The Mystery of 30 Left Foot Shoes

'Hey, it's a shoe', Priit said, not really surprised. 'Oh, another one, right', Heikki sighed.

Another one indeed, because we've got plenty, close to 30 by now, Lisette messaged us upon the news of this find, a round-toed one, which are the minority so far as compared to pointy ones, she said.

It wasn't right, though, but left. A left foot shoe. Again, as most of our shoes are. Individuals, not pairs. How's that possible? Where are the others? What's the story here?

Did they have a bunch of woodlegged pirates on board? Maybe we'll find some hooks as well, and eye-patches?

No, there must be a reason, or else we'll keep finding shoes in the months to come, right ones. Wouldn't be a surprise, given the pace we keep finding stuff.

This time the shoe emerged just after we'd found a feather, while cleaning a spot where we were about to drill a new supporting steel rod to bind loosened plank joints together.

'Another one, right'

Feathers, shoes, what of it? Shouldn't we be thrilled?

We are, of course, but we're also spoiled, too accustomed to finding such things, after working on this 14th century ship for about 1,5 years. It's business as usual, finding things as we're cleaning the abundant sand away.

We're also still working on the big iron bits on the aft, the rudder fastenings, which we've been exposing from under concretions and fish-oiling then to protect them from further corrosion. Later we'll be installing new supports where needed. And then doing whatever is needed to dock this ship to a museum, her final home.

This is what we do, we fortunate ones, who have the privilege to be here in this unique period in history which isn't going to happen again, ever. It is only once we excavate and conserve this ship after almost 7 centuries of burial. It is only once we make the decisions about how she'll be preserved and in which way she's displayed.

It is we who get to participate in decisionmaking about the next phase of this ship's life. It's a life which saw sturm und drang in her working life as a Hanseatic merchantman, on whose deck sailors walked and climbed in their fine leather shoes (or maybe they had one foot bare, weather-permitting, for some practical reason?).

A view underneath the structures in between frames, after first round of cleaning. Photo: Eero Ehanti

Then she hit rocks in the bay of Tallinn, right there, in the same cultural landscape I'm still looking at every time I'm here. There she hit rocks, in the aft apparently, because that's where a substantial bit of the keel is missing. She sank, maybe partly first, remaining visible for decades maybe, as a part of the medieval landscape of Tallinn's harbour. That's when she maybe had to give away the mast, sails, deck planks, everything of value and reusable. Plundering? Or just wise recycling? Anyway business as usual.

Then centuries of oblivion, first underwater, then, much later, underground, as the landfillings of Tallinn's Harbour gave her a sandy womb.

There she slumbered, just a few meters below ground. Maybe she was seen by a few. Maybe the ones who built something on top of her did see glimpses of her, when they lay the foundations of something? Yes they did, those Soviet-era (maybe) workers, while casting concrete, because it's still there, in a few places. Remains of concrete-something. They must have seen her!

They didn't ring a bell, but made their building anyway, leaving her underneath. The next ones, however, did, in 2022. They rang the Maritime Museum when the ship emerged while they were digging foundations for another new building.

That's where the story of the ship took the most amazing twist since the sinking. Exposure to the elements and humans, that's a dramatic change of conditions.

Rudder fastenings, after cleaning and stabilization treatment. Photo: Eero Ehanti

Luckily she's got us, whose task it is to help her settle and adjust to this world and society of ours, and treat her as needed, to look at her best and most representative for what is decided to be told through her, in exhibitions, research and online.

That's quite an honor. And responsibility. To be here now, doing this.

We've been here for about 1,5 years, feeling the ship, doing what's needed. But not more than that. We do the minimum, and even that in the most sustainable manner. Ecologically, financially, culturally. Openly too, all this is open to visitors, who might come to see us work. It's important. She's seen, already now. All the time.

It's not only human eyes seeing her. The ships being documented, photographed, scanned. Regularly, which gives us views over how she's behaving. How's she adjusting, whereabouts is she experiencing stress?

By comparing data, we can see that there's movement by the aft, in the area above the rudderpost. The planks and beams move there, the beautiful images done by Andres from EKA, the Estonian Academy of Arts, show. Not drastically, but still.

She's moving. Which is fine. She's still in the process of adjusting to this climate and us people after centuries underground. As if she's stretching her skeleton, slowly, before settling to what's best for her. A good, restful stress-free position.

In that she needs help. Soon we need to start planning the support structures, the final auxiliary steel exoskeleton, which will follow the inner beams, hiding under and next to them, giving her the support needed.

But there we ain't just yet. There's still plenty of cleaning to be done, finding the missing shoe pairs maybe. Finishing the protection of those rudder fastenings we've been exposing and fish-oiling for months.

Yes, those rudder fastenings, there's good progress to be seen. They're all exposed now, freed from concretions. And what a row it is! Two of them crosses, others straight. Is that mere aesthetics of the blacksmiths, them enjoying their great skill, or do they hold better like that? Anyway they're beautiful, and something not seen by anybody in centures. They too are amazingly preserved, as is everything of and in this ship.

There she rests, in our care, in the white tent in Seaplane Harbour, outside the Maritime Museum.