Laurence Earle

Eighty years ago next month, on 22 June 1941, Adolf Hitler unleashed the largest military invasion force in history, when he ordered almost 3,700,000 Axis troops with 3,000 tanks, 7,000 guns and 2,300 aircraft to advance into the Soviet Union along a front that extended from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Less than six months later, following startling early successes, leading German units would reach almost to the gates of Moscow, before plummeting temperatures and the onset of the Russian winter finally brought their advance to a halt.

When construction began in AD 122, Hadrian’s Wall marked the furthermost limit of the Roman Empire. Stretching 73 miles from the North Sea to the Solway Firth, it divided conquered territory to the south from that occupied by unbeaten tribes to the north. Almost 2,000 years on, the Wall remains a potent symbol of the north-south divide between England and Scotland, referenced frequently in the ongoing and often-heated debate over Scottish independence.

Of all the many side-effects of the coronavirus, perhaps the least expected (though most welcome) was a sudden revival of interest in a plucky little archaeology-based television series which last graced our screens way back in 2013. During the lockdown, however, it was reported that millions of people in more than 40 countries had been whiling away their newly enforced leisure hours by tuning in to classic episodes of Time Team on YouTube.

Epic Iran is the appropriately grand title of the Victoria & Albert Museum’s ambitious new exhibition, which explores 5,000 years of Iranian history through 350 objects that represent the country’s art and culture – taking us from the beginnings of civilisation, via the ancient palaces of Persepolis, right up to the present day.

With museums allowed finally to reopen next month, those of us who have been starved of culture are looking forward eagerly to the British Museum’s ‘Thomas Becket: murder and the making of a saint’. The exhibition, originally scheduled for last year, marks the 850th anniversary of the country’s most famous political assassination – the grisly murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury on 29 December 1170 by four knights in the service of Henry II.

Almost four decades have elapsed since the Mary Rose was raised and an astonishing array of new research techniques have revolutionised our thinking about the ship’s make-up, her calamitous final moments, and perhaps most poignantly, the skeletal remains of her 500-strong crew.