At first, I was just straightforward shocked. How could anyone think it ok to publish this sort of piece in 2021. Then I was annoyed by the inaccuracies in the excerpt I read (the piece was behind a paywall and I refuse to subscribe to read rubbish). Finally, I realised that the two ‘issues’ are linked.

Interpretation in archaeology is a changeable feast. Views that were once acceptable are refined and reconsidered in light of contemporary thinking. New information adds subtlety and events or attitudes are seen in new ways. There is no universal truth, no ‘right’ answer. Students of archaeology learn as much about how we study the past, as they do about what may, or may not, have gone on. They develop new ways of seeing the world around them. They think about people, places, and material culture in different ways. Horizons are expanded, actions seen differently, landscapes unpicked. A degree in archaeology is like a portal to another world. Many worlds, in fact.

But those worlds are rooted in carefully curated data and method. You learn to be flexible, you learn to change your mind, and you learn to be discerning.

Whether or not we need more archaeologists (perhaps a topic for another blog?), I fear that the reduction in opportunity for everyone to engage with the discipline is eroding the stability of society. Trite, ill-informed, words that stir the emotions are easy. Curiously, the authors rarely stay around to participate in any ensuing discussion. Whether you get your idea of the past from school, television, college, newspapers, or magazines it matters that it be based in contemporary wisdom. Of course, if we get rid of enough of those who study the past, or if we sideline their discipline, then contemporary wisdom can be flawed.

Right now, I feel we are at a cusp. We still value the role of the specialist in providing the building blocks on which we base our views of life. But, and I am not sure why, apart from a general feeling that it is often easier to ignore the sometimes inconvenient details, there seems to be a move towards poorly informed attitudes based on gut reactions related to possible outcomes. Perhaps we all feel more uncertain about the future in the emerging post-pandemic/globally warming world of ours. But no matter how strongly we wish to believe that we can continue our current lifestyles if we shut our eyes to the unviability of existing consumption levels, it just won’t work. We do need to engage with the science.

The same applies to the study of the past.

Well-informed archaeology (in terms of both data and technique), can be used to make sure that our assumptions about the present are rooted in reality. Whether I like an argument or not, we do it no favours if it is based on inaccurate information.

We might not always get the past we’d wish. We might not always welcome the present we deserve. You might not want to be an archaeologist. You might not care about what went on in the centuries and millennia before the twenty-first century. But to cut back on opportunities to learn about and study the discipline of archaeology is always going to be shortsighted.

Lithic scatters are one of the most common archaeological sites relating to Prehistory. What are they, how to investigate them, how to manage them? All is revealed in this new guidance document written with Scotland in mind. Thanks to the many people who consulted on this and helped with information and images. Although the document was written for those working on Scottish material, hopefully it contains information that will be of interest to those elsewhere.

It is free to download from the ALGAO website

I’ve been thinking about the significance of archaeological sites in connection with a project I’m working on just now. I’m concerned in particular with lithic scatter sites: fields, or other areas, where a spread of worked stone is visible on the surface of the ground.

Some lithic scatter sites have many thousands of pieces of worked stone (usually, but not always, flint), but others may have only a few hundred, or even a handful. Some sites cover a wide area, some are smaller, some more concentrated. By classifying the types of worked stone found it is possible to get an idea of the chronological periods represented. The fashion for some things was, thankfully, different in the Mesolithic to the Neolithic and so on. Arrowheads are particularly vulnerable to fashion. The range of pieces can also provide a rough idea of activity: whether there is debris from the manufacture of tools for example, or perhaps mainly points, blades or scrapers left from the completion of some tasks. It is very rough and really, in order to understand any site better, some sort of more invasive archaeology is necessary to investigate the preservation of in situ features and other material. But often the collection and classification of a surface assemblage is the best way to obtain a basic understanding of the archaeology.

What bothers me, however, is how to assess the significance of these places? In the past we have tended to judge them by size and, where present, date. Big sites, with lots of material, would be regarded as more significant than small sites with only a few pieces. Sites with pieces that relate to earlier or less well-known periods also tend to be regarded as significant. But this is all very crude.

For starters, it is patently, only a register of the significance of a site in the present day. We are assessing the significance to modern archaeologists. Is it not, in fact, an unreliable evaluation to base the significance of a site in prehistory on the amount of debris that people left behind? By that measure the most significant places in post-war Britain would be old landfill sites. Weird (or maybe not).

Size may come into it, but it is a complex equation. Occupation sites generally contain a diversity of evidence: traces of shelters, hearths, storage, and waste. Our homes are certainly significant. But are they the most significant places in our lives? What about the wooded hillock a mile away where we know we can always be sure of bagging some game for the pot? What about the crystal-clear waterfall that leads to the burn running past our fields? It ensures life-giving fresh water throughout the year. What about the farm where we grew up, where our sister still lives with her family – we have never returned but it is always in our hearts. How about the tombs of the ancestors? The great oak where everyone congregates when we need to gather? You get my gist. One thing about our 2020 lockdown – it has changed the way we view the places on which we rely. Significance is not stable.

Some archaeologists are lucky. They have records, or even informants, to discuss the way in which the landscape worked for other communities. Opportunities like this open up new worlds, new interpretations. But they don’t exist for those of us concerned with the early Prehistory of Europe. The life of an archaeologist is devoted to interpreting other communities, but, of necessity, our first-hand experience is always limited to ourselves.

It occurs to me that we are wrong to dismiss the teeny-weeny lithic scatters as insignificant. We cannot ever know. While archaeologists focus on definable sites, the people of the past did not operate in discrete boxes; their behaviour took place across the landscape. There is, thus, a geographic gradation of detritus relating to any activity or life. Centres, known as sites, are likely to contain the highest density of detritus (in this case lithic assemblages), but it is unlikely to stop completely between centres. In order to understand human behaviour, therefore, it is important to record and investigate the less prolific areas of lithic material as well as the higher density spreads. This has long been an issue for archaeologists, and it is, of course, complicated by the geomorphological and other taphonomic processes that also impact on archaeological survival. Foley considered it, very eloquently, in 1978. Archaeology focusses on clearly defined sites with large numbers of finds, but those with fewer finds are likely to be just as interesting (and significant) in terms of ancient human behaviour. How to investigate and interpret the less clearly defined site, where a handful of lithics may be the only indication of prehistoric activity, is more of a problem, but we can, at least, record them and make a start.

Higher density sites may be significant in terms of archaeological resource and past human behaviour, but it is perhaps through examination of lower density sites that archaeological fieldwalking really comes into its own. In this way it offers a real contribution towards interpretation of the behaviour of the prehistoric communities. These are the places through which people passed: the routeways, overnight stops, hunting blinds, kill-site butchery areas, all the little everyday places that completed the web of human activity.

Without the small, and apparently insignificant, as well as the large, our archaeologies will always be incomplete.

A few months ago I  spent a week working on voice and communication with Kristin Linklater. It was a fascinating experience that got me thinking about all sorts of things. I never set out to be an academic (if, indeed, I am one). I was just unsuccessful at getting a permanent job, and I have always enjoyed analysing things and talking (or writing about it). Working freelance suited me and it meant that most of my reports were published. It was a privileged position in which to find myself. The workshop at Linklater Voice made me realise how much I live in my head, I don’t deliberately shy away from emotion, but I do think everything through very deliberately, though I no longer realise I am doing it.

The techniques developed by Kristin Linklater are all about instinct and spontaneity. It is necessary to shed the desire to monitor everything. It made me think about how much communication is tied up with caution and restriction. Of course, this is not an original realisation. Others have long studied the way in which we measure our words before we speak. There is an interesting body of literature, not all of which agrees. Some see it as a thoroughly modern trait. Social inhibitions, when practiced in this way, may (or may not), have shaped the Western world of today.

It is a specialised field, and not one where I am qualified to comment. But it did get me thinking about how it would be to live in a society where communication had a closer relation to ‘gut instinct’. Indeed, there is an increasing body of material that suggests the existence of complex links between the brain, the stomach and the emotions. According to some, the increasing use of tongue and throat to vocalise has allowed us to impose restrictions on what we say. We hide our true emotional speech in this way.

Over the course of an intensive week I learnt to vocalise without using ‘manufactured’ sounds. I learnt about resonance and we discussed communication and the impediments to communication. I now understand that voice is much more complex than the simple interplay of vocal cords and air. When we research the voices of the past, therefore, we need to consider social factors as well as physical factors such as lung capacity, breathing, and convention, in addition to elements like the size of sinuses and brow ridges. Vocal cords are interesting but hardly the whole picture.

We don’t know how our Mesolithic and Neolithic ancestors sounded when they chatted to one another. We can’t be sure at what point we started to weigh the impact of our words and to hide our true feelings behind facial and manual gestures as well as through the use of tone and pitch. I’d bet that the effect of moving from small, familial, communities into larger unfamiliar populations had something to do with it.  As did context and circumstance. Passing a message is very different when you are on an open mountainside, to being on a crowded factory floor. The collective voice of today is unlikely to have formed in a single event, rather I imagine something that has been developing, in fits and starts, around the globe, for millennia. It is a work in progress. Today, perhaps, we are witnessing the emergence of a new form of communication as keyboards take over much of our everyday chit chat.

Just a quick note – I wrote this shortly after attending the workshop, but I like to sit on my posts for a while before I release them. That way I can think, refine, and edit. I am publishing the post now in tribute to Kristin, who died very suddenly a few days ago. She was an inspirational figure who touched the lives of many, both within and outside her own profession.

Successful archaeology depends on the collection and study of evidence. It has developed over the years into a multi-faceted profession in which few grasp the full details of more than a handful of the possible specialisations into which we divide. The subjects we embrace can be as diverse as the social structures within hunter-gatherer societies, the isotope analysis of bones, DNA studies, animal migrations, flintknapping techniques, and detailed investigations of residues. It has become a forensic science.

The building blocks on which we rely comprise data which is used as evidence. That evidence is drawn from many different elements: it might comprise artefacts, bones, or soil samples, amongst other things. Archaeologists have to relate that evidence to the location where they find it. We study it, interpret it and construct a narrative that sets out how it relates to history, to the story of that place and its people.

On occasion, evidence is missing. This is most commonly due to local preservation conditions. Human bone is, for example, relatively rare on many early prehistoric sites, and this is often due to acid soil conditions which are not favourable for bone preservation. It is also, in some instances, due to practices which meant that bone (or whatever the subject of interest is) was not, by and large, deposited on that particular site. On these occasions, it is up to us, as archaeologists, to work out why something is missing. It becomes part of the story.

Very occasionally, where evidence has been absent, new research might reveal it. Sometimes our own prejudices have obscured our view; it is hard to recognise something if you do not think it should be there. Sometimes, new techniques or new circumstances reveal something that was previously unexpected. In general, the discovery of a new aspect of past life in a site or region is an exciting matter. It is a big step forward. It helps us to understand that region better. But, it is, in fact, much more than that. It also forces us to rethink the histories of other regions, in particular those that border our area of study. If, for example, you once thought somewhere to have been uninhabited, how exiciting to find traces of a population. How did they live? How did they interact with those around them? Many stories have to be rewritten. And, not least, why have we missed them in the past? How can we find out more about them? What happens if we apply these new techniques to the wider area, how does it impact on our understanding of the greater histories. It promises a whole new research environment.

I’ve written about this before with regard to Palaeolithic Scotland. For most of my professional life conventional wisdom dictated that Scotland was uninhabited in the Palaeolithic (Late Pleistocene). Indeed, when I was a student most people considered that the north of Scotland had been uninhabited until the Neolithic, some 6000 years ago. Finding evidence for Mesolithic settlement dating back some 8000 years on the island of Rum in the 1980s was more daring than I had originally realised.

Mesolithic Scotland is old hat now, and the first evidence for Palaeolithic (Late Upper Palaeolithic, or LUP, to be precise) activity here has moved from being tentative to well established. I feel privileged to have seen this change; it was a good move, (had I but known it), to specialise in something so obscure as the earliest settlement of Scotland when I graduated.

There is still a lot of work to do, nevertheless, before the picture of Palaeolithic Scotland can take its place in our understanding of the Northwest Europe. The picture is patchy and relies strongly on chance findings of stone tools. It is an exciting time to be working here. There is a whole new field of study and we have to build a framework to gather the wider evidence. We need to go back to basics and devise a plan of action. This excitement extends to our European colleagues who, particularly those in Scandinavia, are waiting to join forces and look at the bigger picture. The discovery of Late Pleistocene populations in Scotland will inevitably impact on their own regions.

For these reasons I was somewhat surprised recently to hear that a grant application had been turned down on the grounds that the recent recognition of evidence for LUP archaeology in Scotland was not of wider significance. Of course, the fault is ours for not emphasising the ways in which we will need to develop new approaches to find and investigate the evidence that has, to date, remained so elusive. Obviously, we did not draw enough attention to the interest this has generated among our colleagues in Europe. It is a reminder of the ways in which we can become complacent and assume that others share and understand our own excitement. When you work in a particular research environement it can be easy to forget that not everyone will share your perspective.

Weirdly, I also feel that it is a reminder of the ways in which understanding has changed. Research was very different for those of us who lived in a time when gaps in our knowledge were frequent. Today, we have more information and we can all become very focussed on small details.  We should never take the wider picture for granted.

It seems to me that I’ve been telling people that archaeology is ‘becoming more mainstream’ for a long time now. In reality archaeology has always had a popular face, though I accept that the level of popularity of the subject has gone up and down over the years. In the 1920s and 30s Gordon Childe was writing for a general audience and his books sold well. In the 1950s the successful television programme ‘Animal, Vegetable, Mineral?’ turned archaeologists such as Mortimer Wheeler and Glyn Daniel into household names. From the mid 1960s till the beginning of the 90s the BBC aired a regular archaeology documentary under the name, ‘Chronicle’, and the first episodes of ‘Time Team’ appeared on Channel 4 soon after that.

Archaeologists have sometimes been slow to waken to the benefits of public interpretation, however. In the 1980s English Heritage (as was) published ‘Visitors Welcome’, a guide to opening your excavation to the public – it seems amazing that we needed to be prompted. Today, there are thriving Young Archaeologists Clubs across the UK, there must be something on television most weeks (if only a repeat of a programme about Stonehenge), and it is hard to find a day when some archaeological press release does not make its way into the media. Social Media adds a new dimension with many, many active pages and posts.

Of course, there are also the many areas of 21st century life that rely on archaeology as an essential element. Where would HS2 be without the archaeologists who characterise and record the ancient deposits it will displace? What about all the new building and infrastructure that relies on archaeologists to investigate old building and infrastructure? And the role of forensic archaeologists who help the police and other institutions with crime scenes and the remains of atrocities. Archaeologists are a diverse bunch and we are integrated into everyday life in ways that many people are unaware of. You are rarely more than a few steps away from the work of someone who has been trained in one or other of the many specialisms that the profession embraces.

The results of all this labour underpin our sense of society. It is clear that some of us need to be working in order to turn out fodder for the narrative-hungry machine that we have created. Nevertheless, the question, ‘why study archaeology’ is still valid. I’ve also heard that, now that there is a very real cost to a university education (even here in Scotland, albeit less than in other parts of the UK), both parents and children are thinking carefully before committing themselves to the financial outlay involved. Surely, it would make more sense to study something that will lead more directly to a well-paid job?

Of course, this begs the question as to why archaeology is rarely relatively well-paid, especially at recent graduate level. I’ve heard new graduates complaining that their hard-won degrees have merely equipped them for work pushing barrows. Let’s set that aside, patience, the first years of an archaeology career are rarely glamourous, I spent several years sorting through gravels, but it is worth it in the end. Then, one might ask about alternative routes into an archaeology career. Sure, there are many, some more vocational than others.

But, I’m interested in those for whom a career is not necessarily the end goal. When I applied to study archaeology at university you still got interviews from many places and I have to admit that I was a bit precious. I wanted to be an archaeologist and I did not have the maturity to see that there was a wider picture. Several of the places where I was interview expressed surprise that I actually aspired to enter archaeology itself and I have to confess that I ruled them out as possible options for study on that ground alone.

I’m better informed these days. We need people to study archaeology and then go on into jobs as teachers, librarians, journalists, nurses, politicians, and policy makers – everything. Only by embedding archaeology deeply into the population of the British Isles can we be sure that the future of the discipline is assured. We need people who are enthused by the subject to pass on their enthusiasm in their everyday work. We need those in government to care about the past.

It is not just about the significance of the subject, though. There are other reasons to study archaeology. The arguments about the historical relevance of wider views, the application of lessons learnt, the development of community roots and a sense of place are all well-rehearsed. So too are discussions of mental discipline, skill-sets gained, and a sense of achievement. All overlook a simple truth.

Archaeology will enrich your life.

Whatever you do.

After you have studied archaeology, a walk in the countryside will never be the same again. Neither will your explorations of the city.

Archaeology is a discipline that teaches you to look on the world with new eyes and to think about what you see. I know that I am biased, but I would argue that, more than anything else you could study, it brings together aspects of all other ‘exploratory’ disciplines. It lifts you out of your box and opens the gate to a new view of the world we experience. It is truly a life science.

Now, that is no bad reason to find out more about it.