The Hoard that Helped Date the Roman Wall (NY782666)

If you’ve read one of those old histories of the region you may have come across mention of the Roman Wall as Severus’ Wall, rather than that of Emperor Hadrian. The process of change of the origin of the famous structure from the former (c.200AD) to that of the latter (c.120AD) was a gradual, 19^th century evolution; and one of the clinching pieces of evidence in favour of Hadrian was the discovery of the Thorngrafton Hoard, which originally saw the light of day in 1837.

The treasure in question was found by a group of workmen who were re-working an old Roman quarry on Barcombe Hill a mile south of the Wall near Bardon Mill (they were mining stone for the construction of the Newcastle-Carlisle railway). The hoard consisted of a bronze arm-purse packed full of coins lodged in a cleft in the rock – seemingly left there by an absent-minded labourer during the Wall’s construction. The majority of the 63 coins were silver, but three were gold. One of the men, Thomas Pattison, was entrusted by the gang with the profitable dispersal of the goods as best he could by hawking them around local markets and pubs.

The Thorngrafton arm-purse 

(from The Monthly Chronicle of North-Country 

Lore & Legend, Nov.1888)

Though he couldn’t quickly move them on, interest in the find did gradually grow – and with it Pattison’s own self-evaluation of the items. The collection was properly scrutinised by ever more expert eyes, until, inevitably, the agents of the Duke of Northumberland tried to enforce the law of treasure trove. To cut a long story short, Pattison then embarked on a prolonged period of cat-and-mouse with the authorities, who, despite obtaining a court order in favour of the Duke, were unable to secure either the coins or Pattison himself, who scarpered to Wales.

The coins had, in fact, been left with Pattison’s brother, William, before his escape south. But the law soon caught up with Thomas and he spent a year in jail in Denbighshire as a debtor (to the extent of the value of the coins, being £18). Returning home a broken man, he lodged with his brother until his early death – after which his sibling continued to guard the hoard against all interested parties. Eventually, though, William gave in, and the hoard was, in 1858, purchased from him by the famous antiquarian, John Clayton of Chesters – who, in turn, was able to obtain the permission of the Duke of Northumberland to retain the treasure.

But what of the coins’ link to the dating of the Wall? Well, it all boiled down to the dates of the coins themselves. Being found in so close a proximity to the Wall, and in a quarry known to have been used for the Wall’s construction, their original ‘loss’ could without doubt be dated to the era in which the great monument was raised. The 63 coins bore the heads of several Roman emperors from Claudius through to Hadrian, but nothing beyond the latter’s reign. Moreover, the Hadrianic coins were in mint condition, and few in number … thus placing their loss – and, therefore, the Wall’s construction – to c.120AD.

Despite the happy ending to the story, the coins were mysteriously lost after the sale of the Clayton estates in 1929, with only drawings made from sealing-wax impressions of them surviving. However, the bronze receptacle in which they were found can still be seen in the museum housing old John Clayton’s collection at Chesters Roman Fort.

The Corbridge Lanx (c.NY982648)

One of the best Roman finds ever made in Britain, the Corbridge Lanx, was discovered on the banks of the Tyne by a nine-year-old girl nearly three centuries ago. Corbridge was a major Roman garrison town, of course, and there is an English Heritage archaeological site and museum there today. The item was, and still is, in remarkably good condition, and, despite the passage of time, still cannot be properly explained…

The extraordinary silver artefact was found in February 1735 by Isabel Cutter, the daughter of a local cobbler, who stumbled upon it whilst playing on the banks of the Tyne near the town. Eager to cash in, her father sold it on to a Newcastle silversmith – but the lord of the manor of Corbridge, the Duke of Somerset, recovered it soon afterwards as treasure trove. It then found its way to the Duke of Northumberland, and eventually, in 1993, into the care of the British Museum, where it remains today.  It measures 50cm by 38cm and comes in at a weighty 4.6kg. ‘Lanx’ is Latin for ‘dish’ or ‘tray’, so what we have here is a Roman serving platter.

Other than that, though, we know little else. For one thing, no one has been able to definitively explain its adornments. It is probably 4^th century and is likely to have been imported from the Mediterranean … or Asia Minor … or North Africa. The figures upon it are mythological, showing the god Apollo (naked) at the entrance to a shrine. Artemis (Diana), his sister, is entering from the left, and she is being greeted by Athena (Minerva). The other two figures have not been properly identified, but could be Leto (sitting) and Ephesos. Or even Juno. Or perhaps Vesta.

There used to be (and I assume there still is) a replica of the lanx at Corbridge Roman Town Museum.

Lemington Glass Cone (NZ183645)

© Copyright HelenWilkinson and licensed for 

reuse under this CreativeCommons Licence.

Situated where it is – a few miles upstream from Newcastle on the north bank of the Tyne – the settlement of Lemington was ideally placed to contribute significantly to the economy of Tyneside in its own special way. It was for centuries the point where many local collieries offloaded their coal onto waiting boats for export, and the make-up of the terrain thereabouts triggered the establishment of many other industries. One such speciality was glass-making, and the one remaining glass cone – a famous local landmark – is in itself rather special, being one of only four of its kind left in the UK.

Originally, in 1787, four glasshouses were built on the spot, and four cones were quickly added – the pride and joy of the newly-established Northumberland Glass Company, who had leased the site from the Duke of Northumberland. The chimneys’ striking form was designed to draw air up through underground tunnels to heat the glass to 2000°C. Glass production – originally flat glass – continued there until 1882, when the site was taken over for a short while by an ironworks. A depression in the glass industry had led to the decline, and in fact three of the four cones were demolished in 1837. Only by chance, it seems, did a single specimen survive into the Victorian era.

The industry picked up again in the 1890s and famous glassmaker, George Sowerby, reinstated operations at the ‘cone site’ in 1898. In 1906, the General Electric Company purchased the establishment from the Duke of Northumberland and the site was expanded and refitted for the production of light bulbs and tubes. Another refit/expansion took place in 1920, and the manufacture of light bulbs and related lampware (mainly industrial and technological items) limped on through the 20^th century. The last glass was produced there in 1997.

Lemington glass cone was the last operational glassworks of its kind, and upon closure all but the giant cone was demolished. A little prior to this, the structure – the largest of the set at 120ft and said to contain 1.75 million bricks – was restored and given protected status. It has since been home to a variety of businesses.

The Smithsonian Museum and its North-East Connection

I can’t possibly leave the subject of the life of the 1st Duke of Northumberland without claiming a neat little piece of glory for the region. For the very famous Smithsonian Institute and all its related museums and educational centres throughout the US owes its very foundation to the man – or rather, the man’s son.

Or, to put it more brusquely, the Duke’s illegitimate son.

The mighty American organisation was founded thanks to a bequest left in the will of one James Smithson, a British mineralogist and chemist, who died in 1829. Smithson had been a wise investor, amassing a huge fortune which he left, initially, to his nephew. However, it was stipulated in the will that if the beneficiary were to die without issue (which he thoughtfully did, in 1835), then the money should be passed “to the United States of America, to found at Washington, an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men.”

James Smithson – or Jacques Louis Macie, as he was originally known – was born in Paris in 1764 to one Elizabeth Hungerford Macie (nee Keate), following an affair with a prominent English landowner, Sir Hugh Smithson. Sir Hugh, who would eventually become the 1st Duke of Northumberland, was, at this time, married to Elizabeth Seymour, a Percy heiress, and had actually changed his name to Hugh Percy in order to inhert the earldom of Northumberland on his father-in-law’s death in 1750 – and would eventually be created 1st Duke in 1766.

Heavily influenced by his mother’s side of the family (his father, Hugh, never acknowledged him), James took the scientific route, being elected to the Royal Society in 1787 aged only 22. In 1802, a little after his mother’s death, he changed his name from Macie to Smithson. He died in Genoa in 1829, his remains being later moved and reburied in Washington D.C. at the Smithsonian Institution Building.

Astonishingly, James Smithson had never set foot in the US during his lifetime, and the reason for his bequest is unknown.

More Favourite Picnic Sites

The previous blog entry concerned a Northumbrian beauty spot which held a special place in the hearts of the 1st Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. As it happens, the environs of Alnwick are strewn with such eighteenth century ‘picnicking areas’, if the history books are to be believed.

Hulne Park, that splendid, sprawling (and, happily, open to the public) expanse of countryside to the north-west of the town, contains two of these haunts, with a third lying a little to the north of the estate boundary. Brizlee Tower lords it over them all, sitting, as it does, on a hilly prominence at NU158148. I mean, have a look: it’s magnificent…

Brizlee Tower
© Copyright Les Hull and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

It was designed, like Ratcheugh Observatory, by Robert Adam, in 1777 for the 1st Duke – a year after the death of the Duchess to commemorate her life (he had, after all, inherited his title through her line in 1750, lucky chap). It stands 87 feet in height, and provides spectacular views of the surrounding parkland – itself laid out by ‘Capability’ Brown – but is nothing more than a folly. The tower has recently undergone repair after being placed on the English Heritage ‘at risk’ register. It is a Grade I listed building.

Hulne Priory (NU164158), though not an actual creation of the 1st Duke and Duchess (it was founded in c.1260), was most certainly added to by them both before and after the latter’s 1776 death. For once, the Duchess would at least have been able to enjoy her summer days in and around the old place, much as tourists do today. But to get there you’ll have to walk!

Hulne Priory: church in foreground, tower behind.

Finally, there is Heiferlaw Tower (NU183177), built in the late 15th century for the monks of Alnwick Abbey – most probably as a lookout and/or beacon to warn of Scottish raids. It is built in the style of a bastle: animals/storage at ground floor, accommodation above. After the Duke & Duchess had finished using the place for their leisure purposes, it came back into use, briefly, as a lookout point during the Napoleonic Wars.

There’s a nice pic of Heiferlaw Tower here , from where you can access plenty more information on all of the abovementioned sites.

Ratcheugh Observatory (NU224146)

© Copyright Ian Paterson and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

This curious construction sits upon Ratcheugh Crag, about 2 miles NE of Alnwick, in full view of the East Coast railway line. Commissioned by the 1st Duke of Northumberland, designed by the great Robert Adam and built by John Bell of Durham, its exact date of erection cannot be precisely pinned down – but was probably thrown up around 1770-80. It is what can only be described as a useful folly – if that isn’t a contradiction in terms – the first floor offering spectacular views of the coast and surrounding countryside.

This lofty site was a favourite picnic spot for the Duke and his Duchess, though some sources suggest the building was built in memory of the latter, who died in 1776 – which would be a shame, really, as I’m sure she’d have loved it. The structure has recently undergone repair, and is occasionally opened to the public.

The 2nd Duke later added a cottage for a keeper near the observatory (not in picture), to give the whole craggy prominence a rather eccentric look. Hereabouts, too, are to be found many Iron Age relics – and Ratcheugh Farm is a regular venue for the age-old pastime of point-to-point horseracing.

An odd and interesting place is Ratcheugh.