Narrating the house. The transformation of longhouses in early Neolithic Europe.

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Memory, Myth and Long-term Landscape Inhabitation

edited by

Adrian M. Chadwick and Catriona D. Gibson

ISBN: 9781782973935

© OXBOW BOOKSwww.oxbowbooks.com

An Offprint of

CONTENTS

List of contributors vii

Foreword – spacing time and timing space Richard Bradley xi

1. “Do you remember the first time?”A preamble through memory, myth and place Adrian M. Chadwick and Catriona D. Gibson 1

2. Narrating the house. The transformation of longhouses in early Neolithic Europe Daniela Hofmann 32

3. Memory, myth, place and landscape inhabitation: a perspective from the south-west peninsula Andy M. Jones 55

4. Mounds, memories and myths: ancient monuments and place in the Leicestershire landscape John Thomas 76 5. Out of time but not out of place. Tempo, rhythm and dynamics of inhabitation in southern England Catriona D. Gibson 99

6. Landesque Capital and the development of the British uplands in later prehistory: investigating the accretion of cairns, cairnfields, memories and myths in ancient agricultural landscapes Andrew W. Hoaen and Helen L. Loney 124

7. Re-building memory, identity and place: the long term re-use of prehistoric settlements on the Isles of Scilly Gary Robinson 146

8. The significance of goats and chickens? Iron Age and Roman faunal assemblages, depositional practices and memory work at Wattle Syke, West Yorkshire Adrian M. Chadwick, Louise Martin and Jane Richardson 165

9. Telling tales? Myth, memory, and Crickley Hill Kirsten Jarrett 189

10. The MTV generations: remixing the past in prehistory – or forgetting to change old habits Gareth Chaffey and Alistair Barclay 208

11. ‘Landscape is time materialising’: a study of embodied experience and memory in Egypt’s Eastern Desert Anna Garnett 226

12. Moving through memories: site distribution, performance and practice in rural Etruria Lucy Shipley 240

13. Castelo Velho and Prazo (Vila Nova de Foz Côa, Portugal): the oral tradition

Alexandra Vieira 258

14. Land, myth and language: the preservation of social memories Mara Vejby and Jocelyn Ahlers 276

15. ‘Memories can’t wait’ – creating histories, materialising memories and making myths in Iron Age and Romano-British landscapes Adrian M. Chadwick 291

16. Granny’s old sheep bones and other stories from the Melton landscape Chris Fenton-Thomas 315

Index 334

Cover images

Front cover, upper image. Bronze Age roundhouse at Merrivale, Dartmoor, with medieval, post-medieval and modern boundaries, buildings and quarrying also visible – re-use, slighting, memories and forgetting on a landscape scale. (Source: A.M. Chadwick).

Front cover, lower image. Early Bronze Age two-phase double or bi-lobate barrow with later inserted burials, Old Sarum, Wiltshire. (Source: © Wessex Archaeology and C. Gormley of Sky-Mast UK, courtesy of Persimmon Homes).

Rear cover. Series of intercutting or juxtaposed Bronze Age, Iron Age, Romano-British and Saxon ditches and pits, Springhead, Kent – where memories and practice also intersected. (Source: © Wessex Archaeology and Aerial-Cam, courtesy of Countryside Properties and Land Securities plc.).

Cover design by Adrian M. Chadwick.

List of contributors

Jocelyn Ahlers is Associate Professor of Linguistics at California State University, San Marcos, and is a linguistic anthropologist specialising in the documentation and revitalisation of Native Californian languages. For the last sixteen years, Ahlers has worked with a number of tribes in California, including the Hupa, the Elem Pomo, and the Kawaiisu, in revitalisation and documentation projects. She has also worked with a number of state wide organisations such as the Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival and the California Indian Museum and Cultural Centre. Her collaborations with tribes have resulted in the development of teaching grammars, a semantic dictionary and language teaching materials. She has also helped to lead a number of language camps and has been involved in training language teachers and learners, under the auspices of the Master-Apprentice Language Learning Program and the Breath of Life, Silent No More Language Restoration Workshop. Ahlers’ recent research has focused on the role of Native California languages as semiotic resources in the performance of multiple and overlapping identities among Native Californians, and her published work includes a consideration of the role of non-fluent language use in public identity work, as well as an examination of conflicting interpretations of gendered language use in the context of language revitalisation. She is currently editing a special edition of the journal Language and Gender focusing on this issue. E-mail: [email protected]

Alistair Barclay is a Senior Post-excavation Manager for Wessex Archaeology, and has been involved in the writing of publication reports for over 20 years, where he has produced papers and articles on prehistoric monuments and pottery. A former Head of Publications at Oxford Archaeology, he has a PhD from the University of Reading, an interest in prehistoric chronology and is currently involved with the Cardiff University/English

Heritage ‘Times of their Lives’project, working as part of a team with Alasdair Whittle and Alex Bayliss. E-mail: [email protected].

Adrian M. Chadwick is a Research Associate at the University of Leicester, part of ‘The Deposition of Metalwork in the Roman World’ project. For over 20 years he has worked for British commercial archaeological units, most recently as Senior Project Officer for AC Archaeology. Graduating from Sheffield University in 1990, he has also worked on research projects in France, Germany, Iceland, Lebanon and Turkey. In 1999 he completed a part-time MA in Landscape Archaeology at Sheffield, and a part-time PhDat the University of Wales, Newport, where from 2000-2005 he was a Lecturer in Archaeology – he has also been a part-time lecturer at the Universities of Bristol and Sheffield. His thesis focused on Iron Age and Romano-British field systems and rural settlement, and his research interests include landscape archaeology, later prehistoric and Roman Britain, field systems, human-animal relations, and archaeological theory and practice. He previously edited Stories from the Landscape: Archaeologies of Inhabitation (2004), and Recent Approaches to the Archaeology of Land Allotment (2008). E-mail: [email protected]

Gareth Chaffey is a Senior Archaeologist for Wessex Archaeology. After graduating from University of Wales, Lampeter in 2000, he has worked almost solely for Wessex Archaeology, as well as several seasons of fieldwork with the Çatalhöyük Research Project. For the last six years he has been associated with the ongoing excavations at Kingsmead Quarry, Horton, Berkshire, from running the fieldwork through to being lead author on publication texts. As a result, his research interests centre on the development of the Middle Thames Valley, particularly within the Bronze Age. E-mail: [email protected]

Chris Fenton-Thomas worked for On-Site Archaeology, excavating and publishing Neolithic houses at Sewerby Cottage Farm, Bridlington before directing and writing up the Melton excavations between 2004 and 2010. This was also where he met his wife, Claire. His PhD was with Andrew Fleming and Mark Edmonds at the University of Sheffield, and was a long-term landscape history of the Yorkshire Wolds, subsequently published by Tempus as The Forgotten Landscapes of the Yorkshire Wolds (2005). He has also worked for Trinity College Carmarthen, Dyfed Archaeological Trust, the Open University and the University of Hull. After 20 years engaged with landscape archaeology, Chris moved to pastures new to south-east Bulgaria in 2010, where he and Claire now run a smallholding and eco-guest house in a small Bulgarian village. They grow vines and rear pigs to make their own wine and sausages. E-mail: [email protected]

Anna Garnett is currently a Curatorial Trainee in Egyptology in the Department of Ancient Egypt and Sudan at the British Museum and Manchester Museum, as part of the HLF-funded Future Curators programme. She is also a doctoral student in Egyptology at the University of Liverpool, where she graduated with a BA (Hons) in Egyptian Archaeology in 2007 and an MA in Egyptology in 2008. Her doctoral thesis focuses on constructed space and religious expression in Egypt’s Eastern Desert during the New Kingdom (1550-1069 BC). During the course of her academic career she has undertaken archaeological fieldwork in the UK, Egypt and Sudan, focusing on the analysis of pottery, particularly from New Kingdom settlement sites. Anna also co-designed a touring exhibition of Egyptian objects and archaeological archive material from the excavations of the British Egyptologist John Garstang as part of an MLA-funded ‘Effective Collections’ project from 2009-2010. Her research interests include New Kingdom architecture and royal statuary programmes, the development of Egyptian ceramics during the 18th and 19th Dynasties (1550-1189 BC), and the archaeology and social history of Cumbria. E-mail: [email protected]

Catriona D. Gibson is a part-time commercial archaeologist, and part-time Research Fellow at the

University of Wales, where she is involved with the ‘Atlantic Europe and the Metal Ages Project’ (AEMAP). Since graduating from Edinburgh University, she has spent over 20 years in archaeology, working for many commercial units in Britain, but predominantly for Wessex Archaeology. She has excavated extensively in Britain and abroad (France, Portugal, Cyprus, Turkey, Jordan and Egypt), including co-directing excavations at the Chalcolithic West Mound of Çatalhöyük in Turkey with Jonathan Last. Her PhD at Reading University focused on the later Bronze Age of western Iberia, and her research interests include exploring evidence for long distance interaction throughout Atlantic Europe during later prehistory, and building further links between academic and commercial archaeological sectors. She is currently finalising the publication for the West Mound excavations and completing work on a book on Chalcolithic and Bronze Age Atlantic Europe. E-mail: [email protected]

Andrew W. Hoaen has a BSc in Archaeological Sciences from the University of Bradford, and a PhD in Archaeology from the Department of Archaeology at the University of Edinburgh. He has a long standing interest in the later prehistory and Roman periods of uplands. He currently teaches at the University of Worcester. E-mail: [email protected]

Daniela Hofmann is currently a Lecturer at the University of Hamburg. She has previously researched and taught at the Centre for Lifelong Learning and the School of History and Archaeology, Cardiff University, from where she also obtained her PhD on the Neolithic of Lower Bavaria in 2006. Recently, she held a Leverhulme Early Careers Fellowship at Oxford University to write a monograph on the Linearbandkeramik culture. Her research focuses on the Neolithic of central Europe; in particular, she studies past bodies and the representation of identity in funerary rites, Neolithic art, domestic architecture and the routines of daily life. E-mail: [email protected]

Kirsten Jarrett is a freelance archaeological researcher and educator, currently undertaking post-excavation analysis on the late pre-Roman Iron Age to early medieval period material from Crickley Hill, Gloucestershire,

writing-up volume 6 in the series of reports on the site. She has taught part-time courses for the Continuing Education Departments of the University of Nottingham, Keele University, and University of Oxford, and for the WEA. After graduating from the University of Nottingham’s Department of Archaeology in 1997, and completing an MA in Archaeological Research in the same department in 1999, she went on to undertake a part-time PhD in the Department of Archaeology at the University of Sheffield, which was awarded in 2010. Her thesis examined ethnic, regional and local identity in south-west Britain from the late Iron Age to the early middle Ages; and her research interests include Roman and early medieval south-west Britain, and domestic archaeology and social identity in early 20th century Britain. E-mail: [email protected]

Andy M. Jones is Archaeologist Team Leader with the Historic Environment Projects Team, Cornwall Council. He graduated from Sheffield University’s Department of Archaeology and Prehistory in 1991. After graduation, he worked for a number of contracting units, and went on to undertake a part-time PhD at the University of Exeter, which was completed in 2005. This focused on the Earlier Bronze Age ceremonial monuments and barrow complexes in Cornwall and south west Britain. His research interests include the Neolithic, Bronze Age periods, as well as the archaeology of the uplands and coastal areas of western Britain. He is also interested in the regional variation between communities in prehistory. He recently co-edited a volume with Graeme Kirkham entitled Beyond the Core: Regionality in British Prehistory (2011), and published the results of large-scale excavation with Sean Taylor in a volume called Scarcewater, Pennance, Cornwall: Archaeological Excavation of a Bronze Age and Roman Landscape (2010). E-mail: [email protected]

Helen L. Loney is a Lecturer in Archaeology at the University of Worcester, and collaborates with Andrew Hoaen on the Matterdale Archaeological Project, as well as pursuing a long standing interest in the development of western Mediterranean pottery production and organization. E-mail: [email protected]

Louise Martin is a Project Manager at Archaeological Services WYAS, where she has worked since graduating from the University of Bradford in 1996. As the most senior member of the excavation team, Louise is responsible for the initiation and management of archaeological fieldwork projects from conception to publication. She has directed and managed a wide range of archaeological fieldwork projects, including the year-long, multi-phase landscape excavation at Ferrybridge, West Yorkshire. Her recent publications include contributions to a volume on the extensive Iron Age and Roman ‘washing-line’ settlement at Wattle Syke near Wetherby. She is also responsible for the outreach and community projects undertaken by Archaeological Services WYAS. E-mail: [email protected]

Jane Richardson was awarded a PhD in faunal analysis from the University of Sheffield in 1997 before joining Archaeological Services WYAS, where she is currently a Senior Project Manager. Here Jane specialises in post-excavation project management and has produced numerous faunal reports, desk-based assessments and excavation reports for clients and for publication. Recent publications include the extensive Iron Age and Roman ‘washing-line’ settlement near Wetherby with Ian Roberts and Louise Martin, excavations in advance of the construction of the Langeled Gas Receiving Facilities at Easington in Holderness for Yorkshire Archaeological Journal and a Bronze Age burial at Stanbury for Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society with Blaise Vyner. A paper on the excavation of deeply stratified deposits from a Roman well with Hilary Cool will be published by Britannia in 2013. E-mail: [email protected]

Gary Robinson is a prehistorian specialising in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages of Britain and Ireland, and he has a key interest in the archaeology of seascapes in western Britain. Since 2005 he has lectured in archaeology at Bangor University. He is currently directing a multi disciplinary research project exploring the prehistory of the Glaslyn Estuary in North Wales. Forthcoming publications include a co-edited volume (with Dr Tanya King of Deakin University, Australia) that explores anthropological and archaeological approaches to the inhabitation of the sea. E-mail: [email protected]

Lucy Shipley is an AHRC-funded postgraduate student at the University of Southampton. She completed her BA in Archaeology there in 2008, and her MA in Social Archaeology in 2009. Her PhD research is focused on pre-Roman Italy, particularly Villanovan and Etruscan archaeology. Thematically, she is interested in the integration of archaeological theory into interpretive practice, which she explores both through her doctoral research on gender and sexuality, and in her wider research, which is predominantly landscape based and which formed the focus of her MA thesis. Lucy has worked at the site of Poggio Civitate for two seasons, and has recently conducted a field-walking survey there, tracking paths of movement across the landscape through an intensive survey of Mediterranean scrub forest. She is also interested in the wider European Iron Age, particularly the interaction of Mediterranean and northern European cultures in the pre-Roman world. She co-edited TRAC 2009: Proceedings of the Nineteenth Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference (2010). E-mail: [email protected]

John Thomas is a Project Officer with University of Leicester Archaeological Services (ULAS). He has over 25 years experience in British commercial contract field archaeology, and has worked extensively in the English Midlands. He has a particular interest in later prehistoric landscape archaeology, and has undertaken studies of pit alignment boundaries and aggregated settlements in the East Midlands as part of MA research at the University of Leicester. He is currently co-director of the Burrough Hill Project, a major research excavation and landscape study centred on the Iron Age hillfort at Burrough on the Hill, Leicestershire. His publications include Monument, Memory and Myth: Use and Re-use of Three Bronze Age Barrows at Cossington, Leicestershire. (2008), and Two Iron Age ‘Aggregated’ Settlements in the Environs of Leicester. Excavations at Beaumont Leys and Humberstone (2011). E-mail: [email protected]

Mara Vejby took part in the Pomoan Language Preservation and Documentation project at the California Indian Museum and Cultural Centre, Santa Rosa. As the project manager she conducted and recorded interviews and created a Pomoan language database, which she then used to generate an online language-learning program. She was also heavily involved in the museum’s California Missions project, and ran their tri-annual newsletter. Vejby has developed a new GIS project that aims to connect local place names in California with Native histories of the area. Vejby recently received her PhD from the University of Reading’s Archaeology department. Her thesis was an investigation of the Iron Age and Roman re-use of megalithic tombs in Atlantic Europe, which she is currently reorganising as a forthcoming monograph. She hopes to continue her archaeological and anthropological work on both sides of the Atlantic. E-mail: [email protected]

Alexandra Vieira is a Junior Investigator, part of the ‘Prehistoric Spaces and Territories’ Group at the Centro de Estudos Arqueológicos de Coimbra e Porto – Campo Arqueológico de Mértola (CEAUCP/CAM). She graduated from the University of Porto in 2001 with a degree in History (Archaeology), and subsequently worked in commercial archaeology until 2003, before becoming a lecturer at the Department of Arts and Humanities, at Mirandela Campus (EsACT – School of Public Management, Communication and Tourism), Polytechnic Institute in Bragança. She returned to Porto in 2008 to undertake part-time doctoral research, and her research focuses on landscape archaeology and collective memory in later prehistoric Portugal. Other research interests include the relevance of oral traditions in archaeology, and she has published several articles relating to her doctoral research. E-mail: [email protected]

Foreword – spacing time and timing space

Richard Bradley

S ince the nineteenth century archaeologists have tried to measure time. Excavators shared the same concerns

as antiquarians. They wanted to arrange their material in sequence and to establish its age. That process remained important as new methods were devised, whether they were typology, stratigraphy, seriation or radiocarbon dating. Chronological schemes were introduced, mod-ified and often abandoned. But in most cases they under pinned wider interpretations of the past. Space was studied on an extensive scale, so that the distributions of artefacts and monuments were discussed and mapped over entire regions, but this work rarely featured intra-site analysis. Where it did happen, it was more characteristic of field survey. Early excavations were generally small but deep – sections through burial mounds provide the obvious example – and large areas of ground were rarely exposed. The open air excavations for which Pitt Rivers and Bersu receive the credit actually took the form of trenches, dug and refilled in sequence. By the 1970s all that had changed. There was a greater interest in settlement excavation. The same period saw the development of ‘rescue archaeology’ which profited from the stripping of topsoil in the course of mineral extraction. Now it was possible to consider time and space together, but in practice it rarely happened. Even today it is difficult to integrate chronological and spatial information, so that entire landscapes are divided into phases which would have been meaningless to the people who lived in them. The priorities of 20th century archaeology are imposed on 21st century fieldworkers. It

results in an unstable relationship. One reason for saying this is that chronologies can now be measured by radiocarbon dating – provided the samples are sufficiently numerous and are selected and analysed with care. Another is that this process shows that traditional assumptions may be flawed. Artefacts or human remains could have been already old when they were deposited; ancient monuments might be brought back into commission after a significant lapse of time; and structures of different ages might be juxta-posed in a way that suggests that their relationship was significant. Such ideas were first discussed in the study of monumental architecture, but recent work, much of it reported here, has shown that they are just as relevant to less prominent features – to field ditches, middens, flat graves, and the sites of pits and houses. It is essential to devise new ways of integrating space and time. That is possible because of the scale of developer-funded excavations. There are many ways of conceptualising the relation-ship between structures and artefacts formed at dif-ferent times. Key elements include memory, myth, the invention of traditions, and the erasure of old ones. The contributors consider these ideas in relation to a series of well researched case studies. What they share are sophisticated ways of thinking about the past in the past. As in all good archaeology, the lessons of this research are both theoretical and practical. That is why this book is so welcome and why it has so much to teach.

2. Narrating the house. The transformation of longhouses in early Neolithic Europe

Daniela Hofmann

that render memories unstable, and which are particularly pertinent to non-literate, oral societies.1 He suggests that the limits of this kind of memory span perhaps three or four generations. Conscious re-invention is pre-dominantly applicable where there is no direct link to the past traces one has encountered (Bradley 2003: 226). In contrast, habit-memory which resides subconsciously in the body, is largely devoid of explicit meaning and is therefore relatively ‘inert’ (Connerton 1989: 102), but can nevertheless lead to further unwanted change through the imperfect replication of practices (Mizoguchi 1993). While such divisions can form useful heuristic devices, they can also create problems. Firstly, as noted by Whittle (2010: 35), breaking up memories into different ‘kinds’ removes them from lived experience, whereas different scales of referencing the past and different kinds of memories intersect all the time. Secondly, in such accounts change is often seen as involuntary or as ‘defective’ memory. For example, Connerton’s view of rites of commemoration (1989: 44–61) centres on their formalisation, and since such practices draw their salience from claiming to be re-enactments of past events, there is no scope for creativity. Finally, the notion of habit-memory as ‘unconscious’ has also been critiqued (Ingold 2011: 60). In contrast, several recent contributions stress that all memory work is to a certain extent creative, although this may not always be reflected upon discursively. In this sense, continuity of the discursive meaning of a given item or practice – in any case hard to establish archaeologically – is not necessarily the main concern. Remembering is akin to reconstruction, always involving partial forgetting, and this therefore ensures the relevance of memory for the present, as pointed out by Borić (2010b: 61–62) on the basis of works by Ricoeur,

Introduction: pasts and futures

Memory in terms of the ‘past in the past’ has recently become an immensely fruitful topic

in archaeology. As in this volume, some authors have focused on the re-use of monuments or other sites after a considerable hiatus and the meanings that would have been ascribed to such traces (e.g. Bradley 2002; Hingley 1996), while others (e.g. Mizoguchi 1993) have emphasised the process of cultural transmission over time. Frequently, the starting point is the broad distinc-tion between memory as ‘inscribed’ in texts or material traces such as monuments, and memory as ‘performed’ through daily and largely unconscious or unreflected upon routine activity. The latter is often seen as covering short-term acts, whilst the former can explicitly aim to bridge longer timescales (e.g. Connerton 1989: 22–30; see also Borić 2010a: 3; Lillios and Tsamis 2010; van Dyke and Alcock 2003: 4; Whittle 2003: 109). These divisions, however, are not always helpful (for an insightful critique, see Whittle 2003: chapter 5). Most importantly for the present study, they initially established a dichotomy between memory as actively created – an ‘invented tradition’ in Hobsbawm and Ranger’s (1983) famous phrase – and memory as largely subconscious. The former is generally seen to apply to inscribed memory and to the re-appropriation of past traces in the present, whilst the latter refers to quite mindless repetition of habitual acts. In this view, conscious memory efforts, such as recounting a myth or replicating a ritual, are passed on as bundles of discrete knowledge, and the issue to deal with is the accuracy of such transmission. For example, Bradley (2003: 221–222) discusses how long memories can be transmitted ‘effectively’ and ‘intact’ in spite of processes of ‘attrition’

32-54 Chapter 2 Memory Myth.indd 32 25/09/2013 10:49:25

Heidegger and Bergson. This is also true for traditions, here defined as shared ideas concerning accepted ways of ‘going about in the world’ which are explicitly seen as rooted in the past. Far from passively inherited cultural baggage, they are a kind of collective referencing which draw on the past to gain relevance for the present, and not just in the case of obviously ‘invented’ traditions (Osborne 2008: 285; Robb 2008: 333)2. All traditions are historical forces, guiding but not determining the actions of people involved in them (Robb 2008: 348–349). Similarly, Borić (2010c: 49–52, 61) concentrates on the ‘event’, a conjunction of processes at various scales, which foregrounds the indeterminacy of a past consisting of situations in which outcomes are not fixed (see also Carsten 2007: 4). In order to negotiate their way through such situations, people have to make use of their memories, drawing on them as they encounter changing contexts. Memory is therefore more than exact recall, and tradition more than unthinking repetition. Rather, their purpose is to adapt the past to furnish motivations and know-how in the present (q.v. Jones 2007: 53; Waterson 1990: 232–247; Whittle 2003: 111). For Lowenthal (1985: 210), the “...prime function of memory…is not to preserve the past but to adapt it so as to enrich and manipulate the present” and one may add, also influence the future by reworking the potentialities of the past (Borić 2010a: 10; Carsten 2007: 18). The notion of memory as narrative is crucial here (Borić 2010a: 13, 2010c: 63).3 People know how to ‘go about in the world’ because they know how to react in relation to each other and to their surroundings – in Ingold’s (2011: 56) example, we know how to use a saw because we place it in relation to stories which invoke its past use. We can then go on to enmesh this artefact in a new narrative, which, for instance, contains a plank, ourselves, and our present need for yet another bookshelf. Such ‘stories’ are not simply transmitted from the past, but are revealed to practitioners who, faced by a particular set of circumstances, draw upon them for guidance on how to proceed. The significance of stories is “...recognised through the alignment of present circumstances with the conjunctions of the past” (ibid.: 57), and invoked for projects which will have repercussions in the future. This applies to memory both in terms of the adjustment of habit-memory to the demands of a current task, and to the making

relevant of traces from the past in a changing present. By becoming part of evolving stories, memories are not transmitted unaltered, but their implications are drawn out in the course of people’s lives, making flexibility and adaptability central (Ingold 2011: 161). Stories from the past are continuously “[woven] into the texture of present lives” (Ingold 2011: 164, addition in parentheses). This means that to an extent, people are always partly open to the past as a source of possibilities which could be re-incarnated in the present (Connerton 1989: 62). This does not imply a ‘free-for-all’, in which the past can be entirely manipulated without recourse to shared notions of what occurred, or without keeping a sense of authenticity. Sahlins (1985: xii) describes how even within the same society, change can either be explicitly recognised or subsumed as a re-instantiation of the past. The Maori, for instance, see themselves as moving through time backwards, with the panorama of the past in the form of myths and historical recollections stretched out in front of them. From this, they select the parts most appropriate to guide them in their present situation (ibid.: 56). This implies at least partly shared ideas about the event which is being referenced and its explicit re-enacting, but the present context of the speaker also influences the way this recollection is implemented and will guide its future recall. This also contrasts with the general Western post-Enlightenment notion of the past as a separate, closed time receding behind us. Alongside myths and stories, objects are also crucial in such enterprises. As discussed by Jones (2007: 62–77), the sensory qualities of artefacts and their involvement in practices evoke memories at a tangible, experiential and emotive level. Since artefacts are part of constantly changing constellations with other items and people, however, new juxtapositions are possible. Memory is no longer replication, but re-creation (Jones 2007: 81–87). Artefacts frame, guide, shape and enable human experience, and in this sense can be seen as possessing a kind of agency in orienting people towards the world in a certain way (e.g. Gosden 2005). These are fundamental, non-conscious aspects of material culture, making it an indispensible prerequisite of human social life (Olsen 2007). This same emotional and ontological salience, however, also renders artefacts, including houses, as potential sites of contestation, or foci for alternative

narrating the house [ 33 ]


versions of possible futures. More recent theoretical approaches therefore stress that memory is a process of constant re-actualisation of the past in a changing present. So far, however, they have had little impact on interpretations of the central European Linearbandkeramik culture (circa 5500–4900 cal. BC),4 largely because this period is often regarded as dominated by a concern with the long-term, explicit-ly recalled and venerated past (a criticism also voiced by Robb and Miracle 2007: 113 and Whittle 2010: 35; see Bradley 2001; 2002; Jones 2007). To date, Linearbandkeramik (hereafter LBK) domestic architecture has been interpreted mostly in terms of the static rep lication of ancestral traditions. Instead, in what follows I concentrate on the regional and chronological variations in the appearance of buildings, examining the social strategies in which they were enmeshed in order to reveal how houses became ‘enstoried’ in ever more divergent narratives. This demonstrates that change was

at the heart of even the allegedly conservative LBK. The architectural changes of the central European Middle Neolithic emerge as explicit selections from a series of competing trends, as conscious efforts to re-create valued ways of inhabitation. This also allows a critique of some recently proposed models that have suggested that the end of the LBK was connected to a profound social crisis.

Linearbandkeramik houses

The LBK was the first Early Neolithic culture over much of central and western Europe (Fig. 2.1a and b). Probably developing in western Hungary or eastern Austria between 5600 and 5500 cal. BC (Bánffy 2004; Bánffy and Oross 2010), at its maximum it extended across an area from the Ukraine in the east to the Paris Basin in the west, and from south of the Danube well

Fig. 2.1a. Map of LBK distribution. (Source: D. Hofmann after Midgley 2005: 14).

after Midgley 2005, 14

earliest LBK maximum extent of LBK

Bavaria

Merzbach v.

Bylany

[ 34 ] Daniela Hofmann


into the northern European Plain. Longhouses are a key part of this cultural phenomenon. It has been estimated that about 10,000 of these have now been excavated (Petrasch 2012: 53), and this number is rising constantly. An exact figure remains elusive, due to the fact that so many sites are still unpublished or only reported in regional journals. Nevertheless, houses have generated a vast literature (e.g. Bradley 2001; Coudart 1998; Modderman 1970; Rück 2009; von Brandt 1988) and are seen as having been central to LBK life and social reproduction (Bickle in prep.; Jones 2007: 91–121; Whittle 2003: 134–143). LBK houses are generally reconstructed as sturdy structures (Fig. 2.2) with large oak posts dividing the interior into recognised ‘modules’ (see below). The first impression upon entering such buildings is over-whelmingly of timber (Fig. 2.3), and it has been suggested

soils of central Europe. There is limited evidence that walls might have been painted, with daub at several sites preserving traces of pigments such as red or brown on a white background (e.g. Novotný 1958: 12 ; Schade-Lindig 2002: 177). Yet such instances are rare, and decoration was probably more likely on the inside of the structure, as most colourants could not have withstood the elements for long. Routine experiences and the memories they created were a strong force in shaping people’s memories of houses and how they could be taken forward, and these are potentially fruitful avenues to explore further else-where. This paper, however, will focus on the details of the timber post settings and the overall dimensions of the house, which are accessible archaeologically but relatively understudied in terms of their social impacts (though see Whittle 2003: 134–143).

Nuremberg

Munich

ebunaD

rasI

**

*

Stephansposching

Harting

Untergaiching

*Lengfeld **Otzing

Lerchenhaid

0 100 km50

N

Fig. 2.1b. Location of main Bavarian sites mentioned in the text. (Source: D. Hofmann).

that this placed the symbolic properties of wood, and perhaps the forest, centre-stage (Whittle 1996: 163). It is clear that this almost over-structured internal space had a large impact on how houses could be used, but also on how they cultivated certain sensory experiences and ways of dwelling for their inhabitants. Such aspects cannot be addressed in detail in this paper, and remain highly contentious (but see Hofmann 2006a: chapters 3–4; forth coming: ch. 3; Last 1998). LBK house floors are virtually never preserved, and activity pat-terns have to be reconstructed from finds in the adjacent ‘loam pits’, assumed to have provided the material for wattle and daub walls and which then slowly filled with refuse. Similarly, the above-ground appearance of LBK structures is less well understood than the generally similar reconstructions in open-air museums might suggest (e.g. Rück 2009). For example, posts may have been elaborately carved, although none survive in the loess



than in the remainder of the buildings, and there is some evidence that the buildings’ single hearths were located here (Modderman 1970; Stäuble and Lüning 1999). In addition, most houses had a north-west part, named in accordance with the dominant house orientation in the Netherlands and generally applied to other regions, even if the terminology does not correspond to the house orientation there. This part of the house was often marked by an external wall trench and on the inside was divided off from the centre by two transversal post rows set closer together and forming a ‘corridor’. Spaces between DPRs tended to be narrower in the north-west than in the centre (Modderman 1970: 101–103). Finally, some buildings also had a south-east part, again often demarcated internally by a corridor, but not normally marked on the outside. The south-east area could be characterised by DPRs consisting of double posts, or by very closely set DPRs, perhaps supporting a raised upper floor for storage (Modderman 1970: 106-107). Although there is no exact correlation between the number of modules and the overall length of a house (e.g. von Brandt 1988), tripartite buildings reached greater maximum lengths than bipartite ones. Middle to late LBK buildings had an average length of about 20m, but they could be as short as 5m, or 50m or more in length.

It is generally accepted that LBK houses fall into two main chronological groupings – those belonging to the earliest phase of the culture (until about 5300 cal. BC) and those from middle and late phases, c. 5300–4900 cal. BC (Fig. 2.4). The former generally did not exceed 25m in length and had large, post-free spaces at the centres of the houses. External wall trenches may have functioned as additional roof supports or held a second set of walls. Some of the better-preserved examples also show groupings of more closely-set posts placed on either side of this central space, and these are often interpreted in analogy to the better understood later buildings (Stäuble 2005: 150–165). Although the differences with later examples are obvious, some characteristics of the middle and late Bandkeramik building were already present in these earliest examples. For instance, although not strictly rectangular in plan (some have been reconstructed with rectangular ‘extensions’ either side), they were generally longer than they were wide. In the interior they featured posts arranged into regular transverse rows of three (called Dreierpfostenreihe in German – ‘three-post row’, hereafter abbreviated as DPR). Earliest LBK houses were generally very similar across the earliest Bandkeramik distribution. In contrast, middle and late LBK houses were rectangular to trapezoidal in shape, more varied in size and contained many more internal posts. Archaeologists generally divide these later buildings into three parts or modules, according to typological criteria defined by Modderman on the basis of Dutch examples (1970: 101–109) (Fig. 2.4). Thus, all buildings had a central part, and a variety of post settings could occur there (see below). Mostly, the spaces between transversal post rows were slightly larger in these areas

Fig. 2.3. Interior impression from a reconstructed LBK longhouse at Straubing Zoo, Lower Bavaria. (Source: D. Hofmann).

Fig. 2.2. Exterior impression from a reconstructed LBK longhouse at Straubing Zoo, Lower Bavaria. (Source: D. Hofmann).



Houses of the middle and late phases were generally less uniform than those of the earliest LBK. Regional patterns in the preferred post arrangements in the centre of the house exist, and on occasion houses from the German Rhineland and the Netherlands were entirely surrounded by a wall trench. In contrast, houses in eastern areas such as the Czech Republic or Slovakia often lacked trenches even around the north-western part, or were built with a south-east instead of a north-west module, a combination absent further west (e.g. Hofmann forthcoming: ch. 3; Modderman 1986; Pechtl 2010: 43–46). Over time, in many regions houses became increasingly trapezoidal, the distances between posts increased, and small roofed porches open to the outside were often added to south-eastern ends (e.g. Modderman 1970: 119–120). These modifications prefigure the archi-tec tural changes of the post-LBK Middle Neolithic cultures5, when more open spaces, porches and trapezoidal or naviform ground plans were more widely adopted (e.g. Coudart 1998: 51–53; Hampel 1989, fig.2e).

This article examines how and why the innovations of the middle and late LBK house led to a range of ways in which architectural features could be manipulated, and this relates to how they were ‘re-membered’ at each rebuilding. Within the general parameters of a LBK building – rectangularity, the idea of three posts in a row and modularity (Bickle forthcoming; Coudart 1998: 55) – there were now possibilities to introduce change. But before investigating these in more detail, I will briefly introduce the perceived ancestral dimensions of the Bandkeramik house and discuss their relevance for interpretations of architectural change and for the roles of memory in long-term settlement development.

The past of LBK houses

The similarity of LBK architecture across a wide distribution and through long periods of time is certainly not illusory – Modderman’s typological scheme

North-West

Centre

Corridor

South-East

Corridor

1b 2 3

Middle / late LBK house types:

Elsloo 57

Lerchenhaid 5

Bylany 2200

Earliest LBK DevelopedMiddle Neolithic

Zwenkau 1Frankfurt-Niedereschbach 19

N

N

N

N

N

Fig. 2.4. Modderman’s scheme for the partition of LBK buildings. Buildings not to scale. (Source: D. Hofmann; Frankfurt-Niedereschbach (26.4m) after Hampel 1992: 113; Lerchenhaid 5 (37m) after Brink-Kloke 1990: 58; Elsloo 57 (14m) after Modderman 1970: plate 22; Bylany 2200 (c. 9m) after Pavlů 2000: 211; Zwenkau-Harth 1 (36m) after Quitta 1958, as reproduced in Riedhammer 2003: 483). Note reconstructed posts are shown in outline.



could be applied with relatively little modification from the Netherlands in the west to the Czech Republic and beyond in the east (Modderman 1986; Pavúk 1994). As Pechtl (2010: 39) noted, however, since the aim of this typology was to systematise a rapidly increasing corpus of excavated examples, similarities between buildings may have been overstressed at the expense of more variable elements. Coudart (1998: 26–33) expanded the original typology by classifying each constructional element separately, defining different types of wall construction, centre post arrangement, north-west or south-east parts and so on. Although to an extent limited by a focus on more westerly areas of the LBK, Coudart showed the variations inherent in some aspects of architecture, and her type lists can be expanded with additional constructional traits for each region (Hofmann forthcoming: ch. 3; Pechtl 2010). In temporal terms, Coudart’s work confirmed Modderman’s main developmental sequence that pro-posed a trend towards less obviously partitioned houses with fewer internal DPRs and a greater ten-dency towards trapezoidal buildings. Whilst this characterised the transition between LBK and Middle Neolithic architectures (Fig. 2.4), similar trends can also be identified within the LBK. Greater regularity and openness of the internal spaces in the late LBK are generally noted, and are often thought to reflect the greater ‘efficiency’ of later architecture (e.g. Modderman 1970: 107, 119; Pavlů 2000: 197–198, 219), although similar-sized or bigger open spaces were already achieved in the earliest LBK. For instance, the centre of the earliest LBK building at Frankfurt-Niedereschbach, House 19, had a post-free space of 7.5 metres, while the spaces between DPRs inside Zwenkau House 1, dated to the Middle Neolithic, were only 4.7 metres (see Fig. 2.4). In addition, houses grew increasingly trapezoidal, and occasionally featured doubled outer wall posts, implying that these supported a greater portion of the weight of the roof. Nevertheless, this recognition of regional and chronological differences did not lead to a concerted, in-depth discussion of how architectural tradition was transmitted. One exception was Sommer’s (2001) article, which suggested that in the earliest LBK change was actively resisted, and exact replication favoured

by those in power (Sommer 2001: 258–261). Although rarely expressed in such terms, these ideas also inform archaeological narratives concerning middle and late LBK buildings. What is increasingly stressed here is the way in which architecture was bound up with the mythical ancestry of the LBK as a whole, providing a powerful and revered unifying symbol of cosmological significance. Bradley (2001) proposed that house orientation, which became angled increasingly to the west the further the LBK spread westwards across Europe, may have mirrored the mythical origin of LBK settlers in each particular region and that the sometimes more sturdily built north-west part could have been considered an ancestral area (for discussion see Pechtl 2010: 46). This latter point was echoed by Lüning (2009), and is also argued on the basis of child burials found near the north-west parts of some houses, although this was not uniform across the LBK (e.g. Thévenet 2009; Veit 1996). Similarly, in his thoughtful discussion on the importance of memory in LBK society, Jones (2007: 96) argues that LBK settlement sites reflected an idealised ancestral village, and that this was the reason behind the very consistent choice of site location as well as architectural uniformity. In spite of characterising houses as a process, Jones (ibid.: 92) sees LBK communities as steeped in ties explicitly concerned with the long-term past, and hence encouraging a timeless view of society. By living among the physical traces of the past such as the remains of older buildings rather than re-enacting memory in ritual and other events, the tempo of change in the LBK was artificially slowed (ibid: 119). It is likely that elements of these ideas did indeed play a part in LBK house construction. Newly-built houses spatially referenced their predecessors, sometimes in apparently regular ways. At Schwanfeld in northern Bavaria, Lüning (2005) suggested that new houses were built either adjacent to their immediate predecessor (the ‘father principle’), eventually forming a line of houses extending in one direction, or with reference to their predecessor’s predecessor (the ‘grandfather principle’), alternating from one end of the row to the other in subsequent generations. This idealised model has also been identified at other sites (ibid.), and if more widely confirmed might suggest an explicit connection between new houses and their past (Fig. 2.5)6. Whether



under increasing criticism (e.g. Lanting and van der Plicht 1994; Rück 2012; Stöckli 2002: 9), but to date without a viable alternative emerging9. The duration of a human generation could sometimes be exceeded, but given evidence from overlapping house plans and ceramic phasing, most houses probably did not stand much longer than that, or indeed may have been abandoned even more quickly (see also Zimmermann 2012). The implication is that houses, despite their monumentality, were built with knowledge of their abandonment in mind. The household as a unit was constantly renewed through the refashioning of buildings at specific intervals, and this created an important rhythm in LBK social life. Renewal, however, implies change as much as continuity. The focus on the ancestral dimension of LBK long-houses has also been critiqued from a broadly phenom-enol ogical point of view (Barrett 2006). Although mostly concerned with Hodder’s (1990) work on the longhouse as reflecting the concept of sedentism, Barrett reacts against the idea that any ‘meaning’, social structure or other abstract concerns would be ‘reflected’ in a building at all. Instead, he regards a house as a perspective from which to explore the world through practice. Houses empower people to enter the world from certain points of view, replicating forms of authority and social consensus without conscious ‘meaning’ ever needing to be attached to them (Barrett 2006: 15). Similarly, for Ingold houses “...arise within the current of people’s [sic] involved activity, in the specific relational contexts of their practical engagement with their surroundings” (Ingold 2000: 186). This perspective is powerful because past worlds are appreciated as experienced totalities. Material culture is accorded a central place in the creation of values through the way it structures the practices of past agents (Barrett 2006: 22–23). This allows us to focus on the key aspect of actually inhabiting a house and how this would have oriented people’s expectations towards the world, including any further domestic structure they were involved in building or inhabiting. Nevertheless, there is a tendency for such arguments to sideline processes of change. In a very broad conceptualisation, change can take place by people re-orienting themselves to developments in their surroundings, but this is rarely the focus of phenomenological accounts. Such approaches therefore still encourage a view of changes as largely

124

3

5

5 4 3 2

1

‘grandfather principle’

‘father principle’

Fig.2.5. Schematic representation of Lüning’s suggested models for house replacement sequences at Schwanfeld, northern Bavaria. (Source: D. Hofmann after Lüning 2005: figs 59 and 60).

‘ancestral’ qualities can be as easily pinned to a particular architectural module is another matter. This focus on the ancestral ‘pedigree’ of LBK houses, however, whilst high lighting one important aspect, has led to a neglect of others. Because the house is regarded by archaeologists as having been a powerful and revered symbol to its LBK inhabitants, the largely implicit assumption is that it must also have been precisely replicated in order to express this reverence. To an extent, all these schemes thus gloss over the available variations and discuss an ‘ideal’ LBK house (e.g. one with an explicitly marked north-west section), but this only ever describes part of the evidence7. In addition, as noted by Whittle (2003: 130, 2010: 35), the focus has been on just one aspect of the house’s temporality – its roots in an immutable past8. Yet LBK houses were also renewed on a regular basis. It is generally estimated that houses were abandoned every 20–25 years, long before they became structurally unsound, and that new buildings were erected nearby (Stehli 1989). The method by which this estimate is arrived at has come



implicit processes, semi-conscious ‘adjustments’ or drift, with the house as an ‘orienting’ artefact retaining an element of agency that sometimes seems denied to people. In a similar vein, Coudart (1998: 91–92) regards LBK society as relatively egalitarian, with the low indices of variation she observes in the house reflecting this social ideal. People were simply not trying to create differences between houses, and where this did occur – for instance at a regional level – it was the result of unintentional cultural ‘drift’ over time. Such views have far-reaching implications. Seeing change as an unwanted by-product problematises any episodes of more rapid transformation which are seen as ruptures or ‘crises’, and external reasons must be sought for them. This particularly applies to the changes taking place at the beginning of the Middle Neolithic. Whilst house architecture was only one of several social elements which underwent sudden change – alongside ceramics and burial ritual – it adds to the sense of a sudden breakdown of the stable LBK system, either climatically induced or in response to a form of cultural malaise (e.g. Gronenborn 2006, 2010; Zeeb-Lanz 2009). Yet if we see houses as ‘enstoried’ in Ingold’s sense, we can begin to explicitly discuss the idea that it was possible to tell different stories about them. The longhouse was replete with a mixture of pasts operating at different rhythms, which could be called upon to resonate with wider changes, particularly since it was regularly renewed (q.v. Whittle 2010: 44). At such times of reconstruction, memories could be creatively invoked, both those concerning a long-term or ancestral past, and those more intimately connected with the household and the way people lived together. These memories would be drawn upon with the explicit aim of perpetuating that household into the future in the most suitable way. In their work amongst the Betsileo of Madagascar, Kus and Raharijaona (2000) highlight the role played by poetics of practice and creative re-interpretations of well-articulated rules on the location and construction sequence of a new building. Thus, the construction of each house starts by digging six holes with a spade never used for burial, and wielded by a person with many living kin in order to emphasise the wish for the longevity and prosperity of the future occupants. Houses should also not be orientated towards a tomb, abandoned village or valley opening, as this would

drain their life force; nor face the highest hill, since no further growth is possible in this direction (Kus and Raharijaona 2000: 137–138). House construction is supervised by semi-specialised ritual experts who ensure that these rules are observed. Crucially, this work is not merely the rigorous repetition of past performances, but adapts to changing situations. For example, the six initial holes to instigate the house can begin in the most sacred northern part, or in the eastern section in order to harness the power of the sunrise. The digging of the holes can be arranged to mimic local topography for a strong ‘grounding’ of the house, or placed in such a way as to help the integration of the male and female occupants. This represents continuous attentiveness to the requirements of a particular situation, a poetic skill central to sustaining ‘the traditional ways of the Betsileo’ which must resonate with those witnessing the ceremony. To remain alert to the world, rules must be constantly adapted (ibid.: 140–141), but such re-interpretations are judged according to their perceived success, including an element of power relations in the way ‘accepted’ solutions can be perpetuated (Osborne 2008: 287). Yet what the example of the Betsileo shows is the importance of creative re-imagining in bringing forward the past, and the flexibility this introduces even in a context where buildings are strongly instilled with cultural meanings. While houses are built and inhabited according to people’s expectations, these expectations can come to differ, in spite of people being orientated towards the world in very similar ways. Through re-fashionings and the associated judgements, faultlines can appear in people’s perceptions and dispositions. While this may initially be confined to ancillary details such as the sequence in which holes are to be dug, but not the fact that there should be six, there is potential for the narrative trajectories in which houses were embedded to start diverging. Changes are thus an inherent part of inhabitation rather than a by-product. I would argue that it was also change which ensured that the LBK house remained a central concern in people’s lives, developing with differing pre-occupations. For the house to play a dynamic role in our archaeological narratives, we must begin to identify such potential faultlines which might have opened up possibilities for divergence, contradiction, or lack of fit between expectations and new situations.



This could have led to more rapid transformation, all while remaining embedded in a continuous tradition and without necessarily openly rejecting the venerable past of the longhouse.

‘Enstoried’ houses: monumentalisation and complexity

There is archaeological evidence that Bandkeramik houses were indeed not simply replicated. In her landmark study, Coudart (1998: 55) distinguished sets of traits that were relatively stable and hence probably rarely questioned, from elements that seemed more open to variation. Among the first category, she listed the basic longitudinal shape of houses, either rectangular or trapezoidal, as well as the tendency to include more internal posts than structurally necessary and the partitioning into two to three modules. In contrast, the precise spacing and arrangement of the interior posts, the absolute length of the building and the relative size of its parts exhibited greater flexibility. Transverse rows of posts or the fact that regardless of house length, a minimum number of DPRs were added, were ‘representations with which the Danubian community thought the world’ (Coudart 1998: 85). Yet while the house incorporated such relatively fixed aspects that created the specific style and aesthetic of LBK buildings, there was also the possibility of explicit experimentation with details. It is here that faultlines could be recognisable. Builders may not have challenged everything at once, but there were aspects which could be manipulated, where different expectations could come to be created within the same tradition and where it became possible to draw on the past for a range of different futures. In the LBK this kind of experimentation took two main forms, which are not mutually exclusive. One was the internal complexity of buildings. Additional post rows could be added or removed, and post settings deviating from the traditional three-post row could be created. The contrast between the resulting interiors could have been quite dramatic, from veritable post forests (e.g. Bylany House 2210; Pavlů 2000: 211) to quite open spaces (e.g. Bylany House 2198; Pavlů 2000: 207) (Fig. 2.6a). The most variable post configurations were found in the central part of the house, and a

variety of typological schemes exist to characterise them. In plan, posts could be arranged in a Y- or J-setting, in diagonal rows or in rows comprising only two or, very rarely, just one post (Coudart 1998: 29; Hofmann forthcoming; Jeunesse 2009: 157–159; Pechtl 2010: 40) (Fig. 2.6b). Furthermore, posts and stakes in addition to the three-post rows could further subdivide the interior (e.g. Stein House 11 in the Netherlands; Modderman 1970: plate 184). Corridors could also be elaborated, through an additional internal trench (the so-called ‘extended’ corridor in Coudart’s scheme, e.g. Hienheim House 2, Lower Bavaria; Modderman 1977: 14). Alter natively, the building could be simplified by de-emphasising modularity through a lack of corridors and an even spacing of DPRs throughout. These alternatives affected how the building was experienced from the inside and how everyday life was undertaken, and were thus part of different possible stories of inhabitation and of building household relations. The second main strategy can be loosely charac-terised as monumentalisation. Buildings either became exceptionally long, in some cases exceeding 50m (e.g. Lengfeld-Dantschermühle House 1, Lower Bavaria; Burger-Segl 1998), or exceptionally sturdy, as in the case of the Type 1a houses found mostly in the Rhineland, which were entirely surrounded by wall trenches (Modderman 1970: 111). In contrast to internal complexity, which would have been routinely experienced by the inhabitants of the house, monumentalisation had a pronounced impact on the surroundings of the building. A house is exceptionally large only in relation to those around it. Similarly, while the significance of Type 1a buildings is debated – interpretations range from a ‘chiefly’ residence (van de Velde 2007) to a storage house with planked walls to facilitate ventilation (Masuch and Ziessow 1983: 250–254) – its construction would certainly have marked it out from others around it. Interestingly, it was often the north-west part which saw the greatest experimentation with architectural aspects that could be appreciated from the outside, most notably wall construction, which often involved trenches and trenches reinforced with external posts. Such aspects of the house imply an audience beyond its inhabitants, playing on the larger stage of relations at the site level. Here too, houses could come to enable different forms of engagement. Although internal complexity and monumental-



isa tion were not exclusive strategies, these varied both regionally and chronologically. In terms of geographical patterning, the importance of elaborating the north-west part became more pronounced to the west. In contrast, at Slovak sites such as Štúrovo, wall trenches were all but absent and at Bylany in the Czech Republic, the north-west part was occasionally entirely omitted in favour of a south-east module (Modderman 1986; Pavúk 1994). There were also regional preferences in terms of which internal post settings were most likely to have been chosen, or how many DPRs were erected in each module (Hofmann forthcoming: ch. 3). These details of architectural evidence were not simply incidental. They show that the narratives in which houses were enmeshed, and the ways that they made sense in people’s lives, differed over time and from place to place.

Such patterns of diversity went beyond a mere east LBK – west LBK split, as different architectural strategies existed within each region. In Lower Bavaria, extremely long houses (defined by Pechtl 2009a: 188 as those over 33m in size, or the longest 10% in the range) varied in frequency. Monumentality seems to have been particularly stressed in western Bavaria, as at the site of Harting near Regensburg, where 11 out of 83 houses were over 30m in length, and the largest house was 50m long. In contrast, further east in the Deggendorf area, houses rarely exceeded 30m – at the largest excavated LBK site, that of Stephansposching, only three out of 103 buildings did, and all remained under 33m in length. However, the Deggendorf houses had the lowest incidence of standard, three-post DPRs in Lower Bavaria and instead people seem to have preferred J- and double

10m

Bylany 2198 Bylany 2210

a) b)

normal classic Y

double J

single J pseudo Y

single-post DPR

N

N

Fig. 2.6a. House Bylany 2198, showing a relatively open interior, and house Bylany 2210, which has a higher density of posts. (Source: D. Hofmann after Pavlů 2000: 207, 211). Fig. 2.6b. Some of the possible post settings in the central modules of LBK houses. (Source: D. Hofmann, modified and expanded from Coudart 1998: 29).



J-settings (Hofmann forthcoming: chapter 3; Pechtl 2010). Similarly, sites that were perhaps more remote, such as Pfarrkirchen-Untergaiching near the southern edge of the LBK distribution (Engelhardt 1992), tended to elaborate their houses internally rather than through size, perhaps outwardly downplaying distinctions between households. Even within a LBK region like Lower Bavaria therefore, the house could come to work in different ways, as a focus for competition or for creating an impression of increased uniformity without, whilst maintaining difference within. Sometimes buildings could be employed to stress differences between households on the same site, with a few structures reaching truly massive proportions. At Harting, these enormous sizes were only ever attained by some of the buildings, mainly clustered in the southern part of the site, and it is tempting to see a kind of inter-household competition here whereby the exploits of noted forbears were replicated or exceeded to gain kudos for their present inhabitants. This is perhaps clearest in the case of Houses 9 and 10. In contrast to what was typical for the LBK, these buildings directly overlapped, and their internal layouts right down to the distances between DPRs were virtually identical, albeit slightly off-set (Fig. 2.7). There may have been a hiatus of a generation or so between the abandonment of House 9 and the erection of House 10 (Herren 2003: 184–188), but the fact that both buildings were so similar implies that this was either of quite short duration, or that significant parts of the older house were still standing when the new house was built.10 The peculiar longitudinal features on either side of the house could thus have been created through the removal of remaining older posts, although they appear far more elaborate than in other such instances where this has been identified (e.g. Krahn 2006: 23–27). Instead, they could represent an earlier episode of repair to House 9 (Herren 2003: 187), perhaps implying a longer than normal use-life. Alternatively, they may have been settings for structures propping up the walls of House 10, which might have become destabilised due to subsidence into underlying older features such as pits. In either case, it is clear that considerable effort was invested to establish a direct link with a known past, most likely to gain some advantage in the present. On the other hand, the potential for expressing differ-

ences between houses through size could be downplayed, and this was evident in eastern areas of Lower Bavaria. Observable differences here are relegated to the interior of buildings, where diverse and sometimes regionally specific post settings came to be favoured. The issue of post settings is interesting. Much ink has been spilled on the Y-post formation, which has been variously seen as necessary for creating more free room (Pavúk 1994: 59), a lighter kind of roof construction (Masuch and Ziessow 1983: 249), or a side entrance (Meyer-Christian 1976). It has also been argued that it was a symbolic device used to recall Mesolithic tent interiors (Modderman 1985: 51; Whittle 2003: 138), or even that it represented an ‘architectural critique’ of the fundamental LBK value system embodied by straight DPRs (Jeunesse 2009: 165). While there may have been discursive or broadly ‘inscribed’ meanings attached to specific post settings, it is worth bearing in mind that these also created different affordances within the main living space of the house (see Hofmann 2006b). In addition to any divisions such as mats or curtains, different post settings allowed either more or less visual interaction with different areas and perhaps groups of people, or they facilitated the creation

Figure 2.7. Simplified plan of Houses 9 and 10 at Harting, Lower Bavaria. (Source: D. Hofmann after Herren 2003: Beilage 1). The two structures have overlapping walls and wall trenches, which are not separated out in this drawing.

0 20m

N

edge of excavation

feature of House 9 loam pit feature of House 10



of ‘rooms’ of various shapes which could be used to categorise and frame people or tasks. If post settings were about the different possible ways of drawing the household together and negotiating routine interaction, then replicating or changing them at each reconstruction could be connected to how the prospective inhabitants envisaged the development of the household and of their relations to each other. The houses in eastern Lower Bavaria were thus more focused on regulating the interactions of the inhabitants, although it is worth stressing that these concerns were not entirely absent further to the west. Here we seem to be seeing preferences in which aspects of the house were elaborated, not a presence or absence of traits. In contrast, at the regional level ditched enclosures surrounding LBK sites were, on current evidence, limited to eastern Lower Bavaria (Hofmann 2006a: 512–517, 687; Pechtl 2009a: 188–191). In the LBK as a whole, enclosures took a variety of forms (e.g. Kaufmann 1997; Meyer and Raetzel-Fabian 2006), but generally fall into larger examples of an irregular oval shape which enclosed contemporary houses, and smaller often more trapezoidal examples outside settlements. In both cases, there could be multiple ditch circuits or stretches of palisade. Often, the ditches had very varied profiles, with deeper and shallower stretches and narrower and wider sections occurring within the same earthwork, as at Stephansposching in Lower Bavaria (Fig. 2.8). Here, a single ditch with short stretches of internal palisade was partly revealed by excavation and enclosed an area of roughly 110 by 100 metres, with evidence for several entrances. Prior to erosion, the ditches were on average 2.7m wide and 2.1m deep, although both these figures varied widely for different ditch sections (Pechtl 2009b: 430–445). Recently, it has been argued that in many cases, not all stretches of the ditch were excavated or even stood open at the same time, but were added piecemeal to an agreed outline circuit (Jeunesse 2011). Other enclosures were apparently not re-dug and may have been more short-lived. In either case, however, such enclosures did represent a communal effort, whether as a one-off effort of construction or as a large-scale project to return to time and again. In other LBK regions too, it appears that the construction of extremely long houses on the one hand and of enclosures on the other remained spatially

exclusive, with one or the other option chosen (Pechtl 2009a: 191–193). Yet, neighbouring sites in a settlement cluster often had enclosures (e.g. Langweiler 3, 8 and 9 in the Merzbach valley in the Rhineland, Stehli 1994; Darion and Waremme in Belgium, Jadin and Cahen 2003; or Stephansposching and Otzing in the Deggendorf region, Pechtl 2009b; Schmotz and Weber 2000). It is hence tempting to see this as expressing competition at an inter-site rather than intra-site scale. In areas where the house was not used to differentiate strongly between households, the village community, as opposed to other possible communal identities, may instead have been the focus of monumentalisation (see also Pechtl 2009a). In this context, it would be interesting to collect more data for a comparison of the relative longevity of such adjacent monuments at a regional level. Where enclosures were frequently re-cut or added to, they were another arena for constant, physical memory work that helped to carry a sense of community forward in a certain way. Elsewhere the silting ditches of shorter-lived examples may have become the focus for different kinds of activities and different enstoriments. At Stephansposching, for instance, domed ovens were often cut into the sides of abandoned ditch segments, and some people were also buried there (Pechtl 2009b: 443). More research is needed into any potential patterns in such re-use, and how this compares to the arguments made here for houses. We do not need to agree with Pechtl’s (2009a: 194) identification of two ‘types’ of social organisation – lineage-based societies building large houses or ‘Big Men’ building enclosures – to appreciate that the choice between monumentalising single buildings or constructing earthworks was significant. In most societies the house does not stand alone, but instead aspects such as the focus on size resonate with other architectural endeavours and concerns. The house forms part of a wider story. Therefore, with LBK buildings the aspects which were ‘remembered’ to be taken forward at each new reconstruction were not limited to a set of more or less exactly recalled rules. Instead, there were sets of possibilities, all of which the house ‘traditionally’ embodied, including competition with other households, the ordering of social relations in specific ways and the carrying out of daily life within the structure, ideas of the long-term past, or the creation of a village



community which could show unity of purpose relative to others. From within these possibilities, the most salient narrative in a particular situation was selected. Such situations might have included the decisions made by other households past and present, as well as relations between inhabitants or between sites. Without breaking with tradition, alternative ways of narrating the house could have come into being, the roles of houses were ‘remembered’ with different emphases, and this in turn influenced the further trajectory of LBK domestic architecture.

Transitions

The above discussion has shown how LBK houses were enmeshed in a variety of different narratives. Since many social and temporal concerns – from the regulation of immediate daily tasks to the long-term past – were manif ested in these structures, this is perhaps not sur-prising. At any one point in time, then, contemporary sets of middle to late LBK buildings were not the same. Remaining for the moment with the example of Lower Bavaria, we can investigate how this influenced architectural changes throughout the LBK and into the Middle Neolithic. In his detailed typology of structures from Lower Bavaria, Pechtl (2010: 41) identifies four main groupings for the middle and late LBK, based initially on the material from Stephansposching (Fig. 2.8). Group A was characterised by rectangular houses with a variety of central post settings. Groups B and C had trapezoidal north-west parts, lacked doubled posts in the south-east and had more regularly spaced DPRs across the building, although the earlier Group B retained slightly greater variation in this. Group D houses were more strongly trapezoidal, were elaborated with south-east porch structures and doubled wall posts, and had very regularly spaced internal DPRs (see also Hofmann 2006a: appendix 6). Whilst they partly reflected chronological trends, Groups A–D effectively overlapped in time. Group A structures were predominant earlier on, but were actually present throughout the site’s sequence in ever decreasing numbers. Group B and C buildings emerged a little later and largely overlapped chronologically, but with Group B beginning slightly earlier. Only Group D houses were confined to the latest phases, where they

occurred alongside the other types (Pechtl 2010: 42). This scheme can be simplified to suggest two main trends in domestic architecture which were practised concurrently over extensive time frames. Some buildings apparently stressed internal partitions (Group A), while others steadily decreased in elaboration through time, resulting in ever greater uniformity. It was these more standardised Group D structures that eventually became the dominant form in the Middle Neolithic (Pechtl 2009b: 376, 388–390). In the main, houses also became more similar in size over time. The trend towards more open interiors had long been established (see above) and applied in all LBK regions to greater or lesser extents. It effectively foreshadowed the characteristics of Middle Neolithic buildings, which generally became shorter and less elaborated internally. Both the demarcation of different modules of these later houses and the variability of post settings were much reduced, and the size of the internal ‘rooms’ created by DPRs also tended to become less variable during this time (see also Coudart 1998; Hampel 1989; and specifically for Lower Bavaria Hofmann 2006a: 98–105, 2006b: 192–194) (Fig. 2.4). Middle Neolithic houses therefore privileged some features already emerging in LBK architecture over others. In general, the variety of sensory experiences and the possibilities of classifying space which were available in the LBK buildings with their distinct modules became suppressed in the later houses. The more open spaces in these later dwellings enabled a greater reliance on visual cues when navigating within buildings (see Hofmann 2006b), and this was concurrent with other changes. For example, enclosures became increasingly common in the Middle Neolithic, both those surrounding villages and the architecturally more complex and standardised Kreisgrabenanlagen or roundels, with their circuits of multiple concentric V-shaped ditches and occasionally palisades enclosing a circular interior mostly devoid of cut features. Entrances often exhibited astronomical alignments (e.g. Petrasch 1990, forthcoming; Whittle 1996: 187–92). This suggests the same relatively reduced efforts concerning the construction of houses and the greater energy expended in creating enclosures which were already present in some LBK sub-regions such as eastern Lower Bavaria, although this contrast was perhaps now heightened by building more standardised



N 0 25 50m

undated Phases 1 and 2

Phases 5 and 6

Phase 3 4 e s a h P

Stephansposching Deggendorf, Lower Bavaria

after Pechtl 2009a, �gure 167

A

B

C D E

F

G H

I J

K

L M

N

O

P

Q R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Fig.2.8. Plan of Stephansposching, showing groups of successive houses (circled) and the village enclosure. Houses of typological Group D are more common in the late phases 5 and 6. (Source: D. Hofmann after Pechtl 2009a: fig. 167).



and labour-intensive roundel enclosures, devoid of internal settlement. There were also changes in material culture, most notably in pottery styles and burial ritual. With ceramics, dot-based decoration now played a greater role than linear-based styles of ornamentation. With funerary traditions, in some regions such as Lower Bavaria there was comparatively less formal burial (Hofmann 2006a: chapter 6). In other areas, such as the Hinkelstein and Großgartach cemeteries of the Rhine valley, there was much greater standardisation in the position and orientation of the dead than had been the case during the LBK, although there was still a wide spectrum of grave goods (e.g. Hofmann and Whittle 2008; Müller 2003; Spatz 1999). In spite of all these changes, however, it would be inappropriate to claim that there was a complete rupture with what had gone before, and domestic architecture was key in how links with the LBK past were to an extent explicitly maintained. It has been argued that the more common trapezoidal ground plans still stressed modularity to some extent by creating a greater contrast between the enlarged front of the house and the back (Bickle 2008: 150), and similarly the naviform structures of other cultural groupings might have emphasised the centre of the house. What seems important is that these divisions were not additionally marked on the inside of structures through corridors or similar strategies, but could still be visible on the outside. One example is the early Stichbandkeramik Culture (SBK; Stroke-Ornamented Pottery, c. 5000/4900–4600 cal. BC) House 7 at Straubing-Lerchenhaid in Lower Bavaria (Brink-Kloke 1992: 62) (Fig. 2.9). Here, there were still areas within the house where DPRs were set more closely together, something which would soon disappear. Yet what is striking is that these internally differentiated spaces no longer corresponded to external markings, in this case the trenched wall. The south-east part was not marked internally any more, but appears to have had a less substantial outer wall consisting of only a single row of posts. Apparently, it was more important to express modularity on the outside than it was to recreate these divisions faithfully on the inside. Admittedly, the use of differential wall construction to mark off the south-east remained extremely rare, but in general, elements such as trenched walls in the north-west zones of houses persisted long after the interior spaces were

0 20m

N

House 5

House 6House 7

pit

disturbance

Fig. 2.9. Detail of the excavated area at Straubing-Lerchenhaid, Lower Bavaria. Note how in structure 7, the double wall posts give way to single posts at the southern end of the house, while the area of more closely spaced posts in the north does not correspond to the outer wall trench. Houses 5 and 6 appear connected by three large posts. (Source: D. Hofmann after Brink-Kloke 1992: fig. 1.8).

almost completely standardised, whilst the former south-east parts were effectively ‘externalised’ through the construction of open porch-like spaces. At Straubing-Lerchenhaid, there was an added dimension. As at other early SBK sites in Bavaria (see Hofmann 2006a: 142–144), there were pairs of houses with similar internal layouts that appear to have succeeded each other over time. These were constructed far closer together than had been the case with most successive LBK buildings, which were often set several tens of metres from their precursors. Such references to immediate predecessors could have been another way to anchor the buildings in a remembered past, to stress commitments to tradition at a time when only selec-ted aspects of a former repertoire were being carried forward. Perhaps the row of posts connecting the Middle Neolithic House 6 to the earlier LBK House 5, the remains of which may still have been visible (Fig. 2.8), was a further mnemonic practice, although the postholes have not been dated.



process of increasingly rapid re-alignment seems a much better explanation for areas such as Bavaria. The eventual widespread acceptance of new ways of decorating pottery, burying and building was partly rooted in its reference to valued aspects of a shared past, albeit with some of these now more highly valued than others. In terms of long-term trajectories of architectural changes, it is clear that these were intimately tied to other aspects of material culture. Almost all aspects of earliest LBK life seem to have emphasised homogeneity and similarity,12 whereas the middle and late LBK saw a proliferation of different ways in which architecture was manifested, and this coincided with increasing regionalisation in material culture and burial practices (Hofmann forthcoming, chapters 2 and 3). In the Middle Neolithic, difference was once again suppressed, at least within the new culture groupings, although it was stronger at an inter-cultural level. The beginning of the Middle Neolithic did mark an acceleration of changes, but we should resist becoming overly deterministic. Rather than stressing an LBK ‘crisis’, we should further investigate the faultlines that already existed in the way buildings were ‘enstoried’ within the middle and late LBK. This process of Middle Neolithic selection, of narrowing down potential architectural choices, is harder to explain than the earlier tendency towards divergence and would benefit from further research. One suggestion may be that for a time at least, new discursive meanings became attached to the house, something hinted at by Spatz (2003) in his characterisation of the Hinkelstein culture as a ‘sect’, and that these meanings were then replicated accurately (for an anthropological discussion of similar processes, see Whitehouse 1992). Alternatively, in areas such as Bavaria, domestic architecture may have been less elaborated because some of the associations of the LBK house, especially those that aimed to impact on the wider community, had shifted to new contexts such as roundels and other enclosures. These provided settings for a different, wider scale of social interaction. In contrast, narratives focused on the house now continued within an overall framework in which domestic architecture was no longer appropriate for creating difference at the inter-household level. Domestic architecture still kept changing, but the trend was towards increasingly smaller and eventually archaeologically invisible buildings.

In Middle Neolithic contexts therefore, there seems to have been a continued concern with the past, despite a greater overall stress on standardisation and conventionalisation especially in domestic architecture. Whilst the different Middle Neolithic culture groupings which succeeded the LBK exhibited clear differences amongst them, within each new culture there was less variation than in the LBK.11 In terms of house building, selected tendencies of LBK architecture were isolated and almost magnified in Middle Neolithic structures; whilst of the many possible variations simplification and standardisation were chosen. This was not the invention of an entirely new way of doing things, but the selective carrying forward of the potentialities of the past, a past that continued to be referenced as salient. The newly dominant ways of building and dwelling had in fact already been prefigured during the LBK, part of a remembered and perhaps venerated past which seemed to most adequately address the concerns of the present, and the narrative it made sense to recollect and re-create. This view has repercussions for the idea that the end of the LBK was some form of dramatic crisis. Instead, what we might be witnessing was an acceleration and selection of changes which were to an extent already prefigured in earlier architectural strategies. Similarly, although trends in burial practices and pottery were cumulatively different from what had gone before, they were not complete ruptures with the past. Even at the larger scale, the end of the LBK was a mosaic process. Areas in the upper Rhine had already shifted to what archaeologists now call the Hinkelstein and Großgartach cultures at a time when LBK houses were still being built at Cologne-Lindenthal further downstream (Eisenhauer 2002: 128–148; Spatz 1996: 473–479), and the SBK was well-established in the Czech Republic when the late LBK enclosures were constructed at Eilsleben in Saxony-Anhalt (between c. 5000 and 4900 cal. BC) (Einicke 1995). Although it is unclear how long this process of co-existence lasted, several human generations are usually suggested (Einicke 1995: 30; Eisenhauer 2002: 128–148; Spatz 1996: 473–479). This is not to say that locally the impact may not have been large – the Merzbach valley in the German Rhineland for instance, was seemingly abandoned for several generations (Zimmermann, Meuers-Balke and Kalis 2005: 34) – but this was not the overall picture. Instead of an ‘out-and-out’ revolution, a



Conclusion

The past formed a central dimension to the way LBK domestic architecture developed over time, but not in the sense of stifling innovation and leading to identical replication. Different and valued aspects of houses – their potential for social competition, for ordering daily activities and much else besides – were selectively drawn on in specific and therefore not identical local contexts. This created faultlines, different ways in which architecture could come to be entangled in the narratives of people’s lives and aspirations. Therefore, at different times and places in the LBK, a house did not ‘mean’ the same or ‘work’ in exactly the same way. At the same time, the many shared aspects of LBK architecture show that this potential for variation was not limitless and that common ideas of what made a house did exist – for instance, the idea that it should be longer than wide, have internal rows of three posts and be replaced at regular intervals. But we cannot limit ourselves to this aspect of the data alone. Material culture, including houses, had the potential to be drawn into the narratives of people’s lives in different ways at particular times and places. Houses are complex artefacts. At one level houses are a taken-for-granted aspect of existence that mould people’s expectations and orientate them to the world in certain ways, but they can also be explicitly thought about as displays of wealth or as ancestral places. Both more and less consciously articulated memories involving many spheres of past life thus accumulated in and around houses, and they were drawn upon in diverging stories, resonating with other trends and changes. Over the longer term, periods in which houses were relatively more standardised contrast with other times in which there was greater potential for divergence, and these architectural patterns coincided with trends in other aspects of material culture. Middle Neolithic people carried forward only some aspects of LBK architectural tradition, resulting in buildings which were far more standardised. The past was quite selectively drawn upon to create different possibilities of social life in their present. To appreciate these aspects more fully, archaeologists must move beyond seeing memory purely as the replica-tion of an ideal, standardised and ancestral way of life. By focusing on memory as repetition and stasis we

create an artificially timeless ‘LBK culture’, which then requires dramatic outside agencies in order to be able to explain change at all, much as was the case with earlier interpretations. Such ideas can be challenged. The builders of LBK houses had the potential to re-member them in divergent ways, drawing upon those aspects which seemed most salient at that point in time. It is here that the roots of change lay. This was not ‘faulty memory’, but a process in which the past was actively used to negotiate the present – in other words, memory work was part of the narrative of people’s lives. There was more than one route house development could take, and houses came to be ‘enstoried’ in ways hat differed subtly across time and between regions. This shift in interpretational emphasis has a profound impact on how we see the role of domestic architecture, and material culture more generally, in processes of Neolithic cultural change. Rather than shackles binding people to a timeless past which they were condemned to repeat in perpetuity, or at least until the next crisis, buildings were dynamically implicated in imagining different possible futures. In this way, memories of the past were central to the textures of people’s changing lives.

Notes

1. Ideas of memories as faithful imprints have a long pedigree in Western thought, going back at least to Socrates and Aristotle (Borić 2010a: 5).

2. Osborne (2008: 285), following Bell (1992: 120), sees ‘custom’ as the stock of shared knowledge and action on which to selectively draw, and tradition as something to be followed more explicitly, albeit permitting for variation. These concepts are not separated here.

3. The discussion in Borić (2010a: 12) here draws mostly on volume 3 of Ricoeur’s Time and Narrative (1988), which sees narrative as a central aspect of how people experience life. It is through narrative that events, agents and objects are rendered as meaningful parts of a larger whole in the lived experience of people. Through this kind of emplotment, situations are made intelligible and time is humanised. Memory is a way of telling stories whereby the elements of the plot are recollected – i.e. rearranged to make sense in terms of the known outcome.

4. Absolute dates for the LBK are a matter of debate (e.g. Lanting and van der Plicht 1994; Lüning 2005; Stäuble 2005; Stöckli 2002; for the end of the LBK see note 5 below). A full discussion of these issues is beyond the scope of this paper,



but in the light of the arguments discussed in Bánffy and Oross (2010, with further references), a shorter chronology is preferred here. The beginnings of the LBK in western Hungary/eastern Austria are hence informally estimated as between 5600 and 5500 cal. BC, while Dubouloz (2003) suggests that at its western extremity, the LBK ended between 4900 and 4800 cal. BC.

5. The dating of these post-LBK cultures varies regionally, as the end of the LBK was not simultaneous across the area of its distribution, and its successor cultures were of varying duration. For example, the late LBK of the Paris Basin (Rubané récent du Bassin parisien, RRBP) was still in existence when the Middle Neolithic Hinkelstein culture developed in western Germany at around 5050 cal. BC (Dubouloz 2003; Eisenhauer 2002; and see discussion below). In Bavaria, the Stichbandkeramik and related cultures lasted for roughly half a millennium after the end of the LBK between 5000 and 4900 cal. BC (Nadler and Zeeb 1994; Pechtl 2009b: 110–114). Absolute dates are also problematic because many chronological arguments rely almost exclusively on ceramic typologies and seriations (e.g. Nadler and Zeeb 1994; Spatz 1996). These issues cannot be treated in greater depth here.

6. This raises the question of how long ruined houses remained visible. It is often assumed that LBK houses were left to decay, forming mounds of rotting wood and clay which then inspired later western European long barrows (e.g. Hodder 1984). However, some houses at least appear to have been dismantled and others were perhaps burnt (Hofmann forthcoming: chapter 3), suggesting that not all remained as physical traces to the same extent. This aspect would repay further study in terms of its impact on memory, but a more comprehensive assessment on how frequent burning and dismantling actually were is still necessary.

7. While Jones (2007: 98) explicitly recognises architectural variation, for him this remains limited to the building types identified by Modderman. Regional and chronological variations of other architectural traits are not discussed.

8. Whittle (2003: 136–143) describes the many timescales intersecting in a LBK house, from long-term traditions to generational replacements and the faster rhythms of individuals’ taskscapes, but is not explicitly concerned with architectural change.

9. These estimates rely on studies of LBK settlement in the Merzbach valley in the German Rhineland. Here, the basic sequence was established through a typological seriation of ceramics from pits attributed to individual houses (for a critique of this, see Rück 2012). Stehli (1989) then selected 14C dates obtained on material from these pits, mostly charcoal, summarised them per ceramic phase and wiggle-matched them to the calibration curve, assuming variously a house length of 20, 25 and 30 years. A duration of 25 years seemed the most satisfying, and indeed the figure corresponds to that obtained if one simply divides

the overall known duration of the LBK in the Rhineland (c. 350 years) by the number of Merzbach ceramic phases (14). However, in some phases at Bylany for instance, a 20-year life span fits the calibration curve better (Stehli 1989), suggesting there may be more diversity across the LBK. In addition, this method is too coarse-grained to identify any acceleration or slowing down in building activity, although Lüning (2005) has recently suggested that phase length fluctuated. Further methodological problems such as the old wood effect, or grouping dates from features with different fill histories, also mean that the results should be treated with caution.

10. Indeed, dating at Harting is less than secure, as many loam pits were intercutting, making it difficult to assign pottery assemblages – on which the dating relies – to particular houses and to assess their degree of admixture.

11. Although this impression may be partly the result of the much reduced amount of data available, especially for Middle Neolithic settlements (e.g. Ganslmeier 2010). Also, in some areas, this tendency was eventually reversed again. In the Rössen culture, which succeeded Hinkelstein and Großgartach in parts of western Germany around 4600 cal BC, some houses again became truly monumental, exceeding 50m in length (e.g. Lönne 2003: 50–51). Again, the way houses could be enstoried in the Middle Neolithic could come to differ over time.

12. This is not to deny that there was variation in the earliest LBK architecture, for instance in the elaboration of the north-west part and in the lengths of loam pits and additional wall trenches (see Stäuble 2005: 34–125), simply that this was relatively minor compared to middle and late LBK buildings. Partly, this may also be connected to the constructional details of earliest LBK houses, which mean that these tend to be less well preserved than later examples, hindering the identification of variations. Earliest LBK pottery has long been shown to vary regionally to an extent (e.g. Lenneis 2004; Pechtl 2009c).

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Catriona Gibson and Adrian Chadwick for inviting me to speak at their TAG session and for the opportunity to publish this paper, much improved by their careful editing. In addition, I gratefully acknowledge the support of the Leverhulme Trust, whose award of an Early Careers Fellowship in 2009/2010 enabled me to carry out the research on which this paper is based. Thanks are also due to Penny Bickle, Dušan Borić and Alasdair Whittle for their insightful comments on an earlier draft. Remaining omissions, bad grammar, obfuscations, inconsistencies and all other possible faults are of course my responsibility alone.



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Narrating the house. The transformation of longhouses in early Neolithic Europe.

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