Worksheets
There will soon be a number of workseets available on our Downloads page.
Below is part of the "Romans" worksheet. Other sections available soon will relate to the Natives and the Traders.
A Trimontium Soldier's Marching Song
(To the tune 'John Brown's body')
I joined the Roman army and became the Emp'ror's man,
I banged my sword against my shield - and off the enemy ran,
I dig the ditches, lay the roads and boil soup in my can,
And my boots go marching on
[TRY -try- monti- monti- montyum] CHORUS (x3)
And my boots go marching on
I joined the Roman army and they marched me through the town. '
Twas "sinister ... dexter; shoulder your pack!", parading roun' an' roun',
Centurion's coming! Watch your head! His stick is coming down!
And my poor feet go marching on.
CHORUS + And my poor feet go marching on
I joined the Roman army and they gave me a wee horse,
An oval shield, a great big spear, no stirrrups yet, of course,
I hold on tightly with my knees - he doesn't give a toss,
But his hooves go galloping, on.
CHORUS + But his hooves go galloping on
Pay day, I leave the fort behind, to see what people sell,
The baths are great; I sometimes put an offering down a well.
You watch what you are doing 'cause you might fall down to..... the bottom
And your soul would go marching on
CHORUS + And your soul would go marching on
I joined the Roman army and we bridged the river Tweed,
We pushed Dere Street up Lauderdale, you should've seen our speed.
The boats come up from Berwick docks with everything we need,
And our oars go splashing on
CHORUS + And our oars go splashing on
I left the Roman army, I'm a veteran farmer now,
I have a wife and family, ten acres and a cow,
I fish and hunt and keep the peace - no marching for me - wow!
It's my sheep that go marching on
CHORUS + It's my sheep that go marching on.
The following is a poem inpired by one of the Roman helmets found at the Trimontium site.
On a Roman Helmet, Found at Newstead
A helmet of the Legion, this,
That long and deep hath lain,
Come back to taste the living kiss
Of sun and wind again.
Ah! touch it with a reverent hand,
For in its burnished dome
Lies here within this distant land
The glory that was Rome.
The tides of sixteen hundred years
Have flowed, and ebbed, and flowed,
And yet - I see the tossing spears
Come up the Roman road;
While, high above the trumpets pealed,
The eagles lift and fall,
And, all unseen, the War God's shield
Floats, Guardian, over all.
Who marched beneath this gilded helm?
Who wore this casque a-shine?
A leader mighty in the realm?
A soldier of the line?
The proud patrician takes his rest
The spearman's bones beside,
And Earth who knows their secret best
Gives this of all their pride.
With sunlight on this golden crest
Maybe some Roman guard,
Set free from duty, wandered West
Through memory's gates unbarred;
Or climbing Eildon cleft in three,
Grown sick at heart for home,
Looked Eastward to the grey North Sea
That paved the road to Rome.
Or by the Queen of Border streams
That flowed his camp beneath
Long dallied with the dearer dreams
Of love as old as death,
And doffed this helm to dry lips need,
And dipped it in the tide,
And pledged in brimming wine of Tweed
Some maid on Tiber-side.
Years pass; and Time keeps tally,
And pride takes earth for tomb,
And down the Melrose valley
Corn grows and roses bloom;
The red suns set, the red suns rise,
The ploughs lift through the loam,
And in one earth-worn helmet lies
The majesty of Rome.