caldrail

Today was another session at the Work Experience Programme, in which we are supposed to fit a jobsearch in between the various group activities. I always find this very frustrating because what I'd like to do is turn up and get on with it, without all these infant school distractions. Todays distraction was about presentations, and our group (composed of the noisier elements of the class, myself included) were given a brief to assemble a presentation on facilities and assistance for drug and alcohol abuse. I did make a valiant effort to organise things... I did try... But to no avail. Miss T was there, bright and bouncy, and totally self absorbed as she always is. She and her gang wanted an excuse to get out of the classroom and wander around doing something they considered more interesting, which amounted to light hearted socialising with an official excuse. In the end I let them go and promptly they all vanished out the door. Fine with me. I found lots of stuff on the internet concerning the topic at hand. Now that sort of makes me sound like a party pooper. In my defence I have to say that Miss T was well on form today. Her constant need to be the center of attention is making her bolshy and scornful. She's literally starting confrontations for her own amusement. This time however she went too far. Not with me, I have to say, but rather her need for attention resulted in a disciplinary followed by an ejection from the premises ten minutes later. Miss T wasn't the only one. One of her friends, a skeletal blonde girl whose experience of life, the universe, and everything makes her uniquely unable to understand anything beyond a late night party, followed her shortly after. Short attention span Miss M has been warned. And warned again in case she'd forgotten. The Great KS Mystery Solved The absence of KS from work was due to a sudden bout of flu (which I probably inadvertently gave him) that kept him in bed for two days. He looks properly cured, fit, and able to resume his role as the King of Banter. Tomorrow I shall need to stay alert, to stay banter-ready. He needs to stay at work, because he's already used up all his absence allowance and could easily be dismissed from the course. In fact after todays session we both both strolled down the hill, engaged in steady banter (the sort of non-intellectual non-stop gag kind that isn't funny to anyone else in the entire cosmos). Cheeky beggar reckons my home is in a crime ridden area. How did he know? Good News Our resident sex-change person has landed a job interview in Bath. I wish her(?) well and hope she(?) lands that job.

It isn't military service that was onerous, it was actually doing something for the money that wasn't popular. That was always a Roman problem. As I mentioned, the younger recruits were mentioned by Marcellinus as being keener. That's the entire problem. They still do. The mystique of the Roman legion is still with us. Partly this stems from the capability of the soldiers back then, who for all their faults (and they were very faulty!) were sometimes extremely impressive for their day. Perhaps it would be more accurate to emphasise the ruthless and stubbornness of Roman legions. No matter what you do, they just seem to keep on coming. That creates an image we rather like, on the basis that they appear strong and that we'd like to stand with them (like hangers-on around a playground bully). The second problem is that the Roman obsession with organisation identifies with our modern age rather too much, and as Adrian Goldsworthy points out, we shouldn't foist modern values upon them. Our skill at pattern recognition sometimes draws parallels with the Romans that really weren't there, and as you no doubt know by now I'm a firm believer in drawing the distinctions between us and them, because I believe these distinctions exist. They really didn't quite do things the same way as we do. People, just like us, but playing the same games to different rules.

It was a damp morning as I left my home for work. The first glimmers of twilight are now visible even on overcast days like this. The usual crowd were there. The builder waiting for his mate to pick him up, leaning against the tool-shop window. The young lad dressed up for inclement weather striding up the hill energetically. The lady-owner of the flower shop at the bottom of the hill, beginning her daily round of smoking outside. The newsagent, who for some reason only seems communicative when you pick up a newspaper with the intent of paying for it. And lastly, but not least, the 'in-crowd' gathered around the burger van parked in a side street. Burgers for breakfast? That said, all these people are essentially strangers. I pass them every morning but for one reason or another I don't talk to them as I stroll by. I ought to make some effort really because at the moment there isn't much in the way of human contact. Once again I was lost in the trenches of no-mans cardboard and set to work classifying and identifying endless rows of boxes. I cannot even begin to explain how mindlessly tedious this task is. After a while, you end up staring at the list of articles in your hand and fail completely to register it as writing. The big event of the day was the collapse of one such pile of cartons. The first I knew was when a great weight pushed against my back. At the time I made some stupid sound, something like a hippo caught out by his less fussy mate in a rampant mood. Having realised I was propping up half a hundred-weight of jeans, I yelled out in Jeremy Clarkson style that I'd been killed. "What are you doing back there?" Asked a manageress busy sorting desperately needed clothes a few rows away. Dying, actually. In case the message hadn't gotten across. With so little room to work in I was literally pushing up through fallen boxes. Such a cruel world. No-one cares. Later J and I were chatting (mostly about my tragic death earlier - I am such a whinger sometimes) and we were caught by the boss, appearing with less than her usual cheeriness. "I've got an emergency!" She declared, requesting that we immediately locate pyjamas at once. J made a witty comment that pyjamas weren't quite what he considered an emergency, compared to something like... say... An earthquake. My own comment was 'Pyjamas for Haiti'. That went down well. Okay, it was a bit crass, but I got an icy look from the boss that sent shivers down my nearly unemployed spine. It is a cruel world isn't it? With all the best intentions, we human beings do enjoy a spot of black humour now and then. Humour is in the ear of the listener. Sunset of the Week A lovely pastel sunset this evening. Yellows and oranges colouring the thin veil of cloud on the horizon and the greyer broken cloud beneath it. Nice.

So Theodosius didn't enlist 40,000 Germans/Goths to secure his borders after Adrianople? I wouldn't have written it if I didn't think so. Times had changed since the glory days of the legions. The general public had a love-hate relationship with them even bacjk then, depending on whether the legionaries next door had 'requisitioned' stuff from them, legal or not, and as many bruised citizens discovered, complaining to the legion commander wasn't as clear-cut a judicial procedure as they would have liked. Later the increase in germanic peoples enlisted without Roman training and billeted in private homes can't have done anything to improve the military image. As for Vegetius, no, I won't forget him. He did write a manual, as any read of it will show, but I agree it wasn't intended as a detailed document, rather a template of what legionary practice should be. If it wasn't considered necessary, why did he write it? Vegetius may not have been a soldier but at least he looked on from the sidelines and decided to do something about the shabby performance of his day. One might argue he too was dreaming the dream of Roman invincibility, but can you really blame him? He is after all one of the sources for his period. If you ignore the Roman writers completely all you get is fantasy. Now I do understand that some people enjoy the myths about the Roman legions - it's an enduring image that's been in place for two or three thousand years and appeals to some corner of the human psyche - but the study of history is based on their evidence surely? Agreed. However, Caesar was leading superstitious soldiers across open seas to a mysterious island on an amphibious offensive, whereas the later campaign (mentioning no names ) was a defensive action against Gothic rebels running riot in their own back yard. You'll always find those avoiding military service, and serving legionaries were only too keen to find sinecures and safe havens (well, perhaps they had good reason. For all its romantic associations, life at the sharp end of Roman military service might easily have a big drawback). Tiberius was sent by Augustus to check on people hiding in rural slave barracks to avoid theirs for instance. It isn't that this went on, but the scale of this behaviour and the attitudes involved in it. Republican armies were composed of volunteer levies. Late imperial armies by conscripts and press ganged 'volunteers' more often than not. However, this unwillingness to get involved was mostly a post-Marian situation when soldiers, despite a career to look forward to, were making the best of a twenty-five year liability. Prior to that the Romans used a militia rather than a professional standing army, relying on citizens volunteering to do their bit for the cause. That identifies a martial spirit dominating Roman culture. By the late empire, people were doing everything possible to avoid it.

The sound of heavy breathing made itself apparent as I sit here in the library. Poor chap sounds like he's going to expire of a heart attack before he gets to the second floor. I do sympathise, having to climb stairs all day at work too, but he's going to need oxygen at the top of this climb. He does make it to the top of the stairs, waddling slowly onto each step with weary persistence. Hang on a minute... If that was such a physical performance, why isn't he breathing deeply and resting? Instead he waddles onward. Now this begins to picque my interest. He approaches the nearest bookshelf, and instead of turning his head to search for whatever title attracted his attention, he turns his whole body stiffly, waddling on the spot. Don't mock the afflicted, Caldrail... Solo Performance KS didn't turn up for work today, and although I asked around, no-one at the department store knew (or cared) what had happened to him. My guess is he's gone down with the sniffles I had over the weekend. Nasty little bug that one. The former ambience of the stockroom has vanished,. I'm the only one working up there all the time. No more sounds of packing tape and merry banter. Just me and the air conditioning. After a while I realised that someone else was working up there too. One of the ladies was busy stacking clothes to take downstairs and she'd managed to creep into the racks without attracting my attention. Now that I was alerted to her presence, I asked her how she could stand working up here alone. "I like my own company" She shrugged. Okay, okay, I'll wander away, lonely as a stockroom assistant that floats o'er cardboard boxes... Little Things For Amusement J made his usual fleeting visits to ensure that I was still alive. During one he had a screwdriver in his hand. What's that for? "Oh this?" He said, "Dunno, just found it lying on the floor. Always finding stuff lying about." He shrugged, "Yesterday I found a spanner." Oh? Well, maybe you could throw these things at each other to keep people amused? "Yeah" Replied J with misty eyed visualisation of victory from the trenches of the cardboard no-mans land, "We could play Spanner Tennis." Chortle. You might might be sceptical, but believe me, after three hours of solitary tedium that was hilariously funny. He muttered something about the war going on and wandered off to lecture some managers about how a stockroom should be run, screwdriver in hand.

Something better? Here's the problem. The Romans were extremely sensitive to social status. To imply one legion (or any other Roman unit type) was more elite than another was actually insulting to the others. Now, some units had titles attached - you mention palatinate in particular. This partly recognises the role the unit plays but also acts as an honourific. Does that make the unit elite? No, because the honour can be removed just as quickly. Whereas a modern regiment can be viewed as elite and has a fixed standard for recruits to attain (even if they fail to), in the Roman legions the standard required is set by the commander of the day and varies accordingly. Although the legions were an organised body of men with certain qualities expected, they were not the professionally minded soldiers of the modern era and the Romans clearly didn't want them to be. They actually wanted these men to be hard as nails, willing to kill on demand, and if that meant tolerating a lot of macho and bad behaviour, so be it. Unfortunately the soldiers themselves were no less lazy and indifferent thean any other time and place, and we see this mentioned by Roman writers right from Republican times. To pretend to enumerate the different nations so formidable of old, all which now are subject to the Romans, would be tedious. But the security established by long peace has altered their dispositions, drawn them off from military to civil pursuits and infused into them a love of idleness and ease. Hence a relaxation of military discipline insensibly ensued, then a neglect of it, and it sunk at last into entire oblivion. Now will it appear surprising that this alteration should have happened in latter times... De Re Militaris (Vegetius In other words, not only were Roman troops lazy by nature (as soldiers often are if not kept busy) but that their officers were worse. The worst failing of the Roman legions was that their commanders were not career officers (which was why the centurionate was so vital to maintain standards and why standards fell after the civil wars of the early 4th century, which disrupted the continuity of the centurionate) thus many were only doing enough to keep up appearances and preferred to enjoy their extra-curricular activities instead, at least when not campaigning. They were therefore not always quite as focused on discipline and training as the myth would have us believe, and indeed, the early performance of Roman legions in campaigns was usually pretty poor (after which some officers were replaced by one means or another) The problem for the late empire officer is that he isn't well regarded anymore. Whereas his counterpart in earlier times was well-respected by virtue of his military service (essential for political success in Republican times), by the late empire military service was looked on as a dreadful chore. Local magistrates were bribed not to recruit locally, which meant they used the money instead to hire press gangs to enlist 'volunteers', which could hardly have improved the legions image at all. How does a unit call itself 'elite' in a regime where such opinions would induce derision, scorn, or possibly even punishments for getting above themselves? In a regime where the general public view them as armed thugs? In a regime where the officers are promoted to command by virtue of their place in society rather than a respected career? Would an elite legion demand to be paid before it fought? Would it require lengthy speeches to consider beginning a campaign? Noticeably, Vegetius refers to the troops of his time as lacking in strength and substance, a damning endictment from a man who wrote a manual to raise standards back to the levels referenced in former times. Certainly the elite status from the public eye wasn't evident. Roman soldiers were not entirely popular with civilians in their heyday, so much less praise would have been forthcoming in times when troops were billeted in private homes as a matter of course (and not at military expense either more often than not) In considering whether troops were elite amongst each other - it was accepted that certain elements were (ie - the first cohort, or the horsemen) but be aware that the legion wasn't just a military unit, it was a familia to the Romans. A sort of extended family, with loyalty formed from the bonds between 'close friends' and the networks of bribery that got people promoted or out of menial duties. The legion was it's own little world and in many respects every legion viewed itself as elite in it's own eyes. The honour system of the Roman military replaces our own modern elitism. Whereas we have units with fixed reputations to which all entrants must rise, the Romans had a system of honour where a legions reputation was only as good as its last battle. What we might assign elite status to might only be a description of function in the more specialised late empire world. Let's be very clear about this. Whilst the Romans had developed vague and mutable versions of national armies by this later period, if any unit started calling itself 'elite' then the Roman command of the day would certainly insist on that unit proving they were worthy of such high status, especially since the troops were largely foreigners by that time and certainly not of noble blood.

There's only word for it - gutted. Miss T has decided that our friendly department store isn't for her and she's arranged to get work experience at another one. So it looks like I won't be flirted with for the time being. Funny how you only miss these little interactions when they vanish. Never mind. I'm sure she'll make up for lost time at our next session together. You see, that's how to survive the dreary tedium of joblessness.... Get a blonde to flirt with you. Works for me. Ousted Mister G was a guy at our work experience session. He's a distinctive chap, a tall afro-carribean guy who looks like an aboriginee in a down-and-out coat. Apparently his work experience placement weren't too impressed with his appearance and told him he wasn't supposed to be there, so he simply took everyone else with him back to his place to smoke a spliff. Class. Sheer class. It's apparent that he feels a need to be high all the time. When he isn't smoking suspicious substances he's taking swigs from a subtlely concealed bottle. When he isn't doing either he's asleep, dozing away despite the best efforts of our advisor to keep him interested in word games to further his education. In a sense it's sad, but he's been ousted, dropped from the course, possibly facing a loss of benefits. A part of me suspects it won't hurt him financially too much. It certainly won't make any difference to the cannabis cloud hanging over east Swindon. KS tells me he once got a placement at the same place and stayed there for ten weeks without getting mugged. An achievement he reckons. I believe him. Demolition At Last? People have been busy at the Old College site just across the yard from where I live. Cars coming and going from the back entrance, Men In Suits wandering around taking photographs (and admiring my much maligned car too. Four thousand quid and it's yours, mate... Oh suit yourself...). You have to laugh. Are they seriously going to build a new shopping centre with our old ones 20% empty?

Hope NN doesn't mind a quick answer to Auxillia... The essential problem about elitism then is who exactly is awarding that status. I got the impression that the elite status you mention when extra latin titles are added to a Roman military unit automatically infer status. This isn't a dig at you, but please be aware that's it you awarding that status, not the Romans themselves. If you read Roman accounts, they don't emphasise status amongst their military units (unless you can find a mention and prove me wrong). The reason is that they don't want elitism - it would tend to encourage rebellions, and this was borne out with experience of the elitist Praetorians of the earlier empire. I do accept that cavalry tend to be regarded as elite (I do mean the independent formations, not cavalry attached to a legion as a scouting element - if such was still the practice in later times. Anyone know?) since just about every cavalryman ever trained or hired has seen himself as a cut above the infantry in every period or nationality since horses were first ridden. Also, as I mentioned before, elite cohorts were standard practice - it gave an incentive to performance within a legion. Okay, I'm done. Please carry on chaps...

Some bright individual has now decided that society would be a better place if there was zero rubbish. What a wonderful image. Almost reminds you of those whitewashed cottages hiding in the midst of verdant rose gardens. Don't see many of those these days. I think they fell into disuse about the same time Ealing Studios went bust. The trouble is of course our beloved socialist government, who now have the power to enter your home and arrest you for littering it. These days we're not even allowed to drop litter on landfill sites. It isn't just me who's getting a tad concerned about this messianic mission to recycle everything we use. So what can I do to alleviate the eco-disaster of supermarket packaging? Well.. I could starve of course... I'd be somewhat wealthier for a short while. But wouldn't that reduce sales and put lots of people on the dole queue? What's cheaper? Proper rubbish clearance or lots of dole claimants? Before long we'll be fined for sitting down. And this in a country where despite rising prices and falling standards of service, politicians of all parties are talking about raising taxes between 20 and 40%. They really do think they can spend money better than we can. Which is rubbish, considering the mess they've gotten into claiming expenses from our paypackets. You know, this has less to do with ecology and climate than micro-managing private lives in some Orwellian agenda. Britain really isn't Middle England anymore. Rubbish Performers I saw a newspaper article today about the Simon Cowell franchise, television shows like X Factor and Britains Got Talent. It seems that the entrants are exploited. No! Surely not? Shock horror! Our five minutes in the spotlight remain a tantalising window to a new life in many peoples minds. It's because show business appears glamorous and the activities of various celebrities seem to imply that our hum drum lives will be so much better when we become famous. As someone who's kicked around the lower echelons of that business (and been kicked out of it, well and truly), I can assure the public that their dreams will be just as much a nightmare no matter how many television cameras broadcast it to the world. But hey, who's listening to me? I can imagine the same ideals, hopes, and dreams were the motivation of volunteer gladiators in Roman times. Most of them died a death too.

I don't really see which part you don't get it.......I mean ''If you accept some legions were elite, then what set them apart? Why were they 'elite'?''???????? Isn't it obvious? Ever heard of terms like Limitanei, Pseudocomitatense, Comitatenses, Palatine? What set them apart?????? Oh, come on man are you serious? Very. The whole point of the legion was that every single one of them was equally capable, or at least, in theory. Now I grant you that by the late empire some formations had become specialised and honoured, but to call them elite is to foist modern concepts upon them. Remember that the Romans did not by habit collect soldiers into elite legions, but into elite cohorts. Parts of a legion might be considered elite, not the legion as a whole. And since the author is claiming the army was composed of elite troops, he's making a huge error. Marcellinus describes them as veterans, not elite - there is a big difference. Furthermore, the training of the period was lacklustre (which is why Vegetius produced his manual on how to make a legion). As for having 'greater will', it's clear that many troops in the late army were anything but willing. It is true that Valens had experienced men in his army. Sebastianus had also been given some opportunity to train men prior to the battle. Zosimus provides a colourful description of the capability of Valens army

These days my flying is limited to to the computer. But I still dream, and I hope you enjoy my artwork based on screenshots of my particular hobby. Exuberance I was sat at a computer the other day, browsing flight simulator forums and enjoying some banter about the Second World War, when I heard the light aeroplane flying around outside. That isn't unusual over Swindon. For some reason the town is on a north-south route for private flyers much to the chagrin of the controllers at Lyneham Airbase down the road. I saw the aircraft, a C152, quite low over the back of our house. In fact, considering the rules concerning flight over built up areas, he was lower than might be considered safe or legal. Not only that, the pilot was very hamfisted on the controls. Every movement was sudden and the little Cessna wobbled unsteadily in the sky. Not being funny, but that pilot isn't going to impress anyone flying like that. I remember chatting to a guy at Thruxton when things were a little quiet. He claimed he was a glider pilot by trade and was interested in furthering his aviation experience with a fixed-wing license. Being the generous chap that I was, I took him out onto the apron and let sit in one of the flying clubs Piper Tomahawks. He started talking about the challenges of long distance flight. Was he serious? Did he really think he could glide a Tomahawk cross-country by flying in a series of climbs and dives? My thought went to a recent incident. A Piper Arrow had crashed when a wing fell off. Now, wings are designed not to do that, so there must have been a reason, and eye witnesses on the ground said he'd been flying up and down. The investigation report said he was flying with his kids back from holiday, so understandably, you might suspect there was a certain amount of exuberance and he paid for that by over-stressing the aeroplane once too often. I turned to the chap sat at the controls of the stationary Piper (who actually didn't look all that clued up about being in a cockpit at all) and suggested he talk to the instructors before he tried to push the envelope of an aeroplane I might be flying next week. The days when I headed down to Thruxton for my weekly dose of aviation are now long gone. It was of course an excuse for a chance to let my sports car off the leash, and back in those days, we had yet to suffer the tyranny of the speed camera. Ah yes... Exuberance...

What a difference a layer of cloud makes in the first embers of daylight! Unlike Wednesday morning, today it was dark again when I made my way to work. It was bound to be one of those days. My boss made her usual cheerful appearance and said "I've got a little job for you." Little jobs? Now that they've discovered stock they didn't know they had, they're dropping prices on almost everything and my boss informed me that my job was to write the new price on every tag. That meant checking through printed lists or going off to the database computer to look it up. Well... That's not rocket science. Shouldn't be too difficult surely? She then went into Clothes Mode. It's a fearful experience when a woman starts to talk clothes. We males are psychology unequipped to deal with complex instructions dealing with apparel, and having no natural fashion sense, it's a long stream of instructions that might just as well have been spoken in Serbo-Croat. "These ones..." She said, clearly relishing the task of pointing out which articles were to be repriced, "And these.. These.. Those.. Oh yes, and these... All of those... All of those... That too... Hmmm.... No, not these... But I want these repriced... And these... And these. Any questions?" Gulp. Shock Revelation Our resident sex-change person has a hairy chest. Horrible thought, isn't it? KS apparently hadn't realised she(?) wasn't entirely a woman. "I thought she was just really ugly" He said in all innocence. Certainly had him fooled. Influence of the Week Sadly so far no-one has addressed me as "My Lord". I just live for that moment. Before that fateful day occurs however, I have no choice but to send letters, certificates, and make irate phone calls to alert people to the changes necessary by my new-found status. So far I haven't had any great obstacle. Today however I got a message from our library that my access to a couple of websites has been restored. I've tried before but gotten nowhere. This last time they reduced my access without warning me I had no choice but to enquire to a guy who does nothing but dither. Each and every time you ask for assistance he says "Sorry, I can't help.". He's become very good at apologising. Well, now that I have a noble title, an apology simply will not do. Oh don't just stand there, you silly little man, do something! This time I had a word in someones ear and asked for copies of the Data Protection Act 1998, Human Rights Act 1998, and Freedom of Information Act 2000. That seems to have done the trick. Nothing like a shock to system to lubricate the wheels of the World Wide Thingy.

Today it was back at the work experience program, my very own infant school for out of work adults. It's an interesting experience because with each week the boredom level is clevery designed to increase to mind numbing tedium, so that the workplace actually becomes interesting. We all sat around playing Scrabble. No, really, we did, until the well-meaning advisor brought along a dictionary and proclaimed half our words out of bounds. Young T immediately upset the game board to show her displeasure. I merely left the table to get on with my internet jobsearch (which I'd been trying to get on with since turning up that morning). Talking about miss T, I was sat on a table waiting for a one-to-one interview and she insisted on hijacking my newspaper, draping herself over my legs in a frantic search for adverts. In fairness she apologised for being so intrusive. I told that I wasn't sure whether she didn't do that on purpose, which got a sly smile from her by way of reply. That's the problem with miss T. She wants to be the centre of conversation. During our lunchbreak I was chatting with a few other jobseekers, mostly about music, and started talking to another young lady who had expressed a strange and morbid ambition to become a funeral director (she's done that sort of work before apparently, not that you could tell). Immediately miss T lost all interest in communication and draped herself over the desk in a visible signal of disapproval. Later I got into a chat with miss S, a westernised asian woman who I found very... erm... (this is not intended to be a pun).... colourful. Her life is dominated by pets in such a way that they seem to have become a surrogate family. She admitted that her rottweiller/alsatian cross guard dog has been in the newspapers for threatening behaviour and serves as an excuse for unwanted approaches. Certainly worked for me. I lost interest too. I finally got my one-on-one interview with CM. Charming lady, and very polite too. Sadly her interview was necessary because there's been loads of errors in the Great Stocktake and as someone involved in the preparation of that fiasco, I have been named as a suspect. I hope I've been eliminated from that enquiry. It might be a very dull and tedious job, but it's in my interest to last the course. Thought of the Week Since my Toyota's and Toy Cars post on this blog, I've thought a little more on the reign of the supercar. Last year or whenever it was Jeremy Clarkson predicted the end of the breed. The Top Gear magazine afterward considered that end was premature. I think that in our modern mass production world and throw-away mentality, the supercar is essential. Now I have to justify that statement. It's really quite simple. With economies of scale and safety legislation making cars duller and ever more indistinguishable (not to mention all made from the same bits), the brand name is more important in order to sell products. As cars become less exciting to drive, the image of an exciting brand becomes ever more important. Why else would dull and ordinary luxury car maker Lexus produce a very expensive supercar they cannot possibly profit from? Am I right? Is the supercar becoming more of a statement for its maker than the glossy colour photo or the ridiculous and inflated thirty second television advert? The proof is with Toyota in the next few years. Will the largest producer of geriatric mobility buggies build a hybrid ultracar to improve, or indeed, redefine the brand image?

Today began with my usual stroll down the hill to work. Up until now it's always been dark, but this morning was bright and sunny. Didn't expect that! It was, in retrospect, the day starting as it meant to continue... The Great Stocktake has begun. Hordes of very important looking auditors have descended on us and today was the day the laughter died. KS and I have been exiled to a area out the back, a sort of dusty and disused chamber of rubbish, looking extraordinarily like a castle dungeon. Here we were chained up and tiold to do the work everyone else usually does in unpacking our daily delivery of stock. This ritual involves going down the lift to the loading bay, stacking boxes in wheeled cages, then going back up in the lift to the top floor stockroom, unpacking the boxes, then taking the stock down to the sales floor in the lift. All very simple. Or it would have been but for some idiot who had bumped into the lift door and broke it. One half of our goods lift was broken. Oh brill. The remaining lift was being used by everyone, and for a ten minute period of sheer confusion, the lift refused to obey our button presses and went to every floor it could think of, leaving us standing there like lemons whilst a confused boss looks on. We were confused on the loading bay when a ghostly female voice asked who we were. Strange things happen in my surreal world. And Yes, The Weather... If anyone doubts the vagaries of our British climate, check this out. I left work this afternoon in bright sunshine. Okay, it was cold, very cold, but hey, everyone was smiling and happy as they went about their daily shopping. I took a short cut through another department store, the arcade, and into the supermarket to buy my weekly food and stuff. As usual, it was 'Obstruct Caldrail' day again, and having negotiated the various old people and childrens buggies, I made it to the check-out. The young lady there is a cheerful soul, much friendlier than some of those crabby women who look at me in the same way you might a serial fluffy puppy eater. So I began our usual repartee only to be interrupted by a gasp as she stared out the window in disbelief. It was a blizzard. What the...? Where did all the sunshine go? Thick torrents of coarse powdery snow belted down and began to coat the workmen laying a new pavement outside. Oh brill. This Weeks Happy Ending Yep. The sun is out again. At least for those few short hours before it goes all dark.

Recently I've developed an interest in Dark Age Britain. The sheer atmosphere of the period is seductive. In no small part that is due to the connection with the mythical Arthur, his battles, especially the most creditable of them all, Mons Badonicus. My interest in this particular battle emerges partly from its place in the period I was researching, but also because one plausible site lies only a few miles from where I live. During my research I discovered the following advice. Mons Badonicus has probably generated more hot air than any other battle of the period Why is it that this one single battle should be regarded in this way? Like all enduring uncertainties, Mons Badonicus defies conclusive description. It isn't known exactly which year the battle was fought, where it took place nor exactly who led the armies of either side. It's Dark Age mythology that fills in the gaps. The reason this battle generates so much hot air is because it's impossible to resist. I may not be able to be any more conclusive concerning events of this time but I hope I can shed some light on what must have been a victory celebrated for at least two generations. An Obscure Significance Sometime around the year 540 a british monk named Gildas wrote De Excidio Britanniae (The Ruin of Britain) in which he records the lack of christian morality he witnessed around him. His work receives criticism from some modern commentators for it's lack of historical profundity, but that rather misses the point. Gildas wasn't writing a history. Neither, for that matter, was he writing for future generations. His message was more of a sermon, or even social commentary, intended to be read and understood by people of his own time. Whatever its good and bad points, De Excidio Britanniae remains a primary source of the first half of 6th century Britain. This was a period of history when history as we understand it was passed from generation to generation by oral tradition. The various annals of the period, such as the Annales Cambraie or the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, are simply lists of significant dates and events, intended as official markers with which to date the more detailed spoken word by reference. Gildas makes a reference in such a way to a specific event. He tells us he was born in the year of the Battle of Mons Badonicus. That confrontation marks the end of a war and begins forty years of peace in southern England. It was, by any standard, a significant victory, yet we know so little about it. Britain In The Dark Ages This island, of proud neck and mind, since it was first inhabited, is ungratefully rebelling, now against God, at other times against fellow citizens, sometimes even against the kings over the sea and their subjects. De Excidio Britanniae (Gildas) For Britain, that province so fertile in despots, the Scottish tribes, and all the barbarians round about as far as the ocean were alike without knowledge of Moses and the prophets. Epistle 133:9 (Jerome) Britain was abandoned by Rome, by its own rebel leader. With feelings running high concerning foreign raiders, troops stationed in Britain had revolted and chosen Marcus, Gratian, and then Constantine III in quick succession, and only the last of them survived for more than a few months in power. Constantine became such an influential figure that the admittedly lacklustre Emperor Honorius of Rome was forced to recognise him as a co-ruler, but this success was partially won by means of removing troops and military supplies from Britain, the last leaving British shores in 406. With the Saxon raids continuing almost unchecked the British had lost patience. ...expelling the Roman magistrates or officers, and erecting a government, such as they pleased, of their own. Thus happened this revolt or defection of Britain and the Celtic nations, when Constantine usurped the empire, by whose negligent government the barbarians were emboldened to commit such devastations. Nea Historia (Zosimus) The efforts of the Britons to organise and defend themselves met little success. They appealed to Aetius more than once for military aid, and famously in 410 Emperor Honorius sent a letter to the British cities telling them to look after their own defence. The independence of British government in the 5th century had received official sanction. It was somewhat ironic that this government would collapse completely within fifty years. A series of petty rulers emerged until AD425 when Vortigern claimed Britain as his realm in its entirety although its only established that he ruled Kent. In AD440 he appealed for help against the picts to two Jutish chiefs, Hengist and Horsa. According to contemporary sources, the english king escaped a Saxon plot to murder his nobles from which he escapes to Wales, where he later dies in a fire, but theres no mention of the defeat of Vortigern in the Battle of Aylesford in AD449, nor his earlier attempt to ask the Saxons to go home. Finally by AD460 the roman government had evaporated. As late as AD495 the Saxons were still arriving, followed by the Angles thirty years later who went on to dominate northern england and create the realm of Mercia. The historical sources of these times are not judged reliable, but its noticeable that Vortigern is described as a villain for inviting the Saxons into Britain, though some connection with the Pelagian Heresy put down by Germanus of Auxerre in 429 has been suggested as a possible reason for the hatred Vortigern generated. The popular image of Roman Britain can be seen on the shelves of bookshops and libraries everywhere. The artists impressions of Roman architecture, country villas, and urban life are plentiful. They're also misleading. It gives the impression that Britain was completely 'romanised'. The truth is that this assimilation never happened. Certainly the Romans occupied England and dominated affairs there for centuries, but it isn't generally realised (or popularly accepted) that the native Iron Age culture co-existed right to the end of Roman occupation and beyond. Not only did the native celtic culture survive, but in the collapse of Roman administration within fifty years of the last legionary departing British shores, that culture had blossomed again, this time with a latin legacy and a new Irish christian zeal. Note the christian symbol of the period, the 'Celtic Cross', the Druidic Circle superimposed by the Cross of Jesus. The fact the Druids had been removed from political power by the attack upon the Isle of Anglesey in AD60 did not completely remove the druidic faith from peoples hearts, nor for that matter was Malmudian Law, the 248 Triads that encapsulated the oral codices of the Druidic priests, forgotten entirely. In fact, King Brude of the Picts, who lived between 550 and 584, had a personal druid named Broichan when Columba arrived to meet the king. It wasn't the pagan Romans who brought Druidism to an end, nor the Christian Romans who followed them, but the new religious movements in those turbulent years when the British took control of their own affairs. Patricks Irish missionaries in the 5th century, the pagan Saxon settlers, and eventually Augustines liberal Roman Catholicism. Yet even today, Halloween and the Mistletoe at Christmas are druidic remnants still alive in British culture. My reason for emphasising the religious continuity of the natives is to underline the concept that old traditions had survived the Roman occupation and the many temptations of luxury so famously alluded to by Tacitus. That doesn't mean the Romans left no mark behind them. Far from it. Although these post-Roman Britons adopted a semblance of their former tribal culture, a feature of human sociology similar to that observed in the decline of colonial Africa in recent times, they still used Roman political offices awarded ad hoc rather than as permanent jobs, rather like noble titles. These were 'special jobs' that meant something, representing the authority of an old order still alive in peoples minds of the time. Nennius for instance makes the point that Arthur was not a ruler but an important military leader. He uses the phrase Dux Bellorum (Duke of Battles). Most studies use that title literally and accept that was the rank accorded Arthur as the commander-in-chief of the gathered Romano-British armies. The exact name of a title in the Dark Ages was less specific and Arthur's dukedom may be no more than Nennius giving a latin title to a man who might have gone by another. Magister Militum, Imperator, or even the celtic title Gwledig are just as likely. Neither should we overlook the influence of Irish celts, who in the early 5th century were mounting regular raids in western areas (and indeed, Arthur is credited for victories against them). It was from Ireland that Patricks Christianity spread. The Dark Age Record 516 - The Battle of Badon, in which Arthur carries the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ on his shoulders for three days and nights, and the Britons were victorious. Annales Cambraie (?) From that time, the citizens were sometimes victorious, sometimes the enemy, in order that the Lord, according to His wont, might try in this nation the Israel of to-day, whether it loves Him or not. This continued up to the year of the siege of Badon Hill, and of almost the last great slaughter inflicted upon the rascally crew. And this commences, a fact I know, as the forty-fourth year, with one month now elapsed; it is also the year of my birth. De Excidio Britanniae (Gildas) ...a most severe contest, when Arthur penetrated to the hill of Badon, and in it, 940 men fell in one day from a single charge of Arthurs, and no-one laid them low except he alone. Historia Brittonum (Nennius) They had at that time for their leader, Ambrosius Aurelianus, a man of worth, who alone, by chance, of the Roman nation had survived the storm, in which his parents, who were of the royal race, had perished. Under him the Britons revived, and offering battle to the victors, by the help of God, gained the victory. From that day, sometimes the natives, and sometimes their enemies, prevailed, till the year of the siege of Badon-hill, when they made no small slaughter of those enemies, about forty-four years after their arrival in England. Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum (Venerable Bede) These were the reports of the Dark Ages left to us by the writers of the time. There are also mentions in Welsh heroic poetry but these are romanticised tales and lack historical accuracy. Nennius listed the twelve battles credited to Arthur. In doing so, he makes Mons Badonicus seem as if it were the culmination of a long campaign undertaken by Arthur to secure peace in Britain, when research seems to suggest a single great victory won by him at the end of a period of warfare spread over England. Both Gildas and the Venerable Bede mention a long war against the Saxons, but the grandeur of Arthurs career begins with Nennius. None of those battles listed by Nennius have any definitive location. They remain mysterious, contradictory, and may well be fictional altogether. So much of our Dark Age history does. Only the Battle of Badon hints at any real historical event. That said, the event as we read of it is coloured by Dark Age sensibilities and medieval errors in transcription. For instance, we read in the welsh Annales Cambraie that Arthur carried the cross of Jesus on his shoulder for three days and nights. As a physical activity it makes no sense for a practical minded leader of men in battle to perform such a duty literally. You might interpret this as merely a responsibility, leading celtic christian warriors against heathen Saxons. Alternatively it might be worth observing that the celtic worlds for shoulder (scuid) and shield (scuit) are very similar, so we might be looking a simple error in grammar that the pious medieval mind missed altogether. The Question of Arthur No figure on the borderline between history and mythology has wasted so much of the historians time J.N.L. Myers Point taken Mr Myers. But you just can't keep a good legend down. That remains the essential problem with Arthur, who by the 9th century had accumulated such mythic status that he was given credit for victories not only at Badon, but eleven other battles of which no trace can be found. The Venerable Bede, who used the work of Gildas as a source, also doesn't mention who led the Britons to victory at Badon and by omission, this seems to imply Ambrosius Aurelianus took command. In an age when a warrior might expect to live to the age of forty, to have Ambrosius Aurelianus lead the Britons to victory at Badon would make him a very old man. Not impossible perhaps, just very unlikely, a situation enforced by the observation that no-one specifically gives Ambrosius credit for the victory, just that he had done much to win the battles of the previous generation. The issue here is that Gildas doesn't mention Arthur at all. We shouldn't be suprised by this since he doesn't mention Patrick either, surely one of the most influential christian figures who inspired the Irish-Christian renaissance of the early Dark Ages, a movement that spread into continental Europe. In fact the historical legacy of the following generations mention at least four identifiable Arthurs in the late 6th and 7th centuries that are recorde in Argyll, Wales, and Ireland. The popular emergence of this name points to an original Arthur who made such an impression. ...although he was no Arthur... Y Goddodin (Aneuris) Celtic heroic poetry of the Dark Age like the Goddodin makes that specific reference and underlines the legendary reputation. Unfortunately Arthur is remembered in these tales less for his ability on the battlefield and more for indfidelities in the bedroom, and the Welsh poets regarded him as an avaricious tyrant. However, there is one important clue that Gildas left us. He describes Cuneglasus, one of the contemporary tyrants he despaired of, as aurigaque currus receptaculi ursi (The Bears Charioteer). That may not seem significant, but look further. The old celtic word for bear was arth, coincidentially the root word in Arthur, and since Gildas was not above making puns of peoples names, we have an anonymous leader we remember by his nickname instead. What Gildas is saying is that King Cuneglasus, in his younger days, was given the privilege of driving Arthurs chariot. A veiled reference to the real Arthur? Possibly, but such was the power of this myth that during the Middle Ages a story emerged that Arthur had relatives of Gildas put to death, either for treachery or piracy depending on which version you hear. There's no historical basis for this but it often appears as the reason for why Arthur is missing from the record. The celtic oral tradition has a powerful persistence, but again, a measure of scrutiny is involved. In the Historia Brittonum Nennius informs us that Arthur slew 940 Saxons personally, sometimes recorded as 960. That can be viewed in three ways. Firstly, that it's simply fiction, a made up number to sound impressive around the fireside and of no significance other than to underline Arthurs heroism. Secondly, you might see it as a total of men slain by the Britons, but credited to Arthur as the sole leader of his warrior band, a practice thought to be common in Iron Age and Dark Age tales. Thirdly, and perhaps the most damning coincidence of all, the number is often quoted as 960 and may well have once been expressed as three three hundreds and three score. What a great line for a storyteller to make to his audience. That doesn't mean the number is actually fiction, but a little too convenient, especially since the druidic tradition held the number three as especially significant in their beliefs. The Druids ordered their culture in Triads, verbal memnonics designed to be remembered easily without the need for the written word, and indeed the concept apparently survived in Britain long after the Druids were crushed by Roman legions on the Isle of Anglesey. Such was the mythology of Arthur that in 1125 William of Malmesbury writes in his Gesta Regum Anglorum that he wanted to dispel some of these myths and bring the truth of Arthur back into perspective. In fact, he repeats the work of Nennius, although instead of glorifying the victory at Badon, refers to it instead as a temporary victory before the eventual retreat and capitulation of the Britons to the Saxon advance in later generations. He also diminishes the Saxon menace to fit in with Norman sensibilities. The Question of Saxon Generalship Who led the Saxons? In none of the sources is the re any mention of a historical figure to take the blame for the defeat. Since the West Saxons advancing from the south coast had yet to confront the Romano-British who had conquered Badon Hill, and the peace would persist (despite some conflict in other areas) until Ceawlin moved on Searobyrig (Old Sarum) in 552. Essex, the Kingdom of the East Saxons, was not recorded as having a king until Aescwine in 527, thus Essex is not considered. Icel of Mercia, a figure only known from an 8th century biography of Saint Guthlac, was active c.510 and perhaps there's an outside chance his Angles were ivolved, though this would introduce some interesting strategic implications. The Flores Historiarum of Roger of Wendover and Matthew Paris reports that in the year 527 "...pagans came from Germany and occupied East Anglia... some of whom invaded Mercia and fought many battles with the British...". Modern reassessment produces an earlier date of around 515, which coincides with the Annales Cambraie. That leaves two rulers with enough power and influence to mount an invasion of the area around Badon. The first is Aesc, King of Kent, and the second Aella. Aesc of Kent appears to have been subordinate to Aella, as the title of king is a relative one in the Dark Ages. It may well be possible his men were involved - but there is no mention. Aella was the first king of the South Saxons, a region now called Sussex, reigning from 477 to as late as 514. He was a warlike individual who'd already razed Pevensey in 491, easily within the time frame for involvement further west. Significantly, the Venerable Bede describes him as the first king to hold imperium (political and military power) over other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle lists him as the first Bretwalda, or "Ruler of Britain", but without historical confirmation. Nonetheless, it does give an impression of a violent and strong ruler. The Year The Battle Was Fought? The actual date of the battle is difficult to pin down. The various chronicles are notorious for inaccurate dates, partly due to some very vague methods of naming years. The most positive datum comes from Gildas, who claims to have been born in the year the battle was fought, thus suggesting c.495. The Annales Cambriae tell us the battle was fought in 516. An interesting correlation appears as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle specifically mentions the arrival of the West Saxons under Stufi and Wihtgar (Cerdics nephew) in 514, leading to a significant battle at Cerdicesford (Charford) 5 years later and the establishing of the realm of Wessex (The West Saxons with Cerdic and Cynric in power by 519). Although the original borders are unclear, its believed it closely followed the boundaries of Hampshire at this time. This boundary was further enforced by the attack on Calleva (Silchester) sometime between 508-14. There followed a thirty year period of consolidation as the West Saxons brought their new-found influence to bear on the local populations, especially after other Saxon groups had just lost convincingly at Mons Badonicus. The Britons: Fighting in the Roman Fashion? With such scarcity of sources it's difficult to be authorative about the nature of the army the Britons led against the Saxons at Badon. There however hints from various sources that point to a generalised vision of their armies. After the Roman legions had gone and taken all the available military supplies with them, the Britons asked for aid against the foreign threats and Gildas tells us the Romans responded twice, eventually leaving advice and intriguingly what was titled Exemplaria Instituendorum Armorum. Military manuals? The Romans told them to make use of the ensis (generic sword), hasta (generic spear), and pelta (light skirmishers shield). In other words, sound professional advice for troops not well versed in the finer points of martial practice. This equipment was still being used in the time of Gildas as he records in discussing the tyrants of his day. Even Vortigern was said to have "fought in the Roman fashion". Before jumping to conclusions and imagining classic legions arrayed in organised cohorts, the description referred to the Romans of a later time, long after the legions we immediately think of had become history. When our sources say this, they mean the very late Roman forces, compact forces better suited to raiding warfare but still with a modicum of discipline and organisation, if the soldiers are properly motivated. We shouln't think of battles in Dark Age Britain as large sweeping affairs, but rather as large ambuscades and raids. There's a noticeable difference in the tone that Nennius uses. The Britons are described as part of an exercitus (army) and composed of miles (soldiers), whereas the Saxons definitely don't earn such labels. This might simply be national pride, but it's difficult not to escape the feeling that the Britons fighting in the forty years of civil war before Badon regarded themselves as inheriting the military virtue of the Romans. The welsh heroic poetry gives us a colourful description of their forces and it's worth collating these accounts as there is a suprisingly consistent view of how native armies were organised and equipped. Infantry fight in close ranks, their best men to the front, organised in groups of 600-900 men and close to the effective legion size of the late Roman Empire. The typical infantry formation is described by various terms such as "Stronghold of Shields", "Wall of Battle", "Stockade", "Battle Pen". We have therefore a very protective tightly packed group in armies not used to facing missile weapons and perfectly suited to seeing off cavalry, and again, a hauntingly similar regime to Roman forces prior to their withdrawal. However there's no standardisation of rank. A man is either in charge or not. The army leader is chosen (though who has that privilege isn't certain) and can be referred to by the phrases "A Regulator of Hosts", One Who Marshalls the Armies", or "The Conductor of the Toil". There's no mention of helmets, but the Llurig (Lorica?), is torso armour of chainmail or scales confirmed by archaeological finds, but unlike the medieval versions, there's no mention of limb protection. Large wooden shields, said to be round or circular, usually painted white and perhaps bearing symbols, are common but prone to shattering, lacking any strengtheners such as metal rims, and a spear was more likely to break a shield than pierce it. They made quite a noise in combat too, being described as "thunderous" under the blows of the enemy. Whilst there was some similarity in Late Roman and early Dark Age British fighting, the use of the shield in deensive formations is a little vague. There's no mention of the testudo, the famous formation used to advance under cover of shields, nor of the foulkon, the twin row shield wall. Spears are long and made of a 'yellow' wood, suggesting ash, with 'square' heads. It isn't clear quite what that means, but it may refer to a simple square-section spike rather than a wide diamond shaped blade. Swords are designed for swinging attacks, in a return to the old fashioned values of the Iron Age. The soldiers keep their blades sharp and polished. In the prose that describes these weapons the iron armour and weapons are a shiney blue colour. This would suggest superior oil-tempering, but beware, because archaeology suggests such quality was rare if available at all, and Barry Cuncliffe notes that Dark Age forges were a quarter the size of those encountered in Roman times. In terms of tactics a battle cry was standard practice to announce the attack. There is some historical precedence for this. The Romans were known to employ a rising chorus called the barritus. Further, Bishop Germanus of Auxerre made a visit to Britain in 429 and having dealt with the Pelagian Heresy, convinced the Britons to place him as leader against Pictish raiders in that year. Famously he had his men shout "Alleluia" and frighten the opposing force. There's clearly a tendency for infantry to close on each other, and instead of simply fighting, to push with their spears in a dangerous scrum to dominate the battle line. This behaviour isn't unusual in soldiers armed with polearms, and in fact, in some circumstances the psychological impact of being pushed back might even break a weaker formation without resorting to a long and bloody melee. In other words, poor quality troops retreat at the first obstacle, which is pretty much what has always happened in warfare. Horsemen are said to have always fought in the manner of 'Heavy' cavalry regardless of equipment or even protection. This means the primary aim of the british horsemen was to break the enemy infantry. Scouting and harassing are lesser duties. It reveals something of the mindset of the time, a desire to get stuck in to the fight. Both the Welsh poetry and Geoffery's accounts underline the effectiveness of Arthurs cavalry. The theory about armoured Sarmatians as the origin of Arthurs knights of the Round Table isn't convincing in the light of what we've learned, and our sources don't mention any foreign horsemen. After the apparent mistakes made by Vortigern in hiring Saxon mercenaries to begin with, it's hardly likely powerful Sarmatian cavalry would be viewed with anything but suspicion. Spears are the main weapon used overarm in typical Roman practice, or sometimes thrown, with swords a reserve weapon. Riders are generally said to be armoured and carry shields, but no indication they used helmets. Their horses are white, either by breeding or by sweat, though you might be forgiven for thinking a measure of "Cowboy Hat Syndrome" is at work here. Nonetheless, there is a hint that warhorses are being bred specially for the purpose, albeit in small numbers. Chariots are mentioned in the context of command transport rather than military assets. They appear to have been used as a symbol of status, something inherited from both Roman and Celtic traditions. The Saxons: A Rascally Crew? Despite the records left by the Romans we don't have a clear idea of how the Saxons appeared and equipped themselves. This situation isn't helped by a somewhat anarchistic nature among Saxon warriors, who felt no need whatsoever to define themselves as a military structure. Even as small a force as a shipload of warriors might be described as an army in Saxon eyes. Because these forces were quite small, it was obviously necessary for warbands to group together to form larger armies. Led by a dominant chief, or Althing, such an army is believed to have numbered around 200 to 600 men, smaller than the typical Romano-British gathering. Celtic tradition suggests the Saxons fielded larger armies when required. Whether cavalry was used by the Saxons c.500 isn't confirmed and there's a measure of debate over the composition of their forces. They were nonetheless known as formidable fighters. In fact, Saxon culture was undergoing changes that would result in a more sophisticated and ordered society by the time of the Norman invasion. At the time of Mons Badonicus they weren't quite so civilised. As is often the case with warrior cultures the Saxons of this time formed into warbands centered around a leader whose qualities were admired. The most elite follower was the Gedriht, an individual seeking to serve the leader in war. Such was the loyalty expected of a chiefs followers that it was considered dishonorable to leave a battlefield after your leader had been killed. Those who did might well find themselves later condemned to death for disloyalty, whatever the reason for that situation. In a very real sense, the elevation to elite status meant that a Saxon warrior had vowed to die with his chief. Those who failed to follow a summons to fight might find their land forfeited unless that person sent another in his place, and in the last resort a Saxon could pay compensation, a forerunner of the medieval practice of scutage. Gedrights used the Gar as the main infantry weapon, a spear with a shaft about eight feet in length. Long bladed swords were also used. Helmets and chainmail armour were usual for men of this order. The quality of manufacture in both armour and weaponry was a clear signal to a mans wealth and status. If the Saxons employed cavalry at all, it's very likely that only the Gedrihts were mounted. Geoguth were the young warriors who made up the bulk of a Saxon force. Shield and spear were the usual equipment, with a very large dagger called the Saex as a secondary blade for defense. Helmets and armour existed among this order but would have been uncommon. Duguth represented the veterans, the old warriors, used as a reserve of experienced men. Although this order developed over time, the long campaigns of Saxons pushing into the interior of Britain would have created such a body of men. The equipment would be similar to the Geoguth. It's also known that Saxon wariors used axes, single handed weapons useful for breaking enemy shields. The archaeological record appears to confirm that the use of axes was very rare in the early Dark Age, becoming more common after c.600 and only later forming the primary weapon during the wars with the Vikings. In terms of tactics on the battlefield the Saxons would have organised shield walls for defense. Wooden shields of a higher qulaity than their Celtic opponents had originally been quite small for convenience and favoured the intense close-in melee the Saxons preferred. With experience the shields became larger, which in terms of fighting would have resulted in a more organised style of formation. The question of discipline is important. There's no doubting that the Saxons were ferocious fighters, but they were less than regimented even by c.500. For troops wanting to throw spears, the typical practice would have been to run forward from the line and throw the missile, before returning to the safety of the group, and such exchanges of spears was probably expected in the opening stages. It wasn't just bravado - although that was certainly part of it - but also necessary to obtain momentum and freedom to throw without the restriction of close order. There's no evidence the Saxons used volleys of spears in the Roman method, except those Germans employed by Vortigern as mercenaries in the British defense. There's also hints from various sources that individual bravado played a part in hand to hand combat, the more confident wariors making brief attacks to frighten their enemy and inspire their comrades. If Geoffery of Monmouth is to be believed the Saxons had developed wedge formations by the time of the Batle of Badon. In many literary sources this wedge is described as an attack formation, designed to pierce the opposing troops like an arrow-head. Far from it. The wedge would have been defnsive, intended to persuade enemy cavalry to turn aside. Our knowledge of the Saxons does not credit them with any great skill in siegecraft, even though Aella is known to have taken a coastal fort and razed it. The advance of the West Saxons from their landings on the south coast is shown to have been delayed by the ditches and palisades put up by British defenders. The Battle Of Mons Badonicus Sometime around the end of the 5th century the Britons confronted the Saxons at Mons Badonicus. There is no verifiable account of the battle. In the Dark Age records the event is outlined and given a cursory significance. ...the battle of Badon with Arthur, chief giver of feasts... the battle which all men remember. Taliesin Most sources only give a cursory mention of this important battle. There is however a tantalising glimpse from Geoffery of Monmouth. Then, stationing his companies, he made hardy assault upon the Saxons that after their wont were ranked wedge-wise in battalions. Natheless, all day long did they stand their ground manfully maugre the Britons that did deliver assault upon assault upon them At last, just verging upon sundown, the Saxons occupied a hill close by that might serve them as a camp, for, secure in their numbers, the hill alone seemed all the camp they needed. But when the morrows sun brought back the day, Arthur with his army clomb up to the top of the hill, albeit that in the ascent he lost many of his men. For the Saxons, dashing down from their height, had the better advantage in dealing their wounds, whilst they could also run more swiftly down the hill than he could struggle up. Howbeit, putting forth their utmost strengh, the Britons did at last reach the top, and forthwith closed with the enemy hand to hand. The Saxons, fronting them with their broad chests, strove with all their endeavour to stand their ground. And when much of the day had been spent on this wise, Arthur waxed wroth at the stubbornness of their resistance, and the slowness of his own advance, and drawing forth Caliburn, his sword, crieth aloud in the name of Holy Mary, and thrusteth him forward with a swift onset into the thickest press of the enemies ranks. Historia Regum Brittanniae (Geoffery of Monmouth) Anyone who has read Geoffery's History of the Kings of Britain will understand my reticence at taking this quote at face value. When he wrote this work in the mid twelth century he claimed that Walter of Oxford, a learned man, had given him 'an old book' which contained much of the historical detail he referred to. Given the common medieval penchant for fraud and trickery, it's easy to dismiss this account of Badon as fiction like much of Geoffery's history obviously is. That said, the description is peculiarly specific and evokes an image of a dark age battle that probably isn't so far from the truth. What saves Geoffery's credibility is that a very similar tale was written by Wace in Roman de Brut in 1160. Wace coloured the account as noble vengeance whereas Geoffery was eulogising Arthur as a king, but both might have used the same source, Britannici Sermonis Liber Vetustissimus which sadly no longer exists and may well have been the volume given to Geoffery by Walter. There are interesting points for debate in this account. Was the start of the battle away from the hill, as Geoffery infers, with hard pressed Saxons retreating to a defensive position for the next day? His story stresses the difficulty of attacking uphill, and the cost in casualties Arthur had to suffer, which certainly underlines his ability to rally and inspire his men to continue the fight despite stubborn Saxon resistance. Was the Saxon camp merely the place they stopped overnight, or an existing hillfort? As for the Saxons, they are described making 'dashes' down the hill. Was this an act of bravado by individual warriors, something often seen in tribal warriors before medieval times, or a rush by a host of men spurred on by their leaders? More intriguingly, the Saxons are better able to climb up again, suggesting lighter equipped troops consistent with the bardic tradition. Only Nennius makes any other reference to the situation, declaring that the Britons penetrated to the hill. We can see in the works of Gildas that this final victory against the Saxons brought about a long peace of forty years or so, one that resulted in the hedonistic tyrannies among the warlords of the native Britons that Gildas clearly finds ungodly. It wasn't to last. On the south coast, the West Saxons were landing and they would expand aggressively north to found the kingdom of Wessex in later years. Locating the Battlefield Where did the Battle of Mons Badonicus take place? Here we run into the classic problem of Dark Age history in that the historical references are vague. Interstingly, Henry of Huntingdon in his Historia Anglorum of 1133 says that the providence of God had masked the real locations of the twelve battles he incorrectly credits to Gildas. For modern researchers the first clue is the name itself. Mons is a latin world that indicates a mountain or a substantial hill. The second clue is that Gildas names the battle as obsessio montis badonicus. The word obsessio refers to a siege, thus we're looking for an established site of that period. The third clue is that Nennius confirms the battle was fought at a hill, and that the British 'penetrated' to it. The fourth clue, and one that needs some circumspection, is that Geoffery of Monmouth refers to a camp on top of the hill. The only direct reference in past writing is that Geoffery of Monmouth specifically locates the Battle of Badon at Bath, the town once known to the Romans as Aqua Sulis. This is not solid evidence by any means, but we are left with the understanding that Geoffery was using 'an old book' as his source, given to him by Walter of Oxford. Various sites have been put forward as the location in recent research. - Badbury Rings - Iron age hillfort in Devon. Badbury has long been touted as a possible site, and in recent years local historian Roy Carr has made attempts to link events throughout the period connected with Badbury. - Bardon Hill - Local tradition tells that Arthur waited at the top of the hill to view the approach of the Saxons, clearly in opposition to the evidence. Nonetheless, an area nearby is still called "Battle Flat" to this day. - Bathampton Down - Sometimes suggested as the site of the battle, but the presence of the River Avon mitigates against it (no river is mentioned in any context connected with Mons Badonicus). Also, the rings appear to have been intended as animal enclosures rather than siege defenses. - Bowden Hill - A site in Scotland, near the town of Linlithgow, a claim dependent on similar names and the idea that Arthur was a northern king. - Buxton - A spa town, where the site of a Roman bath has been found. - Liddington Hill - For many researchers this is the obvious choice. Located at the crossroads of the Ridgeway and the southward Roman road at Badbury, near Swindon. - Mynydd Baedan - Near Bridgend in South Wales. There have been attempts to link Arthurian mythos purely within a modern Welsh context and the similarity of the name has generated this possibility. However, the Welsh connection shouldn't be dismissed entirely. Cuneglasus, a 'tyrant' from mideast-Wales, was mentioned by Gildas with hints of a connection with Arthur. - Solsbury Hill - Out of a number of possible sites around Bath, Solsbury Hill is the favourite, as it's known to have been occupied in Pre-Roman times and was known to the Saxons as Badon or Badanceaster, suggesting a camp or fort. Some of the linguistic support for this case is unconvincing. All things considered, many of these locations are put forward for little more than word games. Two have better credibility. Bath has the advantage of literal links with the period, and Liddington Hill the geographical logic of the hillfort above the crossing of a Roman road with the Ridgeway (and the last also satisfies Field Marshal Slim's dictum that all British battles are fought uphill across the junction of two maps!). The debate goes on. The Second Battle Of Badon Listed in the Annales Cambraie is a second battle at this site in 665, also listing in this year the 'First celebration of Easter among the Saxons' and the death of 'Morgan', though it isn't known if the events are related, or even if the record is inexact and the second Badon actually refers to a different site thus confusing the issue thereafter. There is no legend or historical reference of this other battle known to us. References Annales Cambraie: ? Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: ? De Excidio Britanniae: Gildas Gesta Regum Anglorum: William of Malmesbury Historia Anglorum: Henry of Huntingdon Historia Brittonum: Nennius Historia Regum Brittanniae: Geoffery of Monmouth Lives of the Saints: St David, Llancarfan, Rhuys of Brittany Roman De Brut: Wace Taliesin: Taliesin(?) Y Goddodin: Aneuris Bibliography Battlefields of England: A.H. Burne Battles of the Dark Ages: Peter Marren In Search of the Dark Ages: Michael Woods King Arthur: Christopher Hibbert King Arthur: Rodney Castleden Wessex From AD1000: Barry Cuncliffe

It can't have escaped anyones attention that Toyota are having some problems with their cars. The issues with accelerator and brake pedals have sparked deep concerns especially after the tragic crash in the US of a car whose brakes failed on the approach to a road junction. Before I go on about car production and road safety, I can't help noticing that the driver whose brakes failed simply prayed he'd drive through unharmed. Clearly God was on his lunchbreak that day, but that said, God helps those who help themselves. Why didn't he turn the engine off? Why didn't he try to downchange the gearbox? Why didn't he try the handbrake? Instead he merely closed his eyes. The answer is that he wasn't mentally prepared for such a disaster. I wonder how many of us are? As someone who used to drive sportscars enthusiastically, I know full well how easily people make poor decisions. That doesn't exclude me from being a klutz, I must point out, but at least I knew I was going to be one if I didn't watch out. It's rather like a woman driver I was told about a few years back, out driving during one of those nasty hurricane force winds we now get every autumn. She'd stopped at a junction waiting to proceed, and a tree next to her car gave up the battle against the wind. Pedestrians nearby saw the tree about to fall and warned the woman she was in danger. If she had moved a few feet forward or back she would have survived. Instead, she looked up in horror and then hid her head in her hands. Crunch. The problem was that she wasn't used to dangerous situations and hadn't learned how to react. In all probability, that was the first time she'd been in any serious danger in her life. Car Manufacturer In Serious Danger Now of course Toyota, just on the tail end of very shakey economic events, now has to live with the bad publicity of having to recall thousands of cars. They used to make some interesting cars but like many car makers, these days they concentrate on those awful eco-urban midget wagons, one model after another in enviromental and political corectness, all virtually identical to another. Has Toyota stopped designing cars? It looks more like they're simply building cars to plans drawn up by international agrrements these days. With fewer people believing government propaganda about Global Warming (Oh at last, see the light people!) one has to wonder if that will eventually impact on car sales. At the moment we're all being made to feel guilty about driving the things, made criminals of if we're not worried, and made beggars of for daring to keep up with the Joneses. But if car buyers lose their interest in enviromental issues - and they may well do if we receive yet another cold blast from Siberia later this week as predicted by yet more warnings of dire conditions to come - won't they find the latest mobile shopping trolley just a little bit dull? Anyone who predicts the end of the automobile is talking rubbish (hey, that was almost witty). Of course there'll be cars in years to come. What we might might experience is the death of the interesting motor car. It seems our politicians have conspired to reduce the fun in driving to the point where we don't bother getting the horrible degradable plastic buggy out of the garage anymore. Personally, I think they became hugely upset when they discovered their very visibly expensive luxury saloons were way duller than the plebmobiles. It took them a while to find that out didn't it? That's what happens when you sit in the back all the time. Come to mention it.... Glancing through the serried ranks of die-cast models on display in the shop just across the square from the library, I notice everything except the latest supercars was, on average, from the 1960/70's. What does that tell you about the modern production car? Today We Look Through... The Shop Window Early this morning I ventured out into the cold dark streets and strolled down the arcade toward my workplace. I became aware of the number of premises lit and active two hours before opening time, with a veritable army of cleaners pushing vacuum cleaners back and forth in bored resignation. They were all asian women, every last one of them. It seems the caste system is well and truly entrenched in our culture too.

The Big Stocktake is due in a couple of days, the managers are nervous, and the weekend shift has predictably left chaos in their wake. No pressure then. My paltry duty today was to bring some kind of order to the rows of cardboard boxes behind the stairs, the most chaotic region of all, and so off I went, wading through collapsing piles of boxes, waste polythene, and discarded piles of clothes. This is life on the sharp end of Stockrooming. It's a strange experience working in a singularity, where the normal physical laws of the universe don't apply. Here, in this macro-quantum zone, boxes mysteriously change shape, pens roll away into nothingness, and packing tape proves to be an evil intelligent entity bent on your utter frustration. There's also a tendency, being on your own for several hours, to begin talking out loud. So often did I make a commentary on my obervations and accidents (and no shortage of whinges) that J announced that Caldrail FM was on the air. The Phone Rings Once in a while we get an internal phone call from the shop floor. I answered a call once, being the only individual still working, and proving beyond doubt that I'm too old to understand such telecommunication technology. Oh well, I tried.... So the next time it rang I ignored it. I had to in any case, because I was trapped behind an avalanche of clothing, but KS didn't stir from his comfortable spot in the next row. A young lady, somewhat irate at our lack of enthusiasm for communication, rushed down the main aisle yelling "Don't you people ever answer the phone?" To be honest, no, we don't. We also have a habit of leaving the toilet seat up too. And other male-related issues. Mister Jones To The Ground Floor Please You will never know how regularly that message gets heard over the tannoy. You'd think the poor man would have gotten there by now. Either that of he can't get a lunch break without problems breaking out on the shop floor. Then there's always a request for a cleaner to go to the tills. What is going on down there? Weather Report of the Week Yes, they got it wrong again. We saw some snow today. Ooh look, there goes some now.... No, over there... Too late, you missed it...

Yesterday young miss T leaned over my shoulder and chatted away in her usual jovial manner as I attempted to stay focused on my jobsearch. Of course I failed. No man is capable of multitasking, young pretty blondes demand attention, and the male instinct to flirt is impossible to resist. It also happens we have compatible personalities, which is a bit worrying, because she's somewhat less than studious nor a law-abiding character at all. "I've had enough of this." She announced in her usual direct manner, "I'm going for cigarette then I'm effing off." You'll get into trouble, you naughty girl. She merely shrugged "They won't notice". She was right. They didn't. However, later that afternoon our Work Experience Advisor noticed a couple of lads strolling in refreshed from inhaling cancerous smoke and took a dim view of it. With a tongue lashing about to rip flesh from their bones, one youngster complained that the blonde girl was allowed to go whenever she liked. Ooops. It also happens that young miss T was having a party last night (she does like showing off about her social popularity, as if I mind) and sure enough didn't turn up for work today. I see. Then again the old guy I work with never turned up either. Hmmm... Maybe I need to change my shirt? One of my work experience mates, KS, attracted my attention after break and asked "Have you seen Wayne?" Erm... Come to mention it.... No, I haven't. Where's he gone? Is he downstairs help J unload lorries? Not according to J, who promptly realised that 'Wayne' had done a runner. So its only me and KS left, although on the plus side the ladies in the storeroom are starting to talk to us now. Joining Forces I see in a newspaper report that Britain can't afford its military commitments (no suprise there, having borrowed more money in this last adminstration than all the previous ones since World War Two combined). So concerned are they that within the next ten years the prestigious and well-respected Royal Air Force might be amalgamated into Army and Navy units to cut costs. That's a sad end for such a historical institution. But it might get sadder. There's also a plan to amalgamate our armed services with those of France, for the same reason. I knew it! I knew those Frenchies were up to no good! I suppose we have to accept that times they are a-changing, but apart from making the French Foreign Legion an awful lot bigger, will Britain really remain in charge of it's own defence? Or is this another part of the European Empire in the making? Just a small step toward the European Army the Treaty of Lisbon was going to foist on us anyway? You just know what's going to follow, no matter what the European Apologists tell us.

There was a program on tv a few weeks ago that discussed modern orgies, largely instigated by wealthy, unattached women and the anonymity of the internet. One talking head said that these somewhat select groups weren't orgies in Rome, more like group sex in Romford. I'm firmly of the opinion there isn't any difference. For all the reputation of Roman orgies that has survived into modern culture (partially inspiring the recent trends in sexual behaviour and coincidentially bearing parallel demographic components), most of that has come from the excesses of a handful of individuals. For most Romans, it really wasn't any different from modern Romford - just a bunch of people getting off on sex and making a big deal of who they invited to their parties. That said though, the image of Roman decadence survives in popular culture and what depiction of ancient Rome could do without it?

I happened to spot a book at my local library today, memoirs of a man named Alfred Williams, who was born in 1877 and spent twenty years in the Great Western Railways workshops in Swindon. It seems that he was a man who enjoyed the Great Outdoors more than the hellish graft of his daily grind (literally). In his own words... One has to die before his mates in the shed would think there is anything the matter with him. Then, in nine cases out of ten - especially if he happens to be one of the poorest and most unfortunate - he is mercilessly sneered over. Probably that was his own fault. They even blame him for dying; in three days he is almost totally forgotten. Cruel hearts and feelings are bred in the atmosphere of the factory Life in a Railway Factory (Alfred Williams) I doubt it would suprise Alfred one jot that life in Swindon displays similar attitudes today, though his frank and dystopic vision of victorian industry is one born of a man with no sympathy for working class tribalism. I do understand Mr Williams plight, as his attempts to learn greek by scribing verses in wet tar are erased by his workmates when his back is turned. You know I used to think such ignorance was a modern phenomenon. It seems that nothing really changes very much at all. Shock Announcement At my Work Experience session our resident sex-change person tells us that she(?) "Brought some dinner money today". Wow. Never would have guessed that in a million years. Joking aside though, I always find these people very uncomfortable to be around. Their need to create relationships with their workmates is understandable (and I do mean the platonic kind), but there's always a sense they're trying to catch a fish. Ugh. It so happened that the person concerned stood up for no apparent reason and made a personal statement about their condition and why they chose to turn into females. It got polite applause from most of the audience. I didn't. Not because the person was wierd or anything, but because it seemed a little less than spontaneous. My suspicions were proved right. This person explains the situation courageously to every group she(?) encounters. For this person it's all a plea for attention, not some desperate need to right natures big mistake. Lecture of the Week Today we had a three hour talk by an ex-policeman. It was strange to hear of a man who'd served between 1974 and 1992 in South Wales Police and became a down-and-out afterward, but there you go. It's been observed before that policemen are always such insufferable dullards. Trust me on this. Three hours of misfortune is a lot to take in without yawning. I fell asleep during the bit where he... ahhh... What was it he did? What a caring world we live in.

Elite crack troops? That's a modern phrase, and not entirely correct when dealing with the legions since the whole point of a legion was that they were all intended to have the same capability. If you accept some legions were elite, then what set them apart? Why were they 'elite'? Why did the Romans not describe units as elite (other than the usual pride in arms)? Our modern fascination with elitism stems from the regimental system, something that developed from the Rennaisance when disparate units made up the typical army, led by nobles who were allied to the cause rather than automatically part of it. It's also been accentuated in recent decades by the urban myth and glorification of certain regimets or troop types available to the modern world. These distinctions are not applicable to the ancient world. The Roman legions evolved from a modular approach rather than pyramidical. Certainly some legions operated more efficiently or more courageously than others, but if you take the time to notice it largely depends on the capability and motives of the leaders involved. Quite why the author of the osprey guide believes the army at Adrianople was elite is beyond me, unless he's been swayed by Marcellinus's description of the second phase of the battle in which they resisted strongly (which of course they had little choice but to, if they were to survive, and notice the Romans, for all their stubbornness, did not break out until nightfall made it possible under cover of darkness. There is a tendency to believe the Romans were expert soldiers, regimented, disciplined, unbeatable, and so on. We see this on these forums all the time, but the truth is that the Roman legions were beatable and at Adrianople they were defeated soundly however well they defended themselves after they were herded into a trapped mass. Partly this also explains the desire to describe the Goths as fantastic warriors, which they clearly weren't, having been whittled down by Sebianus's attacks to the point of staying together in large numbers for fear of Roman ambush, and in a somewhat desperate state. In fact, the Roman troops are described as indifferent and ill-motivated, and noticeably Sebastianus doesn't bother with most of them, preferring to use the less experienced troops who were less used to sitting on their backsides in activities "better suited to women". No, I don't accept the Romans at Adrianople were 'elite'. They just weren't. Some were more experienced and capable than others, but that was always the case in Roman armies, and didn't always reflect legion reputation. Zosimus provides a colourful description of the capability of Valens army… Sebastianus, observing the indolence and effeminacy both of the tribunes and soldiers, and that all they had been taught was only how to fly, and to have desires more suitable to women than to men, requested no more than two thousand men of his own choice. He well knew the difficulty of commanding a multitude of ill-disciplined dissolute men, and that a small number might more easily be reclaimed from their effeminacy; and, moreover, that it was better to risk a few than all. By these arguments having prevailed upon the emperor, he obtained his desire. He selected, not such as had been trained to cowardice and accustomed to flight, but strong and active men who had lately been taken into the army, and who appeared to him, who was able to judge of men, to be capable of any service. He immediately made trial of each of them, and obviated their defects by continual exercise; bestowing commendations and rewards on all who were obedient, but appearing severe and inexorable to those who neglected their duty. Nea Historia (Zosimus)

I finally achieved the impossible today. The bins were cleaned up and emptied of incorrectly placed stock. It's a funny thing really. How do we measure the importance of achievement? In the grand scale of things, what I did today is small potato's. Okay, the boss is pleased, and that might affect my chances of getting a full time job, thus add to my properity and reputation, but in real terms the event doesn't interest anyone else and has probably been forgotten already. What about saving a persons life? We might stress the dramatic situations, risking life and limb to help another person, but without influential witnesses who would remember (other than the person saved, who generally feels grateful for the act of courage required to keep them from harm)? That's the trick. Any event in human culture only becomes important if the scale of its significance impinges on the media or generates enough rumour. What is the difference between stopping an old person stepping in front of a moving bus, or taking a bullet for Mr President? Well, I've blown my own trumpet, and maybe a few dozen people around the world have even registered my version of heroic stock maintenance. I must admit, I didn't hear any bullets whizzing past, so this once I'll settle for being the stock assistant time forgot. Bazza! I bumped into my old mate Bazza in town this afternoon. He's quite a character. He's also getting on in years and once again I prodded him to write that book he always should have done. You see, old Bazz is something of an expert on the American Civil War - he's even given lectures in the US on the subject. There are people who can tell which unit fought at which point at Gettysburg. Bazza can tell you who the commander was, what he had for breakfast, the name of the dog he fed the scraps to, and who stepped in the pooh afterward. He's an incredible bloke. He's had his share of ups and downs as much as anyone else in this decadus terriblis just gone, but I'm glad to see he's still kicking and in good health. Go on, Bazz. Tell the world what you know. Like you told me every time I carelessly thought to mention any fact on the subject... Confessions of a Bomb Maker Saw a documentary about afghanistan insurgents, with a camera crew following a team of those guys around. Strange stuff. You can't doubt their idealistic motivations, though calling Americans 'crusaders' is stretching things a bit. It does kind of illustrate the impact the medieval world made in the Middle East, if it isn't just a modern reinvention of the genre for propaganda purposes. What amused me, if you'll forgive me, was the young afghan expert telling us how technical bombs were and that his creations were too clever for the British and American soldiers to defuse. "It goes over their heads" he said. Funnily enough, his mobile phone activated device failed to explode when a US column drove past on a highway unaware of the danger they were in. I guess though the fun stops when these things actually work. Researcher of the Week This goes to the african guy I saw sat at a library table on the way in today, studying a glossy picture of an AK47 (with wide angle telescopic sights attached) and nodding thoughtfully. I used to think it was just white teenagers who got off on stuff like that. I wonder where this bloke will end up? Dead in some foreign country with NATO munitions embedded in him? Or locked up in some jail somewhere? Or maybe just reading the same old book over and over?

Yes, it did. Slavery was a condition of disenfrachisement from self-determination and reduced one to the status of an animal, regardless of who enslaved you. At least in theory. I suspect since barbarians were not highly regarded by Rome, it was possible that a blind eye was turned in some covenient cases. Neither did the opposite automatically enable it. This is a grey area for practical purposes According to versions A,B,C of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle... 430 - In this year Bishop Palladius was sent by Pope Celestine to the Scots, that he might strengthen their faith But in version E of the same document... 430 - In this year Patrick was sent by Pope Celestine to preach to the Scots In both cases it must be understood that the word 'Scot' refers to the Scotti, who were the Irish ancestors of non-pictish Scotland. The authority of versions A B and C isn't questioned, and it's not difficult to see why Patricks name was put in place because his was the most succesful version of Christianity in the early dark ages. He was, in other words, undergoing the same process as the mythical Arthur - being given credit for achievement done by others, but that said, Patrick was a pretty incredible guy.

It might not suprise anyone but the snow showers never happened. Such is British weather. It was however very cold and I hear that we've been through one of the coldest winters of living memory, the average temperatures worse than the bitter and elongated winters of 1947/48 and 1961/62. Thankfully we didn't get that much snow. All I got was the sniffles. It was however raining this morning. Not heavily, just a sort drizzly dampness that makes the pedestrianised street somewhat slippery, even without blizzards to worry about. As usual, J was on guard at the side door, and it was back to work, though today he asked if I could do a different job. It turns out that the weekend crowd were a bit busy, so instead of being careful with excess stock they simply bundled everything together and stuffed the shelves where-ever they could find space, and it was my job to wave a magic wand and put it all right. With our major stocktake next week, the prospect of another chaotic weekend isn't something I'm looking forward to. Co-Workers Or Conspiracy? I like Miss L. She's one of those slightly tomboyish gothic girls, quite pretty with an 'interesting' hairstyle, and characterful, if a little skittish. It so happens the racks I was working on were her responsibility and during the course of the day she introduced herself (she'd been a little shy of this grey-haired looney lurking about the place) whilst she pulled tons of stock off the top shelf in an attempt to find an article of the right size. Then she vanished into thin air, leaving a mammoth pile of discarded stock on top of my piles of discarded stock, only bigger. Hang on a minute. Is she coming back or has she left me twice as much to do? It turns out she meant to come back and clear it up. Good lass. But being gothic and characterful, she hadn't quite decided when that would happen. Not that it mattered. The girls on the shop floor brought all their excess stock up to me during the course of the day, amounting to a full parcel trolly load of socks. Various styles and sizes. In no particular order. Oh I see.... It's my job to sort those out as well is it? Groan. Virus of the Week This prestigious award usually goes to a 'Bad Cold', or Influenza, since the more exotic diseases only ever affect people on news reports. But following a glance at a science magazine, it turns out that this weeks award goes to us, Homo Sapiens. Viruses are usually viewed as nothing more than tiny invisible bugs that cause coughs, sneezes, and telephone calls to the boss. But no, that's not correct. It turns out that viruses are in fact parasitic lifeforms and that diseases caused by them are the result of these relationships between us and our microscopic residents not been properly sorted out. In many cases they have been, and scientists have realised that at least 34% of our DNA structure is in fact viroid, not mammalian. Stunning. It also has some interesting possibilities, because what I noticed the magazine article didn't pick up on is the influence of viral DNA. Are we evolved simply because of Darwinian progression, or are there (as I've long suspected) quantum leaps in evolution by some natural mechanism? Is that mechanism none other than the plethora of viruses floating around between us? It's all speculation of course, but the discovery that our biological structure is the result of parastic influence almost as much as sex is very odd (and very disappointing). Hey babe, I'm suffering from flu. How 'bout we go back to my place for a cup of Lemsip? Even more worrying is the realisation that I'm a disease. Not too infectious though. Knew you'd be relieved about that.

No, not really, just a disagreement. We began to argue over certain things, whereas a controversy is an already existing arguement Sylla has described normal campaigning experience, not an evolution toward a more efficent Roman army, which had remained pretty much the same for fifty years give or take a unit. In fact, the experienced troops billeted at Melanthias were less than keen to take to the field. Sebastianus chose the newer, more enthustiastic troops as his elite corps of raiders. Correct. That was because of politics, not elitism. Sebastianus had been personally chosen by Valens and summoned from Italy to serve as his senior commander in place of Trajan (who had built the walls to fend off the huns some years earlier). He was viewed as something of an upstart newcomer and there was considerable jealousy toward him, so he was constantly 'proving' himslef to Valens, and at one point Marcellinus mentions his letters praising his own success became a little too pompous - he'd overdone it. In order to find favour with Valens again, he supported the case for a quick battle, believing that Valens would be happier with sole credit for a victory (and as an arian emperor, Valens would be glad to avoid the need to share the triumph with his christian co-ruler Gratian, who'd been delayed by illness and Germanic attacks), and also that the Goths had been weakened enough to get away with such a move, especially since the Roman intelligence severly underestimated the gothic numbers.