Cory Santos

By Cory Santos corysantos

With Discover Lincolnshire providing free access to many city attractions last weekend, I wanted to provide insight into a few interesting pieces of Lincoln history which are always free of charge and often overlooked, with one such example being the Roman ‘gravestone’ in St. Mary-le-Wigford church off the High Street.

The church at St. Mary-le-Wigford, dirty from the soot of the railway line and the main roads which it sits upon, has existed for a thousand years. It is as unassuming a church as can be found. Situated next to the High Street level-crossing, few would ever bother to even glance at it as they waited endlessly for a train to pass the barriers. The church, however, is one of surprises and intriguing history.

King Stephen, for example, who had fought and was captured by the forces of the Empress Matilda in 1141 was supposed to have tethered his horse at the church before battle. Others tales claim that Henry II had his son (the future king) John proclaimed his successor at the church, but this is most certainly untrue.

The church was originally believed to have been constructed in the 11th century, by an Englishman, either before or after the Norman Conquest. Close analysis of the structure and the history of the area of which it was built have caused this initial construction date to be questioned.

The tower of the church, which faces onto the High Street is almost certainly of 11th century construction, reusing old Roman stones for its construction. The tower as well as other parts of the church, appear to have re-purposed pieces of an earlier Christian church, dating from the 10th century.

In addition to these finds, it has been noted that the tower and church are not of one construction, but rather, the tower has been butted up to the church at a later date. These discoveries seem to point to an earlier church on the site (probably of English or Scandinavian construction) in the 9th or 10th centuries, later rebuilt to its present appearance.

Perhaps the most unique and interesting part of the church, is not its age or history, but rather a simple stone outside of it. On the west façade of the tower is a memorial stone, placed there with an inscribed dedication by the founder, a man named Eirtrig. The stone, however, is not from an earlier English or Norse grave, but rather one from a Roman.

The memorial stone (sometimes refereed to as a gravestone) belonged to a Roman named Sacer. Nothing is known of Sacer apart from what is inscribed upon his memorial: “In memory of the departed; to the name of Sacer, son of Bruscus, a Senonian citizen, and Carssouna his wife and Quintus his son.” From this we know that Sacer was a Roman citizen and a Gaul, as Senonia relates to the Roman province of Gallia Lugdunensis, centred on modern-day Lyon. Why Sacer had travelled and settled to Lincoln, however, remains a mystery.

What we do know, is that sometime in the 11th century, an Englishman named Eirtrig built a tower at the church and needing a stone for dedicating the building, used the memorial stone of Sacer — perhaps because of its quality of shape and carvings, or possibly because it was the best surface for the task. Regardless of his reasons, Eirtrig re-purposed the stone, having his own message carved into it: “Eirtrig had me built and endowed to the glory of Christ and St. Mary”.

For the majesty of his new tower be fully appreciated, the words carved upon the stone by Eirtrig were placed to be read from bottom to top, to ensure that the viewers’ gaze would go from reading the message to beholding the magnificence of the tower which he had constructed.

Next time you are stuck at the barriers waiting for the train to pass, have a glance at the tower built by Eirtrig and the curious Roman memorial he reused to dedicate it to St. Mary and Christ. It may not be as exciting or awe-inspiring as the Cathedral or Castle, but it is an interesting and tangible piece of our city’s Roman and pre-conquest history.

Cory Santos is a postgraduate researcher at the University of Lincoln who specialises in the social history of Britain during the Second World War. Besides his main research focuses, he also enjoys local history and the interesting tales it often turns up.

By Cory Santos corysantos

The façade of Lincoln Prison is an intimidating welcome for anyone entering the facility. Since its opening in 1872, few have escaped and those who have were often quickly re-apprehended. That is, except for the case of Eamon de Valera, the Irish dissident and future president of Ireland, who managed to escape to freedom in 1919 in a famous incident which briefly brought the Irish revolution to Lincoln.

Eamon de Valera was born in New York in 1882 to an Irish mother and a Cuban father. Returning to Ireland following his father’s death in 1885, he became a radical revolutionary figure in Irish politics, fighting for independence from the United Kingdom. He was arrested and sentenced to death for his role in the Easter Rising of 1916, but this was later commuted due to his American citizenship.

Following his release from prison in 1916, he quickly gained fame on the Irish political scene, becoming MP For East Claire in the House of Commons and becoming leader of Sinn Fein. He had also, however, gained notoriety amongst the British political elites, thus ensuring his eventual re-arrest and imprisonment at Lincoln.

De Valera had been sent to Lincoln Prison for his part in a “German Plot” against the British, though this was merely a pretence to imprison the troublesome Irish politician. Once incarcerated in Lincoln, de Valera quickly began formulating his escape with the help of fellow prisoners John Milroy and John McGarry, as well as with other Irish Republicans on the outside, including Michael Collins. According to de Valera, he wanted to escape to “embarrass the English”, but more likely he was simply not a fan of being incarcerated (few are).

Lincoln Prison today is in a much different environment when compared to its surroundings a century ago. To the rear and east of the prison were open fields surrounded by barbed wire, which the Republicans hoped to use to their advantage by sneaking de Valera through a rear door. The plans were sung to de Valera through a window in his cell by a fellow Irish inmate (in Gaelic to confuse the guards). The first song told him of the route of escape and a second gave him instructions to obtain a copy of the master-key for the prison.

De Valera, to his benefit, was a deeply religious man and had been active in the prison’s chapel since his internment. Using his connections within the chapel, he managed to steal candles from the altar and while mass was being read, “borrowed” the master-key of the chaplain and made an impression of it in the candle wax, which he melted using his body heat. The mould was then packaged in paper and tossed over the wall of the prison so a duplicate could be made.

The key was duplicated and smuggled in to the prison concealed in a cake, and the escape began on the evening of February 4, 1919. With Collins and other members of Sinn Fein having cut through the wire, a group of Irish girls were sent to flirt with the prison guards to ensure their backs were turned. The guards were suitably busy, so de Valera, McGarry and Milroy were able to walk to the back door of the prison, and after some difficulty (Collins had managed to snap the key in the door), escape the prison.

De Valera was wrapped in a fur coat, and swiftly moved to the railway station where they split up, with Collins boarding a train to London and de Valera being driven to Manchester, after which he returned to Ireland briefly and then the United States. The prison officials, for their part, knew finding the men would be virtually impossible, and after a day’s search throughout the city, conceded defeat.

The escape from Lincoln was major news, covered in all the national papers. Officials in the prison blamed the escape on the ability of special prisoners to interact with the general prison population. Regardless of the cause, however, the escape proved to be an important moment in Irish history; when a cake, a wax key and some pretty girls helped spring a future Irish president from Lincoln Prison.

Cory Santos is a postgraduate researcher at the University of Lincoln who specialises in the social history of Britain during the Second World War. Besides his main research focuses, he also enjoys local history and the interesting tales it often turns up.