Fly Tipping by the Romans

Shock, Horror. For all of their organisational skills and attention to detail, as required to create a large and functioning Empire on 3 across vast swaths of 3 continents, the Romans were actually rather guilty of leaving behind quite a lot of trash. 

That is quite understandable after, in England, nearly 400 years of occupation, suppression and settlement. 

The presence of rubbish dumps and waste deposits has given a detailed and unique insight into the more mundane activities and practices of the Romans and no more so than excavated from the field site of a major regional military camp at Brough in East Yorkshire. 

Under its period name of Petuaria the four and a half acre site was one of the few in England to have been in use for the whole duration of the Roman Occupation of the country. 

Merchant and military shipping unloaded and disembarked after making their way up the Humber Estuary from other parts of the Empire and struck out for York and beyond. 

At that time it was possible to ford the river easily at low tide and so there was a continuation of the Ermine Street corridor from the Southern parts of Britain. 

Petuaria was therefore a busy staging post. Even before the arrival of the invaders the area was part of the territory of the Parisi Tribe. 

Modern era excavations found a large camp with ditches on three sides and later walls and fortifications in local limestone. These included projecting Bastions which were projections to conduct a side-on defence against attackers. This indicated the planned process of developing the site across a number of epochs of occupation. In one archaelogical dig a stone with an inscription referred to a Theatre.

There were traces of conflict and the site will have been pillaged quite frequently. 

Found in the discarded rubbish were coins from the reign of, in no particular order, Marcus Aurelius, Constantious, Licinius and the Usurper Emperor Alectus. 

Domestic tools and objects included Samian Earthenware with some items bearing the name of its makers, amongst them Divicators and Paullus. 

One notable find although incomplete was a handle for a wine jar of a type three feet high. Cooking vessels and weaving frames will have been in daily use and readily discarded after use or if damaged. More fancy items illustrated that there was some wealth around. 

Jewellery finds included a brooch depicting a wild boar, the animal being held in some reverence in particular by the Parisi. 

More morbid discoveries were of the skeletons of babies although live sacrifices were known to take place as part of a ritual blessing of buildings and this could have been the case at Petuaria. 

This area around what is the now large commuter area of Brough continues to throw up relics of the Roman Occupation under the farmers plough or where new housing estate residents happen to disturb the ground in their gardens. 

Battle of Stamford Bridge

Up and over the narrow hump-backed river crossing on the contraflow green light, sweep left into small market place and then a short incline before passing modern housing developments and that's it. 

The village of Stamford Bridge, some 8 miles to the east of York. 

Track back 954 years as of yesterday and the scene will have been starkly different. 

You will have been witness to the mayhem and horror of a pitched battle that contributed to one of the most significant changes in the history of England. 

It was a time of dispute over the right to be the Monarch in the void left by the death of Edward the Confessor. 

In the frame of succession were home based Harold Godwinson, the continental William of Normandy and Harold Hardrada the King of Norway. 

Harold Godwinson had already been crowned as rightful king but forces were beginning to form alliances against him. His own brother, the exiled Tostig, approached Hardrada and the two of them planned an invasion. 

After landing a force of 10000 Norwegians from 300 Longships on the north east coast they established a strong foothold in the effective capital city of York with a victory over the Northumbrian and Mercian army at Fulford on its outskirts. 

In order to save his fledgling rule the newly crowned Harold the Second assembled an army and made a forced march over the far from easy route from London up country, a distance of 190 miles on little more than cart tracks if any actual byways existed at all. 

His army was 10500 footmen and 2000 on horse strong and their swift deployment took the Viking army by surprise. 

I seem to remember a project sheet about the ensuing Battle of Stamford Bridge from way back in my junior school days. The images of a huge Scandi-Axe Man keeping Harold's men at bay on a narrow timber crossing point over the River Derwent are still deeply engrained in my 8 year old consciousness, such was the graphic detail of the art on the work card. 

What made the event even more memorable was the thought of one of Harold's soldiers floating along under the bridge and ramming a spear into an orifice with fatal consequences. 

This opened the battle out for Harold. Both Hardrada and Tostig were killed. Of course the victors write the history and although home casualties were not recorded the away team were reputed to have lost 8000. Only 24 Longships were required for the retreat across the North Sea. 

The actual battlefield site is still a matter of debate. The locating of a mass grave from clearance of the dead in excavations in the 18th century has never been validated. Any 11th Century timber bridge structure left no traces. There has been no meaningful trove of rusty relics thrown up by the plough or in the regular over-spilling of the Derwent.  

Even to this day there are a number of riverside meadows where the bloodbath is reputed to have taken place. That referred to as Battle Flatts is the front runner and a few of the residential streets in the village are named on the same theme. 

Harold may count himself fortunate in his rout of the invaders as it appears that an additional 5000 enemy troops were just 15 miles away keeping a watching guard over the fleet of longships. This will have been along the Ouse River which fed into the Humber Estuary.

The death of Hardrada is considered by historians to mark the end of the Viking Age. 

Of course, there was no time for an after party celebration for King Harold. Within a matter of days the arrival of William the Conqueror on the South Coast required his attention and another arduous route march and a third major confrontation in a matter of just over three weeks. 

As they say, the rest is history. 

Minty Fresh

 Apart from the obvious printed "Best Before" date on the wrapper you can never be too sure how old a bar of Kendal Mint Cake really is.

It is perhaps one of the most stable and dependable products on the planet in that it's characteristics are such that it does not freeze nor at the other end of the thermometer does it melt. Interestingly its invention in or around 1869 was down to a batch of, as the legend says, glacier mints being boiled for too long and with the resultant tasty residue only being discovered the next morning of the production run. The combination of the overcooked caked texture, the minty flavour and the fact that all of this took place in a Bakehouse in Kendal made it pretty easy to give it a name. That was fortunate given that the person who stumbled on the famous mix had the surname Wiper which does not have the same sort of aura and commercial viability (unless selling things to clean a windscreen)

The properties of being able to cope with extremes put this unique confectionery offering on the shopping list for those planning an expedition whether deep in the desert, jungle, up a mountain or at the far ends of the Earth.

Of course the composition of sugar, glucose and peppermint oil make for an ideal source of energy for the most demanding of situations and with endorsements from Adventurers of the calibre of Shackleton, Hillary and Tensing, Boorman and McGregor you can appreciate the demand for those seeking to emulate those who strived in difficult terrains and climates in those halcyon days of exploration and human endeavour.

My Father was in the category of Kendal Mint Cake Officianado.

There was always a bar of the stuff in the glove compartment of the family car even though none of us knew how long it had been there. It remained pristine in its wrapper for, I would say, more than two decades and not only that but it was transferred between a few successive family cars along with the more usual contents of the glove box. 

We were in awe and respect of such a pedigree item and its historical back-story . Even though we, as children, may have been very, very sweet toothed on a particularly long car journey or just bored if it was a bit of a tedious trip we knew that a nibble or even a sniff of the ration bar was out of the question. My Father must have been very close to breaking that Kendal Mint Cake bar out as survival rations as he would avail us of many stories of difficult motoring conditions including snow drifts and fallen trees but they were not, in his opinion, sufficiently extreme or perilous for all that to justify such a thing.

I did have a bit of a personal craving to taste the famous Kendal Mint Cake and my long time membership of the Scouting Movement did give me access to the source of the delicacy on the occasions that our Troop had a summer camp in the English Lake District . That was however only if our tented camp was within a bus ride of the town of Kendal.

In those days the genuine product was not as widely distributed and sold as it is now and so it was the case that an actual mini-expedition was necessary to get some.

I can truthfully say that, to me,  the taste was not the main attraction. In fact it is quite hard to eat too much of it even when struggling along on a countryside ramble or under the exertion of defying gravity on a mountain hike. Too much sugar doesn't half make your teeth ache. The glucose element is not really that noticeable as it takes some time to get into your system. Strong peppermint can make your nasal passages painfully open to freshened air.

There is actually more kudos in just leaving the bar in its wrapper in and in keeping it for years and years in a safe but easily reached place.

As my Father would say it is best to have some Kendal Mint Cake stashed away- just in case.

Other brands and flavours are available,

Makes Midsomer look crowded

 The directional road sign looked forlorn sticking up out of the verge.

We are well used to huge groupings of metal posts and signage in our towns and cities but coming across a sole example in the middle of rolling countryside can be quite startling.

The brown tourist information livery bore the words "Deserted Medieval Village", in itself enough of a curiosity to act as an incentive to divert traffic from their otherwise pre-planned and determined route towards the North Yorkshire Moors and Heritage Coast Resorts.

What to expect of a village from the middle ages and one that has been deserted for all that?

For those vaguely interested enough to take the narrow side lane there must be imaginings and expectations of what lies around the bend in the road. Most of us will have studied the period in junior or secondary school at least and I can still recall the illustrations in text books of mud and thatch huts, small wicker fenced livestock pens, a lot of folk milling around and a few industrious looking plumes of smoke from kiln, smelter and brewery.

Some confusion may arise in our thoughts from images of settlements depicted on the big screen representing either a Hollywood interpretation of the Middle Ages or that mythical Middle Earth.

The car park appears. Not very medieval looking in loose dressed granite chippings and a few dispersed waste bins. There is still nothing to be seen apart from a rustic wooden arrow pointing down another narrow way, this time only suitable for those on foot, mountain bike or horse. A few may just give up and return to their vehicles at this stage as actually reaching the elusive site involves a bit of physical effort albeit downhill.

After a 100 metres or so down the track there is a kissing gate and stile to negotiate and a shallow but sparklingly clear water stream is crossed by a Pooh-sticks bridge but still  nothing at all ancient to gawp at.

Something is however changing in the natural landscape.

Beyond the watercourse the path rises again to a blind summit. This is the northern end of a high Wold valley in this part of East Yorkshire. It is a typical steep sided, "v" shaped valley common to the county but with three critically unique features, 1)It is not dry due to a continous source of water, 2) following a landslip in geologic time it has a plateau in the bottom and 3)a mainly north/south alignment before curving away and shallowing out to the west.

Unlike the other equally picturesque examples which characterise The Wolds the combination of these factors has permitted habitation by humans for millenia, at least from Neolithic times and followed by Iron Agers, Romans, Anglo Saxons , Saxon Normans and to the Middle Ages .

This is Wharram Percy.

The first part of the name is thought to have been derived from Scandinavian for "at the bends" and the second denoting ownership by the powerful Feudal Dukes of Northumberland who controlled and exacted wealth from huge tracts of North Eastern England. 

Over the near horizon appears the tower of a church and in its shadow a low range pair of cottages.

A few modern information boards explain the just above ground footings of former peasant dwellings but most interesting of all is an artists impression of a thriving village with, verified by the Domesday Book, two manor houses, 35 other properties, a dam and fish pond with water mill, glebeland and other utility structures to meet the everyday needs of an estimated 150 strong community requiring self sufficiency and a means of sustenance and livelihood.

There was some value in all of this to a landowner and Lord of the Manor with, after the Percy domination control by, amongst others, an Archbishop of York and a Baron.

The depopulation in the fifteenth century was down to the wholesale eviction of the inhabitants to make way for sheep grazing.

The site remains as one of the most important of its type in the UK but yet only 6% by area has been archaeologically investigated and with the last dig and study being in 1991.

Without human attention the predominantly organic buildings rotted away or the materials were commandered and taken away by occupants of nearby hamlets and farmsteads. Part of the tower of St Martins Church fell down in 1959, some ten years after the last act of worship and the farm cottages were last lived in in the 1970's.

The church has many phases of masonry but with 10th century origins. The graveyard investigation revealed 700 skeletons and yielded much about the villagers, their physical stature, health and welfare. Unusually there was a higher than average rate of left handedness. The hard graft required to work the valley caused considerable erosion of cartilage in joints. A skull showed signs of skilful surgery to remove bone fragments from an impact injury.

Other aspects of daily life were reflected in excavated artefacts including candle holders to illuminate the hours of darkness, implements of spinning, recreational pastimes and pottery from as far away as France and the Mediterranean.

Remains of cattle and horses were plentiful for lugging heavy loads and with skeletal parts to show that dogs and cats were kept not so much for pets as usefulness for keeping vermin at bay.

To the visitor from the 21st Century it is a fascinating glimpse of the lifestyle of our distant ancestors.

It is also a beautiful place to just spend some time. Clambering past the pond and up the steep eastern slope gives an awe inspiring view to the soundtrack of meadow birds and under the shadow cast by the large wing span of a circling Red Kite.

You could easily lose a few hours if it were not for the thought of having to make the long return haul back up to the car park.

Gratis

What have the Romans ever done for us? 

Well, for my family they have certainly provided a lot of free stuff over the years and to my parents with five children and my own three wonderful youngsters that has been, on many days-out, a deity send.

I am a firm believer that there is some educational content and value in everything. This could be a strong material fact, an anecdote or just, my speciality, an unverifiable piece of urban mythology. It is little wonder that my children, when growing up, became a bit confused when, on what they thought was just an enjoyable day trip out they would be bombarded with some useful and some not so useful fact about things we drove past. That could be a building, a type of tree, a funny shop name, a rare car, a very distant aircraft or even a strange or suspicious looking pedestrian. 

In most instances, through the speed we were travelling or the lateness of my actual noticing of the interesting item, the children would have nothing to see as the essential illustration of my fact or statement. This would involve some complex explanations for the ensuing 10 minutes involving frequent hands off the steering wheel. Everything was, without the visual explanation, totally out of any context. 

Roman things are, by design, the perfect free educational resource. A Roman road, wonderfully straight and some good miles long provides the opportunity for me to have a rolling brief on its engineering, logistics and purpose. I will intentionally plan a long journey to include a stretch of Roman road. Sometimes I may be surprised by an arrow straight trunk road which just appears after a particularly car-sickness inducing series of bends, rises and falls. This starts my contention with the children or indeed any passengers at the time as to whether we are on a true Roman road or just a concession to a modern by-pass or much needed overtaking opportunity to clear a backlog behind labouring juggernauts and caravans. Gradually, by such subversive indoctrination my children, now all adults, have come to recognise the trademarks of a Roman road and I swell with pride if they identify such before I have had a chance to remark. 

I will pay the often extortionate entry fee to visit te best surviving artefacts of the Romans. Vindolanda in Northumberland is well worth the large amount of denarius' that are handed over to the youth dressed most unsuitably for the chill of the north-east in sandles and body armour. Actually, the latter is very useful for a night out in Newcastle. Hadrians Wall is also a good free resource but any educational content has to be paid for by a bit of a hard long walk across rough terrain and we have only tended to do this on the way back from a holiday in Scotland or well out of season if we have managed to get away for autumn half term or a spring break. 

We are very regular visitors to the City of York which has an abundance of free stuff from the walls and defensive buildings to fragments of stone pilfered after the Roman abandonment and then used in later construction. Unwittingly, the period may well have been remembered not so much for the architecture, engineering and culture as the greatest for the supply of hardcore, rubble and dressed stone for Anglo-Saxon housing and patios. My favourite feature in York is the incongrous pillar of very mixed materials which stands close to the Minster. It was found in flat pack kit form in an early excavation and subsequently re-assembled. If you get to see it you will understand that there were no actual instructions provided. It may even be upside down which, from my own experience of self assembly, can easily happen. 

I spent a year of an internship in Lincoln, another great Roman garrison and cultural centre. More free stuff around the Cathedral and Castle, a stone gateway,some spa baths. One of the partners in the firm I worked for had a house built on Roman foundations and I was invited to see them having expressed an interest in such things. The stonework was perfectly preserved and accessible from the cellar. The craftsmanship was beautiful to behold. Of course the labouring will have been done by slaves with their Roman Masters getting all the glory. 

My strongest memory of Roman artefacts also emphasised to me the cruelty and hardship of that period of, lets face it, occupation by a mighty foreign power. In the mid 1970's my father took me to the site of an archaeological dig in a field just adjacent to the busy A15 or better known Ermine Street, the M1 of the invaders. Maps of the locality between Lincoln and the Humber crossings on the way up to York showed many villa sites. Prime real estate for those qualifying for freedom from military or civil service. Early retirement at 35 but with a life expectancy of not much more. The field was quiet after the working party had left. The site had been throwing up bits of mosaic tile and pantile fragments for many years under the farmers plough or from treasure seekers. 

A large rectangular shape had been revealed after careful removal of tons of topsoil. I could make out detail from my school projects on villas, some hypercaust pieces from the underfloor heating, labelled pieces of pottery still partly embedded in the ground and short stretches of partly intact but largely jumbled up tessera (Resource book; The Romans in Britain for ages 8 to 11. Published in 1970). 

Then, in the four outer corners of the excavation I saw four metal collection trays, upturned as though to protect or hide something being worked on. Ever curious and a bit nosy I lifted up one of the trays. Huddled in the corner was the skeletal remains of a small baby. This was the same for the other three corners. I was shocked but also a bit morbidly fascinated by this discovery. 

My father explained that the babies would have been sacrificed for a favourable blessing for the villa by the deities. I was already following the train of thought about who would supply babies for this barbaric practice. The field was soon returned to the farmer after meticulous recording and removal to a local musuem of the most important items. I hoped that the babies had received a suitable and respectful memorial if they had been left where they had been put to the sword.

The withering of Withernsea

The seaside town of Withernsea is a regular destination for my work. 

On a map it sits on the North Sea Coast some 26 miles to the east of the City of Hull. In the mid 1800's it was not much more than a hamlet with a resident population of 107 souls engaged in inshore fishing and the usual range of rural and ancillary activities and services. 

The catalyst for its expansion and at quite a rapid rate was the connection by railway line to the national network through Hull and this saw an increase in the population to 2000 by 1903. All seemed poised for the establishing of a thriving resort town and at the turn of the twentieth century it was predicted that within 50 years the town could expect to have grown to around 40000. 

A newspaper correspondent for The Hull Daily Mail carried out his own investigative bit of journalism in 1903 by taking the train and spending a day in Withernsea. 

The town was not shy in self promotion and very much on the current message of using snappy three word slogans the mantra of "Withernsea Wants Visitors" was bandied about. 

This was followed up by enticements to come and see the seaside attractions of amusements, restaurants, donkey rides, musicians and the ever present Pierrot mime artists. Withernsea was seen as the playground for the residents of Hull but there was strong competition as Hornsea was also reachable by railway and involving a shorter journey. 

The return fare to Withernsea was, in 1903, the sum of 18 pence and for that outlay this specific day-tripper commented on the ancient railway carriages, seat cushion springs being lumpy and out of level and the rather unhygienic accumulation of biscuit crumbs and orange peel strewn around. The railway line ran through the eastern suburbs, Marfleet and then to Hedon before going cross country through Holderness past sleepy platforms just on the edges of the the villages of Keyingham, Ottringham and Patrington. My wife's grandfather lived as crossing keeper on this route. There was also a dropping off point at Winestead for well to do guests at The White Hall, a large country house. 

Our correspondent remarked that Withernsea Station was quite small but with a view immediately onto the towers that were the sole remains of what had been a major tourist asset- a Pier. Unfortunately it had been destroyed by a storm stricken ship and never reinstated. 

The picture presented of the principal Queen Street was not that complimentary in that it was not much more than a rough carriageway requiring kerbs although with signs of work in progress. 

In 1903 some villa style terraced houses were springing up on Southcliff and being taken up by mostly Hull folk who were attracted by the health benefits of sea air but also cheaper living costs away from the local taxes of the UK's Third Port. 

As for the beach, well, our intrepid reporter regarded it as inferior to those found, for example at Blackpool and other resorts being of soft sand and pebbley. On this day a few families were enjoying the open space or paddled in waters sticky with weeds and mussel beds. 

Mention was made of fun to be had in clambering on the crumbling boulder clay cliffs in the search for fossils, fragments of Jet, shells and bone fragments. 

There was altogether not too much by way of other amenities to write home about. 

The newspaper columnist ended with the advice to the townsfolk of Withernsea that they should wake up if material progress was to be made. That did not deter hordes of visitors though who were determined to make the most of what was in reality just 8 weeks of a season and on weekends, Bank Holidays and the annual regional shut down of industry Withernsea was invaded by many thousands arriving by excursion trains and buses. 

However, external factors conspired to disadvantage the town. 

Other North Sea resorts forged ahead to make the most of their attributes such as harbours, marinas, Castles and better accessibility from large population centres and Withernsea was relegated down in the hierarchy of popular destinations. 

The railway link fell victim to the Beeching cuts in the 1960's and the great optimism of developing into a large regional town were dashed. 

The most recent census figures from 2018 was 6458. 

The town is certainly not unique in its fortunes amongst many around the UK coastline but perhaps more hard done to than most. 

Whatever floats your boat

There I was doing a bit of daydreaming out of the office window. 

It is a great view out over the mighty Humber Estuary and with the fantastic suspension bridge that gets it name from the river in clear and unrestricted sight. 

It is a wonder that any of us get any work done at all with such an outlook on every work day. 

There is regular traffic up and down stream with coastal freighters and low set fuel barges vying for the deep water channel at high tide. The Pilot Service go past the window at a number of knots in contrast to the more leisurely passage of yachts and motor cruisers. It is very much an international trade route with my ShipFinder App tracking and identifying a specific vessel, the flag of its country of registration and a list of previous ports of call and where it is next expected. 

On this particular morning the tide had turned and so only shallow draught craft were able to navigate past the hazardous sand and mud banks which give the impression, as in centuries past, that you could actually make a crossing from the North to South banks of the Humber on foot. Into view from upstream, about 50 metres out, came a sleek silhouette. I could make out a sharp prow and a sloping bulkhead in the style of a fast motor boat but it was most definitely of a rowing boat variety. 

It was certainly of a higher calibre than those available for hire on a public lake or usually seen slung across the stern of a cabin cruiser. I immediately visualised the actor James Coburn using it to find a neutral ship in the movie "The Great Escape". 

Whatever its place of origin the boat was on the loose. There were no trailing ropes or damaged rowlocks and so how it began its quest for freedom was a mystery. 

The tide was now moving vast volumes of muddy water out to the North Sea. Gradually, as I kept watch, the boat edged closer to the shoreline. I am not at all familiar with the laws of salvage on the high seas although I seem to recall that if someone helps to rescue a vessel or cargo in times of peril then there is an entitlement in law for a reward commensurate to the value of said items. I was more in the frame of mind of "finders keepers" and somewhat eagerly at the prospect of gaining a boat for nought I enthusiastically took an interest in its progress. 

The current trajectory would bring the craft onto the muddy foreshore just along from the office car park. I made my way along the top path but a slight breeze was complicating matters and it soon became evident that any beaching might not be for some distance away. 

That was a shame as I had a busy working day ahead and so I reluctantly waived any rights or entitlements I might have had in law or otherwise and went back to my desk. For the rest of the day I mused on the lost opportunity although in practical terms I had nowhere to keep such a boat nor, in actuality, any time in hand to mess about in it on the water. 

In mentioning this episode to my wife, whose father had owned and used an inshore fishing coble for some years, she told me off for not alerting the Coastguard. Some hapless mariner could have fallen out and gotten into trouble or worse and of course notwithstanding that a maverick object in navigable waters constituted a hazard to other vessels. I did feel bad about that lack of judgement but anyway some other soul downstream was sure to have dragged the boat out of the shallows and put their name on it. 

You can appreciate therefore my astonishment just this morning, some 18 days after the first sighting, of making out in midstream the same distinctive shape making its way in completely the opposite direction.

Where had it been for the last two and a half weeks? 

Perhaps it had been nestled in the reeds and rushes just a short distance from when I had last spied it or trapped in the boulders of the flood defences which protect a business and retail park a bit further towards the Western Docks of Hull. 

Being a dutiful citizen or rather to avoid being chastised by my wife I dialled the number for the local Coastguard. The tone rang and rang. I repeated the call a couple of times but still no one picked up. I had carefully rehearsed what  would say to describe the boat and its course but all in vain. By the time I realised that the Coastguard was elsewhere engaged the boat had drifted out of sight. 

It had been a strange series of events on the riverbank and to be honest I don't think that will be the last time that I will catch sight of that elusive and ghostly vessel. 

Now where are my wellies and where can I buy a second hand boat hook?