“Lord of Norfolk, Grey Lord of the Flint
In our magical work, we often visualise the Lord of Norfolk in human form, because that is the way we are best able to approach and comprehend his being. He appears as a huge and ancient grey-clad figure, a hunter with bow and arrows, a strong and powerful builder, a protector and defender of the land, striding along the coastline, beside the meres, across ploughed fields or though the woodlands. Sometimes he seems to emerge so clearly, from the mists of the veil, that it is almost possible to glimpse his features, to make that step towards a richer understanding, a greater knowing; and then the moment passes. Nevertheless, the physical signs of the extraordinary remain with us, for the Lord of Norfolk is there in the stones, in our gardens and fields, as they work their way to the surface, blunting tools or needing to be removed to allow delicate plants to thrive. At other times, we hear his voice as the waves endlessly shift the shingle, back and forth upon the beach, creating smooth and sea-tumbled pebbles, or we catch a sharp reminder of presence on bare feet or careless fingers.
The Lord of Norfolk is embodied by a magical stone indeed. Flint is composed almost entirely of silica, and only diamonds are harder and more durable. Yet because it flakes so easily it can be worked into different shapes (Russell, 2000) and has a multitude of different uses. Although we see the Lord of Norfolk as a Grey Lord, his stone varies in colour, and may be yellow, brown or amber, if iron oxides or other pigments have seeped in through the his of the stone and left their own special magic. pores The core of a piece of Flint is usually smooth, dark and lustrous, while its outer surface, known as the cortex, is less dense and much more porous, and can be seen as a clear white line when a stone is broken open. Once Flint is cut and exposed, the process of cortication often transforms the colour from black to pale bluey grey, although the rate of the change is delightfully unpredictable. On some Medieval buildings, the shiny core is as little changed as on some Victorian buildings. Another process, patination, gives the Flint a yellow or white waxy look, somewhat reminiscent of ivory (Hart, 2000). Such a rich assortment is useful when selecting stones for magical work, as is the range of shapes and textures. Pieces found in Thetford Forest are often angular and rather waxy looking, with blue patterns on them, sometimes surprisingly like broken pieces of Willow Pattern crockery, but also containing runes or other forms of written messages.
The Lord of the Flint's domain extends far beyond Norfolk, and the buildings of the whole region of East Anglia are expressions of centuries of interaction between this magnificent being of the Earth and the ingenuity and skill of human craftspeople, at one with their materials, which come directly from the Source. The Lord of the Flint provides the raw materials for the simple hearth and home of ordinary folk, grand abodes for the rich, the protection of Norwich's city walls, the spiritual aspiration of the great wool churches.
Some of the constructions use "as-found" Flints, sometimes set into mortar, in an apparently random patterning, sometimes in coursed arrangements, where clear horizontal lines are visible. Herringbone patterns are often seen, as is galletting, when small flakes of flint are added to the mortar before it dries, to provide extra packing between irregular shaped stones, or for purely decorative purposes. A rich vocabulary has developed to describe the different kinds of Flint work, which have become part of the Flint Lord's poetry. Knapped work may be "select", "squared" or “rough squared"; it may use "ovals", "scales" or "blocks". In combination with other stone or brick, the patterns formed may be "chequer", "Flemish chequer", "banding", "morse" or "diaper". The names can be read as spells, and indeed used as such, with their "diamonds", "lozenges", "trellises" and "lattices". Flushwork uses the contrasting characteristics of Flint and ashlared freestone, mostly brought to East Anglia, by water, from Lincolnshire limestone quarries, to produce distinctive designs, which are full of symbolism, meaning and magic. The earliest example of this technique is thought to be St. Ethelbert's Gate, in Norwich, built in 1316, although restored in 1815 by William Wilkins (Hart, 2000). Flushwork on other buildings shows seasonal patterns, merchant's marks, the tools of many trades, wheels, foliage, intricate interlaced patterns, heraldic designs and protective or religious or spiritual symbols and even the Glastonbury Thorn. Just like the foliate heads, seen in so many Medieval churches, a wealth of Pagan and magical imagery can be seen in these flushwork designs (Talbot, 2004).
Not only does this Grey Lord represent protection from the weather and from attack, He also provided our ancestors with the means to hunt and grow their food. Arrowheads, sickles, polished axe heads and grinding stones were all made from mined Flint, at that liminal point in our history when we made the gradual transition from being hunter gathers to domesticating animals and cultivating crops (Russell, 2000). In honour of this, we attach Flint heads to the arrows we use on the garlands in some of our rituals.
Probably the most dramatic and focused way to experience the power of the Flint Lord, as he manifests in His Norfolk form, is to visit Grimes Graves, in Thetford Forest, where our Neolithic forebears risked their lives to bring out, from the depths, the most prized, unweathered, black Flint floorstone, which was to be found ten to thirteen metres below the surface, in seams just 20-30cm thick. Although there were lesser Flint workings, Grimes Graves was the largest and most complex in Britain (Forrest, 1983), with 433 shafts, many with galleries radiating out from them. None of this is easily discernible from ground level though. Approaching the site (now owned by English Heritage) along a straight, single-track forest road, one is just aware of an open grassy area of mounds and dips, a car park and a small building, which is the visitors' centre. In the Summer, there are Skylarks all around. The flora of this once industrial area, but now a Site of Special Scientific Interest, is rich and diverse, and there is a discernible crackle of ancient magic all around. Reciting just a few of the wonderful plant names associated with this place is one simple way of alerting the spirits to your desire to be fully present in the enchantment of both the past and the now. Heather, Harebell, Knapweed, Mouse-ear, Stonecrop, Hawk's-beard, Eyebright, Squinancywort, Gentian and Mignionette can all be words of power, which skim the surface and initiate a little quivering, which allows the eye to see more as you attune to what is really all around you.
Once you know what is in the ground beneath you, it is not difficult to picture an underground constellation of deep shafts and star patterns joining them all, in a fantastic, invisible network. The presence of another of the powerful gods of this land, the Norse/Anglo-Saxon deity, Odin or Woden, can also be felt to wander across the strangely- textured surface of the place, as it is by one of his many names that this site is known. There are no representatives of Odin's Ravens, Hugin and Munin, here, but we are reminded of them in the constant cawing of the Rooks, in the distance trees, and the many black feathers lying in the grass amongst the shards of Flint. Besides, both Thought and Memory are important aspects of any visit here.
Fortunately, at the time of writing, it is still relatively inexpensive to buy a ticket, which allows you to go down into the one pit which is open to the public. Visitors are required to wear a yellow hard hat (which would not be my first choice of headgear when going to meet a major deity), but they are permitted to go down unsupervised. The thin metal rungs of the alarmingly narrow, but very stable, ladder are chilly to the touch, and grow colder as you make the descent, passing the various layers of Flint- the topstone and the wallstone - and watching the circle of the sky above diminish, the deeper you travel into this underworld of the ancestors. The tap of antler picks on stone can still be heard by those who are prepared to listen, and the power and presence of the Lord of Norfolk is all around. There is an indescribable tingling when you step off the last rung of the ladder, place both feet on the floor of the chamber, breathe in, and reach out for that magical understanding of ancient power and wisdom. Low arches lead off into tunnels, but these are now barred against physical entry, although it is possible to glimpse into that network of passages which join one pit to another.
Standing there, we think of the many antlers which were used to mine the Flint. These were most often Red Deer antlers, with the crown and first two tines either burned or cut away. When the tools broke, or became blunted, they were discarded, and in just two of the pits, a total of 244 such antlers were discovered, many of which had been worked smooth by the hands of the miners. On some there were even finger prints in the Chalk which covered them (Clarke Clarke, 1937). So, the Lord of Norfolk is most definitely a horned god, and the magic of the Deer is woven deeply into the fabric of the county. Naturalistic depictions of Red Deer, engraved into floorstone, were found during the early excavations of the site, although many commentators now consider these to have been part of a hoax designed to convince people that this was a Palaeolithic site (Russell, 2000). Nevertheless, this does not undermine the depth of the connections between the Grey Lord, the Deer and the landscape of the county.
It is not difficult to imagine the miners making offerings of antlers, carvings and drawings, as well as the exquisitely worked axe heads. Craftspeople of great skill worked the Flint, inspired or guided by the Lord of Norfolk who, millennia later, can still be called upon to give assistance to the county's makers and artists. I think this is one of the reasons why all of the practitioners of Norfolk's Nameless Tradition do some form of art or craft work, drawing on thousands of years of inspiration and magical help, in the development of the skills of hand and eye.
Of course, the process of going down into the pit at Grimes Graves can be done purely in the mind, in meditation or pathworking. Those who are especially skilled at knowing and visualising what they have not experienced with their mundane senses, can even do this without having been to the place in person. For most of us, though, the physical experience is important, and the effort of a regular visit becomes an act of pilgrimage.
On re-emerging from the shaft, a visit to Thetford's Ancient House Museum can provide a moving insight into the skills of the 20th-century Flint knappers. The Museum is home to an exquisite Flint alphabet, knapped by Bill Basham, in his spare time, over a period of two years. He also made a delicate necklace of seventeen circlets and a heart, which he sold, in 1927, for just £10. Sadly, like many of the Flint knappers, Basham died of silicosis, in 1932, at the age of 38 (Forrest, 1983). But the art of Flint knapping is far from lost. Will Lord, the son of earlier custodians of Grimes Graves, is an expert Flint knapper, and continues to teach the skill, as well as running prehistoric experience courses (www.will-lord.co.uk).
The Lord of Norfolk is a being of Fire as well as of Earth, for this everyday, common, yet intensely magical stone also carries within it the stuff of stars, which can light the hearth fire or ignite the divine spark within. The Flint as a strike-a- light is of enduring significance.
However, like so many things, the power of the Flint can be used for good or for ill and has not always been adapted for purely peaceful purposes. Flint arrowheads come in various shapes and styles, ranging from the chunky to the slender and elegant. The sheer numbers which have been found are thought to suggest that people may have used them in warfare, not just for hunting (Wymer, 1994). Indeed, Flint weapons have been said to be Britain's oldest industry, from Neolithic arrowheads from 2000 BCE, to the gunflints made in Brandon, and much prized for use during the Napoleonic Wars.”
