Do You Call This Archaeology??

Or perhaps a more appropriate title for the day's post would have been the immortal line from Princess Leia:  "What an incredible smell you've discovered." 

All will be explained in due course.

This was the view from the 'office' at lunchtime:-

 

Not very inspiring, I hear you say, but here's a close-up:-

 

It's supposed to be a motte, but this classification has recently been called into question.  The monument in question is slap-bang in the middle of a prehistoric ritual landscape, and just recently, excavations have been carried out to see if it is, in fact, a Wigtonshire version of Silbury Hill.  So far, the results have been inconclusive.

Anyway, since my site was hemmed in by the aforementioned ritual landscape, I was called in to carry out a watching brief in advance of development. 

As usual, life was complicated.  The engineer was wanting test pits first of all, sunk down to a depth of 2m.  So far, so good.  Until one of the test pits hit a sewage pipe and hacked through it.  Thankfully, this didn't happen on my watch.  I was merely an independent observer.

Call yourself an archaeologist! I hear you scoff.  Why didn't you use your super skills to see the drain cut and tell them to stop digging?  Sadly, in the kind of ghastly, horrible subsoil we were digging today, it's impossible to see any differentiation unless the light's in exactly the right place and you're really, really lucky, especially when you're peering down into a gloomy hole that's one and a half metres deep.  I hadn't a clue there was something there.  I couldn't even see the cut in the section once the dastardly deed was done and the sewer was severed.

There was much deliberation and angst on site.  There was debate, first of all, as to whether the sewer was live or not.  In the meantime, the neighbour of the developer introduced himself.  He was quite a history buff, which meant I was suitably entertained while everybody else was sorting out the problem.

I was filled in on all sorts of tidbits relating to local history.  Then our conversation turned, by some bizarre twist, to television archaeology.  We talked about the Time Team.  We reminisced about Blackadder, and the days when Baldric was the smart one in the Blackadder/Baldric duo.  And then we talked about Bettany Hughes.  We were both unanimous in our praise of her (she's a vegetarian, evidently.  Yay!!)  And as we yapped away,  we discussed Spartans, Minoans and what happens when a an oligarchy or a tyranny gets voted in via the democratic process.  

And to make the day even more enjoyable, I was given tea and biscuits by the client.

As for the sewer.  The muck kept on coming, and the smell was, um, delightful.  I avoided the area as best I could, and thankfully, at the south end of the site, there was a more wholesome scent to be enjoyed.  A great big clump of gorse, sitting just next to the site.  Ah, bliss...

Did we find any archaeology?  Well, we found a car park, but I don't suppose that counts.  In the building of the aforementioned car park, the former ground surface had been well and truly trashed.  And the subsoil was so horrid, that I doubt anyone armed only with antler picks and ox scapulae would have bothered to dig any holes there in the first place!

As I write this post, we have roadworks going on outside.  There's a JCB 3X doing its stuff, and every time I hear the 'beep' as it reverses or the clatter as it shakes caked soil from its bucket, I'm filled with an inexplicable desire to grab hard hat and viz-vest, and just stand there mindlessly watching it dig for the next hour or so...

Do You Call This Archaeology??

Or perhaps a more appropriate title for the day's post would have been the immortal line from Princess Leia:  "What an incredible smell you've discovered." 

All will be explained in due course.

This was the view from the 'office' at lunchtime:-

 

Not very inspiring, I hear you say, but here's a close-up:-

 

It's supposed to be a motte, but this classification has recently been called into question.  The monument in question is slap-bang in the middle of a prehistoric ritual landscape, and just recently, excavations have been carried out to see if it is, in fact, a Wigtonshire version of Silbury Hill.  So far, the results have been inconclusive.

Anyway, since my site was hemmed in by the aforementioned ritual landscape, I was called in to carry out a watching brief in advance of development. 

As usual, life was complicated.  The engineer was wanting test pits first of all, sunk down to a depth of 2m.  So far, so good.  Until one of the test pits hit a sewage pipe and hacked through it.  Thankfully, this didn't happen on my watch.  I was merely an independent observer.

Call yourself an archaeologist! I hear you scoff.  Why didn't you use your super skills to see the drain cut and tell them to stop digging?  Sadly, in the kind of ghastly, horrible subsoil we were digging today, it's impossible to see any differentiation unless the light's in exactly the right place and you're really, really lucky, especially when you're peering down into a gloomy hole that's one and a half metres deep.  I hadn't a clue there was something there.  I couldn't even see the cut in the section once the dastardly deed was done and the sewer was severed.

There was much deliberation and angst on site.  There was debate, first of all, as to whether the sewer was live or not.  In the meantime, the neighbour of the developer introduced himself.  He was quite a history buff, which meant I was suitably entertained while everybody else was sorting out the problem.

I was filled in on all sorts of tidbits relating to local history.  Then our conversation turned, by some bizarre twist, to television archaeology.  We talked about the Time Team.  We reminisced about Blackadder, and the days when Baldric was the smart one in the Blackadder/Baldric duo.  And then we talked about Bettany Hughes.  We were both unanimous in our praise of her (she's a vegetarian, evidently.  Yay!!)  And as we yapped away,  we discussed Spartans, Minoans and what happens when a an oligarchy or a tyranny gets voted in via the democratic process.  

And to make the day even more enjoyable, I was given tea and biscuits by the client.

As for the sewer.  The muck kept on coming, and the smell was, um, delightful.  I avoided the area as best I could, and thankfully, at the south end of the site, there was a more wholesome scent to be enjoyed.  A great big clump of gorse, sitting just next to the site.  Ah, bliss...

Did we find any archaeology?  Well, we found a car park, but I don't suppose that counts.  In the building of the aforementioned car park, the former ground surface had been well and truly trashed.  And the subsoil was so horrid, that I doubt anyone armed only with antler picks and ox scapulae would have bothered to dig any holes there in the first place!

As I write this post, we have roadworks going on outside.  There's a JCB 3X doing its stuff, and every time I hear the 'beep' as it reverses or the clatter as it shakes caked soil from its bucket, I'm filled with an inexplicable desire to grab hard hat and viz-vest, and just stand there mindlessly watching it dig for the next hour or so...