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 Wooing of Mrs Walter Scott (NY639679)

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman Wall

By Sir Walter Scott

Take these flowers which, purple waving,
On the ruin’d rampart grew,
Where, the sons of freedom braving
Rome's imperial standards flew.

Warriors from the breach of danger
Pluck no longer laurels there;
They but yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty’s hair.

Astride the Northumberland-Cumbria border, where the River Irthing swings down from the north before turning westward, can be found the little town of Gilsland (on the Northumberland side) and Gilsland Spa (on the Cumbrian). Opposite the latter, across the little valley, can be found Wardrew House, now a private residence but once a hotel. During 1797, the famous Scottish novelist and poet, Sir Walter Scott, stayed there for a three month break whilst taking the waters of the nearby spa.

Wardrew House

© Copyright Karl and Ali and licensed for reuse 

under this Creative Commons Licence.

Inspired by the flora of the district, Scott composed the above piece – his efforts fuelled, too, no doubt by the whirlwind romance he enjoyed during his stay in the area with his future wife, Charlotte Genevieve Charpentier (or Carpenter). Miss Carpenter, an émigré from the French Revolution, was at the same time staying at The Shaws Hotel (which formerly stood on the site of the Gilsland Spa Hotel over the river from Wardrew), and Scott supposedly proposed to the young woman at the famous ‘Popping Stone’ a little upstream from their respective hotels. They were married in December 1797 in Carlisle.

Coincidentally, Scott’s compatriot, Robert Burns, also stayed at Wardrew House a decade before, in 1787. The house was originally built in 1752, but was much modified after a period of dilapidation in the 19^th century.

Great Chesters Roman Aqueduct (NY741688 to NY703668)

One of the neatest feats of Roman engineering in the region is one of the least known. It is the 9.5km line of the Roman aqueduct leading into the old fort of Great Chesters from the NE, a little to the north of Haltwhistle.

Only very faint traces of it remain today, but the logistics of the little water supply project are impressive. Basically, when Great Chesters fort was built on the Wall it didn’t have a nearby water supply, so it had to be piped in from the Caw Burn, about 4km to the NE (more specifically, Saughy Rigg Washpool near Fond Tom’s Pool). However, as the engineers had to rely purely on gravity, the path of the aqueduct took a long and curling route through a 9km+ course to pick up every tiny inch of downhill along the way.

The result was a remarkable bendy, twisting affair taking the channel on a constantly downward trajectory at the almost unbelievably gentle gradient of about 1m drop for every 1,000m travelled. And, once more, the flow of water was eased along a simple, unlined water-course about ½ m wide by ¼ m deep, with the occasional small wooden bridge inserted to take it over minor valleys and streams.

The course of the aqueduct is clearly shown on modern-day OS maps (there’s a decent representation here – and scroll down a bit), though it is not so easy to pick out on the ground. Partial earthworks survive, and in other places cropmarks provide the circumstantial evidence.

The Busy Gap Rogues (NY799697)

In a dip in the course of Hadrian’s Wall between Housesteads to the west and Sewingshields Crags to the east lies a tract of land known as ‘Busy Gap’. It may well refer in the present-day sense to the many thousands of walkers who pass this way every year. But, in fact, the term has a much more sinister connotation: for it was the common descriptive name for a thoroughfare of those of ill-repute – and a place to be very much avoided by those of a more peaceable nature. 

Geographically, of course, the little col, or pass, provided an easy means of passage through an otherwise awkward zone. For centuries after the Romans left, the line of their wall provided nuisance value to the general traveller, and, in time, ways, paths and drove roads wore their way through the easy bits in the landscape. And, by the medieval era, the patch of low-lying ground to the east of Broomlee Lough became rather well-trod.

Such spots attracted all sorts of attention, though, both good and bad. And so it was that during the days of the Border Reivers (16^th & 17^th centuries), this route through the wall became a way by which ne’er-do-wells and the like could easily come and go on their evil ways. Such was the severity of the problem that a new catchphrase came into use across the region: the ‘Busy Gap Rogues’. Even as far as Newcastle – and well into the 18^th century – the expression was a by-word for anyone who was suspected of being up to no good, and a downright term of abuse for those who lived out in the sticks. Even the famous traveller, William Camden, writing in his Britannia (1599), dared not visit the troublesome place on account of the “rank robbers” thereabouts.

From the mid-17^th century an extended family of Armstrongs is known to have lived at what remained of Housesteads fort and the immediate vicinity. The area around the ‘gap’ became the headquarters for protection rackets and unruly horse thieves whose grasping fingers extended as far north as Perth and south into Yorkshire. There are remains in the landscape of Busy Gap today of old stock enclosures and the like, no doubt used by the Armstrongs during the course of their nefarious dealings.

Around the turn of the 18^th century things began to change, and the area around Busy Gap – Roman remains and all – sank softly back into tranquillity. Eventually, of course, society came to appreciate the area for what it once was under the Romans and preservation, tourism and leisure became the order of the day. Gone are the rogues … and here instead roam the ramblers.

King Arthur and Hadrian’s Wall (NY805704 & thereabouts)

Around the stretch of Hadrian’s Wall known as Sewingshields, near Housesteads, are a few hundred square yards of Northumbrian countryside with strong links to Arthurian legend. It all concerns King Arthur and his court in an enchanted subterranean sleep, and, well, I’ll let John S.Stuart Glennie explain. This is taken from his Arthurian Localities tome of 1869:

… Turning now westward, and passing through the picturesquely-situated old town of Hexham, with its Moot Hall and Abbey Church, on a wooded ridge over-hanging the Tyne, we stop either at the Haydon Bridge, or the Bardon Mill station of the Carlisle and Newcastle Railway. For six or eight miles to the north of these stations, and in the neighbourhood of Housesteads, the most complete of the stations on the Roman Wall, are the principal Arthurian localities of this Northumbrian District. The scenery here is very remarkable. The green, but unwooded grazing hills – wide and wild-looking from their want of enclosures, and the infrequency of farm-houses – seem like the vast billows of a north-sweeping tide. Along one of these wave-lines runs the Roman Wall, with the stations of its garrison. In the trough, as it were, of this mighty sea, and to the north of the Wall, were, till a few years ago removed and ploughed over, the ruins of the ancient castle of Sewing Shields, referred to by Sir Walter Scott as the Castle of the Seven Shields, and by Camden as Seavenshale. Beneath it, as under the Eildons, Arthur and all his court are said to lie in an enchanted sleep. And here also tradition avers that the passage to these Subterranean Halls, having once on a time, been found, but the wrong choice having been made in the attempt to achieve the adventure, and call the Chivalry of the Table Rounde to life again, the unfortunate adventurer was cast forth with these ominous words ringing in his ears: 

O woe betide that evil day

On which this witless wight was born, 

Who drew the Sword, the Garter cut, 

But never blew the Bugle-horn.

the very opposite mistake, it will be observed, to that of which the equally luckless Eildon adventurer was guilty. 

The northern faces of three successive billows here, if I may so call them, present fine precipitous crags – whinstone and sandstone strata cropping out. These are called respectively Sewing Shields Crags, the King’s, and the Queen’s Crags. Along the crest of the first of these the Roman Wall is carried. The others take their name from having been the scene of a little domestic quarrel, or tiff, between King Arthur and Queen Quenivere [sic]. To settle the matter, the king sitting on a rock called Arthur’s Chair, threw at the queen an immense boulder which, falling somewhat short of its aim, is still to be seen on this side of the Queen’s Crags. And on the horizon of the immense sheep farm of Sewing Shields, and beyond an outlying shepherd’s hut, very appropriately named Coldknuckles, is a great stone called Cumming’s Cross, to which there is attached another rude Arthurian tradition. For here, they say, that King Arthur’s sons attacked, and murdered a northern chieftain who had been visiting their father at Sewing Shields Castle, and who was going home with too substantial proofs, as they thought, of the king’s generosity.

As mentioned in the text, Sewing Shields Castle no longer exists, having been expunged from the landscape in the mid-nineteenth century (it lay somewhere to the north of the Wall near Sewing Shields Farm). The legend of a slumbering royal court, and the failure of a visiting stranger to rouse them, is a common yarn – the author mentions a similar tale from the Eildon Hills, and there is another associated with Dunstanburgh Castle. As for Cumming’s Cross, this was the memorial supposedly placed by Arthur after he heard of the murder of his visiting dignitary, named Cumming or Comyn. And then, unmentioned above, there’s nearby Broomlea Lough, a watery expanse said to be the lair of the Lady of the Lake and the site of a great hidden treasure.

So, you see, you needn’t look any further than the North-East of England for a perfectly viable setting for all that King Arthur stuff.

Simonburn: The Great Parish (centred on NY871735)

© Copyright Peter Brooks and licensed for reuse 

under this Creative Commons Licence.

Visitors to the little village of Simonburn in the North Tyne valley often wonder at the size of the settlement’s substantial parish church. For sure, it is a big one, and seemingly out of all proportion to its modest setting. But there is a good reason for the discrepancy, for Simonburn was once the largest parish in England.

Prior to an Act of Parliament of 1811 – which, when enacted in 1814, split the parish into several splinters – this sparsely populated ecclesiastical unit covered a whopping 260 square miles! And considering that this huge area has only ever contained around 1,000 folk, well, that is one long trudge into church every Sunday for some very lonely people. It was known, for obvious reasons, as ‘The Great Parish’, and stretched from Hadrian’s Wall in the south to Carter Bar on the Scottish Border – some 30 miles in length and 14 miles wide.

It is believed that the parish boundaries were established in 1072 by Bishop Walcher of Durham during the re-organisation of his diocese (which then included Northumberland). The 1811-14 division saw the creation of Wark, Bellingham, Greystead, Thorneyburn and Falstone out of the ancient parish – with Humshaugh & Haughton (a single entity) following in 1832. So, seven parishes out of one!

At its heart lies the mother church, St.Mungo’s, with roots stretching back, we think, to the 6^th or 7^th century (though the earliest stonework probably dates from the 9^th century). It was then that the aforementioned St.Mungo was on his travels after having been ousted from his cell at Glasgow by the pagan King Morken. Some sources even suggest that the church’s founding may stretch back to St.Ninian, who died in the early 5^th century.

The current church, obviously much altered over the years, extends over a slope and has a distinct list as a result.

Chesters Fort Phallic Symbol (NY912702)

Chesters Roman Fort, Bath House and Museum is one of those must-see sites of antiquity on Hadrian’s Wall. It has much of interest to offer the tourist, though, as with any ruinous historical attraction, it is as well to do a little homework beforehand to truly get the most from your visit.

Perhaps the oddest (and, well, yes, plain funny) ‘points’ of interest is the bold-as-brass phallic symbol to found in the central Headquarters building of the fort itself. There it sits in full view on a paving slab on the western side of the courtyard on a slightly raised circular boss, as if to emphasise its importance. All it does these days, of course, is to elicit a giggle or two and to be the subject of an innocent enquiry from a small child to their embarrassed parent.

It is not the only carving of its type at Chesters (there is another one, half buried, on the north wing of the bridge abutment, and a third in the Bath House), and there are plenty more elsewhere along the Wall. The fact is that these are not merely smutty items of 3D graffiti – but rather they actually mean something and were part of the Roman belief system.

Put simply, the phallic symbol represented good fortune and protection against evil spirits. Depending on its location, the meaning would be slightly different. A symbol found near a bridge or water may mean protection against flood, for example; though it is difficult to offer an explanation for the siting of what is, after all, a rather large example in the HQ block! It all no doubt stems from the quite literal representative use of the phallus, being that of fertility – the Romans celebrating Liberalia every 17^th March with the phallus at the centre of proceedings and concerned (among other things) with the blessing of the year’s crops.

For the etymologically minded among you, these sorts of carvings are known as ‘phallic petrosomatoglyphs’, from the Greek words for ‘stone’, ‘body’ and ‘to carve’.

Stagshaw Bank Fair (NY982679)

Known variously as ‘Stagey Bank’, ‘Stagsy Bank’ or just plain old Stagshaw Bank Fair, the regular social gatherings at this now lonely spot between Corbridge and the Roman Wall were once the largest of their kind in England. They were pretty wild, too, and were eventually banned in the early twentieth century due to the often riotous behaviour which blighted the occasions.

Though it seems an unlikely spot for a get-together today, the venue was ideally placed in days of yore. Yards from the crossroads of the Roman Wall and Dere Street, it was a natural focal point for folk to meet; and meet they did – in their thousands – for several market days over the calendar year. In early May there would be a cattle and sheep market; Whitsun would be a time for horses and cattle; there would a sheep-only fair in early August; followed by another cattle and sheep fair in late September; then yet another market in late November. But the main gathering by far would be the summer event on 4^th July, which would be a true national gathering – not only for agricultural animals and produce but for, well, pretty much everything else, too! 

In view of the antiquity of the site in terms of social comings and goings it is very likely that the roots of the fair go way back – perhaps as far as the days of the Romans, when trade would probably have been conducted between visitors from both sides of the Wall. Little is known of the event’s distant history, but an account from c.1850 of the 4^th July gathering amounts to a description of a free-for-all, with the morning being, generally, for business of all kinds (not just agricultural), and the rest of the day – and the evening, in fact – kept aside for social revelry. There would be entertainment, gambling and much drinking … with a considerable mess being left thereabouts afterwards.

A combination of Stagshaw Bank Fair’s rowdiness and general untidiness led to the whole sorry affair being outlawed in the 1920s. But such is the memory of the main Summer fair that the phrase ‘It’s like Stagey Bank Fair in here’ is often still used by the older generation to describe, say, a messy child’s bedroom or any generally pandemonious situation.  

As a nod to the tradition of the old fair the modern-day agricultural Northumberland County Show is often held in the fields near Corbridge.

Benwell Vallum Crossing & Temple (2 sites at c.NZ216647)

Situated somewhat conspicuously slap-bang in the middle of a housing estate in the western suburbs of Newcastle-upon-Tyne sits a fascinating relic of the region’s rich Roman past – in fact there are two of them within yards of each other. Hardly surprising, though, as the spot sits immediately south of the course of Hadrian’s Wall.

© Copyright Mike Quinn and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

The first is Benwell Vallum Crossing, being all that is left of the ancient roadway which passed over the ditch and bank system at the southern side of Condercum Roman Fort – though nothing of the fort itself remains. Amazingly, for all that we have left of the Roman frontier, this is the only remaining example of its kind which has so far been found. It is nothing much to look at, really, but the footings of the former archway can still be clearly made out – and the landscaping thereabouts maintains its ancient form, enabling the casual visitor to easily imagine its former appearance. It was probably built early in the wall/fort’s history (early 2^nd century), and continued to operate until at least the late 3^rd century.

© Copyright Mike Quinn and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

A short walk to the east sits what remains of a Roman temple, which would have been situated just outside the fort in the civilian settlement, or vicus. Once more, the ruins have been reduced to nigh ground level, but it is easy to discern the building’s outline – and again presents a curious throw-back amidst modern-day surroundings. A couple of replica altar stones help those of us with little in the way of imagination. The structure, dedicated to local god Antenociticus, was built around 178-180AD. Skeletons were found on the site in the 1930s, and Anglo-Saxon goods have also been unearthed nearby.

This document gives you a nice idea of the lie of the land and the position of the remains.

Wallsend’s Old Church (NZ305673)

 

Residents of the North Tyneside town will be familiar with their form, but many from further afield may not even be aware of the existence of this curious collection of stones. They stand in open fields between the town centre to the south and the Coast Road to the north, equally forgotten and ignored by both, apart from, that is, occasion visits by graffiti merchants.

Built in the twelfth century with stones robbed from the Roman Wall, the Church of the Holy Cross was almost certainly constructed by the monks of Jarrow Priory in whose parish it then lay. It seems to have been used for public worship until 1798, by which time it had become so dilapidated that it was abandoned – a half-baked plan of repair leaving the building roofless and utterly unrecoverable. Much of the stone was requisitioned for the building of a barn and stable-block for the nearby parsonage, with the flock adjourning to a school-room for their services for nigh on a decade.

By-and-by a new church – that of St.Peter’s – was built and consecrated in 1809, and the old building was left to crumble. The image above dates from 1887; and in 1909 the site was tidied and a fence erected to help protect the remains.

And as you can see, here, they haven’t changed much over the years.