Death in the garden: prisoner graffiti from a forgotten war.

In the 1980s a strange and unnerving painting came to light in Ontario, Canada. The painting was executed in a naive eighteenth century style and appeared to show a birds-eye view of a large red-brick Elizabethan style mansion. In itself the image of the building had a certain charm. However, a closer examination of the details shown in the painting soon raise a certain uneasiness in the viewer. The building, it soon becomes apparent, is actually being used as a prison, with red-coated guards stationed all around the perimeter. Inside the many courtyards and barren gardens can be seen the prisoners themselves - stick-thin figures in shabby dress. More unnerving still are the events shown as taking place in the top left hand corner of the painting. Here a redcoat has his musket levelled, in the act of firing. A figure inside the compound lies prone upon the ground, whilst another, clearly injured, is being helped up by his comrades. To the right a tiny figure flees, whilst another red-coated guard is shown attacking a prisoner with a bayonet.

The picture, it appears, is telling a story - a tragedy. However, when it was first discovered nobody was able to identify where the painting was meant to depict, or what were the events to which it referred. It wasn't until 2008 that the then owner of the painting began circulating copies of the image amongst academic and scholars - leading to the discovery by architectural historian Nicholas Cooper that the place shown in the painting was none other than Sissinghurst Castle in Kent.

Sissinghurst the prison (Bonhams)

The great Elizabethan house that appears in the painting is now long gone, which is probably why it took so many years to identify the subject matter. The house in the picture was built by the Baker family in the 1570s but, following their support for the Royalist cause in the English Civil War, the family's finances fell into almost terminal decline. The house and estate were heavily mortgaged, and passed through numerous hands, until eventually being almost completely demolished in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. The once palatial residence, which even played host to queen Elizabeth the first and her court during her progress in August 1573, became nothing more than a damp wreck. When Horace Walpole visited the site in 1741 he described it as a 'park in ruins and a house in ten times greater ruins'. A century later even the ruins had all but gone, only a few buildings remained, the rest dug out even to the level of their foundations.

What remained of the house was eventually bought by the author and member of the famed Bloomsbury set Vita Sackville-West and her husband Harold Nicolson in the 1930s. Little remained of the once great Elizabethan house shown in the painting, and the 'castle' consisted of nothing more than the original entrance range, the red brick tower, and a scattering of outbuildings and cottages, all overgrown with wild and tangled scrub and greenery. Vita and Harold set about restoring the property, a task that took almost a decade to compete, turning it into a family home where they would spend the rest of their lives. Vita made her study in the Elizabethan tower, where she eventually penned many of her acclaimed poems and novels, and from where she could oversee the laying out the now famous gardens. Today Sissinghurst Castle is owned by the National Trust and is known worldwide for the stunning gardens created by Vita and Harold. It has become a place of horticultural pilgrimage, where thousands now walk the yew lined paths each year to admire the plants and design. It has also become a shrine to the memory of Vita, with her study preserved in every detail as she left it.

It is as though the clock of history has stopped for Sissinghurst, where it is always, and will always be, a Summer's day in the late 1930s. Where the smell of National Trust coffee and rosemary drift across the lawns and roses that are forever tied to the memory of Vita. Where thousands flock to worship the gardens, and peer through a locked door at an old and battered typewriter. Each hushed footstep on the crushed gravel paths reinforcing a mellow red-bricked mirage. And yet, there in the long library that Vita and Harold built, now sits the painting. A fingerpost to a different Sissinghurst. An accusing testament to an overlooked and far darker past. A Sissinghurst of pain, humiliation, bloodshed and despair - with a barren garden grubbed up by the roots, and the blood of a murdered man soaking into the dark soil.

***

In 1756 the British once again found themselves at war with France. Known today as the 'Seven Years War', the conflict spread around the globe, taken to the furthest corners of the globe by massed fleets of the European powers. Unfortunately for the French the British navy was on the brink of becoming the single dominant superpower of the world's oceans. Despite being a generation before the great victories of Admiral Nelson, the early years of the conflict saw a string of decisive British victories against the French fleet. Following the French navy's disastrous actions at the Battle of Cartagena in 1758, and Battle of Lagos and Battle of Quiberon Bay in 1759, the Royal Navy dominated European waters, confining most larger French vessels to their home ports by means of a constant blockade. The subsequent sea conflict became one largely of commerce raiding, with the French commissioning numerous privateers to disrupt English merchant shipping, whilst the Royal Navy blockade ships harassed and captured French coastal cargo vessels and fishing craft.

However, the victories weren't without their problems for the British Admiralty. Whilst the British may have welcomed the number of captured French ships that fell into their hands, they were less pleased with the number of prisoners they now found themselves having to deal with. At the Battle of Lagos alone the Royal Navy took over two thousand French sailors captive, and the subsequent years of commerce raiding soon added dozens of other enemy crews to swell their numbers even further. Prisoners of War were traditionally housed in ancient converted warships, known as 'prison hulks', but the numbers of enemy sailors that had been taken soon made this impractical, and a new solution was sought. The most obvious answer appeared to be the creation of specialist prison camps on land, and a number of ancient walled sites such as Porchester castle were soon converted for use. With an eye to improving their own fortunes, and making the most of the few assets they still had available to them, the descendents of the Baker family arranged to lease Sissinghurst to the Admiralty for use as a prison.

Exactly how many prisoners were held at Sissinghurst at any one time is a matter of some debate, with figures varying between 1700 and 3000 men. Whatever the true figure the conditions inside the prison were extremely overcrowded even by eighteenth century standards. All the main rooms were turned in to barracks, with as many as sixty men crammed into tiny attic spaces. A room that still exists to this day, the size only of a modern double bedroom, was allocated to be occupied by no less than eighteen men. In a bid to keep warm he prisoners despoiled what remained of the Tudor furnishings, stripping panelling from the walls, and even grubbing up the roots of the plants in the garden. Sissinghurst was never to be the same again.

The prisoners were almost all of the lower ranks, with the naval officers who agreed to offer their parole, allowed to live in more comfortable accommodation in places nearby such as Cranbroke or Sevenoaks. The only officers present at Sissinghurst were those who had been sent there for punishment for crimes, real or imagined, or breaking the terms of their parole. One unfortunate who had been living a life of comfortable exile in Sevenoaks was committed to Sissinghurst at the insistence of the local commander, having been found to have been 'intimate' with no less than two local ladies. The French came to call Sissinghurst the 'chateau', giving rise to it still being referred to today as Sissinghurst Castle, and its reputation was fearsome. Conditions were so dreadful, and the treatment of prisoners so harsh, that it became seen as a punishment camp, and the threat of 'being sent to the castle' was not one to be taken lightly.

The poor rations, overcrowding, and insanitary conditions were quick to take their toll on the prison population. Outbreaks of contagious diseases led to the conversion of the great barn into a rudimentary prison hospital, but such measures did little to limit the death toll. Although many records survive that detail the dreadful plight of the men held at Sissinghurst, just how many died in captivity is unknown. The number was most certainly in the hundreds, and it has been suggested that the actual figure was far, far higher.

As if the prison conditions were not enough to contend with the poor sailors also had to put up with the appalling treatment meted out by the British guards. At any one time Sissinghurst was garrisoned by over two hundred soldiers tasked with keeping the prisoners under control. The garrison wasn't drawn from regular army units, but from the far poorer quality county militia units. Men who were often drawn from the very lowest ranks of society. At the very best of times they were considered corrupt and trigger-happy, but some units were notoriously worse than others. The Kent militia were renowned for their cruelty, whilst the Leicestershire militia were generally agreed to be barely under the control of their officers. Accidents, and fatal and tragic events that were certainly less than accidental, were inevitable.

The painting discovered in Ontario and now housed in the library at Sissinghurst records just one such event. On the 9th of July 1761 three escapees were being returned to the prison after failing in their bid for freedom. Hearing of their recapture a crowd of inmates rushed towards the wooden pallisade that surrounded the former garden where they were exercising, something they were officially forbidden to do. A soldier of the Kent militia, John Bramston, was stationed on the other side of the moat and warned the prisoners away from the fence, threatening to fire upon them. Whether the prisoners simply didn't hear him, or whether they were deliberately ignoring his threat, isn't known. The result was the same. Bramston levelled his musket, took aim, and fired at the crowd of raggedly dressed men behind the pallisade. It was later discovered that Bramston had previously loaded his musket with no less than three balls. The first harmlessly flattened itself against a wall. However, the other two found their targets. Sebastien Billet was struck down and died where he lay, his blood soaking into the ground around him as his comrades looked on. Nearby Baslier Baillie was also badly hit, and later agonisingly died of his wound in the prison hospital. In the panic that followed a further prisoner, Claude Hallet, was wounded by being stabbed with a bayonet by another one of the guards.

The subsequent enquiry later discovered that Bramston had a reputation for unstable behaviour with regards to the prisoners, and certainly showed no remorse for his actions. He was reported as having boasted later that same day that 'if he had killed more it would not have given him any uneasiness'. However, as was the case with so many 'accidents' that led to the sudden and untimely deaths of many a French prisoner, no serious action was taken against Bramston. Indeed, the whole event might well have been totally forgotten - a single record of a nondescript military enquiry buried deep within the National Archives - had someone not made a permanent visual record of the events. Someone who undoubtedly saw what went on that day, and wanted to record the horror that was Sissinghurst for all to see. Forever. For everyone.

So where now is the story of the poor half-starved sailors of Sissinghurst? Where amongst the tales of Vita Sackville-West and her astonishing garden is the memorial to the men that shed their blood into that very same soil? Well, if you look closely it can still just be seen - small fragments of a forgotten history - etched deep into the very walls of the place. Although the men have gone, they left behind them their own marks; graffiti of ships and sailors names etched deep into the bricks, stone and plaster of the tower. Dreams of the open sea carved into the walls of the prison that confined them. And spare a thought too for those that never left this place. Those like Sebastien Billet and Baslier Baillie. Those men who never returned to their homeland and the arms of their loved ones. Spare a thought for them as you picnic in the meadow, gazing around at the splendours of Vita's creation, your picnic rug spread only a few feet above where their sad mortal remains lie lost and forgotten.

The death of heritage (part 2): playing in the ashes of the past...

It is a recognised historical fact that there are times when people are more likely to create graffiti than others. Times when society is under stress, when things are going wrong, and the people feel helpless to do anything about it. They are invariably times of conflict, either physical or social, which we term 'chronological hotspots'. Just as there are places and locations that are more likely to attract graffiti than others, there are also period of history too. You'll recognise the dates in many cases. 1939-45, 1914-18, the middle of the seventeenth century, the middle of the sixteenth century - and of course 1349. Put simply, when things go bad, when chaos comes knocking, people start writing on the walls.

I'm expecting a really good crop of graffiti from the last week. A large and REALLY good collection.

The last week has been... interesting. Interesting from many perspectives. From an outside historical perspective it has been totally fascinating. Watching a society once known for its tolerance and pragmatism collapse in on itself; the very last act of a dying empire. Once the empire is gone, as history invariably shows, the centre-point upon which it was built will implode like a dying star. The last days of Rome played out on the world stage.

But leaving aside the politics, the blatant lies and the deceit, what will this actually mean for history, heritage and archaeology in England (and you'd better get used to calling it England rather than the UK)? Well, all the experts have spoken. Obviously there are many of you out there who won't be interested in hearing. You've heard enough from the 'experts' after all. However, for those that are interested, for those that aren't trying to drown out the surge of rising choas by sticking their fingers in their ears and chanting "we won our country back" (contrary to the evidence), then it makes pretty interesting reading.

Firstly there are the effects on commercial archaeology. Less work and cancelled contracts. Simple as that. As construction and house-builders have already taken a massive economic hit contracts are being put on 'Brexit-hold'. This may of course just be temporary. It may not. However, it doesn't really make a lot of difference for the diggers who don't know if they'll be working next month, or the month after that, or the month after that. They will suffer or they will be gone. The likelihood is they'll suffer AND be gone. And this isn't a prediction for the future here - it's already happening. It's been happening since last Friday morning. And that isn't even touching upon the archaeological protection currently being offered by EU legislation...

Then there are the academic projects. Those projects based on universities and institutes of higher education. Well they've already spoken about this. They are devastated. With a massive proportion of university project funding either coming directly from the EU, or using EU monies as match funding, the impact is going to be significant. Project are already being cancelled - and you don't have to take my word for this. Over the weekend the Society of Antiquaries of London, one of the foremost historical institutions in the country, asked its Fellows for their opinions. You can find the results here - and it doesn't make pretty reading. So what you might think. What's a few less academics to the world? Who needs more experts?

And then there are the projects like this one. The medieval graffiti surveys. The 'peoples' projects that have jogged along with minimal funding, and certainly nothing from the EU. Trying to help real people get involved, discover their own history, and do 'real' archaeology.  Surely they'll just carry on. Business as usual. Thing is, it isn't as simple as that. What little funding we do receive comes from the Heritage Lottery Fund (God bless 'em), and as EU funding drains from elsewhere then there are going to be significantly more calls on the HLF for funding. Calls from big, high profile organisations, with whole teams just dedicated to writing funding bids. The trickledown effect simply won't trickle down to many of the smaller community based projects. To an extent this was already beginning to be the case. Austerity had seen to that. Now it is going to be even more difficult for those smaller projects.

I'm really only just touching on a very few obvious areas here. There are so many more consequences - many of which will only become apparent over the coming weeks. This is going to impact on county heritage service, on museums, on libraries and art galleries. So, all in all, it isn't looking great for heritage and archaeology. It'll be great for historians in the future obviously. Those who sit down to write the books about what just happened, what is still happening, what is still to come. They will have a great time. They can talk of 'a country rudderless and adrift', the rise of xenophobia and the far right, and talk of 'history repeating itself'.

I suppose this should at least then leave us with one clear lesson from all of this. History is great to study - but really rather crap to actually live through. You might want to ask the Polish checkout girl in Fakenham Tesco's some time. The girl whose family fought alongside the British in the darkest hours of 1940, and who has been told no less than six times already today to "go back to where she comes from". As for me? I'm still angry at the moment. Angrier than I have ever felt before. Angry at a future stolen by a couple of Eton schoolboys who got ambitious, and went from pig screwing to screwing a whole nation. Angry that a schoolboy spat has torn a country apart to the extent that the words 'civil war' are not being used to describe a historical event. Angry at the stupid baby-boomers - who were given everything by the generations that came before them - and stole everything from the generations yet to come. I'm angry at a system that can spend months pedalling lies - money for the NHS, reduced immigration, free trade - take your pick - and then simply laugh at the voters and say it was all a mistake.

So, if you do see any really good referendum graffiti, or anything really good on the walls over the coming months (apart from the blood obviously), then please, please feel free to drop me an email... 

What heritage/History means to me. Pt.1 - Blood and Bone.

Welcome to the beginning of the Norfolk Medieval Graffiti Survey mini blog festival 2015! Over the next two months we are welcoming guest bloggers to write on the them of 'What history/heritage means to you?'

We already have some superb blog pieces and writers lined up for you, with contributions from historians, archaeologists, renowned bloggers and volunteers. All of whom will be writing upon the same subject, but each from their own unique perspective and based upon their own unique backgrounds and experiences. However, the one thing that all of them have in common is their love of history and heritage. It is hoped that by bringing together such a diverse group of people that this series of blogs can both highlight the differences between the various areas of today's heritage world, but also allow us all to explore the areas that we have in common; and perhaps even generate a few ideas on how all areas can work closer together in the future to ensure that our world heritage is both valued and cared for.

We kick off the mini blog festival at the end of this week with the first of our contributions from abroad; two American female historians that I must admit had escaped my attention until recently. However, as both have recently co-authored and published a book entitled 'The Medieval Vagina' I am sure that like me, you will be watching their work very closely in the future! Their new book has certainly generated a lot of attention on social media and the internet in general, despite apparently having a quite 'tame' front cover, so when they volunteered to write a blog post for our little collection - how could I say no? Having now also read that blog post I also know that you won't be disappointed. Superb writing. However, before we get to the real quality, I have been reminded that I said that I also would write the first post. A short introductory piece about exactly what 'Heritage/History means to me'. So, in the beginning...

Matthew Champion: Project Director, Norfolk Medieval Graffiti Survey

Now this may surprise some of you, or not, but I haven't always been "that weird graffiti guy with the bad attitude". Oh no, for many years I worked in heritage and archaeological publishing, where I was known as "that weird publisher guy with the bad attitude", and before that I was involved in historic buildings, working alongside your regular type of English builder who just knew me as "weird". I could go on, but will spare you the tedious litany of what my parents used to describe as "why can't you get a real job". However, of all the jobs I have had, and roles I have largely invented for myself (according to one former county archaeologist), have all had one thing in common - they have been low paid...  Actually, scrap that. They've had two things in common. Alongside the appallingly low rates of remuneration all of these roles have, to some degree, been involved in history and heritage. For me all of these roles, all of these jobs, were simply ways to discover more about the past, to make connections with those who have gone before us; those who have shaped the world in which we live today. Looking for someone to blame I guess...

Exactly why I had/have this need to connect to the past is, as it is in all of us, a matter of some debate. I've studied enough history and archaeology to be able to say quite categorically that it most certainly isn't a belief in the idea that 'things were so much better back then'. They almost certainly weren't. Indeed, being born into just about any age other than the modern one would have most likely resulted in a life that was nasty, brutish and short. Perhaps it is the result of a childhood trauma? A wish to escape the reality of the modern world? Who knows. What I do know is that this connection to the past is important to me. It helps define who I am, and informs the decisions I make; and whilst knowing that there are a hundred generations peering over your shoulder can be a little intimidating, it can also at times be reassuring. To be able to look at a building or landscape and unravel the story of the past laid out before me is something that informs how I interact with that landscape or building today. However, to me and above all things, heritage and history are far more than the stories of the visible world around us today. More importantly my view of the past, and what it means to me today, is informed by people.

Right, we have to do a bit of time travel now. We have to jump back in time, many, many years, to when I was about eighteen or nineteen years old (feel free to add in Dr Who style sound effects at this point). Can you see it yet? Black and white images rolling backwards, pages blowing off an old fashioned calendar, grainy images of people rapidly walking backwards down the street... and suddenly we are there. Back in the days before wifi, decent coffee and any foreign beer other than cheap aussie lager. Back in the days when I had hair - and lots of it. Well, way back in those dark long forgotten days, I used to work in an armoury. That's right - an armoury. Not one of your modern places full of guns and things that go bang with unnerving regularity - but a medieval armoury. A place full of sheet metal, swords, daggers, rapiers, halberds and red hot forges. Now this wasn't just any old medieval armoury (knowing that you are bound to have come across at least a few dozen such places) but one of the best in the country, that undertook conservation work for many of the major museums in Europe and beyond. Indeed, it really wasn't unusual to come across a group of loitering security guards tasked with protecting some incredibly valuable piece of arms and armour that had been sent to us for restoration - and by the looks on their faces wondering just who the hell they'd entrusted it to. However, much as I liked the shiny sharp stuff, my job was to do the leatherwork; to create copies of things like sword scabbards and knife sheathes in exactly the same way in which they had been made centuries earlier. A bit of a specialist area as you might imagine with, as usual, very few career prospects.

So there I was one day, sitting in the former stables where we kept all the leatherwork, listening to the banging of hammers and very, very loud Vivaldi from the workshop next door - and with a work of art before me. A broken work of art. It was a late medieval sword scabbard, formed from two thin pieces of wood that had been covered in leather and then bound together with tiny almost invisible stitches down the back. On the end, to prevent wear, was a highly decorated metal 'chape' that covered the last few inches of the scabbard - and which I had to try and remove so that the stitching could be repaired. Eventually the chape came away with a slight jolt, revealing the end of the leather covered scabbard - and the stitches along the leatherwork that it had concealed. And then it struck me. Looking at that tiny line of stitches, I realised that I was the first living soul to have seen those stitches since the medieval leatherworker who had made it over five centuries before me. That the last fingers to run along the slight raised ridge of stitched leather had been his, and that he had long since crumbled to dust leaving nothing on this planet except the tiny piece of craftsmanship that sat before me. The sounds of metalwork from next door seemed to dim, and it was as if I could feel him there, looking over my shoulder, admiring a job well done. Five centuries slipped away and two people, separated by an eternity and only the thickness of a moment, shared a connection that was both ethereal - and as deep rooted as blood and bone.

So for me history and heritage has always been about people. It has always been about making connections with the past, and how those connections can influence us today. It is about what history and heritage really 'mean' to the people who interact with it. My role is a simple one. I'm just a facilitator. Someone who helps others discover their own connections with the past. Hopefully they'll mean as much to them as they have done to me...

The Death of Heritage: playing in the ashes of the past...

Today saw the launch of the new look English Heritage and Historic England, born from the forced severance of the old English Heritage organisation. Until now the historic environment in England has been largely the legal responsibility of one organisation; English Heritage. Established in 1983, it was the natural successor to the old Department of Works, responsible for the care of over 420 historic properties in public hands. However, it has been an uneven and, in the view of many, a restrictive role that saw the one organisation have two very distinct and separate hydra like heads. On the one hand English Heritage were responsible for the maintenance and care of the many hundreds of historic buildings that litter our towns and countryside like so much historic confetti; everything from medieval monasteries and castles to iconic World Heritage Sites such as Stonehenge and large parts of Hadrian's Wall. They were responsible for the visitor experience, the retail outlets and the overflow car park on busy bank holiday weekends. However, on the other hand the same organisation was also responsible for implementing and enforcing current planning legislation in respect of the historic environment; offering advice and comment on everything from Scheduled Ancient Monuments to how the erection of an illuminated shop sign might impact upon the setting of a Listed Building. The two heads of the hydra were not seen by many as entirely obvious, or comfortable, bedfellows.

Well, the uneven marriage has finally ended in divorce. From the 1st of April (no irony apparently intended) English Heritage is to be split into two. The care of the historic properties will now be run by a charitable trust, still to be known as English Heritage, into which the government will invest about £80 million  for immediate repairs and consolidation. This is the new body that will be responsible for the historic houses and castles we visit, the interpretation of our heritage on the frontline and, of course, the gift-shops full of pencils, rubbers and shiny branded notebooks so beloved of visiting school parties. The rest of the responsibilities held by the old organisation, including most aspects of planning, advice and heritage protection are to be vested in a new body to be known as Historic England. This new body, according to Culture Secretary Sajid Javid speaking at the official launch of the organisation, will remain part of the government's responsibility and they intend to keep  "its functions close at hand."

So it appears that all is glowing and rosy in the world of heritage protection. However, looks can be deceiving. Is this, as Sajid Javid insists, simply the adapting of an old organisation "to suit the age in which we now live", or is it one of the final stages in something more fundamental; the systematic dismantling of all forms of environmental and heritage protection that has taken place over the last five years? Given the evidence it is difficult to conclude that it is anything other than the latter.

When the Tory party came to power five years ago one of their key ambitions, much promoted within business communities and elsewhere, was the doing away with 'red tape'. They were going to be a friend to business, remove the perceived 'brakes on development' and allow us to build our way out of recession. However, it soon became clear that their perception of what constituted red tape was anything that might slow down or hamper development. Anything that caused delay or expense to developers was their enemy and it had to go - and go it did.

The first to go was planning legislation. Seen as complex and restrictive, over 1500 pages of planning law was reduced to a single document of a little over 50 pages in length. The National Planning Policy Framework (NPPF) was to give a clean slate to the planning process and a green light to developers. Guidelines and well crafted legislation, that often left little or no room for ambiguity, and had been developed over a period of more than half a century, was thrown out of the window in favour of a document that contained more gray areas, ambiguities and contradictions in its fifty odd pages than the average Dr Who script.

The next 'brake on development' targeted by the government were those bodies who actually had their legal responsibilities for ensuring the protection of our heritage and environment. These included the Environment Agency, Natural England and English Heritage, all of whom suffered swingeing cuts to their funding and resulted in job losses. In the case of the Environment Agency the government went even further, appointing Sir Phillip Dilley, a noted planning and development specialist, as the new chairman. The cuts had the intended effect, leaving the agencies stretched and able to undertake only the barest minimum of their legal duties. There were reported cases of agency officers being unable to undertake site visits for even major developments due to budget constraints, preferring to rely upon viewing the site on Google Earth.

In the case of protection for the historic environment cuts within English Heritage caused a pervasive culture of fear. Individual officers relate stories of being told by their superiors not to intervene in planning issues that had already become 'live' (plans that had essentially already been approved by local authorities) for fear that they would be seen as further stifling development and bringing further cuts in their direction. This change in attitudes was soon picked up upon by planning officers within local authorities. When dealing with applications that might be considered controversial, it became a matter of policy rather than oversight within certain 'rogue' councils not to consult with English Heritage until after the application had been initially passed by their own development committees; thereby effectively ruling out possible interference from English Heritage until such point as their hands were already tied.

The final levels of heritage protection beneath English Heritage, the county based 'Historic Environment Services' (HES) who are directly responsible for offering archaeological advice upon planning applications, was actually even easier for the government to undermine. General cuts to local authority budgets has led to the need for cost savings on a massive scale, and sadly it has been the county Historic Environment Services that have found themselves in the front line. Services have been reduced, posts have been lost and workloads increased. In recent weeks one county council (West Sussex) has stated that it is actually completely ceasing to offer archaeological planning advice to most of the local authority planning departments in their area, leaving them to make their own arrangements with external contractors, whilst another (Northamptonshire) has stated that it aims to outsource 95% of all of its services - with no indication whatsoever of who, if anyone, will be offering archaeological advice to planners.

Having dismantled the mechanisms and agencies whose role was to protect the historic environment the government continues to attack all forms of heritage protection. More local governments cuts are being put forward, the Portable Antiquities scheme is once again under threat and Judicial Review, the last line of defence against bad and ill informed planning decisions, is to be made much harder and more expensive to undertake. Whilst each exercise in 'cutting red tape' seen in isolation may be regarded as simply removing the occasional brick from the wall of heritage and environmental protection, the cumulative result has been that the wall now has more holes than bricks.

The question must be whether, putting aside the destruction of heritage and environmental protection, the government has actually succeeded in what they set out to achieve? Have they managed to do away with what they regarded as the greatest enemy of development, developers and big business? Have they actually reduced the dreaded 'red tape'? Today the term 'red tape' is seen in almost wholly negative light, with connotations of overly heavy handed bureaucracy and top-down policy implementation for the sake of implementation; a political and media short-hand for restrictive practices and over regulation. However, it's worth remembering that every piece of this red tape legislation has been put in place by a former government, many of them Tory, for what was considered the protection of heritage and the environment. The development of the Green Belt, over a thousand pages of planning legislation and the Scheduling of Ancient Monuments were not simply pieces of political whimsy pulled from the air on after a brief discussion in the House of Commons bar. They were the result of a perceived and recognised need, extended periods of practical engagement with the subject and a wish to preserve irreplaceable heritage and environment assets for generations, rather than just the term of the next parliament. As any planning officer of whatever political persuasion will now tell you, the reduction of planning legislation to a little over fifty pages of the NPPF has not simplified the planning process. It has simply done away with areas of certainty that did exist in the old legislation, created a mass of grey areas and directly resulted in the publishing of multiple 'guidelines', designed to run alongside the NPPF, that are now almost as long as the original legislation it sought to replace. Planning by legislation and consent is largely being replaced by planning by litigation; where those who can afford the bigger barristers carry the day. There is, it would appear, sometimes a need for red tape.

There are those who believe that we are fiddling whilst Rome burns; watching generations of heritage protection being dismantled around us with no coordinated opposition, or potential for the future reversal of some of the most damaging measures. However, the view from the frontline of heritage and archaeology in England is that, when we look back on this period in a decade or two, we will realise that we weren't watching Rome burn at all - we were already simply playing in the ashes. Heritage protection has been, and continues to be, dismantled at every turn and with each week and month that passes. Today, however, the great and the good gathered together in the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey to celebrate the launch of two new organisations that, in the words of Sajid Javid, "will be free to explore new ways of engaging with communities. New ways of protecting and promoting our heritage." Let us all hope that there is some real truth in Javid's words, and that today's celebration doesn't turn out to be an expensive wake for a long lost past.

NOTE: Since originally writing this post it has caused some controversy. It has been stated that it is a purely political piece of propaganda. That was never the intention. Whatever my personal political views I do not believe that there is an major party that, at the present time, takes heritage and environmental matters seriously. I would also add that every statement made in the blog above can be backed up with facts and figures. For instance, the Natural England case referred to was that for the development of a 7 acre lorry park (classed as a 'major development' by the planning authority) on designated environmentally sensitive land in the Wensum valley, Norfolk. Natural England did not make a site visit, citing budget constraints, and are on record in the minutes of the Development Committee meeting as saying they relied instead on viewing the site from Google Earth. Local opposition groups offered to pay for either their bus fare or a taxi to visit the site. The offer was not taken up.

In addition, since the publication of this piece the government has issued its formal response to the Commons Select Committees investigation into the first two years running of the National Planning Policy Framework (NPPF). The Commons Select Committee was tasked with examining how the NPPF had been operating in practice and what could be done to improve it. The Committee, after much study and deliberation, put forward a list of recommendations, most of which were aimed at clarifying areas of the NPPF that were considered ambiguous and addressing "the growing number of concerns about unsustainable development". The Committee considered that many of these concerns were "significant and need to be tackled". 

On the 27th February 2015 the government issued its response to the Committees recommendations - the vast majority of which were completely rejected. The Chair of the Communities and Local Government Committee, Clive Betts M.P., responded by stating that he was "very disappointed by the Government’s response to my Committee’s recent report... Sadly, the Government’s response shows it is burying its head in the sand about these important public concerns."

Seahenge: diggers, druids and a long forgotten past...

So Seahenge has a sister. The Bronze Age timber circle found on the North Norfolk coast, and excavated amongst scenes of tense confrontation, wasn’t alone. For those of you in the UK the news has been spread all over various media platforms for the last few weeks. Those in Norfolk trumpeting the fact that yet another major archaeological discovery has been made in the region (they’d have appropriated the Staffordshire hoard given half a chance) where the past forms such an integral part of the present. The new timber circle was ‘discovered’ only a short distance from the original circle and this time, much to everyone’s relief, it is to be left to gradually erode away and fall prey to the cycle of erosion and renewal that makes the North Norfolk coast the dynamic landscape that it is.

Now I’ll let you all in on a little secret. The circle isn’t actually a new discovery at all. The timber trunks at its centre, flattened on one face, were clearly visible at the time that the original circle was excavated, and sections of the outer palisade had been exposed to the air only a few months before the original Seahenge became the centre of such a media driven confrontation. In short, we’ve known it was there, along with a whole range of other artefacts, for nearly two decades. How do I know this you may well ask? I could after all just be saying this now to look incredibly wise and intelligent after the fact – nodding sagely when anyone mentions timber circles eroding from the peat beds of Holme. What the hell does the graffiti guy know about Bronze Age Norfolk? Well, here I’ll let you in to another little secret – which isn’t really a secret – just part of my past I’ve tried (with little success) to put behind me.

You see, back at the end of the last millennia, I wrote a little book – Seahenge: a contemporary chronicle – that documented the whole sorry story from the initial discovery, through the media shit-storm to the eventual excavation and confrontation. It wasn’t a great book. One of the main drawbacks was that I knew absolutely sod all about Bronze Age archaeology. I’ve always been a medievalist at heart, and my knowledge of the Bronze Age was largely confined to generations old books handed down from Wiltshire archaeologist A. D. Passmore (but that’s another story). However, putting aside the dodgy archaeology, the book turned out to be rather an interesting exercise in the study of archaeology and conflict – not something you usually get to study in this country.

For those of you who didn’t follow the original story, or where busy being born or potty trained at about that time, the basics are this. Back in the late 1990s a local man, John Lorimer, became fascinated with various timber structures that keep appearing and disappearing on the wide open stretches of Holme beach. John wasn’t an archaeologist, but he was fascinated by history and recognised that these structures were unusual. After the discovery of a Bronze Age axe head nearby John reported all his discoveries and findings to the local archaeology unit. Archaeologists came out to investigate and the general consensus was that the timber monuments were early – most probably Bronze Age. The decision was taken to record the site – but then leave it to gradually erode away with the passing years and tides. So this is what happened. Limited excavation took place, samples were taken for dendrochronological dating, and a short press release was issued. Local radio covered it briefly. Everyone agreed it was a fascinating site – and back to the site hut for a cuppa!

And then the storm broke! Michael McCarthy, the environmental correspondent for the Independent stumbled across the story and decided to follow it up with a bit of background research – in particular with a chat to one of Britain’s leading experts on the Bronze Age, Francis Pryor. Pryor described the discovery to McCarthy as one of “the most extraordinary archaeological discoveries” he had ever seen and that “it must be preserved”. The little story that had filled a few minutes air time on Radio Norfolk suddenly found itself splashed all over a national newspaper (one of the ones that people tended to believe) under the title ‘Shifting Sands reveal Stonehenge of the Sea’. Well you can imagine what happened next. Every other newspaper and TV news channel rushed up to the Norfolk coast to catch a glimpse of this ‘internationally important’ discovery – largely to genuine disappointment by the journalists that it was so small and rather uninspiring. However, that didn’t stop the trickle of news reports which, egged on by a campaign by a local regional newspaper, soon became a flood – and the ‘Stonehenge of the Sea’ soon became ‘Seahenge’. *

And questions were being asked too. Well, one question in particular. If this site was so important, if it really was of international significance, then why wasn’t it being excavated? Why wasn’t it being saved for the nation? Who had made the decision to let it simply slide into the waves and be lost forever? Distinct signs of embarrassed mumbling, red faces and shuffling of feet amongst certain local and English Heritage archaeologists took place. Finally, pressured by the media, the decision was reversed – and it was decided that Seahenge would be fully excavated and preserved forever for a grateful population! A mistake had been made – but now it was to be rapidly rectified. What could possibly go wrong with that???

The trouble of course is that tides of opinion, like the real waters of the coast, ebb and flow. When the decision was announced that the site was to be excavated, and the timbers removed from Holme beach, the media storm of the previous month paled into insignificance when compared to the storm of outrage and protest that suddenly crashed upon the archaeological world. The local people of North Norfolk, and a large section of the New Age movement (as well as the odd archaeologist), simply didn’t want this to happen – and were prepared to stop it by any means possible. What was worse was that the local media, once so supportive of the excavation idea, read the way public opinion was leaning and began to quietly drift away from the archaeological side. After all, the New Age druids, chanting on the beach and blowing trumpets across the central oak, was a far better story than a simple archaeological excavation.

The senior archaeologists, isolated and pressured, then went on to make a catalogue of media and public relations errors that are actually too numerous to repeat. Court cases, exclusion orders and media own goals cast them in a pretty poor light. The locals were even describing senior archaeologists (not from Norfolk I might add) as bully-boys. Not too many miles from the truth. Perhaps the best example that I came across was when a certain senior EH archaeologist called a meeting of all sides in the village hall, to supposedly discuss the future plans for the site – and whilst all the protestors were gathered there used the opportunity to move all the heavy equipment down to the beach! What was worse was what was being experienced by the actual diggers on the site. None of the mistakes had been theirs and yet they were subject to intense pressure and, it must be said, intimidation and hostility each and every day. They were, after all, just trying to do their (badly paid) jobs. Particularly difficult as archaeologists tend to view themselves as the good guys (and girls - well mostly girls these days) used to fighting to protect our heritage. To find themselves cast into the role of villain really didn't sit too well with most of them. They were used to having the public on their side - not in their face. All in all it was a superb case study of how not to handle an archaeological excavation in the face of public hostility. Oh, and don’t even TALK about the trauma of Time Team getting involved!

So was it right to excavate the original Seahenge monument? Well, looking back after nearly 20 years there were, and still are, arguments for and against. To begin with the archaeological community was actually happy to leave the site to be eroded - and only changed its standpoint after strong media pressure. However, the timbers of Seahenge, or Holme1 as it is known in archaeological circles, have allowed us to discover a great deal more about how it was constructed and the numbers of people involved; knowledge that would have been lost if the site had not been excavated. But there are always two sides to every story. There are people who believe that the circle represented a sacred boudary; a boundary better life and death, land and sea - and that perhaps we should have let seahenge slip over that boundary one last time...

So that is how I am spending my Day of Archaeology. Revisiting Holme beach and revisiting some old memories and old beliefs. The landscape on this part of the coast is ever changing. The storm surge that took place just before Christmas has altered things once again. Large areas that were once sand and shingle now see the black mass of exposed peat showing through; the peat that has aided in the preservation of these four thousand year old timbers. The site has change a great deal since 1998, but then again, so has archaeology.

 

*It isn’t a henge. Never has been, never will be. It also wasn’t a fish trap, beacon for ships crossing the wash, lunar observatory – or any of the other weird and wacky ideas that anybody comes up with after a few pints and a few idle moments. It was, most probably, an excarnation site. A place where the dead were laid out so that the flesh could deteriorate from their bodies, with the help of our charming local seagulls, before the bones were collected together later. The word ‘ritual’ is probably involved. Makes you think twice before feeding chips to the gulls on Wells quay doesn’t it…**

**Oh, and it wasn’t built by the sea either. Local erosion is such that it was probably nearly a mile inland when first built, in the salt marshes that sat behind the coast.

So, bit of a silly name on both counts really…