As we all know, the Irish saved Western Civilisation after the collapse of the Roman Empire, by becoming Christian and literate and going around founding monasteries. This meant that Britain got Christianity twice: once through the Romans, and again from those Irish monks. But then the Saxons moved in, and they were pagans. Sigh. The whole missionary project had to start over from scratch. If you're interested, check out the Venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History to see what happened next. There are some wild and funny tales in there. The conversion of Northumbria was particularly fascinating: the plot reads like a screenplay for Game of Thrones.

Somewhere in there, the first English hymn got made. An interesting side note is that it wouldn't have been written without the cultural influence of women back in the 7th Century, which is something that gets forgotten. Read about it in Bede. A lot of leading women started monasteries back then; apparently, this was quite a respectable thing to do. One of the abbesses, Hild, was in charge of a very influential monastery, one that produced five bishops. I guess it was sort of a cross between a commune and a university. Anyway, in this monastery, even the cowherds got inspired.

Caedmon had a problem: he couldn't sing. Since the Anglo-Saxons were big on karaoke, this was an embarrassment. Whenever they were about to pass the harp his way, Caedmon would slink off. He hated this, because then he missed the rest of the evening's festivities, and probably a good few drinks. One night, when this had happened, Caedmon was sleeping in the cowshed, and had an inspirational dream. Cows are very inspirational, as any farmer will tell you. A mysterious stranger appeared in Caedmon's dream and made a peculiar demand.

Sing me frumsceaft.

What a mind-boggling idea! 'Sing me Creation.' Of course Caedmon said, 'I can't', and the angel said, 'Yes, you can', because angels are contrary like that, and of course, suddenly Caedmon could. . .

But what an idea. The first thing you sing is Creation. In other words, Life, the Universe, and Everything. For a first try, you're unlikely to come up with anything too profound: probably just, er, 'You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is,' to quote Somebody. But it's a start.

Nu sculon herigean / heofonrices Weard

Meotodes meahte / ond his modgeþanc

Weorc wuldorfaeder / swa he wundra gehwaes

Ece drihten / or onstealde

He aerest sceop / ielda barnum

Heofon to hrofe / halig Scyppend

ða Middangeard / moncynnes weard

ece Drihten / aefter teode

Firum foldan / Frea aelmihtig.

Okay, I wrote down most of that from memory. I had to check two lines. As FP Magoon told my professor, 'Anglo Saxon is not a memorable language.' The gist of the poem? God made the world, and people to live in it, and it's vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big. . .

Everybody at the monastery was thrilled, and Caedmon got into the history book. Yay. You want to hear the poem and get a translation? Try this version on Youtube. The reader has a nice accent.

Back in the 1970s, you could fit the entire population of interested students at my large university into my professor's closet-sized office in the Cathedral of Learning. Which is where I first encountered this astounding poem. While we were parsing our way through Beowulf, though, there came the first rumblings of Change in the public's attitude toward things mediaeval. The museum across the street from where we were sitting held a mediaeval festival – they didn't have Renaissance Fayres back then, this was a harbinger. People made meat pies and played lutes (badly) and made my German professor mad on the campus radio by asking him to talk about Parzival and then mentioning Wagner. . . he had a fit. The Middle Ages were now 'in'. Proselytising undergraduates handed me copies of Lord of the Rings. I refused them, gently, and went back to translating the Real Stuff. But the Society for Creative Anachronism forged ahead. . .

Which might explain this Guy with an Amazing Beard. He's very enthusiastic. His pronunciation is terrible.

Meanwhile, people have kept on singing about Creation. Even without the beards and costumes.

PS: I once did a radio interview with some SCA people down in North Carolina. They said proudly that they banned the spreading of religious literature and messages from their events. 'We don't believe people should push their religion on other people,' one SCAer remarked. She looked offended when I laughed.

'But wasn't that the whole point of the Middle Ages?' I asked.