A Beginner’s Guide to the Danes’ Pad (Part Four)

Okay, in parts one to three we covered the route of the Danes’ Pad as recorded on the Ordnance Survey maps…whether it actually existed or not.
Now that we’re beyond Poulton (to the north) it’s time to write about the speculated routes heading towards Fleetwood and/or Preesall.
William Thornber, whose transaction we’ve relied on quite heavily through the previous three sections, reckoned this: “I rather fancy that the agger ran past Poulton on to the Town-fields near Little Poulton Hall, having only a branch to Poulton Hill. On the high ground of the Town-fields there is a track of an ancient road, which evidently was gravelled over the low lands, and this road leads by a curious cut through the banks of the Wyre to the Shard, or as anciently written, Aldwath, or the old Ford, so denominated before 1300.”
Aldwath (it’s Norse, and it mean, as Thornber correctly states, the Old Ford, which suggests that it was old when the Vikings turned up) is interesting. The cuttings are clearly Roman (or at least Romanesque) and appear to be linked to the Celtic settlement at the nearby Gymkhana field at Skippool by a road (probably the Danes’ Pad, but that’s not for me to say).
An aerial photograph (which we’ve misplaced and can’t unfortunately find again) clearly showed said buried road running from said gymkhana field (where Bronze Age, Iron Age and – albeit alleged – Roman finds have all turned up in the past) to said cuttings.
Regardless of Thornber’s assertion, however, he then continues to claim that the Danes’ Pad actually ran along the west bank of the Wyre to the Bergerode, marked on old maps, between Bourne Hall and Stanah.
(It might be an idea if you’re trying to follow this to check the map we posted at the end of last week…unless we’ve been told by the authorities to take it down again, of course, in which case you’ll just have to make do.)
Let’s take a step backwards.
In ‘The History of St Chad’s Church’ J. Scott Ashton mentions that: “At one time the (Poulton) churchyard was partly surrounded by a ditch.” This ditch might (and it’s a BIG might, but let’s continue) have surrounded a Roman camp/fortlet. Two copper coins of Hadrian and a large medal of Germanicus were discovered nearby at the back of Poulton market place and, according to Ted Lightbown’s ‘The Danes’ Pad: Roman Road to Nowhere’, in the 1970s, Alan McLerie traced the course of a cobbled track running across Poulton golf links. At the Civic Centre it continued across the Breck, passing through the ground once occupied by the railway station.
In September 1852 at the railway station on the Breck a Domitian coin was unearthed.
If you did what I suggested a few moments ago and double-checked the map supplied at the end of last week, you’ll probably have realised by now that none of this has any connection with Thornber’s suggested route via Stanah to the Bergerode.
However, after disappearing under the golf course, this particular road reappears at Tarn Gate Farm in Thornton, where an agger (and it is there because I’ve seen it) can be seen running towards Amounderness Way.
Jim Plummer also claimed to have found the road beneath the golf course using a probe. What neither historian seemed to realise, however, was that this track was originally known as Ardelles.
Let’s have a quote from the ‘Gazette & Herald’ of 1950: “In Tarn-road, Thornton a signpost says ‘Links Gate – footpath to Poulton’ thus giving a modern title to a path old folk call ‘Ardelles’. Our ‘Town Clerk’ for 26 years, Mr. Bowman called his home ‘Ardelles’ and, before it was built, an application was made to Quarter Sessions to get the footpath diverted so that the present approach could be made. Previously the path reached Tarn-road through Tarn Gate Farm, a couple of hundred yards nearer the railway.”
In fact, Ardelles’ name, despite sounding French, is more likely to have originated from a couple of fields marked on the tithe maps as lying beneath the southern end of the golf course through which the road ran. These fields were named respectively ‘Little Hard Hill’ and ‘Rough Hard Hill’. See, Ard’ill…Ardelle? Obvious when you know, isn’t it?
All matters considered, as old and buried as this particular road might have been when it was investigated, it’s unlikely to have been the Danes Pad…although that’s just a personal opin ion, I should add, and I could be completely wrong.
Let’s go back to Thornber’s preferred route, of Stanah to Bourne. And because I’ve gone for way to long without a break, let’s have a picture:

That’s Town End Farm, that is…or rather was, because it’s gone…and it’s actually a drawing, of course. Ken Emery gave me a photograph of the place a few years ago, from which the drawing was copied, but then I lost said photograph so, for the time being, this’ll have to do. Whatever the case, in 1935 at Town End Farm (er…see above) a cobbled track measuring roughly ten feet in width was unearthed.
A number of people have taken this to be part of the Danes’ Pad. (I can’t help thinking it must have shrunk a bit from when Thornber measured the Mythop end of the road at twenty yards across.)
Anyhow, Town End Farm originally stood just south of West Drive. Back in the 1990s Ken Emery interviewed Mrs Marjorie Lang: "…a charming nonagenarian whose family used to live at Town End Farm. She recalled, as a young woman, a slight depression roughly ten feet wide running northwards in a straight line from the farm towards the western flank of Bourne Hall hill.”
In 2005 at Bourne Hill itself, Wyre Archaeology unearthed an Iron Age track constructed from split, water-washed pebbles, measuring roughly eight feet in width and banked on either side by bright orange clay.
Ted Lightbown’s book also informs us that: “In the orchard at Bourne Hall…Walsh claimed to have uncovered what was taken to be a Roman road. It comprised large cobbles or setts “such as were usually used in the construction of roads at the time.””
It doesn’t take a massive leap of the imagination to suggest that all three of these roads are actually different sections of the same one. None of them, therefore, would be, strictly speaking, Roman. At best they’re Romano/British, part of the Celtic route running from Bourne to Nateby. Once again, the Danes’ Pad appears to have reached a dead end.
Let’s take a step backwards again.
Working on the assumption that the Danes’ Pad, instead of heading north along the Fleetwood peninsula, crossed the Wyre at either Aldwath or Bulker (possibly both if Gary Thornton’s discovery of a Roman coin behind Skippool Yacht Club indicates that there was a road to the cuttings on either side of the creek) it would then have continued along the east bank, following High Gate Lane to Preesall. Thornber believed there to be traces of a Roman fort on the top of Preesall Hill.
Hold on a minute…let’s have a photograph of Gary’s coin just for the record shall we? (It also helps to break up this increasingly long-winded monologue.)

In 2005 the now late Brian Pinney showed us a fragment of soft chalky pottery discovered in his garden at the base of Preesall Hill. Naturally we had it independently identified just to confirm ourselves, which, of course, it did. It was part of a Roman military mortarium. Whether there was a Roman fort or not on the top of the hill, the Roman army had certainly been active in the area.
All of which brings us to the summer of 2008, when Wyre Archaeology excavated a suspected agger running alongside (although not quite parallel to) High Gate Lane at the rear of Stalmine.
There’s the agger below, look. Admittedly on the photograph it looks more sunken than raised, but that’s an optical illusion cause by the shadows. (The photograph incidentally was taken by Ivan Carey from Frank Smith’s plane.)

The agger itself (once opened) was found to be covered with a smattering of stones. The original surface, presumably, had been recycled in the nearby (relatively) modern road. The discovery of the ‘V’ shaped ditch running alongside the agger confirmed it as being Roman.
Again, just for the record, here’s our cross section of said agger and ditch:

Admittedly we only had time to cut across part of the road and one of the ditches, but there was clearly another ditch on the opposite side of the agger as evidenced by a darker line of grass running parallel to the first.
David Ratledge of the Historic Highways Department was with us for the excavation, and he seemed convinced by what we’d unearthed. In fact, he went so far as to say that this was probably the only genuine Roman military road, as far as he was concerned, that had been found in the Fylde and Wyre beyond the Dowbridge to Preston route.
The question is, was it the north end of the Danes’ Pad?
And the answer? I couldn’t honestly say…although roads always have a tendency to lead somewhere, and you can’t help wondering where this particular highway was heading to the south.
But enough! We’re all exhausted now. One last photograph of the male contingent of the Wyre Archaeology excavation quad for your own quiet perusal. I’m off for a brew.


From right to left: Ed Shone, Dave Hammond, Gary Thornton, David Ratledge, Dave Hampson, Ken Emery, Chris Clayton (in the hole), Colin Bliss and, not forgetting yours truly, of course…

A Beginner’s Guide to the Danes’ Pad (Part Three)

At the end of last week we left you, somewhat pessimistically perhaps, contemplating the improbability of the ‘ridge’ at Mythop being the Dane’s Pad.
According to William Thornber’s transaction, from this point onwards the road passes over the next hill from Weeton, crosses a valley and then runs through a dyke (be warned, I’m not in the mood for stupid remarks appertaining to this particular sentence in the comments boxes) near Benson’s Farm in Staining. Apparently horseshoes and piece of iron were, in Thornber’s day, extracted annually from the ground in this area…although exactly what that proves, seeing as none of them seem to exist any more, is again open to question.
Convinced about the existence of the agger, however, Thornber writes (or rather wrote): “I have measured it and found its breadth at the crown about twelve yards and its base twenty.”
Twenty yards? That’s sixty feet, isn’t it? That’s a sizeable agger even by Roman standards. Sounds like an ancient version of an American freeway to me.
Thornber adds that: “There are no signs of ruts and I doubt whether any wheel carriage was used thereon, whilst I can prove that sledges were.”
(Should be interesting.)
As evidence he next cites a broken sledge dug out of the agger, which in his day could be found leaning against the farm gates. (The sledge, that is, not the agger…that’d be impossible I’d imagine.) The sledge was made of ‘rude oak’, weather-beaten and joined together by cross pieces at the top and bottom where they were mortised. An illustration would have been good, but, true to form, Thornber failed to supply us with one.
“Here also…” the pugilistic parson goes on (and on, and on, not unlike this article), “…was found another amulet. It is small, oblong and a foreign white, soft marble.”
If there are any Roman experts reading this (and, to be honest, I’m not holding out a great deal of hope out here, but it’s got to be worth a try) and if Thornber’s description of the ‘amulet’ sounds vaguely familiar to you, please let us know, because it’s got us totally stumped.
Next up, Thatchplat Bridge (nowadays known as Chain Bridge, although, it should be noted, not by me personally because I haven’t got a clue where it is…no doubt I’ve crossed it numerous times in the past, but I didn’t pay it enough attention at the time to wonder if it was Chain Bridge, Thatchplat Bridge or London Bridge), which (because no doubt you’re as lost as we are now) is shown on the map below.

Chain Bridge was the site of a discovery in 1996 of two Roman coins.
The trouble is…well…look at it. It’s miles away from where the Danes’ Pad ought to be. Again, this is hardly ‘proof beyond doubt’ that our Roman road actually existed…although continuing northwards beyond this point, the final stretch as recorded on the Ordnance Survey map, towards Puddle House Farm near Poulton, does have the following aerial photograph (borrowed from the Lancashire Historic Highways website, which used to be run by our old friend and Roman road expert David Ratledge, so it carries some weight) to testify to its existence:

And that, as far as the Ordnance Survey’s concerned, is that.
It’s worth adding at this point that not so long ago we came across a selection of high status Roman military artefacts dug up from a field somewhere in Poulton. A number of them were equestrian-related, and where there are horses (especially saddled-up Roman military ones) there’s usually a road involved.
We’re not supposed to talk about these finds, unfortunately.
We’re not supposed to talk about a lot of our local history, for various reasons, to be honest. I’m dead against censorship, myself. Without such information local historians can’t possibly reach proper conclusions, and, in this particular instance, the location of the field might well prove the existence of the Danes’ Pad once and for all. Then again it might not, but without the information we’ll never know.
Anyhow, I’ll keep my gob shut as requested and carry on.
Beyond Poulton the route becomes even more speculative, some suggesting that (as we said a couple of weeks ago) it ran towards Fleetwood, others insisting that it ran towards Preesall.
Here’s another map (I’m seriously going to get into trouble with the Ordnance Survey at this rate…apologies in advance if I’m carted off to prison before completing this article) showing the salient points along both routes.

Because there’s still a lot of ground to cover here, it might be best if we take another break. We’ll return (if you haven’t given up the will to live, that is) in another seven days’ time for the final (yes…it really will be the ‘final’ this time) instalment.

A Beginner’s Guide to the Danes’ Pad (Part Two)

Heading northwest from Ribby Brow we reach Great Plumpton, or thereabouts, where (according to William Thornber’s ‘Lancashire and Cheshire Historical Society’ transaction dated to 1851 again), on July 20th 1820, a cooper coin of Vespasian was dug up…or at least, one was dug up nearby…which proves nothing really, but it was probably worth a mention.
Going back to Ted Lightbown’s ‘The Danes’ Pad: Roman Road to Nowhere’, in the early 1970s Manchester University’s Department of Archaeology were responsible for: “…two trenches…cut across the alignment at grid references SD 377 342. This showed that the line of the road lay some 30 metres to the west of that suggested on the Ordnance Survey maps. In both sections the actual road surface had been heavily damaged by modern ploughing, as the core of the road lay only 25 centimetres below the top soil. However, the existence of the road was shown by the presence of a clay platform some 5.2 metres wide by 25 to 30 cm thick, resting on the natural dark brown clay.”
The road terminated in a pair of one metre wide ditches.
Is everybody following this? Probably not, but let’s have another map half-inched from Lancashire County Council, showing the general area.

Right…anybody spot the real problem with the 1970s excavation site, yet? If you look closely you might be able to see that the dig was carried out worryingly close to (if not directly over) a now-missing farm track. A few hundred feet either way along our yellow line might have discovered something less contentious…or possibly not.
Whatever, let’s move on.
Next stop, Weeton, where William Thornber suggests (or rather ‘suggested’, because he’s been dead for absolutely ages now) that the Danes’ Pad is/was in a ‘cop’. We’re not sure what a cop is/was either. It was possibly an earthen bank, possibly a copse, possibly a policeman who was unaware that a Roman road was passing through him -- Thornber tends to be vague at the best of times. This ‘cop’ lay in a hollow before the rise of the hill to Thomas Jolly’s house, which would, no doubt, have been invaluable information if Thornber had actually bothered to tell us where Thomas Jolly’s house was located. Unfortunately, nowadays, nobody knows where it was, other than: “…we here, crossing the highway to Mythop and the valley, have a sight of the highest ridge on the whole line, indeed so large and bulky as well worthy of the skill of a railway contractor.”
Still not exactly enlightening, although Thornber adds: “I have before me an amulet which was dug out from the base of this agger so near that it might have been dropped into the water by some marching soldier.”
Other artefacts presumably found in this area also mentioned by our less-than-precise antiquarian are “…a heavy brass celt without a loop and two small thin iron shoes without a slut.”
Er…yes…we wondered about that as well. Presumably ‘a slut’ refers to the lip of upturned iron on the horseshoe’s edge that helps secure it to the hoof.
Thornber supplies us with a drawing of said artefacts. (Pity he couldn’t have supplied us with a map of Thomas Jolly’s house, really, but you can’t have everything.) This is his illustration:

Exactly what made him think these were Roman artefacts, rather than from any other period, I’m not quite sure, but let’s move on…we’ve got a long journey ahead of us yet.
Now then, Mythop where the following 1960s photograph clearly shows a dark line running across the fields, which many have taken to be the Danes’ Pad. It’s on the right alignment, but again…is it proof? (I’m not sure what I’m asking you lot for. I personally don’t have an opinion either way.)

In 1984 the Blackpool & Fylde Historical Society obtained permission from the farmer at Mythop Hall to examine his land. (Ted Lightbown furnishes us with the following grid reference: SD 372 349, on the off chance that you want to double check.) The society excavated a small ridge that followed the line of the Danes’ Pad on the map.
The diagrams don’t, to be honest, look much like a roman road to me. In fact, by this point the evidence ‘against’ the Danes’ Pad is seriously starting to stack up, I reckon. None-the-less, we’ve borrowed these from Ted Lightbown’s book to illustrate the point:

Exactly why the Blackpool and Fylde Historical Society didn’t place a trench across the edge of the feature to ascertain if a ditch surrounded it, I couldn’t say. Roman roads always have ‘V’ shaped ditches, and the discovery of one (preferably two) might have provided the excavators with the evidence they required. Even so, the cross sections illustrated above have about as much resemblance to a Roman agger as Pablo Picasso does to one of his self-portraits.
A lack of evidence, of course, can’t be taken as evidence in its own right, but the case in favour of the Danes’ Pad appears to be crumbling fast.
Which is where we’re going to leave matters for another seven days.

A Beginner’s Guide to the Danes’ Pad (Part One)

Somebody (I forget who for the moment) once said that to copy text from a single book is plagiarism, whereas to copy it from two is research. With that in mind, we’ve gone out of our way to track down original transactions for the following article, talk to various individuals and even dig holes in fields, just to prove that we haven’t lifted everything from Ted Lightbown’s ‘The Danes’ Pad: A Roman Road to Nowhere.’
We did, I must admit, use Mr Lightbown’s excellent (and I’d go so far as to say ‘definitive’) work on this subject for the basis of what’s about to follow, and we can only apologise to him for the rather third rate version we’re presenting here. If you want to study this subject further then we heartily recommend that you track down the aforementioned book (if you haven’t got a copy already, and I’d be surprised if you haven’t because just about everyone I know seems to have one somewhere) and give it a read. Like we say, it is the definitive work on this subject, and, it goes without saying, considerably better than our rubbish.
In the meantime, if you’re content for now with a hastily scribbled, less-scholarly attempt to summarise what is, to put it simply, a complicated subject, then stick with us and we’ll try our best.
Right, where to begin?
The Danes’ Pad is beyond doubt the most disputed of the Fylde and Wyre’s Roman roads…or non-Roman roads as the case might be. Even the placement of its possessive apostrophe is in question. Should it be Danes’ Pad (plural), Dane’s Pad (singular) or just Danes Pad (impersonal, non-possessive and slightly confusing)? Richard Watson, whose opinion we sought out personally a couple of years ago, believed that the whole road was nothing more than a long forgotten storm beach. Others claim it was robbed-out by Victorian road builders for its gravel (although there doesn’t appear to be any documented evidence for this).
Whatever the case, the Danes’ Pad allegedly ran, according to the Victorian antiquarians William Thornber and John Just (not to mention the cartographer’s at the Ordnance Survey, who they somehow managed to convince), from Dowbridge Fort just outside Kirkham, in a northwest arc to Puddle House Farm just south of Poulton.
The following aerial photograph (borrowed from Google Maps…we’re not sure if we’re infringing copyright here, but when Google stops infringing the copyright on our books, we might review the matter) shows the route according to the Ordnance Survey maps in yellow, and our ‘possible route’ beyond Poulton and Dowbridge in red dots. (The yellow bit at Stalmine requires some further explanation, but you’ll have to wait until we get there.)

Where the Danes’ Pad heads beyond Poulton has been the cause of even more heated debate, some optimistic historians claiming that it headed to the mythical Portus Setantiorum at Fleetwood (this was Thornber’s original contention, although he later seemed to change his mind), others insisting that it crossed the Wyre and continued to a Roman fort on Preesall Hill. Others still don’t think it ever existed, but was just the romantic imaginings of a drunken fantasist (possibly several).
Whatever the case, it’s always good to throw the topic into a room of antiquarians who haven’t been supplied with enough beer, and see how long it takes before fists start to fly.
Time for a map (the first of several, no doubt), this one showing the entire route as recorded by the OS.

It might be worth opening this up in a separate window and keeping it open, because we’re going to be using it quite a lot.
Let’s start at the southern end of the road, at Dowbridge, the known, excavated Roman fort. Leaving the west gate of Dowbridge Fort, the Danes’ Pad (allegedly) runs towards…well, here’s what a transaction from the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire written by William Thornber has to say: “In excavating for the new workhouse at Kirkham, traces were found indicative of a road which were noticed by Mr Thompson, clerk to the board of guardians.”
Cunliffe Shaw (author of the fascinating ‘Men of the North’, but that’s a different matter) adds to this when he mentions in ‘Kirkham in Amounderness’ that his father had told him he’d seen the roman road: ‘…exposed during the trenching at the old workhouse grounds. It had a hard gravel surface, was about 25 feet wide, and was curved with cobblestones. A horseshoe, similar to Roman horseshoes, was found in the gravel.’
Ted Lightbown (buy his book -- it’s got a lot more stuff in it than this article, believe me, and it’s better written) mentions that the second workhouse in Kirkham was on the site of the present day health centre at Moore Street.
Our next port of call along the route (heading west at this point) is Ribby Brow, nowadays covered by the circular reservoir that resembles the Teletubbies’ house in the photograph below. (Cheers to Frank Smith, Wyre Archaeology Pilot, incidentally, for supplying said photograph.)

You might be wondering what those lines are that I’ve drawn all over it. Well, the yellow one, or the first half of it at any rate, running from the bottom right hand corner to about the centre of the reservoir, is the route as described by the Ordnance Survey. It changes direction beneath the reservoir itself, apparently, and follows the blue line to the centre top of the photograph.
Hold on, here’s another map (I said there’d be a few of them) just to illustrate what we’re talking about:


Yes, I know that looks a bit manic, but it’s the Victorian Ordnance Survey map overlaid on the Modern Ordnance Survey map (because various bits and pieces of the landscape have changed in the interim) courtesy of Mario Maps run by Lancashire County Council. Hopefully you can see the route of the Roman Road changing direction in the aforementioned location.
Now, I need to explain the continuation of the yellow line on our photograph, don’t I? Well, that’s another conjectured route.
Several years ago, the now sadly late Neil Thompson pointed out to us what appeared to be an agger running northwest from the corner of the field highlighted on Frank’s photograph with a big red arrow. Unfortunately, although true to form, we didn’t have our camera on us at the time. This ‘agger’ followed the alignment of the Danes Pad if said conjectured Roman road continued in a straight line beneath the reservoir from Kirkham…as in our yellow scribble. However, it did not follow the route that William Thornber and John Just claimed. (Did that make sense? I hope it did, because I’m not going to repeat it.)
If anyone happens to be passing that particular corner in the near future, could you possibly take a photograph of the suspected ‘agger’ for us? It’s clearly visible, or at least it was a couple of years ago. Whether or not it’s the Danes’ Pad, of course, remains a matter for conjecture.
That’s enough for one week. Part two to follow in seven days’ time.

Half a Denarii f’ me Bleedin’ Life Story?

A short announcement (before we get on). Unfortunately (or possibly 'fortunately' depending on how you look at it) this will be my last posting on this board for the time being. (Sounds of thunderous applause echoing down the streets.)
No, I haven't fallen out with anyone this time. (At least, I don't think I have.)
And, no, I haven't run out of history or stuff to tell you. (The day I run out of things to gab about will be the day that...well...somebody else manages to get a word in edgeways.)
The simple fact of the matter is, I just haven't got enough time for all this at the moment. Between excavations, writing reports on said excavations, refurbishing my fisherman's cottage from top to bottom, and various other time consuming adventures, I've run out of hours.
So, for the time being I'm on sabbatical, or as an old departed friend of mine would have had it: "On hiatus".
I'm not sure when I'll be back (might be weeks, might be years...but I will return, you can bank on that), but for now the forum is still open for business and, of course, you catch up with me (not to mention the rest of the Wyre Archaeology mob) at Wyrefield Farm every third Wednesday of the month, 7.15 p.m. onwards in the evening.
Enough...let's crack on with the designated post:

Some time ago we posted an article on this board concerning the number of Roman artefacts discovered around the Fylde and Wyre. The posting was designed more to put those misanthropic local anti-history buffs (who claim that the Romans never ventured into our neck of the woods) in their proper place, rather than as a serious attempt to catalogue the whole of our known Roman history.
Towards the end of the posting, however, we also mentioned that we didn’t have enough space left to include the ridiculous amount of Roman coins unearthed around the district over the last couple of centuries.
It’s time to fill that gap.
Let’s start with one of the best known of our local hoards. (I said ‘hoards’ before we get any libellous comments!)
On September the third 1926, at the back of Hackensall Hall, about five hundred coins were discovered in a virtually disintegrated leather purse beneath a rock. They consisted of Valerian I (A.D. 253 – 259), Valerian II, Gallienus and Salonina, running chronologically through Claudius II to Tetricus II (A.D. 271 – 273), three of which are shown in the photograph below...I think.


We might be about to get done for copyright infringement with that photograph. I’m hoping that it’s one Neil took when we went so see them, but I could be wrong.
Whatever the case, the hoard was probably buried around A.D. 275, a time of political upheaval when Britain had joined forces with a rebel movement against Rome known as the Independent Empire of Gauls. Several portraits on the Hackensall coins reflected this.
About four hundred of them are now housed by the British Museum, the Harris Museum, the Storey Institute in Lancaster and Liverpool City Museum.
When we visited Blackpool’s Grundy Art Gallery (which has, or at least did have until recently, its own little museum upstairs) the curators turned up another large portion of them, which was rather excellent, and which is where, I assume, the photograph above was taken.
On the other side of the river, sticking with rebel coins for the moment, John Davis-Allen of Wyre Archaeology informed us recently that a friend of his had been metal detecting around Stanah and had discovered another rare Roman coin showing the face of a rebel leader rather than that of the emperor. The coin was so freshly minted that, according to those in the know at the British Museum (or wherever it was that he sent it to be analysed), there was a probably a mint somewhere in the area.
This theory is borne out by the even more recent discovery by Gary Thornton (Wyre Archaeology Treasurer) of another freshly minted Roman coin in the same general area. (We’re not going to tell you where because you need permission to metal detect these fields, and just in case you’re thinking of risking it anyway, I ought to add that the law treats metal detectorists pillaging fields where they’re not supposed to be mercilessly, resulting in fines and confiscation of equipment…so you have been warned.)
Anyhow, we have also scan of that particular coin (with no potential copyright problems attached this time):


Again, because of its excellent condition, the experts reckon that the coin was minted within a few months of it being lost.
But enough about that, let’s move on to our second hoard, almost as well known as the Hackensall coins.
Charles Preston and John Fairclough discovered this collection of coins on Preesall Hill in 1934 when they were opening up the sand quarry. As Fairclough recalled in the ‘Over Wyre Historical Journals’:

“We had quarried back about forty yards from the entrance and had removed the turf and soil to a depth of approximately ten inches. At this depth I picked up the first coin.”

Obviously, after realising that the coin was Roman, both men suddenly found a new and amplified interest in their otherwise boring job and had soon uncovered a further twenty-two coins.
The sand, incidentally, was later used to create the bowling greens at the Marine Hall in Fleetwood. We’re saying nothing.
At this point we were going to include a photograph of the sandpit on Preesall Hill, but, true to form, we couldn’t find one. (We have got one somewhere, we just don’t know where unfortunately.) So, how about a general photograph of the view from Preesall Hill itself, copyright Juliette Gregson, who took this image at the same time we took the one of the sandpit but who had the foresight to store her photographs on the Internet, unlike us?


Up river to Poulton now and there’s always been a certain amount of speculation that St Chad’s church was originally a Roman fortlet. The Danes Pad appears to have run close by and a ditch originally surrounded the churchyard.
Adding to the speculation, William Thornber (the Victorian Antiquarian) recalled two copper coins from the time of Hadrian being found close by.
In the same vicinity (and still on line with the legendary Danes Pad) in September of 1852 at the railway station on the Breck another coin, this time a Domitian, was unearthed. (At that period, we perhaps ought to point out, the station was situated at the bottom of the hill opposite, what is nowadays, the Civic Centre.)
A quick turn around and back up to Fleetwood for our next find, which is mentioned in Philip Graystone’s book ‘Walking Roman Roads in the Fylde and the Ribble Valley’. This time the discovery was of two Nero coins (54 A.D. to 68 A.D.) and one coin of Augustus (27 B.C. to 14 A.D.).
And, in 1968 at Leyburn Avenue, a bronze coin dated to 22 B.C. emerged from somebody’s back garden.
According to David Shotter of Lancaster University, in 1991 another Roman coin, this time a Nero dupondius dated to A.D. 64, was unearthed in the same general area.
Then there’s the coin that was found umpty-tumpty years ago in a garden on Fleetwood Road. (We’ve got a newspaper article about it somewhere…back in the 30s I think it was found…which, predictably we’ve misplaced right at the moment.)
According to an article by Terry Statham in ‘Treasure Hunting’ magazine:

“…we have a record of a hoard of coins being found when the old Mount Pavilion was replaced in 1902.”

(We mention this article in particular because our ‘History of the Wyre’ book receives a mention in it, along with Wyre Archaeology, which is always good.)
Sticking with the Fleetwood Peninsula, it’s time for another whacking great hoard…possibly two.
In 1840 almost 400 Roman denarii were discovered by workmen in a brickfield belonging to Mr Walmsley between Rossall Point and Fenny. According to Thornber the hoard consisted of Vespasian Titus, Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Sabina, Antonius Pious, Faustina and numerous others. About forty of them ended up in Thornber’s hands and the rest became the property of Peter Hesketh (founder of Fleetwood). After Hesketh declared himself bankrupt the coins were sold to Alderman Brown whose son donated them to the Harris Museum in Preston.
Henry Fishwick, author of ‘The History of Poulton-le-Fylde’ published in 1885, noticed that the coins donated to the Harris bore no resemblance to those recorded by Thornber. In fact Thornber hadn’t even mentioned the Flavius Victor and Eugenius coins that the Harris had catalogued, which was highly unusual as such coins are extremely rare.
In 1887, however, W. Thompson Watkin also wrote about the discrepancy, reaching the conclusion that:

“...two hoards were found at the same place, one of the Higher, the other of the Lower Empire.”

Naturally we went to see the coins in the Harris, which were all brought out to us in sealed trays that, by the time they’d finished, had created a toppling tower on the desk.
We didn’t photograph them. We thought it best if they just put them back again and left it at that. Instead here’s an Ordnance Survey map (copyright infringement almost absolutely certain here) showing where they were found.



That’s under the golf course nowadays, so if you’re going to go out digging don’t say we haven’t warned you about the consequences.
Right, let’s not forget Blackpool in this lot (as if we could).
Just south of the Pleasure Beach, in 1907, at the junction of Clifton Drive and Burlington Road West (albeit before those roads existed) a Roman coin horde was discovered buried in the sand dunes. Alongside the coins, as marked on the 1911 Ordnance Survey map, were the remains of a building.
Three of the coins (nobody ever bothered to record exactly how many were excavated so they might represent the entire horde) are, once again, housed at the Grundy Art Gallery where, if you’re very polite, the curators will dig them out for you to have a look at. They’re a bit on the small side, which was why we drew the following picture of them rather than take a photograph (because our camera’s not very clever when it comes to macro shots).


Allen Clarke mentions them in his ‘Story of Blackpool’ in the following manner:

“These are three specimens of Roman Coins, now preserved in the Museum at Revoe Library, discovered in the Blackpool district. They are each three quarters of an inch in diameter and one eighth of an inch thick. They were struck at Alexandria, the first two during the reign of Gallienus (A.D. 259), and the third during the reign of Claudius II (A.D. 268)”

Unfortunately, archaeology being low on the political agenda in Victorian Blackpool, to the best of our knowledge no record of the wall against which they were buried was ever made, other than the few lines on the Ordnance Survey.
Clarke also mentions that a certain Mr. Willacy also discovered two coins of the Emperor Adrian at the ruins of the fortress at Dowbridge.
Michelle decided to check through some old back issues of the Evening Gazette (courtesy of Phil Barker – Master Butcher) to see what other Roman coins might have come to light and soon discovered the following reader’s letter:

“Dear Seasider,

I have read about the old coins that have been found, and have just looked up two old ones that were found on the Blackpool cliffs. An expert on these matters told me the copper coin was minted between 17 B.C. and 25 A.D. during the reign of Augustus. The Bronze coin is of Julius Caesar period and both are in very fair condition.”

And in the Evening Gazette dated Tuesday the 10th of August 1937 we find the following:

“An interesting find of a roman coin has been made at South Shore. Mr E. Creed of Horncliffe Road, whilst hoeing potatoes in his garden, turned up an ancient silver coin, proved to be a denarius of Julius Caesar, of the date 44 B.C. Parts of the coin are worn, but it is possible to decipher some of the letters and the design on it.”

And so on and so forth. I’m sure you’re starting to get the idea now.
Obviously this little lot doesn’t collate every single Roman coin ever found in the district, but the more mathematically inclined amongst our readers will have already worked out that we’re into the thousands by now, so perhaps it’s time we brought the article to a close.

A Smorgasbord of Roman Artefacts: Part Three

Let’s get straight back into the thick of it. We’ve lots of ground to cover and it’s doubtful whether we’ll ever clear the whole lot.
In 2005 Brian Pinney brought a large chunk of soft chalky pottery into Wyre Archaeology that he’d discovered in his garden at Preesall. It was instantly recognisable as part of a Roman mortarium (which is basically a pestle and mortar) similar to the fragment we’d excavated from Bourne Hill earlier that same year (only bigger). Interestingly William Thornber speculated over a century and a half before that Preesall Hill might be the site of a Roman fort. Want to see our own (somewhat smaller than Brian Pinney’s I must admit, but I’m not proud) mortarium fragment? Tough, you’re going to anyway.


We shouldn’t forget at this point that, when the annexes were being built at Victoria Hospital, the upper half of a Roman beehive quern was unearthed. We’ve mentioned this artefact before, along with the fact that it’s now housed in the Grundy Art Gallery (at least it was last time we looked), and on that occasion we also supplied you with a drawing of it, so if you want to remind yourself of what it looked like you’ll just have to check back through the Roman postings on this board. (Check the right hand column…everything’s categorised for ease of use.)
We’ve even unearthed Romano-British religious iconography around these parts. In the eighteenth century two figurines of the little represented deity Mars Nodens were unearthed at Cockersands. Mars Nodens was a sea god connected with healing, the figures indicating that the remains of an associated temple might still be hanging around near by.
Then there are the “…two brass pans and an ancient measure” discovered in the peat not far from Fox Hall, as recorded in ‘Porter’s History of the Fylde’. These artefacts, as you’ve probably gathered, were Roman and were originally used for salt panning. Unfortunately nobody knows where they are nowadays, although we do have a drawing of a similar saltpan for you…one that we produced earlier, if you like.


Salt was used as a form of currency by the Romans (which is where the word salary originates) and exported all over the World.
Interestingly, in the same location where the pans were discovered, a 1786 drawing of Blackpool seafront shows what it purports to be an ‘Ancient Roman Building’. Exactly what this building was, and where it’s gone to nowadays, are no doubt the subjects of a lot of conjecture amongst various local historians.
Salt panning wasn’t the only alternative employment to the military, though. Farming was very popular. Have a look at this:


That’s an aerial view of a Romano-British farm over at Nateby, is that! How do we know? Because some boffin at London University or somewhere once told us it was, that’s how. There’s a lot of this sort of stuff around at Nateby. There are a couple more Roman farms at Curlew and Eskham as well by the looks of things.
It’s been estimated that around four thousand troops in the Fylde and Wyre needed constant supplies, so, coupled with foreign trade, large amounts of money could be made from these Romano-British farms most of which were owned and/or run by retired Roman soldiers from Ribchester.
Speaking of which…


That, in case you’re wondering, is a full-faced helmet discovered at Ribchester (now on display at the British Museum…I think). Strictly speaking Ribchester with its fort and its bathhouse and what have you, is outside the Wyre and Fylde (although only just), but they’re close enough (and so inextricably linked) to warrant a mention in this article I reckon.
As you’ve probably gathered by now we could go on like this all day. Fortunately, however, we’re not going to. As any treasure hunter knows the pinnacle (and possibly the rarest) of all roman artefacts, are, of course coins. And when it comes to the Fylde and Wyre the amount of Roman currency that’s been discovered here over the years goes into overdrive.
But we’ll save that for another article. (Quite a long one I suspect.) For now, suffice it to say, that whoever it was who was making claims about the Romans having bypassed out secluded corner of Blighty, really ought to conduct a bit more research into the subject.
Incidentally, if you have any more Roman artefacts to add to this list (and I suspect that I’ve missed out loads of them here) feel free to post them in the comments boxes below or over at the forum

A Smorgasbord of Roman Artefacts: Part Two

In our rebuttal of those spurious accusations levelled by local historians who shall remain nameless (mainly because we can’t remember who they are, but that’s beside the point) that the Romans never came anywhere near the Fylde and Wyre, we’ve already covered some of the larger Roman artefacts around the district (several roads, an altar and a fort), but these are as nothing compared to the number of smaller discoveries that have come to light over the years.
Let’s kick off this section with three copper alloy brooches unearthed at a metal detecting rally in Nateby in 2004.


There are photographs of these things somewhere (on the ‘Portable Antiquities’ website, if memory serves) but we weren’t sure about the copyright so we’ve drawn them up for you here.
Right, what do we have then? Well, one of them is ‘trumpet-style’ and dated circa A.D. 50, another is a Langton Down type, circa A.D. 15 to A.D. 60 and the third is another ‘trumpet-type’ circa 55 A.D. to 100 A.D. All, please note, respectably Roman.
Sticking with brooches for the moment, in 1996 a silver one was unearthed in Pilling, although we’ve been sworn to secrecy about its location and current owner, so you’ll just have to take our word for it. Having said that, we can provide you with a drawing of it…er…such as it is.


Yes, we know it’s a bit lacking in detail, but it was the best we could do under the circumstances.
Right, you want some military stuff next, do y’? Fair enough, William Thornber in his ‘Historical and Descriptive Account of Blackpool and its Neighbourhood’ reckons that:

“The late Mr Smith of Poulton informed me that he remembered a cuirass being found on the banks of the Wyre but, the children having converted it into a cart to collect manure, the embossed work was defaced and being thought of no value was thus lost.”

A cuirass, in case you’re wondering, was basically the upper-torso armour commonly used by Roman soldiers and the one described by Thornber would probably have looked something like this (only with a couple of grubby snot-nosed kids inside it):


A large medal of Germanicus was also discovered in a garden at the back of Poulton market place.
Then there were the Roman spearheads found in Stalmine Moss and Pilling in the 1840s, and a Roman brass umbro (that’s the central part of a shield) at Wardleys Creek in 1850.
On the subject of Roman military finds, we really shouldn’t forget the various bits and pieces that came up in a field in Poulton…high status military stuff that when we mentioned them on this board a few months ago we ended up getting a friend of ours into serious bother so we had to pull the article. However, these finds do exist (although we’re not allowed to say where it seems) suggesting that perhaps a mile-fort attached to the Danes’ Pad might still be in situ somewhere beneath the aforementioned field.
On the more domestic side, in 1823 a Roman wine strainer emerged from Stalmine Moss. (True to form it’s now been lost, presumably melted down for scrap or something, although William Thornber did draw up a sketch of it, which I’ve currently also lost…no doubt it’s under the bed somewhere.)
In 1971 at Broadfleet Stream in Stakepool, Ron Melling and our late colleague Headlie Lawrenson discovered several fragments of Samian Ware, a type of red, shiny pottery manufactured in Gaul (more was discovered at Trashy Hill in the 1990s) along with some pale green Roman glass, a Roman nail, a silver spoon, several fragments belonging to two large Roman bowls and a various bits and pieces belonging to a collection of cooking pots. (All of which, incidentally, can nowadays be found in the Fylde Country Life Museum.)
At Skippool in 1996, and at Pilling Mill in the 1920s, amphorae were discovered. Amphorae were used to transport liquids, such as fish oils or wines, around the empire. More Roman pottery and glass has also been discovered at Rawcliffe.
As you’d naturally expect, yet more fragments of Samian ware (this time decorated) have been discovered over the years at Dowbridge. We’ve illustrated one of the fragments below. (See…we think of everything.)


Also at Dowbridge in 1800 a Mr Willacy discovered a shield boss in a small stream adjoining New England Spring. Suggestions of votive offerings to the goddess Minerva were, of course, put forward.
The original boss is now housed by the British Museum. In fact, we’ve got a photograph of it for you. (I can’t remember where we obtained the photograph off hand, so we’re probably plagiarising somebody somewhere. Apologies for that.)


Forty years later a Mr. Loxham (Victorians had a habit of not recording Christian names) discovered, in the same area, a Roman urn filled with large bones, pieces of skull and an amulet. (Presumably this was the site of some long lost burial plot.)
Is it just me, or is this article starting to go on a bit? It’s not just me? Fair enough then…we’d better call time for another few days before continuing our trawl through all the non-existent evidence of Romans in our area.

A Smorgasbord of Roman Artefacts: Part One

I read somewhere recently, in some local history book or other -- possibly on the Internet…I’ve got a lousy memory when it comes to retaining utter rubbish -- that there was no evidence for the Romans ever having been near the Fylde and Wyre -- ever!
Now, occasionally, I must admit, I have some difficulty convincing people about certain aspects of our local history that might be considered a bit off the beaten track. However, even my most ardent sparring partners would be hard pushed to agree with the statement above, even if it was in a book, in black and white, with footnotes and authoritarian italics and everything. In fact I’d go so far as to say that I’ve never heard such an erroneous pile of sputum since Elton John admitted to the press back in the 1970s that he was attracted to curvaceous women.
With that in mind, here’s some of the evidence that, apparently, doesn’t exist.
Let’s start with this.


Now that is a Roman altar dedicated (as far as we can tell) to three mother goddesses, currently kept at St. John’s Church in Lund. It was found on the surface of the Ribchester to Dowbridge road, the first of our local Roman roads that don’t exist. (We’ve got quite a few more.) All altar of this sort clearly indicates that a Roman shrine/temple was in the area.
Speaking of Dowbridge, how does a Roman fort grab you? It’s been excavated and everything, although nowadays there’s a housing estate on top of it. Fortunately, Frank Smith (Wyre Archaeology Committee Member for Aerial Reconnaissance) happens to live in one of the houses, so here’s a photograph of a non-existent amphorae handle emerging from his flowerbed.


Just in case you’re thinking ‘That looks more like the handle of a pair of old garden shears to me’, here’s another photograph of the fragment once it had been excavated and cleaned. The image below it is that of a section of Roman mortarum also dug up in Frank’s back garden.


To be honest, Frank’s got loads of this stuff – far too much for one article in fact -- so we’d better move on. Before we do, however, a quick summary of the various stages of construction involved in Dowbridge Fort might be in order.
So, phase one consisted of a simple Agricolan fort, reckoned to have been constructed as part of the Roman military advancement northwards through Brigante territory around the mid first century.
Phase two saw the basic camp transformed into a fortlet or signal station. During the revamping process the defensive ditches were re-cut. (We strongly suspect that Dowbridge fort was part of the much larger system of defences stretching right around the coast to Fleetwood, and then on towards Lancaster, to be honest, but we’re dealing with facts here rather than speculation, so forget we mentioned that.)
Phase three took place around the start of the second century, when a larger fort was built on the site of its earlier incarnations. By the middle of the second century, however, it had been abandoned. Some historians have suggested that it was demoted to a simple storage depot in later life.
Right, we mentioned a few moments ago that the Lund altar was discovered on the surface of the Roman road from Ribchester to Dowbridge. There are, of course, other Roman roads in the district. There are two running more or less north south along the Pennines, for example, both more than amply recorded in Philip Graystone’s ‘Walking Roman Roads in the Fylde and Ribble Valley’. (If you don’t already own a copy, go and buy one. It’s an excellent book.)
At Forton Hall we can even find our own Roman milestone…unless, of course, the following photograph just shows my thumb looking a bit grey and weathered in front of the camera lens.


These are the best documented of our local Roman roads, of course. There’s also the Danes’ Pad, much disputed despite the large number of Roman artefacts unearthed over the centuries along its route. However, if it’s authentically excavated Roman roads (even if they are a bit more obscure) that you’re after, how about the Romano-British route from Nateby to Bourne, via Wardleys Creek and Stanah, as partially dug by the Pilling Historic Society in 1995 and confirmed in October 2003 when two Roman denarii were discovered lying on its surface.
That was Romano-British, as we’ve just mentioned, but there’s another Roman road proper following Highgate Lane in Stalmine from Stainall towards Preesall, where Wyre Archaeology excavated a section in 2008. (And if you’re going to argue with the good folks at Wyre Archaeology then you’d better buy some expensive boxing gloves.)


Yes, okay, I know you can’t see much of the road itself in the photograph, but if you want the full details you’ll just have to buy a copy of our 2008 excavation reports, won’t you? (Check out the link in the column on the right hand side of this board. Or if you’re one of our American readers, try Amazon Com. It’s amazing where our books turn up nowadays.)
Another Roman road appears to have run from Dowbridge fort, through, or at least close to, Wrea Green, towards St. Anne’s where it turned abruptly north and followed the coastline up through Blackpool. In 1893 the Manchester Guardian reported the discovery by workmen laying a new drain near St. Anne’s Road West, of the remains of this road lying some twelve and a half feet below the present one. It measured thirteen feet across and consisted of split stones laid in cement, eighteen inches thick.
Other Roman roads (or at least sections of them) have been variously discovered at Street, Preesall, Fleetwood, Tootle Hall, Hambleton, Skippool, Whinney Heys, Garstang, along the top of Hayshaw Fell (the photograph below shows that last one) and numerous other places around the Fylde and Wyre. By all accounts it was a busy old place back in the Roman times.


Don’t tell me you can’t see it. It is there, beneath the heather, leaving its imprint on the landscape if you stick your archaeology glasses on and look at it properly.
So, there’s no evidence for the Roman occupation in the Fylde and Wyre, is there? Well, I reckon that lot’s not bad for a start, and, to be honest, we’ve only just scratched the surface. But we’ve also run out of space, so the rest will have to wait until next time.

The Life and Times of the Towers

Nowadays the residents of Cleveleys know the Towers (situated just off Holmefield Avenue at the end of a short but leafy drive) as an urban oasis; a quiet squirrel-infested woodland secreted away at the centre of a labyrinth of peaceful avenues where only local hedgehogs, toads and ducks know of its existence.
It’s sometimes used as a meeting point for the Wyre Rangers and the Healthy Walks Squad, although they’re almost as difficult to spot as the wrens that hop about in the trees.
Even those in the know, however, are unlikely to remember it looking like this:


It did once, though.
Even earlier the place was known as Villa Wood and there have always been rumours that the Danes’ Pad (the Wyre’s infamous missing Roman road) ran through the grounds. We’re neither going to confirm nor deny this, because we just don’t know, although the name Villa Wood is intriguing in its own right, especially when, according to Ralph Smedley’s ‘Thornton Cleveleys Remembered’, he recalled as a child seeing a large fig tree growing outside the front door.
We could speculate for hours about its origins, but what we do know is that, on old maps, there was an ancient route running from Thornton, via the Towers (before the Towers itself existed), through Ritherham and on to Rossall Mill, which stood in the vicinity of the new cinema near Jubilee Gardens nowadays. The old route was marked by those odd boundary stones we often find in such places round these parts. One is still in situ at the West Drive entrance to the Towers (albeit heavily disguised beneath a Quatermass-like growth of ivy). Another can just about be determined, half eaten by the hedges surrounding the substation on North Drive.
In 1904 (or so our lackadaisical investigations have revealed) Messrs Horrocks, of the famous Preston textile firm (well…it’s famous in Preston, apparently, even if nobody else has ever heard of it) bought the entire Thornton Estate, which consisted of all the fields and woodlands stretching from Bourne Hall to Cleveleys, incorporating the aforementioned Towers en route. It was the Horrocks’ family who built the Towers itself as a hunting lodge, the residence of a certain Kess Hodgkinson, gamekeeper.
We assume it was around this period that the grounds also acquired the sundial from Bourne Hall, now serving time as a bird table next to one of the ponds. (At least we think it is. It certainly looks like the same bit of ornate garden furniture anyhow.)
Needless to say the building has now gone. Back in the 1913 ‘Healthy Cleveleys’ brochure, however, the following advert appears:

“The famous ‘Champion Conn,’ of Cleveleys, who holds an international reputation. Winner of 25 Championships. This record has never been equalled by any Dane in any part of the world. Young stocks always for sale. Stud Fee, £4 4s.”

In case you’re starting to get worried, the advert ends:

“Apply: Kennel Man, the Towers, Thornton-le-Fylde. Telephone 22, Cleveleys.”

What are we doing here? We can do better than this. We can show you a photograph of the famous Conn. Here he is, so famous that you’ve probably never heard of him:


It would appear that the ‘Kennel Man’ in question was a certain Mr Kirwan, owner of the original Cleveleys Inn, although at the time of his ownership it wasn’t an inn any longer but simply his home.
Mr Kirwan originally had kennels attached to his Cleveleys Inn home (which stood, incidentally, where the Olympia stands today) but moved to the Towers when he needed space to expand, which would explain why the school kids locally at the time knew the spot as Kirwan’s Woods. (It might explain the legend of the ‘Great Danes’ Pad as well.)
Not only did the Towers over its lifespan act as host to kennels. It was also once home to Highfield Girls’ College (‘the School in a Garden’), run by Miss E. Aitkin and Miss Gee. You might just about be able to recognise the grounds in the advert below.


Just for good measure, we’ve also got a photograph of some of the students, taken during the Rose Queen Celebrations of the 1950s. By coincidence we came across the following entry in the guest book over at Phil Barker’s site not so long ago (http://www.rossallbeach.co.uk) left by Fiona Hogan:

“My mum the rose queen at Highfield College (The Towers) pictured was the last rose queen they had.”


In more recent times -- although still a great many years ago as the chronological crows flies -- I personally remember climbing the tallest tree in the Towers, the one that’s leaning dangerously at a forty-five degree angle now but at the time rose to a dizzying height of…oh, at least 2000 feet, perching on the uppermost branches amongst the startled squirrels and surveying the Fylde through a pair of binoculars.
It was a stupid thing for a forty-odd year man to do now that I come to look back on it, but I was extremely drunk at the time and didn’t know any better.

The Ancient Road over Stanah Hill

We often receive emails here at the Fylde and Wyre Antiquarian. Believe it or not, they’re not all abusive and/or trying to sell us something. Herbal Viagra’s a popular bit of spam. Septic tanks, for some reason, is another. Exactly what this says about how the advertisers view us, I wouldn’t like to speculate. Occasionally, however, we receive an email from a decent, intelligent person, making enquiries and/or observations on earthworks and other stuff that they might have noticed around the district.

The most frequently asked about of these is the road over Stanah Hill. (I don’t know why this is the case. But it is.)
Now, with other enquiries such as those concerning Singleton Thorpe or Kilgrimol or what have you, I usually just point the said inquirer in the direction of some previous article we’ve written. It saves a lot of wear and tear on the wrists because I don’t have to respond with a lengthy email. When it comes to Stanah Hill, however, try as I might, I can’t find a previous article about the subject anywhere on this board. There probably is one, stuck away amongst the mulch of by-gone postings, mouldering quietly in the electronic bowels of the Internet, but if there is, I’ve lost track of it.

So, with that in mind, here are a few facts and stuff about the road crossing Stanah Hill…mainly for the benefit of future inquirers.
This is the top of Stanah Hill, looking east towards the River Wyre:

If you look closely you should be able to make out the aforementioned grass-covered road running parallel to the fence and disappearing into the mediaeval hedge.
Back in Victorian Times this road (now a public footpath) led from Underbank Road, over the hilltop and down to Cockle Hall ferry, which, if you were that way inclined, would then transport you across the river to Wardleys.
But the road itself is, as you’ve probably gathered, considerably more ancient than that.
Here’s the other end of it at Nateby, being dug by the Pilling Historic Society back in 1995.

Study the photograph carefully and you’ll see that it’s the same size, same agger and ditch system, same everything really.
Our old (now sadly departed) friend Neil Thompson traced the road, way back when, using a probe, following it all the way from behind the school in Nateby, via Hambleton, down to the pub at Wardleys, where originally it crossed the river to Stanah by a ford (long before the ferry set up its little trade) and continued over the top of Stanah Hill.
At the Nateby end, in 2003, two denarii, a silver ‘Tiberius’ and a bronze ‘Claudius’, were discovered lying on the split-pebbled surface, confirming that the track was around during the Roman occupation.
Heading northwest from Stanah Hill we can follow our ancient road in the direction of Bourne Hill (and our equally ancient Iron Age Romano/British settlement there).
Before we do that, however, let’s have a map.

Yes, I know that we’ve missed out the bit where the road meets the riverbank. That’s because we’ve borrowed the map from our ‘History of the Wyre (from Harold the Elk to Cardinal Allen)’ and adapted it slightly for use in this article. In fact, if you’d bought a copy of the aforementioned book already, you’d have read about this road before and wouldn’t be enquiring about it now…so there you go.
Anyhow, the agger is clearly visible curving northwest alongside what was the old Saxon village green at Stanah, before it disappears under Stanah Road and the modern housing estate on the other side, where this rather suspicious looking old gatepost marks its route.

We’re not actually saying that this stone is ancient. It might well be. It might well not be. It’s just a bit odd, that’s all.
From this point onwards our ancient road becomes a bit trickier to follow, disappearing as it does beneath the sprawl of modern day Thornton. However, we’re not ones to give up easily, and using an eclectic blend of supposition, old boundary/road markers, decrepit maps and a great deal of guesswork, we’ve managed to produce the following map:

There goes our ancient highway, look, possibly detouring towards Castle Hill at some point, veering sharply between Trunnah and Holmes through Townend Farm, and up past…what? Townend Farm -- on West Drive! What do you mean, why do we reckon it ran that way? Here’s what Ken Emery, Wyre Archaeology secretary and historian extraordinaire, told us. Back in the 1990s Ken interviewed Mrs Marjorie Lang: ‘…a charming nonagenarian whose family used to live at Townend Farm. She recalled, as a young woman, a slight depression roughly ten feet wide running northwards in a straight line from the farm towards the western flank of Bourne Hall hill.”
And back in 1935 (sticking with Townend Farm for the moment, of course) a cobbled track was actually unearthed by the farmer, presumably in the same place as the depression.
Right…can we continue?
Next up then we have the Stanifurlong fields (at least, that’s what they’re called on the old tithe maps), Stanifurlong being in the ancient tongue a furlong full of stones (stanis…see?), which, all matters considered, suggests that our cobbled track continued along this route.
Finally, we reach Bourne Hill, where in 2005 we found this:

All right, it might not look like much, but that’s a fire-split cobbled track, that is, looping around (and presumably into at some point) our Romano/British Iron Age settlement.
Returning to Stanah Hill, taking into consideration the exceptional view from the summit and the fact that the road runs right across it, you’d expect to find an Iron Age settlement, Romano custom’s house or, at the very least, some sort of ancient watchtower perched on it somewhere.
To date, however, nobody’s found anything.
Then again, nobody’s ever dug it.
Who knows what might yet come to light? Not me, that’s for certain, and because this article’s gone for far too long, I’m going to bring it to an end.