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. mōt, M.E. mōt, imōt = 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 σκοπιἁ, 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. tōtian, 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 Rhŷs 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