‘The Man of the Moment’ ran The Graphic’s attention-grabbing headline on Saturday 9 December 1922. Accompanied by a full-page front cover image of ‘the man’ everyone was talking about, the newspaper was keen to point out that he wasn’t just the man of the moment, but he’d also been an important figure in his own lifetime – over 3000 years previously.

The man they were referring to was in fact just a boy – albeit a boy pharaoh – who would become more famous in death than he ever was in life. When The Graphic used a photograph of a stone statue of King Tutankhamun on their front cover, they would have had little idea of just how iconic his features were to become. The statue, which was already part of the British Museum’s collection, would ultimately be outshone by the more famous, and more dazzling, golden burial mask, but when the steps leading down to the Pharaoh’s tomb were first uncovered on 4 November 1922 those involved in the dig could only speculate as to what lay under the shifting sands of the Valley of the Kings – and no one was quite prepared for the ‘wonderful things’ that would eventually be unearthed, least of all archaeologist Howard Carter and his sponsor, Lord Carnarvon.

The discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb was even more remarkable because it almost didn’t happen. Prior to Howard Carter’s excavations in 1922, the Valley of the Kings had already been exhaustively dug and it was widely believed that no further tombs would be found, despite Tutankhamun’s final resting place being unaccounted for. In mid-1922 only one section remained covered in debris – an area of the valley floor that would be difficult to clear due to its proximity to the tomb of Rameses VI, which attracted high numbers of tourists. Thinking it unlikely anything would be brought up from the bedrock of the valley floor, and given the fruitlessness of the search, Lord Carnarvon considered abandoning any further excavations, but Carter was determined to dig the last section – a decision that would prove to be fortuitous for both men.

Work began on 1 November 1922, and on 4 November a stone step was uncovered, cut into the rock of the valley floor. Further excavations uncovered the rest of the staircase, which led to a sealed doorway. Recognising that he was on the cusp of a potentially monumental archaeological discovery, Carter very sensibly telegrammed Lord Carnarvon – who was at that time in England – to request his attendance and telling him of the ‘wonderful discovery in [the] Valley; a magnificent tomb with seals intact.’ In the hiatus, which must have been insufferable for poor Carter, the excavation pit was refilled to secure the tomb until Carnarvon arrived.

After almost three weeks, work resumed with Lord Carnarvon in attendance, as well as his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert. The work was made harder by the stone, rubble and various miscellaneous objects that had filled the staircase and passageway since the tomb was resealed earlier in its existence due to grave robbers. On 26 November – the ‘day of days, the most wonderful I have ever lived through’ as Carter later recalled – the excavation party reached a sealed doorway. ‘With trembling hands I made a tiny breach in the upper left hand corner,’ Carter recounted in his memoir of the discovery, The Tomb of Tutankhamun (1923). His description of the moment he looked in the tomb for the first time has become legend:

“widening the hole a little, I inserted the candle and peered in, Lord Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn and Callender [one of the dig archaeologists] standing anxiously beside me to hear the verdict. At first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle flame to flicker, but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold — everywhere the glint of gold. For the moment — an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by — I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously, ‘Can you see anything?’ it was all I could do to get out the words, ‘Yes, wonderful things.’”

Unsurprisingly, the world’s press went into overdrive. ‘Lord Carnarvon’s dramatic announcement of the discovery of an almost invaluable hoard of treasure in the newly-unearthed tomb of King Tutankh-Amen, an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh, has created almost a world-wide stir,’ wrote the Sunday Post on 24 December under the headline ‘Secrets of the Wonderful Valley of the Kings’: ‘The men who made them have been dead countless ages, but their work and the romantic history it bears can give us thrills even to-day.’

Thirst for news
Indeed, the ‘Sensational Discovery,’ as The Sphere called it, wasn’t just big news in the archaeological world; everyone was clamouring for the latest updates on the dig and what had been found. Inevitably, the public appetite for Tutankhamun, Egypt and all its mysteries began to seep into popular culture, fuelled by the media frenzy created by the discovery. Carter and Carnarvon became overnight celebrities, and tourists flocked to see the tomb of the boy pharaoh and all his burial treasures as they were slowly recovered and brought to the surface. ‘Tutmania’ caught the public imagination and went far beyond the Valley of the Kings and Egypt itself, inspiring new dances (the ‘Tutankhamun Rag’), songs (‘Old King Tut’ – who ‘was a wise old nut’) and a plethora of books and films with Egyptian themes. Pharaohs were suddenly lending their names to perfumes, such as ‘Parfumerie Ramses’ which came in a mummy shaped bottle decorated in hieroglyphics, promising ‘scent-bases known and used since the days of Tutankhamun’, and ‘Secret of the Sphinx Rouge’ for an alluring look – compiled from ‘ancient beautifying formulae’. These delights could be kept in an Egyptian-inspired handbag decorated with black and gold bands and bird hieroglyphics, and then slung over the shoulder of an Egyptian hand-beaded lamé evening jacket featuring embroidered scarabs.

The public’s appetite for the romance of the Tutankhamun discovery and the imagery of ancient cultures was insatiable – little wonder artists and designers incorporated it into the everyday, from items of clothing to wallpaper, household goods and cinema facades. ‘Tutmania’ took the world by storm, particularly as some of the tomb goods that were recovered, images of which appeared frequently in the press, were items that were recognisable to modern readers such as elaborately carved chairs and sofas, beds, models of boats, clothes, toys, jugs, cosmetics – all objects that reflected the daily domestic life of an Egyptian royal.

As the ‘King Tut’ bandwagon rumbled on, fresh reports from Egypt appeared almost daily in the months following the discovery – usually prefaced by headlines extolling the ‘wonderous treasures’ and even naming the tomb the ‘New Cave of Aladdin’.

‘One by one the secrets of Ancient Egypt, hidden for thousands of years in the bowels of the earth, are being brought to light and knowledge at the touch of the excavator’s spade,’ wrote The Scotsman on 1 December 1922. ‘No discovery has been more dramatic, or more important… Its value is reckoned in millions sterling.’

Further finds
By 1923 the antechamber containing most of the burial goods had been cleared, and excavation could begin on the burial chamber containing Tutankhamun’s mummified remains, which was finally opened on 16 February. By November 1923 – a full year after the discovery of the staircase leading down to the tomb – the site was still yielding new finds. The Westminster Gazette reported that month that the outer shrine contained a ‘huge bouquet of flowers, faded to a drab brown colour similar to those taken from the ante-chamber last season… two statues of monkeys, both covered with gold, one sitting on a miniature chair or throne and the other on the top beam of the shrine, with its tail curled tight around the woodwork.’

More astonishment was in store when Carter finally opened the coffin containing the pharaoh’s famous golden mask on 28 October 1925 and ‘Tut’s Face’ was finally seen, along with ‘amuletic collarettes, a superb gold dagger with a crystal handle, bracelets of intricate workmanship, a large number of finger rings of diverse materials some having scarabs bearing the King’s names—and a second dagger even more beautiful than the first… Both the forearms were loaded with magnificent jewels. The jewellery discovered upon the King is far beyond expectations,’ (Leeds Mercury, 16 November 1925). The last object was removed on 15 December 1927.

It would take Howard Carter much of the next decade to catalogue the many thousands of finds from Tutankhamun’s tomb. Meticulous to the last, Carter ensured that the 5398 objects were properly documented – although allegedly some small items were posthumously discovered in Carter’s personal collection, which were quickly returned to Egypt by his relatives.

Ongoing fascination
For a king who was largely erased from history for three thousand years, and whose small and inconspicuous tomb was rediscovered one-hundred years ago this month, Tutankhamun still has the power to fascinate, drawing enormous crowds whenever his name is attached to an exhibition. The face of the boy Pharaoh is now emblematic of Egypt and its development as an independent state, as well as drawing tourists from around the globe. Advances in science have allowed us to get even closer to the mysteries that the tomb contained, and modern technologies designed to enhance the archaeological process bring a depth of knowledge that Howard Carter could only dream of. But perhaps equally as important as this is the contribution the discovery made to our understanding of the very distant past – and the realisation that an ancient Egyptian pharaoh liked to be surrounded by his home comforts, just like the rest of us. Perhaps the past isn’t such a foreign place after all. {