Overview over the Iron Age village at Lejre Experimental Centre,
Denmark. Picture: Roeland Paardekooper.
Building an Iron Age house in the present day might say
little about how it was to build such a house over 2000 years ago, but it is up
to experimental archaeologists to find out what we actually can learn from it.
By dismissing the human element and measuring the time it costs for someone to
reach a goal does not mean that registering time is useless. Some processes
have always led to the same results, both in the past and in the present. That
is why it is good to measure how much time it takes, for example, for ceramics
to be baked at a certain temperature, within the context of the variables, such
as the kind of clay and the kind of kiln.
In the 1950s, knowledge of how to smelt iron without using a
modern blast furnace had almost vanished in Europe, although hundreds of
archaeological sites were already identified as iron-smelting sites. Without
exact knowledge, the evidence of the different stages would be impossible to
compare and to discern. In the past 60 years, ethnoarchaeological reports from
Africa and Asia have found their way to many people interested and, combined
with the archaeological data sets, literally thousands of experiments with
shaft furnaces and other prehistoric and early historic types were executed
across the world. Especially in the United States, groups of
archaeologists/craftspeople are very active in iron smelting. One of the
advantages of iron smelting is that it was executed in many regions across the
world which makes it easier for people to become familiar with it in their
local environment. More clearly, these experiments and the vast amount of
reports of them have made it possible for archaeologists to discern the
different steps, methods, and their by-products.
In 1967, a construction built in Lejre (Denmark) resembling
an Iron Age house was deliberately set on fire and excavated later. Such
experiments take time, courage, and a stable physical environment.
The scene for the fire was planned in detail, with inventory
and stock put in place where needed. Small porcelain cones were mounted across
the house as part of the registration of temperature. Surprisingly for the
experimenters, the house burnt down in as little as 30 min. A few days after
the fire, small test pits were excavated. In this excavation, different layers
of ash were discernible as well as different sources of clay and loam (walls,
floor, etc.).
These different features were much more difficult to
recognize in the 1992 excavations. The people excavating in the second phase
were unaware of the documentation of the fire in 1967, just like archaeologists
nowadays excavate houses without knowledge of what exactly they will find until
they do make finds. To everybody's surprise, they made only very little finds,
even if the house was only burnt down 25 years before. After the 1992
excavations, the undisturbed parts are left for the future.
The pity of this famous experiment is that there has been no
money available to date to process the complete documentation of the
constructing phase, the phase of use of the house, the burning down, and
subsequently the excavation. Even if this could be done, the work comparing the
data with original archaeological information on burnt-down houses has to be
started first of all.
In the 1980s and 1990s, different wooden ships were built in
Denmark, Germany, and the Netherlands, resembling a medieval cog-like vessel.
This kind of ship was used in the late Middle Ages in the North Sea and the
Baltic Sea as trading vessel. As is often the case, money was acquired through
European unemployment funds. The building of such new ships of old design has
an important added value, namely promoting interest in the past, and therefore
strengthening the position of archaeology.
The different cog-like vessels built in the 1980s and 1990s
served different levels of authenticity and different goals. Most important,
the ships were meant to be used as seafaring vessels in modern ages.
A major advantage of having these new ships built is that
the original archaeological data receives renewed attention, not just from
archaeologists, but from a range of other specialists as well, who all `see'
things in the original data, which archaeologists did not identify before.
Archaeologists do learn to see beyond what they know, but these insights might
be limited.
In some cases, archaeological details were copied into a
ship, and people first found out about their use after sailing with the ship.
This is the case, for example, for a triangular piece of wood, which decenniums
after the excavations had to be planned in the correct location, which could be
recognized in medieval depictions as well. It turned out to be a so-called
beam-end fender.
The location of the beam-end fender in front of a through-beam on the
outer side of the hull. Drawing by Morten Gᴓthche, Maritime Newsletter from
Roskilde, Denmark, no. 7, December 1996, p. 15.
The beam-end fenders can be seen clearly on this town seal from Elbing
c. 1350. From Maritime Newsletter from Roskilde, Denmark, no. 7, December 1996,
p. 15.
Experiments in using such a ship are often restricted to
short-term monitoring experiments (``does it work well?''). Longer-term
monitoring, using log books and comparing these over the years, would be a
cost-effective way of learning more. The different ship projects are in touch
with each other and exchange experiences. If the results and experiences with
such ships were to be combined, an interesting image would emerge.
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