The view from above

I was having a little look at some of my travel photos recently, ones that I haven’t posted online before and I realized that I am strangely fascinated with what I can see out of the plane window. This is slightly weird because, truth be told, flying actually freaks me out a bit, but I’ve found that focusing on the view of sites and landscapes on the ground, distracts my mind, stopping me thinking about crashing down to my death in a ball of red-hot flames.

Anyway, here are a few views from the cheap (economy) seats.

Syria/Lebanon

Flying over Lebanon, out of Damascus airport, I loved the ripples and curves made by the ranges of hills and mountains in the Bekaa Valley.

Algeria

In Algeria, flying is pretty well a necessity. The country is enormous and the country’s history has left it with a legacy of, frankly, unsafe areas. There are still a few places where kidnapping is a very real possibility, making driving dangerous.

The distance from the Ghardaia region back up to Algiers is over 600km so travelling by road is a bit of a schlep. The flight is an hour and the views are spectacular. The landscape starts as golden desert, peppered with towns north of Ghardaia.

As you get further north, the landscape turns to lush green with lakes and reservoirs.

Flight from Ghardaia to Algiers, Barrage Bouroumi, Mahaizia

Libya

Flying into Tripoli, on the coastal plain were miles of neatly planted olive groves.

The olive trees look very sparsely planted but this is the only way get a good yield of fruit, as the tree roots need space around then.

Iceland

Flying out of Keflavik Airport, Iceland, I flew directly over one of the places where I’d spent much of my time on my first visit.

This is Ásbrú, a former NATO base where the festival ‘ATP Iceland’ was held in 2015. It’s all brightly coloured, crinkly-tin shed, like many of the buildings in Iceland. Simple, functional and not especially decorative.I enjoyed the festival, and I enjoyed Iceland too.

And here’s, not the Blue Lagoon spa, but a similar hot water pool.

The heated water is the outflow from the Reykjanes Power Plant nearby.

France

Flying down to Marseille, I spotted a very exciting looking quarry.

Google maps calls this the Perasso Frederic Paul quarry but I think it’s actually called the Perasso quarry of Saint-Tronc. The Perasso company quarries gravel, concrete and sand from here. http://www.perasso.fr/societe-perasso-marseille/

Germany

Flying into Frankfurt means flying over the extensive forests that surround it. I was struck by the appearance of the motorways immediately adjacent to the airport.

This is where the Bundesautobahn 5 meets Bundesstraße 43 and the Bundesautobahn 3. Not quite Spaghetti Junction, but a striking intersection nonetheless.

London

Living, as I do, in Olde London Towne, I generally fly in and out of London airports, mainly Stansted (because it’s the right side of town for me), Heathrow (because it’s on the tube) and City, (because it’s actually IN London, as opposed to being somewhere in a field in a neighbouring county).

This means that sometimes I get to fly up the Thames. This is absolutely my favourite, even though the approach to City is slightly terrifying. The first time that I was actually aware of this, and actually thought about it properly, was when I was flying back from Damascus. I happened to glance out of the window and thought, “that’s Southend Pier!”. And it was.

Since then, every chance I get, I try to spot cool ‘something-on-Thames’ things.

Here is one of the wind farms in the Thames Estuary

and nearby, the Maunsell Forts at Shivering Sands.

This is not the greatest photo because we were in a raging storm at the time, but this is a cluster of six, originally seven, ‘army’ style WW2 anti-aircraft gun emplacements, situated in the Thames Estuary. The seven individual platforms were originally connected by walkways and were arranged as a cluster of six, housing guns and the seventh housing the searchlight.

I’ve been fortunate enough to have been able to get a bit closer to the forts as The Waverley does a couple of trips each autumn.

Further into town, we fly over some very familiar sights. The Thames Barrier

City Airport

Canary Wharf, the Isle of Dogs, Greenwich and the O2

The London Eye…

…and before I know it, I’m home. 😀

The ancient dead speak

Last weekend, me and my fellow explorer Craig, visited an exhibition that we’ve been looking forward to for a while. At the Museum of London Docklands, ‘Roman Dead‘.

This exhibition tells the stories of some of the people of Roman London, as seen through the evidence of their mortal remains, and of the funerary practices and methods of commemoration used by Roman Londoners. Literary evidence tells us that the ancient burial grounds of Londinium began to be discovered at least as early as the 1570s as John Stowe writes, in his A Survey of London in 1598, that as the ground around Spitalfields was being broken up for clay, the workers discovered cinerary urns (pots used to hold the ashes of people who were cremated), the cremated  bones and other remains of earlier Londoners.

This burial group, dating to 60-200CE, was found at Bishopsgate. The large glass jar would have held the cremated remains (in the tray in front), with a samian cup used as a lid.

The smaller glass jars may have been used to hold oils and perfumes used in the funerary rites or offerings to the gods.

I was interested to see the map of known burial grounds around Londinium (in red), particularly the two on the Southwark islands.

The burial grounds were situated just outside the city limits to avoid the pollution of the living by the dead and archaeologists have unearthed evidence of a wide range of funerary practices carried out by the people of London. The exhibitions includes evidence of cremations and inhumations (burials), a range of grave goods, buried with the deceased, and evidence of some more unusual practices. For example, the skeletal remains of a woman whose skull was removed, after death and possibly much later, after the body had decomposed, and placed on top of her pelvis.

As it is today, so it was in Roman London. We see people from all over the Roman world; from Britain and all parts of mainland Europe, the Middle-East and North Africa, and they all came to, or travelled through Londinium. Some of them died here. Some of these different funerary practices may have been influenced by people’s different areas of origin, by changing tastes and even by changing religions, but some perhaps also by the desire to ‘do what Granddad would have wanted’, possibly harking back to older tribal or cultural traditions not current in Roman Britain but which, in the face of death, felt to surviving family members or friends like the right thing to do.

The objects in the exhibition work around the people in the exhibition. Well, the remains of the people anyway. As well as cremated remains, on display are the skeletal remains of 28 individuals. With funerary collections, I particularly like to see the whole assemblege, or as much as possible of it, displayed together, if possible reassembled as it was in the ground. I think that seeing all of the objects together with the remains can tell us something about the people themselves, but also about their loved ones, their friends, the people who arranged and carried out the funeral rites. We can’t see the remains exactly as those people saw them at the point of burial, but it’s the closest that we can get.

So here are a few of the grave goods found:

The centrepiece of exhibition is this well preserved stone sarcophagus found last year near Harper Road in Southwark.

Stone sarcophagi are rare in London, this is only the third one found, so it’s a big deal. Most people buried in Roman London would have been buried in wooden caskets or possibly just laid in the ground wrapped in a shroud, so the lady interred here, and her family, must have been quite wealthy to be able to afford such a burial. This is the first time that the sarcophagus has been shown and I was struck by how big it is. It’s not overly wide, but it did look really long.

In the accompanying film archaeologists, conservation experts and one of the curators talk us through the discovery, recovery, investigation and conservation of the sarcophagus. When it was discovered, the archaeologists could see that it was badly cracked so it wasn’t excavated onsite. Instead a wooden frame was constructed around it, holding it firmly together and allowing it to be lifted out of the ground by crane, still filled with earth that had accumulated in it, and taken to the lab to be excavated in more controlled conditions. The breaks int he stone are very visible, even after conservation.

In the lab the remains of the occupant and a few fragments of the grave goods were found, already disturbed by grave robbers. There’s no way to know all of the objects that the lady was buried with, but the few pieces that remain include an engraved intaglio, probably from a finger-ring, and a tiny fragment of gold, possibly the remains of an earring.

The object that I think amazed me the most was this:

It may not look like much at first, just a rough plank of wood. And so it is, but it has been reused as the base of a wooden coffin. Close inspection reveals some marks left on the wood. The imprints left by the body.

The marks left by the knees.

And by the ribs.

This, for me, was the object that really made me go “Wow!”. The dead really do leave a lasting impression.

The Roman Dead exhibition is at Museum of London Docklands until 28th October 2018 and it’s free to visit. Yes! Free!

 

 

The fat of the land

No, this post isn’t about the Prodigy, it’s about muck.

In 2017 a monstrous fiend was discovered lurking in the sewers beneath the streets of Whitechapel. The ghost of Jack the Ripper? No. The FATBERG *screams*

Sewers are good, and necessary, and help to reduce outbreaks of cholera in heavily populated areas like London. Sewers are also a bit smelly and dirty and full of things we never wanted to see again.

The term ‘fatberg’ was first used by London sewer workers to describe the accumulations of oil and grease and ‘stuff’ that build up in sewers, and which have to be cleared out regularly  in order to keep the channels flowing. It’s a real word now because it entered the Oxford English Dictionary in 2015 but in September 2017, the mother of all fatbergs was found in the Whitechapel sewer.

It was big. Weighing ~130 tonnes and stretching along the sewer for over 250 metres, so it had to go. The difficulty was its sheer mass and solidity. The usual method of removal is to blast it with jets of water to break it up, and then suck it out through pipes into tankers for disposal. Unfortunately, the Whitechapel Fatberg was, in places, so rock solid that blasting it with jets of water couldn’t break it up, so the only alternative was for the sewer workers to hack it to pieces with  picks and hand-shovels. Over the course of nine weeks, eight waste engineers, working nine hours a day rid the sewer of the fatberg.

The workers had to wear protective clothing and masks in order to avoid being poisoned by the toxic waste or infected with diseases, which can be breathed in or even absorbed into your system through your skin.

Even though they were only handling a small sample, the conservators at the Museum were also kitted out with similar protective gear. During the process of preservation mould grew on the samples and flies hatched out of them. The samples were x-rayed to see what was inside (and to check for hazards like sharps), then they were dried out, reducing the risk of contamination, and enclosed in three boxes, one inside another inside another. They are now displayed in sealed units.  That Fatberg bites.

And here it is.

I was initially (madly) expecting the chunks to be huge, sofa-sized pieces but, having seen what was involved in preserving them and the hazards they posed, I can see why that could never be.

So why on earth has such a piece of grimness ended up on display in a museum?

Well, the Whitechapel Fatberg’s ‘celebrity’ presented the Museum of London, and the ‘Curator of Fatberg!’, Vyki Sparkes,  with an opportunity to tell the story of something that is common and everyday in our city, as in all cities, waste. The enormous volume of waste generated by a big city is a constant problem that has to be monitored and managed but which we don’t all necessarily consider very often. Putting a piece of it in the museum that tells the story of London helps us to consider it. On display, we’re only seeing a tiny piece of a huge problem but it’s a way to have the conversation about how we can all help to reduce that problem, just a little bit.

We can all think about what we’re flushing down the loo. Flushable wet wipes may be marketed as easy to dispose of, but they don’t biodegrade so flushing them is just shifting the problem to somewhere else. The Fatberg, as it’s name suggests, is made up of a base of fat; oil, cooking fat and fats found in product such as hair conditioner. Some of this, at least, doesn’t have to end up down the drain. We can all make decisions about how we dispose of our waste and also make decisions about what we purchase and how that can help to reduce waste a bit.

You can read about the rationale and process for bringing the Fatberg to the museum on the museum’s own blog.

The good news is that the fat content of the fatberg is actually recyclable. It can be recycled and reused as biodiesel fuel, powering the buses. Other elements have been recycled to make fertilizer.

The Fatberg has just gone on display at The Museum of London and will be there to visit, for free, until the 1st July as part of the ‘City Now City Future’ season.

 

p.s. Is that a Double-Decker wrapper sticking out of the Fatberg?

 

Caught by the fuzz.

Another day, another London outing with pal Craig.

London is an interesting city, it’s not all bankers and luxury flats and Russian money laundering, you know. Talking of money laundering (and tenuous connections), our latest London day out included a visit to one of those off-the-beaten-track relatively little-known sites that London is so good at. Today it was the City of London Police Museum, a fairly new addition to the London museum-scape.

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Truncheon made by the Worshipful Company of Bakers, 1737.

Since 1839, the City of London Police force has been policing the Square Mile and that’s what this museum is about; the force itself. How it came into being, how it has developed, its methods, successes, setbacks, it’s role  in counter-terrorism, and in the financial frauds that have tainted the City. The exhibits are used as prompts to highlight how the cases were cracked using careful investigative method and science, and how the investigation of crime has developed, rather than going for sensation and gore.

That doesn’t mean that it’s boring though. There are installations; there’s a view into a police cell containing a rather huffy hologram of one of Jack the Ripper’s victims, Catherine Eddowes.

She was banged up for being flat out drunk in the street, and then later released and sent on her way, only to be murdered shortly afterwards. Whenever I see that there’s a Jack the Ripper display, I start to roll my eyes but, for once, in this display the victim is a person not just a prop in a gory story.  The display is actually fairly low key and looks at the police officer’s beat, the murder spot, and how the unfortunate Eddowes ended up where she ended up.

There is a larger display on The Houndsditch Murders of December 1910, and the associated Siege of Sydney Street in January 1911.

‘City policemen murdered by alien burglars’

Three officers were killed in the line of duty, and another two wounded while attempting to capture members of a Latvian gang who were robbing a jewellery shop in Houndsditch. After the robbery and murders, members of the gang were captured or killed but the last two suspected members were holed up in a house in Sydney Street, which was besieged by the police, and a shoot-out ensued. The building in which the miscreants were hiding then caught fire and, once the fire was damped down, the bodies of the two were found inside.  Some of these events were actually caught on film by Pathé news and the whole kerfuffle was immortalized in the 1934 film The Man Who Knew Too Much and again in 1960 in The Siege of Sydney Street.

In the museum there’s quite a lot about this case and they really reflect on evidence and detection techniques at the time. These small jars contain bullet fragments carefully collected and labelled as evidence and a replica of the murder weapon.

There are also mugshots of suspected gang members and an image of the ‘Wanted’ poster, which was printed up in Hebrew and Russian as well as English (Sydney street is in what was the Jewish East End).

The museum also contains a range of items and images to do with the history of terrorism in the City. Interestingly, and perhaps controversially, Suffragette action is included in this section. The point made is that the actions taken by Suffragettes could today fall under the modern definition of terrorism:

The unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political aims.

This innocent looking tin of Keen’s mustard is, in fact, a bomb!

And there are images of the destruction caused by IRA bombings in the City. I remember this stuff.

I loved the rather alarming display of weapons used by criminals, some improvised, including this crude but effective rock-in-a-sock.

Right at the end, as is so often the case in museums, there’s the opportunity to dress up. Craig, as always, obliged 😀

This is actually a really good little museum (it is actually really little, but packs a lot in). It’s also free to visit so go and have a look.

The City of London Police Museum can be found at The Guildhall. Go towards the Guildhall Library entrance on Aldermanbury and follow the arrows.

https://www.cityoflondon.police.uk/about-us/history/museum/Pages/default.aspx

Looking for Londoners: Working the Walbrook

Having to get a job.

If I was independently wealthy I wouldn’t have had to have gone to a job interview the day before yesterday but, things being as they are, I did have to go to a job interview the day before yesterday.

I blame my parents.

Anyway, after the interview I went off to meet my pal Craig for one of our, now pretty regular, weekly wanders. After doing a few others things, we ended up at the Museum of London. This is always a great place to pop in, see what’s new and have another little look at familiar things, and there’s currently a really good free exhibition of images of blitz-damaged London (http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/museum-london/whats-on/exhibitions/perspectives-of-destruction).

In the space dedicated to ‘Looking for Londoners’, there is also a free display of Roman hand tools, excavated from various sites along the Walbrook Valley, which I was very keen to get a look at.

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The Walbrook, one of London’s famous ‘Lost Rivers’ cut a north-south slash through London from Finsbury Circus to Canon Street and along its banks were workshops of all kinds. Leatherworkers, metalworkers, coopers, jewellers, carpenters and more all set up shop along the Walbrook and archaeologists excavating sites along its course have found the lost and discarded remnants of their trades.

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One thing to flag up straight away: check out the condition of these artefacts! Some of them are pristine. This superb preservation is the result of the waterlogged conditions of the sites. The thick wet mud lacks a crucial ingredient for decay and rust; air, so these anaerobic conditions slow down the normal processes by which objects deteriorate and, often, entirely disintegrate.

So let’s have a look.

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This fantastic looking implement is actually a double-ended scraper/brush tool, found at Bucklersbury House. To the left is a cutting/smoothing tool (think of a paint scraper or polyfiller knife), and to the right, a socket into which bristles would have been packed to create the brush. It’s exact use is unknown but it may have been used for applying gold leaf or for smoothing and painting small areas of wall plaster like this (below), found at St. Mary Axe (the Gerkin),

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Sometimes tools feature text; stamps giving a maker’s name as a form of advertising, stamps marking goods made by or for the Roman state, owner’s name, and so on.

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The stamp above is inscribed, in reverse, with ‘MPBR’, which has been interpreted as an abbreviation of Metalla Provinciae Britanniae: ‘the mines of the province of Britannia’, so may have been an official stamp to mark ingots of metal.

These two tools, a bradawl found at Moorgate Street and a chisel found at Bucklersbury House, have marks stamped into them.

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The chisel has been stamped with ‘MARTIA(L)’. Possibly the maker’s name.

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The, possible, maker’s mark on the bradawl hasn’t been punched very clearly and is illegible.

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Nevertheless, in these tools we see evidence of two layers of London’s industrial life. The stamps represent evidence for those making the tools, either locally or further afield, that other workers then used to make products for Londoners.

As well as the tools, there are are a few pieces of the products being made. This scrap of cut and printed (or maybe stencilled?) leather, found at Lower Thames Street, is the vamp of a slipper (the front and centre part of a shoe’s upper), decorated with a  gilded design.

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I was trying to work out what kind of shoe it might have been and it looks like it might have been part of a toe-post sandal, with the post held in place by the hoop at the top.

The display also contains a really unusual tool.

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I don’t think that I’ve seen one of these before but it’s actually a sort of saw, used in barrel- and bucket-making. It’s for cutting a groove around the inside of the bucket or barrel, into which the base would sit. It’s called a croze.*

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It’s unusual to find the wooden elements of barrels and buckets as, unless they are found in anaerobic conditions (they’re sometimes found in wells), these organic elements just rot away and disappear. This croze is clear evidence for the coopers who made the buckets and barrels needed in London, and the specialist tools used.

Lastly, there is this lovely, near complete pot from St Thomas St. Southwark.

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A close look at the neck of the pot reveals these details. The pot is decorated with tools of a trade; a smith’s hammer, anvil and tongs.

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The pot was found at the bottom of a timber-lined well and it’s not unusual to find objects deposited in wells as part of a ritual closure deposit. Perhaps the well belonged to the smithy and was ritually closed down when the smithy ceased trading, with an offering of thanks to the god Vulcan.

There are lots of other tools in the display. This is just a small selection. The Museum of London is free to visit so do go along and have a look.

This display was curated by Owen Humphreys (@Roman_Tools), PhD student, Museum of London & University of Reading.

http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/discover/roman-rubbish-reveals-lost-londinium

*UPDATE: Someone I used to work with just read his blog and then messaged me to say hat her Dad had one of those crozes, which his Dad, a blacksmith, had given him some time in the 1940s. Hand tools really haven’t changed in millennia.

Roman Counter Culture: Welcome to the Pleasuredome

I’ve just started working on the latest LAARC archiving project and I’m very excited about it. A new flexible working policy at my work has allowed me to escape the rat race one day a week and enter the seedy underbelly of Roman gambling dens (in my mind!).

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Anyway, this project follows on from the excellent Roman bone hairpins digitization  project, carried out as part of its wider Collections Online project. Now it’s Roman gaming equipment and (award winning) Glynn has drafted in MOLA’s small-finds specialist Michael Marshall to develop a set of protocols for us to use (thanks Michael 😀 ). I’m joining LAARC usually-suspects Guy and John for the next few weeks as guinea pigs on this pilot project, and we’re working on the range of, mainly, bone, ceramic and glass counters and dice held at the LAARC, all recovered from digs in London.

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We start off looking at the range of artefacts that exist for gaming; counters, different kinds of dice and dice shakers, gaming boards, knucklebones and others. Gaming in Roman London is especially well-represented by counters and dice but these wouldn’t all have been associated with ‘a sucker a minute’ gambling, there were also less exploitative pastimes like board games as well.

There artefacts raise a number of questions about Roman pastimes many of which fall under the general heading of “how were they actually used?” Here’s Michael’s example: you walk into a room and you see a board laid out on a table. The board is divided up into squares of equal size, coloured in alternating colours and on it are laid out, what appear to be, sets of gaming pieces. So far so good. But how do we know what game is actually represented by the board and pieces? The rules, tactics, variations? How do you win the game? What about changes to the game? Has it changed over time? Has it been standardised, have the rules and/or the gaming pieces become more formulaic?

There are also questions about the artefacts themselves. Questions such as, is it even a gaming counter? How do we know? Is it actually Roman? When is a stone not a stone?

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A stone counter, or a stone?

Now, this 8 week (one day a week) project can’t hope to answer all these questions but we can at least make a start on some of them and with more and more of the collections being made available online, some other clever people might be able to work out some of the answers too.

So after spending much of the morning discussion tactics, we made a start on digitising and creating records for individual artefacts. We started on counters because dice seemed like too much of a leap into the unknown (I’ll explain why later…much later).

P1270727Home from home.

Now although we had Michaels’ protocols, the infinite nuances in each piece still resulted in a great deal of discussion of which edge type was represented, how to describe irregularities, chamfered-v-bevelled, top, bottom, front, back, obverse, reverse aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh :/ and that’s before we even get onto the fiendishness of actually scanning the objects. We suffered from a lot of light pollution on the scanners which necessitated some creative solutions involving black plastazote. We were scanning the top/front – the obverse and the back/bottom – the reverse so there was also the knotty problem of which way to flip. I bet you never even knew such problems existed.

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Some counters look like this (above)

It’s worth the effort though, as they come out really well. Below is, more or less, how they’ll look online (the final image doesn’t have the grid-lines on it and it shows both faces, rather than just the obverse, but you can see how well the actual image comes out).

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We also discussed, at length, the utter fiendishness of dice. I’m not going to go into all of the hideous complications here, as it will just upset you (and me), but when we start on the digitization of these tricky little characters, I’ll  try to explain it. Suffice it to say, they have 6 faces. 6 😯

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More next time.

Weapons of mass distraction: ballistics, beaches and badges

Regular readers (are there any regular readers?) may already be familiar with a archiving project that I worked on over the winter.

In 1986, The Royal Armouries carried out an excavation on the Thames foreshore in front of The Tower of London.

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They were looking for evidence of the Armouries’ workshops, but information about this dig, or what they found, has never been commonly available to the public. This is the archive material that I and my fellow-volunteers were working on.

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Last weekend Kathleen, the Curatorial Assistant who set up the project, and me and fellow-volunteer Guy took some of this archive material out and about as part of the annual Tower Open Foreshore weekend. This is one of the only opportunities for people to get down onto the foreshore at The Tower of London, and it’s very popular indeed.

In the 1930s, this section of foreshore was turned into a beach for the use of local children, complete with deckchairs, buckets and spades, rowing boats and all the entertainments you’d expect to find at a seaside resort.

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The beach closed during the war, but it was very popular indeed during the 1950s and we occasionally meet visitors who can remember playing there as children. Gradual decline and concerns over pollution in the Thames, lead to the closure of the beach in 1971 and these days access is restricted to special open days.

So Guy, Kathleen and I joined other groups including Historic Royal Palaces, the City of London Archaeological Society (COLAS), Thames Discovery Programme (TDP) and Thames 21 to delight the summer masses on the embankment and the foreshore.

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(nb. these photos were taken first thing on Saturday, before the masses arrived, hence the lack of masses)

We had a selection of objects from the dig alongside a selection from the handling collection which visitors could handle, feel the weight of and generally get to grips with. These included pieces of flintlock mechanism (people loved the term ‘gun furniture’), bayonet tips, a pike head, some examples of shot including a small canonball.

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We also had a couple of special little pieces which you might have seen on the blog before:

This fragment of a Christ in Passion pilgrim badge

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and this lovely medieval copper-alloy book clasp

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It’s also traditional to have an activity. These are often aimed at children (although we all know that the adults like to join in too) but when setting this up, Kathleen had been trying to think of an Armouries-related children’s activity that didn’t involve arming small children and having them run amok. That sort of thing is rightly frowned upon.  Hmm.

During the dig, there were several examples of badges and insignia found; pilgrim badges, railway badges and buttons, Royal Armouries insignia and so on, so we invited our visitors to make a badge of their own, either drawing on Royal Armouries examples for inspiration, or designing their own.

Badge number 1 went to Guy…

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…who, true to form, chose to display his allegiance to the Gunners. How apt!

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And he wasn’t the only one. Archaeologists just cannot resist a badge. This one was made by another Guy (not the Guy above)

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Alongside the artefacts, we also had some of the records, including a selection of site photographs, and these also proved a hit, especially with those of a particularly archaeological bent.

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A number of people (people who are generally very aware of archaeological activity in London)  remarked that they had no idea that a dig had ever been carried out on the foreshore here, and one TDP pal of mine had a small fit and did the monkey dance when he saw the photos, as he has been trying to work out levels and rates of erosion on the Tower foreshore and these records provide hard evidence.

This was a chance for us to highlight The Royal Armouries and the, often overlooked, role of archaeology in the collection. The response to the appearance of these artefacts and records demonstrates the value of the projects like this one, opening up those cupboard doors and enabling access, for the first time, to these unknown and unseen archives.

All the stands had a similarly fruitful day and we were told that there were about 990 visitors to the event as a whole on the Saturday and 1100 on the Sunday, so these are really good numbers (we did try to count how many people visited our stand, but we kept losing count, especially when we were swamped by crowds!). The queue for the foreshore was enormous.

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And we did also get to see a few of the artefacts picked up on the foreshore during the weekend. These are particularly appropriate:

two world war 1 shells

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a gun flint, as used in all those flintlock mechanisms we’ve been talking about.

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I’ve also just found out that there will be another chance to visit the foreshore in September, during the Thames Festival. Don’t miss it.