It is written upon a wall in Rome
Ribchester was as rich as any toune in Christendome. [2]
The first glimpse, even were we unsupported by tradition, would lead us to believe that this part of the valley of the Ribble was even in earliest times a place of some importance, for, admirably protected by Nature, and adapted as it must then have been to the requirements of an untamed and uncivilised race, it was hardly likely to have escaped the searching eye of our Celtic forefathers, being then protected by naked marshes, and flanked on each side by lofty eminences, with a wide river between on which their slim coracles might float; whilst adjacent was the great forest of Bowland, the haunt of the wolf, the boar, and other wild animals, whose skins would supply clothing, and their flesh sustenance, to the hardy hunter. Whether the primeval Britons established a colony here or not, certain it is that when the more refined subjects of the Cæsars had established themselves as conquerors of the country, Ribchester attained to a high degree of eminence, and became one of the richest and most important stations in the newly-acquired territory. For the greater protection and security of the conquered lands in the North, Agricola constructed a chain of forts from one extremity of Lancashire to the other, and occupying the sites now held by Lancaster, Ribchester, Walton, Blackrod, Manchester, Overborough, and Colne. The most important of these stations, as evidenced by the richness and variety of the remains that have at different times been discovered, was the one at Ribchester. The place lost its pre-eminence after the fall of the Roman government in Britain, but the foundation of its buildings long defied the ravages of time, though now the searching eye can scarce discover the faintest relic of their former existence. Leland, the old topographer, who visited the place in the early part of the 16th century, says: “Ribchester is now a poore thing; it hath beene an Auncient Towne. Great squared stones, voultes, and antique coynes be found ther: and ther is a place wher that the people fable wher that the Jues had a temple.”[3] No doubt the temple existed, for the remains of it have been traced in later times, but it was Pagan and not Jewish, and was dedicated, as Dr. Whitaker supposed from an inscription found upon the site, by an empress or princess of the Imperial Roman family to the goddess Minerva. Ribchester has been prolific in remains of Roman art, and many of the altars, statues, bronzes, and “antique coynes” that have been dug up have been carried away to enrich the archæological museums of other parts of the country, or have found their way into those of private collectors, where they are practically lost to the student of antiquity, for, unfortunately, there is hardly a town in Lancashire which possesses a museum worthy of the name where such exhumed treasures might find a fitting resting-place. Pennant mentions having seen a sculpture, discovered on digging a grave in the churchyard, representing a Roman soldier carrying a labarum, or standard of cavalry; but perhaps the most remarkable relic is the elaborately ornamented bronze helmet found in 1796, familiar to antiquaries by the engravings which have appeared in the Vetusta Monumenta, and in the histories of Whitaker and Baines. So lately as the beginning of the present century a Roman house and hypocaust were brought to light whilst excavating the foundations for a building on the banks of the river; altars dedicated to various divinities have on different occasions been unearthed, with other memorial stones, coins, pottery, glass, articles of personal adornment, ampullæ, fibulæ, &c; and even in recent times, though less frequently than of yore, when the earth is removed to any considerable depth relics are turned up which help to illustrate the habits and customs of the Roman settlers, and prove the wide diffusion of the elegant and luxurious modes of life it was their aim to introduce.
It requires no great stretch of the imagination to picture the Ribchester of those far-off days. The picture, it is true, may be only shadowy and indistinct seen through the long distance which intervenes; but, carrying the mind back to those remote times, let us contemplate the scene presented to our fancied gaze. It is Britain—Britain in the darkest period of its history, the Britain of Caractacus and Boadicea—but how great the contrast from the Britain of to-day! A broad flowing river separates us from the opposite land, the tide flows up, and the wavelets break monotonously upon the shore. Before us and on each side rise gently swelling hills clothed with dense forests of oak—primeval monarchs that have budded and flourished and shed their leaves through long centuries of silent solitude. There are no towns or villages, no fertile meadows and rich pasture fields; not a sign of a habitation can we discern save here and there where the dark woods have been thinned, and a solitary hut, rudely constructed of wood and wattles, bears evidence of man’s existence. Looking more closely into the picture, we can discover the naked and painted forms of human beings—men eager, impetuous, brave, armed with javelin and spear, and ready to engage with any chance foe that may cross their path whilst seeking for their prey among the wild beasts of their native woods.
Gradually the view dissolves. Softly, slowly, it fades away, and darkness overspreads the scene. Hark! The sound of distant strife breaks faintly upon the ear; there is a rumble of war chariots and the hollow tramp of legionaries; then a fire blazes on the top of Longridge Fell, lighting up the heavens with a ruddy glare; the signal is answered by successive flashes from Pendle Hill and from beacons more remote. In a moment the scene is alive with the forms of men armed with spear and shield, hurrying to and fro, brandishing their javelins with impatient haste, eager to meet the coming foe. Meanwhile the conquering eagles of imperial Rome are seen advancing. Cohort follows cohort, and legion succeeds to legion. With measured pace and steady tread they come. There is the shock of mortal combat; the valley echoes with the clang of arms and the fell shout of war; and Briton and Roman are struggling together for conquest and for life.
The hardy Briton struggled with his foe,
Dared him to battle on the neighb’ring height;
And dusky streamlets reddened with the flow
From heroes dying for their country’s right.
Their simple weapons ’gainst the serried ranks,