Barrow Clump is located on the Salisbury Plain Training Area (SPTA), a large swathe of chalk downland located in central southern England. The SPTA is remarkable, of course, in that it is reserved for military training, and has been so since the late-nineteenth century. As a result, much of the SPTA has been spared the ravages of twentieth-century agriculture and, consequently, the survival of archaeological remains is spectacular.
Places on the periphery, however, remain in agricultural use and it is clear that earlier cultivation has impacted upon the survival and extents of archaeological monuments. Barrow Clump illustrates this very well indeed. The mound, which forms the focus of this report, is the only above-ground survival from a group of more than twenty-three similar sites. Andrew Payne’s excellent geophysical survey reveals a complex landscape around the mound that includes various enclosures as well as pit-defined ring ditches, a pit alignment, isolated pits and linear ditched features, which, presumably, represent the remains of an enclosed prehistoric field system.
Managing the archaeological resource in this environment is difficult given the mix of restricted access and a multi-faceted land use that includes military training. Added to the mix are a range of threat factors, including, in this case, burrowing animals. From personal observation, the chief ‘opportunists’ in this regard are rabbits but badgers can cause very serious damage, too, and it was in response to their impacts on the barrow mound that archaeological interventions were undertaken.
The research rationale that led to the English Heritage excavations in 2003 was a ‘rescue-like’ approach: the barrow, a scheduled monument, was suffering badly from animal damage and this raised questions about the need for continued protection of a monument whose structural integrity had been so compromised. There was, though, an additional aim in that the work fed into a wider programme of investigation assessing the impact of damage and threat to archaeological sites from burrowing animals (see Simmonds and Thomas Reference Simmonds and Thomas2015). The work in 2003–4 showed that the monument was better preserved than had been anticipated and that protection measures were justified. Showing remarkable indifference to these efforts, the badgers ignored the various exclusion devices and continued tunnelling. With damage to the barrow ongoing, the Defence Infrastructure Organisation endorsed further excavation to recover as much archaeological data as possible, and so, between 2012–14, investigations as part of an Operation Nightingale project were carried out. Operation Nightingale had been created by Diarmaid Walshe, Steve Winterton and Richard Osgood to aid in the ‘recovery of wounded, injured and sick military personnel and veterans by getting them involved in archaeological investigations’ (Anon 2019).
The richness of the archaeological story that unfolded completely validated the decision to return to the site. Barrow Clump was shown to be a complex, multi-period, construction: described by Jonathan Last as a ‘persistent’ and ‘relational’ space/place in the landscape, with at least six phases of use. This included a small Beaker period ditched barrow 15m in diameter dating to 2145–1970 cal bc that sealed a Neolithic ‘occupation’ layer. In turn, this was engulfed by a much larger bell barrow up to 50m in diameter and constructed 200 years after the start of the Beaker phase. Last’s discussion of the prehistoric sequence is a masterly and eloquent essay on the significance, value and context of the material remains uncovered.
Especially noteworthy is the reuse of Barrow Clump as an Anglo-Saxon cemetery in the sixth to eighth centuries ad. Of an estimated 150 burials at the site, 110 have been excavated (the rest were discovered too late to be included in this report). Again, the presentation of the data is coherent and concise, and Nick Stoodley’s discussion of the cemetery expertly compiles and analyses a huge amount of data to explore the burial process, cemetery structure and layout, as well as aspects of social hierarchy, cultural identity and the wider context and setting of the burials. It is also pleasing to read Mark Khan’s work on nineteenth- and twentieth-century stories: this is an essential inclusion for any research assessing the military estate on Salisbury Plain.
Each of the chronological sections is accompanied by detailed specialists’ reports and these are comprehensive and well-illustrated and speak volumes about the high standards of excavation and recovery techniques of both the English Heritage and Operation Nightingale teams.
This book, however, is much more than a straightforward account of an archaeological excavation. It threads together a number of narratives – about archaeological practice and interpretation, engagement and communication. What Richard Osgood and colleagues have achieved, with Operation(s) Nightingale, Florence and their successor projects, is remarkable. The opening chapter, about the Exercise Beowulf team, lays this out in some detail and it is a moving and persuasive account of how archaeology can help heal and energise people and relationships, and provide a vehicle to affect positive change too. A recent Historic England report underscores just how important heritage is for our collective health and wellbeing and there is good evidence that engaging in heritage-led activities can improve our mental and physical health (Historic England 2019). There are few professions that can match archaeological or historic environment research in terms of the variety of social prescribing opportunities. If we cannot demonstrate the public or societal value of our work, then, ultimately, is there any point to it? This book tackles this question head on and shows how we can mesh concerns about archaeological practice and research with clear benefits related to mental health and wellness.
