The Vikings: Even Their Poo is Interesting
Viking poo is more than just a funny anecdote or a museum oddity. It’s a window into the past.
In 1972, beneath the soon-to-be foundation of a Lloyds Bank in York, a construction worker spotted something unusual lodged in the dark, waterlogged earth. It was long, brown, and suspiciously… familiar. One can only imagine the first reaction—was it a prank? A sausage? Some forgotten chunk of industrial insulation?
Nope. It was exactly what it looked like: a turd. But not just any turd.
This specimen, later known as the Lloyds Bank Coprolite, turned out to be a fossilized Viking bowel movement, astonishingly well-preserved after 1,200 years in the muck. It measured over eight inches in length and two inches in width—a veritable history log. And believe it or not, this noble stool (along with other artifacts) halted construction. Archaeologists were brought in. Excavations began. Thus, the dig at Coppergate was born, uncovering some of Britain's most spectacular Viking remains.
So yes. A Viking turd (along with other artifacts) literally stopped time—and a bulldozer—in its tracks.
What makes it even more fascinating is that this coprolite has become one of the world's most studied and oddly celebrated pieces of excrement. At one point, it was insured for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
In this article, we’ll dive—metaphorically, of course—into what this legendary log reveals about the Viking world. From their surprisingly parasite-rich diets, to their sanitation habits (or lack thereof), and even the failures of their colonies abroad, it turns out that Viking poo has quite a lot to say.
The Most Valuable Dump in History
Let’s get the obvious question out of the way: why is a fossilized Viking turd valuable?
Because it talks. Not literally (that would be terrifying), but scientifically. The Lloyds Bank Coprolite gives us a remarkable glimpse into the Viking diet and health. Analysis revealed that the man (yes, almost certainly a man—science can tell that too) who produced it had a diet heavy in meat and bread, but virtually no vegetables. He was also riddled with intestinal parasites, which suggests he ingested fecal matter, probably through contaminated water or poor hygiene. All told, it’s a relatively typical portrait of medieval gut health.
But what makes this specimen so exceptional is its state of preservation. Most human waste decomposes quickly. But this one had been buried in the anaerobic, oxygen-deprived muck of York, which preserved it like a relic. It’s so pristine you can practically count the sesame seeds.
This brings us to perhaps the strangest detail of all this.
Enter the Paleoscatologists
Yes, paleoscatology is a real field of study. It's the science of analyzing ancient feces. Somewhere, in the vast universe of academic careers, someone said, "I want to spend my life studying ancient turds." That’s a choice and a commitment.
You have to wonder how one ends up in paleoscatology. Was it a childhood dream? Did they lose a bet in grad school? Were all the dinosaur jobs taken?
I imagine a scene at the primary school teacher conferences.
Teacher: “So, Sam’s Dad, what do you do for a living?”
Paleoscatologist: “Let’s just say, my work is fairly grounded.”
All jokes aside, it’s a real and valuable discipline. Paleoscatologists are the unsung heroes of archaeology. Through ancient feces, they help us reconstruct diets, analyze parasite loads, and even trace trade goods. Seeds, bones, pollen, and fibers all pass through the human digestive system and can leave their signature in the stool like a time capsule.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of people with very strong stomachs, the Lloyds Bank Coprolite has become the poster child of paleoscatology.
Poo and Public Health: Lessons from the Norse
But poo doesn’t just tell us what individuals ate. It tells us how entire societies functioned or failed.
Take the Greenland Norse, for example. Viking settlers established a colony on Greenland’s southwestern coast around the 10th century. Harsh winters, fragile soils, and uneasy relations with the Inuit made life difficult, though not impossible. The Norse hung on for almost five centuries.
In Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed, Jared Diamond argues that their downfall was largely self-inflicted. He points to a cocktail of bad decisions: deforestation, overgrazing, refusal to adopt Inuit hunting techniques, and environmental degradation caused by misguided sanitation efforts.
Trying to replicate the waste management systems of mainland Scandinavia, the Greenland Norse dug cesspits. Greenland’s permafrost, however, prevented proper drainage, and during the summer thaws, waste seeped into the scarce freshwater sources. In short, they poisoned themselves.
It’s a potent reminder that sanitation isn't just a modern luxury, but often the dividing line between survival and extinction.
Crap, Context, and Civilization
It’s easy to laugh at fossilized Viking turds. In fact, you should. But the Lloyds Bank Coprolite and its kin represent something profoundly important: the everyday, often-overlooked aspects of life that defined survival in the past.
Where you put waste, how you manage it, and what it contains can make or break a society. That’s as true today as it was in the Viking Age. And if future archaeologists ever dig through our trash heaps (or worse), they’ll likely say the same about us.
The Bottom Line
In conclusion, Viking poo is more than just a funny anecdote or a museum oddity. It’s a window into the past, one we never expected to open and didn’t want to smell.
So the next time you visit a museum and see a rock that looks suspiciously like a breakfast sausage, show some respect. You might be looking at one of the most critical finds in human history.
And as always, check out my novels to explore the Viking world in a more…colorful way:
