Chesters Roman Fort – IJM Photography

Thank you for following this series of UK Chronicles, and I would just like to say that this is the last one. It had been a long day, but a good day, despite the disappointment in Otterburn. You overcome and adapt. Killian was still sad not to have some Roman armour though.

So, despite not rocking the Roman look, we still had to get back to Lesbury because that evening we would be eating with my parents in a pub in Boulmer, which was just down the road from Lesbury and on the coast. Boulmer is one of those little fishing villages that still has a small fleet of fishing boats that would have caught the fish and chips that we would be eating that night.

To get back home, I could take the more direct route, or I could go via the scenic route. Luckily for you, Dear Reader, we had enough time to take the scenic route. My driving was leisurely, or even slow, as we meandered through the bendy country roads. Again, just taking in the rural views and loving every minute of it. We wanted to go back to Rothbury to get another of those yummy sandwiches in the breadcakes that you only seem to be able to get in the UK.

We found the same parking spot as we did that very morning and crossed the road to go back to that morning’s bakery. It had just shut! Please don’t worry for us though; our lives still had some meaning. We visited the ironmongers that hadn’t yet opened that morning. It was one of those places that had everything that one could need, from bird feeders to butter dishes. Killian decided that I needed a new walking stick. He had seen me leaning with my old one, which, in his mind, was too small for me. I think he really had his eye on a shepherd’s crook, but we settled on a nice wooden walking stick that is just a tiny bit taller than my French ones, and it’s propped up against my desk as I write—a little reminder of home.

Killian suggested we walk to a particular shop and then return, now with my new walking stick in hand. Leisurely was definitely the word of the day and summed up our attitude to it so well. We strolled down to the RSPCA charity shop. I thought I might just be able to get Killian a jacket to help smarten him up a bit, but failed. Ah well. We walked past the toy shop, which you could tell was for rural folk. The amount of toy tractors and all the farming machinery was awe-inspiring. Somebody somewhere had obviously been frustrated as a child…

We passed the Queen’s Head pub, and surprise surprise, we went in. I ordered the drinks and the crisps, made sure Killian had a place to sit, and went to the loo. The bar was full of locals, I presume farmers, judging by the size and musculature of the men. It would appear that their Friday evening sesh was just beginning. There was a couple of walkers with their dog, and a water bowl had been provided, and the dog was enjoying some of the treats from the complimentary dog treat jar. While some find the Northumbrian accent incomprehensible, to me, it’s music to my ears. I get every word of it. Killian, although fully bilingual in English, was struggling, praying that nobody would come up to him and try talking to him. Poor lad. And that was despite a pint of creamy, silky John Smith’s Bitter!

We left Rothbury behind us, feeling as if all were good in this world. Leisurely and peaceful, which felt amazing. We would head back towards Alnwick and have another look at the scenery in a new light compared with that morning. I have taken this route a few times and in the valley have always noticed a castle, and this time I thought, you know what? I’m going to have a look at that place. We saw the sign to the village of Edlingham and its 14th-century castle and turned left. You park just in front of the church, and you can go and see the ruins. We went into the church and saw somebody taking photographs with an old film camera. This guy had a vintage Nikon, and it looked beautiful. As photographers will do, we started talking shop. We talked about the films we used and how my X100F, although not a film camera, was the nearest thing I had found to a film camera in its feel and use. The photographer mentioned that the castle ruins were propped up with large iron beams, which seemed to detract from their historical charm. So, we decided to skip the visit. We parted ways and left the church after having managed to capture a couple of photos. Killian came running back in to ask the guy if he had a Nissan. He did. Well, in that case, it was his car that had just smashed into the church gate. Killian lifted the damaged gate to put it against the wall, and the driver was convinced that he had put his handbrake on. The gentleman called the number on the church notice board to try and tell the vicar about what had happened, but there was no answer. We never did find out if the driver managed to reach the vicar, but it was an unexpected end to our day of exploration.

Welcome, Dear Reader, to the very edge of the Roman Empire, and by implication, civilisation. You might be wondering why there’s a carving of a phallus as the cover photo for this article. Well, don’t forget that soldiers will be soldiers, even when they’re part of a Spanish Cavalry regiment stationed here. Some things never change—except these soldiers were caught by archaeologists centuries later!

Chesters Roman Fort was constructed along Hadrian’s Wall to keep out the “uncivilised” Picts and Scots. This impressive wall stretches across the country from East to West, ending at Wallsend in Tyneside. It was a massive undertaking, and I’m still amazed by this feat of engineering.

Killian, my dear son and heir, whom you might recall from the previous article about his misadventures at Otterburn, was slightly less impressed. “Ce n’est pas le Mur d’Hadrian, mais le muret d’Hadiran,” he quipped—translating to, “Not Hadrian’s wall, but Hadrian’s little tiny miniature wall.” Some people are just impossible to please!

Despite his initial skepticism, Killian was genuinely impressed by the quality of the stonemasonry, even after nearly 2,000 years. With his background in plumbing, he quickly noticed the Roman plumbing and underfloor heating, which makes you realise how little we’ve actually invented since then.

When we visited the cavalry lines and saw where the horses were kept, he was astonished to learn that three men and three horses lived in the same building, with the horses at one end and the soldiers at the other.

Even though he was flippant at the start of the visit, he took a keen interest in everything and enjoyed explaining each building to me. Maybe he’s a closet intellectual after all…

As we continued our tour, my knee was giving me trouble, and Killian showed his concern, asking if I really wanted to go down to the river to see where the bridge once stood. I insisted we go, so we made our way slowly towards the river and the soldiers’ baths. And by baths, I mean a fully-fledged hammam complete with sauna and dry heat—the very latest technology to provide the frontier soldiers with some home comforts. If those baths were still operational, they might have been perfect for soothing my arthritic knee!

We walked slowly towards the west gate and could only imagine the civilian buildings buried beneath the fields in front of us. This site wasn’t just a series of building outlines but a thriving Roman community on the very edge of civilisation.

Speaking of civilisation, I felt it might just be time for a cup of tea. As we strolled through the site towards the car, we spotted a tea shop. A cup of tea and a slice of cake were just what I needed—I was in heaven! Good old National Trust! No wonder they’re an institution. Our conversation shifted to the gift shop, where I was trying to convince Killian that, despite how cool owning a replica Roman helmet and armour might be, it could be a tad impractical and he might not have many occasions to wear such Roman regalia. Mind you he would be very dashing!

If you want to, you can even play a game of “Where’s Waldo” or “Where’s Wally,” for the British readers. Note I didn’t say “Where’s the Wally…” Keep an eye out for the photos of Killian…