Detritus of Empire

On a day off of the excavations we went over to Corbridge.  It was once the most northerly town in the Roman Empire.  Its history since then has been up and down.  The borderlands between Scotland and England have always been a "rough neighborhood" so it has been sacked, razed and generally obliterated several times.  This makes it a little tricky to figure out some aspects of its history.

Should you visit - with peaceful intent of course - in the modern era, you'll find a nicely excavated Roman fort with a very good museum.  And a quaint little town that has become very posh.  High end shops, beauty salons, that sort of thing.

But should you stray to the edge of the upscale High Street, down to The Wheatsheaf pub on St. Helen's street, and peek behind it, you'll see something interesting......

There, up above the dumpsters ( of course they are "skips" in UK ).

You may note that the head looks a bit wrong; just a bit too small.  This is actually a point in favor of authenticity as Roman statues were often designed to have changeable heads.  One suspects this was especially useful for depictions of some of the dodgier, short reign Emperors....

As to the building, down the way and over the trash cans (sorry, bins) we see this:

Near our mystery goddess, and being pointed out by a known goddess, we see these guys...

Given the presence of nearby Roman stuff I'd rate it as highly probable that the people who lived here just went over and nicked a few items.  Perhaps at the time of the initial 1695 build or at a later refurb.  It's not easy to tell a 200 year old niche from a 300 year old one.  The two faced corner stone in particular looks out of place and my money is on it being a later addition.

Back home.

It's a long journey.  We woke up at 6am back in Northern England.  A fellow excavator gave us a ride to the Newcastle airport for a flight leaving at 9:30. 

Newcastle has a weird airport....you have to get there early as with any international flight.  But after clearing security you wait in a large, heavily commercial hall until 20 or 30 minutes before your departure time.  I guess they want you to buy all kinds of duty free swag.  The smell of high priced perfume is pervasive.  But its sort of fun.  There are always Stag Parties and Bachelorette Parties heading off to various destinations.  Elaborate and often embarrassing costumes are often involved.

One hour flight to Amsterdam.  With a tight connection on the other side it was nice that they read out the gate connections for you before landing.

We walked straight from the Newcastle flight to the Minneapolis one which was already boarding.  International transport is really quite remarkable.

I spent the 8 hour flight watching movies.  I had not previously seen Barbie, which I mostly enjoyed as unserious satire.  

Short walk to the shuttle which took us to the larger town near us, then a short drive home.  

6am to 6pm, although of course we were flying west and crossed five or six time zones.

When we got home there were wild turkeys walking around on our front lawn.  Having never seen such critters in town before I did consider the possibility I was hallucinating.  But the photographic evidence suggests otherwise.

 For reasons hardly worth trying to explain our little band of recurring excavators takes a "70's Album Cover" photo every year.  Here's this year's offering from the Old as Dirt Tour.

An odd progression of seasons in 2024.  Usually spring arrives right about when I'm heading overseas on the annual archaeology jaunt.  The most dramatic consequence of this is that for the past fifteen years (other than the ##%%## Covid Times) I've missed our rhododendron bush in its roughly 72 hours of floral glory.  But this year:

In discussing the matter it came to light that I was confused regards the name.  I was pretty sure that it had to do with the Greek letter Rho.  Or....wasn't Cecil Rhodes - 19th century adventurer/scoundrel - associated with something wholesome?  

Actually, Rhododendron means "rose tree", which is a fair description.  I'm calling this one little because we've seen examples down in Cornwall that were nearly 100 feet tall.  Little Rhody is also of course a nick name for Rhode Island.  

Now, there is also a Greek island called Rhodes.  Once the location of the famous Colossus. And where did it get its name?  Some try to link it with the Greek rhodon which does mean rose.  After all roses still grow on Rhodes.  But actually, as with many Greek things there was a randy Greek god and a nymph involved, the latter named Rhode.  Guess it mostly worked out as she and Helios stayed together long enough to have her bear him seven sons.

I went looking for pictures of the large Rhodys we saw back in 2014 but instead came across this example that put ours to shame....

When I was over in England last month one of my digging cronies gave me a couple of peculiar ceramic items he had picked up off a beach.  I guess they are common, he said he has about 600 of them.

I did find some uncertainty out there on the internet.  THIS expressed uncertainty not only as to the age of the artifacts but their intended use.  In fact it mentions that some things that look like this are not artifacts at all but soft stones that have been burrowed into by mollusks!

But for several reasons I'm calling these fishing weights.  They have turned up on shorelines in large enough numbers that alternate explanations such as loom weights are implausible.  And in at least one report a series of them were found perfectly spaced out.....just as you'd expect if they came off a weighted fishing net.

Age is hard to judge.  A few of these things have initials or a cross on them.  Certainly not Roman.  Medieval is possible, but cheap low tech technology often survived well into the modern era.

Just for fun I might try using one as a sinker and see if I can catch a 21st century fish with one of these!

One of the odd things about my UK home away from home - The Bowes Hotel - is that it sponsors an annual Giant Leek contest.  We're talking some Big Veg here:

I was very excited to see that among the trophies awarded was The Wooden Leek for most improved leeks.  Why I just happen to have a picture of it:

I'm not much of a gardener.  My attempt to grow Giant Pumpkins resulted in one or two slightly larger than average ones.  When I planted a pound of barley to try and have a total home grown home brew I got.....a little more than a pound of crop.  Peppers, carrots, onions, my list of horticultural flops is extensive.  But I'm gonna grow me some giant leeks.

Actually I expect the little blighters will all perish, then next year I can try again and if I get one anemic little pale green leek to survive until fall of 2024 then the Wooden Leek will be mine.  MINE I SAY!

Playing the long game.

I've been back from Vindolanda for almost two weeks now.  So it's Real World for me.  Or is it?  I've been spending lots of time with my precocious four year old grand daughter.  And her Pretend Friends.  Having Imaginary Friends is common for kids this age.  Perhaps more so in little people whose early years were spent in Covid isolation.  But ye gads 'n kitty kats she has a varied bunch of them.  Carson and the Alissas (she shows up in several different ages) are the most common.  My favorites are Loud Tina, her mother Geena and her baby sister Screama.  They are characterized by being, well, very loud although I can't say that I hear them at all.  I've tried to claim that I also see a rather gothic teen aged sister named Extrema but grand daughter ain't buyin' it.

At my old but not yet senile age I don't actually have Imaginary Friends as such, but my digging friends are sort of the same thing.  Fascinating people who only materialize in corporeal form for a couple of weeks a year.  Here's some photos.  No explanations.  In some cases I don't have one.

 

It was a hotter than expected day and the little four mile stroll we had set out on somehow morphed into an eight mile trudge.  So it was with considerable delight that our little band came across, of all things, an Ice Cream truck in a little village we were passing through.  Welcome to the world of Mr. Whippy, a British institution.

The people I dig with in May are mostly British and mostly my vintage so for them the gentle song of the Mr. Whippy truck and the sticky sweet taste of the soft serve cones are fond childhood memories.  The darn stuff btw invariably sticks to your upper lip!

Farewell Mr. Whippy.  There might be hope for diesel cost per liter coming down but those Disney lawyers will eventually hunt you down and destroy you.

Things seen in Northern England, Spring 2023.

At the grocery store.  Just Lard, no apologies.  I like the halo which with the lighting from above makes a nice image.

What is Fly Tipping?  A tip is a dump in the UK so I guess this means no dumping trash and running away?  This is a used clothes drop off.

Only at an archaeology site would you find a container labeled like this!  The site museum  actually has quite a few cattle skulls as they frequently come up during excavations.  Some are full of holes after being used for target practice.

I've been in the UK on various occasions of note.  The Falklands War.  A time when they were in the World Cup finals.  But of course this time it is Coronation Day.  Given the relative longevity of recent monarchs it is a rare event.

Charles seems to be more tolerated than admired.  Here are a few Coronation bits from our immediate environs.

The post box across the street from our pub/lodgings.  Somebody put real effort into this.  Note the outsized ears on Prince, oops, sorry, King Charles.

Well as I post this he'll get the chance to try it on for real in a few minutes.

On the ground in the wild north of England.  After sleeping like the dead for about ten hours we got up and started getting organized.

High on the list was an expedition to the Hexham Car Boot Sale.  A "boot" in this context means the trunk of your car, but practically speaking this is a big ol' flea market.  Just the place to pick up an extra jacket and a book or two at bargain prices.  Things that can be left behind at the end of the trip.  And of course it is a cultural experience.  I go there to understand the UK.  Sometimes it just raises more questions....

A disturbing unicorn in nappies.

Some sort of ape.  Boot sales have a lot of stuff that came there from overseas.  Some in times of Empire, some on more recent holidays.

One that got away.  My wife and I both thought that a "Windy Knickers" game sounded interesting.  But I said we did not have cargo space to take such nonsense home.  We walked on, but realized in a minute or two that it could be inflicted on one of my digging friends.  Alas, we went back and it had been snatched up.

As the old saying goes.  US and UK.  Two nations divided by a common languages...

The boot sale can either be held in open air or, when the weather is moist, inside the big building used for sheep and cattle sales.  There are stalls.  Literal stalls.  And sawdust on the floor.

Don't know.  Don't want to know.  The Rainbow beanie makes me wonder about this one.

Perhaps poor Boris is about to launch another career.

Part of my time in the UK was spent near a little hamlet called Greenhead.  There is not much there.  A hotel/pub that has regrettably gone Posh, a nice teashop, and of course a church and churchyard.

Here's a sort of tree form tombstone.  Like its US counterparts these tend to date to 1900 plus or minus a decade.

When overseas on excavating trips I always try to work in little expeditions on days off.  I mean, who really needs to rest and do laundry?  I'm fortunate to have friends of like inclination and we do have some interesting times.

On an "in between" weekend day in May I found myself trekking about with Kate and Bob in the hills near Alston.  The whole area is riddled with old lead mines and it was a fine trip walking the ridges above the River Nent.

There is a lot of interesting history associated with these mines...for me the most fascinating aspect is the 'pit ponies'.  These stumpy little critters spent much of their lives underground hauling pony sized carts of ore and rubble.  The last of them were only retired a few decades back.

Here is what seems to be a pony entrance to a mine complex.  These were usually at the bottom of the hills and went straight to the lower levels.

This one you could peer into a ways.  It seems to have a locked door, and if I have my locations down right it is still visited on occasion by people seeking unusual mineral specimens.  Crystals and such.

Here's a couple more entrances of similar dimensions.  The level of natural or man make blockade varies quite a bit.

There were also upper entrances to the mines.  These were straight shafts down from the higher points.  Men and sometimes ponies would be lowered down with winches.  As these are pretty severe hazards to sheep and cattle the efforts to block these are more deliberate.

A couple centuries of mining has interesting effects on the landscape.  Of course you see areas where mine collapse has caused big depressions in the surface.  Also areas where creeks and the river have been channeled and straightened to aid in ore washing.  But the most dramatic change is all the mine spoil that has been dumped everywhere.  This is not actually all that unsightly, and is fantastic habitat for rabbits.  In the loose dirt they dig bunny mega cities.

There was plenty to see, and a great deal more that calls for further exploration.  Here's a guide to the area that looks quite intriguing.

Signing off from England for another year.....