caldrail

Large sections of Hadrians Wall were first erected as turf. Packed in bulk, it forms a heavy barrrier. Not as sturdy as tone perhaps, but not to be underestiomated. Wooden walls do tend to fall apart - these are the sort of fortification s that require constant maintenance and for that matter are bio-replaceable. Neat. Now we call blame the Romans for global warming.

However it's also true that running water was not universal to Romano-British homes, and indeed, many of the smaller villas wouldn't have had such an amenity.

I wouldn't know where the encampment was - I don't know of any source or archeology that locates it - and the only description of a gothic camp I can think of was at Adrianople, away from the town and formed as a defensive ring from their wagons, which might have been circumstantial and not necessarily how they would ordinarily lay themselves out, especially since they were not technically a nomadic people even though they migrated and later expanded into Roman territory. I would have said that the Goths were likely to camp in a concentrated manner anyway - that's normnal behaviour for large groups of human beings whether military or not. They would want to be out of missile range, preferably on suitable dry ground, and whilst a water source nearby wasn't absolutely essential, it was certainly more convenient.

Doc! Good to see you in the 'hood

The big deal this week was the fire alarm at work. Like all other businesses large enough to have fire wardens we regularly have fire drills, but nobody expected the alarm to go off fifteen minutes before the end of shift. Even after hearing the noise I still didn't realise a real fire alarm was happening , right there, right then. Finally somebody remembered that a fire alarm sounded like that and we were supposed to exit the premises by the nearest convenient exit. So we did. It wasn't too cold, but none too warm either. We spread out across the car park aimlessly before the management began herding us in a quiet corner, and just in time, because the fire engine turned up, blue lights flashing. Looks like a real fire then. Rumours were spreading. Something had burst into flames. A few firemen loked busy but there wasn't any smoke or signs of heroic fire fighting. Everything seemed quite calm and businesslike. Then a second fire engine turned up. Oh hello... Is this a serious fire? Rumours began to spread again. Apparently a forklift battery charger had ignited itself. By now the more curious of us were brandishing mobile phones with the vain hope of videoing the end of the warehouse in glorious high definition. Now a third fire engine turned up. Only this one stopped at the entrance to the car park and then reversed away. "Put that fag out!" Yelled a manager. For the unenlightened, 'fag' is British slang for a cigarette. A startled warehouseman did his best to look innocent. "I'll see you tomorrow" The manager warned. And then, a fourth fire engine turned up. It didn't even stop, turning around to go home disappointed that the building wasn't burning to the ground, or more likely, that the naughty warehouseman had put his cigarette out as ordered. The 'All Clear' was given so we went home. Didn't even miss the bus. The Importance Of Doing Nothing Of late I've been pretty busy at work collecting wooden pallets and related tasks. It gets a bit physical, even on the days when I can get a powered pallet truck to use, which isn't so easy because another section tends to nab one sooner than me. One of their team doesn't like doing manual labour. On one day the manager told me pallets were an emergency because no-one had left any from the previous shift. I was lucky to get a truck that day, but as compensation for the forthcoming 'headless chicken' duty, I was to be given the help of Hamster (not related to a certain Top Gear presenter). There's a number of youngsters in the warehouse who form a social clique all of their own. Basically they do all the things the managers don't want them to, but because there are two senior youngsters, Baby Face and Hamster, they pretty much get away with their shenanigans. I was just preparing to shuttle lots of pallets in 'rush hour' when I spotted Hamster walking past. Usually he drives a powered truck of a different type, and seeing him walk is a rare event. I asked him where he intended starting pallet collection, only to be told that he didn't have a truck. I see. Well, how about grabbing a hand truck and manually stacking pallets so I could wheel them to their destination? He walked away. Hamster doesn't do manual work. His job is to look important driving pallet trucks. Oh, and laugh at Baby Face's jokes. Very important duty onbviously. It Happened Again Apparently there was a solar eclipse last friday. I wouldn't know. Partly because the sky was cloudy, partly because I live too far south, partly because I had dozed off watching a dull episode of Star Trek, and partly because I seem fated never to see a real astronomical event ever. Almost time to go back to work. Welcome to my life. Cigarette Of The Week At last the working day has come to an end and warehousemen in various stages of tiredness and disgruntlement amble up the road to catch the bus. Many of us face very long walks home if we miss the last one. One of my colleagues has become quite popular with the managers, mostly because he comes across like Paddington Bear with a midlands accent. He's not as cute and cuddly as the managers think but since when did a manager ever assess someone correctly? Anyway, once at the bus stop Bear felt the need for a smoke before the bus arrived. Suddenly there was a desperate need for a lighter, because he didn't have one, neither did I, nor anyone else, so he took to waylaying colleagues on bicycles as they rode by. Finally he managed to get one to stop and help him out. Just as he was about to take that first puff on the wretched cigarette a passing lorry blew it out. His midland accent remained, but where was the Paddington Bear demeanour all of a sudden?

Drivel. Atlantis was a fictional version of the thera explosion (Santorini) that destroyed the Minoan EMpire, used by Plato as a morality tale. There was never a land mass out there in the Atlantic - Plato conceived it there because no-one could tell him it wasn't there, since the sea was unknown back then, rather like Edgar Rice Burroughs inventing a south american plateau where dinosaurs lived - in an area then unexplored. Same litaray device.

You will find that the sort of detailed information you're looking for is hard to come by regardin g ancient battles for two reasons. Firstly, the ancient historian likely wasn't there, and therefore only reports the brief information that was generally known back at home, and secondly, that there was never much sophistication about tactics, battle lines, and so forth. Ancient battles were usually simple affairs, blocks of men facing off, with cavalry usually taking all the initiative such that battles often started between them for control of the flanks. What you ought to spend more time looking for are the circumstances because that was often a deciding factor. What time of day did the battle start? Who decided the battlefield? Who was suprised? Who had a better plan? Where was the sun? Ancient battles are more often decided the day before than by the sword, all things being equal.

The website report is a bit off on important details. As we know, Julius Caesar wasn't born in 178BC.

People are interested in learning new things, as long as they're new. That doesn't mean these areas of knowledge are comprehensive, useful, or even desirable in any sense, but fashion and cultural mindset plays an important part. Look how the government is almost forcing computer studies down youngsters throats these days - most will never usefuly use these devices other than for social media, entertainment, and a few less desirable aims. Very few will enter into IT, a fast moving and intellectually intensive field, and devices in industry can be taught - in my workplace, handheld scanners and their software are used by the dumbest idiots allowed on the premises as a matter of course. The vast majority have never been taught computers at school. I do agree that classical studies can benefit people - but not everyone, and that needs to be understood.

The threat from Pictish tribes was ever present - they were a major issue as late as the Dark Ages when the Roman garrison had officially been withdrawn. It's also worth pointing out that some tribes in Roman territory south of the wall had links to those north of it. Whilst there were Romano-british towns in the area, much of the province to the south was still largely native in character and never entirely tamed - that was why the wall included a defensive work on the south side. The Wall was a security zone rather than a boundary, but HAdrian had every intention of creating a boundary. HE wanted a Graeco-Roman empire that excluded the barbarian as much as possible. This ideal was never achieved but the Wall was a part of this process. It was also useful, as previously described, as a labour project and a monument to the Roman Empire. Where Maty talks about intimidation, the Picts were faced with a sea to sea stone wall in bright whitewash manned by troops from a powerful foreign power. Granted the Picts were a ferocious lot when roused, but there's precious few accounts of attempts to attack it, even at the weak points.

Absurdly expensive? Welcome to England old boy.

Caldrail's blog is missing. Or at least the last weeks entry is. Well, no, not really, I just forgot to write one. So I apologise for the tension this had caused around the world as people bite their nails hopin g my next entry will magically appear. David Cameron and Ed Milliband exchanged insults in an angry row. Three schoolgrils gave up and went to Syria. Even Jeremy Clarkson punched his producer over an argument about it and caused the BBC a multi million pound commercial loss. Sorry about that. Lucky for me I'm not actually responsible isn't it? As it happens I've also been leaving my emails untounched for a couple of weeks. Although I've been employed for three months now the many and various agencies are still sending job laerts regularly. Last week I got a phone call from an agency asking if I wanted to do two weeks labour in a role in which my certification has lapsed, that I have no qualification for, and is in the next county. No. Not really. And do they expect me to be available the next morning? Perhaps they ought to read my CV properly. I was trained for a decade to write one after all. Out! With most of my time devoted either to sleeping, shopping, or working, I've had little time to wander around my usual haunts. I popped into the local aprk on my way to the library this morning and yes, the birds are still fighting. One goose has clearly become unpopular, with the others evicting it very loudly. Know how you fell buddy. It's like my last claims advisor. She trampled me into the dust, squished my indentity, and then began trying to recreate me as an embodiement of a figment of her imagination. Turning me into someone I don't know, don't understand, or even like. And I was supposed to get a job while I was trapped in psychological quicksand? Ridiculous. Like all women, she believed she could change me. Only this time she had the authority to do it. Get On With It! Lately I've been doing less floor sweeping and more pallet collection at work. Not sure which is the most tiring. Sweeping the floors involves walking all day and constant bending down to pick up rubbish. Pallet collection requires guiding an electric truck around everyone elses in tight spaces with the clock ticking, lifting one pallet after another onto a pile for the lads to use on the container bay, and some of those pallets are seriously heavy without any load on them. The warehouse boss was wandering around the other day, as he often does, and stopped by a bunch of guys who were doing the sweeping job I used to do alone while I got on with the pallets. "You've all done very weell" He told them, to my utter chagrin, since they amble about and haven't been doing the job for longer than a week or two. "Credit where credit is due". Really? Hello, Mr Boss, I'm over here.... No? Typical. But it isn't all mindless tedium and hard work. The last time I got a pallet truck out I noticed the meter was quite low, only three bars out of thirty, and it looked unlikely the truck would survive the whole shift without the battery going flat. Those vehicles are at a premium. It's a wonder fights don't break out over who gets to drive one. Then I noticed another truck out in the warehouse with twenty bars. Some of the lads thought I was trying to do something sneaky, but no, I did speak to the colleague whose truck it was and we agreed under the circumstances that a swap was okay. Shortly after I had to take a toilet break. It happens, even to the best of us, and certainly to those of us with fifty year old bladders and energy drink habits. When I came out, my truck meter said two bars. What the...?!!!!! As it happened I didn't run of electricity. Pallets were delivered all day, I became tired and broken by the end of the shift, and the managers were happy. Two bars on my wagon, and ah'm still rollin' along.... Language Of The Week Definitely Polish. With so many eastern europeans in the warehouse it's difficult to avoid hearing it, a strange arcane tongue impossible to understand, and I suspect those pesky poles know it. So I'm making an effort to learn a litle Polish. As it happens some of the lads are delighted, and take great pleasure in pointing out that my pronounciation is hopelessly wrong. But I'm getting there... One word at a time... do widzenia!

Yet despite the bad smell (which they didn't make a great deal of) and the noise level (which they did), surviving evidence shows the people of Rome had a lively time, lots of humour, thrills, spills, and of course sex (unless you were the poor guy whose graffiti moans about why his girl won't love him).

The Romans were very practical about warfare and thus made camps in positions they regarded as inherently 'better' where-ever possible. Whilst it is true that the average legionary was very superstitious, religious observance concerning warfare was more to do with auguries and commemorations than holy days. Having said that a sensible commander would allow his men to observe their rituals up to a pojnt - the Romans knew it was good for morale - but at the end of a days route march a camp would be needed as quickly as possible, in a site already scouted, and permanent forts more concerned with defence and security than where the sun was going to come up. Marching camps were dug by the troops as a matter of course, but permanent camps? Other than materiual supplies, the funny thing is that I haven't seen much evidence for local labour. A certain contingent of camp followers provided expert artisanry in any number of trades of course, but usually the Romans only employed natives as slave labour when captured as prisoners of war. I don;t know of any specific nazi-esque forced labour of civilians - the Romans generally left them alone unless business interfered.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hod_Hill

The other eighty percent were more marbly? Actuially I doubt that. True, certain amenities and public buildings would have benefitted, but even the pa;latial villas of the most important and wealthy Romans were still largely brick - their ruins are still on the Palatine, and without nthe decoration, looking no different from any other tenement remains aside from arrangement and size, but then, the slave quarters under the house in at least one place were certainly nothing to shout about in terms of space, so it's relative I guess.

Many forts were built in 'significant' places, such as one inside a former hill fort in southwest Britain. For this reason a solstice alignment might be possible, but it's bound to be coincidental because suvh observances were native, not latin.

The nlegate (general) decided what share was distributed to the men and how much he kept - important decision. There might also be an auction of gathered stuff, the origin of selling "under the spear".

That certainly rivals McDonalds...

Augustus was showing off. Sure, he added a lot of marble, paid for by squeezing whatever taxable source he could find, but Rome was still still a city of jerry built tenements built by cowboy builders. I understand the tallest ever was nine stories erected sometime around his reign, and I think it Augustus who brought in a law limiting the number of floors.

Forced to pay taxes? I wasn't aware there was that level of begrudgement in Roman Britain in the last century of provincial status. It is true that the Britons developed a frustration with the administration but that sort of official laziness was part of the late empire as a whole. Never mind that Theodosius had actually tried to sort out saxon piracy and had invested heavily in urban protection in the British Isles (Cunetio, just ten or so miles from where I live, was given a very formidable wall around that time. Not bad for a small market town whose only claim to fame was pottery). I do think this sort of transference of modern attitude into historic situations really does nothing positive.

I don't know if this helps, but I used to work in the music industry. If there's anything that presents adverse opinion, it's a pub goer who doesn't like your band. Most of the time they dismiss you because it's a cool thing to do, makes them look big to their girlfriends, and doesn't inflict insults on huge numbers of fans that aren't there. The internet is similar in that respect - the anonymity is as good as an empty space and encourages dismisals. Whilst this negative attitude is hard to bear, anyone who isn't the flavour of the month is going to come across it - it is unfortunately normal human behaviour, so really all you can do is grin and bear it. If you believe in what you do, that matters more.

Hadrian did not rename Jerusalem. What he did was promise to rebuild Jerusalem, then later, when the Judaeans asked what was going to to happen, decided to continue his theme of a collectivised Roman world and build a new Roman city on the same site called Aelia Capitol;ina. Naturally the Judaeans were offended and it sparked a rebellion, and aftrer the Roman victory, the Judaean province was renamed Syria-Palestine both to achieve the Roman identity Hadrian wanted and to demolish the concept of a Judaean homeland. In both, technically, he failed.

Really? Personally I try to be rational and contextual. Works for me.

Every day at work begins with a team briefiing. Slowly at first, then in a great rush as the canteen empties, the shift personnel gather at the allotted place to discover who is on the premises, who is doing what for the next eight hours, and what will happen if certain lazy activities continue. The manager calls for silence so he can call the register. After a five second wait he calls again with a stern stare at the knot of youngsters who don't understand what 'quiet please' means. Eventually the buzz of conversation subsides to whispers and the register is called. "Gary?" The manager spoke aloud without looking up from his list. With no answer, he calls again, this time looking around in case Gary is either too busy whispering to his mates or has failed utterly to comprehend that he has to acknowledge his presence. In this case I did the decent thing and reminded him that Gary was on holiday. The manager sighed as he realised his list of work allocation was completely ruined. He had no choice but to note down the lack of Gary's in the warehouse and submit to my superior know;ledge of who was standing around in plain sight. Sometimes we have to confirm that the person is on the premises for them. There's always one or two who aren't where they're supposed to be. Punkman, our resident refugee from society, made a joke of it a few days ago. After each name he said "Yeah, he's here". Yet when his own name was called he stayed silent, failing utterly to remember that he was supposed to answer. So I said aloud "Yeah, he's here". It's as well Punkman has a sense of humour. On the day the manager decided that Punkman was to be in charge of a team he muttered "Let the facism begin...". Talking About Fascism Islamic State are back in the news again with a trip down to the local museum where objects of antiquity are being smashed with sledgehammers as 'false idols'. Fundamentalists do seem amenable to this sort of behaviour - the Taliban dynamited antiquities and vandals in Egypt swept through a museum in Cairo not so long ago. Quite apart from the loss of pricelss articles of regional interest, is Islamic State so feeble that relics whose religious significance vanished hundreds if not thousands of years ago is somehow some kind of threat to their ugly regime? I suppose that's an obvious thing to ask. It does strike me however that the non-entities who smashed statues energetically really wouldn't know a false idol if they saw one. That is after all why they've been sucked into a religious movement and told what to do. They simply obey because they don't know any better. News that Islamic State is opening schools in Syria doesn't fill me with optimism either. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Working In The Jungle The big rumour at work right now is the impending fashion choices being made for teams. Already the quality control people sport a snazzy purple high-vis. What amuses people is the assertion that those of us on the hygiene team will be allocated pink high-vis vests. Hard Hat refuses to believe this slight on his honour, manhood, self respect, his very identity, can possibly be true. Funnily enough, those of us on the bottom rank of warehouse status often find ways to gauge each other. I for instance got quite a boost when I was trained up on pallet trucks. Earlier this week a team leader started approaching me with news that complaints had been made against me. No-one had said anything to me of course, but that wasn't the point. Eventually the leader in question ordered me off the truck despite my tantrums and logical arguments, but no matter, my line manager supported me. That's how hard work affects your status. There's always a testing period between the envious and the grateful. On some days I have no choice but to get a pump truck, a sort of parcel trolley you push, pull, and swear at, and do the same job without the assistance of electrical power. It's called manual work. It's also considered by many the sign of a lowly person who does not have the influence to be authorised to drive trucks. "You got a license for that?" One wag called from the gloom of a container being unloaded, when he saw me hauling a pump truck across the warehouse floor. Funny. No matter. Give it a day or two and I'll be whizzing around on a powered truck again instead of heaving boxes out of a container. At least until those pesky pink high-vis vests get issued, at which point no-one will have any sympathy. Day Of The Week That's enough about work. Today is Sunday and there's a clear blue sky out there..... Erm.... Bye.