Antics in the shelter in the early 1970s

L to R: Steven Juliusberger, Iain Ferris, Fachtna McAvoy and persons unknown.  Looks as though there's a bit of wrestling or tickling going on and Iain's fretting that he's going to get a McAvoy elbow in the eye.

A story springs to mind about Steven Juliusberger (also known, inevitably as Julius Cheeseburger) whom I don't think I've ever met.  I'm pretty sure this story was told to me by a combination of David Southwood, Ian Ferris and John Parry, so it has an excellent pedigree.

Steven Juliusberger was interested in American politics and it was the year of Watergate and Richard Nixon's resignation.  The way the story goes, Juliusberger was obsessive about wanting to know how the story unfolded as it happened. He was much given to listening to a radio that was at Ullenwood at the time.  For all I know it may even have been his own radio.  He was listening to the news about Watergate, even at night.  

There was also a dart board and a set of darts.  One night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Juliusberger stayed up late listening to the radio and playing darts to pass the time.  On the other side of the wall on which the dart board was hung, was one Terry Courtney, trying to sleep.  

Terry didn't have a very good night's sleep and all he could hear, all night, was "Thump, thump, thump", " Trudge, trudge, trudge", "Thump, thump, thump", "Trudge, trudge, trudge", "Thump, thump, thump", "trudge, trudge, trudge" as Juliusberger threw the darts at the dartboard and shuffled up to retrieve them, listening all the while to the radio.

In the morning Terry wasn't in a very good temper which is entirely understandable.  Terry acquired for himself a large bowl of cornflakes, to which, it is alleged, he applied copious quantities of milk and a liberal sprinkling of sugar.  He then sought out Juliusberger and upended said bowl of cornflakes, milk and sugar over the Juliusberger's head, in retribution for his lost night's sleep.  Doubtless words were exchanged.  Does anyone remember this story?  It is even vaguely an approximation to the truth?  Did it ever happen?  I think we should be told ...

Another great sky from the Dineen collection

Remarkable colouring both in the sky and on the ground in this action shot from Jane Dineen's album: left to right: Terry Courtney, Sarah Roberts and some of her team, David Southwood, Lucy Loveridge, ?, Anna Collinge, Arwel Barrett, ?.  All working hard.

Who've they lost?

Left to right: Rebecca Chambers, David Southwood, John Boden and Bernie Dawson. It looks as though they're waiting someone or something to happen. Maybe it has a slight air of the end of the day before setting off towards Ullenwood. 1980 from the Dineen collection.

Early 1980s hilltop village and inhabitants

It wasn't always beautiful weather, though I do, by and large, recall it being pretty good most of the time.  This picture, one of Jane Dineen's, was taken in 1980 and shows everybody clustered around the huts and the shelter under an overcast sky. 

It looks as though there is a layer of turf between the photographer and the group.   Practice as to the storing of the turf during the season varied over time: I have a vague recollection of being told by Phil that the reason for the change from walls of turf to single layers, that we kept watered, was the exacting requirements of the National Trust in wanting, quite rightly, everything to be put back as nearly as possible in the place whence it had come.  

9 diggers and a 5-barred gate ...

Jim Irvine sends this from 1983.  L to R: Simon Bacon, Jim ? (sadly killed shortly thereafter in a car accident) Sue Bird, ?, John Watterson, Mel ?, Malcolm White, Nina Stoyan, and Griff.  Was this taken just outside Ullenwood with Greenway Lane down to the left?

Update: John Watterson writes: "I don't think we know each other, but Jim Irvine sent you a photograph with me in (John Watterson).  I can help complete a couple of missing names: Sue Bird (now Sue Burrett), Denise (I think...she was friend of Melanie's) ?, John Watterson, Mel(anie) Grant  (now Melanie Thwaites). After all these years I'm still in close contact with Malcolm White, and hear from Sue and Mel every x-mas. The photograph brings back some wonderful memories, but Jim's death was a tragedy. The photograph was taken just outside Ullenwood with Greenway Lane down to the left."

The postholes of the longhouses

1972 was the season when a very large area was dug which revealed the Iron Age longhouses' post holes.  They show up perfectly in this photograph of Andrew Powell's, taken from just inside the rampart looking directly west across the cuttings.  One thing that looks faintly curious, to my eye at least, is the proximity of the huts to the cuttings the huts were always erected at some distance from the excavated areas.   For a different perspective on the same cuttings in the same season, see this aerial photograph which I posted in November.

TBGAS about the 1987 season

Courtesy of the Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society the note on the 1987 season which reads as follows: "COBERLEY/BADGEWORTH, Crickley Hill, SO 927161. Work in the 19th season of excavations concentrated on the slopes of the knoll (originally, wrongly, by CHM's inattention to proof-reading, novel) of the Neolithic settlement, and on the Long Mound.  The latter was found to be even more complex than previously realised, with an additional phase of slabs, and an earlier phase of underlying uprights or markers below the mound.  The slopes, too, proved complex and provided evidence from series of platforms beside a least three, and perhaps four, rows of small pits, some of which contained deposits of cremated human bones."

Professor Dixon observes: "I fear that CHM has bumped his head as well as his poorly shoulder, since even my old eyes detect the word as ‘knoll’ rather than ‘novel’; but perhaps all this swashbuckling romance has led him into contemplation of another Captain Lash, involving perhaps bondage in the New Stone Age……? Knollvelists with pens please step forward."

Heartbreakingly pretty, why aren't we up there?

Thanks to Natural England for permission to publish Peter Wakeley's 1995 shot of Crickley Hill, taken presumably from Birdlip.   The scarring on the south side of the hill caused by the limestone quarrying is, as ever, easy to see being marked both by the bareness of the rock and also by the line of trees along the Quarry Road.

Adrian Corrigan digging at CH 85

Adrian Corrigan concentrates hard scratching away in a curious looking feature in 1985. He's using a plastic mug which I now recall was sometimes a recognised useful tool for scooping spoil out of slightly odd-shaped crevices.  Behind him a couple of bristle brushes, a wire brush, a hand-shovel and a catbasher.

Sylvie Pendry at CH85

A photograph of one Crickley Bristolian by another, I think. A portrait of Sylvie Pendry looking very cheerful, framed by Dr Phillpotts with what looks like parts of the entrance to the shelter with the vale behind her. 

Nothing naughty about this ...

A well earned cup of tea against the finds hut for Dr Nick Snashall. From the Phillpotts 1987 archive. All his photographs dating to 1987 appear to show people wrapped up in pullovers and Barbour jackets and other wet weather gear: I don't know whether it was just a rotten season or whether he was only there for the horrid weather.

CH88 or 89: Steve Vaughan's cutting

Unless there were two photographic towers I'm not entirely sure how Dr Phillpotts managed to get sufficiently high to take his photograph whilst the photographic tower is in shot on the far side of the cutting.  Depicted is the Long Mount cutting supervised by Steve Vaughan in 1988 or 1989. when Dr Ferris and I were looking at this a few weeks ago we noticed that there appears to be a quadrant of a circle which rather looks as if it might be the circular enclosure of the shrine described and pictured in Richard Savage's 1988 booklet 'Crickley Hill: Village, Shrine and Fortress'. But I'm now wondering whether we were right because the timings look a bit tight given that the booklet was published in 1988 and this, according to Dr Phillpotts, is a photograph taken either in that season or the one after.  I must seek enlightenment from Richard.

Fachtna McAvoy takes shelter ...

As can be seen from this photograph, probably taken in 1972 either Fachtna McAvoy suddenly got small or some of the postholes were absolutely ginormous. I think from other evidence that the latter proposition is more probable than the former: it doesn't appear to be raining so it's not immediately clear why he needed the umbrella. Perhaps he was employing it as a parasol. Either way it's a cracking contribution from Andrew Powell.

Mist over Birdlip

Professor Dixon sends in this glorious shot of the mist hanging over Birdlip: not sure I've ever seen the mist there before but it is very beautiful.  I don't suppose it happened very much during the excavation season.

The Promenade, Cheltenham

Cheltenham was a beautiful place in which to spend our Thursdays off.  Here is a postcard which I acquired from eBay of the Promenade probably a year or two before the excavations began. From the clothing, this photograph may well have been taken in the years between the turn of the 20th century and the First World War.  But hold on a moment -- is that Terry Courtney in the foreground driving one of his limousines?

The Iron Age rampart

A couple more pictures from my Easter Sunday flying visit: above: the top of the Iron Age rampart looking northwards from the southern end and below: the outer ditch of the Iron Age rampart again looking north from the south. 

Captain Lash: instalment 3

"Oh, quit it!" counselled Cocky, reaching for the keys of his instrument of torture.  "Pipe that house-side along of her -- she's booked."  Lash halted.  A man as big as himself, a man who looked as if he had been weaned on sulphuric acid, and nurtured through his adolescence on Greek fire, a man whose arms were laden with parcels approached the white-frocked girl. Lash saw an emotion akin to terror express itself in the flower-like face.  The man pressed his load into the girl's arms, spoke harshly, and turned away, shouldering a bull-like way through the swirls of humanity.

"Come back!" pleaded Cocky.  If Lash heard, he took no heed.  Clean across the street he went, dodging the traffic miraculously, and halted.

"Sweetheart," he entreated, "I'm going your way.  Which way you going, Blondie ---?"

"A bit fresh, aren't you?" asked the girl.  But she did not appear as annoyed as Mrs Grundy would have wished her to be, either; for notwithstanding his ruggedness, Lash's magnificent self inevitably aroused admiration.

"Fresh?  Me?  Fresh as the lilies of the dell, yes," grinned the cavalier of the shovel.  "Anyhow, I'm goin' your way; which is it?"  Calmly he took possession of a load of parcels, notwithstanding her vague protests and her somewhat timid glances up and down the street.  It is doubtful whether Lash would have continued his interest in her but for the wholly forbidding appearance of her lawful companion; but the hot blood of his manhood was tingling in his veins, since danger ways a titillating spice to his adventurous soul.

"Never mind him," he declared.  "Any man that leaves a lady to hunch such a load as this, isn't rightly a man.  You lead the way." Across the street Cocky tore the stifling air to rags with the brayed strains of The Campbells Are Coming.  It was of no use -- had the clan itself appeared arrayed in full panoply of war, Captain Lash would not have been diverted from his hastily-planned course.  As he linked a spare arm under the girl's elbow, Cocky, his shoulders shrugged in resignation, followed meekly at a distance.

"Well, then, here we are, and thank you," said the incognita.

"Only too pleased," murmured Lash, halting at the narrow doorway.  "Did anyone ever tell you that when you smile it makes the sun look pale?"

Excuse me, but I think I'm going to be sick.  That last line reminds me of an ironic oral application to take annual leave made to me by former Detective Sergeant Roy Saunders, once of the Metropolitan Police Fraud Squad, later of the Serious Fraud Office: "Ah, good morning, Parker.  May I just say that your charm is exceeded only by your great personal beauty?"  "What do you want?"  "Day off on Thursday please."  "Get out of here."

View of the interior looking west

Another shot taken on Easter Sunday, from the top of the northern side of the entrance through the Iron Age rampart. Parts of the top of the hill are really quite worn which tells you how popular the site is now - both the upper and lower car parks were full.

Cutting AXV: rampart wall and ditch

Another digitised transparency from the Ferris collection: the bottom of the Iron Age wall together with the ditch on Cutting AXV in 1979 with a liberal supply of tumble from the cutting edge.  It is noticeable how the stones at the bottom of the wall seem to be appreciably smaller than the ones further up. 

What you can see from the top of the hill ...

Using the collage function of the Picasa software I've managed to create this composite of the information board that is by the picnic area on the hill overlooking the view: click on the image to enlarge and you'll be able to see what's what.  

Looking back towards Crickley from a very long way off

The signboards on the top of Crickley tell you that on a good day you can see as far as Hay-on-Wye and the Black Mountains which are about 50 miles from Crickley: this is the view the other way from the top of Hay Bluff looking south east back towards Gloucestershire.  Can anyone tell me how the grassy humps turn out the way they do in the foreground? I've forgotten all my physical geography and would be intrigued to know?

Well it did get a bit messy at times ...

I have hesitated for some months, agonising about the advisability of posting this photograph: it shows, late one night at Ullenwood, why you might be chary about letting your child go and dig at Crickley Hill.  Left to right, Crickley Hill Man engaged in that evening's entry for a gurning competition, Mike Taylor, downing what was doubtless a bottle of GL cider or possibly some Newcastle Brown ale, Dr Phillpotts, serenading him with a kazoo, whilst accompanied by Mandy Hatherly and Randell Motkin.  The names have not been altered to protect the innocent.

Dr Ferris writes "I was shocked to discover, on close inspection, that this recently-posted photo of late-night carousing on Crickley Hill Man's blog was not in fact a still from Mickey Rourke's excellent film 'Barfly', as I had first thought, but rather a depiction of some sordid scene from Crickley Hill Man's dissolute youth. CHM, the gurning Charles Bukowski-type character in the forefront of the revels, and his inebriated cohorts had evidently failed to pay heed to Richard Savage's annual pep-talk about the dangers of drugs, drink and adders and were now paying the price. Perhaps it was the next day that Crickley Hill Man fell asleep in a posthole, as he has recounted elsewhere on the blog?"   Quite possibly so, Iain, but lost in the mists of time ...

Crickley Hill on Easter Day 2009

 

 

 

The hill at about half past one today: Crickley Hill Man was utterly unable to resist a brief diversion at lunchtime on his way back to London from Herefordshire.  Top: the view towards Barrow Wake and Birdlip along the line of the crest of the rampart, taken from the point where the fence-line divides the National Trust land from the County Council land. Middle: with the eastern end of the Long Mound at my feet, looking back towards the Iron Age entrance with the Neolithic bank in the foreground. Bottom: looking down the line of the Neolithic bank across towards Barrow Wake and Birdlip.  One could only see fifteen miles or so with any clarity today as there was quite a bit of mist and rain haze about.  Bracing breeze on the top but a few hardy souls were having a picnic. 

Savage 1988 5: The Last Neolithic Fortress

My thanks to Richard Savage and the Crickley Hill Trust for permission to reproduce abstracts from Richard's 1988 booklet: here the Neolithic section as an Easter treat. Note the chilling last sentence.

A defended Neolithic village c.  2500 BC  

About 2500 BC the last Neolithic defence at Crickley was built following the line of the inner causewayed enclosure to the east but extending the defended area by 40 m to the west, to include the flat shelf above the tip of the promontory.  The new ditch was continuous, except where broad causeways gave three entrances -- north-east, south-east, and west - and provided the stone for a low wall, at most a metre high, carefully built with the internal walls packed with rubble in a cellular structure.  At the rear of the wall stood a wooden palisade.

The new ditch was built outside the ditch of the old inner enclosure on the east, following its line and so close to it that the quarriers of the new ditch twice broke through into the old one.  Each time, they re-sealed the gap with a miniature wall of stone, as though they were anxious not to release some force or entity believed to lurk in the old pits -- which they felt about strongly enough to undertake the tremendous labour of making a wholly new ditch in the living rock, instead of clearing the old one and re-using it and its stone.  The new wall in this sector was built over the old, filled pits.  Apparently their influence could be confined, and would not weaken it.

[Illustration: Bowman. C. Clark]

This new defence, and the settlement it protected, had much in common with its predecessors.  It east an entrances coincided with those of the causewayed enclosures, and the southeastern one gave access to a fenced road along which were aligned at least to two rectangular wooden houses.  60 m inside the entrance, the road turned north to the settlement on the high point of the hill which is marked by dense clusters of pottery, flint, post holes, stakeholes, and a flint-working area, to which the north-west entrances also gave access.  But where it turned north, a gate now controlled access to a narrow path continuing along the road's original westward axis but leading only towards a fenced area with no other entry, on the shelf above the tip of the promontory. 

[Illustration: Conjectural reconstruction of the last Neolithic fortress. The positions of the central houses are not yet known. R. Morgan]

On this shelf stood the  settlement's shrine, the entrance to its precinct guarded by diminutive upright stone and a wooden gateway or arch.  Although the stone is in the middle of the path, and only a few centimetres high, the wear of the cobbling shows that all the traffic passed to the south of it.  The rituals of the shrine involved fire, the burning of bone, perhaps in animal sacrifices, and apparently the gathering of pottery, flint, bone and antler in special places away from the centre of the precinct but overlapping its edges.

[Illustration: The shrine. C. Clark]

The position of the shrine is remarkable.  It is hidden from watchers on the main body of the promontory to the east by the swell of the highest point, unless they are placed exactly in the line of the natural hollows leading to it, while had overlooked a panorama of the Severn Vale and will have been visible from great distances to the north, south and west.

Access to the tip of the promontory and the path down to the Vale by this route was specifically denied, and a traveller entering the settlement from the south-east could only gain it by turning north outside the shrine, passing through the central settlement area and going out through the north-west entrance, from which the shrine was isolated by its fence.

This last Neolithic settlement ended in violence.  It was burnt - houses, gateways and all -  after an attack by bowmen whose flint arrowheads hungrily crowd the palisades and entrances.  Four hundred have been found at Crickley so far; they are the remnants are one of the first known battlefields.  To judge from examples preserved at waterlogged sites, the bows were large and powerful, not very different from the longbows of Crecy and Agincourt.  Flint arrowheads penetrate flesh better than steel ones, and are more likely to break off in the wound.

[Photographs and plan: Neolithic flint arrowheads (length 40, and 40mm), and their find-places in a 100m length of the neolithic defences]