Great Excavations

Shaping the Archaeological Profession

John Schofield

• Editore: Oxbow Books
• Anno: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781842175705
• Argomento: Social Sciences
• Categoria: Archaeology

Great excavations inspire and capture the imagination of both the public and archaeologists alike; sites like Danebury, Sutton Hoo, Maiden Castle, Mucking and York conjure images of great discoveries and leaps in knowledge. But what was it like to participate in these excavations? What is the story of these projects, and what made them great? This is a fascinating and entertaining retrospective documenting some of the seminal British excavations, assessing why they were so significant and why they persist in the memory and folklore of archaeologists today. It is also a social history of the profession and one that should stir memories and dispel (or corroborate) some urban myths that younger archaeologists may be aware of. An impressive list of authors and projects make this a significant contribution to the history and development of British archaeology over the course of the twentieth century. Fourteen chapters describe specific projects: Sutton Hoo, Birdoswald, Maiden Castle, Winchester, Owslebury, Danebury, The Breiddin, Wroxeter, Haddenham, Howe, York, Mucking, West Heslerton and Wharram Percy; six further chapters provide a thematic overview, covering early excavations, the IFA, English Heritage and the commercial sector. The world of archaeology has changed dramatically over the past twenty-five years, not least in becoming a profession. One of the clear messages of this book is the requirement for archaeology that great excavations continue in the future, to inspire another generation of archaeologists. The scope of archaeology may have changed, and the methodologies with it. The politics of excavation have changed too, with a more commercially driven and professional endeavour. But it is still, typically, the direct physical engagement with earth, artefacts, place and people (of the past and the present) that draws us in. This is why excavations matter, and why they can be great.

Greatness in depth: Why excavations matter

John Schofield

Great

adj. 1 of an extent, amount, or intensity considerably above average; 2 of ability, quality or eminence considerably above average; 3 denoting the most important element of something. >particularly deserving a special description.

Excavate v.

– DERIVATIVES excavation n. 1 make (a hole or channel) by digging. >extract material from the ground by digging. 2 carefully remove earth from (an area) in order to find buried remains.

(Source OED, 10th edn.)

A perfect moment

A hot summer’s morning in August 1982, sitting on warm swept chalk in shorts, T-shirt and sunhat overlooking a wide, lush river valley in central Dorset. It was one of those perfect summer days – hot though not overly so, with a gentle breeze, sufficient to carry the sounds of industry and merriment from other diggers away on the hillside. I recall taking a short break from the close attention to the feature I was excavating, and looking out over the landscape below. The sound of a light aircraft came to my attention, and over the course of perhaps a minute or two I watched it fly up the valley, below me but some distance above the water-meadows beneath. I had barely a care in the world at this time. I was taking an archaeology degree at a good, local university, I had a circle of friends, a steady relationship, a place to live and no concerns over student debt, or employment prospects. I remember thinking: things can’t get much better than this. It was a perfect moment. I had some bad moments on that excavation too. But this was perfect and one I will never forget. Whether it was the reason I became an archaeologist I have no idea, but it certainly didn’t put me off.

Amongst stars, planets and dreams

Archaeology captures the public imagination in a way many disciplines can never hope to achieve. It is definitely up there as a popular branch of the academe, alongside geology (dinosaurs), astronomy (stars and planets) and ecology (plants and animals), and – to some extent – psychology and psychoanalysis (the brain, behaviour and our dreams). These are some of the things that captivate us, and they do this because there is an element of the unknown and the ‘yet to be discovered’ about them. There is also a measure of the ‘isn’t that interesting’, and of being relevant, capturing an element of how we became the complex society and ever more complex individuals that we are today. These subjects captivate us also because they are things we can all do. We can all interpret our dreams; we can all take an interest in wildlife and the solar system; we can all look for fossils on beaches; and we can get involved in archaeology, either at a practical level, or on a more philosophical plane (as in, ‘I know what those cave painters were up to’, or ‘I know why they turned to farming’). Perhaps I am biased, but one could suggest also that of these subjects archaeology stands out, because it is arguably the most sociable of these popular disciplines. Where else amongst this list of practices and disciplinary wanderings could we spend a month on a campsite, returning to nature, going native in some cases and living closely with like-minded people who share our passion for the past, and for life? And as most archaeologists (and very many others besides) are introduced to archaeology through an excavation, these unique experiences are obviously important. It also explains their importance for the future of the discipline (and the profession, as it has become). One of the clear messages of this book is the requirement for archaeology that great excavations continue in the future, to inspire another generation of archaeologists as they did us. The scope of our subject may have changed, and the methodologies with it, for example the increased emphasis on non-invasive, even remote, techniques of detection and recovery. The politics of excavation have changed too, with polluter-pays principles and a more commercially driven and professional endeavour. But it is still, typically, the direct physical engagement with earth, artefacts, place and people (of the past and the present) that draws us in. This is why excavations matter, and why they can be great.

This volume analyses some of the excavations deemed to have attained a degree of greatness, reassessing their contribution to the popularity of archaeology, its emerging professionalism, and its shape and state of health early in the twenty-first century. But claims of greatness are not to be made or taken lightly. We need some framework within which to make and assess such claims.

Greatness is ...

In the context of excavations, greatness can be determined by a combination of factors and considerations, as the chapters in this book illustrate: It may be about the contribution to understanding, to progressing knowledge about the past; it may be about innovation and developing new approaches, to aid that understanding, and to make the results and working methods transparent for future researchers; it may also be about publication and the dissemination of results through popular and academic reports, and increasingly now the broadcast media; and it is typically also about inspiration and social benefit. Arguably though it is ultimately about having fun; about enjoying oneself, and doing so in a context where emotional and intellectual stimulation exist side by side, or (sometimes literally) hand in hand.

This collection of essays considers what makes a ‘great excavation’, from the horses mouths, so to speak. The book, and the conference session from which it arose, asked specific questions of contributors: What does it mean to be great? What have great excavations in the past contributed to the archaeological profession that we have today? And, how have these events shaped us as archaeologists and as individuals, whether our role was as a volunteer, supervisor or director? To what extent do great excavations provide alternative histories of British archaeology? Is there a mythology somewhere here that could usefully be analysed or deconstructed? And is it important that the opportunities which these excavations provide exist in the future, to work not only on excavations that are important for telling us more about the past, but which inspire us and move us forward, as institutions, and as individuals?

The chapters that follow answer these questions directly, in the context of projects from different eras, separate regions and countries of the UK, various periods of study, and different institutional contexts and situations: Rescue is covered for example, as is the role and contribution of the Manpower Services Commission, large research excavations, and the emergence of developer funding. At the original session a speaker asked whether encouraging self indulgence had been a deliberate intention. I answered that yes, it had: this was an opportunity to reflect on past projects, and to describe what it was like to work on them, and how they influenced other excavation projects. How, in short, did these projects shape the profession we have today. Authors also allude to the various mythologies, folk histories and traditions that have accumulated around great excavations and their participants. All of the contributors discuss these points in various ways, and it is the variety of perspectives that makes this volume such an entertaining collection, as well as constituting an archaeography of the profession, to use Martin Carver’s phrase.

Greatness can be a personal thing though, like holidays (though I hesitate to draw this particular comparison). The great excavations that I have worked on are not necessarily those that changed the way we thought about a particular period, or which introduced new approaches to recording, or the conservation of artefacts, or indeed new ways of digging. They are the ones that inspired me to become an archaeologist, and once there, to remain within the profession, even though at times that was quite hard to do. My great excavations are those that I enjoyed (for the camaraderie, the weather and the place), and those from which I learnt most – what I gained from the experience intellectually, and the skills I learnt which helped in other areas of life: patience for example; a degree of self-confidence; responsibility.

This book appears at a time of significant change within the UK heritage sector – the popularity of our subject has never been greater, heritage protection and the planning system are undergoing reform, while the higher education sector continues to promote innovative research now in a post-disciplinary world that exposes archaeologists increasingly to new theoretical ideas and to practitioners from other subject areas – artists for example. It is appropriate, then, that we address the influence of these great excavations at this time and coincident with the twenty-fifth anniversary of our professional institute – the IfA (Hinton, this volume).

I should explain briefly how the selection of great excavations in this collection was made. As a society we are obsessed with creating lists, Top 100s and so on. A journalist once said, ‘There’s only one thing in a newspaper or magazine that everybody will read – a Top 10 list. It can be the Top 10 of anything, they’ll read it.’ While this obsession was probably influential in shaping the session from which this book originates, I was anxious to avoid any sort of competitive element, yet to ensure the session reflected popular opinion. So I conducted an opinion poll on the internet forum Britarch in c. 2005–6. While responses were few, the excavations mentioned by respondants are mostly included here and were only excluded where authors were unavailable. Additional contributions resulted from a wider call for papers. So that’s how the shape of the volume was produced. It is an indicative as opposed to definitive selection. Some major excavation projects are missing.

Three excavations, 1981–3

During the time that I worked on excavations I chose from the CBA calendar those that I thought I would: a) enjoy – an unfamiliar place perhaps; and b) learn something from – from an archaeologist I admired, or a site I had read about. The excavations I worked on certainly shaped my professional career, and my outlook. I worked on the Sweet Track for example, Hambledon Hill, and Pontnewydd cave. I once wrote an essay about the Cold War airbase at Greenham Common of which someone said, ‘this could only have been written by someone grounded in early prehistoric archaeology!’ Our early influences run deeper than we might expect, and can manifest themselves in the unlikeliest of situations.

At this point I will make a confession. I don’t particularly like excavation. If we return to my perfect moment at Hambledon Hill (for it was there), you will recall my pulling away from the feature I was excavating to gaze out into the landscape. It is, and I think always has been, that wider landscape view that I prefer. That is the reason I undertook landscape-scale archaeological survey for my doctoral research and subsequently, and why I worked for the landscape characterisation team at English Heritage for as long. That is not to say, however, that I doubt in any way the value of excavations, and that I hope is made plain by my editing this book, and organising the conference session from which it derives. Excavation is fundamental to archaeology, and to the making and shaping of archaeologists. It is just that I prefer the wider view.

There is no question, though: my career was shaped by the three excavations on which I learnt to dig, and to be amongst archaeologists. Here I will describe briefly these early encounters, on the Somerset Levels, in the Sweet Track excavation, 1981; at Hambledon Hill 1982; and at Pontnewydd 1983. The narrative is probably typical of excavation experiences at that time. But they are also unique – they are my own experiences, filtered out over 20–30 years and assisted by the photographs I took. These are the things that shaped the archaeologist that I became, and which helped me to decide on my career path. This is what inspired me, for good or ill. But it is the ordinariness that is particularly relevant here. These are everyday encounters that I describe – nothing spectacular or unusual; nothing especially noteworthy, except to me, personally. On each site I was one of many archaeologists, and thus, for every year of excavation in the UK alone there could be hundreds, even thousands, of archaeologists producing accounts like these. Some projects require everyone on site to keep diaries now, so in some instances at least the personal becomes part of the formal record. But not here.

Sweet Track 1981

This was my first direct encounter with archaeologists. I had just completed an A level in Archaeology, was expecting grades sufficient to get me to university to study the subject, and decided to fill my summer with some relevant experience. A school friend thought it sounded fun, and we applied together for the Sweet Track, following a notice in the CBA Calendar of Excavations, and noting the provision of camp site and payment of subsistence. I had learnt about the Sweet Track during my A level course, and the Levels sounded fascinating, hence the (very deliberate) choice. I have the original notice, from the CBA archive:

It was in the May 1981 issue of the CBA Newsletter and Calendar (issue V/3). It read:

SOMERSET LEVELS

Excavation of the early neolithic wooden trackway (Sweet Track), north of previously examined areas, will be directed by Professor J. M. Coles and B. J. Orme. V(unspecified). CS. FH(full session). Preference given for volunteers staying for full session. Nearest station: Bridgwater, bus to Glastonbury. Apply to B. J. Orme, Dept of Archaeology & History, The Queen’s Building, Queen’s Drive, Exeter.

26.8.81–27.9.81

The Codes meant:

V – number of volunteers required

CS – Camping site available without equipment

FH – financial help offered, minimum qualifying period shown in brackets

This was what set my pace racing!

The journey involved my longest ever time spent on a bus. We left Saxmundham (Suffolk) early morning, and arrived at the cross in Glastonbury at about 2000 hrs. We had a map, sent to us with joining instructions, and headed off on foot across the Levels towards the village of Westhay heavily laden with rucksacks, tents, sleeping bags etc. We had walked about a mile, out into the flatland in evening sunlight, when a car approached from behind, slowing and pulling up just behind us. Out of one of those tiny (and in this case rather ancient and dicrepid) bubble-shaped fiats stepped two huge bearded men, one probably our age, and one slightly older. They wore tattered and dirty jeans, plimsolls and t-shirts, one with a waistcoat over. Both were long-haired, and ear-ringed. From the very sheltered existence of my private school and forces background, this felt like the start of something. These were precisely the types of people my parents had warned me against! A new world, brave or otherwise I was unsure. They were of course archaeologists on the way back to camp from a sojourn in Glastonbury, and rather to our surprise they offered us a lift. Not surprising in the sense that archaeologists would display generosity in this way, but there was simply no space. You know the joke about putting elephants in a mini ...? Yet somehow we were inserted into the car, and luggage strapped on. I remember nothing about the journey from that point on.

The excavation was, simply, great fun. About thirty people, many from the University of Exeter, and all of whom were delightful, and accommodating of us schoolboys (as we must have seemed). Bryony Orme (as she was then) and John Coles were both sociable and engaged with us, offering help and guidance for us novices, and creating an environment in which the work/play balance seemed exactly right, and the mood constantly upbeat and jovial. It was hard work, lying on planks all day, but it never seemed too onerous – no-one complained. Conversa...