The Royal Saxon tomb in Prittlewell is a high-status Anglo-Saxon tomb excavated at Prittlewell, north of Southend-on-Sea, in the English county of Essex.
In the autumn of 2003, in preparation for a road-widening scheme, an archaeological survey was carried out on a plot of land to the north-east of Priory Park in Prittlewell. The archaeologists were lucky in the placement of their trench and uncovered a set of Saxon remains.
Archaeologists from the Museum of London Archaeology Service, under the supervision of Atkins Ltd, excavated the site and discovered an undisturbed 7th century chamber grave beneath a mound. They described it as "the most spectacular discovery of its kind made during the past 60 years". Earlier excavations had indicated Saxon burials in the area however it was not expected that such a significant find could be made.
The quality and preservation of the Prittlewell Chamber Tomb has led to inevitable comparisons with the Sutton Hoo Ship Burial and associated graves. The artefacts found were of a quality that it is likely that Prittlewell was a tomb of one of the Kings of Essex and the discovery of golden foil crosses indicates that the inhabitant was an early Christian.
Read more about Royal Saxon Tomb In Prittlewell: The Tomb and Artefacts, Theories About Occupant, Post-excavation Events, Early Anglo-Saxon Prittlewell
Famous quotes containing the words royal, saxon and/or tomb:
“Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, th’ ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“It is remarkable what a value is still put upon wood even in this age and in this new country, a value more permanent and universal than that of gold. After all our discoveries and inventions no man will go by a pile of wood. It is as precious to us as it was to our Saxon and Norman ancestors. If they made their bows of it, we make our gun-stocks of it.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inherse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)