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BYWAYS
IN
BRITISH ARCHAEOLOGY
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER·LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
[Illustration]
Edinburgh: 100, Princes Street
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
_All rights reserved_
BYWAYS
IN
BRITISH ARCHAEOLOGY
BY
WALTER JOHNSON, F.G.S.
AUTHOR OF _FOLK-MEMORY_, ETC.
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1912
Cambridge:
PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
PREFACE
The following chapters, though superficially presenting the appearance
of disconnected essays, really possess a strong bond of continuity.
Running through the whole, implied, where not actually expressed, will
be found an insistence on the principle which, in a former work, I
ventured to call folk-memory. This folk-memory--unconsciously, for the
most part, but sometimes with open ceremony--keeps alive those popular
beliefs and practices which are individually called survivals. With some
of these legacies from the past the present volume deals.
To a large extent the studies are connected with the church and
churchyard. The sections which treat of pagan sites, orientation, and
burial customs, embody the results of observations relating to some
hundreds of buildings in all parts of England and Wales. The chapters on
“The Folk-Lore of the Cardinal Points” and “The Labour’d Ox” partially,
at least, break virgin soil. In “The Churchyard Yew” are set down
inferences drawn from many years of investigation, the literary side of
which has been rendered difficult by the existence, in various modern
works, of unfounded statements and hypothetical references. The
remainder of the book treats of somewhat more familiar themes, though it
is hoped that fresh outlooks are suggested.
Since some of the matters here brought forward have been, and indeed
still are, provocative of keen, and even heated controversy, to
anticipate agreement with all the conclusions would be sheer folly.
Nevertheless, it may be claimed that the facts collected have been
carefully sifted, the references conscientiously verified, and the
opposing theories honestly presented.
To the multitude of friends who have rendered true service either by
supplying information or in preparing the illustrations, most grateful
thanks are expressed. Acknowledgements of all such help are recorded in
due place, but special recognition must be made of the expert assistance
of Mr Sydney Harrowing, who has borne the chief burden in illustrating
the volume. To Miss Nora Mansell thanks are tendered for the drawing of
Gumfreston church (Fig. 26). Fig. 93 is copied from a sketch prepared by
Mr C. G. Carter, of Louth. Messrs Frank Cowley and F. J. Bennett,
F.G.S., have kindly permitted the reproduction of an original painting
(Fig. 87). Mr Worthington G. Smith, F.L.S., has courteously allowed
Figs. 59 and 60 to be taken from _Man, the Primeval Savage_; Fig. 80 is
copied by the consent of Professor R. S. Lull; and Figs. 4, 22 and 88
appear by the kindness of Mr David Sydenham, the Rev. Percival Saben,
M.A., and the British Archaeological Association respectively. Dr W.
Heneage Legge and Messrs G. Allen and Sons have granted the use of the
block for Fig. 92, while Figs. 84 and 85 were photographed from a
horseshoe lent by the Rev. Hastings M. Neville, B.A., of Ford,
Northumberland.
Many of the photographs were taken by Mr Edward Yates, who allowed free
choice to be made from his large collection, but the following ladies
and gentlemen have also assisted: Mr O. F. Bailey, Mr Alexander Barbour,
Mr J. G. V. Dawson, Mr E. W. Filkins, Miss Truda Hutchinson, Mrs W.
Johnson, Mr A. L. Leach, F.G.S., Mr Douglas Leighton, Mr P. McIntyre,
F.G.S., Mr Llewellyn Treacher, F.G.S., Mr W. C. Walker, Mr E. C. Youens,
Mr G. W. Young, F.G.S., F.Z.S., and Mr W. Plomer Young. Permission to
use photographs has also been granted by Mr James Cheetham of Lewes,
Messrs Thos. B. Latchmore and Son, Hitchin, Mr W. Wiseman, Corfe Castle,
the _Grimsby Telegraph_ Company, and the Watford Engraving Company.
W. J.
_January, 1912_
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. CHURCHES ON PAGAN SITES 1
II. CHURCHES ON PAGAN SITES (_continued_) 51
III. THE SECULAR USES OF THE CHURCH FABRIC 101
IV. THE SECULAR USES OF THE CHURCH FABRIC (_continued_) 145
V. THE ORIENTATION OF CHURCHES 205
VI. THE ORIENTATION OF GRAVES 243
VII. SURVIVALS IN BURIAL CUSTOMS 268
VIII. THE FOLK-LORE OF THE CARDINAL POINTS 324
IX. THE CHURCHYARD YEW 360
X. THE CULT OF THE HORSE 408
XI. “THE LABOUR’D OX” 452
XII. RETROSPECT 488
ADDENDA 495
INDEX 498
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FIG. PAGE
1. Roman altar, St Swithin’s, Lincoln. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 6
2. Roman tesserae, St Saviour’s Cathedral, Southwark. (_Phot._ Mr W.
Plomer Young) 8
3. Interior of Brixworth church, Northampton. (_Phot._ Mr O. F.
Bailey) 10
4. Ruins of Knowlton church, Dorset. (From Warne’s _Ancient Dorset_, by
permission) 14
5. Pharos, Dover Castle. (Bloxam’s _Gothic Eccles. Architecture_) 19
6. Ancient foundations at Lyminge church, Kent. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 21
7. Portion of wall, St Martin’s church, Canterbury. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 22
8. The Agglestone, Studland, Dorset. (_Phot._ Mr W. C. Walker) 35
9. Ruins of Maplescombe church, Kent. (_Phot._ Mr E. W. Filkins) 39
10. Sketch plan of Maplescombe ruins. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 39
11. Rudstone church and monolith. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 44
12. The Cove, Stanton Drew, Somerset. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 47
13. Corfe Castle, as it appeared in 1643. (_Phot._ from an old print,
Mr W. Wiseman, Corfe Castle) 53
14. Ruins of Corfe Castle. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 53
15. The Mount, Great Canfield, Essex. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 54
16. Chapel, Goodrich Castle, Herefordshire. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 58
17. Pirton church and Toot Hill, Hertfordshire, from the South-East.
(_Phot._ Messrs Thomas B. Latchmore and Son, Hitchin) 60
18. Pirton church and Toot Hill, Hertfordshire, from the South-West.
(_Phot._ Messrs Thomas B. Latchmore and Son, Hitchin) 61
19. Toot Hill, Little Coates, Lincolnshire. (_Phot._ the _Grimsby
Telegraph_ Company) 72
20. Mound, Berwick churchyard, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mrs W. Johnson) 75
21. Chislehurst church and mound, as it appeared c. A.D. 1800. (From D.
Lyson’s _Environs of London_, 1795-1800) 77
22. Urns, found near Alphamstone church, Essex. (By the courtesy of the
Rev. Percival Saben, M.A.) 85
23. Tower of Bishopstone church, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mrs W.
Johnson) 102
24. Tower of Scartho church, Lincolnshire. (_Phot._ the _Grimsby
Telegraph_ Company) 109
25. Oystermouth church, Glamorganshire. (From _Archaeologia
Cambrensis_, N.S. I. 1850) 112
26. Gumfreston church, Pembrokeshire. (Miss Nora Mansell) 114
27. Corner tower, Nunney Castle, Somerset. (_Phot._ Mr W. C.
Walker) 116
28. Round tower, Devenish, Fermanagh. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 119
29. Rushmere church, Suffolk. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 124
30. Tower of Piddinghoe church, Sussex. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 125
31. East Dean church, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mrs W. Johnson) 126
32. St Aldhelm’s chapel, St Alban’s Head, Dorset. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 128
33. Cheriton church, Kent. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 129
34. St Michael’s Mount, Cornwall. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 130
35. Distant view of St Martha’s chapel, near Guildford. (_Phot._ Mr
Douglas Leighton) 132
36. Squint, Leatherhead church, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 152
37. Porch of Wotton church, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr G. W. Young,
F.G.S.) 153
38. Dial stone, Bishopstone church, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 163
39. Enlargement of Bishopstone dial. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 164
40. Parish stocks, Shalford, Surrey. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 166
41. Church chest and dog tongs, Llanelian, Denbigh. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 169
42. Church chest, Rainham, Essex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 169
43. Fourteenth century barn, Bradford-on-Avon. (_Phot._ Mr W. C.
Walker) 171
44. Interior of barn, Bradford-on-Avon. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 172
45. Mediaeval Clergy House, Alfriston, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 176
46. Mediaeval Parsonage House, West Dean, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 177
47. Church House, or Guild Hall, Lincoln. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 178
48. Morris dancers (Strutt’s _Book of Sports_). (Mr Sydney
Harrowing) 184
49. Dovecot, Berwick Court, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward Yates) 189
50. “Canute’s knee-bone,” Canewdon church, Essex. (Watford Engraving
Company) 200
51. Tyndall’s grave in Haslemere churchyard, Surrey. (_Phot._ Miss
Truda Hutchinson) 265
52. Round barrow, Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire. (_Phot._ Mr Llewellyn
Treacher, F.G.S.) 266
53. Inscribed cross, Sancreed, Cornwall. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 269
54. Mediaeval stone coffins. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 272
55. Roman and Bronze Age coffins. (From T. Wright’s _The Celt, the
Roman and the Saxon_.) (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 273
56. Roman coffin of lead. (T. Wright) 273
57. Grave celt, Puy-de-Dôme. (_Phot._ Mr J. G. V. Dawson) 298
58. Necklaces found in British barrows. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 300
59. Skeletons of woman and child, Dunstable Downs. (By the kind
permission of Mr Worthington G. Smith, F.L.S.) 304
60. Fossil sponges (_Porosphaera_) artificially modified for the
purpose of suspension. (By the kind permission of Mr Worthington G.
Smith, F.L.S.) 306
61. The contents of a Roman sepulchral chest. (From T. Wright’s _The
Celt, the Roman, and the Saxon_) 314
62. Churchyard cross, Bakewell, Derbyshire. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 329
63. Capitals, Seaford church, Sussex. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 330
64. Low side window, Tatsfield church, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 331
65. Devil’s Door, Worth church, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr Edward
Yates) 332
66. Gateway, St Stephen’s, Coleman Street, London. (_Phot._ Mr W.
Plomer Young) 336
67. Norham churchyard, Northumberland. (_Phot._ Mr Alexander
Barbour) 345
68. Woldingham church, Surrey, as it appeared in A.D. 1809. (Manning
and Bray, _Hist. and Antiq. of Surrey_) 356
69. Transverse section of yew. (_Phot._ Mr J. G. V. Dawson) 366
70. Vertical tangential section of yew. (_Phot._ Mr J. G. V.
Dawson) 367
71. Yew, Tandridge churchyard, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 370
72. Yew, Crowhurst churchyard, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 378
73. Yew, Chipstead churchyard, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 379
74. Yew, Mells churchyard, Somerset. (_Phot._ Mr W. C. Walker) 380
75. Yew, Hambledon churchyard, Surrey. (_Phot._ Mr W. Plomer
Young) 381
76. Shooting birds with the cross-bow. (Strutt’s _Book of
Sports_) 386
77. Shooting at the butts with the cross-bow. (_Book of Sports_) 386
78. Saxon bow and arrow. (_Book of Sports_) 387
79. Saxon archers with long-bows. (_Book of Sports_) 388
80. The ancestry of the horse. (By the courtesy of Professor R. S.
Lull) 410
81. Cave man’s drawings of the horse. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 412
82. Prejevalski’s horse, Zoological Gardens, London. (_Phot._ Mr J. G.
V. Dawson) 413
83. Ancient horseshoes. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 425
84. Round horseshoe, Ford, Northumberland. Lower surface. (_Phot._
Mrs W. Johnson, from a specimen kindly lent by the Rev. Hastings M.
Neville, B.A.) 427
85. Round horseshoe. Upper surface. (_Phot._ Mrs W. Johnson) 427
86. Hippo-sandal, Darenth, Kent. (_Phot._ Mr E. C. Youens,
Dartford) 429
87. Capturing the White Horse. (_Phot._ from painting by Mr Frank
Cowley) 435
88. Acoustic jars. (By the courtesy of the British Archaeological
Association) 450
89. Ploughing in the eleventh century. (Anglo-Saxon Calendar, after
Strutt) 459
90. Sussex oxen, turning the headland. (_Phot._ Mr James Cheetham,
Lewes) 460
91. Ploughing on the Sussex Downs: a team of four. (_Phot._ Mr James
Cheetham, Lewes) 461
92. Ox-yoke, Sussex. (By the kind permission of Dr W. Heneage Legge and
Messrs George Allen and Sons) 462
93. Ox-yoke, Gayton-le-Wold, Lincolnshire. (Mr Sydney Harrowing, from a
sketch kindly prepared by Mr C. G. Carter, Louth) 462
94. Old plough and horse-rake, Sussex. (_Phot._ Mr James Cheetham,
Lewes) 463
95. Roman and Saxon ploughmen. After Wright and Strutt. (Mr Sydney
Harrowing) 464
96. Ox-shoes and nail. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 469
97. Skulls of British oxen. (Mr Sydney Harrowing) 476
98. Chartley bull, Zoological Gardens, London. (_Phot._ Mr J. G. V.
Dawson) 478
99. Highland cattle. (_Phot._ Mr P. McIntyre, F.G.S.) 480
ERRATUM
Page 399, line 21. For _taxa_ read _taxo_.
CHAPTER I
CHURCHES ON PAGAN SITES
Many years ago, the commanding position which the village church
frequently occupies forced itself upon the attention of the writer. As
will be shown hereafter, the builders, for some cogent reason, which may
yet be determined, chose a spot having considerable natural advantages
with respect to strength and security, and there they erected their
temple. These geographical observations would not alone have been
sufficient to evoke a general theory, had not other facts gradually come
into view. One of these facts was the frequent association of the church
with earthworks, tumuli, and similar relics of antiquity, and it was
this conjunction which raised the inquiry whether the relative positions
could, in all cases, be merely accidental. A closer and more prolonged
study, involving much personal investigation, together with a review of
many isolated fragments of archaeological literature, led to the
conclusion, almost irrefutable, as it now appears, that many of our
churches stand on pagan sites. A secondary deduction from the observed
facts was the probability that, in some cases, there has been almost
continuous site-occupancy since the first Christian church was reared.
During the inspection, numbers of records, based on imperfect knowledge
or on speculations of the earlier antiquaries, have had to be discarded;
in other instances the test has been successfully borne. The
presentation of the evidence, with its length of detail, may be somewhat
wearisome to the reader, who may, however, console himself with the
thought that he has escaped at least a moiety of the mass which has been
winnowed. Furthermore, one may recall the truth set forth by Professor
E. B. Tylor when apologizing for wealth of detail in stating a case:
“The English mind, not readily swayed by rhetoric, moves freely under
the pressure of facts[1].” One may, for a moment, arouse interest by a
new hypothesis, but it is only by the accumulation of facts that public
opinion is perceptibly influenced in the end.
Viewed strictly, every Christian church was originally built on a pagan
site, but we will limit the meaning of the adjective so that it shall
apply to those churches which were erected, not on virgin soil, but on
some spot once devoted to heathen worship, whether beneath a roof or
under the open sky. This definition would narrow the scope of the
inquiry; nevertheless, to arrive at a clear decision we shall have to
survey the whole question from pre-Roman times onward.
Our path will be greatly cleared if we recognize, and remember--what is
too commonly forgotten--that there was a Christian church in Britain
long before the mission of Augustine in A.D. 597. Apart from legends,
and documents of doubtful authenticity, some writers claim to have
proved that British Christianity was well developed before the close of
the second century of our era[2]. Other authorities assert that the
evidence for the second century is unhistorical, and that the first
genuine reference to Christians in Britain is made by Tertullian (c.
A.D. 208)[3]. However this may be--and the question of the exact date of
the introduction is foreign to our present study--there is unanimity as
to the existence of a strong British Church soon after the death of
Constantine (A.D. 337). It is even stated that, at the date just
mentioned, Britain was as fully Christian as any country in Europe[4].
At any rate, it is beyond dispute that, in A.D. 314, the British Church
was represented at the Council of Arles, in France, by three bishops,
together with a priest and a deacon[5]. Certain writers go further, and
contend that, before Britain was cut off from the Empire, the Church had
a vigorous corporate life of its own[6]. How long this organization
endured, and to what extent it was weakened or shattered by the shock of
the Teutonic invasion, are more debateable subjects. It is possible,
however, that a remnant of churchmen survived to greet the advent of
Augustine[7]. This only must be said, that the existence of any
continuity of Christian tradition, however slight, might render the task
of deciding what is a pagan site more difficult. Under the influence of
an unbroken tradition, churches might be constantly rebuilt on the old
foundations; hence, if this assumption be made, additional testimony
would be necessary in order to establish the theory that any original
structure was set up by the heathen. If such evidence were lacking, the
successive buildings would simply strengthen the hypothesis of
continuity of Christian worship, but would leave untouched the problem
of heathen sites.
The first problem to be attacked, then, concerns the existence of
Christian churches during the Roman period, and the after-history of
such buildings. Do any of these churches remain to us? The available
evidence seems to show that, in outlying districts, at least, churches
were constructed of wattle, and, of these structures, not a wrack could
possibly have persisted until the present day. In the cities, more
durable materials, limestone, flint, chalk, and baked tiles, would be
employed, and there is some likelihood that portions of buildings so
constructed would successfully resist the ravages of vandals and the
fury of storms. Now, it is singular that the churches which will least
stand the critical test of the architect and the antiquary with respect
to a Roman origin, are precisely those which the popular vote declares
to belong to that period. The churches thus misunderstood are those
which have large quantities of undoubted Roman materials built into
their walls. The catalogue is of formidable length, but may be soon
dismissed after a few typical examples have been noticed. The walls of
the cathedral church of St Albans contain abundance of Roman material,
and a continuity of buildings, dating from the Roman occupation, has
therefore been hastily assumed. Bede, it is true, relates that a church
was built over the grave of St Alban at Verulam[8], and it is possible
that the spot is now covered by the cathedral, but we cannot wisely go
beyond this, especially when we remember how plentiful were the Roman
materials close at hand. The fact remains: from the time of the erection
of the memorial church to the founding of the monastery in A.D. 793, we
have an interval which is unbridged by trustworthy testimony. A
generation ago, Mr Roach Smith, a most sagacious observer, compiled a
list of Kentish churches which he thought might be probable restorations
of pre-Saxon structures[9]. In all of these Roman materials were found.
Some of the churches, however, like those of Reculver and Lyminge, had
peculiarities of site, and these examples will be noted later. Among the
Kentish churches whose “Romanity,” as the early antiquaries would phrase
it, must be discredited, are those of Burham, Leeds, Southfleet, and
Lower Halstow. Yet the last-named church is chiefly built of Roman
spoil. The “Garden County” also yields Cuxton[10] and St Paul’s Cray,
with many another church inwrought with Roman tiles. Crossing the Thames
estuary, we find, according to Mr Guy Maynard’s computation, thirty-five
Essex churches which have Roman tiles in their walls[11]. A writer in
the _Athenaeum_, commenting on this list, gives a higher figure, and
asserts that Essex contains at least sixty such churches[12]. We may
safely infer from these facts that Roman ruins existed in the
neighbourhood of each of the sites at the time when the walls were
built. Any further conclusion must be viewed with suspicion, unless
Roman remains are discovered beneath the buildings. The “argument from
silence” is beset with peril in any department of archaeology. Moreover,
some of the churches in the list--which might be greatly
extended--belong, as Professor Baldwin Brown has observed, to purely
Mediaeval settlements, and consequently have little evidential
value[13].
We turn to a different class of churches--those which occupy the sites
of Roman villas. The importance of these examples rests on the
probability that some of the wealthier Roman converts would allow their
dwelling-houses to be consecrated for Christian worship. From a small
reception-room, arranged like an ordinary church, there might be
developed a Christian building, with chancel, nave, and aisles complete.
A scrap of testimony, slight though it be, favours this hypothesis. It
is the discovery, on a mosaic, among the ruins of a Roman villa at
Frampton, Dorsetshire, and again on a tile from the villa at Chedworth,
Gloucestershire, of examples of the Chi-Rho monogram[14]. This sacred
monogram has also been met with on such objects as bowls, seals, and
rings. Seeing that the symbol was not used in Rome before A.D. 312, its
presence in Britain cannot date earlier. On the other hand, remembering
that the Roman departure took place in A.D. 410, we can scarcely assign
the Chi-Rho to a later date. Mr J. Romilly Allen is therefore plainly
near the truth when he attributes the British examples to the late
fourth century[15].
The validity of the evidence afforded by the Chi-Rho, while
unquestionable so far as the existence of British Christianity is
concerned, is not decisive with respect to site-continuity. At the
outset, one demands that the monogram should be found in juxtaposition
with the later Christian churches built on older sites--not isolated
from such buildings. On the other hand, it would be passing strange if
a large number of churches came to be built by chance on, or adjacent
to, the areas once occupied by Roman villas, whether the confirmatory
Chi-Rho were discovered or not. If we consider the case of direct
continuity non-proven, and yet rule out the possibility of accident, a
choice of two theories seems to be presented. We might either suppose
that the church builders were keenly anxious to utilize ruined villas,
or that, believing those villas to have been centres of pagan
family-worship, deliberately chose to set foundation over foundation.
That this second alternative is not altogether fanciful will be seen
hereafter. A few examples of villa sites will now be given.
[Illustration:
FIG. 1. Roman altar (2nd century A.D.), discovered on the site of
St Swithin’s church, Lincoln. Height, 3´; base, 1´ 9´´ × 1´´ 3´´.
The altar is hewn from a single block of oolite. The inscription
states that the altar was erected by Gaius Antistius Frontinus,
“thrice curator.”
]
The churches of West Mersea, in Essex, and Wroxeter, in Salop, are
believed to stand on sites of Roman villas; a little contributory
testimony is afforded by the fact that the shaft of the font, in each
case, is fashioned from the drum of a Roman column[16]. In the case of
Wroxeter, however, the only tessellated pavement recorded by Professor
Haverfield was found a little to the north of the church. The conditions
are supposed to have been similar at Haydon and Chollerton, in
Northumberland, and at Great Salkeld, in Cumberland; in all of these
instances the fonts are said to be hollowed out of Roman altars[17].
During the rebuilding of St Swithin’s Church, Lincoln (A.D. 1880-88), a
Roman altar (Fig. 1) was discovered beneath the tower. The old fabric
belonged to the Decorated period, while the altar dates from the second
century of the Roman occupation. There is thus an intervening space of
more than a thousand years, and this gap cannot yet be actually bridged
over. At the deserted church of Widford, in Oxfordshire, portions of a
Roman tessellated pavement were found in the chancel[18].
Professor Seebohm, who closely studied the district around Hitchin, and
discovered strong proofs of unbroken occupation of village sites, gives
some interesting examples which bear on our subject. He thinks that the
church of Much Wymondley, near that town, stands within a Roman holding,
probably that of a retired veteran[19]. A Roman cemetery was discovered
hard by, and to the east of the church is a double “tumulus,” which
Professor Seebohm conjectured to be a “toot-hill,” or a terminal
mound[20]. These toot-hills will be again mentioned; meanwhile, we are
bound to notice that more recent investigators claim this particular
hillock as an early castle-mound. Nevertheless, it is stated that the
mound and its associated bailey-court have been
[Illustration:
FIG. 2. Pavement of red and white tesserae, in the south aisle of
the choir, St Saviour’s Cathedral, Southwark. Found in the adjacent
graveyard. (For a catalogue of the relics discovered under and near
the building, see _Victoria Hist. of London_, 1909, I. p. 140.)
]
inserted into the corner of a larger (and presumably earlier)
rectangular work[21]. A Roman villa is recorded from a field near
Litlington churchyard, Cambridgeshire, and a Roman cemetery from a spot
a short distance away[22]. Other examples have been noted at, or near,
the churches of Woodchester and Tidenham, in Gloucestershire, and
Wingham, in Kent[23]. The first-named instance is the most instructive.
In the churchyard an inscribed pavement, 25 feet in diameter, was
uncovered, and near at hand, the ground plot of an extensive building
was traced. The neighbourhood of St Saviour’s Cathedral, Southwark, has
yielded quantities of Roman remains. A portion of a pavement is shown in
Fig. 2. Within the last two or three years, Roman pottery, and the upper
portion of an amphora, have been discovered while alterations were
being made. These relics may be seen in the south transept. Whether the
long list of “finds,” given in the _Victoria History of London_, justify
the old tradition of a pagan temple may be doubted, but, at least, the
former existence of a villa is indicated. A tessellated pavement was
discovered in the south transept of Southwell Cathedral, and Mr Francis
Bond conjectures that this relic may have belonged to a Romano-British
basilica which existed there in the third century. Did such a building
exist, the church which St Paulinus is believed to have founded on this
spot in the seventh century had a prototype, which dated four hundred
years earlier[24]. In his recent standard work on Westminster Abbey, Mr
Bond has also recorded the finding of a portion of a Roman wall, in
position, under the nave of the Abbey, and a Roman sarcophagus in the
northern part of the nave. Roach Smith alludes to foundations, probably
Roman, which were unbared at Chalk Church in Kent[25]. The Saxon church
of Bosham, Sussex, is another claimant for superposition on a Roman
villa[26], and the fine old Saxon building at Brixworth, Northants (Fig.
3), is a further example, although no part of the present structure is
older than the eighth century[27]. Our list is by no means exhausted. A
very fine mosaic floor, worked in seven colours, together with a bath
and other remains, were laid bare many years ago at Whatley House,
Somerset, just behind the ancient church of Whatley. When the church of
St Mary Major, Exeter, was being rebuilt in 1866, the Norman foundation
was seen to cover a Roman tessellated pavement[28]. Still more recently,
in 1906-11, during the process of underpinning Winchester Cathedral, the
workmen discovered Roman coins and tiles[29]. These remains may have had
no causal
[Illustration:
FIG. 3. Interior of Brixworth Church, Northampton. Chancel and
eastern portion of nave. The Saxon arches are constructed of hard
red Roman bricks or tiles, set edgewise. The arches spring from
square, massive piers which have simple abaci. The materials were
evidently obtained from some edifice previously in existence near
the site of the church.
]
connection with the present building, or with any hypothetical
predecessor, yet the discovery was curious. We need have no desire to
strain the evidence. In such instances as Winchester and Wroxeter, Roman
ruins and Roman sites would be so plentiful, that no enterprising Saxon
builder would overlook the economical value of the spoils. Again, he
might unwittingly select an old site concealed by long-continued labours
of earthworms, and by natural agencies of weathering. Yet even this
admission will, in its turn, react if accepted too eagerly or too fully.
We are dealing, so far, primarily with the existence of early British
churches, and if we urge that old sites were re-occupied
unintentionally, because they lay hidden from view, we imply that, in
other cases, foundations hitherto undiscovered may rest beneath later
architectural monuments. In other words, the foundations of a pagan
temple may lie beneath a Mediaeval church. There may have been
continuity up to a certain date, and then a break; after which a new
builder started work over the forgotten floor. Seeing that most of the
Romano-British towns, at least, were continuously occupied since their
first establishment[30], and that, as already shown, old material was
intercalated between the courses of masonry in newer buildings, these
facts alone would be sufficient to account for the obliteration of the
earlier work[31].
Having now referred to the very doubtful instances of continuity
represented by fabrics in which there has been an adaptation of Roman
materials, and having glanced at those churches which stand on the sites
of earlier buildings, we turn to Christian edifices which have been
built adjacent to Roman camps. At present, we will consider those cases
in which there is actual contiguity, but only a suggestion of
purposiveness. The ivy-clad church of Ashtead, in Surrey, stands within
a rectangular earthwork, partially defaced, and the visitor will readily
detect Roman tiles in the walls of the chancel. At Rivenhall, in Essex,
tesserae and Roman pottery were dug up in the churchyard, and a villa
was unearthed in the neighbouring field. From the data available, one
cannot decide whether or not a camp is indicated[32]. In the same
county, we notice Stoke-by-Nayland, while Suffolk supplies us with the
camp Burghcastle--a most interesting example. St Furseus, or Fursey,
built a monastery at this spot, but there remains only the church, which
lies a little to the north of the Roman fortifications. Its walls
contain triple bands of flints, faced by Roman workmen, while vases and
potsherds have been discovered in the vicinity[33]. Squared flints of
Roman workmanship were also found at Caister by Norwich[34]. The church
of St Edmund, at the last-named village, was built by Mediaeval
architects at one corner of a Roman earthwork, which encloses an area of
34 acres. The present church, as Professor Haverfield points out, is
certainly not a Romano-British “sacellum” or temple[35], but, in the
absence of excavations, one cannot assert that no earlier ruins lie
buried underneath the edifice. The oft-quoted instance of Castle Acre,
also in Norfolk, must be dismissed as spurious. Professor Haverfield,
who has carefully examined the evidence, could find no proofs in support
of the tradition of a camp, though there was evidence of Roman
occupation in the neighbourhood[36]. Under the present section, however,
we must include Market Overton and Great Casterton in Rutland. The
church of the latter village is situated at the south-west angle of an
earthwork, presumably Roman, though of earlier construction than the
Roman road hard by[37]. At Market Overton, the church stands entirely
within a square Roman camp[38]. In the adjoining county of Lincolnshire,
we get examples at Caistor and Ancaster[39], places bearing tell-tale
names. The church of Horncastle is within a few yards of a Roman wall, a
portion of which remains visible above the land-surface[40]. Lincoln
Cathedral is built partly within and partly without a Roman camp[41].
In Durham, the church of Chester-le-Street, which contains some traces
of pre-Conquest work, was originally inside a Roman camp, now
unfortunately destroyed[42]. Ebchester Church, also in Durham, stands at
the south-western corner of the ancient Vindomora, and has a foundation
of large squared stones, but little can now be seen of the surrounding
fortifications[43]. While surveying the North of England, we notice
Moresby, near Whitehaven[44]. In Scotland, to mention but one case, we
have the Cistercian Abbey of Cupar-Angus, which was built, in A.D.
1164, within the boundaries of a Roman camp[45]. Returning to the south,
we discover, in the churchyard of St John’s-sub-Castro, at Lewes, a
small Roman camp, of which the vallum is still traceable[46].
Porchester, in Hampshire, is a square-walled fort which occupies an area
of 9 acres, and which encloses a Mediaeval keep and bailey-court at the
north-west corner, and a Mediaeval church and graveyard at the
south-west corner[47]. In like manner, the Norman church at Silchester
nestles within the celebrated Roman settlement. Here our list of
Christian churches placed within Roman camps must be curtailed, for we
have still to consider earthworks belonging to an earlier period. The
reason for separating the two classes of earthworks is, that those
churches which were reared within Roman camps may, probably, in some
cases, have replaced more primitive buildings, while those built inside
prehistoric forts most likely had no predecessors. In other words, we
shall have to search for different motives inducing the choice of the
two respective series of sites.
At the very threshold of the inquiry a marked difference is noticed: the
pre-Roman earthworks contained no building material to entice the
churchmen within their boundaries. Turning to individual examples, we
find a most instructive case at Knowlton or Knollton, Dorsetshire, four
miles south-west of Cranborne. Here, a ruined church built by Norman
labour, though not necessarily representing the first church reared on
the spot, stands within a round British earthwork (Fig. 4). The ditch,
or fosse, of the enclosure is situated on the inner side, as in the
renowned earthwork at Avebury, Wiltshire. The Saxon church at Avebury
dates in the main, perhaps, from the early tenth century, and stands
just outside the vallum. Some writers have inferred, from the presence
of the inner fosse, that these enclosures had religious, or, at least,
sepulchral associations. The Knowlton earthwork is one of a group, and
close by is a cluster of ancient, storm-beaten yews[48]. Such a
collocation, as will be seen in Chapter IX., is not without
significance.
[Illustration: FIG. 4. Ruins of Knowlton Church, Dorset, standing within
an ancient earthwork.]
Another dilapidated chapel, now used as a barn, is situated within the
oval camp of Chisbury, near Great Bedwyn, Wiltshire. This earthwork,
which has double, and in some parts treble, lines of trenches, is
described by Sir R. Colt Hoare as one of the finest specimens of
castrametation in England. One rampart is 45 feet in height. The
existing ruins represent a Decorated fabric which was dedicated to St
Martin, but Mr A. H. Allcroft, in his _Earthwork of England_, suggests
that a church was erected here after the drawn battle between Wessex and
Mercia in A.D. 675. On the hill above Standish Church, Gloucestershire,
is a somewhat notable camp. Although it is said that the ditches were
deepened during the Civil War, and although Roman coins have been dug up
in large numbers[49], it is conceived that the camp was originally
British. On the height just above Gunwalloe Church, Cornwall, is a
“cliff castle”--one belonging to the Group A, as defined by the Congress
of Archaeological Societies in 1903[50]. Such earthworks are
inaccessible along a portion of their boundaries, on account of the
presence of cliffs or water. The site of the church of St Dennis, also
in Cornwall, is associated with a “hill castle[51],” which is assigned
to the Group B. In this class, the earthwork follows the contour of the
hill. Another contoured camp, much disturbed and defaced, is situated on
St Anne’s Hill, near Midhurst Church, Sussex[52], while a small circular
fortification may be seen to the west of the churchyard of South
Moreton, Berkshire[53]. Coldred Church, Kent, was built actually within
a fortress, conjecturally of Romano-British date[54], though the
elevation of the earthwork is rather exceptional for that period, being
about 370 feet above the sea-level, and 50 feet above the valley towards
the west. Again, at Kenardington, also in Kent, an earthwork of unknown
age, now much mutilated[55], surrounded the graveyard and part of the
neighbouring fields.
The so-called Dane’s Camp (Group B) at Cholesbury, Bucks., 600 feet
above the sea-level, encircles the church of St Lawrence with its
embankment[56]. Another St Lawrence, at West Wycombe, in the same
county, is built inside a ring earthwork (Group B), which crowns the
hill. This fort, probably of British construction, is remarkable for its
double-terraced defences, and for the manner in which it commands three
converging valleys[57]. A somewhat similar example was once visible at
Brownsover, near Rugby, where, a century ago, the church and village
were enclosed within elaborate entrenchments. These represented a
fortress, constructed on a ridge which overlooked the valleys of the
Avon and the Swift. The fort was probably prehistoric, although a
cinerary urn, found in the churchyard, was identified as Roman.
The hill-village of Burpham, in Sussex, is clustered near an oblong
promontory fort (Class A) constructed on a tongue of land, around which
a loop is formed by the river Arun. A gigantic vallum and exterior
fosse cross the neck of the peninsula. The early Norman church of the
village stands but a few yards beyond an entrance breach in the northern
rampart. Mr A. H. Allcroft, pursuing the “method of exhaustions,”
declares the earthwork to be Danish, and Mr P. M. Johnston suggests that
the church occupies a pagan site. At all events the juxtaposition can
hardly be considered casual.
Immediately to the east of Hathersage churchyard, Derbyshire, may be
seen a simple circular earthwork, consisting of a high rampart with a
moat outside. It is classed by Dr J. C. Cox in the division C of the
scheme above-mentioned[58], namely, the division which embraces round
enclosures of a defensive character. An analogous earthwork adjoins the
churchyard of Tissington, also in Derbyshire[59].
Without pursuing this quest further, one or two pitfalls must be pointed
out. Entrenchments found near a parish church may sometimes represent
portions of the “ring fence” of a Mediaeval settlement; and the banks,
which once bore a hedge or palisade, might be hastily ascribed to an
earlier period. Mr Allcroft, in the work just mentioned, cites numerous
warning examples. Again, banks of boulder clay or glacial drift may
assume a false appearance of ridging, as if due to the work of man. To
glacial action I venture to assign the surface irregularities near
Ludborough Church, Lincolnshire, though they may represent the partially
erased banks of the Mediaeval village. Close by the neighbouring
churchyard of St Lawrence at Fulstow, one sees similar unevenness of the
ground, the most important hillock being perhaps a grave wherein were
buried some sixscore parishioners who died of the sweating sickness in
the early seventeenth century. Once more, the traces of earthwork,
military or agricultural, below the church of St Michael, on Glastonbury
Tor, Somerset, may not be very ancient, and I should not connect them in
any manner with any ideas which were held by the Gothic architects.
We next inquire why churches should have been built in situations such
as those which we have been considering. Mr Allcroft, arguing
apparently from the assumption that the church was a defensive
building--in fact, almost the only one in the parish--considers that it
was sometimes built near earthworks for additional security[60]. That Mr
Allcroft’s premises are sound, I shall attempt to show in the next
chapter. That, in exceptional cases, his conclusion is correct, one
would not care to deny. But can the theory be of general application?
Scattered throughout the land are churches built in exposed and lofty
situations, so that traditions, varying in detail, but related in their
main principle, have sprung up to account for the choice of these
isolated and inconvenient positions. Most of the stories put fairies,
or, more commonly, the Spirit of Evil, in opposition to the efforts of
the builders. Churches were moved in a night, or the day’s work was
undone by the malignant foes. In cases of this kind, as in those
instances where churches stand in some secluded meadow, the reason may
occasionally be found in the churlishness of the manorial lord, or in
the fact that the village settlement has shifted since the church was
built. Houses are demolished and rebuilt, but the church remains. The
desire to place the church in an impregnable spot may more frequently
account for the hill-structures, which will be considered in Chapter
III., though not for the churches near earthworks, nor for the
sequestered churches in the fields. Some other explanation must be
sought, and, curiously enough, Mr Allcroft has incidentally suggested
two other theories. The early missionaries to the pagan Saxons, he
supposes, made their headquarters on deserted Roman sites, first, to
demonstrate their own power in successfully defying the evil spirits
which haunted those spots, and secondly, through the bad reputation of
these earthworks, to obtain “something of a guarantee against
molestation by human beings quite as formidable[61].” While not agreeing
that the second motive would be very influential, with the first
suggestion I find myself more in harmony. The miraculous power of
withstanding devils and demons would not be without its effect on the
ignorant. Moreover, the claim would be as effective during the Mediaeval
as it was during the Saxon period. For we are not to suppose that
superstition fled the land on the advent of the Normans. Who were these
new folk, and what were their antecedents, that they should be free from
slavish fears of the unknown? Legends were without doubt attached to
prehistoric remains down to a late date; how intense and how gross are
the superstitions of country folk even in our own day, only the close
student of men and books can be aware. Thus, for some reason,
inexplicable, except on anthropological grounds, there exists among the
Lincolnshire woldsmen a prejudice in favour of burial on the heights,
and many similar facts could be given.
Above all these causes of selection of prehistoric sites, however, one
may place the spirit of compromise which actuated the missionaries.
Everywhere, the preachers found that the Saxons, who were unaware of the
real origin of the old defences, attributed them to diabolism. Devil’s
Dykes, Devil’s Highways, Devil’s Doors, as has been shown in another
volume, meet us in every part of the country[62]. Believing firmly in
the diabolic origin of the earthworks and megaliths, the Saxon was moved
to fear, and to that slavish respect which is the child of fear. Yet it
was pre-eminently in the open country, where such objects abounded, that
the Saxon loved to dwell. It has been shown that, however much he may
have avoided the walled towns--and these he did not shun altogether--the
Saxon settler had no antipathy to occupation of the deserted villas and
rural settlements[63]. Here, then, the potential convert, with his
superstitions and aversions, lived and toiled. The monuments of earlier
races he regarded with sacred awe. It would be well-nigh impossible to
wean him from his creed by direct denunciation; it would be easy to win
him over by toleration and compromise, and this possibility seems to
supply the real explanation why earthworks and other spots with weird
associations were chosen for many of the early churches. If it be asked
why still more instances are not forthcoming, it may be answered that
the earthworks were frequently too remote from settlements on the
plains, and were too elevated in position, to tempt the builders, even
when the desire for protection reinforced the primary purpose.
Moreover, though the earliest open-air preachers in Saxon times may have
selected the earthwork as a pulpit, the permanent church would not
necessarily be built within that area. (It will save misapprehension, if
an explanation of the use of the word “Saxon” be interpolated here. In
strictness, there is a clear distinction between Angle and Saxon,
dialectically and archaeologically. But it is impossible always to
observe the differences, especially when the data are scanty. The term
will be employed, then, in its old loose signification, to denote, as Mr
Reginald A. Smith says, “the roving Teutonic bands that for centuries
infested the Northern seas.”)
[Illustration:
FIG. 5. The “pharos” or lighthouse, near the church within Dover
Castle (Bloxam’s _Gothic Eccles. Architect._). The building is
hexagonal externally, and square within. The lower part is composed
of flints and rubble, with bonding courses of Roman tiles. The
upper part of the tower belongs to the Tudor period. The doorway
shown in the drawing has now been blocked up.
]
We have now glanced at those churches which contain remnants of Roman
ruins, and others which are built over Roman villas, or within Roman
camps, and we have been led insensibly to examine buildings which are
connected with earthworks of other ages. The problem of site-continuity
has constantly impinged upon the question of continuity of fabrics. A
few paragraphs may now be devoted to a consideration of those churches
which lay claim to a possession of one or both of these features. The
small ruined church of St Mary, within the confines of Dover Castle, is
a well-known example. It stands in juxtaposition with an octagonal
structure, usually described as a pharos, or lighthouse (Fig. 5), and
believed by some to be a fort belonging to the Romano-British period.
This polygonal tower has an exterior casing of flint, dating from the
fifteenth century, but the original uneven masonry of rubble and flint,
bonded with bricks at intervals, is still visible at the base. The
supposition is that the church, with the lighthouse, was utilized for
Christian worship during Roman times. By most modern authorities, the
church itself is attributed, and perhaps more correctly, to the late
Saxon period[64]. Lyminge, in Kent (p. 4 _supra_), is another claimant.
The foundations of a seventh-century chapel, probably of apsidal
basilican plan (Fig. 6), have been traced here (A.D. 1899), but it is
supposed that the present church, though rich in Roman materials,
belongs entirely to a later epoch[65]. At Reculver (Regulbium), near
Herne Bay, there is an example of a church which Professor Baldwin Brown
places with that of Dover in a distinct category as representing
possible authentic relics, since the buildings stand alone within
deserted Roman stations. The church at Reculver stands over the
foundations of a basilica, but the present building is probably
altogether post-Roman, the earliest known date for the existence of a
church on this spot being A.D. 670[66].
Dean Stanley held the belief, once shared by many antiquaries, that in
St Martin’s at Canterbury we have a veritable monument of early British
Christianity--a monument, moreover, erected over a pagan temple[67].
Bede asserts that there
[Illustration:
FIG. 6. Chancel of Lyminge Church, Kent. In the churchyard, to the
right hand, is a portion of the foundations of a seventh-century
chapel, composed of re-arranged Roman materials. The church seems
to occupy the site of a villa.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 7. Portion of chancel wall, south side, St Martin’s Church,
Canterbury. Roman tiles are seen abundantly in the wall on the
right, and in the round arch; they are also bonded into the wall on
the left. The wall is mainly seventh-century work, but the
round-headed doorway is later, and the buttress has been
modernized. The flat-headed doorway is probably original.
]
was a church on this spot in Roman times, and that the building which
existed in his day retained relics of the older structure[68]. In spite
of this tradition, the popular belief is only doubtfully tenable. The
site is old, and there may have been unbroken continuity, but the
present building, though doubtless largely composed of the original
materials, has been altogether re-arranged[69] (Fig. 7). An exception
may perhaps be made for portions of the western nave, which Professor
Baldwin Brown considers may represent early work. St Pancras, at
Canterbury, by some writers judged to be older than St Martin’s, must,
under reserve, be given up, for similar reasons. Foundations, nearly
complete, of a single-celled apsidal church have been revealed to the
excavator, but the actual persistence of work above the surface is not
demonstrated[70]. Other churches put forward are Ribchester, in
Lancashire[71], and the chapel of St Peter’s-on-the-Wall, at Bradwell
(_Othona_), in Essex. St Peter’s Chapel represents a barnlike building,
of which the materials were evidently quarried from the adjacent
fortress, but, once again, proof of continuity is lacking.
St Joseph’s Chapel, at Glastonbury Abbey, presents us with an
interesting case of probable retention of site, though not necessarily
of continuous buildings. The earlier history of Glastonbury is,
unfortunately, mainly a history of legends and traditions. We may well
discredit the tale, told by the imaginative William of Malmesbury, a
millennium after the alleged event, that, so early as the first century
of the Christian era, a chapel constructed of osiers existed at this
spot. That some kind of primitive church or oratory, with walls of
wattle, and a roof of reeds, was set up during the Roman occupation is,
however, very probable, and it may fairly be supposed, though it cannot
be proved, that no break had occurred when the Saxon abbey was
founded[72].
Among other churches for which a reasonable claim has been advanced is
that of Jarrow, which Professor Brown places in his period “A,” that is,
the period anterior to the year A.D. 800[73]. Again, the oldest part of
the cathedral church of Canterbury, as attested by experts, slightly
supported by Bede’s description, may be a relic of Roman
Christianity[74]. We pass from these examples in order to glance at a
church whose age may now be deemed undisputed, namely, the small apsidal
church or basilica which was uncovered in 1892 at Silchester (_Calleva
Atrebatum_). The nature of the building was at first much canvassed, and
some authorities, relying chiefly upon the absence of Christian symbols
in the mosaics, and upon other details, denied that the foundations were
those of a church[75]. Curious to relate, the Chi-Rho, along with the
Omega, was found impressed on the side of a small leaden seal which was
dug up in the Silchester Forum[76], hence, if the basilica has yielded
no evidence of Christian symbolism, such testimony lay hidden at no
great distance. To be brief, not only is the basilica now accepted as
genuine by the best authorities, but Messrs G. E. Fox and W. St John
Hope declare that it is the only example of a Christian church of Roman
date yet found[77].
On the ruins of the Silchester basilica no Gothic church sprang up, so
that there was not site-continuity. Yet the parish church, which was
afterwards built during the twelfth century, within the enceinte of the
destroyed Roman town, has a direct bearing on the subject of this
chapter. It is one of the two instances of churches which Professor
Brown admits as having possibly superseded pagan Roman buildings. He
does not, however, concede that we have any examples of Saxon churches
which once actually formed parts of such temples. In all cases, the form
and orientation of the churches, he asserts, betray an ecclesiastical
origin. The churches may point to a survival of Romano-British
Christianity, but that is another question[78]. Nevertheless, as
Professor Brown himself notes, Silchester parish church was built close
to the remains of two small Roman shrines of Gaulish type. The
orientation of the church exactly agrees with that of one of the
shrines, and this may indicate some relationship[79]. Messrs Fox and St
John Hope have stated that the list of edifices dedicated to pagan
deities in this country is very scanty, yet it is noteworthy that, of
this list, three were recorded at Silchester. Moreover, one of these
temples was found lying partly under the graveyard of the parish church,
and partly under the buildings of an adjacent farm[80]. “Perhaps,” say
these writers, “the rising power of Christianity, as seen in the little
church [the basilica] within the south-eastern corner of the Forum, may
have made for their destruction[81]” [i.e. the destruction of the
shrines]. May we not add that, should someone excavate a second
Silchester, further evidence of this kind might be obtained? Dr Thomas
Ashby’s explorations at Caerwent (_Venta Silurum_) have, so far (1910),
yielded no certain traces of a Christian church. The basilica discovered
on the north side of the Forum is of a civil, not religious, character.
We might frankly discard all the examples previously given, save perhaps
those in which churches stand over Roman villas, and yet come to a wrong
conclusion by arguing from the absence of particular witnesses. Other
deponents may press forward. Before, however, we can examine these, we
must make a rather lengthy digression to inquire if there exist _a
priori_ reasons for the annexation of pagan sites by Christian teachers.
We have, in proceeding to this examination, principally to consider the
policy which was pursued by the early missionaries. Writing about
Christianity in general, Harnack has shown that, during the third
century, it united enthusiasm with the spirit of tolerance. “Stooping to
meet the needs of the masses,” the leaders studied polytheistic customs,
instituted festivals and saints, and utilized sites already deemed
sacred. To express the fact otherwise: the religion became syncretistic
in the proper meaning of that term[82]. Christian and pagan ideas were
blended. Following the wise, and, indeed, the only practicable
method--that of peaceful permeation--the Church often retained the forms
of heathen ceremonies, while actually investing these with new meanings.
The process has been pithily expressed by Sir G. L. Gomme: “Christianity
was both antagonistic to, and tolerant of, pagan custom and belief. In
principle and purpose it was antagonistic. In practice, it was tolerant
where it could tolerate freely[83].”
As a matter of history, however, we learn that the policy did not remain
strictly consistent, and a struggle for survival ensued. Under the rule
of Constantine, the tendency was to destroy heathen temples and their
idols, but by the Edict of Theodosius (A.D. 392), pagan shrines were to
be dedicated as Christian churches. Later, the Edict of Honorius (A.D.
408) definitely forbade the demolition of heathen temples, at least in
the cities[84]. These enactments seem to have a direct bearing on cases
like that of Silchester and upon other examples, to be described
hereafter. Leaping over a gulf of nearly two centuries, we discover Pope
Gregory the Great (A.D. 601) sending a letter to the Abbot Mellitus, who
was then about to visit Britain, commanding that, while idols were to be
destroyed, the temples themselves were to be preserved. Holy water was
to be sprinkled in the buildings, altars were to be erected, and sacred
relics were to be placed therein. Anniversary festivals were to be
appointed, and the new worship inaugurated[85]. Keeping this in mind, we
are not surprised to find that, on the conversion of Ethelbert, two or
three years previous to the Gregorian edict, Augustine received a
licence to restore, as well as to build churches[86]. Whether these
churches were pagan temples which had been partially despoiled, or
Romano-British basilicas which had fallen into decay, we are left to
conjecture.
On the continent, the breach of continuity of policy was still less
perceptible. Grimm distinctly states that churches were erected on the
sites of heathen trees or temples. He warns us against false conceptions
of history. We are not to picture the poor peasants as being ruthlessly
expelled from their accustomed places of worship. The heathen, he
declares, were not so tame and simple, nor were the Christians so
reckless, as to lay the axe to sacred trees, or to fire the pagan
temples. The rude forefathers of the hamlet trod the old paths to the
old site. Sometimes the very walls were retained, nay, the local idol or
image was retained outside the door or within the porch. Thus, at
Bamberg Cathedral, in Bavaria, zoomorphic stones, inscribed with runes,
passed the examination of lenient judges[87]. Again, pagan festivals
were converted into Christian holy-days. The Yule-tide merry-makings in
honour of Thor--revels which have also been connected by some writers
equally with the gods Adonis, Dionysos, and Mithra--became the festival
celebration of the birth of Christ. Canon E. L. Hicks (now Bishop of
Lincoln) contends that the observance of the exact date, December 25th,
as Christmas Day, is directly borrowed from Mithraism[88]. The old
German feast in memory of departed warriors was metamorphosed into All
Souls’ Day, when the spirits of resting believers were kept in mind[89].
As with holy-days, so with symbols. Thor’s hammer was replaced by the
Christian Cross, and the heathen sprinkling of newly-born babes became
Christian baptism[90]. Thus, by the retention of holy oaks, of
idolatrous feasts, of pagan symbols and ceremonies, of the heathen names
for the days of the week, the new religion gained entrance. In Ireland,
where the problem to be faced was remarkably complex, the
Christianization of pagan myths was very noticeable[91]. Here, the very
names of the feasts long continued as in pagan times. Only when the
conciliatory policy had “eased the yoke of the new ordinances,” was it
possible to take drastic measures, and to extrude heathenism from the
places of worship[92].
But this time was slow in coming. In the heart of the Empire, as
Friedlander has shown us, the triumphant Christians did, indeed,
assimilate many heathen practices, yet they strove hard to stifle
paganism altogether. On the other hand, all over Northern Europe, the
spirit of compromise was at work. In Sweden, during this transition
period, old associations were so strong that prayers to Thor and Freya
were often mingled with Christian orisons[93]. Professor F. Kauffmann
speaks of the great temple of Upsala, with its evergreen tree, and its
mysterious sacrificial well, which received the bodies of the slain. So
late as the eleventh century, this temple still stood in all its
splendour[94]. Professor O. Montelius, while noting the frequency with
which sacred stone-circles are associated with the church, considers
that the cromlechs were not places of sacrifice, but of judgement. This
idea is gaining ground in England, where also there is a tendency to
change the nomenclature of megaliths. (To avoid confusion, it must be
noted that “dolmen,” in these chapters, refers to a “table-stone,” that
is, several upright stones capped by a flat one. “Cromlech” is used in
its Breton sense of stone-circle, not in Welsh and Cornish
significations of table-stone, nor in Sir Norman Lockyer’s restricted
connotation--a kind of “irregular vault generally open at one end.”) At
Gamla Upsala, near Upsala, a church was built on the site of a temple,
which was the traditional burial place of Odin, and the centre of his
worship. Modern excavations at this spot have yielded bones of horses,
pigs, and hawks, together with relics of gold and silver[95]. This
example is instructive, alike for its testimony to the value of
folk-memory, and for its illustration of the employment of a pagan site.
But, indeed, example can be piled upon example. At the Danish coast-town
of Veile (or Vejle), two barrows, locally known as the graves of King
Gorm and his queen, stand by the churchyard. Hard by are ancient stone
monuments, bearing runic inscriptions[96].
Nor do these Northern cases lack counterparts elsewhere. The church at
Arrichinaga, in the province of Biscay, in Spain, was so built as to
enclose the huge stones of a great dolmen; between the stones is placed
the shrine of the patron saint[97]. The rugged land of Brittany is
well-known to all travellers for its illustrations of lingering
paganism; to some of these we shall again refer. But if we desire to
learn how imperative, how inescapable, was the spirit of compromise, we
should turn to the works of old writers, such as that curious old volume
which relates Jean Scheffer’s travels in Lapland in the latter part of
the seventeenth century[98]. There, we shall discover a strange alloy of
heathenism and Christianity, visible to all, seemingly condemned by
none. Even in our own day, so recently as the year 1895, we hear of
curious practices among the Samoyads. These folk, though nominally
Christians, within modern times still sacrificed human beings
clandestinely, and conducted heathen services within the ancient
stone-circles, carefully screening the images of their gods from the
public gaze.
Returning to the high road of our inquiry, we ask whether these examples
can be paralleled in Britain. Consider for a moment the great wealth of
our folk-lore, our superstitions, our almost incredible heathen
practices. Grease from the church-bell to cure rheumatism; pellitory
from the church-wall for whooping-cough; teeth from the graveyard to
serve as charms; the midnight watchings on St Mark’s Eve; the folk-tales
about evergreens; the superstitions connected with baptisms, marriages,
and deaths; the hundred and one little beliefs which run in an
undercurrent beneath the apparently smooth surface of religious
thought--do not these suggest that we may expect to find parallels to
the continental examples of church-building on heathen soil? How strange
if our islands had escaped the influences which are seen in almost every
other European country! Yet, to speak plainly, our direct testimony is
very scanty.
We know that, at Rome, the Pantheon became a Christian church, and we
have previously mooted the possibility of pagan idol-temples having been
similarly treated in Britain. Conclusive proof cannot be given, since
subsequent restorations would erase, or at least obscure, the vestiges
which we seek. Professor Baldwin Brown admits two possible examples,
without committing himself to a decided opinion. One is the church of
Silchester previously noted (p. 23 _supra_), and the other that of St
Martin’s, Leicester. The latter church rests on the site of a Roman
columnar structure, which would have been suitable for a temple[99].
There are also certain clues afforded by tradition and philology. At
Woodcuts Common, in Cranborne Chase, there is an imperfect amphitheatre
known as Church Barrow, which was excavated by General Pitt-Rivers. This
high authority suggested that the depression which forms the arena was
used for games, and, not improbably, in early Saxon times, before any
church was built in the neighbourhood, for divine worship[100]. Mr
Allcroft gives reasons for supposing that the present earthwork is on
the site once occupied by a tumulus[101]. Whichever hypothesis be
accepted, the name of Church Barrow will not be lightly set aside by the
folk-lorist, for it does not stand alone. At a spot called Church
Bottom, or Sunken Kirk, near Ickleton, in Cambridgeshire, Roman relics,
suggestive of a columnar building, were discovered. Pitt-Rivers supposed
that a Roman basilica, for Christian worship, existed on the site, and
that it was re-adapted when the East Anglians became converted to
Christianity[102]. The data, in this instance, are not plentiful, and
one might perhaps conjecture, with equal reason, that the original
building was pagan. An earthwork on Temple Downs, a few miles north of
Avebury, Wiltshire, was traditionally called “Old Chapel.” By the way,
we notice that the names of Kirk, Old Kirk, Sunken Kirk, and Chapel
Field, as applied to earthworks and sites containing ancient
foundations, are not uncommon[103], and one is naturally led to connect
this fact with the known association of churches and earthworks. Again,
at Llangenydd, Glamorganshire, there may be seen, in a field, the
remains of a stone-circle which is still called Yr Hen Eglwys, “the old
church,” the meadow being known as Cae’r Hen Eglwys, “Old Church Field.”
Tradition says that here the inhabitants worshipped before the present
church at Lalestone was erected. A remarkable parallel is exhibited in
the Shetlands, where churches were often built, we are assured, amid the
ruins of heathen “temples.” The analogy consists in this: that the word
“kirk” is now applied to holy spots, whether a chapel exists there or
not. Again, Sandwich Kirk, in the island of Unst, represents the ruins
of a reputed chapel which stood beside an ancient kitchen-midden. At
Kirkamool, bones and pottery were dug up under the foundations of the
sacred building[104]. Germane to this subject, one may mention the old
ruins of Constantine Church, in Cornwall, which lie near an old
kitchen-midden, and which have yielded to the spade of the explorer
bones of men and domestic animals, besides pottery of the Mediaeval,
Roman, and Neolithic periods[105].
Pursuing the trail provided by philology, one must glance cursorily at
the theory propounded by Isaac Taylor that place-names like Godshill,
Godstone, Godley, Godney, Godstow, and Godmanchester, are mute witnesses
of the substitution of the new faith for the old[106]. The theory is
certainly plausible, but, as Professor W. W. Skeat pointed out in a
letter to the present writer, the question can only be settled by an
appeal to carefully compiled name-lists, especially those which give the
spellings that were current during the Middle English period. Now it
chances that my friend Mr A. Bonner has, for many years past, been
making researches on these, and similar place-names, and he has kindly
allowed me the use of his unpublished work. Thus, by the aid of
Professor Skeat and Mr Bonner, one is able to test the theory that these
particular names commemorate the establishment of Christian worship. To
begin with, it must be observed that, owing to the modern defective and
misleading system of orthography, not only may origins be disguised, but
one mode of spelling may hide several possible etymologies. Thus, the
A.S. _gōd_ (=good) is frequently confused with _god_ (=God); moreover,
since _Gōd_ (=Good) was also a personal name in Anglo-Saxon, we may get
further complexity; e.g. Goodrich (A.S. _Gōd-ric_), in Herefordshire.
Dealing with a few of the names mentioned above, we have Godstone,
Surrey, appearing in the thirteenth century as Codeston and Coddestone,
the spelling _God_ being of much later date. Though the question cannot
be settled in the absence of an Anglo-Saxon form, it is probable that
the word denotes a personal name. Godney, Somerset, apparently
represents “Gōda’s island,” and Godley, the name of a hundred in Surrey,
“Gōda’s meadow.” Godshill (Gōds, i.e. Good’s hill), Godstow, and
Godstoke, again, all give indications of personal names.
Goodmanham, or Godmundingham, near Market Weighton, in Yorkshire, is
believed to be the spot mentioned by Bede as having a celebrated pagan
temple, and as being the scene of missionary work by Paulinus. Isaac
Taylor was at first content to follow Grimm in deriving the word from
the Norse (_godi_ =priest, and _mund_, protection of the gods).
Afterwards he discovered his error, for, in a later edition of _Names
and their Histories_, he explains the name as the “home of the
Godmundings or descendants of Godmund.” Alas, in a posthumous edition,
very recent, of _Words and Places_, the old blunder creeps in again. Mr
Bonner states that the earliest form (c. A.D. 737), is Godmunddingham;
the tenth century spelling was practically the same; hence the meaning
is, “ham of the Godmund or Goodman family.”
Again, the village-name of Malden, in Surrey, has been claimed as
meaning “Hill of the Cross,” and as indicating the turn-over to
Christianity. It is true that the Anglo-Saxon _m[=æ]l_ means a mark, and
that the Domesday form, Meldone, points to a down on which stood some
mark, probably a beacon or boundary post. Yet, although the village
church is situated on the highest spot in the neighbourhood, whence the
ground slopes away on two sides, the building does not stand on the
Chalk downland, but on the London Clay. Moreover, although we have many
post-Conquest orthographies, such as Maudon, Meaudon, and Maldene, to
guide us, we lack evidence concerning the true A. S. form. Had the name
been Christ’s Maldon (_Cristes m[=æ]l dūn_), it would certainly have
implied a “hill with a cross or crucifix,” just as, according to
Professor Skeat, we have “Christ’s _m[=æ]l_ ford,” now oddly turned into
Christian Malford (Wiltshire). The evidence for Maldon, in Essex, is
more satisfactory than that for the Surrey village. Here we get the
tenth century spelling M[=æ]ldune, and, although the modern town is
built on low ground by the river Blackwater, a hill, surmounted by a
tumulus, rises behind to a height of 109 feet. Hence this name may
perhaps be the equivalent of “Hill of the Cross.”
The prefix _Llan_, which occurs so frequently in Wales and the Marches,
affords a surer indication of a period when the possession of a church
by the village community was the exception, and not the rule. Not only
this; but expert opinion shows that _llan_ signifies an enclosed or
fenced-in space. The reference is therefore rather to the churchyard
than to the sacred fabric, and it is believed by some that the word
retains memories of the worship held within stone-circles. When we come
to consider the relation of Bardic assemblies with parish churches, it
will appear that this supposition is reasonable. Even in Wales, the
prefix _Llan_-is sometimes replaced by _Kil_-, as in Kilfowyr and
Kilsant, in Caermathenshire; but it is chiefly in Scotland that we look
for such place-names. The word _kil_ originally meant a hermit’s cell,
and afterwards came to be applied to a church. Finally, as an aid in
detecting places which possessed churches at an early date, and which
were thus pre-eminently worthy of special designations, we have the
Norse, and Danish, prefix, _Kirk_-, as in Kirby, Kirk Ella, Kirkcolm.
Premising that a little additional testimony under the head of philology
will be given later, we must now follow another clue.
On the whole, it must be conceded that the support derived from
geographical names is somewhat feeble, yet it may prove capable of being
extended as knowledge increases. Our next line of research gives fairer
promise; it brings us to examine the ancient rude monuments which are
frequently found in the vicinity of village churches.
The megalithic monuments recognized by the archaeologist are of several
kinds, but we shall be here concerned with three of these groups--the
menhir, or single upright stone; the cromlech, or stone-circle; and the
dolmen, or “stone-table.” These prehistoric remains seem to have
seriously attracted the notice of the Teutonic invaders, who were prone
to follow idolatrous practices based upon lingering traditions about the
storm-fretted stones. To this superstitious respect attention has been
drawn in a previous work[107]. Some indications of the honour imputed to
these megaliths is gleaned from a study of parish boundaries, though it
is almost certain that many of the stones erected in such positions
belong to the historic period. The old open-air tribunals, too, were
wont to meet at barrows, cairns, cromlechs, and menhirs, and at the foot
of the crosses by which the menhirs were largely supplanted. This
statement holds true for other places besides England. In the churchyard
of Ste Marie du Castel, Guernsey, there existed three large stones,
which marked the spot where open-air courts were held until recent
years[108]. Evidence is also obtainable from several countries, showing
that the election and coronation of kings and princes were associated
with stone-circles. Nor, indeed, were our ancestors very exigent in this
matter; a rude natural boulder or monolith was considered a good
substitute for the artificial pillar which had been erected by forgotten
folk. Over and over again we meet with “blue-stones”--chiefly glacial
boulders--which were set up to mark the limits of a parish, or to form
the trysting-place of a manorial court[109]. Lastly, it is on record
that Patrick, Bishop of the Hebrides, desired Orlygüs to build a church
wherever he found the upright stones or menhirs.
[Illustration:
FIG. 8. The Agglestone, Studland Heath, Dorsetshire. A natural mass
of concretionary sandstone belonging to the Bagshot sands of the
district. Much pagan tradition is associated with this block, which
has been curiously eroded by rain, frost, and wind. The so-called
“Druid’s basins” are altogether natural cavities.
]
One of the best known of the natural megaliths to which traditions cling
is the Agglestone, or Hagglestone, situated on the moors near Studland,
in Dorsetshire (Fig. 8). This Agglestone is a huge inverted cone of
indurated rock in direct connection with the Lower Bagshot Sands on
which it rests; in other words, its shape and position cannot be
artificial. It is a mass of sandy material, so thoroughly cemented by
oxide of iron that it has resisted denudation with some degree of
success. Yet the so-called sub-aërial agencies, principally wind and
rain, have undercut its base, rounded its outlines, and scooped out the
“rock-basins,” which the eighteenth century antiquaries ascribed to the
labours of Druids[110]. It is noteworthy that the Agglestone belongs to
a part of the country the inhabitants of which were pictured by Bede as
confirmed pagans (_paganissimi_)[111]. From a review of the legends, as
well as from a consideration of the name, Agglestone (most probably from
A. S. _halig_ = holy), and its alternative designation, Devil’s
Nightcap, there is fair reason to believe that the stone had some
significance to the heathen folk of Wessex, and that it was very
probably a Christian preaching station.
The Agglestone doubtless proved too unwieldy and obdurate for the tools
of those who set up the first Christian crosses, but this has not been
the case with many other pillars, whether hewn or unhewn. Some of the
upright “crosses” of Devon and Cornwall, for instance, are of extremely
coarse workmanship, as the student may see for himself by inspecting the
illustrations given in the works of Messrs A. G. Langdon and W.
Crossing[112]. Nor need the simplicity of the early workmanship cause
surprise, for the oldest Cornish crosses date from the seventh century.
A like plainness is met in many other parts of England. At Fulstow,
Lincolnshire, I noticed a crude churchyard pillar of hard, grey chalk,
roughly squared, now mounted on a much more recent plinth. The stone is
much pitted by weathering, and is clad with lichens of varying hues. If
the monolith be not a pre-Christian relic, trimmed into a rectangular
form, it is most probably a very early pillar, co-eval with the first
Early English church. It may have been dug out of the boulder clay, like
many of the stones with which the churchyard paths are paved; or, if we
accept modern theories respecting the glacial drift on the East of the
Wolds[113], it is not an ice-borne relic, but must have been brought to
the alluvial plain by man. The original home of the pillar was in the
hill-slope, several miles to the West. This Fulstow “cross” is typical
of others scattered throughout the East of England. Reverting to
Cornwall, it must be observed that the numerous inscribed monoliths of
that county are believed, on a balance of probabilities, to be of a
Christian character[114]. Specimens are frequently found in remote
spots, or they may occur in proximity to the church itself. At Camborne,
an example is seen under the communion-table; at East Cardinham, in the
graveyard; at St Cubert, in the wall of the church[115].
The early pillar “crosses,” though accounted Christian when tested by
inscription and decoration, may yet have an earlier origin. It is now a
commonplace that many of the crosses and calvaries of Brittany, “with
shapeless sculpture decked,” are merely primitive menhirs adapted by the
Christian artificer[116], and anyone who, like the writer, has had the
opportunity of comparing the Breton series with the kindred group of our
English Brittany, will readily agree that a similar story may be told of
Cornwall. Something has been written on this topic elsewhere[117], and
one need now only call attention to a curious instance of reversion in
connection with the allied subject of tombstones, to show how
deep-seated and perennial is the habit of imitation. In the “Quaker’s
Cemetery,” two miles from Penzance, the only tomb remaining within the
enclosure is formed of a massive slab of granite (5´.7´´ × 2´.1´´ ×
1´.1´´), resting on large pieces of the same kind of rock. The tomb is
evidently a copy of the dolmens of the moorland, yet its date is so
recent as A.D. 1677[118]. This illustration of the “past in the present”
supplies a warning note, and is not so irrelevant as it may appear for
the moment.
We may follow our work by inspecting some interesting cases of the
occurrence of unshaped masses of stone in, or near, the fabric of the
church. We must start, however, with the clear axiom that natural blocks
of stone, where readily procurable, must, like the spoil heaps of Roman
buildings, at all times have invited the attention of masons. Not more
than fifty or sixty years ago, Sir A. C. Ramsay noted that the
“greywethers,” or sarsens, of the Marlborough Downs, were so thickly
strewn over the surface, that across miles and miles of country a person
might almost leap from stone to stone, without touching the ground. Yet,
in our own day, the preservation of the greywethers has become a serious
task, because they have been found so useful for paving-stones during
the interval that has elapsed since Ramsay wrote, and it has been
difficult to stop depredations on those that remain. Not forgetting our
warning, there is still a possibility that, should the examples of
churchyard sarsens prove numerous, and should there be a co-operation of
other factors which indicate early sites of pagan worship, these two
series of circumstances may be in relationship. A solitary example might
be declared accidental; two or three citations only might raise an
incredulous smile; hence, it is the cumulative force of recurring
details which can alone afford pretence for a theory.
Situated in a long, dry Kentish valley which runs upwards in a Southerly
direction towards the escarpment of the Chalk, and at a distance of
about 1½ miles from the railway station at Eynesford, one may see the
forlorn wreckage of Maplescombe church (Figs. 9, 10). This church, which
had a semicircular apse, still partially remaining, has been in ruins
for three centuries. My attention was first called to the spot by Mr
Benjamin Harrison, of Ightham, an archaeologist whose knowledge of his
native district is unsurpassed. On visiting the ruins in 1904, I found a
large, partially-sunken sarsen stone (3´.0´´ × 2´.0´´ × 1´.6´´)
occupying what appeared to be the site of the ancient altar. A few
smaller sarsens were also discernible, and other specimens, Mr Harrison
states, have been carried off, at various times, by hop-pickers, to
build hearths in the fields. In the field adjoining the church, the
ploughshare has turned up
[Illustration:
FIG. 9. Ruins of Maplescombe church, Kent. View from the
North-West. The ruins are unenclosed, amid a field of cabbages. The
interior space is overgrown with brambles and elder bushes, but the
semicircular apse can be detected on the left.
]
[Illustration: FIG. 10. Sketch plan of the ruins of Maplescombe church,
Kent, showing the positions of the sarsen stones.]
human bones and other relics[119]. This area was presumably the
graveyard, and may have been originally unenclosed, but with this
hypothesis we shall deal in a later chapter. Parenthetically, it may be
explained to the non-geological reader that a sarsen is a hard mass of
rock, which was once part of the Bagshot Sands or the Woolwich and
Reading Beds, and which, having resisted denudation, remains on, or
near, the present surface of the soil. The earliest record of a church
at Maplescombe is A.D. 1291, but the building may, perhaps, be of Norman
foundation, and the largest stone may possibly be a sacred relic which
existed previously on the present site. The worship of “stocks and
stones” died hard, and it is at least conceivable that the church
builders adapted one or more megaliths to form an altar. Further than
that we cannot go, seeing that sarsens are fairly common in the
locality. Examples of churchyard sarsens are abundant in Kent. Mr
Harrison informs me that there are specimens at Kemsing Halling and
Trottescliffe; in the last-named village, the stone is built into the
church wall. At Meopham, there are several blocks just outside the
churchyard, but, as the ground is merely fenced in, we have again,
doubtless, an instance where the demarcation between consecrated and
unconsecrated soil is of modern date. Still further records from Kent
have been supplied by Mr F. J. Bennett. The ruins of the churches at
Punish and Paddlesworth (near Snodland) enclosed in each case a large
sarsen; the nave of the dismantled church at Dode contains a good-sized
specimen; several other blocks stand just outside the graveyard wall at
Birling[120]. In passing, it may be observed that the other Kentish
village named Paddlesworth, near Lyminge, contains a font, of which the
base is a massive round stone, evidently of great antiquity.
We now examine other counties where the Tertiary beds are represented.
Crossing the Thames, we find in the churchyard of Ingatestone, Essex, a
large sarsen, which was formerly a part of the foundation of the
church[121]. At Pirton, in Hertfordshire, a huge mass of conglomerate,
or “puddingstone,” consisting of rounded flint pebbles cemented by a
siliceous matrix, supports the North-Western buttress of the church. The
block, as determined by my friend, Mr James Francis, F.G.S., measures
5´.6´´ × 2´.7´´ × 1´.4´´ above the ground. At the base of two other
buttresses on the North side are further lumps of conglomerate, each
about 3 feet in length. These “puddingstones” are vulgarly believed both
to breed and to increase in size, and the superstition is put forward to
account for a block of this material which projects from the foundation
of Caddington church, Bedfordshire[122]. It is worthy of notice, in
passing, that a pre-conquest church existed at Caddington.
Our observations would be incomplete were they limited to the Tertiary
area of South-Eastern England. In Devonshire, built into the chancel
wall of North Molton church, we have a large, heavy stone, which is said
to be composed of material foreign to the district[123]. At Branscombe,
in the same county, where the church bears marks of considerable
antiquity, a rough pillar, about seven feet long, doubtfully described
as a coffin lid, lies in the churchyard. Just outside the churchyard
wall of Whatley, Somerset, is a huge rounded sarsen, and another is to
be seen near the cross-roads 50 yards distant. When the London
Geologists’ Association visited Whatley in 1909, a doubt was raised
whether the stones were true sarsens. Some authorities pronounced the
material to be millstone grit, which could be obtained a few miles away;
while, on the contrary, no Tertiary rocks occur in the immediate
district. In Cornwall, there was discovered, under the collapsed Western
tower of Constantine church, a large, rounded boulder of Cataclew stone,
weighing a quarter of a ton. The nearest locality from which this stone
can be obtained, says the Rev. R. Ashington Bullen, is a quarry which is
1¼ miles distant in a straight line. Mr Bullen believes that the boulder
marked a meeting-place for ceremonial observances in pagan times, and
that consequently it was assigned a place of honour in the Christian
building[124]. It will be recalled that the ruins are adjacent to a
kitchen-midden (p. 31 _supra_). At Bolsterstone, near Deepcar, in
Yorkshire, two large stones lie in the village churchyard. One of them
has been adapted for receiving another stone by mortising. On the high
ground above the church is a cairn known as Walderslow, and it is
believed that the churchyard stones may have had connection with this
monument. The diligent searcher will not fail to discover many other
examples of these natural megaliths, but he will doubtless preserve
considerable detachment of mind, and be wary in the acceptance of
theories. The scarcity of suitable rocks in many localities, the
difficulties of transport,--whether accomplished by ox-drawn sledges or
by canal barges,--the saving of time, and, far more important, the
lessening of expenditure, are factors which must receive full weight.
Nevertheless, while maintaining due reticence, we shall find ourselves
continually wondering whether the probabilities do not point to
site-continuity. The pronounced liking for megalithic monuments
exhibited by the primitive Britons must have strongly influenced all
future comers for many a century. All analogy suggests that Mediaeval
folk were still sufficiently pagan to treat such relics with a kind of
“hyperdulia.” A sacred stone, or group of stones, may well have been
embedded in the walls of the church, or set up as an altar, in order to
propitiate those who gave up the old faith with reluctance.
When we examine megaliths which were indubitably placed in position by
the labours of men, we find ourselves on surer ground. The building of
churches near such memorials as these cannot always have been at
haphazard. Moreover, we should bear in mind that all the evidence is not
now producible. The hand of the spoiler has been busy, and the results
have been lamentable. Utility has been the common plea for the removal
of many ancient monuments, but other motives have also been at work. The
famous “Longstone” which formerly stood a little to the East of St Mabyn
church, in Cornwall, was broken up and carried away in order “to brave
ridiculous legends and superstitions[125].” Happily, the well-known
menhir in Rudstone churchyard, near Bridlington (Fig. 11), remains with
us. This pillar, which is composed of fine-grained grit, stands about 4
yards from the North-East angle of the building. Its height is 25 feet,
and it is believed by some authorities that an equal length is concealed
underground. The monolith was first fully described by the Rev. Peter
Royston, in 1873. The present Vicar of Rudstone, the Rev. C. S. Booty,
informs me that Mr Royston’s measurements are accurate. The conjecture
has been made that the village took its name from the menhir. This may
well have been the case, but what the first syllable of the name means
is another matter. The word is commonly said to signify Rood-stone. The
Domesday form Rodestan (cf. 13th cent. Rudestone; 14th cent. Ruddestan,
Rudston, etc.), leads Mr Bonner to suppose that a personal name, Rod,
Rodd, or Roda, is indicated. If the monolith bore an incised or carved
cross, Mr Bonner would admit the rendering “Rood-stone.” But it should
be remembered that a simple pillar might have been called a cross, and
that it may have been accepted as a preaching cross. To consecrate an
existing stone would save much labour. On this view, “Rood-stone” may
actually be correct. Countryfolk do not care for etymology or
archaeology, but they have not been remiss in attributing the presence
of the stone to diabolic agency. What concerns us at the present is,
that the site of the church was probably selected because the spot had
already some significance to the older inhabitants of the neighbourhood.
The whole district of Rudstone is rich in prehistoric remains[126].
The “sacred chair” of Bede, at Jarrow, is considered by Professor Rupert
Jones to be an ancient sacred stone, which has been chiselled into shape
by modern masons[127]. The Coronation Stone, in Westminster Abbey, has
also perhaps a notable genealogy, but its deposition in its present
quarters took place long after the foundation of the Abbey, and hence
the relic is not illustrative of our theory.
[Illustration: FIG. 11. Rudstone church, and monolith, near Bridlington.
View of the North side.]
On the Greensand hill a little above Mottestone church, in the Isle of
Wight, there is a huge, untooled monolith, known as the “Longstone,” but
it is not certain that it was originally solitary. A smaller pillar lies
at its base, and Mr W. Dale, the Hampshire archaeologist, supposes that
the two stones represent a fallen dolmen, or the remnants of a
cromlech[128]. Other writers have considered the relics to be ancient
boundary stones[129], but I think this explanation not very
satisfactory. The Rev. G. E. Jeans, who advocates the boundary-theory,
declares against the view that Mottestone signifies “mote-stone,” and
points out that the Domesday spelling, Modrestone, indicates a personal
name, Modr[130]. Even allowing for possible approximations made by the
Domesday scribe, the etymology given by Mr Jeans seems more reasonable
than the older one. Another Hampshire village, Twyford, on the Itchen,
is worthy of a visit in connection with megaliths. The church in this
old-world nook was believed by Dean Kitchin to be built on ground once
occupied by a stone-circle or a dolmen, and Mr Dale considers that the
two large sarsens which lie by the side of the building represent the
wreckage of this ancient monument[131]. A particularly fine yew in the
graveyard will be noticed in a subsequent chapter. On the neighbouring
hillside of Shawford Downs, there are also some linchets, or ancient
cultivation terraces. These associations imply that Twyford was not only
an inhabited site, but presumably a sacred site, at a very early period.
Still another Hampshire example is furnished by Bishopstoke, the church
which Mr Hilaire Belloc asserts was erected on the site of an old
stone-circle[132]. Cobham church, in Kent, stands a little to the North
of the remains of a stone-ring. Outside the North porch there is a large
sarsen, another lies against the wall at the West end, while a third is
built into the South wall[133]. Thomas Wright long ago pointed out that
the church of Addington, in Kent, was in the immediate neighbourhood of
numerous megalithic remains, though all of these were in a ruinous and
disordered condition. In fact the area seemed to be a vast tribal
cemetery. Professor W. M. Flinders Petrie, in 1878, was able, from a
study of the monumental relics, to make an imaginary restoration of
parallel avenues of stones as they once existed. At the North-Eastern
extremity, there was a stone chamber which has unfortunately since been
disturbed[134]. Some writers have believed that the hillock on which
Addington church is built was artificial, but it is practically certain
that it is purely natural; its existence being perhaps due to a
protective capping of ironstone which has been proof against denudation.
The church of Stanton Drew, near Bristol, is placed within the precincts
of a veritable Valhalla of monumental relics. Three stone circles are
situated, as it were, within a stone’s throw of the building, the most
distant being about one-third of a mile away, and the nearest only 150
yards. But besides these more perfect remains, there is a group close to
the churchyard, towards the South-West. This group, called the Cove,
consists of two upright blocks, 10¼ feet and 4½ feet respectively in
height, and one prostrate stone, 14½ feet in length (Fig. 12). The
original character of the monument cannot be decisively known. Mr C. W.
Dymond contends that the stones hardly represent a ruined dolmen,
because of the unusual height of two of the remaining pillars. Other
speculations, hazarded, as it seems to the writer, without a vestige of
proof, regard the Cove as a “druidical chair of state,” and, again, as a
shelter for sacrificial fire. On the whole, it is safer to consider
these monoliths as survivors of a cromlech or stone-ring. The material,
which is unhewn, is a siliceous breccia of Triassic age, and was
probably brought from Harptree-under-Mendip, about seven miles from the
present position. The church, it should be added, retains portions of
Norman work[135].
[Illustration: FIG. 12. The Cove, Stanton Drew, Somerset; a group of
megaliths situated near the village church.]
The vanished menhir of St Mabyn has been noticed (p. 42 _supra_), but,
before leaving the English megaliths, we ought to glance at the smallest
cromlech in Cornwall, that of Duloe, which is situated near Duloe
church. Its longer diameter is 39 feet, and its shorter, 37 feet, so
that the cromlech is slightly elliptical. The “circle” contains seven
standing stones, and one fallen or broken stone. One of the pillars,
which are very unshapely, is 9 feet in height. The finding of charcoal,
together with a cinerary urn enclosing bones, near one of the pillars,
is sufficient to show the sepulchral character of the circle[136].
Cornwall should indeed prove the touchstone of our theory, and I believe
that both Cornwall and Devon would stand the test well, could we recall
the witnesses. But these, sad to relate, are for the most part gone.
Here a gatepost, there a tombstone, and yonder the hearth of a cottage,
warn us not to expect the impossible. Sir Norman Lockyer, in his work on
Stonehenge, asserts that many churches have been built on the sites of
circles and menhirs, but he proffers no actual examples[137]. He gives,
however, numerous instances from Cornwall, Ireland, and Scotland, of the
juxtaposition of megaliths and sacred wells. Now, it will be shown in
the next chapter, that churches were frequently built in proximity to
holy wells, so that we have a triple relationship. Sir Norman Lockyer’s
informant doubtless knew of other examples of church-megalith sites than
those which have been adduced[138]. Such sites are said to be not
uncommon in Wales. The church at Yspytty Kenwyn (or Cynfyn), near the
Devil’s Bridge, in Cardiganshire, had the circle of stones built, at
intervals, into the churchyard wall. There were also stone pillars at
the Eastern entrance to the church, just as they are sometimes found
near stone-circles. Large megaliths are also recorded from the churches
of Tregaron, in Cardiganshire, and Llanwrthwl, in Brecon[139]. Cordiner,
an eighteenth century writer, asserts that Benachie church,
Aberdeenshire, is built within a stone-circle, and that the practice of
thus building was not infrequent in that country. And Mr W. G.
Wood-Martin has recorded at least two cromlechs in Irish
churchyards[140].
There is also a scrap of linguistic testimony which is pregnant of
ancient tradition, and which has been noted by several writers. Sir
Daniel Wilson seems to have been the first to make the fact publicly
known. The common Gaelic sentence, _Am bheil thu dol d’on chlachan?_
(Are you going to the stones?) may be rendered alternatively, “Are you
going to the church?” and is used in this second sense by the Scottish
Highlander when addressing his neighbour. Primarily, _chlachan_
(_clachan_) means a circle of stones, hence, a battle, or the scene of
single combats. The interpretation “place of worship,” is, as might be
anticipated, derivative, though not recent. So far back as 1774, Shaw,
in the chapter which he contributed to the third edition of Pennant’s
_Tour in Scotland_, observed, “From these circles and cairns many
churches to this day are called _clachan_, i.e. a collection of
stones[141].”
A word of caution is necessary to those who may be inclined to accept
too hastily, and without examination, the claims of this or that
megalith to a great antiquity. For instance, there stands at the
South-Eastern gate of Binstead church, in the Isle of Wight, a grotesque
figure, called by the villagers “The Idol.” This uncouth image has been
thought by some to be a pagan object of worship. Little, indeed, is
definitely known about the object, but it is asserted, with much
credibility, that the gate once formed the door of the church, and that
the image is merely a Norman keystone, or perhaps a corbel[142]. We
note, however, that if it were a corbel, it could scarcely have been a
portion of a doorway, though this matter is inessential. Our second
illustration shall be given in order to show the danger of dating
objects as pre-Christian, when they bear clear signs of Christian
influence. In the churchyard at Penrith there is a large tomb which
bears the nickname of “Giant’s Grave.” It happens that this name is
often applied to prehistoric barrows and megaliths, and in this
particular instance it has been proclaimed that the tomb is a
cromlech--a “dolmen” being perhaps intended. Hutchinson, Pennant, and
other writers, were greatly exercised concerning this ancient relic. But
if the reader will turn to the beautiful engraving of the monument in
the _Victoria History of Cumberland_, he will understand, even without
the aid of the letterpress, that the tomb has features decidedly
Christian. The monument really consists of the shafts of two
pre-Conquest crosses, one being placed at the head and the other at the
foot, while the space between is enclosed by three “hog-backs,” one of
which has been split longitudinally[143]. Once again, in the churchyard
of Chadwell St Mary, Essex, a large sarsen, concerning which fantastic
theories were current, was observed by the Rev. J. W. Hayes to have a
weathered concavity, or “pebble-hole,” within which were carved the
letters “N. G.,” followed by the date 1691. Referring to the parish
register, Mr Hayes found an entry, made during that year, recording the
death of a churchwarden, Nathaniel Glascock. The inference was clear,
and the lesson of caution was delivered with some force. These
reservations about the nature of burial monuments lead us easily to the
subject of grave-mounds, to which we must allot a special chapter.