Medieval Parenting Tactics: Why I Deeply Regret Teaching My Kids the Shield Wall

By Chris Livemore

I can't lie. This one was entirely my fault and I’m not even able to partially shift the blame.

Nobody asked me to explain what a shield wall was. Nobody knew what a shield wall was. Nobody cared what a shield was. Nobody except me.

My two eldest children were perfectly happy hitting each other with sofa cushions — randomly, enthusiastically, and without any tactical structure whatsoever.

I introduced the tactical structure. And then they joined forces. It was an error of judgement (I am going to blame sleep deprivation, but it is also likely to be stupidity).

Like I said, this one was entirely my fault.

How It Started

It began with a fortress, a soft play fortress. Cushions stacked and angled with the kind of ambition that would impress a medieval engineer. My five-year-old was directing operations. My two-year-old was providing noise and not really following the advice being offered. Tensions were rising.

I looked at it and thought. “If you put those two shield-like cushions together you can make a shield wall.” I also said that part out loud.

They looked at me, interest perked. I explained. They tested.

What a Shield Wall Is (Briefly)

A shield wall is one of history’s simplest and most effective formations. Warriors stand shoulder to shoulder, shields overlapping. You protect the person next to you. They protect you. The wall holds — or it doesn’t. Watch the Amazon show 'Vikings' for some rather excellent examples of shield walling.

It’s teamwork, made physical. It also decided battles like The Battle of Hastings in 1066, when the English line held firm… until it didn’t.

The lesson: hold the line. Together. Children are very keen to test that theory...against their dads.

What a Shield Wall Is in My House

My children took a slightly different learning.

Within minutes, my eldest had launched a flanking manoeuvre that resulted in a cushion hitting me in the side of the head at speed. My two-year-old grasped the spirit and general idea of the shield wall, but doesn't always come properly equipped.

He now runs directly into people while shouting “SHIELD WALL” approximately half a second after impact or throwing a shoe, or ball, and even the occasional cricket bat (I should say it is a plastic toy set, but that's not the point).

The Yorkiepoo has joined whichever side is winning. She has no loyalty. Only instinct. Her barks seems to inspire an increase in the intensity of any such child-led attack.

The baby watches, correctly concluding that none of this is his problem. But he has 100% concluded that daddy is not winning these battles.

The Benefits (Apparently)

In the interest of balance:

Teamwork: My eldest now genuinely understands that working together matters.

Vocabulary: My two-year-old can say skjaldborg. Not correctly. But confidently.

Physical development: Running, ducking, colliding — all technically movement skills. I am choosing to believe this.

Story engagement: They now approach The Good Knight like small military analysts. This is, admittedly, excellent.

The Downsides (More Significant)

It never stops: Breakfast. Bath time. One memorable video call.

The toddler version is chaos: He is essentially a one-man Viking berserker without a shield.

The dog has chosen violence: Any shout of “SHIELD WALL” triggers full commitment.

Public deployment: Supermarkets. Libraries. The morning walk to school. All compromised.

What This Has to Do With The Good Knight

The Shield Wall is also the name of the Good Knight community.

That’s not an accident.

Because a shield wall works the same way good parenting — and good reading — does.

You don’t do it alone. You share what works. You show up. You stand alongside other people trying to raise children who love stories.

The wall holds because everyone holds (unless you were a Saxon in the Battle of Hastings).