004 - The Wishing Stone
There’s one particular aspect of my time at Vindolanda that feels intrinsic to me, and it all links back to Guiseley in West Yorkshire—the town where I grew up until I left for university in Sheffield at nineteen.
I attended a C of E primary school, which meant every Thursday we’d walk in pairs up the road to the parish church. On the approach, each child would jump up to touch the “wishing stone” embedded in the wall. This wasn’t a new tradition; my dad remembers the same ritual from when he was a lad, and I suspect it’s been ‘a thing’ for as long as the wall has been there. It’s often hard to spot, which makes it even more intriguing.
Although the Church’s teachings didn’t really land with me at the time, the superstition and belief surrounding that stone did. Along with a few other rituals, the act of making a wish there has stuck with me, and every now and then the subject of belief and good fortune surfaces in my work.
Roman Rituals and Votive Culture
Arriving at Vindolanda, I was struck by the number of objects in the collection perceived to hold apotropaic powers: tiny clay figurines, phallic fertility pendants and carved symbols designed to ward off evil and offer protection. It felt uncannily familiar—the same impulse that drove me to touch Guiseley’s wishing stone, to carry my own lucky stone or to keep various talisman above doors, now reframed in a Roman context.
In conversation with archaeologists and historians, I learned how Romans left votives at springs, gateways, drains and altars—small gestures of hope and protection not so different from our own superstitious acts today.
Conversations with Chris
As mentioned in a previous blog post (003 – Vindolanda, Spirit of Place), I formed a friendship with Chris Burn, the groundsman who’s worked at the Trust for over fifteen years. We bonded over our shared love of wildlife—especially birds—but he also discovered my interest in superstition and belief and was happy to enlighten me with some of his own signs:
Pairs of numbers appearing repeatedly—like clocks striking 11:11—said to be a sign that you’re on the right path.
The sudden presence of dragonflies, commonly regarded as symbols of change, rebirth and transformation.
Finding white feathers in unexpected places, interpreted as tokens of protection or gentle reminders that someone is watching over you.
These omens feel right at home alongside the many Roman votives unearthed each digging season. Just as those tiny offerings and adornments carried intent and belief, so do these everyday “signs.” Is it any coincidence I see pairs of numbers and white feathers more frequently now?
That childhood ritual of touching the wishing stone taught me the value of simple, physical gestures. At Vindolanda, each fragment of pottery, every carved symbol and even a lone feather on the path became part of a hidden dialogue between past and present. Superstition isn’t mere folly—it’s a universal language of care, connection and hope.
What’s Next?
Keep an eye out for the next posts, where I’ll be sharing my research into:
Dig Diary: My return to the site to join an archaeological excavation.
Materials & Material Culture: Tracing the journey of stone, clay and mortar—from local quarries to the walls of Vindolanda.
I’m excited to share these next chapters—each one a new layer in the story of Vindolanda.
DA