Inside the Museum of London

Today marks the last day of 2012 and as such the end of our Archaeological Archive’s 10^th anniversary. As a final celebration of the LAARC’s previous decade of inspiring a passion for archaeology, I’m presenting the last object in our blog series: ‘A History of London in 10 Archaeological Objects’.

Over the last 12 months I have been unravelling stories around a selection of archaeological artefacts that occupy our Archaeological Archive’s some 10 kilometres of shelving. Staying true to my word these have not been the “shiniest” nor have they been “well known” but they have allowed us to explore the history of the city in novel ways.

My final object comes from an archaeological excavation close to the home of the Archive at Mortimer Wheeler House – the Shoreditch Park Community excavation of 2005 (NNR05). Sponsored by the Big Lottery fund, this excavation involved a range of archaeologists, including those from the Archive, in a dig that was later televised as a Time Team special episode: Buried by the Blitz.

The impetus for the excavation was the anniversary of the end of the Second World War.  The project sought to explore evidence of bomb damage from the blitz and later from V1 and V2 rockets to the 1830s houses, involving the local community directly in this archaeological exploration.

Alongside evidence of bomb damage to the buildings through study of their surviving foundations, an interesting material assemblage was discovered, especially relating to the C20^th.  I could have selected an object pertinent to wartime such as a military cap badge, or perhaps something more evocative of the residents of the area such as a toy aeroplane. However, instead I’ve chosen something far more prosaic and that which you may even question as being ‘archaeological’.

Object 10

Modern (C20th) Plastic BC Light Fitting 

This light fitting is a small piece of evidence for the fabric of the many standing structures which were finally demolished, to make way for the area now known as Shoreditch Park, in the 1980s.

This artefact is made of composite materials, but predominantly plastic. Ironically it is this material that makes our 80 year old light fitting harder to conserve, and indeed preserve, than all the other objects in my top ten including our 40,000 year old Palaeolithic flint blade. This is all due to the inability of being able to stabilise the object which is most probably Bakelite, an early form of plastic and one of the first to be entirely synthetic. When I opened the box of plastic objects from the Shoreditch Park archive a distinct smell arose – a clear sign of chemical change, and one that is incredibly difficult to prevent.

Our light fitting is still worthy of being labelled an artefact. It was dug up under controlled conditions that accord to modern scientific archaeological practice and, despite its modernity, like all other artefacts it provides insight into the historical past, although this may at first be unclear.

Changing British Standards mean the wiring attached to our fitting will be out of date, as new colour coding systems have come into effect. Likewise the mechanism itself, although common, may also soon become redundant as new legislation for energy-saving light blubs are further developed, with a corresponding design change. Like all good artefacts we could even develop a typology (categorisation by its ‘type’) based on its morphology (the way it looks) for our light fitting.

Our tenth object is an historical electrical relic but more importantly it is part of a contemporary archaeological context. Although it may appear inconsequential on its own, when considered as part of an assemblage it adds to our interpretation of the Shoreditch site.

Although this blog may be the culmination of an archaeological ‘top ten’, it certainly isn’t the end of archaeology in London, as the city is forever being redeveloped. As such we may have to expand to a ‘top eleven’ in the near future or indeed rewrite the entire series as ‘new’ archaeology is unearthed and questions what we take for granted as ‘history’…

You may be overwhelmed with archaeological objects popping up on our blog at the moment as the LAARC has been running its much loved ‘Object-of-the-month’ competition. To contribute to this artefact overload, I’m now presenting our ninth object in the LAARC’s ‘A History of London in 10 Archaeological Objects’ blog series.

Last time it was a burnt brick that I used to define the Stuart period and its major event, the Great Fire of 1666. We’ve now moved on a few hundred years to the Victorian period (or have we?) and instead or dealing with the iconic I now want to focus on the banal.

As we’ve been slowly approaching the present, I keep making a point of questioning the relevance of archaeology considering how our historical documents become more and more prolific and varied. ‘Historical archaeology’ is one method that engages exactly with this concept head-on, aiming to contextualise and reassess our historical conceptions with oodles of evidence. A great example of this approach is the ‘Living in Victorian London’ collaborative project between MOLA and Queen Mary University of London. In order to better understand everyday life in Victorian London, researchers combined a study of archaeological evidence from households across London with relevant documentary historical records.  This provided new insight into the economic, social and cultural history of Dickensian London.

In this blog series I’ve tried to steer clear of those objects that would perhaps be obvious in compiling London’s historical ‘top ten’.  However, for our ninth object I’ve opted for something quite unusual, to emphasise the importance of archaeology in an historically saturated period. I’ve also tried to touch upon a major theme of the Victorian period – the concept of ‘childhood’.

Object 9 

Victorian (C19th) Georgian (C18th) Wooden Dolls

These two wooden dolls were found during excavation in 1993 at Limehouse, Tower Hamlets (LHC93) and are unique to London’s archaeological record. They formed part of a Victorian assemblage of artefacts and were later studied as part of the ‘Living in Victorian London’ project. Our dolls are made of alder wood and have survived remarkably well, no doubt due to being sealed in a cesspit (aka a Victorian privy). 

Although the collection of finds – the assemblage – from the cesspit were of Victorian date these toys were indentified as ‘Queen Anne’ dolls by finds specialists, immediately dating them to the early C18^th (as opposed to the C19^th). Originally the dolls would have been dressed in elaborate costume but this has long since decayed. The only especial detail that survives are the dolls’ oval pewter eyes. 

Like the ‘Living in Victorian London’ project, I also took a collaborative approach in trying to explore the history of these dolls further. My first stop was the Museum of London’s collections, which revealed one entry (from almost 700) for a doll with a particularly interesting physical description: “Two mortise grooves at base and a flat back indicate that the doll was attached to something at these two points”.

Our Senior Curator of Fashion & Decorative Arts (and a well-known blogger to these pages) not only located this doll in our Costume store for me, but also discovered another doll which puts our privy-worn archeological examples into much better context: 

Suddenly the somewhat enigmatic mortises were revealed as the hinges for legs!

It had been suggested by archaeologists that these dolls might have been made for adults rather than children, which puts an interesting spin on the concept of Victorian childhood. The ‘material culture’ interpreted from this site was both diverse and rich, which is at odds with the census and local rate books. These suggest that households in the Limehouse area at the time were typical of the East End’s poorer districts. Although obvious questions arise over ‘who owned these objects’ and ‘why did they throw them away’, in the case of our dolls we may also question ‘why were they kept for so long’?

Once again, ambiguous archaeology always raises more questions that it can answer, but these dolls hopefully emphasise the potential that ‘modern’ archaeology has for questioning what our historical documents may purport as fact. They also draw attention to the curation of objects within a lifetime and the importance of archaeological context in providing robust dating, as our dolls are archaeological red-herrings in this respect.

The LAARC’s celebratory object blog is now in its closing stages. When I blogged about our seventh object, the C16th Tudor Canon Ball, we were prepping for another of our award winning volunteer projects, which we’re now half-way through!

Our eighth object brings us another century closer to the modern era. Although our historical sources are now becoming more prolific this doesn’t mean London’s archaeology doesn’t have an important part to play in questioning and enhancing our historical record.

Three major events dominate London’s Stuart period and are highlighted in the Museum’s gallery War, Plague & Fire.  So what object to represent one of these major events? Perhaps surprisingly, London didn’t actually witness any Civil War (1642 – 1649) fighting so we are lacking objects that could engage us with this conflict directly. I could have selected something macabre that related to the Great Plague of 1665, however, the Museum has just opened its Doctors, Dissection and Resurrection Men exhibition, and I didn’t want to jump on the Halloween bandwagon.  So that leaves us with fire….

Fire is an extremely destructive element; however in regards to archaeology it is also a great preserver.  A number of archaeological excavations have revealed Great Fire deposits such as PEN79, BPL95 and ESC97. These excavations are all located close to Pudding Lane where the Fire started on the 2^nd September 1666 in Thomas Farriner’s Bakery.

The sites above have revealed some extremely unique individual and groups of objects, sealed by buildings brought down in the conflagration and only revealed again some 300 years later. A pair of waffle tongs, excavated from the site of Monument House, have to be my favorite example – another parallel hasn’t been unearthed in London.

What is of even greater archeological significance however is the fact that the Great Fire forms an event horizon in London’s archaeology – a known event of a known date (1666) which ties these contemporary objects together. This allows us to also refine the dating of similar objects from other excavations in London, Britain and even abroad. An example of the above include a number of Dutch wall tiles from site PEN79, which have had their dating refined to c.1630 – 1666. 

So what archaeological object to represent the Great Fire of London and its importance to the archaeological and historical record? First of all it has to be burnt, but I’ve not selected a unique object (such as the waffle tongs) but something that at first seems quite mundane…a brick.

Object 8

Stuart (C17^th) Burnt Ceramic Brick

So why a brick? Firstly, because our ‘archaeological top 10’ must include a ceramic object (but without resorting to a piece of pottery). It is also a fine example of a brick. Our brick closely accords to building regulations of 1571, with its dimensions measuring 228 x 115 x 57mm.

Our brick is just one of a series that lined the cellar floor of a building excavated in 1979 on the eastern side of Pudding Lane (where the Great Fire ignited). What makes this burnt brick special is its coating of a substance identified as wood pitch.

When the cellar floor was excavated, it revealed the remains of about twenty wooden barrels (carbonised by intense burning), which would have stored this tar-like substance. Our lone brick is therefore part of an assemblage which is evidence for industry in the local area, as wood tar was used for waterproofing ships’ hulls (Pudding Lane being located close to the waterfront).

In addition, our brick is covered in a combustible that facilitated London’s most cataclysmic event. Could we suggest that if this cellar hadn’t been storing such a highly flammable substance perhaps the Great Fire wouldn’t have been so great?

Lastly, my brick has also been selected as it is an element of a built structure. Popular archaeology always emphasises objects (my blog is no exception) and it is objects that connect us more intimately with people. But archaeological structures are important in recreating the fabric of a city, a ‘person’ in itself. Stuart London was a city built of timber and our brick is therefore a rare surviving piece of this fabric which can connect us in an extremely tangible way to the past: to handle one of these bricks is to cover your hands in some 300 year old soot from one of London’s most infamous historical events.   

And you can handle some of London’s archeological secrets yourself on one of our ‘behind-the-scenes’ tours. This Saturday it’s family friendly – book here!

The Museum’s Archaeological Archive – the LAARC – is currently preparing for its last major volunteer project of the year (blogs to follow shortly). We’re also in the closing stages of our blog series ‘A History of London in 10 Archaeological Objects’. Between now and December I have to cover 500 years of history in four objects. This month it’s C16^th London and the theatre-loving Tudors.

The Tudor period in London’s history sees the continuation of major themes such as increased immigration and an expanding urban population coupled with expansion abroad and growing industry and trade. Whereas the medieval period saw the city’s religious precincts grow, the Tudor period witnesses both the Dissolution of the Monasteries and the reformation of the English Church (1530 – 1570).

One particular feature of this period was the development of London theatre.  Purpose-built playhouses were constructed where the dramas of William Shakespeare (1564-1616) – one of the Elizabethan period’s most famous historical characters – were performed, amongst many others. Our seventh object comes from the Rose theatre, one of London’s six major playhouses.

Playhouses and theatre formed part of London’s growing entrainment venues which also included pleasure gardens, cock-fighting pits, bull- & bear-bating arenas, taverns, alehouses and brothels. Many of these licentious venues and activities had to take place outside of the city. Playhouses were no exception – a law of 1574 forcing playhouses to be built in the suburbs which is exactly where the first purpose-built theatre, called the Theatre, was erected by James Burbage in 1576.

The Rose (1587), Swan (1595), Globe (1599) and Hope (1614) were all built on London’s Southbank. Although the Globe is probably the most well-known due to its modern replication, the Rose is the most important archaeologically as it provided the first full plan of a London Tudor playhouse. Recent excavations in London have also revealed evidence of two other ‘lost’ playhouses: the Theatre and the Curtain, both in Shoreditch. 

So what object to best represent Tudor theatreland in London from our archaeological remains? It was going to be a money-box, used for collecting the playhouse entrance fees (and where we get the term ‘box-office’ from), but one such object has recently had all the limelight having won our Pot Idol competition. So instead, it’s a lump of stone:

Object 7

Tudor (C16^th) Stone Cannon Ball

Sometimes in archaeology the material remains we excavated can seem completely enigmatic. My seventh object has been chosen precisely because of this. Normally this is where the word ‘ritual’ is reeled out by archaeologists – considered to be a one-word term meaning “we don’t know”. I normally expand on this definition to mean: “we don’t know…its function or why it’s here, but it must have had a purpose and we just haven’t worked it out yet”. When originally published, in an award winning monograph, our cannon ball was descried as “although unstratified, its presence on the playhouse site is puzzling.” I’m not suggesting some theatrical ‘cult of the cannon ball’ existed, but sometimes intriguing interpretations are put forward.

Julian Bowsher, MOLA’s theatreland guru, has recently come up with a more plausible explanation for this 4.5kg sphere of stone believing the cannon ball could have been used as an early theatrical ‘special effect’! Rolled along a plank of wood, this would have produced the sound of thunder – perfect for the opening of Macbeth:

“When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

Other objects have been excavated that pertain to special effects at the Rose playhouse and Julian will hopefully be producing an article on this niche subject in the future.

Next month it’s onto the Stuarts and rather than explore the ambiguous, our object will relate to C17^th London’s most notorious event…

The Museum’s Archaeological Archive – the LAARC – has had an exceptionally busy summer, running a host amazing archaeological events. Still celebrating our 10^th anniversary, we’re now over halfway through our celebratory blog:  ‘A History of London in 10 Archaeological objects’.

We’ve now jumped several centuries forward from the Late Saxon to the Late Medieval Period. Once again I have the tricky task of summing up an entire epoch – almost 500 years conveniently known as the Middle Ages – through one object.

The Early and Late Medieval periods of London are dominated by major themes and events of the period including e.g. the Peasant’s Revolt, Crusades and Black Death, set against urban population growth and decline, mirroring diversified trade and industry expansion. The theme of religion would have been an obvious choice and pilgrim badges a very suitable object. Thomas Becket (London’s unofficial patron saint of the period) is a well known figure and many badges depicting his image have been recovered from urban waterfront excavations:

However, we already have a number of metal objects in the top 10, and a variety of other materials survive archeologically and need to be represented. If you’re a fan of pilgrim badges though, the Museum’s core collection will soon be available to peruse online.

My sixth object has been chosen to explore the theme of ‘power and fashion’. Found in relation to a castle (what could be more iconic of the medieval period!) it is perhaps unusual as an archaeological object, in being able to tell us something of London’s ruling elite.

Object 6

Medieval (Late C14^th) Leather ‘Poulaine’ Shoe

This leather shoe is some 600 years old and forms part of a group of shoes excavated from the site known as Baynard’s castle (sitecode BC72), excavated during the early 1970s. Baynard’s castle is perhaps the lesser known of the three Norman London castles after the Tower of London (established 1066) and Montfichet’s Castle (by 1136). Baynard’s has a rich history as both a castle owned by the Duke of Gloucester and, after 1446, the crown when it became a royal palace.

Found in dumps of rubbish of a C14^th public harbour called East Watergate, our medieval shoe is extremely interesting both in itself and as part of a larger assemblage of 416 other shoes which form the “largest and one of the best preserved group of footwear ever to have been recovered from a London site”!

This particular example is exceptional for its decorative, scored lines and suede finish.  It would originally have had a pointy end; known as a ‘poulaine’, ‘Crakow’ or ‘pike’ of which the style became popular from the late C14^th. A high percentage of the assemblage from the Baynard’s castle site are poulaine shoes, which is at odds with other assemblages excavated in London. Their impracticability is one aspect that defines them a status symbol of the time. Edward IV in the later C15^th enacted sumptuary legislation restricting pointy shoes to the aristocracy (3 Edw iv c.5):

“no Knight under the State of a Lord, Esquire, Gentleman, nor other Person shall use or nor wear…any Shoes or Boots having pikes passing the Length of Two Inches…” 

The entire assemblage of shoes from this rubbish dump show little wear and we may suggest that they come from the castle itself or perhaps even the King’s Great Wardrobe. The Wardrobe’s main function was to source material and supply dress for royalty and was located just north of the castle, within the Ward, and is contemporary with this archaeology.

But why is the end of our poulaine cut off? Perhaps the shoe was remodelled to fit a new owner’s feet, although the sole of the shoe has not been that worn which suggests little actual use and, importantly, reuse before being disposed of. One curator at the museum prefers to think of a noble’s  spurned wife committing the modern act of shirt-slashing…

The LAARC stores hundreds of leather shoes from all periods and they are an evocative object as we can easily connect with their use. Unlike much of London’s archaeology that usually presents a picture of the everyday (and more menial) life, I hope this object stands out as perhaps having been worn by one of London’s wealthiest and most powerful figures of the time.

After a slight hiatus, the LAARC’s ‘A history of London in 10 Archaeological objects’ is back, and what better timing than on the Day of Archaeology! Half way through our history of London and we’ve now moved into another transitional period. From 842 AD Lundenwic (the Anlgo-Saxon settlement west of the abandoned Roman city, Londinium) came under successive attacks from Scandinavian/Viking raiders. King Alfred the Great (849 – 899) ordered the settlement back within the old Roman walls, and here our archaeological record within the city of London resumes…

‘Viking’ objects are rare in London’s archaeological record by comparison, but a number of artefacts have been discovered in the river Thames. A group of such objects have recently returned to the Museum from loan to the JORVIK Viking Centre in York.

My fifth object isn’t just representative of this chaotic period in London’s history but connected with a major London monument synonymous with the city – London Bridge. It once again asks us to question our literary sources (much like our Roman object did) in how myth, legend and history are created and then challenged or even perpetuated  by archaeology.

Object 5

Saxo-Norman/Viking (C11^th) Iron & Copper alloy Battle Axe

What could be more representative of the Vikings than the battle axe? This particular axe was dredged from the Thames in the 1920s near London bridge and forms part of a Viking artefact assemblage including seven other axe heads, spear heads and a grappling iron and tongs. It has been suggested that the axe may have been deposited in the Thames (similar to our Iron Age dagger) as they were highly symbolic weapons, as well as being extremely practical. But this particular group may also allude to the legendary attack on London Bridge by Óláfr Haraldsson in 1014.

The first evidence for the existence of London Bridge after the destruction of its Roman forbear is in c.1000 AD. Archaeological timbers of the first Saxo-Norman bridge have been discovered and dated to 987 – 1032 through dendrochronology. The attacks on London Bridge by Viking mercenaries were previously thought to have inspired the English nursery rhyme ‘London Bridge is falling down’. However, this has been debunked by the Museum of London’s Curator Emeritus John Clark as a folk memory. 

The literary source of this attack is recorded by the Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson in the Heimskringla of c.1230. Sturluson is actually quoting another Icelander, the court poet Ottarr Svarti (Ottarr the Black):

Yet you broke [destroyed] the bridge[s] of London,

Stout-hearted warrior,

You succeeded in conquering the land.

Iron swords made headway

Strongly urged to conflict;

Ancient shields were broken,

Battle’s fury mounted.

Despite the disassociation of this legend with the Bridge’s famous nursery rhyme, Bruce Watson & Jan Ragnar Hafland have recently emphasised the importance of manuscripts of skaldic verse, underused by English historians. Although these additional sources corroborate the reality of Óláfr’s assault, our battle axe is perhaps an example of how archaeology can sometimes only perpetuate a legend rather than authenticate it.

The LAARC has celebrated a great achievement the past month by being announced as the largest Archaeological Archive in the World! As part of my series of exploring London’s history explicitly through archaeology, this month it’s the Saxons (or is it?) and an object associated with archaeology’s ability to sometimes completely rewrite the history books.

Our historical knowledge of Saxon London until the 1980s was scant. No contemporary histories of the period exist until the writings of the Venerable Bede, an English Monk, in the c.730s AD who mentions the city of Lundenwic: “Its [the province of the East Saxons] chief city is London, which is on [the river Thames] and is an emporium for many nations who come to it by sea and land” (Historia Ecclesiastica). It was considered that this wic or emporium would have been situated within the walls of the old Roman city; however, little evidence was forthcoming. This is reflected in the paucity of the Museum of London’s core collection of Saxon objects from the city, which only number some 700 artefacts. Excavations at Jubilee Hall in 1985 proved new theories by archaeologists Martin Biddle and Alan Vince that Middle Saxon (650 – 850AD) Lundenwic actually existed west of the Roman city, in the modern area of London’s Strand/Covent Garden.

This fourth object will hopefully emphasise how new archaeological discoveries are constantly changing our understanding of London’s history and the difficulties associated with interpreting transitional periods in the archaeological record.

Object 4

Early Saxon (Late C6^th AD) Amber Bead Necklace

These 19 individually polished, red amber beads were excavated from one of the earliest graves belonging to a Saxon Londoner, on site of the London Transport Museum in 2003. This object was one of several grave goods accompanying a somewhat enigmatic burial. The skeleton itself could not be aged or sexed and exhibited no pathology that could be interpreted.

As such we know virtually nothing of this person other than that which can be interpreted from the goods chosen to accompany the body in burial (always a tricky business). A shield-on-tongue buckle could be of Kentish manufacture or an import – the garnet keystone brooch pre-dates any ‘Kentish’ known examples. Two ‘Roman’ artefacts – a glass vessel rim and copper-alloy terret – suggest some form of historical curation by the Saxons, but muddy the picture of this particular Saxon’s ethnic and cultural identity.

The amber beads have been highlighted from this assemblage because of all the grave goods they are the most ‘exotic’, having been sourced and traded from the Baltic. Amber was especially popular in the C5^th and C6^th and favoured in the Anglian and Saxon regions of England (versus Kent). Despite this popularity, this specific jewellery type is the first excavated from the London region, making it unique. On a broader perspective we can see, despite the end of the Roman Empire, London persists as a centre of trade.

Continuation of Roman practice is also evident through location of this pre-wic Saxon cemetery where Roman burials and the re-use of sarcophagi have been discovered. The burial itself is also telling as it is believed inhumation was a Saxon practice inherited from the Romans. However, the positioning of the body – head orientated to the west – may suggest a Christianizing influence.

The unusual Amber beads from this burial are only one piece of a puzzle that epitomizes how archaeology often asks more questions of its material than it can ever answer. All we can tentatively suggest of our Saxon in question is that she was an adult female and clearly of status.

In the last 25 years our knowledge of Saxon London has changed dramatically and in the last twelve years excavations, such as at sites LGC00 and SMD01, have allowed archaeologists to refine the stratigraphic framework and related chronology of this period. Having located where Saxon London was, perhaps in another 10 years we will be far closer to understanding who our Early Saxon Londoners were. Only archaeology will tell…

The LAARC’s residency at the Museum of London has come to an end, but our object of the month continues! This month it’s the Romans and now we’re into ‘proper’ history, as with the Roman occupation of Britain we gain our earliest written accounts of London.

The LAARC holds thousands of Roman artefacts, only some of which have made it into our galleries. Many still reside in storage waiting to be rediscovered, perhaps for a new gallery display.

So what object best to exemplify Londinium? I could have selected something iconic, such as the marble head of Mithras discovered by Professor Grimes in his chance discovery of the Roman Mithraeum. It is after all one of the finest Roman marble sculptures ever excavated in all of Britain…

Or perhaps I should have selected an artefact that brings us closer to, and makes real, Roman Londoners, such as this wooden writing tablet excavated from Poultry near Bank. Inscribed into the wood, its last permeated letter records the sale of a slave girl named Fortuna. Important as singular evidence of the slave trade, but also offering a glimpse at a real Londoner (who may not have been resident in London for very long and indeed wasn’t even ‘Roman’)…

I could even have chosen a more recently excavated object and one that showcases the ability of museum conservators to bring objects ‘back to life’ after their c.2000 year entombment. This reconstructed Roman bowl of millefiori glass was recently excavated from a grave at Prescott Street, east London and was painstakingly restored. It’s one of the finest examples known outside of the eastern Roman Empire…

Instead, I’ve not even chosen an artefact at all, but have hopefully blindsided you all by selecting an ecofact! I’ve chosen this as it highlights an important field of archaeological study – environmental archaeology – that forms a dedicated section in our Archaeological Archive. Additionally I hope this specimen illustrates how archaeology can in fact question our assumptions of written history…

Object 3

Roman (C1^st AD) Carbonised Cereal Grain

These seeds are a sample of a larger deposit of grain that was excavated from a building in London’s Roman forum – essentially the marketplace of the Roman town – in 1976. The seeds have survived through carbonisation as a result of intense burning. The impetus of this particular fire is the well known: the Boudican sacking of Londinium in 60-61 AD. As such, these seeds form part of an important ‘event horizon’ in London’s archaeological stratigraphy. Such tangible contexts are key benchmarks that allow us to construct a basic chronology and formulate a historical narrative of the early city.

Analysis of this grain deposit revealed inclusions of einkorn, lentils and bitter vetch (as well as a couple of weevils!) which has led to the conclusion that this crop was not indigenously cultivated i.e. it was imported from the Mediterranean or near east. When excavated in 1976, these seeds were the first evidence of grain being imported into Britain. Up until then it had been assumed that grain was one of the main exports of Britain, based on the writings of the Roman author Strabo: “It [Britain] bears grain, cattle, gold, silver, and iron. These things, accordingly, are exported from the island, as also hides, and slaves, and dogs…” (Geographica 4.5.199). Although this cereal may not have been imported in any major quantity, it does emphasise the importance of archaeology in the appraisal of literary texts, which can often go unchallenged.

Since the 1970s, when professional archaeology was developing in the city of London, archaeobotany has continued to evolve and our knowledge of exotic imports has considerably grown. Recent discoveries at Poultry include evidence of mulberry, pine nut, pomegranate, black cumin and anise to name a few. Although this ‘object’ may not even be recognisably Roman, its selection hopefully underpins and does justice to Londinium’s legacy as a major commercial centre.

We’re now three weeks away from the end of the LAARC’s residency in the Museum of London’s galleries, promoting London’s archaeology, and where you can still join in yourself through our curator-led Hands-on archaeology sessions.

Continuing a year’s exposure of some of the Museum’s hidden archaeological treasures, our second object of the year sees us skip forward several millennia to the early Iron Age – an age where we still fundamentally rely on archaeology to interpret and understand ‘London’ and ‘Londoners’:

Object 2

Prehistoric (Early Iron Age) Iron Dagger & Sheath

The second object in our top 10 has moved us from the Palaeolithic to the early Iron Age. And what better an object to explore the archaeology of the Iron Age than an iron dagger! Known as the Bermondsey dagger, this well preserved object was unearthed by a Thames mudlark in 2003, in front of Chambers Wharf. Consequently it was donated to the Museum where our conservation department have stabilised and investigated the object. Just as our artefact last month represented one of the earliest examples of a London-made object; this dagger also belongs to some of the earliest iron-made objects in Britain dating to this period. Using the magic of science (that is, radiocarbon dating) the wooden sheath has produced a date range of 810-500BC – a slightly earlier date than other similar daggers that normally fall between the 6^th and 4^th centuries BC.

The dagger and accompanying sheath (made of ash wood) was essentially found by chance, but its original deposition may have been quite purposeful. The river Thames continued to be treated as a sacred river throughout prehistoric times and this dagger may have been ritually deposited as part of a funeral offering. This dagger adds to a small group, all of a similar type, that have been found in the Thames bed at sites such as Westminster and Mortlake. They would have been highly prestigious items and perhaps hint to Iron Age aristocracy based in the Thames valley.

Although the dagger is of good preservation it is missing much of its decorative construction that would emphasise its high status. A similar dagger in the Museum’s collection and currently on display shows the dagger is missing a copper-alloy outer sheath of overlapping, metal strips. Another missing element is the ‘twin loop suspension system’ which marks this dagger as particularly British-made, as opposed to similar Continental daggers of the same period.

As a tidal river the Thames is slowly excavating objects, some of which are thousands of years old, under its own will. This dagger is a perfect example of the amazing preservation the river bestows upon its dedications. It also highlights the importance of finders, such as the Mudlarks, in recognising, reporting and, in this case, allowing the Museum to share some of the river’s most treasured possessions.

Next month object number 3 – where we move into the Roman period and the beginnings of ‘history’, but showcasing an unusual object that represents a major branch of archaeology that has only burgeoned in the last few decades…

This year the LAARC (London Archaeological Archive & Research Centre) marks its 10^th anniversary. To celebrate our achievement of promoting London’s archaeology and making our collections publicly accessible we’re in residence at the Museum of London’s galleries. You can even join in yourself and assist us in improving our collections by getting your Hands-On real Archaeology.

Although the Archive holds a wealth of information from maps, drawings, digital data, context sheets to photographs, it is perhaps archaeology – the ‘stuff’ – filling over 200,000 archive boxes that we are all instantly drawn to. Our ‘general finds’ are the bread and butter of archaeology but for the most part it is our ‘registered finds’ that are intrinsically interesting.

For several years my colleague Adam has been blogging about these noteworthy objects that lie dormant in the Archive waiting to be researched, audited by a volunteer or even make it into a Museum of London gallery display.

Over the next year I’ll be presenting you with ten archaeological objects. Ten objects that emphasise the importance of London’s archaeology in shaping, or even reshaping, our understanding of the City’s history. I have literally over millions of artefacts to choose from, but this won’t be a display of the shiniest or most well-known. My selections may be representative of, or even unique to, an historical period. They may acknowledge the science of how these objects are discovered and how they survive London’s chthonic depths over millennia.

Like all good history we’ll start at ‘the beginning’:

Object 1

Prehistoric (Upper Palaeolithic) Leaf-point Flint Blade 

The first of our objects is a flint blade (not so interesting you may think…). Dredged from the Thames at Longreach (opposite Purfleet) in April 1905, it came to us via the late Geoffrey Gillam of Enfield. This is a classic example of a museum object that has lain dormant; its significance waiting to be unlocked, for this prehistoric flint may actually be the earliest example of an artefact crafted by a ‘Londoner’ in the Museum’s collection.

Our first Londoner in this instance would be a modern human, that is, homo sapiens sapiens. It was during the Upper Palaeolithic, about 40, 000 years ago, that modern humans developed blade technology (our predecessors, Neanderthals, perhaps being commonly associated with flake technology produced hand-axes) resulting in a huge range of stone artefacts being crafted. At the same time scholars have also argued about the inherent aestheticism of these objects – and we may even be looking at London’s earliest ‘work of art’! Lithics expert, Jon Cotton, ‘re-discovered’ this object with colleagues and they will hopefully be publishing it in the near future.

Next month object number 2 – where we’ll skip past a few millennia (and a lot more flints) to the Iron Age…