The northern reaches of Doggerland

Shetland
The island mass of Shetland, stretching out  south from Unst, is just the tip of the iceberg of the land that may have been experienced by early hunters.

If you travel to Shetland today you will find a rather beautiful island chain that essentially comprises a series of steep hills. The topography is abrupt and dramatic; the landscape is gentler towards the coast, but in most places agricultural land is concentrated into small pockets. Numerous islands, of varying size, surround the main landmass.

Curiously, the islands have no indigenous land mammals. The evidence suggests that all, including otters and ponies, have been introduced by the earlier communities of Shetland. The early islanders were canny folk, well able to adapt their lifestyle and farming methods to make the most of the climate and conditions out on this north-western edge of the Atlantic landmass.

The history of the very specific conditions in Shetland brings to mind some pressing questions. If we go back far enough, to the millennia immediately after the Last Glacial Maximum, which ended in the northern hemisphere around 19,000 years ago, then a combination of lower relative sea-levels and land adjustment due to the weight of the ice mean that a great expanse of dry land connected Britain to the Continent. We call this land Doggerland and it is currently the subject of some serious research including work to investigate the topography, flora and fauna of the landscape.

Large quantities of animal bone have been recovered from Doggerland, from a variety of sources including fishing trawls and aggregate extraction. Much of this is Pleistocene, ie dating to before the present era, and it comprises the remains of mammoths, woolly rhinos, bear, lions, hippos, bison and so on. There are also elk and reindeer. And, of course, though they are rare, the remains of people have also been found.

Several of these species of animal were prey species that also occur on excavated archaeological sites in the countries that surround Doggerland, and there is a general assumption that the human inhabitants of Doggerland will have hunted them. It is, in fact, impossible to understand the early settlement of those bordering countries without taking in to account the hazy, but very real, idea that the hunter-gatherer communities who occupied them extended their ranges across lands that have since disappeared beneath the waves.

Indeed, when considering the recent re-discovery of tanged points in Orkney, the general impression is that they provide evidence of the fleeting presence of hunter-gatherer groups from Doggerland who, some 12,000 – 13,000 years ago, were keen, for whatever reason, to explore the north-west fringes of the landmass.

Which brings me back to Shetland. If it was possible for the Late Upper Palaeolithic hunters to access Orkney from Doggerland (whether across a stretch of open water or not), was it also possible for them to access Shetland? When, exactly, did Shetland become islands? If it was possible to get to Shetland overland, then it was also possible that Shetland was home to the animal species that flourished in Doggerland. Of course, you may say – there is no evidence for large mammals in early Shetland, but, I would reply – absence of evidence is not always evidence of absence. There has been little research in deposits of the right age in Shetland so it may be that the bone has just not been found. I’m not sure that we even know where to look. The dramatically lower sea-levels of the period mean that the Shetland we experience today is only part of the resource, only the tops of the Shetlandic mountains that the explorers of Doggerland would have known. It may well be that the best pockets of evidence lie underwater.

This is not just some fanciful questioning. If we really want to understand the nature of Shetland and its earliest population, then we need to understand its relationship with Doggerland. Although the arrival of the early farmers by boat and the animals they brought with them in fairly recent times, is well attested, it is possible, even probable, that there was an earlier Shetland, a place where herds of reindeer, or even mammoth, occasionally grazed and where, when they did, there were small groups of Palaeolithic hunters ready to make the most of the bounty of the land.

Conversations with Magic Stones

Conversations with Magic Stones
View of the main cases in the exhibition at The Pier Arts Centre, Stromness

I was recently asked to review a rather interesting exhibition. The review has now been published in The Orcadian and I have their permission, and that of The Pier Arts Centre who commissioned it, to publish it here.

Any exhibition bears a similarity to an onion – it is many layered. Not only will it be viewed by people of different backgrounds, each of whom takes away a different experience, but, in addition, a range of separate meanings is, inevitably, built in by the creators and their objects. Consider then, the fate of the hapless reviewer when confronted by an exhibition that not only presents several collections of material in interesting juxtapositions but also does so in separate locations. Such is my lot.

Conversations With Magic Stones takes place in three locations: The Orkney Museum; The Pier Arts Centre; and Stromness Museum. It makes use of four categories of material: contemporary art; modern/classical art; Orkney archaeology; ethnographic pieces.

The largest display occurs in the Orkney Museum where we are treated to a spectacular collection of ancient stone tools from Orkney. They range from as much as 12,000 years old to around 3000 years old, some are piled high, others neatly set out in isolation, a few nestle in the tins and boxes where they have rested since their discovery in years gone by. Alongside them, on the walls and in the cases, are works of art that draw on their inspiration. A shiny ‘carved stone ball’ of bronze by Babette Bartelmass plays with the idea of material as immutable, as do flint axes of glass and metal by Paul Musgrove. The latter’s prints, which layer images of the artefacts under site plans, notes and old labeling, create a new view of the past, as seen through the obscuring discolourations of time. Wall panels provide an encyclopaedic background of information. Through these we learn of the collectors who amassed many of the pieces on display.

In the Pier Art Centre, we are taken in to the studio, and mind, of Barbara Hepworth whose comments about ancient stone tools prompted the title and thrust of the work. Seeing her sculptures in juxtaposition with a selection of Orkney artefacts is chilling. It is a none too subtle reminder that for everything, even the most perfect art displayed in isolation on a carefully designed pedestal, there is a backstory and a context.

After the archaeological staginess of the Orkney Museum and the clarity and light of the Pier Art Centre, the Stromness Museum comes as something of a shock. The cases here are deliberately busy, the objects weird and wonderful, and the stories exotic. Here we learn of the pieces that found their way to Orkney from overseas, of the roles they played in their homelands and of the meanings they brought to Orkney. It is an evocative reminder of the way in which our roots help to shape the people we become and one cannot help wondering about the connections made between the worlds of past and present.

Overall, the exhibition creates some powerful impressions. The focus on the work of collectors, early excavators, and artists, invites us to enter a state of intellectual curiosity. We meet the people who sought to make sense of the relics of the past that were coming out of the ground across Orkney. People who cared passionately about the objects they were finding, and who handed this interest down to their descendants many of whom still treasure the pieces. With the objects come stories and a wonderful by-product of the work has been to enshrine these memories for the future, to prolong the life of the objects from their prehistoric origins into the twenty-first century and to lift them from fodder for archaeology into more complex beings – as the catalogue says: ‘an afterlife of things’.

It is an exhibition that, generally, eschews the principals of archaeological display. Photos lack scales, pieces lack provenance. This can be annoying for the academic viewer but it does avoid clutter and transforms the general atmosphere into that of an art exhibition. In reality, there is a catalogue and the Orkney museum does provide a handy computer to access data such as location, date and context through the project website. The feeling of having strayed from archaeology into art is emphasised by the wonderful photographs. It is a rare photographer indeed who can provide close up images of tooling or texture that will allow enlargement fit for a wall panel. In the Pier Art Centre this theme is pushed further as conventional archaeological terms are dropped and the artefacts become part of the artist’s studio.

Staying with the Pier, there is, perhaps unconsciously, an element of hagiography in the way in which the only woman to really feature in the exhibition has this location devoted to her. There is, for this reviewer, a twinge of regret that the women who undoubtedly collected elsewhere in Scotland, were not apparently collecting in Orkney (too busy minding the farms perhaps?). Yet, whatever happened in the past, it is worth noting that the exhibition team are more equally divided: they should be congratulated for a challenging, thought provoking display.

You will find the project website here

And the artist’s catalogue here

Tourist Pressures

Ring of Brodgar
The wild landscape of the Ring of Brodgar

Attention has been drawn recently to the lack of toilet facilities at the Ring of Brodgar. It is a difficult problem and encapsulates precisely the dilemma of managing a World Heritage Site in the twenty-first century. As guardians of The Heart of Neolithic Orkney we want people to visit the sites and love them in the way that we, who live in Orkney, love them. Indeed, helped by some canny marketing and promotion, people now come from around the world to visit Orkney and many of those who come are attracted by the lure of our archaeology. As an archaeologist, I’m heartened by that; I never imagined when I embarked on my career over forty years ago, that archaeology might become quite so popular.

It is not an undiluted pleasure, however. With increased visitor footfall, we see all sorts of problems arising. Sadly, litter can be an issue, and there are even people who still see fit to leave graffiti. Over the last couple of years, we have watched an intensive programme of works by Historic Environment Scotland to improve drainage at the site and get rid of conditions that could, at times, verge on ankle-deep mud – not good for either the welfare of the site nor for visitor safety. Arriving at the site requires vehicular access, and a car park was built some years ago. This year there has been increasing pressure on the narrow, single-track, road leading to the car park with both vehicles and pedestrians jostling for position in a way that can be, at times, quite scary.

Nevertheless, in general, it works, and many people appreciate the relatively ‘wild’ atmosphere of the site in contrast to more managed attractions like Stonehenge. But, people continue to arrive in increasing numbers.

Which brings me to the toilets. Some correspondents write as if this were a simple matter: install toilets. Portaloos or a septic tank perhaps, given the distance from mains drainage. There is certainly room at the side of the car park. But it is not as easy as that. There are two problems: overground and underground. Overground, considerable care is taken (and the planning process requires), that the setting of the World Heritage Site is not compromised by modern development. It is not an insurmountable issue, one could, for example, widen the bank around the car park on the lochside and build in an earthfast suite of cubicles. But it would cost money. Underground the issue may be more difficult because, as you will be aware, archaeological sites are like icebergs, anything that survives is likely to lie below the visible bits. Though the car park is set away from the Ring itself, the whole isthmus, at least from Maeshowe to Bookan, was made use of in the Neolithic and the remains of sites dot the landscape. As the excavations at Ness of Brodgar show, the isthmus can still surprise us. So, any work has to be undertaken with requisite archaeological input and that is slow and expensive. There was, of course, excavation in advance of the construction of the car park, but it is likely that the construction of toilets would require more work.

Once, when visiting a rock art site in a remote part of Sweden, I came across a cardboard toilet. You can buy them from a well-known online retailer. But they require frequent emptying and they would still need a superstructure.

I’m not sure what the answer is. Signage, to make people aware that there are no toilet facilities due to the fragile nature of the site and explaining exactly how to get to the public toilets in Dounby and Stenness (and how long it will take)? Increased awareness and a discrete information cue from tour guides and bus drivers? I visit Brodgar with coach parties from time to time, and I do make sure that I warn people in advance of the lack of toilets at both stone circles. Perhaps we should be thinking of enlarging the facilities in the nearby villages: a coach with forty guests can take a while at the public convenience in Stenness. One thing I do know is that I’m keen to keep access to our World Heritage Sites as open and inviting as possible. As you get older and stiffer, perhaps more infirm, you don’t lose your interest in heritage. But it is a difficult one. The Ring of Brodgar was undoubtedly built for communal visits and activities, but, of course, visitor numbers were different, people were (probably) not restricted to one narrow path of access, and the modern requirement for ‘facilities’, was solved in other ways.

It is a conundrum, some of our best sites are just too fragile and remote to cope with the demands of the twenty-first century. There has been a lot of debate recently about the benefits, and otherwise, of the tourist numbers that Orkney now attracts. We are told by OIC that the introduction of cheaper ferry fares is likely to bring tourists ‘in even greater numbers’ and that this is something they wish to encourage. We can’t put a halt to the tourism bandwagon, and I’m not sure we  want to; many of us benefit from the tourist economy, and most of us enjoy being tourists ourselves.

Perhaps the time has come to take control and plan for the future. What sort of visitor numbers do we, as a community, want? What attractions do we want to promote? How will people get there? What do we want them to ‘take away’? How do we want to manage it? Should there be days every week that are managed to be less congested? To date, tourism here has grown and developed in a very ad hoc fashion, but I think we want to control it, rather than let it control us.

The Travel Bug

Farm museum
Orkney provides a range of experience for the visitor, the farm museum here, at Kirbuster, is a nice contrast to the prehistoric remains.

I’ve been working with a well-established travel company who want to develop a tour of Orkney for their guests. It is a fun thing to do, but it is more complex than you might think. To be honest, once the tour is up and running, being a guide-lecturer is pretty much of a doddle. You are paid to visit first-rate sites with which you are familiar and chat about them with a bunch of interesting people. The conversation usually ranges widely and friendships are formed. It is always an intense experience, but it is one that I enjoy.

There are, however, several different elements necessary to build a tour from scratch and it is important not to leave any of them unexplored. First of all, of course, it is necessary to select the sites. In a place like Orkney that is not as easy as it may seem. There are so many interesting sites here that it can be more a matter of which visits to leave out. Some don’t have adequate parking. Others don’t lend themselves to coach tours (locations where only two or three people can enter at a time for example).

Then you need to group those sites into meaningful days, and decide in which order the days should come. First time visitors to Orkney are always keen to see the World Heritage sites so I tend to suggest that they come first. It also makes sense to visit Skara Brae before the other Neolithic sites because that is where you get a glimpse of the everyday life of the average Neolithic islander. Wherever they came from in Orkney, the people who knew the stone circles, buried their dead in the tombs, and experienced Ness of Brodgar, their lives were rooted in the domestic routine that was played out in communities of houses similar to those at Skara Brae. Similarly, it is hard to understand the significance of the Renaissance vision of Earl Patrick Stewart as expressed in the Earl’s Palace in Kirkwall, if you have not explored the northern foundations of life in Orkney in preceding centuries under the Norse Earldom at sites like the Brough of Birsay or Quoygrew.

Finally, it is, of course, important to combine outdoor sites with the museums. But we have more museums than many people think – which to include? The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall holds the artefact collections that provide colour to the framework set by the archaeological sites. The two farm museums offer an atmospheric background to more recent times, Stromness museum has an eclectic collection that ranges widely with something for all interests, the Scapa Flow visitor Centre at Lyness holds fascinating material related to the two World Wars and in particular the scuttling of the German Fleet, and the Pier Arts Centre houses an important collection of art, not to mention local and traveling exhibitions. And that is not all of them.

There is an order to things.

But that is not all. With the basic framework comes the nitty-gritty. How long should we spend at each site? Where should we have lunch? Where should we stay? What about evening meals? Lectures? Free time? It is like doing some sort of immersive jigsaw puzzle. Luckily, I don’t have to work it all out myself, there are those much more experienced than I in the logistical detail. My job is mainly to advise on presenting 10,000 years of island culture at its best. It is not all archaeology – it is also about helping people to understand Orkney today, and the way in which the past has contributed to the present. It is nice to try to sneak in little things that others might miss, or off-the-beaten-track sites that you might not access if you were not in an organised group. Visiting remote and small places like Orkney can be quite daunting for people who are not sure of the infrastructure up here which is why it can be easier to come on a tour.

And all of this is without consideration of the current debates as to whether, or not, tourism is ‘a good thing’. That, I think, would be a whole new blog post and I’m not going to get drawn into it here.

In this case, anyway, I think we have done a good job. I’ve enjoyed thinking about how to present Orkney so that people really have a fun, and interesting holiday. They are not going to see everything, but hopefully they will leave feeling fulfilled and with the knowledge to return one day should they wish to explore other parts of the islands.

New publication

A new book summarizes the Quaternary environments of the submerged landscapes of the European continental shelf. It is a detailed overview that extends from the Baltic to the Black Sea, and includes some general chapters on sea-level and climate as well as the preservation conditions that impact on the sites that once lay on these hidden landscapes. Needless to say it is an expensive and academic tome, but invaluable for those working in the field, or those seeking to improve management and investigation. It is part of a series of books produced as output for the Splashcos project, the other two being Under the Sea: archaeology and palaeolandscapes of the continental shelf, and Coastline changes of the Baltic Sea from south to east, both published by Springer. Together they make a formidable addition to the growing collection of material on submerged landscapes. I’ve co-authored a chapter in the first volume.  I’m now frantically reading it all in an attempt to keep my forthcoming text book on sea-level change and submerged landscapes for archaeologists up to date!