Notes & Queries response: How might things have turned out if the Romans had stayed in Britain?
This is my response to a question that appeared on the Notes & Queries page of The Guardian website on 25th September 2022
The Guardian is apparently no longer happy to host my comments on their site.
I am replying here instead because it is too good a writing exercise to give up: How quickly can you go from a prompt, a blank mind, and a blank page to a finished piece? And how good can you make it?
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented here under the terms of fair use.
There is a story regarding the village of Perdwell, which is situated on the Combe Down, south of the city of Bath; how it came to acquire its name:
The Guardian is apparently no longer happy to host my comments on their site.
I am replying here instead because it is too good a writing exercise to give up: How quickly can you go from a prompt, a blank mind, and a blank page to a finished piece? And how good can you make it?
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented here under the terms of fair use.
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How might things have turned out if the Romans had stayed in Britain?
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| image generated by Craiyon |
In the 14th century, a girl named Lonore noticed water bubbling up from the corner of the meadow, where she had been tending livestock. Further investigation yielded a cluster of peculiar rocks which she brought home, where they were identified by her father as oysters. He broke them open on the table. The largest contained a pearl of great size and lustre. Lonore travelled with the pearl to Windsor, where she presented it to the King of England (presumably Edward III). In return, he gifted her family ownership of the land where the discovery had been made, on the condition that any further pearls that were found there should also be presented to him. This turned out to be a wise decision, as the ground yielded many more pearls. These were incorporated into the royal crown, that was most likely melted down during the English Civil War. If the pearls survived and have endured into the present day, they could well have been incorporated into some other piece of jewellery. They may occasionally still be taken out of their safe place and worn by someone who has no inkling of their provenance and history.
The King also decreed that the village be renamed 'Lost Well' as a mark of the discovery.
The story of Lonore and the pearl, though it may contain a grain of truth, will never acquire those additional layers of authenticity that are demanded by historians. In any case, it has no bearing on the name of the village which was known as Perdwell, or by variations there-of, long before this event.
The Romans called the settlement Septem Fontes. When I stayed there with John Neary, he walked me out to old Roman wall, which I found odd – that a village would require a stone fortification, and also the distance of it from the centre of the village.
I speculated out loud that the area must have been re-settled following the Roman occupation, perhaps after lying fallow for some years.
The story of Lonore and the pearl, though it may contain a grain of truth, will never acquire those additional layers of authenticity that are demanded by historians. In any case, it has no bearing on the name of the village which was known as Perdwell, or by variations there-of, long before this event.
The Romans called the settlement Septem Fontes. When I stayed there with John Neary, he walked me out to old Roman wall, which I found odd – that a village would require a stone fortification, and also the distance of it from the centre of the village.
I speculated out loud that the area must have been re-settled following the Roman occupation, perhaps after lying fallow for some years.
Neary was rather too happy to correct me. As a Scot both by birth and by nature, he assumes great delight in his demonstrations that he knows more about English history that I do. I would like to get him in the same room as Kenneth Iskra. I wouldn't participate in the discussion – I would stand well back and watch the pair of them bang heads.
“It wasn't that it moved so much as it shrank,” he said. “At a certain point it was an enormous town, every bit the rival of Bath. What remains of the girdling wall is the only way you'd ever know.”
The rise and fall of Septum Fontes is the product of a Roman tendency to personify cities, gifting settlements the formal title of 'citizen of the Empire' when they had expanded beyond a certain size and developed the required amenities. Cities were able to acquire rank and status, and acrue awards, as they grew larger, both in scale and influence.
Newly-coined civis urbes (citizen cities) were mentored by more-established and higher-ranking cities. They temporarily became the protectorates of their instructors, losing some of their burgeoning independence in the process which could last for many years. If the mentorship was judged as successful, then a small amount of revenue would be paid by the lower ranking civis urbes to its former tutor, usually for a span of time identical in length to that of the mentoring.
It was also sometimes necessary for failing citizen cities to be placed under mentorship in a bid to turn around their fortunes.
If this proved to be ineffective, then the last resort for an unthriving settlement was successorship. When this was formally announced, a civis urbes was declared dead. Following a funeral, the city would be named as its own successor. It retained the status of citizen, but was stripped of all other ranks and titles that had been acquired during its lifetime. In exchange, all debts were absolved. There was sometimes also some external investment provided to either maintain or modernise infrastructure. In addition to the humiliation and lower standard of living associated with such a demotion, any city that opted for successorship was also entered into a state of mentorship and so lost much of its sovereignty. Therefore it was not an option to be entered into lightly, but very much a last resort.
In most cases, successorship was voluntary. However, in dire situations, it could be forced under edict of Rome. Such was the case with Septum Fontes, once mentor to the town of Bath (known then as Aquae Sulis). As a direct result of incompetent and corrupt governance, the city was forced to relinquish its status and influence, and surrender its independence to its former pupil.
When the stewardship of Bath failed to turn around the fortunes of Septum Fontes, it was decided that the seven natural springs in the area, after which the settlement had been named, would be diverted to the mentoring city. This proved to be the killing blow. The city fell into steady decline and was abandoned following the Roman withdrawal from England.
There are historical accounts of Roman land owners around Bath, tapping into the underground aqueducts (known as spring lines) to create oyster baths on their land, where these shellfish could be farmed in small quantities. Lonore's discovery may well have been a former spring tap and its associated oyster bed, that he had been re-sealed, but then later fractured, allowing the mineral-rich waters to once-more bubble to the surface.
An Arthurian legend ties the restoration of the seven springs to Septum Fontes as one of the events that will herald the return of the King in England's greatest hour of need.
Neary was quick to heap scorn on this prophecy; “The seventh spring was brought to the surface during the Bath Blitz, in April, 1942, and nobody saw hide nor hair of Arthur. Since that time, two more springs have been uncovered.”
It is interesting to ponder on the impact that the Roman concept of citizen cities might have had upon our nation's urban development, had the idea taken root and been allowed to evolve.
I hope this is of help.
“It wasn't that it moved so much as it shrank,” he said. “At a certain point it was an enormous town, every bit the rival of Bath. What remains of the girdling wall is the only way you'd ever know.”
The rise and fall of Septum Fontes is the product of a Roman tendency to personify cities, gifting settlements the formal title of 'citizen of the Empire' when they had expanded beyond a certain size and developed the required amenities. Cities were able to acquire rank and status, and acrue awards, as they grew larger, both in scale and influence.
Newly-coined civis urbes (citizen cities) were mentored by more-established and higher-ranking cities. They temporarily became the protectorates of their instructors, losing some of their burgeoning independence in the process which could last for many years. If the mentorship was judged as successful, then a small amount of revenue would be paid by the lower ranking civis urbes to its former tutor, usually for a span of time identical in length to that of the mentoring.
It was also sometimes necessary for failing citizen cities to be placed under mentorship in a bid to turn around their fortunes.
If this proved to be ineffective, then the last resort for an unthriving settlement was successorship. When this was formally announced, a civis urbes was declared dead. Following a funeral, the city would be named as its own successor. It retained the status of citizen, but was stripped of all other ranks and titles that had been acquired during its lifetime. In exchange, all debts were absolved. There was sometimes also some external investment provided to either maintain or modernise infrastructure. In addition to the humiliation and lower standard of living associated with such a demotion, any city that opted for successorship was also entered into a state of mentorship and so lost much of its sovereignty. Therefore it was not an option to be entered into lightly, but very much a last resort.
In most cases, successorship was voluntary. However, in dire situations, it could be forced under edict of Rome. Such was the case with Septum Fontes, once mentor to the town of Bath (known then as Aquae Sulis). As a direct result of incompetent and corrupt governance, the city was forced to relinquish its status and influence, and surrender its independence to its former pupil.
When the stewardship of Bath failed to turn around the fortunes of Septum Fontes, it was decided that the seven natural springs in the area, after which the settlement had been named, would be diverted to the mentoring city. This proved to be the killing blow. The city fell into steady decline and was abandoned following the Roman withdrawal from England.
There are historical accounts of Roman land owners around Bath, tapping into the underground aqueducts (known as spring lines) to create oyster baths on their land, where these shellfish could be farmed in small quantities. Lonore's discovery may well have been a former spring tap and its associated oyster bed, that he had been re-sealed, but then later fractured, allowing the mineral-rich waters to once-more bubble to the surface.
An Arthurian legend ties the restoration of the seven springs to Septum Fontes as one of the events that will herald the return of the King in England's greatest hour of need.
Neary was quick to heap scorn on this prophecy; “The seventh spring was brought to the surface during the Bath Blitz, in April, 1942, and nobody saw hide nor hair of Arthur. Since that time, two more springs have been uncovered.”
It is interesting to ponder on the impact that the Roman concept of citizen cities might have had upon our nation's urban development, had the idea taken root and been allowed to evolve.
I hope this is of help.
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| image generated by Craiyon |
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