rest is routine. Ford went to Mildenhall Police Station and made a report. The police
came at once and collected all thirty-four pieces, and they were sent under
guard to the British Museum for examination.
Then an urgent message from the Museum to the Mildenhall Police. It was far and away the finest
Roman silver ever found in the British Isles. It was of enormous value. The
Museum (which is really a public governmental institution) wished to acquire
it. In fact, they insisted upon acquiring it.
The wheels of the law began to turn. An official inquest and hearing was
arranged at the nearest large town, Bury St Edmunds. The silver was moved there
under special police guard. Ford was summoned to appear before the Coroner and
a jury of fourteen, while Gordon Butcher, that good and quiet man, was ordered
also to present himself to give evidence.
On Monday, July the first, 1946, the hearing took place, and the Coroner cross-questioned Ford closely.
"You thought it was pewter?"
"Yes."
"Even after you had cleaned it?"
"Yes."
"You took no steps to inform any experts of the find?"
"No."
"What did you intend to do with the articles?"
"Nothing. Just keep them."
And when he had concluded his evidence, Ford asked permission to go outside
into the fresh air because he said he felt faint. Nobody was surprised.
Then Butcher was called, and in a few simple words he told of his part in the
affair.
Dr Fawcett gave his evidence, so did several other learned archaeologists, all
of whom testified to the extreme rarity of the treasure. They said that it was
of the fourth century after Christ; that it was the table silver of a wealthy
Roman family; that it had probably been buried by the owner's bailiff to save it
from the Picts and Scots who swept down from the
north in about A.D. 365-7 and laid waste many Roman settlements. The man who
buried it had probably been liquidated either by a Pict or a Scot, and the treasure had remained concealed a foot below the soil ever
since. The workmanship, said the experts, was magnificent. Some of it may have
been executed in England, but more probably the articles were made in Italy or
in Egypt. The great plate was of course the finest piece. The head in the
centre was that of Neptune, the sea-god, with dolphins in his hair and seaweed
in his beard. All around him, sea-nymphs and sea-monsters gambolled . On the broad rim of the plate stood Bacchus and his
attendants. There was wine and revelry. Hercules was there, quite drunk,
supported by two satyrs, his lion's skin fallen from his shoulders. Pan was
there, too, dancing upon his goat-legs with his pipes in his hand. And
everywhere there were maenads, female devotees of Bacchus, rather tipsy women.
The court was told also that several of the spoons bore the monogram of Christ
(Chi-Rho), and that the two which were inscribed with the names Pascentia and Papittedo were
undoubtedly christening presents.
The experts concluded their evidence and the court adjourned. Soon the jury
returned, and their verdict was astonishing. No blame was attached to anyone
for anything, although the finder of the treasure was no longer entitled to
receive full compensation from the Crown because the find had not been declared
at once. Nevertheless, there would probably be a measure of compensation paid, and with this in view, the finders were declared to be
jointly Ford and Butcher.
Not Butcher. Ford and Butcher.
There is no more to tell other than that the treasure was acquired by the
British Museum, where it now stands proudly displayed in a large glass case for
all to see. And already people have travelled great
distances to go and look upon those lovely things which Gordon Butcher found
beneath his plough on that cold and windy winter afternoon. One day, a book or
two will be compiled about them, full of suppositions and abstruse conclusions,
and men who move in archaeological circles will talk for ever about the
Treasure of Mildenhall .
As a
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes