Church Walk

It was a sunny enough April day but the chafing easterly wind cut your cheeks to shreds. People in the streets of Stroud had donned hats of every shape, size and elevation, in the forlorn hope of keeping heads and ears warm, but their faces bore the tell-tale brunt and burden. Everyone was wondering when spring would finally and decisively take its place amongst us – or would this bitter winter defiantly and continuously persist?
But as the day progressed and the sun rose higher in the sky, so the patches of blue grew ever wider, and the clouds changed shape to ‘traveller’s joy’. Snowdrops were still abundant, but primrose, violets and even a solitary cowslip reminded us of how Spring will, every year, eventually hammer the final nails into Winter’s coffin.
And so it proved, as we walked out from Arts and Crafts Sapperton to St. Mary’s at Edgeworth. This is a church well worth a visit. The path takes you past Pinbury Park, once the home of John Masefield, then through hollow-ways, green lanes and four-ways-went. There is a distinct DMV vibe about the rolling greensward here; so many paths intersecting in the middle of nowhere; big sky country with the occasional big ploughed open field; the ghosts of medieval peasants turning up the stones: “When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?”
The contentment continued at St. Mary’s: a carved Saxon stone in the porch; a stained glass window from betwixt the Black Death and the Peasants’ Revolt; a local cured of leprosy at Canterbury through the Thomas a Beckett cult; pews marked ‘Manor’ at the front of the nave with ‘Cottagers’ at the back; a plethora of 17th century gravestones and a wooden seat in the sun. What more could you ask for?
Only to visit this place again. The village is ‘said to be the most remote in the Cotswolds’; it is about 8 miles from Stroud and 8 from Cirencester. This makes the church feel even more adrift in time and space – but death linked even this isolated village with the Bay of Bengal and also with the Great War. The Empire and the European Balance of Power are present even here, with melancholic inscriptions, in this wind-blown graveyard, high up on the wolds.
Also present were memories of our recent trip to Cusop, near Hay on Wye. There we had linked arms around thousand year old yews: it took 6 adults to encircle one of those venerable trunks. That
worked out according to my rough mathematical arboreal abacus at about 160 years per adult. We had also looked at the 12th century frescoes at Kempley, near Dymock, the day before. 5 adults did the trick there. It seems as though we may have a ready reckoner similar to the hedgerow calibrator – I’m sure you know about the old adage of 100 years for each species of tree or shrub in a 30 metre stretch of country hedgerow.
We returned to Sapperton via the Daneway: as good a pub as you can find on as good a walk as you can make. Tea and beer were taken before walking along the canal, the vanishing Frome and through the field where the horses and donkeys were led as the bargees legged it through the tunnel. Perhaps King George 3rd became as perplexed as we did about the whereabouts of the Frome, when he visited here in his annus horribilis of 1788, and so began to first lose his mind.
But it was near here that my aunt and father used to play when they moved to Frampton Mansell after the First World War. This was one of their favourite spots. My Auntie Kath wrote the following poem some 50 to 60 years later.

 

For My Brother

When we were young and full of fun
And all our days were carefree,
Do you remember that September
We climbed the old pear tree?

The finest crop grows at the top,
That bramble jam we ate,
Our mother made and carefully laid
On shelves with name and date.

We took a stick and went to pick
The biggest blackest berries,
Pulling down to near the ground
Clusters hung like cherries.

Remember the gate where we used to wait
For the early morning light,
To show in the field the wonderful yield
Of mushrooms, gleaming white.

The nuts we found so full and round,
And filberts too, so rare,
That lovely autumn on Sapperton Common,
What joy we used to share.

Wild harvest brings a host of things,
Mushrooms, nuts and fruit,
But best of all, with every fall,
Comes memory, absolute.

Next Walk, Sunday, March 10th: Stroud, the Heavens and Flann O’Brien

Who Needs Google Earth?
I know that debate rages, dear readers, within you and without you, as to the respective merits of Flann O’Brien’s “The Third Policeman” and his wonderful “At Swim Two Birds”. Personally, I probably enjoy re-reading the latter even more than the former; be that as it may, it is the Policeman that we need to guide us on our next walk: Mothering Sunday, March 10th. Meet outside the Prince Albert at 11.15 or outside the Crown and Sceptre at 12.30 for a walk around the Heavens and the Edgelands of Stroud – three hours at the most, then into Number 23 in Nelson Street for a chinwag in the bistro.
But here is your preparatory reading:
Chapter 3 in Flann O’Brien’s “The Third Policeman” has a diverting section on walking, emanating from the pen of the imaginary mad-savant, de Selby. O’Brien’s eccentric, but, alas, fictional genius, saw roads as “the most ancient of human monuments, surpassing by many tens of centuries” the most ancient of stone edifices created by humanity. De Selby talked of “the tread of time” and how “a good road will have character and a certain air of destiny, an indefinable intimation that it is going somewhere, be it east or west, and not coming back from there.” The unconstrained thoughts of de Selby led him to the conclusion that “If you go with such a road…it will give you pleasant travelling, fine sights at every corner and a gentle ease of peregrination that will persuade you that you are walking forever on falling ground.” I am sure you can see the converse: “…if you go east on a road that is on its way west, you will marvel at the unfailing bleakness of every prospect and the great number of sore-footed inclines…”
De Selby also wrote of urban walking, of “a complicated city with nets of crooked streets and five hundred other roads leaving it for unknown destinations.” Needless to say, “a friendly road” “will always be discernible for its own self and will lead you safely out of the tangled town.” Thus, I think we can say that we do not need Google Earth or even an OS map to guide us both into Stroud and out towards the Heavens or Rodborough Fields or the Slad Valley. Instead, we might carry a copy of Colin Ward’s “Talking Green”, stopping to look at paragraph two on age 44: “Cherished corners of the landscape can be changed beyond recognition in a few hours. Trees, streams, footpaths, buildings, symbols of permanence which transcend ownership, may suddenly disappear.”
Just as the price of liberty might be eternal vigilance, so might be the price of the right road.

A Solitary Ramble Round Stroud

I remember studying Charles Lamb’s “Essays of Elia” and William Hazlitt’s essays for A Level; I loved them all, but especially Hazlitt’s piece on walking. It struck a chord back then and just the other day, as well: “One of the pleasantest things in the world is going a journey; but I like to do it myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company for me. I am then never less alone than when alone…” So, “dear readers”, as Mr. Lamb used to write, here follows an essay on the joys of a solitary ramble around Stroud. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy walking and thinking at two and a half miles an hour with friends and family, but sometimes it’s a joy to do it like Greta Garbo, but with the script of Hazlitt.
So let’s hear from the man himself again, for one last time: “Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet…Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull common-places, mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is perfect eloquence”.
With this in mind and a welcome day off, I walked down Rodborough Hill and into town. It was a Tuesday, but memories of the 1831Captain Swing Riots passed through my mind: “No work today, boys, it’s Rising Monday!” The pre-industrial tradition of Saint Monday floated around my head too, when handloom weavers and so on would take the day off if they fancied it; a pastime destroyed by the tyranny of the factory clock and hooter. But hey ho, in these days of the post-industrial service economy, I had Tuesday off and was free. A walk beckoned, but first I had to deal with William Blake’s “mind-forg’d manacles”, or rather what we today call, a list of things to do.
Now there’s another way to look at lists rather than through the Blakean trope, and that’s the Sergeant Pepper Day in a Life style: a sort of stream of consciousness Zen type thing, but with a periodic break with pen and paper to maintain a list of musings, events and reflections – the sort of thing that can be done only on one’s own. And having serendipitously read Katie Kitamura’s thesis the weekend before in the Guardian, as to why lists are a raging against the dying of the light: “…as long as we’re making lists…we’re keeping faith with some idea of perpetuity”, what chance did I stand?
Whatever. Off we jolly well go. I walked down the Slad Road, past the tumbling stream, an old mill or two, Uplands Post Office at Springfield House, and then turned right into Libby’s Drive. I bumped into Tony, who suggested I call in to see his wares at “Trainspotters”, but couldn’t find the right warehouse, so hearing the sound of saw and hammer, wandered into an old mill for directions. “No speak English,” said the carpenter, but I managed to locate Tony’s bazaar (“I am setting up a series of Love Walks, some of your group might want to join us…walks for single people”) before turning up a lovely old footpath, past the evocatively named “Dyer’s Mead”.
This footpath felt venerable and worthy of veneration: telegram boys in the Great War; cloth mill workers; handloom weavers; medieval peasants; stone age itinerants – who knows in whose footsteps I trod that day, on that worn down, polished-stone pathway. But the crumbling dry stone walls, all dripping with moss, did not prepare me for the shock of the signpost, with news of the threatened development of Baxter’s Field, just down below Summer Street.
Oh Cider. Oh Rosie. O tempora. O mores.
I walked a few metres along Summer Street, before finding the footpaths that took me up to Bisley Old Road, turnpiked Bisley Road and thence Stroud Cemetery. These secluded footpath-thoroughfares are a treasure: Troy Town wooded nooks and crannies, rus in urbe brick and stone, chickens and woodland. They lead past streets with names like Belmont Road and Mount Pleasant, past whistling builders playing out the Ford Madox Ford painting of “Work”. This walk to top of the town Stroud in February sunshine, with its Five Valley cyclorama and River Severn panorama, has that unique and distinctive charm of the mill town in the Cotswolds vibe that makes Stroud Stroud.
I walked through the Cemetery, past the unnamed pauper burial area, past Great War gravestones, past crocuses and snowdrops, down through the gate and left towards Horns Farm. Here the walk takes you right, into the woods, past an old quarry and where, on this cloudless late February morning, wild garlic was just beginning to show. I sat down on a wall eating a cheese and onion sandwich, the ground dry as a bone above the spring line, but below, one could hear the characteristically talkative Five Valley trickle.
The walk then takes you up the hill and into shadow, and on this late winter day, across the frost’s Plimsoll Line, and into the land of frozen water. The arc of this walk then takes you back towards Stroud; glance to your right and hold the old workhouse in your thoughts, as you take in the beauty of the landscape. When the Poor Law Amendment Act was brought in in 1834, the driving force was to make conditions inside the workhouses worse than the worst paid job outside, and to prevent poor relief occurring outside the workhouses. Think of that as you enjoy the wide sweep of the expansive view; workhouses were often designed to prevent inmates having any view of the outside world at all, in the attempt to criminalise and punish poverty.
The mind can turn in on itself when it has no window on the world, but when out walking, the mind can wander creatively, therapeutically and laterally – when you don’t have to continually look at directions, instructions or a map: the “skull cinema”, as John Hillaby once put it. This Zen-like mindfulness and absence of adult cares are some of the joys of solitary walking; I’d reached Claypits Lane without realising it: another wonderful name derived from the fundamentals of the landscape.
I turned around to see a pale moon rising above the equally appropriately named “The Heavens”, before dropping down the hill to reach the main road and the “Shop’N Drive”. It all started to go wrong here: garages and cars and a text from my daughter saying she needed to borrow money; but a glance up towards Butterow and a sight of the Primitive Methodist Chapel and nearby toll house sent the mind off again, away from the petty mundane material concerns of the here and now. Farewell mind –forg’d manacles and hello Hazlitt.
I reflected on the significance and meaning of it all as I walked the canal towpath. What could be the synopsis of the wonders of this day’s solitary walking? What Twitter style summary could I write about all the variegated events, thoughts, events, observations and reflections involved in this individual ramble?
You Never Walk Alone.

Archaeological Phenomenology and the Landscape of Prehistoric Burial Sites by Neil Baker

Archaeological Phenomenology and the Landscape of Prehistoric Burial
Sites
by Neil Baker
Phenomenology is a branch of social
theory that has achieved archaeological notoriety
in recent years for explorations of primarily prehistoric landscapes.  Its use in archaeology has been one of
the most provoking theoretical developments in the discipline in recent years
and has been a constant source of debate between archaeologists (Bruck, 2005:
Fleming 2006).  The following discussion
will not provide an overview of the wide-ranging philosophical field of
phenomenology.  It will focus upon on
archaeological phenomenology and whether it can increase our understanding of
the landscape context of Neolithic and Bronze Age burial sites. 
“Went to see an ancient mound
People buried underground
Long ago, will never know
What it was like to hear their sounds”
Lyrical excerpt of “Rollright Stones” from “Shoot Out At The Fantasy
Factor” by Traffic, 1973.
What is archaeological phenomenology?
Archaeologists have a long
history of describing and classifying prehistoric burial sites but many are often uncomfortable with defining how people might have experienced them.  Early studies tended to focus on the monument rather than its’ situation (Chapman & Geary, 2000, 318; Watson, 2001).  The way in which landscapes and sites were, and still are generally understood is commonly dictated by conventional established fieldwork methodologies such as survey or excavation.  To this end, landscapes are still frequently depicted as static and disembodied, two-dimensional diagrammatic
representations (Tilley, 2004).  The landscape archaeologist would argue that such “typical” information gives no sense of first-hand familiarity with the site. It does not convey information relevant to how prehistoric burial sites were physically experienced by the people that constructed and interacted with them (Cummings et al, 2002: Parker Pearson, 1999).  In an attempt to address this problem, landscape phenomenologists study place, and analyse “sites and locations as static positions where human actions are carried out” (Peterson, 200, 394; Woodward, 2000, 123).
In order to fully comprehend and appreciate how a monument relates to its landscape, one has to attribute value and meaning to it by experiencing it first-hand.  In this way the relations and interconnections of a landscape such as “place, social and personal identity and experience” together with feeling, emotion and significance will be better understood (Tarlow, 2000: Tilley, 2004, 185).  However, critics of this approach have described it as “a nice long walk with your eyes open” (Russell, 2007, 31).  Phenomenology is often viewed as a modern discipline, but this is not the case.  The relationship between a monument and its setting is by no means a new phenomenon and was first mooted and recorded by antiquarians such as William Stukeley in the 18th century (Barnatt & Edmonds, 2002; Peterson, 2003).
Discussion
Can the adoption of a phenomenological approach to prehistoric burial studies increase our knowledge of them?  Landscape phenomenologists often claim that barrows, cairns and other prehistoric monuments were carefully located so as to ensure views of particular landscape features while others were deliberately obscured (Tilley 1994, 135; Bender et al, 1997; Cummings 2002).  They argue that some prehistoric burial sites were specifically located to establish control over “topographic perspective”, uniting significant natural places in the wider landscape (Tilley, 1994: 204: Tilley, 2002, 185).
In 1994, Christopher Tilley suggested that a number of Welsh Neolithic chambered tombs in Pembrokeshire (26) and The Black Mountains (14) were designed and constructed to have deliberate relationships with natural landscape features (Fleming, 2005: Tilley, 1994, 92 & 118).  These included mountains, river valleys and places outside natural limits such as caves and were suggested to be liminal zones where the boundary between this world and the otherworld became blurred (Bradley 2000, Cummings et al, 2003: Fleming 1999).  It was noted that the long axis of some of the Pembrokeshire cairns “seemed to be oriented” west-east and emphasised prominent natural features (Tilley, 1994, 94).  Fifty four percent of the Pembrokeshire group (14) were suggested to have had close or direct relationships to inland rock outcrops.  The principal orientation of the Black Mountain group of cairns was also suggested to have “relationships” with dominant landscape features such as rivers (5) and prominent hill spurs (9) on the Black mountains  (Tilley, 1994, 124).  Tilley proposed that in the Neolithic period such features were regarded as “natural, non-cultural or non-domesticated megaliths” making them special places (Tilley, 1994, 94).
Tilley’s fieldwork in Pembrokeshire and the Black Mountains was the catalyst for more studies of both areas which cast some doubt upon his interpretations.  Cummings et al (2002) re-examined various claims about the axis of the Black Mountain cairns.  Their research studied the tombs’ relationship to specific features in the landscape using a methodology that would reproduce their own observations (Cummings et al, 2002).  The work focussed on the cairns’ construction, ground plans, positions and building materials.  They suggested that the tombs were deliberately asymmetrical both in their location and in their construction but seldom “oriented directly upon landscape features” (Cummings et al, 2002: Fleming, 1999).  It was concluded that the cairns were sited to emphasise transitional areas.  These were “places in between places” for example between river valleys and between mountain escarpments (Cummings et al, 2002, 67).  Much of the work in Wales by Cummings et al and Tilley has been criticised by Andrew Fleming (1999, 2005 & 2006).  He checked Tilley’s observations and pointed out that many of his proposed alignments were in fact erroneous (Woodward, 2000, 123).  Fleming argued that the apparent relationship between monuments and rock outcrops at North Preseli in Pembrokeshire may be the result of preferential survival.  Many of the sites are in found marginal, stony areas where the land has not been intensively farmed.  This fact, coupled with the easy availability of building materials to subsequent generations possibly meant that tombs were not robbed out.
Tilley also employed a phenomenological approach in “Round Barrows and Dykes as landscape metaphors”.  This was an exploration into the locational significance of Bronze Age round barrows and dykes located at the eastern end of the Ebble-Nadder ridge in southwest Wiltshire (Fleming, 2006: Tilley, 2004).  Of relevance to this essay is the section of Tilley’s work which focussed on twenty-four Bronze Age barrows.  The project concentrated on the relationship between a northern and southern group of barrows, and the natural coombes and spurs found on the chalk ridge.  Each barrow was visited and its’ individual relationship to major topographical features was noted (Fleming, 2006: Tilley, 2004: Woodward 2000).
Tilley concluded that eleven of the twenty-four barrows were directly related to coombes and were located at or near coombe heads or conjunctions.  Seven barrows were connected to character changes in the landscape i.e. spurs (2), gullies (2) and changes of escarpment direction (3).  The southern barrow group was not intervisible with the northern group, which led Tilley to suggest that the barrow siting was related to “highly localised topographical features” (Tilley, 2004, 194).  The link between barrows and coombes has been suggested by many archaeologists, and various studies have focussed on intervisibility and barrow placement.  These have shown that burial sites frequently occur on false crests, ridges or higher ground, while others have a geometric relationship within thelandscape (Tomalin, 1991; Woodwood & Woodwood, 1996; Field, 1998; Parker Pearson & Ramilisonina 1988).
Some phenomenological arguments cut both ways and it is possible that perceived orientations were deliberate, but then again it could is equally possible that they could be accidental.  Archaeologists’ need to critically consider how relationships should be identified, asking, for example, how close a monument needs to be to a particular topographic feature for a deliberate link between the two to be suggested (Fleming, 1999, 120 & 2005, 927). Similar points can be made regarding the significance of other sensory elements of monuments and landscapes.  Phenomenologists are often criticised of manipulating evidence in favour of their assumptions and not being objective.  Caution should be applied when hypothesizing about sacred mountains in areas where isolated hills and mountain ranges dominate the skyline.
We first need to identify which particular elements of a burial landscape can be shown to be important factors influencing their location in the past and which cannot.  However as a point of interest, two of Tilley’s proposed sacred mountains have later religious connections which could have originated in the prehistoric period.  Carn Ingli or “hill of angels”, has been linked with the Irish saint Brynach, while Mynydd Troed in the Black Mountains was known in the 5th century as Garth Matrun, the “hillspur of the Great Mother” (Thomas, 1994, 57 & 145-6).
Any archaeologist should be wary of overemphasising what is perceived as a deliberate landscape relationship without careful consideration of all the facts.  It would be normal practice to note that the burials were in carefully chosen locations, and that those on high ground are often intervisible with each another while those on low ground are not (DeBoer, 2004: Fleming, 2006).  Apparent orientation, intervisibility or invisibility is not an indicator that those who built and used a prehistoric burial site recognised or considered a visual relationship important.
The visual interactions postulated by Tilley (1994 & 2004) may not have been the overriding factor in barrow placement.  The dead do not bury themselves (Parker-Pearson, 1999), and the selection of burial sites is a carefully considered undertaking and argument only arises in interpretation of the barrow placement (Barrett, 2004).  Field suggests that it is not the burial that is  sacred but the landscape itself is sacred, and the important relationship may have been one that placed the barrows in harmony with the landscape (Field, 1998, 321).  He compared British Prehistoric burial sites in Sussex with the preferred location for Chinese burials and concluded that they were broadly similar in nature.  The majority of sites were located on “well drained, south facing slopes…with water at the base…and mountains in the rear to protect them from…evil influences”
(Field, 1998, 322).
In an effort to illustrate their visual theories, phenomenologists have attempted to demonstrate visual relationships between places they have identified with photographs, photomontages and line drawings (Cummings et al, 2000: Tilley 1994).  These techniques are reputed to enable landscapes to be represented from the perspective of lived experience in contrast to traditional cartographic depictions.  In their attempt to produce a repeatable methodology Cummings et al (2002) produced panoramic representations of the landscape around each monument.  This was achieved by sketching a 360 degree view from a set point in the centre of the monument a method also used by Stukeley in the 18th century.  All drawings were supplemented by taking a series of photographs which created a wraparound photograph of the surrounding landscape (Cummings et al, 2002, 61).  These have proved useful for analysis but they are difficult to understand, and only of limited use in the presentation of the data.  The use of photography and video footage as evidence to support the claims made for particular relationships must be treated with caution.  Unfortunately the images produced are not objective records but are themselves selected and edited representations of landscape (Chadwick 2004, 21; Peterson, 2003, 398).  However, it could be argued that any criticisms of phenomenological recording methodologies are themselves flawed unless the site had been visited by the critic (Cummings, et al, 2002, 68).
Phenomenology
while relying heavily on a sense of vision, also embraces a belief that there are key points of common connection.  In Wiltshire, Tilley contrasts a “deep interior world of the coombes and the exterior world of the ridge tops” where the coombes were dangerous places associated with “spirits, mythical forces and the underworld” (2004, 196).  He argues that the Neolithic cairns he studied in Wales were connections between Neolithic inhabitants and their Mesolithic ancestors, and were placed in locations with “emotional attachment…and significant places linked by paths of movement” (Tilley, 1994, 202).  This raises interesting questions about whether prehistoric barrows were deliberately constructed over spaces imbued with significance, or whether it was pure coincidence (Benson & Whittle, 2007, 31).  There is certainly a case for the argument of continuity, as many of the Black Mountain cairns have been found to be sited on early Mesolithic flint scatters, suggesting an ancestral connection via a collective social memory (Nash, 2003, 5 & 2007, pers. comm.; Tilley, 1994, 117).  Cummings et al interpreted the Black Mountain cairns as “places of transformation” sited to mark significant landscapes and places where the dead would undergo a metamorphosis from flesh to bone (Cummings et al, 2003, 67).  This is another plausible phenomenological theory that cannot be discounted but like so many phenomenological arguments, cannot be proved either.
A Phenomenologist
would argue that a present-day experience within a burial landscape will not be considerably different from that experienced in the Neolithic or Bronze Age (Tilley, 1994).  In his discussion of Wiltshire Bronze-Age barrows, Tilley suggests that the present day topography of coombes and ridges was virtually the same in the Bronze Age as it is now.  Natural features such as sudden dips, marshland or steep inclines are perceived to have had a similar effect on prehistoric people’s experience of landscape as they have on his own (Tilley, 2004).  He neglects to mention that form and character of the landscape may have altered dramatically over many years.  The surface appearance of the monuments will also be different as several millennia of soil drift and erosion, stone robbing and plant invasion has transformed their original appearance (Savoy, 1973, 1).  It may also look and feel quite different at different times of the year or different times of day.  Therefore, it is recommended that sites should be visited under different conditions over a lengthy period of time to have any hope of recreating the experiences of people in the past.  (Cummings et al, 2003: Chapman and Geary 2000).
The consideration of visibility and lines of sight are also potentially flawed by a lack of appreciation for past environmental factors.  Any theorised visual effect in the past may have been hindered, prevented or even enhanced by trees, woodland or long grass (Bruck, 2004; Cummings et al, 256).  Palaeoecological analysis of carbonized plant remains, and disturbed soil from a selection of the Black Mountain cairns revealed that some were constructed in areas of heath or woodland pasture while others were sited in more open landscapes (Cummings and Whittle, 2003, 259; Tilley, 1994, 220).  This would obviously have implications for phenomenological studies; a wooded setting can have real physical and psychological effects on anyone experiencing that landscape.  Prehistoric people may have been deliberately siting burials in and around wooded landscapes to create particular experiences of place that may be difficult to recreate today (Muir, 2005).  Even if it is possible to identify convincing relationships between landscape features, the meaning of these associations may be more difficult to understand.
Perhaps the most important debate concerning phenomenology is whether present-day interactions with a burial landscape will ever approach the actual experience of past peoples.  Any first hand experience of a phenomenological landscape interaction today can only be imaginary, socially constructed, cultural specific and subject to modern beliefs and emotions.  The landscape will be experienced and interpreted by people in many different ways, and will vary depending on the context of their engagement with it (Edmonds, 1999).  This makes it easy to question phenomenological landscape theories as “at any one time, landscapes…are multiple and contradictory” (Bender, 1998, 34).  To some, artefacts can be places in the same way places can be artefacts to others, likewise monuments can be landscapes and landscapes may be monuments (Bradley, 2000).
Archaeological
interpretation “is carried out in and for the present”, and a prehistoric experience of a burial landscape might have been very different and probably emotional experience to that encountered today (Tarlow, 2000; Tilley, 2004, 225).  While some aspects of “being there” are partially or directly reconstructable such as “…visibility, sound, and touch”, we can never wholly reconstruct the way in which our prehistoric ancestors viewed or experienced a burial landscape (Parker Pearson, 1999, 139).  We know that prehistoric people visited, used and reused burial sites, but we don’t know that they understood and saw burial sites in the same way we do today.  We often forget that any visits to burial sites were most certainly encountered with friends, family, strangers, animals and objects, and all to the sound of stories, songs and conversation (Nash, pers. comm.; Watson, 2001).  Tilley himself acknowledges this and “makes no claims to an understanding…or significance of the prehistoric burial landscape (Tilley, 2004, 74).  All that can be suggested by phenomenological explorations of burial landscapes are interpretive possibilities based on our own contemporary experience and observations.
Conclusion
Phenomenological studies of archaeological landscapes have been based upon attempting to replicate the experience of “being-in-the-world”, primarily through analysing visibility patterns (Tilley 1994: 12).  This has been called into question and had been critiqued as un-testable, overtly subjective and misguided (Fleming, 1999, 2005 & 2006).  A major problem with taking a phenomenological approach to the study of prehistoric burials is that the landscape can only be experienced as it appears today (Brophy, 2004).  While phenomenology does assist the recognition of some visual relationships that were considered significant in the past, it cannot tell us what they may have meant (Tilley 2004: Woodward 2004).  Despite its drawbacks, landscape phenomenology has certainly encouraged archaeologists to reanalyse the architecture and landscape settings of various different categories of burial monument.  It certainly shows the need for a greater understanding of the “detailed landscape setting” of prehistoric burials (Woodward 2000, 130).
Any criticism that stimulates both rigorous archaeological debate and new research can only be good for archaeology as a whole.  Phenomenology does at least remind us that prehistoric burial sites were more than “just somewhere to put dead bodies” (Parker Pearson, 1999, 196).  They may also have been markers of special places, a recreation of valued landscape features, or commemorated the passage of time (Richards, 1996).  No school of archaeological thought has a “monopoly on the imagination”, and while phenomenology cannot tell us about community and characters, or their hopes and fears, neither can traditionally accepted archaeological methodologies (Fleming, 2006, 272).  Archaeologists do not need to throw away their maps and air photographs.  They just have to recognise that there are many ways of thinking about and interpreting prehistoric burial landscapes, and appreciate that there may b  a
deeper significance to the placement of prehistoric burials than is currently
understood.
Bibliography
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