Regular readers may have spotted that I am [sort of, nearly] a child of Exeter. It was with some glee that fate took me to Wroxeter, and I was keen to seek out the similarities.

The name Exeter is derived from Isca Dumnoniorum: “Isca” is a Latinisation of the Brythonic word “Uisc”, which means “flowing water” – so, a river. The Dumnonii were the local tribe, and the suffix was important to the Civil Service of the day since there was a another Isca, properly Isca Silurum, whose local tribe were the Silures. The modern name for this place is Usk, so they were quite a way apart.

Wroxeter turns out to be small. Actually tiny. It has just a few hundred inhabitants, so drawing cultural, commercial or industrial comparisons with Exeter is a bit of a waste of time. But in Roman times, named Viroconium Cornovorium, it was a boss place – the fourth largest British town; when the legions left the whole area was deserted so the archeological remains are plentiful and largely unspoilt – you can see them today. Wroxeter church is small but handsome: it has a font made from a pillaged Roman column

and the churchyard gate makes use of two other columns.

A thieving lot, these Christians.

The name Wroxeter is obscure in origin; The original capital of the Cornovii tribe was the hillfort on the Wrekin, (also called Uiroconion).
The name Wroxeter may also refer to the capital of the Wrocensaete, a sub-Roman kingdom that succeeded Cornovia. The name Wrocensaete literally means “those dwelling at Wrocen”.

Then of course there is Uttoxeter, of racecourse fame. The name is post-Roman, and comes from the Anglo-Saxon term Wotocheshede, which appears in the Domesday Book and translates to “Wot’s homestead on the Heath”.

There are only the three Xeters in the UK.