Calkenstein, Or the modern Frankensomething

The low soupy mists were slow to shift on this early Autumn morning. I awoke to the angry vibrations of a mobile phone from some dark corner of our bedroom. Not expecting any such wake up call, and struggling to see through bleary morning vision, I strained to see the culprit… Unknown Caller!

I do not often answer calls from unknown numbers. I have retained the same phone number for many years, and as such, it appears to have found its way onto endless lists of call centre criminals. Yet something about the timing of the call was curious, and before I could consider the potential dangers ahead, I had clicked the green symbol to accept the call.

To my surprise, the caller did not confront me with an awkward quizzing about some imaginary accident for which I could be due compensation, but was a low, learned voice who offered a direct introduction and some intriguing instructions. She was sharp and to the point.

There was an old house nearby, by the name of Calke Abbey. The house had a rather mysterious history and held a treasure trove of antiquarian hoarding, filled with countless trinkets of a spectacular, surreal, macabre and sinister nature. In recent weeks, a strange incident had occurred upon the nearby Staunton Harold Reservoir. The caller recounted a tale of melancholy, terror and woe.

A mournful figure had been rescued from a raft, way out in the most isolated of reservoir waters. After some time assisting the man, it became clear he was of a surprisingly intellectual nature but appeared severely troubled. When pressed, he admitted to being out so far in the wilderness pursuing what he called, a Daemon. The poor soul went on to explain how his story was connected to Calke Abbey, a terrifying and mind expanding episode in the human endeavour for godliness.

Being aware of our family interests, the lady on the phone wished for us to visit the property, hear the tale in full and explore certain objects in the Calke Abbey collections which were, he claimed, connected to the unfortunate stray.

It was an unusual time for investigations. Dark spirits are frequently abound during this season. As far back as traditions reach, All Hallows Eve has been considered a liminal period, a time when the veil between the dead and the living could be lifted. A good time to stay home and stay safe, but the call had piqued our interest and so we gathered supplies, called in reinforcements from the Archaeograndfolk and set off for Calke Abbey.

Calke Abbey is a Baroque mansion which stands on the site of an Augustinian priory, with origins in the 12th century. Following the migration of the priory Canons to Repton, the site became a subordinate cell of Repton Priory. The estate passed through several hands following the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII. The first to buy the lease for the estate was John Prest or Priest, a member of the London Grocers Company.

This is where our unfortunate drifter’s story began. For the ancient origins of the Apothecaries is tied to that of the Grocers. ‘Grossers’ had originally been responsible for the import and dealing of wholesale goods, including medicines, drugs, confectionaries, perfumes, spices and many other unique and exotic items. Since medicines in the 16th century were mostly based on imported herbs, London apothecaries and grocers were extremely familiar and as such, many of the apothecaries were members of the Grocers Company of London.

John Prest had sinister associations with such exotic imports, and it seems, a penchant for the dark arts. Our rescued gentleman spoke of secret laboratories in the deep catacombs of the estate, where Prest had dabbled in various forms of ancient magic in an attempt to reanimate the dead. His attempts had been unsuccessful, but had laid the foundations of scientific curiosity that would plague the heirs to the estate for centuries to come.

In 1585, the house was sold to extreme protestant Robert Bainbridge. Most believed that Bainbridge chosen Calke as a home knowing the parish was not under the control of a Bishop, therefore his puritan worship could remain unnoticed. According to the mysterious, recently rescued gentleman however, there was another more ominous reason for his being drawn to Calke.

Bainbridge was imprisoned in the Tower of London for disagreeing with Queen Elizabeth’s Church settlement. Whilst here, rumours spread that he was visited frequently by that most curious of characters, Dr John Dee. Dee was a mathematician, astronomer and teacher but was perhaps better known for his obsession with the occult. Our fellow claimed that Dee had been intrigued by the ancient alchemy of John Prest and between himself and Bainbridge, a plan was hatched to conduct experiments using ancient potions with modern technologies of the age. Little is known of the results, but there were unusual screams and wails witnessed on the estate over the decades following Bainbridge’s release from the Tower.

Calke Abbey eventually found its way into the hands of Henry Harpur in 1622, for the bargain price of £5350. The estate would remain in this family for twelve generations before the National Trust took over stewardship in 1985. It was Henry, 7th Baronet, who was responsible for beginning the vast collection of natural history which still adorns the house. During this period of 18th century enlightenment, the pursuit of intellectual science was considered of particular refinement and interest to many in high society. He also had a great interest in art, built a library and studied technology and society.

The fellow found adrift explained that during this period, the first glimmer of success had been attained. Henry’s so called interest in natural history combined with a fascination in modern science and technology had a more alarming objective. The gathering of corpses, the selection of anatomical literature, it all led to the same end, reanimation. The goal was gathering pace.

Following the death of Henry, 7th Baronet in a riding accident, the devout Christian, George Crew became the 8th Baronet. George focussed his mind on the community, rebuilding churches and funding new schools, ensuring better conditions for local people. He devoted his life and time to his family. He retained a passion for collecting and added many important artworks to the house. Whilst the unnatural pursuits quietened during this period, it seems they did not altogether cease, personal tragedy and family turmoil ensured the practice continued throughout the coming generations, albeit to a lesser extent. It only regained its fierce thrust in the practice upon the introduction of Sir Vauncey!

The 10th Baronet, Sir Vauncey Harpur-Crew continued the family fetish for natural history, delighting in the house gardens and adding to the already globally significant natural history collection, bringing all manner of specimens from various hunting expeditions.

Our storyteller explained how these respectable pursuits masked a far more insidious desire. To bring back a life from the dark clutches of death! And eventually, or so our drowned desolate castoff claimed, the age old desire had recently become an achievement!

Using the mass of collected artefacts and documents in the house, ancient relics of curative magic, dedicated, thorough studies of science and technology, medicines, herbs, spices, potions, literature, spells and blended with more than a little demonic ritual, a life had been wrenched from the eternal nothingness of death. Our friend on the reservoir had been hunting the demon, a demon that he himself had created. His hunt had been to no avail. The creature he had brought back to the world had taken on a will and strength of its own, and had left the poor creator in a very sorry state.

Hearing this incredible tale upon our arrival at Calke Abbey, we were keen to explore the house and discover the life producing laboratory for ourselves. Audrey led the way beneath the stone doorway and into the waiting room…

We were instantly face to face, with death.

Death was in the air and all around us. It hung on the walls in rows of severed heads and limbs. It stared back from macabre landscapes in curious glass cabinets. It was delicately stacked upon rickety shelves, masking the peeling wall paper and crumbling plaster. It was in the sombre faces of ancient portraits, each long removed from this mortal realm. Death was definitely on display. But what of life?

We continued through the incredible mansion. Dim lamp light illuminated countless stacks of curiosities covered in dust, faded paint and rusty metals, unmoved for centuries. Faces stared back from the dark, all kinds of faces, the waxy dead eyes of ancient portraits, the black hole cavities of dolls and rocking horses, the tentacled and teeth laden terrors of the insect and animal world. Libraries were stacked to the ceiling with ancient manuscripts covering every interest and intrigue of previous owners. Prehistoric weapons, items of ritual, medieval curiosities, worldwide trinkets of the macabre, all clustered together and labelled erratically. The entire house was a true cabinet of curiosities and we were gawp as if at the zoo.

Having scaled the heights of the building, we finally descended into the tombs, tunnels and catacombs. We rushed through pitch black alleys, moved delicately through old kitchens and stores where butchery was rife and the deliveries of all manner of specialist merchandise would arrive. Eventually we reached a tunnel, it was lit by candles alone and stretched hauntingly into the unknown darkness. There was no end in sight but we were informed this was where the demonic creature had been risen from its place in the underworld.

Treading carefully, we made our way through the brick lined passage, darkness engulfed us. Strange noises seemed to escape from the very stone we stood upon, the temperature seemed both blisteringly hot and freezing cold at once. We huddled close for safety and stumbled forwards, not knowing what fortune might await us. Ahead a light flickered menacingly. We picked up pace, hoping that light meant safety, desperate to retreat from the gloom and terror. As we reached the glowing chamber, we discovered the incredible miracle our host had described. The creature had returned to its place of rebirth. From the grasps of agonising death, it had risen, stronger and more wonderful than it had ever been in life. It was a spectacular site, its body and limbs renovated and conserved, the light burning bright. Rescued from the cliff edge of destruction, a survivor of death.

We gasped in unison as we looked upon… the National Trust gift shop, a testament to the heroes responsible for the resurrection of this incredible estate.

With another successful adventure complete, we enjoyed hot chocolates and cake before heading for home. If you are curious to see a corpse brought back to beautiful life, then Calke Abbey is definitely the place for you, but beware… it still seeks a bride!

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!

Gallivanting in Grantham

It has been a busy old summer, and a hot one of course! So sitting at a computer most days has not been the most desirable hang out. Thankfully, we have managed to sneak in some archaeological and historical adventures despite our heavy workloads and looming deadlines.

By far the biggest event of the summer was Emily’s archaeological field school in Harlaxton, Lincolnshire, just outside of Grantham. Digging Harlaxton was a joint community venture which involved Harlaxton College, The Enabled Archaeology Foundation, Operation Nightingale, Network Archaeology, University of Lincoln, Grantham and Harlaxton community members and many more. The primary goal of the excavations was to offer an accessible program of archaeology to the local community, a number of charitable groups and an educational program to students of Harlaxton College and local schools.

The archaeology itself was formed of two specific sites. The first was located in the walled garden complex of Harlaxton Manor. The walled garden is set to be redeveloped and made accessible to the public, so a number of test trenches were strategically placed in the garden to explore the original Victorian glass houses which are no longer extant. The second site explored an unusual cropmark within a prehistoric landscape nearby. The area had experienced some field walking but no excavation had been previously conducted.

The excavations for this season are now completed and the reports are being written for publication as soon as specialist reports and investigations are conducted on the finds and environmental sampling. The results will be forthcoming when the report is released, but suffice to say there were some incredible discoveries made, some puzzling archaeology discovered, and the field school was a huge success with everyone involved. Community members expressed their joy at feeling involved and were excited to learn the various histories of their locality. The students benefitted greatly from a well-executed project and educational program, and many people who may not have considered archaeology accessible or even interesting, were fully immersed and enjoyed the experience immensely.

Whilst Emily was busy making sure the project sailed smoothly, Audrey and I took the opportunity to help where we could. This sometimes involved assisting in the dig, occasionally meant playing in the mountains of sand produced from the Lincolnshire countryside, and at other times meant heading away on adventures of our own.

We made our way into the town of Grantham to have a look around. Grantham appears in the Domesday book of 1086, though its earliest origin is not entirely clear. The name may refer to a personal name of Granta, or the old English Grand for gravel, therefore Granta/Grand (Granta’s or by gravel) Ham (homestead). The town is well positioned along the River Witham valley where it joins with the Mow Beck river. There are hints at a well utilised prehistoric landscape, with a Palaeolithic axe, Mesolithic flints and a possible Neolithic settlement all discovered in the area. There have also been Beaker pottery finds, and a Bronze Age cemetery located in Grantham. The majority of potential for prehistoric evidence lies just outside the town, between Grantham and Harlaxton, where crop marks display a rich and curious collection of features. Evidence for a number of Romano-British farmsteads have also been found in the form of coins, pottery and the footings of structures.

The town itself is thought to have largely grown during the early medieval period, perhaps during the 7th century. In the Domesday book, Grantham is mentioned as a town and Royal residence, with St Wulfram’s church serving the Parish. It has been argued that Grantham started out as an important Saxon centre and then became a minor local capitol during the Danelaw following Viking incursions.

We wandered into town, and after buying some sparkly rainbow shoes and a princess dress, we made our way to the main historical feature at the centre of Grantham, St Wulfram’s church.

Being an important market town with a strong wool trade, Grantham flourished during the 11th century and the riches brought in, went towards funding St Wulfram’s church. St Wulfram’s has the sixth largest spire of English churches and hosts the first ever public library in England, dating to 1598. The church recently won an award as the finest non-cathedral English church. Only a few stones remain of the original Saxon church but the building was completely restructured during the Norman Conquest. The church saw repeated development through the centuries and was fully restored in 1866-67 by Sir George Gilbert Scott.

Audrey took immense delight in exploring the church. Inside, amongst historical monuments, ancient tombs and epic windows, Audrey quickly discovered a play area full of toys to investigate! Carefully descending some worn stone steps, we ventured into one of the original oldest parts of the building. A door and a number of chests here are original medieval artefacts. Fascinatingly, it is said that this crypt was once used to house a relic of St Wulfram. It also held church valuables and apparently even human remains as a charnel house when the graveyard was full.

After exploring the church, we made our way through the narrow winding streets of Grantham, and back to Harlaxton, but not before sneaking in a quick visit to a traditional local pub. Audrey enjoyed a blackcurrant juice and some crisps, whilst I sampled the local beer before we continued on our journey, fully refreshed.

Back in Harlaxton, we decided to wander the village streets and pine over the dreamy old houses and stunning gardens. It is a delightfully cute little village, once voted English village of the year. We wound our way through the streets and up the hill towards the church, again the main feature at the centre of the locality. Audrey found delight at collecting wild flowers as we wandered, and a variety of rare rainbow leaves. The church is dedicated to St Mary and St Peter and likely originated in the 12th century. It has an early 14th century buttressed tower and a font dating to 1400.

Harlaxton is mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as Herlavestune, or Herelaf-Tun meaning the estate or farm of Herelaf. The village grew around Harlaxton Manor. This Moated Manor house, which was situated close to the current village, was built in the 14th century and is said to have been used as a hunting lodge by the infamous son of King Edward III and friend of Geoffrey Chaucer, John of Gaunt.

After long days of adventuring, we joined back with Emily and the archaeology team at the local pub, the Gregory, so named after the founder of the current Harlaxton Manor House, which you can read all about in our earlier blog “The Harlaxton Shuffle” below. This little region at the heart of England retains a peaceful, rural atmosphere, picturesque and full of charm.

The excavations at Harlaxton are guaranteed to make a significant contribution to the understanding of Harlaxton’s prehistory and the development of Harlaxton Manor during the Victorian period. More importantly, the dig was a milestone in highlighting accessible archaeology. The hope was to create a project in which all participants could feel an equal part of the experience, no matter what restrictions they may have faced for a variety of reasons. Not only was this successfully accomplished, but the reports of techniques implemented will offer an important guidance on such measures for all future projects nationwide.

And there has never been a spoil heap more utilised for its activity centre capabilities than the epic sandy mound of Digging Harlaxton. I am fairly sure some of that sand is still to be found in Audrey’s socks and shoes.

A year revisited, a New Year on the horizon

A brand new year lurks suspiciously beyond the shadowy corner of midnight, and to be honest, our little family are currently reclining in a lethargy of regular, everyday vibes. We are not always overly enticed by the regulated party that is New Years Eve celebrations. In our youths, we spent countless hours queuing for drinks in overcrowded venues and hugging strangers at the stroke of midnight in a less than sober state. I didn’t always understand the glamour of it back then, so now with a firecracker four year old that has no chance or interest in being awake at midnight, the appeal is even further from my comprehension.

We will be together as a family as the year ticks over and 2022 is born. That is plenty enough to be grateful for, and I shall celebrate that with a comfortable beer or three this evening, perhaps we will even set an alarm and rouse ourselves a few minutes before midnight, to pour and half consume a glass of something fizzy.

As for most people over the past couple of years, things have been weird, at times difficult, at times fun and lovely, but very different to the way things used to be. Well, for us at least, because Audrey has now spent practically half her life in a world affected by Covid. Masks, lockdowns, isolation, working from home, these are just things she is all too familiar with, a normal way of life. We do everything in our power to allow her to experience things considered normal before Covid hit. We try to go on adventures, to see incredible sights and do fun family activities, albeit with safety precautions in place.

So I want to take a little look back at the year and revisit some of the best and most enjoyable moments we experienced. I see so many posts from people glad to see the back of the year, and I understand completely, but for the moment I would like to focus on the great things we managed to do this year. Looking back, there have been a lot of highlights.

We began the year with a flurry of winter wanderings, through Tonbridge and Penshurst, and all the surrounding countryside. I tried to up my running schedule and even attempted to sport a lockdown mullet, of which I was incredibly proud... but it wasn’t allowed to stay for long! Audrey began to emulate Emily in her artistic ability, drawing fantastic representations of families and landscapes in every medium available, including canvasses such as the carpets and walls. We enjoyed crafts and creations, and even got to play in some snow, though not enough for a substantial snowman to be formed... and thus we welcomed SnowDuck into existence!

As the world gradually warmed in temperature and temper alike, we were able to spread our wings further afield, to get out on more adventures and to fill those darling wide eyes of our little girl with brand new wonders. Even when stuck indoors, we created pirate adventures and explored undersea worlds, we learned new things every day and were surprised and delighted as our curious little explorer soaked up so much.

Having spent an eternity indoors over the past couple of years, we decided to go on a number of camping trips this year and explore the wilds of the southern Britain. Our first such adventure was mainly to test our camping gear and check we would all fit in the car, beeb, dog, tent and all.

First, we headed over to Chertsey in Surrey, where the wonderful watery landscape of the Thames Valley creates a beauteous tapestry of glorious blues and greens. We explored the ancient Abbey site, and searched for evidence of Iron Age features scattered within the wetlands. It was confused slightly by the occasion of the Euro’s and football fever taking over the country, but we managed to disconnect from the chaos to enjoy some outdoor serenity, and learnt lots about packing up tents in the rain!

Our next outdoor adventure was a trek to the south coast, to a wonderful little newly opened campsite at Herstmonceux. Here we not only visited a Tudor castle and a mid 20th century hilltop observatory, but we also studied a Saxon shore Fort at Pevensey and finally sat out under a spectacular meteor showered night sky with a stunning fire pit warming our souls. It was utter bliss, the heavens put on a show that will stay in our hearts forever more.

We embarked upon our final camping adventure with some family friends, and crossed the ocean... a little, to the Isle of Wight. Here we spent a glorious few days drinking in the history of the island, witnessing ancient Abbey’s, military strongholds, port side castles and natural wonders. The Isle of Wight has a character and personality that is completely unique, despite its close proximity to the mainland. We learned a lot, saw a lot, and got practically blown off a mountain top in epic gusts of wind, family fun at its greatest.

As the days shortened and the nights yawned over us, the holiday season excitingly approached. We made the most of them this year. The slowly disrobing trees glowed in golden browns and the temperature gradually cooled so that winter wardrobes were sought. Audrey hosted her first ever Halloween party, which was a roaring success, even the slightly gruesome autopsy table was a big hit! We attended a fireworks display in only a pleasant drizzle of evening rain and gazed upon the incredible bonfire burning brightly throughout the night. We celebrated birthdays and Thanksgiving before finally preparing for the big one, Xmas day.

This year we not only got to visit my parents half way across the country, but we were also joined by Emily’s mum from halfway across the world. It was wonderful to reconnect with family after a year of such distance. We visited Santa no less than 3 times to make sure he had received Audrey’s letter and knew what a smart and caring girl she had been throughout. This year she asked Santa for a pooping turtle!? Thankfully, Santa said he knew the one. After a lot of Christmas movies and decorations, the day arrived, and so did the pooping turtle, more dismay for our poor carpets, but sheer joy for our little super girl.

A stand out moment of the year was of course, Audrey’s first Lego set, which she completed expertly with only a little assistance. The biggest thing to occur for Audrey this year however, was starting school. Terrifying and exciting, but mostly terrifying, Audrey had a rollercoaster start to her new world. Being one of the youngest in the school, it must have been daunting, but she is a brave little warrior and made plenty of new friends whilst continually challenging the authority of hierarchy and more than holding her own against anyone who gave her trouble. We would never endorse any form of misbehaviour of course, but it is nice to know she does not simply fade timidly into the background, as I am certain I have done most of my life. She is vocal, wishes to understand the reason behind everything and will not stand for any form of oppression. She makes her mummy and Daddy very proud.

Emily was adding to her expertise and achievements with new teaching qualifications and endorsements, she is in her element in front of eager learners, flying high and inspiring minds is her superpower. It was also a privilege and passion of hers to be involved with a number of community and inclusion associations, particularly working the Enabled Archaeology Foundation, created and driven by her dear friend, the late Theresa O’Mahoney. It was the year Emily completed her first full illustrated children’s story, currently at the printers and soon to be released to the world. Finally, there were big changes in her employment as she was successful in an application for a role creating and leading a University Masters programme in Cultural Heritage. Take a bow Professor Archaeomum.

For my part, this year I have been immersed in my PhD study, revelling in all things Iron Age London. I passed my upgrade interview so I am officially a PhD student. It was a wonderful and relieving experience and I adore this opportunity to continue my research. I presented my work in progress at a number of conferences and seminars, and it seemed to go down pretty well. I also edited over 50,000 words of my never ending novel during NaNoWriMo. This was a lovely separation for my brain, so used to studying reports and journals, a chance to run free and create, to imagine and dream things from nothingness into a kind of reality. I ran 1283 KM this year, my most productive exercise year ever as far as I can remember. One of the absolute personal highlights of my year came in the theatre of music. Since I picked up a guitar for the first time many decades ago, I always dreamed of being a rock star. The pinnacle of this dream had always been the idea of having a song played on the radio. This year, along with my good friend and music genius Bobbles Clifton, our musical outfit 1907 had an original song played on the BBC introducing show. I sat up with Emily and a snoozy Audrey, listening gleefully as it was broadcast live. We shared champagne and sang along. Perhaps a little self appreciative, but we were very proud and excited.

All in all, a pretty successful year

On top of all this, we visited countless museums, historic sites, science centres, monuments and natural wonders. We kept busy, always trying to explore, always asking questions and seeking adventure. Our Archaeofam achieved so much, but most of all, we enjoyed so much together. So many perfect family moments went by in a blur. It blazes on, a never ceasing runaway train. I often wish I could hit pause, it is all going by so quickly, yet for Audrey a year must feel like an eternity which is why we try to fill it with so much to widen those eyes and expand that ever growing mind. We have no idea what 2022 holds in store for us, I have given up trying to plan for much these days, all I know is that we will take every opportunity to adventure, every opportunity to help those who need it, and every opportunity to see the friends and family we love so much.

So, for the final time this year, from our Archaeofam to yours, goodnight and happy New Year x

Reliving the past – family adventures through time. Part 1 – Butser Ancient Farm

We had heard of Butser Ancient Farm on countless occasions. It is frequently mentioned by a multitude of high-profile historians and archaeologists, it has turned up in countless TV shows and movie scenes, and most importantly, it is perhaps the beating heart of experimental archaeology in Britain.

We were well past due a visit since we now reside on the same side of the island and our interests are all covered by its amazing exhibits, so on a slightly rainy August morning, we jumped in the car and made the one and a half hour journey towards the south coast to experience some fascinating recreations.

For anyone unfamiliar with Butser Ancient Farm, it is a not-for-profit, education, and research centre based in the South Downs National Park where ancient theories and technologies are tested and an array of spectacular experimental buildings represent British architecture through the ages.

Butser Ancient Farm began in 1970 when the Council for British Archaeology hoped to establish a working ‘ancient farm’ where archaeologists could experiment to test theories on how people lived in Iron Age times. Work started on Little Butser in 1972, with the first public Open Day in 1974. The project was run by Dr. Peter J Reynolds, a pioneer in the field of experimental archaeology. The site soon moved and expanded, first to the nearby Valley of Hillhampton Down in 1976, and then to its current location at Bascomb Copse in 1991.

We arrived early in the morning as rain clouds peppered the sky. Deep greys and lagoon blues intertwined above us, an awe-inspiring backdrop to the ancient landscape occupying the emerald green valley. Wisps of smoke rose gently from the earthy buildings scattered across the site as we entered the pleasant gates and were greeted by smiling guides and cheerful staff.

Audrey’s attention was immediately captured by the central pen and its goat population. She was desperate to see and feed the lively residents. We bought a very reasonably priced bag of goat food and entertained the historically accurate goat family who were clearly loving life!

After conversing with furry friends, we made our way around the circuit of Butser Ancient Farm. It is conveniently set out so that you can circumnavigate the features in chronological order, starting in the Mesolithic with some temporary shelters and then on to a large Neolithic house based upon one excavated at the Kingsmead Quarry, Horton, Berkshire. The excavated site was on a floodplain where the River Thames would have had many more tributaries when the house was originally constructed. A reed thatch roof stretched all the way to the floor, so that the roof rafters were ground-fast, providing additional strength.

We sat by an open hearth, with the warmth of the fire proving more than adequate shelter from the autumn chill. The buildings here are completed with accurate tools, accessories, and furnishings. It was fascinating to imagine such a grand structure existing in the Neolithic floodplains of Britain.

We next moved into the Iron Age (the recently constructed Bronze Age roundhouse, built by volunteers and staff for Operation Nightingale had yet to be started). This is probably the most immersive and extensive area of the farm. A fenced enclosure with an additional bank and ditch surrounds six roundhouses and a number of further features including a granary, chicken house, storage pits, herb garden, bread oven, and even a conjectured Iron Age toilet!

The roundhouses were based upon a number of examples that have been excavated around the country including Little Woodbury, Danebury Hillfort, and Glastonbury Lake Village. Each is again furnished with the possessions and technologies of its age, and warmed by an open fire, the smoke seeping through thatch above, containing the warmth whilst also ensuring bugs and unwelcome creatures are kept clear of the organic building materials.

As we explored, we were suddenly surrounded by residents from millennia gone by. Iron Age warriors and workers were going about their business, weaving, cooking, checking tools and weapons, and keeping out intruders, which we were quick to announce we were not!

Having narrowly escaped suspicion, we left the enclosure and wandered into the Romano British age. Here we first found a number of locals feeding the impossibly cute lambs. Most of the animals in the farm are rare-breed animals including Manx Loaghtan Sheep, English Goats, and Gloucestershire Old Spot Pigs, illustrating different varieties of livestock from prehistory, and as such tend to be miniature versions of what we would recognise today, which of course only makes them appear all the cuter.

After Audrey had spent a few moments watching the lambs, but more time trying to leap over a series of log stumps which made for a far more interesting playground, we entered into a stunning white-walled Villa complex based on excavations from Sparsholt near Winchester, complete with painted plaster walls and mosaic floors. Smart furnishings and a luxurious new way of living were immediately apparent. A guide introduced us to the emerging currency of coinage, with a dazzling display of Roman wealth (whilst coins existed in Iron Age Britain, their precise utility is arguable). It was slightly whistle-stop whilst inside the villa, due to the difficulties of maintaining safe social distance from other visitors, but we saw enough to indicate a very different way of life.

We continued our adventure into the Anglo Saxon period, where some of the glamour of Romano Britain fell away, but the homely warmth of earlier periods returned in buildings based upon excavations from the nearby village of Chalton. The structures perhaps showed more solid construction than some earlier eras, but generally had an organic feel.

By this time, Audrey was beginning to tire, all this time travel really takes its toll, so it was time to hit the cafe and fuel up on tea and cakes as we gazed over the whole site and its spectacular constructions.

The farm hosts regular events, from storytelling to Celtic Festivals, concerts, and re-enactments. It is a glorious experience and an important educational tool for those with early interests in ancient lives and for professionals and scholars of British prehistory and early historical periods.

Audrey rounded off her day with a quill pen from the gift shop and we set off again, but not immediately for home, as we were aware of a number of nearby areas of interest. First off, it had felt like an age since we had seen the ocean, and with the coast so close, we couldn’t help ourselves. We found the nearest available, parking friendly, spot and wandered down to the water, which was busy with sailors and swimmers, despite the temperamental weather. From this vantage point, I witnessed my first sight of Hayling Island, an important sacred site during the Iron Age, Romano British and Anglo Saxon period. It was too late in the day to explore the island, but it was fantastic to witness a space so revered through the ages.

We then decided to make one final stop, Fishbourne Palace was close by. Fishbourne is a Roman palace with an astonishingly native character and intriguing evidence of a pre-Roman invasion, Roman occupation. Sadly, upon arrival, we quickly discovered that the site was closed. A shame, but perhaps for the best, as by this time, our brave little explorer had given in to the powerful lure of slumber.

We drove home after an unforgettable adventure through time. If you get a chance, we fully recommend it.

Isle be back!

There were tales of a misty island, full of magic and wonder, lying just across a small stretch of turbulent ocean. It was an island full of folklore, fantasy and infamy. Kings and Queens, witches and warlords, minstrels and magicians all dwelled upon this little emerald gem, and at its heart, a fiery furnace of fantasy had lain dormant for eternities. It was an island so close to the gods, that their touch could be plainly felt in the wild conditions of its extremities. Most importantly, this island was not so far distant from us that the effects of an ongoing pandemic existence could restrict our careful expedition.

We set out on a voyage of discovery, our furthest in quite some time, an odyssey of intrigue, to explore the spectacular scenic curiosity of the Isle of White.

Audrey was keen to ensure our investigations were a success and so the travel inventory was extensive. Tents, utensils, headquarters, even a toilet, all crammed into the back of the trusty transport, with us humble adventurers squeezed between.

After a substantial drive, we made the port of Portsmouth, our platform to reach the beautiful Island just visible across the rolling ocean, through the hazy morning mist. Portsmouth was a maze of old roads and historic buildings, scattered amongst new builds and modern technological wonders. The port is vast and some of the vessels here are more like seafaring cities, huge floating hulks built for epic long-distance voyages to unimaginable worlds.

Whilst our journey would explore an awe-inspiring isle, it was not one of such intense distance, and our ferry voyage was comfortable and swift. The brisk ocean breeze and dazzling sunlight made the trip exhilarating and a bottle of Isle of White brewed beer only added to the refreshing experience.

As we neared the island, strange and magnificent monuments peered down upon us from the tree peppered hillsides, an ever-casting eye on our approach. Was our character being tested at this early stage? Audrey looked on heroically; she was certainly a well worthy wanderer.

After disembarkation, the drive through the island was pleasant, only stalled as we made our way through the central mini-metropolis of Newport, where a historic townscape is now furnished with all the amenities of modern living. Eventually, we arrived at our base camp, nestled beneath a canopy of trees, hugging the luscious green valley beneath and beautifully isolated from the humdrum of humanity.

Once our temporary home base was all set up, and an invigorating tea was fully consumed, it was time to get to work. We had heard stories of strange happenings on this island, bizarre occurrences at some of the most time-worn monuments, a shiver down the spine of the ancient isle. Could it be connected? Could it be that Ollpheist, the Mother of all Dragons, was stirring from her slumber? Could the nation’s subterranean saviour have been roused into action?

Our first tiptoe into the mystery began at Yarmouth Castle. Building work began at this castle in 1547, to protect against the fear of French invasion. From its brave bastion, the sites of shipwreck and seashores smother the horizon. The Santa Lucia was lost off the coast nearby in 1567, a Spanish merchant vessel that may have foundered before reaching the harbour of Yarmouth. The sturdy stone walls of Yarmouth Castle have withstood centuries of defence, straddled bravely atop the dragon’s tail. Yet now they buckled, the winds whipping over the walls, its guns aimed at invisible foes.

Audrey led us through the castle, fearlessly investigating the surroundings, certain that the clues we required lay hidden nearby. She took notes and tested the battlements before demanding a strategic break for ice cream. One delicious chocolate cone and a stroll around the village later and it was time to continue our examinations.

Our next stop was of vital importance. If the dragon truly stirred, we would need to see it for ourselves.

When sleeping dragons ache, it is their tails that first awake.

The needles lie at the furthest western point of the Island. They jut from the ocean like sharpened knives, slicing the blue waters in stuttered blasts. The trek to this distant treasure involved an ever-increasing climb to the heavens, with stunning views of the choppy channel on one side and the humped spine of the sleeping dragon on the other. Here the extremities of a liminal world are felt most fiercely. We battled the howling winds, violent whispers from the gods themselves. Finally, we reached the summit and stared over the tip of the dragon’s tail. It did not flinch to our eyes, though it felt as though the entire island shook in some great rage, up there on that peninsula peak.

Our investigations of the day complete, we ventured back to camp. Night crept in, a darkness beyond the normality of night. The campfire burned brightly and our spirits were raised by the warmth as we enjoyed a beer, cider, juice, and tea. Then to bed, a cosy tent for our family snuggle, Bramble stretching out over half the space, and the rest of us huddled in our sleeping bags for warmth.

We woke early, as is always the case for Audrey, so much to do, so much to see, so much to explore. Of course, there were the usual difficulties, too many bubbles in her morning milk and not enough rainbows in her breakfast bowl, everything too loud and not loud enough for a bright, brave four-year-old adventure princess.

The morning air was supernatural. As the fog rolled in, the veil between worlds thinned. The island slid beneath invisible realms and spirits swarmed across the hallowed shoals. Audrey knew all too well, the tales of Wihtgar and Stuf, of the sons of Arwald, of Princess Elizabeth, doomed daughter to that most unfortunate of monarchs, Charles I and even of old Jack. She took precautions and armed herself, for the protection of the party, her sturdy sword, and shield to save us all.

Our focus today would be Carisbrooke Castle, a fortress as old as the legends of the Island. The earthworks here had perhaps originated as a Roman fort, but certainly, a Saxon burial ground had been here and later a fortified settlement. Carisbrooke dominates a prominent hilltop of the island and was first constructed to protect against those vicious Viking raiders. After the Norman invasion of Britain, the Saxon burh was embellished with a strong stone defended enclosure. The castle remained a crucial stronghold of the island and survived centuries of dynasty and disaster.

During the English Civil War, Carisbrooke fell into Parliamentary control and gained the most famous of prisoners, none other than King Charles I. His children were also imprisoned in the castle and his daughter, Elizabeth died there at the tender age of 14. Despite desperate attempts by Charles to escape his captivity, the prison was unbreakable and Charles would not see freedom.

With so many tortured souls on this tiny rock, it was little wonder the dragon stirred. Not least because these turbulent histories had left a legacy of spilled blood on sacred soil, nor because the unity of humans became so fractured in this ancient land, but worse, the fierce fortunes of the island were in danger because Ollpheist was being forgotten, the only true reason for the Mother of all dragons to stir.

Not so much forgetting the stories of this ancient creature, for the traditions continue well, but the problem lies in the belief. Our impatient twenty-first-century attentions focus on modern luxuries, grinding the mystical side of our minds thin. Dreams of dragons and magic are buried deep beneath the monotonous mountain of the mundane. She is forgotten, or at least she is no longer real to us, and so she stirs.

It was important that we altered the island’s delicate fate. There was only one hope; we would need to soothe the soul of this sleeping giant. And so we rushed to a place of deep connection and spiritual power of the land, to Quarr Abbey. If any place held the power of hope, belief, and island strength, it was here. Quarr, named for its stone quarries from the earliest of histories, was occupied by Cistercian monks in 1132 who built a significant church here on the coastal reaches of the island. It had clearly always been an area of some importance. A deeper power resided in the earth and a magic emanated from the ocean spray which caressed its banks. An Abbey flourished on the site, particularly thanks to the great trade in wine that passed through from French shores. The Monks were evicted from the Abbey in 1536 following the dissolution of the monasteries and the beautiful building fell into disrepair. It wasn’t until 1907 when the poet of brick, Dom Paul Bellot, built the stunning monastery nearby, a spectre of the ancient Abbey and a monument in use to this day.

It was in this incredible space that Audrey whispered words of unconditional kindness and offered the sort of unfaltering belief only a child may possess in a world so full of rule and regulation. With our hearts in our mouths, we anxiously awaited a sign... or a signal for escape.

Audrey smiled, her words had been true, Ollpheist would sleep soundly again, secure that her memory lived on, so long as Audrey’s adventure would be written on the modern manuscripts of our age. The mother of all Dragons would find her way into the minds of those who perhaps had not heard of her courageous charge and her stealthy slumber could continue unmolested.

With the day almost done, we made our weary way back to the ferry, for a final voyage over the deep blue sea. The waters gently swayed in the regular breath of the sleeping Draconem. We bid the delightful Isle of Wight a fond farewell, and enjoyed a final island ale to toast our adventure.

To sleeping Dragons, may they forever rest peacefully in our hearts

Look to the Pevens...ey

5, 4, 3, 2... 1! We have ignition! The space rocket ‘red-tent’ lifts off and brave Captain Audrey prepares her motley crew for an unrivaled exploration beyond the limits of the known universe. To boldly go where no Archaeobeeb has gone before is the mission. Intelligence has indicated an incredible substance in realms unknown, perhaps capable of prolonging life itself! Who knows what dangers await? Who can tell what wonders may be witnessed?

...and who doesn’t love a good space adventure? Basking in the open expanse of the heavens, living with just a bag or two of necessary possessions, simple food, focused minds and enjoying our wild and wonderful galaxy firsthand?

Whilst it remains difficult to book any kind of travel across planet earth, space travel in our trusty ‘red-tent’ rocket is a perfect opportunity to escape. We have certainly fallen in love with the cosy shuttle over the last year, heading out to some stellar locations that we might have otherwise missed.

Our latest intergalactic adventure was a voyage to the peculiar planet of Pevensey. Nestled between the well-known solar systems of Eastbourne and Hastings, Pevensey is a little treasure, packed with a veritable universe of historical intrigue and impressive architecture.

Before we could fully engage in our objective, we needed to set up a base upon the far moon of Herstmonceux. It was uncharted territory. We were the very first humans to set foot on this unspoiled landscape, testing the untouched terrain on a wonderful patch of cosmic countryside. This was the first opportunity to challenge our understanding of the universe. Captain Audrey checked the atmosphere for safety and gave the order to go forth and explore.

Herstmonceux is a tantalising treat for any budding intergalactic adventurer. During the Neolithic period, the ocean reached much further inland than today. Evidence of activity has been recorded all along this ancient coastline. An abundance of flint tools have been discovered in and around what would have been rich coastal woodland. During the immediate pre-Roman period, the elevated area became an important burial ground and perhaps ritual centre, with a number of cremation burials in Roman-style urns unearthed.

Over time the location became the estate of a prominent Anglo Saxon family, (hyrst being Anglo Saxon for a wooded hill) it was transferred to Drogo De Monceux, a great-grandson of William the Conqueror, following the Norman Invasion of England. Drogo’s son, Ingleram, married Idonea De Herst and so the Herstmonceux line was born.

Herstmonceux Castle was extended from a manor house in 1441 by Sir Roger Fiennes, a descendant of the Herstmonceux’s, who had fought alongside King Henry V at Agincourt and later became treasurer of the household of King Henry VI. The castle passed through the family, along with titles old and new, until Thomas Fiennes, 9th Baron Dacre, inherited the lands in the 1530s. Thomas appears to have been quite the gangster and led a poaching escapade into a rival’s territory which ended in the murder of a gamekeeper. Thomas Fiennes was found guilty of the murder, led from a cell in the Tower of London to a noose at Tyburn, where he was hanged for his crime.

The estates were confiscated by Henry VIII but would later be reinstated by Queen Elizabeth and remained in the family until the early 18th century, when another Thomas, Lord Dacre, blew his family fortune on over extravagant indulgences and gambling and was forced to sell the property. The castle fell into disrepair and was gutted to create a ruinous gothic folly for aesthetic tourism purposes. It wasn’t until the 20th century when the castle was renovated and gradually restored to its current magnificence.

We set out on a mini-expedition to secure the base, forage, and explore. The castle was heavily fortified and well prepared for space invaders, yet we managed to gain access through its imposing gateways and into the alien architecture beyond. The gardens were spectacular and the vast array of stunning extraterrestrial species was a thing to behold, a cacophony of colour exploding in all directions. Captain Audrey took the lead, guiding us past perilous moonstruck mazes, around hostile alien creatures, and through tricky exotic terrain. We made our way into a gloomy wooded area, with strange gravity-less mechanisms and unusual pyramid structures dotted throughout the undergrowth, evidence of intelligent life perhaps, certainly it gave us the confidence we were on the right track.

Then we spied it, a huge intergalactic control centre on the peak of the imposing hill, with futuristic garden green domes penetrating the lush canopy of dense woodland that had disguised it so well until now. Surely this was the great eye in the sky? Surely this was the security required to protect something special?

Carefully hacking into the mainframe computers, we learned the unique history of these enormous space pimples. As the city of London expanded, and false light encroached upon the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, a new location was required for the astronomical scientific equipment. Herstmonceux was chosen thanks to its remote hilltop location and in 1958 the work was completed, with its green, telescope housing domes dominating the skyline. The Royal Greenwich Observatory Herstmonceux no longer functions as it was originally designed. The complex is now a centre for space and science education and the phenomenal telescopes were dismantled and relocated to the Canary Islands. Yet it was once the pinnacle of scientific space exploration.

Being careful not to be discovered by the great eye in the sky, we found supplies, investigated a number of anomalies, some further bizarre constructions, and a wild unusual alien life form. With our reports complete, Captain Audrey directed us onwards to complete our primary mission. It was time to blast off to Planet Pevensey.

The name Pevensey comes from the Anglo Saxon personal name of Pefen, along with ea meaning river, and so River of Pefen. The most dominant architectural feature of this ancient town is its spectacular Shore Fort. Constructed in the 290’s AD, the fort protected the Roman populous from increasing barbarian raids of the Saxons and Jutes. It was at Pevensey that William the Conqueror landed his invasion troops in 1066. The incredible defensive Shore Fort was strengthened following the invasion and a castle was built within the walls. Robert, Count of Mortain, half brother of William, built upon these defenses, and much of that original stonework remains today, despite multiple attempts to demolish the fortress throughout the years. It even became a prison for some time, with James I of Scotland amongst its most famous prisoners, such was the impenetrable nature of its defences.

Captain Audrey cautiously directed us through the ancient battlements. She was certain that such a defensive structure was key to the mystery of this perplexing planet. We followed through the high stone walls, intricately arching above us with an ominous presence, built to inflict an awe-inspiring terror. The blazing sun beat down upon us, such a heat emitted from that spectacular star, we were forced to don our most protective apparel. Having scouted the structure, we were strangely lured towards a wide expanse of gleaming gold and blue in the distance.

Was this it, the substance we had traversed the heavens to discover, the life rejuvenating wonder, hidden in an alien landscape, the treasure our fearless and fantastic Captain had so keenly sought?

Audrey led the way, the golden band spread before us, a billion tiny golden brown bulges from horizon to horizon and beyond it... blue, endless perfect gleaming blue.

We landed our small search craft and set up a makeshift base in a defendable position. Our experiments would require a certain amount of time and careful consideration. Captain Audrey set us to work and immediately made for the beautiful blue. It was all we had dreamed it would be. New life pulsated through our veins as the refreshing liquid consumed our baking bodies. Bramble relished the cool freedom it furnished, despite being somewhat unsure of what lay beneath! Perhaps it was in the name all along, the River of Pefens, emptying its eternal treasures into the oceans beyond. Our mission had been a success. Our exploration had revealed otherworldly wonders. It was time to head back to our moon base of Herstmonceux.

As we prepared for our final flight through the galaxy, the closest bright blazing star fell beyond the line of gently swaying trees and a billion balls of fire sketched a vast complex pattern on the inky black curtain above. Swirling clusters of light illustrated all manner of heavenly bodies. The flame of our ‘red-tent’ rocket ship warmed our weary bodies, and as we gazed into the eternal endless night, a shower of lights swooped across the sky like the tip of a conductor’s baton, a stunning symphony of wondrous wandering stars.

Tomorrow we would fly for earth, but for tonight, with beer, blankets, the Perseid meteors and loved ones close by, we were truly amongst the gods.

Nae man can tether time or tide

Time, it is fleeting, and it is flying by. The first restrictions and closures due to Covid19 began almost a year ago. It may have been a difficult, terrifying and isolated year, but boy does it seem to have flown by when I look back. So whilst we remain housebound, our Archaeofam have tried to make the most of every opportunity to have some fun, and for us, no celebration is more glorious, than January 25th

It is not all that often we get a chance to relish in our Scottish roots. Despite being born in Perth and spending my earliest years in the quaint historic village of Abernethy, I have since lived in England for almost all of my life and sadly I have few memories of my formative Scottish infancy.

I often argue that as a minority Scotland fan, isolated in competitive schools packed full of rival England supporters, I have earned a Scottish national hero status following years of jibes, ridicule and abuse. Yet throughout the decades of sporting heartache and struggle, I stood firm and still wear the dark blue of my home nation with pride!

Even as an American, Emily Archaeomum has probably spent more time in Scotland than I have. Moving from the States to Edinburgh to study archaeology, Emily enjoyed almost a decade in the spectacular Scottish capital, travelling extensively during that time and enjoying many of the scenic delights and stunning wonders Scotland is so rightfully famous for.

In the future, we hope to make a permanent return north of the border, to embrace the near fairytale nation and be closer to family and friends there, but for now, at least once a year we get to bask in the delights of all things Caledonian as we celebrate the spectacular genius of that globally admired Scottish bard, Robert Burns.

January 25th is Burns night, a chance to recite the unmistakeable lyrics of the Ploughman Poet, to eat (vegetarian in our case) Haggis, neeps and tatties, and enjoy a wee dram or five of our favourite Scotch whisky (Laphroaig is still king in this household). It is a tradition we have maintained throughout our romance, and now one that Audrey is entirely delighting in also! (Not the whisky drinking of course) Even Bramble loves the chance for a little Haggis in her dinner and I’m sure she enjoys the poetry, however poorly the accents may be attempted!

The life and works of Robert Burns are both fascinating and spellbinding, and deserve far more space than I can offer it here or even profess to understand. Indeed he is regarded of such national importance that Glasgow University have an entire centre dedicated to detailed study of the man. I will therefore only attempt a brief life history here and follow up, as I feel is more fitting, with a wonderful piece of his work that I admire, and that I badly recited to my horrified and embarrassed family before the centrepiece vegetarian haggis was enjoyably consumed!

Rabbie Burns was born on the 25th of January 1759 in Ayrshire, the eldest of seven children. Burns was mostly homeschooled and assisted in farm labour whilst growing up in and around the village of Alloway. His rise from relative poverty and hardship seems to have only inspired his art, and as Burns moved around Scotland and experienced love, lust and a range of employments, his poetry blossomed. Eventually, he settled in Dumfries with his long time love, wife and muse Jean Armour. He rests there still, in a grand mausoleum built posthumously for the famous bard, his original gravestone deemed unworthy of the great man by the romantic generation of artists he inspired.

Here is a melancholy little piece of his that literally oozes dark and atmospheric charisma and delight…

To the Owl

Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth,

To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour?

Is it some blast that gathers in the north,

Threatening to nip the verdure of thy bower?

Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade,

And leaves thee here, unshelter’d and forlorn?

Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade?

Or friendless Melancholy bids thee mourn?

Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather’d train,

To tell thy sorrows to th’ unheeding gloom;

No friend to pity when thou dost complain,

Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home.

Sing on, sad mourner! I will bless thy strain,

And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song:

Sing on, sad mourner! to the night complain,

While the long echo wafts thy notes along.

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek

Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall?

Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break?

Less happy he who lists to Pity’s call?

Ah no, sad owl! nor is thy voice less sweet,

That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief is there;

That Spring’s gay notes, unskill’d, thou canst repeat;

That Sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair.

Nor that the treble songsters of the day

Are quite estranged, sad bird of night! from thee;

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray,

When darkness calls thee from thy reverie.

From some old tower, thy melancholy dome,

While the grey walls, and desert solitudes,

Return each note, responsive to the gloom

Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods;

There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee

Than ever lover to the nightingale;

Or drooping wretch, opress’d with misery,

Lending his ear to some condoling tale.

Whilst this post is a little late, we hope you all had a happy Burns night, wherever you happened to be. We also hope that you were able to enjoy a whisky or two and some good food with great company. I wholeheartedly recommend browsing some of Robert Burns’s incredible works if you have not already done so.

We are fiercely proud of our Scottish heritage and we embrace its history with utter delight, even if we sometimes leap into various stereotypes with an over-eager abandon.

How swiftly have we reached the end of this wintry January? Time is accelerating at a frightening pace these days and we have barely had a chance to reflect before the next adventures are upon us. Even in a world of lockdown, we try to enjoy every moment we can with loved ones, near and far. Reach out, connect, and drink in every moment, if you blink, you may miss it all. As the great bard said himself;

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.

So from our Archaeofam to yours,

Slàinte Mhath

Happy New YYYEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! (or the relief of a planet)

Well...

That was a bit weird wasn’t it?

2020, who could have predicted that? I mean, aside from medical professionals and scientists of course, who might have mentioned once or twice the dangers humanity faced from rapid spreading pandemics and the grossly underfunded health service that would struggle to cope with such catastrophic events...

But we won’t mention that.

This has been a difficult, lonely, isolated and heartbreaking year for many. It has required new ways of living, working, socialising, coping and surviving on an unprecedented scale. The whole world was affected. Some have struggled far more than others, but all have had to adapt.

Today, I sit at my computer, fatigued from a full year of relentless tragedy, soul destroying news and doom and gloom projected through media and social outlets. It is hard to wake every day and be bombarded with death tolls, disasters, poor management of difficult situations, economic collapse and more. It is worse for those directly affected by the traumas of 2020, but let’s face it, there are few people left who have not come into direct contact with one of the many nightmares this surreal year has brought with it.

So today we say goodbye to this crazy year that will certainly never be forgotten and we move on to the next, 2021!

The earliest evidence of New Year’s celebrations seems to come from Mesopotamia around 2000 BC. The celebrations took place in March when the first full moon following the Vernal Equinox symbolised the beginning of a new year and was celebrated with days of festivities.

In Egypt the year began with the flooding of the Nile and the rising of the star Sirius. The second new moon after the Winter Solstice marked the New Year in the Chinese calendar. March had been widely accepted as the first month of the year, but as calendars and agricultural importance improved, dates for the New Year altered.

January and February were apparently added to the calendar by Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome, in the 8th century BC and in 46BC Julius Caesar consulted with astronomers and mathematicians to align the whole system in a structured workable timeline for the year.

The god Janus, whose name is honoured by the month of January, is the god of new beginnings. Janus had two faces, allowing him to look back to the past and forwards to the future. Caesar initiated January 1st as the start of a new year and the Roman public would celebrate with sacrifices and wild parties. The goalposts have shifted now and again since then, but as it stands, January 1st remains the beginning of a new year for many of us, particularly here in Europe... and we still sacrifice our vices and have wild parties... well comfortable parties maybe in our case.

As someone born in the 1970’s (just), 2021 seemed like a Sci-Fi future that would see flying cars and mixed communities from outer space mingling on Stations in galaxies far, far away. We’re not quite there yet I guess, but I have seen some crazy dancing robots that would have been pure fantasy in my childhood!

This year has been a difficult one, but I do not want to dwell on the bad times. I thought to use this opportunity to highlight some positives from our 2020 in the hope it might lift a tiny part of the veil of unhappiness and cheer the spirit. It may not be a lot, but if I can help end the year with even the hint of a smile, then I will consider it a win. And if we go into the next year smiling, then anything can happen!

A few unexpected side effects of a mass pandemic...

This year, our little family were gifted with the one thing we have been begging for since at least when Audrey was born. Time to spend together!

For years, we have been busy. Busy with work, busy with commutes and busy with meetings, busy with fixing things and moving and when we do get to spend time at home we find ourselves busy cooking and cleaning and tidying things. We have been busy with writing and illustration and music projects, making videos and lesson plans or homework. Now, don’t get me wrong, many of these things can be enjoyable, and who doesn’t like a tidy house? But when you are busy with so many things, other things get neglected. The simple things that you take for granted.

This year as the world ground to a halt, our eyes were opened, and we realised just how much we had missed. How much more rewarding it was to go for long walks outdoors as a family, to have movie nights and to read at bedtime, to play games and enjoy each other’s company without the panic of impending commitments and deadlines. We made time in the past for such things, but it always felt limited to a set time or space. This year we were a family without so many constraints, and it was glorious.

We also got to know our neighbours! It sounds silly, but we didn’t really talk to very many of the people on our street or in our community, there just wasn’t time. Everyone was pleasant enough. They said hello when we passed them in the street, but it was just good manners, never any real connection. Then everyone had to stay at home, everyone became visible, approachable, friendly. Conversations began, the applauding of our medical professionals brought everybody out together, and then the pleasant hello’s became how are you’s, and so it grew. The community glowed from new found friendships. We are now closer than ever and it is a wonderful feeling, particularly for our three year old tornado of a child who loves her neighbourhood!

I have done more exercise this year than almost any other time I can remember. I must have been in my teens the last time I ran so much. A combination of being able to claim back the hours usually stuck on a bus or a train, or otherwise engaged in some taxing pursuit, and the allowance of time outdoors strictly for exercise purpose during the various lockdowns, led to a desire to retain a level of health and fitness that I hadn’t considered possible in recent years. I feel great for it. I don’t miss the sluggish foggy feeling of years gone by. My mind and body are feeling kind of good. It is perhaps a shame I left it until I was an old man, had I started earlier, I might have been competing for a place in the Olympics.... or maybe not.

Finally, we have had a number of small successes this year of which we are very proud. Emily Archaeomum followed her passions and acquired an amazing role teaching history, whilst also continuing her own education with a PGCE. I was delighted to be awarded a full scholarship to study a PhD in Archaeology, a long time dream of mine. We have both been heavily involved in various creative pursuits including novel writing, illustrated children’s books, music projects and TV work.

Audrey is growing up remarkably fast, her current passions lay somewhere between being an astronaut, a veterinarian, a fairy princess, a chef and a scientist. Her counting is coming along, her writing seems incredible for a three year old, she is a swimming sensation and her sense of humour utterly kills me. I have never laughed so much at anyone’s deliberate comical moments as I do Audrey’s, she is hilarious.

As for Bramble, she is in dream world! For a year, the whole family has been together at home almost all of the time. It is a golden age for the puppies of the world. Family walks are now far more frequent, she has a whole repertoire of new tricks under her belt, and she was spoilt at Christmas so has an overflowing basket of new toys to play with.

We have tried to help and support people as much as possible during this difficult year. Emily Archaeomum signed up to the volunteer NHS support army, as well as offering her medical expertise in other areas. We have offered help and support to people in our network and try to keep an eye on the community for any who might be struggling. We are always here to help if we can, to anyone who needs to reach out.

It hasn’t been an easy year for anyone, but we feel incredibly fortunate that we have been able to spend this time together. We realise many have not been so lucky and our hearts go out to those who have struggled. Reach out, talk to friends and family as much as you can, and with a little bit of luck and a lot of science, the world will return to something a little more familiar in 2021. Tonight will undoubtedly be less frivolous than years gone by, no crowds along the Thames for epic fireworks displays, but the clock will tick past midnight and a new year will be born. We will be looking forward to a brighter year, but also continuing some of our new found family pleasures into the next. Here is to new beginnings and bright horizons.

For the final time this year,

from our Archaeofam to yours,

Happy New Year Everyone xx