Bath
Roman Bath.
The hot springs produce about 500000 gallons of water a day. Close by the hot spring which feeds the baths, there once stood a temple dedicated to the goddess Sulis Minerva.
Pilgrims came here to pray when seeking cures before bathing in the sacred waters.
Bladud became the ninth king of Britons in 863 B.C. He spent eleven years in Athens where he contracted leprosy. Because of his illness he was confined but he escaped confinement and came to Swainswick where he found work as a swineherd.
In the cold weather Bladud saw his pigs wallowing in the mire. He noted that the mud was warm and that the pigs were free of scurf and scabs.
In the same way he lay down like a pig among shite and wallowed with his pigs in the piggery. He then bathed in the hot springs and he was miraculously cured of his leprosy. He returned to his father’s court in Athens and succeeded to the throne on the old man’s death.
A Necromancer; Bladud was the King who took to the sky. He made feathered wings so that he could fly.
Thermae Bath.
The Motorhomers’ women were sitting in the local lounge-bar sipping gin and tonics while awaiting their mens’ arrival;
‘Och, here come yon two eejits noo, Phemie, let’s jist listen tae their stupid patter,’ said Jessie.
‘Sure, Jessie, sure, Jessie,’ said Phemie.
The lads ordered two pints of Guinness and sat down with their spouses. Josie had something to say;
‘Francie, yon Roman soadjers had the life o’ Riley,’ he said. ‘Eatin’ a’ yon grapes an’ bein’ sponged doon wi’ a’ yon wimmin, an’ wi’ a’ yon hot watter playin’ aboot their privacies,’ he said.
‘Aye, Josie, a’ yon hot watter, Josie, aboot their privacies,’ said Francie.
‘Josie could yon King Bladud really fly?’ he asked.
‘Och, Francie, so it’s my ornithology ye’re wantin’ tae pluck frae noo, is it?’ asked Josie. ‘Aye, he could fly great, Francie. He got a hauf a ton o’ Ostrich feathers an’ stuck them a’ thegither, Francie. He climbed up tae the tap o’ the Appollo Temple. The Roman soadjers were a’ watchin’ an’ shoutin’, go on big man dae yer stuff. He took aff, Francie, but he was unlucky. Vesuvius had just erupted an’ he flew straight intae a big cloud o’ ash, an’ ye know what they say, Francie, ashes tae ashes, he hurtled straight intae the bliddy grun’, Francie,’ said Josie.
‘Even you an’ I know, Francie, Ostriches cannae fly,’ said Josie.
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie, Ostriches cannae fly, Josie,’ said Francie.
‘Toenails, bliddy toenails. Ye never find any Roman coins.’
For the adventures of Francie and Josie, click here.
