A Katabasis to Durham’s Piraeus: Ludworth Tower & Easington Colliery
A Second Guide on Ruins around Durham — through the lens of Classical architecture and experiences
Preamble: For an interesting recent article, published half a year later of writing this article (Dec 2020), detailing a similar phenomenologically-inspired journey across the ancient Attic countryside via a modern (Athenian) one with interdisciplinary links to literature and philosophy, see Geoffrey Bakewell’s ‘I went down to Piraeus yesterday: Routes, Roads, and Plato’s Republic’, Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 89.4 (2020): 725–755.
A few days after I published my previous Ostraka article on Penshaw Monument and its Greek inspiration, one of my lecturers, Professor Polly Low, sent me a lovely email and suggested another place within walking distance of Durham that links curiously well to the ancient landscape of Attica: the 600-year-old ruins of Ludworth Tower.
So, in the spirit of exploring Durham’s fascinating but often underexplored heritage, I embarked on my own little katabasis to Ludworth Tower on Sunday 21 June 2020, and even further: thalassa thalassa — to the sea. My question: why do these monuments keep on popping up, and why does no one know about them? Do they link together and form part of a broader network? And finally, what can an approach with the ancient landscape tell us about it all?
What I found on this mini re-enactment of Socrates as he went down to the Piraeus while he narrated the Republic (κατέβην χθὲς εἰς Πειραιᾶ), with some useful ancient Greek examples in mind, was just how rich Durham’s heritage has been across time, and how these various ancient examples can spark new nuances regarding their function and relation to the broader landscape.
Therefore, guided by this Classical reception and practical phenomenological archaeology, in this Ostraka guide I first detail the comparison between Durham and Ludworth Tower to that between Athens and its border forts in the peaks with Boiotia, including Oinoe, Phyle, and Aegosthena. The similarities, I would argue, actually invite a further function and indeed ancient parallel to the Tower — the Long Walls from Athens to the Piraeus at the sea, rather than looking inland to the mountains. Exploring this naval perspective in the second part, I will describe the route from Durham to Ludworth Tower and then to the sea at Easington Colliery, both to give tips of where to go and demonstrate the examples. What these parallels reveal, I argue, is that Ludworth Tower formed part of a much broader network of fortifications around Durham, operated within a much wider geographical range than a simple Durhamcentric view allows, and served many more functions than simply defensive, including potentially being an artery for trade and transport. Finally, in the Conclusion, I will expand this approach to other ruins around Durham, and a tantalising one in particular: Tynemouth Priory & Castle. What this piece aims to do, therefore, is to encourage everyone to visit and appreciate the richness of the North East’s heritage, and to apply our own studies in practice to think about these monuments in today’s world, rather than treating our education as inanimate pieces of information. Throughout, and as my approach through the ancient landscape exemplifies, I try to understand how Durham and Ludworth Tower operate within the broader landscape of County Durham, rather than simply cherry-picking isolated examples — and thereby hint at the real networks and power these ruins once formed.
Finally, before we embark on our katabasis towards the sea, two words of thanks must be given for this piece’s inspiration. First and foremost to Professor Polly Low for suggesting the idea in the first place, and kindly allowing me to expand on it. Second, and putting the idea into practice as my article does, to my Classics pals Elena, Sionna, and Rob for travelling to the sites on my third visit there (respecting social distancing) and rethinking about the place.
So, off we marched…
Part 1: The Palimpsest — Ludworth Tower and Oinoe, and Attica’s border forts
“…Down to the Piraeus, yesterday, with Glaucon the son of Ariston, to offer my prayers to the Goddess…”
So opens Plato’s Republic, which goes to debate the best form of a city’s laws and justice.
Many of Plato’s dialogues open and are framed in this way — take for example the Republic’s cousin and longer counterpart, the Laws: this goes even further from Knossos to a peak sanctuary of Zeus in Crete. Closer to home, in the Euthyphro, Socrates chats with Euthyphro about piety while passing by the Athenian law courts of the King Archon. What this gives us a glimpse of, arguably from a very much lived and every-day perspective, is how the ancient mindset perceived the landscape and the experience of transversing it: Greeks were drawing meaning from their surroundings for their present circumstances. Setting, in the lived experience exemplified by Plato’s Dialogues, is important — it defines the person, place and, as for Socrates down to the “Other” port of the Piraeus with its foreign cults and ensuing discussion of laws, the current world and hubbub.
What can we do with this ancient practice? Can we do something similar, and use this methodology to our own experiences across the landscape — a good 2,400 years later? To put it briefly, scholars in Classical Reception would likely say yes: as a recent Politics & Myth Webinar on “Feminist Myth-busting” and Cherwell article aptly put it, beyond trying to see how the past was perceived at later ages, advocates of Classical reception often look at how the modern reappropriates, rewrites, and revalues certain features, and retells the story in a new form for an effect on people today.
In my own way, I’ll try to find some new meaning from these similarities and revaluing of certain ancient aspects of the landscape — by sticking to Durham, during my final few days here before I return back home and conclude my BA.
So, returning to the topic at end — as Socrates walked down to the Piraeus. What’s really so special about Ludworth Tower? To be fair, few have ever really heard about it. When you actually get there, it is prima facie a bit, to put it mildly, underwhelming.
But when we dig deeper, we certainly can reconstruct small nuggets that are much more interesting about it, ranging from invading Scots to a very particular and rare form of Towerhouse in County Durham.
Built in August 1422, Ludworth Tower was the brief culmination of the quiet village of Ludworth, 6 miles east of Durham. Why build this tower here? Its owner, the knight Roger Holden, after all, already possessed some form of a manor house at Ludworth. This strange location extends to the time of construction: the small town of Ludworth had already been in existence for well over two centuries (first mentioned in 1206 and founded by the de Ludworths) before the Holdens came into power. So why build it now?
What’s more, it didn’t even last that long. The tower was abandoned by the end of the century (end of the 1400s). Today, 600 years later, the scanty remains of the west and south walls, along with an underground vault, are all that peek from the overgrown field. The remains are so scanty, one periodical claims, that the “first strong west wind will bring the remaining wall” down.
So what’s going on? Why put so many resources into building a stoutly-built defensive tower that would be eclipsed soon after?
From these bare facts, this tower might seem a bit self-defeating and pointless (much like the official terminology that the Bishop of Durham Cardinal Langley used to allow Holden to build: “licence to crenellate”). However, a deeper look at the architecture suggests that in actuality it may have been more successful than we may think, and been the appropriate countermeasures for a real threat posed against the countryside of Durham.
First off, although the horizontal extent of the Tower is lacking, the corresponding height of the Tower today betrays no such minimalism of effort. The three floors of the original building, all built on top of a vaulted basement, must have made the building quite an impressive sight and, more importantly from the perspective of the defender, provided extensive views over the landscape to spot incoming enemies. The size of the lighter coloured pink vertical stone (see below), originally used for a fireplace and chimney, tells of the magnitude and comfort of the accommodation. Second, if you pass by the back of the Tower, you can see a massive slab of stone used for one of the tiers of the spiral staircase leading up to the top. The size of this block (and the few just above it), along with the extant diameter of this spiral staircase, gives a sense of effort put into fortifying the building well. In this respect of height, at least, the Tower was strategically designed to provide stout defence not just for the immediate village of Ludworth, but also for the surrounding country and indeed down to Durham in the plain.
Moreover, the overall foundations and ground plan of the Tower give a tantalising glimpse into its strength and intention to be impregnable. As you approach the Tower from the gateway, you can see that it has a slightly oblong shape, rather than being a perfectly rectangular shape. On the one hand, this may have functioned to make it more difficult to enter. More clearly, however, this defensive layout forms part of the “Pele” design of the Tower. These Pele Towers, with their height, narrow size, and ancillary attachment to pre-existing larger manors (rather than plain Towerhouses where all living was in the Tower), focused exclusively on defence and safe refuge. Likewise, the material of the building, made of the ochre-coloured limestone and sandstone mix, may have been imported from further afield and selected specifically with an eye to durability (although I want to make clear that I am not an expert in mediaeval English material archaeology). Most tellingly, the broader distribution of these towers is surprising. Scholars like Hutchinson (The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham, 1785, 3 vols; II 586.) have been surprised that, while England at the time had around 90 such Pele towers, County Durham — the place closest to these attacks — had fewer than six. Does the paucity force us to revert back to our interpretation of the Tower’s failure? Perhaps not: one could read the poor distribution in Durham the other way around, in a more constructive and persuasive way: following on the other physical remains of strength that we’ve seen, the fact that these Pele towers were put up so scarcely in Durham means that they were successful and those that did exist were well built and important. Therefore,
Whatever the scanty somnambulant remains might suggest today, a look at the other side (literally) and placement of this form of building in its context reveals the effort and success put into making this building a sturdy defense for miles around.
So perhaps our misunderstanding of its significance is down to bad luck. The Tower stood standing in its imposing form until February 1890, when most of it fell down “with a crash”. So are we left with the underwhelming perspective today. Equally, the overgrown vegetation has eaten away at the broader defensive features complementing the Tower: the Tower also had a surrounding bank and ditch to hinder attacks on the building. What we can see (after some hard squinting and nettle-pricking), however, reveals a whole series of rooms and a wall south of the road that Pevsner excavated in 1953. In other words, this Pele Tower was not just a “tower” — it was part of a whole system of defensive mechanisms across the landscape. A more faithful reconstruction has been made by Ryder (above).
So we’ve reappraised its importance in our phenomenological guide — but the final question for this puzzle remains: what was this attention to fortification for? A quick browse of the historical context, or even going around Durham, reveals the very troubled times of Durham around the 1400s in the face of this proud local monument. The licence issued by Bishop Langley cited the increasing raids from the Scots, in response to the capture of James I, the king of the Scots, by the English King Henry IV. Indeed, soon after the Tower’s construction, the signing of the ransom of £40,000 to free James I took place in Durham on 28 March 1424. Therefore, County Durham was at the heart of the conflict between the Scot and English — attested by the famous Battle of Neville’s Cross a decade earlier in 1346. Ludworth was a product of that context — to defend Durham and the countryside from Northern invaders.
So, just like when I visited and dispelled my initial sense of being underwhelmed when taking the time to explore the ruins from different angles, so we can tell that Ludworth Tower served as a vital artery of defence for Durham and the surrounding landscape against two different invaders from the North. While ultimately the Monument did succumb less than around 80 years later, it is important/vindicating to remember that it was a concerted effort put up by a community with few resources and aiming to protect their broader landscape — and that the Tower, or at least its idea, succeeded for a while.
But can we learn more? Perhaps. Alongside my first underwhelming impression while being stung by the awful nettles as I walked up to the Tower, I was thinking about the potential links to Classical exempla that this Tower offered. So how does this compare to monuments and their functions in Athens, for example — 1,800 years earlier? And what more can we learn?
The answers: a few things, and specifically in relation to rethinking about these monuments in their landscape. So, the links to the ancient Attic landscape fall in two sections: the archaeological sturdiness of the tower and the historical function of defending against the enemy. From these, we might suggest (by indirect means)other functions of the structure. In particular, and as Professor Low suggested, Ludworth Tower links remarkably well to the idea of certain structural elements of several ancient Greek poleis, and especially to some well-preserved examples of them in Athens’ territory: border forts and watchtowers, such as at Oinoe, Phyle and Aegosthena.
Since the archaic period, sites like Oinoe (near modern day Myoupolis, not the one near Marathon with its 13th century Frank Tower) functioned as one of Athens’ defensive watchtowers on the border with its enemy, the Boiotians (ἐν μεθορίοις τῆς Ἀττικῆς καὶ Βοιωτίας, Thuc. 2.18). They tend to be in the mountains, and Oinoe was part of a broader system of such defensive towers on Attica’s borders, which included Aegosthena and Phyle. As ASCSA’s Evan Levine has recently written about in a Twitter Thread (even just for the photos, it’s well worth a read), the incredible state of preservation of these towers give scholars a rare opportunity to explore not just the construction techniques of these forts and compare them to other sites, but also to understand their functions better.
First, from what we can tell from the archaeology, the defensive function of these watchtowers matches the aforementioned purpose of Ludworth Tower. In the archaeology that we see today, the sturdiness and precise fittings of Oinoe’s stones suggest that the Tower was created to stand for a long time and be impregnable. Its height (Oinoe’s is apparently four stories based on the holes in the roof for wooden beams), both of the tower itself and due to its location in the mountains, give it far-reaching views of approaching enemies. Indeed, the height and strategic placement of the twelve windows in Aegosthena’s Tower 11 meant that defenders could shoot arrows and catapults in every direction for 300 metres. Perhaps Ludworth was similar — in any case, they were strategic powerhouses for defence.
Although we are limited by the archaeology and ambiguity of the literary descriptions, the designs of Oinoe’s and Ludworth’s towers may potentially match even more closely when complemented with the historical evidence. Thucydides’ descriptions of Oinoe (2.18, 8.98) seem to single out that Oinoe had a full “walled town” (ἐτετείχιστο); this may be in addition to a watchtower remaining today (as Topos Text seems to suggest). They served as fortresses (φρουρίῳ οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἐχρῶντο). Just so, Ludworth Tower was primarily a designated defensive feature of the attached residential manor house. If Oinoe’s tower is not part of the actual fort mentioned by Thucydides, both features focus on security beyond residence; both act as safe refuges.
Delving deeper into this defensive function, we can draw the link further. Both Towers also defended against the conflict between two powers. Just like Langley’s letter cites the century-old conflict between Scots and English for the genesis of Ludworth Tower at its epicentre, ancient historical sources attest to Oinoe’s pivotal role in the continuing conflict between Athens and Boiotia. Starting from the mythical past during the Heracleidai’s invasion, with authors like Conon citing the mythical battle between Athens’ king Melanthos and Boiotia’s king Xanthus at Oinoe (39), it extends to archaic Athens when the Spartan King Cleomenes with the Thebans capture Oinoe and Hysiai around 507 (Hdt. 5.74), and to the Classical age when the Spartan King Archidamus with the Thebans attack Oinoe in their invasion of Attica during the Peloponnesian war (Thuc. 2.18). And the threat was real — after Deceleia, Oinoe was finally taken by the Boiotians with the Corinthians’ help (Thuc 8.98, ca. 411). What this shows, therefore, is that Oinoe’s situation on the border between two powers made it a highly contested place; in response, it was a highly fortified place. This is also evident at Aegosthena: even though constructed under Megarian control (Xen. Hell. 5.4.18), the Athenians allied and helped them to counter the Thebans around 343.
Yet, to conclude this first section, we can also reconsider this aspect by looking at other later forts: specifically that of Phyle. While Oinoe was a border fort dating from the archaic times, Josh Ober has argued that many other such border forts like Phyle were built later in the fourth-century BCE (Fortress Attica, 1985). Specifically, they were a response to Athens’ failings of the Peloponnesian war, when it relied on fortifying its towns but thereby allowed the Spartans to invade its surrounding lands. In the fourth, then, these border forts were built to stop foreign land invasions into Attica — and were successful (Athens was not invaded until 322). With this perspective, therefore, we may see a similar change in strategy by the nobles of Durham around the 1400s in relation to Scottish invasions: perhaps they began to think more of the surrounding land rather than simply their stronghold city. Indeed, Durham has its own fortified Castle (a college today) on the peninsula; yet its lands would have been open to invasion: the famous Battle of Neville’s Cross in 1346, as many students living at Neville’s Cross today will know, is very close to Durham’s castle. Thereby, Ludworth Tower may have been a later development to protect the land around Durham in the 1400s— a tactic which becomes clearer when thinking about these ancient forts in their 4th-century context.
Second, the parallel between Ludworth and Oinoe is the Towers’ situation in the landscape — both in the mountains and on the border with enemies (between Attica and Boiotia). Perched among high mountains, border forts like Oinoe or Phyle offered marvellously direct views to many sites, and most importantly were directly visible from Athens. As many have noted before, as I did for my previous guide on Penshaw Monument and the comparison to Argos and its Heraion, this visual communication between the fort on its border and the city of Athens strengthened the Athenians’ real and perceived ownership of the land (Attica) in between. Space is important: this spatial aspect of the Tower strengthens identity. This phenomenon extends to other forts: famously, Thucydides highlights that Deceleia, the mountainous fort that the Spartans ravaged in 413 that partly lead to Athens’ downfall, “could be clearly seen (ἐπιφανὲς μέχρι) from the city of Athens” (7.19, trans. Hammond). By the same token, however, this spatial-identity phenomenon also extends beyond mountains proper. Not all border forts were oriented towards mountains— Aegosthena faced the sea and controlled the eastern Corinthian Gulf. (It apparently had good wine, according to Athenaeus 10.56, something difficult to grow on windy mountains). In other words, these forts formed part of a broader network around the broader landscape of Attica, not just in mountains, and strengthened the people’s identity and attachment to it.
At Ludworth Tower, similarly, one could likely see Durham’s Cathedral from the top floor. Today, when standing in the ruins of the first floor, you can see down into the plain of Durham after the small plateau of Ludworth; it’s quite surprising just how low down it is, but also how large the cathedral is. Therefore, this suggests that Ludworth Tower, like the system of Attic fortifications, were part of a broader system (albeit there were fewer Pele towers in County Durham than elsewhere). Direct visual contact might have facilitated communication and pre-warnings, bolstering the defensive system.
To conclude — So what does this comparison with Attic border sanctuaries actually yield? First off, it reinforces the broader defensive network that Ludworth Tower played into, both in its immediate town and potentially with other such sites around Durham. Second, it shows the importance of landscape and the Tower’s placement: perhaps beyond being simply defensive, it played a larger part in the identity of these surrounding towns, or at least in relation to Durham.
Good. And yet this interpretation might seem a bit flimsy, or at least fit too nicely together: it operates on a small local scale and, by looking West, is Durhamcentric. But what’s behind Ludworth? As we’ll see below, this is just the first step —focusing on the broader landscape allows us to reconsider the significance of the Tower. In the second section, then, by reusing other parallels with ancient Attica, we can reconsider Ludworth’s function in the other direction: looking rather East — towards the sea.
Part 2: The short end of the straw? Reinterpreting Ludworth by looking towards the sea and the Piraeus of Durham — Easington Colliery
So perhaps we should halt and change our interpretation for a bit.
When I first visited, I viewed Ludworth Tower as the final destination of my trip and the limit of the territory to the east, and thereby it fits the model of Oinoe. But what if it wasn’t the final point? After all, you can continue walking further along the B1283 road. If you go far enough, as I did on my second trip there, you come to the sea: thalassa thalassa!
So perhaps, if we view Easington Colliery as the final destination and endpoint of Durham (and simiarly Attica’s) spatial extent, we can reinterpret the function of Ludworth Tower and its lands. In this interpretation, we can place Ludworth Tower as part of the circuit walls or defense system down to the sea. Given that it’s by the sea, this opens up a whole new scope of interpretations. However, I’ll just focus on one small aspect and use the port of Athens as a parallel: the Piraeus and the Long Walls.
The Road down to the Piraeus — the Route from Durham to the sea, and what was found
But before embarking on the similarities, since this piece engages with the local heritage of Durham, I’ll quickly discuss the attractions down to the sea. It’s important to our interpretation and just fun (and useful if you want to cycle there yourself!), so please don’t skip it!
As you leave Ludworth Tower, you’ll climb up to the small quaint village of Ludworth (with two main streets, about all the main buildings it has is a Post Office-cum-Grocery and war memorial). From here, all the villages are pretty small. Turning to the left, you’ll eventually cycle to Haswell Plough and pass by some quarries. After a solitary pub seemingly in the middle of nowhere (The Blue House), the bike track turns into a wider road meandering through fields, offering some spectacular views of rolling poppy fields and electricity lines. Throughout, you’ll pass multiple farms and hostels made of similarly coloured yellowish limestone to Ludworth Tower. As we’ll see below, they seem to create a unified, coherent line across the landscape.
It’s here, just as you get to a roundabout, that you’ll first smell the salt breeze.
From here, you’re suddenly thrust into a major city — Easington Village (it most certainly does not feel like a village in relation to the previous buildings!). You’ll pass by some much bigger stone monuments, including the stone church of St. Mary’s. Perhaps most impressively, as you reach the top of the hill, you’ll actually come across one of the oldest domestic buildings in the UK: Seaton Holme!
Constructed in 1248, it used to house the Rectors (important priests) of Easington until 1921, when it was sold off. While it bore the brunt of Scot and (even earlier than Ludworth) Viking invasions, the rectors inside were wealthy men, many of whom belonged to the Aristocracy. Its importance here is further attested to its strategic placement: its high ground offers both excellent views over the surrounding land and sea. The building today houses the offices of the Parish Council and is largely formed from its 15th-century renovation, although inside you can still see some of the original.
Finally, you’ll pass into Durham Colliery. You’ll head straight down the road past the symmetrical houses to a green field, and then you’ll reach Durham Heritage Coast! Here, you can enjoy the spectacular views of the sea — which moved me so much at the time that I (since there were few people around) cried aloud: thalassa thalassa!
The Sea, the Piraeus, and Durham’s Mining Heritage
So what do all these aspects mean, and can they hint at another purpose? Arguably, yes. The thought that I came up with through this landscape approaching when cycling along was the link to Athens’ double long walls heading down to the sea and Piraeus.
In some ways, this parallel with the Long Walls works well and helps us re-interpret the broader functions and directionality of Ludworth Tower, beyond seeing it simply as focusing on Durham’s defence. First off, if we see Easington Colliery as the endpoint of the route and not Ludworth, Ludworth Tower might be one of the earliest in a series of defensive towers stretching to the sea and Easington Colliery. In this light, Ludworth Tower may have been a defensive feature which functioned not just for Durham or the sea at Easington, but specifically to the entire route between them and the land. Therefore, perhaps we shouldn’t see it as the final endpoint, but only the most visible and extant such defensive feature along the way. (The aspect which problematises this is the lack of other Pele Towers around Durham; perhaps there were other forms of defence along this route, as we’ll see in my third point).
In other terms, Easington Colliery seems to be the final endpoint. Indeed, and for my second point, Easington Colliery is the biggest town in the vicinity on the B1238 after Durham, much like the Piraeus after the Long Walls. Indeed, as the signpanel outside Seaton Holme says, Easington used to be one of the wealthiest Bishoprics outside of Durham given its proximity to the port and investment in sea trade. It even (allegedly) produced a future (and only English) Pope who would rule in Rome: Adrian IV (r. 1154–1159) — showing its prominence on the surrounding map of the North. At one time, therefore, Easington Colliery may have been part of the trade networks, perhaps even port, of Durham and its trade. It certainly seems to have a financial and direct link to Durham.
Third, and archaeologically, this interpretation of Easington as the port and Ludworth as a fort or tower along the “Long Walls” is supported by the other farmhouses and steads along the stretch of road past Ludworth. These use similar stone materials to Ludworth and, as not infrequently in England, these farmhouses might have been founded on older previous Mediaeval ruins perhaps contemporary with Ludworth Tower. Moreover, many of the towns along the way, such as Sherburn, just past Gilesgate, have extensions of their towns on the Hill (e.g. Sherburn Hill). This may indicate that there was an earlier fortification built on these strategic positions. In other words, the landscape from the sea to Durham may have been more heavily fortified than we can see today, and there were more fortifications. Even if they do not show up in the archaeological record, and are not visible today, there may have been wooden structures or temporary ones. Their function, nevertheless, was defence. Likewise, the direct, almost straight road between Durham and Easington suggests that it may have been a significant artery of transportation beforehand.
Fourth, and in conclusion, therefore, viewing Ludworth Tower as the endpoint and major attraction is a bit teleological and a product of the extant evidence remaining to us. Perhaps we shouldn’t see the Tower as this intrinsic great defensive tower and argue that Ludworth Tower was one of the few scant “Pele” fortification structures around, but explore it in other ways and revalue the natural fortifications all the way down to Easington. Doing so, we can see Ludworth operating in the broader landscape, which would otherwise be missed. With this more synoptic view, we should appreciate the entirety of Durham and can begin to think about how it interacted with other geographical sites, beyond focusing myopically on itself. So, this approach both revalues Ludworth Tower, suggests a different interpretation of it, highlights the inter-state connections of County Durham beyond a local perspective, and paints a broader picture of its trade and life of the region. We should, however, say that, while there is evidence, part of my argument is based on conjecture, given the lack of coherent documentation, systematic exploration of the evidence, and lack of resources available during the Pandemic for someone who is very much not a specialist in Mediaeval Northern England. Nevertheless, it’s a beginning and one that hopefully spurs further study and perspectives into Durham’s surrounding heritage.
But we can draw one final comparison, which reveals more about Easington Colliery itself and the nature of the link between Easington and Durham, albeit developed in more modern times. What can we say about Easington when we draw from the Piraeus and the Long Walls? Here, we can draw out the enduring importance of mining to County Durham — right down to the sea.
Perhaps more than anything, the Piraeus and its Long Walls helped the transportation of goods and merchandise from the sea to the Piraeus. What are the parallels? Like the construction of Ludworth Tower came as a response to the attacks by England’s binary rival, the Scots, the Long Walls were also progressively constructed as Sparta’s fears and hostility towards Athens rose (after the Persian Wars, Thuc. 1.90–1, and then from 395). They also had variously spaced towers between them to keep a lookout, perhaps similar to the monuments dotting the landscape around Durham. But most importantly, my point is that both defensive structures may also have been arteries of trade. As Constantakopoulou 2007 has noted, and as Aristophanes makes resonate in his comedies, Athens’ Long Walls effectively enabled it to substitute the produce from Athens’ actual land (ravaged by the annual Spartan invasions) with that brought in from its subjects abroad. They helped turn Athens into an import society (not terribly eco-friendly, mind you). Complementing this tangible aspect, the Long Walls came to establish Athens’ identity as a wealthy, strongly fortified, and imperial “island”, as scholars like Hansen and Nielsen suggest in their chapter on “City Walls as Evidence for Polis Identity” (pp. 135–7), by connecting Athens to the known world and broader inter-state relations. Therefore, through this broader comparison, we can see that Athens’ walls served beyond mere defence and opened the city up to other cultures and the world through trade and identity formation.
Arguably, to some extent, these two aspects also extend to our physical link between Easington Colliery and Durham. As the name suggests, Easington Colliery was a coal mine where three shafts (North, South, and West) were made to extract coal. Opened in 1899, mining only took place after 1910 due to water difficulties, before all pits were closed on 7 May 1993. It was an important source of income for local workers and those from further afield, employing at its peak 3,242 workers. It nevertheless suffered some difficulties along the way, such as the devastating 1951 explosion. But what can this town and its source of income tell us about Ludworth? Specifically, it opens the possibility that Ludworth also protected a route for the broader trade and connectivity stemming from the wealth of Easington. Given the wealth of Easington during the Middle Ages, before the foundation of its coal mines, the route along Ludworth Tower may have helped transport goods from Easington to Durham, given its proximity. This may have been continued after the foundation of the mines too, perhaps with increased export of coal or workers. In either case, we can catch a glimpse of the extent of trade and transportation that might have operated across the region, and which Ludworth Tower facilitated. Importantly, Ludworth Tower and the estates around the region of those made wealthy by this trade, may have consolidated the identity of this trade-oriented town, as did the Long Walls for Athens.
In conclusion, therefore, we can begin to reconstruct a broader picture of the different functions of Ludworth Tower and its surroundings, by placing it in its broader context and expanding beyond the narrow bilateral view of the link between Ludworth and Durham. While at first it may appear that Ludworth solely fortified Durham as the final goal, it may have served to defend the entire region and also provided a pivotal vein of transport with the sea. Beyond defence, in our final insight into Easington Colliery, we see this transport may have extended also to trade and other activities. These perspectives are helpfully brought out when thinking about comparable examples in the ancient Attic landscape — in fact, what my analysis has shown is that rather than viewing Ludworth as the liminal fort of Oinoe or Phyle at the border with Boiotia, as some kind of endpoint, we should view it more as part of a consecutive and ongoing system of fortifications, and one that leads down to the sea. In this light, rather than taking Easington Colliery as the sea around Leuktra (if we see Ludworth as the Oinoe of Durham), perhaps we should identify it more closely with the Piraeus, with its broad connectivity with the rest of the Mediterranean as the hub of inter-state trade. Athens’ Long Walls leading to these, therefore, is, with a certain light-hearted seriousness, what Ludworth Tower would map onto.
While we should take these suggestions with caution, what this approach helpfully does is demonstrate the richness and connectivity of these seemingly individual, innocuous monuments dotted around Durham’s landscape. It helps us to think about Durham’s heritage in a broader and inter-county way, and move beyond the Durham-centric view that many of us often adopt — to highlight the value of these other places in the surrounding countryside. Ultimately, it’s a chance to appreciate the local culture, and put our studies to something useful and positive on the sunny post-exam days during which I write this.
Conclusions: Beyond the Sea, and a final spatial reinterpretation — other ruins around Durham, from Romanesque Monasteries to Greek temples
And so we come to the end of my argument about the networks and inter-county links of these sites. And also, sadly, my BA studies at Durham.
But, perhaps less sadly, we are certainly not near the end of this approach of comparison with the ancient world. These reinterpretations with other time periods (not necessarily with the ancient world) can help bring out new interpretations. Helpfully, there are many other ruins around Durham where one can apply a refreshing mix of Classical Reception, Practical Archaeology, and phenomenology.
So we’ll end on one final example that displaces the parallel of Ludworth Tower to one final city: Corinth and its two ports.
On the one hand, however, there are multiple ruins around Durham that could play into to this comparison to the ancient landscape, or at least allow us to think about these Mediaeval sites. My favourites, each within a 2-hour walking distance of the Cathedral, are the ruins Durham’s two main Priories, Finchdale and Beaurepaire (lit. “place of nice retreat”). To be perfectly honest, it’s all a bit ironic — even with the Cathedral on the quiet Peninsula already being a pretty rural and quiet place for contemplation, the monks still found the need to frolic in two separate summer retreats! Given the dubious focus on pleasure and multiple rural estates, a comparison with the ancient Greek landscape might bring to mind the large country farms and estates of rich Athenian politicians. And even though Pericles ostensibly promised the Athenian people that he would give up his property to the public to demonstrate that he was not siding with the Spartans should Archidamus spare his property (Thucydides 2.13.1), this does not gloss over Pericles’ wealth and luxury there in the first place. So where did the priests’ priorities (pun intended) lie? Examples like these can make us think about these more recent ruins in different ways.
But these are more isolated examples. There’s one place that I recently cycled to from Durham that really interested me and where I found my final and so far most appealing re-evaluation of Ludworth Tower and Durham: the huge Priory & Castle at Tynemouth by the sea, beyond Newcastle.
During my recent sojourn there on 25 June 2020 with my trusty Boukephalas, I was surprised to experience the great surge of emotion when I saw the sea, indeed much more than when I saw Easington Colliery. Thalassa Thalassa, in the Medieval version of the 1400s, was perhaps meant to be uttered here. In other words, I thought that Tynemouth Priory worked and was experienced as an equally good Piraeus of Durham (or perhaps Newcastle) as Easington was. So rather than having to select between the two to choose a Piraeus, I kept both of them as potential ports. So, perhaps now we have 2 ports of Durham! And, among other cities, “rich” Corinth famously had two ports, one at Kenchriai and the other at Lechaion, the latter with Long Walls down to it. Just like Easington/Lechaion has the Ludworth fortification/Walls with it, so Tynesmouth/Kenchreai has none (although it was connected by the now-defunct Bowes Railway). Moreover, it is further away and led to the larger citied in the North. Indeed in this light, perhaps Penshaw Monument could even be something similar to the Sanctuary of Poseidon at the Isthmus, in the direction of Kenchreai. This parallel over the landscape would change the interpretation in my previous Ostraka article, where I saw Penshaw Monument as another endpoint, the simple border sanctuary like Argos’ Heraion. Through this article and thinking about ancient examples, I’ve spread out and appreciated the broader landscape of County Durham and their signficiance — and that is precisely how these parallel examples can serve us. They make us reevaluate these monuments in their broader landscapes, and then think about their functions and purposes.
So, what all my perhaps immaterial (but strangely material) link-making shows, then, is that there’s something for each one of us out there to form a connection with, and to engage our ideas and education upon. Whether it’s the smaller castles around the countryside like Lumley castle or Beamish Hall, or the might that is Penshaw Monument, Durham fits nicely onto the ancient Greek landscape and our mindsets, however far we want to take it in a useful direction. However far we go, the bike rides are always worth it.
So where to next in our journey discovering Durham’s heritage?
That’s up to you to decide!
Further reading
Hutchinson, William, 1785–94, The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham Vol. 2.
Geldard, Ed, 2009, Northumberland Strongholds (London: Frances Lincoln).
Knowles, 1933, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle-upon-Tyne Vol. 6 p. 29–32.
Colin Lofthouse, 1992 March, Ludworth Tower Survey (RCHME).
Many thanks to Professor Polly Low for pointing out the parallel in her email, and for encouraging me to find a friend who had a bike and then to go biking to all these places. It was well worth it!
Thank you as well to my three friends Elena, Rob, and Sionna, with whom I walked to Ludworth Tower on my third visit there. We’re the real walking explorer team of Durham, and the only thing I say is: ad astra per aspera and to the stars of Durham and beyond!
Do you have a suggestion for a future topic? Do you have an idea to share with your friends? Send us a message and follow the Durham University Classics Society on Twitter (@DUClassSoc) and Facebook (@DUClassics Society) to keep up with this blog and our other adventures!
