Byways in British Archaeology

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.”)

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].

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.