Society Soirees and Villa Adventures

As the grizzly grey clouds parted over the soft sweeping Kentish hillside, and the sun clawed its way over the gloom, the endless rows of stubbled grass gleamed and swayed before us like a vast ocean of molten gold. We kicked our way through the remnants of the harvest, towards a stunning sanctuary which had been disguised by the earth for centuries. The remote tranquillity of the region betrayed its once industrious functions, a hub of produce and power, a beacon of technical advancement on a new frontier, one in a string of similar centres stretching throughout the Kent countryside.

We must venture back, around 1800 years back, to an age of Imperial control from distant Rome, yet an island driven by agricultural and economic necessity. Within this incredible landscape, cohabited the ruling classes and the general populations. In this part of the island, those with some power and luxury were often to be found in their decadent country residences, the focus of their fortunes, known to us most commonly as the Roman Villa.

It is to one such Villa that we were drawn on this temperately volatile afternoon, and where we would spend a week carefully exploring what remained of a once magnificent country pile. A week of excavations to reveal what shadows and secrets remained below the rolling golden grounds of north Kent.

This region is particularly dense with some of the most incredible Villa sites known in the country. Many have been excavated and some remain as centres for education and tourism today. Lullingstone is perhaps the most spectacular of those which remain. Its incredible mosaic floors and luxurious heating systems celebrate the height of imperial prestige (see our Archaeofam expedition there previously). Further villas have also been uncovered such as Crofton Roman Villa in Orpington, Otford Roman Villa, Eccles, Mereworth and Horton Kirby, illustrating the importance of this productive locality.

Our summers are often busy, between work commitments, external projects, and an ever-growing arsenal of clubs and classes, it seems there is barely a spare moment. Yet somehow, we managed to squeeze in this little leisure time digging this year! The opportunity was too good to miss.

If you have any kind of interest in archaeology, or even history, it always pays to join your local History or Archaeology Society. It is from these groups that you will gain access to talks, excursions, interesting information and any community excavations which may be occurring nearby.

Our local is the Kent Archaeology Society, and this summer they prepared a week long excavation not far from West Malling, in Kent where a dry summer had revealed crop markings and aroused the interest of local archaeologists.

Preliminary fieldwalking and test pitting had established the presence of possible Roman buildings in the fields, and it was agreed that a project of excavation would help to understand what, if anything, remained beneath the ground, to what extent and condition it remained and offer potential dating and interpretation evidence for the curious features. A resistivity survey corresponded with the cropmarks and a projection of the possible building outlines was created.

The area boasts a fascinating past, ancient ritual monuments such as Coldrum Long Barrow are situated nearby, with further cropmarks suggesting a rich prehistoric landscape. Saxon churches and Medieval Manor Houses can also be found in close proximity. The significance of this well connected region had clearly been long lasting.

Audrey was first to dive into the challenge! Armed with a trowel and a shovel, she was a digging machine… for a few seconds before the overwhelming lure to hunt for flint and stones in the spoil heap took hold. Then even more excitement ensued as she began the creation of a Princess Palace from the spoil and a number of coats, mats and blankets which had, until that moment, been relatively clean. The Palace was a stunning success, it gleamed sparkling pink and a soggy, muddy colour and could be ascended in only specifically assigned gateways under the control of Warrior Queen Audrey. A truly magical construction, fit to match the once architectural splendour of the building now lying somewhere beneath our feet.

Emily and I got to digging, maintaining a tidy trench and cleaning the edges before gradually taking off a little at a time to uncover the features below. As the first day drew to a close, the excavation area was looking tidy and full of potential, and our little family were collectively exhausted, having been out of action for quite some time! We made up for it with hot chocolate and beer in a little country pub on the way home, and some hot chips to keep us going.

The rest of the week I would be alone for the excavations, Emily and Audrey being at work and school until the following weekend. I continued to assist as the Villa began to reveal itself, along with a range of fascinating treasures. Painted wall plaster, roof tiles, brick, pottery fragments, the trace of cobbled courtyards, walls cemented in mortar, a number of delightful metal finds discovered by assisting detectorists such as coins, a key, an arrow head and more. The highlight of the feature was its bathhouse, with apsidal archway and a still standing hypocaust system. The Villa was precisely where it ought to have been, and future work could reveal its full extent and any other mysteries it may yet conceal.

This years work on the site will be published as a number of articles in the Society’s Magazine and in the Kent Archaeology Society Journal, Archaeology Cantiana. Keep your eyes peeled for its release next year. The society conducted additional survey work to understand the extent of activity in the surrounding landscape and hope to return in the not too distant future to conduct further excavations.

Above photographs courtesy of Kent Archaeological Society.

On the final day of the dig, the whole family piled into the car and ventured out to witness the results of our wonderful community excavation. The setting could not have been more serene. The late summer sun blazed down upon us as we explored the traces of ancient avenues, carefully crafted corridors, technologically terrific underfloor heating systems of a Roman bathhouse and all the ghostly remains of a once thriving Roman household and livelihood. We shall certainly be back for more when the opportunity comes knocking again.

And of course, any excuse for those quaint country pubs afterwards!

Heaving at Hever

We often opt for the lesser travelled path, for a little-known historical monument or an underappreciated ancient landscape. It is satisfying to explore the unknown, to venture beyond the obvious. There is a certain element of intriguing peril to it, the exhilarating anticipation of never quite knowing what to expect. It pounds the heart a little faster, fizzes the senses, accelerates the mind as we immerse ourselves, entering the brave world of the adventure action hero.

Then, some days we do not do that.

Some days we go all out, tacky tourist, history fanfam!

This was one of those days.

For years now we have known of the hugely popular, world famous, epic historical mega centres on our doorstep. There are loads of them. Kent is packed with historic houses. The proximity to the continent and to London have ensured a continued importance in this region. We constantly see the road signs as we drive around the county and always promise ourselves to “visit one day”, but schedules and distractions had always interfered, until now.

Finally, we ventured to that famous old family home, Hever Castle.

Of course, having had such a long time to plan a visit, we chose completely the wrong day! It was a special Mother’s Day adventure treat that we decided upon, which at first seemed like a lovely idea. But of course, we weren’t the only people to have that particular thought, and so from the very beginning, it was busy!

There were queues at the gates, masses of people streaming through the gardens, waiting for the facilities, packed into the cafes and shops. Thankfully, the grounds are extensive enough to accommodate such throngs, so wandering through the various elaborate gardens, mazes, water features and beautifully crafted landscapes was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Audrey adored racing across the luscious lawns, up and down the rolling hills and through the plant peppered forests. The water maze added some slightly soggy excitement, whilst watching the archery was delightful fun, if sometimes slightly comical. Of course the promise of ice cream under the glorious spring sunshine led to smiles all around.

The house was a slightly different story. It was a little smaller than I had thought, having seen it in period dramas, documentary series and countless photographs. This is not a criticism, bigger certainly does not mean better in such architectural wonders and for a Tudor household it was still on a grand scale, I only mention it as it was my first impression, beautiful, stylish but smaller than I had imagined.

Then it became even more apparent as hundreds of us attempted to explore the narrow halls, compact rooms, and cosy corridors of the house. It is a truly stunning place, both inside and out. The décor is an astonishing mix of original Tudor and a stylish array of later additions. The walls are adorned with spectacular portraits, royalty and family staring down upon the countless crowds of visitors to the manor. The furniture is delightfully crafted and ornately decorated. Even despite the crowds, it was easy to feel the function of the place, and even to imagine living in such a building, with its politicised spaces and obvious impressions of power and importance.

Sadly though, with so many crammed inside, there was also a serious sense of claustrophobia. Impatience and frustration swelled as some moved slowly, some whizzed by, and others stood completely still, causing long queues and awkward shuffles. It is not quite so easy to imagine a sixteenth century saunter through the historic house when surrounded by protruding limbs extending smart phones, cameras flashing in all directions and the ambient audio of hundreds of voices chatting about their latest employment woes, dinner plans, drunken exploits and fashion faux pas… although to be fair, these may have been precisely the same conversations being conducted within these very walls five hundred years previous. Aisi sera groigne qui groigne!

Hever Castle began life following the Norman Invasion of England, as a Motte and Bailey castle, surrounded by kitchens, barns, stables and outbuildings. Around 1270 the castle was strengthened with a medieval gatehouse and walled bailey, owned by the 1st Baron Saye and Sele, James Fiennes. During the fourteenth century a moat, further defensive walls, towers, and the great hall were added to the property. A curtain wall surrounded a number of timber buildings, and the castle took on its familiar shape, though its image would have been rather different, as a bright, whitewashed fortress. The house continued to grow throughout the fifteenth century when it was purchased by its most famous family inhabitants, the Boleyn’s.

The Boleyn family seem to have their origins in Boulogne in France and moved to England in the years following the Norman invasion, setting up home in Norfolk, but they are best known for their association with Hever Castle. The property was converted into a manor in 1462 by Geoffrey Boleyn, adding a prominent Tudor building within the imposing castle walls.

Of all the eras of Boleyn residence, it is of course the sixteenth century occupants who attract the most attention in the pages of history. Thomas Boleyn inherited the house in 1505 and went on to live in Hever Castle with his wife, Lady Elizabeth Howard (of the very powerful, Tudor era, Howard family and herself lady in waiting to Catherine of Aragon) and their children, George, Mary and of course, Anne Boleyn.

Recent studies have highlighted modern parallels with life at Hever. During 1528, the country was gripped by the sweating sickness, a deadly disease sweeping through the population of the island, fatal to commoner and aristocrat alike. Hever was used as a quarantine for the Boleyn’s. Anne and several family members suffered with the sickness but were fortunate to survive it. Henry VIII even sent his second-best physician to aid Anne in her hour of need, his first choice being unavailable. We have always been at risk of fast spreading disease, something that all ages will likely experience and sadly, lockdown isolation is nothing new.

The story of Anne has been replayed in endless history books, novels, theatre, television programs, movies and more. The impressive rise from maid of honour to queen, and the dramatic plummet from favour to decapitation are engrained in the well documented narrative of British royal legend. It seems everyone has their opinion on whether Anne was a scheming control freak desperately climbing the social ladder of elite power, a cunning, stylish, ambitious image of sixteenth century power politics, a victim of petty and fleeting male obsessions, a pawn in a family playbook, a scapegoat in a wild and mentally unstable court, an innocent young girl who fell in love with the wrong man, or a little bit of it all?

It has been so widely discussed that I shall not venture into the lives of Anne Boleyn and King Henry VIII here, but merely direct any readers curious for more information on this most famous of tragic love affairs, to the multitude of reference materials available.

In all honesty, the volume of argument and discussion, media and mentions of Anne Boleyn has often put me off exploring the subject. Diving into to the minefield of opinion on every over analysed moment of her life seemed a little exhausting, but this apprehension was washed away a little upon visiting the incredible home of the Boleyn’s. Being able to walk in the spaces they frequented, see the rooms they lived within, the space not dissimilar from how it would have been half a Millenia ago, brought a human element to the story we had not encountered in Hollywood blockbusters and glamorous historical fiction.

Despite the spectacular fall from grace suffered by the Boleyn family, Hever continued to be an important residence after Annes death and was owned and occupied by a string of wealthy and important individuals through the centuries. This included another of Henry VIII wives, Anne of Cleves, who of course, managed to keep her head but not her crown. Anne of Cleves almost found herself embroiled in the infamous Wyatt rebellion, which rose nearby in Kent against bloody Queen Mary, but somehow, she seems to have avoided serious accusation.

After this, Hever was mostly the home of tenants who farmed the vast estates and worked the lands. It changed hands on a number of occasions but was rarely extended or renovated, allowing its historic fabric to remain mostly intact to this day. One interesting tale comes from the later history of the house. In 1808, a gruesome murder occurred on the estate. A possible love triangle led to the murder of John Humphrey Jr, shot dead as he walked along the footpath to the castle. His wife later married a certain local farmer who seemed to have more knowledge of the frightful business that he ought to have. It has been said, the ghost of John Humphrey Jr returned to Hever to haunt his wife and her new husband. Things became so bad at the castle that the local clergy were called in to exorcise the house with water from the red sea and wax candles.

We left the impressive house and its masses of happy tourists and made for an even more chaotic castle. The playpark!

Now, Hever Castle on a busy day can be overwhelming, but Tudor Towers… that place is pure bonkers! I mean, it is an incredible play space, as a four-year-old, I imagine I would have been in a medieval fantasy dreamland. As a forty+ year old however, desperately trying not to lose a wildly overexcited four-year-old whirlwind of energy, it is a very different experience! Audrey dashed through inner mazes, under tarpaulins and through tiny narrow tunnels, slides, and chutes, appearing in some random other location I had no idea how to find. Thousands of children raced manically through the dark echoey spaces, screaming and shouting, laughing, and screeching. It was a scene straight from my nightmares, I was losing my head... My child appeared one second, only to disappear completely the next! I am no doubt over cautious, Audrey had everything under control, and I did not see any other parents quite as terrified, but still, I needed a strong cup of tea and a long quiet rest after the ordeal!

Audrey absolutely, bloody loved every minute of it 😊

As we made our way back into the elegant gardens of Hever, enjoying tea and juice and the fresh spring air, a desire to sit, relax and perhaps eat dinner suddenly struck. A local pub was advertised just beyond the outer perimeter of the castle grounds, a rustic old building with an ancient charm. We made our way out of the gardens and to the pub, but alas, just as the house had been full to bursting, so too was the tavern. No space to even sit and enjoy a final drink in the medieval landscape. So, a little dejected and a lot exhausted, we made our way slowly to the car and made for home.

It had been a wonderful day, despite the crowds and the chaos, we had revelled in the famous home of historic legends. Hever is definitely worth a visit, probably more than just a visit! But perhaps hold out for a quiet spot on the calendar and avoid the better-known holiday options, if you can.

From our Archaeofam to yours,

La Plus Heureuse

There and YAC again

In a hole in a Bridge, there lived an Audrey. Not a nasty, dirty, wet Bridge, filled with cobwebs and bird poo, nor a dry bare Bridge with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a TonBridge, and that means comfort.

By some curious chance, just the other day in the quiet of Tonbridge, where there was less noise and more green, Audrey was standing at the door after breakfast eating an enormous chocolate ice cream, when a wizard came by!

The Wizard Neil, if you only knew a quarter of what I know about him, and I only know very little of all there is to know, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales of adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion.

This particular Wizard had a very important place on our little island. It was his sworn duty and his life’s work to protect all the castles and the treasures, the fortresses and the fountains, the tombs and the tunnels, the sites steeped in magic and myth, and the places that made us who we are today. 

In his spare time, the Wizard Neil also doubled as the executive director of the Council for British Archaeology. He had not been down this way for ages and ages, but on this particular morning, he was looking for someone to share in an adventure he was arranging.

Though apprehensive at first, Audrey’s undeniable thirst for adventure could not be quelled, and along with some short-hairy companions (Myself and Bramble) and a beautiful elfish princess (Emily Archaeomum) we set out on a quest that would be remembered for... days at least!

The quest was plunged into peril almost immediately. Not too far from home, as we wandered into the mysterious wild, the expedition was ambushed by a gang of greedy trolls. These creatures, we learned, were keen to gobble up the funds of archaeological academia. Several victims had already suffered the fatal consequences of these gluttonous ghouls. Thankfully, the wise Wizard Neil knew of a cunning plan to confuse the foolish trolls. An intrepid band of warriors from the north, led by Courageous Chloe and Dashing David had drawn up a troll-busting manifesto. Neil set the plan in motion and as the trolls argued amongst themselves, the sun rose on the brutish beasts and their greedy schemes turned to stone and crumbled to dust.

The Wizard Neil led us to a stunning elfish paradise on a mountain top. Here an elder elf revealed certain secrets to assist us on our adventure. She told us of the magical Cobham Wood Mausoleum. This ancient mausoleum had been forged by great Dwarf architects, to hold the mortal remains of the Earls of Darnley beneath a vast stone pyramid. It was a construction that had cost the riches of a kingdom to create, yet the gods did not approve of the tomb, deeming it too beautiful for the earth and so cursed the mausoleum. It remained empty of humans for all eternity and this is why the Elves had made it their home, safe from interruption.

We continued on our adventure, finding ourselves plunged into the depths of darkness beneath misty mountains. This perilous corrupt underworld was suffocating. Goblins roamed here, governing by fear. These vile creatures had once been just like us, but greed and selfish ambition had corrupted their souls. They had severed ties with the continent during the famed Orxit ordeal, demoralising the heart of the nation and its workforce. The Goblins had us surrounded. It was only with the most powerful of magic that the wise Wizard Neil was able to rescue us from these fiends, blinding the foes with the crystal of common sense; we were just able to flee.

Audrey found herself alone during the melee. In the midnight labyrinth of mountain passageways, she discovered a tiny circular treasure, a gleaming ring with the gift of invisibility. Unsure what to do with the treasure she slipped it into her pocket before continuing through the maze, where she stumbled upon a rare and desperate being. This strange and reclusive creature challenged Audrey to a game of riddles but had treachery in mind.

“How can the past benefit present and future generations?” it asked.

Fortunately, Audrey had a quick mind and clever wit.

“Archaeology unearths new information on our past, improves the ties to our heritage, and provides economic means for our future” she replied.

Having solved the rapscallion’s riddles, she countered with one of her own.

“Why is the wealth of a few worth more than the heritage of so many?”

The creature was stunned. It agonisingly wailed in lament, having no answer. Audrey used the confused breakdown to escape from its cruel clutches and sped from the mountain.

Much to our joy, Audrey appeared safely from the mountains and embraced us ecstatically. We had barely escaped the gruesome goblin horde and their wicked wolf companions but were pursued by them in our flight through the wild. Had it not been for the asylum of a skin-changing Great Beer... Seller, we might have been lost. The refuge was homely and warm, with very welcome refreshments and the safety and security of our mysterious host. We enjoyed a chance to relax and make plans for the future of the expedition. Audrey danced and sang in the welcome warmth. It was precisely what we needed, but our quest called, so after a brief break, we set off again.

We found ourselves in a dense murky wood. The trees were close and claustrophobic, light danced between the branches, causing all kinds of tricks to play out before our eyes. Audrey dashed this way and that, splashing in the haunting mirror-like pools and trampling the swampy squishy mud. Despite Bramble’s close guard, danger approached. A tangle of webs had been spun upon the ancient trunks of archaeological investigation. Together, they formed an illusion that archaeology was a barrier to development. It was a complex fabrication by villainous creatures desperate to ensnare us in their trap and suck away our life.

Fortunately, Audrey was equal to their cunning and had etched incantations into powerful amulet stones, such as Archaeology makes up just 0.13 % of all construction spending, making it a tiny expense and professional archaeological intervention at an early stage prevents delays and saves up to £1.3 billion for construction companies. Slipping on her magic ring, she launched the stones at the spiders. One was a direct hit! It read, fewer than 0.01 % of planning applications are rejected for reasons including archaeology: archaeology is almost never the sole reason that construction does not take place. Audrey bravely led the spiders away and came back to rescue us from the tangle of their deceptive webs.

After a tricky tussle with some wood elves and a brief stop for ice cream in the lake village of the humans, we finally reached the Lonely Mountain of Tonbridge, the Dragon’s lair. The Wizard Neil directed us through the winding passageways to the heart of the lair, where Audrey discovered the dozing demon upon its treasure horde. The dragon, Jaycubri Smaug, was a most specially greedy, strong, and wicked worm. Audrey was not afraid and with the deft and nimble skill of a burglar, she crept into the lair and discovered the weakness of the hideous dragon, its yellow belly!

In fury, Jaycubri Smaug rose into the thunderous skies and threatened destruction on all of archaeology forevermore. From its flared nostrils, it shot scorching plumes of planning permissions and budget cuts. The world cowered in fright at this fearsome beast; heritage teetered on the brink of defeat... until a hero emerged!

The Brave Bard of Backfill and brand new Council for British Archaeology President, Raksha, fired a single direct arrow into the foul yellow belly of the dragon, ending its cruel reign of terror once and for all, practically saving archaeology and heritage in a single stroke!

There was no time for celebration, however, as the evil armies of governing goblins and wicked wolves were fast approaching. Their swelling numbers seemed immeasurable, their threat impossible to withstand.

Only the joint strength of three great armies prevailed. The commercial, community, and academic armies combined their efforts, and together with the Wizard Neil, Heroic Raksha, Courageous Chloe, and Dashing David, we fought hard and won the day. A powerful symbol of a just cause, the battle of these five armies highlighted Commercial archaeology’s contribution of almost £250 million to the economy. With the famous blade of heritage tourism, they supported 386,000 jobs, contributing over £20 billion to the UK's GDP, constantly reinvigorated by fresh archaeological discoveries. It was a famous victory that would be sung by poets and troubadours in tantalising tales for all time.

Exhausted but victorious, it was time for us to head for home. We said fond goodbyes to new friends and old and bid farewell to the wise Wizard Neil, who promised to return and enjoy our next Archaeofam adventures. Audrey looked puzzled.

“You know of our adventures?” she asked

“You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Audrey Archaeobeeb, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!"

"Thank goodness!" said Audrey laughing, and handed him an ice cream.

It had been a most wondrous expedition for a brave little burglar, who slept soundly in her bed, dreaming of the safe and accessible heritage of her little island home.

From our Archaeofam to yours,

Namárië

RITUAL REVELATIONS IN THE WEST KENT DOWNS - part 2

The next barrow sites were not a great distance as the crow flies, but a vast forest and dangerous highway separated us from the sacred monuments and with our loaded provisions and entourage of varying ability, we would probably not have been able to succeed on foot. First on the list was Addington Long Barrow. We loaded the car and made our way through winding country roads, cute village outposts and blissful scenic spaces until we discovered the sought-after side road, well off the beaten track.

Addington is another sub rectangular Long Barrow of the Medway Megalith style.  It was probably built during the early Neolithic period and has since been vastly damaged, but is still recognisable as a significant prehistoric monument. The most troubling aspect of the Addington Long Barrow is the road which has been constructed directly through the centre of the mound. Collapsed kerb stones in the northeast of the structure would likely have been the space for deposition of human remains, though none were ever discovered within the tomb. The Long Barrow itself is on private land and is only visible from the roadside, but is still worth seeing, though severe caution is suggested when viewing from the narrow winding road.

The last of the substantial Medway Megaliths on the west side of the river in this incredible landscape is Chestnuts Long Barrow. This prehistoric monument is found very close to Addington, a mere 150 feet away. Chestnuts, though, is further into the aforementioned private land, engulfed by leafy trees and thick shrubbery and utterly impossible to approach without some questionable law-breaking. Keen to avoid invading private land or inviting potential criminal prosecution, we made the disappointing decision not to pursue this objective any further. Having established the monument was definitely not visible from the road and after enduring abuse from some of the roadside plant-life; we hopped back into the car and set a course for the final destination of our adventure.

By this point, Audrey had collected a number of intriguing stones for investigation.  Though not the elusive Rainbow Stone she desired, these were certainly related artefacts and would offer vital information into the whereabouts of her target treasure.

Aylesford is a pretty little riverside village just northwest of Maidstone in Kent, with delightfully crooked old buildings and enticing traditional public houses.  At the peak of the hill which adorns the historic village is a striking Norman church, wonderfully encircled by a charismatic gothic graveyard.

We were here on the hunt for a high-status late Iron Age cemetery located in the area. In 1886 the site was excavated by renowned antiquarian Arthur Evans, famed for his incredible discoveries in Crete at the Palace of Knossos, a ruin he excitedly exclaimed was that of King Minos mythical Labyrinth. The late Iron Age cremation cemetery in Aylesford was richly furnished with spectacular grave goods including bronze buckets, pans and jugs, as well as wheel-thrown Belgic wares from the 1st century BC.  Discovery of this unique burial illustrated a high level of continental connectivity prior to the Roman invasion. The find was deemed so important that an entire culture, the Aylesford-Swarling culture, was named after it. There has been speculation that Aylesford was also the location of the Battle of Medway, a recorded clash between native Britain’s and invading Romans during their occupation of Britain, though there is no evidence to back up this claim.

We parked the car in an easily accessible, fee-free car park close to the village centre and set off on foot through the narrow rustic streets.  The glorious sunshine had enticed throngs of leisure seekers into the communal village spaces, parks and bridges were swarming with families and friends enjoying all manner of refreshments.

We wandered along the river, onto the high street, past the historical buildings lining the narrow roads and we climbed towards the church.  The views from the top of the hill were splendid, but we found our path restricted by the ‘no dog’ policy of the churchyard and had to skirt the most scenic areas and stick to alternative pathways.  Despite our best efforts, and many dead-end streets and alleys, we were unable to locate the area of the cemetery.  Our phone batteries had long since expired so we were wandering blindly through the village, which had its advantages but eventually proved frustrating. We gave up on the quest, satisfied with our explorations of the ancient village itself. Audrey collected some further stony specimens for her study and it was time to go.

Since we had been enjoying a period of detox, we celebrated with ice cold non-alcoholic beers and light snacks when we finally made it home.  I made the mistake of checking precisely where the Iron Age cemetery was located... we had been just meters from a decent vantage point, if only we had followed the unpromising road at the peak of the hill a little further, perhaps we would have witnessed our goal. Ah well, something to try for next time!

Ritual revelations in the West Kent Downs

Following our recent pursuit of local prehistoric pleasures, we embarked upon an ambitious plot to uncover not one, not two but three Long Barrows and discover an elite late Iron Age burial ground... all in the same day! It would prove a tantalising, testing task.

In the wild picturesque West Kent Downs near West Malling are a cluster of ancient burial chambers, much damaged but still visible in the landscape if you know where to look. We had found the incredible sites via our trusty OS map and decided we had to see them for ourselves.

As ever, our dependable transport was loaded and provisions were prepared before we set out into the luscious green hills. Audrey had instructed us on her own particular interest in this adventure. She was on the hunt for the elusive Rainbow Stone. Rarer than diamonds and rumoured to be extremely well guarded, the Rainbow Stone has lured many an intrepid adventurer for as long as records have been kept. Thus far, all have failed in this quest, but with unique treasure hunting talents and a brave and fearless spirit, Audrey was confident that this journey would yield important results.

We made our way through the cute village of Trottiscliffe. Nearby, we were able to stow the car in a secure location supplied by the amazing National Trust. The parking was free and safe, but do be warned, the car park is quite small and fairly busy so you may find yourself waiting a short while for a free space to become available.

From here, rucksacks packed and boots laced, we set off expectantly on foot. Trekking excitedly through the stunning hills, atmospheric forests and ancient earthen pathways, we approached the first of the incredible monuments on our list, Coldrum Long Barrow.

The Coldrum Sarsens have been a point of heated discussion for many centuries. Suffering significant disruption and destruction through the ages, arguments have arisen about precisely what this megalithic structure may have been. Some argued it might have been a Henge site, whilst others tussled over the style of Long Barrow it may represent. Current consensus suggests the monument is a rectangular Long Barrow, an ancient burial tomb of the Neolithic Age in use from around 4000 - 3850 BC.  Field systems were already existent in the area prior to the construction of the monument, indicating this area hosted some of Kent’s earliest farming communities. The tomb contained the bones of over 22 men, women and children of all ages from newborn to elderly.  These have been proven to be family members illustrating the close familial community of the age.

We had not planned it as such but found ourselves at Coldrum Long Barrow just hours after the summer solstice. Though the stones are cordoned off by a small wooden fence, a gathering of cheerful revellers had set themselves amongst the heart of the monument, with tents, campfires and refreshments. No doubt they had situated themselves for a fully immersive experience of the solstice sunrise within this ancient spiritual space.

We skirted the monument, enjoying the magnificent splendour of the stones, but ultimately felt slightly uncomfortable and so we were unable to dwell there for too long. It was a little bit like accidentally wandering into someone’s house whilst they were sitting down for dinner. We smiled and offered awkward apologetic greetings before briskly moving along, out of immediate sight.

It was lunchtime and we were well prepared, we had packed a delightful picnic and leaving the stunning stones of Coldrum behind, we found a secluded picturesque space in the immense landscape to sit and enjoy our refreshments. From our serene space, we curiously scanned the many scatters of natural flint, whilst Audrey desperately searched for the ever-elusive Rainbow Stone. As yet, there was no sign of it, but Audrey felt we were getting closer. Our snack time over, we ensured our picnic area was clean and made for the car. There was still much to explore, and we only had half a day left to achieve our hopeful holiday holy grail

To be continued...

Kits Coty Escapade

We were heading deep into uncharted territory on the hunt for a prehistoric wonder with a wild and mysterious origin.

The maps were vague and uncertain; the terrain was tricky and testing.  Our family unit was prepared for the worst of conditions and potential dangers, but even so, we knew this would be a true test of our adventurous resolve.

We had heard whispers of Kits Coty House and Little Kits Coty House, two megalithic ‘dolmen’ burial chambers hidden in the Kent hills. These were ancient and magnificent structures adorning the hilltops, standing proud against the test of time.

Armed with only vague references on a map and suspicious rumours from our colleagues, we packed our provisions and set out on the road. Nearing the location of this ancient wonder, we found the way to be well disguised. Our guidance restricted, maps and signposts rendered useless, we had to rely on intuition to guide us.

A few wrong turns later and we had discovered a suitable place to stow the vehicle and trek on foot.  It hadn’t been easy to find a safe space to stop, but discovering a suitable lay-by; we unpacked and ventured into the unknown.

Immediately faced with some fairly treacherous obstacles, we carefully navigated dangerous highways and made it to an ancient earthen path, descending the hillside towards the open fields beyond. This was far safer terrain but we were still going in blind, there were no obvious directions available, it was a case of seek and adventure.

Kits Coty House and little Kits Coty House are megalithic long barrows which have managed to partially survive in the modern landscape. Their remains reside in open fields overlooking the North Downs and Medway Valley. Thought to have been constructed between 4000 and 3000 BC, these monuments could represent burial chambers of some of the earliest settled communities in the area. The prehistoric structures were likely to have been the focus of burial rituals, powerful, impressive symbols to celebrate the dead.

Kits Coty House is made up of three enormous Sarsen Stones, capped by a further Sarsen. These form the burial chamber of the barrow.  The long earthen mound has mostly disappeared from view, a probable victim of the plough, but the Sarsen Stones remain elevated and impressive.

Kits Coty is rumoured to have gained its name from a Dark Age prince named Catigern, the son of Vortigern.  According to legend, Catigern died nearby in a battle against the Saxons around 455AD.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, several esteemed antiquarians visited and studied the site including John Aubrey, William Stukeley and Edward Hasted. Each published documents and drawings of the ancient monuments, and in the 19th century, famed archaeologist Augustus Pitt Rivers and colleagues strived to have to site protected under the Ancient Monuments Protection Act 1882.

As we ventured through ancient wooded walkways, an opening appeared, and to our delight, cresting the hilltop were the astonishing Sarsen giants which made up Kits Coty House. The monument, though only a fraction of its ancient magnificence, remains awe-inspiring.  The enormity of the stones and their positioning on the hillside is a worthy spectacle.  Imprisoned in iron gratings for protection against overzealous potential vandals, the stones cut a lonely figure in the landscape.  Ancient graffiti is testament to its age and effects through the years.

We wandered around the monument for a while, basking in its majesty, before exploring further and seeking Little Kits Coty House.

Little Kits Coty House is an intriguing collection of collapsed stones, once making up a chambered tomb. Both monuments represent a localised regional variant of the barrow style common to the River Medway. Sadly, Little Kits Coty has been long destroyed. 

A curious myth surrounds Little Kits Coty House.  The remains are commonly known as the Countless Stones due to a legend suggesting it is impossible to count the exact number of stones that lie on the ground.  Whoever might try, would never reach the same number twice.

Sadly, we failed to discover its whereabouts.  Despite our best efforts, the stones remained elusive.  Upon our return, we discovered that entry to the countless stones required a dangerous dice with death walking along the highway, before a well hidden and overgrown pathway emerged, leading to the caged remains. It was not a journey I would have been comfortable to demand of my family.

Defeated by the final quest, but not deflated, we made the steady climb back to our car and began the journey home. It was time for a quick beer, snacks and refreshments in our local pub before heading back to the house for a comforting cup of tea and some careful planning. Next time we will surely have to find an alternative route to witness the Countless Stones, and the many other prehistoric monuments littering this fascinating landscape.

Hunt for the wreck of the Esperance - Part 3

Salty surf washes coolly across my face as rays of sunlight bounce and mix. Bubbles obscure my vision temporarily, and suddenly we’ve crossed the precipice to find ourselves awash in sunlight filtered through the wings of angels.  Our world extends into a vast, unrelenting blue. The slow descent to the deep hazy bottom begins. Normally murky green and grey Scottish diving conditions blossom into memories of the Pacific, as Azure, Cerulean and Ultramarines unfold before our eyes, finally revealing pink and green kelp. The kelp sways in rhythm to the endless surf and tide. It feels natural, this sway and pitch, as Jacques Cousteau once astutely observed, “the tides are in our veins.”

As the bubbles rise in a steady stream up to the surface, we check our dials. 5m… 8m… 12m… We can see the ground rising to meet us and we check in at a final 27m, the pressure now noticeable. Careful fin flicks ensure we don’t slick the bottom. To do so would fill our entire field of vision with murk and sediment, harming the flora and fauna of this alien world in which we are merely tolerated guests. We set our compasses and navigate in the formation we’d practised for months, checking our bearings, always keeping an eye on the time and our air.

My dive buddy takes the lead, whilst I content myself searching for signs of shipwreck debris; a strange and out of place timber, a misshapen metal item, a rounded surface, a jagged or flat edge. The flash of my camera blazes the eyes of the fish that pass, curious and most blissfully unaware. Of the Esperance? Nothing reveals itself. I look about, maintaining our agreed-upon search pattern, moving ever westward when a motion catches the corner of my eye. A crab drifts on the current 20 cm from me and though I slow my kicks to avoid it, the current lifts it against my mask where the crab now attaches itself. Its small eyes scan my face. With this close encounter, I manage to muffle a scream, knowing full well that nobody – neither the crab nor my dive buddy – can hear me. It releases a claw from the side of my mask, threatening with a little snap, snap, snap, beady eyes still on me. Before I can make another move, it releases its other claw and drifts off on another adventure. I take a heavy inhale from my regulator before catching up the few meters of distance that have grown between me and my dive partner.

The kelp that envelops us in its embrace suddenly thins out, becoming a desert of sand stretching out ahead. To think this desert is unoccupied would be premature. Sand crabs scuttle about as we pass over, some threatening us with fighting claws, some preferring the safety and solitude of their underground homes. My right eye twitches slightly, hoping they don’t make any acrobatic attempts at my mask. Sanddabs flit past, visible to the untrained eye when swimming, before suddenly disappearing to the bottom. My dive buddy rubs his tummy, suggesting he would very much like to eat these dabs. I roll my eyes, a vegetarian with no choice but to humour my friend.

Still no Esperance. We look at each other, acknowledging that the search so far has been fruitless. A few more fin kicks and we see the outline of the Kartli. We know we’ve come to the end of the search zone. Air and time running low, we must navigate back to our buoy line and head to the surface.

Our return to the buoy is simple: Paul is a capable underwater navigator. We gently swim our way back across the sandy seafloor before coming back into the kelp forest. There’s a calm enjoyment in visiting this magical place where life abounds in 4D all around you; a wonderful number of little creatures, drifting, swimming and crawling about, blissfully unaware of your worries. Their serenity is contagious and by the time we make it back to the buoy, I breathe easily and forget that our hunt for the Esperance has been fruitless. We take a brief look at the kelp around us and with a nod, carefully begin our ascent to the surface: kick, kick, wait… Breathe… Kick, kick, wait… Breathe… Holding fast at our safety stop, I snap a picture of my fins for fun. These split fins have seen me through interesting waters, and today’s adventure will be another story for them to tell.

Hours later, safely back in our host’s home, I’m checking over my records and photographs, hoping to catch some glimpse of the Esperance that may have been missed during the dive, but no… A second dive hadn’t been possible with the surface interval required. I tinker with my camera, ensuring the casing hasn’t been cracked or compromised on the cow poo trailer ride back. We hadn’t the luxury of the massive body of cleansing water waiting for us on our return journey. The water troughs at the farmhouse were a real blessing, even if it did see three piratey divers in their skivvies, cold and muddied at the ankles, wrists and necks.

We joke that despite finding little, at least it has been a successful dive. A successful dive is one that you return from, I remind myself. And it’s true. We have all come back together for another evening meal on the Isle of Gigha. Tomorrow would involve less diving, with a coastal survey planned for another potential crannog, followed by an evening home visit to a lady who has a strange lintel stone. There’s been no sign of the Esperance, but further research and high-tech equipment will prepare either us or the next wave of researchers that come out to chance their luck at finding her.

McSporren yells to us. He’s made grilled, “vegetarian” sanddabs to celebrate the day. My little team will be thrilled, but I already feel like I’ve ingested enough of the sea today.

I think I’ll opt for the aqua vita instead.

Hunt for the wreck of the Esperance - Part 2

Suits, masks and boots donned, we board the tractor’s trailer and begin a jaunty journey to the coast which, though visible from almost every point of the island, is blockaded from easy access by the pens of dairy farms. The trailer jolts us back and forth over muddy fields and stony boundaries, seatbelts not included. We grapple with the diesel smoke from the tractor, clanging cylinders, muck (a polite word for wet puddles of cow paddies) coating us as it splashes up from the drenched field tracks. We all laugh, feeling incredibly grateful that we didn’t take the locals’ advice to get changed into our drysuits once on the coastline. Without those drysuits, we would have been utterly coated to the skin in… well, kuh paddy!

The mists begin to clear and the proprietor of the ‘big house’ is waiting for us on the shore, with windbreaker flapping and maritime map in hand. I don’t say anything, but it all feels like a big underwater film production, with the local expert coming to help out the book smart but slightly clueless specialists. It makes me smile, which to everybody else merely seems to suggest a very polite American who is friendly despite being covered in cow poop and having been lurched to the point of nearly seeing those gleaming eyed sprats again. No television crew here… Just a shore-based archaeologist, kitted out in case of an underwater emergency, my dive partner – years more experienced in diving than even my own 15 – and now, the man from the big house. The man greets us warmly after last night’s meal and frivolities. As the west coast breeze whips through, reminding us of the impending autumn, he begins pointing out appropriate places to enter, suggesting the various rock formations that jut from the surf where we would be best placed to search for the Esperance’s remains.

Likely locations for the Esperance had been suggested previously by professionals and amateurs throughout the century of its disappearance, but the actual whereabouts still remain a mystery. If we could find even a trace of it, we would be filling in a large piece of Gigha’s puzzling maritime past, and putting to rest (or to right?) stories about shipwrecked passengers who took refuge on the island. Our task is to make a series of coordinated passes across the kelp beds, out across a swathe of sand and finally to the Kartli (a known shipwreck). We bashfully try to rinse as much of the muck from ourselves as possible while he speaks to us; we want to seem neither concerned nor too comfortable covered in the island’s brown gold, nor do we want to wait until our actual dive to be free of the mess.

With approving final nods, a plan and safety checks, we begin our entry into the lapping waters of the Sound of Jura. We swim out on our backs to an agreed upon point, the sun now beaming across the water creating blinding reflections, and my dive buddy deploys a buoy to mark entry and exit points.

We had reached our dive site.

To be concluded…

Off with their heads... A day at the Tower

Beneath delightful blue winter skies, seeking ancient historical mysteries, our merry little band entered through the gates of the most notorious building in all of Great Britain, The Tower of London.

It would be impossible to write a brief blog on the history of this incredible site.  Built in the 11th century as a fortress by William the Conqueror, to establish his dominance over the island following invasion, the Tower and its surrounding structures have since been a royal residence, a prison, a mint, a stronghold and even a menagerie. Over 1000 years of turbulent tales are locked within its walls.

Emily organised our amazing visit as a wonderfully thoughtful gift, knowing that despite my years in the capital, I had yet to witness the famous fortress.  My excitement was impossible to disguise from the moment of waking, right through until we consumed a final beer on the way home.  The historian in me danced on clouds of delight, drunk on the abundance of chronicles connected to this Thameside treat.

There are countless blogs and websites dedicated to the intriguing tales connected to this little bit of land.  Home to the Crown Jewells of Great Britain, it has produced stories of Kings and Queens, prisoners, tortures, punishments and executions; dark tales like that of the Princes in the Tower, mere children destined for the throne whose lives were cut short in the name of power; tales of Queens decapitated by ruthless Kings; tales of persecuted religious martyrs. The list is endless.

As we wandered through the various Tower buildings, each with its own unique heritage, it was clear the histories locked in these walls were too numerous to fully explore.  We could have spent a day in each room. Reconstructed bed chambers, chapels, dungeons, throne rooms and armouries appeared with each new step.  Trying to consume it all was difficult.  The tours are highly recommended, and by the sound of it, as hilarious as they are educational!

Characters such as Elizabeth I, Sir Walter Raleigh, Guy Fawkes, even the infamous Kray brothers were prisoners here. Unsurprisingly, tales of haunting are plentiful; the ghost of Anne Boleyn is thought to roam Tower Green and a cousin of Queen Elizabeth who starved to death in the tower is said to remain in the Queen’s House, these are just some of the spectres stalking this ancient pile.

For our part, we were fascinated by stories from before the famous White Tower was erected.  Much of our intrigue emerged from fanciful mythology surrounding this particular hill by the Thames.  As it happens, there is tantalising evidence of life at this location prior to William the Conquerors immense building project, it is perhaps a little less well known, but equally as fascinating.

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae told of Brutus, a Trojan descendant who having been banished from Italy began a journey across Europe.  Amassing a number of Trojan exiles and winning many battles, Brutus was visited in a dream by the goddess Diana who prophesied he would discover an island occupied by Giants and create a New Troy.

According to Monmouth, the island would take his name, from Brutus to Brittania.  Brutus discovered Albion around 1170BC and ridding it of Giants became the first in a line of great kings.  He searched the island for a suitable home and coming upon the Thames he chose a site, naming it Troia Nova (New Troy). The Welsh name for tower hill was the Bryn Gwyn, roughly translated as the white hill.  It is here in this apparently sacred mound, that Brutus of Troy is said to be buried.

In a collection of Welsh folk tales called Mabinogion, is the story of the Giant Bendigeidfran, or Bran the Blessed, King of England.  Bran led an invasion of Ireland, wading across the sea and laying over the islands as a bridge so his men could cross.  He was fatally injured by a poisoned spear during the battle.  On his death bed, he ordered his followers to decapitate him, and take my head and carry it to the Gwynfryn (White Hill) in London and bury it with its face towards France.  Gwnfryn has been identified by some commentators with Tower Hill.  The buried head is believed to have kept the island safe from invasion until none other than King Arthur himself ordered it to be exhumed, claiming no other force than himself was required to defend the island.

The custom of keeping severed heads has been recognised in Celtic cultures. They are thought to have believed the head housed the soul and so they would keep the heads of their enemies.  The word Bran in Welsh means crow, and so the legend has attached itself to the presence of ravens at the Tower of London.  Charles II was informed of a prophecy that if the ravens left the tower, the white tower would collapse and a terrible fate would befall the nation.

Flint flakes and deposits of worn pottery were discovered beneath accumulated layers of sand and gravel during excavations in the south-east corner of the inmost ward in 1955 and 1976.  Towards the end of the prehistoric period, the river level declined, leaving a dry area.  Here excavations revealed flint flakes and Iron Age pottery along with a shallow grave containing a skeleton of a young male, 13 – 16 years old.  Radiocarbon dating of the skeleton revealed that it dates to no earlier than the beginning of the first century AD.  The style and ritual of the burial suggest that the male died just before the Roman invasion of AD43. Pits and pottery of Iron Age date have been uncovered from sites around the Tower.

Much of the archaeology in this area has traditionally been focused on the Roman wall and was the result of refurbishment in buildings in the surrounding area between the 1930s and the present day.  Sites produced a wealth of artefacts such as building material, sword scabbards, flints, Roman pottery sherds and even a sandstone sarcophagus with the skeleton of a child dated to the 4th century. The evidence led to the hypothesis a cemetery was in use during the 3rd and 4th centuries, just outside the city walls. In 1899, part of a structure which included a channelled hypocaust system was found some 16 feet south-west of the White Tower.

As our legs tired and our minds were full of wonders, it was time to escape the Tower and head for home.  Not before a nice drink by the Thames of course, to look out over the river and try to arrange the mass of historical stories we had witnessed. The Tower has a gruesome and terrifying past, but it has remained at the centre of importance on our little island at the edge of the earth for as long as there has been a London.  It was a true pleasure to experience it in an age where the majority get to walk out alive!

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.