Byways in British Archaeology

It will be inferred that Mr Hayes’s theory makes the sacrificial use of the circles subsidiary to a primary astronomical and judicial purpose. Yet he takes note that the old Irish name for a cromlech—the accepted term among modern writers for a “stone-ring”—was siorcal leacht, or “circle-stone-of-death.” In old Irish manuscripts such circles are always associated with pagan priests or druids. The sepulchral aspect of stone-circles, however, seems to be largely ignored by the modern school of investigators.

Mr Hayes lays stress upon a singular fact, the true explanation of which has long been an enigma—the frequent occurrence of a definite number of pillars in the stone-ring. Nine is not an uncommon number in England, though it is recorded from Ireland and Germany. (The stones of the Nine Maidens, near St Columb Major, in Cornwall, form a row, not a circle.) The cromlechs of Boscawen-ûn and the Dawns Mên, in Cornwall, of Whitemoorstone Down, Dartmoor, as well as the inner “horseshoe” at Stonehenge, have nineteen uprights. Thirty, again, is the tale of some circles, as in the outer ring of sarsens at Stonehenge. The group of nine is puzzling, but the arrangement of nineteen is held to represent the metonic, Indian, or lunar cycle of the astronomers. After the lapse of nineteen years, the sun and moon occupy relatively the same positions as at the commencement of the cycle, so that full moon and new moon recur on the same days of the months as before. Whether this astronomical explanation of the number nineteen can be proved or not, one curious feature deserves notice. The circles which show nineteen stones have a gap towards the East, and no explorations have hitherto brought a twentieth stone to light.

It further appears that the old Gorsedd circles (p. 98 supra) consisted of twelve stones, set 30° apart, and said to represent the twelve signs of the Zodiac. The circles reared at the annual Eisteddfod by the neo-Druidic cult are arranged similarly. Besides the twelve pillars, three outstanding menhirs were fixed at the North-East, East, and South-East respectively so that the sun’s rays at the solstices, or the equinoxes, as might be, fell on the central stone, or “chair” within the circle. And, by a strange coincidence—or is it due to imitation?—another plan of the Gorsedd circle, as preserved in ancient manuscripts, gives nineteen stones, with a gap towards the East. In this case, eight outstanding pillars were erected, so as to indicate, by shadows or rays, (1) the summer and winter solstices, (2) the old May-December agricultural year, (3) the equinoxes, and, possibly, (4) other solar and lunar periods.

The weakness in the foregoing theories seems to lie in the assumption, up to the present unproved, that the primary purpose of the cromlechs was to serve as places of assembly. True, the convocations are supposed to have been hedged with much ceremony, to which the stones were accessory. But, dealing with circles, are we not liable to argue in a circle? Until the prime purpose of the cromlechs is ascertained, the student is forced back like the turnspit in Hudibras:

Were the stone-rings first erected for worship, and did the later conveners of Gorseddau, retaining faint memories of ancient usages, cling to the traditional system of orientation and astronomical measurement? Or were the cromlechs primarily intended for open-air meetings, which were afterwards invested by the priests with a religious character? Or, again, were the circles first of all astronomical, and the assemblies, features of later times? Minor theories may be neglected, although, in the present condition of the evidence, even these might claim recognition.

Setting aside the modern Druidical ceremonies, as having a parentage no older than the sixteenth or seventeenth century, there remain the more ancient Gorseddau. The evidence regarding these, for the past 1500 years, notably with respect to the practice of orientation and the use of “pointers” to indicate the seasons, is weighty, and cannot be ignored by the impartial student. But the grand difficulty remains. We cannot yet bridge over the interval between oral tradition and written history, between the builders of the Bronze and Early Iron Ages and the bards of the Arthurian period. It is quite possible that folk-memory was effective during that dim period, but it is equally possible that the cromlechs became gradually diverted from their original purpose, whether sepulchral, astronomical, or other. This diversion would be a natural process when the functions of priest and lawgiver became more differentiated. The religious ceremonies which accompanied legislative and judicial meetings would tend to conceal the change which had occurred.

Sir Norman Lockyer considers the whole question of Gorsedd circles so important, that, in the second edition of his work (1909), he has devoted a special chapter to the subject. Should it be finally established, beyond cavil, that Gorsedd circles have been frequently erected throughout the period which extends from the fifth century of our era until the present day, there will be a fair claim for continuity, if not of function, yet of habit, from prehistoric times. But there will also arise a grave suspicion whether some of the cromlechs, hitherto ascribed to prehistoric peoples, may not, after all, be the more permanent Gorsedd circles of a later date. We cannot forget the misleading stone-circle set up at Pontypridd no farther back than fifty years ago, by the “Arch-Druid” of that time, Myfyr Morganwg (or Myvyr Morgannwg); nor the sham “Druidic structure,” raised in the neighbourhood of Pateley Bridge, in Yorkshire, about thirty years previously.

Having uttered these objections, and having implied the necessity of slow-moving circumspection, one cannot think that the boundary of knowledge has yet been reached. Frequently, excavations reveal little more evidence than was already suspected after critical external examination. If then the archaeologist and the astronomer can find agreement in common premisses, the theodolite may indeed help the spade and atone for its limitations. While feeling persuaded that our megalithic monuments were never alined with such nicety that the orientation can be expressed in seconds, one can still understand that they may have been set out with greater accuracy than is commonly supposed. When we recollect, too, that many of our megaliths had at first probably a sepulchral purpose, we shall see no sufficient reason why they should not have been planned, at any rate, as skilfully as funeral earthworks.

The Rev. J. Griffith, indeed, carries the orientation theory further, and applies it to primitive earthworks of a general character—those which are popularly known as camps and forts. Speaking of Burrington Camp, Somerset, he claims that its Southern bank is oriented to the equinox, and that another bank corresponds both to the sunset line at the summer solstice, and to sunrise at the winter solstice. He adds that the star alinement of this earthwork has been “worked out” by Sir Norman Lockyer to Arcturus. Castle Dyke, near Aysgarth, Yorkshire, gives indications of an alinement either to Alpha Centauri or to Capella[635].

These much-canvassed theories have led us away from our highroad, yet the digression was really slight, seeing that many of our megaliths mark the position of early burial-places. It is not asserted that all our ancient stone monuments are of this character, but some, at least, of those which are claimed as “temples,” were primarily graves; hence they come under our survey. Here, too, it seems fitting to notice another matter, dependent to some extent on the orientation of graves, and illustrative of the persistency of unconscious folk-memory.

The modern sexton, having filled up the grave, banks up the surplus soil in the form of a long, neatly-finished mound. Is there any obvious reason why he should do this, instead of spreading out the remaining earth until all is level? The explanation of positive necessity is not admissible: I have noticed one churchyard in which mounds are not raised, just as, in two or three other instances, all the tombstones are laid in a horizontal position. The popular belief, if it is found to exist, ascribes the mound to an economical cause—the advantage of banking up some soil to prevent the shallow depression which is the after result of subsidence. But this does not account for the oblong mound with curved ends—a shape which does not altogether correspond with that of the pit which is being closed. Nor does it explain the careful turfing-over which sometimes follows, nor the masonry or coped tombstone which is frequently designed to preserve the accepted form of the mound.

The only satisfactory answer to the question, so far as competent authorities have yet discovered, is that the modern grave-mound is the shrunken representative of the long barrow, the features having been retained because of the inertia of social custom, and because inveterate imitation is easier than new experiment. It is noteworthy that the modern mound is often so large as to be unsightly. The size is especially increased in places where, as in the little Huguenot burying ground at Wandsworth, the pile is surmounted by a “box” tomb of brick or stone. (These mounds are not, however, comparable in size to that of Chislehurst, p. 76 supra.) To the late Mr Grant Allen belongs, I believe, the chief credit for the barrow theory, the conclusion having been forced upon him by long study of the comparative burial customs of primitive folk[636]. Thomas Wright had earlier classed the Saxon barrow as the prototype of the modern grave-mound; and, in the eighteenth century, Hearne had remarked, concerning tumuli and churchyards: “But now the straitness of [churchyards] will not permit such aggeres consecratos, as some terme them, to be made there.”

The proposed interpretation involves the assumption that the practice of barrow-burial, in the sense of raising a tumulus of some kind over the dead, has never completely died out in our country. Link by link, as we pass onwards from the Neolithic period, through the Bronze and Iron Ages, and include the Romans, Saxons, and Danes in our survey, we discover that this claim can be made good. The chief difference between the ancient practice and that of our own day lies in the fact that mound-burial is now almost universal, at least throughout our country, while in former ages it was not quite so general. One may hazard the opinion that mound-burial may have been markedly the exception in prehistoric times. The great ones of the land were truly laid under these earthen monuments, but in what manner the great masses of the poorer folk were buried we may never know. Perhaps these humbler members of the community were interred in much the same way as nearly the whole of the present population may expect to be interred; that is, a hole was dug in the ground, and perhaps a tiny tumulus was heaped above the buried corpse. But the mound was not always raised, especially when cremation came into fashion. The question need not be here complicated by a consideration of the evolution of the coffin, since some remarks will be made on this subject later. An instance or two will tend to confirm the opinion just expressed. Dr T. Rice Holmes has collected numerous records to show that there were moundless graves during the Bronze Age[637].

Such graves were dug in caverns, or sunk on the chalk downs, or in other soils near a settlement. Doubtless, other examples remain yet to be discovered. The reader will, however, note that, except in the case of caves, the original absence of a mound cannot always be absolutely proven; the forces of Nature, aided by the plough, may have obliterated the external signs of burial. During the Early Iron Age, mounds appear to have been even less general than in the preceding period. Thus, several pit-burials have been recorded from Hagbourne Hill, near Didcot, Berkshire[638], and from the celebrated “urn-field” at Aylesford, Kent, which dates from c. B.C. 50[639]. For the intervening Roman period, there is no need to cite examples, since they abound, and of the Anglo-Saxon burials, it may be sufficient to state that in various localities (Cambridge, Northampton, Gloucester, Wiltshire), groups of graves have been found in such close proximity that the tumuli, if they ever existed, must have been of small dimensions[640].

All through these centuries, nevertheless, barrow-burial had persisted. Nay, more, the barrows were often collected in groups, representing the prototypes of our modern cemeteries. The classic example of such clusters is seen in the barrows around Stonehenge; within a circuit of three miles it is said that there are about three hundred barrows[641]. Another illuminating record is that of the collection of barrows known as the Danes’ Graves, near Kilham, on the Wolds of Yorkshire. Not fewer than 500 graves once existed here, “massed together as in a modern churchyard, not isolated as in the Bronze period[642].” Mr J. R. Mortimer found that the burial-mounds of East Yorkshire fell readily into clusters, some of which contained so many as thirty or more individual barrows. From Mr Mortimer’s conclusion that the ground-plans of these groups agree with the outlines of certain of the heavenly constellations, notably with that of Charles’s Wain, we must, however, withhold assent. The Stonehenge barrows are grouped, not actually “massed.” Other groups of tumuli might be given; we will merely mention those interesting cases where one or two large barrows are connected with collections of tiny mounds; the smaller ones, perhaps, representing the resting-place of the poorer tribesmen[643]. It would be safe to assert that most of the small barrows have ere now been long levelled down. Of the larger mounds not a tithe of the original number remains.

The clusters of barrows, one may consider, led indirectly to the Christian cemeteries. At first, as stated in a sermon by St Chrysostom (A.D. 403), the Christian communities had their cemeteries outside the walls of cities[644]. Interment in churchyards was not a primitive practice, and was prohibited by the decrees of early church councils. The custom gradually crept into use about the sixth century[645], the innovation appearing first in connection with monastic settlements. By the time of St Cuthbert (c. A.D. 742) the practice was becoming well known, the bones of pious men and martyrs being actually admitted within the building itself[646]. To such an extent did the practice grow, that the floors of churches often became too uneven for walking over. As a parenthesis, we note that the early ban against churchyard burial must not be interpreted as contradicting the probability of the building of churches near older Christian cemeteries.

Scandinavia was apparently in a state of transition from barrow burial to small-mound burial at a later date, namely, during the Viking Age (A.D. 700-1000). At that period it became the habit to make low barrows for the poorer folk, the “warrior houes” being reserved for the families of powerful chieftains[647]. And one cannot doubt that the collaterals of the Scandinavians—the Anglo-Saxons—developed their burial customs along similar lines. In addition, it must be remembered that these latter peoples, when settled in England, had a marked predilection for burial in the older and larger barrows which they found already in existence. Such “secondary burials” are familiar to the archaeologist, and are discriminated by the level and posture of the skeletons, as well as by the associated objects. When the conversion of the people to Christianity became more general, such practices were discountenanced. Down to the eighth century, however, it was usual to bury the illegitimate offspring of nuns and others in these older mounds.

The Capitularies of Charlemagne (A.D. 789) order the burial of Christians in cemeteries, and expressly forbid the pagan practice of barrow-burial: “Jubemus, ut corpora Christianorum Saxonum ad coemiteria [al. coemeteria] Ecclesiae deferantur, et non ad tumulos paganorum[648].” The burial-ground soon became known in Germany as “Gottes-acker” (God’s Acre). This change, too, completed the break between cremation and simple burial of the corpse. Orientation of graves now became a fixed rule. Keysler suggests, and his view has since been largely upheld, that the transfer of custom was due to the doctrine of the Resurrection, as epitomized in I Cor. xv. 5 et seqq. and St John xii. 24[649]. In other words, the new religion discouraged cremation, and enjoined simple earth burial, thus curiously reviving the primitive habit (cf. p. 264 infra).

If we desire, to-day, to see folk who represent the transitional stage of culture which connects the large tumulus with the smaller and more insignificant mound, we may visit the natives of the Pandsh valley, in the district of the Pamirs. Recently it has been discovered by Olufsen that these “equine-faced” folk raise a burial-mound over the dead, and surround it by high stones or a clay wall, according to the social standing, riches, or holiness of the deceased man[650]. The distinctions of rank have ever been preserved by the tomb, in spite of proverbial wisdom.

Reverting to the “mould’ring heap” of which Gray sings in his Elegy, it may fairly be asked why the mound should be long and not round. A decisive answer cannot be tendered. It is worth considering, nevertheless, whether this shape does not represent a “throw-back” to Neolithic custom. The round barrows which fell under the Christian ban enclosed the relics of burnt or partially burnt bodies. The long barrows, which, with some possible exceptions[651], are believed to be of earlier date, were raised over corpses which had not been cremated. Now, if it be true, as Mr Grant Allen supposed, that the shape of the circular tumulus was determined by the cinerary urn around which it was piled, while the form of the long barrow depended on the subjacent chambered tomb—the underground home or palace of the dead person[652]—we begin to see a glimmer of light. For the subterranean chamber, being intended to hold an uncremated corpse, would be roughly adapted to the form of the human body. In like manner, when inhumation was again enforced, there would be an unconscious return to the use of the long mound. As if to show once more that no rule is of universal application, certain exceptions must be recorded. In some village churchyards, a few round mounds are interspersed with the long ones. Occasionally, the round mounds may be explained by the division of a long mound caused by the tread of careless feet, repeated throughout several generations. That this is not always the reason, is plain to the observant eye.

Do these mounds represent the graves of children, or of unbaptized infants? On the Sussex coast, the graves of drowned sailors are said to be thus distinguished. Once again, why should it be customary, as in some churchyards of Dorsetshire and the Isle of Wight, to make the long mounds of unusual size?

A fact of some little interest, though it has no scientific bearing on our theme, is that the late Professor Tyndall’s grave, in Haslemere churchyard, Surrey, is a round tumulus, clad with bracken and heather. The memorial took this unpretentious form in accordance with the expressed wish of the philosopher himself. Through the kindness of Miss Truda Hutchinson, I am enabled to give an illustration (Fig. 51) of the mound. For the purpose of comparison, a round barrow situated at Henley-on-Thames is shown (Fig. 52).

We have seen that orientation, as we know it, was not strictly observed in the burials of prehistoric folk, while, in our day, it is all but universal. Contrariwise, what was originally a common feature—the placing of the corpse in a crouched or sitting posture—is now decidedly exceptional, being restricted to the

burials of very eccentric or very pious persons[653]. Interment in an upright position has not, however, been of infrequent occurrence. Ben Jonson was so buried at Westminster. The case of the Hobarts, who are buried in a brickwork vault at Blickling, Norfolk, is also often cited. The vertical position was formerly adopted for the interment of captains in the army[654]. The body of Clement Spelman, Recorder of Nottingham, was immured (A.D. 1679) in a pillar in Narburgh church[655]. Many other curious vagaries of custom might be given; one or two instances must suffice. Surrey folk are familiar with Leith Hill Tower, under which lie the remains of Mr Richard Hull, who died in 1772, and whose peculiar opinions led him to stipulate burial in this elevated region[656]. In another instance, a corpse was buried within a flint pyramid at the top of a fir-clad hill near Great Missenden, in Buckinghamshire. A chapter might easily be filled with such particulars, but enough has been said to show that, amid all these eccentricities of habit, there is often an unwitting reversion to primitive methods. The similarities have been revealed only by the labours of the barrow-digger and the antiquary. Not only has the practice of orientation been found to have a very ancient descent, but many quaint usages, ofttimes deemed abnormal, have proved to be genuine survivals. In the next chapter some of these survivals will be considered. Not a little pathos is associated with our knowledge of these details.

Bones which had “quietly rested under the drums and tramplings of three conquests,” have been unromantically disturbed by the busy archaeologist, and compelled to yield their secret. One cannot withhold sympathy from the investigator who had obtained permission to open a certain barrow, but who pondered and procrastinated, viewing, with indulgent eye, the even outline of the grassy mound. Day by day his pity for the sleeping warrior increased, and he hesitated to thrust his spade into the wind-swept turf, until the opportunity for work had slipped away. One admires the spirit, yet to widen the limits of knowledge that spirit has to be sadly, though judiciously, corrected.