Bohemian Mojo has something to admit. We’re currently obsessed with a girl from the Scottish Highlands. She’s called Ava and she’s about 5’5’’ tall with the most amazing air of mystery about her.  Of course, it is almost impossible not to be mysterious when your remains are roughly 3,700 years old.

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We imagine them clad in shining armour and visored helmets with brightly coloured pennants snapping in the breeze. Mounted on powerful steeds, these famous warriors wielded huge lances and mighty broadswords behind shields decorated with their coats of arms. They would have been an altogether spectacular sight as Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table charged into battle. Yes, awesome indeed, if only that vision were true, but sadly it’s pure Hollywood.

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Seventy-five years ago the British Isles were an armed encampment lying off the shores of Hitler’s conquered Europe. There were millions of troops crammed into every conceivable space between the native inhabitants. They came from all the countries of the British Empire. There were fighters from Europe too who’d fled here to carry on the fight and of course there were the massed ranks of our American allies.

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For the past three weeks Bohemianmojo has been showcasing our series on King Arthur trying to answer the question; was he a real person or a fable? We believe he was a real, historical figure and to back up our case we’ve presented Bardic poems, the manuscripts of monastic scholars and archaeological facts. Along the way we’ve explained some of the historical context of Arthur’s time and the full-on warfare that consumed the lives of the people of the British Isles during the Dark Ages of the 5th and 6th Centuries AD.

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Inspired by seven year-old Matilda Jones, who found her very own Excalibur in a fabled Cornish lake (see Part I) Bohemianmojo decided to unravel historical fact from the mountain of fiction surrounding the legend of King Arthur. The popular wisdom on the subject is that there are no historical facts to back the existence of a King Arthur; he’s just a very romantic but mythical figure. We beg to differ...

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On first sight it could have been a graveyard in any number of peaceful English villages. Tall trees stood sentinel, planted to give summer shade for the neat rows of heads-stones on carefully mown lawns. Not England though but New England and the epitaphs on those tombstones in the small town of Hadley, Massachusetts, held the secrets of high drama played out on both sides of the Atlantic nearly three hundred years ago.

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