ARCHAEOLOGY AND US: A TALE IN TWO PARTS

Part 2

I loved history but grew frustrated, learning of new discoveries so late.  Often publications would appear decades after the discovery.  I wanted brand new knowledge, I wanted to be on the front line.  I decided to study Archaeology.

A Masters introduced me to another world of astonishing stories.  Ancient civilizations, too many to consume. Like a bee at a flower show, I was drunk on the abundance of new information.  So much so, it took me forever to settle on a Thesis topic.  Eventually, I combined my passion for London with curiosity for the late Iron Age, that hazy cusp of time between history and prehistory on a misty land at the edge of the earth.

It was during my Masters, on a field archaeology experience, that I met Emily.  We were helping veterans study archaeology for a project called Operation Nightingale. Emily was already a Doctor of Archaeology when we met.  She was a diver, an archaeologist, an educator and a lover of all things Goth. I was intoxicated.  We had so many connections and yet so many differences, I could not loosen the threads from my mind.  Like an addiction, I yearned for more.

We met, connected unimaginably, fell in love and within a month were engaged to be married.  Whirlwind you say? Destined, say I.

After graduation, I made a choice to follow this new life and become an archaeologist.  I knew I had to be in the field, be out in the elements, trowel in hand, centuries of history between me and the natural deposits. Both Emily and I acquired employment with Trent and Peak Archaeology, it was a wonderful baptism of commercial experience amongst a ramshackle bunch of delightful misfits. We learnt a lot.  We also moved in together!

Emily and I married on the beautiful banks of Loch Lomond, surrounded by our loved ones and not long after, we would be expecting an addition to our little family.  I moved on to MOLA, University of Leicester Archaeological Services and Northern Archaeological Associates. Years of fieldwork I truly loved, but ultimately realised my employment ambitions lay elsewhere, in research, archives, libraries and storytelling.

Audrey was everything we ever dreamed of and a million times more.  She brought new life to the world with each little bit of it she learnt.  I was fondly reminded of those days in my own childhood, those dreams of being a pilot and a knight and of course, a superhero.  I hope, in some ways, to my daughter, I may still become that hero.

We found Bramble and she instantly became a part of the family, back then nothing more than a ball of fluff with massive ears.  These days she is a wolf beast… and the softest, gentlest creature that ever lived.  Audrey and Bramble combined, however, become a destructive force far greater than any puny death star or precious ring forged in flame.

We moved south and I found my place at the British Library once more, where I now get to explore the most spectacular collection of stories ever written, factual and fictional, piled in every corner of every room. A universe of characters and tales waiting to be told. I get to be a humble part of telling those stories to the world.

Archaeology remains our passion, storytelling remains my dream.  We created Archaeofam so that as she grows, Audrey can look back on memories which may have slipped from her youthful mind.  She can relive the adventures and revisit those places etched in historical legend.

I truly hope it is enjoyable to many, to all those interested in archaeology, history, fantasy, travel and adventure, or even just those who enjoy cute pictures of a toddler and a German shepherd puppy causing mayhem.

It is not always factually accurate, but then this is not a place for absolute science. These are stories with history and archaeology entwined. In its way, the ancient practice of both history and storytelling was always exactly this, we are simply finding our place within it.

Archaeology and Us: A tale in two parts

Part 1

The aim of this website and its link to archaeology is perhaps a little unclear.  True, the stories told here would not fit on a group dedicated to archaeological discoveries, just as the relation of locations visited could not be described as a pure travel blog. I hope to give some explanation here, via a kind of Biography/Curriculum Vitae folktale… let’s see how it goes, shall we?

There was a time, long ago, during which I considered myself to be a rock star.  I donned eyeliner and wore shabby but stylised clothes, busked for beer money, drank to excess, woke up on people’s floors and in spare beds with little or no memory of how I got there.  I played gigs whenever and wherever I could and at various points, truly believed this to be my calling.  The trouble was, despite playing the part almost convincingly… I wasn’t a very good musician.

Whilst some people can make this work, I didn’t have that natural cool factor to pull off the talent limited genius thing.

At another stage, I was certain my calling was in comedy.  I wrote stories and sketches, made short films and even had a radio show in which my co-comedic partner and I would do everything we could to make each other thunder with laughter.  Sadly, more often than not, we laughed alone. Our… unique brand of comic artistry was lost on, well just about everyone. Comedy was not my forte either.

As a child, I dreamed of being a footballer, a ghost hunter, a spacecraft pilot, Prince of an Alien landscape, a Knight, even a superhero! (I still kind of do) Since leaving school I have studied art, design, technology, multimedia, music, IT, history, creative writing and archaeology. The list of employers I have had is more varied than Hey Duggee’s badge collection!

Throughout my life, I have been wildly confused by just what it is I was good at, and what I wanted to do forever.  Because that is often what you are expected to decide, at quite an early age.  Hey kid, you’re out of school now, pick a subject and just repeat that until you die!

I’m now what my younger self would have considered very old.  I still don’t know exactly what it is I want to be when I grow up. One thing that always dominated though, in every career aspiration I had, was the desire to be a storyteller.

In History and Archaeology, I found a world in which I could combine this love of storytelling with employment.  I could learn about the world around me through unbelievable tales of what had been.  Characters, landscapes, drama, romance, action, horror… and it all happened, well most of it probably happened, or some of it might have happened… the uncertainty of it made it even more exciting.  Gaps could be filled, anything was possible.  I was hooked.

I took History and Creative Writing at undergraduate level, mainly 19th-Century British History. My dissertation studied the emerging pauper lunatic asylums, focusing on the shifting attitudes of medical practitioners towards the mentally ill, clawing back from a dark history of torture, confinement and corruption.

I spent some time travelling, seeing Europe, the United States, Peru, even a bit of North Africa. I drank it in, revelling in the culture shifts and alien landscapes.  It was never enough, I still thirst for more, as do most who see the jewels of the Earth first hand.

After graduation, I felt lost, unattached somehow.  I struggled with the choices available in the little town I grew up in.  One morning, after far too many solitary beers, I picked up my guitar, and a small bag, and in a state of melancholy, started walking.  I had no idea where.  Someone pulled up beside me and offered me a lift, I didn’t know them, but I agreed.  I continued like this as far north as I could go, reaching a remote Scottish wilderness. There were so many stories along the way. I turned back and finally, I landed in London.

In a life-affirming move to the big city, I found employment and volunteer roles in libraries and museums, including the Golden Hinde, a living history replica of Sir Francis Drake’s famous circumnavigation flagship.  This role introduced me to TV and radio appearances and I followed Drakes footsteps to the coasts of California, archiving collections of the Drake Navigators Guild.

Returning home, I found my place at the British Library, a beautiful universe of knowledge in which I have held such a variety of roles, the building has become my very own secret garden.

I had begun a path which would ultimately lead to my own Nirvana.  I could find a place on this enormous, impossibly busy rock and make it my own. All I needed to do, was get out of my comfort zone and see… everything!

To be continued…

Castlerigg Stone Circle

In the remote wilds of Cumbria we found ourselves in the midst of a prehistoric marvel.  The Castlerigg Stone Circle is a thing of true wonder.  Ancient stones set in an otherworldly surrounding, it echoes with the memories of two hundred generations or more.  Dubbed the Druid circle, the carefully positioned stones are enclosed by the epic majesty of the fells, languishing stylishly at the centre of an impossibly enormous natural amphitheatre.

The circle is thought to be Late Neolithic or Early Bronze Age in date and its function has been argued for centuries, the debate still rages.  From meeting place to astronomical device, trading post to ritual centre, its mysteries continue to draw fascinated fandom from all over the planet.  Here we were the next in line.

We made our way up a steep hill by car and found a suitable place to alight. Only a little gate and a lot of sheep remained between us and the ancient stone circle. There is no price to pay, witnessing the archaic architecture costs only the will to make the journey and to brave the cold. From within the stones, which you can approach and explore up close, the views are simply ecstatic. The intimate experience of this mystical construction whilst the wind, frost, rain and fog whips around you like a dancing demon is indescribable.  You become a part of its endless mystery by merely standing within its hallowed centre.

The stones are composed of volcanic rock from the Borrowdale Volcanic group, some are over 2 meters high and weigh up to 16 tons.  The process of monument creation would have been both a feat of utter genius and extreme exhaustion.  Archaeo-astronomers have suggested the stones line up with the midwinter sunrise and certain other significant positions of the moon.

The earliest written record of the circle comes from that antiquarian intrigue and prehistory scholar, William Stukeley.  His account, published after his death in 1776, recalls the monument as a Celtic work with a mysterious grave at its east end.  Whilst there is no evidence of human remains being uncovered at the monument, little recorded archaeological work has actually been conducted. However, nearby at White Raise Cairn, human remains were discovered in a stone lined grave within.

Though the incredible structure is constantly linked to Druidical practice, there seems to be no genuine evidence of its function during the Iron Age.  3 Neolithic stone axes were discovered within the circle giving rise to a belief it may have been a trade and exchange post of these valuable items.  Polished axes such as these were quarried high in the fells thanks to the qualities of the local volcanic rock.

Legend has it that the stones move when not being watched, mischievously switching places or even hiding so that it is said you will never count the same number of stones twice.  Glowing orbs have been persistently reported at the site, giving rise to a belief the stones may be the haunt of faeries and ghosts.

Close to the Castlerigg Stone Circle, a recent speculative magnetometer survey discovered a substantial possible Roman fort complex beneath the undisturbed earth.  The giant enclosure is believed to have been a temporary camp for troops advancing north to the far unknown reaches of the island. The stories of horror and marvel which must have been spoken within those walls, of the monsters and gods that dwelt in the barren wilds of the north, of the treasures and wonders that were surely to be discovered during those treacherous treks.  If walls could only speak. It remains unexcavated but perhaps one day will add much to the story of this historic area.

Before our fingers and toes became completely numb to the bone, we made our way back through the lustrous landscape towards the nearby idyllic town of Keswick.  A picturesque postcard of a settlement, Keswick offers the outdoor adventurer a welcome retreat from city bustle and daily routine.  Littered with good old fashioned pubs (dogs and children welcome everywhere it seems, with the Twa Dogs and Dog and Gun being our very favourite) and countless cafes and shops, it has become a base and a shrine for all things explorer.

The jewel in this magnificent landscape crown is Derwentwater, a glorious pool of twinkling silver surrounded by a circle of emerald mountain giants, peering down into its mirror-like depths.  Boats glide effortlessly across the choppy waters seeking unforgettable pleasure from otherwise unobtainable scenic views.  It is easy to see why this place has been revered throughout the ages.

After many a locally brewed Jennings ale, we gathered our family entourage and made for the comfort of our lodgings.  Such a place as this seems straight from the pages of classic literature, as though all the words of the great romantic poets, the settings of legend and fantasy authors and the songs of folk troubadours collided and from the dust emerged their imagined Elysian fields.

We will sleep well tonight in this cosy corner of Albion… or dare I whisper, Eden?...

The Mystery of the Forsaken Mariner PT4 - Horror on the Hill top

Transcript follows:

There were disturbing scenes yesterday evening [6th January 2019] close to the former national village of the decade, St Neot.  Local residents have described their terror as a vicious raid and prolonged gun fight took place on the outskirts of the village.

The explosive assault broke out at approximately 19.35 GMT.  Witness reports indicate that an archaeological expedition had been working around the clock at a protected site to unearth ‘at risk’ prehistoric remains thought to have survived beneath the ground.  The site lies close to known archaeological remains on Berry Down, understood to be an Iron Age hillfort.  Professional investigators were researching linked communities in the area when the gang of masked raiders arrived on quad bikes and attacked.

Despite the isolation of the area, and the surprise of the attack, the archaeology team were able to act swiftly to protect all members of their staff and escape the hill top unharmed, however, it is feared the site may have been significantly damaged during the raid.

The parish of St Neot resides within a dynamic landscape and boasts part of Bodmin Moor on its northern border.  The Moor is famed for its thriving Bronze Age community with over 200 settlements recorded in the landscape, including the remains of a vast quantity of roundhouses.  This style of structure continued into the Iron Age and buildings here are likely to have belonged to the Dumnonii tribe, thought to hold the balance of power in Iron Age Cornwall.

Though there is clear evidence for prehistoric farming communities throughout the area; sites close to St Neot are believed to have gained prevalence due to the thriving tin trade for which Cornwall is famous.  Tin was a valuable commodity and was traded globally from this corner of ancient Britain.  The wealth of the metal, used in the manufacture of bronze, was well known and documented in classical accounts of the age from Pytheas to Herodotus, amongst others.

Mining and metalwork is thought to have been closely associated with ancient perceptions of magic. It is argued that these hidden treasures from deep within the earth and the alchemy of merging liquid metals to create beautiful and possibly sacred objects, were highly regarded mystical aspects of Bronze and Iron Age life.

The excavations in St Neot are funded by local societies and businesses hoping to further understand the communities residing in the area 2500 years ago.  Rumours were sparked amongst local residents earlier in the month when a journalist reported the discovery of an unusual artefact from a structure on one of the several archaeological sites.  These rumours are as yet unconfirmed and the archaeology unit involved have so far been unavailable for comment, leading to further speculation surrounding the nature of last night’s raids.  Enforced legal restrictions mean neither the unit involved nor the object in question can be named at this time, but the archaeology unit are confirmed to be cooperating and working closely with police on the matter.

“I heard they found a new type of metal, 100 times stronger than steel and it’s gonna revolutionise the aerospace industry, so they’re trying to keep it under wraps,” said one resident who preferred to remain anonymous.

“It’s a seam of gold they found, worth billions, but they don’t want residents to know anything about it because they know it belongs to the public,” claimed Bryan Berrywinkle, a customer relations officer at a Plymouth based gift store.

“I think they unearthed some bodies, but they were not anatomically correct… not for this planet anyway.  That’s why the government have been stopping people getting through,” said Jilly Perry, a local school teacher.

Whatever has been excavated on the hill top, authorities are keen to keep publicity to a minimum.  This reporter was threatened with severe action should this story go to print.  It is my personal opinion that the importance of such discoveries belongs in the public realm, implications of the discovery are thought to be far reaching and therefore it is a duty to report on such events.  Particularly in light of the incidents yesterday evening.

Police remain at the scene where it is understood excavations will continue once a cleanup operation and an inventory have been completed. A senior officer confirmed the event is not being treated as a terror attack but may involve gang related activity.

The suspects have been described by police as four men in their mid twenties, all above six foot tall with muscular build.  They were dressed in grey body suits and wearing dark gas masks during the raid, and were riding four TGB Blade 1000LT deluxe silver quad bikes.

If you have any information regarding the events of last night’s attack, a police hotline has been set up on 01579 957 9921, alternatively an email account has been created for anyone who wishes to relay information, at hilltopincident.info@devonandcornwall.police.uk.  Police are urging anyone with information to come forward immediately.  The assailants remain on the loose; they are armed and considered a serious threat to public safety.  Police are pleading with the public to remain vigilant and under no circumstances to approach suspected gang members.

This publication also welcomes any information which may lead to the capture or identification of the gang members, and any information regarding the findings of the excavation which may assist the enquiries.  We pay for your stories. See below for contact details.

The mystery of the forsaken Mariner...

Dearest Emily,

I must apologise for the paucity of correspondence of late.  Though insufficient, I do hope that these emails offer some comfort whilst we are so far apart.

Let me get straight to our exhilarating news. Just as we feared that all might be lost, our prior expedition funds depleted and the routine monotony of life’s labours on the horizon, our darling Audrey and I have stumbled upon the most fascinating of characters.

I can’t say too much this soon, but oh my, what a potential opportunity awaits us.

Let me start at that eternal anchor of literary bloom, the beginning.

The gentleman in question is a Mr Roy Pritchard, a most electrifyingly excitable chap, full of dreams and impossible schemes.  Audrey and I were enjoying the comforts of a local watering hole when the aforementioned Mr Pritchard approached.  From my attire, he recognized a man of the archaeological persuasion, and from the gleam in our Audrey’s eyes, he deduced adventure was never far from our thoughts.

Mr Pritchard recounted an intriguing tale of undiscovered wealth, all centring on the life and mysteries of an obscure humble crew member belonging to a most famous voyage.  The captain of this voyage just happened to be none other than that heroic and fearful gentleman pirate, Sir Francis Drake.

Well, my love, I am certain that you of all people will understand my excitement as the puzzle pieces fell into place, revealing an enticing labyrinth of clues yet to be explored and a promise of archaeological riches which may rewrite the antique tomes of historical knowledge.

The good Mr Pritchard has promised to share a sensitive document with us, a manuscript he claims to have unearthed from a contemporary folio; held within none other than that most famous of establishments, the British Library.  How he came to procure this document I cannot guess and dare not ask, but if the importance of such an unknown and extremely rare correspondence is as he claims, then I am certain the library would not willingly allow it to pass through their hallowed doors unnoticed.

The British Library

Should it be an original article, I will, of course, ensure its return to the relative safety of that establishment, but oh my darling, curiosity and intrigue demand that before I send it back to some dusty basement, I must at the very least, verify its validity.

Mr Pritchard appeared justifiably nervy during our brief recourse.  He hinted towards the possibility others may share an interest in the document, though their acquisition desires would appear conflicting to our own honest intentions.  Should it fall into the hands of certain other parties, an important piece of our nation’s history might be forever lost, smuggled to the darkest corners of black market bidding and wasted in the sealed vault of some disinterested tycoon.

In his haste to remain unnoticed, Mr Pritchard arranged a second meeting with us this very week, two days from now, in a secure location known only to us three.

So my darling, we have taken these spare moments to refresh our understanding of the good Sir Francis and his most famous of voyages.  I am certain my dear, that you remember the length of our investigations surrounding the queens favourite pirate, our tantalising expectations regarding the discovery of that fabled Nova Albion site, or the final resting place of his daring flagship the Golden Hind, left to publicly rot in a dark Deptford creek.  You will then be equally enthused by this promise of original evidence regarding his legend.  His journals remain missing, his secrets well hidden, his vast wealth unaccounted for.  Perhaps here we may discover a key, a key to unlock the treasures of his life we thought forever lost?

The Golden Hinde living history museum

We began, as did he, in Tavistock, a bustling town once one of four principle Tin trading centres in this region.  The town retains its ancient character, though modern economic necessity has coupled with a celebration of Sir Francis to create a novelty caricature of a once important administrative hub.  The remains of the Abbey now parade as ornamental garments for touristic pleasure, as is the custom of historical monuments in our country; a pleasure to observe but entirely out of original context.  One thing stood out in a brief survey of the historical landscape, an abundance of prehistoric features; stone age tools, bronze and iron age structural features, a long tradition of area reuse, a plentiful setting, and a lasting reliance on the wealth of tin production, globally invaluable materials before even those most civilising conquerors, the Romans, had wearily dreamt of inhabiting this ghostly island at the edge of the world.

Visit Tavistock

From here we made our way to Crowndale farm, the conjectured birthplace of our swashbuckling protagonist.  With electronic cartographic assistance we found the location, but discovered it to be private land, and not wishing to disturb nor upset any potential allies, we observed from distance before progressing on our journey.

Birthplace of Drake at risk article

Our final homage on this Devonian pilgrimage was a visit to the Drakes prized home of Buckland Abbey, a property purchased with opportunistic cruelty from courtier and unfortunate rival Sir Richard Grenville.  Buckland was already a renovated religious monument when Drake acquired the lands. Every successive age appears to have included something of its own aesthetic to the structure, though rumour has it, Drake himself made no changes to the property.  Here in Buckland, my dear Emily, we discovered uncountable personal treasures of the man, safely locked away in secure confinement, yet a perfect portrait of an adventurous individual with a colourful and confusing personality.  Maps, jewels, artwork and tools adorned the corridors, items of singular beauty and interest, usefulness and charm.

Buckland Abbey

We explored intently my love, but I must warn you of the strangest of sensations, wherever we travelled throughout the house, both I and Audrey could not shake the distressing feeling, that we were being observed.  Perhaps it is the unconscious paranoia which comes with years of archaeological investigation, a constant fear of judgemental critique causing a heightened sense of augmentative reflex, or perhaps it is a fear our latest pursuit might have attracted attention from old adversaries, or worse still, new villains with faces unknown, but certainly there is an air of uneasiness to our current predicament.  We remain guarded and vigilant, keeping a watchful eye on any unusual activity.

Well, my darling; that is all I may relate at this time.  We miss you dearly and hope that you will write to us at the earliest opportunity.  Your assistance in this latest antiquarian adventure will most surely improve our chances of the greatest success.

Do not worry for our safety, I have assured all the necessary precautions should we run into any bother, and of course, Audrey is more effective than the most potent dynamite when it comes to opposing villainous treachery.

I shall write again as soon as our meeting with Mr Pritchard has concluded and we have a greater understanding of the direction this plight will eventually lead us.

Until then darling Emily, with all the love, hugs and kisses we have within us, we bid you goodbye for now.  Every ounce of our love goes with you; please take it with the greatest of care, for it is our most precious gift.  We shall see you again soon.

TTFN

Craig and Audrey

xoxoxoxox