Walter Johnson

Our next task is to review the evidence, collected during many years of inquiry, respecting the mounds which are frequently seen in the neighbourhood of churchyards. Formerly, those archaeologists who gave any attention to this subject,—they were a very small band of observers,—contented themselves with grouping all the mounds as “barrows” or “tumuli.” With fuller information, we are now able to classify the hillocks as (1) defensive mounds, (2) “moot-hills,” (3) “toot-hills,” and (4) true barrows, or grave-mounds. Etymologically, there is nothing which warrants the limitation of the word “tumulus” to a burial-mound, and, in actual practice, it is often loosely applied to any kind of mound whatever. To avoid confusion, however, it will be well, in this chapter at least, to refrain from using “tumulus” to describe those knolls, comprised under the second and third headings, which have not yet been proved to be of a sepulchral character.

Taking the groups in order, we deal first with the defensive mounds, known to archaeologists under a variety of alternative names: castle-mounds, moated mounds or mounts, mound-castles, and mottes. And it should at once be said that this group includes the majority of the examples which will be adduced. This result might have been anticipated, for these moated mounds are large and durable, and hence have escaped levelling by spade and ploughshare.

A few words must be devoted to an explanation of mottes or mound-castles. These hillocks were essentially low, flat-topped, truncated cones of earthwork, usually surrounded by a ditch, and placed in direct connection with a larger defensive enclosure. The mound was generally artificial, either wholly or in part: the entirely natural mound is the rarest kind[144]. Of these natural hillocks, an illustration is found in the chalk “monticle” on which Corfe Castle is built (Figs. 13, 14). This mound need not detain us, because it is still crowned by the ruins of what was once a solid structure of masonry, built during the reign of Henry I. Of its true character there can, therefore, be no doubt. The castle-mounds which we are particularly considering, in their earlier forms at least, are believed to have supported a kind of wooden guard-house (turris, bretasche, or keep), which was surrounded by a stockade. Not until a later period of fortification, when the material of the mound had subsided and become firm and solid, did a structure of stone appear on the summit, if indeed, the wooden structure were ever replaced by a more permanent keep or fortress. Stone keeps were built on mottes at Kilpeck in Herefordshire, Fewston in Yorkshire, and other places, but this does not appear to have been the more general custom. Many mounds, at any rate, were never capped by a superstructure of masonry.

The castle-mound, as already stated, was encompassed by a moat, which probably, however, was not intended to contain water, except in special cases (Fig. 15). Yet it is very possible that “puddling” was often an undesigned result of the constant trampling to which the ditch was subjected. It should here be explained that the Norman-French term, motte, which is constantly applied to the moated mound, is not related to the word “moat,” though, owing to a misunderstanding of the Latinized form, mota, it has often been so translated. Beyond the real moat, or ditch, was the larger enclosure to which reference has been made. This was the outer ward, the bailey or base court; it was of horseshoe or crescentic form, and was reached by crossing a wooden bridge. The bailey had its own moat, which, in its turn, was engirdled on the outside by a bank passing along the counterscarp[145].

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Fig. 13. Corfe Castle, as it appeared in A.D. 1643. This is a good example of a castle built on a natural eminence. The hill is almost encircled by two streams, which have cut deep valleys, and have nearly severed the mass from the main ridge. A deep, artificial trench on the townward side completes the isolation.

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Fig. 14. Ruins of Corfe Castle, 1910.

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Fig. 15. The Mount, Great Canfield, Essex, a typical motte-and-bailey earthwork. M, motte, or castle-mound: the top of which is about 40 feet from the bottom of the moat. B, the bailey-court with its own moat. D, a dam, by means of which the water of the river Roding was probably utilized to increase the supply for the moat. The direction of the stream is shown by arrows. The parish church is seen near the North-West boundary of the motte.

This short description must suffice. The question which first arises is concerned with the age of the moated mounds. The older opinion, as expressed by Mr G. T. Clark, and to some extent accepted by later authorities, such as Mr I. Chalkley Gould, was, that some of the hillocks, at least, were of Saxon date[146]. Mr Clark was largely influenced by the belief, which most modern writers consider erroneous, that the word burh of old documents referred to these castle-mounds. This word burh, however, is said to stand always for a fortified town and to have never been applied to a motte-and-bailey castle[147]. Among quite recent writers who assign some of the mounds to an early date, may be mentioned Mr Willoughby Gardner, who considers that, on a balance of evidence, the simple form of moated mound may be said to have originated in Saxon times. This view is also shared by Mr Reginald A. Smith. Again, Mr T. Davies Pryce has brought forward evidence to show that the moated mound belongs to diverse races and periods, and he contends that some mottes are of much earlier date than the Norman Conquest[148]. The trend of modern opinion, as enunciated by Dr J. H. Round, Mr W. St John Hope, Mrs E. S. Armitage, Mr G. Neilson, Mr A. H. Allcroft, and others, places the castle-mounds within the Norman period[149].

So far as the moated mounds are artificial and of Norman construction, they are extraneous to our inquiry about pagan sites; they are the feudal strongholds of which the village church was often the religious appendage. This relationship of fortress and temple will be forced upon us in the next chapter, and will continue to suggest itself when we discuss other matters. But if we suppose that the Norman mottes had their Saxon forerunners, or even that the Norman mound-builders took advantage of pre-existing knolls of an artificial character, we are led to search for vestiges of an accompanying Saxon church. For, under these conditions, it is conceivable that we might have a Christian church built near a pagan mound. From the nature of the problem, satisfactory proof is difficult to procure. Certain moated mounds have yielded more than a hint of the adaptation by the Normans of earlier works. The flat-topped castle-mound near the churchyard of St Weonards, Herefordshire[150], has been claimed, on “the testimony of the spade,” as having been a prehistoric grave-hill. This was the view held by Mr I. C. Gould. Thomas Wright, who opened this mound in A.D. 1855, declared that, “beyond a doubt,” it had been used for sepulchral purposes, though the discoveries did not warrant his assigning its specific period. It may be mentioned that a decayed yew, of considerable age, together with other trees, adorned the hillock[151]. A similar defensive hillock, 50 feet in diameter, near the churchyard of Thruxton, Herefordshire, and known to the peasantry as Thruxton Tump[152], was also found to contain animal bones and pieces of crockery[153]. I can gather no details concerning the excavations of this last-named mound, and am inclined to accept the claims with great reserve, principally because other mottes have furnished similar relics, which have been proved capable of a more obvious interpretation. The first example of these supposed barrows is the castle-mound which is included within the present extended graveyard at Penwortham, in Lancashire. Careful sections cut in this remarkable hillock exhibited a profusion of remains, such as animal bones, mussel-shells, decayed timber, and objects of iron and bronze. These relics were disposed in layers, in such a manner as to show that the mound had been raised in height at two different periods[154]. Successive elevations of surface were also discovered in the moated mound adjacent to Arkholme church, Lancashire[155]. The castle-mound, again, at Warrington, situated about 100 yards from a church which stands almost within the fosse of the outer ward, has been raised more than once. The last occasion when the height was increased was during its occupation by the Parliamentary forces in A.D. 1643[156]. In all these cases the relics seem to indicate alterations which took place after the Norman period of mound-construction had set in. The bronze articles found at Penwortham, and the broken amphora which is recorded from Warrington, superficially suggest an earlier origin. But these relics were most probably scraped up with the soil when the motte was enlarged, or were picked up by the inhabitants somewhere in the neighbourhood, and were afterwards blended with the refuse-stratum of that particular period. These explorations, then, tend to discredit, in some degree, the statements made with respect to the Herefordshire mounds. At the same time, we must not rashly conclude that, in every instance, the workmen commenced their work on a perfectly level surface. The story of St Weonards teaches us caution. There were hundreds of early burial-mounds, as well as hillocks of other kinds, which may well have served as bases for mottes. An incidental fact, noted by Dr Round, is worth recalling. Moated mounds are to be seen in places where, so far as we know, the Normans never had a castle. It is clear that castle-mounds, with their appendant bailey-courts, were sometimes thrown up, and afterwards abandoned for other sites. Such a mound was raised by William at Hastings[157]. This opinion is quite accordant with what has been previously said about the absence of stone keeps on earlier mottes.

Seeing that the feudal baron dominated the village community, and that compliance with the claims of religion was deemed secondary only to the arrangements for personal security[158], one would naturally expect to find the Norman church not far distant from the castle-mound. And this is actually what one often sees: the church is either just outside the moated mound, or within the crescentic bailey-court. It would, I think, be an over-statement to assert, as do some writers, that the inclusion of the church within the entrenchments is typical of the arrangement of a Norman earthwork

Fig. 16. Chapel, Goodrich Castle, Herefordshire (c. A.D. 1330-1450). The beautiful window tracery has been demolished, but below the opening on the right are a small piscina, and a trefoil-headed credence-table.

castle[159]. True, the association is not infrequent, but it is doubtfully the rule. While the feudal lord would be able, by this plan, to concentrate the ecclesiastical and the civil administration of his estates, and to exercise keen supervision over his clerks and other dependants, he commonly had his own chapel (Fig. 16) and domestic chaplain within the castle itself. The disposition of the parish church would not, therefore, solely depend on the lord’s convenience, but would be affected by many other circumstances.

We shall now be equipped for steady work in eliminating all those examples of miscalled barrows, which are, in truth, castle-mounds. The path will then be cleared for an advance. Without pretending to give a complete catalogue, we must notice some of the better-known mottes. The hillocks at Barwick-in-Elmet, Yorkshire, Great Canfield, in Essex, and, possibly, Towcester, in Northampton, belong to Dr J. H. Round’s group of mounds without castles[160]. The Great Canfield motte-and-bailey (Fig. 15, p. 54 supra) is a fine specimen. It is remarkable from the fact that a stream was diverted to provide the moat with water. Moreover, it seems likely that there was a dam on the North-East, by which the supply could be augmented from the river Roding. The interesting Norman church of the village lies at the North-West angle of the earthwork. Laughton-en-le-Morthen, near Rotherham, contains another noteworthy motte. We know that the church of the village contains some masonry belonging to the latter part of the tenth century[161]. Hence we are moved to ask, Was the mound also of pre-Norman date, or did the Norman settlers elect to rear their fortress near a spot already famous? In our next chapter, we shall touch on a matter which is of interest in this connection.

To continue the survey: we find that most counties afford examples of mottes raised near churches. Lancashire, in addition to the cases mentioned, contributes the Melling fortress to our list[162]; Yorkshire gives us another mound, that of Bardsey, from the district once covered with the Forest of Elmet. In Lincolnshire, we find Owston, where a portion of the ditch is still visible[163], and Redbourn, which has its Castle Hill, and traces of a moated area, often described by the older topographers. Buckinghamshire yields, at the village of Cublington, a somewhat unusual hillock, which is probably a moated mound,

constructed during the reign of Henry III. In immediate association with this mound, Mr Allcroft has found traces of the old village “ring-fence” (p. 16 supra), that is, an enclosure consisting of vallum and fosse, the former of which is supposed to have carried a stockade[164]. Professor Seebohm has recorded a mound near the church of Meppershall, in Bedfordshire[165], and another, known as the Toot Hill, at Pirton, in Hertfordshire[166] (cf. p. 7 supra). He was of opinion that the Pirton knoll was a place of observation, or watching-mound, but more recent inspection has led to its being classed as a Norman motte. This oval hillock covers more than an acre of ground. Its height is 25 feet, but there is a depression in the crown, caused by the removal of earth to fill in the inner part of the moat.

Mr D. H. Montgomerie states that the bank and ditch of the bailey-court may be distinctly traced in the churchyard[167] (Figs. 17, 18). Yet there must always remain the doubt whether an earlier mound was not enlarged and entrenched by the builders of the castle-hill. The nickname, Toot Hill, to be noticed shortly, gives a half-hint of such a reconstruction. The Penwortham and Arkholme mottes have taught us to scrutinize each example closely, and on its own merits. Anywhere we might expect to find the spade telling us of a castle-hill which conceals, within its substance, a British barrow, or a Roman botontine or specula. A botontine, it may be explained, was a small mound which was heaped up by Roman land-surveyors, and in which were usually deposited a few scraps of pottery and a handful of ashes, or fragments of the bones of animals. A specula was an earthwork “watch-tower,” if the expression be permissible. A slightly puzzling mound, situated a short distance from Towcester church, Northampton, revealed coins and pottery which betrayed Roman occupation, yet these alone did not tell when the mound itself was raised[168] (cf. p. 59 supra). Again, the Castle Hill, at Hallaton, in Leicestershire, an earthwork of the mound-and-court type, yielded traces of British, Roman and Saxon settlements[169]. The Hallaton mound, however, is about a mile distant from the church.

A most interesting castle-mound, though of small size, is that of Earl’s Barton, Northampton. The famous Saxon church of this village abuts on the South side of the motte, which has been peeled away, either to accommodate the tower, or for some other reason[170]. Mr Reginald A. Smith, who quotes an article written by Professor Baldwin Brown, in which a pre-Norman origin of the motte is called in question, points to the undoubted Saxon age of the church tower, and thinks, with Mr G. T. Clark, that the earthen stronghold belongs also to the Saxon period[171]. Swerford, Oxfordshire, again, presents a deviation from the normal churchyard castle-mound. Besides the motte and bailey-court, there is a subsidiary mound, guarding the entrance, together with two detached platforms towards the East. These may indicate different periods of construction.

Coming South of the Thames, we notice the castle-mound on the slope of the hill above Brenchley church, in Kent[172]. The Saxon church of Swanscombe, near Northfleet, which suffered severely from fire a few years ago, has an attendant mound on the hill by which it is overlooked. This earthwork, known as Sweyn’s Camp, has a diameter of 100 feet, and its ground-plan, as shown in the Victoria History of Kent, suggests a somewhat earlier date than that of the ordinary motte-and-bailey group[173]. In the sister county of Surrey, a defensive mound is known to have existed near Ockham church, and some of the outlying banks have escaped entire obliteration[174]. Behind Abinger church, again, there is a hillock, which may be a motte, or perhaps a true barrow of the Bronze Age[175]. Dr J. C. Cox says that it is “obviously an ancient barrow,” but it appears never to have been opened. We might proceed, county by county, and catalogue many further examples, but it would result in wearying the reader. One further instance only shall be given, and it chances to be that of a motte which diverges from the type. The Norman church of Kilpeck, Herefordshire, is built on the bank and ditch of a rectangular enclosure, which lies outside the curvilinear courts of a castle-mound. Possibly we have here a Norman fortification encroaching upon an earlier earthwork, and it should be observed that the church occupies vantage-ground strong by nature[176] (p. 52 supra). We must now dismiss the castle-mounds, though we shall be unconsciously compelled to revert to them hereafter.

Our second group of church-mounds comprises the “Moot-Hills.” These objects, usually artificial, vary much in size, and are not confined to the neighbourhood of churches. The etymology of the word “moot” (O.E. mot, M.E. mot, imot = meeting, public assembly) at once gives a clue to the uses of these mounds[177]. It was at spots of this kind, as well as at other places having characteristic landmarks, that the early open-air assemblies were wont to meet. Now, in the first place, we notice, as Sir G. L. Gomme has ably shown, that open-air courts have not been confined to one race or to one period[178]. Doubtless they are practically coeval with the formation of the primitive village community. To attempt to fix the precise date is foreign to our purpose, it is enough to know that open-air courts preceded the first preaching of Christianity in Britain. Near some well-known object, then, the men of the hamlet, the inhabitants of the forest, the warriors of the hundred, or the tenants of the manor, met to transact their business[179]. Sir G. L. Gomme has collected a mass of information concerning these meeting-places. We have seen (p. 34 supra) that monoliths, stone-circles, and ancient burial-places were much favoured as meeting-places. To this list must be added barrows, tumuli, and mounds[180]. There is no reason to impede our quest by stopping to enumerate examples, because the fact is now a commonplace. Besides ancient burial-mounds, “camps” also served for open-air courts. At Downton, in Wiltshire, there is a moot-hill about 70 feet high, rising in six terraces from the river Avon below. Despite any later alterations, it seems probable that the hillock was constructed within an earthwork of earlier date. In a small volume entitled ‘The Moot’ and its Traditions (1906), Mr Elias P. Squarey, the proprietor of the Moot House, Downton, has collected all the available records about this interesting relic.

The old Welsh laws help us to form a picture of a gathering at a moot-hill. During a law suit, the judge sat on the circular mound. Below, on the left hand, sat the plaintiff, the defendant being placed on the right. The lord must sit behind the judge, and have his back to the wind or sun, lest he be incommoded. Mr S. O. Addy notes that, as the court was held in the morning, the lord must have sat towards the East and faced the West, and that, in this respect, the later indoor court was a copy of the outdoor court[181]. A word of reminder may be said concerning the annual ceremonies connected with the Tynwald Hill in the Isle of Man. Here we have an instance of a national assembly meeting on a hill to elect officers and promulgate new laws. No law was fully recognized until it had been proclaimed from this mound. The custom is still (1910) formally observed. Hard by is a small chapel, built on the site of an ancient church, and the present day gathering is heralded by a religious service, the procession to the hill being formed afterwards.

Some of the moot-hills, like that of Pirton (p. 60 supra), were Norman mottes, though possibly not belonging wholly to the Norman period. It is extremely probable, moreover, that some of the earlier mounds were either actual British barrows, or were tumps raised for the specific use of folk-moots. In other words, the first moot-hills would belong to pagan times, and were therefore used long before the organization of the Norman form of the manorial system, or the establishment of Norman mottes. There is hence a likelihood that, where churches stand near moot-hills, those mounds may, in some cases, be assigned to the pre-Christian period. Nor would it greatly diminish this probability if it were proved that some of these hillocks were entirely natural in their formation. The force of the argument is derived from the fact that secular affairs and heathen ceremonies were connected with the mounds, and that it was thought wise to retain the bond by preaching the new faith from a building erected in the vicinity.

A pertinent fact was observed by Mr James Logan, a generation ago. He noticed that moot-hills were the seats of assemblies which afterwards came to be held in churches[182]. Further, he discovered that stone-circles were also formerly used for meetings: he thus anticipated the conclusions of later writers. One remarkable instance is given. So late as A.D. 1380, a Court of Regality was held “apud le stand and Stanes de la Rath de Kingusie[183].” Of the moot-hills proper, Logan found that these were often actually dedicated to saints. The Hill of Scone was known as the Collis Credulitatis. Here we have obviously a consecration due to the influence of Christianity. When, at a somewhat later period, the custom was introduced of holding the courts in churches, the clergy objected on the ground that the sacred building was not suited to such a purpose. A canon was issued forbidding the laity to hold such meetings within the church. These injunctions were frequently disobeyed[184]. Up to this point, Logan is a safe guide, and his theories can be justified by documentary evidence. He is supported, too, by comparative customs. Professor F. Kauffmann, for instance, states that the pagan temples of the West Teutons were situated near the places of judgement, where the Things, or popular assemblies, were held[185]. The “doom-rings,” or stone-circles, of Iceland were used as judgement seats down to a late period. Thus far, Logan’s view is corroborated. But when, misled apparently by the Christian dedications just referred to, he proceeds to argue that moot-hills were raised after the use of churches was disallowed, he exactly reverses the order of events. The stone-circles, according to his own presentment of facts, must have been reared for the same cause, and, similarly, at a late period. One suspects that vague ideas respecting the age of the megaliths led to a hasty conclusion as to the age of the moot-hills. The real history would be that the spots most convenient for folk-moots were most suitable for worship, and that consequently it was politic to build churches there. To what extent the moot-hills were originally sepulchral is, for the moment, inessential. That verdict lies with the labourer’s mattock and spade, not with the theories of the student, who can only collate the records. To resume: little by little, as we shall find, secular business began to be transacted in the churches, and the primary purpose of moot-hills slowly vanished. One result, perhaps, was that the name “moot-hill,” in some cases, got wrongly applied to mounds that had not been used for assemblies. This error probably sprang from the confusion of the moat (mota), belonging to the castle-mound, with the better known and already accredited “moot[186].”

That some of the moot-hills are actually barrows has been proved by excavation. Duggleby Howe, a moot-hill, or “rath,” in the East Riding, was opened by Mr J. R. Mortimer for Sir Tatton Sykes in 1880, and was found to be a prehistoric grave-mound. The relics happened to be very abundant[187]. To show the fallibility even of conclusions based on the results of experimental diggings, another case, reported by Mr Mortimer, may be cited. Eleven miles from the Duggleby moot-hill is another hillock known as Willy Howe. The two mounds are exactly alike in size, shape, and other respects, yet, although Willy Howe has been twice opened, no skeleton has been encountered. Mr Mortimer, evidently anxious to point a much-needed moral, remarks, “Had the excavation at Duggleby been no wider than that of Willy Howe, the two graves containing the primary interments would not have been found[188].” To compare small things with great, one may recall the boring and the tunnelling of the famous Silbury Hill. The toil was barren of results, and one feels that no really safe deduction can be drawn from this negative testimony.

Having admitted that some moot-hills are really mottes, it will be well to lay stress on the present contention that other moot-hills are of a date anterior to that of castle-mounds. If mota has been corrupted into “moot,” the word “moot” itself has also suffered rough treatment. Mr Mortimer speaks of a knoll which perplexed the antiquaries, because it was variously known as Mud, Mude, and Mundal Hill. The real name proved to be Moot Hill, and, although no proper excavations have been made, a bronze celt has been dug up, along with Mediaeval relics, and Mr Mortimer believes that the mound is a British grave[189].

Again, though the castle-mound, especially when standing near the parish church, was convenient as a place of assembly, yet there is a danger in resting satisfied with this truth, and refusing to probe matters further. Mr Allcroft notices several examples of so-called moot-hills which are really castle-mounds, and notices one in particular at Walton-on-the-Hill, Surrey, which is believed to be of this nature. He observes that this mound is surrounded by a ditch, which would be useless for a moot-hill, but would be fitting for a motte on which the lord’s dwelling was built. He therefore concludes that in such cases the motte was degraded to a moot-hill[190]. This criticism is both acute and just, but does it cover the whole field? Moots are very ancient institutions. Is it not quite as likely that, in many instances, the castle-mound was an earlier moot-hill, and that the fosse was constructed when the turris was about to be built? And how are we to know, in the absence of proof to the contrary, that the fosse is not, in some cases, the encircling trench of a large round barrow, deepened for purposes of defence? Moreover can the plea of uselessness be valid against moot-hills, when we remember the frequent occurrence of circular trenches around these barrows and also around some megaliths? The trenches may, in some instances, have been incidental to the mode of construction. These are not idle questions. Some of the moot-hills of the East Riding seem to be grave-hills which were consecrated by making incised crosses on the chalky mound to a depth of several feet. The arms of the cross, in each case, are directed towards the cardinal points. Mr Mortimer believes that the carving of the symbol on the mound gave sanctity to the spot[191]. Frankness compels one to note that the local name for these sunken crosses is bields (= shelters), the underlying notion being that the trenches were originally dug as cattle shelters, and that they were made crosswise to afford protection from all quarters of the heavens. But this explanation could not possibly apply to other crosses, in low relief, formed of ridges of earth and stones, occurring on other ancient sites[192]. Nor is it valid for the intaglio crosses, since these were usually found to have been filled with broken bones and Saxon shards[193]. As shedding light on these strange discoveries, it may be noticed that, in old Saxony, an open-air tribunal was consecrated by digging a grave, into which were thrown ashes, a coal, and a tile[194]. In passing, we note that these moot-hills are often known alternatively as Gallows or Galley Hills, names which evidently denote places set apart for judicial executions[195]. The antiquity of such names may not be very great, and there is a possibility that the word “Galley” in some cases simply means poor and unfertile. Yet there are traditions that gallows stood on these spots, and both the word “gallows” and the thing denoted are ancient. The word is as old as Beowulf, and although hanging does not appear to have been a mode of punishment greatly favoured by the Saxons, it was not altogether unknown. William the Conqueror made provisions to restrict the practice of hanging, a penalty which, curious to relate, was in his day thought more cruel than mutilation[196].

We have now reached this point: a moot-hill may be natural or artificial, and, if artificial, it may, or may not, be a burial mound. That the pagan Saxons respected mounds which they believed to be barrows is fairly evident. Thomas Wright has clearly shown that Roman monumental inscriptions not infrequently contain warnings against neglect of, or disrespect to, the tombs of the departed. Besides, therefore, the leaven of superstition, I consider that we must reckon with the probability of living knowledge, the result of direct transmission, possessed by those members of the population who understood debased Latin at the time of the Teutonic invasion. Some of the venerated mounds were employed as boundaries[197]. We shall find, at a later stage of our studies, that the half-Christianized folk were apt to resort to the barrows for the burial of their dead. Roads are even reported to swerve a little from their course to avoid a grave-mound. These clues are “light as air, but strong as links of iron.” The pivotal fact to be remembered is that, wherever the church-builders found a reputed barrow at a spot not altogether unsuitable in other respects, they would recognize the sanctity of the mound, and would be enticed to accept it as a fit neighbour for the new structure.

A possible illustration seems to be afforded by a hummock which is in contiguity with the churchyard at Old Hunstanton, Norfolk. Canon A. Jessopp surmised that this mound was a moot-hill[198], but excavations, we are now informed, have proved that the knoll is purely natural[199]. Accepting the correctness of this conclusion, one may yet reasonably retain the hypothesis that the mound was used as an open-air court. Both the early settlers and the later architects may conceivably have mistaken the hillock for a sepulchre. Our problem does not concern alone the character of the knoll, but the purpose to which it was applied. We have not simply to ask, Is the mound an artifact? but, How came the church to be associated with the mound? Were such an instance solitary, it would not be worth a moment’s thought. Contrariwise, if the examples are numerous, as they undoubtedly are, we are not justified in dismissing them summarily and without reserve.

The third group of mounds placed in the vicinity of churches will detain us a still shorter time than did the second. The “Toot Hills” are frequently confounded with the “Moot Hills,” both in name and nature. Often, indeed, a particular eminence would serve both purposes, and it would be difficult to define each class with distinctness. The Toot Hill at Pirton (p. 60 supra) is accepted as a castle motte, though it must have also been an earthwork watch-tower. Such outposts, or places of observation, have been employed by many peoples. Xenophon and Herodotus speak of the s??p??, or watch-tower, while Cicero and Livy use specula in practically the same sense (view-point or beacon). In Britain the toot-hills appear to have been utilized throughout the Middle Ages; perhaps, too, they did not fall into entire disuse until after the Peninsular War, but were employed, at intervals, in times of stress and danger. When they did not serve as rallying points, they were still valuable for beacon-fires.

The word “toot” is almost certainly derived from A. S. totian, to project, to peep, the allusion being primarily to the swelling or protuberance of the ground (cf. tumulus) and afterwards to the watch which was kept from its summit. Professor J. Tait has collected much interesting lore concerning the word. Thus, the word which in the Authorized Version of the Bible (Isa. xxi. 8) is rendered “watch-tower” was translated “toothyl” by Wyclif[200]. The Vulgate renders the term by specula. Mr Allcroft further connects the word “toot” with A.S. tutta, a spy[201]. The absurd etymologies once in vogue, such as that which associated “toot” with Taith, a pagan deity, are now relinquished. Among the variations and compounds of “toot” are Tout Hill, Tothill, Tutt Hill (near Thetford), Tutbury, Tothill Fields, Touting Hill, Beltout (Sussex), and others. Some of these are familiar to us as names of villages and districts. Sir John Rhys describes vantage-points in the Isle of Man, which are evidently the equivalents of our toot-hills. These knolls are called cronks, and they are found near churches. Thus, we have “Cronk yn Iree Laa,” near Jurby, a name which signifies “Hill of the Rise of Day,” or possibly, “Hill of Watch and Ward[202].” In Ireland an artificial hillock of this kind is called Moate-o’-Ward, or alternatively, a rath or Danes’ Grave. In the popular mind, again, our English word has been associated with burial mounds and banked enclosures. For instance, a long barrow in Staffordshire is known as the Fairy’s Toot. The Toot Hill at Uttoxeter was found to contain both Neolithic and Roman remains. Again, the quadrilateral earthwork at Toothill, near Macclesfield, is provisionally believed, as the result of spade-work, to be an early fortification.

Mr S. O. Addy, in his valuable work The Evolution of the English House, speaks of the presence of “Tout” or “Touting Hills” near parish churches, but, from his descriptions, it would seem that most of his examples are genuine castle-mounds[203]. In two features, however, the mound which is a toot-hill, and nothing more, occasionally differs from the other hillocks which we are

describing. One characteristic is the great size, as compared with barrows and mottes, and the other is the irregularity of shape, where the mound has been untouched by man. The writer’s notebook contains an account of a visit to the Toot Hill at Little Coates, near Grimsby, in December, 1903. The church of Little Coates, which is probably of early foundation, though only the featureless chancel arch of the present building dates before the Perpendicular Period, is about one-third of a mile distant. This Toot Hill (Fig. 19) is a huge mound with an irregular ground plan, but the upper portion has an elliptical contour. It is composed chiefly of sand and sandy clays, which seem to belong to the late Glacial Period. A sand pit which was being worked at the base of one side of the hill, yielded broken and comminuted specimens of Ostrea, Tellina, and other marine shells. Towards the summit, however, there were undoubted signs of man’s work. A slight fall of snow had rendered discernible a shallow trench which encompassed the hill slope. One could also pick out, near the base, the radial ridges and furrows of some old-time plough, but even these had not quite obliterated the trench. A few small flint flakes were detected on a patch bare of turf. One suspects that this hill served both as a beacon and a watch-tower when the Humber and the North Sea were nearer the spot, and when Grimsby was represented by a string of islets lying amid the waters of a lagoon. This condition of the landscape is known to have prevailed during the early historic period. The capping of the mound covers, mayhap, the dust of more than one celebrity. Bones and earthenware were found at, or near, this spot a century ago, and soon after the visit just described skeletons were dug up in the sand pit. The ultimate fate of these skeletons, and their determinations, could not be ascertained. Perchance this toot-hill will remind the visitor of the cremation of Beowulf, and the mound which “the Weders people wrought on the hill,” after the funeral-pyre which they had kindled had ceased to glow. We learn that the lamenting warriors raised

We pause for a moment to recapitulate briefly our records and results. Wherever a mound which is intimately associated with a church is of Norman or post-Norman construction, it tells of feudal convenience and the centralization of business; perhaps, too, of religious expediency, with more than a hint of the secular use of the church. In a lesser degree, this argument of convenience applies also to the Saxon nobles. One of the means by which a ceorl could secure thegn-right, was by building a church, and if he followed this method, it is probable he would prefer to erect the church near his dwelling. Again, the connection of churches with pre-Norman moot-hills or toot-hills, whether these were “blind” mounds or grave-knolls, suggests the deliberate choice of sites already famous. And if it be granted that the Norman motte had, even by exception, a rudimentary origin in the Saxon period, reasoned selection is again indicated. A mound which was the seat of judicial and legislative assemblies would be so indissolubly linked with the religious ceremonies of the community or tribe, that the site of the future church may be said to have been almost predetermined.

The mounds which form our last series are the grave-hills or barrows. These features, when found near Christian places of worship, form such a critical test of intentional selection, that each record should be closely scanned. British examples of the barrow and the church as neighbours are not very abundant. In parts of the Continent, however, the records are so numerous and so obvious that they crave a more lenient inspection. Few European countries have been overrun by the invader during the last fifteen hundred years to the same degree as Britain. Churches have been pulled down and rebuilt, or they have been fired and deserted, and, long afterwards, restored. The surrounding churchyards have been trenched and dug far more intensively than the treasure-field of Aesop’s fable. The spade has disturbed and distributed flints and shards, and any other primitive relics have been broken and scattered so many times that their original positions are unknown. Levelling has followed inequality, and, in some cases, the graveyard has been enlarged and a secondary dispersal of soil has been made. (The observations on burial shards in Chapter VII. should be read in this connection.)

We will start with some of the less-authenticated examples first. A mound, long thought to be a barrow, but now considered to be quite natural, stands near Woodnesborough church, Sandwich, Kent. No trenching of the mound, however, has been recorded. The late Mr T. W. Shore recorded several instances of churchyard barrows from Hampshire, but I am not aware that the true character of these particular mounds has ever been investigated. Thus, at Corhampton, a church of Saxon foundation is actually built on a mound, while at Cheriton, the church is not only placed on a hillock, but it is also adjacent to a permanent spring[204]. This collocation of church and spring, it may be remarked, will greet us continually. In the churchyard of Ogbourne Maisey, Wiltshire, a fine “tumulus” stands close to the river[205], and Mr F. J. Bennett, who records this example, informs me that there was formerly another mound in Allington churchyard, Kent. This last example, one is disposed to think, may have been an outpost of Allington Castle.

The next mound which deserves attention is situated just outside the North wall of the churchyard of Over Worton, Oxfordshire. It is a round hillock, and has a circumference of 198 feet. Except that it is tree-clad, it has the characteristics of the other round barrows of the district. The assertion has been made that the mound merely represents a heap of rubbish removed from the churchyard, but a living witness, whose memory covers the date assigned to its construction, denies this story, and states that the hillock was there previously[206].

With respect to a mound which I recently discovered in Berwick churchyard near Lewes, in Sussex, nothing is definitely known. This mound, which occupies the South-Western corner of the graveyard, and which stands but a few yards from the church, appears to be mainly, if not altogether, artificial, and is most probably a barrow. It is slightly elliptical in shape, the diameters being approximately 48 and 42 feet respectively, while its height is about seven feet. A large sycamore and a horse chestnut overshadow the hillock; the former tree is shown to the spectator’s right in Fig. 20. On this side also, towards the base of the mound, a monumental cross is seen. In digging the grave beneath, it is said that hard chalk was soon reached, but this proves little, since the excavation was made near the foot of the hillock. No other graves have been dug in the mound. On the whole, and in default of actual trenching, I am disposed to consider this mound a true burial place. Its small size and the absence of an outer court seem to preclude the idea of its having been a defensive mound of the moated type.

A large barrow, hitherto unexplored, lies concealed in a wood near Ryton church, in county Durham[207]. Another knoll, bearing the name of Brinklow Mount, stands to the East of Brinklow churchyard, Warwickshire, and is believed to have been originally a grave-hill, though afterwards made to serve as a motte[208]. A low mound near Great Wigborough church, Essex, is reputed to be the burial place of soldiers killed in battle, but it is probably a true barrow.

One of the most interesting of these mounds, speculatively barrows, to be seen near London, is situated on the Northern side of Chislehurst churchyard, Kent. This hillock is surmounted by an altar tomb, the horizontal slab of which now rests on the plinth. No tidings can be gleaned respecting the origin of the mound. For reasons which appear to be satisfactory to the writer, and which will be considered at a later stage (Chapter VIII.), a knoll of this kind would scarcely be expressly raised over an ordinary grave or vault on the North side of the graveyard so early as the year 1712, the date when Caleb Trenchfield was interred in the mound. The fact that this gentleman did not

belong to the ordinary rank of village folk would render burial in that quarter the more noticeable, since the practice of burial on the North side was then unusual. But a mound of this size would not be heaped up to cover a single vault. One would infer that, unless Mr Trenchfield left instructions for an extraordinary kind of burial, the mound existed long before, and had no connection with Christian interments. Mr E. A. Webb, the able historian of Chislehurst, has kindly supplied all the available facts about the tomb. Two trees were planted on the mound, as the evidence shows, only a few years after the burial, in 1712. The growth of the trees first damaged and then broke the monument, and they were therefore cut down. Mr Webb states that there is no record that the mound has ever been opened, save at the funeral of Mr Trenchfield[209]. An illustration of the mound and tomb as given by Daniel Lysons about the year 1800, is shown in Fig. 21. Pending further excavations, which are, however, not likely to be made, I should place the mound, with reserve, under the present section of our subject.

Near Bramber church, in Sussex, there is a group of “valley mounds,” 27 in number. They are circular, and have a diameter of from 15 to 20 yards. Around each of these low eminences, which are flat-topped, runs a ditch. A group of 38 similar mounds is situated between Applesham Creek and Coombe church. Trial holes, which were sunk in 1908-9, under the direction of the Brighton and Hove Archaeological Club, brought to light bones, a Mediaeval knife, and pottery which was assigned by Mr F. W. Reader to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The real nature of the mounds is still, however, undetermined.

We may amplify our references after glancing at the map of Yorkshire. Speeton church, near Bridlington, is said to be built on a tumulus[210]. Again, Mr Mortimer discovered that a burial-ground, or, at least, a barrow, lay beneath Fimber church, in the East Riding. His excavations, made in 1869, brought to light flint implements, pottery, shells, and human bones[211]. The vanished building at Chapel Carn Brea, in Cornwall, which stood on the crest of a conspicuous hill, is another instance of a church built on, or near, a sepulchral mound[212]. The neighbourhood of this last church abounds with antiquities, and traces of about 100 hut circles have been recorded[213].

Oftentimes, in places where no mound is visible in the church garth, the soil still holds relics which denote archaic interments. During the repairs which were made some five-and-twenty years ago, at the East end of Wyre Piddle church in Worcestershire, two skeletons were discovered in a sitting posture. The faces were disposed towards the North-East. With the bones were found the remains of iron shield-bosses. A kind of rough pavement was also reached under the soil of the churchyard. The interments had been made prior to the introduction of Christianity[214], and a mound may once have marked the spot. From the churchyard of Llanbedr, in the Vale of Conway, a somewhat analogous find is recorded. Six feet below the surface, the sexton’s spade struck a flat slab of stone, and underneath this was found a crouching, or kneeling, skeleton, surrounded by boars’ tusks[215]. The district around is rich in British remains[216].

Some forty years ago, when the church tower of East Blatchington, Sussex, was being restored, an urn containing burnt bones and charcoal was discovered. The precise nature of the urn, and its after-history, do not seem to be known. Urns were also discovered during the restoration of Arlington church, in the same county, in the year 1892. Among the Saxon graves which have been disturbed by the modern sexton, two Kentish examples should be noted. In a churchyard at Faversham, the frontal bone of a human cranium and a Saxon tumbler of transparent green glass were dug up in the year 1853[217]. A bell-shaped cup of glass, ornamented with vertical ribs, was found associated with a skull and other human bones in the churchyard at Minster. The bones represented a skeleton which was computed to be eight feet in length[218]. Whether or not the burial-places at Faversham and Minster were ever capped with mounds must remain undecided. It is quite probable that a small “howe” of some kind marked the spot in each case. These Kentish discoveries add enlightenment in another direction. At a meeting of the Prehistoric Society of East Anglia, held at Norwich, in February, 1910, there was exhibited a polished axe which came from the churchyard of Gresham, in Norfolk. At the same meeting, Mr J. Cox showed a chipped celt which had been built into Gresham church tower. Its presence there was most probably accidental, though it is well to recall the Breton practice of building stone axes into chimneys to ward off lightning. Mr Stephen Blackmore, the aged “Shepherd of the Downs,” who has long been known as a collector of Neolithic implements, informs me that he secured an excellent polished flint hatchet from a depth of four or five feet in East Dean churchyard, Sussex. Again, in the Brighton Museum, there are displayed two fine flint celts, the one polished, the other neatly chipped. They were obtained from South Harting churchyard, Sussex. The chipped specimen came from a depth of three feet below the surface[219]. No further details can be gleaned, but, as the celts are of the types occurring in barrows of the Neolithic and Aeneolithic periods, one may suppose that the church is adjacent to the resting-place of some prehistoric chieftain. This is only a reasonable hypothesis, but the discoveries at Pytchley, Northamptonshire, in 1845, lie outside the domain of guesswork. The church was built in the early Norman period. Situated partly under the fabric itself, and partly under the present graveyard, a British cemetery was found. Although only a small area was excavated, twenty kist-vaens were uncovered. The Rev. W. Abner Brown, who described the graves, believed that the Norman builders were ignorant of the kists over which they placed their foundations, and that the stone graves belonged to Romanized Christians. It does indeed seem strange that pillars should be built over small hollow chambers; yet, interpolated between these chambers and the Norman graveyard, was still another burial ground, which had been used by the villagers long before the Norman Conquest. Again, while it is stated that the bodies lay East and West, “or nearly so,” this alone does not prove Christian influence. A pre-christian date might be inferred from the relics, though these were few. Besides Roman coins and scraps of pottery, the scanty list of grave-gifts included a perforated tusk of the wild boar, and a rude amethystine crystal “eardrop.” British earthenware was also found, and the whole of the data seem rather to point to continuity. We must remember that the surface of the churchyard once stood at a lower level, and a narrow pathway of pebbles was actually found at a depth of six feet. The Norman architects, then, most likely knew that they were building over a graveyard of some kind, even as the Saxons may have been aware that their own cemetery was superimposed upon a still older one[220].

By far the best-known churchyard tumulus, and the one which has most successfully stood the test of exploration, is that of Taplow, in Buckinghamshire. A study of this barrow, which remains in the old churchyard of the village, near Taplow Court, will help to elucidate some of the other difficulties. The church itself is no longer visible, though its ruins remained on the spot until 1853. On clearing away the masonry, it was seen that the foundations of the building passed through an ancient ditch. The church had been erected at the Eastern end of an enclosure, the centre of which was dominated by the barrow. The whole occupied high ground, known locally as Bury Fields[221]. The folk-lorist will note, in passing, how valuable these philological details are, since names of this kind are not uncommon, and they generally seem to preserve the tradition of some actual event. To proceed with the description: from time to time fragments of pottery—British, Roman, and Saxon—together with well-worked flint flakes, had been collected on, or near, the surface of the village graveyard[222]. The evidence showed that the tumulus had been intentionally shut in when the boundaries of the churchyard were first fixed. At a later date, a yew tree had been planted on the grave-hill, and the trunk of this ancient tree was still in existence when digging was started in the year 1883.

Briefly, the following observations were recorded. Scattered throughout the uppermost layer of the soil, to a depth of two or three feet, the explorers found pieces of dressed chalk. These are supposed to have formed part of a Norman doorway, and were doubtless buried when the church was restored, or rebuilt, in the fourteenth century[223]. A confusing feature was the discovery, at various levels, of coarse pottery, bones, bone tools, hammer stones, flint flakes, and flint cores[224]. These objects were found “in larger measure at the top of the mound, but were at no time absent[225].” Yet, at the very bottom of the barrow, scraps of Samian ware and a portion of a Roman “brick” were exposed[226]. These Roman vestiges, lying at the lowest horizon, showed that the mound could not be Celtic. All the objects hitherto described might have been collected, along with the soil, from lower levels when the pile was raised. Are we driven to marvel at the surprising wealth of relics? If so, we must remember that the spot had some strategical importance, and had doubtless been occupied by Britons and Romans long before the occasion of the construction of the barrow. There is no necessity here to relate the engrossing story in greater detail, since this has been fully done by Dr J. Stevens and Mr Reginald A. Smith. It is enough to state that the barrow was heaped up to cover the remains of a Saxon chieftain. This was distinctly shown by the character of the grave-furniture—drinking horns, military trappings, utensils, and ornaments of Saxon date. The circumstances connected with this primary burial, as well as the relics, showed that the interment was of the non-Christian type[227].

For our next example we turn to the history of Ludlow. Down to the close of the twelfth century, the parish churchyard of that town occupied the site of a tumulus. In A.D. 1199, the barrow was cleared away, and there were disclosed sepulchral relics which pointed to a Roman origin. The clergy, however, declared that the remains were those of Irish saints, and thus turned the discovery to good account[228]. This ludicrous ecclesiastical fiction serves one purpose, and by good chance it speeds us in our present business. Through this tale we get a hint that the priests of the Middle Ages were inquisitive about the contents of barrows. Hallowed bones and mythical treasure formed the lure. Canon Jessopp has related numerous instances of this Mediaeval “hill-digging” for treasure in the county of Norfolk[229]. Thomas Wright put the other side of the matter in a way which arrests the eye and ear of every modern antiquary, for he thought that he could adduce, from monastic legends, a hundred distinct examples of the opening of barrows to search for the bones of saints[230]. From this keen dissection of ancient burial mounds, we may infer that even the Mediaeval churchmen imputed sanctity to barrows, although the belief found expression in paradoxical acts of desecration.

In alluding to discoveries like that of Pytchley, we approached the subject of cemeteries, rather than that of barrows. A few instances of pagan burial-grounds lying beneath Christian churches may be cited. The oft-quoted case of St Paul’s Cathedral does not properly fall under this head. It is true that, at various times, a number of ox-skulls and boars’-tusks have been discovered beneath the foundations. Tradition says that the cathedral stands on the site of a temple dedicated to Diana[231]. The legend may be fallacious, for the finding of a heap of animal bones scarcely warrants the assumption of a pagan temple, much less of a pagan burial-place. Rather is the indication towards one of those foundation sacrifices, which might profitably engage attention in another volume. Moreover, the site of St Paul’s has always been a prolific field for Roman relics, hence it is within possibility that the bones are accidental items of a greater depository of rejected remains.

Other records, however, may pass unquestioned. At Lewes, in Sussex[232], and at Mentmore[233], in Buckinghamshire, churches have been built, if not on the actual sites of Saxon cemeteries, at least, very near them. With respect to the Mentmore interments, it is to be noted that those bodies of which the positions were recorded lay East and West[234]. According to the view, now widely held, such a position indicates Christian burial, but, as will later be shown (p. 248 infra), the rule is by no means absolute. Unfortunately, the concomitant relics were so few as to yield little support to either theory. This difficulty is peculiarly noticeable in churchyard discoveries. Either the records date from the pre-scientific period of excavation, or, from the nature of the case, little modern exploration can be attempted. Thus, numerous relics have been dug up at various times near the West side of another Northamptonshire church,—that of Whittlebury. These relics comprise a bronze celt, Roman coins, an inscribed legionary tile, and several uninscribed tiles[235]. Such articles may suggest a burial-ground, or, at least, an inhabited site, but obviously no systematic excavations can be made.

Discoveries made at Alphamstone, in Essex, near the boundary of that county and Suffolk, and not far from the little town of Bures, deserve some attention. It has been a somewhat lengthy task to obtain the precise particulars relating to the discoveries, which date from the year 1905 onwards, but through the courtesy of Miss A. Stebbing, the Rev. P. Saben, and Mr Arthur G. Wright, the Curator of the Corporation Museum at Colchester, I am able to present an epitome of the finds. On a spur of the hill projecting into the valley, through which flows a small tributary of the Stour, there must have been a kind of cemetery belonging to the Bronze Age. The surface soil is underlain by sand, and this, again, by fine gravel. Workmen, digging for gravel, have, at various times, lighted upon urns, the bodies of which rested in the sandy layer. The specimens have now been secured, by gift or purchase, for the Colchester Museum. Through the kindness of the present rector, the Rev. P. Saben, a group of these urns is shown in Fig. 22, though it is doubtful whether these were all taken from one grave. With the vessels were associated numbers of white quartz pebbles, which occur naturally in the sand and gravel, but which may have been collected by the mourners who deposited the ashes in the urns (cf. p. 299 infra). The interest of these Alphamstone discoveries lies in the fact that, some 200 yards distant, on the same projection of the hill, the village

Fig. 22. Group of urns (Bronze Age) found near Alphamstone church, Essex. The large “cinerary urn,” in the middle of the group, is ornamented with bands of cord-markings, which form a chevron-like pattern. On the left is a “food-vessel,” of coarse buff-coloured ware, with overhanging rim. Of the smaller vessels on the right, one bears an incised trellis pattern on the rim, the other has vertical cord lines.

church was built. It has, indeed, been asserted that an urn was dug up in the churchyard itself, but of this I can obtain no confirmation. The late incumbent, the Rev. R. H. Anketell, for the loan of whose manuscript I am indebted to Miss Stebbing, strongly argued that the church was erected on a barrow, but Mr Wright’s observations do not verify this hypothesis. A second discovery, however, was made under the church and in the churchyard during the recent restoration of the building. This consisted of a number of boulders, some vertical, others recumbent, pitted with what are popularly known as “pebble-holes.” The stones were all devoid of tooling. The proximate origin of the stones was the Boulder Clay of the district. Two of the blocks were found under the angles of the tower, two others came from beneath the chancel, while three were situated in, or near, the churchyard. It is also known that other specimens had been carried away in past times, for the purpose of repairing walls and farm buildings. Mr Anketell considered that the church had been built over a stone-circle, but one must hesitate a little before yielding assent. The group of stones may represent a portion of the builder’s stock, yet we must interpret the discovery by the light of similar occurrences. It should be added, as establishing another bond of continuity, that Roman pottery is turned up from time to time in the neighbourhood.

In pondering the foregoing examples, we ought frequently to call to our aid comparative customs in more remote parts of the British Isles. Taking Ireland, for instance, it will be seen that that country is fertile in the kind of evidence so deplorably scanty in those portions of Britain which have been most disturbed and overrun by the spoiler. One instance alone, as related by Mr W. G. Wood-Martin, will exemplify the difference in the quality of the evidence. In the graveyard of the very early church at St John’s Point, co. Down, there were discovered numerous pagan graves arranged in a circle. Within this series, and arranged concentrically, was another ring of smaller graves, while the common centre was marked by a stone pillar[236]. After this concluding example, we may sum up this side of the evidence. Occasionally, it must be admitted, the juxtaposition of pagan and Christian burials may be the result of coincidence. Pre-Christian burials are so abundant and so widely scattered that, by chance, the church builders may have stumbled on a forgotten cemetery. But this explanation will not cover the whole of the cases. While it may be urged, with respect to the Alphamstone cemetery, that there was probably a break in continuity, due to the slackening of folk-memory, the objection is manifestly irrelevant to the Taplow barrow, which must have been a conspicuous object when the foundations of the church were being laid. Even with examples of the Alphamstone type, there is the witness of tradition and superstition to be heard. The salutary respect which was paid to the dead by primitive folk, and the superstitious beliefs, cherished, half in fear, half in hope, were centred around burial-places. These are facts to be graven on the tablets of the memory of every archaeologist. Realizing how potent, even to-day, are the traditions of ghosts, and fairies, and hidden treasure, wherever the dead are known to lie, and remembering that folk-memory has frequently proved to be sound in the identification of graves previously overlooked by the antiquary, we are bound to conclude that nothing short of the extermination of the whole of the inhabitants of a country-side could completely wipe away such recollections. Even to-day, after several centuries of the printed book, and several decades of the day school, the most definite legends, and those with the greatest living force, are those which the peasant connects with graves and ghosts. How much stronger was this kind of tradition when delivered orally from father to son, and when all folk alike were under the spell of superstition!

If it be objected that the majority of Gothic churches, perhaps even the majority of existing Saxon churches, do not stand near pagan burial-grounds, that the general rule was to establish new cemeteries at a distance from the old, one would naturally answer that it is just these exceptions which prove that the chain of continuity was never absolutely broken. The examples where old sites were seized upon might, at first, be relatively numerous, but they would tend to become fewer and fewer, as adherence to ancient heathen custom weakened. A time would arrive when, save to combat a prejudice, the pagan spots would be completely shunned, and all churches would be built on soil newly hallowed. The evidence must be judged as a whole, and especial weight will have to be allowed for the records of holy wells, which we must review before closing the chapter. A combination of features will often impress the most sceptical. When we find, hidden away in a wilderness of moors and hills at Bewcastle, in the Northern corner of Cumberland, the remains of a Mediaeval castle close to a restored twelfth century church, while the shaft of a seventh century cross stands hard by, and when we notice that a Roman camp of hexagonal outline—a rare feature—encloses all these objects[237], we are justified in tracing a causal connection. What, but deliberate purpose, conspired to make warrior, churchman, and feudal lord, one after the other, settle in this remote fastness? Confronted with testimony of this kind, the burden of proof must rest upon those who would see, here and there, a distinct hiatus in the history of social development. A parallel may be drawn from the science of organic evolution. Recent researches have taught us that we must be prepared to encounter “mutations” in the lines of descent. It is also undeniable that ethnology may present us with similar mutations, caused, for instance, by the advent of a conquering race or a new religion. The fresh factor may produce either an exaltation or a retrogression, nevertheless, the general external and internal aspects of folk-custom will, for a long time afterwards, suffer little alteration, and the movement which is visible at the surface will not influence the undercurrents of belief to a corresponding extent. If the modification of the outward signs may be incautiously exaggerated, the strength of the unseen movements of belief may be carelessly deemed exhausted, when, in truth, it has scarcely waned at all. The hidden pagan forces which exist in England to-day, though they are normally kept in check by conventional habits and national religion, are well known to the professed student of survivals, while they are largely ignored by the orthodox historian. On the whole, then, experience teaches that the introduction of an alien religion does not interpose an impassable gulf between the old and the new, but that there will follow gentle transitions in custom, probably masked, for the time, by local outbursts of fanaticism or by the apparent sudden conversion, in certain districts, of large masses of the people. Beneath these disquieting superficial symptoms, there runs, in the main, an unbroken sequence of life and custom.

The present place seems convenient for expressing a warning against certain false appearances which an old graveyard may present. Often the area has been girdled with a trench, several feet in depth, in order to afford greater protection against the intrusion of cattle than could be provided by a railing or a stone wall alone. By this means, too, the animals are prevented from browsing upon evergreen hedges where these are planted. This double barrier is especially necessary when the church is in the neighbourhood of a park, in which deer are kept. The wall-and-ditch arrangement, or even the ditch only, is common in the West country, though it is not infrequent in other districts. To allow the entrance of worshippers to the churchyard, and at the same time to baulk the efforts of cattle, a single block of stone, or a “grid” composed of two or three narrow slabs, set edgeways, is placed across the trench to form a bridge. A subsidiary purpose of the ditch is that of drainage. Or again, where the ditch is absent, rude stone pillars, sloping outwards from the base, serve as a strait gateway. All these features may suggest to the unwary a simple system of fortification. Moreover, one may often trace, in the vicinity of the church, vestiges of earthen banks, the remains of the boundaries of a Mediaeval village (cf. p. 16 supra). Thus there is a double possibility of deception. A dry ditch does not necessarily denote antiquity. A favourite method of setting about the enclosure of an estate or the establishment of a coppice was to construct a trench along the proposed limits, and this mode of delimitation seems also to have commended itself occasionally to the churchmen of old. This practice, I am inclined to think, accounts for the “moat,” now filled up, which formerly encircled the churchyard at Tooting, in the South-West of London, about two miles distant from the place where these lines are being written. Yet the late Mr T. W. Shore, the well-known archaeologist, suggested that the church had been built within a small British earthwork[238]. The position of the church, at the foot of a steep hill, seems to negative this theory, and to point to a later period, when the Church had quite triumphed over paganism.

There is a still more seductive danger to entice the credulous investigator who, having heard of churchyard tumuli, would fain see barrows everywhere. Many churches have the appearance of standing on artificial hillocks simply because, for a score of generations, the surface of the ground has been continually raised by a succession of interments. The effect is most marked where the graveyard is of limited area, and is held up by strong containing masonry. The soil has long been confined within a definite space, and the turf is now almost on a level with the coping of the walls. The curvature of the surface and the bulging walls tell the rest of the story. Near the fabric, the feet of the visitor are almost in a horizontal plane with the sill of the Early English or Decorated window, so that a trench, lined with concrete, has been cut to preserve the walls from damp. The interpretation is obvious. The building, instead of being perched on a knoll, is actually in process of being sunk within a hillock which has grown up around it. Let us revert for an instant to the concealed pathway which was found six feet below the present surface at Pytchley churchyard. One imagines that this difference of level may sometimes be considerably exceeded. Huxley tells us that the skeleton of a full-grown man weighs, on the average, 24 lbs.[239] According to the analyses of bone made by Berzelius, 67 per cent. of this weight—roughly, 16 lbs.—consists of mineral salts which are practically indestructible[240]. Though the actual bulk of this residue is small, we must add to it the miscellaneous materials of the more permanent parts of the funeral furniture. This latter factor would become important after the use of coffins had spread to all classes of village folk.

Among the most striking examples of elevated graveyards which have come under my notice are those at Telscombe and Rottingdean in Sussex; Brighstone or Brixton, in the Isle of Wight; and Milton Lilbourne, in Wiltshire. Various writers have noticed a like feature in Breton and Basque churchyards. After perusing these records afresh, two passages from the writings of observant travellers come to mind. The first is from Peter Kalm, the Swede, who visited England in 1748. He noticed that the floor of the English church often goes deeper down than the surface of the churchyard soil. From this, he inferred either that the church had sunk, or that the earth of the churchyard had been raised, owing to burials; unless, indeed, soil had been brought to the spot. William Cobbett’s Rural Rides affords a strong corroboration of the facts. Cobbett’s keen eye missed little, and his quick intuition sometimes—by no means always—suggested the correct explanation of features which more careless tourists would have overlooked altogether. The passage refers to the village of Rogate, near Petersfield in Hampshire, and his remarks are so apt that a full quotation may be pardoned. The letter is dated 12 November, 1825. “When we came to the village of Rogate, I saw a little group of persons standing before a blacksmith’s shop. The churchyard was on the other side of the road, surrounded by a low wall. The earth of the churchyard was about four feet and a half higher than the common level of the ground round about it; and you may see, by the nearness of the church windows to the ground, that this bed of earth has been made by the innumerable burials that have taken place in it. The group, consisting of the blacksmith, the wheelwright, perhaps, and three or four others, appeared to me to be in a deliberative mood. So I said, looking significantly at the churchyard, ‘It has taken a pretty many thousands of your forefathers to raise that ground up so high.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said one of them[241].” Cobbett then proceeds with a little socratic questioning of the villagers, in order to point a political moral, but with this we are not concerned. As he trots off on his nag, however, he begins to estimate how many hundreds of years a church has stood on the spot, and here our musings may be in accord with his once more.

Having passed in review those churches built on Roman sites, and those which are associated with earthworks, megaliths, and burial places, we deal next with churches which stand near sacred wells. The testimony which falls into this class yields the most satisfactory, as well as the most ample, proof of the bequest of pagan sites to the Christian community. At the outset, it must be admitted that the juxtaposition of a sacred spring and a church does not, in every case, prove the adoption of a purely pagan site of primitive repute. Throughout the Middle Ages pilgrimages to hallowed wells were approved by the Church. Nevertheless, the custom had a pagan origin, and undoubtedly, the sacred spring was visited long before it was appropriated, and perhaps enclosed, by church folk.

The literature of holy wells is, if scattered, rather extensive, and the various customs connected with well-dressing, with the offering of gifts to the divinity of the waters, and with the belief in sympathetic magic, are familiar to most folk. Here, an enraged peasant thrusts a number of pins into a wax doll, and throws the object into the spring, fully believing that his enemy will be injured in that part of the body which corresponds to the pierced portion of the image. There, a well is overhung by an immemorial thorn, which is decorated with parti-coloured rags,—offerings which are reputed to relieve the devotee of his sickness. Yonder, the muddy bottom of the spring hides a number of pins and copper coins, the humble oblations of the ignorant.

The superstitions referred to are most rampant in Ireland, Wales, and Cornwall, but they still survive also in remote parts of East Anglia, Yorkshire, Northumberland, and other districts. Perhaps the best known English examples of holy wells are at Tissington, Derbyshire (cf. p. 16 supra). At this village there are several wells, or rather fountains, but the most celebrated gushes out of the hill below the parish church. On Ascension Day, a kind of floral mosaic, designed on a framework, is placed over this fountain. After this has been done, a religious service is held. From statements made by various writers, it would appear that, of old, the ceremony took place on May Day, and that flowers and fruits were preserved long beforehand for this festival, which at its inception was essentially pagan[242]. One need scarcely insist on the other evidence which marks May Day as a heathen feast, but it would be advantageous to recall the fact that well-worship was practised by the ancients. Classical writings contain many allusions to the decoration of wells with garlands, to the flinging of nosegays into fountains, to the veneration paid to the nymphs of springs and streams. Now, as in the case of megaliths and tumuli, springs which already had a great reputation would appeal strongly to the Christian missionaries. By annexing a site which was accounted holy, the apostles would secure that gentle transition of ideas which the times demanded. The spring would, of course, be re-dedicated. There would also be the subsidiary motive of advantage. A church built near a perennial spring would always have a supply of water for baptismal purposes, or for the washing of vessels. Indeed, after the lapse of centuries, this secondary reason would doubtless be advanced as having alone determined the choice of site.

St Patrick and his followers, who, we are told, almost invariably chose heathen sites for their churches, did not neglect the sacred wells. Once, at least, St Patrick preached at a fountain “which the Druids worshipped as a god[243].” One illuminating custom must be noted. At the well of Tubberpatrick, in the parish of Dungiven, co. Derry, the devotees of the well, after having uttered their prayers and washed themselves in the waters, hang up their rags on a neighbouring bush. Then they proceed to a standing stone below the church, repeat their prayers, walk round the stone, and bow themselves. Next, they enter the church, where a similar ceremony takes place. Finally, they return in procession to the upright stone. This account is given on the authority of Mr W. G. Wood-Martin, to whose valuable works on Ireland the reader is referred. We pass on to notice that Sweden is similarly rich in tradition. Professor O. Montelius asserts that offering wells are frequently found near stone-circles, just as these are often met with in the neighbourhood of churches (cf. p. 28 supra). Some of these wells have received tributes in recent times[244].

Scotland does not appear to have been pre-eminently noted for well-worship. Sacred wells have, however, been recorded as existing near the churches of Little Dunkeld, in Perthshire, Musselburgh, Strathfillan, and many other places[245]. Perhaps some of our best illustrations of the well-cult are derived from Wales. We will note, in passing, Sir G. L. Gomme’s conclusions, which he based on a large number of observations, respecting the wells of Ireland and Wales. In Ireland, the highest point reached by the primitive cult of well-worshippers was to identify the deity as a rain-god, while in Wales the tradition centred around a guardian spirit. A few Welsh examples may now be briefly noted. A famous spring is that of St Tecla, Virgin and Martyr, situated about 200 yards from Llandegla church[246]. Sir John Rhys records the well known as Ffynnon Beris (Ffynon = well), near the parish church of Llanberis, and the healing waters of Ffynnon Faglan (= Baglan’s Well), close to the church at Llanfaglan, in Carnarvonshire[247]. This authority has also shown that, in some instances, there existed, until late times, a guardian of the well, though whether the “priesthood” was acquired by inheritance or otherwise could not be ascertained. Thus, at St Elian’s Well, near Llanelian church, in Denbighshire, a “priestess” had charge of the well so late as the close of the eighteenth century. At the healing well of St Teilo, hard by the ruined church of Llandeilo Llwydarth, in North Pembrokeshire, the calvaria of a skull, reputed to be that of St Teilo, was, even within our generation, handed to the patient. With this strange cup he secured a draught which was warranted to cure whooping-cough. The adjacent churchyard, it may be observed, contains two of the oldest post-Roman inscriptions in the Principality. Sir John Rhys thinks that the well was probably sacred before the days of St Teilo, and that its ancient sanctity was one of the causes which decided the choice of the ground for the erection of the church. The faith in the well remains intact while the church walls are in utter decay. Well-paganism has annexed the saint, and has established a belief in the efficacy of the skull in well-ritual[248]. From North Pembrokeshire we turn to South Pembrokeshire, to that district known as “Little England beyond Wales,” which presents so many interesting problems to the ethnologist and the archaeologist. It was in the year 1898 that Mr A. L. Leach, whose careful researches in this district are now familiar to many, first pointed out to me the interesting chalybeate springs in the churchyard of Gumfreston, near Tenby. The waters were reputed to have great medicinal virtue[249], and there can be little doubt that the existence of the springs proved an inducement to the church builders. The church itself, and the entire surroundings, will be found worthy of retrospect later.

We pass across to the Marches and find the holy church wells almost as numerous in Western England as in the Principality. In the county of Salop alone we have examples at Donington, Stoke St Milborough, Ludlow Friary, and Wenlock Priory[250]. In the Midlands, we notice St Chad’s Well at Lichfield[251]. Journeying Southwards through Gloucestershire, we observe that the ruined churchyard cross at Bisley covers an old well, which is now, however, reported to be dry[252]. As we traverse Somerset, we have our attention called to the holy well near which stands the church of St Decumen, at Watchet. Some remote prototype of this church is reported to have existed here so early as the year A.D. 400[253]. Another Somerset example is that of St Agnes’ Well, near Whitestaunton church. The well is said to be tepid and to possess healing properties. Professor Haverfield states that, close at hand, a Roman villa was uncovered in the year 1845, when abundant relics were found[254]. Instances such as this speak eloquently in favour of continuous site-occupation. Still keeping to Somerset, we have the well of St Aldhelm below the churchyard of Doulting. The church is dedicated to the same saint. So recently as 1910, I found that the spring, which is the source of a small stream, still retained a hold in local story, the waters being declared good for rheumatism.

The numerous holy wells of Cornwall have been sufficiently described by Mr R. C. Hope and the Rev. S. Baring-Gould[255], so we retrace our steps, and, travelling Eastward, observe the spring which, traditionally connected with St Augustine, flows from the North-East corner of Cerne Abbas churchyard, in Dorsetshire[256]. Hampshire, as the late Mr T. W. Shore discovered, has its Itchenswell, Maplederwell, and Holybourne. The last name is very significant, the more so as the spring issues from below the village churchyard. The permanent spring near the churchyard at Cheriton has been noticed (p. 74 supra), while, at another Hampshire church, that of Hambledon, a “bourne” or “lavant,” that is, an intermittent spring, gushes forth at intervals[257]. In Surrey one of these bournes is thrown out by the side of Merstham churchyard. The overflow of the bourne waters is traditionally believed to be a portent of evil. Near the church of Carshalton, also in Surrey, there is a well, now covered in, known locally as Anne Boleyn’s Well. The legend runs that the horse which carried that lady struck the ground with its hoof, thus turning “the flint stone into a springing well.” The story is evidently an afterthought, a late attempt to explain the association of the church and the spring.

London itself might not be expected to yield much testimony to this romantic portion of our study. Yet several London churches had their wells. Hard by St Giles’s churchyard there was formerly a pool, and near Clerkenwell church was the celebrated “Clerkes’ Well” which is believed to have given the parish its name. At the Skinners’ Well “the skinners of London held there certain plays yearly, played of Holy Scripture.” St Clement’s Well, Holywell Street, Strand, near the parish church of the same name, was “fair curbed with hard stone, kept clean for common use, and [was] always full[258].” Rapidly skimming over the Eastern counties, we find that the Rev. G. S. Tyack, who has assiduously collected examples of holy wells, records an example from the West end of East Dereham graveyard, in Norfolk. In Yorkshire alone, Mr Tyack claims seventeen wells, though whether all of these are in the neighbourhood of churches, he does not say[259]. Lincolnshire contributes several instances; one only need be noted. Caistor church, in that county, previously mentioned (p. 12 supra) as standing within the confines of a Roman camp, was built near three or four springs. One of these, a “healing” spring, issued from the side of the churchyard. This example may be compared with that of Whitestaunton; in each case, there seems to have been a desire on the part of both Roman general and Christian architect to exploit the reputation previously gained by the waters. Here our enumeration must come to an end; for fuller details the reader may be referred to well-known works[260]. But if we forget that worship may be conducted under the open sky as well as under a roof of wood or stone, and if we overlook the fact that natural features, not less than stately fanes, were dedicated to patron saints, we shall miss much of the evidence which has fortunately been bequeathed to us.

Not connected with the subject of holy wells, but apparently forming isolated and local features peculiar to Wales, are the well-known oval or circular churchyards, enclosing churches which date from the Norman period. The churchyards are usually encompassed by a road, for which there is no obvious public requirement[261]. It has been conjectured that these roads represent ancient ramparts, which separate the churchyard from common ground, and this prosaic explanation may be the correct one. But one is obliged to notice another ray of light which comes from ancient custom. The Rev. E. Owen, who has described these churchyards, sees an analogy to the circle of stones in which religious ceremonies were performed by the Druids[262]—evidently he is referring to historic times. These circles, when prehistoric, are known to the archaeologist as “cromlechs”; the latter erections, from the fifth century onwards, were technically called “gorseddau” (sing. gorsedd). The Gorsedd consisted normally of a mound of earth and a circle of standing stones[263]. From denoting the place of assembly, and afterwards, “the Great Seat,” the word came to mean the “Assembly of Bards,” the chief member of which was throned on a “Chair,” or stone, which occupied the centre of the circle. So early as the ninth century, there was a separation of functions; hence we read of the gorsedd of the bards and the legislative gorsedd[264]. My friend, the Rev. J. W. Hayes, who has collected much curious lore respecting the gorseddau of later centuries, notices that, though the legislative gorsedd has now no political or judicial powers, but merely controls the bardic order, it has a successor, for all worthy aims, in the national Eisteddfod. The Eisteddfod has social and educational functions only, the Gorsedd, on the contrary, was an institution for the framing of laws. Even in the year 1910, however, the Eisteddfod was preceded each day by the Gorsedd proper. This slight description will enable us, in the next chapter, to approach closely to another side of our problem, but, for the present, it must be taken as illustrative of the supposition made by Mr Owen. From the fact that, at one village, Efenechtyd, Denbighshire, a part of the encircling road really occupies the ancient bed of a stream, Mr Owen has further considered that the “roads” were originally intended to be moats, and that they contained water. This seems to be mere speculation; a more plausible explanation—though, again, perhaps not the real one—is that the hollows formed portions of an old stockaded village. Or again, we may have here small ring earthworks belonging to the pre-Christian period, though not necessarily of a defensive character. One cannot avoid recalling Stonehenge and Stennis; the round churches of Northampton, Essex, Cambridge, and London; the round towers of many other churches; the favourite “broken ring” of Bronze Age barrows and Bronze Age ornaments; and the earthwork rings and circular mazes of various periods. How much is ceremonial, and how much constructional, in matters primitive, is a nice question. It is worthy of notice that, in at least two instances, the churches under consideration have had double dedications. It has been mentioned that the circular churchyard seems to be essentially a Welsh feature. Two examples, those of Kerry and Llanfechain, are recorded from Montgomeryshire, and two from Carnarvon. Flint furnishes one instance, and Denbigh half a dozen[265]. England has hitherto supplied no records, but the feature may have been overlooked, and further observations would be valuable.

We have now completed what may have appeared, to the reader, a prolix and tedious inquiry. Impatiently, it may be, the query is uttered, What, in brief, is the conclusion of the whole matter? The reply may be framed by first presenting the opinion of a high authority, Professor Baldwin Brown, who asserts that there is no known instance where a Christian church has, in Britain, replaced a heathen fane[266]. We have seen that there are possible loopholes in such a general statement, and if we narrow its scope by using the word “site,” instead of “church” or “fane,” in each member of the sentence, the decision, with which Professor Brown would doubtless agree, is surely in the affirmative. To deny that many Christian churches stand on pagan sites is to blind oneself to facts. There is a folly of scepticism which is as blameworthy as that of credulity. With respect to the buildings themselves Professor Brown admits that such a substitution is “often signalized on the Continent[267].” Waiving the a priori argument that like conditions tend to beget like results, and that a series of events, in the main homotaxial, might be predicted for North Germany and England, for Sweden and Scotland, for Brittany and Wales, we may still choose to express the plea otherwise. For, as has been insisted, the conditions have not been exactly similar: Britain has suffered social disturbances to a greater degree than any of the countries named. It is therefore safer to say that, though there was, in Britain, as in other countries, no severe opposition between the old and the new faiths, there is difficulty in proving the case with respect to buildings, because of the loss of evidence.

As matters stand, the archaeologist is in the position of a diver, groping amid the timbers of a sunken ship for lost treasure, of whose presence he is certain, be his toll never so scanty. Or again, the archaeologist is like a scholar, closely poring over some blurred and defaced palimpsest, if haply he may decipher even a few of the original characters. “The drums and tramplings of three conquests,” the fires of marauders, the mistaken zeal of church restorers, the husbandman’s plough, the mason’s hammer, and the sexton’s spade, to say nothing of the gnawing tooth of Time, have so altered, if not obliterated, the records, that he must be content to read but a little, here and there, of the full story.