THE ROMANS DIDN'T WEAR WATCHES...

The Romans Didn’t Wear Watches…

In role as the Centurion, Petronius Fortunatus,

The galea gleamed, my greaves would shine;

My pugio and gladius were sheathed in leather,

My vinestick poked pupils into line…

Bright red tunic, brown, clasped cloak,

Caligae without hobnails around cold toes;

Demeanour acidic, perceived as cruel,

Adopting a terrifying invader’s pose…

One day though a fire-alarm sounded,

My role was instantly dropped;

I ushered the visitors out of the Museum

And at the exit I stopped…

The security assistants had no mercy however,

Insisting I couldn’t remain there;

They sniggered and pointed towards the crowds

In the typically packed Chamberlain Square…

All eyes were soon upon the Centurion,

The chill was affecting my knees

But then I was spotted by a group of tourists

Who simply had to be Japanese…

I was encouraged: “You get sword out…”

As a multitude of cameras encroached;

I had no choice but to ham up the acting

Until a woman with a pushchair approached…

“Say hello to my little one!” she demanded,

So from beneath the helmet I beamed;

But the brat took fright, its eyes grew wide

And then it wailed and it screamed…

The Museum’s staff thought my predicament hilarious,

Though I was less than amused;

My image was flooding the Japanese internet

And my privacy had sure been abused…

On Roman role-days, to avoid tell-tale marks,

I would leave my watch from my wrist;

Children would notice any indentations,

No chance of them being missed…

So, one day after my session had ended,

My watch to a wrist, I fastened;

Put away artefacts, locked my room

And through the art galleries I hastened…

THERE HE WAS: the annoying knob-

Train-spotter, stamp-collector, arse rolled into one;

He sidled across to me with a great leer:

“Where are the toilets?” he enquired, whereupon

I pointed and smiled and was about to walk on,

When he waylaid with a face of red blotches;

“I just want to point out…” he insisted,

“That the Romans didn't wear watches…”

I nearly drew my gladius, I nearly drew my pugio,

My blood boiled, I nearly punched his face…

But with considerable restraint, yet not a little anger,

I yelled: “I KNOW…” and seething, set off apace…

Pete Ray

February 2016

IN ALL MY GLORY...

These two incidents happened whilst working in the Schools Liaison Department of Birmingham Museum… 

The galea was a fine helmet, the greaves were like metal cricket pads, my pugio was a dagger and my gladius was a stabbing sword. The sandals were known as caligae.

The guards made me go outside in all my glory when a fire-alarm sounded and I was besieged by Japanese tourists, which caused quite a commotion. The child in its pushchair was horrified at the sight of me.

The chap in the Museum was real too. I would always leave off my watch before a Roman session, just so the children wouldn’t notice the marks on my wrist but on that day, I had to return to the main office and get changed into my own clothes for another different session in the afternoon, hence slipping on my watch. 

The guy obviously loved his own pedantry. 

I nearly socked him one…