Byways in British Archaeology

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 mæ̅l 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 mæ̅l dūn), it would certainly have implied a “hill with a cross or crucifix,” just as, according to Professor Skeat, we have “Christ’s mæ̅l 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 Mæ̅ldune, 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.