The Prince and the Plunder

A book on how Britain took one boy and piles of treasures from Ethiopia

Author: Andrew Heavens

Two school photographs

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Where: Rugby School, England
When: 1876 and 1877

You have to zoom right in on the screen to spot him. There are more than 40 boys, dressed in dark jackets and starched white collars, holding still for the long exposure in a classic school photo line-up. Foliage hangs off diamond-shaped windows and patterned brick walls in the background. A severe Victorian teacher with a severe Victorian beard sits in the middle of the ranks of teenagers. And to the side of the frame there’s a list of who’s who in the class photo, row by row, left to right. It’s a posh private school in central England, Rugby no less. So it’s all surnames, no first names, with just one exception – Cox, Melly, Hannay, Rigby, Drake, Swetenham, Bennett, Dunell, Swann, Sadler, Cook and “Alamayu”.

Rugby School class photo 1876

Even with that handy key, it is difficult to find him in the picture. Top right, three boys stand out. One of them with short blond hair and dark shadows under his staring eyes looks menacing, a bit like Lurch in the original Addams Family TV show. The one next to him is even taller, a bit more rough-cut, perhaps the sportsman of the group. And next to him is a public school boy from central casting – centre parting, cool stare and an easy assured stance. Just behind him, peeking out so only part of his face makes it into the picture, is a fourth pupil, shorter and slighter than the rest. He is the only black boy in the class, which makes his disappearing act in the picture frame all the more striking.

Detail of Rugby School class photo 1876

What can you tell from one moment caught in one class photograph taken some time in 1876? With the harsh light of hindsight – the knowledge of what happened to him just three years later – it is tempting to look closely for portents and omens. He seems timid, cowed, desperate to melt unnoticed into the background. Above all he looks sad.

The class shot first surfaced in a catalogue of vintage photographs offered for sale by London’s Allsworth Rare Books. On the following page was a photo from following year, two years away from his fate. Again, it is just one captured moment, not to be over interpreted. But you have to take educated guesses when following Alemayehu – he did not write a memoir, unlike so many of the people around him, and left only a few short letters. He stands in full view this time, in front of a giant blond boy – is that Lurch after a growth spurt? His hair is wilder, his collar looser and his tie looks askew. Has he resorted to playing the class clown? Are the bags under his eyes are a sign of exhaustion or a trick of the light and the blurry Victorian exposure. There is something about his expression that reminds me of my son and his friends when a crazed and hilarious thought has just zipped through their teenage minds. Or again, maybe it is just a trick of the light.

Detail of Rugby School class photo 1877

The abbey tabot

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What: One tabot, hidden in an altar
Where: Westminster Abbey, Dean’s Yard, London, SW1

Here’s how to find some buried treasure in the centre of London.

Forget the explorer’s gear, the hat, the whip. You don’t need to look like Indiana Jones for this. Dress like a tourist and head to Westminster Abbey, across the road from the Houses of Parliament. Hand over the exorbitant entrance fee and follow the crowds past the tombs of empire grandees, prime ministers, princes and poets.

Towards the end of the trail, you will come to a chapel that holds the remains of King Henry VII and his wife Elizabeth. Wait for the red-robed guards to move away, edge past the velvet ropes at the altar and poke your head around the back. And there you will see … well, at first glance, not very much.

Push your luck and edge a bit further round, getting your body into the gap between the altar and the tomb. You should be able to make out two windows, a few inches wide, set into altar’s rear wall.

If the guards still haven’t spotted you, peer into the first one on the left, and you are going to be disappointed. The window is a sheet of something like perspex over a small rectangular chamber cut into the back of the altar. But someone has smeared paint over the inside of the pane, blocking the view. Below it, on the wall, there’s a carved message describing what’s hidden inside – a fragment of Canterbury Cathedral bearing the marks of the fire which destroyed parts of it in 1174. A dig through the archives will tell you the fragment is a blue-green stone, a piece of jasper, left inside Henry’s altar like an ancient lucky charm. But you will have to take their word for it. You can’t see anything in the murk.

Next to that there’s a smaller window, just as badly besmirched. The carved label and the archives tell you there’s a fragment of mosaic lying in the alcove behind, taken from a Greek church in Damascus that was destroyed during a massacre of Christians in 1860. Another wrecked relic sealed inside the altar, forced to share some of its magic with Henry’s monument. You can’t see it through the paint, and it is not what you are looking for anyway.

Beyond that, can you see empty space past the two windows, the space where a third window could be? Get the light right and you should indeed see the faint square outline of a slightly larger, squarer opening. Someone has blocked it off completely with a sheet of hardboard, and then painted it over the same colour as the surrounding surface – almost as if someone in the Abbey was trying to hide something.

The only clue to what is buried behind that barrier is the remains of another inscription just below it. The carved words have been filled in with plaster or paint. Get close up and you can still see the shape of the letters.

They spell out the message “…brought from Magdala in 1868“.


The abbey’s refusal to budge looks a little ungrateful when you walk on to the abbey’s sanctuary of the Quire, close to the high altar, and find two presents, given freely by Ethiopia. One is a silver gilt processional cross sent by Emperor Menelik to mark King Edward VII’s coronation in 1902 and the other is a cross carved out of a large ivory tusk given to the abbey by Ras Tafari Makonnen, Prince Regent, later Emperor Haile Selassie, in 1924. Read more about them on the website of the Anglo-Ethiopian Society.

The emperor’s gold and silver crown or cap

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What: A crown or “tarboosh” cap made of silver and gold, said to belong to Emperor Tewodros

Where: The Royal Collection, Britain

The catalogue entry, which has no image, describes: “an Abyssinian crown composed of eight silver, shaped-rectangular linking sections, each overlaid with gold filigree and inset with silver studs, with a circular finial from which hang 24 chains ending in cone-shaped finials.

Provenance

“Belonged to Tewodros II, Emperor of Abyssinia. Taken after Tewodros’ defeat at the 1868 Battle of Magdala and sent by General Sir Robert Napier to Queen Victoria with Tewodros’ robes, seal and slippers (RCIN 62108). These items were presented to the queen at Windsor Castle by Lieutenant Colonel T.W. Milward on 18 June 1868.  They were subsequently sent for inclusion in a display of ‘Royal Treasures from Abyssinia’ at the South Kensington Museum, where this crown was described as a ‘TARBOOSH’ or close-fitting cap, mounted in silver filigree’ (Spottiswoode, A Guide to the Art Collections of the South Kensington Museum, 1872, p.20). 

“Illustrated in Edwin Arnold, ‘Theodore The King’, The Gentleman’s Magazine, Vol. 225, 1868, p.381.

“Loaned to the South Staffordshire Industrial & Fine Arts Exhibition, Molineux House, Wolverhampton, in 1869.

“Displayed in the North Corridor at Windsor Castle (no.2083), where it was incorrectly described as the crown which ‘belonged to The Queen of Shoa… presented at Buckingham Palace in 1843 by Sir William (then Captain) Harris’.”

The emperor’s Thai slippers

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What: A pair of filigree gold and red leather slippers said to belong to Emperor Tewodros

Where: The Royal Collection, Britain

The database entry has a photo and describes “A pair of filigree gold (?) and red leather slippers, with upcurved pointed toes and pointed tongues; set with rose-cut amethysts; metal soles.”

Provenance:

“Belonged to Tewodros II, Emperor of Abyssinia. Taken after Tewodros’ defeat at the 1868 Battle of Magdala and sent by General Sir Robert Napier to Queen Victoria with Tewodros’ crown, seal and robes. Presented to the queen at Windsor Castle by Lieutenant Colonel T.W. Milward on 18 June 1868.

“Sent for inclusion in a display of ‘Royal Treasures from Abyssinia’ at the South Kensington Museum. During an event held by the Society for the Encouragement of the Arts at the museum, it was noted that the slippers had been ‘intended by King Theodore to be sent with an embassy to England as a present to Her Majesty’ (TheAntiquary, III, 17 May 1873, p.238).

“Illustrated in Edwin Arnold, ‘Theodore The King’, The Gentleman’s Magazine, Vol. 225, 1868, p.381.

“Loaned to the South Staffordshire Industrial & Fine Arts Exhibition, Molineux House, Wolverhampton, in 1869 and to the Victoria and Albert Museum in 1912.”

Three-panel silk church hanging

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What: A huge three-panel silk church hanging,  used to cover the entrance to the Holy of Holies of an Ethiopian church

Where: The Royal Ontario Museum, 100 Queens Park, Toronto, ON M5S 2C6, Canada

A curtain made up of three panels of woven coloured silk was initially loaned to the museum before 1914 by Colonel George Augustus Sweny – an officer who had taken part in the Magdala campaign – according to Michael Gervers in his 1996 paper Four Eighteenth-Century Monumental Ethiopian Tabletwoven Silk Curtains.

It was then given to the museum in 1922 by his son, according to Martha H. Henze’s 2007 paper “Studies of Imported Textiles in Ethiopia” in the Journal of Ethiopian Studies.

It is made of the same coloured silk and with the same technique as a single-panel hanging in the British Museum, the paper added.

The curtain is made up of an essentially ‘royal’ central panel and ecclesiastical side panels, dated c.1730-38 and, in all, is 535 by 212 cm, according to Gervers’ article “The tablet-woven hangings of Tigre, Ethiopia: from history to symmetry” in The Burlington Magazine in September 2004.