Mining and Quarrying in Neolithic Europe: A Social Perspective (Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers) 9781789251487, 9781789251494, 1789251486

Table of contents :
Cover
Book Title
Copyright
Foreword
Contents
Preface and acknowledgements
List of contributors
Chapter 1 Flint-working areas and bifacial implement productionat the Neolithic flint-mining sites in southern andeastern England
Chapter 2 Comings and goings: The wider landscape ofEarly Neolithic flint mining in Sussex
Chapter 3 Radiocarbon dating on flint mining shaft deposits atBlackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill, Sussex
Chapter 4 Tangled up in blue: The role of reibeckite felsite inNeolithic Shetland
Chapter 5 Being ‘Mesolithic’ in the Neolithic: Practices, placesand rock in contrasting regions in South Norway
Chapter 6 Stonehenge’s bluestones
Chapter 7 Sarsen stone quarrying in southern England:An introduction
Chapter 8 Carn Menyn and the stones of south-west Wales
Chapter 9 Insights into Portland and Greensand chert useduring the Neolithic of south-west England
Chapter 10 Crossing the divide: Raw material use in thenorth-west of the British Isles in the lateMesolithic and Neolithic
Chapter 11 Moving mountains: Reciprocating with rock inthe Neolithic
Chapter 12 The social context of lithic extraction in Neolithic Britain and Ireland
Chapter 13 A whiter shade of pale: Powerful relationships between Neolithic communities and the underworld at Monkton Up Wimborne, Dorset

Citation preview

Mining and Quarrying in Neolithic Europe

Mining and Quarrying in Neolithic Europe: A Social Perspective Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 16

Edited by

Anne Teather, Peter Topping and Jon Baczkowski

Oxford & Philadelphia

Published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by OXBOW BOOKS The Old Music Hall, 106-108 Cowley Road, Oxford, OX4 1JE and in the United States by OXBOW BOOKS 1950 Lawrence Road, Havertown, PA 19083 © Oxbow Books and the individual contributors 2019 Paperback Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-148-7 Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-149-4 (epub) A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Control Number: 2019939198

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing.

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Front cover: Pike of Stickle and South Scree, Langdale, Cumbria, part of the Group VI axehead quarry complex. Taken September 2014. Photo © Pete Topping. Back cover: Craig Rhos-y-felin, UCL/SRP/SOS © Adam Stanford.

Foreword This book presents the proceedings of a seminar held in November 2017, organised by the Neolithic Studies Group (NSG), that forms part of an ongoing series of NSG seminar papers. This is the sixteenth volume in the series. The NSG is an informal organisation comprising archaeologists with an interest in Neolithic archaeology. It was established in 1984 and has a large membership based mainly in the UK and Ireland, but also including workers from the nations of the Atlantic seaboard. The annual programme includes two or three meetings spread throughout the year and seminars held in London and various locations in north-west Europe. Membership is open to anyone with an active interest in the Neolithic in Europe. The present membership includes academic staff and students, museum staff, archaeologists from government institutions, units, trusts and amateur organisations. There is no membership procedure or application forms and members are those on the current mailing list. Anyone can be added to the mailing list at any time, the only membership rule being that names of those who do not attend any of four consecutive meetings are removed from the list (in the absence of apologies for absence or requests to remain on the list). The Group relies on the enthusiasm of its members to organise its annual meetings and the two co-ordinators to maintain mailing lists and finances. Financial support for the group is drawn from a small fee payable for attendance of each meeting. Anyone wishing to contact the Group and obtain information about forthcoming meetings should contact the co-ordinators at the following addresses. TIMOTHY DARVILL Department of Archaeology Anthropology and Forensic Science Bournemouth University Poole Dorset BH12 5BB

KENNETH BROPHY Department of Archaeology University of Glasgow Glasgow G12 8QQ

Alternatively, visit the NSG website at http://www.neolithic.org.uk.

Contents Foreword by Timothy Darvill and Kenneth Brophy ������������������������������������������������������������������������ v Preface and acknowledgements ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ix List of contributors ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xi   1. Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production at the Neolithic flint-mining sites in southern and eastern England �������������������������������������������������������� 1 Robin Holgate   2. Comings and goings: The wider landscape of Early Neolithic flint mining in Sussex ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 21 Jon Baczkowski   3. Radiocarbon dating on flint mining shaft deposits at Blackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill, Sussex ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 37 Anne Teather   4. Tangled up in blue: The role of reibeckite felsite in Neolithic Shetland ������������������ 49 Gabriel Cooney, William Megarry, Mik Markham, Bernard Gilhooly, Brendan O’Neill, Joanne Gaffrey, Rob Sands, Astrid Nyland, Torben Ballin, Jenny Murray and Alison Sheridan   5. Being ‘Mesolithic’ in the Neolithic: Practices, places and rock in contrasting regions in South Norway������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 67 Astrid J. Nyland   6. Stonehenge’s bluestones ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 83 Mike Parker Pearson   7. Sarsen stone quarrying in southern England: An introduction �������������������������������� 101 Katy A. Whitaker   8.  Carn Menyn and the stones of south-west Wales ������������������������������������������������������� 115 Timothy Darvill   9. Insights into Portland and Greensand chert use during the Neolithic of south-west England ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 133 Rosemary J. Stewart 10. Crossing the divide: Raw material use in the north-west of the British Isles in the late Mesolithic and Neolithic ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 149 Fraser Brown, Antony Dickson and Helen Evans

viii

Contents

11. Moving mountains: Reciprocating with rock in the Neolithic����������������������������������� 163 Steve Dickinson 12. The social context of lithic extraction in Neolithic Britain and Ireland ����������������� 179 Peter Topping 13. A whiter shade of pale: Powerful relationships between Neolithic communities and the underworld at Monkton Up Wimborne, Dorset ������������������ 193 Susan Greaney

Preface and acknowledgements This volume contains papers presented at the Neolithic Studies Group (NSG) annual meeting held at the British Museum, London on 6th November 2017. The subject of mining and quarrying in the Neolithic had not been approached by the NSG since it formed part of a wider ranging meeting which reviewed the use of flint and stone in 2005 (Saville 2011). Entitled Extracting More than Rock? Insights into the acquisition of stone and flint in the Neolithic, our abstract invited papers on all aspects of the physical and social aspects of stone and flint extraction in the Neolithic of north-western Europe. The social processes involved in acquiring flint and stone in the Neolithic began to be considered over thirty years ago, promoting a more dynamic view of past extraction processes. Whether by quarrying, mining or surface retrieval, the geographic source locations of raw materials and their resultant archaeological sites have been approached from different methodological and theoretical perspectives. In recent years this has included the exploration of previously undiscovered sites, refined radiocarbon dating, comparative ethnographic analysis and novel analytical approaches to stone tool manufacture and provenancing. The aim of this meeting was to explore these new findings on extraction sites and their products. How did the acquisition of raw materials fit into other aspects of Neolithic life and social networks? How did these activities merge in creating material items that underpinned cosmology, status and identity? What are the geographic similarities, constraints and variables between the various raw materials, and how does the practice of stone extraction in the UK relate to wider extractive traditions in north-western Europe? Gathering the scholars currently working in this subject was thought by the editors to be particularly timely, due to the increasing interest in understanding extraction, the movement of different sources of stone, and the fundamental issue of why people actually mined and quarried during this period. New excavations and targeted dating of stone extraction sites have been accompanied by recent studies of the movement or manuport of stone in the Neolithic that, when brought together, are generating new insights into how and why certain stone materials were employed within Neolithic societies. This volume reflects some of that recent work and contains papers that range from studies of the distribution of one type of raw material (Stewart; Darvill), investigations of the variability of stone use at one site (Brown et al.), new excavations at quarry sites in both Shetland (Cooney et al.) and Wales (Parker Pearson), and theoretical, historical and ethnographic approaches to mining and quarrying (Topping; Greaney; Whitaker). Additional contributions further develop our understanding of stone extraction sites as places where we can find evidence for their role in the social and economic change to farming, or the emergence of different types of agricultural economy and its impact upon landscape use and site distribution (Nyland; Dickinson). Finally, great strides have been made in the last two decades in examining the practice of flint mining. This volume’s contributions focus on Britain (Baczkowski; Holgate; Teather) but flint mining should be seen within a greater body of excellent European work from Scandinavia to Spain that is being published in edited volumes under the auspices of the UISPP Commission on Flint Mining. Some of our speakers already had publication commitments and their work can be found elsewhere

x

Preface and acknowledgements

(Stephen Shennan: Edinborough et al. in press; Richard Bradley: Bradley and Watson in press). Stone is an enduring archaeological material that is ubiquitously retrieved during archaeological excavations. However, with the exception of some finely finished artefacts which demand attention such as carved stone balls, highly polished axes and finely worked arrowheads, much of the utilised stone is represented by rather unassuming debitage comprising waste flakes, blades or scrapers. As a result, many lithic assemblages have often been of secondary concern within archaeological studies, and seen almost as a minor component when reconstructing the activities performed on-site. However, it is through the new research of the contributors to these proceedings that we are continuing to unpick the subtleties evident in this vast material record, and beginning to gain a greater understanding of the processes and motivations which may have lain behind the extraction and use of stone in the Neolithic period. Detailed studies of this nature build on a genealogy of excellent scholarship. We are very grateful to have some of these scholars represented in the present volume. From the bar on the square in Mons, Belgium where this idea for a Neolithic Studies Group meeting was hatched in 2016, following a remarkable visit to the excavations at the flint mines in Spiennes, the editors would like to raise a glass and dedicate this volume to those that have not contributed to this volume but whose work has been directly inspirational to the research presented here: the late Alan Saville, Frances Healy, Alison Sheridan, David Field, the late Vin Davis and members of the Implement Petrology Group, Richard Bradley, Mark Edmonds, Mike Pitts, Julie Gardiner, Verna Care, Gillian Varndell and Ian Longworth. The editors would also like to thank Tim Darvill, Kenny Brophy, Neil Wilkin and the British Museum for their support and assistance in organising this event.

REFERENCES Bradley, R. and Watson, A. forthcoming. Langdale and the Northern Neolithic. In G. Hey and P. Frodsham (eds), The Neolithic of Northern England in a New light. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Edinborough, K., Shennan, S., Teather, A., Baczkowski, J., Bevan, A., Bradley, R., Cook, R., Kerig, T., Parker Pearson, M., Pope, A. and Schaeur, P. in press. New radiocarbon dates show Early Neolithic date of flint-mining and stone quarrying in Britain. Radiocarbon. Saville, A. 2011. Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

List of contributors Jon Baczkowski Department of Archaeology University of Southampton Avenue Campus Highfield  Southampton SO17 1BF England United Kingdom Torben Bjaerke Ballin Banknock Cottage Denny Stirlingshire FK6 5NA Scotland United Kingdom Fraser Brown Oxford Archaeology North Mill 3 Moor Lane Mills Moor Lane Lancaster LA1 1QD England United Kingdom Gabriel Cooney School of Archaeology University College Dublin Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland Timothy Darvill Department of Archaeology Anthropology & Forensic Science Bournemouth University Bournemouth BH12 5BB   England United Kingdom

Steve Dickinson 12 Stockghyll Court Ambleside LA22 0QX England United Kingdom Antony Dickson Oxford Archaeology North Mill 3 Moor Lane Mills Moor Lane Lancaster LA1 1QD England United Kingdom Helen Evans Oxford Archaeology North Mill 3 Moor Lane Mills Moor Lane Lancaster LA1 1QD England United Kingdom Joanne Gaffrey School of Archaeology University College Dublin Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland Bernard Gilhooly School of Archaeology University College Dublin Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland

xii

List of contributors

Susan Greaney School of History, Archaeology and Religion Cardiff University John Percival Building Colum Drive Cardiff CF10 3EU England United Kingdom Robin Holgate Archaeological Research Services Angel House Portland Square Bakewell DE45 1HB England United Kingdom Mik Markham School of Archaeology University College Dublin Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland William Megarry Queen’s University Belfast University Road Belfast BT7 1NN Northern Ireland United Kingdom Jenny Murray Shetland Museum and Archives Hay’s Dock Lerwick Shetland ZE1 0WP Scotland United Kingdom

Astrid Nyland Museum of Archaeology University of Stavanger  4036 Stavanger Norway Brendan O’Neill University College Dublin School of Archaeology Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland Mike Parker Pearson Institute of Archaeology University College London 31-34 Gordon Square London WC1H 0PY England United Kingdom Rob Sands University College Dublin School of Archaeology Belfield Dublin 4 Ireland Alison Sheridan National Museum of Scotland Chambers Street Edinburgh EH1 1JF Scotland United Kingdom Rosemary Stewart 4 Hexton Road Glastonbury BA6 8HL England United Kingdom

List of contributors Anne Teather School of Earth and Environmental Sciences University of Manchester Oxford Road Manchester M13 9PL England United Kingdom Peter Topping Department of History, Classics & Archaeology Newcastle University  Newcastle upon Tyne NE1 7RU England United Kingdom

Katy Whitaker Department of Archaeology University of Reading Whiteknights PO Box 217 Reading RG6 6AH England United Kingdom

xiii

Chapter 1

Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production at the Neolithic flint-mining sites in southern and eastern England Robin Holgate INTRODUCTION

The flint-mining sites in southern England are amongst the earliest known Neolithic sites in Britain. Excavations took place at Grimes Graves in Norfolk and Cissbury in West Sussex as early as the 1850s and 1860s, with the most recent excavations at flint-mining sites taking place at Grimes Graves, Harrow Hill and Long Down in the 1970s and 1980s (McNabb et al. 1996; Longworth et al. 2012; Baczkowski and Holgate 2017). Subsequent research has suggested that mining for flint was an episodic, possibly seasonal, small-scale activity restricted to a small number of favoured, possibly liminal, locations on the Wiltshire/ Hampshire border and western Sussex in the Early Neolithic period where ‘special’ flint was extracted largely from the lower-most seams in order to fabricate mainly axe heads; during the Late Neolithic period a much wider range of bifacial implements was manufactured, including discoidal knives, with axe heads being relatively insignificant at Grimes Graves in Norfolk and, potentially, at some of the Wessex/Sussex sites (Gardiner 1990; Holgate 1995; Barber et al. 1999; Bishop 2012; Longworth et al. 2012). The published accounts of investigations over the last 150 years, during which time over 40 shafts and 120 working areas had been excavated, are mainly concerned with the mines and the mining process (Barber et al. 1999; Baczkowski 2014). This paper discusses the flint-working processes and products, along with the operation and outcome of flint working, at the flint-mining sites in southern and eastern England.

THE SUSSEX FLINT-MINING SITES

A series of flint mines and working areas was investigated at Stoke Down, Long Down, Harrow Hill, Blackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill, Findon in the 1920s–1960s (summarised in Pye 1968; Holgate 1995; Barber et al. 1999; Russell 2000). Further fieldwork then took place in the 1980s at Harrow Hill organised by Gale Sieveking on behalf of the Fourth International Flint Symposium and by Robin Holgate to assess plough damage at Long Down, Harrow Hill, Stoke Down and Church Hill, Findon on behalf of the then Department of the Environment. Whilst the fieldwork results have been published (McNabb et al. 1996; Baczkowski and Holgate 2017), this paper focuses on discussing further the development and management of flint working at these sites.

2

Robin Holgate

LONG DOWN

Between 1955 and 1958 E.F. Salisbury partially excavated a single shaft and investigated what he considered to be two flint-working areas at Long Down, the results of which he summarised in a brief report (Salisbury 1961). The fill of the shaft and the flint-working areas all produced unspecified quantities of flint debitage. Earthwork and surface artefact collection survey undertaken by Holgate in 1984 of the cultivated field immediately east of the main cluster of flint mines recovered predominantly debitage resulting from the production of bifacial implements fabricated on flint derived from the flint mines, as well as roughouts for two axes and an adze and an axe preform (see Table 1.1); this represents the remnants of an oval-shaped flint-working area measuring at least 25 m in diameter (Fig. 1.1). Two circular depressions c. 6 m in diameter were also recorded to the east of the flint-working area. Excavations in 1985 investigated the two circular depressions and the flint-working area, as well as what was interpreted as an upcast dump adjacent to the shaft excavated by Salisbury (Fig. 1.2). The trench (Fig. 1.2: trench A) by Salisbury’s shaft, rather than an upcast dump, revealed the upper fills of two shafts; the trenches sampling the two circular depressions east of the flint-working area (Fig. 1.2: trenches C and D) demonstrated that they were flint mines. Trenches were excavated to define the extent and nature of the flint-working area (Fig. 1.2: trenches B1–B35). An intact portion of the flint-working area survived measuring c. 12 m2 in area close to the edge of the present-day field. In total, 29,817 flints were recovered from both the survey in 1984 and the excavations in 1985 (see Tables 1.1 and 1.2).

The upper fill of two shafts adjacent to Salisbury’s excavation (trench A) The trench by Salisbury’s shaft produced 5,709 flints (Table 1.2), mostly debitage. Of the flakes, 48% were hard hammer-struck: a higher proportion than that of the flakes recovered from the flint-working area (30%). Although soft hammer-struck axe-thinning or finishing flakes comprised 75% of all flakes and blades, this was a lower proportion than that recovered from the flint-working area (c. 90%). This, coupled with the fact that the upper fills of the mines produced a higher proportion of tested nodules (i.e. with only one or two flakes detached from them), quartered pieces or shattered pieces from the mine fills (7% compared with 0.3% from the flint-working area), sho ws that a significant proportion of the debitage from this trench was associated with the extraction and preparation of flint for making implements. However, the presence of axe-thinning and finishing flakes (64% of the flints), along with the roughouts for axes and a chisel, indicate that bifacial implements were being manufactured in this area or close by. The presence of clusters (described as ‘nests’ by Salisbury and others excavating flint mines in Sussex in the 1920s–1960s) of flakes and, in one instance, indicating an axe roughout, shows that piles of debitage were being dumped in this part of the site. Fragments of Early Neolithic pottery, probably Carinated Bowl, as well as an antler pick fragment and ox shoulder blade, were also recovered from the mine fills and radiocarbon-dated to the 39th to 38th centuries cal BC (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, 16).

The isolated shafts on the eastern side (trenches C and D) Sample excavation of the two shafts to the east of the flint-working area produced 2,088 flints (Table 1.2). In common with the flints recovered from the flint-working area, a significant

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

3

Table 1.1: Flintwork from the surface collection/recording surveys, 1984–5. Long Down

Harrow Hill

Church Hill, Findon

Flakes/blades

301

2033

1199

Axe-thinning flakes/blades

96

198

433

Chips

14

–

9

Tested nodules

–

3

42

Cores

3

49

39

Hammerstones

–

–

2

Axe roughouts

2

73

42

Axe preforms

1

–

2

Miniature axe preform

–

–

1

Adze roughouts

1

–

–

Bifacial implements:

Chisel roughouts

–

1

–

Chisel preforms

–

–

1

Sickle roughouts

–

1

–

Sickle preform

–

1

–

Discoidal knife roughouts

–

–

2

Ovate roughouts

–

–

2

Scrapers

2

27

2

Knives

–

3

–

Piercers

–

1

–

Cutting blades/flakes

1

1

–

Notches flakes

–

2

–

Miscellaneous retouched flakes

–

8

1

421

2401

1777

Flake implements:

Total

majority from the southern of the two shafts (Fig. 1.2: trench C) derived from the production of bifacial implements: nearly 90% were soft hammer-struck axe-thinning or finishing flakes, along with three roughouts for two axes and a discoidal knife. All the flints recovered from the northern of the two shafts (Fig. 1.2: trench D), as well as 38% of flakes from the southern shaft (Fig. 1.2: trench C), were associated with the rough dressing of mined flint.

The flint-working area trenches (trenches B1–B35) The flint-working area, occupying c. 650 m2, yielded 21,597 flints (Table 1.2). It is estimated that 4.2% of the flint-working area was excavated; assuming the same density of flints

4

Robin Holgate

Fig 1.1: Long Down showing the flint-working area and the densities of flint recorded in the 1984 surface collection survey (after Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, fig. 4).

throughout, this would suggest that over 500,000 flints would originally have been left when the working area was abandoned. Some flints could date to the Later Bronze Age. The remainder all resulted from the production of bifacial implements from the flint mined at the site: 51% were soft hammer-struck thinning flakes, 39% were finishing flakes and 3% were chips; the roughouts were for six axes (one being a thin-butted axe) and three ovate or discoidal knives. The intact portion of the flint-working area contained 2,066 flints, of which 26% were hard hammer-struck flakes, 60% were soft hammer-stuck thinning flakes, 8% were finishing flakes and 5% were chips; two axe roughouts were recovered, along with fragments of Early Neolithic, probably Carinated Bowl, pottery which may have all

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

5

Fig 1.2: Long Down showing the location of the trenches excavated in 1985 (after Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, fig. 5).

originated from the same bowl found in the backfill layers adjacent to the shaft excavated by Salisbury. The ovate/discoidal knife roughouts which are usually dated to the Late Neolithic period suggest that, following the establishment of the flint-working area in the early fourth millennium cal BC, further working of flint to produce bifacial implements continued until the mid–late third millennium cal BC.

HARROW HILL

In 1924 and 1925 a survey of the flint mines and excavation of a shaft (shaft 21) on the north side of Harrow Hill was directed by E. and E.C. Curwen (Curwen and Curwen 1926). They recovered ten small ‘nests’ of flakes, 54 broken or roughout implements and at least eight axe preforms. In 1936 George Holleyman excavated trenches across the late prehistoric enclosure on the summit of the Hill, which included investigating three shafts (Holleyman 1937), encountering ‘nests of flakes’ and at least 100 axe roughouts and preforms in the fill of the shafts but no remains of surface flint-working areas.

Robin Holgate

6

Table 1.2: The flintwork from Long Down, 1985. Trenches Type

A

B

C

D

Total

With cortex: hard-hammer

396

418

69

7

890

soft-hammer

431

936

90

3

1460

Without cortex: hard-hammer

189

13

3

3

208

soft hammer

194

27

4

2

227

1210

1394

166

15

2785

With cortex: hard-hammer

–

–

–

–

–

soft-hammer

10

13

10

–

33

1

–

–

1

2

Flakes

Flakes total Blades

Without cortex: hard-hammer soft-hammer

4

20

12

–

36

15

33

22

1

71

With cortex: soft-hammer

260

1841

566

–

2667

Without cortex: soft-hammer

1950

9173

1247

–

12370

Axe thinning flakes total

2210

11014

1813

–

15037

–

–

–

–

–

Without cortex: soft-hammer

1433

8509

45

–

9987

Axe finishing flakes total

1433

8509

45

Chips

406

561

–

–

967

Shattered pieces

341

58

17

–

416

Quartered pieces

43

2

–

–

45

Tested nodules

23

4

–

–

27

Cores

17

9

4

–

30

Roughouts

6

9

3

–

20

Hammerstones

4

1

–

–

5

Blades total Axe thinning flakes

Axe finishing flakes With cortex: soft-hammer

9987

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

7

Table 1.2 (Continued) Trenches Type

A

B

C

D

Total

End scraper

–

1

–

–

1

Side scraper

–

–

1

–

1

Knife

?1

1

–

–

2

Ovate knife

–

–

1

–

1

Miscellaneous retouched piece

–

1

–

–

1

5709

21597

2072

16

29396

19

48

15

–

82

Flake tools

Total Fire-fractured flint

In 1982 Sieveking arranged for P.J. Felder to excavate shaft 13, situated to the northwest of shaft 21, and in 1984 for Greg Bell to excavate three trenches alongside shaft 13 to investigate if any flint-working areas were located in this part of the site (McNabb et al. 1996). Surface artefact collection survey of the cultivated field on the south side of Harrow Hill undertaken by Holgate in 1985 identified a flint-working area c. 45 m in diameter which included a significant quantity of debitage and bifacial implement roughouts/preforms, predominantly axe roughouts, as well as two sickle roughout/performs (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017; Fig. 1.3 and Table 1.1). The north-west part of the area surveyed produced debitage and implements manufactured on flint originating close to the surface, which probably date to the Late Bronze Age. Seven circular depressions were also recorded (Fig. 3) and initially interpreted as shafts in the vicinity of the flint-working area. Sample excavations of these ‘depressions’, along with the flint-working area, were led by Holgate in 1986 (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017; Fig. 4). The excavations on both the northern and the southern part of the site produced a total of over 8,100 flints (see Tables 1.3 and 1.4).

North side of the Hill Clusters of debitage (see Table 1.3), as well as two antler hammers, were discovered throughout the fill of the shaft excavated by Felder and from galleries radiating out from its base (McNabb et al. 1996, 35–7). Over 700 flints were recovered from the three trenches excavated by Bell adjacent to the shaft, the majority from the northernmost trench (trench 2: see Table 1.3). These flints are interpreted as resulting from individual episodes of fabricating axe roughouts/preforms, and not a flint-working area (McNabb et al. 1996, 28); the majority of flint extracted from this shaft was taken elsewhere to be worked (McNabb et al. 1996, 37).

South side of the Hill Trenches excavated across the circular depressions (Fig. 1.4) revealed that these were either natural, shallow depressions or resulted from open cast or drift mining. Further

8

Robin Holgate

Fig. 1.3: Harrow Hill showing the densities of flint recorded in the 1985 surface collection survey (after Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, fig. 14).

trenching indicated that drift mining occurred mainly in an arc to the northeast of the flint-working area. The drift Shaft 13 Trench 2 mines produced 1,128 flints (Table 1.4), Flakes 156 688 most of which resulted from producing bifacial implements: 41% comprised soft Core – 1 hammer-struck axe-thinning flakes, along Axe roughout 7 7 with five axe roughouts. Only c. 2% Pick roughout 1 – comprised hard hammer-struck flakes Adze roughout 1 – with cortex, tested nodules and quartered pieces. Most of the contexts associated Axe preform – – with the areas of open-cast mining were Total 165 697 either devoid of flintwork or contained a few flakes or blades, some of which were soft hammer-struck axe-thinning flakes. However, three distinct groups of flintwork were recovered from drift-mining fills in two of the northern-most trenches excavated in this part of the site. These all produced over 100 flints, including hard hammer-struck flakes with cortex, soft hammer-struck axe-thinning and axe-finishing flakes, tested nodules and Table 1.3: The flintwork from Harrow Hill, 1982–3 (after McNabb et al. 1996).

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

9

Fig 1.4: Harrow Hill showing the flint-working area, the open-cast mining area and the locations of trenches excavated in 1986 (after Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, fig. 15).

axe roughouts which, in each case, were clearly detached from one or more nodules and resulted from the deposition of debitage representing single flint-flaking episodes. The excavation of the flint-working area (Fig 1.4: the W trenches), occupying c. 1,600 m2, produced 3,721 flints (Table 1.4). An estimated 1.4% of the flint-working area was excavated suggesting that, assuming the same density of flints throughout, it originally comprised about 270,000 humanly-struck flints. The majority of the flints are associated with manufacturing bifacial implements from the flint mined at the site, with 31% comprising soft hammer-struck thinning flakes, 2% were finishing flakes and 8% were chips; 14 axe roughouts and three preforms, including an axe, sickle and ovate preforms, were recovered during the excavations.

STOKE DOWN

In 1910–13 Major A. G. Wade excavated three of the line of at least 100 shafts extending for over 800 m at Stoke Down (Wade 1922; Barber and Dyer 2005); no associated working areas were located at the time. In all c. 2,500 flakes, three flaked axe roughouts/preforms, a chopper, a core and a miscellaneous retouched flake were recovered from the fill of the shafts, mostly from Shaft 1; a greensand quern rubber was also found in the fill of Shaft 2.

Robin Holgate

10

Table 1.4: The flintwork from Harrow Hill, 1986. Trenches Type

Drift Mines

Working Floor

Total

With cortex: hard-hammer

201

582

783

soft-hammer

343

1215

1558

Without cortex: hard-hammer

10

63

73

Soft hammer

15

163

178

Flakes total

569

2023

2592

With cortex: hard-hammer

2

5

7

soft-hammer

21

76

97

2

5

7

Flakes

Blades

Without cortex: hard-hammer soft-hammer

9

63

72

34

149

183

With cortex: soft-hammer

278

556

834

Without cortex: soft-hammer

175

586

761

Axe thinning flakes total

453

1142

1595

With cortex: soft-hammer

–

15

15

Without cortex: soft-hammer

14

70

84

Axe finishing flakes total

14

85

99

Chips

46

288

334

Quartered pieces

1

1

2

Tested nodules

3

6

9

Cores

1

5

6

Roughouts

5

14

19

Pre-forms

–

3

3

Blades total Axe thinning flakes

Finishing flakes

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

11

Table 1.4 (Continued) Trenches Type

Drift Mines

Working Floor

Total

Knife

1

3

4

Piercer

–

1

1

Miscellaneous retouched piece

1

1

2

1128

3721

4849

1

13

14

Flake tools

Total Fire-fractured flint

Surface artefact collection survey by Holgate in 1985 of the cultivated field immediately to the south-west of the line of flint mines recovered 109 flints in total, which included four axe-thinning flakes and one axe roughout fragment. If the opportunity arises, further survey work on the eastern part of the site may reveal the remains of flint-working areas.

CHURCH HILL, FINDON

Between 1932 and 1952 John Pull surveyed 36 shafts and 15 flint-working areas at Church Hill, Findon; of these, he excavated six shafts and eight flint-working areas (Pye 1968). The flint-working areas he investigated were located around the shafts, two of which measured 56.5 m2 and another measured 3.5 m2; he also encountered clusters of flints which he interpreted as flint-working areas between layers of mining debris. Pull did not publish a detailed account of his fieldwork. If the plans and section drawings in his archive at Worthing Museum are reliable, one flint-working area was truncated when two shafts were excavated through it during the Neolithic period, another lies amongst the upper fill of a shaft and two flint-working areas are partially overlain by chalk dumps: one of these, flint-working area 2, is not only partially buried by a chalk dump but also overlies the upper fill of a shaft underneath which were found fragments of the base of a Grooved Ware vessel. Only a small proportion of the flints recovered by Pull survive in museum collections (Pye 1968); of the c. 200 flints that survive from Church Hill 72 are axe roughouts/preforms, including axes, chisels, miniature axes and discoidal knives. Pull also excavated eight round barrows, two of which were located amongst the flint mines; whilst no conclusive burials were found, fragments of comb-impressed Beaker vessels and Collared Urns were found. A walkover and surface artefact recording survey undertaken by Holgate in 1985 (Fig. 1.5) recorded a total of 1,777 humanly-struck flints during the surface artefact recording survey (see Table 1.1). At least 13 clearly-defined concentrations of humanly-struck flints were identified, each of which, in terms of surface density and overall composition, resembled the flint-working area discovered at Harrow Hill. Virtually all the flints resulted from manufacturing bifacial implements from the flint mined at the site, with 24% comprising soft hammer-struck axe-thinning flakes and finishing flakes. Whilst axe roughouts and

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Fig. 1.5: Church Hill, Findon showing the flint-working areas recorded in the 1985 survey.

preforms predominated, some were for thin-butted axes and a miniature axe, and a chisel and discoidal knife roughouts/preform were also recovered which are considered to date to the Late Neolithic period (Table 1.1). The working areas on the eastern edge of the site contained similar quantities of both hard hammer-struck flakes with cortex and soft hammer-struck thinning flakes, along with thin-butted axe, chisel and ovate roughouts/ preforms.

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

13

BLACKPATCH

Before his fieldwork campaign at Church Hill, Pull and his colleague Sainsbury spent ten years from 1922 to 1932 working at Blackpatch where he estimated that there were 64 mines and nine flint-working areas in total (Pye 1968). In all he investigated seven shafts, four flint-working areas, one of which measured 1.4 m2, and 12 round barrows. As at Church Hill, one flint-working area was partially truncated by a shaft, one was partially covered by a chalk dump and another overlay the upper fill of a shaft. The fill of shaft 1 produced at least 141 flint implements, including 73 axe roughouts and preforms; numerous flakes and blades are also recorded as having been found (Pye 1968). Pottery from the barrows included comb-impressed Beaker and Collared Urn fragments, including a nearly complete Collared Urn, whilst a further 33 flints, including 11 axe roughouts and preforms, were found.

CISSBURY

The nineteenth century excavations at Cissbury focused on excavating shafts (Holgate 1995, 137; Barber et al. 1999, 7–8). Between 1952 and 1956 Pull excavated two shafts and partially sampled a further two shafts on the south-west spur of the hill, along with investigating three flint-working areas located adjacent to shafts (Pye 1968), one of which measured 56.5 m2 in area and another measured 3.4 m2. Of the c. 100 flints surviving from his excavations, 38 are axe roughouts and preforms.

THE WESSEX SITES

Easton Down Between 1929 and 1934 J. F. S. Stone investigated six shafts and four of the six flintworking areas that he discovered at Easton Down (Stone 1931a; 1933a; 1935). One of the flint-working areas overlay two filled-in shafts. The flint-working areas ranged in size from 150 m2 to 56 m2 and contained mainly flakes and chips. He concluded that both the final finishing of implements was carried out as well as coarser fashioning of rough nodules. Bifacial implements included roughouts/preforms for axes, adzes, chisels and discoidal knives, whilst one working area (floor 7) included a ground and polished chisel (Stone 1931).

Martin’s Clump Whilst investigating Easton Down in the early 1930s Stone discovered a second flint-mining site 3 km to the north-east on the same ridge at Martin’s Clump, Hampshire (Stone 1933b). He located three flint-working areas one of which, measuring c. 40 m2, he investigated with J. G. D. Clark and found a mass of flakes and both broken and half-worked implements which included axe and chisel preforms (Stone 1933b).

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THE EASTERN ENGLAND SITE

Grimes Graves The nineteenth and early twentieth centuries excavations at Grimes Graves focused on excavating examples of the deep mines. In 1914 A. E. Peake, besides exploring two deep mines and other features, investigated 14 flint-working areas (Peake 1915), identifying two types: areas containing quantities of large cortical flakes and ‘finishing floors’ which also included smaller flakes devoid of cortex (Peake 1915; Bishop 2012, 46; Longworth et al. 2012, 27). During the interwar years A. L. Armstrong, who had worked with Peake in 1914, excavated a series of trenches to establish the boundaries of the floorstone and to explore flint-working areas. In all he noted 98 flint-working areas, including 37 within the visible ‘Deep Mine Field’, 15 to the south and east, 14 to the north and five to the west (Longworth et al. 2012, 14); these varied in size from c. 5 m2 to c. 105 m2. In 1971 Roger Mercer excavated a shaft on the north-east edge of the Deep Mine Field which cut through an earlier working area on its western side, whilst another working area was situated on the eastern side of the shaft which produced c. 60,000 flints: the flint was worked into a variety of implements, including discoidal knife and some axe preforms (Mercer 1981; Saville 1981). Excavations by the British Museum in 1971–5 investigated two working areas on the southern edge of the Deep Mine Field and near the centre of the field immediately to the west of the Deep Mine Field. The working area on the southern edge of the Deep Mine Field was the largest of the hitherto excavated areas producing c. 250,000 pieces, although it is considered that these represented several flint-working episodes that were not necessarily connected with the exploitation of one mine by one group of miners, whilst the second working area contained 30,000–40,000 flints (Longworth et al. 2012, 86–89). Lech (2012, 117) concluded that flint was extracted and initially worked at the bottom of the shaft or nearby; selected fragments of flint nodules and large flakes were then brought to the flint-working area to produce implements: this included, besides piercers, denticulates and scrapers, preforms for axes and discoidal knives, as well as more irregular implements including points, picks and waisted/wedge-shaped tools (Bishop 2012, 46).

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS

The investigation of flint-working areas leads to a number of conclusions regarding how flint-mining sites operated and the role these sites played throughout the Neolithic period.

Operation of the flint-mining sites The flint-working areas were places where mined or quarried flint was brought and flaked to produce mainly preforms for bifacial implements, a significant proportion of which were then taken off-site to be ground and polished into finished products. From the early fourth millennium cal BC, preforms predominantly for axes were being fabricated at the Sussex and Wessex flint-mining sites. At Long Down, a greater proportion of debitage from the upper mine fills was associated with the initial working of flint using hard hammers to remove cortex and irregularities than that recovered from the flint-working

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

15

area. Axe-thinning flakes and axe roughouts have also been found in the fill of shafts at all the flint-mining sites which, in the case of Harrow Hill, are interpreted at the ‘sweepings’ from flint working incorporated into the backfill (McNabb et al. 1996, 36). However, it is apparent that at least in some instances, for example at Easton Down (Stone 1931, 356), Grimes Graves (Peake 1915) and, to some extent, at Church Hill, Findon, ‘undressed’ pieces of flint could be taken to flint-working areas and then converted into preforms for bifacial implements. Detailed study of the roughouts and preforms from Long Down and Harrow Hill shows that there is considerable variation in the strategies pursued in manufacturing bifacial implements: not all cortex was necessarily removed initially; one face could be flaked usually using a soft hammer, either from both edges or just one; or both faces could be flaked either alternately working round the blank or by flaking part of one face first and then turning the blank over and using appropriate edges as a platform to detach flakes from the opposite face. The wide variation in both roughouts and preforms shows that there was not a prescribed uniform size and form for each type of implement being manufactured. Indeed, flint was not being flaked on an industrial scale to maximise the number of bifacial implements that could be produced from the flint being mined from the nearby shafts. The inefficient working of flint, including leaving a proportion of the extracted flint unworked and the variable strategies and skill levels deployed in manufacturing implements also occurs at Grimes Graves (Bishop 2012, 329). The flexible reduction strategy and lack of standardisation of finished products is consistent with small numbers of individuals, including men, women and/or children, extracting and flaking flint on an intermittent basis throughout the working life of the mining sites. Radiocarbon dating of mining tools from the base of shafts at the flint-mining sites in Sussex and Wessex where bifacial implements were produced demonstrates that these sites date back to at least the 40th century cal BC (Whittle et al. 2011; Holgate 2018, 38–9; Teather this volume; Baczkowski this volume). The flint-working area at Long Down, where probable Carinated Bowl pottery was recovered, is the only one dated to the Early Neolithic period. However, the recovery of debitage, including axe roughout and preform fragments, from the fills of shafts producing radiocarbon dates from the 40th to 38th centuries cal BC indicates that manufacturing axe roughouts/preforms was taking place from the outset at a centralised flint-working area, as was the case at Rijkholt-St. Geertruid in the Netherlands and Spiennes in Belgium (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017, 24). At least some flint-working areas investigated at the Sussex and Wessex sites thus date back to the Early Neolithic period. The flint-working area at Harrow Hill is by far the largest known working area; to date, this is the only flint-working area where roughouts/preforms for not only axes but also sickles have been found. The absence of discoidal knife roughouts suggests that Harrow Hill may have been abandoned by the third millennium cal BC. Although only a limited number of flints from the Cissbury flint-working areas survive, and investigations at Martin’s Clump have been limited, it is unclear if Cissbury and Martin’s Clump continued in use into the third millennium cal BC. The presence of discoidal knife roughouts/preforms, along with thin-butted axe and chisel roughouts/preforms, suggests that the manufacture of bifacial implements continued at Easton Down, Blackpatch and Church Hill, Findon until the end of the third millennium cal BC, overlapping with the time when Grimes Graves was in operation during the third millennium cal BC (Healy et al. 2018).

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Robin Holgate

The role of the flint-mining sites The flint-mining sites in Sussex and Wessex date to the earliest Neolithic ‘horizon’ in southern Britain between the 41st and 39th centuries cal BC (Whittle et al. 2011; Baczkowski 2014, 149; Holgate 2018, 38–39; Walker 2018, 123). Flint mining and the production of axe heads, as well as pottery manufacture, is integral to the establishment of cereal cultivation and domesticated animal husbandry in north-western Europe (Walker 2018, 141). These components derived from continental contact, although the initial nature and location, or locations, of this contact is the subject of considerable debate (summarised in Walker 2018, 32–44). It is likely that flint mining concepts and technology were introduced to southern Britain from northern France via safe cross-channel routes to the Solent and other rivers draining into the English Channel in Hampshire and Sussex (Holgate 2018, 41). The lack of domestic activity at the mining sites suggests that those working at these sites probably lived within no more than 2–3 hours’ walking distance of the sites; indeed, those working at Grimes Graves are considered to have lived relatively nearby, for example in the Little Ouse valley 1.6 km to the south (Bishop 2012, 206). The south-east edge of the Salisbury Plain and the Sussex Downs were thus amongst the places in southern Britain settled by the earliest farming communities (Gardiner 1984, 19). Whilst axe heads fabricated using flint originating from the Sussex and Wessex flintmining sites are found predominantly in southern and eastern England (Pitts 1996, 320–26), the area of central southern England encompassing the Sussex and Wessex flint-mining sites is devoid of jade axe heads which were probably circulating at the same time (Walker 2018, 130–1). The discovery of axe heads, sometimes in caches (Pitts 1996, 339–41), from watery contexts and low-lying locations indicates that, besides being woodworking implements, they were deposited as votive offerings (Holgate 1995, 158; 2018, 4–5; Walker 2018, 135). The creation of ground and polished axe heads and single-piece sickles from flint mined from the deepest seams at a small number of permanently-maintained locations on some of the highest hills in Sussex and the Hampshire/Wiltshire border was part of the interdependent belief system of the newly-established early farming communities in southern England for creating identities and, through the votive deposition of a number of these axe heads, ensuring their well-being and continuing reproduction (Baczkowski and Holgate 2018; Holgate 2018, 40–41; Walker 2018, 123). A significant change occurs during the third millennium cal BC with the production of a wider range of bifacial implements and discoidal knife preforms, accompanied by a potential reduction in output from the Sussex and Wessex sites and the development of Grimes Graves in eastern England (Holgate 1995, 155–7; Bishop 2012, 71). Axe-thinning flakes and axe fragments are found in Late Neolithic domestic flint assemblages where local sources of flint nodules of appropriate size and quality are available, notably in Sussex, showing that mined flint is not the only source of flint being used for axe manufacture (Gardiner 1984, 28; Holgate 1995, 157). The Great Baddow hoard of five axe heads and an edge-ground discoidal knife all fabricated on flint originating beyond East Anglia, along with a coarse-grained greenstone axe (Varndell 2004), indicates the continued use of axe heads, as well as discoidal knives, as ‘special objects’ (Healy 2012, 16). Mining and the working of flint at the flint-mining sites in southern and eastern England ended by the late third millennium cal BC following the appearance of Beaker pottery in

1.  Flint-working areas and bifacial implement production

17

Britain and the introduction of hard-edged metal implements. Domestic activity, in the form of pits, potential building remains and hearths, was found associated with combimpressed Beaker pottery and/or Collared Urn fragments to the east and west of the main cluster of flint mines at Easton Down (Stone 1931b), to the east of the flint mines at Blackpatch and to the south the flint mines at Church Hill, Findon (Pye 1968; Russell 2000, 124–9). This process is likely to be part of the establishment of new settlements at previously-unoccupied locations, e.g. in the Lincolnshire/Cambridgeshire/Norfolk fenland margins (Bamford 1982, 31–4), during the Beaker ‘fission horizon’ dating to c. 2250–1950 cal BC (Needham 2005, 209) associated with population movements occurring in northwest Europe and Britain at this time (Olalde et al. 2018). In Sussex the flint-mining sites at Harrow Hill and, potentially, Cissbury were abandoned by the mid-third millennium cal BC and both sites, situated to the west of Blackpatch and to the east of Church Hill, Findon respectively, were later crowned by hillforts. Certainly flint-working, and potentially mining, continued at the two centrally-located sites at Blackpatch and Church Hill, Findon in the late third millennium cal BC (Barber 2018) but the flint mines were effectively ‘capped’ by Early Bronze Age round barrows which, in the case of Blackpatch, did not possess quarry ditches and were constructed from chalk and flint rubble taken from the mines (Russell 2000, 132), thereby bringing flint mining in southern England to an end.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank Historic England (formerly English Heritage), the Sussex Archaeological Society’s Margary Fund and the David Thomson Charitable Trust for funding the fieldwork at the Sussex flint-mining sites. I am grateful to Jon Baczkowski for granting permission to reproduce Figs 1.1–1.4 which he produced from the original site plans (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017).

REFERENCES Baczkowski, J. 2014. Learning by Experience: the Flint Mines of Southern England and their Continental Origins. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 33(2), 135–53. Baczkowski, J. and Holgate, R. 2017. Breaking Chalk. The Archaeological Investigation of Early Neolithic Flint Mines at Long Down and Harrow Hill, West Sussex, 1984–6. Sussex Archaeological Collections 155, 1–30. Baczkowski, J. and Holgate, R. 2018. Neolithic flint mining in southern England: new radiocarbon dates for Long Down, West Sussex, and their implications. PAST. The Newsletter of the Prehistoric Society 88, 3–5. Bamford, H. 1982. Beaker Domestic Sites in the Fen Edge and East Anglia. East Anglian Archaeology 16, Norfolk Archaeological Unit/Norfolk Museums Service. Barber, M. 2005. Mining, Burial and Chronology: the West Sussex Flint Mines in the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age. In P. Topping and M. Lynott (eds) The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 94–109.

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Barber, M. and Dyer, C. 2005. Scouting for shafts: Aerial Reconnaissance and the Neolithic Flint Mines at Stoke Down, West Sussex. In P. Topping and M. Lynott (eds) The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 30–50. Barber, M., Field, D. and Topping, P. 1999. The Neolithic Flint Mines of England. Swindon: English Heritage. Bishop, B.J. 2012. The Grimes Graves Environs Survey. Exploring the Social Landscapes of a Flint Source. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of York. Curwen, E, and Curwen, E. C. 1926. Harrow Hill flint-mine excavation 1924–5. Sussex Archaeological Collections 67, 103–38. Gardiner, J. 1984. Lithic distributions and Neolithic settlement patterns in Central Southern England. In R. Bradley and J. Gardiner (eds) Neolithic Studies. A Review of Some Current Research. Reading Studies in Archaeology No. 1, British Archaeological Reports, British Series 133, 15–40. Gardiner, J. 1990. Flint Procurement and Neolithic Axe Production on the South Downs: a ­Reassessment. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 9(2), 119–40. Healy, F. 2012. Starting something new: the Neolithic in Essex. The Essex Society for Archaeology & History 3, 1–25. Healy, F., Marshall, P., Bayliss, A., Cook, G., Bronk Ramsey, C., van der Plicht, J. and Dunbar, E. 2018. When and Why? The Chronology and Context of Flint Mining at Grimes’s Graves, Norfolk, England. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 84, 277–301. Holgate, R. 1995. Neolithic flint mining in Britain. Archaeologica Polona 33, 133–61. Holgate, R. 2018. Flint Mining and the Beginning of Farming in Southern England. In D.H. Werra and M. Wozny (eds) Between History and Archaeology. Papers in honour of Jacek Lech, 37–42. Oxford: Archaeopress Archaeology. Holleyman, G. 1937. Harrow Hill Excavations, 1936. Sussex Archaeological Collections 78, 230–52. Lech, J. 2012. Analysis of the chipping floors. In I.H. Longworth, G. Varndell and J. Lech Excavations at Grimes Graves, Norfolk, 1972–1976. Fascicule 6. Exploration and excavation beyond the deep mines. London: British Museum Press, 90–121. Longworth, I.H., Varndell, G. and Lech, J. 2012. Excavations at Grimes Graves, Norfolk, 1972–1976. Fascicule 6. Exploration and excavation beyond the deep mines. London: British Museum Press. Mercer, R.J. 1981. Grimes Graves, Norfolk. Excavations 1971–72: Volume I. London: Department of the Environment Archaeological Report 11, HMSO. McNabb, J., Felder, P.J., Kinnes, I. and Sieveking, G. 1995. An archive report on recent excavations at Harrow Hill, Sussex. Sussex Archaeological Collections 134, 21–37. Needham, S. 2005. Transforming Beaker Culture in North-West Europe; Processes of Fusion and Fission. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 71, 171–217. Olalde, I. et al. 2018. The Beaker phenomenon and the 1980 genomic transformation of northwest Europe. Nature 555, 190–6. Peake, 1915. The Grime’s Graves excavations, 1914. In W.G. Clarke (ed) Report on Grime’s Graves, Weeting, Norfolk, March-May 1914. London: Prehistoric Society of East Anglia, 10–134. Pitts, M. 1996. The Stone Axe in Neolithic Britain. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 61, 311–71. Pye, E.M. 1968. The flint mines at Blackpatch, Church Hill and Cissbury, Sessex. A report on the late JH Pull’s excavations 1922–1955. Unpublished MA dissertation: University of Edinburgh. Russell, M. 2000. Flint Mines in Neolithic Britain. Stroud: Tempus. Salisbury, E.F. 1961. Prehistoric flint-mines on Long Down. Sussex Archaeological Collections 99, 66–73. Saville, A. 1981. Grimes Graves, Norfolk. Excavations 1971–72: Volume II. London: Department of the Environment Archaeological Report 11, HMSO. Stone, J.F.S. 1931a. Easton Down, Winterslow, S. Wilts, Flint Mine Excavation, 1930. Wiltshire Archaeological Magazine 45, 365–72.

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Stone, J.F.S. 1931b. A settlement site of the Beaker period, on Easton Down, Winterslow, S. Wilts. Wiltshire Archaeological Magazine 45, 366–72. Stone, J.F.S. 1933a. Excavations at Easton Down, Winterslow, 1931–32. Wiltshire Archaeological Magazine 46, 225–42. Stone, J.F.S. 1933b. A flint mine at Martin’s Clump, Over Wallop. Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 12, 177–80. Stone, J.F.S. 1935. Excavations at Easton Down, Winterslow, 1933–34. Wiltshire Archaeological Magazine 47, 68–80. Varndell, G. 2014. The Great Baddow hoard and discoidal knives. In A. Gibson. and A. Sheridan. From Sickles to Circles: Britain and Ireland at the Time of Stonehenge. Stroud: Tempus, 116–22. Wade, A.G. 1922. Ancient Flint Mines at Stoke Down, Sussex. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society of East Anglia 4, 82–91. Walker, K. 2018. Axe-heads and Identity. An investigation into the roles of imported axe-heads in identity formation in Neolithic Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress. Whittle, A., Healy, F and Bayliss, A. 2011. Gathering Time. Dating the Early Neoliethic Enclosures of Southern Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 2

Comings and goings: The wider landscape of Early Neolithic flint mining in Sussex Jon Baczkowski

INTRODUCTION

Since the publication of Gathering Time (Whittle et al. 2011) interest has renewed in the Early Neolithic, the process by which it began and its chronological refinement. A key finding from this publication was a revised horizon for the construction of causewayed enclosures between the 38th to 36th centuries BC, leaving a notable gap between the accepted, somewhat arbitrary beginning of the British Neolithic at 4000 BC and the construction of other landscape monuments. The traditional start of the Neolithic is now identified earlier than causewayed enclosures, one of its defining monuments, by a period of up to 300 years. This refined chronology has given newfound importance to monuments and practices in the centuries preceding the causewayed enclosure horizon. Flint mines, especially a group in Sussex, are once again under scrutiny due to the consistently early dates they produced and the quality of their excavation and archives (Barber et al. 1999; Whittle et al. 2011, 255–62). These mines, alongside a small group of monuments in Kent, including the Coldrum mortuary monument (Ashbee 1998) and the White Horse Stone long house (Barclay et al. 2006), can be considered amongst the earliest monumental expressions of recently adopted Neolithic practices in southern England. However, underlying research on flint mines, and the Early Neolithic in general, is a long running debate on the character of settlement. Mining is reasoned to have been a shortterm activity that occurred at the margins of settled areas, compatible with small groups living lifestyles based on seasonal movement (Edmonds 1995; Field 1997; Topping and Lynott 2005; Topping 2011a; 2011b). These narratives endure, especially as mining makes little practical sense when the abundance of quality flint from natural surface resources is considered (Gardiner 1999). The aim of this chapter is not to critique these traditional interpretations, but rather show how research on the wider mining landscapes may identify new interpretations and approaches. This paper presents the results of research focused on the Sussex mines, including an evaluation and re-analysis of archival assemblages (including pottery recovered from mining and non-mining contexts) and new radiocarbon dates from a pit associated with mining, and for the Long Down mines.

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Fig. 2.1: Distribution of Early Neolithic British flint mines (Baczkowski 2019).

2.  Comings and goings

23

OVERVIEW OF RESEARCH

The southern English flint mines, including the Worthing Group, Chichester Group and Hampshire Group (Fig. 2.1) have been extensively excavated, resulting in a wealth of evidence on mine structures, the mining methodology and the manufacture of axes. The history of flint mine excavation is well published (Barber et al 1999; Russell 2001). Investigations began in the late nineteenth century at both Grime’s Graves in Norfolk (Greenwall 1870) and Cissbury, Sussex (Lane-Fox 1876). Twentieth century excavations in Sussex focused on Blackpatch (Goodman et al. 1924; Pull 1932), Church Hill (Pull 1953), Harrow Hill (Curwen and Curwen 1926; Holleyman 1936) and Long Down (Salisbury 1961) with the most recent fieldwork being undertaken in the 1980s, on Long Down (Holgate 1995a; Backzowski and Holgate 2017) and Harrow Hill (Holgate 1995b; McNabb et al. 1996; Backzowski and Holgate 2017). Initially, research focused on the functional, ‘industrial’ aspects of axe production (Clark and Piggott 1933). Over the last three decades interpretations have shifted from the functional to the non-functional; the utilitarian to the symbolic. However, the marginal location of the mines has long been thought to signify them as special places and peripheral to settlement. Mark Edmonds (1995, 59) noted that both the Cumbrian axe quarries and the Sussex mines are removed from settled areas, although it is recognised that the distances with regards to the latter were relatively small. Similar arguments were proposed in Barber et al. (1999, 73) who argued that the ‘complexity of the extraction process’, combined with socially controlled access to the mines, enhanced the symbolic value of the mined flint. Richard Bradley (2007, 37) further observed that the Sussex mines appear to be located in ‘isolated positions’, beyond settled areas. Drawing extensively from ethnographic studies, Peter Topping (2005, 84) has considered that mines were positioned in locations already considered ‘special’, as flint quality seems of secondary concern, with the location of mines being liminal to areas of settlement, further heightened their symbolism. The deposition of ritual artefacts, such as antler picks, carved chalk objects and human burials, along with chalk ‘graffito’ has also been said to reflect the nonfunctional role of mining (Topping 2004). Contrary to this, Teather (2016a, 102) has argued that depositional practices, including chalk ‘art’, are mirrored in other Neolithic monuments and whilst differences exist, mines may not be as separate as previously thought. Overall, mining is still largely interpreted as a symbolic act beyond the ‘everyday’ and separated from settlement. It is considered that mines cannot inform us about Early Neolithic occupation, as no structures and little domestic material culture are recorded, although occupation evidence is scarce in the wider Neolithic, especially in Sussex. A disjuncture therefore exists over characterising evidence of occupation in the wider Sussex landscape, and flint mines, the latter which must have been settled for a couple of months, possibly longer.

MOVING FORWARDS

Leaving aside established narratives, recent research, much covered in this book, has placed flint mines under a fresh spotlight. In the absence of any new fieldwork, recent research has

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Fig. 2.2: Radiocarbon dates for Long Down.

relied on archival material for procurement of new radiocarbon dates (Baczkowski 2014; Edinborough et al. in press), to form new narratives on the symbolism of mining (Teather 2011; 2016a; Topping this volume) and to address the nature of flint mine archives and historiography (Teather 2016b; Topping this volume). Thirty-nine new radiocarbon dates were obtained through the project Supply and demand in prehistory? Economics of Neolithic mining in NW Europe (NEOMINE), with results demonstrating that extraction at the southern English mines peaked between 4000–3500 cal BC (Edinborough et al. in press). These support the small amount of previous radiocarbon dates, which indicated the late fifth millennium start of mining in southern England (Barber et al. 1999). Interestingly, a degree of synchronicity between the flint mines and the Cumbrian axe quarries, previously thought to be later Neolithic (Bradley and Edmonds 1993), is now apparent. Importantly, the dates demonstrate that shaft and gallery mining was established promptly in southern England, supporting arguments that the methodology was introduced from the Continent (Wheeler 2008; Baczkowski 2014), possibly from north-west France (Whittle et al. 2011, 257–62). Although the observation of a shared affinity between the Continental and British mines is not new (Lane-Fox 1876; Wheeler 2008), it is certain that mining began in southern England after it was established on the Continent (Whittle et al. 2011, 257–58). In contrast, the new dates have sharpened focus on the end of mining in Sussex. Radiocarbon dates obtained for Long Down (Holgate and Baczkowski 2018; Edinborough et al. in press) show mining began in the earlier 40th century cal BC, but later dates also indicate extraction occurred well into the 36th century cal BC (Fig. 2.2). This is significant as it raises questions over the final phasing of mines and suggests a potential chronological synchronicity between Long Down and the causewayed enclosure on Halnaker Hill (Whittle et al. 2011, 249–50), 1 km to the west of the mines. In addition to Long Down, late mining possibly also occurred on Cissbury, with dates into the 37th century cal BC (Barber et al. 1999, 81–2; Teather this volume; Edinborough

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et al. in press). This is striking, as cultural practices, such as carving of chalk art, human burials and deposition of axes took place in the Cissbury mines, and is similar to activity on enclosures elsewhere in Sussex (Whittle et al. 2011, 207–62) and Dorset (Teather 2016a, 54–8).

Settlement? The question of characterising Early Neolithic occupation is problematic, with a settlement pattern not clearly defined for the period (Pollard 1999). Without becoming weighed down by the various debates on Neolithic settlement, a sound interpretation is that social groups were mobile and visited seasonal locations throughout the landscape (Whittle 1997; Pollard 1999; Rowley-Coney Fig. 2.3: Carinated Bowl rimsherd from Cissbury, 2004). The locations chosen for shortterm occupation reflect their suitability ‘large pit’ (Pitt-Rivers Museum 2019). for a range of seasonal activities, including cultivation, hunting and animal husbandry. Returning to the question of mining and settlement, two concerns are raised with a perceived lack of occupation at mines. Firstly, there is no prevailing consensus for how Early Neolithic occupation presents in the archaeological record (Garrow et al. 2005; Leary and Kador 2016), which in turns questions how to define ‘settlement’ with little to no trace of structures. Secondly, it is proposed that occupation evidence at mines is likely to be complex in comparison to non-mining contexts, being hidden or destroyed by repeated extraction activity. Without consensus it is difficult to know what form of archaeological evidence occupation would leave within, or close, to a mine complex. The only possible settlement structure in a mining environment appears to have been a right-angled arrangement of narrow v-shaped gullies recorded at Easton Down (Stone 1933, 232). They are similar to gullies recorded at other Early Neolithic structures, such as White Horse Stone (Ashbee 1998) and Horton (Barclay and Chaffey 2014), but the Easton Down feature was not dated. Overall, by being settled for short periods, flint mines would appear to fit with seasonal lifestyles. However, the mines are reasoned to be peripheral to settled areas and only visited during extraction episodes. If correct, how does this hypothesis test against the material from the excavation of flint mines? With regards to material typically associated with occupation a reasonable starting point is pottery, with small amounts recovered from two early Neolithic mining sites. The most referenced example of pottery from a mine was recovered from Cissbury in the 1870s and included a Carinated Bowl rimsherd and fragments of a second coarse ware vessel (Lane Fox 1875, 381). The potsherds (Fig. 2.3), were recovered from a deposit rich in

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Fig. 2.4: Excavation plan and pottery from Long Down (Baczkowski 2019, adapted from Holgate 1985).

struck flint, animal bone and charcoal, from shaft backfill at a depth of c. 4 m. This deposit was located at the top of the primary shaft backfill, before appearing to be buried by fresh backfill, presumably from a neighbouring shaft. The deposit may represent the remains of a midden formed or placed within a shaft, as the potsherds survived well indicating that they had not washed in naturally. A small amount of pottery was also recovered from Long Down during 1985, from two stratigraphically secure contexts (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017). The first fragments were recovered from a knapping floor aside the mines, and included three fresh potsherds of possible Carinated Bowl vessels in context with in situ flintwork, including axe roughouts. Other potsherds were discovered in the backfill of a mineshaft, from a depth of c. 1.2 m. The deposit also contained knapping waste, including axe roughouts, a mining tool fashioned from the tine of a red deer (Cervus elaphus) antler and charcoal (Fig. 2.4). Interestingly, the deposit was located within a pit-like shaft sunk into the mine working. The feature, and the mineshaft, were sealed with waste from neighbouring mineshafts, as a thin silt had accumulated over the deposit containing the artefacts, before this in turn was buried by fresh mining waste comprised of chalk blocks (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017). The deposit was therefore contemporary with mining. Recent analysis of the pottery assemblage revealed it is typical of Early Neolithic traditions and tentatively classified as belonging to Cleal’s neutral inflected form (Cleal 2004). Up to three vessels may be represented, however it is possible that they belong to the same vessel, divided between the knapping floor and the shaft (Baczkowski and Holgate 2017). The significance of Carinated Bowl is discussed below, for now it is important to look beyond the mines to a feature discovered close to a Sussex mine, one which contained Carinated Bowl and mining related material.

Beyond mines In 1933 a large Early Neolithic pit (Pit X) was discovered by the Curwen’s (1934) on New Barn Down, c. 700 m south of the Harrow Hill mines and c. 1 km west of Blackpatch. Essentially two joined pits, the oval Pit X measured nearly 3 m2, with the smaller Pit Xa cut into its west end (Baczkowski 2019). Artefacts recovered included a small assemblage of flintwork, all finished pieces and including scrapers, a backed-knife, two axe fragments and two serrated, or denticulated blades (Fig. 2.5). Also present were a polishing stone, a hammerstone, fragments of quern stones, unidentified animal bone, a single seashell (Calliostoma zizyphinum) and a small assemblage of pottery. Some of the objects were lightly

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Fig. 2.5: New Barn Down pit and selected artefacts. 1) Polished axe fragment. 2) Backed knife. 3) Scraper. 4) Pot 1. 5) Pot 3. (Author, adapted from Curwen 1934. Drawings by L. Drewett 2018).

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Fig. 2.6: Radiocarbon dates for Pit X, New Barn Down.

burnt and placed in a charcoal deposit located against the pit wall. The flint implements were produced on fresh and unpatinated axe-thinning flakes with thick cortex, almost certainly mining debitage. Potsherds recovered belonged to a minimum of five vessels, separated between pits. Forms are typical of the Carinated Bowl tradition, with two of the vessels being remarkably fine and well made, and the others being coarser wares. One fine walled vessel (Pot 1) is a quartz fabric non-local to Sussex, the best match being Devon (Baczkowski 2019). In collaboration with NEOMINE two radiocarbon dates (Fig. 2.6) were obtained from Ash tree (Fraxinus excelsior) charcoal (Edinborough et al. in press). These date the pit to between 4475–3807 (95% confidence), with a median start date of 3956 BCE (Edinborough et al. in press), compatible with the dates for flint mining and the Carinated Bowl tradition (Whittle et al. 2011, 763). There is no doubt that the pits are contemporary with extraction at the nearby mines on Harrow Hill and Blackpatch, and at other Sussex Mines. It is concluded, as theorised for other Neolithic pits (Chaffey and Brook 2012), that the feature signifies the end of an occupation event for a community connected to the neighbouring mines.

Wider Sussex If we now acknowledge that Early Neolithic pottery was deposited in two mineshafts, was found in contexts close to a mine, and was recovered along with mining material from a pit located in the wider landscape, then it seems pertinent to compare mines with pit sites in Sussex (Fig. 2.7a), especially where Carinated Bowl is present. Re-analysis of such sites is currently underway and what follows is a brief overview of the findings to date. Two sites are located in the Chichester area on the coastal plain (Fig. 2.7b). The first at West Drayton, c. 6 km south-west of Long Down near Chichester, comprised a single pit containing an assemblage of over twenty Carinated Bowl vessels (Seager-Thomas 2010), alongside worked flint (Brown 2010). No radiocarbon date was obtained from the pit, however the Carinated Bowl assemblage clearly indicates a range of between the late 40th to late 38th centuries BC (Seager-Thomas 2010).

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Fig. 2.7: a) Map of Sussex with distribution of flint mines and pit sites (Baczkowski 2018). b) Distribution of Chichester sites. c) Distribution of River Ouse sites.

A second pit at Westhampnett, c. 3.8 km south-west of Long Down, contained pottery and finished flint implements (Chadwick 2006), including six scrapers and two knifes, one being natural backed and similar in form to an example from Pit X. Although pottery recovered belonged to the Plain bowl tradition, chronologically later than Carinated Bowl (Whittle et al. 2011), a radiocarbon date of 3800–3630 cal BC was obtained (Chadwick 2006, 11), making the pit contemporary with mining on Long Down.

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In East Sussex, several Early Neolithic sites are concentrated around the River Ouse estuary (Fig. 2.7c). The most well known, Rookery Hill, Bishopstone, contained eight pits with large amounts of artefacts, including Pit 357, which contained over 60 serrated flint blades, 153 sherds of pottery and an axe produced on mined flint (Bell 1977). The pottery belonged to the Plain Bowl tradition, but also included fragments of a large vessel with a carination and simple decorated rim, in the style of a Carinated Bowl (Bell 1977, 16). Pit 711 is also of interest, having been compared to Pit X due to its form and size (Bell 1977, 9). Artefacts recovered from Pit 711 included flint scrappers and denticulated blade, a rubber stone and three fragments of pottery, including one from a probable Carinated Bowl (Baczkowski 2019). Several Early Neolithic sites have been excavated west of Bishopstone located on Palaeogene sands, including Lower Hoddern Farm where over twenty pits were excavated (Hart 2015). A large Plain bowl pottery assemblage was recovered and the pits were radiocarbon dated to between 3700–3600 cal BC (Hart 2015, 39). Although dating to the very end of flint mining they overlap with the causewayed enclosure horizon. It is notable that finds of numerous polished axes are recorded in the area (Angel 2007). A second pit group was located c. 1 km south-east of Lower Hoddern Farm at South Coast Road (Baczkowski 2017), where twenty Early Neolithic pits were excavated, two of which contained assemblages of pottery including a Carinated Bowl vessel similar in form to the examples from Pit X and flintwork, including serrated blades. The features are currently undated, although the presence of Carinated Bowl indicates a pre-enclosure date. None of these sites can clearly be connected to flint mines, with the exception of the Bishopstone axe (Craddock 1983). Nonetheless, the sites have components of cultural material and customs that can be observed both on, and close to flint mines. The obvious link between Harrow Hill and Pit X is noteworthy, the latter of which is comparable to other pits (Bell 1977) containing Early Neolithic domesticates, including pottery, polished axes, serrated blades and quern stones.

DISCUSSION

This chapter started by asking if it is possible to move the study of flint mining beyond the immediate extraction landscape. Traditionally, it was reasoned that mines inform little about occupation, being marginal and associated with an action beyond the norm. It was observed that much previous research is based on assumptions that there is little evidence of settlement on, or close to mines. At the beginning of the paper a probable chronology for mining was formulated, whereby it began in southern England shortly before 4000 BC and continued sporadically for the next 400 years or so at individual mines, notably Cissbury and Long Down. The chronology of the British mines is complex, and understanding the final phases of extraction should now be considered as important as considering its establishment. It is apparent that the social meaning of mining was not fixed but altered over time, reflecting wider cultural changes in the region. For example, evidence outlined from Cissbury, Long Down and New Barn Down, close to Harrow Hill, suggests that material

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was deposited within, or close to the mines, reflecting wider Neolithic deposition practices (Anderson-Whymark and Thomas 2012). It was highlighted that in the case of Cissbury, activity such as human burials and the deposition of carved chalk objects echoed those undertaken on causewayed enclosures (Teather 2016a, 77–9). This hints that mines may have provided a similar social role as enclosures in their final phases. Next, the question of settlement and mining was discussed. An analysis of assemblages from mines demonstrated evidence is not straightforward. For example, pottery has been recovered in a low destiny within the mining horizon, as at Long Down and Cissbury, and close to the mines, as at New Barn Down. Much of this pottery is Carinated Bowl, a ceramic tradition whose date fits with the mining chronology. Although the densities of early pottery are higher from non-mine sites, it is noted that Carinated Bowl assemblages are rare in Sussex, amounting to seven sites, three of which are flint mines, one, New Barn Down, contain mine sourced material and is connected to a flint mine, with the remaining three being from pit focused sites. There is a clear link between Carinated Bowl and pits with settlement activity in the Early Neolithic, especially with regards to midden deposits (Pollard 2001; Garrow 2007), as documented from many other sites (Anderson-Whymark and Thomas 2012). This is the case on New Barn Down, where the liminal Pit X connects a flint mine to a small-scale occupation associated with a mining community. Deposition of potsherds also occurred on Long Down, with the same vessel appearing to have been divided between a mineshaft and a knapping floor, and on Cissbury, where a fragment of Carinated Bowl was placed into a mineshaft within a midden deposit. There is no clear reason why pottery is limited to the above sites and is not found at other mines. It could be that pottery has not survived well in the mining environment, has been missed during excavations, or, as argued by Teather (2016a, 102–3), it may be that pottery was not socially appropriate for deposition within mining contexts. That it exists at certain mines could indicate changes to the cultural practices associated with mining over time, or that individual mines were worked by different social groups, each with their own customs. Lastly, the deposition of objects may have been to guarantee productive mining next season, or to gift the place from where raw material had been removed (Whittle 1995; Topping 2005, 2011a). Taking this evidence into account, it appears that mines were, in part, treated like settlement sites, with material selected for deposition both within a mining context and in the case of Pit X, close to a mine. However, it must be recognised that there is no overriding definition for Early Neolithic occupation, especially in Sussex, and this is a major obstacle in defining such sites. Considering the informal character of Early Neolithic occupation, it is proposed that mines not only represented extraction sites, but also short-term settlements, forming part of a group of locations that would have been settled, albeit for unspecified timescales, within a yearly cycle of movement and productive activity. In a transient lifestyle, a flint mine would represent a sense of permanence, becoming a recognisable location for successive generations. During mining events, the environs around the mines would have been active locales where communities gathered seasonally. Mines became significant node-points for the dissemination and development of Early Neolithic concepts and ideologies, and it is likely that their meaning changed over the course of their use. In their final stages, mines

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may have also partially played a similar cultural role to causewayed enclosures, and it may be no coincidence that when extraction waned, enclosures became established.

CONCLUSION

This chapter has attempted to expand the study of flint mines beyond the mine workings by studying evidence often overlooked. It was argued that far from being marginal, mines were central locales, at least for part of the year. This expands on previous research recognising that they were special places, by proposing that they were active community sites, rather than marginal and separate from settlement. Without new archaeological investigation of the wider mine environment ambiguity will remain over the nature of mining and associated activates. This chapter has demonstrated that such evidence may exist within and beyond the mine workings.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This paper presents the preliminary findings of a postgraduate doctoral degree titled The Early Neolithic flint mines of Sussex and their wider environs, undertaken at The University of Southampton. Thanks are extended to Professor Pollard for his support and guidance. I would also like to thank the museum curators for their help, including James Sainsbury, Worthing Museum and Art Gallery, Amy Roberts, The Novium Chichester and Emma O’Connor (Sussex Archaeological Society), Barbican House Museum, Lewes.

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Barclay, A., Fitzpatrick, A., Hayden, C. and Stafford, E. 2006. The Prehistoric Landscape at White Horse Stone, Aylesford, Kent. Oxford: Oxford Wessex Archaeology Joint Venture (London And Continental Railways). Barcley, A., and Chaffey, G. 2014. Horton’s Neolithic house. Current Archaeology 292, 24–30. Bell, M. 1977. Excavations at Bishopstone, East Sussex. Sussex Archaeological Collections 11, 83–117. Bradley, R. 2007. The Prehistory of Britain and Ireland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1993. Interpreting the Axe Trade: Production and Exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, J. 2010. The Archaeological landscape of Drayton Quarry, Chichester, West Sussex: Excavations 1997–2005. Unpublished Report. Chadwick, A, M. 2006. Bronze Age burials and settlement and an Anglo-Saxon settlement at Claypit Lane, Westhampnett, West Sussex. Sussex Archaeological Collections 144, 7–50. Chaffey, G. and Brook, E. 2012. Domesticity in the Neolithic: Excavations at Kingsmead Quarry, Horton Berkshire. In H. Anderson-Whymark and J. Thomas (eds), Regional Perspectives on Neolithic Pit Deposition: Beyond the Mundane. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 12. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 200–15. Clark, S. and Piggott, S. 1933. The age of the British flint mines. Antiquity 7, 166–83. Cleal, R. 2004. The dating and diversity of the earliest ceramics of Wessex and South-West England. In R. Cleal and J. Pollard (eds), Monuments and Material Culture: Papers in Honour of an Avebury Archaeologist: Isobel Smith. East Knoyle: Hobnob Press, 164–92. Collet, C., Hauzeur, A. and Lach, J. 2008. The Prehistoric flint mining complex at Spiennes (Belgium) on the occasion of its discovery 140 years ago. In P. Allard, F. Bostyn, F. Giligny and J. Lech (eds), Flint Mining in Prehistoric Europe: Interpreting the Archaeological Records: European Association of Archaeologists, 12th Annual Meeting Cracow, Poland 19th-24th September 2006. British Archaeological Reports International Series 1891. Oxford: Archaeopress, 41–77. Craddock, P.T., Cowell, M.R., Leese, M.N. and Hughes, M.J. 1983. The trace element composition of polished flint axes as an indicator of source. Archaeometry 25, 135–63. Curwen, E. and Curwen E.C. 1926. Harrow Hill flint mine excavation 1914–5. Sussex Archaeology Collection 67, 103–38. Curwen, E.C. 1934. A Late Bronze Age farm and a Neolithic pit-dwelling on New Barn Down. Sussex Archaeological Collections 75, 137–70. Edinborough, K., Shennan, S., Teather, A., Baczkowski, J., Bevan, A., Bradley, R., Cook, R., Kerig, T., Parker Pearson, M., Pope, A. and Schaeur, P. In press. New radiocarbon dates show Early Neolithic date of flint-mining and stone quarrying in Britain. Radiocarbon. Edmonds, M. 1995. Stone Tools and Society: Working Stone In Neolithic And Bronze Age Britain. London And New York: Routledge. Felder, P.J., Rademakers, P.C. and De Grooth M.E. (eds) 1998. Excavations of Prehistoric Flint Mines at Rijckholt-St. Geertruid (Limburg, The Netherlands) by the ‘Prehistoric Flint Mines Working Group’ of the Dutch Geological Society, Limburg Section. Bonn: Archäologische Berichte 12. Field, D. 1997. The landscape of extraction: Aspects of the procurement of raw material in the Neolithic. In P. Topping (ed), Neolithic Landscapes: Neolithic Studies Group Seminars Papers 2, 55–67. Oxford Monograph 86. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Gardiner, J. 1990. Flint procurement and Neolithic axe production on the South Downs: A reassessment. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 9. 2, 119–40. Garrow, D., Beadsmoore, E. and Knight, M. 2005. Pit clusters and the temporality of occupation: An Early Neolithic site at Kilverstone, Thetford, Norfolk. Proceedings of The Prehistoric Society 71, 139–57. Garrow, D. 2007. Placing pits: Landscape occupation and depositional practice during the Neolithic in East Anglia. Proceedings of The Prehistoric Society 73, 1–24.

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Greenwall, W. 1870. On the opening of Grimes Graves in Norfolk. Journal of The Ethnological Society of London New Series 2, 419–39. Goodman, C., Curwen, E. and Curwen, E.C. 1924. Blackpatch flint mine excavation 1922: Report prepared on behalf of The Worthing Archaeological Society. Sussex Archaeological Collections 65, 69–111. Hart, D. 2015. Around the Ancient Track: Archaeological Excavations for the Brighton and Hove Water Treatment Works and adjacent Housing at Peacehaven, East Sussex. Norwich: Spoil Heap Publications. Holgate, R. 1995a. Long Down near Chichester, West Sussex. Archaeologia Polona 33, 350–2. Holgate, R. 1995b. Harrow Hill near Findon, West Sussex. Archaeologia Polona 33, 347–50. Holleyman, G. 1937. Harrow Hill excavations, 1936. Sussex Archaeological Collections 78, 230–51. Lane Fox, A. 1876. Excavations in Cissbury Camp, Sussex: Being a report of the Exploration Committee of the Anthropological Institute for the Year 1875. The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 5, 357–90. Leary, J. and Kador, T. 2016. Movement and mobility in the Neolithic. In J. Leary. and T. Kador (eds), Moving on in Neolithic Studies: Understanding mobile lives. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 14. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1–13. Mcnabb, J., Felder P.J., Kinnes. I. and Sieveking, G. 1996. An archive report on recent excavations at Harrow Hill, Sussex. Sussex Archaeological Collections 134, 21–37. Pollard, J. 1999. ‘These places have their moments’: Thoughts on settlement practices in the British Neolithic. In J. Brück and M. Goodman (eds), Making Place in the Prehistoric World: Themes in Settlement Archaeology. London: University College Press, 76–93. Pollard, J. 2001. The aesthetic of depositional practice. World Archaeology 33, 315–33. Pull, J. 1932. The Flint Miners of Blackpatch. London: Williams and Norgate Ltd. Pull, J. 1953. Further discoveries at Church Hill, Findon. Sussex County Magazine 27, 15–21. Rowley-Conwy, P. 2004. How the West was lost: A reconstruction of agricultural origins Britain, Ireland, and Southern Scandinavia. Current Anthropology 45, 83–113. Russell, M. (ed.) 2001. Rough Quarries, Rocks and Hills: John Pull and the Neolithic Flint Mines of Sussex. Bournemouth University Occasional Paper 6. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Salisbury, E.F. 1961. Prehistoric Flint Mines on Long Down. Sussex Archaeology Collections 99, 66–73. Seager-Thomas, M. 2010. The Drayton Stone, J.F.S. 1933. Excavations at Easton Down, Winterslow 1931–32. Wiltshire Archaeology Magazine 46, 225–42. Teather, A. 2011. Interpreting hidden chalk art in Southern British Neolithic flint mines. World Archaeology 43. 2, 230–51. Teather, A. 2016a. Mining and Materiality: Neolithic chalk artefacts and their depositional contexts in southern Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress. Teather, A. 2016b. Building new Neolithic connections through chalk art: the value of the archaeological collections of John Pull and James Park Harrison. World Archaeology 48. 2, 296–310. Topping, P. 2004. The South Downs flint mines: Towards an Ethnography of Prehistoric flint extraction. In J. Cottam and D. Field (eds), Towards a New Stone Age: Aspects of the Neolithic in SouthEast England. York: Council For British Archaeology Research Report 137, 177–99. Topping, P. 2005: Shaft 27 re-visited: An Ethnography of Neolithic flint extraction. In P. Topping and P. Lynott (eds), The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 63–93. Topping, P. 2011a. Prehistoric Extraction: Further suggestions from Ethnography. In A. Saville (ed), Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 273–86. Topping, P. 2011b. The evidence for the seasonal use of the English flint mines. In M. Capote, S. Consuegra, P. Diaz-Del-Rio and X. Terrados (eds), Proceedings of the 2nd International Conference of the UISPP Commission on Flint Mining in Pre- and Protohistoric Times, Madrid, 14–17 October 2009. British Archaeological International Series 2260. Oxford: Archaeopress, 35–45.

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Topping, P. and Lynott, M. 2005. Miners and mines. In P. Topping and M. Lynott (eds), The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines 181–91. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Wheeler, P. 2008. Ideology and influences behind the Neolithic flint mines of the Southern Britain. In P. Allard, F. Bostyn, F. Giligny and J. Lech (eds), Flint Mining in Prehistoric Europe: Interpreting the Archaeological Records: European Association of Archaeologists, 12th Annual Meeting Cracow, Poland 19th–24th September 2006. British Archaeological Reports International Series 1891. Oxford: Archaeopress, 155–63. Whittle, A. 1995. Gifts from the earth: symbolic dimensions of the use and production of the Neolithic flint and stone axes Archaeologia Polona 33, 247–59. Whittle, A. 1997. Moving on and moving around: Neolithic settlement mobility. In P. Topping (ed), Neolithic Landscapes. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 15–22. Whittle, A., Healey, F. and Bayliss, A. 2011. Gathering Time: Dating the Early Neolithic enclosures of Southern Britain and Ireland. Vol 1–2. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 3

Radiocarbon dating on flint mining shaft deposits at Blackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill, Sussex Anne Teather

INTRODUCTION

The transition to farming in western Europe and Scandinavia was accompanied by major changes in production technology, including the introduction of ceramics and polished stone tools. It is now acknowledged that for both Britain and Scandinavia, some of the later areas in Europe to adopt farming, flint mining appears to anticipate the start of these changes perhaps by as much as 200 years (Whittle et al. 2011). The small number of radiocarbon dates available until recently appeared to support a rapid transmission of technological knowledge of mining by the shaft and gallery method in the late fifth and early fourth millennium BC. The apparent contemporaneity of flint mining and the earliest evidence of farming further suggest the presence of an initial, pioneering Neolithic population prior to the adoption of other elements of the agricultural economy (Sørensen 2014, 263; 2016, 216). If flint mining is understood as being integral to the Neolithic mode of subsistence – perhaps to source flint for forest clearance (Edinborough et al. in press) – this evidence begins to challenge existing theories of a hiatus in the spread of agriculture from mainland Europe to Britain and Scandinavia. Instead we may need to reconsider the development of Neolithic societies and their social and practical engagement with resources. While flint mining may predate the appearance of other elements of Neolithic material culture, from a technological perspective, ceramics and permanent dwellings may not have been of use in what may have been a heavily wooded environment where Neolithic activities were being initiated. This concept of a pioneering Neolithic has been noted by several authors from Case (1969) and developed by Whittle et al. (2011) and Thomas (2013) to argue that initial development of the Neolithic may have incorporated a diverse range of actions we see as rather ephemeral in the archaeological record, but manifestly different to the Mesolithic. The ten identified flint mine sites in England consist of nine early Neolithic sites in southern England and one late Neolithic site, Grime’s Graves, in Norfolk (Barber et al. 1999). Of the southern British sites three mines are in Wiltshire/Hampshire (Durrington, Martin’s Clump and Easton Down) with the remaining six being located in West Sussex (Harrow Hill, Cissbury, Church Hill, Blackpatch, Long Down and Stoke Down). Archaeological excavations of the flint mines of southern England, starting with Pitt Rivers’ work at Cissbury in the 1860s and ending with Sieveking’s and Holgate’s investigations at Harrow Hill and Long Down in the 1980s, have generated large archives of finds (Barber et al. 1999, 3).

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The late Neolithic site of Grime’s Graves has been extensively studied and a recently completed programme of re-dating artefacts has produced 305 radiocarbon determinations (256 individual contexts) for the mining phases at Grimes Graves and subsequent Bronze Age activity, including mining (Healy et al. 2014, 16; Healy et al. 2018). This has resulted in a detailed understanding of the chronology of the site and has narrowed the estimated duration of mining activity at Grime’s Graves to about three centuries, from 2665 cal BC to 2360 cal BC (Healy et al. 2014, 55). Conversely, until recently there were just 20 radiocarbon dates for seven of the early Neolithic mining sites in southern Britain indicating mining activity from possibly as early as 4500 cal BC at Harrow Hill and Church Hill, to perhaps as late as 2700 cal BC at Easton Down (Barber et al. 1999, 81–2). Bayesian modelling of these dates for Cissbury and Harrow Hill dated the start of mining activity at 4600–3705 cal BC and 4250–3705 cal BC respectively (Whittle et al. 2011, 256). However, four of the seven flint mining sites were represented by single radiocarbon determinations and there are known concerns regarding the quality of earlier dates (Barber et al. 1999, 68–9). Furthermore, 13 of the dates for the southern flint mines were produced over 40 years ago and are associated with wide dating errors; in the case of the bulk antler samples for Cissbury effectively spanning the whole of the fourth millennium BC (BM-183, BM-184 and BM-185; Barber et al. 1999, 81–2). This paper details 19 new radiocarbon determinations on organic remains from three southern British flint mine shafts, funded through two NRCF grants (NF/2015/2/17; NF/2017/1/11) and additional dating undertaken by the NEOMINE project (The Leverhulme Trust Research Project Grant RPG-2015–199; Edinborough et al. in press). The aims of the additional dating were to determine whether shaft refilling was contemporary with flint extraction.

FLINT MINE SHAFT STRATIGRAPHY

Two methods of shaft re-filling are discussed in the literature, deliberate refilling and natural rapid silting. Overall the refilling of mine shafts is thought to have occurred deliberately using material from a freshly excavated shaft, with this process being punctuated with deposits which can occur in layers (Barber et al. 1999, 62; Russell 2001; Topping 2005; Baczkowski and Holgate 2017). These deposits have been argued to be analogous with early Neolithic deposits at causewayed enclosures where artefacts and animal or human remains were deposited in discrete episodic events (Russell 2001, 239). These deposits often include potential midden or curated material, i.e. disarticulated animal bone, but can also include animal skulls and the articulated vertebrae of pigs. Conversely, a rapid natural silt mechanism is the favoured interpretation at some Grime’s Graves shafts (Barber et al. 1999, 62). Silting has been argued as occurring in some shafts in Sussex, as up to a metre of fine silting can be seen in some upper parts of shafts (e.g. Church Hill Shaft 6, Pull in Russell 2001, 111) and the excavator Pull argued that all shafts at Blackpatch exhibited deep layers of silt (Russell 2001, 92), although he implies this is only noticeable in the upper fill layers (Pull 1932, 38). In interpretive terms, silt is a context description and silting describes a process of abandonment. Therefore, the implications for dating organic remains from this material are that they can either be seen as accidental inclusions in a naturally-derived

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silt, or the deliberate inclusion of material in a humanly-managed shaft. It is possible that a combination of these processes could have been applied in shaft fills, where a heavy siting episode is excavated out and partly replaced by deliberate refill of, perhaps, silt. This kind of discussion is perhaps only relevant for deposits of this physical depth. The processes involved in silting would likely be temporally indistinct through radiocarbon dating, whether it took place over decades, or a few years, or a few seasons of inclement weather, and for the purposes of this paper shaft fills are interpreted as deliberate manifestations of past human practices. The few radiocarbon dates that were previously available for these sites demonstrated that the deposits in the base and lower parts of the shafts were Neolithic in date, and yet in the upper fills of some shafts artefactual evidence suggested much more recent dates. For example, at Shaft 3a Blackpatch (Russell 2001, 38, 242) a spread of a number of later prehistoric artefacts was excavated from the upper fill, and Romano-British pottery was recovered from Shaft 2 at Blackpatch (Russell 2001, 35). Furthermore, cremation burials were found at Blackpatch and Church Hill within the upper fills, such as at Blackpatch Shaft 7 (Russell 2001, 41) and Church Hill Shaft 1, where the cremation was contained in a Bronze Age collared urn (Russell 2001, 92). The problem is therefore to identify whether there was mining activity continuing into the Bronze Age at these sites where we also have known later features (Barber 2005), or if at these sites there were re-cutting events into the tops of much earlier shafts. The practice of depositing much later cultural artefacts within recuts is unchallenged at Grime’s Graves, with the insertion of at least one Iron Age burial being documented (Mercer 1981, 16–18). Three shafts were identified where the archival and contextual evidence was sufficiently secure to support a full dating programme from the Pull archive held at Worthing Museum and Art Gallery. Two shafts were chosen where the existing base dates and stratigraphy suggested the possibility of recuts in the upper fill of shafts – Church Hill Shaft 4 and Cissbury Shaft 27 – and Blackpatch Shaft 1 where no recuts were suspected. The aim was to determine how dating can illuminate the processes that were involved in prehistoric flint mining activity and how this can be understood chronologically. Antler artefacts, human bone and animal bone were chosen as the best materials to be dated as they are unlikely to be accidentally present in the mines and relate directly to cultural activity, although one sample for Church Hill Shaft 4 was taken from a wooden bowl. Antler forms a ubiquitous material for dating flint mines as antler picks were used for the extraction of chalk and flint, with tine and beam fragments being abandoned in the extraction galleries before shafts were backfilled, and incorporated into deposits during backfilling events. Antler picks that exhibit use-wear were preferentially chosen for dating samples as they are the materials most directly associated with flint extraction activity.

RESULTS OF THE DATING PROGRAMME

Blackpatch Shaft 1 This shaft was excavated between 1922–4 and proved to be 3.4 m deep and 5.2 m in diameter with seven galleries radiating from the base of the shaft (Fig. 3.1; Goodman et al. 1924; Pull 1932).

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Fig. 3.1: Blackpatch Shaft 1 section (after Pull in Russell 2001, 30). Context descriptions are not available in records. Based on later drawings with keys (see Figs 3.2 and 3.3) it is likely that fills are as follows: Layer 1 (top) = Topsoil; Layer 1 (lower); Layer 7 and Layer 9 = flint working debris; Layer 2 = ?silt; Layers 3, 5, 6, 10 and 12 = small chalk blocks; Layers 8, 11, 13 and 15 = large chalk blocks; Layer 4 = ?charcoal; Layer 14 = silt.

There are now 11 dates for the fill of the galleries and the shaft (Table 3.1). Two base dates on antlers from the galleries (5094 ± 38 BP, OxA-33929 and 5108 ± 31 BP, OxA-34609) are consistent with a date from Shaft 4 at Blackpatch (5090 ± 150 BP, BM-290) indicating that mining was underway in the years immediately after 4000 cal BC (c. 4000–3800 cal BC). However, an earlier date was gained on one piece of fragmented antler (5474 ± 37 BP, OxA-33963) that calibrates much earlier than 4000 cal BC (4400–4200 cal BC). This piece of antler was re-dated, along with another piece from the same context. The re-date on the same material produced a date of 5128 ± 29 BP (SUERC-78909) with another piece of antler from the same context dated to 5126 ± 30 BP (SUERC-78910), agreeing with 4000–3800 cal BC. The site plans and accounts suggest that the flint extraction within Shaft 1 broke into earlier flint workings to the north and west (Pull in Russell 2001, 29–31) and while it was thought that the early antler date (OxA-33963) from Gallery 3 was a reused pick that had originated from one of these earlier workings, this is not now proven (see later discussion). The shaft fill is consistent in date and suggests that the whole fill, apart from the horse bone from a context at the very top of the shaft, dates between 4000–3800 cal BC. The horse bone came in unexpectedly late at between 50–200 AD and was re-dated to the same result.

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Table 3.1: Radiocarbon dates from the flint mines sites of Blackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill. Lab code Blackpatch Existing date BM-290 New dates OxA-35916*

Context

Sample

Species

BP

Shaft 4 ­Gallery

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5090 ± 150 4310–3530

Bone

Equus

2114 ± 27

50 BC–203 AD

Bone

Equus

2076 ± 27

40 BC–180 AD

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5116 ± 31

3980–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5127 ± 33

4030–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5133 ± 32

4030–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5060 ± 33

3960–3780

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5108 ± 31

3970–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5474 ± 37

4440–4250

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5126 ± 30

3990–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5128 ± 29

3990–3800

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5094 ± 38

3970–3800

Shaft 1 Layer 1 OxA-35917* Shaft 1 Layer 1 OxA-35918 Shaft 1 Layer 3 OxA-35919 Shaft 1 Layer 8 OxA-35920 Shaft 1 Layer 12 OxA-35921 Shaft 1 Layer 13 OxA-34609 Shaft 1 Gallery 1 OxA-33963** Shaft 1 Gallery 3 SUERC-78909** Shaft 1 Gallery 3 SUERC-78910 Shaft 1 Gallery 3 OxA-33929 Shaft 1 Gallery 6 Cissbury Existing dates BM-183 Unknown Gallery BM-184 Unknown Gallery BM-185 Shaft 6 (?) BM-3082 Unknown Shaft Base

Calibrated date BC

Antler (bulk) Cervus elaphus

4720 ± 150 3900–3030

Antler (bulk) Cervus elaphus

4650 ± 150 3780–2920

Antler (bulk) Cervus elaphus Antler Cervus elaphus

4730 ± 150 3910–3040 5100 ± 60 4040–3780

Anne Teather

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Table 3.1: Radiocarbon dates from the flint mines sites of Blackpatch, Cissbury and Church Hill (Continued). Lab code BM-3086

New dates SUERC-75323 SUERC-75319 SUERC-75318# SUERC-75317# SUERC- 75324 OxA-34470 Church Hill Existing date BM-181 New dates SUERC-75315 SUERC-75316 OxA-34681

Context Base of Shaft 27 (Layer 12)

Sample Antler

Species Cervus elaphus

BP 4710 ± 60

Calibrated date BC 3640–3360

Shaft 27 3 ft (Layer 3) Shaft 27 3 ft (Layer 3) Shaft 27 11 ft (Layer 8) Shaft 27 11ft (Layer 8) Shaft 27 12 ft (Layer 8) Shaft 27 15 ft (Layer 10)

Antler

Cervus elaphus

4583 ± 34

3500–3120

Antler

Cervus elaphus

4613 ± 34

3520–3330

Bone

Bos

4659 ± 34

3630–3370

Bone

Bos

4688 ± 34

3630–3370

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5027 ± 34

3950–3710

Tooth

Homo sapiens

4775 ± 34

3640–3380

Unknown Gallery

Antler

Cervus elaphus

5340 ± 150 4490–3810

Shaft 4 4 ft (Layer 4) Shaft 4 Layer 6 Shaft 4 Galleries

Tooth

Sus scrofa

3940 ± 34

2530–2310

Wood

Populus

3521 ± 34

1940–1750

Bone

Microtus agrestis

3639 ± 29

2130–1920

Cissbury Shaft 27 Shaft 27 was excavated between 1953 and 1955 and a complete report of the excavation was compiled by Russell (2001, 178–192) from a collection of sources in the Pull Archive at Worthing Museum and Art Gallery. The size of the shaft at the top was 3.2 m by 3 m with a depth of 5.5 m. An extended human skeleton was recovered from a depth of 1 m above the base of the shaft at the entrance to Gallery 1 (Russell 2001, 181–3). Shaft 27 had a void in the fill at a depth of 2.4 m from the surface, at least 1.2 m in length and 0.1–0.2 m in diameter which Pull interpreted as the result of the decay of a timber ladder (Russell 2001, 233; Fig. 3.2). It appears in the stratigraphy at a depth that could also suggest an episode

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of re-cutting into the mineshaft that over-cut the side of the original shaft and is not likely to represent a ladder that was able to reach the base of the shaft. Most of Pull’s section drawings exhibit fairly linear fills, and Topping (2005, 79) has argued that these may be a result of temporary roofing of the shaft during gaps in its deliberate episodic backfilling that would prevent windblown accumulations within the open shaft, as at Krzemionki in Poland where degraded platforms have been excavated. A series of radiometric determinations indicate that this shaft likely dates to c. 3650– 3350 cal BC; from the original date on antler from the base layer (4710 ± 60 BP, BM-3086, 3640–3360 cal BC), the human skeleton (4775 ± 34 BP, OxA-34470, 3644–3384 cal BC) and the ox bone that was part of an almost complete skeleton (4659 ± 34 BP, SUERC-75318 and 4688 ± 34 BP, SUERC-75317, 3627–3370 cal BC). One antler from the fill produced an earlier date suggesting either accidental or deliberate reincorporation of material (Teather 2018), perhaps 50–100 years older than the shaft itself (5027 ±34 BP, SUERC-75324, 3945–3712 cal BC). Two dates gained above the void at 4583 ± 34 BP (SUERC-75323) and 4613 ± 34 BP (SUERC-75319) could suggest later activity as they calibrate to 3500–3115 cal BC and 3516–3327 cal BC respectively. Dating the whole stratigraphy as far as possible has enabled us to consider a number of interpretive approaches. One could be to exclude the older date of 5027 ± 34BP (SUERC-75324) as an outlier and model the other dates in a Bayesian manner. This interpretation will depend how one decides to interpret the void. If it is as the remains of a perished ladder, as suggested by the excavator, then the shaft is one phase. If it is interpreted as a degraded wooden post that was perhaps marking the burial of the woman at the base of the shaft, it should be interpreted as two phases.

Church Hill Shaft 4 This shaft was excavated between 1946–8 by John Pull and Arthur Voice (Russell 2001, 94–102, Fig. 3.3). It proved to be 4.9 m wide at the top and had a depth of 5 m. Two features are of particular note. It is one of the few mineshafts to have recorded chalk art and these are of a distinct form (Teather 2016), and there was one radiocarbon date for Church Hill (5340 ± 150 BP, BM-181, context unrecorded; Barber et al. 1999, 81) that suggested very early activity at c. 4490–3810 cal BC. Shaft 4 at Church Hill exhibits some complex stratigraphy in the upper levels which is close to possible upper seam mining that Barber (2005, 103–6) argued may not be contemporary with the lower shaft excavation. Pull refers to these upper levels fills as part of a ‘living’ or ‘working’ floor which exhibited some Bronze Age pottery. At layer VI the remains of a black poplar wooden bowl were excavated near some Beaker pottery and both a large and small flint axes (Russell 2001, 100). Three dates were gained, two from a potential upper fill recut and one from the galleries. The gallery date is from owl pellets that were recovered. Owl pellets have been previously used as dating material for the flint mine of Hov in Denmark (Sorensen 2014). While these do not directly date mining, they may date the period of time when the galleries were used by roosting birds and so were open to the air. This could potentially occur at a chronologically different time to mining of the immediate shaft under study, as shafts may interconnect underground between galleries. For Hov they have generated similar dates

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Fig. 3.2: Cissbury Shaft 27 section (after Pull in Russell 2001, 179). Stratigraphic layers interpreted by the author and relate to dated deposits in Table 3.1.

3.  Radiocarbon dating on flint mining shaft deposits

Fig. 3.3: Church Hill Shaft 4 section (after Pull in Russell 2001, 99).

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to other material. Surprisingly all dates appear to span the late Beaker and Early Bronze Age with the voles providing a date of 2132–1921 cal BC (3639 ± 29 BP, OxA-34681), the wooden bowl 1937–1751 cal BC (3521 ± 34 BP, SUERC-75316) and a pig mandible 2526–2307 cal BC (3940 ± 34 BP, SUERC-75315). While it had been thought that this later mining activity may have simply been a re-cut for the specific deposition of these later artefacts, it seems that this shaft, and the accompanying art, are likely to be much later than previously thought and the continuation of mining here, at a similar date to later activity at Grime’s Graves, is broadly contemporary with the Norfolk site.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION

The dates from three Neolithic flint mine shafts have both confirmed early mining as an activity and have raised further interpretive questions. Perhaps it would be useful to consider two interpretive factors: the scale at which we are dating deposits and the security of the archaeological closed context. Each shaft here has a vertical stratigraphy that comprises the equivalent archaeological deposition of around 20m of a causewayed enclosure ditch. Yet, a 2m depth ditch deposit is a securely closed context; flint mine shafts that have interconnected galleries may have been accessed at the lower levels from a later excavated adjacent shaft. I have therefore chosen not to complete Bayesian analyses as for a small number of shafts it is perhaps more important to determine the range and type of activity at these sites before applying wider interpretive methods. I continue to have concerns over the inclusion of dated older material in deposits for both these and other Neolithic contexts (Teather 2018). The re-dated antler from Blackpatch can perhaps now be dismissed, although the range is in agreement with the dates from the galleries of the 1953 shaft at Petit Spiennes, Belgium of 5510 ± 55 BP (4460–4250 cal BC, Lv-1566; Collet 2016) which is accompanied by dates of 5160 ± 45BP and 5100 ± 65 BP (Collet et al. 2016, 29), and also a date at Rijckholt, Netherlands at 5320 ± 40 BP (de Grooth et al. 2011, 81). Recent work at Sallerup flint mine, Sweden has demonstrated that material older than the bottom of the shaft can be incorporated into the shaft fill (Rudebeck pers. comm.). This is perhaps also seen in both Shaft 27 where one antler date may be considerably older than the rest of the fill; and also at Church Hill where the faunal mandible at the highest stratigraphic level has been dated to at least 200 years earlier than the other deposits. From this we can continue to argue that flint mining was a socially embedded process that was more than simply extraction. As demonstrated by the dating of Church Hill Shaft 4, the artefactual evidence we have at these early sites may suggest that there are phases of later mining at these sites that were contemporary with Grime’s Graves. This ceases to place Grime’s Graves as an anomaly but rather perhaps a shift in the centre of prehistoric flint mining activity from the south of England, to the east. The later activity of barrow construction at many of these sites as noted by Barber (2005) should perhaps be seen as not simply a different monumentalisation of these areas during the Bronze Age, but an indication of them being active landscapes in this period. However, the reliance we maintain on few dates for a pivotal time in the start of Neolithic practices on the British mainland is poor. Our dating methods are scientific and rely on consistent and repeatable results: this has not been the case with the Blackpatch Shaft 1 antler, although the same result was

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gained on both the horse bone from this shaft, and the ox bone from Shaft 27. Should the single dates at Rijkholt and Petit Spiennes be rerun, would they still hold? If that were to be the case, we might be confident that flint mining by shaft and gallery method was simply part of the integrated Neolithic package. If they are not, it would perhaps begin to challenge the speed and directionality of transmission of flint mining knowledge as an initial Neolithic activity (Bradley 1999; Whittle 2011; Baczkowski 2014) from the northern near continent to Britain.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank Andrew Chamberlain for his support in applications to the NCRF who provided grants NF/2015/2/17 and NF/2017/1/11; Tom Higham at the Oxford Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit; James Sainsbury and Gerry Connolly at Worthing Museum and Art Gallery; Stephen Shennan and the NEOMINE team and Joanna Wright for the illustration of Fig. 3.1. The radiocarbon dates have been modelled in OxCal v4.2, using IntCal13 calibration curve (Bronk Ramsey 2009; Reimer et al. 2013). Any remaining errors or omissions are my own.

REFERENCES Baczkowski, J. 2014. Learning by experience: The flint mines of southern England and their continental origins. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 33(2), 135–53. Baczkowski, J. and Holgate, R. 2017. Breaking chalk; The archaeological investigations of Early Neolithic flint mines at Long Down and Harrow Hill, West Sussex, 1984–86. Sussex Archaeological Collections 155, 1–30. Barber, M. 2005. Mining, Burial and Chronology: the West Sussex Flint Mines in the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age. In P. Topping and M. Lynott (eds), The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 94–109. Barber, M., Field, D. and Topping, P. 1999. The Neolithic Flint Mines of England. Swindon: English Heritage. Bronk Ramsey, C. 2009. Bayesian analysis of radiocarbon dates. Radiocarbon 51,  337–60. Case, H. 1969. Neolithic explanations. Antiquity 43, 176–86. Collet, H. 2016. The Neolithic Flint Mines of Spiennes. A World Heritage Site. Namur, Institut du Patrimoine Wallon. Edinborough, K., Shennan, S. Teather, A., Baczkowski, J., Bevan, A., Bradley, R., Cook, R., Kerig, T., Parker Pearson, M., Pope, A. and Schaeur, P. In press. New radiocarbon dates show Early Neolithic date of flint-mining and stone quarrying in Britain. Radiocarbon. Goodman, C.H., Frost, M., Curwen, E. and Curwen, E.C. 1924. Blackpatch flint mine excavations, 1922: Report prepared on behalf of The Worthing Archaeological Society. Sussex Archaeological Collections 65, 69–111. Grooth, M.E.Th., Lauwerier, R.C.G.M and Schegget, M.E. 2011. New 14C dates from the Neolithic flint mines at Rijckholt-St. Geertruid, the Netherlands. In M. Capote, S. Consuegra, P. Diaz-DelRio and X. Terrados (eds), Proceedings of the 2nd International Conference of the UISPP Commission on Flint Mining in Pre- and Protohistoric Times, Madrid, 14–17 October 2009. British Archaeological International Series 2260. Oxford: Archaeopress, 77–89.

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Healy, F., Marshall, P., Bayliss, A., Cook, G., Bronk Ramsey, C., van der Plicht, J. and Dunbar, E. 2014. Grime’s Graves, Weeting-with-Broomhill, Norfolk. Radiocarbon Dating and Chronological Modelling. Swindon: English Heritage Research Report Series, no. 27. Healy, F., Marshall, P., Bayliss, A., Cook, G., Bronk Ramsey, C., van der Plicht, J. and Dunbar, E. 2018. When and Why? The Chronology and Context of Flint Mining at Grime’s Graves, Norfolk, England. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 84, 277–301. Mercer, R.J. 1981. Grimes Graves, Norfolk, Excavations 1971–72. Volumes I & II. London: HMSO. Pull, J. 1932. The Flint Miners of Blackpatch. London: Williams and Norgate Ltd. Ray, K. and Thomas, J. 2018. Neolithic Britain. The transformation of social worlds. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reimer, P.J., Bard, E., Bayliss, A., Beck, J.W., Blackwell, P.G., Bronk Ramsey, C., Buck, C.E., Cheng, H., Edwards, R.L., Friedrich, M., Grootes, P.M., Guilderson, T.P., Haflidason, H., Hajdas, I., Hatté, C., Heaton, T.J., Hoffmann, D.L., Hogg, A.G., Hughen, K.A., Kaiser, K.F., Kromer, B., Manning, S.W., Niu, M., Reimer, R.W., Richards, D.A., Scott, E.M., Southon, J.R., Staff, R.A., Turney, C.S.M. and van der Plicht, J. 2013. IntCal13 and Marine13 radiocarbon age calibration curves 0–50,000 years cal BP. Radiocarbon 55, 1869–87. Russell, M. (ed.) 2001. Rough Quarries, Rock and Hills: John Pull and the Neolithic Flint Mines of Sussex. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Sørensen, L. 2014. From hunter to farmer in Northern Europe – migration and adaptation during the Neolithic and Bronze Age. Acta Archaeologica 85. Sørensen, L. 2016. New theoretical discourses in the discussion of the neolithisation process in South Scandinavia during the late 5th and early 4th millennium BC – an identification of learning processes, communities of practice and migrations. Documenta Praehistorica XLIII, 209–34. Teather, A. 2016. Mining and Materiality: Neolithic chalk artefacts and their depositional contexts in southern Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress. Teather, A. 2018. Revealing a Prehistoric Past: Evidence for the Deliberate Construction of a Historic Narrative in the British Neolithic, Journal of Social Archaeology 18:2, 193–211. Available at https:// doi.org/10.1177/1469605318765517. Thomas, J. 2013. The Birth of Neolithic Britain: an interpretative account. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Topping, P. 2005. Shaft 27 Revisited: an ethnography of Neolithic flint extraction. In P. Topping and M. Lynott (eds), The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 63–93. Topping, P. and Lynott. M. 2005. The Cultural Landscape of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Whittle, A., Healy, F. and Bayliss, A. 2011. Gathering Time: dating the Early Neolithic enclosures of southern Britain and Ireland (2 volumes). Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 4

Tangled up in blue: The role of reibeckite felsite in Neolithic Shetland Gabriel Cooney, William Megarry, Mik Markham, Bernard Gilhooly, Brendan O’Neill, Joanne Gaffrey, Rob Sands, Astrid Nyland, Torben Ballin, Jenny Murray and Alison Sheridan INTRODUCING REIBECKITE FELSITE

A distinctive feature of the Neolithic period in Shetland is the use of a particular stone resource, riebeckite felsite as the major source for stone axes and Shetland knives. In the Scottish Archaeological Research Framework (ScARF; Brophy and Sheridan 2012) and the overview of Neolithic Shetland provided by Sheridan (2012) a central research issue for Shetland (and Scotland) is the role of felsite. The riebeckite felsite source is at North Roe, Northmavine (also known as Northmaven), mainland Shetland where there is a wellpreserved and extensive quarry complex. In Northmavine the riebeckite felsite outcrops as distinctive dykes, along with other dykes, intruding into the Ronas Hill Granite and the Precambrian rocks north of this granite batholith (Fig. 4.1). The dykes outcrop in a roughly north-north-east to south-south-west oval shaped area 10 km in length and 3 km wide. Phemister mapped the geology of the area for the British Geological Survey (see BGS 2004 1:50,000 Geology, Scotland: Sheet 129 Northmaven). It was noted that objects made from the reibeckite felsite dykes had been found throughout mainland Shetland, but he argued that the felsite dykes had not been quarried (Phemister 1950). A chambered cairn and a working gallery at the Beorgs of Uyea at the northern end of the complex were excavated in the 1940s (Scott and Calder 1952). A passage tomb is located on the top of Ronas Hill, Sheltand’s highest point, within the complex (Henshall 1963; Calder 1964), there is an apparent lack of clear evidence for settlement in the quarry area (Ballin 2011a). It was Ritchie (1968; 1992; 1995; Ritchie and Scott 1988) who recognized that the riebeckite felsite dykes had been quarried and were the source for the felsite objects in Shetland. Reibeckite felsite was attributed as Group XXII in the Implement Petrology Committee (now the Implement Petrology Group) petrological grouping scheme (Ritchie and Scott 1988, 88). Scott and Calder (1952, 175–6) had recognised a quarried outcrop face in a roofed gallery and commented there was more extensive evidence nearby for debitage, drawing parallels with the axe quarries at Great Langdale and Graig Lwyd. Records in the Shetland Museum indicate that roughouts have been collected from the quarry area since the nineteenth century (for example Shetland Museum ARC7489, found on Ronas Hill around 1877). The initial focus of research on the Beorgs of Uyea is indicated by the use

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Fig. 4.1: North Roe quarry complex, with felsite dykes and main areas in quarry complex.

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of the term ‘Uyea porphyry’ (Ritchie and Scott 1988, 88). However, work by Beveridge (1973) at Mid Field at the southern end of the complex suggested that the quarrying of the felsite might be more widespread. Ballin’s reconnaissance surveys (Ballin 2011a; 2011b), work on felsite assemblages from excavations (Ballin 2012; Ballin in Cummings and ORCA forthcoming), overviews of the techniques used in the production of felsite objects (Ballin 2012; 2013; 2017) and outline of a strategy for future work (Ballin 2011b) provided the foundation for the approach of the North Roe Felsite Project (NRFP). Since 2013 the NRFP has been using archaeological and geochemical/petrological survey, detailed GNSS (global navigation satellite system), UAV (unmanned aerial vehicle) survey and targeted excavation to identify the scale, character and date of the extraction processes (project reports; Davis 2012; Cooney et al. 2014; O’Neill et al. 2014; Ballin 2015; Megarry et al. 2016; 2018; Ballin et al. 2017; Cooney et al. 2017). Using a geographical information system (GIS) approach data from the quarry complex is integrated with analysis and mapping of felsite artefacts in museum and private collections. The paper provides an overview of work to date and some preliminary results and insights.

GEOCHEMISTRY AND PETROGRAPHY: PROVENANCING IPG GROUP XXII TO THE NORTH ROE QUARRY

Felsite is defined as a fine-grained igneous rock that may or may not contain larger crystals. Riebeckite is a sodium rich member of the amphibole group of silicate minerals and it provides the rock with its distinctive blue colour. The finer the grain of the riebeckite the more intense the blue colour. The riebeckite felsite dykes have varying widths, ranging from 0.5 to 5.0 m. Some dykes are traceable by intermittent exposure for over 1 km. The felsite dyke outcrops may also bifurcate, with up to five parallel exposures. Where the felsite appears to have cooled more slowly adjacent to the granite/country rock, the darker blue colour of this ‘chilled margin’ indicates that the felsite has a finer-grained texture. Formation processes enabled flow banding and linear features and in some cases preferential growth of spherulites (spheroidal mass of crystals) towards the edges of dykes (Fig. 4.2). Provenancing Group XXII stone tools to riebeckite felsite dykes in Northmavine was carried out using a combination of petrographic and geochemical comparisons (Markham and Davis forthcoming). Forty dykes in the quarry complex were examined in seven fieldwork areas within three broader zones; the Beorgs of Uyea/North Coast, Central Lakelands and Mid Field/Grut Wells (Fig. 4.1). Fifteen different types of felsite were recognised on the basis of macroscopic and microscopic petrological texture and compared with over 340 felsite objects. These were sub-grouped based on petrological texture, associated with the presence and size of feldspar and quartz phenocrysts and spherulites. Four distinct sub-groups of IPG Group XXII stone tools are now recognised; porphyritic (p), spherulitic (s), banded (b) and fine to medium grained with no clearly visible phenocrysts, spherulites or banding (f) (Fig. 4.3). The two main subgroups are porphryritic (60% of the total) and spherulitic (25% of the total).

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Fig. 4.2: Photo of westernmost pair of quarried felsite dykes, Beorgs of Uyea, with felsite blocks, quarry pits and debitage spreads. From north, with Ronas Hill in background, see also Fig. 4.5 (Photo: NRFP).

Fig. 4.3: Group XXII sub-groups A) porphyritic, B) spherulitic, C) banded and D) fine to medium grained with no clear phenocrysts, spherulites or banding (Photo: Mik Markham).

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Using Portable X-ray Fluorescence (PXRF) the geochemical signature of the 40 dykes was compared with the PXRF analysis of over 370 objects. Because of the basic similarity of the geochemistry of the dykes there is no single quantitative discriminant that can be used to provenance IPG Group XXII stone tools to specific dykes. The data does provide a good elemental signature for both the Northmavine riebeckite felsite and Group XXII stone tools, especially using the immobile elements, Rubidium, Zirconium, Strontium and Niobium. Two comparison matrices were developed to assess likely provenance for IPG XXII riebeckite felsite tools within the quarry complex. This confirmed that the riebeckite felsite dykes at the Beorgs of Uyea and Grut Wells were quarried for the production of stone tools. Analysis of the comparison of the PXRF geochemical signature of dykes with tools suggests that dykes on the North Coast, Mid Field hill at the southern end of the complex and around Roer Water in the central area were also exploited. This was confirmed by evidence of quarrying at Mid Field (first recognised by Beveridge 1973) and potentially also on the North Coast at Brevligarth, but substantially overlain by modern quarrying. Of specific relevance is a specific sub-type of porphyritic riebeckite felsite, referred to as p(2), where there is a distinct pattern of pairs of phenocrysts set against a fine grained background. On the basis of PXRF signature and observational data this appears to originate from Grut Wells Dyke 1, which was the focus of archaeological survey and excavation (see below). At a broader level it seems probable that the focus of production of the majority of Group XXII axes and knives with large or extra-large spherulites was the Beorgs of Uyea and possibly the North Coast. These are the only two areas where large spherulites have been observed in outcrop.

WORKING WITH FELSITE

Weisler (2011) has suggested that the relative size of quarries can be estimated from measuring the extent of exposed debitage and the overall site area, determining the density of debitage, including areas of concentration and quantifying the number of hammerstones, blanks and preforms or roughout at each quarry. The chaine opératoire approach has been widely used as a methodological framework to reconstruct quarrying and reduction processes (e.g. Conneller 2011; Cooney 2015; 2016). In their work at Great Langdale, Cumbria at the source for Group VI (volcanic tuff) axes, Bradley and Edmonds (1993) emphasised the need to understand stone tool making as a sequence of decisions, choices and actions and the importance of this perspective in thinking in terms of reduction sequences. The approach taken by Bradley and Edmonds with detailed survey and analysis of surface material, facilitated by a programme of experimental knapping followed by selective excavation to provide stratified contexts and chronology informed the perspective taken by the NRFP (O’Neill et al. 2014). The majority of evidence for felsite tool production comes from the quarry complex (although see Ballin 2015; 2017). One important issue is the impact of the sub-Arctic climatic conditions at Northavine, particularly in the higher, southern area. Ronas Hill is only 453 m (1486 ft) at the summit. However, because of the island climate conditions there are equivalent to those at 915 m (3000 ft) on the Scottish mainland (e.g. Blackadder 2003, 25). This leads to intense freeze-thaw action and frost shatter. Parallel frost cracking and ‘pot-lid’ fracturing can make it initially difficult to distinguish worked from naturally broken

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material. In addition felsite that was already weathered had been utilised in the Neolithic and there has been intense weathering of the felsite since the Neolithic. Roughouts or preforms for felsite axes were experimentally crafted using a range stages of knapping techniques. Hard hammer direct percussion proved to be effective at all stages of manufacture, using felsite hammer stones of various sizes. The knapping characteristics of felsite were found to be distinctive. There is a similarity with other lithologies, such as porcellanite (IPG Group IX) but it is harder to work than materials such as flint or shale (Gilhooly 2018). Analysis of the archaeological material and the production of replica roughouts suggests that exhaustive knapping was not required in the initial stages. For large axes, such as those in the Grut Well cache or hoard (Ballin et al. 2017), it appears that opposing edges of a felsite block were removed to create an angular preform. Analysis of the experimentally produced debitage indicates little difference in flake morphology resulting from the use of different percussive tools. Felsite is much more likely to hinge and step compared to ‘classic’ knappable raw materials such as flint. This may be why pecking was used alongside or after knapping and prior to grinding in the case of a considerable number of the felsite axes. A number of characteristic removal features were identified. These include; long lozenge shaped platforms, wide bulbs of percussion, dorsal removal, crushing at the point of impact and D-shaped flakes. Indirect percussion produced an additional feature; rather than crushing at the point of impact, in some instances a hairline crack could be seen. Even though all the experimental material was, by definition, worked, it was only possible to positively identify approximately 50% of it as definitively worked. The experimentally produced knapped assemblage was compared with archaeological material collected from five sample areas at Grut Wells (see below). As with the experimentally knapped material approximately half of the archaeological material could be definitely recognised as worked.

MAPPING AND CHARACTERISING THE NORTH ROE QUARRY LANDSCAPE

GNSS survey indicated a close correlation with the dykes on the ground originally mapped by Phemister. A survey efficacy model was created to quantify this issue using Worldview-2 multi-spectral satellite imagery and least-cost modelling approaches (Megarry et al. 2016). A small number of unmapped dykes were located in fieldwork. The work of the team collecting petrological and geochemical data across the landscape provided a valuable observational record of the extent and character of the exploitation of felsite dykes. At the site level work focused on Grut Wells and the Beorgs of Uyea. At Grut Wells detailed topographic survey was undertaken of an area 250 m by 150 m. Reconnaissance survey had demonstrated the presence of quarry pits apparently following the line of a riebeckite felsite dyke (Grut Wells 1), across a plateau. The quarry pits fall into two distinct groups, a southern one dominated by a pit 17 m in length and a northern group with two larger pits. There were other smaller pits both on and off the major axis of the larger pits. The larger pits are up to 3 m wide and about 20–40 cm deep. On the surface there are significant numbers of large blocks of felsite. Survey demonstrated a clear spatial relationship between these large blocks of felsite (over 30 cm in length) and the quarry pits. It is apparent that the blocks of felsite were quarried from the pits (Fig 4.4A).

Fig. 4.4: Grut Wells, Dyke 1. A) Location of quarry pits felsite blocks and excavation trenches. B) Characterisation model of surface felsite.

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A sampling strategy was used to analyse the surface accumulation of felsite debitage. The density of felsite was recorded from over 250 50 cm2 sample squares. This demonstrated that there was a clear patterning in the occurrence of felsite and that there was a strong correlation of high density areas of debitage with the quarry pits. Within the zone of the major concentration of felsite debitage a grid of 1 m2 sample areas was utilised to characterise the surface debitage (Fig. 4.4B). To compare the surface accumulation against experimentally produced debitage all the material in five 1 m2 areas was collected. At the Beorgs of Uyea, survey focused on characterisation of the seven major felsite dykes (A–G) and associated debitage. The experimental programme informed analysis and characterisation on the ground. Dykes were recorded in detail focusing on in situ dyke blocks of felsite, quarried blocks and debitage. This was accompanied by photographic coverage of fifty-nine 1×1 m squares. The felsite types defined by Markham and Davis (forthcoming) were used to petrographically characterise the dykes and felsite debitage. The occurrence of felsite roughouts or preforms, felsite and granite hammerstones (both local and imported, probably from the coast 2 km to the north), felsite wedges and ‘cores’ was also recorded. There is significant spatial variation in the density of the objects, suggesting variation in intensity of quarrying and production (Fig. 4.5). Building on UAV survey, orthoimagery was used to remotely and effectively classify the extent of the quarry area at the Beorgs of Uyea (Megarry et al. 2018). The UAV imagery proved useful in understanding and representing the sequence and processes of production represented by the palimpsest of debitage. The general process of working material, from quarry to roughout is visible in the pattern of decreasing material size towards the margins of debitage zones, with larger material concentrated closer to the dykes.

EXCAVATIONS AT GRUT WELLS AND THE BEORGS OF UYEA

The focus of excavation at the Beorgs of Uyea was a trench, 5.30 m by 2.00 m across a quarry pit, with the felsite outcrop of Dyke B in the centre (see Fig. 4.5 and Fig. 4.6A). This dyke is composed of spherulitic felsite with banding evident at the margins of the dyke. Material at the surface consisted of the dyke, granite and felsite blocks and debitage. The excavated deposits in Trench 1 were shallow, 0.50 m in depth and comprised mainly unconsolidated quarried felsite blocks and debitage with some granite, infiltrated with peat. The eastern pit was 1.60 m in width, the western pit was 1.10 m in width. Quarrying appears to have begun on the west side. This resulted in the undercutting of the central portion of the dyke and the tilting of the dyke block to the west. At this stage there was further quarrying on the east and northern side. The last phase of quarrying was of the current west face of the dyke. The deposits in the quarry pits represent backfilled material. That there may have been organisation involved in this action is indicated by a row of felsite blocks with a maximum dimension of 40 cm placed on the surface of the western quarry pit. Three trenches were excavated at Grut Wells. These were positioned across quarry pits associated with Dyke 1, composed of porphyritic felsite with a distinctive pattern of paired phenocrysts, p(2) discussed above. Excavation of Trench 2 (Fig. 4.6B) revealed a series of contexts relating to the quarrying of the felsite dyke and the quarried dyke itself. The

Fig. 4.5: Beorgs of Uyea characterization, felsite dykes, debitage spreads and artifact distribution. Also shows location of excavation trench.

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Fig. 4.6: A) Pre-excavation surface, west of quarried felsite block, with sealing line of small felsite blocks, Trench 1, Beorgs of Uyea (Photo: NRFP). B) South-facing section, Trench 2, Dyke 1, Grut Wells.

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dyke was 4.40 m in width (and extended beyond the eastern edge of the trench) and the exposed maximum depth was 1.80 m. Quarrying was focused on extracting blocks from the dyke, following fault lines. On the western side a quarry pit was excavated into granitic sand and granite outcrop along the western margin of the dyke. This was 1.40 m in width at the top and 0.42–0.80 m wide at the base. It was dug to a depth of over a metre into granite. On the eastern side extraction appears to have extended from the surviving highest point of the dyke to beyond the eastern edge of the trench. The deposits represented backfilling of extraction areas. There was a notable density of finds in Trench 2, all relating to the quarrying and working of felsite; axe/adze roughouts, hammerstones, wedges and cores. Post-excavation analysis indicates that there was definite choice to deposit later stage debitage when quarry areas were being back-filled. In Trench 1 there were a series of deposits related to quarrying activity. Two cuts/recuts were recognised and a series of granite blocks formed part of the fill of the later of the two cuts. This later cut was made into granitic sand with significant quantities of felsite. In the light of the excavation results from the other trenches it is clear that this sand is probable upcast/fill sitting on top of the western side of Dyke 1, covering the quarried dyke surface, which was not exposed during the excavation. The surface of Trench 3 was composed of felsite debitage and granite, with a distinct peat-filled depression trending NW–SE across the trench. As well as marking the latest event in the trench, a deliberate cut into earlier deposits, this peat-filled depression also marked a distinction between the deposits to the east of it and the deposits to the west (Fig. 4.7). The deposits below and to the west represent a series of fills of a quarry pit which had been dug on the eastern side of Dyke 1. This quarry pit had a maximum E–W width of 2.80 m and the felsite had been quarried to a depth of at least 1.60 m. It would appear that the dyke had extended at least 0.80 m further east than the current quarried face. Beyond this the granite/felsite margin was removed. The deposits filling the quarry pit appear to represent backfill, as active quarrying moved to the north or south of the area exposed by excavation. These fills consisted largely of granitic sands/ sandy silts/clays containing felsite debitage and associated artefacts; hammerstones, wedges and axe roughouts or preforms. At a depth of 1.00 m to 0.60 m several large granite blocks appear to have been placed to level up the backfill. The deposits in the eastern area of the trench represent in situ activity areas. Large quarried blocks were reduced to convenient size for tool production and then reduced down to final stage preforms or roughouts. These are the first in situ, undisturbed working areas recognised at the quarry complex. Accompanying the debitage from different stages of production and reduction there were appropriately sized hammerstones and also wedges. Recognising the significance of these deposits, and since they were not the primary focus of the excavation, this eastern area was only excavated to a depth of 0.40 m. Samples were taken for OSL dating from three profiles in the section faces (David Saunderson, SUERC). Charcoal was identified in several of the contexts in the trench, both in the fills of the quarry pit and from the workshop area to the east. The charcoal is dominated by birch (O’Donnell 2017). Birch would appear to have been a major component in the shrubby woodland cover prior to Neolithic clearance, as seen in a core from Gunnister Water 10 km to the south of the site (Bennett et al. 1993). To date three radiocarbon dates have been obtained. These are the first dates for the quarrying activity at the North Roe quarry complex. These indicate activity in the Early to Middle Neolithic in Shetland, broadly between 3600–3300 cal BC (Fig. 4.7).

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Fig. 4.7: Plan and north-facing section, Trench 3, Grut Wells with radiocarbon dates. DISCUSSION: INTERWEAVING FELSITE INTO THE NEOLITHIC OF SHETLAND

Robin Torrence (1986, 91) recognised the central importance of stone quarries in stating that ‘Unlike settlements quarries are unique because … these sites are likely to have been the only component of the exchange system which has a link to every other locality where the stone was made, used and discarded.’ This statement is particularly appropriate to begin discussion of the wider importance of the quarry landscape at North Roe. The dating for the quarrying and working of felsite at Grut Wells (Trench 3) means that we can more

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confidently place this activity in the context of the development of Neolithic society in Shetland. As discussed by Sheridan (2012, 8–22) there is very little evidence, apart from a small quantity of pottery sherds and a dated mammal bone from West Voe, Dunrossness (Melton 2009; see discussion in Edwards et al. 2009), to support the concept of a Neolithic society in Shetland prior to 3600 cal BC, contrasting with the plentiful evidence for activity after 3600 cal BC. This appears to parallel the scenario in Orkney (Bayliss et al. 2017). Sheridan (2012, 10) suggests that the Neolithicisation of Shetland may have occurred as part of the expansion of a farming lifestyle and its associated traditions from western Scotland during the late 38th or 37th century BC, with no evidence to suggest that it arrived via Caithness or Orkney. A distinctive feature of the Neolithic in Shetland, paralleling other regions of Britain and Ireland (Whittle et al. 2011) was the recognition, organised quarrying and production of stone tools from a specific and valued source; here riebeckite felsite. The stratigraphic context of the dates from Grut Wells Trench 3 make it clear they cannot represent the earliest activity at the quarry. At the Hill of Crooksetter, Delting an early stone Neolithic house was excavated, which along with other structures dates to 3635–3515 cal BC (Cummings and ORCA forthcoming). A contemporary feature just 20 m from the house may represent a dismantled timber structure (Cummings 2017, 83). There were three porphyritic felsite axes in the assemblage from this feature (Ballin in Cummings and ORCA forthcoming). An assemblage of felsite axes and knives from Modesty, West Mainland dates to 3500–3110 cal BC (Sheridan 2012, 12–16), suggesting that by that date production at the quarry was well-established, with the distribution and use of axes and knives well away from the source. The illustrations of the Modesty material (see Sheridan 2012, figs 2 and 3) indicates the production of axes and knives from porphyritic, probably p(2), Grut Wells Dyke 1 felsite and spherulitic felsite, most likely from the northern part of the quarry complex, by this time. The context of felsite objects, and the scale of extraction at the quarry complex, indicates that quarrying, production, use and curation of felsite objects went on to at least the end of the Neolithic, around 2500 cal BC (see discussion in Ballin 2011a; 2017; Sheridan 2012). While the initial use of felsite, particularly for axe production, might be plausibly related to clearance of birch woodland (Tipping 1994; Bishop et al. 2018), this long-term use suggests that the quarry complex and the production and use of these objects, became central to how people in Shetland engaged and created their island place and landscape (Cooney 2017). This idea of a specific, active tradition is strengthened by comparison and contrast with the use of stone axes in Orkney. Ritchie (1992) demonstrated the small size of Orcadian axes compared to Shetland. Edmonds (2017, 43–8) has emphasised that Orcadian axes were made from many kinds of rock around that archipelago (contrasting with the dominance of felsite as a source in Shetland) and that extraction was diverse. That work at the quarry complex went on over a potentially long period of time is visibly demonstrated in the evidence for the re-cutting of quarry pits in the excavation trenches at Grut Wells. The surface build up of debitage that can be seen particularly at the Beorgs of Uyea is also the result of cumulative activity, people going back, quarrying and also utilising material that had been quarried already. There are interesting parallels and differences in the approaches to quarrying and production at the Beorgs of Uyea and Grut Wells. In both areas the initial focus was on the exploitation of the margins of the

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dykes. As noted above this is where the fine-grained, deeper blue felsite is located and it would appear to have been preferentially exploited. There was then quarrying of the central area of the dykes, with the possibility that at a later stage blocks that had been previously quarried were also utilised. The volume of debitage on the surface at the Beorgs is notable compared to Grut Wells. However, excavation at the latter site indicates that there is a build up of debitage more than a metre in depth below the surface. Hence the current surface in the vicinity of the dyke, particularly on the downslope side of it, has been created as a result of quarrying. The scale of working of Dyke 1 at Grut Wells supports the suggestion that it was a significant site in the context of overall quarry production. Fifteen percent of the 341 felsite tools that could be identified to IPG Group XXII sub-groups are made from Group XXII p(2). The shallowness of the quarry pits in the excavated trench at the Beorgs of Uyea supports field observation that there the quarry pits in general appear to be shallow. This implies that at the Beorgs of Uyea, unlike Grut Wells, most of the palimpsest of evidence for quarrying and production lies on the surface. It is also notable that the western side of the dykes at the Beorgs of Uyea appears to have been more heavily exploited (Fig. 4.5). This focus on the western side of the dykes is emphasised by the creation of a roofed quarry face on the western side of Dyke C, the feature excavated by Scott and Calder (1952). Recognition of this working gallery and the chambered cairn to the east and downslope from it by Scott and Calder (1952) was an early indication that Beorgs might have been regarded as a special place by Neolithic people. This was a point picked up by Henshall (1963, 138–9) and by Ballin (2011a, 123). Fieldwork has demonstrated the special character of the quarry landscape. A hoard of three felsite roughouts; two large axeheads and a Shetland knife was found below and to the south-east of Dyke 1 at Grut Wells (Ballin et al. 2017). A small megalithic tomb with the characteristics of the distinctive Shetland heel-shaped cairns was located about 300 m north of the surveyed area at Grut Wells, overlooking Dyke 1 as it dips down to lower ground (Cooney et al. 2014). In the area upslope and to the south-east of Dykes A–G at the Beorgs, there is a concentration of large and very large felsite blocks (and a small number of felsite standing stones). It is interesting that there appears to be a dominance of spherulitic felsite, possibly suggesting a link with Dyke B in the quarry area. Over 60 standing stones (mostly of granite, but in some cases felsite blocks) were placed between this concentration of felsite blocks and the quarry area itself. Some groups of standing stones appear to be focused around low granite outcrops. Topping (2017, this volume) used the North Roe quarry complex as a case study to test his model, derived from cross-cultural patterns in the anthropological literature, that there are thematic indicators that can be used to indicate where extraction sites had a wider social significance. He suggested that when the range of evidence at the complex is considered it indicates that Grut Wells and the Beorgs of Uyea were storied locations, imbued with supernatural and ancestral presences, marked by ritualised extraction processes. The quarry complex was central to Neolithic society in Shetland. Illumination of its special role can be illustrated by comparison with how axe sources were integrated into Neolithic social life on other islands (Cooney et al. 2012; 2013; Cooney 2017). The depositional histories of some of the products from the complex suggests that they were produced for ceremonial purposes or as statements of status and/or wealth (Ballin 2013). The widespread distribution of felsite

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objects from the quarry across the archipelago indicates that they played an important role as a material manifestation of a sense of cultural identity across the island group. As people went back to the quarry, working and re-working the riebeckite felsite over the course of the Neolithic they created the largest monument on Shetland.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks are due to the National Geographic Society Global Exploration Fund for support. Permission to excavate at the Beorgs of Uyea (SM 890) was granted by Historic Environment Scotland under the terms of Scheduled Monument Consent (SMC Reference/Case ID 201600931). We are grateful to the Chrono Centre, Queen’s University Belfast for the radiocarbon dates. Archaeology Shetland provided field crew for excavation and survey work and other support. With thanks to Conor McHale for assistance with illustrations. We would like to thank Dr Val Turner and the Shetland Amenity Trust for continuing support.

REFERENCES Ballin, T.B. 2011a. The Felsite Quarries of North Roe, Shetland – an overview. In V. Davis and M. Edmonds (eds), Stone Axe Studies III. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 121–130. Ballin, T.B. 2011b. The felsite quarry complex of Northmaven: observations from a fact-finding mission to Shetland. In A. Saville (ed.), Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 11. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 62–81. Ballin, T.B. 2012. The distribution of worked felsites – within and outwith Neolithic Shetland. In D. Mahler and C. Andersen (eds), The Border of Farming and the Cultural Marker. Copenhagen: National Museum of Denmark, 62–78. Ballin, T.B. 2013. Felsite Axehead Reduction – The Flow from quarry pit to discard/deposition. In D. Mahler (ed.), Farming on the Edge: Cultural Landscapes of the North. Copenhagen: National Museum of Denmark, 73–91. Ballin, T.B. 2015. Felsite Polished Axeheads/Adzes and Shetland Knives in Shetland Museum. North Roe Felsite Project Report 2. Dublin: University College Dublin. Ballin, T.B. 2017. North Roe felsite and Shetland’s felsite material culture-assemblages from quarry work-shops and domestic settlements. In R. Shaffrey (ed.), Written in Stone: Papers on the function, form and provenancing of prehistoric stone objects in memory of Fiona Roe. St Andrews: Highfield Press, 77–110. Ballin, T.B., Topping, P. and Cooney, G. 2017. The Grut Wells Hoard, North Roe, Shetland. North Roe Felsite Project Report 3. Dublin: University College Dublin. Bayliss, A., Marshall, P., Richards, C. and Whittle, A. 2017. Islands of history: the Late Neolithic timescape of Orkney. Antiquity 91, 359, 1171–88. Bennett, K, Boreham, S., Hill, K., Packman, S., Sharp, M.J. and Switsur, V.R. 1993. Holocene environmental history at Gunnister, north Mainland, Shetland. In J.F. Birnie, J.E. Gordon, K. Bennett and A. Hall (eds), The Quaternary of Shetland: Field Guide. Cambridge: Quaternary Research Association, 83–98. Beveridge, B. 1973 Northmavine, Beorgs of Uyea, Neolithic Axe Factory. Discovery and Excavation in Scotland 1973, 51. BGS 2004. 1:50 000 Geology Series Scotland Sheet 129. Nottingham: British Geological Survey.

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Bishop, R.R., Church, M.J., Lawson, I.T., Roucoux, K.H., O’Brien, C., Ranner, H., Heald, A.J. and Flitcroft, C.E. 2018. Deforestation and Human Agency in the Northern Atlantic Region: Archaeological and Palaeoenvironmental evidence from the Western Isles. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 84, 1–40. Blackadder, J.S. 2003. Shetland. Grantown-on-Spey: Colin Baxter. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1993. Interpreting the Axe Trade: production and exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brophy, K. and Sheridan, A. 2012. Neolithic Scotland: Scottish Archaeological Research Framework Panel Report. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Calder, C.S.T. 1964. Cairns, Neolithic houses and burnt mounds in Shetland. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 96, 37–86. Conneller, C. 2011. An Archaeology of Materials: Substantial Transformations in Early Prehistoric Europe. London: Routledge. Cooney, G. 2015. Stone and Flint Axes in Neolithic Europe. In C. Fowler, J. Harding and D. Hofmann (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Neolithic Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 515–34. Cooney, G. 2016. Material Culture. In A. Gardner, M. Lake and U. Sommer (eds) The Oxford Handbook of Archaeological Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/ oxfordhb/9780199567942.013.019. Cooney, G. 2017. The role of stone in island societies in Neolithic Atlantic Europe: Creating Places and Cultural Landscapes. Arctic 69, Suppl 1, 1–12. Cooney, G., Ballin, T.B., Davis, R.V., Sheridan, A., Megarry, W. 2014. Making an island world: Neolithic Shetland. 2013 Field Season Report. North Roe Felsite Project Report 1. Dublin: University College Dublin. Cooney, G., Ballin, T.B., Warren, G. 2013. Island quarries, Island axeheads and the Neolithic of Ireland and Britain. North American Archaeologist 34, 409–31. Cooney, G., Gaffrey, J. Gilhooly, B., Megarry, W., O’Neill, B. and Sands. R. 2017. Making an island world: Neolithic Shetland. 2014 and 2016 Field Season Report. North Roe Felsite Project Report 4. Dublin: University College Dublin. Cooney, G., Mandal, S., O’Keeffe, E., Warren, G., Ballin, T.B., Megarry, W. 2012. Axes from islands: the role of stone axeheads from insular sources in the Neolithic of Britain and Ireland. In D. Mahler and C. Andersen (eds), The Border of Farming and the Cultural Markers. Copenhagen: National Museum of Denmark, 78–99. Cummings, V. 2017. The Neolithic of Britain and Ireland. London: Routledge. Cummings and ORCA forthcoming. The excavation of a Neolithic and Bronze Age domestic and funerary complex on the Hill of Crooksetter, Delting, Shetland. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Davis, R.V. 2012. Preliminary report on the petrographic survey of the Neolithic stone quarries and stone tool manufacturing sites at North Roe, Shetland: May 2012. Unpublished. Edmonds, M. 2017. Conversations with Magic Stones. Stromness: Group VI Press. Edwards, K.J., Schofield, J.E., Whittington, G. and Melton, N. D. 2009. Palynology ‘On the Edge’ and the Archaeological Vindication of a Mesolithic Presence? The case of Shetland. In N. Finlay, S. McCartan, N. Milner and C. Wickham-Jones (eds), From Bann Flakes to Bushmills: papers in honour of Professor Peter Woodman. Prehistoric Society Research Paper 1. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 113–23. Gilhooly, B. 2018. An axe for all seasons; An investigation into the construction methods, mechanical properties and uses of Irish shale and porcellanite axes from the Mesolithic to the Bronze Age, through experimental, quantitative and comparative studies. Unpublished PhD thesis: University College Dublin. Henshall, A.S. 1963. The Chambered Tombs of Scotland. Volume 1. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

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Markham, M. and Davis, V. forthcoming. Northmavine Felsite and Shetland Neolithic Stone Tools: Geology and Petrology. North Roe Felsite Project. Megarry, W.P. Cooney, G., Comer, D.C. and Priebe, C.E. 2016. Posterior Probability Modeling and Image Classification for Archaeological Site Prospection: Building a Survey Efficacy Model for Identifying Neolithic Felsite Workshops in the Shetland Islands. Remote Sensing 8. DOI: 10.3390/ rs8060529. Megarry, W., Graham, C., Gilhooly, B., O.Neill, B., Sands, R., Nyland, A. and Cooney, G. 2018. Debitage and Drones: Classifying and Characterising Neolithic Stone Tool Production in the Shetland Islands using High Resolution Unmanned Aerial Vehicle Imagery. Drones 2, 12. DOI: 10.3390/drones2020012. Melton, N.D. 2009. Shells, seals and ceramics: an evaluation of a midden at West Voe, Sumburgh, Shetland 2004–5. In S. McCartan, R.J. Schulting, G. Warren and P.C. Woodman (eds) Mesolithic Horizons. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 184–9. O’Donnell, L. 2017. Charcoal report: Trench 3, Grut Wells, Northmavine, Shetland. Unpublished. O’Neill, B., Gilhooly, B. and Cooney, G. 2014. Stone Tools of Shetland: Experimental Felsite Project. Experimental Archaeology 3. Available at https://exarc.net/issue-2014–3/ea/stone-tools-shetlandexperimental-felsite-project. Phemister, J. 1950. The reibeckite-bearing dikes of Shetland. Mineral Magazine 29, 359–73. Ritchie, P.R. 1968. The stone implement trade in third- millennium Scotland. In J.N. Coles and D.D.A. Simpson (eds), Studies in Ancient Europe: essays presented to Stuart Piggott. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 117–36. Ritchie, P.R. 1992. Stone axeheads and cushion maceheads from Orkney and Shetland: some similarities and contrasts. In N. Sharples, N. and A. Sheridan (eds), Vessels for the Ancestors. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 213–20. Ritchie, P.R. 1995. Scottish Stone Tool Research Project, draft entry for Group XXII (riebeckite felsite). Unpublished. Ritchie, P.R. and Scott, J.G. 1988. The petrological identification of stone axes from Scotland. In T.H.McK. Clough and W.A. Cummins (eds), Stone axe studies. Volume 2. CBA Research Report No. 67. London: Council for British Archaeology, 85–91. Scott, L.G. and Calder, C.S.T. 1952. Notes on a chambered cairn, and a working gallery, on the Beorgs of Uyea, Northmaven, Shetland. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 86, 171–7. Sheridan, A. 2012. Neolithic Shetland: a view from the ‘mainland’. In D. Mahler (ed.) The Border of Farming and the Cultural Markers. Copenhagen: National Museum of Denmark, 6–36. Tipping, R. 1994. The form and fate of Scotland’s woodlands. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 124, 1–54. Topping, P. 2017. The Social Context of Prehistoric Extraction Sites in the UK. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Newcastle. Torrence, T. (ed.) 1986. Production and exchange of stone tools. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weisler, M. 2011. A quarried landscape in the Hawaiian Islands. World Archaeology 43, 2, 298–317. Whittle, A., Healy, F. and Bayliss, A. (eds) 2011. Gathering time: Dating the early Neolithic enclosures of Southern Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 5

Being ‘Mesolithic’ in the Neolithic: Practices, places and rock in contrasting regions in South Norway Astrid J. Nyland

INTRODUCTION

A prehistoric quarry may impress due to the scale of rock extraction, its remote location or the time depth of activity at the site. However, such elements were not necessarily that which made a quarry significant in the past. As quarrying is a socially situated practice, studies of quarrying must integrate the examination of local and regional social contexts too, in order for us to understand their role in the past. Hence, knowledge of the preference or character of lithic procurement at the time of the quarrying is required. This can be deduced through investigations of the quarries themselves and of lithic materials at (settlement) sites beyond the quarry and workshop sites. Interpreted together, the pragmatic and social roles of rock, and places of its procurement, may reveal quarries as powerful agents in prehistoric phases of societal transitions, like at the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition in South Norway around 4000 BC. In this contribution, I combine the theoretical and methodological premise of chaîne opératoire with recent developments in materiality studies (e.g. Olsen 2010; Boivin et al. 2013). The tangible qualities of quarries, the particular human engagement with them, and rock as a material and potential artefact, are argued as essential in human conceptualisation. Building on the particular exploitation of quarry sites, and the distribution of selected rock types, I will argue that, in the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition in South Norway, rock, sites and practices of lithic procurement ‘helped ideas and cultural understanding into becoming’ (Boivin 2008, 47). This places quarry sites as the location of lithic procurement, but also as part of a whole chain of past social actions. It moves interpretation of quarries beyond studies of the quarries themselves. Based on results from this approach, I will argue that to quarry at the western coast of South Norway became a culturally specific practice – an integrated part of the inhabitants’ history and habitus – because of the Mesolithic prelude. While in the eastern part of South Norway, to quarry never became a similar socially significant or as powerful an agent in the inhabitants’ lives in the Mesolithic. People obviously procured rock, they even quarried, but quarrying does not seem to have developed into a practice as socially structuring as on the western coast.

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IDENTIFYING REGIONAL VARIATION THROUGH ANALYSING THE CHAÎNE OPÉRATOIRE OF QUARRYING

During the Mesolithic and Neolithic, rock sources were exploited for a number of purposes, the most basic one obviously to obtain rock to make tools. There are numerous types of quarries and procurement sites will differ based on the geological deposit exploited for the required artefact, such as mining blocks of rock in a diabase dyke for adze material or exploiting an exposed vein of quartzite for smaller blanks to make flake and blade tools in the mountains. Hence, the type of blanks sought after in prehistory will influence the size and scale of any quarry site, as do varying topography, and geology. All of this makes a comparative study of quarries challenging. However, lithic procurement is also the result of a long chain of actions, deliberate choices, and preferences, i.e. procurement and quarrying are socially situated practices. With this as a premise, quarrying can be regarded as distinguishing as it pertains to technology, styles or morphology, as cultural markers of regional or local social groups or communities. The clue to understanding quarries is to differentiate the ‘phenomenon’ by focusing on the task of lithic procurement and quarrying. The methodology of the chaîne opératoire, is used to identify expressions of cultural or social affinity intertwined in technology and the production of artefacts (e.g. Leroi-Gourhan 1964; Lemonnier 1990). The fundamental interpretative premise in such analyses is that all actions are socially, culturally and historically situated. A defined group’s habits of mind and body are reflected in identified preferences in the execution of different gestures, tasks or technologies. Hence, anthropologists and sociologists underline the social nature of all actions as the habitus of a society, visible in how individuals or groups perform any act, routine, technique and tradition. Furthermore, the memories, knowledge and know-how of a social collective are also tacitly maintained, reaffirmed and transferred through continuous performance. Part of this is an acknowledgement of the implications of differentiated distribution and communication of knowledge for social organisation. Thus, quarrying and preferences in lithic procurement practices can be regarded as a type of ‘knowledge that must have its wellsprings in individual experience yet becomes to a large extent conventional in social circles [through certain processes] whereby these conventional bodies of knowledge assume their locally characteristic shapes’ (Barth 2002, 2). While knowledge, know-how or preference sometimes can be hard to verbalise, studies of what people did, how they acted, persisting or changing practices, and what they left behind, serve as a portal to identifying the existence of preferences and know-how. The methodology of the chaîne opératoire and inherent theoretical premises are by no means new in quarry studies. For example, among the waste material at quarry sites at Great Langdale in England, remains of tool production were identified and interpreted (Bradley and Edmonds 1988; Edmonds 1990). Bradley and Edmonds claimed that inaccessible places were preferentially used for quarrying raw materials, and for the manufacture of the Langdale axes, the place of quarrying was considered as important as the rock procured. My approach agrees with theirs, but it also deviates due to my comparative investigation and the involvement of a wider range of site types. I investigated and compared the time period of activity and scale of exploitation in 21 quarries. This included examining the material at the quarries, as well as examining assemblages on related workshop and settlement sites (Nyland 2016a). I found that there were spatial and or temporal variations in the

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distribution pattern of different types of rock at contemporary sites. It indicated that there were culturally determined preferences in procurement practices, and my investigation into the location of quarries was not to characterise their accessibility, but more as to whether they were close to or at other types of activity sites. Where rock was widely available on nearby beaches, this served as a starting point for further explorations into what could be socially embedded in rock; what decisions led people to invest in obtaining a specific rock type from a distance, versus obtaining rock from a deposit close to settlement sites? My methodology has been elaborated elsewhere (e.g. Nyland 2017b). However, the operational chain identified, dividing the task of lithic procurement into seven stages, is summarised in the following table (Table 5.1). Each of these stages produces a material trace that is possible to investigate empirically at the quarries, workshops and settlement sites (Nyland 2016a). Thus, the framework enables a comparative approach to quarries and lithic raw material procurement, making it possible to build social arguments based on the results. To exemplify identified variations between contemporary quarries, I will describe a case study: the exploitation of five quarries located relatively close to each other, in an area surrounding the island Bømlo on the western coast of South Norway (see location on Fig. 5.1).

Case study: Quarries and lithic procurement practices at Bømlo, western South Norway The five quarries were all in use around 4000 BC, as lithic assemblages from nearby sites and sites further north and south demonstrate. However, the time depth of the quarries, their exploitation, and distribution, varied significantly. The largest quarry is a greenstone quarry, Hespriholmen, which is located on a small islet nearly 3 km into the sea to the west of Bømlo. This was exploited for rock to make adzes from the onset of the Middle Mesolithic. The greenstone was distributed or transported to a region covering a stretch of about 350 km of coastline, covering the counties of Rogaland and Hordaland. On the main island of Bømlo at around 4000 BC, a rhyolite-quarry was established on top of Mt Siggjo (474 m high) that provided rock for blade and flake tools. ‘Siggjo rhyolite’ has been found at Neolithic sites from the County of Rogaland in the south, to the County of Møre og Romsdal in the North, spanning nearly 600 km of the west coast of South Norway with varying frequency. The exploitation of the two large quarries is contrasted by the use of three other smaller quarries in the same area. Another greenstone quarry, called Stegahaugen, was exploited simultaneously, but the scale of extraction appears to be lower than Hespriholmen. The Stegahaugen quarry is situated on the main island of Bømlo, approximately 135 m above sea level on a steep, densely forested hillside, at the foot of Mt Siggjo. Greenstone from this site may have been as widely distributed as greenstone from Hespriholmen, although it is currently impossible to distinguish the sources from each other either geochemically (Olsen and Alsaker 1984) or using isotope analyses (Bergsvik 2006). Two jasper quarries were also exploited, but the extraction was moderate and the procured rock only locally distributed. In addition to these quarries, there is evidence that large quantities of rock such as small flint nodules, quartzite and quartz from scattered veins, and local bedrock were simply collected from the beach to obtain rock for blade and flint tools. Indeed, lithic assemblages

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Table 5.1: Seven stages in the chaîne operatiore of direct lithic procurement (quarrying): operations and (probably just some) alternatives to consider, and possible social implications. Stages Operation(s) 1

2

Considering…

Alternatives (some…)

Social implications…

Choice of procurement practice?

To quarry

- Spontaneous exploit - Repeated visits - Return to a site or not

Culturally specific preference/tradition?

Location?

Included activity

- Deposit close to/at settlement site? - Close to/at rock art site?

Accessibility; social position of activity or place of extraction?

To collect

Secluded activity Far/close 3

Preparations?

Need extra, or suitable aid/tools for loosening rock?

- To prepare and bring dry firewood - To collect and bring hammer stones - Boat needed?

Imply intent; deliberation and dedication to activity

4

Techniques (quarrying)?

The kind of force necessary to loosen rock, if any

- To use fire - Direct hammering - Cold wedging - To exploit natural freeze and thawprocesses

Skill, know-how, social organization: cultural transmission

5

Waste management?

Management

- Backfilling of mines/ pits - Establish secluded workshop sites

Esoteric knowledge, or ‘public’ and open? Leave scars open/hide activities

6

Initial reduction

Knapping undertaken at quarry

- Stage of transformation - Testing raw materials’ suitability - Reduction before transport - Preforms or completed tools

Post-quarrying activities; demarcation of spheres for specific activities? Quarries as social arenas?

7

Distribution

What happened next?

- Local distribution - Regional distribution - Cross-regional

Social organisation; networks and contact; social position of place and raw material in contemporary societies

No visible management

at nearby sites demonstrate that flint, quartz and quartzite outnumbered the use of jasper, even though these rock types were also employed to make the same type of tools (see table 2 in Nyland 2017b, 148). Comparatively, the intensity of exploitation, scale, and distance of distribution of the quarried rock varies significantly between these mentioned quarries (cf. Nyland 2016a; 2017b). Whereas the ‘norm’ throughout the Mesolithic and Neolithic might have been to exploit a variety of rock deposits opportunistically, limitedly, or moderately, and to collect

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already loose rock from moraines and beaches, the extraordinary stand out. Nevertheless, we cannot understand these identified differences if they are not interpreted in light of their social context. Hence, to acknowledge the history of practices, shifting social settings, and to compare identified variations between regions, is key. Returning to the main question of this paper, how do we go from identified preferences in lithic procurement practice to claims of regional differences in the ‘Neolithisation process’? Answering this requires an understanding of the Mesolithic prelude.

BACKGROUND: DEVELOPING REGIONAL VARIATIONS

The Norwegian coast was rapidly settled after 9500 BC by highly mobile marine adapted hunter-gatherer-fishers (Bjerck 2008). At around 8000 BC, the inland and mountainous regions had become ice-free and were from then on increasingly explored for a variety of resources. At this point in time, mobility was high and contact and cultural transmission between South Norway, Fennoscandia and the Baltics are visible in the archaeological record. One can trace the spread of a particular lithic blade technology (Sørensen et al. 2013; Damlien 2014), rock art images (Fuglestvedt 2017), bone tool technology (Bergsvik and David 2015), and ground adzes with a circular or semi-circular cross section (Bjerck 2008). With the introduction of these ground adzes of local rock (non-flint materials), a cross-regional practice of quarrying for suitable local rock types and the practice of returning to specific deposits began, too. At the onset of the Middle Mesolithic, 8000 BC, a variety of rock types were used to make the new type of adzes, but noticeably, two quarries were established in Western Norway: the aforementioned greenstone quarry at the islet Hespriholmen, and a diabase quarry at the headland Stakalleneset located about 200 km directly to the north (Fig. 5.1). Their exploitation was extensive, continuous, and did not cease until approximately 2500 BC, that is, 200 years prior to the final wave of transition to agricultural practices in Norway. The demarcated distribution of rocks from these sources defines two long-lasting social territories on the west coast (Olsen and Alsaker 1984; Bergsvik and Olsen 2003). The identified pattern demonstrates the range of regional and local mobility, and a developing social interest in certain landscapes, an incipient territorial claim. By the Late Mesolithic, the quarries were probably the most monumental man-made structures in South Norway; the deep scars in the rock surfaces and dominating tailing piles clearly manifested activities of past generations, making the sites suitable for conceptualising elusive notions such as time and history (Fig. 5.2). Stronger regional expressions in material culture and procurement practices emerged during the Late Mesolithic, especially from 5500 BC onwards, between the western and eastern regions of South Norway. However, no large adze quarries like the western ones have been recorded in eastern Norway or at the southern coast. While three small ‘adze quarries’ are known from the eastern region and southern coast in South Norway, they were all abandoned by the Late Mesolithic (Nyland 2016a). Based on the examination of adzes and production waste at contemporary settlement sites (Eigeland and Fossum 2014), a variety of local sources seem to have been repeatedly exploited. The collection of moraine materials and flint along the coast for flake and blade tools was common, too (Jaksland 2005). The absence of quarries was not due to a lack of need for rock. At large

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Figure 5.1: Map of South Norway with counties (in grey), quarries, regions and place names mentioned in the text (Illustration: Astrid J. Nyland).

Nøstvet settlement sites clustering around the Oslofjord area, hundreds of adzes were produced (Glørstad 2010). Together, this demonstrates the development of distinct regional procurement practices; the reuse of large quarries in the west, and the more opportunistic use of several locally available deposits along the coast of eastern Norway. The tradition of quarrying large sites in the west persisted into the Early Neolithic, whereas in the east and south, Mesolithic ‘adze quarries’ never reached ‘monumental’ size or status and ceased before the onset of the Neolithic (Nyland 2017a). A jasper quarry in the eastern interior was continuously exploited in the Middle and Late Mesolithic, but the quarry appears to have been abandoned at the onset of the Neolithic as jasper does not occur at Neolithic sites (e.g. Stene 2010), as I will return to – possibly due to a loss of knowledge transmission in eastern South Norway. However, in Norway, the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition is not defined by a large wave of migrant farmers as in Southern Scandinavia and Northern Europe in general. The significant change in

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Figure 5.2: Two monumental quarries for rock to make adzes. To the left (A) is two quarried parts of a diabase dike on the headland Stakalleneset in Sogn og Fjordane County; to the right (B): the greenstone quarry at Stakalleneset, an islet west of Bømlo in Hordaland (Photos: Astrid J. Nyland).

subsistence came after 2300 BC, as did the tradition of building two-aisled houses, thus indicating that regular farms or farming must have been the exception rather than the rule before the onset of the Late Neolithic–Early Bronze Age in either region. Still, around 4000 BC, regional differences between eastern and western South Norway accelerated, probably because of a shift in the social landscape and, by extension, their social networks. But the varied character of this contact affected the societies in the eastern and western regions in South Norway differently.

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TO QUARRY – TO MATERIALISE SPECIFIC NEOLITHIC KNOWLEDGE?

Increased differences in material culture between the eastern and western regions have previously been explained by developing ethnic boundaries (Bergsvik 2011, 138). This builds on the recognition of how, in areas or periods of social stress, local or culturally specific practices intensify (Berger and Luckmann 1967; Barth 1969). At the onset of the Neolithic, an obvious stress element would be the incoming external agricultural practices from Southern Scandinavia. I perceive the practice of quarrying, and quarrying at certain places, as deliberate strategies in the hunter-gatherer-fishers’ handling of external elements and impulses. The introduction of new materials and ideas may have brought on a crisis in people’s ‘everyday world’ (cf. Berger and Luckmann 1967). As mentioned, shared, maintained and transmitted practices can forge social bonds and keep communities together. In the eastern region of coastal South Norway, there is evidence of incipient pastoralism and limited small-scale crop growing from about 3800 BC (Glørstad 2002). Pottery production commences, the frequency of four-sided and polished flint axes steadily grows and flint nodules are also imported (Glørstad 2012). Due to the small size and often flawed flint nodules found at the beaches, which were unsuitable for making axes, most of the flint axes originated in Southern Scandinavia. Numerous sites in the eastern coastal hinterlands, inland and mountain areas, attest to the region being exploited for its plentiful resources (e.g. Boaz 1998; Stene 2010). However, in these inland areas, where local raw material had dominated in the Mesolithic, flint took over. Indeed, a symptom of changing lithic procurement practices and raw material preferences, or perhaps dependency, was the abandonment of the large jasper quarry mentioned above at the onset of the Neolithic. The place marked by the activity of generations lost its significance. Perhaps the allure of red stone declined because people with different social traditions or with changed cultural affinities had entered the region, so knowledge of the site disappeared? It appears that there is a loss of knowledge, or perhaps quarrying and local raw materials were not a valued ‘Neolithic’ practice. Be it immigration or changing affinities or cultural traditions because of close social contact with groups in Southern Scandinavia, the increased orientation towards flint indicates that the character and response to contact is different than what was happening along the western coast. In Western Norway, the impact of external contacts, and thus the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition around 4000 BC, is materially different. Although there is minute evidence of incipient husbandry in the Early and Middle Neolithic, persuasive traces of crop growing are not recorded until the onset of the Late Neolithic around 2300 BC (Hjelle et al. 2018). Regional four-sided adze types, the so-called Vespestad and Vestland adzes were made of local rock, and there is an early shift from conical to cylindrical cores for blade production (Nærøy 1993), almost 700 years prior to the eastern region (Solheim 2012). Furthermore, contrary to the eastern region, the large quarries endured, indeed quarrying is literally taken to new heights as the aforementioned rhyolite quarry at Mt Siggjo was established and intensely exploited (Fig. 5.3). Although infrequent, the fact that we find Early Neolithic pottery (Hallgren 2008) and imported flint axes demonstrates that the western huntergatherer-fishers knew of south-eastern cultural elements. Yet, the relatively low frequency of south-eastern associated material culture indicates a resistance to adopting that culture. All changes attest to a society in transition. In sum, in the western region, the Neolithisation

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Figure 5.3: The rhyolite from Siggjo is characteristic with its white lines zig-zagging across it, and the quarry was intensely exploited from 4000 BC onwards. The rock was used in flake and blade tool production (Photo: Astrid J. Nyland).

process appears to move at a different pace than in the east. The act of quarrying rock from Hespriholmen and Stakalleneset survived changes in demography and changing social landscapes, implying knowledge transmission and continuing traditions. To continue to revisit the by that time monumental quarries, appears to have been an active choice and part of a social strategy to maintain their cultural tradition, perhaps even to lay claim to land if they felt threatened. Arguably, the Early Neolithic period in western Norway, including the material changes, are perhaps the culmination of the ‘Mesolithic’ way of life, the change spurred on by the oncoming agricultural influences. Hence, the shift from Mesolithic to Neolithic, at least in western Norway, is chronological in name only. Returning to the practice of quarrying, the rhyolite deposit at Mt Siggjo is not one that one stumbles over, or visits on one’s way to undertake another activity. Atop this ‘sugar loaf ’ mountain, there is no other apparent resource than rhyolite, and thus the intensive quarrying appears highly deliberate and planned. The necessity to bring dry firewood up the mountain to aid in quarrying underlines this notion. There is rhyolite at the foot of

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the mountain, and on the neighbouring island of Stord, but only atop Mt Siggjo would the quarrying, when aided by fire, be visible from afar. Through quarrying, one created a place for the inhabitants of this area and beyond to relate to; a place where access could easily be controlled, but knowledge of it and its significance was spread through perhaps the wide distribution of Siggjo rhyolite. A clear core area of distribution, fall-off area, and some stray finds located beyond this, are recorded (Alsaker 1987; Bergsvik 2006; Nyland 2016c). Furthermore, despite a decline in frequency of rhyolite north, east and south of the core distribution area, finds in the peripheries of the core distribution area still signify an attachment to the social or cultural group that had access to rhyolite or the place of the quarry itself. The wide distribution displays an existing desire within this region to possess Siggjo rhyolite in the Early and Middle Neolithic. To use rhyolite was a way to maintain social relations, it signalled belonging (Nyland 2016c). In the Early Neolithic, the establishment and continual exploitation of the quarry at Mt Siggjo could be perceived as one socio-political response to pressure experienced as threatening, intruding or at least unfamiliar (Nyland 2016c). Rooted in the persisting Mesolithic quarrying tradition, lithic procurement tied in with references to ancestry and territorial claims. The type of rock quarried, whether it was to be used for adzes or blade and flake tools, would not have mattered if it was the particular activity, to quarry, which was the most important aspect.

FROM SITES AND ROCK AS REPRESENTATIONS, TO EMPOWERED PLACES, PRACTICES AND KNOWLEDGE

Some researchers (Olsen 2010; Boivin et al. 2013) have critiqued a notion of the material world regarded as ‘props’, representing or symbolising something other than itself. Both Bjørnar Olsen and Nicole Boivin point out that already through language, material and immaterial culture are opposed in arguments where the physical material world makes concepts and ideas materialised and manifest. To paraphrase Fredrik Barth (1975) and Boivin (2008, 50), making the world meaningful is not rooted in either the material or cultural worlds, but rather in the activity of people. Hence, to acknowledge the dynamic relationship between all elements in the world, be it ‘natural’ or ‘cultural’, material or immaterial, is also dependent on human engagement with the world. Human engagement with the world is rooted in human knowledge production and human ways of making the world meaningful. This process is also deeply material. Fredrik Barth (2002, 3) analytically distinguishes three kinds of knowledge as: First, any tradition of knowledge contains a corpus of substantive assertions and ideas about aspects of the world. Secondly, it must be instantiated and communicated in one or several media as a series of partial representations in the form of words, concrete symbols, pointing gestures, actions. And thirdly, it will be distributed, communicated, employed, and transmitted within a series of instituted social relations. These three faces of knowledge are interconnected.

For the purposes of this paper, the second aspect Barth mentions is important. That is, knowledge as materialised through actions, symbols or other forms of at least partial representation is exemplified in lithic procurement, raw material and quarry studies. It

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was through use that quarries became social arenas (cf. Nyland 2016b). Returning to the arguments made by Olsen (2010) and Boivin (2013), acknowledging the value of material remains, it was the physical character of the quarries that made these sites suitable for grasping and constituting elusive concepts such as time or social affinity. It was the unchanging character of rock and mountains, the persistence of a scarred rock face, and large waste piles of used hammer stones, flakes, blanks and loosened blocks. The quality of rock may have initiated the exploitation of a source, but due to continual use and developing preferences, lithic procurement became entangled in traditions and social memories. Philosopher Edward Casey (1996, 30) comments how humans through their sensorium and bodies note different places’ ‘sameness’ because of ones’ engagement with these places. Through quarrying, knowledge of ideas and elusive concepts, of particular value or affection given place, turn corporeal and become visible. This knowledge and acknowledgement impinged on the operations and choices leading up to the quarrying and on what happened next to the rock, including how far it was transported. Acquiring rock communicates knowledge rooted in the social group, and must have been at the core of people’s lives in the Mesolithic and Neolithic. Quarrying as a cultural marker is evident all along the western coast. It is manifest in the distribution of local rock within smaller demarcated districts, too (Bergsvik 2006). However, whereas the exploitation of specific rock types can dominate in particular areas, identified patterns may also simply reflect varying access to certain types of rock due to local and regional geology. Through studying regional and local practices, one may escape and transcend local geological variations guiding the type of rock exploited. For example, when comparing the overall regions of specific geological variation with areas of selected rock exploitation, they seem to be fairly parallel (Fig. 5.4). Through comparing contemporary use of a variety of rock types, another picture emerges, indicating patterns of differentiated attitudes to rock from various places. That is, some rock types were distributed locally, others regionally, even into far-away areas that evidently had plenty of suitable and similar raw materials themselves. Hence, it seems that on a local level, the place of origin did not necessarily matter, but on a regional and supra-regional level, it apparently did. The common denominator is the procurement practice, quarrying. Hence, practices related to lithic procurement, be they quarrying, collecting, trading or other ways of obtaining rock, are rooted in geology, but are also socially rooted practices. Access to sites, rock and preferences or norms of engagement with these could separate groups belonging to different social networks. The quarries became significant places because they were physical and tangible places that gathered many kinds of knowledge and memories (cf. Connerton 1989; Casey 1996).

FINAL REMARKS

There are distinguishable regional differences in raw material exploitation and quarrying during the Mesolithic (c. 9500–4000 BC) and the Neolithic (c. 4000/3800–1800 BC) of South Norway. Particular quarries were continually exploited for millennia, resulting in a developing monumentality. Temporal and spatial variations tie in with broader societal changes and imply how quarrying and lithic procurement were indeed socially situated practices. Depending on the social context, these sites may have gained a ‘mythical’, even

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Figure 5.4: Illustration of the varied geology in South Norway, created by different allochtons and geological events. Consequentially, accessibility of various rock types vary geographically (Illustration: Astrid J. Nyland. Map based on geological maps from Geological survey of Norway (NGU); separating lines on the West Coast mark areas of use of certain raw materials for blade and flake tools by Bergsvik (2006) and Solheim (2012)).

ritual status, materialising time and past generations. In turn, the sites may have become social arenas, where access to the site, undertaken activity, related practices and even the rock itself, marked social or territorial affinity (Nyland 2016b; 2017a). Inhabitants or members of social or cultural groups made socially guided choices, preferences and through that, traditions developed. For example, one may have chosen

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to collect instead of quarrying, to use a place repeatedly or search for rock at ones’ convenience. All of these choices had consequences beyond obtaining rock for tools. Quarries exploited continually over a long period of time, resulted in the development of historically based and social relationships, the quarries becoming a marker of inhabitants’ affinity to territory, perhaps even ancestry (e.g. Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Taçon and Ouzman 2004; Nyland 2017a). The character of the undertaken task, the difference in intensity of quarrying at the examined sites, and what happened next to the material needs to be addressed too in order to understand quarries and quarrying’s social role in contemporary societies. Applying the presented approach in order to examine the various stages of lithic procurement enables a comparative approach to prehistoric quarries and raw material variation. The social entanglement of human practices, preferences and choices created empowered places, and rock, in a dynamic and developing relationship. This article contributes to our knowledge of regional developments in South Norway. As suggested in the introduction, while quarrying became an integrated part of the inhabitants’ history and habitus during the Mesolithic of western Norway, to quarry never became as socially significant nor as powerful an agent as in south-eastern Norway – instead, the importance of flint grew. The more rapid inclusion of the new elements in the east implies a more open attitude and acceptance and acculturation of the new southern influences, probably partly due to more frequent encounters with migrating ‘farmers’ from the Funnel Beaker Culture. Lithic procurement actively shaped the lives of hunter-gatherer-fishers in both the Mesolithic and the Neolithic. Because rock and lithic procurement were such an integrated and important part of peoples’ lives, as an object of study, it enables us to understand and perhaps explain processes of societal change. In the case of the ‘Neolithisation’ of South Norway, knowledge embedded in procurement practices was institutionalised as part of a socio-political response to the oncoming agricultural influences. In the west, to quarry had become an integrated part of being that aided in forging and expressing social bonds in the Late Mesolithic, something which continued into the Early Neolithic.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to the organisers of the Neolithic Studies Group at the British Museum in November 2017 for letting a Scandinavian join the seminar, and to Anne Teather for constructive comments on drafts of this paper.

REFERENCES Alsaker, S. 1987. Bømlo, steinalderens råstoffsentrum på Sørvestlandet. Bergen: Museum of History, University of Bergen. Barth, F. 1969. Ethnic groups and boundaries: the social organization of culture difference. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Barth, F. 1975. Ritual and Knowledge among the Baktaman of New Guinea. Oslo: Universitetesforlaget. Barth, F. 2002. An Anthropology of Knowledge. Current Anthropology 43, 1–18.

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Berger, P. L. and Luckmann, T. 1967. Den samfunnskapte virkelighet. Bergen: Fagbokforlaget. Bergsvik, K.A. 2006. Ethnic Boundaries in Neolithic Norway. Oxford: Archaeopress. Bergsvik, K.A. 2011. East is East and West is West: on Regional Differences in Neolithic Norway. In A. Olofsson (ed.) Archaeology of Indigenous Peoples of the North. Archaeology and Environment. Umeå: Umeå Unversitet, 133–60. Bergsvik, K.A. and David, E. 2015. Crafting Bone Tools in Mesolithic Norway: A Regional EasternRelated Know-How. European Journal of Archaeology 18, 190–221. Bergsvik, K.A. and Olsen, A.B. 2003. Traffic in Stone Adzes in Mesolithic Western Norway. In L. Larsson, K. Knutsson, D. Loeffler and A. Åkerlund (eds), Mesolithic on the Move. Papers presented at the Sixth International Conference on the Mesolithic in Europe, Stockholm 2000. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 395–404. Bjerck, H.B. 2008. Norwegian Mesolithic Trends. In G. Bailey and P. Spikins (eds), Mesolithic Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 60–106. Boaz, J. 1998. Hunter-Gatherer Site variability: Changing patterns of site utilization in the interior of eastern Norway, between 8000 and 2500 B.P. Oslo: Universitetets Oldsaksamling. Boivin, N. 2008. Material Cultures, Material Minds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Boivin, N., Brumm, A., Lewis, H., Robinson, D. and Korisettar, R. 2013. Sensual, material, and technological understanding: exploring prehistoric soundscapes in south India. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 13, 267–94. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1988. Fieldwork at Great Langdale, Cumbria, 1985–1987: Preliminary report. The Antiquaries Journal LXVIII, 181–209. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1993. Interpreting the axe trade. Production and exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Casey, E. 1996. How to get from space to place in a fairly short stretch of time: Phenomenological prolegomena. In S. Feld and K.H. Basso (eds) Senses of place. Santa Fe, N.M.: School of American Research Press, 13–52. Connerton, P. 1989. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Damlien, H. 2014. Eastern pioneers in westernmost territories? Current perspectives on Mesolithic hunter-gatherer large-scale interaction and migration within Northern Eurasia. Quaternary International. Edmonds, M. 1990. Description, understanding and the chaine operatoire. Archaeological Review from Cambridge 9, 55–70. Eigeland, L. and Fossum, G. 2014. Vallermyrene 4. En lokalitet fra Nøstvetfasen med spesialisert økseproduksjon. In G. Reitan and P. Persson (eds) Vestfoldbaneprosjektet. Arkeologiske undersøkelser i forbindelse med ny jernbane mellom Larvik og Porsgrunn. Oslo: Portal, 31–69. Fuglestvedt, I. 2017. Rock Art and the Wild Mind. Visual Imagery in Mesolithic Northern Europe. London: Routledge. Glørstad, H. 2002. Svinesundprosjektet. Bind I. Utgravninger avsluttet i 2001. Oslo: Museum of Cultural History, Department of Archaeology. Glørstad, H. 2010. The Structure and History of the Late Mesolithic Societies in the Oslo Fjord Area 6300–3800 BC. Lindome: Bricoleur Press. Glørstad, H. 2012. Traktbegerkulturen i Norge – Kysten, jakten og det tidligste jordbruket. In F. Kaul and L. Sørensen (eds), Agrarsamfundenes ekspansion i nord. København: Nordlige verdener, Nationalmuseet, 44–56. Hallgren, F. 2008. Identitet i Praktik. Lokala, regionala og överregionala sociala sammanhang inom nordlig trattbägerkultur. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Hjelle, K.L., Halvorsen, L.S., Prøsch-Danielsen, L., Sugita, S., Paus, A., Kaland, P.E., Mehl, I.K., Overland, A., Danielsen, R., Høeg, H.I. and Midtbø, I. 2018. Long-term changes in regional

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vegetation cover along the west coast of southern Norway: The importance of human impact. Journal of Vegetation Science 29, 404–15. Jaksland, L. 2005. Hvorfor så mange økser? En tolkning av funnene fra den klassiske Nøstvetboplassen i Ås, Akershus. Unpublished thesis: Hovedfag, University of Oslo. Lemonnier, P. 1990. Topsy turvy techniques. Remarks on the social representation of techniques. Archaeological Review from Cambridge, 9 (Technology in the Humanities), 27–37. Leroi-Gourhan, A. 1964. Gesture and Speech (introduction by R. White 1993). Cambridge: The MIT Press. Nyland, A.J. 2016a. Humans in Motion and Places of Essence. Variations in rock procurement practices in the Stone, Bronze and Early Iron Ages in southern Norway. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Oslo. Nyland, A.J. 2016b. New technology in an existing ‘lithic’ landscape – southern Norway: a melting pot in the Late Neolithic and Bronze Age. Fennoscandia XXXIII, 123–40. Nyland, A.J. 2016c. Rock procurement in the Early Neolithic in southern Norway: Significant by association with people and places? Current Swedish Archaeology 24, 107–36. Nyland, A.J. 2017a. Materialized taskscapes? – Mesolithic lithic procurement in Southern Norway. In U. Rajala and P. Mills (eds), Forms of Dwelling; 20 Years of Taskscapes in Archaeology. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 125–50. Nyland, A.J. 2017b. Quarrying in the Stone Age and Bronze Age in southern Norway studied as a socially situated phenomenon. Bulgarian E-Journal of Archaeology 7, 133–54. Nærøy, A.J. 1993. Chronological and technological changes in Western Norway 6000–3800 BP. Acta Archaeologica, 63 (1992), 76–95. Olsen, A.B. and Alsaker, S. 1984. Greenstone and Diabase Utilization in the Stone Age of Western Norway: Technological and Socio-cultural Aspects of Axe and Adze Production and Distribution. Norwegian Archaeological Review 17, 71–103. Olsen, B. 2010. In Defense of Things: archaeology and the ontology of objects. Lanham: AltaMira Press. Solheim, S. 2012. Lokal praksis og fremmed opphav. Arbeidsdeling, sosiale relasjoner og differensiering i østnorsk tidligneolitikum. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Oslo. Stene, K. R. 2010. Steinalderundersøkelser ved Rena elv. Gråfjellprosjektet Bind III. Oslo: Museum of Cultural History, Department of Archaeology. Sørensen, M., Rankama, T., Kankaanpää, J., Knutsson, K., Knutsson, H., Melvold, S., Eriksen, B.V. and Glørstad, H. 2013. The First Eastern Migrations of People and Knowledge into Scandinavia: Evidence from Studies of Mesolithic Technology, 9th–8th Millenium BC. Norwegian Archaeological Review 46, 19–56. Taçon, P.S.C. and Ouzman, S. 2004. Worlds within stone: the inner and outer rock art landscapes of northern Australia and southern Africa. In C. Chippindale and G. Nash (eds), The Figured Landscape of Rock-Art. Looking at Pictures in Place. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 39–68.

Chapter 6

Stonehenge’s bluestones Mike Parker Pearson

INTRODUCTION

Megalith quarries have not received the same level of investigation as stone tool quarries and mines. This may be because prehistoric megalith production is considered to have been an expedient and ad hoc activity, rather less interesting than the megaliths’ transport and eventual erection. Secondly, the difficulties of identifying megalith sources can be considerable. These include the lack of waste by-products, in contrast to stone axe quarries, and the fact that megaliths might have been procured as stray, prone slabs rather than quarried from an outcrop. While numerous geological and archaeological surveys have identified sources for Neolithic megaliths situated less than 20 km – and mostly no more than 7 km – from their destinations (e.g. Patton 1992; Kalb 1996; Boaventura 2000), there have been relatively few investigations of the quarries themselves. Two such rare instances are from western France (Mens 2008) and Orkney (Richards 2013, 119–48). This paper discusses the investigation of two quarries in Wales that contributed bluestones to the architecture of Stonehenge.

THE SOURCES OF STONEGHENGE’S MONOLITHS

The one Neolithic monument that surpasses the usual limitations of distance travelled by its monoliths is Stonehenge. Within the British Isles, only the large passage tombs of Ireland’s Bend of the Boyne (Brú na Bóinne) come close: whilst their large greywacke slabs derive from slightly more than 3–5 km away, some of their smaller components, such as quartz cobbles, were brought from at least 40 km away (Mitchell 1992; Cooney 2000, 136–7). The unparalleled distance of Stonehenge from its stone sources is one of the key features that marks this monument as different from all other megalithic monuments in Western Europe. Any attempt to explain Stonehenge has to account for the distant origins of its stones. Stonehenge’s bluestone and sarsen monoliths, can be sourced to areas far away from their eventual destination. Since the days of John Aubrey and William Stukeley, the conventional view of Stonehenge’s sarsen (silcrete) stones, some weighing up to 28 tons, is that they derive from the Marlborough Downs, some 30 km north of Salisbury Plain (Parker Pearson 2016a). While little scientific characterisation of Stonehenge’s sarsens has been attempted (but see Howard in Pitts 1982), a new chemical characterisation project has recently commenced, led by David Nash of the University of Brighton.

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Figure 6.1: Locations of the Preseli hills (Mynnydd Preseli), the sources of several of Stonehenge’s types of bluestone, and of the sandstone strata of the Senni Formation and the Cosheston Group. The Senni Formation (not the Cosheston Group) is now believed to be the source of Stonehenge’s Altar Stone (drawn by Irene de Luis).

We know much more about the sources of Stonehenge’s smaller monoliths, known as bluestones. A hundred years ago, geologists identified the source of Stonehenge’s bluestones as the Preseli hills (Mynydd Preseli) and their environs in south-west Wales, some 240 km away (Fig. 6.1; Thomas 1923; Bevins and Ixer 2018). Thanks to ground-breaking geological research by Richard Bevins, Rob Ixer and colleagues (e.g. Ixer and Turner 2006; Ixer and Bevins 2011; Bevins et al. 2014; Ixer et al. 2017), Stonehenge’s bluestones can now be divided into 15 different lithological types, including spotted and unspotted dolerite, various types of rhyolite, sandstone and tuff. Previously identified sources have been reappraised (e.g. Bevins and Ixer 2018) and four types have been located within the Preseli region with varying degrees of precision (Fig. 6.2). The first of these sources to be pinpointed was the outcrop of Craig Rhos-y-felin, where Stonehenge’s many chippings of ‘rhyolite with fabric’ could be matched not merely with a specific outcrop but with a precise location on the rock face (Ixer and Bevins 2011; Parker Pearson et al. 2015; 2016).

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Figure 6.2: Locations within Preseli of the bluestone sources of Carn Goedog (spotted dolerite), Craig Rhosy-felin (rhyolite), Cerrigmarchogion (unspotted dolerite) and the area of the Lower Palaeozoic sandstone (drawn by Mike Parker Pearson).

Rhyolite is one of the minor rock types at Stonehenge. The majority of bluestone monoliths (27 out of 43) are of spotted dolerite, the dominant source for which is the outcrop of Carn Goedog on the north slope of the Preseli hills (Bevins et al. 2014; Parker Pearson et al. 2017; 2019). This shifts the focus from the southern outcrop of Carn Meini (Carn Menyn), long presumed to be the main source of spotted dolerite bluestones. Carn Meini has failed to produce a close chemical match with any of the 12 sampled bluestones at Stonehenge (Williams-Thorpe et al. 2006; Bevins et al. 2014 contra Darvill and Wainwright 2014). Two of Stonehenge’s bluestones, of unspotted dolerite (Stones 45 and 62), are sourced to the outcrops of Cerrigmarchogion or Craig Talfynydd, on the high ground west of Carn Goedog (Bevins et al. 2014). Another two are of Lower Palaeozoic sandstone (Stones 40g and 42c), provenanced to deposits north of the Preseli hills (Ixer et al. 2017). The only bluestone which may well not originate in the Preseli region is the 5 m-long Altar Stone

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(Stone 80) which is thought to come from the Senni Formation of South Wales, some 30–120 km to the east of the Preseli sources (Ixer and Turner 2006).

EXCAVATIONS AT THE BLUESTONE QUARRIES

Excavations at Carn Goedog and Craig Rhos-y-felin, co-directed by the author with Kate Welham, Josh Pollard and Colin Richards, have revealed evidence for Neolithic monolith extraction: • empty recesses from which pillars have been removed; • stone-slabbed level platforms, onto which monoliths would have been lowered, at the foot of each outcrop; • ‘loading bays’, where a near-1 m vertical drop at the outer edge of the platform could allow a monolith to be lowered onto a wooden sledge and then hauled away (Parker Pearson et al. 2019). Perhaps the most striking features of these two outcrops are their jointed formations of natural long, thin pillars: relatively little effort would have been required to prize a pillar from the rock, providing that it could be separated from the pillar behind by opening up the joint. There is no need for fire to accomplish this (as is sometimes the case in stone axe quarries; e.g. Pétrequin and Pétrequin 1993; Hampton 1999, 230–2) and, in fact, fire would have caused the dolerite or rhyolite to crack and split in ways not suitable for pillar removal. At both sites, prehistoric features have been fortuitously protected from more recent quarrying activity. At Craig Rhos-y-felin, the 2 m-deep deposit of Late Bronze Age to Early Medieval colluvium against the outcrop’s north and west faces has protected prehistoric surfaces from later quarrying. At Carn Goedog, quarrying took place in the late eighteenth– early nineteenth centuries, involving the processing of natural pillars into smaller blocks of building stone, many of which litter the south-west part of the outcrop. Whilst some of this later activity intruded upon the western margin of the zone of Neolithic quarrying, it did not extend far enough eastwards to encroach beyond the very edge of the artificial platform where the core of Neolithic extraction was focused. At Carn Goedog (Fig. 6.3), the sediments within the platform of stone slabs contained charcoal of Pomoideae, Corylus avellana and Quercus sp., providing six radiocarbon dates in the fourth millennium BC (3350–3090 cal BC [OxA-31820; 4502 ± 31 BP], 3350–3030 cal BC [OxA-31821; 4490 ± 31 BP], 3350–3040 cal BC [OxA-31822; 4491 ± 31 BP], 3340– 3020 cal BC [OxA-35183; 4466 ± 32 BP], 3660–3520 cal BC [OxA-35398; 4810 ± 34 BP] and 3940–3690 cal BC [OxA-35633; 4995 ± 32 BP]) and one slightly later at 3020–2880 cal BC (OxA-35182; 4316 ± 32 BP). Since this deposit can be assumed to be composed of redeposited material, it may be prudent to assume that the latest date, principally within the 30th century BC, is the most reliable for the dating of this platform structure. At Craig Rhos-y-felin (Fig. 6.4), a 2 m-wide, 0.1 m-deep hollow way has been preserved in the soft alluvial sediment at the foot of an artificial platform. The hollow way leads off to the north from the base of this drystone-revetted platform, cutting into deposits containing charcoal dating to the sixth millennium cal BC (Parker Pearson et al. 2015; 2019).

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Figure 6.3: Excavations at Carn Goedog in 2016, viewed from the south; the platform is visible at the foot of the outcrop, and the 11 m-long, stone-filled ditch lies in front of it (photograph by Adam Stanford).

Sediments filling the hollow way contained Corylus avellana roundwood charcoal dating to 3330–2910 cal BC (OxA-35151; 4434 ± 31 BP and OxA-35152; 4404 ± 31 BP combined) and 3520–3340 cal BC (OxA-35412; 4627 ± 34 BP). This site also produced a Neolithic hearth and occupation area against the face of the outcrop, just 2 m from the recess where a pillar had been removed (Parker Pearson et al. 2015, 1341). Carbonised hazelnut shells from this deposit have produced dates of 3500–3120 cal BC (SUERC-46205; 4590 ± 30 BP) and 3619–3366 cal BC (OxA-30502; 4667 ± 30 BP). The close spatial association of this pillar recess to the hearth and its surrounding occupation area is intriguing but it does not provide a certain date for the monolith’s removal. More useful are the dates for the filling of the hollow way, providing an indication of when the quarrying facilities went out of use, in or after the 33rd–30th centuries BC. Charcoal within the sediment of the artificial platform at Craig Rhos-y-felin was sparse; the two radiocarbon determinations obtained date to the Mesolithic, at the turn of the sixth millennium BC. Among the burnt rocks and struck flakes from the platform’s sediment, a large and fine rhyolite end-scraper hints at a Neolithic date (Parker Pearson et al. 2019). With no organic preservation of wood or of bone or antler in these acidic soils, the only surviving archaeological artefacts are of stone, alongside carbonised wood and plant

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Figure 6.4: Excavations at Craig Rhos-y-felin in 2015, viewed from the north. The platform is positioned on the side of a Holocene palaeo-channel; leading from it is a hollow way (the stone-less area in the foreground). The prone monolith in the top right lies on another artificial platform dating to the Early Bronze Age (photograph by Adam Stanford).

remains. The Neolithic layers at Craig Rhos-y-felin, where probably only one or two pillars were removed to end up at Stonehenge, produced a small assemblage of rhyolite, quartz and flint artefacts, mostly flakes and retouched flakes including the large end-scraper of rhyolite stratified within the sediment of the platform. Carn Goedog produced much greater quantities and varieties of stone tools, including wedges, hammerstones, flaked stone discs and stone flakes. Most of the unmodified dolerite flakes came from post-Neolithic contexts, indicating that Neolithic extraction was not accompanied by dressing or shaping of the monoliths. Instead, the stone tools from Neolithic deposits include ten wedge-shaped stones that have marks of battering along their wide blades and also on their butt ends (Fig. 6.5). The largest and most complete of these wedges also has scratch/skid marks down the flat face between its blade end and its butt. This is compelling evidence for such stones having been used as wedges, inserted into the joints between pillars and then driven in, presumably with wooden mallets or antler hammers. Intriguingly, none of these wedges are of spotted dolerite (the local stone) and seven of the ten are of mudstone or sandstone, much softer than the igneous dolerite of the pillars. It may be that they were more suitable for opening up joints than wedges of harder materials since they would have slid more easily against the dolerite and would have been less likely to cause uncontrolled stress fractures within the pillar.

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Figure 6.5: Four stone wedges, a retouched sandstone flake (top right) and an igneous hammerstone (bottom left) from Neolithic contexts at Carn Goedog (drawn by Irene de Luis).

A ‘handaxe’-shaped, ovate hammerstone, of fine-grained igneous rock, from Carn Goedog is damaged not on its flat sides but along its edges. This indicates that it was used to batter away at a specific location, perhaps to open up narrow joints into which wedges could have been inserted and driven in further. Two examples of such openings in joints have survived at Carn Goedog; in these instances, the narrow hollow was created but then not exploited further to fully open up the joint (Fig. 6.6). The closest Neolithic comparisons to this artefact are three ovate bluestone tools from Stonehenge, excavated in 2008 by Darvill and Wainwright, which Harding suggests might have been made not at Stonehenge but at the quarry (Phil Harding pers. comm.; Darvill and Wainwright 2009).

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Figure 6.6: Widened joints between dolerite pillars at Carn Goedog; the scale is in centimetres (photographs by Duncan Schlee).

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Perhaps the most curious feature encountered at Carn Goedog was a 12 m-long, 2 m-wide and 0.4 m-deep ditch dug across the entrance to the megalith quarry. Its upcast sediment did not form a bank but was spread along the outer (south) side of the ditch, away from the quarry. This ditch was quickly filled, before primary sediments could accumulate, with slabs and boulders of varying shapes and sizes, many too large to be manoeuvred by a single person. These protruded 0.4 m above ground level, creating a barrier to access – and especially to monolith removal – from the outcrop and its artificial platform. On either side, to east and west of the ditch, the scree of fallen boulders forms an impenetrable barrier for anyone attempting to move pillars away from the outcrop. Sediments in this rapidly filled ditch produced wood charcoal with a wide range of dates, mostly from the Mesolithic, but one piece of Corylus avellana charcoal produced a date of 3020–2880 BC (OxA-35154; 4307 ± 30 BP). This date is statistically indistinguishable from the latest date within the platform, so it is logical to interpret the ditch as being dug and filled just as use of the megalith quarry ceased, thereby creating a barrier that could not be transgressed without considerable collective effort. It would thus have inhibited any further extraction of Carn Goedog’s bluestone pillars, perhaps signalling loss of access to any groups who did not have the right to take them.

THE BLUESTONES’ ERECTION AT STONEHENGE

Whether the bluestones were transported to Stonehenge direct from the quarries or from an intermediate monument – a dismantled stone circle, say, close to the quarries – remains an open question. Our recent research has clarified the chronology of their journey. At the other end of the bluestone trail, Stonehenge’s ditch was constructed in 2995–2900 cal BC (Darvill et al. 2012). It is now thought that the bluestones were first erected at Stonehenge in the 90 m-diameter circle of Aubrey Holes (Parker Pearson et al. 2009), as William Hawley (1921, 36) originally suspected. Cremated human bone from Aubrey Hole 32 has produced a similar date of 3080–2890 cal BC (OxA-18036; 4332 ± 35 BP; Parker Pearson et al. 2009). It is thus possible that quarrying of Carn Goedog’s spotted dolerite monoliths, creation of the barrier ditch, and erection of the monoliths at Stonehenge were all carried out in the 30th century cal BC or in the decades immediately before or after.

DRESSING THE BLUESTONES AT STONEHENGE

Stonehenge is unique as a stone circle not only for the distance travelled by its monoliths and for the raising of lintels on top of uprights but also for the dressing of its stones. Yet there is some uncertainty about when this stone-dressing occurred. The small quantities of flaked dolerite and rhyolite in Neolithic levels at Carn Goedog and Craig Rhos-y-felin indicate that monoliths were not dressed at the quarries. Nor, it seems, were the bluestones dressed when they were first erected at Stonehenge in the 30th century cal BC: ‘the Aubrey circle … would have been of undressed stones which were dressed on removal to their present position’ (Hawley 1921, 36).

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Analysis of laser-scanned images of Stonehenge has revealed that less than half of those bluestones still present – some 13 in the inner horseshoe and the two bluestone lintels – were dressed, in contrast to nearly all of the sarsens (Abbott and Anderson-Whymark 2012). The laser scan has also shown that the monoliths of the bluestone horseshoe were dressed both longitudinally and transversely, a method applied only to the uprights of the sarsen trilithons and not to the outer sarsen circle where only longitudinal dressing was applied. Since the sarsen trilithons were not erected until Stonehenge’s stage 2, beginning in 2740–2505 cal BC and ending in 2470–2300 cal BC (Darvill et al. 2012), it would seem likely that Hawley’s conclusion is correct.

BLUESTONES BEYOND WALES

The evidence for bluestones, other than those at Stonehenge, being items that were exchanged or transported – as tools, monoliths, blocks and even flakes – is very slight. Fewer than 20 tools and artefacts of spotted dolerite (Group XIII) are known from areas of Wales and southern England away from the quarries or the Stonehenge environs (WilliamsThorpe et al. 2006). For those distributed in southern England, the most likely explanation is that these artefacts derive from the use of Stonehenge as a lithic source, presumably sometime in the Beaker period or Bronze Age. Four small pieces of spotted dolerite from the Avebury environs raise the tantalising possibility that one or more bluestones might have come this way on their journey to Stonehenge, or have even been installed more permanently at Avebury, but all four are from unstratified contexts so could have been deposited at any time up to the present. The only bluestone of any size that has been recorded as found in Wessex but away from Stonehenge is the Boles Barrow stone. It was identified within a Neolithic long barrow by William Cunnington in 1801 as one of the ‘foreign stones’ of the type found at Stonehenge. Cunnington found it among a heap of sarsen boulders within the upper fill of Boles Barrow, a long barrow 18 km west of Stonehenge, and took it to his garden in Heytesbury, Wiltshire. The date of deposition of this small boulder in Boles Barrow is unknown, except that it was apparently recovered 1.8 m above a group of Early Neolithic skeletons dating to 3760–3630 cal BC (Parker Pearson et al. 2015, 1349). Similar post-burial features in other Wessex long barrows date to the late fourth or third millennia cal BC so there is no certainty that the context of this ‘foreign stone’ dates to before the 30th century cal BC, when the bluestones were erected at Stonehenge. This uncertainty is compounded by the fact that the spotted dolerite boulder – the broken top of a pillar – displayed in Salisbury Museum as the ‘Boles Barrow stone’ cannot be the stone discovered by Cunnington because one of its edges has been systematically flaked with a metal tool; it is most likely a broken pillar fragment exploited for souvenir chippings and subsequently removed from Stonehenge in the post-Medieval period. In any case, at over 600 kg, the museum stone is much heavier than the one reported by Cunnington, which apparently weighed more than 13 kg but less than 90 kg (Pitts 2000, 200). Assuming that Cunnington was correct in his geological identification of the actual Boles Barrow stone, this cobble or small boulder may still be at large in the garden in Heytesbury.

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THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE BLUESTONE OUTCROPS: MESOLITHIC ORIGINS

What gave the Stonehenge bluestones their significance? Was it the specific properties of the monoliths themselves? Or was it the stone circle(s) in which they might have been arranged in Preseli? Or was it the outcrops from which they were taken? Excavations at both outcrops of Craig Rhos-y-felin and Carn Goedog have recovered evidence of human activity stretching back into the Early Mesolithic, hinting at the potential significance of these dramatic natural features for hunter-gatherer communities from the eighth millennium cal BC onwards. At Craig Rhos-y-Felin, a sequence of three bowl-shaped hearths produced eight radiocarbon dates on Corylus avellana charcoal between 8550–8330 cal BC and 8210–7790 cal BC (Parker Pearson et al. 2015, table 1). Later activity is represented by three dates between 7540–7300 cal BC and 7460–7180 cal BC, and by three dates between 5226–5011 BC and 4907–4723 BC (Parker Pearson et al. 2015). Finally, a date of 4330–4050 cal BC, on the cusp of the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition, was obtained from residual wood charcoal in an Early Bronze Age context (Parker Pearson et al. 2015). At Carn Goedog, no Mesolithic features were detected but residual charcoal in Neolithic contexts attests to pre-Neolithic activity in the area of the stone platform between 7590–7380 cal BC and 6760–6530 cal BC, and to the south of this in the area of the ditch between 5470–5230 cal BC and 4230–3960 cal BC (Parker Pearson et al. 2019, table 1). This evidence suggests that Mesolithic activity ended shortly before the Early Neolithic date of 3940–3690 cal BC for charcoal within the platform (Parker Pearson et al. 2019). It is interesting that these sequences of dates for Mesolithic activity at the two outcrops broadly correspond with each other, identifying activity during the late eighth millennium cal BC and during the late sixth–early fifth millennia cal BC, with single dates at each site towards the end of the fifth millennium cal BC. These two latter dates raise the possibility that these outcrops were places of significance for hunter-gatherer communities on the eve of Neolithic arrival. This potentially strikes a chord with the evidence for long-term Mesolithic activity in the Stonehenge landscape, as represented at Blick Mead where 19 radiocarbon dates on animal bone have revealed a sequence of occupation from the eighth millennium to the end of the fifth millennium cal BC (Jacques et al. 2018). In conclusion, these two bluestone outcrops of Craig Rhos-y-felin and Carn Goedog were of some significance for hunter-gatherer communities. The paucity of Mesolithic stone tools at both sites indicates that they were not campsites where tools were made; they could have been locales from which to watch for game or even sacred places imbued with mythical symbolism. If the Mesolithic–Neolithic transition involved a near-total replacement of populations, as ancient DNA evidence suggests (Brace et al. 2018), then such outcrops and their symbolism could well have been appropriated by incoming groups of farmers. Additionally, this part of south-west Wales could have been one of the earliest places of Neolithic arrival in Britain (Sheridan 2010), making these sites special places of origin. THE CONTEXT OF BLUESTONE QUARRYING IN SOUTH-WEST WALES

The social context of the bluestones’ quarrying in south-west Wales during the Neolithic is gradually becoming clearer. This region of north Pembrokeshire was a major focus of

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activity in the Early Neolithic, with a remarkable concentration of portal dolmens (Lynch 1972; Barker 1992; Rees 2012), a Group VIII stone axe source (its precise locale not yet located; Darvill 2011), a palisaded enclosure (Darvill and Wainwright 2016, 76; Tim Darvill pers. comm.) and a causewayed enclosure close to the bluestone sources at Banc Du (Darvill et al. 2005, 22–3; 2007; Whittle et al. 2011, 526–7; Darvill and Wainwright 2016, 75–6). Yet Middle and Late Neolithic activity in this region is very poorly represented (Darvill and Wainwright 2016, 106–14). Cremated human remains were deposited during this time at Carreg Coetan portal dolmen (Rees 2012) but otherwise the only monument demonstrably in use at the time of the bluestone quarries was Banc Du causewayed enclosure; one of its three circuits of ditches was recut in 3105–2915 cal BC (Whittle et al. 2011, 526–7). This most remarkable migration of stones demands explanation. Was it, as Geoffrey of Monmouth claimed in c. 1136, the forcible removal of a stone circle to be erected on Salisbury Plain by the victorious people of southern Britain? Or was it that the monoliths themselves were significant as healing or even musical stones (Darvill 2007; 2016; Darvill and Wainwright 2009)? Or were the stones moved in a process of shrine-franchising, giving legitimacy to a new ‘shrine’ at Stonehenge (Insoll 2006)?

EXPLAINING THE BLUESTONE’S LONG-DISTANCE TRANSPORT

Geoffrey of Monmouth made two claims about Stonehenge that have since fascinated archaeologists. The first is that it was built from a previous stone circle in Ireland, the Giants’ Dance (Chorea Gigantum), and the second is that the stones of this Irish monument were selected because of their healing properties. If Ireland, in fact, stands for Wales – this part of Wales being part of Ireland in Geoffrey’s time (Darvill and Wainwright 2009) – then there remains the possibility that such claims derive from an unusually long oral tradition. Whether or not we choose to believe any part of Geoffrey’s pseudo-historic narrative (Reeve 2009), this helps us to formulate two hypotheses about possible reasons for moving the bluestones to Stonehenge. The search for a dismantled former stone circle in the Preseli region is still on-going, so little can be said about this hypothesis just yet. The radiocarbon dates for monolith extraction and their subsequent erection at Stonehenge in or around the 30th century cal BC provide only a narrow time-frame of a century or so in which the bluestones could have been quarried, erected as one or more stone circles, and then dismantled and taken to Salisbury Plain. There they were erected as two stone circles: in the Aubrey Holes of Stonehenge’s first stage, and as the smaller circle of Bluestonehenge beside the River Avon (Allen et al. 2016). The healing hypothesis has been given a good airing but suffers from two principal inconsistencies in the evidence. Not only do the handful of cases of burials in the Stonehenge environs suggestive of a quest for healing (the Amesbury Archer with his knee injury [Fitzpatrick 2012] and two Early Bronze Age cases of trepanation [Darvill 2007; 2016]) now appear to date to 500–1000 years after the bluestones arrived at Stonehenge, but also the exclusive concentration of the bluestones at Stonehenge runs counter to the logic that stones imbued with healing properties may be expected to have been much sought after.

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Why were such important stones not widely dispersed across Neolithic Britain, well beyond Salisbury Plain? This same criticism can be levelled against the idea that bluestones were symbols of shrine-franchising, in which special stones confer sacred power to communities beyond the shrine at which they originate (Insoll 2006). Again, if this were true, why are bluestones confined to Stonehenge?

INALIENABLE BLUESTONES?

Yet theories about the bluestones’ special and symbolic properties should not be entirely discounted: their long-distance movement from south-west Wales clearly cannot be explained by purely utilitarian models of procurement of building materials or by anthropological models of gift exchange. The latter set of models have had a considerable impact on the interpretation of Neolithic stone axe distributions across Britain and Europe, leading to a general consensus that many or even most stone axes were dispersed not through barter or utilitarian transactions but through gift exchange (e.g. Clark 1965; Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Pétrequin et al. 2017). Anthropological reflections on the nature of gift exchange have posed an interesting dichotomy that may be useful for thinking about this problem of bluestones (Weiner 1992; Godelier 1999). Whilst many things can be given away or sold, others are considered inalienable possessions. As Weiner (1992, 33) explains: ‘… portability is not the issue at all. What makes a possession inalienable is its exclusive and cumulative identity with a particular series of owners through time. Its history is authenticated by fictive or true genealogies, origin myths, sacred ancestors, and gods.’ Godelier (1999, 33) elaborates further: ‘… there are some things which must be kept and not given. These things that are kept – valuables, talismans, knowledge, rites – affirm deep-seated identities and their continuity over time. Furthermore they affirm the existence of differences of identity between individuals, between the groups which make up a society or which want to situate themselves respectively within a set of neighbouring societies linked by various kinds of exchanges.’ Inalienable possessions thus confer legitimacy and sacred power to groups that control such items: ‘The creative human imagination has made things as diverse as myths, shrouds, crowns, cloaks, and bones into inalienable possessions – the coveted prizes around which wars are fought, leaders installed, and local groups assert their authority’ (Weiner 1992, 154). They also embody foundational myths of origin: ‘For the things that are kept are always “realities” which transport an individual or group back to another time, which place them once again before their origins, before the origin’ (Godelier 1999, 200). Whilst Weiner and Godelier were focusing on New Guinean and Pacific island societies, both were keen to stress that inalienability is a feature of many societies around the world. To their overviews can be added the example of the Stone of Destiny (the Stone of Scone), the symbol of Scottish kingship and identity, captured by Edward I of England, briefly recaptured by Scottish undergraduates, and eventually returned to Edinburgh (Breeze 1997). Its chequered history reveals that, whilst inalienable possessions may not be given away or sold, they can always be taken as trophies by one group seeking to dominate another or incorporate them in their own origin myths.

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We should also remember that inalienability is not a fixed and forever category. Artefacts have biographies in which their meaning and symbolism can change through time (Appadurai 1986). As Weiner explains (1992, 8), a stone axe was eventually revealed to Maurice Godelier by the Baruya of New Guinea only after he had known them for many years. This inalienable axe now embodied their ancestors’ histories though it was presumably originally produced as an item of utility and/or exchange. Contemporary Western condemnation of those who ‘sell the family silver’ also speaks to the decline of honour and standing when families and even governments sell off assets formally considered as inalienable.

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, a good case can be made for considering the bluestones, during their passage from removal from their outcrops to arrival at Stonehenge, as inalienable possessions, incorporating a deep-seated ancestral and regional identity into Stonehenge in its initial construction (Stage 1) in or around the 30th century BC. This locale on Salisbury Plain had already provided the focus for previous remarkable monument-constructions and gatherings, including Early Mesolithic post-erection (Allen and Gardiner 2002), Early Neolithic feasting at Coneybury (Richards 1990, 40–61), and an unusual concentration of two Early Neolithic causewayed enclosures (Whittle et al. 2011, 197; Thompson et al. 2017) and at least 20 long barrows (Roberts et al. 2017) and two Middle Neolithic cursuses (Thomas et al. 2009). The Stonehenge landscape may thus already have become renowned as a place where culturally and/or geographically distinct groups might resolve their differences. The Coneybury pit has recently been interpreted as the remains of a solidarity feast attended by both Neolithic farmers and indigenous hunter-gatherers (Gron et al. 2018). The area also lay on an interface between western and south-eastern ceramic styles during the earlier Neolithic (Pioffet 2017). Analysis of the ancient DNA of Neolithic individuals, revealing statistically significant differences between those from south-east England and those from Wales (Brace et al. 2018), hints at the possibility that such geographical distinction in material culture might even have coincided with differences in ancestral origins. The Stonehenge complex was not the only one within Wessex, of course, but formed part of an unusual density of causewayed enclosures, cursuses and Late Neolithic henges and stone circles which are distributed in a north–south corridor from the Thames valley to the south coast. This corridor of monumentality must have been an important zone of social interaction, perhaps a neutral zone where people from different regions could resolve conflicts and build alliances through collective monument-building (Parker Pearson et al. 2015, 7–11; Parker Pearson 2016b). Erection of the bluestones in this already special locale would have cemented its significance not as just one of many monument complexes within Britain but as a preeminent axis mundi and place of gathering where ethnic and territorial identities at the largest scale might be renegotiated and reworked to forge new, more inclusive and more extensive networks. In this way, regional differences became subsumed into an increasingly island-wide sense of community. As earlier Neolithic regionalism gave way to pan-island

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commonality in architecture and material culture, the movement and erection of the bluestones constituted a dramatic act of political and ethnic unification. Unity can be achieved in many ways, through coercion and force as well as through mutual agreement, as the history of the Stone of Destiny demonstrates so well. Did the Neolithic people of west Wales bring their inalienable stone ancestors with them? Or were these in fact trophies captured by an aggressive polity within Wessex, as is related in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s mythic history? For the moment, that question is unanswerable, but a further interesting conclusion can be drawn. Whether the Preseli bluestones were brought to Salisbury Plain by their local owners or taken from them by force, they were most likely potent symbols of ancestral origin, perhaps even relating to the hunter-gatherer inhabitants of the land and the earliest arriving farmers who took that land from them.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My particular thanks go to co-directors of this Stones of Stonehenge project, Kate Welham, Josh Pollard and Colin Richards, together with Chris Casswell, Dave Shaw, Duncan Schlee and Kate MacDonald who supervised the excavations, and various specialists (Ellen Simmons for carbonised wood remains, Charly French and Richard Macphail for soil micromorphology, Jean-Luc Schwenninger for OSL, Derek Hamilton for advice on radiocarbon-dating, Richard Bevins, Rob Ixer and Rhian Kendall for geological expertise, and Adam Stanford for aerial photogrammetry). The work would not have been possible without permission from the landowners, the Barony of Cemaes (land agents, David Cole and Kathryn Perkins) and Huw and Dilys Davies. Consent to work within the Preseli SSSI was granted by Cyfoeth Naturiol Cymru (Natural Resources Wales). The staff of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park are also thanked for their assistance. The research was funded by the British Academy, NERC, the National Geographic Society, the Society of Antiquaries, the Royal Archaeological Institute and the Cambrian Archaeological Association. I also thank the anonymous reviewer for their helpful and incisive comments. Photographs are by Adam Stanford, and illustrations by Irene de Luis.

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Chapter 7

Sarsen stone quarrying in southern England: An introduction Katy A. Whitaker

INTRODUCTION

On 23rd November 1973, Collin Bowen FSA wrote a memo to some of his colleagues complaining that English Farms Ltd had removed sarsen stones from an area of the Marlborough Downs (Wiltshire, UK), using dynamite. The land owner had cleared an acre of ground to the north of Old Totterdown (Fig. 7.1), mapped by the Ordnance Survey as ‘Boulders’ since the nineteenth century. Bowen (1973) bemoaned the lost opportunity to examine the sarsens for archaeological and geological research: and this in the landscape thought by many to be the source for Stonehenge’s trilithons and lintelled stone circle, as well as local prehistoric megalithic monuments. This was not the first time that sarsen stones in an area of sarsen-built features had been destroyed using explosives, and neither would it be the last. This chapter discusses what sarsen quarrying looks like, and provides a preliminary review of the main ways that the stone has been extracted in the past. Historic sarsen quarrying has not been addressed archaeologically in any detail and prehistoric even less (Gillings and Pollard 2016, 2), yet geological memoirs, archives and field evidence offer sources to investigate this ancient industry. A problem at the heart of the question of prehistoric sarsen quarrying is that people have continued to take sarsen for building material in those areas where it was exploited in prehistory. The former extent of sarsen quarries and the effects of their more recent exploitation are unquantified (Gillings and Pollard 2016, 4–5). Furthermore, sarsen stone procurement is difficult to address using petrographic techniques that have been applied to sourcing material like Stonehenge’s bluestones, for example, because of sarsen’s homogeneity; although geochemical studies may be successful (Ullyott and Nash 2006; Nash et al. 2013). Scientific approaches to prehistoric sarsen procurement must, therefore, be accompanied by a robust understanding of the later history of the sarsen quarry. Recently, evidence suggesting that it can be possible to identify prehistoric sarsen extraction signatures has been compiled by Gillings and Pollard (2016), directing archaeological expectations at least for the later Neolithic. But the episode at Old Totterdown serves to illustrate the importance of investigating the sarsen quarry in which earlier stone procurement is situated. Following a brief description of sarsen stone, I introduce four examples of quarrying, all of which have left their mark on the landscape, and consider their place in the sarsen quarry today.

Figure 7.1: Location map. Southern England including the chalk outcrop with, inset, places in north Wiltshire named in the text.

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SARSEN STONE

Sarsen is a silcrete found in central-southern and eastern England, formed by the accumulation of silica in near-surface Tertiary sediments. The silica, likely carried in groundwater, cemented quartz sands into indurated masses. Following periods of erosion which removed uncemented material, and later movement under periglacial conditions, the remaining cobbles and boulders can now be found both exposed on the surface in sarsen spreads (for example, at Knighton Bushes Plantation, Oxfordshire) and buried in superficial deposits (such as the clay-with-flints south of Eynsford, Kent). The silica content is usually greater than 95% (Prestwich 1854; Dewey et al. 1924; Ullyott et al. 2004; Nash and Ullyott 2007; Ullyott and Nash 2016). Archaeologists tend to divide sarsen into two categories based on macromorphological characteristics (Fig. 7.2). The hard, grey sandstone boulders familiar from the settings at Avebury and Stonehenge are known as saccharoid sarsen because the freshly-broken surface looks like sugar-loaf. The second type, quartzitic sarsen, is formed of finer sediments and commonly found as smaller cobbles and pebbles, browner in colour. Sarsens can display considerable internal heterogeneity, transitioning from strongly to poorly silicified zones and from clean sand to pebbly areas in a single boulder (Summerfield and Goudie 1980; Geddes 2000). Sarsen is notoriously difficult to shape into useful building material, a property I will return to below. Silcretes are not mapped by the British Geological Survey (BGS), although they have been described in BGS Memoirs (for example Osborne White 1907; 1912). The stone’s availability can only be gauged by combining these older reports with historical Ordnance Survey mapping, and by fieldwork. Currently the most comprehensive depiction of British silcrete distribution is in Ullyott et al. (2004, 1511), compiled from five sources as varied as a sketch map by H.C. Brentnall (1946) and the results of the 1970s Sarsen Stones in Wessex survey (Bowen and Smith 1977). The distribution emphasises sarsen’s dispersed nature and highlights its presence beyond Wiltshire’s more familiar Marlborough Downs. DIGGING SARSEN

Figure 7.2: The churchyard wall, Fyfield (Wiltshire), constructed from cut blocks of saccharoid sarsen, capped with quartzitic sarsen nodules (photo by the author).

The presence on chalklands of ‘the hollows that occasionally puzzle excavators’ (Society of Antiquaries 1975) was one of the

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problems taxing members of the Sarsen Stones in Wessex project. In sarsen-rich areas, how could the archaeologist interpret what may be natural features but could be anthropogenic, without a better understanding of the archaeological signatures of sarsen extraction? The issue is brought into stark contrast in an area such as the northern arm of Clatford Bottom in Wiltshire where Devil’s Den long barrow was built: and the Dukes of Marlborough cleared sarsens both for agricultural purposes and to supply ornamental gardens on the White Knights estate, Berkshire (Colt Hoare 1819; Soames 1987). Sarsens have been used in megalithic architecture from Dorset to Kent, but it is only very recently that progress has been made into characterising prehistoric sarsen extraction, in Wiltshire. In an important first step, Mark Gillings and Josh Pollard (2016) have collated possible sarsen extraction features in the environs of Avebury. Focusing on hollows excavated at the West Kennet Avenue and the West Kennet palisade enclosures, they draw attention to consistent morphological characteristics and dating evidence to identify two large, shallow cut features as the locations of sarsens that prehistoric monument builders removed from the ground. Both pits were large enough to have held substantial sarsens over 2 m long. Beside the Avenue, the edge of pit F.12 within the excavation trench included a line of stakeholes at the base, implying the leverage necessary to remove a large stone from the ground. Like the nearby pit F.3, which included a ‘discrete deposit’ (Gillings and Pollard 2016, 11) of late Neolithic/early Bronze Age freshly worked flint, F.12 also included worked flints in its fill. Later Neolithic sherds and animal bone were found in the fills of similarly-shaped and -sized features within the palisade enclosures. Excavated more than 30 years ago by Faith and Lance Vatcher, and Alasdair Whittle, and including features seen in a c. 2 m wide pipeline trench, the evidence is arguably less well documented than in the 2013–15 excavations by Gillings and Pollard: who nevertheless argue against these being tree-throws, marl-pits, or chalk pits filled with rubbish. Gillings and Pollard (2016, 8–15) propose that the material in the fills had been deposited in acts of reciprocity in return for the taken sarsens. These tentative beginnings suggest what prehistoric sarsen extraction pits may look like. Sarsen has been cleared from fields and taken for building material at different times, but the stone’s use since the seventeenth century in particular has had a major impact on landscapes where it is found. At Oxfordshire’s Ashdown House (c. 1662), for example, sarsen is an integral part of the designed landscape. The c. 7 km long rubble sarsen parkland wall and ha-ha enclose the c. 140 ha grounds (Historic England 1984), whilst sarsens lying in a natural spread to the east of the house, in line with its main aspect, were moved to clear the eastern axial avenue view to the eyecatcher on Weathercock Hill (Fig. 7.3). Similar uses have continued into more recent times. In 1923, sarsens were taken from a spread at East Kennett to Maiden Bradley for the Duke of Somerset’s grave-setting (Goddard 1926). Sarsens dug from a location in the Kennet Valley form the façade of the modern All Cannings Long Barrow, built in 2014 (Tim Daw pers. comm.). In addition, farmers have continued to clear inconvenient sarsens. Sometimes these events were recorded. In a field adjacent to Hangmanstone Lane, Welford Woods (Berkshire), workmen uncovered a c. 4 m long sarsen that was impeding ploughing. They failed to break up the stone, so they tried to lever it out. A pit was dug to one side and the stone tilted over into it. This exposed three more adjacent sarsens in the clay overlying the chalk, one of which was more than 3 m long and 3 m wide (Adams 1870, 106).

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Figure 7.3: Ashdown Park’s eastern avenue was cleared of sarsens, whilst the boulders remain scattered in the semi-wooded area and in the sarsen spread between the ha-ha and the road (photo by the author).

It remains difficult to contrast examples like these with possible prehistoric extraction sites described by Gillings and Pollard (2016). The newsworthy parts of these and similar stories are related, such as the stones’ intended uses or their resistance to hand-work, but rarely the mundanities of the resulting pits or scars; the Welford Woods story is an exception, but still lacks detail. Nevertheless, they remind the archaeologist that people have continued to take sarsens and to be aware of the possibilities in the archaeological record.

THE BUCKINGHAMSHIRE SARSEN INDUSTRY

Thick clay-with-flints deposits overlie the chalk of the southern Chiltern Hills escarpment in south Buckinghamshire (Sherlock 1922; Sherlock and Noble 1922). Silcretes in these deposits are accessible over a wide area from south-east Oxfordshire into Hertfordshire, but the sarsens are especially numerous in Hughenden, in the environs of Naphill, Walter’s Ash, Denner Hill and Kiln Common (Morley Davies and Baines 1953). Hughenden parish is characterised by dispersed settlement, and life in the 1800s was predominantly agricultural (Ellis and Jamison 1925, 57), but for some time sarsens had been dug from the

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Figure 7.4: Sarsen quarrying at Denner Hill, Buckinghamshire, c.1907 (© Buckinghamshire County Council, HG33).

superficial deposits by specialist cutters providing stone for building and street furniture. The products were advertised under locality names as Wycombe Stone and Denner Hill Stone (Burtonwood 1995). The origins of the business, both in terms of the development of the necessary knowledge and skills and the building up of the trade, are presently unknown, but a brief survey of listed buildings in the locality shows that some dating to the early nineteenth century incorporate cut (that is, not rubble) sarsen. Examples include the Church of St John the Evangelist at Lacey Hill, built between 1822 and 1825 to a design by Chadley (Historic England 1955); the rear wing extension of Denner Hill Farmhouse, c. 1800 (Historic England 1974); and the barns dated 1803 and 1804 to the west of Denner Hill Farmhouse, with coursed sarsen walls (Historic England 1985). The quarrymen located sarsens closest to the surface by probing the ground with rods (Fig. 7.4). Having exposed the first boulder, they split it by cutting lines of wedge pits to take metal wedges feathered with pieces of hoop iron, hammering the wedges with 28lb sledges (Burtonwood 1995, 3). The quarrymen continued digging to expose yet more buried sarsens; the ensuing pits within what were likely solution features could be up to 17 m deep. As the workings deepened the sarsen cutters used simple timber scaffolding for access. Primary reduction continued in situ, with an A-frame and human-powered winch to haul the pieces to the surface. Here the cutters carried out secondary reduction and finishing using tracing

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hammers and chisels to make setts, kerbs and building stones. The quarrymen’s contracts required that they fill in exhausted pits, although they took advantage of the brickearth to run adjacent brick kilns (Spicer 1905, 39–40; Sherlock and Noble 1912, 201; Morley Davies and Baines 1953, plate 1; Crook and Free 2011, 21). This is the only example of deep-digging for sarsen. The trade is poorly documented other than these descriptions in the historical geological literature and occasional archive photographs. These show that, when active, the industry characteristically included the deep quarry pits, great quantities of waste material, and associated ancillary trades.

THE WILTSHIRE SARSEN INDUSTRY

The greatest impact on Wiltshire’s sarsen fields was made from the mid-nineteenth century by a small number of quarrymen who moved from Buckinghamshire. Enos Free (aged 25) and his brother Edward (aged 17) arrived in 1847 and, at about the same time, Joseph Cartwright and Walter Bristow. They came from Hughenden (King 1968; Crook and Free 2011) and brought with them their tools, skills and habits from the Chiltern Hills. Wiltshire’s industry was at its height in the 1890s, supplying setts and kerbs as streets were being newly built or upgraded and prepared for new tram services in developing urban areas (King 1968, 87–8). The cutting technique was described by Douglas Free (1948; 1950), grandson of Edward. His information is amplified by Noel King (1968), who was able to draw on the memories of Kennet Valley residents. These ethnohistorical accounts can be engaged with the archaeological evidence. Selecting suitable sarsens was itself a skill. Free (1950, 338) alludes to some of the specialist knowledge developed by the sarsen cutters and their understanding of the stone’s likely behaviour. The cutter would first knap a small piece from the edge of a sarsen to check its quality, before digging a gully around the chosen boulder. The gully would enable the ensuing hammering forces to pass fully through the rock and allow splits propagated by wedges to run true (King 1968, 90). As in Hughenden, wedge-pits were cut out, enlarged using a series of peckers, and finished with punches. The quarryman hammered the row of wedges using a 14lb sledge until the stone split (Fig. 7.5). Secondary reduction was completed with a slicing chisel and tracing hammer. A sharp chisel was used to complete the cutting (King 1968, 90–2). Finally, the pecking hammer, a type of mason’s axe, was used to dress the cut pieces as required; examples of highly finished sarsen blocks can be seen in the Victorian church at East Kennet, for example. Many of the boulders remaining today in the sarsen spreads are those abandoned after primary reduction revealed faults in the stone. This archaeological record speaks to the breadth of the dispersed quarry, with abandoned cut sarsens scattered across the upper Kennet Valley in an area c. 100 km2. In addition, the gully feature described by Donald Free was observed around a cut sarsen on Overton Down excavated in 1975, and the unweathered chalk platform where the sarsen had rested contrasting with the weathered chalk beyond the gully (Bowen and Smith 1977, 193). This characteristic cut feature may not always be present along with the abundant debris; for example, no such gully appears in the

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Figure 7.5: A cut and abandoned sarsen, Hursley Bottom, West Woods (Wiltshire) (photo by the author).

excavation drawings of the cut Overton Down polissoir (Fowler 1963). This emphasises the need for a more detailed archaeological understanding of the industry to improve on King’s (1968, 92–3) spare record of the cutters’ taskscapes and the importance of questioning the documentary accounts with the archaeological record.

EXPLOSIVES

Personal experience indicates how surprised people can be to learn that sarsen stones have been extracted using explosives, despite this being a common quarry technique. Yet variability in the position of sarsens relative to their underlying superficial and bedrock deposits, combined with the intractability of the hard stone and the variety of products required, led to the use of explosives in certain circumstances. This chemical assistance, one of the few innovations in mining and quarrying technology (Samuel 1977, 38), is recorded in use on sarsens before 1754 in Wiltshire (King 1968, 85) and by 1806 in Berkshire (Lysons and Lysons 1806, 192). Blasting was an acceptable technique for creating rubble, in particular for road-stone. It was the method adopted in 1920 by Thacker and Johnson in West Woods, Lockeridge

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(Wiltshire). At that time the London– Bath Road (the present-day A4) was being upgraded. The two men gained a roadstone contract and installed stone-crushing machinery in Hursley Bottom, using charges to blast sarsen boulders lying in the valley. The broken stone pieces were passed through the plant, producing metalling. The business cleared a large area in the Olympic Agricultural Company’s woodland (King 1968, 86–7). The archaeological remains of this industry are well-preserved in Forestry Commission compartments G and N (Amadio 2011, 38–42, 70–3). These include cart ruts and ramped causeways built up out of compartment G to the main metalled track; a large concrete block interpreted as the base for the stone crushing plant or a loading platform; a store cut into the hillside interpreted as a magazine or fuse store; and extensive areas of pitted and Figure 7.6: Sarsen extraction pits in the area of West disturbed ground where sarsen boulders Woods (Wiltshire), cleared with explosives during the were dug around and extracted. The process of setting charges on 1920s (photo by the author). sarsen boulders is unrecorded, but in wood compartment N the quarry pits are distinct features (Fig. 7.6). Where sarsens occasionally remain in pits, it appears that the boulders had been dug around before the charges were set. This may indicate that the plaster shot method was used. The charge is packed on the top of the stone with clay and some four ounces of explosive applied for every foot thickness of rock (Mike Williams pers. comm.). Clearing soil enables the force to pass through each stone, splitting it into more manageable pieces. The area of quarrying in compartment G, to the west side of the main track and closest to the surviving industrial structures, is more confused. Here, the ground is softer underfoot with much more flint and sarsen rubble visible despite the leaf litter, but still with many quarry pits, including some remaining sarsens. It transpired that this road material was not fit for purpose and the partners went bankrupt. There are, however, numerous other examples of sarsen blasting. Second World War American Army units based in Wiltshire practiced setting charges by blowing up sarsens in West Woods (King 1968, 87). The Territorial Army cleared sarsens around Lotmead Farm, Swindon, in the 1950s (David Sabin pers. comm.). A sarsen marking the Kingston Russell/Longbredy boundary (Dorset) was destroyed with explosives during the Second World War (Society of Antiquaries of London, Wessex Sarsen Stone Survey, MS953/2/1/ LGB2), whilst sometime before 1975 a farmer tried and failed to use explosives to break up a large sarsen in Martyr Worthy (Hampshire) (Society of Antiquaries of London, Wessex Sarsen Stone Survey, MS953/3/2/1/Ih2). A further failed attempt to blast a large

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roadside sarsen was reported in Bere Regis (Dorset) in April 1975 (Society of Antiquaries of London, Wessex Sarsen Stone Survey, MS953/2/1/BRG3). The last three sarsens of a once larger group in a field at Day House Farm, Coate (Swindon), still standing in 1893, had been destroyed using explosives by 1968 (Society of Antiquaries of London, Wessex Sarsen Stone Survey, MS953/4/1/SU18). These boulders had been adjacent to prehistoric stone settings in Coate and Broome Manor. These latter examples draw attention to the necessity for archaeologists to be alive to the varied approaches that land owners and farmers have taken towards sarsens on their property. The importance of ethnohistorical and oral history sources to draw attention to these activities is cast into sharp relief, given the difficulty of characterising the archaeological record which remains unexplored. But despite the destructive reputation of explosives, both powder and plastic could be used in controlled ways and in West Woods there is considerable potential for understanding the difference between these archaeological signatures and different sarsen extraction methods in other periods.

DISCUSSION

Unlike many of the stone types used in the Neolithic, people have continued to use sarsen. This has depleted the quarry, removing material that otherwise would have played a role in provenancing studies to understand prehistoric sarsen procurement. A more detailed and nuanced understanding of the various quarrying techniques that have been used in overlapping areas is required, to inform research into prehistoric sarsen extraction in archaeological and geological terms. Both extensive and ad hoc sarsen clearance, usually for agricultural improvement, are the hardest to approach. Reports of clearance from sarsen spreads become more common as travellers and antiquarians interested themselves in the countryside, such as de Luc (1811) and Colt Hoare (1819). However, they do not include information about how the substantial boulders were dealt with and what the ground looked like as a result. It may be possible to locate and investigate sarsen extraction of specific dated events, such as the clearance of Ashdown House’s eastern avenue, but reports of sarsen digging tend to be imprecisely located, or in areas since well-ploughed. In the face of this uncertainty, further examples like those discussed by Gillings and Pollard, excavated and documented to modern standards, are required to augment evidence for prehistoric sarsen extraction. For example, the flint assemblage excavated by Peter Fowler (2000) at the Overton Down polissoir may be susceptible to re-interpretation. Fowler suggested that the polissoir had once stood upright in an adjacent socket hole (regrettably only partially-investigated), implying that the sarsen had been raised from its natural recumbent position (2000, 66–8). That should have left a sarsen hollow, or perhaps the hollow was re-used for the stone socket. As in West Kennet Avenue pit F.3 mentioned above, excavated flints were predominantly late Neolithic, apart from two heavily patinated leaf arrowheads, and included a flake from a polished flint axe head (Everton 1970s; Johnston 1995). A close reading of the excavation archive is clearly warranted in the context of Gillings and Pollard’s findings. The Buckinghamshire sarsen industry is important to underpin an understanding of Wiltshire’s later quarry. Nevertheless, the relevance of deep digging to prehistoric sarsen

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extraction might reasonably be questioned. As Neolithic flint mines show, however, deep digging was not an unknown quarrying technique. The possibility of prehistoric quarrying of sarsens from superficial deposits trapped in solution features has been proposed for both the Salisbury Plain and for Avebury (Field 2005, 91; Bowden et al. 2015, 41). Analogies for a prehistoric chaîne opératoire, and also specific considerations regarding deep excavations by hand, offered by the Buckinghamshire industry, are therefore valuable. Both cutting and blasting sarsens involved clearing soil away from the boulders for the very different forces to work, but these techniques resulted in different surface remains. In compartment G of West Woods, for example, considerable quantities of shattered stone cover the cratered ground where ancillary specialist quarry features remain in situ. Although cutting sarsen also left quarry pits and debris, these hollows tend to be shallower and the waste material includes characteristic features such as wedge pit scars and abandoned partcut stones. The sarsen cutters operated across the full extent of Wiltshire’s sarsen quarry, but were breaking down boulders to make a suite of specific products. The signatures of these quarrying activities should differ markedly from the extraction pits of whole sarsens used to build, say, the chambers of West Wood’s Barrow Copse long barrow.

CONCLUSION

This has been an introductory review, necessarily brief as both a work-in-progress and a starting point to research into a little-studied industry. Yet it shows, I hope, that there is considerable potential to improve knowledge and understanding of sarsen stone quarrying. A dialogue between different types of evidence is important, including between both new and archived archaeological data. It is exciting to think that it may be possible to identify prehistoric quarry pits, whilst always bearing in mind the durée of sarsen extraction. A multiscalar approach is possible, from an overview that treats the whole sarsen distribution as the potential quarry, to detailed analysis of specific quarrying events. Prehistoric sarsen use, so long the Cinderella to exotic stone from more distant locations, can be better understood in the context of the assemblage that is the sarsen quarry.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This work was supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (grant number AH\L503939\1) through the South, West, and Wales Doctoral Training Partnership.

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Bowen, H.C. 1973. Sarsens: Further Destruction (23 November 1973). Historic England Archive SOA03/18 (unpublished archive collection). Bowen, H.C. and Smith, I.F. 1977. Sarsen Stones in Wessex: the society’s first investigations in the Evolution of the Landscape Project. The Antiquaries Journal 57, 185–96. Brentnall, H.C. 1946. Sarsens. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 51, 419–39. Burtonwood, G. 1995. Denner Hill Stone. Halton: Buckinghamshire County Museum Archaeological Service. Colt Hoare, R. 1819. The Ancient History of Wiltshire. London: Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, and Jones. Crook, M.L. and Free, I.E.T. 2011. Grey Wethers. The Free family in Marlborough and the Upper Kennet Valley c.1847–1998. Privately published. De Luc, J.A. 1811. Geological Travels. III. Travels in England. London: F.C. and J. Rivington. Dewey, H., Bromehead, C.E.N., Chatwin, C.P. and Dines, H.G. 1924. The Geology of the Country around Dartford. Explanation of Sheet 271. London: HMSO. Ellis, G.A. and Jamison, C. 1925. Hughenden. In W. Page (ed.), The Victoria County History of the County of Buckingham. London: The St Catherine Press, 57–62. Everton, A. 1970s. Fyfod Working Paper 31. Full Text of Flint Reports. Archaeology Data Service. Field, D. 2005. Some observations on perception, consolidation and change in a land of stones. In G. Brown, D. Field and D. McOmish (eds), The Avebury Landscape. Aspects of the field archaeology of the Marlborough Downs. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 87–94. Fowler, P.J. 1963. ODII: polissoir: excavation plan and sections. Archaeology Data Service. Fowler, P.J. 2000. Landscape Plotted and Pieced. Landscape History and Local Archaeology in Fyfield and Overton, Wiltshire. London: The Society of Antiquaries of London. Free, D.W. 1948. Sarsen stones and their origin. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 52, 338–44. Free, D.W. 1950. Marlborough and District: An Original Peep into the Past. Marlborough. Geddes, I. 2000. Hidden Depths. Wiltshire’s Geology and Landscapes. Trowbridge: Ex Libris Press. Gillings, M. and Pollard, J. 2016. Making Megaliths: Shifting and Unstable Stones in the Neolithic of the Avebury Landscape. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 26, 1–23. Goddard, E.H. 1926. Modern use of sarsens as tombstones. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 43, 335. Historic England 1955. Church of St John the Evangelist [Online]. Historic England. Available at: https://www.historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1125865 (Accessed 1st May 2017). Historic England 1974. Denner Hill Farmhouse [Online]. Historic England. Available at: https://www. historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1160234 (Accessed 1st May 2017). Historic England 1984. Ashdown House [Online]. Historic England. Available at: https://www. historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1000502 (Accessed 30th April 2017). Historic England 1985. Pair of Barns Adjoining to West of Denner Hill Farmhouse [Online]. Historic England. Available at: https://www.historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1332051 (Accessed 1st May 2017). Johnston, R. 1995. Fyfod Working Paper 31a. Summary and Interpretation of Flint Reports. Archaeology Data Service. King, N.E. 1968. The Kennet Valley Sarsen Industry. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 63, 83–93. Lysons, D. and Lysons, S. 1806. Magna Britannia; Being a Concise Topographical Account of the Several Counties of Great Britain. Berkshire. London: Cadell and Davies. Morley Davies, A. and Baines, A.H.J. 1953. A preliminary survey of the sarsen and puddingstone blocks of the Chilterns. Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 64, 1–9.

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Nash, D.J., Coulson, S., Staurset, S., Ullyot, J.S., Babutsi, M., Hopkinson, L. and Smith, M.P. 2013. Provenancing of silcrete raw materials indicates long-distance transport to Tsodilo Hills, Botswana, during the Middle Stone Age. Journal of Human Evolution 64, 280–8. Nash, D.J. and Ullyott, J.S. 2007. Silcrete. In D.J. Nash and S.J. Mclaren (eds), Geochemical Sediments and Landscapes. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 95–143. Osborne White, H.J. 1907. The Geology of the Country around Hungerford and Newbury: explanation of Sheet 267. London: HMSO. Osborne White, H.J. 1912. The Geology of the Country around Winchester and Stockbridge: explanation of Sheet 299. London: HMSO. Prestwich, J. 1854. On the Structure of the Strata between the London Clay and the Chalk in the London and Hampshire Tertiary Systems. Part II: the Woolwich and Reading Series. Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society 10, 75–138. Samuel, R. 1977. Mineral Workers. In R. Samuel (ed.), Miners, Quarrymen and Saltworkers. London: Routledge and Keegan Paul. Sherlock, R.L. 1922. The Geology of the Country around Aylesbury and Hemel Hempstead: explanation of Sheet 238. London: HMSO. Sherlock, R.L. and Noble, A.H. 1912. On the Glacial Origin of the Clay-with-Flints of Buckinghamshire and on a former course of the Thames. Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society 68, 199–208. Sherlock, R L. and Noble, A.H. 1922. The Geology of the Country around Beaconsfield: explanation of Sheet 255. London: HMSO. Soames, M. 1987. The Profligate Duke. George Spencer-Churchill, fifth Duke of Marlborough, and his Duchess. London: Collins. Society of Antiquaries of London 1975. Sarsen Symposium. Evolution of the Landscape Project: News Sheet No. 2 (10 May 1975). Society of Antiquaries of London MS953 (unpublished archive collection). Spicer, E.C. 1905. Sarsen-Stones in a Claypit. Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society 61, 39–41. Summerfield, M.A. and Goudie, A.S. 1980. The sarsens of southern England: their palaeoenvironmental interpretation with reference to other silcretes. In D.K.C. Jones (ed.), The Shaping of Southern England. London: Academic Press, 71–100. Ullyott, J.S. and Nash, D.J. 2006. Micromorphology and geochemistry of groundwater silcretes in the eastern South Downs, UK. Sedimentology 53, 387–412. Ullyott, J.S. and Nash, D.J. 2016. Distinguishing pedogenic and non-pedogenic silcretes in the landscape and geological record. Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 127, 311–19. Ullyott, J.S., Nash, D.J., Whiteman, C.A. & Mortimore, R.N. 2004. Distribution, petrology and mode of development of silcretes (sarsens and puddingstones) on the eastern South Downs, UK. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 29, 1509–39.

Chapter 8

Carn Menyn and the stones of south-west Wales Timothy Darvill

‘Life has grown from the rock and still rests upon it; because men have left it far behind, they are able consciously to turn back to it. We do turn back, for it has kept some hold over us.’ Jacquetta Hawkes (1951, 100)

INTRODUCTION

South-west Wales is a stony world. Cliffs along the coast, bluffs in the river valleys, and carns on the mountains allow easy access to many kinds of stone. Dolmens with heavy capstones, cup-marked boulders and pillars set as menhirs, pairs, rows, ovals and circles show how communities used material from these outcrops to create meaningful arrangements and special places. Pebbles and quarried blocks were fashioned into beads, axes, adzes, maceheads, axe-hammers, battle-axes and many other kinds of meaningful objects. But the boundaries between these natural and cultural worlds, between exposures and designs, are blurred to the point where we may even question whether such categories existed in the distant past, and whether modern conceptual dualisms figured in the thinking of prehistoric people. At Carn Bica, Pembrokeshire, a prominent outcrop is encircled and its lower flanks cloaked by a spread of placed-rocks and boulders, emphasising both the outcrop and its modification (Fig. 8.1A). Did this device enhance the outcrop? Conceal it? Or change its meaning? Elsewhere in south-west Wales carns caught by the forces of nature reveal spikey crowns waiting to be plucked from the hilltop and re-erected or copied elsewhere to satisfy cultural desires (Fig. 8.1B). Stonescapes across south-west Wales include places made special by the activities that took place there, while the material itself has qualities long recognised as exceptional in ways that are now hard to understand. In the 1920s, when geologist Herbert Thomas first recognised the connections between outcrops at Mynydd Preseli1 in north Pembrokeshire and the bluestone pillars within Stonehenge on the Wessex Downs, he conjectured that ‘some special non-material reason governed the removal of these stones from Pembrokeshire to their present site’ (1923, 259). Echoing Heidegger’s idea of ‘thingness’ (1971, 20–9), the ‘stoneness’ of these materials is what counts, the fusion of matter with defined properties that have assembled around it. As Jacquetta Hawkes so lyrically

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Figure 8.1: Mynydd Preseli, Pembrokeshire. A) Carn Bica, top, by Richard Wilsher. B) Outcrops at Carn Menyn, below, by Timothy Darvill.

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reminds us in the passage cited above, it is time to turn back to the relationship between life and stone. In this paper I will start to unfold some of these perspectives, looking briefly at the developing study and emergent understandings of how stone sources in south-west Wales were used in prehistoric times, before focusing on work at Carn Menyn at the eastern end of the Mynydd Preseli in north Pembrokeshire. In doing so I will draw heavily on a number earlier publications (Darvill 1989; 2007; 2011) and research carried out with the late Geoff Wainwright, including an interim account of excavations on Carn Menyn (Darvill and Wainwright 2014) and a synthesis of Pembrokeshire’s archaeology 4000 to 1000 BC (Darvill and Wainwright 2016) that itself contains additional references to work touched on here.

BUILDING PICTURES

South-west Wales stands at the birth of interest in the movement of stone by prehistoric communities. Herbert Thomas’s work on the non-local stones at Stonehenge (in Hawley 1921, 39; Thomas 1923; Bevins and Ixer 2018), undertaken at the request of Colonel Hawley and the Society of Antiquaries, is one of the earliest and most celebrated instances of provenancing studies in Britain linking archaeological finds with specific distant sources. Alexander Keiller quickly recognised the potential and published details of two stone axes found in Co. Antrim, Ireland, that were apparently made of the same spotted dolerite as the Stonehenge stones, and suggested the same source outcrops on Mynydd Preseli (Keiller 1936). Other work followed, and from 1936 a sub-committee of the South-Western Group of Museums and Art Galleries championed the scientific analysis of stone implements and the identification of their sources. By their first report in 1941 nine petrologically determined ‘Groups’ had been established (Keiller et al. 1941); a total that rose to 11 by the second report (Stone and Wallis 1947) and 20 by the fifth report (Evens et al. 1972). Two of these were linked to sources in south-west Wales: Group VIII, a silicified tuff (Keiller et al. 1941, 63); and Group XIII, spotted dolerite from Mynydd Preseli, also known as ‘Preselite’ (Keiller et al. 1941, 64–5; Stone and Wallis 1951, 128–9). Reporting the discovery at Fifield Bavant, Wiltshire, of a Preselite axe-hammer in 1944 John Stone provided a useful overview of 16 findspots of Group XIII finds in Wessex and beyond, suggesting that coastal and riverine routes lay behind their distribution (Stone 1950, 151). What seemed simple and straightforward in the early twentieth century turned increasingly complicated and difficult later. Keiller’s Preselite axes from Ireland were reclassified as ungrouped dolerites (Evens et al. 1962, 219), although recent work by the Irish Stone Axe Project suggests that some of the porphyritic dolerite axes found in Ireland may in fact be related to Group XIII and derive from the same source (Cooney and Mandal 1998, 175). But Group XIII was itself re-examined by Professor Fred Shotton (1972) who included it as the spotted facies within a much broader spectrum of dolerites he defined as Group XXIII. Geologically these sources ranged from graphic pyroxene granodiorite (XXIIIa) through to quartz dolerite (XXIIIb) while geographically they outcropped between St David’s Head in the west and Mynydd Preseli in the east. Distribution maps (Clough and Cummins 1988, 276 and 282) emphasised the extensive if thin scatter of petrologically identified Group XIII/XXIII finds across Wales and southern

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and eastern England; a complete axe from Watcarrick, Dumfriesshire, Scotland (Livens 1961, 66) extends the distribution northwards. Group VIII was sub-divided into VIII and VIIIa (Evens et al. 1962, 217) with finds of both concentrated in south Wales with a light scatter eastwards into southern, midland and eastern England (Clough and Cummins 1988, 272); fall-off patterns suggested local down-the-line exchange (Cummins 1979, 8; 1980, 46; Darvill 1989, 36). Further complexity to the range of sources represented was introduced by Shotton (1972) who recognised a scatter of large, well-made ‘prestige’ axes, many over 30 cm long, that he thought came from unspecified outcrops in north-west Pembrokeshire, although their distribution extends across central and south Wales and across the Severn into southern England. The development of geochemical analysis to stand alongside petrology as a means of characterising and provenancing stone opened up further opportunities, changing understandings again and illustrating still further complexity. Studies by a team based at the Open University led by Richard Thorpe and Olwen Williams-Thorpe (Thorpe et al. 1991) confirmed Thomas’s proposition (1923, 248–9) that a number of source outcrops provided stones for Stonehenge, listing a dozen candidates across eastern Mynydd Preseli (Thorpe et al. 1991, fig. 8). The team also examined 24 artefacts out of the 28 found in Wales and southern England that had been assigned to Group XIII, finding that eight conformed very well to the defined petrological group (Williams-Thorpe et al. 2003; 2004; 2006). The distribution of these pieces suggests that although some may have been made in southwest Wales and transported eastwards and northwards, others may have been made from broken-off pieces of pillarstones at Stonehenge and then distributed locally. The same probably applies to the much discussed spotted dolerite block found at Boles Barrow, Wiltshire (Darvill 2006, 126), and the fragments found near the West Kennet Long Barrow (Williams-Thorpe et al. 2004, 373) and at Silbury Hill, Wiltshire (Leary et al. 2013, 80–2). Most recently, Richard Bevins and Rob Ixer have undertaken an extensive series of studies re-examining samples from outcrops in and around Mynydd Preseli, as well as debitage from Stonehenge. Their work, published as a series of iterative papers (Ixer and Bevins 2010; 2011a; 2011b; 2013a; 2013b; 2016; Bevins et al. 2011; 2012; 2014; Bevins and Ixer 2013; Ixer et al. 2015), confirms the lithological heterogeneity of the Stonehenge assemblages, develops a more rigorous classification of the bluestones, and suggests specific source outcrops for some stone types (Table 8.1). Although the Altar Stone at Stonehenge has sometimes been thought to originate in south-west Wales (Thomas 1923, 244–5), recent work suggests it derived from the Devonian (Old Red Sandstone) Senni Beds somewhere between Kidwelly and the Welsh Marches (Ixer and Turner 2006, 5; Ixer and Bevins 2013b, 13–14; Ixer et al. 2017). In the background are several geological studies that contribute useful data without linking directly to archaeological studies (e.g. Bevins et al. 1989; Jones et al. 2005). While in the foreground a series of important field-based research projects provide archaeological context. Building on work by Peter Grimes in the 1930s, Peter Drewett undertook an extensive survey of Mynydd Preseli in the mid-1980s, although little was published (Drewett 1987). Andrew David and George Williams identified two stone-working sites: one at Glyny-Fran, Llanfyrnach, Pembrokeshire, the other at Glandy Cross, Carmarthenshire, within a regional ceremonial centre of the third millennium BC (David and Williams 1995; Kirk and Williams 2000). In both cases the rock being worked was identified in hand specimen as

Description

Spotted dolerite with high Cr values and low MgO values

Unspotted dolerite with low Cr values and high MgO values

Spotted dolerite with low Cr and low MgO values

Dark, flinty rhyolite

Rhyolite with planer fabric

Snowflake rhyolite

Stone types

Dolerite (Group 1)

Dolerite (Group 2)

Dolerite (Group 3)

Rhyolite (Group A)

Rhyolite (Group B)

Rhyolite (Group C)

Stonehenge

Debitage from the 2008 excavations within Stonehenge, the Heel Stone area, several Aubrey Holes, the Stonehenge Avenue, and the Stonehenge Cursus.

Stones 34, 42, 43 and 61 and debitage.

Considered by Thorpe et al. (1991) and Ixer (1996; 1997) to derive from Carn Breseb, Carn Meini, Carn Gyfrwy, or Carn Geodog, and by Bevins et al. (2014) to be from Carn Breseb, Carn Gyfrwy, the Carn Alw area, or an unnamed outcrop west of Carn Ddafadlas. Rhyolite Groups A–C considered to derive from a series of outcrops at Craig Rhos-y-felin near Pont Saeson on the north side of the Preseli ridge in Pembrokeshire (Bevins et al. 2011; Ixer and Bevins 2011a; Parker Pearson et al. 2015).

Stones 45 and 62 and debitage.

Considered by Thorpe et al. (1991) and Ixer (1996; 1997) to derive from Carn Ddafas-las, Carn Meini, or Carn Gyfrwy, and by Bevins et al. (2014) to be from Cerrigmarchogion or Craig Talfynydd.

Considered by Thorpe et al. (1991) and Stones 33, 37, 49, 65 and 67 and debitage. Ixer (1996; 1997) to derive from Carn Meini or Carn Geodog, and by Bevins et al. (2014) to be from Carn Geodog.

Sources

Table 8.1: Stone types identified at Stonehenge in relation to known and proposed sources.

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Friable argillaceous lithic tuff with abundant white mica and a strong metamorphic fabric.

Characterised by two forms of graphitising carbon within a distinctive mineralogy.

Volcanic Group B

Crystal-vitric lithic ash flow No known source (Ixer and Bevins 2013a; 2013b, 14–15). tuff with distinctive glass shards

Rhyolite (Group F)

Volcanic Group A

Rhyolite with visible feldspar phenocrysts

Rhyolite (Group E)

Debitage only, although descriptions of Stones 32c, 33e, 33f, 40c and 41d, all represented by buried stumps uncovered during earlier excavations, may also belong to this group. Stones 38 and 40 and debitage from inside Stonehenge, from Aubrey Hole 7, the Heelstone Ditch, and Trench 45 in the Avenue.

Source possibly within the Ordovician volcanic sequences of north Pembrokeshire (Ixer and Bevins 2011b; Bevins et al. 2012; Ixer and Bevins 2013a; 2013b, 14–15).

Stone 46. No debitage identified to date.

Stone 48 at Stonehenge and also by two pieces of debitage from the 2008 excavations.

Stonehenge Cursus.

Stonehenge

Source possibly within the Ordovician volcanic sequences on the northern side of the Preseli ridge (Ixer et al. 2015; Ixer and Bevins 2016).

No known source (Ixer and Bevins 2011a, 22; Ixer and Bevins 2013b, 15–18).

No known source (Ixer and Bevins 2010, 7; 2011a, 21–2).

Rhyolitic tuff with late albite-titanite-chlorite intergrowths

Rhyolite (Group D)

Sources

Description

Stone types

Table 8.1: (Continued)

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rhyolite, which thin-sections and chemical analysis matched to material previously identified as Group VIII. Both sites were believed to be the result of working either glacially deposited erratics or blocks of stone transported to sheltered locations from parent outcrops some distance away to the north. Chemical analysis of samples from both Glyn-y-Fran and Glandy Cross initially suggested the source was probably around Carn Alw on the north side of Mynydd Preseli, but this has since been called into question (Bevins and Ixer 2013). Other fieldwork includes that by the present author and the late Geoff Wainwright known as SPACES (Strumble-Preseli Ancient Communities and Environment Study) that started in 2001 (Darvill et al. 2012a with earlier references). Still on-going, the project includes contributions from the RCAHMW, the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, Bournemouth University, Bluestone Consultancy and the Deutches Archäologisches Institut in Berlin. Since 2011, a large team drawn from half a dozen UK universities led by Mike Parker Pearson has been investigating possible bluestone quarries and associated sites on the north side of Mynydd Preseli as part of the Stones of Stonehenge Project (Parker Pearson et al. 2015 and this volume). Stone was central to these projects, and others beside (e.g. Nash et al. 2011; Cummings and Richards 2014), all of which emphasise that certain outcrops attracted more attention than others. One source area that appears regularly in the literature since the work of H.H. Thomas is Carn Menyn at the eastern end of Mynydd Preseli. Although once considered the principal source of bluestones at Stonehenge its contribution has been diminished as the importance of other sources have been recognised. Nonetheless, it is likely to be one of the sources of Group 3 spotted dolerites at Stonehenge, and, significantly, investigations by the SPACES project have shown something of the longevity of stone extraction here.

CARN MENYN

Carn Menyn (also represented as Carn Meini), is a discrete area of upland at the eastern end of Mynydd Preseli, ranged broadly east–west over a distance of about 0.5 km, and rising to about 365 m above sea level. The distinctive jagged crown (Fig. 8.2) dominates landscapes to the south and is visible from distances in excess of 10 km. Charles (1992, 125) suggests that the name refers to ‘butter’ (Welsh: ymenyn), perhaps butter-making or rich land that produced good butter. Geologically, the dominant element is an igneous intrusion that gives the area its distinctive form (Bevins et al. 1989). Part of an extensive network, the surface exposures at Carn Menyn comprise a series of carns, a larger group to the south and a smaller cluster to the north-west. All are Ordivician Period intrusions erupting through a series of Ordivician Period mudstones of the Aber Mawr Shale Formation that were strongly metamorphosed to become meta-mudstone where they interface the dolerite. Archaeologically, Carn Menyn shows much evidence of activity in the later Neolithic and early Bronze Age (Fig. 8.3). A large burial cairn at the west end, standing stones on some outcrops, a walled enclosure around the highest point, and natural springs elaborated through the creation of pools and the occasional application of rock-art on the south side. On the southern flank there is a scatter of broken or abandoned dolerite pillar-stones of the same size and proportion as bluestones at Stonehenge. More than a dozen shallow hollows

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Figure 8.2: View of Carn Menyn, Pembrokeshire, looking north-west (photograph by Timothy Darvill).

suggestive of quarry pits have been recorded, and on the basis of surface evidence relate to the extraction of meta-mudstone (Darvill et al. 2008). There is also extensive evidence for the exploitation of dolerite, including relatively modern quarries with evidence of drilling, stone-breaking using iron wedges, and spreads of flakes and discards. A broken pillar-stone, intercutting quarry pits, and indications of dolerite extraction on a terrace on the southern slopes of Carn Menyn at an altitude of 310 m above sea level was especially noteworthy (NGR: SN 143324) and in July 2012 a trench was excavated across the terrace in order to examine the features visible on the surface (Fig. 8.4). The excavation revealed a complicated and well-preserved stratigraphic sequence representing three main periods of activity dated by a series of 12 radiocarbon determinations discussed in detail elsewhere (Darvill and Wainwright 2014). The earliest period of activity comprised a quarry pit for the exploitation of fine-textured, hard, light-coloured meta-mudstone, and fire-setting appears to have been part of the extraction process. Two phases of exploitation in the early sixth and late fifth millennium BC are suggested by the available dates. This modest quarry, no more than 5 m wide and up to 6 m long, was about 1.2 m deep (Fig. 8.5). It is possible that some of the other pits recorded through fieldwork in the area are of similar date, but some could be earlier and there is also evidence for later working. The second period of activity related to dolerite extraction in the later third millennium BC. Quarrying per se is not necessary for extracting dolerite as natural columnar blocks spall from the exposed carns ready to be carried away. At the northern end of the 2012 trench

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Figure 8.3: Location of Carn Menyn and plot of key archaeological features recorded during the SPACES project (drawing by Vanessa Constant. Darvill and Wainwright 2014, fig. 1).

there was a shallow socket for a standing stone; the stone lay fallen to the south. Oak stickwood charcoal from the socket dates it to around 2280–2040 BC. Broken spotted dolerite pillar-stones lie to the north and south, the southern example showing clear traces of flaking to roughly shape the original block; it was presumably abandoned because it broke during this process (Darvill and Wainwright 2002, fig. 4). An area of preserved old ground surface towards the southern end of the trench contained a scatter of spotted dolerite flakes and hammerstones with evidence of burning directly associated. Oak charcoal from this area provided a combined date of 2190–1970 BC. This clearly indicates that Carn Menyn was

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Figure 8.4: Plan of the 2012 excavation at Carn Menyn Quarry site, Pembrokeshire (drawing by Vanessa Constant, based on field plans by Timothy Darvill and Hubert Wilson. Darvill and Wainwright 2014, fig. 3).

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Figure 8.5: General view of the Carn Menyn Quarry fully excavated. Scale totals 2m (photograph by Timothy Darvill).

being actively exploited in the late third millennium BC, contemporary with the remodelling of Stonehenge during Stages 2 to 4 (Darvill et al. 2012b). The third and final period of activity in the Carn Menyn Quarry sequence again involved the extraction of meta-mudstone. The earlier quarry was filled-up by the end of the second millennium BC, but a new pit appears to have been dug to the south, partly overlapping its ancient predecessor. Blocks of stone and waste from the new quarry were deposited on top of the earlier fills, and covered parts of the contemporary ground surface as a fairly uniform layer. This deposit is important as it sealed the evidence of dolerite working on the old ground surface. Charcoal from within the upcast was dated to 1380–1110 BC while charcoal from the primary fill of this phase of the quarry yielded a slightly later date of 1190–920 BC. Notably, a large cairn built after 1420–1250 BC at the western end of Carn Menyn had two fresh flakes of meta-mudstone inserted upright as a special deposit in the ground surface under the mound prior to its construction (Darvill et al. 2012a: 31).

DISCUSSION

The Carn Menyn Quarry sequence has important implications for understanding the special significance of the site itself and the early history of stone quarrying. The stratigraphically determined phases of activity described above appear to be more or less

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discrete episodes, chronologically scattered but spatially connected by the power of place or, more imaginatively, the ‘magic’ of the mountain. Carn Menyn Quarry is the earliest securely dated stone extraction site so far recorded in Britain. But it may not be alone. A close parallel for the exploitative process can be seen on the far side of Cardigan Bay at Mynydd Rhiw on the Lleyn Peninsula during the fourth millennium BC (Burrow 2011). But the date at which quarrying started is not known, and may extend back into the fifth millennium BC or beyond. Pieces of stone from Mynydd Rhiw have been identified in a scatter dated to 7500–4000 BC on Bardsey Island some 13 km to the south-west (Edmonds et al. 2004). Staying in west Wales, at Nab Head Site II, Pembrokeshire, the sixth millennium BC lithic assemblage was dominated by pebble flint, with smaller contributions from igneous rock. Four ground dolerite axes of distinctive form and three perforated sandstone discs were amongst the more substantial items found, although the exact source of each remain undetermined (David 2007, 135–55). Axes of comparable form have been found elsewhere in west Wales (Darvill 2011, 133); a specimen from Bwlchyddwyallt, Cardiganshire, made of Group XXIIIb dolerite suggests the early exploitation of this stone (Burrow 2003, 215 and fig. 8.1). Likewise, a pebble-hammer in Group XIII dolerite from Cilrhedyn East, Carmarthenshire (Roe 1979, 47). Further afield, a recently discovered chert quarry at Burnetland Hill in the Scottish Borders has been dated to 4045–3975 BC (Ballin and Ward 2013) while the exploitation of Arran Pitchstone found off the coast of Argyll in south-west Scotland also started in the later fifth millennium if not earlier (Ballin 2015). Away to the south, flakes of Craig Lwyd (Group VII) rock have been found near their source on the north Wales coast sealed below a cairn and associated with a late fifth millennium BC date (Williams and Davidson 1998, 18–19). Pieces of Group VI rock from Langdale in the Lake District have apparently been found in fifth millennium BC contexts at Stainton West, Carlisle (Brown, Dickson and Evans this volume). In southern Britain, flint mining in Sussex has been pushed back into the later fifth millennium BC (Baczkowski 2014, 136; Teather this volume), while Verna Care has noted the wide range of stone types represented amongst pebble hammers and related implements typically associated with assemblages of the sixth and fifth millennia BC (1979, 100). On the south coast Portland Chert was being exploited from at least the sixth millennium BC (Palmer 1970). Its later use focused on exotic items, but as Stewart (2017, 57; this volume) suggests, Portland Chert may have been ideal for making prestigious arrowheads but its significance lay in its origins at a remarkable location. The list goes on, the weight of evidence grows, and it has to be accepted that familiar sources that came on stream for making axes and other implements in the fourth millennium BC as part of the ‘Neolithic package’ had deeper histories than currently acknowledged. However, the importance of these discoveries is not so much that systematic stone extraction was taking place in the sixth and fifth millennium BC, but that places already considered significant amongst hunter-gatherer groups continued to be important to later farming communities. Early interest in stone outcrops at Carn Menyn, Craig Lwyd, Langdale, Arran, Portland and elsewhere raises the question of which other well-known sources had earlier roots? And how far back such interest goes? Portland Chert was used for the manufacture of

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Upper Palaeolithic Ahrensburgien tanged points (Palmer 1967). Older still, by many orders of magnitude, are the Acheulean handaxes made of andesitic tuff of Lake District origin from Waverley Wood Farm Pit, Bubbenhall (Shotton and Wymer 1989) and Brandon, Warwickshire (Fennell and Shotton 1977). Perhaps these items utilised pebbles from local glacial drift deposits, although no clasts of Lake District origin are listed in recent studies of drift from the area (Old et al. 1990, 28). At the very least these finds raise questions about the selection of particular stone types, and the reasons behind those choices. Could an interest in particular places, and the stone they yield, endure for half a million years? It’s an intriguing possibility, extraordinary, but worth consideration. Demonstrating the longevity of interest in a place and the removal of material to make objects or the components of monuments is one thing, understanding why they did it, and why the place and the material exposed there was significant is quite another. Technological dimensions are important, and much has been made of the ‘workability’ of key stone sources through flaking. But stepping beyond the craftsmanship, we arrive back to Hawkes’ connection between people and rock, and Heidegger’s ‘thingness’ of stone. Different places may have had different meanings, the stone from each having particular perceived powers, defined purposes and specific embedded memories. The demonstrable antiquity of stone extraction on Carn Menyn, long before Stonehenge began to be built, tells us something about the ancestral significance and the power of the place. Perhaps Mynydd Preseli was the home of the gods: the Mount Olympus of prehistoric Britain. Perhaps the spots in the rock were important: reflections of the night sky; the tears of some ancestral deity; or the first raindrops that fell at the very dawn of time. Perhaps it was the sounds these rocks made, or the shape of the outcrops vaguely reminiscent of familiar people, animals or spirits. So many speculations are possible. But, from an archaeological perspective, over concern with the stone may blind us to equally important but more transient dimensions. In the case of Carn Menyn this could be the water issuing from springs on the side of the outcrops. Water from springs and wells in west Wales is strongly associated with healing (Jones 1992, 96) and supports the argument that stone from Mynydd Preseli had healing powers too (Darvill 2007; Darvill and Wainwright 2014). Springs were also significant in the Stonehenge landscape, as work at Blick Mead shows (Jacques et al. 2018, 159–60), and soon after the bluestones were installed at Stonehenge the central structure was linked by an Avenue to Stonehenge Bottom and the River Avon thereby fixing and formalising the relationship with water (Darvill et al. 2012b, 1035). In this sense the people who extracted dolerite from Carn Menyn and elsewhere around Mynydd Preseli were not just mining memories grounded in the deep-rooted power of place but were also following lines into the stone that traced the mountain’s ‘thingness’ or ‘stoneness’ and yielded meaningful materials to sustain life, the universe and everything. NOTE

1 The Welsh mynydd translates as ‘mountain’, but is retained here even though physical geographers usually define mountains as being above 600 m.

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Darvill, T. and Wainwright, G. 2002. SPACES: Exploring Neolithic landscapes in the Strumble-Preseli area of southwest Wales. Antiquity 76, 623–4. Darvill, T. and Wainwright, G. 2014. Beyond Stonehenge: Carn Menyn Quarry and the origin and date of bluestone extraction in the Preseli Hills of south-west Wales. Antiquity 88, 1099–114. Darvill, T. and Wainwright, G. 2016. Neolithic and Bronze Age Pembrokeshire. In T. Darvill, H. James, K. Murphy, G. Wainwright and E.A. Walker (eds), Pembrokeshire County History I. Prehistoric, Roman and Early Medieval Pembrokeshire. Haverfordwest: Pembrokeshire County History Trust, 55–222. Darvill, T., Wainwright, G., Armstrong, K. and Ixer, R. 2008. Strumble-Preseli Ancient Communities and environment Study (SPACES): Sixth Report 2007–8. Archaeology in Wales 48, 47–55. Darvill, T., Wainwright, G. Lüth, F. and Müller-Scheesel, N. 2012a. Strumble-Preseli Ancient Communities and Environment Study (SPACES): Seventh report 2009–11. Archaeology in Wales 51, 27–44. Darvill, T., Marshall, P., Parker Pearson, M. and Wainwright, G. 2012b. Stonehenge remodelled. Antiquity 86, 1021–40. David, A. 2007. Palaeolithic and Mesolithic Settlement in Wales with Special Reference to Dyfed. Oxford: BAR British Series 448. David, A. and Williams, G. 1995. Stone axe manufacture: New evidence from the Preseli Hills, West Wales. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 61, 433–60. Drewett, P.L. 1987. An archaeological survey of Mynydd Preseli, Dyfed. Archaeology in Wales 27, 14–16. Edmonds, M., Johnson, R., La Trobe-Bateman, E., Griffith, J. and Warren, G. 2004. Bardsey Island. Archaeology in Wales 44, 146–7. Evens, E.D., Grinsell, L.V., Piggott, S. and Wallis, F.S. 1962. Fourth report of the Sub-Committee of the South-Western Group of Museums and Art Galleries on the petrological identification of stone axes. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 28, 209–66. Evens, E.D., Smith I.F. and Wallis, F.S. 1972. The petrological identification of stone implements from south-western England. Fifth report of the Sub-Committee of the South-Western Federation of Museums and Art Galleries. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 38, 235–75. Fennell, J.F.M. and Shotton, F.W. 1977. Newly discovered handaxe from Broad, Warwickshire. Proceedings of the Coventry District Natural History and Science Society 5(1), 15–17. Hawkes, J. 1951. A Land. London: The Cressett Press. Hawley, W. 1921. Stonehenge: Interim report on the exploration. Antiquaries Journal 1, 19–41. Heidegger, M. (trans. A. Hofstadter) 1971. Poetry, Language, Thought. New York and London: Harper & Row. Ixer, R. 1996. Ore petrography and archaeological provenance. Mineralogical Society Bulletin 113, 17–19. Ixer, R. 1997. Detailed provenancing of the Stonehenge dolerites using reflected light petrology: A return to the light. In A. Sinclair, E. Slater and J. Gowlett (eds), Archaeological Science 1995. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 11–17. Ixer, R. and Bevins, R. 2010. The petrography, affinity and provenance of lithics from the Cursus Field, Stonehenge. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 103, 1–15. Ixer, R. and Bevins, R. 2011a. Craig Rhos-y-felin, Pont Saeson is the dominant source of the Stonehenge rhyolitic ‘debitage’. Archaeology in Wales 50, 21–32. Ixer, R. and Bevins, R. 2011b. The detailed petrology of six orthostats from the Bluestone Circle, Stonehenge. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 104, 1–14. Ixer, R. and Bevins, R. 2013a. A re-examination of rhyolitic bluestone ‘debitage’ from the Heelstone and other areas within the Stonehenge landscape. Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 106, 1–15. Ixer, R. and Bevins, R. 2013b. Chips off the old block: The Stonehenge debitage dilemma. Archaeology in Wales 52, 11–22.

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Stone, J.F.S. 1950. An axe-hammer from Fifield Bavant, Wilts., and the exploitation of Preselite. Antiquaries Journal 30, 145–51. Stone, J.F.S. and Wallis, F.S. 1947. Second report of the Sub-Committee of the South-Western Group of Museums and Art Galleries on the petrological identification of stone axes. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 13, 47–55. Stone, J.F.S. and Wallis, F.S. 1951. Third report of the Sub-Committee of the South-Western Group of Museums and Art Galleries on the petrological identification of stone axes. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 17, 99–158. Thomas, H.H. 1923. The source of the stones of Stonehenge. Antiquaries Journal 3, 239–60. Thorpe, R.S., Williams-Thorpe, O., Jenkins, D.G. and Watson, J. 1991. The geological sources and transport of the bluestones of Stonehenge, Wiltshire, UK. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 57, 103–57. Williams, J.LI. and Davidson, A. 1998. Survey and excavation at the Graiglwyd Neolithic axe-factory, Penmaenmawr. Archaeology in Wales 38, 3–21. Williams-Thorpe, O., Jones, M.C., Potts, P.J. and Webb, P.C. 2006. Preseli dolerite bluestones: Axeheads, Stonehenge monoliths, and outcrop sources. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 25.1, 29–46. Williams-Thorpe, O., Potts, P.J. and Jones, M.C. 2004. Non-destructive provenancing of bluestone axe-heads in Britain. Antiquity 78, 359–79. Williams-Thorpe, O., Webb, P.C. and Jones, M.C. 2003. Non-destructive geochemical and magnetic characterisation of Group XVIII dolerite stone axes and shaft-hole implements from England. Journal of Archaeological Science 30, 1237–79.

Chapter 9

Insights into Portland and Greensand chert use during the Neolithic of south-west England Rosemary J. Stewart

INTRODUCTION

Chert is a geological term for fine-grained, siliceous rocks which when struck produce a conchoidal fracture. Cherts are composed of very pure silica and are formed predominantly in sedimentary rocks (Tucker 2008). Different varieties exhibit a distinctive appearance, form and colour and their unique structure affects their knapping qualities and these factors have the potential to shed light on the choices made by people in the past. ‘Flint’ is a synonym employed mainly in Britain for chert occurring in Cretaceous Chalk. Secondary deposits of flint are widespread but the sources of other varieties of chert are much more geographically confined. By observing their geological outcrops and occurrence, we can begin to understand the opportunities and challenges that these raw materials provided. The logistics of chert procurement from geological sources including the effort expended and distances covered has the potential to give insights into aspects of the lives of prehistoric people. Mesolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Age people showed an interest and awareness of chert availability in their surroundings. There was a continuity of use through time but with notable differences and therefore, by inference, attitudes to geological resources. Although it could be surmised that chert was utilised as a substitute for flint in areas of low flint availability the evidence suggests that people who worked stone knew the specific, unique properties of the raw materials available in their landscapes and made choices accordingly. In south-west England Greensand chert and Portland chert were utilised. Outcrops of Greensand and Portland chert are shown in Fig. 9.1.

GREENSAND CHERT

Greensand chert is extremely tough and resilient and is distinctive within lithic assemblages. Abraded, sugary sand grains are visible, together with fossil sponge spicules and rusty brown grains of glauconite. The chert exhibits a wide variety of colours especially browns and orange distinctive from Portland Chert (Figs 9.2 and 9.3). Greensand chert is widespread across Southern England with coastal and inland outcrops from Devon to the Isle of Wight. This chert also occurs as drift in remanié (residual) deposits on the land surface, as glacial outwash and on beaches and in river gravels as far

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Figure 9.1: Primary sources of Portland and Greensand chert in south-west England.

Figure 9.2: Greensand chert cores.

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Figure 9.3: Portland chert struck flakes.

west as the Isles of Scilly. The author has observed pebbles and cobbles of Greensand chert in beach surveys all around the West Country coast.

GREENSAND CHERT IN ARCHAEOLOGY

Mesolithic use In south-west England Mesolithic people made full use of the local lithic resources available to them including Greensand chert in significant quantities (Roberts 1988). In some places this chert was the dominant raw material utilised (Norman 1975). Greensand chert is found in assemblages from Mesolithic coastal situations where its abundance in small lithic scatters reflects its local availability as beach pebbles (Stewart 2015). Other Mesolithic contexts include upland areas and sites close to rivers throughout the region. Berridge and Roberts (1986) suggested that larger objects of Greensand chert were traded in the Mesolithic. This raw material was also utilised in bladelet technology in south-west England.

Neolithic use The presence of plentiful Greensand chert in a lithic assemblage often signifies the presence of Mesolithic artefacts. However, this chert is sometimes present in later stone-working. In the Neolithic and Bronze Age, Greensand chert use continued but at a much diminished level compared with that in the Mesolithic.

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An example of the continuation of Greensand chert utilisation into the Neolithic is found at Crandon’s Cross in East Devon where 70% of the artefacts are made of this material (Silvester et al. 1987). Situated on the side of a river valley in a chert-rich area, this raw material procurement site, field walked by local archaeologist Nan Pierce, was identified as the largest single Mesolithic assemblage in south-west England (Jacobi 1979). The site is known for its Mesolithic component but in the same locality there are numerous broad blade, bi-polar core types and multiplatform cores of later Neolithic type. Tingle (1998) recorded that Greensand chert makes up 6% of the lithic assemblage present at Hembury causewayed enclosure in East Devon excavated by Liddell (1932; 1935). The enclosure at Hembury is situated on a chert-bearing Greensand spur but the lithic assemblage contains numerous varieties of Greensand chert from the hinterland of the site. Brown (1991), who analysed the lithic assemblage from the excavation, noticed that chert materials were associated with ditches, pits and ground surfaces correlated with previous Mesolithic activity. 1174 pieces of Greensand chert were recorded from the Hembury lithic assemblage including 15 cores (Stewart 2015). By far the most common implement made of this chert were scrapers numbering 66 in total (Fig. 9.5). Reflecting the physical nature of Greensand chert, 33 of these were large and many exhibited signs of vigorous use. Greensand chert was also used to make knives on comparatively long blades. Another site located on Greensand geology is the possible causewayed enclosure at Membury (Tingle 2006). Greensand chert makes up 47% of the lithic assemblage and excavations at this site revealed Early Neolithic pits containing lithic material, including chert. Away from chert-rich areas small amounts of Greensand chert were also utilised, the debitage often exhibiting beach pebble cortex indicating that local material was used. In the Neolithic some Greensand chert flakes and cores were deliberately placed in pits, enclosure ditches, cairns and included with burials along with other distinctive lithic materials and ceramics. For example, Lawson-Jones (2006) investigating the lithics from four Early Neolithic pits at Portscatho in Cornwall, identified two small pieces of Greensand chert from one pit and suggests that these were struck from a multiplatform core found in another of the pits. The sites mentioned in the text are shown on the map (Fig. 9.4).

Continuation into Bronze Age At the Membury site, Tingle (2006) noted that there was a change of attitude to raw materials and Greensand chert in the later Neolithic and it was no longer regarded as ‘an appropriate stone source for tool making’. This seems correct as across the West Country the indications are that less and less Greensand chert was used in later prehistory. Nevertheless, there are some exceptions, particularly where Greensand chert occurs locally. For example, knapping activities took place on a rock platform, at the Bronze Age site at Carngoon Bank in west Cornwall where local Greensand chert pebbles were used along with local flint. At Hodge Ditch, Chard Junction Quarry, on the boundary of Dorset and Somerset, Taylor and Preston (2004) excavated a Middle Bronze Age settlement. This site is situated close to chert drift and a majority of the lithic artefacts were Greensand chert (Ford 2004). In

Figure 9.4: Location of sites in south-west England referred to in text.

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Cornwall small amounts of Greensand chert were incorporated into Bronze Age barrows and cairns (Harris and Smyth 1983; Healy 1988; Smith 1996; Quinnell and Taylor 2005).

Arrowheads Rather surprisingly for such a comparatively coarse material some arrowheads were made of Greensand chert. Leaf-shaped examples were noted from the Carn Brea tor enclosure, from Treway near Zennor and an unfinished leaf-shaped arrowhead was seen in the assemblage from the Hazard Hill enclosure (Stewart 2015). A single Bronze Age barbed and tanged Greensand chert arrowhead was found alongside numerous flint arrowheads from Dozmary Pool. These arrowheads were rare within the assemblages studied. However, at a multiperiod site at Netherfield Farm, South Pertherton, Somerset (Mudd and Brett 2012) there were indications of arrowhead-making, which included a lithic assemblage consisting of 16.5% Greensand chert. Greensand chert flakes were found in pits and the oldest pit of Early Neolithic chronology contained a structured fill that included 29 lithic artefacts, 15 of which were of Greensand chert. Also at this site, in the Middle Neolithic long enclosure ditch-fill, the greatest proportion of the assemblage comprised of Greensand chert material including unfinished chisel arrowheads and snapped segments indicating debitage from chisel arrowhead manufacture (Anderson-Whymark and Price 2012).

Overview of archaeological material Greensand chert was utilised in the Neolithic particularly where it was a local resource. However, its continued procurement and use for larger, durable tools indicates choice and an understanding of this raw material. Greensand chert knaps well (Stewart 2015), producing long blades (Newberry 2002). This is ideal for the production of larger tools made on robust flakes, such as picks, axes, knives and large scrapers. It is noticeable that Greensand chert was used to make larger tools than those fabricated from flint (Berridge 1985; Tingle 1998). For example, the largest Greensand chert artefact seen from Hembury was a scraper 181.1 mm long and weighing 748 g. No flint scrapers were anywhere near this size (Fig. 9.5). Well smoothed Greensand chert sickle blades were also observed from the Down Farm assemblages (courtesy of Martin Green) and long blades of this chert were used to make knives (Lawson-Jones 2012; Stewart 2015). There is a possibility that large chert implements were transported or traded in the Neolithic. Polished Greensand chert axes were recorded from Lelant in Cornwall (Royal Cornwall Museum) and at Membury in east Devon (Tingle 2006). The inclusion of Greensand chert in pits, enclosure ditches and in cairns indicates its integration into the everyday activities of people in the Neolithic.

PORTLAND CHERT

Portland chert is mid blue-grey and although the colour varies in intensity, compared with other chert types its appearance is very consistent (Fig. 9.3). Portland chert is geographically

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Figure 9.5: Scraper size, Hembury.

limited with good quality chert restricted to southern Dorset and some river gravels in the Vale of Wardour. Grey flint types, including some seen in archaeological assemblages in Cornwall, have a similar appearance to Portland chert. However, the density of Portland chert is lower than that of flint and even in hand specimen it is possible to feel the difference in weight between the two materials. This chert responds particularly well to pressure flaking and is an ideal material for arrowhead fabrication (Stewart 2017).

PORTLAND CHERT IN ARCHAEOLOGY

Portland chert could not be described as a true lithic raw material in prehistory, in the sense that there seem to be no assemblages where this chert forms a significant portion, let alone is a major or dominant material. The more common situation in many Mesolithic and Neolithic assemblages is the incidence of a few pieces of Portland chert. What makes this extraordinary is that these rare pieces occur almost ubiquitously across south-west England (Rankine 1951; Palmer 1970) and Isobel Smith described Portland chert as ‘distinct in that the quantity remains constant irrespective of distance from Portland’ (Smith 1971). Portland chert artefacts have been noted in South Wales (David 2007) as far north as the Cotswolds (Palmer 1999; Darvill 2011), the Isle of Wight and Sussex (Palmer 1970), Hampshire (Cunliffe 1973) and in archaeological collections from west Cornwall to Kent (Stewart 2015). In Mesolithic assemblages small chert flakes and blades are observed but what we see in the Neolithic is the extraordinary dispersal of a specific Neolithic artefact of Portland chert across southern England, that of the arrowhead.

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Mesolithic use On the Isle of Portland a Mesolithic assemblage from Culverwell was found to contain hundreds of microliths and microburins (Palmer 1970; 1976) and Palmer suggested that this was a Mesolithic procurement site for Portland chert. Certainly the limited geological exposures of Portland chert indicate that the main source and collection of this raw material would be focused on the Isle of Portland. However, Mesolithic people were also aware of their local raw materials as illustrated by Portland chert pieces with river-worn cortex from a local source at sites around Martin Green’s Farm in Wiltshire (pers. obs.).

Neolithic use Activity on the Isle of Portland Portland chert procurement continued into the Neolithic on the Isle of Portland with Neolithic multiplatform cores found among the copious Portland chert knapping debitage observed in the soils across the island. Discoidal cores are also unusually common (Palmer 1970; pers. obs.). Butler (2005) suggests that this type of core was used by Later Neolithic stone-workers who specialised in producing more complex items. Many thousands of core tools or ‘Portland picks’, have been found on the Isle of Portland (Palmer 1970). Palmer states that these were used solely in Mesolithic times but there is evidence for the use of similar tools into the Neolithic (Gardiner 1987). These implements were used at raw material extraction sites and have been associated with Late Neolithic Grooved Ware (Mercer and Saville 1981). The vast concentration of Portland Picks on Portland could point to use through Mesolithic and Neolithic times. Palmer cites the lack of Neolithic settlement sites on Portland as an argument against the collection of Portland chert in the Neolithic. However, it may be that settlement was prohibited in places where prized raw materials were attained in order to create and maintain a sacred space surrounding excavation practices (Topping 2005). Portland chert at tor/causewayed enclosures Causewayed enclosures and their contemporary western, rocky variants, tor enclosures (Mercer 1981; Sheridan 2011; Whittle et al. 2011), seem to have served as node-points for raw material collection in the earlier Neolithic and these places were the setting for great concentrations of lithic materials including the intentional deposition of exotic and unusual items (Bradley 1998; Whittle et al. 2011). Small amounts of Portland chert occur in assemblages from enclosure sites. These places are often associated with a large number of flint arrowheads and included some made of Portland chert. Stone arrowheads were potent projectiles for hunting and warfare (Edmonds and Thomas 1987; Smith and Brickley 2009; Hall and Clark 2011) and evidence for their use during conflict has been discovered at a number of enclosure sites (Dixon 1979; Mercer 1980; 1981; 1999; Whittle et al. 2011). However, arrowheads are strongly associated with causewayed enclosures where they are found together with domestic artefacts (Brown 1991). Arrowheads were also fabricated at enclosure sites (Mercer 1981; Stewart 2015) and traded or exchanged (Stewart 2015).

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The following examples illustrate Portland chert occurrence at south-western enclosure sites. Portland chert makes up a minor but significant part of the lithic assemblage from the causewayed enclosure at Hembury. At this site Portland chert was utilised for the fabrication of items such as knives and scrapers and 12 leaf-shaped arrowheads that were recorded in the lithic assemblage. Liddell (1932; 1935) noted an unusual number of chert flakes in certain areas of the site and Brown (1991) recorded that both Greensand and Portland chert had been deposited in the enclosure ditches alongside the main bulk of leafshaped arrowheads, in pits with mixed lithic material and in ashy deposits associated with microliths. Hembury lies approximately 60 km from the nearest outcrop of Portland chert. At Raddon Hill causewayed enclosure in mid-Devon three small flakes of Portland chert were found together in the lower part of the ditch alongside a flint leaf-shaped arrowhead, a fragment of polished flint axe and a flint knife (Gent and Quinnell 1999). The assemblage from this context indicates deliberate artefact deposition in this area of the causewayed enclosure (Stewart 2015). Arrowhead working was discovered at the Hazard Hill enclosure site near Totnes in Devon where nine Portland chert leaf-shaped arrowheads were found along with chert arrowhead rough-outs. The nearest causewayed enclosure to the Isle of Portland is Maiden Castle (Sharples 1991) about 15 km to the north and it would seem the obvious place for Portland chert collection. However, even here comparatively few pieces were recorded in the lithic assemblage concurring with the pattern noted by Smith (1971). Hambledon Hill is the location of two causewayed enclosures, Stepleton Spur and the Main Enclosure (Mercer and Healy 2008). The lithics were carefully studied by Saville (2008). Thirty-eight pieces of Portland chert were recorded along with a single piece of Greensand chert. Out of 42 arrowheads on the sites, six were leaf-shaped Portland chert examples. Saville noted that the chert was positioned in enclosure ditches, a posthole, in pits and in a possible tree-throw. Intriguing discoveries were made by Martin Green on the flanks of both Maiden Castle and at Hambledon Hill (pers. obs. Martin Green collection). These are unusual examples of Portland chert rich assemblages. At Maiden Castle, Green discovered a small assemblage containing 40% Portland chert that parallels one he also found at Shroton beside Hambledon Hill. This contained Neolithic cores with cortex suggesting that they originated in the local River Nadder that cuts through an exposure of Portland chert, indicating that Neolithic people were aware of their local raw materials.

Bronze Age The exploitation of Portland chert seemed to end around 4,000 years ago and after this only the occasional chisel arrowhead and rare barbed and tanged arrowhead of this chert are found (Green 1980). However, tiny amounts of Portland chert were recorded at the Beaker and Bronze Age site at Sennen in far western Cornwall (Stewart 2012). One piece was found in a stone-lined pit of Beaker age, two more pieces were located in a Bronze Age pit. The distribution indicates the deliberate deposition, rather than accidental inclusion of this material, in pits over a period of time that spanned at least 300 years.

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Table 9.1: Causewayed/tor enclosures, amounts of Portland chert in total assemblage. Site

Portland chert pieces

Total lithic assemblages

Maiden Castle

111

21,326

Hambledon Hill

38

80,000

Raddon

5

1080

Hembury

283

c. 26,500

Hazard Hill

79

2638

Helman Tor

6

1201

44, some microdebitage

26,382

Carn Brea

Maiden Castle (Sharples 1991); Hambledon Hill (Saville 2008); other sites artefacts seen by author.

Overview of archaeological material The perception may sometimes be that the presence of Portland chert represents simply an expedient use of local raw materials (e.g. Sharples 1991). However, although the tiny amounts of Portland chert that turn up in individual assemblages and as small finds may appear insignificant, by adding these records together the bigger picture is more meaningful. Knapping experiments with John Lord and members of the Lithic Studies Society indicated that Portland chert is characteristically softer, lighter and more elastic than flint. There is an ease of pressure flaking with this chert. These properties made it ideal for single use objects or for objects that exhibit fine working, such as arrowheads. In lithic assemblages Portland chert usually occurs as tools or tertiary flakes. This is in contrast to Greensand chert where mixed flakes, often exhibiting cortex are common. With Portland chert the flakes are usually of similar size and shape. This indicates that initial knapping activities took place away from the eventual location of use and I have suggested that in the Neolithic the preparation of rough-outs, possibly along with heat-treatment of Portland chert may have taken place on the Isle of Portland (Stewart 2017).

LITTLE PIECES OF CHERT, BRINGING IT ALL TOGETHER

Portland chert was available from geographically restricted sources and as a counterpoint Greensand chert was a very widespread raw material. Both chert types exhibit individual qualities and these were carefully utilised by Neolithic people. Along with these functional properties there is evidence that both types of chert were held in special regard. The individual treatment of Portland chert has resonances and comparisons with the occurrence of Arran pitchstone (Ballin 2009). Ballin showed that pitchstone was moved around the landscape of Scotland from Mesolithic times to the Bronze Age but with by far the greatest focus in the Neolithic. With parallels to Portland chert, pitchstone was used to make arrowheads and it also occurs in assemblages as single, enigmatic blades and flakes.

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Chert artefacts were deposited with other scarce materials including axe fragments, distinctive varieties of flint and precious ceramics. In the Middle/Later Neolithic, Grooved Ware fragments were frequently incorporated into pit deposits (Jones 2005) and sometimes these were accompanied by chert. LawsonJones (2007) recorded small amounts of Greensand chert deposited with Grooved Ware while Portland chert flakes were found with Grooved Ware in the Wyke Down pit deposit at Down Farm (Martin Green collection). A Portland chert arrowhead was also discovered associated with Grooved Ware at Tarrant Monkton henge in Dorset (Parry 2007). In south-west England a collection of particular artefacts that symbolised the region were associated with the enclosure sites. These were Cornish axes, Gabbroic Ware and Portland chert (Smith 1971). The unique clay used in Gabbroic Ware originates on the Lizard in the far west of Cornwall (Ealey et al. 1999). Portland and Greensand chert artefacts were included in deposits in enclosure ditches and in pits as illustrated at Hembury, Raddon Hill and Membury causewayed enclosures. These locations were often marked with the deposition of unusual object and materials (Whittle et al. 2011) and each different enclosure site seems to have possessed its own individual signature of use and artefact deposition (Healy 2004). A remarkable example of this are the artefacts found at the causewayed enclosures on Hambledon Hill. Concentrated in the central area of one enclosure were beach pebbles, scallop shells and small amounts of Portland chert (Mercer and Healy 2008). In addition Gabbroic Ware vessels were also concentrated in pits in this enclosure (Healy 2004). Cornish axe-heads were discovered at Hambledon Hill and intriguingly, charred fragments of Cornish Heath (Erica vagans) now native in Britain only on the Lizard peninsula were found in a pit at the site. This seems to represent a span of objects ranging from the far west and east of the region. Neolithic pits were also often repositories for symbolically charged material (Brophy and Noble 2012) and Cooney (2005) suggests ‘the placement of material back into the ground replenishing the ancestral power of the place and ensuring a continuity of its power’. In south-west England it is significant that pieces of chert, including arrowheads were sometimes included as part of these pit deposits. Finlay (2000) states the ‘over-crafted’ Neolithic projectile point meant something entirely different from the low morphological sophistication but high functional potential of a scraper. Archaeological and ethnographic evidence clearly shows that stone arrowheads were precious objects (Topping 2005; Van Gijn 2010). Topping has studied the use of arrowheads in Native American societies and highlights that these objects are supremely sacred, some of which came to epitomise the entire fortunes of the tribe. The location of raw material sources must have been established through both tradition and folk memory (Field 1997). Sites that were important to Mesolithic groups were the focus of activity in Neolithic times (Edmonds et al. 1999) and Bradley (1993) suggests that the significance of such localities was emphasised by artefact deposition, to the extent that places acquired a genius loci that was to be shared by communities in later times. Lithic material seems to have been an important part of activities at these places, connected to the landscape and regional identity. Jones and Reed (2006) suggest that by depositing exotic lithic material the symbolic properties associated with other places might have been referenced and transferred to

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specific locations. Bradley (2000) uses the term ‘pieces of places’ for this phenomenon, reflecting what Field (1997) also calls ‘exchange communities’. It seems Portland chert and Greensand chert were symbols of the society connected to the landscape and narrative that belonged to south-west England. A representation of the land and the people was provided by chert, axes and treasured ceramics. No-one walking along the Dorset Ridgeway or nearby coast can fail to notice the striking landform that is the Isle of Portland. Portland chert was not a sought-after, bulk raw material; nevertheless it seems that people would have taken small amounts of chert from Portland itself, perhaps to represent kinship ties or as a symbol of the place. Tilley (1999) sums up the essence of the prehistoric use of Portland chert beautifully by saying that it ‘embodied knowledge of place’.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincere thanks go to the curators of the museums at Plymouth, Exeter, Truro, Torquay, Watchett and Barnstaple, also to Martin Green for access to his lithic collection. Thank you to Andy and Anna Jones and Nan Pierce. The wonderful Lithic Studies Society chert knappers were Mark Ford, Mike Trevarthen and Bob Turner.

REFERENCES Anderson-Whymark, H. and Price, K.M. 2012. Struck lithics. In A. Mudd and M. Brett, A Neolithic and Bronze Age monument complex and its Early Medieval reuse: excavations at Netherfield Farm, South Petherton, Somerset 2006. The Archaeological Journal 169(1), 3–86. Ballin, T.B. 2009. Archaeological Pitchstone in Northern Britain. Characterisation and interpretation of an important prehistoric source. British Archaeological Report, British Series 476. Oxford: Archaeopress. Berridge, P.J. 1985. Mesolithic Sites in the Yarty Valley. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 43, 1–21. Berridge, P.J. and Roberts, A. 1986. The Mesolithic period in Cornwall. Cornish Archaeology 25, 7–34. Bond, C.J. 2009. A Mesolithic social landscape in south-west Britain: the Somerset Levels and Mendip Hills. In S.B. McCarten, R. Shulting, G. Warren and P. Woodman (eds), Mesolithic horizons, volume II. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 706–16. Bradley, R.J. 1993. Altering the Earth: the origins of monuments in Britain and Continental Europe. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland Monograph 8. Bradley, R.J. 1998. Interpreting Enclosures. In M. Edmonds and C. Richards (eds), Understanding the Neolithic of North-Western Europe. Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 187–203. Bradley, R.J. 2000. Archaeology of Natural Places. London: Routledge. Brophy, K. and Noble, G. 2012. Within and beyond pits: deposition in lowland Neolithic Scotland. In H. Anderson-Whymark and J. Thomas (eds), Regional Perspectives on Neolithic Pit Deposition. Beyond the Mundane. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 12. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 63–76. Brown, A.G. 1991. The changing role of lithic artefacts in later Prehistoric England. Unpublished PhD thesis. University of Reading. Butler, C. 2005. Prehistoric Flintwork. Stroud: Tempus. Cooney, G. 2005. Stereo porphyry: quarrying and deposition on Lambay Island, Ireland. In P. Topping and M. Lyntott (eds), The Cultural Landscapes of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 14–29.

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Cunliffe, B. 1973. Chalton, Hants: The evolution of a landscape. The Antiquaries Journal 53, 173–90. Darvill, T. 2011. Prehistoric Gloucestershire. Forests and vales and high blue hills. 2nd edition. Stroud: Amberley Press. David, A. 2007. Palaeolithic and Mesolithic Settlement in Wales with Special Reference to Dyfed. British Archaeological Report, British Series 448. Oxford: Archaeopress. Dixon, P.W. 1979. A Neolithic and Iron Age site on a hilltop in southern England. Scientific American 241, 42–50. Ealey, P., Scourse, J.D. and Walsh, P.T. 1999. Crousa Gravels, The Lizard. In J.D. Scourse and M.F.A. Furze (eds), The Quaternary of West Cornwall, Field Guide. London: Quaternary Research Association, 136–9. Edmonds, M., Evans, C. and Gibson, D. 1999. Assembly and collection – lithic complexes in the Cambridgeshire Fens. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 65, 47–82. Edmonds, M.R. and Thomas, J. 1987. The archers: an everyday story of country folk. In A.G. Brown and M.R. Edmonds (eds), Lithic Analysis and Later British Prehistory. British Archaeological Report, British Series 162. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 187–99. Field, D. 1997. The landscape of extraction: aspects of the procurement of raw material in the Neolithic. In P. Topping (ed.), Neolithic Landscapes. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 2, Oxbow Monograph 86. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 55–68. Finlay, N. 2000. Microliths in the making. In R. Young (ed.), Mesolithic Lifeways: current research in Britain and Ireland. Leicester: Leicester University Archaeology Monograph 7, 23–32. Ford, S. 2004. Struck chert and flint. In A. Taylor and S. Preston, The Excavation of a Middle Bronze Age Settlement at Hodge Ditch, Chard Junction Quarry, Thorncombe, Dorset. Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Archaeological Society 26, 27–42. Gardiner, J. 1987. Tales of the unexpected: approaches to the assessment and interpretation of museum flint collections. In A.G. Brown and M.R. Roberts (eds), Lithics Analysis and Later British Prehistory. British Archaeological Report, British Series 162. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 49–63. Gent, T.H. and Quinnell, H. 1999. Excavation of a causewayed enclosure and hillfort on Radden Hill, Stockleigh Pomeroy. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 57, 1–75. Gossip, J. and Jones, A.M. 2007. Archaeological Investigations of a Later Prehistoric and a Romano-British Landscape at Tremough, Penryn, Cornwall. British Archaeological Report, British Series 443. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Green, H.S. 1980. The Flint Arrowheads of the British Isles. 2 volumes. British Archaeological Report, British Series 75. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Hall, S.S. and Clark, R. 2011. Iceman unfrozen, new clues to his death. National Geographic Magazine, November 2011, 118–33. Harris, D. and Smyth, G. 1983. Excavation of a barrow (?) at Higher Polcoverack, St Keverne. Cornish Archaeology 22, 93–8. Healy, F. 1988. Small Finds. In P.M. Christie, A barrow cemetery on Davidstow Moor, Cornwall, wartime excavations by C.K. Croft Andrew. Cornish Archaeology 27, 27–169. Healy, F. 2004. Hambledon Hill and its implications. In R. Cleal and J. Pollard (eds), Monuments and Material Culture. Papers in honour of an Avebury archaeologist: Isobel Smith. Salisbury: Hobnob Press, 15–38. Jacobi, R.M. 1979. Early Flandrian Hunters in the South West. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 48, 48–93. Jones, A.M. 2005. Cornish Bronze Age Ceremonial Landscapes c. 2500–1500 BC. British Archaeological Report, British Series 394. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Jones, A.M, and Reed, S.J. 2006. By land, sea and air: an Early Neolithic pit group at Porthscatho, Cornwall, and consideration of coastal activity during the Neolithic. Cornish Archaeology 45, 1–30.

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Lawson-Jones, A. 2006. Flint and stone. In A.M. Jones and S.J. Reed, By land, sea and air: an Early Neolithic pit group at Porthscatho, Cornwall, and consideration of coastal activity during the Neolithic. Cornish Archaeology 45, 1–30. Lawson-Jones, A. 2007. Flint. In J. Gossip and A.M. Jones (eds), Archaeological Investigations of a Later Prehistoric and a Romano-British Landscape at Tremough, Penryn, Cornwall. British Archaeological Report, British Series 443. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 88–96. Lawson-Jones, A. 2012. Flint. In A.M. Jones, S.R. Taylor and J.A. Sturgess, Beaker structure and other discoveries along the Sennen to Porthcurno South West Water pipeline. Cornish Archaeology 51, 1–69. Liddell, D M. 1932. Report of the excavations at Hembury Fort. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Exploration Society 1, 90–120, 162–90. Liddell, D M. 1935. Report of the excavations at Hembury Fort. Devon Archaeological Exploration Society 2, 135–75. Mercer, R.J. 1981. Excavations at Carn Brea, Illogen, Cornwall – a new fortified complex of the third millennium BC. Cornish Archaeology 20, 1–204. Mercer, R.J. and Healy, F. 2008. Hambledon Hill, Dorset, England. Excavation and survey of a Neolithic monument complex and its surrounding landscape. Volume 2. Swindon: English Heritage Archaeological Reports. Mercer, R.J. and Saville, A. 1981. Grimes Graves, Norfolk. Vol II: excavations 1871–1972, the flint assemblage. Swindon: English Heritage. Mudd, A. and Brett, M. 2012. A Neolithic and Bronze Age monument complex and its Early Medieval reuse: excavations at Netherfield Farm, South Petherton, Somerset 2006. The Archaeological Journal 169(1), 3–86. Newberry, J. 2002. Inland flint in prehistoric Devon, sources, tool making, quality and use. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 60, 1–37. Norman, C. 1975. Four Mesolithic assemblages from west Somerset. Somerset Archaeology and Natural History Society 119, 26–37. Palmer, S. 1970. The Stone Age industries of the Isle of Portland, Dorset and the utilisation of Portland chert as artifact material in Southern England. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 36, 82–114. Palmer, S. 1976. The Mesolithic habitation site at Culver Well, Portland, Dorset: Interim note. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 42, 324–7. Palmer, S. 1999. Culverwell Mesolithic Habitation Site, Isle of Portland, Dorset. British Archaeological Report, British Series 287. Oxford: Archaeopress. Parry, D. 2007. Tarrant Monkton excavation – September 2005. Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Archaeology Society 128, 127–8. Quinnell, H. and Taylor, R. 2005. The stone artefacts. In A.M. Jones, Settlement and ceremony: archaeological investigations at Stannon Down, St Breward, Cornwall. Cornish Archaeology 43–44, 1–140. Quinnell, H. and Taylor, R. 2011. Prehistoric pottery. In P. Pearce, M. Stenmetzer and H. Quinnell, An Early Neolithic pit alignment, Grooved Ware and Bronze Age field boundaries at the former Royal Navy Stores depot, Old Rydon Lane, Exeter. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 69, 23–51. Rankine, W.F. 1951. Notes on artifacts of Portland chert in Southern England. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 17, 93–4. Roberts, A. 1988. Notes on the use of non-flint raw materials in the Palaeolithic of southwestern Britain. In R.J. MacRae and N. Moloney (eds), Non-Flint Stone Tools and the Palaeolithic Occupation of Britain. British Archaeological Report, British Series 189. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 217–22.

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Saville, A. 2008. The flint and chert artefacts. In R.J. Mercer and F. Healy (eds), Hambledon Hill, Dorset, England. Excavation and survey of a Neolithic monument complex and its surrounding landscape. Volume 2. Swindon: English Heritage Archaeological Reports, 648–74. Sharples, N.M. 1991. Maiden Castle Excavations and Field Survey 1985–6. Swindon: English Heritage Archaeological Report 19. Sheridan, A. 2011. The Early Neolithic of south-west England: new insights and new questions. In S. Pearce (ed.), Recent Archaeological Work in South-Western Britain. Papers in honour of Henrietta Quinnell. British Archaeological Report, British Series 548. Oxford: BAR Publishing, 21–40. Silvester, R.J., Berridge, P.J. and Uglow, J. 1987. A fieldwalking exercise on Mesolithic and Neolithic sites at Nether Exe. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 45, 1–21. Smith, G.H. 1996. Archaeology and environment of a Bronze Age cairn and prehistoric and Romano-British field system at Chysauster, Gulval, near Penzance, Cornwall. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 62, 167–219. Smith, I.F. 1971. Causewayed Enclosures. In D.D.A. Simpson (eds), Economy and Settlement in Neolithic and Early Bronze Age Britain and Europe. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 89–110. Smith, M. and Brickley, M. 2009. People of the Long Barrows: life, death and burial in the Earlier Neolithic. Stroud: The History Press. Stewart, R.J. 2012. The chert. In A.M. Jones, S. Taylor and J.A.Sturgess, Beaker structure and other discoveries along the Sennen to Porthcurno South West Water pipeline. Cornish Archaeology 51, 1–68. Stewart, R.J. 2015. Carved by time out of a single stone; a geological appraisal of archaeological chert. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Reading. Stewart R.J. 2017. The Isle of Portland, Portland chert and Neolithic arrowheads: qualities and connections. Lithics: the Journal of the Lithic Studies Society 38, 57–71. Taylor, A. and Preston, S. 2004. The Excavation of a Middle Bronze Age settlement at Hodge Ditch, Chard Junction Quarry, Thorncombe, Dorset. Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Archaeological Society 26, 27–42. Tilley, C. 1999. Metaphor and Material Culture. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Tingle, M. 1998. The Prehistory of Beer Head: Field survey and excavation at an isolated flint source on the South Devon coast. British Archaeological Report, British Series 270. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Tingle, M. 2006. Excavations of a possible causewayed enclosure and Roman site at Membury 1986 and 1994–2000. Proceedings of the Devon Archaeological Society 64, 1–52. Topping, P. 2005. Shaft 27 revisited: an ethnography of Neolithic flint extraction. In P. Topping and M. Lyntott (eds), The Cultural Landscapes of Prehistoric Mines. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 63–93. Tucker, M E. 2008. Sedimentary Petrology: An introduction to the origin of sedimentary rocks. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Van Gijn, A. 2010. Flint in Focus. Lithic biographies in the Neolithic and Bronze Age. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Whittle, A., Healy, F. and Bayliss, A. 2011. Gathering Time. Dating the Early Neolithic enclosures of Southern Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 10

Crossing the divide: Raw material use in the north-west of the British Isles in the late Mesolithic and Neolithic Fraser Brown, Antony Dickson and Helen Evans INTRODUCTION

Excavations ahead of a new road scheme at Stainton West, Carlisle, Cumbria, revealed a substantial Mesolithic to Middle Bronze Age occupation site. The results of the postexcavation analysis are in the final stages of preparation and will be published as a monograph in 2019 (Brown et al. forthcoming). The following narrative is based on the results of the analysis of the Mesolithic and Neolithic artefacts and contextual record. The foremost interpretative themes of this material have been summarised here and further details can be accessed in the forthcoming publication.

STAINTON WEST: MESOLITHIC OCCUPATION

Approximately 8,000 years ago a gatherer-hunter band set up camp on an island, between parallel east/west aligned channels, on the north-eastern margins of the River Eden’s floodplain (Figs 10.1 and 10.2). This camp sat on relatively raised, dry ground and included a circular structure characterised by several postholes and hearths (Brown et al. forthcoming). A second structure, just to the north-west, may have been broadly contemporary with the first, or possibly slightly earlier. This was later subsumed beneath a midden, which probably originated at the start of the early phase of occupation and later developed into a significant feature. The island became the focus for repeated, sporadic occupation during the late sixth to early fifth millennium cal BC (Brown et al. forthcoming), probably comprising temporary logistical camps. These were defined by discrete collections of chipped stone, sometimes associated with tree throws, on the channel’s banks and it is possible that further structures were erected in an area to the south of the midden (Fig. 10.2). The south-western channel also witnessed human activity, focused on and around a beaver lodge and dam, dating to the middle/end of the sixth millennium cal BC. This consisted of a small assemblage of chipped stone and items of worked and charred wood; with the worked wood indicating woodland management using axe blades/adzes. During the second to third quarters of the fifth millennium cal BC occupation activity intensified at Stainton West with the establishment of an encampment (Fig. 10.2). This

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Figure 10.1: Location map showing the main sites and locations mentioned in the text in relation to the wider landscape of the north-west British Isles.

comprised activity estimated as lasting between 90 and 320 years (95.4% confidence; Brown et al. forthcoming). Occupation chiefly took place within the same area of the site where the earlier structure/s and midden were located and was probably influenced by reference to the past significance of the place (Edmonds 1997, 101; Milner et al. 2018, 341–4). This involved the construction and inhabitation of several structures, with similar footprints to the earlier ones, associated with an extensive worked stone distribution. The presence of spatially discrete assemblages of chipped stone struck from the same raw material and a large number of different tool types, both microlithic and macrolithic, suggests that the encampment was occupied with a degree of permanence (Brown et al. forthcoming). In this respect, it was probably a residential or base camp (Binford 1980) for a gatherer-

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Figure 10.2: Interpretative plan of the late Mesolithic activity at Stainton West.

hunter band or bands. The wide range of lithic materials represented within the worked stone assemblage also suggests a degree of residential mobility; composed as it was of raw materials whose procurement demonstrated travel over long distances and involvement in extensive exchange networks.

Stainton West: Mesolithic raw material procurement The bulk of the chipped stone assemblage comprised beach pebble flint and chert. Beach pebble flint is the only reliable source of flint within Cumbria and raised shingle beaches,

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the source for much of this material, can be found on the northern and southern littoral of the Solway Firth, the western coast of Scotland and the west Cumbrian coast (Mithen 2000; Cherry and Cherry 2002; Cummings and Robinson 2015). Therefore, there is potential for pebble flint to have been procured from a variety of source areas both local to, and at distance from the site. Chert is also present in the Eden Valley, its tributary systems, and the northern Pennines. A sourcing study identified matches between archaeological material, from several knapping groups from Stainton West, with geological samples from locations local to the site and further afield; Caldbeck, Cumbria, Haltwhistle, Northumberland and several locations in the northern Pennines (Brown et al. forthcoming). Geochemical analysis also revealed that smaller, but significant quantities, of more exotic raw material types: Scottish chert (Fig. 10.3); central Lake District tuff; Yorkshire flint and Arran pitchstone were also used at the site (Stewart 2015; Brown et al. forthcoming). Although the use of Arran pitchstone beyond Arran generally dates to the early Neolithic and slightly later (Ballin 2015), at Stainton West pitchstone was associated with spreads of chipped stone which were technologically late Mesolithic. The recovery of pitchstone debitage from dated Mesolithic deposits and the identification of microliths made from pitchstone at Scottish sites indicates its use on the mainland in the late Mesolithic (Ballin et al. 2018). In terms of interpreting the evidence from the raw material sourcing studies, it is suggested that the Eden’s catchment formed the habitual range of the gatherer-hunter band that occupied Stainton West. The use of raw materials derived from more distant sources, beyond the Eden Valley, suggests a social range (the area over which this community had connections and knowledge) extending as much as 200 km from the site (Fig. 10.3). Many of these raw materials can be identified confidently within the assemblages associated with the earliest phase of encampment, although they became more common by its latest phase. Geochemical analysis points to the use of a restricted range of very similar specific lithic sources over the encampment’s history. In terms of lithic procurement, access appears to have been maintained to these, often distant, sources throughout. This points to a preference for particular sources of outcropping stone and resilient and enduring relationships maintained between communities, living long distances apart (Brown et al. forthcoming). Fragments of Group VI polished tools were recovered from the encampment and a discrete area in the eastern channel. Alongside a partly ground tuff adze and several grinding stones (probably used for shaping axe blades), polished Group VI tool fragments from the eastern channel suggest that the production/reworking of ground and polished stone tools took place there. Most examples were stratigraphically and/or spatially associated with late Mesolithic lithic concentrations and/or features. A fragment of a Group VI polished tool, probably an axe blade, was recovered from the base of the eastern channel, sealed beneath a layer of alluvium which began to accumulate from c. 4300 cal BC (Brown et al. forthcoming). The piece bore the trace of a side facet, a common feature of Cumbrian Neolithic polished stone axe blades (Davis and Edmonds 2011), and its presence indicates the manufacture and maintenance of ground tuff axes during the fifth millennium cal BC (Brown et al. forthcoming). The material from the channel has been geochemically sourced (Fig. 10.1), and it seems more likely than not that it was obtained directly from its parent strata in the Great Langdale area.

Figure 10.3: Map showing the geographic distribution of lithic raw material sources both local to and at distance from Stainton West.

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The evidence from Stainton West suggests that polished-stone axe blades and the exploitation of central Lake District tuff were aspects of a late Mesolithic gatherer-hunter technology and material culture in north-west England during the mid/late fifth millennium cal BC. To date, these late Mesolithic ground-stone axe blades represent the first examples from England. However, across the wider Irish Sea basin, ground-stone technology is a feature of the Mesolithic. Axe blades exhibiting varying degrees of grinding and polishing, made from stone and flint, are known from Mesolithic contexts in Ireland, the Isle of Man, Wales and Scotland (David 1989; Saville 1994; David and Walker 2004, 325–7; Saville 2009; Woodman 2015, 125–6 and 146–8; Little et al. 2017; Clarke forthcoming). The importance of the Irish Sea zone in prehistory – particularly during the Neolithic period – is well-established and it has long been argued that similarities in material culture across the Irish Sea regions represent the transfer of ideas and material culture bound up in notions of regional identity (e.g. Fox 1932; Bowen 1970; Cummings and Fowler 2004; Cummings 2009; Watson and Bradley 2009; Garrow et al. 2017). With the exception of the ‘axe trade’ Cumbria is often under-represented in such narratives. If, as the evidence from Stainton West suggests, social networks across the Irish Sea had their origins in the Mesolithic period, then the precedent was already set for what is often understood as a continentally-inspired innovation marking the origins and onset of the Neolithic period (e.g. Sheridan 2010; Thomas 2013, 279–83; Cummings 2017, 51–7; Evans et al. forthcoming).

STAINTON WEST: NEOLITHIC OCCUPATION

Probably not long after the intensive phase of occupation, in the middle of the fifth millennium cal BC, alluvial deposits sealed the late Mesolithic encampment. This period of alluviation lasted for c. 300 years and chipped stone assemblages within the alluvium suggest that sporadic occupation took place as this process was ongoing. By 3800–3700 cal BC marked occupation resumed at Stainton West; however, at this time it took a different character and was focused within the palaeochannel delineating the south-western side of the island. This partially-silted channel formed the focus for structured deposition, akin to practices often associated with constructed Neolithic monuments (Cummings 2017; Ray and Thomas 2018). At the northern end of the channel, a collapsed hurdle fence and other stake settings appeared to demarcate an area where the channel broadened into a natural pond, and a crude wooden platform was constructed on the eastern edge of the active watercourse (Fig. 10.4). A significant proportion of the wood forming the platform had been altered by human agency, best exemplified by two finely carved oak tridents, a hooked dowel and a probable paddle shaft (Brown et al. forthcoming). Small concentrations of chipped stone also appeared to have been deposited. These included a leaf-shaped arrowhead that had been de-hafted and placed in the channel; a concentration of probable Yorkshire flint; Scottish chert; flaked tuff and a chert knapping group. The latter originally consisted of a large nodule of chert which had been reduced into several chunks and flakes and appears to have been deposited referencing one of the tridents, which dated to 3900–3660 cal BC (Brown et al. forthcoming). The occurrence of Yorkshire flint and the Scottish chert serves to highlight that the connections which

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Figure 10.4: Interpretative plan of the Neolithic worked stone, wooden structures and natural cobbles deposited in the south-western channel.

had been established in the late Mesolithic continued during this period (Brown et al. forthcoming). In addition, a large coarse stone tool assemblage and a massive quantity of unmodified cobbles, many of a volcanoclastic lithology, were also retrieved from the channel (Fig. 10.4). Three tuff axe blades were recovered from the earlier Neolithic deposits, two of which had

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been extensively reworked. The deposition of the tuff axe blades in the channel is dated to 3940–3650 cal BC (Brown et al. forthcoming); they may well have been in circulation for some time before this, however, and accrued biographical and symbolic associations. Across the dryland area of the site, once occupied by the late Mesolithic encampment, firm evidence for Neolithic worked stone is limited, consisting mainly of a smattering of diagnostic tools, some with Early Bronze Age associations. The low numbers of diagnostic Neolithic tools and debitage here suggests sporadic and low-level activity, and this seems to have continued into the Bronze Age. The earlier Neolithic worked stone suggests specialised activity, such as hunting, with a reliance on specific tool types. Other than a few natural features dated to the Neolithic, which probably relate to tree clearance, there were no features suggestive of long-lived Neolithic occupation. Indeed, all of the hearths, pits and structures from this part of the site have been either scientifically dated to the late Mesolithic or were spatially associated with late Mesolithic stone-working activity (Brown et al. forthcoming).

Stainton West: Neolithic raw material procurement Raw material procurement continued to be an important element of social routines at the start of the Neolithic period. An intensity in coarse stone tool use at Stainton West is illustrated by the number of cobble tools, and unworked cobbles, deposited in the palaeochannel. There is also evidence to suggest that raw material sources, or at least source areas accessed in the late Mesolithic, were incorporated into Neolithic procurement strategies. This is attested by the concentration of Yorkshire flint in the palaeochannel, along with diagnostic arrowheads made from the same material, recovered from the channel and the site area. The continued use of Yorkshire flint from the late Mesolithic into the Neolithic has interesting implications, suggesting that trans-Pennine social contact and/or movement continued over many generations. Whether such activity involved the direct movement of groups, or individuals, from one side of the country to the other, or the existence of social networks that revolved around the exchange of ideas, people and things cannot be demonstrated unequivocally, and a combination of all these elements seems likely. Even so, the exchange of lithic raw materials, which originated in the Mesolithic period, appears to have become more focused and formalised during the Neolithic, exemplified by the intensive manufacture and distribution of tuff axes (Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Durden 1996). It also seems significant that it was in regions beyond Cumbria (Scotland and Yorkshire), from which Mesolithic gatherer-hunters at Stainton West derived lithic raw materials, that tuff axe blades occur in significant quantities (Fell 1964; Manby 1965; Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Coles 2011). THE WIDER CONTEXT

Long Meg and Her Daughters Long Meg stone circle is located on a bluff overlooking the River Eden, c. 26 km to the south-east of Stainton West (Fig. 10.1). The stone circle was part of a much larger Neolithic ceremonial complex including a large ditched enclosure pre-dating it (Soffe and Clare 1988;

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Frodsham 2015). Recent excavation and scientific dating have revealed a long history of occupation; a late sixth millennium cal BC date, broadly contemporary with the sporadic occupation at Stainton West, was returned from residual oak charcoal from the primary fill of the enclosure ditch (ASDU 2016), suggesting that the site was visited prior to the construction of monuments. The enclosure itself was probably constructed in the early Neolithic; scientific dating suggests the ditch was backfilled in the fortieth/thirty-eighth centuries cal BC, after which, the stone circle was constructed in the middle Neolithic (Frodsham 2015). A small assemblage of flint and chert and pitchstone was collected during excavation, along with several pieces of tuff, probably Group VI, which had been struck from polished axe blades.

The wider Eden Valley Fieldwalking in the environs of Long Meg has not identified significant numbers of later Mesolithic or early Neolithic occupation sites (A. Dickson pers. obs.), though sporadic finds of tuff, some removed from larger implements, attest to the significance of this material close to Long Meg. Further up river, where the Eamont meets the Eden, significant evidence for occupation in both the late Mesolithic and Neolithic has been identified through fieldwalking (Fig. 10.1). At the Eamont/Eden confluence, late Mesolithic activity is a feature of most assemblages and is defined by debitage affiliated with blade-based reduction strategies and/or microliths. At two locations late Mesolithic technology forms a significant element of the assemblages; one located on a ridge of high ground overlooking the confluence, and the other on the floodplain. The technological composition and setting of the latter is strongly reminiscent of Stainton West; indeed, the spatial distribution of the assemblage viewed against LiDAR data indicates that the scatter is situated between two palaeochannels, adjacent to a ridge of high ground. Both assemblages make use of a variety of raw materials, chief amongst which are flint and chert. The former includes pebble flint, procured from both beach sources and till deposits, and material probably derived from east Yorkshire. The chert mainly consists of black material, particularly a type containing white quartz inclusions, which has also been recorded in surface assemblages from the limestone uplands to the south of the confluence (P. Cherry pers. comm.). Smaller quantities of other raw materials including tuff and Scottish chert were also used at both sites. The presence of the Scottish chert is of note, suggesting movement of this material along the Eden Valley from the north. None of the confluence sites produced pitchstone artefacts, however, a single item was recovered from close to Long Meg. Another was part of a small lithic scatter south of the confluence of the rivers Eamont and Lowther (A. Dickson pers. obs.), downstream of the Neolithic monument complex of Mayburgh and King Arthur’s Round Table at Eamont Bridge (Topping 1992). Upstream of the Eamont/Eden confluence, several pieces of pitchstone have been recovered in the Upper Eden (A. Hamilton-Gibney pers. comm.).

The limestone uplands Numbering 21 pieces, pitchstone has been recovered from several surface scatters from the limestone uplands (Cherry and Cherry 1987; Fig. 10.1). Scottish chert has also been

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recovered from a surface scatter at Orton (Stewart 2015), close to Gamelands stone circle. Raw materials from these upland sites were probably transported along the Lowther valley, the Lowther being a tributary of the Eamont, which is itself a tributary of the Eden. A significant concentration of surface scatters with late Mesolithic and/or early Neolithic technological affinities are also located in the uplands, one of which was adjacent to Gamelands stone circle (Cherry and Cherry 1987). There are several long barrows and putatively Neolithic enclosures in the area, which seem to have formed the foci for monument complexes across the eastern limestone uplands in the environs of Shap and Orton (Clare 1978; Evans 2008).

South-west Cumbria Evidence from the Furness peninsula has illustrated similar themes of local and exotic lithic raw material use and landscape occupation, and with an Irish Sea coastline, clearly exhibits the existence of wide-scale social networks. Walney Island frames the western extent of the peninsula, marking the entrances into Morecambe Bay and the Duddon estuary (Fig. 10.1). During the 1930s and 40s, sand dune erosion exposed sites including hearths and lithic scatters dating between the later Mesolithic and the Bronze Age (e.g. Cross 1938; 1939; 1942). As well as Group VI axes and polissoirs, flakes of porcellanite from Tievebulliagh in Northern Ireland were identified (Cross 1946). The range of finds from Walney North End has led Bradley et al. (2015) to include the site in their corpus of prehistoric havens, based on the model of early Medieval beach-markets. Lithic finds from Seascale, on the west coast 30 km north of Walney include a Ronaldsway axe (Cherry 1967); the Isle of Man is visible (on a clear day) from south-western Cumbria and numerous Group VI axes have been found there, as well as further afield in Ireland (Cooney and Mandal 1998; Kewley 2016). Stone axe blade finds are common on Furness and illustrate marked concentrations on the limestone uplands and along the coast. Tuff is present in lithic scatters, in analogous forms to flint implements, and occasional re-worked flakes derived from stone axe blades (Evans 2008). Pebble flint occurs in pockets along the coastline and evidence for raw material testing and the production of blank flakes has been identified on Walney (Evans 2008, 134). The distribution of pebble flint, often 100% of assemblages in coastal contexts (with the marked exception of Walney North End), drops off markedly further inland, where cherts and the translucent Yorkshire flints are well-represented (Evans 2008, 138). Although raw material analysis of lithic assemblages derived from fieldwalking on the peninsula (Evans 2008, chapter 9) took place prior to the recent recognition of Arran pitchstone in the area, a pitchstone core has been positively identified in Furness, from Stainton Quarry (Robinson 2017). Here, antiquarian stone axe blade finds from limestone grykes prompted excavation ahead of quarry enlargement. This produced Carinated Bowl pottery, two stone axe blades, and 70 cereal grains from pits and a tree-throw, the bulk of activity dating between 3800 and 3600 cal BC (Robinson 2017). Lipid analysis indicated the Carinated Bowl vessels were used to process dairy fats; together with the cereal grains this indicates a fully-fledged mixed farming economy early in the Neolithic (Robinson 2017).

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At Holbeck Park Avenue, a tree-throw containing 15–18 Carinated Bowl vessels was identified, 5 km to the south of Stainton Quarry, above a former coastal inlet (Evans 2018). The lithic assemblage included a microlith made on pebble flint, a finely-worked Yorkshire flint waste flake, and two tuff flakes (Evans 2018). Charcoal and a single cereal grain produced four statistically contemporary dates between 3960–3770 cal BC (Evans 2018). This is amongst the earliest dates for Neolithic material culture at a national scale (Griffiths 2011); the dense distribution of stone axes in Furness, and the location of the peninsula on the Irish seaboard quite clearly indicates its importance within networks of contact.

CONCLUSION

The new evidence from Stainton West indicates that the Neolithic axe production sites in the central Lakeland fells, and particularly Pike O’Stickle at Langdale, had origins in the later Mesolithic (Brown et al. forthcoming). Pike O’Stickle is a distinctive landmark near the head of the Langdale valley and is visible from many places across the county. On the basis of the ‘axe factories’ found in the Langdales in the mid-twentieth century (Bunch and Fell 1949), the mountains and the stone circles on the fells at the edges of the Lake District have been central to narratives concerning the region’s Neolithic (e.g. Bradley and Edmonds 1993). Recent radiocarbon dates on material from excavated axe production sites cluster in the earliest Neolithic however (Griffiths forthcoming), and the stone circles are now believed to date to the middle and later Neolithic (Cummings 2017). As scientific analyses become more accessible, allowing, for example, multiple radiocarbon determinations and lithic raw material sourcing, long-held perceptions can, and must change with the times. Notwithstanding the Group VI material from stratigraphically secure later Mesolithic contexts at Stainton West, if we now accept that Mesolithic communities sourced workable stone, such as cherts and banded rhyolite (Cherry and Davies 2014) from the heads of valleys in the Lake District by following tributary becks upslope to their springs, then the discovery of tuff from Pike O’Stickle should be no surprise. Indeed, it seems likely that the probably relatively smallscale usage of this stone in the later Mesolithic gave rise to its subsequent, meteoric, rise in status and exploitation. Given the dates from Stainton West, Holbeck and Long Meg, the evidence is beginning to suggest that Cumbria, rather than being a cultural backwater, was an important node of cultural interaction; not just across the Mesolithic/Neolithic transition but also providing access between the Irish sea zone and regions east of the Pennines. Likewise, other exotic and important lithic sources, such as the Isle of Arran, may, on the basis of the mid-fifth-millennium use of pitchstone at Stainton West (Brown et al. forthcoming), have been important places in far-reaching networks of Mesolithic interaction. The survival of these networks into the early fourth millennium and beyond, as evidenced by the continued use of exotic raw materials in Cumbria at this time, surely argues that social geographies were maintained across the oft-perceived cultural divide between the Mesolithic and Neolithic periods in north-western England.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The authors would like to thank all those involved in the excavation and post-excavation of Stainton West. They are too numerous to acknowledge here, but in the context of this paper particular thanks go to all the specialists involved in the lithic analysis and raw material sourcing studies: Seosaimhim Bradley, Ann Clarke, Randy Donahue, Mark Edmonds, Adrian Evans, Mik Markham and Rosemary Stewart. Specific regards go to dear departed Vin Davis. We would also like to thank Marie Rowland who prepared the figures.

REFERENCES Archaeological Services Durham University. 2016. Long Meg and Her Daughters, Little Salkeld, Cumbria, post-excavation full analysis. Durham University: unpublished report 4043. Ballin, T.B. 2015. Arran pitchstone (Scottish volcanic glass): new dating evidence. Journal of Lithic Studies 2(1), 5–16, [Online]. Available at: http://journals.ed.ac.uk/lithicstudies/article/ view/1166/1722 (Accessed 17th November 2015). Ballin, T.B., Ellis, C. and Ballie, W. 2018. Arran pitchstone – different forms of exchange at different times? CIfA, Scottish Group Newsletter, Spring 2018. Binford, L.R. 1980. Willow smoke and dog’s tails: hunter-gatherer settlement systems and archaeological site formation. American Antiquity 45(1), 4–20. Bonsall, C. (ed.) 1989. The Mesolithic in Europe. Edinburgh: John Donald. Bowen, E.G. 1970. Britain and the British seas. In D. Moore (ed.), The Irish Sea Province in Archaeology and History. Cardiff: Cambrian Archaeological Association, 13–28. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1993. Interpreting the Axe Trade: Production and Exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bradley, R., Rogers, A., Sturt, F., Watson, A., Coles, D., Gardiner, J. and Scott, R. 2015. Maritime havens in earlier prehistoric Britain. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 82, 1–35. Brophy, K. and Barclay, G. (eds) 2009. Defining a Regional Neolithic: the Evidence from Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Brown, F., Dickson, A.J., Gregory, R. and Zant, J. forthcoming. The Archaeology of the Carlisle Northern Development Route. Lancaster: Lancaster Imprints. Brown, F. and Evans, H. (eds) forthcoming. Mesolithic Pioneers to Iron Age Warriors: settling the Isle of Man. Lancaster: Lancaster Imprints. Bunch, B. and Fell, C. 1949. A stone axe factory at Pike of Stickle, Great Langdale, Westmorland. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 15, 1–20. Cherry, J. 1967. Prehistoric habitation sites at Seascale. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 67, 1–16. Cherry, J. and Cherry, P.J. 1987. Prehistoric Habitation Sites on the Limestone Uplands of Eastern Cumbria. Kendal: Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society Research Volume 2. Cherry, J. and Cherry, P.J. 2002. Coastline and upland in Cumbrian prehistory-a retrospective. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (3) 2, 1–19. Cherry, P.J. and Davis, V.R. 2014. Local source suspected for ‘exotic’ artefact rock. In V.R. Davis (ed), Stonechat 2, Implement Petrology Group [Online]. Available at: http://implementpetrology. org/?s=stonechat+2 (Accessed 5th April 2014), 14–17. Clare, T. 1978. Recent work on the Shap avenue. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 78, 5–16.

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Clarke, A. forthcoming. Coarse stone tools. In F. Brown and H. Evans (eds), Mesolithic Pioneers to Iron Age Warriors: settling the Isle of Man. Lancaster: Lancaster Imprints. Coles, D. 2011. Shining water, shifting sand: exotic lithic material from Luce Sands, south-west Scotland. In A. Saville (ed.), Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 139–52. Cooney, G. and Mandal, S. 1998. The Irish Stone Axe Project, Monograph 1. Dublin: Wordwell. Cross, M. 1938. A prehistoric settlement on Walney. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 38, 160. Cross, M. 1939. A prehistoric settlement on Walney Island, Part II. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 39, 262–83. Cross, M. 1942. A prehistoric settlement on Walney Island, III. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 42, 11–19. Cross, M. 1946. A prehistoric settlement on Walney Island, IV. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 46, 67–76. Cummings, V. 2009. Building monuments at the centre of the world, exploring regional diversity in south-west Wales and south-west Scotland. In K. Brophy and G. Barclay (eds), Defining a Regional Neolithic: the Evidence from Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 53–64. Cummings, V. 2017. The Neolithic of Britain and Ireland. Abingdon: Routledge. Cummings, V. and Fowler, C. (eds) 2004. The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: Materiality and Traditions of Practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Cummings, V. and Robinson, G. 2015. The Southern Kintyre Project. Exploring Interactions Across the Irish Sea from the Mesolithic to the Bronze Age. British Archaeological Report, British Series 618. Oxford: Archaeopress. David, A. 1989. Some aspects of the human presence in south-west Wales during the Mesolithic. In C. Bonsall (ed.), The Mesolithic in Europe. Edinburgh: John Donald, 241–53. David, A. and Walker, E.A. 2004. Wales during the Mesolithic period. In A. Saville (ed.), Mesolithic Scotland and its Neighbours. The Early Holocene Prehistory of Scotland, its British and Irish Context and Some Northern European Perspectives. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquities of Scotland, 299–337. Davis, V.R. (ed) 2014. Stonechat 2, Implement Petrology Group [Online]. Available at http:// implementpetrology.org/?s=stonechat+2 (Accessed 5th April 2014). Durden, T. 1996. Lithics in the north of England: production and consumption on the Yorkshire Wolds. In P. Frodsham (ed.), Neolithic studies in no-man’s land. Northern Archaeology 13/14, 79–86. Edmonds, M. 1997. Taskscape, Technology and Tradition. Analecta Praehistorica Leidensia 29, 99–110. Evans, H. 2008. Neolithic and Bronze Age Landscapes of Cumbria. British Archaeological Report, British Series 463. Oxford: Archaeopress. Evans, H. 2018. An early Neolithic occupation site at Holbeck Park Avenue, Barrow-in-Furness. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (3) 18, 1–22. Evans, H., Dickson, A.J. and Druce, D. forthcoming. Recent work on the Neolithic landscapes of Cumbria and North Lancashire. In G. Hey and P. Frodsham (eds), The Neolithic of Northern England. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Fell, C. 1964. The Cumbrian type of polished stone axe and its distribution in Britain. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 30, 39–55. Finlay, N., McCartan, S., Milner, N. and Wickham-Jones C.R. (eds) 2009. From Bann Flakes to Bushmills. Oxford: Prehistoric Research Society, Research Paper 1. Finlayson, B. and Warren, G. (eds) 2010. Landscapes in Transition. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Fox, C. 1932. The Personality of Britain. Cardiff: National Museum of Wales. Frodsham, P. (ed.) 1996. Neolithic studies in no-man’s land. Northern Archaeology 13/14. Frodsham, P. 2015. Altogether Archaeology Fieldwork Module 1c, Phase 2, Long Meg excavation. Stanhope: North Pennines AONB Partnership, unpublished report.

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Garrow, D., Griffiths, S., Anderson-Whymark, H. and Sturt, F. 2017. Stepping stones to the Neolithic? Radiocarbon dating the Early Neolithic on islands within the ‘western seaways’ of Britain. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 83, 97–135. Griffiths, S. 2011. Chronological Modelling of the Mesolithic-Neolithic Transition in the Midlands and North of England. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Cardiff. Griffiths, S. forthcoming. The last hunter of a wise race: evidence for Neolithic practices in Northern Britain. In G. Hey and P. Frodsham (eds), The Neolithic of Northern England. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Hey, G. and Frodsham, P (eds). forthcoming. The Neolithic of Northern England. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Kewley, K. 2016. The Manx Stone Axe-head Project. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Liverpool. Little, A., Van Gijn, A., Collins, T., Cooney, G., Elliott, B., Gilhooly, B. and Warren, G. 2017. Stone dead: uncovering early Mesolithic mortuary rites, Hermitage, Ireland. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 27 (2), 223–43. Manby, T.G. 1965. The distribution of rough-out ‘Cumbrian’ and related axes of Lake District origin in Northern England. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (2) 65, 1–37. Milner, N., Conneller, C. and Taylor, B. 2018. Star Carr Volume 1. A Persistent Place in a Changing World. York: White Rose University Press. Mithen, S. (ed.) 2000. Hunter-gatherer Landscape Archaeology: the Southern Hebrides Mesolithic Project 1988–98. Cambridge: MacDonald Institute Monograph Series, Vols 1 and 2. Moore, D. (ed.) 1970. The Irish Sea Province in Archaeology and History. Cardiff: Cambrian Archaeological Association. Ray, K. and Thomas, J. 2018. Neolithic Britain. The Transformation of Social Worlds. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Robinson, G. 2017. Stainton Quarry, Furness, Cumbria: Analysis report, Unpublished document, Northern Archaeological Associates (16/133). Saville, A. 1994. A possible Mesolithic stone axehead from Scotland. Lithics 15, 25–8. Saville, A. (ed.) 2004. Mesolithic Scotland and its Neighbours. The Early Holocene Prehistory of Scotland, its British and Irish Context and Some Northern European Perspectives. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquities of Scotland. Saville, A. 2009. Speculating on the significance of an axehead and a bead from Luce Sands, Dumfries and Galloway, south-west Scotland. In N. Finlay, S. McCartan, N. Milner and C.R. Wickham-Jones (eds), From Bann Flakes to Bushmills. Oxford: Prehistoric Research Society, Research Paper 1, 50–58. Saville, A. (ed.) 2011. Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Sheridan, A. 2010. The Neolithization of Britain and Ireland: the big picture. In B. Finlayson and G. Warren (eds), Landscapes in Transition. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 89–105. Soffe, G. and Clare, T. 1988. New evidence of ritual monuments at Long Meg and Her Daughters, Cumbria. Antiquity 62, 552–7. Stewart, R. 2015. Carved by Time of a Single Stone; a Geological Appraisal of Archaeological Chert. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Reading. Thomas, J. 2013. The Birth of Neolithic Britain: an Interpretative Account. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Topping, P. 1992. The Penrith henges: a survey by the Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments of England. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 58, 249–64. Watson, A. and Bradley, R. 2009. On the edge of England: Cumbria as a Neolithic region. In K. Brophy and G. Barclay (eds), Defining a Regional Neolithic: the Evidence from Britain and Ireland. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 65–77. Woodman, P. 2015. Ireland’s First Settlers. Time and the Mesolithic. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Chapter 11

Moving mountains: Reciprocating with rock in the Neolithic Steve Dickinson

INTRODUCTION

This paper sets out a new perspective, not previously adopted in studies of this subject: on the prolific sources of the fourth millennium BCE stone axe blades from the Cumbrian Lake District mountains. In this approach, two mountain-sources are themselves the subject of examination: Pike of Stickle and Scafell Pike. Through survey work (Claris and Quartermaine 1989), and excavation in the case of the former (Bradley and Edmonds 1993), both have been demonstrated to contain the largest groupings of montane prehistoric axe blade procurement sites in the British Isles and Ireland. This study aims to examine these mountains and their axe blade procurement sites in relation to animate affinities of stone (Ingold 2000, 95–8; Boivin and Owoc 2004; Descola 2014, 129–43). The paper also aims to examine evidence for Neolithic settlement and monuments in the mountain core of the Lake District. An increasing emphasis on the study of things, the ontologies of materials and their interpretation, informs many contemporary archaeological approaches to the study of artefacts (Olsen et al. 2012; Malafouris 2013; Olsen 2013). The debate about what distinguishes materiality from materials (Ingold 2011, 19–32), the entanglement of things with ‘the social’, and with the effects of agency (Hodder 2012), allow alternative frameworks to be developed in regard to how such artefacts inform, mesh with, and operate within the evolution of archaeological practice and explanation (Conneller 2011; Ingold 2011; Alberti et al. 2013). That this approach is overtly theory-led acknowledges that, following Jones et al. (2016, 15), theory informs all archaeology (Malafouris 2013, 7–10, 52–3; Chapman and Wylie 2015, 6–7, 11–17).

RISKS, EXPLOITATION, SILENCE

Common to all quarried and extracted sedimentary, igneous and metamorphic rock sourced in the British and Irish Early Neolithic are the extremes to which people went to obtain the stone. Located on islands, in mines and in coastal and montane environments, the rock sources were not easy to find, let alone work. Current perceptions of the mountain sources of Cumbrian axes emphasise their isolation, and the risks that were

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demonstrably involved in approaching and working them (Watson 1995, 461–2; Bradley 2004, 86–7), but it is also acknowledged that these sites and their surroundings are often comprehended in relation to our own embedded affinities with many contemporary entangled cultures and fields of knowledge (Hodder 2012). These affinities can have the effect of relegating mountains where axe blades were procured to be seen as little more than sources of raw material. Furthermore, a contemporary focus on Neolithic stone quarrying and extraction as socially situated practices (Nyland 2017, 133), is matched with possibilities borne out of ethnographic fieldwork (Pétrequin and Pétrequin 2011, 334–5; Topping 2011, ­271–86), namely, of stone acquisition and transformation articulating Neolithic desires for ‘appropriating’ the land and its significance through ancestral, ideological and biographical connections and ‘rituals’ (Cooney 2005, 190–2). Revealed through chance discovery or archaeological excavation, stone blades often focus attention on their material details (Edmonds 1995, 132–3). In these detached circumstances of analysis and enquiry, the original montane sources of stone can often be framed in a silence that forms from their physical remoteness from the human world, yet this silence is, in part, crafted from an anthropocentrism that may classify and analyse the objects of its study without reflecting critically upon them (Descola 2014, xv–xviii).

NEOLITHIC CUMBRIAN CONTEXTS

A factor affecting how we perceive the Cumbrian mountain blade stone sources is an apparent lack of any other Neolithic archaeological context for them (Fig. 11.1, incorporating data from Haworth et al. 2003). Carrock Fell, a massive stone-banked and gapped enclosure 27 km north-east of Scafell Pike, has tentatively been assigned to this period (Pearson and Topping 2002). Other putative Neolithic causewayed enclosures lie outside Cumbria’s montane core. Apart from these sites, some of Cumbria’s well-known stone circles, such as Swinside and Castlerigg, have long been associated with the axe blades and their sources (Burl 1999, 174; 2000, 104, 109). However, none of these sites have been the subject of modern excavation, although recent work at the cursus, enclosure and cairn complex 32 km north-east of Castlerigg centred on the stone circle known as Long Meg and Her Daughters, has revealed a complex of features related to construction and use dated to the Late Mesolithic and Early Neolithic (Archaeological Services Durham University/Altogether Archaeology 2016, 1, 31). Neolithic dates in the first half of the fourth millennium BCE for axe blade procurement sites centred on the Langdale Valley have been noted (Ray and Thomas 2018, 125). However, despite much survey and limited excavation (Quartermaine and Leech 2012), the mountains and valleys of the Lake District have not yet demonstrated any evidence for Neolithic settlement or farming, though it is possible that alluvial deposition and cultivation in the valleys have affected archaeological evidence for these practices. Evidence for human activities affecting some of the upland Holocene forest is attested from the Mesolithic onwards (Pennington 1997, 46; Duddon Valley Local History Group 2009, 112–3). Acknowledging these caveats, it is still difficult, given the present state of knowledge, to see settlement of the Lake District mountains and valleys

Figure 11.1: The location of Upper Eskdale in relation to mountain landforms and other topographic features in the Lake District.

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beginning until the Bronze Age (Quartermaine and Leech 2012, 10), prompting some to look to transhumance from the coast, or the Eden Valley, as a key to Mesolithic and Neolithic exploration of montane stone sources (Sharpe 2015, 110–13; Ray and Thomas 2018, 125) and others to reflect on the near ‘invisibility’ of the Neolithic in the area (Evans 2004, 127). Copt Howe in the Langdale Valley, with its singular decorated panels, provides some Neolithic context. The motifs on these panels include concentric circles and others considered to have been influenced by Irish passage-grave art (Sharpe 2007, 154–6; Sharpe and Watson 2013, 57–64). These motif-associations apart, the panels are part of a ‘gateway’ formed by Copt Howe’s boulder-group, with a distinctive view westwards to some of the mountains associated with the extraction and reduction of blade stone (Sharpe 2007, 163–9). Also relevant is the demonstrable association of Copt Howe’s rock art with natural features of the volcanic andesite rock itself, noted by Sharpe and Watson (2013, 61) as ‘blurring the boundaries of nature and culture’.

Previous work on the mountain stone sources The Early Neolithic stone axe blade procurement sites centred on the mountain known as Pike of Stickle (also known as Pike o’ Stickle) in Great Langdale have received detailed studies of their physical nature and attributes (Fell 1948, 1–7; Claris and Quartermaine 1989, 1–25; Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Davis and Edmonds 2011, 167–86). However, those sites located at a higher altitude on England’s highest mountain, Scafell Pike, 6 km due west of Pike of Stickle, have received much less attention from archaeologists. This is, perhaps, in part due to their remoteness: but it is suggested here that there may be other factors inhibiting a fuller assessment of these sources in their prehistoric contexts.

The mountains and the blade stone Pike of Stickle and Scafell Pike are both formed of Borrowdale Volcanic Series (BVS) rock. A distinctive volcanic tuff: characterised by archaeologists as Group VI and XI epidotized tuff (Houlder 1979, 87–9) and by geologists as a bed of fine-grained volcaniclastic sandstone and siltstone within the Seathwaite Fell geological formation (Millward et al. 2000, 11) traverses the central Cumbrian mountains as one of a number of distinctive bands of BVS rock. It is this tuff that was a key source of fourth millennium BCE axe blade procurement: and its exposure has been traced over a distance of 19 km at an alt itude between 500 and 900 m above Ordnance Datum, in a great arc from east of Pike of Stickle via Bowfell and Scafell Pike to Glaramara. Surveys have revealed that it was not exploited in prehistory all along its length, but was, instead, accessed only in certain areas (Claris and Quartermaine 1989, 4; Bradley 2004, 86). This selectivity was not due to an inability on the part of people in prehistory to detect the tuff: for it has a distinctive surface colouration and fine-grained characteristics that set it apart from adjacent geologies. It can be suggested that the tuff at the major procurement site groups on Pike of Stickle and on Scafell Pike was accessed, and interacted with, by groups and individuals in different ways on each mountain.

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Mountain similarities, differences, transformations First, it must be acknowledged that there are certain features of Pike of Stickle, and its associated axe blade source sites, that are similar, yet different, to those found on Scafell Pike. Pike of Stickle is a distinctive 350 m high pillar of rock on the north-east side of Mickleden at the north-western end of Great Langdale (Fig. 11.2). Its summit platform is almost surrounded by crags: with extensive evidence for blade stone procurement and working invisible from here amongst the sheer rock faces below it. Pike of Stickle’s 1800 m2 summit platform cannot hold more than a small number of people. Its Great Langdale location is singular, for this valley faces inland and south-east. The prospect from its summit is almost entirely dominated by mountains completely within Cumbria: including Scafell Pike (Wainwright 1958), but also includes Windermere lake and routes to, and beyond, the western Yorkshire Dales. Scafell Pike’s 200,000 m2 summit plateau is supported by pillar-like crags of huge proportions, some similar in appearance to that forming Pike of Stickle (Fig. 11.3). The plateau consists of boulders, rock outcrops, blockfield and scree, making traversing it extremely arduous. Axe blade procurement sites on the mountain generally occur in an arc running from the western round to the southern edges of this plateau, between 800 m and 900 m OD, with another site group near the summit. The mountain has a rocky summit dome perched on the top of the plateau: which has the appearance from a distance of a massive passage tomb. This is visible from the blade procurement sites in the north-western part of the plateau, with access restricted to it due to the surrounding blockfield. Access to the mountain from its west, north and east is restricted by crags, scree and ravines. The majority of approaches to it that avoid the intricacies of negotiating these obstacles are thus from the south and south-east: from the coastal regions of Cumbria and the Upper Eskdale valley. These are the routes that would have been most accessible to the makers of the axe blades. Unlike that from Pike of Stickle, the prospect from Scafell Pike’s summit is expansive, including many of the Cumbrian mountains, and, beyond them, some of the mountains of northern Ireland, Galloway, Scotland, the Cheviot Hills, part of the Eden Valley and the Pennine range, Ingleborough, the Forest of Bowland, parts of North Wales (including Snowdon) and the Isles of Anglesey and Man (Jesty and Wainwright 1978). The western horizon from it is dominated by the expanse of the Irish Sea, neatly split in two sections by the summit of Scafell. Despite Olsen’s critique of visuality and perspectivalism (Olsen 2013, 30–2), the intervisibility of the mountains of the Irish Sea area has long been noted as a factor important in prehistory (Cummings 2004, 30–3). Furthermore, as has been noted by Watson (2004, 57, 60–1), mountains and other landforms often appear as transient, transforming entities due to changing weather conditions (see also Ingold 2011, 115–25; MacFarlane in Shepherd 2011, xxii). These transformations turn what appears to be a fixed, stable environment into one of active, dynamic processes. WORKING WITH STONE

The activities involved in procuring stone on both mountains can inform us further in regard to differences in Neolithic practice (see Table 11.1).

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Figure 11.2: The upper section (including Top Buttress and South Scree) of Pike of Stickle viewed from The Band in Mickleden (photograph: R. Tarver).

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Figure 11.3: Scafell Pike (top) and its adjacent subsidiary summit, Pen, viewed from the south-east. The highlevel axe working sites on the Pike occupy the plateau below its summit.

As has been noted by Bradley and Edmonds (1993, 102), the preparation of large quarry faces on Scafell Pike would have been possible, but this was never enacted. That this form of stone extraction was not chosen could have been down to the distance of the tuff in this location from sources of wood used in fire setting, for Pike of Stickle was closer to the upper tree line in the fourth millennium BCE, and closer to water sources. However, there is other evidence that the tuff on Scafell Pike was regarded in a different way by some of the axe blade makers, for, at certain locations, flakes from the reduction processes there have been covered over by pieces of tuff, blockfield and scree (Plint 1961, 9), and some of the extraction pits on the summit plateau show evidence of having been backfilled (Fig. 11.4). Natural weathering and hillslope processes certainly account for some of these occurrences (Wilson 2010, 111–25). Yet, rather than seeing elements affecting all the debitage here as being evidence for these processes, or the debitage itself exhibiting lack of forward planning in respect to a lack of recovery strategies (Bradley and Edmonds 1993, 98), some flakes from reduction were conceivably hidden by their finders in acts of propitiation and/or concealment. The possibility of axe blade makers actively seeking to atone for their removal of stone raises further questions about the nature of debitage, and about ‘rejects’ or discards. There is little doubt that, on Pike of Stickle, blade makers created vast quantities of such material, estimated at 11,780 m2 in South Scree, adjacent to the mountain. The area of worked stone on Scafell Pike is estimated at 3,224 m2. Bradley and Edmonds (1993, 71–2) estimated

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Table 11.1: Neolithic activities on Pike of Stickle and Scafell Pike. Stone procurement evidence and associated activities

Pike of Stickle

Scafell Pike

Quarries

Yes

No

Fire setting

Yes

No

Blockfield access to underlying tuff via extraction pits

No

Yes

Scree tuff reduction

Yes

Yes

Hammerstones

Yes

Yes

Roughouts

Yes

Yes

Broken roughouts

Yes

No

Precision flaking

Yes

No

Imprecise flaking

Yes

Yes

Forward planning – systematic exploitation

Yes

? (see text)

Group working

Yes

Yes

Individual working

No

Yes

Hiding stone

No

Yes

Data from Claris and Quartermaine 1989, and Bradley and Edmonds 1993.

Figure 11.4: Backfilled Neolithic rock extraction pits on the plateau of Scafell Pike (1 m scale).

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38,000 exposed flakes on Scafell Pike; and in excess of 950,000 from the sites in Great Langdale, including those on Pike of Stickle. The lack of broken roughouts recorded from Scafell Pike may be a reflection of looting of the sites there in the past, or it may suggest that some broken roughouts from the plateau were distinctive enough to have been removed from the mountain for transformation elsewhere. Instead of regarding some broken Cumbrian axe roughouts as ‘rejects’, or flakes from the reduction processes as ‘waste’ material, we can explore the possibility of some of these being gifts back to the mountains, with certain breakages being intentional (following Anderson-Whymark 2011, 17–20). Noble (2017, 67) reports that axe-making flakes were found in specific deposits in an excavation of a late Neolithic palisaded enclosure at Dösjebro in Scania. These deposits included concentrations in the palisade trench and stone axes in palisade postholes. The excavator of the site suggested that this was a reciprocal action in relation to the initial ‘gift’ of raw material from nature. A similar gifting back to the Cumbrian mountains at source could also explain why distinct groups of flakes, complete roughouts and caches of roughouts, have been found in, and near, both Pike of Stickle and Scafell Pike. This raises several possibilities, which will be explored through a further difference between the sites on Pike of Stickle and those on Scafell Pike, as recorded through survey and excavation. The working areas, quarries and debitage on, and adjacent to, the face of Pike of Stickle indicate large-scale activities involving many people. In contrast, sites consisting of small groups of flakes of tuff on the summit plateau of Scafell Pike often suggest the reduction of single roughout axe blades by individuals away from the principle stone extraction sites. This suggests that that stone was carried away from those sites for reduction in selected high locations, and that stone was being hunted by individuals ranging across the slopes of the mountain. Similar prospection may have occurred on the plateau adjacent to Pike of Stickle: but here the rock is masked by the growth of blanket peat, and test pits did not reveal evidence for this (Bradley and Edmonds 1993, 85–7). Set against the collective operations of groups visible on Pike of Stickle, these scatters of stone flakes and caches demonstrate acts of blade selection, yet they may also represent acts of reciprocity with the mountain: in certain respects there may be no difference between the two.

MOUNTAIN TRANSFORMATIONS

Mountains also demonstrate evidence for transformation of the earth: and the material practices involved in stone procurement and reduction on both mountains can also be assessed as an extension to this. The surface geological features of the Borrowdale Volcanic Series are different on Pike of Stickle to those on Scafell Pike and in the valley of Upper Eskdale. On Pike of Stickle the rock strata are laminated in bands (Fig. 11.2), whereas, on Scafell Pike and in Upper Eskdale, similar strata are sometimes convoluted and often covered with scree or blockfield. These characteristics: of seeming order, disorder and what can, and cannot, be seen may also have influenced how people in prehistory interacted with these mountains, perhaps to the extent of determining how and where they extracted stone from them, whether monuments should be created and/or altered there, and what forms they should take.

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Landforms in both locations also include gullies, caves and boulders: some of which are seemingly suspended amongst the crags, others dwarf passing climbers. Certain prehistoric monuments have been observed to imitate or encapsulate landscape features (Bradley 2004, 97–113; Tilley 2012, 369), and it was with this in mind that a walkover survey was conducted in Upper Eskdale between 2015 and 2018 with the objective of locating and recording by field survey, prehistoric archaeological features above 400 m OD in areas above cultivation limits in this part of the Lake District from the Bronze Age to the modern period (Leech and Quartermaine 2012, 10). Three sites of immediate relevance to this discussion were recorded and surveyed: Low Gait Crags Cairn, Scar Lathing Cairn and Long Crag Spring Cairn (Fig. 11.5). None have been the subject of excavation, so, as with many provisionally surveyed montane archaeological sites, more precise definitions are dependent upon more detailed analyses.

Low Gait Crags Cairn Adjacent to, and to the east of, the prominent rock tor and summit of Low Gait Crags, the 27 m × 4 m body of this north–south oriented putative cairn consists of four compartments bounded by the rock of the tor to the west, and by a kerb of large boulders to the east. The northernmost two possible compartments are separated from the southern by a 2.3 m high monolith. At the southern entrance to the monument, a 2 m square cairn on a knoll to its west, and three boulders curving away to the east create the appearance of a façade fronting a small forecourt. The compartments, monolith and forecourt of this monument resemble and recall those of Early Neolithic chambered cairns elsewhere: for example, court cairns in Ireland and Clyde cairns (Cummings 2017, 96–105). The Early Neolithic dates indicated for the blade procurement sites visible from its adjacent tor fit with the cairn’s structures, which cross the boundary between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ (following Bradley’s observations on Carn Brea, 2004, 109–10).

Scar Lathing Cairn Adjacent to another prominent rock tor (Scar Lathing), this small cairn adopts the axis of a 14 m long runnel of natural scree to its south. Edged by an intermittent kerb of small boulders, it incorporates, in its western half, a 1 m2 rock with parallel laminated surface features characteristic in this location of ash-fall volcanic tuff (Millward et al. 2000, 37). Two metres downslope to the south of this is a façade of eight boulders positioned by human agency (contra. Style 2016, 8–9) as they alternate between the tan/orange of volcaniclastic sandstone and the grey/white of volcanic tuff in colouration. One is also parallel-laminated, with natural patterns on its surface that invite comparison with engraved designs found in Irish passage graves, and in the walls of monuments in Orkney, (Dickinson and Watson 2016; Thomas 2016). The monument is overlooked to its north by Scafell Pike and its southern axe blade procurement sources.

Long Crag Spring Cairn Set in an amphitheatre of crags and outcrops, this natural cairn has a spring issuing from underneath its south-west side: adjacent to a 3 m high monolith. Five metres to the north-

Figure 11.5: Upper Eskdale cairn surveys; L–R: Scar Lathing Cairn, Low Gait Crags Cairn and Long Crag Spring Cairn.

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east of this is a slab of blue-green volcaniclastic sandstone that has been set into a socket visible at its western end. This is the north-east corner stone of the remains of a small structure which is let into the edge of the cairn, with its entrance framing a prospect of distinctive mountains to its north-west. The slab features a small, raised, lichen-encrusted panel. This has engraved designs, some superimposed on others, cut into its surface (Fig. 11.6). Some of these engravings bear comparison with others known on portable Neolithic artefacts elsewhere in the UK, for example, engravings on the chalk plaques from Amesbury (Harding 1988) and those on a plaque found at the Graig Lwyd stone axe procurement site in North Wales (Warren 1921). The engravings are also similar to some on chalk artefacts (Teather 2016) and, as with the boulder from Scar Lathing Cairn noted above, engraved designs similar to those from Irish passage tombs and Orcadian monuments. A few metres to the east of the slab, a huge axe-blade shaped boulder projects from the turf. Scar Lathing Cairn and Low Gait Crags Cairn share certain characteristics. Both are similar in width, and oriented north–south adjacent to prominent rock tors, both have façades, and both have distinctive boulders incorporated in them. As one moves up each cairn from south to north, the axe-bearing stone of mountains comes into view. Standing up from the engraved slab at Long Crag Spring Cairn brings the southern axe blade sources on Scafell Pike into view over the north wall of the site’s amphitheatre.

DISCUSSION

Transformation, its affinities and effects are part of the relational field of a landscape (Ingold 2011, 47) and are thus imbued with meaning. The different transformations of prospects from Pike of Stickle and from Scafell Pike – the former restricted largely to the Cumbrian mountains and western Yorkshire, the latter expansive and taking in more distant lands and horizons – may provide insights into the nature of stone procurement at, and the distribution of axe blades from, each location. Perhaps blades from each were intended to act on, or be enacted through, some of the places indicated in their summit vistas. We can also see these mountains, and their stone sources, as having their own intrinsic forms, properties and potentials that Neolithic individuals and groups reciprocally interacted with, transformed, and were transformed by. The Upper Eskdale monuments, with their Neolithic affinities provisionally identified through survey and comparison with other monuments, permit some insights into how this might have occurred in relation to the Neolithic axe procurement sites visible from them. As Pollard notes for the monumental Neolithic constructions of North Wiltshire (2016, 180), our traditional comprehension of monuments regards them as ordered spaces for social performance. The landscape of Upper Eskdale, which the prehistoric sites are set amidst, can also be seen as forming monumental spaces for presence and practice (Ray and Thomas 2018, 153) expressed through the locations of the blade procurement sites, and the architecture of the putative cairns set below, and in relation to them, amongst rock tors, platforms and crags. It can also be suggested that the 2.3 m monolith incorporated in Low Gait Crags Cairn marks another boundary: between

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Figure 11.6: The engraved panel on the boulder at Long Crag Spring Cairn (scale 8 cm).

those compartments to its south and those to its north. This, with its axe-blade-like shape, also recalls the axe-blade shaped monolith buried in the turf near Long Crag Spring Cairn.

CONCLUSIONS

The working of stone in the Neolithic is not significant only because of its relationship with humans (Meirion Jones et al. 2016, 23). Throughout the transformations enacted in the working of the stone, the ‘natural’ properties of the montane stone sources and their adjacent monuments are traditionally regarded as being turned into ‘cultural’ artefacts. It can be suggested that this approach disguises a requirement for a more nuanced understanding of relations between the human and non-human worlds of the Neolithic. What twentyfirst century Western science sees as geology and archaeological artefacts may, in certain circumstances, have been regarded in the Neolithic as ‘live’ entities requiring appropriate approaches, propitiation and veneration. In particular, the possibility of people working in reciprocity with the mountains introduces new questions. If montane stone transformation was part of such a propitiatory relationship, this could also find expression in Neolithic constructions, including stone circles (following Richards 2013, 27–9). From this perspective, mountains could have moved a society in states of monumental transitions of its own.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to Aaron Watson for his advice and RTI/photogrammetry work; to geomorphologist Peter Wilson and geologists Alan Smith and Hugh Tuffen for their advice on surface features of the Borrowdale Volcanic Series; to Richard Bradley, to Luke Steer and Ben Gearey for advice on palaeoecology; and to the reviewers for their constructive comments.

REFERENCES Alberti, B., Meirion Jones, A. and Pollard, J. (eds) 2016. Archaeology After Interpretation: Returning Materials to Archaeological Theory. London and New York: Routledge. Anderson-Whymark, H. 2011. Intentional breakage in the British Neolithic: some comments and examples. Lithics: the Journal of the Lithic Studies Society 32, 17–22. Archaeological Services Durham University: Altogether Archaeology 2016. Long Meg and Her Daughters, Little Salkeld, Cumbria: post-excavation full analysis. Report 4043. Durham: Durham University. Boivin, N. and Owoc, M.A. (eds) 2004. Soils, Stones and Symbols: Cultural Perceptions of the Mineral World. London and New York: Routledge. Bradley, R. 2004. An Archaeology of Natural Places. London and New York: Routledge. Bradley, R. and Edmonds, M. 1993. Interpreting the Axe Trade: Production and exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Burl, A. 1999. Great Stone Circles: Fables, Fictions, Facts. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Burl, A. 2000. The Stone Circles of Britain, Ireland and Brittany. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Chapman, R. and Wylie, A. (eds). 2015. Material Evidence: Learning from Archaeological Practice. London and New York: Routledge. Claris, P. and Quartermaine, J. 1989. The Neolithic quarries and axe factory sites of Great Langdale and Scafell Pike: a new field survey. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 55, 1–25. Conneller, C. 2011. An Archaeology of Materials. New York: Routledge. Cooney, G., 2005. Landscapes of Neolithic Ireland. London and New York: Routledge. Cummings, V. 2004. Connecting the mountains and sea: the monuments of the eastern Irish Sea zone. In V. Cummings and C. Fowler (eds), The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: Materiality and traditions of practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 29–36. Cummings, V. 2017. The Neolithic of Britain and Ireland. London and New York: Routledge. Davis, V. and Edmonds, M. 2011. A time and place for the Belmont Hoard. In V. Davis and M. Edmonds (eds), Stone Axe Studies III. Oakville and Oxford: Oxbow Books, 167–86. Descola, P. 2014. Beyond Nature and Culture. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Dickinson, S. and Watson, A. 2016. Patterns on the rock: an unusual cairn in the Lake District, Cumbria. PAST: The newsletter of the Prehistoric Society 83, 13–14. Duddon Valley Local History Group 2009. Ring Cairns to Reservoirs: Archaeological Discoveries in the Duddon Valley, Cumbria. Kendal: Stramongate Press. Edmonds, M. 1995. Stone Tools and Society: Working Stone in Neolithic and Bronze Age Britain. London: Batsford. Evans, H. 2004. Where is the Cumbrian Neolithic? In V. Cummings and C. Fowler (eds), The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: Materiality and traditions of practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 123–28.

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Fell, C. 1948. The Great Langdale stone-axe factory. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, Series 2: 50, 1–14. Harding, P. 1988. The chalk plaque pit, Amesbury. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 54, 320–7. Haworth, E., de Boer, G., Evans, I., Osmaston, H., Pennington, W., Smith, A., Storey, P. and Ware, B. 2003. Tarns of the Central Lake District; Depth Surveys and the Environmental Context. Kendal: Brathay Exploration Group Trust, 12–13. Hodder, I. 2012. Entangled; An Archaeology of the Relationships between Humans and Things. Malden and Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Houlder, C.H. 1979. The Langdale and Scafell Pike axe factory sites: a field survey. In T.H.McK. Clough and W.A. Cummins (eds), Stone Axe Studies: Archaeological, petrological, experimental and ethnographic. London: Council for British Archaeology, Research Report 23, 87–9. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays in livelihood, dwelling and skill. London and New York: Routledge. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on movement, knowledge and description. London and New York: Routledge. Jesty, C. and Wainwright, A.W. 1978. A Guide to the View from Scafell Pike. Bridport : Jesty’s Panoramas. Macfarlane, R. 2011. Introduction. In N. Shepherd (ed.), The Living Mountain. Edinburgh and London: Canongate, xxii. Malafouris, L. 2013. How Things Shape the Mind: A Theory of Material Engagement. Massachusetts and London: The MIT Press. Meirion Jones, A., Alberti, B., Fowler, C. and Lucas, G. 2016. Archaeology after Interpretation. In B. Alberti, A. Meirion Jones and J. Pollard (eds), Archaeology After Interpretation: Returning Materials to Archaeological Theory. London and New York: Routledge, 15–35. Millward, D., Johnson, E.W., Beddoe-Stephens, B., Young, B., Kneller, B.C., Lee, M.K., Fortey, N.J., Allen, P.M., Branney, M.J., Cooper, D.C., Hirons, S., Kokelaar, B.P., Marks, R.J., McConnell, B.J., Merritt, J.W., Molyneux, S.G., Petterson, M.G., Roberts, B., Rundle, C.C., Rushton, A.W.A., Scott, R.W., Soper N.J. and Stone, P. 2000. Geology of the Ambleside district. Memoir of the British Geological Society, Sheet 38 (England and Wales). London: The Stationery Office. Noble, G. 2017. Woodland in the Neolithic of Northern Europe: The Forest as Ancestor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nyland, A. J. 2017. Quarrying in the Stone Age and Bronze Age in southern Norway studied as a socially situated phenomenon. Bulgarian e-Journal of Archaeology (be-ja.org) 7, 133–54. Olsen, B. 2013. In Defense of Things: Archaeology and the Ontology of Objects. New York and Plymouth: Altamira Press. Olsen, B., Shanks, M., Webmoor, T. and Witmore, C. 2012. Archaeology: The Discipline of Things. Berkeley and London: University of California Press. Pearson, T. and Topping, P. 2002. Rethinking the Carrock Fell enclosure. In G. Varndell and P. Topping (eds), Enclosures in Neolithic Europe. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 121–7. Pennington, W. Vegetational history. In G. Halliday (ed.), A Flora of Cumbria. Lancaster: University of Lancaster, 42–50. Pétrequin, P. and Pétrequin, A.M. 2011. The twentieth-century polished stone axeheads of New Guinea: why study them? In V. Davis and M. Edmonds (eds) Stone Axe Studies III. Oakville and Oxford: Oxbow Books, 333–49. Plint, R.G. 1961. Stone axe factory sites in the Cumbrian fells. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, Series 2: 62, 1–26. Pollard, J. 2016. From Ahu to Avebury: Monumentality, the Social, and Relational Ontologies. In B. Alberti, A. Meirion Jones and J. Pollard (eds) Archaeology After Interpretation: Returning Materials to Archaeological Theory. London and New York: Routledge, 177–96.

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Quartermaine, J. and Leech, R.H. 2012. Cairns, Fields and Cultivation: Archaeological Landscapes of the Lake District Uplands. Lancaster: Oxford Archaeology North: Lancaster Imprints 19. Ray, K. and Thomas, J. 2018. Neolithic Britain: The Transformation of Social Worlds. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Richards, C. 2013. Building the Great Stone Circles of the North. Oxford: Windgather Press. Sharpe, K.E. 2007. Rock-art and rough outs: exploring the sacred and social dimensions of prehistoric carvings at Copt Howe. In A. Mazel, G. Nash and C. Waddington (eds), Art as Metaphor: The Prehistoric Rock-Art of Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress, 151–73. Sharpe, K.E. 2015. Connecting the dots. Cupules and communication in the English Lake District. Expression 9, 109–16. Sharpe, K.E. and Watson, A. 2013. Moving images: interpreting the Copt Howe petroglyphs. In T. Barnett and K. Sharpe (eds), Carving a Future for British Rock Art: New directions for research, management and presentation. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 57–64. Style, P. 2016. Ring cairns and their variants from the Cumbrian Mountains: A response to Steve Dickinson and Aaron Watson: Patterns on the rock: an unusual cairn in the Lake District, Cumbria (PAST 83). PAST: The newsletter of the Prehistoric Society 84, 8–9. Teather, A.M. 2016. Neolithic Chalk Artefacts and their Depositional Contexts in Southern Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress. Thomas, A. 2016. Art and Architecture in Neolithic Orkney: Process, Temporality and Context. Oxford: Archaeopress. Tilley, C. 2012. Interpreting Landscapes: Geologies, Topographies, Identities. Explorations in Landscape Phenomenology 3. California: Left Coast Press Inc. Topping, P. 2011. Prehistoric extraction: further suggestions from ethnography. In A. Saville (ed.), Flint and Stone in the Neolithic Period. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 11. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 271–86. Wainwright, A.W. 1958. A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells; being an illustrated account of a study and exploration of the mountains in the English Lake District Book Three: The Central Fells. Kendal: The Westmorland Gazette. Pike o’Stickle, 8. Warren, S.H. 1921. Excavations at the Stone-Axe Factory of Graig Lwyd, Penmaenmawr. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 51, 165–99. Watson, A. 1995. Investigating the distribution of Group VI debitage in the central Lake District. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 61, 461–2. Watson, A. 2004. Fluid horizons. In V. Cummings and C. Fowler (eds), The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: Materiality and traditions of practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 55–63. Wilson, P. 2010. Lake District Mountain Landforms. Lancaster: Scotforth Books.

Chapter 12

The social context of lithic extraction in Neolithic Britain and Ireland Peter Topping

INTRODUCTION

Prehistoric extraction sites have often been studied from economic and technological perspectives, ignoring the social context of site use and product trajectories and deposition. The question of what originally stimulated extraction is regularly overlooked: was it economic imperatives, social obligations or ideological/cosmological drivers? The ethnography presented here builds upon the work of Bradley (2000; 2005), Cooney (1998; 2000; 2005; 2017), Edmonds (1990; 1993), Whittle (1995; 2003) and others, to produce a more nuanced perspective of lithic extraction. Such documented ethnographic processes are fundamental to reconstructing archaeological practices and outcomes, but they have frequently been reliant upon a small number of ethnographic analogues which cannot reflect the range of human experience even within a single region (e.g. New Guinea). The research reported here has overcome this problem by using a far larger ethnographic data sample than previously attempted to develop an aggregated interpretive model based upon the material patterning and social contexts of extraction practices and its products. To create this model, 168 ethnographic studies were analysed to produce trend data and identify material patterning, which was then tested against 223 global archaeological studies (Topping 2017, 45–169). This research has constructed a near global ethno-archaeological model of extraction practices to build upon Binford’s (1962; 1979; 1980) methodologies and create a reliable interpretive bridge between analogy and archaeological data, particularly where ethnographic materiality represents metaphorical associations. The model uses appropriate social and anthropological theories to explain the content, variability, spatial patterning and context of the archaeological record to enhance understanding of its wider social contexts (e.g. Gero 1989 and 1991; Gosden and Marshall 1999). The model adopts a chaîne opératoire approach to contextualise staged extraction from source identification to exploitation, product manufacture, to product use and deposition. The model has the potential to identify why and how extraction site products were objectified, and their use in social networks. The ethnography provides robust information on the form of ritualisation in extraction practice and its outcomes in society. This research has accessed a far larger sample of ethnography than the norm, offering a more nuanced understanding of traditional practices. For example, New Guinean ethnography includes forms of extraction often missed by archaeologists who use only

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accessible sources (e.g. Chappell 1966; Burton 1984; McBryde 1984). As Hampton (1997, 79) has observed, the contiguous communities inhabiting the New Guinea highlands, although superficially similar, ‘[do] have significant differences’, including different language groups, different materialities and different social networks. Critically, it is the embedded role of materiality, particularly stone tools, which is central to the ‘material and ideological reproduction of these communities of forest farmers’ (Pétrequin and Pétrequin 2012, 27) – a scenario pertinent to Neolithic Europe. Overall, this statistically-robust ethnographic research provides a more confident foundation to model the social context of extraction sites through the detailed contextual analysis of material evidence.

THE ETHNOGRAPHY OF EXTRACTION

This research builds upon previous work (Topping 2005; 2010; 2011) and will only present new data here. The main concepts referred to here are storied sources; the age/ sex demography of extraction site workers; evidence for ritualised extraction; and the distribution of extraction site products.

Storied sources Many ethnographic extraction sites have storied or ideological associations which incorporate mythology, cosmology and/or community history, often to legitimise ownership or exploitation, or as explanation of the origin of the raw material. This underscores processes of objectification and social renewal. Cultural associations operate at a variety of scales, ranging from an embodied global entity, to a material gifted by an ancestor or spirit. The ethnography records 93% of sites having storied associations. These storied associations are generally focused upon locally prominent or distinctive landforms, or comprise unusual deposits visually different from their surroundings in scale, shape, texture or colouration. The ‘otherness’ of these deposits differentiates them from the norm, stimulating storied associations, and establishing links to social narratives and cosmology as part of an explanatory worldview. Such processes objectify the raw material through these storied associations, creating a role for them in social networks. Storied materials range in scale from the earth as an engendered entity to specific mountains, exposed rock strata, individual boulders, nodules/cobbles to minerals. Storied associations operate on two levels: firstly, materials linked to an omnipresent entity which represents that entity’s body; or secondly, a material curated by a spirit/ancestor who has to be appeased to gain access. A recurrent theme of storied locations is an association between the raw material and a female engendered entity. This female-gendered principle provides a global platform for many ideologies, often manifested by focusing upon specific landscape features for separate and/or complimentary embodiment. In cases where supernatural or ancestral figures are recorded, female characters also predominate. Consequently, a female-engendered cosmology can be viewed as the ideological affirmation of female fertility and its role in

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Table 12.1: Ethnographic extraction site product distributions compared with archaeologically recoverable evidence (based upon Topping 2017, 94 with amendments). Distance [n=168 ethnographic case studies]

Storied or mythologised sites

Owned sites

Ritualised extraction

Ceremonial use Rock art/ of sites graffiti/idols

Human burials or body parts

200+ km 64% [n=107]

85% 50% 48% 49% 41% 27% [n=91 of 107] [n=54 of 107] [n=51 of 107] [n=52 of 107] [n=44 of 107] [n=29 of 107]

100–200 km 17% [n=28]

50% [n=14 of 28]

61% [n=17 of 28]

32% [n=9 of 28]

0

0

0

>100 km 7% [n=11]

73% [n=8 of 11]

55% [n=6 of 11]

55% [n=6 of 11]

9% [n=1 of 11]

0

0

No data 12% [n=22]

resource provision. The counterpoint to such female engenderment of the raw material is that it is generally adult male extraction teams that create objects which carry a biography, transforming a female-derived material into a symbol of masculine power (Topping 2017, 71–2, 126, 277–8). The aggregated ethnographic data suggests that if Neolithic extraction sites were storied locations, they would often witness seasonal use, ritualised extraction, craft specialists, supra-regional product distribution (200+ km), some ceremonialism, some rock art/graffiti and rare burials.

Age/sex demographic of extraction site workers The age/sex demographic of site users is predominantly adult male (82%), followed by mixed gender teams with children (16%), and a very small percentage of female-only enterprises (2%). Children feature in support roles, usually as apprentices.

The evidence for ritualised extraction Ethnography records ritualised extraction in 92% of studies. The greatest concentration occurs in North America (32), followed by New Guinea (16), Australia (14), Europe (3) and South America (2), demonstrating that ritualised extraction appears in many distant places and unrelated cultural contexts and is not an isolated response – it is a mechanism to connect resource procurement to a cosmology, ideology, or to centre people to a place.

Distribution of extraction site products The distribution of extraction products is a key indicator of ritualised practices and recoverable by archaeology (Table 12.1). Ethnography records 64% of products travel 200+ km from source, 17% between 100–200 km, and 7% are found within 100 km of

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the extraction site (12% not documented). Such distributions demonstrate that increased cultural value equates with distances transported, and the majority of products travel far beyond the extraction site and are objectified. Ritualised extraction was an important component at all scales of distribution.

THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF EXTRACTION

The ethnographic model described above was tested against 223 near global archaeological sites, and this aggregated data was then used to interpret 79 flint mine and 51 axe quarry excavations in Britain and Ireland (Topping 2017). The archaeological data showed many correlations with the ethnography, allowing the possibility of more cogent modelling of the social context of extraction. The ethno-archaeological model illustrated the following correlations: 1. Distinctive locations. 2. Ritualised extraction. 3. Pre- and post-extraction ceremonialism/burials. 4. Rock art/graffiti. 5. Supra-regional product distribution. These five indicators of ritualised practices are considered to be the most archaeologically-visible and can deliver a more nuanced interpretation of prehistoric extraction. One of the strongest correlations is between storied/distinctive locations and 200+ km distribution of products.

The landscape setting of extraction sites in Britain and Ireland When the model is applied to the landscape setting of archaeological sites, several observations emerge which suggest they were probably storied locations practicing ritualised procurement. Firstly, positioning was clearly important, with prominent landforms preferred, irrespective of raw material quality, with island sources having their own particular characteristics (Cooney 2017). Visually distinctive raw materials such as Langdale Tuff, Riebeckite Felsite or coloured flints, were deliberately targeted. The model would suggest these were storied locations where the raw material had cosmological or ideological associations. The issue of location is epitomised at Blackpatch and Harrow Hill mines which were positioned upon inferior flint rather than better deposits nearby (Barber et al. 1999, 24). Clearly here it was the location that was important rather than toolstone quality, a situation paralleled at the Langdale axe quarries (Bradley and Ford 1986, 127). Despite prominent locations, however, many sites would have been within or near woodland (Allen and Gardiner 2012). Although only a minority of sites have provided environmental data, the upland quarries at Creag na Caillich and Langdale/Scafell, the South Downs mines and Grime’s Graves, all suggest woodland settings. The upland quarries were probably near the treeline, and the mines appear to have been in woodland

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Table 12.2: A comparison of the material evidence of ritualised extraction recorded by ethnography and its probable archaeological correlates (based upon Topping 2011, 274 and 2017, 127 with amendments). Ethnographic events

Ethnographic evidence

Probable archaeological correlates

Purification rituals

Sweat lodges; hearths; use of equipment and substances to purify people and tools

Hearths in or near workings; charcoal deposits in workings; tools/artefacts placed upon structures in workings (e.g. chalk platforms)

Pre- and postextraction offerings, rituals or ceremonialism

Rock art/graffiti; curated animal remains; human sacrifices; food offerings; feasting; consultation of ancestral remains; use of shrines; human burials

Rock art/graffiti near or on-site; placed deposits; pottery; curated animal remains; charcoal deposits in workings; structures (e.g. chalk platforms, ‘caves’); human remains

Ritualised extraction

Extraction tools kept on-site; special tools; substances used to anoint workfaces

Tools left on-site; tool caches; unusual or non-local tools

Rites of renewal

Broken artefacts and production debris returned to site; debitage left on-site

Broken artefacts and debitage in workings and backfill; structured deposits in backfill of site

clearings, implying exclusivity, which is further supported by evidence of ritualised practices. Taken together, the high percentage of archaeological sites situated in prominent locations with distinctive deposits, provides a strong correlation with the cross-cultural ethnographic trends, and suggests a high probability that archaeological sites were also storied locations, located in liminal places beyond settlements, and often reached by passing through landscapes with rock art, burials and ceremonial monuments.

The practice of stone extraction Ethnography records ritualised practices in 92% of cases, of which 94% occurred at storied locations, demonstrating that cosmologies and ritualised extraction were deeply entangled. The ethnography records that ritualised extraction is often staged and sequential (Table 12.2): 1. Ritualised preparations; 2. Ritualised extraction; 3. Renewal rituals and offerings; 4. Occasional human burials; 5. Ritualised abandonment. The archaeological record contains similar material patterning.

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Ritualised preparations Ritualised extraction often begins with careful preparations, comprising purification rituals (utilising smoke/steam, hearths, sweat lodges or smouldering herbs), offerings, prayers and rock art/graffiti in or near the sites. Ethnographic purification of individuals and extraction tools is primarily associated with hearths. Archaeologically, hearths occur in 29% of mines and 10% of quarries, with smaller charcoal deposits at 29% of mines and 30% of quarries. Hearths occurred at Blackpatch (Russell 2001), Cissbury (Park Harrison 1877), Easton Down (Stone 1933), Harrow Hill (Curwen and Curwen 1926; Holleyman 1937), and Grime’s Graves (Mercer 1981); they do not appear to have been used for lighting, cooking or hardening antler picks. A group of hearths was discovered on Floor B at Graiglwyd (Hazzledine Warren 1921), and a nondomestic hearth was found at Ballygalley Hill abutting debitage upslope from the quarries (Collins 1978). These hearths lack evidence of domestic activity, suggesting they were part of extraction practice rather than subsistence related. The small deposits of unidentified charcoal in galleries in Greenwell’s Pit and Pit 15, Grime’s Graves (Longworth and Varndell 1996), may be a Late Neolithic manifestation of smoke purification, particularly as the deposits were undisturbed by miners. The presence of hearths on shaft floors, or small charcoal deposits in galleries, implies that fire, heat, light and smoke played an increasing role in extraction during the course of the Neolithic.

Ritualised extraction Ritualised extraction was enhanced by accompanying paraphernalia. Archaeological evidence includes carved chalk objects, pottery, re-deposited debitage and lithics, graffiti and structures (e.g. chalk platforms), suggesting the deliberate deposition of offerings. Examples occur at Blackpatch (Pull 1932; Russell 2001), Cissbury (Willett 1880), Easton Down (Stone 1931) and Grime’s Graves (Clarke 1915). The carved chalk objects are clearly non-functional, comprising balls, phalli, inscribed blocks and chalk ‘lamps’ (Longworth et al. 1991; Teather 2016a, 2016b). These assemblages target entry points into the deeper workings, particularly gallery entrances, as at Harrow Hill, Cissbury and Grime’s Graves (Mercer 1981; Barber et al. 1999). The shaft floors thus became a structured arena where hearths, graffiti and placed deposits created a demarcated stage where assemblages transmitted messages to trigger appropriate actions to maintain cosmological order during extraction. Evidence for offerings also exists at quarries, including Graiglwyd (Hazzeldine Warren 1921), South Scree ‘Cave’, Langdale (Fell 1951); the Working Gallery, Beorgs of Uyea, Shetland (Scott and Calder 1952); and especially Lambay Island (Cooney 2005).

Rites of renewal Ethnographic studies record debitage and rejected artefacts being returned to extraction sites for renewal purposes. At archaeological sites this can be inferred from redeposited debitage or artefacts found in dark, unlit subterranean workings where knapping or

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tool production clearly did not take place, as at Blackpatch, Cissbury, Den of Boddam, Durrington, Goodland, Grime’s Graves, Harrow Hill and Stoke Down. The quarries have fewer such deposits, but they do occur at Langdale (Fell 1951; Bradley and Edmonds 1993), Graiglwyd (Williams and Davidson 1998) and Lambay Island (Cooney 2005).

Human remains Human remains are rare, although taphonomic processes clearly affect survival, particularly at quarries with acidic soils. Consequently, the archaeological evidence discussed here is from the mines where chalk fills preserve bone more readily. Ethnography records burials in 18% of cases, particularly in Australia and North America. Amongst the Neolithic mines, burials occur at 12% of sites: ‘Barrow’ 2, Blackpatch (Pull 1932); ‘Barrow’ 3, Blackpatch (Barber 2005); the Skeleton Shaft, Cissbury (Lane Fox 1876); Shaft VI, Cissbury (Park Harrison 1878); Shaft 27, Cissbury (Topping 2005); and in Pit 2, Grime’s Graves (Clarke 1915). Body parts occur at 10% of archaeological sites: Shaft 4, Blackpatch (Russell 2001); Shaft 6, Church Hill (Russell 2001); Pit 1, Grime’s Graves (Clarke 1915); and Pit 3, Grime’s Graves (Longworth and Varndell 1996). Overall, these human remains suggest formal or semi-formal interment designed to associate the dead with the raw material, as seen amongst certain Australian Aboriginal communities, or various Plains Tribes, for example. Archaeologically, burials and body parts are predominantly found in the lower fills of shafts, or beneath mounds of mine debris on the surface, creating physical links between communities and extraction, and paralleling practices at causewayed enclosures, long barrows and henges. However, by the Early Bronze Age at Grime’s Graves there is an absence of burials, suggesting a shift in practice. Now, a pick made from a human femur was found in Pit 3 (Legge 1992; Longworth and Varndell 1996) at a time when metallurgy was well established, society had been reconfigured, and human bone was used amongst grave goods.

Site abandonment Archaeologically, site abandonment often followed sequences of backfilling, paralleling trends in ethnography where 33% of cases documented structured abandonment. The archaeological evidence comprises stabilised surfaces, natural silts and placed assemblages amongst the backfill, which occurs at 53% of mines and 33% of quarries: Blackpatch, Church Hill, Cissbury, Easton Down, Harrow Hill, Goodland, Grime’s Graves and Stoke Down, and the quarries at Creag na Caillich, Graiglwyd, Lambay Island, Langdale and Mynydd Rhiw. This staged backfilling spans the Neolithic to Early Bronze Age, indicating a long-lived tradition. The abandonment of the mines was generally episodic, beginning with the sequential backfilling of the galleries, and progressing in stages up the shaft. Each abandonment event was often accompanied by cultural objects, human and animal bones, and/or hearths. For example, Shaft 27, Cissbury, a minimum of 12 deposits filled the shaft (Topping 2005); the 1971 Shaft, Grime’s Graves, comprised at least six backfilling events, interspersed with c. 13 phases of stasis represented by natural silts (Mercer 1981). Such sequences

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demonstrate that some mines remained open as arenas for post-extraction ceremonialism, mirroring ethnographic practices designed to appease cosmological concerns. This suggests the archaeological record strongly parallels the ethnography, and implies that ritualised extraction occurred at many sites.

SUMMARY

Overall, this analysis has found that the most common themes at mines were: distinctive locations; debitage/lithics in the workings; stabilised horizons and hearths in the workings; tools abandoned in workings; and deposits of animal remains. At the quarries the commonest themes were: distinctive locations; debitage/lithics in workings; rock art/ graffiti within 5 km of the site; and supra-regional product distribution (200+ km). These comparators would suggest that where most, or all, occur, then we can infer storied locations practising ritualised extraction whose valued products were widely distributed.

THE CHRONOLOGY OF EXTRACTION IN BRITAIN AND IRELAND

The chronology of extraction sites currently spans the earliest Neolithic at the South Downs and Wessex Groups of mines (Whittle et al. 2011) to the Late Neolithic–Early/Middle Bronze Age at Grime’s Graves (Healey et al. 2018) and Den of Boddam (Saville 2005). The quarries are primarily an earlier Neolithic phenomenon, with only Creag na Caillich exploited during the later Neolithic and beyond (Edmonds et al. 1992; see also chapters by Baczkowski and Teather this volume). This broad chronology demonstrates an important point – that galleried mines existed before the introduction of many other aspects of Neolithic activity in southern England, such as enclosures and many long barrows (Whittle et al. 2011). This suggests the transfer of pre-existing European expertise, as shown by the earlier dates from Belgium, northern France, the Netherlands and Spain. Deep shaft flint mining was not an ad hoc event, it required geological knowledge and technical mining skills. Alongside this, certain practices were repeatedly followed during extraction, particularly assemblage deposition in specific locations in the workings. Together, this shows that extraction practice was an ideology shared with adjacent areas of continental Europe with common elements brought to Britain as part of ‘being’ Neolithic (Topping 2005; 2010; 2011; Wheeler 2008 and 2011; Baczkowski 2014). One possible point of origin was the Paris Basin. Here, flint mining not only occurred earlier than in Britain and Ireland, but the Paris Basin flint mines were also one of the first Neolithic site types to appear in that landscape too, thus paralleling the monument sequence in Britain (Giligny 2011; Giligny and Bostyn 2016). Recent ancient DNA evidence demonstrates that ‘the appearance of Neolithic practices and domesticates in Britain … was mediated overwhelmingly by immigration of farmers from continental Europe’ (Brace et al. 2018, 3), suggesting these migrants brought mining technology with them and deliberately recreated their cultural practices in southern England and beyond.

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Neolithic practices appear to have entered southern England via the Thames Estuary and the south coast. As noted, the South Downs mines, and possibly the Wessex Group, were the earliest Neolithic features in a landscape used by mobile groups practising shifting mixed agriculture alongside wild resource exploitation. It would take another 100–300 years before communal monuments appeared and anchored communities to other locations for different social imperatives (Whittle et al. 2011). The earliest mines dominated the landscape from on or near downland crests, although possibly masked by woodland. The Graiglwyd quarries in Gwynedd were exploited at the same time (Williams and Davidson 1998), closely followed by Lambay Island and possibly Tievebulliagh in Antrim. Most have one thing in common – they are close to, or visible from, the sea, which may indicate that prospection was undertaken initially by boat. The Neolithic transition thus emerged from seaborne travel skirting southern Britain and the Irish Sea, evidenced by the early dates from the South Downs, Graiglwyd and Lambay Island.

THE SOCIAL CONTEXT OF EXTRACTION

The aggregated ethnography presented here provides a more nuanced perspective of lithic extraction. The fact that many extraction sites in Britain and Ireland lie beyond settlements and ceremonial monuments, suggests exclusivity and probably restricted access controlled by communities, clans or a technical elite. The fact that nearly all sites had more accessible sources of raw material locally which had been ignored in favour of those from more difficult – but culturally significant – locations, imply these were special places used in ritualised ways. The material evidence of ritualised extraction can be seen in most mines, and follows recognisable patterns predominantly focused upon the shafts. Human remains are found only in shafts; pottery generally occurs in shaft fills, rarely galleries; hearths were only placed on shaft floors or shaft fills; however, lithics and debitage occur throughout the workings; and rare graffiti is generally found above gallery entrances. Ethnography records ritualisation of even mundane activities in many traditional societies, and the assemblages and non-functional deposits in Neolithic extraction sites suggests that ritualisation occurred during their use. Extraction must have been entangled with practices designed to counter inherent dangers, placate cosmological concerns, ensure success and maintain the status of the site, the miners and their products. In addition, deposition of many extraction site products was often in non-domestic contexts compared to those made from expedient sources, demonstrating that extraction site objects had a greater social value. As Edmonds (1993, 72) has noted, if the Early Neolithic did not see a ‘wholesale economic transformation’ by extensive woodland clearance and widespread agriculture, then other explanations are needed for the proliferation of flint and stone axeheads – particularly those left unused. Consequently, it is clear that the axehead became a widespread leitmotif during the earliest Neolithic in Britain and Ireland, arguably consolidating Mesolithic traditions. The strong ethnographic correlation between long-distance product movement (200+ km) and ritualised extraction in 64% of cases, compares closely with 60% in the global archaeological data. This lends security to the interpretation of product outcomes

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from ritualised extraction practices. In addition, the fact that so many stone axeheads derived from extraction sites were widely distributed throughout Britain and Ireland and often deposited unused, broken or burnt, or buried in hoards, demonstrates they had a deeper significance than purely functional tools. As Fontijn (2007, 77) observed, ‘[p]articular objects – and the ideas that they stand for – can become a central memory paradoxically precisely because they were destroyed or removed in a specific ceremony … [creating] “remembrance by removal”’. Social value is implied by the widespread distribution of Cumbrian Group VI axeheads in Britain and Ireland (Cooney and Mandal 1998). In Ireland 23% of these axeheads were discovered in rivers and 20% in bogs, demonstrating their importance in wetland deposition, and even higher percentages of indigenous Irish axeheads are found in these contexts. In parallel, many Antrim Group IX axeheads were found in Britain, showing the importance of exotic objects to communities on both sides of the Irish Sea. The South Downs mines follow this trend, and axeheads from the mines found on the adjacent coastal plain were mostly unused and carefully curated (Gardiner 1990). By the end of the Neolithic/Chalcolithic transition, ritualised practices disappeared at Grime’s Graves, when deep-shaft mining was replaced by pit extraction, and bone picks superseded antler (Healy et al. 2018). At the Creag na Caillich quarries, a secondary phase of extraction produced perforated axeheads, Langdale may have been reused for wrist-guards, and the late pits at Den of Boddam provide little material evidence of ritualisation. This realignment of extraction coincided with the appearance of Beaker migrants (Olalde et al. 2018), creating another major period of social transformation, and ending the ideological need for ritualised extraction as copper mining increased.

CONCLUSIONS

To summarise this research, the earliest extraction sites were located in sight of the sea (South Downs mines; Graiglwyd; Lambay Island; Tievebulliagh), demonstrating their pivotal role in the introduction of the Neolithic lifeway, and they were some of the first Neolithic constructions in the landscape. Their location suggests that prospection may have been facilitated by sea travel, with axe quarries ranged around the Irish Sea and the flint mines overlooking the Channel coastline, fossilising Neolithic routes to Britain and Ireland (Whittle et al. 2011; Garrow et al. 2017). Consequently, extraction sites played a fundamental role in Neolithic transformations. Archaeology records materially diverse communities in Britain, Ireland and Europe who nevertheless followed a general tradition of lithic extraction which included some common practices. This implies that ritualised extraction had its origins in a pan-European social phenomenon which was adopted in Britain, with subsequent modifications that reflected emerging cultural diversity. It was the role of the most prolific implement from the extraction sites, the axehead, which became truly transformative in society in a variety of ways. As Allen and Gardiner (2012, 100) have observed, ‘the inherent symbolism of producing from the ancient forests the very means of cutting them down’ produced a paradigm shift. Communities no longer relied upon the unpredictability of fire or natural

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events to create forest clearings as in the preceding Mesolithic, they now took direct control over nature and began to gradually transform their landscape with the axe. Consequently, this implement, which was emblematic of control over nature, became adopted as a symbol of control in society and was embedded in various social institutions and carefully curated, forming, as Brumm (2011) has characterised them – power tools. Tools that had emerged from ritualised performances at charged, storied locations on the very margins of the cultural landscape.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to thank Françoise Bostyn, Hélène Collet, Gabriel Cooney, the late Vin Davis, Dave Field, Chris Fowler, Julie Gardiner, François Giligny, Frances Healey, John Kelly, Charles Le Roux, the late Mark Lynott, Yvan Pailler, Pierre Pétrequin, the late Alan Saville, Alison Sheridan and Gill Varndell, who all helped shape this research – it was much appreciated. Any errors remain the responsibility of the author.

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Chapter 13

A whiter shade of pale: Powerful relationships between Neolithic communities and the underworld at Monkton Up Wimborne, Dorset Susan Greaney INTRODUCTION

The enclosed pit circle at Monkton Up Wimborne in Dorset, situated within the complex of Neolithic monuments in the Upper Allen Valley, was excavated by Martin Green in 1997 (Green 2000, 2007). Although not directly related to the extraction of stone, a careful examination of this unusual monument and its landscape context has the potential to tell us much about how the acquisition of flint fitted into wider social relations that Neolithic people may have had with the underworld. Over the past 20 years there has been a broadening of archaeological perspectives on materiality, with the argument that non-human things (animals, plants, substances) could have been perceived as alive and vibrant by people in the past, and thoroughly entangled in their social lives. Early approaches focused particularly on artefacts and objects as relationally situated within social networks (e.g. Thomas 1996, 151–3) but also on landscapes and materials (e.g. Bender 1998, 46–55; Thomas 1999). Under the banner of ‘new materialism’ many archaeologists have developed fruitful approaches that consider materials and substances as mutable and changing, intrinsically possessing dynamism and movement (e.g. O’Connor et al. 2009; Conneller 2011; Jones 2012; McFadyen 2016). This paper will argue that these approaches can also be applied to a consideration of landscapes, as vibrant and social places. Although some relational approaches have considered occurrences such as weather and the movement of celestial bodies as active or even agentic (e.g. Pauketat 2012), only a few have considered the qualities and active role of place (e.g. Fowler 2013). Many new materialist approaches draw on assemblage theory, inspired by the philosophies of Deleuze and Guattari (1987), often through the interpretations of Bennett (2005; 2009) and DeLanda (2002; 2006). These have emphasised the importance of the flow of relations between materials, people, ideas, places and things, rather than fixed and bounded entities (e.g. Ingold 2011; Jones 2012; Harris 2014). The crucial point here is that humans are not necessarily seen as ontologically prior to anything else, and are placed equally with other beings (e.g. animals and plants) and things, a concept termed ‘flat ontology’ (DeLanda 2002, 58). In this approach, neither human nor entity possess agency, but agency exists in the relations between various parts of the assemblage as a whole (Bennett 2005).

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Power is rarely explicitly discussed in these discourses, but relationships between humans and non-human entities will not always be equal; there will be imbalances and inequalities, asymmetries of power, within and between them. This matches well with Foucault’s conception of power as omnipresent in society, never possessed but only exercised or performed in relations between people. ‘Power must be analysed as something which circulates … Power is employed and exercised through a netlike organization … And not only do individuals circulate between its threads; they are always in a position of simultaneously undergoing and exercising this power’ (Foucault 1980, 98). If we merge Foucault’s reading of power within a non-anthropocentric or ‘flat’ ontological approach, it opens up the possibility that non-human entities could be entangled in relations of power with humans. If so, is it possible to perceive these unequal relations through traces in the archaeological record? With the idea of active and vibrant places and materials, and the potential for them to be involved in power relations, let us re-examine the enclosed pit complex at Monkton Up Wimborne and its landscape context.

ENGAGEMENT WITH THE UNDERWORLD

The monument was created when a 1.5 m deep circular pit, 11 m in diameter, was excavated down to a join between the upper and lower chalk, with a smooth base. Shortly after this pit had been dug, a 6.9 m deep shaft was cut down from within the eastern edge (Fig. 13.1). This shaft was dug down to a thin seam of flint, which was removed to reveal an undulating surface (Green 2007, 114–9). A large number of amphibian and small mammal bones found in the fills of this shaft suggest that it was left open for a substantial period (Maltby 2007, 371). The shaft had been re-dug and scoured out on several occasions, with the rubble being used to create a platform on one side (Green 2007, 116). This platform had a considerable concentration of charcoal and animal bones, mostly cattle, within it (Maltby 2007, 369). A number of hazel twigs from below this platform provided an estimate of 3331–2920 cal BC, a TPQ for the build-up of this platform (95% probability, Wk-18753, 4427 ± 42; French et al. 2007, 11). The fill of the shaft contained a series of carefully placed deposits. At the base were a number of chalk blocks, including one with a deep curved groove engraved into it and the butchered remains of a six-month-old pig. Against one side were some cattle vertebrae and a worked sandstone ball. Higher in the fill lay an elaborately decorated block of chalk (Fig. 13.2) and a dog leg bone. Much higher were other disarticulated animal and human bones (including a fragment of skull), two flint arrowheads, and a variety of stones and pebbles (Green 2007, 119–20). The decorated chalk block had a central hole, possibly for mounting on a post or handle and has parallels to Irish passage tomb art of similar date (Bradley 2007, 378). Recent analysis has found that the surface was decorated and then reworked to remove some of the decoration, before it was deposited (Jones 2017, 90). Surrounding the large central pit were 14 smaller oval pits, creating a circle of 35 m diameter with two opposing entrances. Some large blocks of chalk from the central shaft had been placed within these pits, which again were left open for some time (Green 2007, 118).

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Figure 13.1: The central pit and shaft of Monkton Up Wimborne under excavation in 1997 (© Martin Green).

Figure 13.2: Decorated chalk block from Monkton Up Wimborne shaft. RTI image (© Marta DíazGuardamino Uribe/ Andrew Meirion Jones).

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Figure 13.3: The four burials from Monkton Up Wimborne pit complex (© Dave Webb).

Dug into the northern side of the central pit was a grave in which four individuals (three children and a woman aged between 30 and 45 years) were interred (Fig. 13.3). DNA analysis has shown that the youngest child, a girl of about five years old, was the daughter of the woman. The other two children were a brother and sister, unrelated to the mother and daughter, aged about nine and ten (Green 2000, 79). All three children had cribra orbitalia, likely to result from iron deficiency anaemia (McKinley 2007, 376). These children may therefore have had pale skin, perhaps caused by an excess of cow’s milk consumption,

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a lack of meat or other health problems (Paoletti et al. 2014). Strontium and lead stable isotope analyses have shown that the woman had originally lived in an area high in lead, probably the Mendips, 40 miles to the north-west, but had spent much of her adult life on chalk geology (Budd et al. 2003, 75). Her daughter too had been born in a lead-rich area, but had later moved to chalk. The other two children had been born on chalk geologies, but had lived partly in another region before their deaths. These individuals appear to have moved several times between the Mendips and Cranborne Chase (Montgomery et al. 2000; Budd et al. 2003, 76) and possibly elsewhere. A radiocarbon date from the adult gave a broad estimate of 3514–3101 cal BC for her death (95% confidence, OxA-8035, 3180 ± 40; Bronk Ramsey et al. 2000, 461–2). Although the shaft at Monkton Up Wimborne was probably not a flint mine, the shaft had been dug down to a thin tabular flint seam, which was removed, and this was seen as an appropriate place to cease digging. The smooth floor of the pit suggests that the people digging had an intimate knowledge of the nature of the chalk, recognising this subtle horizontal joint. Chalk can be hugely variable, ranging from soft, wet soliflucted ‘Coombe Rock’ to compact blocks. Anyone who has excavated at a chalk site or built a chalk cob building knows that it physically covers hands and bodies, clothes and tools, making them powdery white. This can blur the boundaries between the substance, and the people who work with it (Harris 2009, 241) as well as the things found within it. Chalk may have been regarded as a regenerative medium because of its pure white colour and its amenability to being carved and re-shaped (Gillings et al. 2008, 223). The evidence suggests that periodic ceremonies took place at the open shaft and its nearby platform involving feasting, the deposition of objects and the clearing out of the shaft, perhaps involving the display or re-carving of the chalk block. After these repeated activities, people began to fill the shaft, placing a number of carefully placed and assembled deposits within it (Fig. 13.4). The activities are closely paralleled at contemporary flint mines (see papers in Topping and Lynott 2005; Teather 2016; other papers in this volume), suggesting a complex engagement with the underworld which went beyond the purely economic or practical. There are clear connections here to the chalk: the deep shaft, the decorated and worked chalk blocks, the placement of varied material within the shaft, the possibly pale features of the children. The placement of the four burials in a grave dug into the side of the large circular pit and rammed with chalk making it virtually indistinguishable (Green 2007, 118), could be taken to imply that the chalk itself was more important or powerful than the lives of these particular people. It has been suggested that they may have been sacrificed (French et al. 2007, 122) and the ‘hidden’ nature of the grave gives the impression of the bodies being absorbed into the chalk. The children appear to have had a restricted diet and perhaps had a specialised role in life or in death. Could the activities at Monkton Up Wimborne have been associated in some way to a relationship with the underworld? Is there some form of power relationship here? Thomas’s ideas about how people may have engaged in reciprocal relations with the substance of the earth are relevant here (Thomas 1999). If people were offering or placing bodies and things within the chalk, what was it providing in return? At this time, a regular supply of chalk-derived nodular flint, essential for every form of tool production, was being exported to groups living in the Mendips (Bond 2004), where at least the woman and her child had lived for part of their lives. The burial and the shaft could be part of a complex ‘gift

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Figure 13.4: Reconstruction of Monkton Up Wimborne pit complex (© Jane Brayne).

exchange’ mechanism, a triangle of relations between communities in the Mendips, the people on Cranborne Chase and their flint-giving chalk. The connection is perhaps further underlined by the use of Old Red Sandstone from the Mendip area for making saddle querns and rubbers that were deposited at the early Neolithic gathering place of Hambledon Hill, an easy day’s walk to the west of Monkton Up Wimborne. These querns were all in a fragmentary state and often burnt, with the largest piece recovered from a pit containing a young male burial (Mercer and Healy 2008, 293; Roe 2008, 634, 640). Radiocarbon dates on this burial and an associated charred hazelnut shell show that this person could have lived contemporarily with the individuals buried at Monkton Up Wimborne (3630–3375 cal BC, 95% confidence, weighted mean of two dates on human bone UB-4311, 4710±23 and OxA-7818, 4715±40; and hazelnut shell 3640–3360 cal BC, 95% confidence, OxA-7843, 4700 ± 45; Healy et al. 2011, 129). Potentially flint and sandstone were caught up in complex, reciprocal or unequal social relations; certainly the specific fragmentation and deposition of querns at Hambledon Hill marks this material as having a particular disposal rite. It is unlikely that sedentary and separate residential groups lived in the two areas of Cranborne Chase and the Mendips; more likely the people who frequented these landscapes were linked by trade, kinship and other forms of social relation. The isotope evidence

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of the burials from Monkton Up Wimborne suggests this more complex picture and is supported by other isotope studies which suggest that movement by individuals over long distances was not unusual (Neil et al. 2016; Neil et al. 2017). It could be suggested that people taking flint away to the Mendip area were indebted to, or perhaps in an unequal power relationship with, the chalk of Cranborne Chase, and perhaps also with the people who controlled this resource. A discussion of the specifics of engagement with materials and the underworld at one site has led to speculation about power relations or inequalities between people, place and materials. This suggests that an approach that focuses on the potential of substances and places to be involved in social relations can not only enlighten potential relationships between humans and non-humans, but also help us understand human-human relations in which these entities are intertwined. In this vein, let us consider the landscape setting of the monument within the wider Cranborne Chase monument complex.

‘A STRANGE CONTORTED LANDSCAPE’

There are two clusters of monuments within the Cranborne Chase complex: those around the Knowlton henges and those located adjacent to the central section of the Dorset Cursus. This extraordinarily long monument stretches for 10 km across the headwaters of the Allen and the Crane rivers (Fig. 13.5). It has a close relationship with a surrounding cluster of contemporary long barrows and ‘mortuary enclosures’, with some of the long barrows incorporated into the cursus and others clearly laid out in reference to the monument, particularly its terminals (Barrett et al. 1991, 36). The cursus has been described as linking together parts of the landscape that were already socially or historically important (Gosden 1994, 98; Chadwick 2004, 18) or monumentalising a pre-existing routeway (Johnston 1999). What has perhaps been less often discussed (although see French et al. 2007) is that the central portion of the cursus crosses a ‘strange, contorted landscape’ (Green 2000, 13) consisting of several unusual geological features, all located within the Upper Allen valley. Firstly, there is an area of approximately 300 square metres that is filled with a series of about 30 round and oval mounds (Fig. 13.6). These ‘naleds’ were formed by the collapse of small periglacial ice masses at the end of the last Ice Age, when chalky sludge running off with melt-water built up around ice bodies which then melted (French et al. 2007, 3). Naleds are not common geological features, with other examples known only in East Anglia. Today they stand up to 4 m high but they would have been more prominent in prehistory. One was the focus of an early Mesolithic flint scatter (Catt et al. 1980, 69, 75). When the cursus was built, several of the naleds were cut through by the digging of the ditch (French et al. 2007, 7). To the north and west of the naleds are three deep geological shafts (dolines or sinkholes), one in Fir Tree Field, one in Home Field and the enormous ‘Endless Pit’ close to Down Farm (Allen 1998, fig. 1). A further depression to the south-east (visible as a hollow on Fig. 13.6) may indicate another. The Fir Tree Field shaft appears to have attracted considerable attention throughout the Mesolithic and Neolithic periods, with a series of postholes, pits and a structure all nearby and deposits placed within it (Green and Allen 1997; French et al. 2007, 82). Although the other solution shafts have not been excavated,

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Figure 13.5: Map showing Neolithic monuments in the area surrounding the Dorset Cursus and Knowlton.

a semi-circular crop mark partly encloses the ‘Endless Pit’ (Green 2000, 14) suggesting that it too was regarded as a place of significance. To the east of the naleds is a steep river cliff, forming part of the north-east valley side for about 100 m. During winter floods, a lake forms immediately below this cliff

Figure 13.6: Lidar imagery of the Upper Allen Valley, showing the central section of the Dorset Cursus and its associated geological features: naleds, solution hollows and the river cliff. The parallel earthworks of the cursus can be seen crossing the image from the north-east to the south-west (Lidar data © Environment Agency copyright and/or database right 2015. All rights reserved.).

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(French et al. 2007, 4) which at these times becomes the source of the River Allen. The river cliff was deliberately incorporated within the banks of the cursus. A rich and extensive flint scatter associated with Peterborough Ware pottery on top of this cliff appears to be the site of some form of occupation bounded within the cursus (Gardiner 1985; Barrett et al. 1991, 71). The area of naleds, the seasonal lake, the river cliff and the solution hollows are an assemblage of natural features that together make this a particularly unusual area, an area that was deliberately incorporated into, or sliced through by, the Dorset Cursus. It is possible that prehistoric people viewed these landscape features not as geological formations, but as the cultural creations of past people or ancestral beings. The construction of cursus ditches across older structures or features is known elsewhere, for example at Dorchester-on-Thames in Oxfordshire, where a mortuary enclosure was cut by the ditches of the later cursus (Edmonds 1999, 147). The partly infilled ‘natural’ shafts may have been seen as some form of portals to the underworld, an idea analogous with a rich body of early Irish myths and legends (Waddell 2018, 80–6) and perhaps part of some form of layered cosmology of the world (Eliade 1954; Tuan 1974). The digging of the Monkton Up Wimborne pit and the placing of deposits within it may have directly emulated these large and active openings in the earth. Perhaps Neolithic people regarded this assemblage of unusual landscape features as a powerful locale, a place that was incorporated into stories and myths. There are countless examples in ethnographic studies of communities where people regard particular places in the landscape as active, alive, powerful or having a deep past embedded in myths and stories (Carmichael et al. 1994; Hirsch and O’Hanlon 1995; Feld and Basso 1996; Eck 2012; Hamanşah 2014). In particular, caves, mountain tops, river junctions, springs, sinkholes and unusually shaped rocks, appear to have provided a focus for ritual activity or construction. These are hierophanies as defined by Eliade (1954), special numinous locations where the sacred world is revealed. It is reasonable to assume therefore, that unusual landscape features or active geologies would have drawn the attention of Neolithic people, and that these would have provided suitable locations for constructed monuments and inspiration for ritual activities. The potency of the Upper Allen valley was harnessed by deliberately incorporating it into the Dorset Cursus and its reputation influenced the siting of later Neolithic monuments such as the Wyke Down henges. These monuments cluster around these geological features which structured later activity, rather than around the cursus, as does a significant group of Early Bronze Age round barrows. Gale (2017, 115–16) has noted that each of the major Early Bronze Age barrow clusters in the Lower Allen Valley near Knowlton was built in close proximity to sinkholes, as indeed were the Knowlton henges themselves (Green 2000, 88). Tilley has made similar observations about the location of round barrows on the South Dorset Ridgeway (Tilley 2010, 234). There is a pressing need for more detailed information about the Dorset Cursus, particularly the construction date and patterns of activity beyond the central portion, including geophysical survey and aerial photography analysis. Accurate dating currently relies on a single radiocarbon date from an antler pick (3365–3005 cal BC, 95% probability, BM-2438; Healy et al. 2011, 156), relatively late for cursus construction in southern England.

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One testable hypothesis is that the central section was laid out across this active upper section of the Allen valley first and was only later extended to the north and south (contrary to the usual interpretation of the cursus as a two-phase monument (French et al. 2007, 8)).

DISCUSSION: POWER RELATIONS WITH ACTIVE PLACES

The cluster of unusual geological features in the Upper Allen Valley, accentuated over time by a growing and related assemblage of human-made monuments, must have made this a particularly appropriate location for a monument relating to the complex ‘triangle of relations’ between the communities in the Mendips, the people on Cranborne Chase and the flint-giving chalk underworld. The form of the monument, the carefully selected deposits, and the four people interred there, all point to social engagements with the underworld and its materials. This paper has demonstrated the potential of careful consideration of the qualities and affordances of place, including ‘natural’ landscape features. Archaeology needs a ‘return to place’ as well as a ‘return to things’. The idea that landscapes have meaning and power is not new; Tilley (1994, 24) argued that ancestral powers and meanings in the landscape were actively appropriated by Neolithic people through the construction of monuments. However, the focus here and in the writings of similar phenomenological approaches (e.g. Kirk 1993; Thomas 1993; Barrett 1994; Bender 1998) was on differential power relations between people, orchestrated through control of space, by exclusion or inclusion. In these accounts, power relations only exist between people; here it is argued that social relations, sometimes unequal in nature, existed between people, materials and places. It is now 18 years since Richard Bradley published An Archaeology of Natural Places (2000), which challenged our understanding of what constitutes a ‘natural’ place, and how these might have been interpreted by prehistoric people as cultural or historical features. It must be asked why this volume didn’t precipitate a wholesale shift in the way that archaeologists think and write about these engagements with ‘natural’ places in prehistory. Perhaps the reason that archaeologists have not more frequently considered local topography and unaltered features of the landscape as directly engaged in social and power relations is because our theoretical approaches are only just beginning to catch up with the principles of Bradley’s thesis. With a shift to a non-anthropocentric perspective, we can begin to fruitfully engage with ‘natural’ features of landscapes. Prehistoric people will most likely not have divided the world into nature and culture in the way that contemporary EuroAmerican ontologies do (e.g. Ingold 2000; Descola 2013). They may have considered certain landscapes or locales as places which needed to be negotiated with, appeased, or relations with them renewed. Unlike Barrett et al. (1991, 3) who emphasised the study of the ‘social rather than the natural landscape’, we should envisage the social world of prehistoric people as encompassing place and landscape too. Of course, the extent and ability to act upon these relations would still have varied from person to person, depending on their initiation status, life stage, role, gender or personal experience. It is by paying close attention to the affordances and potential power relations of both materials and places that we can begin to understand something of the worlds in which Neolithic people lived.

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