What has Tutankhamun got to do with Downton Abbey?

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I agree.

If Tutankhamun was still alive now, then Downton Abbey would undoubtedly be one of his favourite TV programmes.

And let’s face it, Downton has hooked the world. Who couldn’t be entranced by the goings on of the social elites from the 1920s, the gossip and scandals of the staff who worked below stairs, and being in awe at how much of an utter faff it must have been to wear a tuxedo to dinner every single night of the year.

"Can't we just wear jogging bottoms for dinner? One's feeling rather tired tonight."

I asked a few of my work colleagues what they thought Downton had to do with Tutankhamun, to see what they'd come up with. Most shrugged their shoulders and continued to slurp their leek and potato soup, but a few pondered the question and came up with rather sensible answers.

‘Well, most old houses have, like... well they have old Egyptian exhibits and stuff, don’t they? Is that what it is?’

Well, yes – you do find that many of the old Edwardian or Jacobean manor houses around England have exhibits displaying artifacts from ancient Egypt. Kingston Lacy, a National Trust manor house near where I live in Poole which dates back to the 16^th century, has just that. It originally fell into the hands of a handsome, young and rather confident man by the name of William John Bankes. In the mid 18^th century he made it his hobby to explore Egypt, making notes and sketches of everything he saw. In fact, his sketches were so accurate that his work has helped to understand ancient relics or monuments which have long been since lost or damaged.

William John Bankes, 1786 - 1855

Unfortunately, Bankes was also rather frivolous and apparently didn’t like wearing his trousers very often, and his voyages to Egypt soon became thwarted with scandal and debauchery. He was found guilty of an affair with a married woman, shortly followed by a libel case, and then two separate offences for homo-sexual behaviour. Which, in the 18^th century, wasn’t exactly looked upon favourably. Naturally, he was forced to quickly flee the country and pretend he’d done  absolutely nothing wrong, leaving all of his relics and notebooks forgotten in a cabinet in the depth of a house, no doubt behind a pile of odd socks and old Christmas presents (you know how it is, it’s easily done).

His art collection was eventually found (and let’s hope the socks were all paired up) and the obelisk he’d swiped from the temple of Philae on his travels was left at the estate and, to this day, is still in the exact same spot. Bankes noted that on this particular obelisk, there were two famous names in Hieroglyphics, Ptolemy and Cleopatra, which, after being confirmed that this was correct and not just a drunken ‘eureka’ moment, was used alongside the world-reknowned Rosetta Stone which now resides in the British Museum in London in the eventual decipherment of Egyptian Heirogliphics. You can still see the great obelisk from Philae as you walk round the gardens at Kingston Lacy, where it is normally being perched upon by a family of pigeons, or young girls are trying to pinch the top of it for a quintessential instagram photo.

The obelisk from Philae in the gardens of Kingston Lacy, Dorset

It seems that ‘the thing to do’ in Edwardian times was to go to Egypt, whether to escape from the day-to-day toils of English life, or to rejuvenate one’s soul. It soon became the place to go for anyone who had a bit of wealth behind them; the ancient version of the Cote D’azur or Marbella. The only difference being that in Egypt you could take home local decorations and use it to furnish your own house without being told off.

The real-life location of Downton Abbey, Highclere Castle, which is situated in Hampshire, is no exception to this either, housing its own Egyptian relics collection. Though it is used for filming Downton Abbey throughout the year, it is still the home and residence Lord and Lady Carnarvon, and I can’t help but have an image in my mind of them sipping a PG tips and doing a soduko in their slippers behind the camera, whilst Hugh Bonneville and Maggie Smith ever so eloquently discuss topics such as which aristocrat they’ll be inviting for luncheon.

Lord and Lady Carnarvon, the current residents of Highclere Castle

But behind the facade of Downton Abbey, there’s a lot more the Castle than meets the eye. It was originally mentioned in the Domesday book as a medieval site for the Bishops of Winchester, but from the mid 16^th century it fell into the hands of the Carnarvons.

Born in 1866, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert was the 5^th Earl of Carnarvon, and thankfully for us, was only referred to as ‘George Herbert’. He did as all Earls should, and married a charming young woman who brought a vast sum of wealth to his doors (about £50 million in today’s money – no, I can’t imagine owning that much money, either), but alas, no matter what era they live in, boys will be boys – George Herbert seemed to be more enthusiastic about racing horses and automobiles than his new wife.

He was brought before Magistrates for his reckless speeding on more than one occasion, and in one magazine he was described as terrifying cyclists and pedestrians alike by travelling ‘at speeds up to 20mph!’

Unfortunately for our poor Earl, he also had his fair few crashes, the last one leaving him close to death, and as a result, was vulnerable to the cold and the miserable English weather. He was told by Doctors that he had to take winters abroad in order to survive, and so he chose to go to Egypt where the warm air would help him recuperate.

Egypt was lovely, at first, but it soon became a bit boring, and so George decided to take up a spot of excavation to help pass the time, and it turns out that actually, he rather enjoyed it. And not just paying other people to do it for him whilst he relaxed on a chaise longue, oh no – he wanted to be down there in the dirt looking for treasure.

His first few attempts amounted to finding no more than a mummified cat, but a find is still a find! Word soon began to spread of his attempts to find lost tombs, and he was approached by Lord Cromer who introduced him to a nice chap by the name of Howard Carter. Carter was looking for a man with quite a lot of money, and George Herbert was looking for a scholar who could help him find more than a dead cat; it was a match made in heaven.

It seems that in the early 20^th Century, getting a contract to excavate on a particular plot in Egypt was down to three things: popularity, wealth and how much you’d actually discovered before. George had only found a mummified cat because he was given a rather dud site which had no more than a mummified cat in it. They can’t let just anyone dig anywhere, you know, and possibly damage ancient statues or monuments. So he and Carter carried on as they were, excavating whatever they could - the more tombs they discovered, such as the lost tombs of Queen Hapshutset and Rameses IV, the better their profile got, and the better sites they were allowed to dig at. One thing to note, however, was that our Earl, in his wise and profane ways, hadn’t thought it necessary to hire an archeologist for his digs, and so ended up damaging an important stone tablet, and professionals were quick to remark that this was “the sin of allowing amateurs to dig!”

Howard Carter and a man with a large hat pointing at a hole in the Valley of the Kings.

But the crème de la crème was the site in the New Kingdom, or better known to you and I as the Valley of the Kings. Unfortunately it was currently in the hands of a wealthy American – Theodore Davis. He was the most famous archeologist in the world, and had been excavating for over 10 years, many times with Howard Carter working alongside him. They found many clues of Tutankhamen’s tomb, such as a pit discovered in 1907 with seal impressions of King Tut, as well as another safe tomb containing funerary objects. They kept digging, and digging, but never found the tomb, and energy levels on the project were starting to fall.

But Carter, however, did not lose interest. He was in fact very interested. I imagine his conversation with Theodore went something like this:

‘So we’ve found loads of things relating to Tutankhamun, haven’t we?’ said Carter, excitedly.

‘Yes, we’re so close! We must dig more – more!’ replied Davis, his passion for finding the greatest tomb of all evident in his words. Carter sighed, and the energy in the conversation dwindled.

‘But, well…we’ve been digging for years,’ said Carter, placing his hand on Theodores shoulder. ‘I mean, you’re getting a bit old now, aren’t you?’

‘Well yes, I guess I’m not as fit as I was twenty years ago. I have noticed my knees aching far more in the mornings and eveni-‘

‘And we have looked almost everywhere, haven’t we? How can we be sure grave robbers didn’t steal everything centuries ago, and we’re just searching for nothing?’

‘I suppose, yes. You raise a very good point, Carter.’

‘I think it’s time to say enough is enough.’

‘Yes, I’d been feeling like this for a while, actually, but didn’t want to dampen your spirits – you’re such a keen young chap. However, I believe the Valley to be exhausted. I think I shall take my Winters in Florida from now on.’

‘I think that’s a good decision, sir,’ replied Carter.

Theodore Davis. Nice moustache ol' chap.

Little did Theodore realise that he and Carter had missed the entrance to Tutankhamun’s tomb by a mere 6 feet –  he had stupidly assumed that the ancients would never have dug an entrance so far into the ground, and so, on failing to find it,  he threw in his excavating towel and went off elsewhere, leaving our Earl and Carter the opportunity to snap up this prestigious site.

From 1914, Carnavon and Carter worked together to search for the Great Tomb of Tutankhamun. It was now November 4^th, 1922, and was, what the Earl had said, as the ‘last excavation he could support.’  Carter and the Earl were standing at what they hoped was the entrance of Tutankhamun’s tomb, surrounded by hoards of onlookers. Once they broke through the first sealed doorway and came across a passage filled with rubble and debris, they found another sealed doorway. There is a famous description of the moment this second doorway was breached, when a small hole, just large enough for Carter to place his candle inside, was uncovered. He reached his hand slowly inside, gripping the candle tightly, as Lord Canarvon and his daughter, Lady Evelyn, lay waiting eagerly beside him, the only sound was the flicker of the flame. Hot air escaped out of the room which had been sealed for over a thousand years. As Carter’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that this room beyond was not filled with rubble as he’d expected, but could in fact see glints of gold all about the room. ‘Can you see anything?’ asked Lord Carnarvon, after what felt like an eternity waiting. Carter, dumbstruck with amazement, turned to the Earl and whispered, ‘Yes, wonderful things.’

On that day, history was made. It was the single largest Egyptian excavation that had ever taken place, and fame and glory came to Highclere Castle, and the Carnarvons were front page news all over England.

Egypt would not be complete without its fair share of curses, and Tutankhamun’s tomb was no exception to this. It is said that the discovery of the tomb led to many deaths of the excavation team – though most of the ones who died were already either very elderly or very ill so whether their deaths were linked to the curse is highly debatable.

Nevertheless, no one can ignore the sudden death of our dear Earl so soon after the tomb was uncovered. Lord Carnavon was bitten by a mosquito on his cheek, and, whilst shaving, accidentally slashed the bite. It became infected, he got blood poisoning, and he died in his hotel room at the Savoy in Cairo. Not only that, but Carnarvon’s dog Susie back in England mysteriously howled dropped dead on the day of the discovery, Carter’s pet bird was eaten by a snake, the radiologist who x-rayed the mummy was found dead and the lights in Cairo had all suddenly gone out (though this was apparently a common occurrence, but still a highly suspicious co-incidence nonetheless). It was reported that when the mask was taken off Tutankhamun and examined, that he too had a legion on his cheek in the exact same place that Lord Carnarvon was bitten – could they have been mosquito bite twins?

Curses are strange things though – I mean, surely if there was such a thing as the Mummy’s Curse which befell all those who opened the tomb, then it would have been Carter who would have suffered, and not the Earl? Carter actually lived well into his sixties, hardly the sort of age for someone who was apparently ‘cursed’, but each to their own, I suppose. Perhaps he married a woman who refused to do the washing up - that in itself would be an awful curse for any man to endure.

90 years later, and talk of the curse are still going on. In January this year, it was revealedthat the beard of Tutankhamen’s mask had accidentally been broken off by one of the museum curator’s, who had been trying to adjust the lighting, and, in a sheer moment of ‘oh my god what the bloody hell am I going to do?’ had bodged it back together with the wrong kind of superglue, praying that no one else would notice.

Of course, everyone noticed. It’s the most famous mask in the world – how could anyone avoid not seeing a line of glue seeping from the beard. What I find even more alarming, however, is that the current Lady Carnarvon (who keeps a blog online about daily life at HighclereCastle – I highly recommend you read it) blogged about how she, on the day that the beard was reported to be broken off Tutankhamun’s mask, also suffered an injury in the exact same place and the Doctor also used superglue to piece her back together. If that isn’t the sheer definition of a co-incidence, then I don’t know what is.

A few weeks ago I actually went to Highclere Castle, for their annual ‘Battle Proms’ concert – a classical outdoor concert on the grounds of Highclere Castle, accompanied by cannon-fire, live cavalry displays, an aerial display from the iconic Spitfire, all topped off with fireworks. I don’t think I’ve ever, in my life, felt so patriotic and proud to be British. Families were laughing and cheering, elderly couples were waltzing in the gaps on the grass as if they were back in their teen years, and the atmosphere was uplifting and inspirational. The grass was a sea of picnic baskets, jugs of Pimms, and Union Jack flags fluttering in the wind; the crowds cheered gallantly as the Spitfire flew over the iconic castle to Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance, and the 10,000 strong crowd was up on their feet singing Rule Britannia as the fireworks lit up the sky.

If I could have bottled that patriotic feeling, and use it whenever I’m sat in a queue of traffic on the M25, or am waiting in an over-crowded Doctor’s surgery and am cursing living in Britain, then I would. I’d make an absolute fortune.