I concluded my first Anniversary Address on the summit of a cliff in southern Switzerland: I have since revisited the valley of Poschiavo and contemplated San Romerio from afar, and confirmed the spectacular beauty and historical interest of the site. There, I said, ‘the prehistorian and the medievalist may meet in astonishment and awe’. My aim on this occasion is to draw together a rather different community of interests, not quite so widely spread, but still revealing some width of time and space and scientific interest. A month ago I stood in the heart of old Philadelphia, contemplating the scene of the Declaration of Independence, that charming eighteenth-century hall which reflects in its grace and purity of style the better side of Georgian colonial administration, just as the walking stick of Thomas Jefferson recalls the heroic revolutionaries who created the greatest federal state of the modern world. My wife and I were then led through the heart of that remorseless grid laid by William Penn a century before—the grid from which numberless city plans in the United States were to be copied. And about the centre of the grid we saw the beautiful remnants of the old town, houses and public buildings of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, restored and preserved with loving care, and set about, not with twentiethcentury skyscrapers or glass-houses or what-have-you, but with grass, which in the heart of one of the richest cities in the world must be worth innumerable dollars a blade. I saw there the theme for a sermon on town planning as a symbol of many diverse historical, archaeological and humane interests, and for another sermon on the preservation of the heritage.

In his Anniversary Address to the Fellowship on St. George's Day 1883 Lord Carnarvon commented on The Act for the Better Protection of Ancient Monuments of the previous year:

Gentlemen, I am sure you will agree with me that one of the first subjects on which I ought to congratulate both this Society and the archaeological world of England is the passing into law of the Bill for the Protection of Ancient Monuments to which successive Presidents of this Society have so often, during the last ten years, wished success from this place. Perhaps I ought rather to have said a Bill than the Bill, for we all know, and so knowing we all regret—no one more than Sir John Lubbock himself—in what a mutilated condition, shorn of many of its original provisions, crippled in its powers and limited in its scope that measure finally become the law of the land. For these untoward results we must thank the supineness of the public, the prejudices of Parliament and perhaps I may add the all absorbing pressure of Irish Measures.

A British team has been working since 1978 upon a programme of documentation and analysis in the Insula of the Menander at Pompeii, one of the irregular city-blocks situated immediately to the west of the old part of the city in an area which was developed from the early fourth century B.C onwards. Study of the structural techniques, of wall-abutments, and of anomalies in plan can be used in conjunction with the evidence of painted wall-plaster to identify five main phases in the building-history: Phase I (fourth-third centuries B.C), Phase 2 (second and early first centuries B.C), Phase 3 (c. 80-c. 15 B.C), Phase 4 (c. 15 B.C.-C. A.D. 50), Phase 5 (c. A.D. 50-79). These illustrate a complex pattern of changing property-boundaries, but underline the general trend towards increasing commercialization and greater pressure upon living-space in this area of the city. There is also interesting evidence of the economic basis of life in the individual houses during the years immediately before 79.

Timbers removed from the nave of the chapel in 1965, together with earlier photographs and traces in the surviving masonry, provide evidence of a rafter roof with a tie-beam, and probably a king-post and raking struts, at each couple. Later alterations to it are discussed in the light of what is known or can be deduced about the late- and post-medieval development of the farmhouse to which the chapel is attached. The alterations resulted in a roof largely seventeenth-century in form. It is shown, however, that the earlier timbers cannot be satisfactorily explained as post-medieval intrusions. The earlier design is compared with eleventh- and twelfth-century roofs known in north-west Europe. It was probably that of the original roof of 1056.

The aim of this paper is to record for the first time the architectural remains of a thirteenth-century public bath (ḥammām) located at the Assassin castle of al-Kahf in the Syrian Jabal Anṣariya. After describing the site, the paper examines the design and layout of the ḥammām and attempts to reconstruct those parts of it which have disappeared either because of structural decay or because of subsequent modifications to the plan. Building materials and decorative techniques are among the topics discussed, and there is an account of the ḥammām's heating apparatus and of the arrangements made to store and articulate its water supply. Two phases of construction are identified in the ḥammām, the second being necessitated, apparently, by a need to restore the building after it had fallen into disrepair at some later stage in its history. Finally, the ḥammām is compared and contrasted with a number of other Islamic public baths in order to establish the extent to which it followed earlier traditions of planning and design.

The chapel of St. Hubert, Idsworth, Hants, has a fourteenth-century wall-painting, on the north wall of the chancel, which is in two tiers, the upper representing a hunting scene on the left and, on the right, the first of a series of episodes from the life of a saint, which latter are concluded in the lower tier. Though this painting has received critical attention since 1864, there has not been agreement on its interpretation. The present article adduces fresh evidence which supports the opinion of the late Professor F. Wormald, expressed in the Antiquaries Journal for 1945, that the left-hand side of the upper tier represents a scene from the legend of the hairy anchorite, followed by episodes from the last days of St. John the Baptist, and suggests what may be the literary origin, foreseen, but not identified, by Wormald, of the connection between these two subjects.

John Fenn was born to modest circumstances, enough to pay for school and university and, with other inheritance, to support him as a small country squire. Brought up by his widowed mother in habits of thrift and industry, he shared her views on the importance of education to a ‘Situation in Life’. He was conscious of intellectual curiosity from an early age and developed a strong bent for antiquities, probably encouraged by acquaintance as a schoolboy with Thomas Martin, a senior antiquary and a collector who had recently acquired the ‘Paston Letters’. At Cambridge Fenn worked hard and made friends of similar tastes but rather better connections, especially John Frere, whose sister he married. Established at East Dereham, his zeal expanded into civic duties, bringing him eventually to the High Sheriffalty of Norfolk. It mattered to him as much to become a Fellow of the ‘Antiquarian Society’, and his industry persisted in miscellaneous antiquarian pursuits. He came by the Paston Letters as rewards for cataloguing their new owner's collections. Brother antiquaries and Horace Walpole encouraged him to publish; a good connection arranged for dedication to the King. The consequent knighthood gratified both sides of Fenn's nature but the original manuscripts intended for his sovereign went astray into the library of his patron.