Oldham Viking’s journey to Valhalla

The Chronicles of Alda

It was a fine spring morning in 879 and I was washing my sheep in Sheepwasher Brook, which drained Oldham Edge, when I saw the silhouetted horse rider coming over the hill.

A Viking from the settlement of Hulme (Manchester), he was rallying fellow Vikings to gather for battle.

A growing band of Saxons was heading our way; they had slaughtered the inhabitants of a Viking settlement on the banks of the Mersey at Flixton and were heading North-Eastwards.

Although we’d always had problems with marauding Saxons, they had grown particularly troublesome since their King, Alfred the Great of Wessex, had won the battle of Edington in 878.

Thereafter, by agreement, England was split into two along the line of the old Roman Road from London to Chester.

North and east of that (including Oldham) was in the Viking “Danelaw” while south and west were the Saxon kingdoms of Mercia and Wessex. The line was blurred, however, and raids from both sides into the other’s territory were common.

Having sent my family to my cousin’s farmstead at Scouthead, I buried a small leather bag of gold and silver on Oldham Edge before preparing for battle.

I wore a breastplate padded with leather and an iron conical helmet while carrying a shield of lime wood and my trusty light sword.

On horseback, I travelled to where around 60 local warriors had gathered on the South-West facing slope of Hartshead Pike — and boy did we have one great feast to our gods that night!

Next morning, we saw the enemy advancing from the direction of Aesc Tun (Ashton) and the scene was set.

Their force numbered about a 100 but there was no way we were going to give an inch and let them take our lands.

Make no mistake about it. battles in our era were tough — very tough.

As the Saxons came up the hill, we set off down in a shield wall to meet them — as the shields clashed and the ranks broke, it was fierce hand-to-hand combat.

Swords splintered shields and slashed at flesh and huge battle axes dealt fatal blows literally smashing helmet and skull to pieces.

There was blood, guts, sinew and the raw roar of warriors fighting for whatever their cause may be.

Some did it for the money (mercenaries), some for fame and fortune and others simply because they enjoyed it!

On this occasion, we were fighting to save our homesteads from Saxon slaughter and we would not be beaten.

Big men the Saxons, but they could not match our ferocity that day and we soon gained the upper hand. And that’s when it happened.

I turned my ankle in a rabbit hole and fell awkwardly to the ground — it was but a swift second later when a Saxon axe lodged itself so firmly in my chest that the bearer of it could not pull it out.

My loyal friend Torpin, from Sholver, wielded his double-edged long sword and took my attacker’s head clean off but it was too late for me — the Valkyries were already transporting my spirit to that great Hall of the Slain — Valhalla.

The Vikings won the battle of Hartshead and Alda’s Hulme (Oldham) and district remained firmly in Viking hands for many generations thereafter.

The great god Odin lets me come back in spirit every now and then to see how my old town is doing. So, please make sure you look after it well for me and may it prosper until the end of time.


Author’s Footnote: The Chronicles of Alda are based on historic fact with a little conjecture and a sprinkling of poetic licence.