John’s grave is decorated by a simple modern headstone and a plaque acknowledging those who cared for it. The long plot is filled with flowers and enclosed by metal fencing with an acknowledgement to the simple legends of the site etched on the headstone itself. Some believe a medieval stone within the church fabric (a medieval cross) marked the original grave site, having been long since removed and integrated into the church fabric.

Known as ‘Little John’s Cottage’, a small cottage stood beside the church until the 19th century which was rumoured to be the place where Little John died. This tale was conveyed by one Jenny Shard, who was 70 in 1847, and whose family owned the cottage for several generations. This cottage is recorded on his headstone, as is the original location of the footstone – beneath the old yew tree.

Reportedly, the grave was opened in 1784 and a large thigh bone was discovered, rumoured to measure between 29 ½ and 32 inches long. As with so many artefacts and human remains, it was held in the household of a local man (Capt. James Shuttleworth) as a good luck charm, before he asked for its reburial – a request that was ignored by the Parish Clerk, who hung it in his own house for a time, before eventually reburying it himself.

Little John’s presence at Hathersage church was not always confined to its graveyard. A bow and cap purportedly belonging to Little John was once in the church’s possession, and was recorded as being displayed within the church by prominent historian Elias Ashmole in 1652. Later, in 1715, it was recorded that one Colonel Naylor strung the bow and shot a deer with it, remarking afterward that it was a solid longbow, measuring 2m high and made from spliced yew, tipped with horn. During a tumultuous time in the church’s history in the 17th century, the cap and bow were removed to Cannon Hall in Cawthorpe, Barnsley. It was here that the Spencer Stanhope family took charge of the items, moving them between their grand properties until Cannon Hall was sold to the council in 2021. While the hat is long gone, the bow is now occasionally put on display (that’s another day trip scheduled then).

When I visited Little John’s grave, it was on a suspiciously hot day that caught both me and Vaffy off guard. Nonetheless, to be able to visit the tangible grave of an intangible character is a wonderful thing indeed.

*ish

***

Liked this post? Then why not join the Patreon clubhouse? From as little as £1 a month, you’ll get access to tonnes of exclusive content and a huge archive of articles, videos and podcasts! 

Pop on over, support my work, have a chat and let me show you my skulls…www.patreon.com/burialsandbeyond

Liked this and want to buy me a coffee? 

To tip me £3 and help me out with hosting, click the link below! 

https://ko-fi.com/burialsandbeyond

***