Lost Villages and Hidden Treasures: Discovering and Detecting Abandoned Deserted Medieval Villages in the UK

The Allure of Deserted Medieval Villages

I still remember the moment when I first stumbled upon the idea of searching for deserted medieval villages. I’d been metal detecting for years, mostly on farmers’ fields and the odd beach, but this was something different I was poring over an old Ordnance Survey map, my cup of tea growing cold beside me. That’s when I spotted it – three little letters that would change everything: DMV. Deserted Medieval Village.

Those three letters opened up a whole new world for me. I soon learned that there are thousands of these lost villages scattered across the UK, each with its own story to tell. Some were abandoned due to the Black Death, others fell victim to changes in agriculture or the whims of powerful landowners. But all of them held secrets beneath the soil, waiting to be discovered.

Researching and Locating Lost Medieval Settlements

Finding these sites isn’t always easy, though. It’s a bit like being a detective, piecing together clues from various sources. I’ve spent countless hours in local archives, poring over old documents and maps. Place names can be a goldmine of information – “Toft field” or “Church close” often hint at lost medieval settlements. And then there’s the high-tech stuff – aerial photography and LiDAR scans that reveal ghostly outlines of long-lost buildings and streets.

But nothing beats getting out there and walking the land. I remember one site I found in Leicestershire. It didn’t look like much at first glance – just another grassy field on the edge of a modern village. But as I walked it, I started to notice things. There was a slight rise in one corner that looked suspiciously like the foundations of a building. In another spot, the grass grew slightly darker and lusher, perhaps indicating an old rubbish pit rich in organic material.

I got talking to an old farmer who remembered his grandfather telling stories about the “old village” that used to be there. He even had a few old coins and bits of pottery he’d picked up over the years while ploughing. It was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, with each piece revealing a bit more of the picture.

Legal Considerations for Metal Detecting on DMV Sites

Of course, once you’ve found a potential site, it’s crucial to go through the proper channels before you start detecting. In the UK, you need the landowner’s permission to metal detect, and it’s important to check whether the site has any legal protections. Some DMVs are scheduled monuments, which means they’re protected by law and you can’t detect on them without special permission.

It’s also vital to work with local archaeologists and heritage professionals. They often have additional information about these sites and can provide valuable context for any finds. I always make sure to report my finds through the Portable Antiquities Scheme, which helps build up a comprehensive picture of the UK’s archaeological heritage.

One of the most exciting sites I’ve worked on was a village in Yorkshire that was mentioned in the Domesday Book but had vanished by the 16th century. The first time I visited, it just looked like a series of bumpy fields. But as I spent more time there, the layout of the village began to reveal itself.

I could see where the main street had run, flanked by the toft-and-croft strips typical of medieval villages. There was a clear hollow way leading down to what must have been the village pond. And on a slight rise at one end of the site, I found evidence of the village church – not just a scatter of stones, but a few fragments of medieval stained glass that had somehow survived in the soil for centuries.

A Day in the Field: Detecting on a Lost Village Site

It was a warm summer’s day when I first started detecting on this site. The sun was high in the sky, casting short shadows across the undulating field. I’d done my research, obtained all the necessary permissions, and was finally ready to see what secrets this lost village might yield.

My first few signals were the usual suspects – modern coins, bits of farm machinery, the odd shotgun cartridge. But I always dig these signals anyway. You never know what might be hiding alongside them, and besides, it’s good to clean up the site as you go.

Then, about an hour in, I got a good, solid signal. Not too deep, with that distinctive tone that always gets my heart racing a bit faster. I carefully cut a neat plug of turf and flipped it over. The signal was still in the hole, so I got down on my knees and started carefully probing with my pinpointer.

There it was, just a few inches down. I gently loosened the soil around it, trying not to scratch whatever it might be. As I lifted it out, I could see it was metal, probably bronze, with a green patina. I brushed off some of the loose soil, and suddenly, I was looking at a face.

It was a medieval pilgrim badge, no bigger than a 50p coin. The face was that of a saint, though I couldn’t tell which one at first glance. These little badges were sold at shrines and holy sites all over medieval Europe. Pilgrims would sew them onto their clothes or hats as a souvenir of their journey and a symbol of their devotion.

Finding something like this is always a thrill. It’s not just the object itself, but the connection it gives you to the past. I could almost picture the pilgrim who’d worn this badge, perhaps returning from a long journey to Canterbury or even Rome, only to lose it here in this now-forgotten village.

I carefully placed the badge in my finds pouch and continued on. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of signals, some interesting, some not. A few more medieval coins turned up – mostly beaten-up silver pennies, hard to identify in the field but always exciting to find.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, I decided to take a break and have a bit of lunch. I found a comfortable spot on the edge of the field, where I could look out over the whole site. From here, you could really get a sense of how the village might have looked. There, where the ground dipped slightly, that might have been the village pond. And over there, where the grass grew a bit thicker, could that have been the foundations of the church?

It’s moments like these that really bring home why I love this hobby so much. It’s not just about finding “treasure” (though that’s always nice). It’s about connecting with history in a tangible way, about being the first person in centuries to touch these objects and bring them back into the light.

After lunch, I decided to try a different part of the field. This area was closer to where I thought the main village street might have been. If I was right, this could be where a lot of activity took place – and where a lot of things might have been dropped or lost.

Almost immediately, I started getting good signals. A nice selection of medieval buckles and strap ends turned up, some plain, some with intricate designs. These always make me smile – they’re such personal objects, things people used every day. I wonder if they were annoyed when they realised that they had lost them, or if they had even noticed.

Significant Finds: Unearthing Medieval Artifacts

Then, just as I was thinking about calling it a day, my detector gave out a deep, strong signal. This was different from anything else I’d heard that day. I knew it was going to be something good.

I took my time with this one, carefully removing the turf and then slowly, painstakingly removing small amounts of soil. The signal was getting louder, but whatever it was, it was deep. Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only about 15 minutes, I saw something glinting in the soil.

My heart nearly stopped. Gold. It was definitely gold.

With shaking hands, I gently brushed away the remaining soil. And there it was – a beautiful gold ring, still shining after all these centuries in the ground. It was a chunky signet ring, the kind a wealthy merchant or minor nobleman might have worn. On the flat face, I could make out an engraved design, though it was too caked with dirt to see clearly.

Finds like this don’t come along very often. In all my years of detecting, I could count on one hand the number of gold objects I’d found. And this one… this one was special.

I sat back on my heels, the ring cradled carefully in my palm, and just took a moment to appreciate what I’d found. This wasn’t just a valuable object (though it certainly was that). This was a direct link to a person who’d lived here, walked these fields, perhaps even helped govern this little community. Who were they? What was their story?

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow across the field that seemed fitting given my discovery, I packed up my gear and headed home. My finds pouch was comfortably heavy with the day’s discoveries, but my mind was even fuller with questions and imaginings about the people who’d left these objects behind.

Back at home, I set about the careful process of cleaning and recording my finds. Each object needs to be treated differently – what’s good for a bronze buckle might damage a silver coin, for instance. The pilgrim badge cleaned up beautifully, revealing more details of the saint’s face and some lettering around the edge. I’d need to do some research to identify it properly, but that’s half the fun.

The coins would need more careful cleaning and probably a trip to our local Finds Liaison Officer for proper identification. But even in their current state, I could see that most of them dated from the 13th to 15th centuries – right in the sweet spot for many deserted medieval villages.

And then there was the ring. I cleaned it as gently as I could with a soft brush, revealing more of the engraved design. It appeared to be a coat of arms – a shield with some kind of bird on it. This was going to need expert eyes to properly identify, but even now, I could tell it was something special.

Proper Handling and Reporting of Treasure Finds

Of course, finds like these need to be reported under the Treasure Act. It’s an important part of being a responsible detectorist, and it ensures that important historical artifacts are properly recorded and, where appropriate, preserved for the public in museums. I’d be contacting our Finds Liaison Officer first thing in the morning to start the process.

As I catalogued each find, taking careful notes and photographs, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s detecting and what it meant in the broader context of studying these deserted medieval villages.

The Historical Significance of Deserted Medieval Villages

These lost settlements are a fascinating part of our history. Many of them were abandoned during the turbulent 14th century, a time of climate change, agricultural crisis, and the devastating Black Death. Others lingered on into the 15th or 16th centuries before finally fading away, their inhabitants moving to larger towns or simply dispersing.

Each object I’d found today told a small part of that story. The pilgrim badge spoke of religious devotion and long journeys. The buckles and strap ends hinted at the everyday lives of the villagers – what they wore, how they dressed. The coins gave clues about the economy of the village and its connections to the wider world.

And the ring… well, the ring suggested that at least some of the inhabitants of this village were people of means and status. It made me wonder about the social structure of the place. Was there a manor house nearby? Who was the lord of this village, and what was their relationship with the villagers?

These are the kinds of questions that make metal detecting on these sites so valuable from an archaeological perspective. While we can learn a lot from studying the layout of these villages and excavating their remains, the small, portable objects that detectorists find can provide a wealth of additional information.

Of course, it’s crucial that this detecting is done responsibly and in cooperation with archaeologists and heritage professionals. Proper recording of finds and their locations is essential. It’s not just about the objects themselves, but about the context in which they’re found. An object’s position in the field can tell us a lot about how it was used and lost.

That’s why I always use a GPS to mark the location of my significant finds, and why I keep detailed records of everything I dig up, even the less exciting bits. You never know what might turn out to be important in building up a picture of life in these lost villages.

Collaboration with Archaeologists and Heritage Professionals

In the weeks that followed, I made several trips to our local museum to meet with the Finds Liaison Officer. She was as excited as I was about the ring, which turned out to be even more significant than I’d first thought. The coat of arms belonged to a minor noble family from the area, and this ring helped to establish a definite link between them and this particular village – something that hadn’t been known before.

The pilgrim badge was identified as coming from the shrine of Thomas Becket at Canterbury, one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in medieval England. It dated to the late 14th century, providing a nice tight date for that layer of the site.

Even some of the more mundane finds turned out to be interesting. A collection of lead cloth seals helped to establish that this village had been involved in the wool trade, a crucial part of the medieval English economy. And a scatter of coins from mints across the country painted a picture of a place more connected to long-distance trade than you might expect for a small rural village.

All of this information was fed into the Portable Antiquities Scheme database, where it would be available for researchers studying the history of this area. It was satisfying to know that my hobby was contributing in a small way to our understanding of the past.

But more than that, it deepened my connection to this place and its history. Each time I walked that field now, I didn’t just see a patch of empty land. I saw the bustling village it had once been. I could almost hear the chatter of voices in the street, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer, the bleating of sheep being driven to pasture.

And I knew there was still more to discover. More stories to uncover, more secrets hiding just beneath the surface. That’s the thing about metal detecting on these deserted medieval village sites – you never know what the next signal might bring. It might be something as simple as a horseshoe nail or as exciting as a gold ring. But each find, no matter how small, adds another piece to the puzzle of our past.

Systematic Approaches to Detecting Large DMV Sites

One of the challenges of working on these sites is that they often cover a large area. A medieval village wasn’t just the houses and streets – it included the surrounding fields, woodlands, and pastures that the villagers used. This means that finds can be spread over a wide area, and it can take many visits to build up a comprehensive picture of the site.

I’ve found that a systematic approach works best. I usually start by dividing the site into a grid and working methodically through each square. This not only ensures I cover the whole area but also allows me to map the distribution of finds, which can reveal patterns in how the village was used.

For example, on one site, I found that most of the high-status finds – things like silver coins and decorative metal fittings – were concentrated in one area. This turned out to be where the manor house had stood. In contrast, the area that had been the village green yielded mostly small, lost items like buttons and coins – exactly what you’d expect in a public area where people gathered.

Of course, not every expedition is successful. I’ve had plenty of days where I’ve trudged across fields in the rain, following up on a promising lead, only to find nothing but modern rubbish. But that’s all part of the process. Each unsuccessful search teaches me something and helps refine my methods for next time.

One of the most rewarding aspects of this work is the way it connects you to the past. When you’re walking across a deserted medieval village site, you’re literally walking in the footsteps of people who lived hundreds of years ago. Every object you find was held, used, and lost by a real person with their own story.

The Personal Connection to Medieval History

I remember finding a small bronze thimble on one site. It was nothing particularly valuable or exciting from a collector’s point of view. But as I held it, I couldn’t help but think about the person who had used it. Was it a housewife mending clothes for her family? A tailor plying his trade? Did they fret when they lost it, searching the rushes on their floor by candlelight?

These lost villages also tell a bigger story about the changing landscape of Britain. Many were abandoned during the 14th and 15th centuries, a time of significant social and economic upheaval. The Black Death, changing agricultural practices, and the whims of landlords all played a part in emptying these once-thriving communities.

Walking across these sites, you can’t help but reflect on the impermanence of human settlements. Villages that had existed for centuries, through Norman conquest and civil war, eventually faded away, leaving little trace above ground. It’s a humbling thought, and one that gives me a deep appreciation for the work we do in uncovering and preserving these lost stories.

The process of finding and investigating these sites is ongoing. New technologies are constantly revealing new sites or shedding fresh light on known ones. For instance, the recent trend of long, dry summers has been a boon for aerial archaeologists, as parched fields reveal crop marks more clearly than ever before.

There’s also a growing recognition of the importance of these sites among academics and heritage professionals. Many universities now run research projects focusing on deserted medieval villages, combining traditional archaeological techniques with new technologies and the valuable data provided by responsible metal detectorists.

Getting Started with DMV Metal Detecting

For anyone interested in getting involved in the search for deserted medieval villages, my advice would be to start local. Get to know the history of your area, talk to local farmers and history enthusiasts, and familiarize yourself with the landscape. Join a local history or metal detecting club – these can be great sources of information and support.

Remember, too, that this isn’t just about finding treasure. While uncovering a gold coin or a beautiful piece of jewellery is always exciting, the real value lies in the contribution to our understanding of history. Every find, no matter how small, adds to our knowledge of these lost communities and the people who lived in them.

As I plan my next expedition, poring over maps and satellite images, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with this pursuit in the first place. It’s the thrill of discovery, the connection to the past, and the chance to uncover stories that have lain hidden for centuries. Every deserted medieval village is a mystery waiting to be solved, a piece of our collective history waiting to be unearthed.

A Memorable Day of Deserted Medieval Village Detecting

I remember one particularly memorable day out in the field. It was late summer, and the wheat had just been harvested, leaving the ground bare and perfect for detecting. I’d been researching a potential site for months, piecing together clues from old maps, place names, and local legends. As I walked across the stubble, my metal detector swinging in a steady arc, I could feel the anticipation building.

The first few hours were quiet, just the occasional modern coin or bit of farm detritus. But then, just as I was starting to doubt my research, I got a strong signal. I dug down carefully, and there it was – a beautiful silver penny of Edward I, minted in the late 13th century. It was in remarkably good condition, the king’s stern face still clearly visible.

That coin was just the beginning. Over the next few hours, I unearthed a veritable treasure trove of medieval life. There were more coins, of course, but also buckles, strap ends, and a particularly nice gilt brooch. Each find was carefully bagged, labeled, and its location recorded with GPS.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the field, I made my most exciting discovery of the day. It was a small lead seal, the type used to mark cloth for taxation. But this one was different – it bore the arms of a wealthy merchant family from a nearby town. This tiny object provided a tangible link between this lost village and the wider medieval economy.

Back at home, as I cleaned and catalogued my finds, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of privilege. These objects had lain hidden for centuries, waiting for someone to come along and rediscover them. And now, thanks to my hobby, they would be recorded, studied, and preserved for future generations.

Challenges and Rewards of DMV Metal Detecting

Of course, metal detecting on deserted medieval village sites isn’t without its challenges. For one thing, many of these sites are now protected as scheduled monuments, which means you need special permission to detect on them. Even when you do have permission, you need to be incredibly careful not to disturb any archaeological features.

Then there’s the sheer scale of these sites. A medieval village wasn’t just a cluster of houses – it included fields, pastures, and woodlands that could stretch for miles. It can take years of systematic detecting to build up a comprehensive picture of a site.

But for me, that’s part of the appeal. Each time I visit a site, I’m adding another piece to the puzzle. Maybe today I’ll find evidence of a craft workshop, or uncover a coin that helps date the village’s abandonment. It’s like being a detective, piecing together clues to solve a centuries-old mystery.

One of the most rewarding aspects of this work is collaborating with professional archaeologists. Many universities and heritage organizations now recognize the value that responsible metal detectorists can bring to the study of these sites. I’ve been involved in several projects where my finds have helped archaeologists target their excavations more effectively.

I remember one project where we were working on a site that was thought to be a small farming village. But the pattern of finds I was getting suggested something different. There were a lot of high-status objects – silver coins, decorative metal fittings, even a gold ring. When the archaeologists excavated, they discovered the remains of a substantial manor house that hadn’t been visible on the surface.

Of course, not every day in the field yields exciting discoveries. There have been plenty of times when I’ve trudged across a muddy field for hours, only to come away with nothing more than a pocketful of modern rubbish. But even those days have their value. They help refine my research methods, and sometimes, the absence of finds can be just as informative as their presence.

As I’ve delved deeper into the world of deserted medieval villages, I’ve found myself becoming increasingly fascinated by the stories behind these lost communities. Why were they abandoned? Where did the people go? What can these sites tell us about the wider social and economic changes that were sweeping through medieval England?

These questions have led me to spend almost as much time in libraries and archives as I do in the field. I’ve pored over old maps and documents, trying to piece together the history of these lost villages. It’s a different kind of detective work, but just as rewarding in its own way.

One of the most poignant aspects of studying these sites is the sense of lives interrupted. When a village was abandoned, people left behind their homes, their possessions, their entire way of life. Every object I find, from a simple cooking pot to a valuable piece of jewellery, represents a small part of someone’s life story.

I often find myself imagining the last days of these villages. Did the inhabitants leave gradually, as economic conditions worsened? Or was there a sudden event – a plague outbreak, perhaps, or a harsh decree from a landowner – that forced them to leave en masse? The objects I find can sometimes provide clues, but many questions remain unanswered.

As I continue my explorations of these fascinating sites, I’m constantly amazed by how much there is still to discover. Despite centuries of ploughing and development, these lost villages still have secrets to yield. Every time I switch on my detector and step out into a field, I know I might be about to uncover something that hasn’t seen the light of day for 500 years or more.

It’s a responsibility I take seriously. Each find needs to be carefully recorded and reported, so that it can contribute to our understanding of medieval life. But it’s also an incredible privilege. To hold in your hand an object that was last touched by someone in the 14th or 15th century is to feel a direct connection to the past.

As the sun sets on another day in the field, I pack up my gear and take one last look across the landscape. To most people, it probably just looks like an ordinary farmer’s field. But I know better. Beneath my feet lies a lost world, a community frozen in time, waiting to be rediscovered. And tomorrow, who knows what new secrets it might reveal?