Living in a Town that Nobody sings about

Friday at last so I did some Lego and Jof phoned to say please pick up all the shopping I've done because I can't fit 17 empty shoeboxes on my bike.
Once she'd got home she revealed that they were for presents for the Orphanarium. We do this every Xmas and do present boxes for boys and girls but you can't include bangers or knives or tanks or soldier figurines or anything else to do with war or refugee trauma. It is my job to even up all the pressie-piles to make sure they don't get pressie-envy.
 But my homework was Roman Numerals. I'm quite good at them and Jof and I set each other numbers to decipher. The homework was to find de facto bona fide examples of Roman Numerals in situ, habeas corpus or in vitro.
Bud's idea was to go into one of our old churches and take pictures of those tombs in the floor. I have a picture of me standing on Ethelwulf or Caerdelfwulf or someone in Sherborne Abbey, and other 12th or 13th century places like Chichester Cathedral, Romsey Abbey and St George's Chapel (Windsor Castle) must be packed with them.
But Jof said why don't we look at some of our antique books. An old French one did the trick and turned out to be printed in 1748, not bad. But it has a secret, a bit like Tequila Mockingbird in the film "The Game". Ours doesn't have a Saturday night special pistol in it, though.
Then she found some lists of sub-clauses of legal documents detailing the second sale of our house in 1917, very chunky.