indelibly marked the landscape of the heathlands in a way that has no equivalent with any other contemporary user group. They have created their own network of tiny 'sheep tracks' across areas of the heathland where there are no other tracks (see Figure 1.11d). Permanent white flag-poles mark the perimeter of their grenade range with its concrete bunkers: the only permanent structures that have been permitted to be built on the heathlands since the Second World War.

The Royal Marines endurance course in the southern part of the heathlands is marked by a series of wet and dry tunnels and sunken ways through the pebbles on valley sides with fans of material at their ends, the product of pounding feet. Running on the unstable surfaces of the mobile and slippery pebbles according to a fixed time schedule between these tunnels and elsewhere on the heathlands adds considerably to the rigorous nature of their training. Again the pebbles have practical utility. When you try to run on material acting like ball bearings under your feet, life gets tough.

The larger Bronze Age cairns and the hillfort of Woodbury Castle are used today as reference and orientation points in the Royal Marines' manoeuvres. In the recent past trench digging in the pebble bedrock formed an essential element of the Royal Marines training regime. This practice was discontinued in 2002 because of objections by Natural England in relation to the vegetational disturbance of the heath. There was no consideration of potential damage to the archaeology in making this decision.

Large areas of the heathland, mainly to the south and west of the grenade range, are literally riddled with trenches and pits and rough oval or circular patches of disturbed heathland vegetation (see Figure 1.4 and Figure 14.3). Digging out such positions was described to me by one recruit trainer, who had himself done this when he was a recruit, in the following way, and is another interesting example of the utility of pebbles to the Royal Marines:

> I thought it was good value for recruits, good team building, for four guys to dig a 4 m trench over two days. A real team builder. It means that you have to work hard. It's one of the things that toughens you up I think. It's horrendous. You can literally wear out a pick on just one trench. You had to de-turf such a large area and it is not easy stuff to de-turf and then lay your trench out and start hacking away and it would be heart-breaking to start early evening, work through the night, and first thing in the morning you see what you have done, and you have only gone down a foot or two.
<figure><img src="image_213.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 14.3** Landscape scars made by trench digging by the Royal Marines (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

The intensive military occupation and use of the heath during the Second World War, and subsequently, has resulted in the presence of numerous modern mounds across the heathland landscape in addition to the trenches (see Figure 14.4). They are generally up to 1 m in height, oval, rectangular or circular in shape and between 1 m and 2 m in diameter. Some others are the result of local farmers and members of the public using the heath as a convenient dumping ground in the recent historical past. This makes archaeological survey a nightmare, since under thick gorse and heather cover modern mounds are very easy to mistake for prehistoric cairns. One needs to wade through waist-, sometimes neck-, high gorse and feel with the feet in areas that have not been recently cut or swaled.

**Conflicts in conservation management**

The heathlands today are a contested landscape (Meinig 1979; Bender 1998; Bender and Winer 2001; Tilley 2006; Tilley and Cameron-Daum 2017) because there are inevitably considerable differences between
<figure><img src="image_214.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 14.4** The distribution of mounds of modern origin on the heathlands mapped in field walking surveys. Test trenches across eight of these mounds shown in red confirmed their modern origin (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
different individuals and user groups with respect to their current
management and how and why they value them or otherwise. There
are very obvious conflicts between an agenda stressing the need to
conserve rare and endangered heathland species and the disturbance
that inevitably arises when the heath is used for military training by
day and by night, and the issues are complex (see Tilley and Cameron-
Daum 2017).

In this section another major issue will be briefly discussed: con-
flicts that arise from managing the heathland from the point of view of
environmental conservation and from the point of view of its historic
preservation. When the project started in 2008 this issue was already
contentious because the Historic Environment section of Devon County
Council had already imposed a moratorium on a new environmental con-
servation practice of topsoil scraping, discussed below. Thus the archaeo-
logical landscape survey and excavation work of the Pebblebed project
from the very beginning became unwittingly embroiled in a pre-existing
conflict and min tension in connection with how the heathland itself was
to be *valued* and what its future should be.

When the heathlands were no longer used extensively for grazing
post-1945, their character altered and in the absence of grazing they
would naturally revert back to scrub and woodland, this being a cultural
landscape first created in the Early Bronze Age (see Chapter 8). The new
post-war conservation agenda recognized the heathland for the first time
as a precious and endangered area, one of the most significant expanses
of lowland heath remaining in England. A human creation now effect-
ively became regarded as a natural landscape by the English conserva-
tion agency Natural England, who are well aware of the irony of both
their role and their name.

Parts of the Pebblebed heathlands were first designated as a
Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) between 1952 and 1986, as a
nationally important example of Atlantic-climate lowland heathland.
The East Devon Pebblebed Heaths were designated as a Special Area of
Conservation (SAC) in 1996 under the Habitats Directive of the European
Union. The designation covered 1119.94 ha. The primary reason for
selection was that the area was considered one of the best heathland
areas in the UK because of its combination of north Atlantic wet heaths,
European dry heaths and populations of southern damselfly (Coenagrion
mercuriale). At the same time the area was also designated a Special
Protection Area (SPA) under the Birds Directive because of its rare breed-
ing populations of nightjar (Caprimulgus europaeus) and Dartford warb-
ler (Sylvia undata).
The heathlands are also important archaeologically because substantial areas of them have never been disturbed by ploughing, unlike the rest of lowland Britain, where deep ploughing, again a largely post-war development, has effectively destroyed most of the archaeological resource. On the heathland it is still all potentially there, from Mesolithic flint scatters to Bronze Age cairns and pebble platforms.

The aim of the late twentieth-century and twenty-first-century conservation agenda became not only to preserve the heathlands but to *improve* them from a conservation point of view by increasing biodiversity and creating a patchwork or mosaic of different habitats. This involved adopting various strategies including vegetation cutting, reintroducing cattle, making small ponds, maintaining ideally prescribed amounts of gorse and heather cover at various stages of the life-cycle of these plants from young to mature and by regular scrub and tree clearance. Figure 1.12, Figure 6.18 and Figure 8.2 show the result of these practices, resulting in significant differences in the vegetation cover and type from one area of the heathland to another. Thus the modern improved heathland bears no resemblance to the heathland that was initially created in the Bronze Age and maintained into the modern era. It has now become a heathland of our own times and of our own making.

Small herds of rare breed cattle were first reintroduced to the heathlands during the summer months from the 1990s. Since then a conservation grazing agenda has been vigorously promoted to preserve the heathlands. This developed from fencing-in the cattle temporarily during the summer months in lowland heath mire areas to a desire to allow them to graze more extensively with permanent fencing. The end result has been the enclosure of substantial areas of the heath. What has always been an open and unenclosed landscape where one could walk freely has been bounded off since 2013. The openness of the heath as a landscape, one of its principal defining cultural and historical characteristics, has now gone for good, another consequence of a modern environmental conservation agenda. This is the single most substantial change to the character of the heathland landscape in its 4,000-year-old history.

In the prehistoric past and until very recently the heathland was an area to be economically exploited as ruthlessly as possible. This was what made it of value, and habitat conservation was hardly on the agenda. Whether any of the rare heathland species whose habitat is to be preserved and enhanced today actually existed in the prehistoric or historical past until the 1990s, when the first systematic observations began to be made and recorded, nobody knows.
<figure><img src="image_215.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 14.5** A heathland wildfire in 2010 deep-burned a huge swathe of the landscape. This fully revealed Carter's Woodbury ε cairn (see Fig. 1.10: 17 and discussion in Chapter 3), with the part he excavated missing (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

Because of the importance given to maintaining populations of rare nesting birds under the new conservation directives, the swaling or fire burning of the heathlands to maintain their open character had to be curtailed. It would traditionally take place during the warm and dry summer months, when a deep burn was possible, removing all surface vegetation and going right down into the peat. This maintained the correct acidity levels required for the maintenance of the heath and removed scrub and trees. These fires frequently went out of control if there was a high wind from the wrong direction, developing into a raging inferno galloping across the landscape. Gilbert White [1788–9] 1977: 25) vividly describes this taking place on the Hampshire heaths. In such areas devastated by fire the vegetation would not properly recover for years (Figure 14.5). When the fires were managed and controlled the end result was perfect animal browse. Grass would regenerate, followed by gorse and heather, locally bracken and then scrub would once more begin to appear, especially birch. Stocking densities of grazing animals were of sufficient numbers to prevent the regeneration of much scrub.

Maintenance by fire and the creation of a landscape by fire represents a direct continuity between the prehistoric past and the present.
This has always been a landscape created through fire. However, today swaling can take place only during the winter months. The ground is usually sodden and burning has thus lost much of its old effectiveness as a technique of heathland management. Furthermore only small patches circumscribed by cut areas to prevent the fire from spreading are now burnt, rather than huge swathes of the heathland landscape as in the past.

Topsoil scraping was a new technique for heathland management which was first introduced around 1991 on the Aylesbeare and Harpford RSPB reserve in the northern part of the heathlands. Current Natural England conservation guidelines ideally require that between 1 per cent and 10per cent of the heathlands should have bare ground today. This figure may or may not match how much land was bare in the prehistoric or historic past. We can perhaps consider it instead as a contemporary fantasy of what a historic heathland was like. Scraping away the soil was primarily driven by the need to achieve the target level of bare ground. The technique involves machine removal of the topsoil and accumulated nutrients in this soil. Thus a nutrient-poor habitat appropriate for heathland is maintained in the scraped areas. Acidity levels, reduced by the long-term effects of global warming, are also restored. In the past this could effectively be achieved by deep-burn summer swaling. Another benefit of scraping is the creation of temporary areas of bare ground habitat thought appropriate as part of the creation of a mosaic of habitat types across the heathlands, encouraging annual plants, lichens, rare species of butterflies such as the Silver Studded Blue, invertebrates and some species of ground-nesting birds. It diversifies the age structure of the heathland plant communities across the heathlands as a whole. Regeneration of the heathland habitat of heather and gorse in the dry heath areas where scraping has taken place is very slow, taking 10 to 15 years or longer.

This scraping was supposed to remove the mat of surface vegetation and the uppermost layer of the peaty topsoil. In practice virtually all the topsoil scraping that has taken place on the heaths has removed everything down to the pebble bed rock, leaving extensive exposed areas of pebbles without any soil whatsoever. It has amounted to complete turf stripping or removal. This is because the topsoil is so thin, in many areas only 10 cm or less.

As for the archaeology, this work has the unintended consequence of destroying it since flint scatters, settlement debris and shallow subsurface features will be entirely removed. Their presence is often impossible to detect even if the area is cut or mowed or swaled prior to the
scraping operations. The damage to the irreplaceable historical resource
is even worse than the continuing effects of deep ploughing of the fields
surrounding the heathlands.

The material removed from the scraped areas has usually been
dumped in long linear or sometimes irregular mounds adjacent to them.
The linear banks and rounded mounds of scraped material, up to 2 m
or more high and 5 m wide, create new landscape features that are
inappropriate and intrusive in this open heathland landscape and detract
from the landscape settings of visible archaeological monuments. They
encourage the prolific growth of the tall European gorse. Given subse-
quent erosion and the current nature of the heathland vegetation, they
are likely to be a source of considerable confusion to archaeological sur-
veys and landscape interpretation in the future.

The scraped areas include in the RSPB reserve unfortunately the
most sensitive area of the heath from an archaeological point of view:
the summit area and northern slopes of Aylesbeare Common where a ser-
ies of Bronze Age cairns, sites of Napoleonic date and pebble platforms
and other structures are known to exist (see Chapters 6 and 11). What
is ostensibly good for environmental conservation has proved to be very
deleterious as regards the historic resource.

A rolling programme of scraping, clearing new areas every year and
leaving previously scraped areas to gradually regenerate, would in the long
term result in the wholesale destruction of virtually the entire archaeologi-
cal resource of the heathlands. None of the scraping operations undertaken
were archaeologically monitored by a watching brief, nor was any infor-
mation provided to the relevant local authorities concerned with the his-
toric environment as to where and when they were to take place. This was
because the heathlands are in private ownership and all but a few archaeo-
logical sites remain unscheduled and therefore have no legal protection.

Part of the reason for this, which still exists, is a very different con-
ceptualization of the value of landscape and the legal framework for its
protection in relation to environmental and historic conservation object-
ives. In terms of environmental objectives the heathlands as a whole are
protected. The only archaeological areas that are protected are a handful
of scheduled monuments: little dots on a heathland map.

There has been a failure to recognize that the entire heathland
landscape, rather than tiny bits of it, needs to be protected in terms of
the underlying historic resource. The soil-scraping activities that have
taken place to date might have destroyed many archaeological sites (see
Chapter 11) or they might not. We do know that such areas have been
destroyed for good from an archaeological point of view.
There is no doubt that heathland conservation managers and people who volunteer to work on the heath today to conserve it have a passionate interest in its preservation. The landscape has perhaps been well managed for the current environmental significance that has been given to it, but this has resulted in unintended and deleterious consequences from the point of view of its cultural and historic significance that have only recently begun to be addressed (see Tilley and Cameron-Daum 2017).

## Conclusions

The most dramatic and irrevocable changes to the heathland landscape have occurred in modernity, from the nineteenth century to the present. These have substantially altered its character. To put it at its harshest and in the bluntest way: the heathland landscape has been vandalized.

The worst period of destruction has been post-1940. Industrial-scale quarrying has eaten away at its heart. Even with the most sympathetic restoration the original contours and character of part of the landscape are gone for good. The massive area of the Second World War Dalditch camp will never recover to its former heathland state. Plantations and intake areas of agricultural land have visually broken up and fragmented the landscape. Military trenching has mutilated further areas. Mounds and dumps of material of various origins have introduced landscape features that should not be there. Topsoil scraping has now also destroyed archaeological evidence in yet more areas. Fencing has altered the original open character of parts of it. Other areas have been flattened and exposed for visitor car parks. This is a sad litany of the corrosive values of our own times.
# Woven flame and pebble grid: an artist's interaction with archaeology and the heathlands

Priscilla Trenchard

This chapter discusses the manner in which the heath and its pebbles have provided inspiration for a contemporary individual artistic and aesthetic response. In 2009, newly returned from living abroad, and anxious to reconnect with the landscape of my childhood, I wrote to the archaeologist Professor Christopher Tilley after hearing there was a dig on the East Devon Heathlands Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. A few days later, I met Chris at his home and he talked about the project, and other digs, and his interest in trying to express archaeological investigation through visual interpretation. He is a tall, thin man, who looks as if he has spent much of his life battling with the elements. After trying to trace the roundabout connections that led me to contact him, he talked about his interest in working with people from different academic fields in order to connect with other viewpoints and ways of working. His experience with artists was a little tentative: 'They tend to look and then go off and do their own thing', and are typically not prepared to immerse themselves in the 'hands-on' world of archaeology.'

In my letter to him I had explained about living abroad for 15 years, how I had felt displaced and that now I had returned to the landscape of my childhood and ancestors. I said that I walk most days in the landscape and collect materials, take photographs and record thoughts. I was brought up in the seaside town of Seaton, a few miles east of Colaton Raleigh Common, one of the dig sites. My childhood was spent within earshot of the sound of the sea on pebbles, the soothing waves rolling on the stones and then that reluctant sound of the pebbles being dragged back out by the tide. Pebbles filled my childhood with games and 'friends' to keep in my pocket or on a shelf. That habit continues to this day: pebbles,
their endless variety of shapes and colours, have always been of significance to me, symbols of place, collected wherever I go. I had considered embarking on a project that would involve making a cairn on Budleigh Salterton beach and monitoring the connections people make with it, their responses to the colourful pebbles, the journeys they undertake in order to get to the beach. I had been thinking about cairns as 'markers of experience', so it was with great interest I heard about Chris's three or four-year Pebblebeds project with its focus on cairns and pebbles.

Chris admitted that he is obsessed with pebbles. The ones on Budleigh Salterton beach and in the pebblebeds of East Devon come in an array of colours and markings, which he believes was an attraction for the people of the Bronze Age. The various colours would have seemed jewel-like and may have been precious to them. The markings can be interpreted as symbols, perhaps even human forms, or representing internal organs. I was shown the pebblebed stream at the bottom of his garden and the cairn he had built himself on the patio. He was quick to point out how difficult it is to construct with pebbles, as they are not so obliging as to stay in place.

There are two excavation sites associated with the project, on Colaton Raleigh Common and Aylesbeare Common. We visited the Colaton Raleigh site, a couple of miles from where he lives. We parked the car and walked up a long, rugged pebble-covered track. The pebbled surface makes walking difficult, and it is sometimes quite slippery. Once at the top, the distant views all round are far-reaching, and one can see that it would have been an important high spot. The common is used by many interest groups: bird-watchers, nature lovers, dog-walkers, cross-country runners and the army. There are small tracks through the heather and brush where people have walked regularly. We trekked through, in single file, to a large cairn which is a protected site and must not be excavated. We walked on and Chris pointed out other smaller cairns until we arrived at the site of the first year's dig. A quarter of the cairn had been investigated and all the stones had been replaced on top of black plastic. This year the area was to be dug deeper and another area started.

Chris invited me to join his team six days a week for five weeks in the summer of 2009, working initially on the cairns on Colaton Raleigh Common. This would give me grounding in the ways archaeologists work and a good understanding of how a cairn is built. There are questions to be asked regarding the Colaton Raleigh Common cairns, for example, why that exact location, how were they built: over a long period as a form of pilgrimage, or all at once? The landscape seems to indicate significant sites that could be related to sun worship during the winter solstice.
I had thought that archaeologists might resent artists being on site, and so it was with a little apprehension that I set out to join the dig in August 2009. I was one of the advance party of five women, four locals and a PhD student. We were to uncover the work started a year earlier and prepare another nearby small cairn for excavation. The 'real' archaeologists would arrive at the end of the week. The dig site is at a high point on the Common where a large cairn looks down on a smaller one and then onto the two cairns we would be working on. Our cairns were in a wonderful location, offering spectacular views in every direction, with High Peak, a triangular-shaped hill, to the south, a long ridge running southeast and looking west towards Dartmoor. This place is special: it feels as though it is suspended between the earth and sky, a safe, secret place. At times in the coming weeks, I would feel that I was enclosed in a sandwich of earth and cloud (Figure 15.1). At those moments, sounds would stay close and I would feel the intensity of the immediate location. The lush vegetation of the farmland surrounding the heath was invisible and we were enclosed in our little world and community. I felt tucked in and cosy.

The physical process was not unlike digging up potatoes, and the pebbles actually did look like potatoes when covered in the red-brown soil. Each stone was weighed, measured, washed, categorized, its

<figure><img src="image_216.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.1** Weather from the west (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
location recorded, and all this information documented. Reams of it! At a later date, the information was to be fed into a computer and analysed to see what emerged. When wet, the pebbles disclose an array of colours and patterns, which probably had as much attraction in the Bronze Age as they still do for some of us now. We look especially for any 'blue' stones, which appear black and have irregular, angular shapes, not smooth like pebbles. They are rare to find in this site, and that may have some significance. Chris refers to them as Carter Blues, after George Carter who excavated on Colaton Raleigh Common in the 1920s and 30s. Even rarer are stones called ventifacts, wind-polished pebbles that lay on the surface of a desert 240 million years ago, which we were also looking out for. Their shape is an elongated oval with a smooth ridge and rough underside, very beautiful to hold. Colours have to be sorted too: reds/browns, white, yellow, blacks and then the 'specials'.

As artist on the dig I have been thinking about what to do. I know Chris would like some 'land art'. My work is generally small, mixed-media, abstract work that I produce in the comfort of an untidy studio. So what to do has been on my mind. I am interested in the sacred, memorial aspect of the cairns, and the process of making them, which would have required a pilgrimage-like ritual of bringing the stones up from stream beds or elsewhere across the heathlands. How would they have been carried – baskets or leather bags? The brief outline of my professional background that follows gives some context to how my ideas and work developed.

I left school at 16 with art as my only O-level pass. At the time dyslexia was unheard of and I struggled with exams and the written word. Thankfully, I was accepted on a foundation course at Newton Abbot School of Art, based on my portfolio, with the intention of studying fine art and becoming a painter. Fine art was considered an academic course, and that year the art school was taken over by South Devon Technical College and I was transferred to the diploma course in graphic design. At the time I was very disappointed not to be painting, but in retrospect I realize what a great foundation in art the graphics course provided. For many years I worked in hospitals and universities as a scientific illustrator, which was both interesting and technically stimulating. Later, as a mature student, I went to Dartington College to study art and design in a social context. This was a type of outward-bound course in art, challenging perceptions, ideas and ways of working, both as an artist and in the community. In the final year, for the BA, I went on to Middlesex Polytechnic and completed the degree in cultural studies. My family life involved working and living in London, moving to Vienna and then, for ten years, America. On returning to England I took an MA in
multidisciplinary print at the University of the West of England in which I explored interactions between memory, place and identity.

During the dig, I kept a sketchbook with ideas and notes, took photographs, and collected heathland materials and found objects most days, which I catalogued with dates and place references and stored in small plastic bags. This became a type of ‘museum of curiosity’ (Figure15.2).

<figure><img src="image_217.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.2** ‘Museum of curiosity’ diary collection (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
All these processes helped keep the memory of events and feelings of place alive in my mind. They were useful references when I was back in the studio and helped inspire further work.

My way of working as an artist is to allow the work to emerge through the experience of being in a place, the ideas that come out of it and the materials to hand. Substantial areas of burnt soil were found in the cairn, possible ritual pyre sites. Fire has been an important part of human culture, and the idea of fire rituals interested me. Every Christmas Eve at the Harbour Inn, Axmouth, East Devon, the ancient ritual of burning a massive ‘ashen faggot’ is enacted, a bundle of ash sticks, about 6 feet long and 3 feet wide, which fills the pub’s open fire. To take a piece of charcoal from the cooled fire, bring it back the following year and place it in the hearth again is meant to bring good luck. At this event you get a feeling of being a part of a primal ritual. There is something about gathering around a fire with ale and song that unifies people.

I was able to harvest some burnt soil from Tor Cairn, and other coloured soils from both sites. Back in the studio, I ground down the soils as pigments, which were used in one of the final artworks. The pigments were stored in labelled vintage glass jars, specimens of time and place, past and present. These collections I saw as part of the artwork itself (Figure 15.3).

<figure><img src="image_218.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.3** Soil samples (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
As well as the physical act of collecting the burnt soil, I was also interested in the transformation of objects consumed by fire and particularly the transitory nature of smoke. Once again this is a ritual element, used when burning incense, in smoking-pipe ceremonies and on pyres. How to capture the impalpable smoke particles which appear to evaporate into the universe? I started using smoke as a drawing tool, trapping the elusive particles on paper, and sometimes immersing the paper in water, releasing the particles onto the surface of the water. Another piece of paper was then gently rolled over the water, lifting off the smoke particles. This gave a 'crackling' effect. The processes were unpredictable, but with interesting results in most cases. I also tried printing with smoke on copper plates that I had etched. The prints were very subtle. The idea of coded messages was another interest that I pursued by burning patterns into paper, then dipping the work into wax to stabilize the fragile paper and seeing the completed work as an untranslated manuscript.

As a group we were always discussing and creating stories of how the cairns may have come about and for what reason, and hoping to find clues in the patterns and placements of certain pebbles in the various levels of the cairn. Early on, Jill, one of my digging companions, brought with her some wax from her bees so that I might polish some stones. All the pebbles look dull when dry, and the colours diminished. I hoped that rubbing wax into warm stones might intensify some of the amazing colours, but it was not very successful. I decided to do something involving pebbles given their importance in the archaeological scheme of things and my fascination with them. I came up with the idea of a series of experiments, placing pebbles on different materials and leaving them in the landscape for a few weeks or longer. I saw it as a means of creating types of 'environmental print'. My four printing experiments were: (i) canvas as the print medium, placed on the pebbles on top of Tor Cairn, one of the excavation sites, and weighing this down with more pebbles placed on top; (ii) watercolour paper placed on the ground near the cairn with pebbles on top (Figure 15.4); (iii) a sandwich of paper, sticks and paper with pebbles on top; (iv) a sandwich of paper, grasses and sticks with paper on top and then pebbles.

I was disappointed to discover that, over the four weeks, very little had happened to my printing experiments. The heathland terrain drains quickly after rainfall and the dew dries rapidly in the ever-present wind. On my return some weeks later, after the dig had finished, I found that paper experiments (ii), (iii) and (iv) had mainly been nibbled away, leaving small scraps, but the cloth pieces had interesting 'prints' where the rain and dirt had settled around the edges of the pebbles and left stains on the
<figure><img src="image_219.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.4** Paper and pebbles (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

fabric (Figure 15.5). The stains included very subtle shades of greens and pinks. I later used these small fabric prints in studio-constructed works. As the fabric had produced interesting results, I asked permission to leave a large piece of fabric over the whole cairn for a few months. The fabric was then covered completely with pebbles, making a sort of ‘sandwich’. This was to become the Tor Cairn Shroud. I also collected samples of soil from the various cairn locations, including some burnt soil from a possible pyre area. The soil was then ground down with a pestle and mortar and used in some of the later artworks. In this manner I hoped to make deep material connections between the past and the present.

Weaving became my other theme. Tracks run all over the heathland, many created by the Royal Marines, who train there by day and night. These make a type of weaving, which I find fascinating. Walkers, horse-riders, bird-watchers and the army frequent the area, which reinforces the tracks as permanent routes through the common. In parallel with looking at the present-day layout of the heathland, I am trying to understand why, when and how it was important in the past.

Before leaving home on the first day back at the dig after the August bank holiday, I looked on the Internet, trying to discover any records of Bronze Age basketry. Bringing stones to the cairn site would have been
<figure><img src="image_220.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.5** A pebble print on fabric (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

laborious work, and I was keen to know what may have been used for such a job. To withstand constant wear and tear, the container would have been robust. Maybe leather was used, which would have withstood hard usage, and was probably easier to carry than a wicker basket.

At the dig site, I went in search of willow in order to make a basket. The common is sparsely covered with small pine trees, but an abundance of tree growth lines the bottom of the hill, where a small stream and a
boggy area exist. That is where I hoped to find willow. The undergrowth became dense and the gorse shoulder-high, the bracken a couple of feet above my head. I tumbled into a ravine and felt a little panicky about being completely enveloped by the undergrowth, but I was at the point of no return. Eventually I reached a well-worn path, with the common on one side and farmland on the other. I collected a huge bundle of willow and began to wonder if I would be able to make a pleasing structure. I am not a basket-maker, and thought I may have overestimated my skills.

The next day, Jill showed me how to start a basket, which she wove with whatever she could find in the car park, and loaned me a book about weaving. I struggled to weave the foundation of a basket with the materials I had gathered the day before. It was very frustrating: the branches were too thick and did not bend enough. The willow should be soaked. I read that it should be cut during mid-October and March. No wonder I was finding this difficult. I felt this was getting in the way of what I really should have been doing. I must not be confined by a *process*, but bring ideas alive through the *materials* available on the common.

The following day Jill had another sample weaving for me, made with grasses and small twigs. Not a basket shape, but fence-like, with straight twigs and leaves on the end. The shades of the grasses created a lovely graded colour range. Again, the process of weaving overwhelmed me. More frustration. Rethink ideas.

A week later. By now, weaving had dominated my thoughts so much it had become a metaphor for life on the heathland. The weaving of narrow paths across the landscape mirrors the structure of the plant life. The gorse and heather grow together, creating dense undergrowth. The pebbles may have some weave-like order in their placement within the cairn. We weave stories around each pebble layer of the cairn, as it is unearthed. So I am going to stay with the idea of weaving something. I collected heather and gorse and spent hours stripping the needles off the gorse. There is a repetition of walking, collecting, sorting and stripping back, a meditation of sorts. The making of the cairns would have required many journeys back and forth with the pebbles. Creating paths, creating stories and remembering.

The next day I gathered more roots, this time from the spoil heap. This was a great collection point, as most of the material had been there for a year and the gorse needles fell off easily. I began working on a free weaving, hoping in time that it might become a large sphere, strong enough to hold pebbles – a sculpture to sit atop Tor Cairn. None of the roots were straight, so the shape had a life of its own, with not too much strength to the structure.
In the following days I continued to weave, and tried to control the shape of the structure. It definitely had a life of its own, looking more like a nest! As the structure grew it felt as though its weight was pushing its sides down. The inflexible and random nature of the roots and branches inevitably dictated the form. Not surprisingly it related to its surroundings. At this point, I thought I may have been getting too involved with structure, rather than working through ideas. The container could be more imaginatively conceived. The cairn is about containing and also covering something of importance. How could I create something that would communicate that?

Taking a break from the slow progress on weaving the basket, I attempted a splatter drawing over some pebbles on a big sheet using muddy water – a Jackson Pollock-style work. Some areas came out well, leaving a vague silhouette of the stones. Trying to get depth of tone, by splattering for a second and a third time, was unsuccessful. I was not really sure what I was trying to achieve, but some of the areas had an interesting texture. The breeze dried the fabric quickly. A wind sculpture might be a possibility. I could not remember a day when the wind wasn't blowing.

Back to the weaving. I collected more gorse and heather and continued to try to control the structure. Feeling despondent about the wayward nature of the weaving I bound it with string, so that further weaving might bring the whole thing together. The wind took the structure, rolling it around like tumble weed, and parts broke off. Clarissa came up with the idea of putting the basket on top of Great Tor Cairn, to see how it looked in its intended resting place. What a relief. It looked as if it belonged there, and it stayed steady in the wind even though it was on higher ground. Much to my surprise it looked finished. A woven flame (Figure 15.6). Its character changed depending on where it was viewed. I was suddenly pleased with the outcome. Gradually people took a break from digging to look at it and take photographs. The sky was bright blue with a few wisps of cloud. The photographs came out well. ‘Woven Flame’ will stay there throughout the year and I will photographically document its life through the seasons.

Sometime later, an excavation of an Early Bronze Age cremation burial at Whitehorse Hill on Dartmoor turned up a woven basket made from the fibrous inner bark of a lime tree. The basket contained beads, wooden ear studs and a flint flake. It was made from two woven circular discs forming a flat base and a lid, each 12 cm in diameter, joined together with a tube of coiled basketry. There was stitching made using cow hair around the edges. From Tor Cairn, on a clear day, one could
<figure><img src="image_221.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.6** 'Woven Flame' (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

look out to Dartmoor. It would be nice to think that in prehistoric times,
there were craft traditions that connected artisans working across these
landscapes.

In mid-September we moved to the Aylesbeare site. I wondered
what artwork I could produce in a place that I did not feel connected with.
It would have to be something that could be made and left in the environ-
ment, as was the work on Colaton Raleigh Common. I was tired of work-
ing with heather and gorse, so pebbles it would have to be. Classifying
the stones had been a big part of the dig's agenda – size, weight, colour and specialness. I would use the uniqueness of the pebbles as the focus for my next project. It felt good to have an idea to start the next day with.

I decided to use one of the metal grids the archaeologists use when making plans of the layout of the pebbles. The metre-square grid, with its 25 squares, is placed over the area to be recorded and the information laboriously drawn onto graph paper. I sited my grid on a lower edge of a sloping gravel area so as not to be disturbed or be in the way of others walking around. I created colour categories – black, black with white lines, white, white quartz, grey, red, red/brown, yellow, orange. It would be hard to find enough colours in some of the categories, as they were scarce. I spent all day engrossed in finding the required pebbles, and had only filled half of the grids. I would have to create new categories in order to fill all 25 squares.

The next day I conjured up more categories to fill the spaces. Pebbles that were broken in half, big stones, ones that look like body parts! The body-part ones reminded me of my days as a medical/scientific illustrator. Some of the stones definitely looked like internal organs. The end result, when wet, magically reveals the range of colours and textures of the pebbles (Figure15.7). After lunch, two of the archaeologists helped me find pebbles. One of them seemed a little unsure if she was finding

<figure><img src="image_222.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.7** Pebble grid (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
the right ones. It was interesting to see others feeling ill at ease in my cre-
ative space. What was ordinary and unthreatening to me became another
world to others, just as their world was to me.

I would return regularly to both sites over the coming years to see
how the passage of time played a part in the weathering of the art works.
I also left paper and fabric in the landscape with a covering layer of peb-
bles for weather and time to produce their own drawings on the surfaces.

After the dig had finished I continued to work in my studio, using
ideas that had evolved from my experience of being on the Pebblebeds
project. These artworks, although interesting in their own right, have
a sense of 'control' and formal presentation, characteristics that were
not present in the landscape pieces. The problem is, having produced
artwork, what to do with it, who is going to see the work? Putting on
an exhibition is a big responsibility, finding a suitable venue, publicity,
insurance, curating the work, putting the work up and 'babysitting'
the exhibition. I approached the Devon Guild of Craftsmen, as a mem-
ber, about an exhibition, and in 2012 'Strata: An artist's response to an
archaeological project' was exhibited at the Riverside Gallery in Bovey
Tracey (Figure 15.8). It was a wonderful venue and great to see the work
come together in one place. I managed to retrieve the pebbles from the
landscape for the 'pebble grid' piece, even though time and weather
had distorted the original pattern. The 'pebble grid' and fabric 'shroud'

<figure><img src="image_223.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 15.8** Bovey Tracey exhibition photograph (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
became the focal point of the exhibition. I think some people expected to see archaeology in one form or other, something recognizable. They came with their own expectations rather than being open to an artists' response to the whole experience, which for them made the work difficult to identify with.

The Devon Guild of Craftsmen, sponsored by Villages in Action, took the exhibition to two local village halls at Farringdon and Lympstone, each for a three-day event. Attendance at these was good. Some of the people had visited the dig site on the open day which Chris Tilley had organized; these people were particularly interested in seeing and talking about my work.

The challenge of working in the landscape and limiting the use of materials to those at hand for creating work was both intimidating and liberating. Taking oneself out of one's comfort zone opens up unpredictable possibilities. Trying to weave with gorse and heather was impractical because of the inflexibility of the fibres. However, the resulting 'basket', although not practical as a vessel, when placed into the landscape reflected its environment and took on a presence in that space. I was surprised and honoured as members of the team walked up to the cairn where the basket, known as 'Woven Flame' was situated, some leaving a pebble inside as a type of offering. That was very touching. Over time the basket has disintegrated back into its landscape, leaving but a trace, detectable only by those who knew it was once there. The 'pebble grid' also merged comfortably into the landscape, with its colours blending into the surroundings. Over the next two years plants began to grow through it, and its edges 'frayed' and discomposed back into its constituent parts. This was art emerging in the landscape and then slowly being reclaimed by it, almost the reverse of archaeology, which seeks to recover what has been reclaimed.
# Conclusions: the longue durée and a theory of pebbles in a pebbled landscape

## Pebbles in the longue durée

A pebble building competition held on the beach at Budleigh Salterton during the town's Gala Week has taken place for the last 20 years. This is a charity fund-raising event organized by the Lions Club over the spring bank holiday. I observed the event in 2009 and 2010 and participated in it in 2011. Originally the aim of the competition was to build the tall-est tower of pebbles in two hours and the event was for children. Since they were helped by adults anyway, it became a family or group event and now people of all ages participate. Since 2005 there has also been a pebble design or art competition that has become increasingly popular. In the 2010 and 2011 competitions only three and four groups respect-ively, all of whom were local families, built pebble towers. The rest of the entries were pebble designs of various kinds. All the materials have to be collected on the beach: principally pebbles, but some designs are enhanced with driftwood and seaweed. Some groups frame their designs with rows of pebbles forming a border. Many of them are directly inspired by the experience of the seaside and beach holidays: mermaids, ice-cream cones, octopuses, boats, lighthouses, beach huts, fish, crabs. Other designs are quite eclectic, including, over the years, a giraffe, a snake, guitar, a butterfly (Figures 16.1–16.4).

Up to 500 people have taken part, both local families and visitors. The 2011 competition was less well attended as a result of cold and wet weather. That day there were around 100 participants with 4 tower-building groups and 17 constructing designs. Most groups consisted of four to six people spanning all generations. One consisted of teenage
<figure><img src="image_224.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 16.1** A pebble tower (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

boys who made a guitar. Some families had actually planned their design on paper and in advance and knew exactly what they were going to do. They had a rough idea of how many black, yellow, red, brown, etc. pebbles they would need. Other groups spontaneously thought up what they were going to do on the spot. Most of the time was spent by people wandering up and down the beach collecting pebbles of different colours, in buckets or carrier bags, heads down, grandmothers and mothers helping children. In different groups some members stayed put and constructed
<figure><img src="image_225.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 16.2** Beach huts (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

the design with the materials brought to them. One group of tower builders had brought garden spades to dig a moat around their tower. The lower parts are built as a cairn. The upper parts, or spires, require an ingenious and delicate balancing act in which very small pebbles collected along the tide line are used to balance and prop up larger pebbles. Building these towers required much vigorous work and skill.

Black and yellow were the predominant colours used in some designs, often with white pebbles being used as an enhancing or framing device. It was usually the ordinary-coloured plain pebbles that people collected in order to create contrast and pattern in their designs. The intricate, multicoloured ‘special’ beach pebbles were always grouped together when used to create a strong design. The contestants wetted their pebbles just before the judges came to see them in order to enhance the vibrancy of their colours. This production of pebble designs on the beach has also stimulated the work of dedicated pebble artists producing outstanding work (Figure 16.5).

This practice of making patterns and designs out of pebbles has, as we have seen, its roots in the Bronze Age. It is part of a 4,000-year story of pebble use. The contemporary beach pebble crab finds its prehistoric parallel in a Middle Bronze Age pebble sculpture depicting a double axe.
<figure><img src="image_226.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 16.3** Lighthouse (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

The manner in which people respond to pebbles in the past or the present depends on their relationship with them, their meaning and value.

In the longue durée pebbles have always had a certain practical util-
ity as building stone, beginning with the construction of Bronze Age peb-
ble cairns and continuing today in their ornamental use to build paths,
walls, gutters, etc. Today they are also quarried and crushed for utilitar-
ian use as hard-wearing roadstone. The crushing of pebbles destroys their
<figure><img src="image_227.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 16.4** Crab (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_228.png" /><figcaption>**Figure 16.5** Balloon and bird by beach artist (Source: author)</figcaption></figure>
integrity of form. The processed material bears no relationship to the original form, a complete material transformation. This crushing of pebbles also has its origins in the Bronze Age. The transformation of the pebbles taking place at Jacob's Well that reduced them to grit and drained them of their colours was, however, something that was undertaken because of their symbolic value rather than their functional use value, but had a similar transformational material effect.

To the farmer with fields in the vicinity of the Pebblebed heathlands the pebbles can wreck a plough and are unwanted material. They may be a curse or a blessing to gardeners, making digging difficult but also providing ready-to-hand materials for creative work. For the Royal Marines they silently perform excellent work in hardening and strengthening the body of the recruit: out of pebbles the desired military body can be formed.

For both artists and tourists alike they provide a medium for creative thought: individual pebbles have their aesthetics and personalities. This again is a response that we can trace back to the Bronze Age. For archaeologists pebbles provide a medium through which it becomes possible to rethink the past in the present in new kinds of ways. All these are variant forms of collective memory work: pebbles encapsulate and invoke experiences, relationships, events, persons and places.

Doing things with pebbles, bodily engaging with their forms, creates an intimate involvement with them. The archaeological excavation team spent many months touching and handling and moving pebbles. In a very real sense this was prehistoric work in reverse. The team were dismantling with considerable care cairns that had been constructed 4,000 years ago. They were touching and being touched by precisely the same materials. They were sorting, grading and classifying pebbles. When I talked to people who were building things with pebbles in their gardens it was evident that exactly the same kind of bodily intimacy arose. From this intimate bodily involvement with pebbled materials pebble speech arises. The excavation team were always talking about pebbles, as were people who were building and doing things with pebbles in their gardens. Such speech does not arise in the abstract but from intimate sensory contact, speech generated through and of the body.

People today curate and collect and display pebbles in their homes. The materiality of their forms and colours and patterns is generative of such a response. This again is an embodied relation articulated most powerfully perhaps in the work of artists such as Priscilla Trenchard and her work with pebbles, which she discusses in Chapter 15. A contemporary response such as this is a mirror image of a prehistoric relationship
with pebbles. Prehistory is in and of the present. It still exists in our embodied minds. We still think like Bronze Age people because, like them, we engage with the same materials from which the same kinds of pebble thought arises. Of course the modern beach ice-cream cone has an altogether different meaning and significance from that of the prehistoric pebble axe. What things mean or signify is always subject to often rapid historical change. It is a kind of gloss of history and is always radically open to interpretation and reinterpretation. New presents in this manner create new pasts that wear new clothes, but the garments in which the past becomes contemporarily adorned cover the same body. The aesthetic appreciation of a pebble today is a very different matter from the manner in which such a thing would have been thought through in the Bronze Age. This is always a matter of signification and the contextual relationships out of which signification takes place. However, the modern and prehistoric attitudes to pebbles both arise from the same embodied response: the visual touch or power of the thing in itself, in its material Being in the world that entraps us in the same entangled web.

All the various responses to pebbles arise from their material presence and varying modes of engagement and interest in them and in particular the hardness and durability of these stones, their sensuous and tactile rounded forms, their varied colours and intricate patterns. Pebbles are perfect stones in that they are ready-mades. They do not require fabrication. Pebbles are like people: each one is different from the other and yet they are still all the same. The empty eyes that stare out at us from some of the pebbles (Figure 5.6) engage with our own eyes. They look at us and we respond to them. This is, of course, to produce a philosophy and a world out of the thing: an entire human sensibility running through the longue durée is to be found in a pebble, while in this longue durée there exists a variety of different responses and manner of uses for which pebbles are employed. That in my view might be a general aim of a prehistory linking past to present.

Although this account has stressed the multiple uses, meanings and values associated with pebbles, this does not entail they can mean anything. An embodied relationship with pebbles in the past and the present suggests something quite different: we are entrapped and constrained by their pebble materiality. I walk along the beach, pick up a pebble that I find intriguing and pocket it. The response is both repetitive and habitual, it belongs to pre-discursive thought, requires no reasoning or calculation. The pebble feels comforting, its brightness demands attention. This is the enchantment of the pebble and its visceral effect. I want to possess this perfect thing. Gell (1992a) has written of the enchantment
of technology and the technology of enchantment: we are bewitched and bedazzled by the thing because we cannot comprehend how it was made. The pebble, we might say, enchants us in precisely the reverse way. Its power resides in the fact that it has not been made, owes nothing to humanity. In this respect the pebble enchants through its naturalness.

Pebbles speak of the past and the present in a material language unmatched by any other kind of stone. Cultural technologies of enchantment are always of their time. They always fall out of utility and become drained of their original meaning and significance through the passage of time. By contrast, a pebble is out of time because it responds to an embodied pre-objective mind that requires no conscious thought. In other words, the pebble is thought through the body rather than the mind. The power of the pebble resides precisely in its unnatural naturalness or its perfection in relation to other kinds of stone. It is self-sufficient, contained within its own pebbly being or essence. It does not need to be made and therefore has an excess of materiality. To paraphrase Rowlands (2005), the pebble has more materiality than any other kind of stone. This natural material excess is what has stimulated a similar human response over 4,000 years. Making anything out of a pebble can only destroy its natural ready-made perfection. It enchants through its very denial of the possibility of technological enhancement. Other kinds of stone can be improved by technology to suit human purposes but the pebble remains aloof from such a technological transformative desire.

What do pebbles really want of us? They invite us to gather and collect them, arrange them in patterns, create new sculptural forms, respond to their material excess in new ways. This is the thread that reminds us that our contemporary embodied thought is pre-modern and something that we directly share with the people of the Bronze Age. Our present is coeval with their past.

Lévi-Strauss (1966) was correct when he maintained that savage thought still persists in our technologically dominated modernity. It is just that he posited this in the wrong kind of way. For him it persisted in the unchanging nature of the structure of a human mind divorced from the body: thought dematerialized. Thinking through thought in a material manner leads us to the opposite conclusion. Our thought is still ‘savage’ because it is thought through the interiority of the body, distinct from intention and only accessible through reflection on the logic of practice binding together people and things. The materiality of the pebble is its otherness, that it is indifferent to our will. Its natural materiality nevertheless exerts its own particular kind of agency that is very different from the agency of humanly created things because it is not made to do
anything, unlike a technical device designed with a purpose. It just exists,
has its own being.

This may be contrasted with Latour’s discussion of technological
things such as a speed bump that is ‘not made of matter, ultimately; it
is full of engineers and chancellors and lawmakers, commingling their
wills and their story lines with those of gravel, concrete, paint and stand-
ard calculations ... where some, though not all, of the characteristics of
policemen become speed bumps’ (Latour 1994: 41). In the speed bump
example the object and person commingle as parts of interlinked net-
works that form part of each other, linking humans and non-humans. It
is the thought and intentionality that goes into the making of the speed
bump that for Latour is the essence of its semi-human agency as a quasi-
subject. Again this perspective privileges the *thought in the thing*, and
in our technologically dominated modernity we increasingly interact
almost solely with technical or cultural rather than natural things. An
enormous amount of my time and that of millions of others is today spent
engaging with a keyboard and computer screen. This is engagement with
a designed object, the end process of human thought. But things that
are not artefacts have no thought in them, they are entirely free of this
human involvement in their creation and there is no correspondence here
between language and things except in terms of their representation.

From an embodied perspective, engaging with a pebble or a host of
other natural things – trees, animals, hills, bogs – requires not a consid-
eration of the thinking mind of intentionality that resides within a thing
but a pre-objective bodily engagement with the thing that is of an entirely
different order, involving bodily agency, a sensuous carnal relation that
ends in objects rather than beginning in thoughts.

The pebbled landscape in the longue durée

What pebbles mean at any particular time to people is more than simply
a question of material identities. It involves taking the idea of material
worlds, as seriously as social worlds, where people create themselves in
these material worlds in terms of different temporalities, and transmit
identity and culture over time through cultural signification on the one
hand and human embodiment on the other. What is important is not only
ideas of cultural transmission from one generation to the next and how
this involves memory, remembering or forgetting, but also the embodied
and habitual relations through which people live out their lives in rela-
tion to their material worlds.
This heathland landscape of pebbles exhibits obvious long-term continuity in an economic sense. This is a humanly created landscape born out of woodland clearance and fire and maintained through the continued agency of fire and by grazing animals. It has always been this way. Rituals of fire first associated with the construction of the Early Bronze Age pebble cairns continuing in the pebble-crushing rites at Jacob's Well in the Middle Bronze Age also survived in variant forms well into modernity (Chapters 3, 6 and 12). Human engagement with the heath has only very recently changed, on the very cusp of history, from a taskscape from which one made a meagre living into a pleasured leisurescape.

The heath has always been a marginal landscape. Today it is not easy to imagine oneself living in what is a gnarled, sparse and unprotected heathland. The soil is poor, thin and acidic; the vegetation is acrid. This has always been a poor place to live, a place where the marginalized, the vulnerable, would have been pushed out to. You would only live up here if you couldn't live somewhere else and that is the way it has always been since the Bronze Age. This is in part about temporality in an ecological sense, the enduring qualities of this landscape.

But the history of the heath in the longue durée is more nuanced than that. From the Bronze Age onwards it was an integrated and valued part of a broader regional economy (see Chapters 8, 10 and 12). It was only in modernity that the heathland gradually became increasingly economically redundant if it resisted being transformed into farmland. This redundancy led to its adoption for an entirely different and new use: for military occupation and training, a short-term temporal cycle in the use of the heathland that has continued to the present. An even shorter-term temporal cycle has been the valuing of the heath as a conservation site, a cultural landscape worth preserving for posterity.

The conception of the heathland as redundant had other consequences in relation to how the past became understood and incorporated into the present. The visible presence of prehistoric monuments, lingering relics of the past in a landscape now out of time, became romanticized. Landscaping the heathlands by constructing modern versions of prehistoric mounds, but in the right places rather than the wrong places in the heathland landscape, served to make the presence of a pagan prehistoric past more redolent and powerful. At the same time the heath itself, rather than being considered as being of the present and part of an integrated regional economy, became a fossilized past that could be contrasted with a present landscape of Christian well-tilled fields and a demure landscape garden (Chapter 10).
People created this heathland world and subsequent generations have inherited it and transmitted it to future generations. The heath itself is a combination of shorter- and longer-term temporalities in the details of its use and maintenance that shape the people who use it but within which people shape the future. The Bronze Age pebble cairns and pebble platforms are part and parcel of a human sculpting of the landscape in which memory, commemoration and marking come to the fore. This sculpting of the landscape then assumes a massive and unprecedented scale during the Iron Age and the construction of Woodbury Castle. In the sheer monumental scale of that earthwork the individual pebble entirely loses its significance.

In the Neolithic pebbles are taken from the heathland and deposited at hilltop enclosures in its vicinity from whose vantage points one could look down and across the heathland. The light oak/hazel forest that grew there looked significantly different from the dense forests that surrounded it. The light Pebblebed woodlands provided excellent opportunities for hunting and gathering. Taking pebbles away from this area seems to have ended in the Early Bronze Age with the construction of small pebble cairns. The pebbles were now collected and used on the heathlands themselves. However, this temporal rhythm and practice of curating pebbles and taking them away to settlements elsewhere emerges once more in the Iron Age with the pebble depositions at Hembury hillfort. After that it disappears entirely until modernity, when pebbles once more are used as 'rustic' building material at Killerton House, Bicton Gardens and elsewhere, continuing into the twentieth century in their use to decorate motorway bridges (Chapter 13).

In the Bronze Age there exists a long-term temporal cycle or rhythm in which the appreciation of individual pebbles and their colours and sculpting them plays a key role. From small beginnings in discreet pebble cairns associated with fire rituals, rather than burials, much larger monuments are constructed at high points in the landscape, with complex mortuary rites taking place involving probably the excarnation of bodies on elaborately sculpted pebble platforms. The inalienable pebble wealth of these communities was elaborately put on display, and in the Jacob's Well burnt mound the pebbles met a symbolic death (Chapter 7). Thereafter from the Late Bronze Age c. 1300 BC pebbles lost this embodied symbolic significance. During the Earlier Bronze Age the effects of human activities on the heathlands had exposed more and more of the pebbles from under its mantle of light sandy soil. There was an inflationary spiral in the use of more and more pebbles, and a rupture occurred in which they became no longer regarded as intrinsically valuable stones.
Peat development on the heathlands then swallowed them up and once more returned them to the earth (Chapter 8).

The Bronze Age embodied way of doing things with, and thinking through, pebbles emerges once more in twentieth-century modernity, having slumbered for over 2,000 years. It is the same historical mediation of embodied materiality. The essentially spiritual qualities of pebbles have emerged once again in the present and in the aesthetic responses to them by artists and others who use them, build things out of them and respond to their materiality in new and unexpected ways. They have become, as in the Bronze Age past, a powerful medium for contemplation and embodied creative thought. More broadly Trenchard's engagement with the heathland landscape that she discusses in Chapter 15 involves much more than the pebbles and emerges from other aspects of its embodied materiality, its vegetation and soils.

Hardy, discussed in Chapter 12, characterizes heathland in a thor-
oughly anthropomorphic manner. The heathland is a body, a brooding
and dark material presence in which people eke out a miserable living. It
simultaneously repels and attracts, it has its moods and different faces.
It is above all a landscape out of time, or a timeless landscape, because it
has existed for so long. This anthropomorphic conceptualization of heath
as body and the bodies of persons being born out of it is another manifest-
tation of embodied prehistoric thought. There is little doubt that the peo-
ple of the Bronze Age would have thought in a similar way to Hardy: this
was an animate landscape peopled with ancestral forces, explained and
understood in terms of mythological understandings of how the world
came into being (Chapter 6).

The timelessness of this landscape in the sense of a linear tempo-
rality of days and dates is itself part of the distinctive longue durée of
a heathland landscape materially contrasting with the shifting patterns
of fields with their seasonally textured crops around it. Hardy's heath
is a consciousness without intentionality and it weighs down, as Marx
remarks history does, like a nightmare on the brain of the living. The
heath is a kind of nightmare because one cannot escape it and it always
makes its presence felt through the body.

Hardy describes the incipient heathland paths felt through the feet. Such paths felt in precisely this way criss-cross the Pebblebed heaths today as they did in the prehistoric past. Similarly, where they are fully exposed on the surface the voices of the pebbles ring out as I and others walk on them. These same pebbles tire the Royal Marines just as they tired Bronze Age bodies. I hear pebble voices as I follow the tracks. All the time, while doing so, I am walking in the past in the present: the Bronze
Age tracks become my tracks and I hear the same pebble voices. When I look out and across this same landscape I see the same hills and valleys and so the distant past becomes my present. I smell the heathland vegetation as it was once smelled, the same plants still persist and therefore my body, situated in modernity, simultaneously embodies both the past and the present, as do the bodies of others. This is part of the longue durée of this landscape, a historical temporal rhythm that transcends the lifespans of individuals and generations, in which the present shares the same time with both the historic and the prehistoric past.

## A theory of things or a theory of kinds of thing?

One goal of archaeology and of wider material culture studies has been to attempt to produce a theory of things. I myself have long wished to produce such a general theory of things. My closest specific attempt was the book *Metaphor and Material Culture* (Tilley 1999), which put forward a theory of material culture as a matter of material metaphor. The end result was not all that satisfactory, because it could never be comprehensive. In fact it was a failure in terms of providing a general theory of things. It perhaps emphasized only one aspect of such a theory. I have now come to the conclusion that any attempt to produce a theory of things in general will always end in frustration and misery, at least for the theorist. Ultimately it is a manic totalitarian desire to pin down the entire material world and stabilize it. I want to explain why a general theory of things is impossible by examining two of the very best recent attempts.

Hodder has recently made a valiant attempt to provide a general theory of things revolving round a nexus of ‘entanglements’ or relationships. These are human–thing relationships, thing–thing relationships, thing–human relationships and human–human relationships (Hodder 2012: 88). Such a scheme has a high degree of analytical abstraction and aims to stress a certain symmetry between person–thing relationships.

However, internal thing–thing relationships are not at all of the same order as relationships between persons and things. A theory of internal relationships between things has little or no anthropological significance. It tells us hardly anything of interest about relationships between people and things that I believe to be at the core of material culture studies. Hodder’s discussions of thing–thing relationships appear to be a thinly veiled form of functionalism, for example a self-assembly bookcase requires screws to hold it up, a car depends on its numerous
parts in order to work and so on. Furthermore all the examples of things
that Hodder gives are artefacts. He has little space within his theory for
natural things.

The category human-human relationships is curious in that it
excludes things as being of primary significance and parallels some per-
spectives in social and cultural anthropology in which the significance of
material culture always gets downplayed as of secondary or no signifi-
cance when compared with a study of social and political relationships.
Interestingly, Hodder has no separate discussion of human-human rela-
tionships at all in the book, apart from the fact that they are apparently
entangled with things in various ways, effectively making the category
obsolete as part of his generalized analytical scheme.

Hodder illustrates thing-human and human-thing relationships by
using 'tanglegrams'. These bear an uncanny relationship to the kinds of
diagrams used in functionalist systems theories approaches in archaeol-
ogy in the 1970s that have long since been discredited. Arrows connect
various entities together in various relationships of dependency involv-
ing considerations of how people depend on things and things depend on
persons for their production, maintenance and care.

The tanglegrams are admittedly far more ‘romantic’ than ‘classical’
in form, with various sweeping, curving and looping lines linking entities
together rather than the straight lines neatly connecting boxes in systems
theory models. There are no hierarchies in such entangled relationships,
so, for example, a diagram of clay entanglements at Çatalhöyük involves
both landscape and eggs, human heads and dry land, wetland and bone
(Hodder 2012: fig. 9.2). He conceptually boxes radically different kinds
of things that are of no equivalent status (a landscape surely contains
eggs and humans within it?) in order to ‘tangle’ them back together by
drawing a sweeping line between the two. The conceptual boxes always
precede the entanglement and seem arbitrary in that there could be so
many more or far fewer.

Let us imagine another kind of ‘tanglegram’ of a prehistoric peb-
ble cairn. All the thousands of pebbles might have lines drawn between
them or we might include only ‘special’ pebbles. Then we might tangle
up everything else found in the cairn with other kinds of things and with
the pebbles themselves. The resulting density of the mass of entangle-
ments would ultimately produce a dark circle or, depending on the way
you look at it, a black hole – hardly an adequate representation of the
materiality of the cairn and its contents. What does the blackness of the
entangled void ultimately tell us? I do not think it necessary to answer
this purely rhetorical question.
Ultimately the complexity of all these links, threads or entangled chains between flows of matter, energy and information, as they are referred to in various places in Hodder's book, creates a morass of tangles. Some links and entities are more important than others, which are ultimately trivial, but in the 'entanglement' everything in principle becomes important. One alternative common view of what makes a good general theory is that it simplifies things to make relationships clearer. It does not attempt to enmesh the world within itself like Borges's impossible map that attempts to be so faithful to the material world in its exactitude that it covers and envelops it (Borges 1999).

Olsen in his book *In Defense of Things* (2010) promises us an ‘ontology of objects’ on the cover. The title is rather odd as I don’t think things really need defending; they are, after all, quite happy being left to themselves. But what Olsen is really defending is one of the primary disciplines studying things, archaeology, against the threat that it should be ignored or marginalized by anthropological and social science perspectives on things that, according to him, don’t take them sufficiently seriously. To study things in themselves is of grave consequence, and a discipline of archaeology ought to be superior to all others in this respect. Thus the role of the archaeologist is valorized. In contrast, I have always felt that archaeology should dissolve its disciplinary confinement and that it never has had, or will have, a distinctive take on the world of things.

Olsen's book runs through a whole series of ways in which things have been theorized, primarily structuralist and post-structuralist, actor-network and phenomenological approaches, and more broadly a gamut of anthropological theories and historical perspectives stressing social memory. Interestingly enough none of these perspectives have themselves emerged from within an archaeological discipline of things, but insights from them have instead been adapted by archaeologists such as Olsen for their own purposes. Olsen's book is a rich and sophisticated discussion and undoubtedly the best critical survey available. But where does it and the precious archaeological discipline of things that requires defending take us?

In the conclusion, which has the same title as the book, we learn that all these reviewed attempts to understand things remain unsatisfactory: something more is required. So why and how are things significant? Olsen's first conclusion is to tell us that things are not a homogeneous category but incredibly diverse. They may be big or small, have different colours, be hard or soft, have specialized functions or be multifunctional, have different uses. So 'rather than thinking of them as produced
in [human] relations, we may think of them as what makes relations
possible' (Olsen 2010: 157). This is in part to do with their material
properties. You can perform tasks with obsidian that you can't do with
paint or others by using oak wood rather than birch wood. We can use
some things to move around in, such as a car, or we can transport a thing
around, such as an axe, in our hands. But different kinds of things can
also have shared material properties (158). Finally, because of their very
materiality, things last longer than words or gestures.

The second point is that things are *in place*. My bed does not run
into the garden during the middle of the night but stays where it is. There
is a relative stability in a world of things and things are usually within
reach if we want them. They give people reassurance, succour and secu-
rity, and this is, according to Olsen, the most important statement one
can make about things: in things we trust.

In terms of history and consciousness of the past in the present,
things can have multiple and diverse effects and through the appearance
of new and different things we can recognize historical change and con-
tinuity; both, rather than being opposed, run in tandem. Things them-
selves change: antique furniture has a patina of age. Other aspects of
things don't really change: the knifely qualities of the knife or its human
affordances persist largely irrespective of changes in fashion and design
as do the shoely qualities of shoes (165).

Because of the very materiality of things, traces are left even when
they are discarded, destroyed or demolished. Concomitantly all his-
tory, through deeply considering things rather than being linear or bio-
graphical in character, is instead topological and accumulative, where
the remnants of the past in the present serve as a kind of 'involuntary
memory' (170).

These conclusions to a text running to 173 pages strike me as some-
what disappointing – that the sophisticated discussions in the previous
chapters should lead to this result. This would certainly seem to encour-
age those cynics who think that theorization is pretty much a waste of
time, achieving virtually nothing at the end of the day and what really
matters in a study of the past is amassing loads of new evidence and
material facts. That conclusion would be most unfortunate.

Olsen's failure was built into his project from the very start. Like
Hodder, he wants to include within a theory of things everything from
eggs to motorway bridges, landscapes to crisp packets, beer cans to
pyramids. It simply can't be done. And again, like Hodder, all the exam-
ples actually discussed rather than mentioned are cultural objects –
boats, fridges, shoes, decaying houses and rusting cars. The general
position that Olsen advocates in his conclusions are overwhelmingly
Heideggerian in tone and inspiration, with some nods and winks along
the way to Walter Benjamin's materialist thoughts about the significance
of fragments and ruins from the past (Benjamin 2002, 2003). The basis
for justifying a discipline of things – archaeology – becomes a form of
Marxist, existentialist and phenomenological thought and I am not in
disagreement about that.

However, I have consistently argued over at least the last 20 years
(e.g. Miller and Tilley 1996) that the fulcrum of a study of things resides
in a study of material culture: materials contextualized within culture,
as part of culture. That requires primacy being given to the social rela-
tions within which things are embedded and form a part. At the heart
of this is theorizing person-thing cultural relations. It is of necessity an
anthropological theory and almost all of what we know about prehistoric
things actually comes from anthropological observation and theoriza-
tion of person-thing relations. Archaeologists cannot do this because
while they have things to discuss there are no persons to observe or tell
them anything, except, of course, in the important sub-field of so-called
'ethnoarchaeology' (e.g. Gould 1978; David 2001).

There is always a relation of asymmetry here and not the 'symmetrical' approach that both Hodder and Olsen argue for in various ways, in which things are regarded as having some kind of equal status with people, the pretence that things and people and their thoughts and the meanings they give to things are of equal status. This stems ultimately from a ventriloquist's treatment of non-human objects as quasi-human subjects. If we turn again to the notion of embodiment, which Olsen readily acknowledges is of fundamental significance, we can note that while people can have embodied relations with things, those things themselves lack human bodies and cannot have embodied relations with persons.

Archaeologists, in fact, without theorizing it, have long under-
stood the significance of embodied relations. This occurs within another
archaeological sub-field, 'experimental archaeology': the attempt to
learn about the past in the present by engaging with things in the same
kind of embodied way: by making a flint tool, grinding an axe, building
a round house, making a pot or casting a bronze tool (e.g. Coles 1973;
Millson 2011). The results of most such experiments have unfortunately
been discussed only in terms of a rather limited understanding of prac-
tical aspects of technology or of the functional use of things. However,
there is a much broader philosophical and theoretical understanding of
embodied material relations waiting to be drawn out of them.
The category of things themselves does not exist insofar as the entire notion of what a thing is supposed to be is entirely dependent on people, without whom there would be no world of things. Things do not think themselves as things, but people decide what the things are. We know from countless anthropologies that the category of the thing is culturally relative, or in other words different cultures recognize things as being things in different ways and this is highly selective. For example, animals may be regarded as things or they may be subjects (Descola 2013b), and ‘biographical objects’ considered in space-time (Hoskins 1998; Munn 1986) may be treated as if they were persons with their own narrative histories. Cultures give birth to things that they subsequently manipulate and transmit to future generations. The things themselves emerge from a pre-objective consciousness or interaction of persons within a distinct-ive cultural world. In short, for a thing to become a thing it needs to be categorized and socially recognized as such.

**Objectification and subjectification**

One of the most influential general perspectives that we have to understand the significance of the materiality of things is the objectification perspective provided by Marx, developed in anthropology by Bourdieu (1977) and elaborated in relation to material culture studies by Miller (Miller 1987, 1994, 2010 and see critical discussion and review in Tilley 2006). Broadly the position is as follows. Through making and using and exchanging and living with things, people make themselves and their identities in the process. They come to know who they are through their contact with and involvement in a world of things that both frame and serve to structure both individual and social experience. The approach explicitly dismisses any traditional dichotomy between subjects and objects, which instead are considered in dialectical relation. Material culture is thus inseparable from culture in general or human society. It is the very medium through which people create themselves and think themselves.

Hodder (2012: 32–4) briefly discusses objectification but produces no critique. In fact it informs his considerations of both ‘human–thing’ and ‘thing–human’ relations while not being explicitly discussed. Olsen’s primary criticisms of this position are (a) that Miller himself primarily studied modern consumption patterns and the appropriation of things rather than prehistoric things that would presumably be preferable; (b) the general perspective insufficiently considers the way people *live* with
things; and (c) the stuff that was studied was not sufficiently dull and
ordinary (Olsen 2010: 32–4)!

These we might say are ‘practical’ rather than intellectual criti-
cisms. What Olsen considers interesting, for example shopping, is a dull
and tired routine for many. As for living with things, a major component
of such studies has been the consideration of houses and their furnish-
ings, more broadly domestic space (see articles in the *Journal of Material
Culture* from 1996 onwards).

Subjectification processes

In general, all studies of objectification processes have put primary
emphasis on the relationship between people and artefacts – made
things. In modern consumption studies what has been of primary inter-
est is the manner in which people creatively appropriate these things in
their lives and thus overcome their intrinsic alienation from a world of
ready-made things whose conditions of production are obscured and
make them their own. The primary emphasis has been on the way things
are cognized or thought through either consciously, or tacitly through
the rhythms of daily life.

There has been insufficient attention in material culture studies
to natural things (things that have not been made) and embodied sen-
sual relations with these things. As regards these relations, I have been
concerned to stress that the material properties of things make people
*subject to them*. They are entrapped by the thing in itself that exists for
itself. They cannot either think through such a thing in any way they like
or do anything they like with it. Moreover, these sensual and material
engagements with the thing come to the surface and then vanish in the
longue durée, only to reappear again in the same manner according to
the way in which people sensually engage with the things through their
bodies within time. Furthermore there is no intrinsic alienation in rela-
tion to such natural things, precisely because these things are not made,
but found, and occupy the same material landscape that people inhabit.
People and pebbles and landscapes commingle, they are in and of each
other. Finding or using a natural thing is different from an act of making,
but both bring forth things into the world that become objects of atten-
tion. If I find a thing I am not intrinsically alienated from it, because part
of me is in finding it. In finding a pebble I select it from amongst others
and I make that pebble part of myself.
Rather than attempting to produce a theory of things in gen-
eral as if the thing indeed were a self-evident category in itself and
for itself (the so-called realist ontological position), we need to escape
such a framework entirely. The failure is well exemplified by Hodder's
abstractionism and the sheer generality of Olsen's conclusions, in
which he reaffirms that things are concrete and real (they do really
exist outside thought) and can be soft or hard, small or big, display
temporality or resist it, etc. Every anthropologist and archaeologist
knows this already.

What is required if we are to move forward is a theory of *particular kinds of things* understood in their material and social and historical contexts. Such a theory will inevitably be an anthropological and historical theory of material culture that already currently exists in a wide variety of forms (e.g. Appadurai 1986; Gell 1998; Miller 2010; Rowlands 2005; Tilley *et al.* 2006).

I have attempted to provide such an anthropological and histori-
cal theory in this book, a theory of the humble pebble contextualizing
its meaning and significance within a narrative about a landscape com-
posed of pebbles over the longue durée. I have conducted a deliberate
interweaving of pebbles past and pebbles present in the account and the
manner in which persons in cultures relate to them through the long
term. The account began in the present, returned to the past and con-
cludes in the present because past and present are always co-present
with each other.

It has been a sustained phenomenological consideration of pebbles
in relation to the landscape and the sensual human body. It puts, above
all, a stress on the materiality of sensuous relationships between persons
and things and that the character of these sensual relationships is in part
related to whether the things are found ('natural things') or made (cul-
tural artefacts) or quasi-things (e.g. landscapes and domesticated ani-
mals and plants) that are both found and made.

What is crucial to consider here is the manner in which meaningful human relationships with things are related to their perceptual phenomenal qualities: the touch of things, the smell of things, the taste of things, the sound of things and their visual perception. A bodily engagement with pebbles draws them into a wide-ranging series of bodily and, more widely, social relationships in which the inert pebble, which cannot speak or feel for itself, nevertheless has a fundamental role in mediating human relationships both in the past and in the present. Pebbles in a pebbled landscape have entrapped people because of the materiality of both
thing and landscape that, in tandem, generate, quite literally, what one
can build, or do, or think with such a thing in such a landscape in such
a time.

Stone Speech

Crowding this beach
are milkstones, white
teardrops; flints
edged out of flinthood
into smoothness chafe
against grainy ovals
pitted pieces, nosestones,
stoppers and saddles;
veins of orange
inlay black beads:
chalk-swaddled babyshapes,
tiny fingers, facestones
and facestone's brother
skullstone, roundheads
pierced by a single eye,
purple finds, all
rubbing shoulders:
a mob of grindings,
groundlings, scatterings
from a million necklaces
mined under sea-hills, the pebbles
are as various as the people

Tomlinson (1997) (By kind permission of Carcanet Press Limited.
Copyright reserved)
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## Pebblebeds archive environmental reports

Allen, M.J. (2010a) ‘Pebblebeds Devon (TB09); geoarchaeology and palaeo-environment 1’. Unpublished AEA report 87.01.01 revised 17 May 2010.

Allen, M.J. (2010b) ‘Pebblebeds Devon (TB09), Tor Cairn – geoarchaeology and palaeo-environment 2’. Unpublished AEA report 87.02.03 revised 28 December 2010. [Appendices 4–7]

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Batchelor, C.R. (2012) ‘Longo Bottom: pollen analysis report’. Unpublished report, Quaternary Scientific (QUEST) 031/11 dated June 2012. [Appendix 16]

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Challinor, D. (2010b) ‘Charcoal identifications (Tor Cairn)’. [Appendix 2]
Challinor, D. (2011a) 'Little Tor Cairn (LTC10), wood charcoal'. Unpublished report dated January 2011. [Appendix 8]

Challinor, D. (2011b) 'Jacobs Well (JW10), wood charcoal'. Unpublished report dated March 2011. [Appendix 13]

Challinor, D. (2011c) 'Bog Barrow (ABB10 wood Charcoal). Bog Barrow (ABB10). January 2011'. [Appendix 15]

Challinor, D. (2011d) 'TCA Charcoal from pebble cairn'. [Appendix 9]

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Lisá, L. (2013) 'Report on micromorphological analyses from Twin Barrow A from Pebblebeds Research of Prof. Tilley (UK)'. Unpublished report, Institute of Geology AS CR v.v.i., Prague, dated April 2013. [Appendix 11]

Macphail, R.I. (2010) 'Soil micromorphology (Tor Cairn)', in Allen, M.J., 'Pebblebeds Devon (TB09): Tor Barrow – geoarchaeology and palaeo-environment 2'. Unpublished AEA report 87.02.03, revised 28 December 2010. [Appendix 5]

Pokorný, P. (n.d. a) 'Results of pollen (and other microfossils) analyses (Tor Cairn context 22)'. [Appendix 4]

Pokorný, P. (n.d. b) 'Results of pollen (and other microfossils) analyses – sample TCA – central section sample 42'. [Appendix 10]

Scaife, R.G. (2010) 'Pollen analysis of the sub-cairn buried soil (Tor Cairn)', in Allen, M.J., 'Pebblebeds Devon (TB09): Tor Barrow – geoarchaeology and palaeo-environment 2'. Unpublished AEA report 87.02.03, revised 28 December 2010. [Appendix 6]
Index

ancient river, 27–8, 247

*Annales* school, 5–6, 7, 9

anthropology, 10, 11, 83, 441, 445

anthropomorphism, 233–5, 239, 243, 439

archaeology, 5, 10, 13, 14, 54, 83, 442

artefacts, 35–6, 259, 260–1

artworks,

see pebble grid; Woven Flame

Aylesbeare Common, 48, 49, 214, 215–20,
346, 352–4, 365–9, 424–6

bog barrow, 357–60, 361, 365

Carter excavations, 55, 68–9, 214, 216, 219,
229, 346–51, 357, 360, 366

circular structures, 346, 354, 363–5, 368

double axe pavement, 225–7, 229–30
double axe platform *see* double axe
pavement 219, 230–1, 232–3, 263

military use, 402

ox-hide pavement, 227–30
ox-hide platform, *see* oxhide pavement

pebble pavements, 361–3, 366

trapezoidal pavement, 221–5, 229–30
trapezoidal platform *see* trapezoidal
pavement 219, 221–5, 230–1, 232–3

Aylesbeare Village Hall, 387

barrows, 36, 239–40, 244, 245, 249–50, 260,
273–5

beach pebbles, 30, 31, 130, 133, 136, 147,
181

Beacon, 49

bell tents, 354–5, 366, 369

Beltane rituals, 126

Bergson, H., 11

Bicton estate, 15, 329–34, 335, 341–2, 343–5,
370

Four Firs mounds, 334, 335, 336–7

landscaping mounds, 332, 334, 336, 337–9

stone circles, 340–1

vernacular architecture, 386

black pebbles, 166

Blackbury Castle, 293, 314, 320, 321–2,
323

entrances, 314

ramparts, 311, 317, 318

Blackdown Hills, 22, 25

blue stones, 95, 144, 166–8, 263

Carter, 77–8, 90, 166–7

Stonehenge, 78, 263

bodies, 7, 8
memories, 8, 11, 12–13
time, 10, 11

bog barrow, 357–60, 361, 365

Braudel, F., 6, 9, 10

Bronze Age, 15, 36–8, 74, 190, 286, 438–9

brown pebbles, 165

Budleigh Salterton, 25, 28, 29, 30, 136, 147,
162, 247

pebble pavement, 61

pebble picking, 159, 383

vernacular architecture, 383, 387, 392

burials, 250–3, 258

grave goods, 255–7, 258–9

Burlescombe mounds, 211–12

Burnt Common, 122

burnt mounds, 190, 211–13

*see also* Jacob's Well

Bush Barrow, 252

cairns, 36, 38, 124–5, 128, 129, 187, 244,
249–50, 260, 273–5

construction of, 129, 149, 163–5, 183–4,
189, 288

*see also* flint cairns; pebble cairns

Carter, G., 15, 38, 51–4, 68, 70–3, 74–5, 80,
82–4

Aylesbeare Common, 55, 68–9, 214, 216,
219, 229, 346–51, 357, 360, 366

barrows, 75–7

blue stones, 77–8, 90, 166–7

Bronze Age, 74

Budleigh Salterton, 61

excavations, 54–5, 56, 61, 68, 72

flint cairns, 56

Jacob's Well, 55, 190, 192–8, 199–200

Longo Lines, 61–3

pebble cairns, 55, 56, 71

pebble mounds, 51, 53, 55, 56, 68, 70

Silbury Hill, 82

Squabmoor, 63–4

stone circles, 70, 72, 74, 81

Woodbury Castle, 55
Carter, G., (cont.)
Woodbury Common, 55, 58–61, 66, 68, 78
Woodbury ε, 55, 56, 63, 72, 78, 85–6, 403

Casey, E., 13
causewayed enclosures, 22, 34, 35, 62, 274
*see also enclosures*

Celts, 68, 70–1
circular structures, 346, 354, 363–5, 368

cliff pebbles, 27, 29, 30, 31, 136, 248

cliffs, 26–7, 29, 247, 248

Colaton Raleigh, 36, 86, 383, 393

Colaton Raleigh Common, 206, 297, 298–9, 414–16

colour, 184–5, 189

Connerton, P., 12

copper ingots, ox-hide shaped, 240

Cranborne Chase, Dorset, 268, 273

Cunliffe, B., 251, 252, 253

Daggers Piece, 121
Deleuze, G., 11
double axe pavement, 225–7, 229–30, 219, 230–1, 232–3, 243, 263

double axe platform *see double axe pavement*
double-axes, 235, 238–9, 240–2

Druids, 70, 72, 75

Dumpdon Hill, 22, 34, 50, 308, 311, 321
entrances, 314, 315
ramparts, 318

duration, 9, 10, 11, 12

East Budleigh, 389
East Devon, 15, 261
East Hill, 45, 46, 121, 123

economic cycles, 9

embodiment, 8, 14, 444
enclosures, 297, 298–9, 319, 322–3
*see also causewayed enclosures*

entrances, 314–17
environmental archaeology, 266–8

exchange relationship, 257–8, 262

Exe estuary, 21, 25, 45, 244–5, 247

Exe river, 25, 244, 245, 247, 248

Farway Castle, 249
Farway Hill, 122–3, 249, 250–1, 252

fire, 125–8, 409

fire-cracked pebbles, 200, 205, 207, 209, 210–11, 213

fire festivals, 125–8, 375

fire rituals, 50, 125–8, 211, 213, 283, 418, 437

Five Knolls, 121

flaked pebbles, 103–5, 106

flint cairns, 45–6, 56, 122, 123, 250, 319
*see also cairns; pebble cairns*

flints, 31, 33, 103

Fluxton, 389

Four Firs mounds, 334, 335, 336–7

Fowler, C., 256, 258

Fox, A., 81, 322

Fox, C., 72, 73, 80

Gell, A., 10, 434–5
Goethe, J. W. von, 185

grave goods, 255–7, 258–9

grey pebbles, 166

Grinsell, L., 45, 55, 81–2, 245

Haldon Hills, 21, 24, 25, 33, 46, 56
Hallowe'en, 126

Hardy, T., 15, 370, 439

Hawkesdown Hill, 311, 314, 319

Hayes Farm, Clyst Honiton, 33, 38

heathland conservation, 405–9, 411–12
fire, 409
top soil scraping, 410–11, 412

heathland habitat, 20–1, 187–8, 278–82, 410

heathland landscape, 341–3, 397–9, 412, 437

heathlands, 14, 397–9, 437–40
military use, 38, 216, 401–5, 412

Hembury, 22, 35, 36, 46, 252, 281, 319, 320, 323–4
causewayed enclosure, 31, 34, 35, 274, 319

entrances, 314, 315
ramparts, 311, 312, 317, 318

High Peak, 22, 25, 35, 36, 47, 252, 281, 283, 320
causewayed enclosure, 34, 274, 319

hillforts, 299–312, 320–1, 322, 323, 325
entrances, 314–17
ramparts, 292–3, 311, 312, 317–18

Hodder, I., 440–1, 444, 445, 447

Hodges, M., 11

horns, 235–8

hunter-gatherers, 262

Hutchinson, P.O., 324, 352, 354, 360, 362, 366, 368

identities, 7, 258, 265, 322

Ingold, T., 123, 124

Iron Age, 299, 320, 321, 325, 438

Jacob's Well, 15, 190–1, 198, 200, 203–5, 207, 209–10, 211, 213, 277, 278

Carter excavation, 55, 190, 192–8, 199–200

composition of, 192–8, 200–2, 205

flaked pebbles, 105

pebble destruction, 206, 207–8, 288, 401, 433

pebbles, 205–7

tar layers, 208–9, 212

Jones, A., 95, 100, 102

Kaliff, A., 212–13

landscapes, 7, 8, 14, 16, 184, 188, 288
landscaping mounds, 332, 336, 337-9

land-use, 272-3, 275, 276, 283, 284-6, 288-9,
370, 380

Latour, B., 436

Lévi-Strauss, C., 435

Liddell, D., 35, 80, 323

Little Tor Cairn (LTC), 87, 88, 89, 110, 112,
120

blue stones, 112, 144

composition of, 111, 112

construction of, 112, 149, 151

military use, 403

pebble analysis, 135, 137, 140-1, 142, 143,
151

special pebbles, 112, 148, 174,
175, 177

local residents, 156-8, 160-3, 164

pebble picking, 159, 383

pebble structures, 157, 158-60

Longo Bottom, 277, 278

Longo Lines, 62-3

longue durée, 8, 9-10, 11, 12, 14, 434

LTC,

see Little Tor Cairn

Lympstone, 25, 383, 389

material culture, 6, 15, 258, 444, 445

materiality, 5, 7, 13, 189, 435, 443

Mediterranean, 9-10

Membury, 314, 315, 318, 319

memories, 8

bodies, 8, 11, 12-13

time, 11

Mesolithic, 31, 33

military use, 38, 216, 401-5, 412

mounds, 123-4

Mount Howe, Topsham, 240, 242-3

Munn, N., 11

Musbury, 311, 314

entrances, 314, 315

mushrooms, 116, 117, 128, 189

Needham, S., 42, 252

Neolithic, 31, 33-4, 36, 438

causewayed enclosures, 22, 34, 35, 61-2,
274

Newton Poppleford, 25, 381

vernacular architecture, 383, 387, 389,
393, 394

objectification, 5, 8, 445-6

Olsen, B., 13, 439-42, 444

Otter river, 25, 244, 245-6, 247,
248, 280

Ottery St Mary, 33, 36, 38

outworks, 293, 294, 319

ox-hide pavement 227-30 ox-hide platform see
ox-hide pavement

ox-hides, 239, 240

painted pebbles, 159

past, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11-12, 13, 14

Peak Hill, 45, 46

pebble building competition, 428-30

pebble cairns, 15, 36, 38-46, 86, 88, 89, 243,
247, 438, 441

see also cains; flint cairns

pebble characteristics, 155, 163-5

pebble colours, 30, 31, 78, 80, 125, 143, 144,
155, 168-9, 183-4, 186-7, 188, 189,
392-4

see also blue stones

pebble designs, 2-3, 4, 428, 430

pebble destruction, 206, 207-8, 211, 213-14,
244, 264-5, 431

pebble grid, 425, 426, 427

pebble maceheads, 33

pebble pavements, 61, 68-9

double axe, 225-7, 229-30

ox-hide, 227-30

trapezoidal, 221-5, 229-30

pebble picking, 159, 383

pebble platforms, 15, 247

double axe, 219, 230-1, 232-3, 243, 263

ox-hide, 219, 230-1, 232-3, 243

trapezoidal, 219, 221-5, 230-1, 232-3,
243

pebble quarrying, 399-401

pebble sculptures, 15, 190

pebble structures, 157, 158-60, 247, 401,
430-1

see also vernacular architecture

pebble value, 264

pebble wealth, 262-5, 438

Pebblebed formation, 27, 28-30, 31

Pebblebed heathlands, 19-26, 187-8, 244,
268-72, 286-7, 397-9

cairns, 251, 252, 272-3, 274

land-use, 272-3, 275, 276, 370, 380

pebble analysis, 130, 132-3, 136, 142, 183,
246

Pebblebed landscape, 15, 19-26, 187-8,
272-3, 276-7, 278, 281, 283-4, 286-7

cairns construction, 281, 282-3, 284

land-use, 283, 284-6, 288-9

pebbled landscape, 7, 16, 437-40, 447-8

pebbles, 1-5, 16, 129, 153-4, 264-5, 287-8,
433-6, 447-8

see also beach pebbles; blue stones; cliff
pebbles; fire-cracked pebbles; pebble
destruction; special pebbles;
ventifacts

pendants, 236-8, 239

perception, 7, 8, 12

performativedrives, 7

performativity, 7

Piggott, S., 72, 250, 251

Pollard, S., 34

prestige goods model, 253-5, 257, 258
quartzites, 28, 30, 105, 154, 155, 166, 207

Raddon Hills, 22, 36, 50, 299, 320, 323
enclosure, 35, 319
ramparts, 318

rainbow serpent, 188

rainbows, 188

ramparts, 292–3, 311, 312, 317–18

red pebbles, 165

*Return of the Native, The* (Hardy, 1978),
370–80

ring ditches, 36, 38

river cliffs, 25

round houses, 36, 38

Royal Marines, 402, 403–4, 433

Sahlins, M., 262

Samhain rituals, 126

Sidbury Castle, 309, 311, 324
entrances, 314, 315
ramparts, 318

Silbury Hill, Wiltshire, 82

Simcoe, General, 216, 368–9

space, 6, 10

special pebbles, 90, 146, 148, 170–5, 178–80,
182–3, 189

Squabmoor, 63–4

stone circles, 72, 74, 340–1

Stonehenge, 68, 70, 267
blue stones, 78, 263

stones, 2, 3–4, 25–6

Strathern, M., 257, 258

subjectification, 5, 446

sunrise, 47, 48, 49, 50

sunset, 48–9, 50

tar layers, 208–9, 212

Taussig, M., 184, 185

TC,
see *Tor Cairn*

TCA,
see *Twin Cairn A*

temporality, 10, 13

theory of things, 8, 440–1, 442–5, 447

Tilley, C., 413, 414

time, 5, 6, 8–12, 14
bodies, 10, 11

time rhythms, historical, 9, 10

Todd, M., 35, 318, 320, 321

top soil scraping, 410–11, 412

Topsham, 243, 383, 391

Tor Cairn (TC), 87, 88, 89, 91–2, 100, 102–3,
125, 277, 281

blue stones, 90, 95, 144

composition of, 89–90, 92, 93–5, 97,
98–100, 108–9

construction of, 95–6, 100–2, 124–5, 129,
149, 151, 163

flaked pebbles, 103–5, 106

flint, 103

military use, 403

pebble analysis, 134–5, 136–40, 142, 143,
151

special pebbles, 90, 146, 147–8, 174, 176

ventifacts, 107–8

trapezoidal pavement, 221–5, 229–31
trapezoidal platform *see* trapezoidal pavement

Trenchard, P., 15, 413–14, 416–18, 419–20,
424–7, 439

pebble grid, 425, 426, 427

weaving, 420–3

Woven Flame, 422–3, 427

tribal societies, 253–4

Twin Cairn A (TCA), 87, 89, 112–14, 124

blue stones, 144

composition of, 114, 117–19, 120

construction of, 114–17, 119–20, 149, 151,
283

military use, 403

pebble analysis, 135, 137, 141, 142, 143,
144, 151

special pebbles, 148, 174, 177–8

Upton Lovell, 253

value, 255, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262
pebble value, 264

Vancouver, C., 342, 397

Vedic mounds, 68–70

ventifacts (wind-polished pebbles), 90, 107–8

vernacular architecture, 381, 383–6, 387, 394

Aylesbeare Village Hall, 387

Bicton estate, 386

Budleigh Salterton, 383, 387, 392

Colaton Raleigh, 383, 393

East Budleigh, 389

Fluxton, 389

Lympstone, 389

Newton Poppleford, 383, 387, 389, 393, 394

Topsham, 383, 391

Woodbury, 383, 391, 392

wealth, 213–14, 254, 255, 257, 258
pebble wealth, 262–5, 438

weaving, 420–3

White Cross Ring, 121, 123

white pebbles, 166

Whitehorse Hill, Dartmoor, 423

wind polished pebbles,
*see* *ventifacts*

Woodbury, 383, 391, 392

Woodbury Castle, 15, 19, 31, 55, 290–4, 299,
308, 309, 311, 314, 320, 324–5

construction of, 288, 295–6, 323, 438
enclosure, 295–6, 319
Woodbury Castle (cont.)
excavations, 294–5, 296–7
military use, 368, 404
outworks, 293, 294, 319
ramparts, 292–3, 294–5, 311, 317, 324,
401

Woodbury Common, 55, 58–61, 66, 68, 78

Woodbury & pebble cairn, 102–3
Carter excavation, 55, 56, 63, 72, 78, 85–6,
403

Woodward, A., 253, 256

Woven Flame (woven basket), 422–3, 427

yellow pebble, 165–6
Pebbles are usually found only on the beach, in the liminal space between land and sea. But what happens when pebbles extend inland and create a ridge brushing against the sky?

Landscape in the Longue Durée is a 4,000 year history of pebbles. It is based on the results of a four-year archaeological research project of the east Devon Pebblebed heathlands, a fascinating and geologically unique landscape in the UK whose bedrock is composed entirely of water-rounded pebbles. Christopher Tilley uses this landscape to argue that pebbles are like no other kind of stone – they occupy an especial place both in the prehistoric past and in our contemporary culture. It is for this reason that we must re-think continuity and change in a radically new way by considering embodied relations between people and things over the long term.

Dividing the book into two parts, Tilley first explores the prehistoric landscape from the Mesolithic to the end of the Iron Age, and follows with an analysis of the same landscape from the eighteenth into the twenty-first century. The major findings of the four-year study are revealed through this chronological journey: from archaeological discoveries, such as the excavation of three early Bronze Age cairns, to the documentation of all 829 surviving pebble structures, and beyond, to the impact of the landscape on local economies and its importance today as a military training camp. The results of the study will inform many disciplines including archaeology, cultural and art history, anthropology, conservation, and landscape studies.

**Christopher Tilley** is Professor of Anthropology and Archaeology at UCL. He has written and edited numerous books on archaeology, anthropology and material culture studies. His recent books include *The Materiality of Stone* (2004), *Handbook of Material Culture* (ed. 2006), *Body and Image* (2008), *Interpreting Landscapes* (2010) and *An Anthropology of Landscape* (2017).

UCLPRESS

Free open access versions available from
www.ucl.ac.uk/ucl-press

Cover design:
www.ironicitalics.com

Cover image:
© Christopher Tilley

£45.00

ISBN 978-1-78735-083-0

90000

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9 781787 350830

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