ABSTRACT
Early in 1974, I was sitting in the bar of the Glasgow College Club, after hearing a paper given to the History Staff Discussion Group, by a modern historian. I was joined by a new lecturer, who proceeded to ask my opinion of his – forcibly expressed – ideas about ninth-century Europe. I had, apparently, asked a question which had caught his interest. (I have not the faintest memory of what the question was, but I am very sure that it was not the ninth century which was in my mind.) So we duly talked – or rather, Patrick talked, I stumbled. I soon discovered that this was a not untypical occurrence. Glasgow historians, I remember, found themselves swept into discussions about the Anglo-Saxons, whatever their level of ignorance (pretty extensive, in most cases). This I regarded with some envy; why could I not manage to persuade people that nothing was more interesting than late-medieval Scotland? Did I just lack his nerve? Possibly. But what was so irresistible about him was the shining intellect, the immense enthusiasm, the unquestioning assumption that the Anglo-Saxons were indeed fascinating; and on the whole he made his point.
