Worst Roman Mosaic In Britain

Would you like to see the worst, hopelessly ham-fisted, ridiculous Roman mosaic in Britain? In fact, some people say this Roman mosaic is so bad that it underlines the third-rate provincial status of Roman Britain in stark tessellation. I'm quite pleased with that. In fact, grasping at, or is it clasping at, I'm never too sure, Natalie Haig from the Leeds City Museum described the mosaic as nothing if not unique. Well, the days are getting drearier and the nights are drawing in, and Natalie assures us that their mosaic never fails to put a smile on visitors' faces. So join me then as I head off to Leeds to take a look at the UK's worst Roman mosaic, or the wonky Roman wolf mosaic. I haven't decided on a title yet. Will it really be as bad as they say? Have critics been too harsh and competent craftsmanship, or a strong Celtic spirit despite centuries of Roman oppression? Plus, of course, we'll visit White Locks for a pint. My interest in seriously bad Roman mosaics began last year when I made a film about the Ruddston Venus mosaic. Long derided as an amateur, if spirited, attempt by some cockeyed Romano-British poltroon working from an African Roman copybook. Sometime after I published that video, two things happened. The first was that I had a sort of an epiphany and I completely changed my mind, and I saw the lumpy Venus as a fantastic expression of the Celtic native artistic instinct, despite hundreds of years under the Roman yoke. And the second thing was that loads of you lot were telling me that if you think that is bad, you need to come to Leeds, you need to see this. During the 18th and 19th centuries, tessellated pavements kept turning up in Aldborough, Aesurium Brigantum, in Roman money. Mosaics found there in 1832 and 1846 are still there to be seen to this day. Between those finds, 1832 saw a mason, and I believe that to be the builder type, not the handshake type, found the wolf mosaic. He dug it up and it spent the next 30 odd years as a central piece in a summer house, before being acquired by the Museum of the Philosophical and Literary Society of Leeds in 1863. By chance, I actually spotted a blue plaque marking the site of the Museum of the Philosophical and Literary Society of Leeds. It has long gone and progress has put this in its place. Now before we take a look to this wolf mosaic, I think we need a quick recap on the story of Romulus and Remus. I don't wish to insult the intelligence of our viewers, but I spoke to our colleagues over at Brian Can Animations 1969 Ltd and they told me they've got AI now, so we're going to just quickly remind ourselves of the tale upon which this mosaic is based. Hello big children, are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin. The twins Romulus and Remus were born to Rhea Silvia, who was a Vestal Virgin, and Mars, who was the God of War. Evil Uncle Amulius ordered the twins drowned, so they couldn't claim the throne that he had stolen from their grandfather. His soldier put the twins in a basket and floated them on the river Tiber. This seemed like a sure-fire way to guarantee their deaths, but by a weird turn of fate, the basket came to a rest under a fig tree and near a cave. More good luck when they were discovered by a she-wolf and her friend a woodpecker, and luckily the wolf decided not to eat the twins. One day a shepherd called Faustulus arrived and took the boys into his care, but as they grew up Faustulus became scared by what he saw in the twins. Eventually Romulus and Remus had Amulius killed, enabling their grandfather Numitor to reclaim his throne, and having established Rome where they were found by the wolf and the woodpecker, Romulus killed Remus and ruled alone. So this is the Leeds City Museum, and that is where our wolf mosaic now lives. It was originally acquired by the Museum of the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society in 1863, and they certainly knew how to name their museums then, didn't they? Oh, I nearly forgot, the other thing this week, we've got a Jim Murray gag to wrap things up. Stay tuned for that, you won't want to miss it. Anyhow, I'm pleased it ended up in a beautiful old building like this. Are you ready for the worst Roman mosaic in the UK? Right, the moment of truth. Will it stop me in my tracks? Cool, that is something else, isn't it? A quick hello by the way to Rick, who just recognised me in the museum, it's always nice for me when that happens. But I've taken some footage, we'll retire somewhere where we can consider the implications of this thing. Right, I feel sufficiently recovered. I have retired to the excellent white locks and the Turk's head as recommended by Sir John Betjeman. I think he described it as the heart of Leeds, of old proper Leeds, something like that. And after a delicious plate of cauliflower croquets and a pint or so of Timothy Taylor Landlord, I feel ready to face this thing, for face it, I must. I've got to be an art critic, so I've got it on my phone here. Right, let's ignore the wolf. It's best to ignore that to start with. If we look at the border, I think that's good. It's got a similar sort of rustic Celtic sort of interpretation to it, as we saw in Hull with the lumpy Venus. So following the Roman copy book, but doing it in a Celtic native way. The fig tree, I think is a thing of absolute beauty. Again, I see Celtic design in it. I think it's lovely. But clearly the problems do start when we get to the wolf. So let's talk about that. No, no, I'm not ready. Let's talk about Romulus and Remus. Can you see them there? They are pretty tiny. They're absolutely minuscule. And they are floating in mid-air underneath the wolf. And they appear to be doing judo. They've even got judo belts or karate belts on. And pleased to say they've got crash helmets on, which I think is absolutely splendid, considering the time, you know, how long ago this was. The fact they were being health and safety conscious, that's absolutely excellent to see. So that's Romulus and Remus. He's been described as having a winning smile, by the way. Others suggest it's slightly suspicious and sinister. But let's look at the rear end. Because if you look just at the rear of this thing, it's completely different. And if that rear end is the rear end of a horse, it's actually really good. Look at the tail. The legs are elegant. So is this perhaps an example of where the artist has done that thing of changing their mind about what they're going to produce halfway through. There's a word for that, isn't there, that the suave Philip Mould on Fake or Fortune says. Can't remember what it is. And then the plan has changed. And thus the Romulus and Remus, the face and the front legs are crap. Perhaps the tools were handed to someone else, a demented child perhaps, on a work placement to finish it off. Because, you know, look at the front legs. They're not elegant, are they? They're rubbish. And then that face. I mean, what can we say? I mean, what can we say about that face? But, you know, I was looking at this with Rick, who he looked closely at the matrix. He thinks the matrix of these tiles are genuine. Some people have suggested it's a Victorian fake. But he certainly felt that we were looking at a Romano-British piece of work. It's been dated, by the way, to 300 to 400 AD. So it really comes into that sort of prime time for villas. Now, I noticed something when I was looking at this with Rick. We've got this big crack running through the top end of the wharf. Now, if you look, the dark tiles on the body and the rear of this thing are used sparingly to highlight things. Whereas when we get to the face and the rubbish front legs, there's a lot more of them. So my thoughts are that this was damaged when it was lifted to be installed in that summer house. And the face and the front legs, we are looking at the efforts of this nameless mason to recreate what he half-remembered. So I think the combination of his memory and the fact he wasn't a mosaicist is what we're possibly looking at there. I don't think it's a fake. I think it's genuine. But it's been botched, hasn't it, in the 1800s. That's my thoughts. Let me know in the comments down below what you think. And despite all the scorn, I actually really like him. Victorian fake, overly enthusiastic 1800s restoration, or a genuinely terrible Roman-era original. And if you think you know of a Roman mosaic that is worse than this one, please let me know so I can make a trilogy. Just a quick word to thank all of our subscribers, old and new. We've recently passed an important milestone and we now have over 20,000 of you on board. Seriously, you make me feel worthwhile for the first time in my whole life. Experts on matters YouTube advised me that the mistress algorithm looks fondly upon those with 25,000 subscribers. So that's our next mission. And if you like this channel and aren't subscribed, please consider doing so. It is totally free and it only helps the content creator to get a tiny slice of that ad revenue, as opposed to YouTube keeping it all for themselves. Thank you also to our members. Again, I can't believe so many of you so willingly support our broadcasting efforts with your own hard-earned cash. And if you're interested in joining our community, there's a link in the description down below. I feel like a veritable Tweedy. Pubs sat outside here because it's too busy inside to film this. I hope you found this all mildly diverting. I've had a lot of fun with it. And as promised, to finish the video this week, we have a gag from Jim Murray. It's been ages since we've had a Jim Murray gag. In fact, we've got two. He used to write for Frankie Howard, by the way. You know, admittedly, not in the 70s, in his 70s prime, 90s, but he still did. Right, let's go. So I know you're not into football. This is Jim talking to me. I know you are not into football, but the only wolf worse than that in this country are the wolves of Wolverhampton Wanderers. As I say, I'm not really into football, so I don't actually get that. But those of you that are, will. And we have another one. Good old Jim. You know, he's picked up on the fact that we're in Leeds as well. I really like this. Real professional. He's our Jim. So Tetley drinkers were famously known as Tetley Bittermen. What you have found is Yorkshire's first Teatley Bittermen. So it's not Tetley, he's changed Tetley to Teatley because the she-wolf suckled Romulus and Remus. That's good, isn't it? It's good. See you next week.