The Wery Wall

by Sarah Cruickshank

 

I have stories to tell. I know, I’m just a little bit of wall, a few stones holding some fence up. I don’t look very exciting, I’m not in an important place, you might not even know I’m here because I’m hidden away; but I’m history I am.

I’ve seen hundreds of years coming and going, I could tell you such tales if you’d stop and listen. Sitting by this bathhouse, oh yes I’ve seen some sights.

And I’ve lasted. They didn’t pour lorries full of concrete over me, did they? Someone must have recognised that this bunch of stones said something about the Romans.

They didn’t use me in their new castle though, did they? Maybe I didn’t look so strong after all?

No wait, I must have looked important, impressive, special. That’s why I’m still here. I say something important about a time that’s lost. Of all the things they could have saved, they saved me. Okay that bathhouse ‘looks’ like a bathhouse, but I’m a fort I am. I’m not about preening and pampering; I’m about stopping the enemy getting in, I’m about protecting the river and the town; I’m about strength and power and majesty.

Tiny bit of wall? Sorry excuse for a fort? I’m still here mate, will you be able to say the same centuries after your makers have gone?

 

I was inspired to research Roman Lancaster because it’s an almost invisible part of the city’s history and I was fascinated by its absence from the cityscape.

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