As the product of a Welsh mother and an English father, I feel well qualified to write about that mysterious time in the seventh century when Angles and Saxons were beginning the process of becoming English and Brythons were beginning the process of becoming Welsh.
Any search for information on this period will turn up far more about the Angles and Saxons than about the Brythonic peoples that they conquered/displaced over what is now England. Did the invaders engage in ‘ethnic cleansing?’ We don’t know, and current scholarship tends towards the view that the Brythonic peoples learned the language of their conquerors and adopted their ways, becoming invisible to history, rather than being wiped out. Clearly, there was a significant movement of refugees, most obviously to Brittany. Was the process brutal? Looking around me at the news of the twenty-first century world, I find it hard to imagine that it was anything but very brutal indeed.
So, as an historian of twentieth-century surgery, what am I doing bumbling about in the history of seventh century Britain? Well, having fun, mainly. You can do that when you retire, honest! And I don’t/won’t pretend to be an expert. I can’t read Latin; I have only a smattering of Anglo-Saxon; and to my shame, I have no Welsh at all, ancient or modern. So I rely entirely on the work of other scholars to translate the original sources.
Having said all that, I do have a BA in Social Geography (University of Sussex); an MPhil in Economic History (University of Nottingham); and a PhD in the History of Medicine (University of Melbourne); and I have written ten books and rather a lot of academic articles. Check out: http://www.thehistoryofsurgery.com if you are interested. Two years ago, I retired from my post at the University of Queensland and since then I have been wandering about in the history of the seventh century on a more or less full-time basis. The object of the exercise? To finish the novel about who murdered St Hilda’s father. Speaking of which: there are two journalists sitting in a bar. One says to the other: ‘I’m writing a novel,’ and the other answers: ‘Neither am I.’