Some years ago I was rummaging through the attic looking for old postage stamps when I found the family toga. Wrapping it around myself in front of the cheval mirror, my left hand high on my breast in classical oratorical style while admiring my reflected image, I was surprised to find a vellum scroll in an inside pocket with the title 'Civis hiberniensis sum'.

No one was more convinced than me that this was an obvious forgery. Romans in Ireland? Absurd. Everyone knew as a matter of creed that the Romans never got here, and even if they did it was only for a brief visit. But then came the portentious news in 1996 that north County Dublin had been host to a 40 acre Roman camp for some sixty years. Clearly my find needs to be reassessed, so in the interests of scholarship and research I reproduce it here in English.

Insula Lambai, Hibernia.
March Calends, 831 ab urbe condita, year IX of the Divine Vespasian.

Dearest mater and pater,

We arrived here in Hibernia two months ago under the auspices of Janus by trireme from Brittania. You wouldn't believe how cold it is. Not for nothing have we named it 'The Winter Island.' Maximus Gluteus, our centurion, says it's cold enough to freeze the golden balls from beneath the legionary eagle. I don't think he's right, though, the standard bearer says they're made of brass. On very cold and cloudy days I think of you both sitting in the golden sun of Sorrentum and wonder occasionally why we're here, so far from civilization. Eheu! May the will of the God Vespasian be done.

The whole of the Fifteenth Augusta legion is here now; my cohort was on one of the last ships to arrive. The sea here is very different from mare nostrum. It's green for a start, it's very cold, and it's got this odd habit of rising and falling by huge amounts. Mikokis Sturdi, the Athenian physician, says it's because we're so close to edge of the world.

Lambai island is about a league long by a league wide. There is only one maniple stationed here to look after the signal pyre. The main camp is on the mainland, about three leagues from here across the sea. Apart from us Romani, there are Britons and Gauls in the main camp. They don't get on very well. The Gauls laugh at the British beer and liken it to urine while the Britons say the Gauls have breath that stinks of garlic. For myself I find both races impossibly barbarian - but then what else can you say of people who know nothing of Bacchus.

The Hibernians themselves are a curious people. Many of them have red hair and beards - natural warriors of Mars - they are loud and noisy and have an unaccountable joy in living. This is surprising as they have no wine and see the sun but rarely. They sing a lot: sad songs and laments. On the night of Saturn's day they are inclined to drink a lot of their black beer and sing more sad songs and threnodies. When the god of the beer infuses them, they either cry over the songs or they fight among themselves. The Britons say that they are unruly and a little lex romana would do them no harm. The Hibernians say the Britons have no idea how to enjoy themselves and are only happy when forming long lines to wait for something.

They have a settlement about fifteen leagues from here called Dublinum. Last week myself, my decurion and three Marius's Mules from my tent had an overnight pass. We spent our leave in Dublinum where the inhabitants have a custom of frequenting special houses, known as casae publicae, where the only fare on offer is black beer. The Hibernians spend much of their time in these houses talking of rebellion, dissent and treason. Despite their frightening talk they will always offer a stranger a chance to buy them a horn of black beer and this we were happy to do.

Incidentally, the road to Dublinum is unlike any I have ever seen. It is as sinuous as a water-snake, taking every meander possible along its route - unlike our own beloved Via Appia, linking Roma and Neapolis in a path as straight as the Primus Pilus's backbone. Talking of snakes, they are very rare here. Our legate claims to have seen one, but no one else has. A wandering Hibernian prophet who came to the camp claimed that what few there are will not be on the island for much longer. Jove knows how he can say that.You'll be happy to know, mater, that the food here is good and plentiful. Whatever I have seen so far of Hibernia is grass-green, full of elk and aurochs. They make a welcome change from the eternal legionary rabbit. The seas here are abundant with fish of all kind, unlike the overfished mare nostrum, and we gorge ourselves on the cornucopia of the fruits of the sea. The Hibernians find this strange; they themselves place little value on fish, exporting much of their catch to Gaul and Iberia.

We derive much amusement from watching the Britons prepare food. They boil and eat the grain that we give to horses, they boil their meat and fish and then throw away the water, and they wash this repast down with their thin, warm beer. These same Britons wish to teach the Hibernians their ways and customs. Mercury be praised, they hardly know the use of salt!

Last week a group of Hibernians gathered outside the main gate of the decumanus. Whenever guards were posted or were relieved they would cry out 'Romani ite domum' or 'Militari ite domum.' Of course there is no chance of the legionnaries pulling out, at least not until the pax romana is in place. You, pater, will know that from your Judaean campaigns. At least over there peace is now established forever. Mehercle, I'm sure it'll be the same here.

your loving son, Paulus.