How to be an Archaeologist: The Radial Contour Survey

We’ve written before about close contour surveys and how important they are in archaeologing circles. Without them test pits and trenches couldn’t be accurately placed, the terrain would be less easy to understand and spot levelling during excavations would be rendered almost meaningless, reducing other records, such as the stratigraphic matrix, to a comparatively ineffective load of old codswallop.
In short, without a close contour survey an archaeological dig amounts to little more than treasure hunting.


We’re not going to rehash the detailed methodology of contour surveying here. You can look up our previous articles on the subject if you’ve forgotten. However, by way of a brief recap, a baseline is created (generally bisecting the highest points of the site, if possible) and a series of evenly spaced ‘ribs’ established at right angles along it. The dumpy is then set over the individual ‘spine’ pegs and the stadia staff moved along the ‘ribs’ until the relevant contour is located. After this it’s a simple job of recording the distance from the baseline to the relevant location before moving on to the next contour. Once collated all the information is transferred to the finished map.
Last time we wrote about this subject, however, we forget to include a blank record sheet for anybody wanting to conduct their own survey who couldn’t be bothered creating one for themselves. Now might be a good time to correct this omission.
Let’s start off with a combined ‘Benchmark Record’ and ‘Spine Record’. (We’re being incredibly generous here. By rights we should be getting squillions of quid in copyright royalties for the amount of work we’ve put into these things, but we’d rather forego our fees and make sure that bone-idle amateur archaeologists out there don’t go round buggering up important sites.)


As always, click on the image above for the full-sized version. Rotate it 90 degrees before you print it up and it should fit perfectly on an A4 piece of paper.
Next up we have the ‘Ribs’ record sheet, again designed to fit on size A4. If you’re having difficulty filling these in correctly then please refer to our previous posting on this topic.


There are times during most contour surveys when a simple ‘spine’ and ‘rib’ model won’t suffice, when a feature runs almost parallel to the ribs, for example, and the distance between the spine pegs is insufficient to capture the sudden changes in the contours. At other times, when an area of the site is full of humps and crannies and stuff that fall between the ‘ribs’, again the baseline method is unsuitable.
(Is everybody following this? I’m having difficulty myself here. Comments explaining back to me in proper, understandable English what I’ve just written would be welcome.)
At times like these the ‘Radial Contour Survey’ comes into its own.
Now, observant dumpy owners out there will already be aware that just below the level itself is an adjustable dial for measuring angles, as shown in somewhat blurred photograph below.


As a rule, radial surveys come into effect either at the end of, or part way along, an already established baseline. The principal mechanics of the radial survey are basically the same as those for the ‘ribs’. The dumpy is set up over the relevant ‘Spine’ peg, aligned with the baseline, and the ‘Angle-o-meter’ set to nought degrees. Then the level itself is turned relative to the dial, to establish the first angle of sight. The size of this angle depends on the complexity of the features you’re surveying, and how bothered you can be with the finer details.
Using the usual stadia staff and tape measure method, a ‘Radial Rib’ is marked out, the relevant contours/ spot levels taken, and the dumpy rotated by the same number of degrees again clockwise for the next set of figures. Eventually enough data will have been collected to transfer the results to the finished map.
Does this make sense?
I hope it does because even I’m starting to get bored of it now.
Anyhow, all of these measurements need recording, and because, once again, the chances are you can’t be bothered designing your own ‘Radial Record’ sheet, here’s one we made earlier.


Now go out there and make sure you do all this in a responsible, professional fashion, like what we do.
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How to be an Archaeologist: Codes of Conduct Regarding Small Finds

There are certain Dos and Don’ts when it comes to small finds (otherwise known as Portable Antiquities) that might be worth mentioning. Some are more obvious than others, but we’ll run the gamut nonetheless.
Firstly, never remove a small find from a trench until it has been properly photographed, drawn up, sniffed, analysed, tasted by the local sheep, recorded and catalogued.


Small finds should be stored somewhere dark and dry (in the room over the top of the museum in our case, the floor of which is nowadays starting to bulge downwards with the amount of worthless rubble we’ve hidden up there over the years) in separate, sealed plastic bags, clearly labelled.
Said bags need puncturing with air holes. Objects that are unable to breathe tend to sweat profusely (imagine Lee Evans stuck in a greenhouse) and, in more fragile cases, turn into the sort of mushy gloop you’d find if you bit into a chrysalis. Obviously don’t make the holes too big, otherwise all the stuff might drop out. (I said some of these were obvious. Bear with me. The subject needs covering regardless.)
All portable antiquities bags should contain the following information on them (written clearly and precisely) for reasons that would be clear to slime mould or even the average Fleetwood jet-skier: Site Code, Trench Number, Date, Context Number, Catalogue Number and a brief description of what the object actually is.


This same information should be included on any scans produced for the excavation report, along with a clearly visible rule/tape measure so that the county archaeologist can see at a glance how large the artefact is. (We wouldn’t want him straining his eyeballs having to read the actual report.)


In the case of bones and/or wooden artefacts, these should be preserved in water. (Sounds great in theory, but it’s a bugger in practice. Nobody wants their storerooms full of leaky buckets with bits of mouldy old wood and cow hooves floating around in them. Inevitably, most small finds of this nature end up back in the trench when the excavation’s finished.)
With regards specifically to bones, should human remains come to light (especially if digging under somebody’s patio) the police and the county archaeologist need to be informed immediately; the police because officially and until proven otherwise the site will now be classified as a ‘potential crime scene’, and the county archaeologist because dealing with murder suspects and/or the CID is a job best left in somebody else’s hands.
Small finds such as pottery can be cleaned on site using a large bottle of water and a toothbrush. (And before any American readers decide to make the usual joke, yes, we do know what a toothbrush is in Britain and, yes, it is about time you employed a less racist, more-than-one-predictable-joke writer to produce the scripts for your increasingly tedious and unrelenting sit-coms/cartoons.)


Do not, however, attempt to clean rusted metal or coins. Rusted metal needs electro-magnetic rust removal techniques (which we’ll be covering at some future date no doubt) to prevent them from crumbling away, and coins require their patina to be left in place. (Don’t ask me why, they just do.)
Coin hoards themselves do not belong to the excavator who discovers them. Officially they are the property of the landowner or the crown and anybody attempting to hide them in their pockets for later retail on the black market is breaking the law. All coin hoards, therefore, should be handed to the site supervisor who, no doubt, will put them in his pocket for later analysis at the museum…honest.
Do not attempt to remove small finds from trench walls with the point of your trowel. Let somebody else do it, and if the artefact snaps in half then it’s their fault.
Also, do not attempt to insert small finds up your nose regardless of how much alcohol you might have consumed.
On a more personal note, if any excavator discovers a black flask and a butty box containing a half eaten steak and kidney pie and two packets of prawn cocktail flavoured crisps, could you please let me know because I’ve no idea what’s happened to them.

How to be an Archaeologist: Risk Assessment

One of the most disappointing aspects of living in a modern world is that litigation forever looms on our horizons, never more so than on a typical archaeological dig. Despite the fact that it’s impossible to get blood from a stone, it nonetheless falls to the site manager (or, to put it another way, ‘Yours truly’) to point out the blatantly obvious with regards to on-site hazards, thus avoiding the legal snarl ups that inevitably ensue should something go horribly wrong.
I ought to point out, perhaps, that Wyre Archaeology is currently insured to the tune of several million quid, but we really don’t want to bugger up our no claims bonus.
With that in mind, it’s worth considering the negative possibilities in advance and compiling a Risk Assessment form for distribution amongst the potentially litigious.
Here are a few suggestions as to what to include:


General Health and Safety:

Safe access to the site must be made available. Nobody wants to reach the trench only to discover that they’ve left some vital part of their anatomy behind on a barbed wire fence.
Sensible clothing, appropriate for the conditions, should be worn at all times. Under no circumstances must any excavator be seen wearing Phil Harding shorts that disappear up the crack. Such garments can lead to nausea, violent spasms and, in extreme cases, years of trauma.
Rain shelters and en-suite dunnies must be provided. Do not attempt to use cows, bulls or hawthorn bushes as urinals. Sheep are not a type of luxury bog roll.
A responsible adult should accompany any children, although it’s probably fair to say that most adults who have children in the first place should be considered irresponsible by default.

Excavation Hazards:

Trenches deeper than two metres, or where the ground is unstable, should be shored-up unless they’re being inspected by a member of the Health and Safety Executive, in which case an oath of secrecy must be taken with regards to the location of the body should the walls collapse.
Trowels, pickaxes, wheelbarrows and mattocks can all inflict serious injury if used as weapons and/or in games of ‘Toss the Tool’. My steel toecaps should always be taken into consideration by anybody messing around.


Spoil heaps must be kept at adequate distances from the trenches to eliminate the risk of falling debris. I, for one, am not standing around waiting for the damned thing to be dug out again.
High visibility jackets or waistcoats should be worn on site, preferably with the Wyre Archaeology logo emblazoned across the shoulders. When heavy plant equipment is close by hard hats must also be worn. Heavy plants themselves can be disposed of, according to ‘The Day of the Triffids’, by a hosepipe full of seawater.
The Country Code must always be observed. This is similar to the Da Vinci Code, only with considerably less manure.
High visibility fencing must enclose trenches that are not in use, preferably with a ‘Danger of Death by Electrocution’ sign hanging from it to ward off treasure hunters.
A medical kit must be provided, containing several inappropriately sized bandages, horse liniment, whisky (four bottles), a half empty tube of Savlon with the cap all manked up, one ancient but humorous condom, an assortment of plasters in different colours (in accordance with the codes of racial equality), one apple (slightly turned), a bottle of Buttercup Syrup and a corkscrew.

Other Hazards of which to be Aware:

Prolonged exposure to sunlight can result in skin diseases. Therefore half a pound of lard per square inch of exposed body mass is recommended. Risk Level Assessment: This is Britain, what do you think?
Injury can often result from stampedes towards the local ice cream truck. Risk Level Assessment: Very High, especially after several pints of Speckled Hen.


Cuts, scratches and foreign bodies in the eye sometimes occur. Risk Level Assessment: Medium, unless there’s a scramble for the last pork pie.
Slippery and uneven ground conditions must be carefully noted and taken into consideration. Risk Level Assessment: Slightly harmful, but extremely unpleasant if a pratfall occurs inside the dunny.

Conclusions:

All in all you’d be better off staying at home.

How to be an Archaeologist: Geophysics

Next to trowelling into a previously undiscovered make of amphora, or planting your spade through the centre of some prehistoric skull, geophysics is one area of the archaeological universe that generates a massive amount of enthusiasm. That’s because it’s a bit like digging, only without all the hard work. It usually only requires one desperate willing student who’s spent too much time down the pub to pace up and down for several hours lugging the equipment about, leaving everyone else to stand around discussing said student critically and looking very important.
On the off chance that you’ve been in a coma for the last seventy years, or have never watched an episode of Time Team, or live at Grange Park or something, we’d better explain what geophysics actually is.
Geophysics is the method by which signals are sent into the ground, meet with various elements and then report back to a computer programme, which analyses the data and prints up a blurred but exciting pattern that inevitably leads to hours of heated debate and the occasional black eye.
The upshot of a geophysical survey is that stuff underground, like walls, and floors, and hypocausts, and drains, and coffins, and big lumps of rock, and cars buried for insurance purposes and so on, can all be detected without ever having to hoist your spade off your shoulder. Of course, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, but geophysics does help the overworked archaeologist narrow down those areas requiring further excavation to a few, more reasonably sized, locations.
There are several types of geophysical equipment available, such as magnetometers and other unpronounceable stuff, but the one pictured below with Danielle (on the top of Bourne Hill) is a Ground Resistivity…er…Machine...thing. (You can see I know this subject inside out, can’t you?)


The one thing that all geophysics equipment has in common is that it’s massively expensive. It might not look it. In fact it looks a bit like something that’s been cobbled together in a back garden shed with some old bedsteads and the remains of a ZX Spectrum. But trust me, it’d cost more to replace than one of Steve Austin’s limbs. That’s why only universities and councils tend to own them – another good reason to keep on the right side of those in possession of such valuable commodities.
So, how do you carry out a geophysical survey then?
Well, the first thing you do is grid up the area under investigation. Below is a photograph that shows Chris and John doing just that.

So that the computer programme can put all of the data gathered into some semblance of order and then build an image out of it, the person/student controlling the Ground Resistivity Machine thing needs to walk it in a set pattern. These patterns are usually squares measuring 10 metres by 10 metres, 20 metres by 20 metres, 30 metres by 30 metres… (Editor: We get the idea.)
Each reading the Ground Resistivity Machine thing takes covers one square metre, so the operator walks one metre along one side on the square, presses the Ground Resistivity Machine thing’s prongs into the earth, takes a reading, and then moves on by another metre before doing the same again.
And again.
And again.
Until they reach the end of the row, at which point they turn round and come back, pushing the prongs of the Ground Resistivity Machine thing into the soil and taking a reading every metre…again.
Over and over again.
Until they reach the place where they first started.
Whereupon, they turn around and make a start on the second row, which is a metre along…sideways…if that makes sense.
This goes on for several hours, whilst the rest of us go down the pub. It’s a lonely life being a geophysicist.
If you’re particularly bad at planning, occasionally the ‘Pegging Out’ crew overlaps with the ‘Geophysics survey team’. At this juncture cables, dumpies, measuring tapes, Ground Penetration Machine thing prongs and all sorts of other stuff get entangled with each other:


But, of course, it’s worth all the hassle in the long run. There’s nothing like being confronted at the end of the day with a geophysical image displaying the ruins of a Roman bathhouse or a mediaeval tithe barn in such startling detail that you can almost see the builder’s initials on the brickwork.
Geophysical images like this:

How to be an Archaeologist: Context Sheets Part Two

In the last part of this article we looked at the definition of individual contexts, those being layers, cuts, fills or structures, but definitely not Roman urns with naked ladies painted on them.
We also discussed how, during an archaeological excavation, every individual context needs recording in full on a separately numbered context sheet. However, due to mounting pressure from the ‘Keep these Articles Short’ lobby, we were forced to abandon our educational lecture and seek refuge in spaghetti bolognaise with baked spud instead. Now read on…

Below is an example of a completed context sheet for some layer or other at Bodkin Hall in Pilling.

I’m getting a bit fed up with writing this now, but just in case you’re new to the internet, click on the image above to enlarge it otherwise you’re going to pull a muscle in your eyeball.
Right, let’s run through this quickly.
Site Code: Every site has its own unique code. In this particular instance, it’s WA006, which stands for Wyre Archaeology 006. Does that make sense? I hope it does, because I’m not going to explain it any better than that.
Date: This should be pretty obvious even if the person filling out the context sheet is a member of the Little Wood Plumpton Over 90s All Interbred Domino League.
Trench: Signifies the trench number, of course. If you’ve got several trenches open across the site, they’ll all need numbering separately, obviously.
Category: We talked about this in the last part of the article. Just decide what sort of context you’re writing up about and tick the box. Come on…we couldn’t make it much simpler for you if we tried, could we?
Context no: The ‘no’ is short for number. It doesn’t mean ‘no’ in the literal sense, so stop trying to work out the Zen behind it. Every context needs its own number, so make sure you’re not writing one down that’s already been used by another context first.
Now we get onto ‘Deposit’. This does not refer to the presents left by local cows and sheep. It refers to layers, structures and/or fills. These are all solids (which is more than can be said for most cow deposits) and are therefore classified as deposits. So if you’re recording a structure, a layer or a fill, then this is the section you need to fill out.
Let’s have a photograph of a deposit.


All right…that’s enough of that. Obviously Chris isn’t the deposit. That big heap of spoil behind him is a deposit though. (Right…if you’re going to giggle and mess about every time I write the word deposit and/or spoil I’m going to lose my temper!)
It’s a deposit because it was the topsoil dug out of the trench, see? It’s the spoil.
Right…whoever burst out laughing then, stop reading this board now and go to your room until you’ve grown up!
The floor of the trench, working on the assumption that Chris has hit the top of the Roman agger there, is also a…deposit. (I’m watching you Davies-Allen! And you Barker…take that gum out of your mouth!)
Now we’ve got that cleared up…(Culshaw-Philips, leave the classroom now and take that childish smirk with you!) it’s back to the context sheet.
Colour: There is actually a gradated chart for accurately defining stratigraphic colour combinations…but we never use it, which is why virtually every context on a Wyre Archaeology dig ends up being recorded as orangey, yellowy, brownish stuff. Nobody’s ever complained so far, so we’re reasonably sure it doesn’t matter.
Composition: This usually consists of a single word such as ‘clay’ or ‘soil’ or ‘cow dung’, the latter of which is two words, I know, but is generally recorded as one when we have to write it down on a context sheet. I’m not about to repeat that particular word here.
Compaction: This refers, obviously, to how compact the deposit is. (I’m warning you Clayton…) Friable doesn’t mean that you can bung it in a pan with two eggs and bacon, but that it’s dry and crumbly and stuff. If your trowel has been bent into a right angle by the deposit, then it probably means that it’s cemented.
Coarse components: Grit, gravel, teeth, you name it, if there’s a lot of it in there and it grinds when you trowel it then it needs to be recorded.
Horizon clarity: refers to how clearly defined this context is from the one above it. Sometimes clay and soil layers merge into each other like a big smudge, or the endless stream of garbage on digital television after three glasses of Jack Daniels. This would be classified as ‘diffuse’.
Contamination risk: Look…just don’t go digging near any nuclear plants in an attempt to make a joke out of this, all right? I’m pretty sure you can figure out what it means. The same goes for the ‘Methods’ category too, which just about wraps up the deposit section…thankfully.
Moving on to the ‘Cut’ section, which needs to be filled out if you’re recording a cut. Unlike deposits, which in the case of soil and/or clay layers just run on and on and on (not unlike this article) across the entire field, cuts tend to be confined to a small manageable area…which is why a cut record tends towards shape and dimensions and so forth.
I honestly don’t think there’s any point in going through each category here. Just use your loaf, and go easy on the pickle.
Now then…the stratigraphic matrix! In a nutshell the stratigraphic matrix is a structured compilation of all the contexts in a chronological sequence. The trouble is, sometimes you get, say, mediaeval postholes that cut through a Roman layer and, after the post has rotted, end up being filled by Edwardian soil and stuff, for example. That doesn’t mean that any pottery found at the bottom of the posthole can be dated to the Roman period just because it emerged at the same depth. That’s why all the confusing mess in the ground needs sorting out chronologically into a stratigraphic matrix.
Here’s one we prepared earlier, detailing the structure of various layers and their corresponding time periods at Bodkin Hall.


In the case of filling in a context sheet, obviously you don’t need to draw up the whole matrix. You just draw up the contexts directly above and below the one you’re recording (occasionally the one to the side if you’re feeling that way inclined, and assuming there is one). By the way, if you’re wondering why context number 024 in the diagram above is in a circle rather than a square, that’s because it was a cut. Cuts are recorded in circles and deposits are recorded in squares. It makes it easier to see them that way, apparently.
Beneath the space on the context sheet for the stratigraphic matrix, are the relationship boxes (no, not for marriage breakdowns…come on, get it out of your system…), which, like the stratigraphic matrix, explain the relationships between the different (and closest) contexts.
Beneath this is…oh come on, it’s obvious and I’m missing something good on the telly. Look, figure it all out for yourselves and if you get stuck then ask the site manager…which in Wyre Archaeology’s case would be me, so you’d be basically stuffed.
The important bit is, however, that these sheets are filled in regardless of time consumption, aching wrists (watch it Shone!) and/or other numerous complaints. If nothing else they make the excavation report look fatter and more impressive…and that’s the most important thing of all.

How to be an Archaeologist: Context Sheets Part One

It was probably Sir Mortimer Wheeler (or some other famous archaeologist with an impressive moustache) who once said: “Archaeology is an experiment that can only be conducted once.”
Or something profound and pessimistic like that anyway. Whatever the case, the point is that, despite being informative and educational and what-have-you, the business of archaeology is incredibly destructive. To get down to all that interesting stuff involving Romans and Vikings and mediaeval monks etc., centuries of less exciting stuff, such as soil and sand and clay, has to be removed, heaped up into a pile and then chucked willy-nilly back into the hole, making one hell of a mess for future excavators who might actually be interested in those layers that we find terminally dull and hard work to dig through, because, who knows, we might well be missing something important in our current state of archaeological ignorance.
I think it was Mortimer Wheeler who said that.
Or was it Geoffrey Wheeler?
Then again, Geoffrey Wheeler might have been the bloke who used to present Top of the Form. (By ’eck! I’m showing me age now lad that’s f’ sure.”)
Whatever, here’s a photograph of Sir Mortimer Wheeler and his impressive trained moustache.
Or is that Terry Thomas?


(Get on with it! You’re starting to annoy me now! Editor)
To get to the point, it’s the responsibility of every excavator to record as thoroughly as possible exactly what it is they’re excavating. It might be boring filling in forms (well…actually it is boring filling in forms, we don’t deny it) and taking spot levels and devising stratigraphic matrixes (don’t ask…we’ll get round to them eventually) but it has to be done, because once you’ve dug through it no matter how hard you try you’re never going to put it back together again molecule for molecule in exactly the same way that you extracted it.
Even Dustin Hoffman, or Rainman, or whatever he was called, would have his work cut out just to recreate a vague semblance of the original structure of topsoil, for example.
So, with that in mind, it’s time to introduce our reader to the all important context sheet, a piece of paper so disturbing to archaeology students that it clears blocked bowels and wields more fear than a letter to Charles the First from his old friend Oliver.


You might want to click on the image above, unless you’ve got bionic eyeballs.
As you can see, the context sheet is basically a way of recording every last iota of information concerning a particular context. Each context, no matter how small, even ‘cuts’ which aren’t visible in reality, has its own individually numbered sheet, all of which when combined create a complete stratigraphic matrix for the site.
I’m losing you now, aren’t I? I can tell. You’d be tuning-out in droves if you actually tuned-in in droves in the first place. To be honest it’s really very simple, as most of these things are.
Let’s start with the definition of a context, shall we?
“A context is that which can be identified as standing alone but relative to other contexts.”
I think it was Mortimer Mouse who said that.
A wall is a context. It’s a structure, but it’s also a context.
A layer of soil or clay or sand is a context. It’s a layer, but it’s also a context.
A big Roman urn with a naked lady painted on it…well that’s a small find.
But anything that basically constitutes a layer, a structure, a cut, or the fill of a cut, in the ground is basically a context.
What’s a cut? I’m so glad you asked, because this one’s a bit trickier to explain.
A cut could be a posthole, or a ditch, or a depression in a clay floor made by a very fat monk with a lethargic disposition. To put it another way, it’s anything that cuts into another context.
Here’s a collection of photographs that should, hopefully, explain the differences between a cut, a layer, a structure and fill. Again, it might be an idea to click on the image for a larger version otherwise your eyes will start to water.


Right, starting with the top left hand photograph. That’s a cut…in this case the ditch running alongside our Roman road in Stalmine. It’s a cut because it was ‘cut’ by somebody into the base clay. The clay itself would be classified as a layer. The soil that came out of the ditch is classified as fill. The cut is invisible because it doesn’t physically exist…because it’s a cut. Look…it’s a bloody hole, all right? It has no quantifiable mass. It’s just the imagined gap between the base clay and the fill, but it still exists because somebody cut it.
Okay…so that’s cleared that up then.
Moving along to the top right hand photograph. Now these are examples of layers. Layers like this are also known as stratigraphy, because effectively they’re strata. A layer is a context that isn’t a structure…because a structure’s a structure and needs to be classified separately.
Bottom left hand photograph. That’s a structure. In fact that’s a layer of cobbles at Bodkin Hall. But it’s not a layer really…at least, not in archaeological terms, because it’s a structure.
Finally, the bottom right hand photograph shows a big pile of soil that’s been dug out of our Roman wayside ditch at Stalmine. That’s fill, because it was filling the cut.
Does that make sense now? Good, because each one of them is a context, and each of those layers in the top right hand photograph is a separate context, and every context needs its own context sheet and its own individual number.
Now it’s time to show you how to fill a context sheet in.
Then again perhaps not.
I’ve been getting complaints recently about these articles going on for too long, so you’ll just have to wait until the next posting to find out what you’re supposed to write on the ruddy things.

How to be an Archaeologist: Trowelling Techniques

Some of the more eagle eyed amongst our readers will have already realised that we’ve covered this particular subject over at the forum, and, to be honest, we’ve lifted this article (originally compiled by Fiona Birchall and then retranslated by myself) almost verbatim from my ‘new and improved’ version. However, considering that only three and a half people actually bothered to read the original (don’t ask me where the half comes from…I can only assume the counter’s broken again) we thought it worth repeating here. (Who knows…the other half a human being might read it now and round the figures up.)
Anyhow, trowelling techniques on the face of it probably seem obvious enough (the expression concerning ‘grandmothers’, ‘eggs’ and ‘sucking’ springs to mind), but they’re actually very important. A lot of the more inexperienced excavators might have missed some of the basics (let’s be honest, we all have a tendency to overlook the wood for the trees from time to time) so a quick wash and brush up wouldn’t go amiss.
And just to make this article a bit more interesting, I’ve added a few illustrations. Pay close attention. There might be a quiz at the end.
Before we start this exercise, you will require some dirt (by which we’re not referring to the sort of dirt you'd find in a cat's litter tray, but a bucket of soil…everything’s so damned Americanised these days) and a 4-inch pointing trowel (which is a trowel used for 'pointing brickwork'...not a trowel that’s pointing at something.)

One. Always trowel in the same direction (i.e. the direction in which you started trowelling when the trench was first opened…or to put it another way, don’t change course in midstream. Obviously this doesn’t mean that you have to remember the direction you were trowelling several trenches previously…just trowel in one direction throughout the current trench unless otherwise directed.)

Two. Use the flat edge of the trowel rather than the corner. Using the corner results in grooves being left. (Don’t forget, I'm in charge of all Wyre Archaeology excavations and I take a ruthless stance. Anybody found using the corner of their trowel and making grooves in important stratigraphy on one of my digs will be belted round the back of the head with a mattock.)

Three. Trowel at an angle of 35 degrees from the ground. (Again, take note. Anybody found trowelling at 36 degrees or 34 degrees will, it goes without saying, be severely punished.)

Four. Always trowel with a sweeping action of the arm rather than the emphasis being on your wrist. (There is actually a good reason for this. Constant and repetitive flicking of the wrist can result in RSI and, as comprehensive as Wyre Archaeology's insurance is, you can bet your life we won't be paying out compensation on that one.)
Five. Make sure that you don't create or leave any smudge marks. (So if you’re going to eat a cheese and pickle butty, please leave the trench first.)

Six. In a trench containing more than one person, ensure that the foremost individual trowels a meter span in front of the other. (Sharp trowel points accidentally jabbing you up the backside can be painful.)

Seven. Be careful not to miss any areas when several people are trowelling at once. Also check that you haven't left any ridges between the areas already trowelled. (Especially if you’ve been using them as a makeshift seat.)

Eight. Trowelling allows the trench to be cleaned, thus helping define any features. It also improves feature and strata clarity for the photographs and other methods of recording (which we’ll be covering in another article because it’s about time you lot started filling in some paperwork).

Nine. Depending on the thickness of the blade, trowelling should always be conducted as a slicing action and not a digging one. If we wanted a trench to be dug out using trowels we’d employ smurfs.

Okay...if you weren’t already completely familiar with these trowelling techniques, then it might be an idea to procure yourself a plant pot/small plot of garden and have a few practice swings before starting on any future excavation work. Alternatively, take your trowel along to the nearest park and set about practicing on the flowerbeds. Park keepers are always very interested in archaeology and will no doubt lend you a friendly hand to perfect your technique.

How to be an Archaeologist: Contour Surveying

Before you can start any official archaeological excavation you first need to contour survey the area designated for the dig. There are several reasons for this. One: To get the lie of the land as a guide to the best placement for the trenches. Two: So that the trenches can be accurately placed on Ordnance Survey maps, making it easier for future archaeologists reopening the site to locate them. Three: Because it looks good in the excavation report.
Contour surveying is actually ridiculously easy, but because it involves a dumpy level, some record sheets, a pencil and (occasionally) a roll of string, most people get frightened about it and would rather pay out thousands of quid for somebody else to do the job for them. Here’s how to save yourself a lot of money.
First of all whack a peg into the ground where you want one end of your baseline to be. It’s best to choose the highest spot possible for this because, from this point onwards it’ll be downhill all the way. This peg will now become your TBM (otherwise known as the Temporary Bench Mark).
In order to find the exact height above sea level for the TBM you first need to follow the instructions set out in our article entitled ‘How to be an Archaeologist: Spot Levelling’. If you don’t know where that is then try looking under the ‘Previous Articles’ links in the right hand column.
Right, let’s assume you’ve established the height of your TBM. The next step is to get your baseline in place. This is accomplished by asking somebody to stand at the other end of the designated area with the measuring staff, using a compass to find the alignment, and then asking them to move about a bit until the staff appears in the dumpy lens.
It really is that easy.
Whack another peg in the ground where the staff is standing and connect it to the first peg with a long piece of string, as the following illustration demonstrates:

It’s important to ensure that the string is perfectly level otherwise any measurements taken from where the ground is uneven will vary from the TBM. (And if you didn’t understand that, then don’t panic. Just trust us for now…we know what we’re doing.)
Now, using your wooden stakes (or if you’re cheapskates like us, your tent pegs) mark out the divisions along the baseline at regular intervals. The size of these intervals will vary depending on the amount of land you’re surveying. For example, a site thirty meters in length might be suited to one peg every one meter, whereas a site three hundred meters in length would be better suited to one peg every ten metres (unless, of course, you want to spend the rest of your life stuck in the same field with only your dumpy for company).
For reasons of metaphor, we’re now going to call the baseline the ‘spine’ of the site. (This was actually a phrase coined by Chris Clayton. It’s a good ’un so we’re nicking it.) In order to establish the contours you’ll also need ‘ribs’ emanating from the ‘spine’ at right angles, determined by the position of the pegs/stakes that you’ve just smashed into the ground.
These ‘ribs’ should all be numbered for the record, using a combination of the number of pegs north or south of the TBM (if your baseline is running East/West rather than North/South then these will be east or west of the TBM). That’s probably got you confused again, so how about another visual aid?

Right…I reckon that should be about as clear as mud.
Now, from each peg along the baseline/spine, create a right angle with your dumpy by lining it up along the baseline/spine and then turning the level by 90 degrees, locate the measuring staff again in the same way that you did to create the baseline/spine in the first place, whack in another peg and join the two together with a piece of string. (It’s easy when you think about it…honest.)
Now, take a good look at what our mediaeval peasants are up to in the illustration. As you can see, one of them is observing the stadia pole (or measuring staff) through the dumpy, whilst the other is moving backwards and forwards up and down the slope. (Or at least he would be doing if the illustration was animated. Unfortunately it isn’t so you’ll just have to use your imagination.)
That’s because, having decided on the distance between the contours you want to survey (for example intervals of one meter) the staff-carrying peasant simply needs to locate the position along the ‘rib’ where that particular contour point occurs. This, of course, is the height of the dumpy plus or minus the additional measurement you’re looking for.
Alternatively you can just run a ruler/tape measure from the piece of string down to the ground, and when you hit the height of your contour (one meter using the current example) you can whack a peg in as a marker.
(If it’s still confusing try having a brew and then launching youself into another attempt to work out exactly what’s going on.)
Once the position of the contour is located, it’s a simple case of measuring the distance from the baseline/spine peg (in the illustration that’d be N1) to the point at where the measuring staff intersects the piece of string on the ‘rib’…or alternatively the marker peg you’ve already hammered into the ground.
This is then recorded on a sheet of paper and our mediaeval peasant moves backwards again until he reaches another meter in depth before taking the next measurement. (It doesn’t have to be a meter, of course. It all depends on what intervals you want your contours to be set at. If your earthwork, for example, is only ten centimetres in height/depth then one-meter contours would be a fat lot of use and the end result would be a blank piece of paper.)
When every single measurement has been obtained in this fashion, you then transfer the data to a sheet of graph paper. Well…actually that’s not strictly true. You cover a sheet of graph paper with a sheet of acetate and transfer the data onto that using the graph paper beneath as a guide.
(Don’t forget, of course, to take the measurements for the area west of your baseline/spine as well…or if your baseline/spine is running east/west to start with, make sure that you map out the contours north and south of it.) When you’ve done you should have an accurate contour survey.
Here’s one we prepared earlier, showing the agger and ditch at High Gate Lane in Stalmine, just to prove that it’s possible:

How to be an Archaeologist: Spot Levels and Benchmarks (Part Three)

Okay…hands up any of our readers who managed to solve the problem of how to take the ‘spot level’ reading at point ‘A’ from point ‘D’ as encountered at the end of the second part of this article? (Actually, hands up any of our readers who are still reading this? On second thoughts, don’t bother. Let’s push on.)

Right, here’s the solution.
But first the map.

Now then…we’ve already established over the last couple of postings the TMB for point ‘D’, which, incidentally, was 4.595 metres above sea level. Unfortunately, the terrain between point ‘D’ and point ‘A’ (the latter of which is the point that we’re trying to obtain a ‘spot level’ for) consists of a steep bank. The sort of bank that dumpy’s can’t see over. Putting the measuring staff on the peg at Point ‘A’ means that there’s no way the dumpy is high enough to read any measurements.
The solution? Put the dumpy over the peg at Point ‘A’ instead, and the measuring staff on the peg at point ‘D’.
Obvious really.
On the off chance that you didn’t quite follow that, here are a couple of diagrams that should help explain matters. Firstly, the wrong way to do it:

Secondly, the right way to do it:

With the dumpy and the measuring staff now in reverse positions, it’s a simple case of taking a reading from the staff and adding it to the height above sea level as recorded by the TBM (or, in this instance, point ‘D’.)
Let’s do that then. According to Ivan and Steve’s calculations, as we’ve already mentioned, point ‘D’ was exactly 4.595 metres above sea level.
The measurement on the staff as viewed through the dumpy was 3.31 metres.
The total height above sea level was, therefore, 7.905 metres.
So the height of point ‘A’ is 7.905 metres above sea level.
Or is it? Anybody spot what we’ve missed? That’s right…we haven’t taken the height of the dumpy itself into account. So, one last measurement of the dumpy then, which on this occasion came to 58 centimetres. Take this away from the total height and you have…7.325 metres…or to put it another way, 7 metres 32 and a half centimetres above sea level.
Okay…did all of that make sense?
I hope it did, because that’s the simplest use of the dumpy that there is.
In future articles (although I can’t promise you when yet) we’ll be covering ‘contour surveys’ and ‘gridding out’, both of which require the surveyor’s level and both of which are absolutely essential when it comes to correct procedures for conducting archaeological surveys. In the meantime, one last photograph of Steve and Ivan on the riverbank at Cockle Hall, with Steve proudly showing off his extended staff…

How to be an Archaeologist: Spot Levels and Benchmarks (Part Two)

Last week we established (more or less) how to work out the height of the crosshairs on your dumpy (or surveyor’s level) above the low water mark by using a permanent benchmark. Once we have this information we can now transfer it to what’s known as a ‘spot level’ or ‘temporary benchmark’ some distance away.
Let’s have our map up again.

Now then, point ‘A’ on the map above is the location at which we want to determine the height above sea level. Point ‘B’ is the current location of our dumpy, next to the benchmark on the signpost. (All right…any of our readers who tuned in a few days ago will know that there isn’t actually a benchmark on the signpost, because the real benchmark is missing. But for the sake of this exercise we’re assuming there was.)
Unfortunately the terrain between point ‘A’ and point ‘B’ looks like this:

To put it another way, trees, brambles and a steep bank obscure the line of sight between our dumpy and the point we’re trying to survey, so we’re going to have to take this in stages.
Our first objective then is determine the height above sea level at point ‘C’ on the map, which isn’t obscured by any obstacles (other than a few dog walkers).
So, a peg is hammered into the ground at point ‘C’, the Eastings and Northings are taken on the ‘Sat Nav’ (just for the record) and the measuring staff is balanced on the top of the peg.
Now, assuming that we haven’t moved the location of the dumpy since last week, we simply swivel the top of the dumpy around and focus in on the staff. Where the crosshairs meet, we take a measurement. In this particular instance it was 1.465 metres.
When subtracted from the height of the dumpy above sea level (which we worked out, but didn’t include the figures for, last week) that gives us a total height of 4.595 metres.
Now you have a ‘spot level’ or ‘temporary benchmark’ measured from the peg at point ‘C’. Write this down in your notebook and stop for a cigarette/butty/hot brew.
Before we move on, however, you might also want to record the distance between points ‘B’ and ‘C’. In this particular instance, that would be a simple case of stretching a tape measure between them. Where the terrain is hillier, or the distances are too great for the average tape measure, however, the mathematical laws of perspective come into play. Here’s what you do.
If you look through the viewfinder on your dumpy, you’ll probably see something remarkably similar to the what’s being shown in the photograph below.

You might have noticed the horizontal lines situated above and below the crosshairs. They’re called stadia lines. (Again, don’t ask us why because we honestly don’t know. They just are.) Keeping both the dumpy and the measuring staff in exactly the same positions they were in when you were taking the ‘spot level’ for point ‘C’, measure the distance on the staff between the upper stadia line and the lower stadia line.
In the example shown in the photograph that’s roughly 12 centimetres.
Now multiply that measurement by 100. Again, in the example, that would be approximately 12 metres.
That, quite simply, is the distance that the dumpy is situated from the staff, and therefore the distance from the Temporary Benchmark (or TBM).
The formula is simple, multiply the distance between the stadia lines as measured on the staff by 100, and you get the distance between the staff and the dumpy. It really doesn’t get much easier than that.
Right, time for our next ‘spot level reading’. At this point we have to move the dumpy and reposition it carefully over the peg at point ‘C’. In order to be absolutely accurate, a plum line is hung from beneath the dumpy to the top of the peg. It’s also important to remember that the dumpy needs to levelled again using the spirit levels, which, by way of consequence means that the legs on the dumpy are extended and/or contracted, according to the make-up of the ground. This, understandably, alters the dumpy’s height, so this needs to be measured using your tape measure as it has to be taken into consideration.
The dumpy’s height is added to the height above sea level as recorded at point ‘C’, giving you the height of the dumpy at point ‘C’ above sea level. The measurement is then read from the staff at point ‘D’, which in turn is subtracted from the overall height that you’ve just established. This should give you the height of the ground above sea level at point ‘D’.
Okay…so far so good. We hope everybody’s following this because, if you’re not, there’s not a lot we can do about it. The photograph below shows Ivan and Steve struggling to hammer a peg into the ground at point ‘D’.

Unfortunately, the going from here’s a bit tougher. The final leg of our journey is uphill and point ‘A’, somewhat annoyingly, is considerably higher than the viewfinder on the dumpy. This means that when the staff is placed on the peg at point ‘A’, the dumpy will be too low down to be able to read it. We've also run out of space, so the solution to our problem will have to wait a few more days.

How to be an Archaeologist: Spot Levels and Benchmarks (Part One)

Lately we’ve been trying (although not always with a great deal of success) to hammer home the message that it’s vitally important for all archaeologists (both amateur and professional alike) to conduct their excavations with an acceptable degree of consideration for what they’re doing. This includes proper and accurate recording techniques, stratification recognition, employment of context sheets and other invaluable tools of the archaeologing trade and not…I’ll just repeat that in bigger letters, ‘NOT’…just tearing into sites with no regard for what’s being destroyed.
Bearing all that in mind meet Ivan and Steve, possibly the most important members of the Wyre Archaeology Excavation team. It’s their unenviable job to contour survey, plot, square up, grid reference and spot level all of our excavation sites.

Without Steve and Ivan the rest of us couldn’t open up any trenches. Well…actually we could…but we wouldn’t be able to place them accurately on Ordinance Survey maps (or even our own excavation plans because, to put it simply, we wouldn’t have any) and future archaeologists returning to the scene of the crime wouldn’t be able to find them again.
In other words, Steve and Ivan (along with their dumpy level…don’t ask me why it’s called that…it just is) prepare the groundwork for all us diggers by creating the framework from which our excavation reports hang.
It’s an important job, and somebody has to do it.
So, in this article we’re going to show you how to take a simple ‘spot level’ reading, otherwise known as creating a temporary benchmark (or TBM). At some point in the future we’ll no doubt be covering the survey team’s other jobs of ‘gridding out’ and ‘contour surveying’, but it’s always best to start with the basics.
Every site plan begins with a particular point on the map, for which we’ll need to know the Eastings and Northings (otherwise referred to as the grid references) and the height above sea level. For the purposes of this illustration, we’ve decided to choose point ‘A’ on the map below, which is on the top of a steep bank overlooking the remains of Cockle Hall at Stanah.

Eastings and Northings are simply the grid co-ordinates on Ordnance Survey maps that help us determine the exact location we’re attempting to survey. A satellite navigation system should allow you to pin point the spot accurately enough on the ground. In this instance let’s take it as read that the co-ordinates for point ‘A’ are 336081/442085 and that our ‘location peg’ has already been firmly hammered into the top of the bank.
Now we need to work out the height of point ‘A’ above sea level, and to achieve this we first need to find a permanent benchmark.
By ‘benchmark’ we’re not referring to those misspelled phrases chiselled by teenagers into park benches. No…a benchmark is actually a mark that resembles a cubist’s attempt to draw a picnic table, left by the Ordnance Survey teams, generally on a gatepost or some other semi-permanent structure. The photograph below shows a typical benchmark minding its own business.

Benchmarks are also known as crow’s feet (possibly because they resemble the stretch marks around Helen Mirren’s eyes.) Their main purpose in life is to indicate the height above sea level at that given point.
They’re also included on Ordnance Survey maps. If you take another look at our map somewhere above, you’ll notice that in the lower right hand corner are the letters B.M. and the figures 5.49m.
This means that there should be a benchmark similar to the one in the photograph, next to the picnic site at Cockle Hall, and that the horizontal line on the top of the benchmark is exactly 5.49 metres above the low mater mark.
We say ‘should be’ because, in reality, there isn’t.
Sometimes benchmarks are recycled by farmers, fed up with draughts blowing in through their kitchen walls. Sometimes, such as the ones carved into houses, they’re plastered over. Sometimes the Wyre Rangers pull them down not realising what they are and cart them off to Fleetwood Tip, which is what appears to have happened at Stanah.
When this occurs, it’s usually not worth trudging several miles to find the next benchmark along, because, invariably, that one’ll have vanished as well.
Contour lines make a reasonable alternative, just so long as you know the exact location of the contour line on the map and can pinpoint it again on the actual ground. Unfortunately contour lines are seldom painted onto real hillsides. Making a note of the grid references on the map and then using a satellite navigation system once again to find the same spot in reality generally does the trick.
Another alternative for missing benchmarks are ‘spot levels’ that appear on Ordnance Survey maps. Our map somewhere above, for instance, has a spot level of 5.2 meters located close to the top of it.
Anyhow, for the purposes of this article, we ended up improvising and drew our own highly inaccurate benchmark with a Biro on side of the guidepost at Cockle Hall picnic site. (We don’t recommend this for genuine archaeological surveying, of course, but this is for demonstration purposes only. We would have used the other ‘spot level’ included on the map, which would have been better, but I stupidly forgot to pack the map before heading off for Cockle Hall, so we couldn’t.)
Okay…once you’ve located your benchmark (or equivalent thereof) the next step is work out how high above sea level the crosshairs on your dumpy are.
This is easily achieved by using the metric staffs that come with the dumpy, and a few simple mathematical calculations.
The measuring staff is placed against the benchmark, the dumpy is levelled on the ground (using the built in spirit levels) and a height reading is taken by looking through the lens and making a note of where the crosshairs are aligned on the measuring staff.
The distance between the horizontal bar of the benchmark and the crosshairs on the dumpy level, when added to the height of the benchmark above sea level itself, give us the height of the dumpy above sea level.
Does that make sense?
Hold on, let’s include a diagram and see if that works better.

In effect, what you’re actually doing is measuring how high the crosshairs on your dumpy are above the benchmark. Because the benchmark is already set at a specific height above sea level, this measurement, when added to the established height of the benchmark, gives you the height of your dumpy above sea level. It’s logical when you think about.
Armed with this information (which is known, for reasons best left to surveyors, as the ‘back-sight’) you can now proceed to create the first of several Temporary Bench Marks, or ‘spot levels’, leading from the permanent benchmark to the actual location you want to record. But that’s probably enough information for the average reader to absorb in one week. We’ll continue this article, therefore, in a few days time.