Monuments in the Making

chapter one

The enchantment of megalithic architecture: revisiting the dolmens of northern Europe With such simple architecture it is not easy to establish rules about what constitutes significant similarity, and even if general agreement is reached on this question – which is rarely the case, there are still severe problems of interpretation.

Fleming 1972, 177 1.1. Rehabilitating the simple dolmen In 1960 Glyn Daniel wrote the following: In France it is still the custom to refer to all megalithic tombs as ‘dolmens’ and this custom will not change. I hope that the time will never come when there is no Hôtel des Dolmens in Carnac and no Café de Dolmen at Bagneux, when there will not exist a cheap red wine called Cru des Dolmens, and when cheese and chocolate in France will cease to advertise themselves with pictures of megalithic tombs. But folk usage is one thing and exact archaeological parlance another; even in its most reduced form the word ‘dolmen’ for English readers can only mean a single rectangular or polygonal chamber, and our analysis of French tombs has shown that the status of these monuments is unlikely to be important or early (Daniel 1960, 214).

Since 1960, the Hôtel des Dolmens in Carnac has closed its doors for the last time, but today a pleasant stay can be had at the Hôtel du Tumulus built by Z. Le Rouzic near the massive St Michel mound, Carnac (Christine Boujot pers. comm.). With a massive dolmen in its rear garden, the cafe (now le Bar le Dolmen) at Bagneux still welcomes thirsty and hungry guests. The cheap Cru des Dolmens is no longer obtainable, but if desired may be replaced by a glass of the superior Chantovent ‘dolmen des Fées’ Cabernet Sauvignon. Regretfully, this book is not about wine, accommodation nor food but rather is written to counter Daniel’s final assertion, and to argue that ‘dolmen’ is, in fact, a necessary description of an extraordinary form of megalithic architecture. This is based not so much on the grounds of a critique of typology, but rather to convey our employment of the term dolmen to identify a particular form of megalithic architecture created to display a substantial (cap)stone (cf. Scarre 2004a). This is the distinctive architectural form that was immediately identified by schoolchildren when asked ‘what is a dolmen?’ by Roger Joussaume; ‘drawing a large shape in the air… they tell me that it is a big block held up above the ground

2 Monuments in the Making

by other blocks set in the ground’ (Joussaume 1987, 16). In this book we will argue that dolmens are qualitatively of a different order than has previously been appreciated through their assignment as a megalithic tomb.

Judging from the architecture of monuments in northern Europe such as Carreg Samson (Fig. 1.2), Eskilstorp dolmen (Fig. 1.3), Devil’s Den (Fig. 1.4), Pentre Ifan (Figs 1.9 and 2.9), Dolmen de Crucuno (Fig. 2.14), or Carrowmore (Figs 1.7 and 5.29), it should come as no surprise to learn that the term dolmen as employed in south Wales means a raised stone (Darvill and Wainwright 2016, 79), or in mid-nineteenth-century Brittany translates as a stone table (Serge Cassen pers. comm.). Some dolmens such as the Table des Marchands, Morbihan or La Table-du-Diablo (La Pierre Levee), Loire Valley, France, explicitly reference this architectural component. These descriptions reveal that to past observers the elevated and supported capstone was perceived to be the predominant feature of dolmens, and an early view of the Table des Marchands captures this description perfectly (Fig. 2.3). However, through time in British and Irish archaeology the name ‘dolmen’ as an analytical term became diluted, diminished and redundant. So, for example, in the first few lines of The prehistoric chamber tombs of England and Wales, Glyn Daniel states ‘the prehistoric chamber tombs of southern Britain – the “dolmens” and “giants graves” and “cromlechau” of popular nomenclature – are among the most ancient and interesting of our

figure 1.1. We will argue in this book that as with all dolmens, the extraordinary and exquisite megalithic architecture of Gwern Einon, north Wales, has little to do with its traditionally assigned role as a chambered tomb.

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 3

figure 1.2. Carreg Samson, south-west Wales, has a massive conglomerate capstone.

national antiquities’ (Daniel 1950, 3). The days of referring to megalithic structures as dolmens had seemingly passed; ‘we should incidentally, these days avoid as much as possible, using the term dolmen’ advised Daniel (1980, 2).

Although use of the general term ‘dolmen’ has diminished within British and Irish archaeological discourse (see Kytmannow 2008, 60–5), it occasionally reappears as a descriptive term (e.g. Darvill 2016; Darvill and Wainwright 2016, 79), while continuing in general use in France and the Channel Islands (e.g.

Hunt 1997; Joussaume 1987). In other areas of north-west Europe, for example Scandinavia, the term dolmen retains analytical strength in referring to a specific form of megalithic architecture (e.g. Dehn 2013; Eriksen and Andersen 2016; Midgley 2008). In Britain, there are a small number of megalithic structures termed portal dolmens, and the same label was also employed in Ireland until relatively recently (e.g. de Valera and Ó Nualláin 1961), but today the Irish monuments are known as portal tombs (Kytmannow 2008; Shee Twohig 2004, 26–34), which is arguably worse.

The shift in terminology from dolmen to megalithic or chambered tomb (or passage grave) clearly elevates a particular function over form, thereby emphasising a generic architectural purpose of burial within a stone chamber. Thus, as soon as the term chambered tomb came to embrace this form of monumentality, human burial and megalithic architecture became conceptually fused,

4 Monuments in the Making

although why human burial should occur within an often massive megalithic structure remained obscure.

1.2. What type of megalithic tomb is this?

The inspiration for this project derived from visiting the cluster of ‘dolmens’ in Pembrokeshire, south-west Wales (Figs 8.8 and 8.18b). These are a visually stunning group of monuments within a spectacular location, including the renowned Pentre Ifan, Carreg Samson, Carreg Coetan Arthur, Llech y Dribedd, Garn Turne, Carn Wnda and others. Their general architecture consists of having slender upright stones (orthostats) supporting a substantial elevated (cap)stone. A fresh research project re-examining what appeared to be similar megalithic architecture across northern Europe and Scandinavia appeared to offer great potential. However, in researching the Pembrokeshire ‘dolmens’ that had initially inspired us to undertake the project, it became apparent that rather curiously they were not recognised as the same ‘type’ of monuments at all. In fact, many years ago one of us had written about Carreg Samson (see Richards 2004), only to be subsequently admonished on two counts. The first was for using the ‘old-fashioned term dolmen’ and second, for employing it in relation to Carreg Samson that on seemingly

figure 1.3. The Eskilstorp dolmen, Skåne, Sweden, was erected on low-lying ground close to the sea, and has a substantial erratic boulder as a capstone.

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 5 little evidence (see Thomas 2013, 349) had been classified as a passage grave (Kytmannow 2008, 65; Lynch 1975). However, even Kytmannow had to admit that the typological ‘boundaries of classification for the “dolmens” in SW Wales’ are fluid, and that ‘it is rather easy to turn a simple dolmen of the Carrowmore variety into a portal tomb or vice versa’ (Kytmannow 2008, 61).

Staying with the south-west Welsh ‘dolmens’, initially there was considered a degree congruence among this group but with different configurations (see Daniel 1950). For Frances Lynch (1972), too, the portal dolmen type of megalithic tombs in the Nevern Valley, south-west Wales, provided a degree of unity in either ‘classic’ or ‘devolved’ forms. Unfortunately, her designated ‘most classic of all’ – Carreg Coetan Arthur – on excavation was found to have one of the defining characteristics of a portal dolmen missing (Rees 2012, 111). This merely confirms Barker’s observation that ‘it is a startling fact that apart from Pentre Ifan there is not one “classic” portal dolmen which can be identified confidently in all of S. Wales’ (Barker 1992, 76). Just to add further confusion, Julian Thomas notes that apart from the ‘merest hint of a passage’, Carreg Samson ‘has closer affinities with the dolmens’ (Thomas 2013, 349) whereas Hensey (2015, 22–5) has no doubt that Carreg Samson is definitely a Type 1 passage grave. In despair, Darvill and Wainwright (2016, 90) assign Carreg Samson as a ‘simple dolmen’, concluding ‘how exactly these various kinds of dolmens worked, and what they were used for, remains problematic’. To say that in this region the ‘typological classification of megalithic chambered tombs has exercised specialists’ would seem to be an understatement (Rees 2012, 105). Unsurprisingly, after noting how these monuments ‘have defied classification’, Tilley (1994, 90) simply ignores typology completely in his subsequent analyses of megaliths in the landscape.

Are the megalithic structures of Pembrokeshire, south-west Wales, unusual in being particularly difficult to classify on the basis of typology? The answer is no because exactly the same problems occur elsewhere in Britain. For instance, Kytmannow notes that the quoits (dolmens) in Cornwall ‘obviously owe a lot to portal tombs. Nevertheless, they lack portals’, and some level of resolution is realised in the suggestion that ‘they are a local variant but not definitely portal tombs’ (Kytmannow 2008, 80). Indeed, the architectural variation of Cornish dolmens noted by Kytmannow leads Sheridan to muse whether Chun and Mulfra Quoits may be part of ‘the family of Breton-style closed megalithic chambers and simple passage graves’ (Sheridan 2011, 29). The problems of classification are not peculiar to Britain either. In commenting on the Irish portal tombs, Shee Twohig (2004, 9) acknowledges that ‘in the south, many sites classified as portal tombs seem never to have had a portal feature, but have a large capstone propped up over a small chamber’. This observation is echoed by Mercer who comments that ‘Ballynageeragh is an unusual portal tomb as it has no portal stones and the capstone is supported by a septal stone’ (Mercer 2015, 102). From this we may ponder the status of ‘portal tombs’ without portals in particular and the utility of typological classifications more generally.

6 Monuments in the Making Nor is dolmen classification in Denmark, Sweden and northern Germany without its problems; ‘within the general dolmen category there are some sites where the ingenuity and skills of the builders, in combination of boulders of particular shapes, has occasionally led to construction of chambers that stand out from the general pattern’ cautions Midgley (2008, 70). Finally, in this project examining dolmens in Britain and Ireland and across northern Europe we certainly found and agree that ‘traditional typological systems hinder the analytical comparability of features between different research areas’ (Hage et al. 2016, 149).

Consequently, apart from the obvious tensions inherent in the homogenising effects of typological classifications (Lucas 2001, 96–7), and the obvious inconsistencies noted above, we have little utility for these schemes. We simply wish to highlight two defining features that guided our investigations of the architecture that from now on we describe as dolmens. First are the morphology and scale of the capstone. For example, Eriksen and Andersen (2016, 238) observe that in Denmark dolmen capstones were nearly always ‘much more massive than necessary’. This echoes Midgley’s statement for northern European dolmen capstones more generally that ‘the sheer size of some that survive’ far exceeds ‘what was needed to provide a roof ’, and in Scandinavian dolmen capstones were selected for their ‘massive shapes’ (Midgley 2010, 58). This entirely resonates with dolmens in Britain and Ireland for which Powell notes that capstones were often ‘chosen that far exceeded in bulk the mere requirements of providing a chamber roof ’ (Powell 1969, 6).

Second, when Lynch was seeking parallels for the small polygonal chamber at Carreg Samson, three possible examples in north Wales were identified.

Among these was Ty Newydd on the island of Anglesey, where importantly she mentions that ‘like Carreg Samson the rather elongated plan of the chamber is dictated by the shape of the capstone’ (Lynch 1975, 26–7). Grimes had already made a similar point when, in adding to Hemp’s observation of ‘the influence of the shape of the capstone on the plan of the underlying chamber’, he states that the shape of the capstone ‘would dictate the arrangement of stones set up to support it’ (Hemp 1936, 132). Of course, it should come as little surprise to learn that the morphology of capstones necessarily determined the structural arrangement of the supporting orthostats. Obviously, the shape and weight of the capstone would then impact the morphology of the chamber, but this appears to have little effect on typological strictures.

Hence, we concluded that adherence to traditional typological classification of chambered tombs (in which the dolmens are situated) leads to a false homogeneity being attributed within ‘types’ (Brophy 2005), and an equally misleading heterogeneity between ‘types’ (see, for instance, Boozer 2014).

Unhelpfully, the application of traditional typological classification based on ideal types (Normark 2010, 132–3), and underpinned conceptually by materially defined cultural correspondence (Jones 1997, 15–26), has created a very fragmented image of the earliest megalithic architecture in north-west Europe.

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 7

figure 1.4. Northern European ‘dolmen’ landscapes would have been covered in forest and strewn with moss-covered glacial erratics of all sizes.

This of course raises the question of how to not only approach and interpret this form of early megalithic architecture in new ways, but also to capture the dolmen as both a megalithic architecture of display and a thing somehow associated with human burial.

Acknowledging these difficulties, in this volume we spend little time reflecting on typological classifications as opposed to exploring the manner of presentation and materiality of capstones in dolmens. Here, we are particularly interested in the efficacy and affect of dolmens, many of which were built in the post-glacial landscapes of northern Europe. To appraise dolmens in their landscape settings we need to conjure up images of thick forests and vegetation where the ground surface was strewn with glacial debris of all sizes ranging from small stone fragments to massive boulders frequently of alien (non-local) lithologies (Fig. 1.4). Elsewhere in north-western Europe erosion had created extraordinary rock exposures and unusually shaped outcrops, and it was in these worlds of stone that dolmens (and menhirs) were erected as the first megalithic architecture.

In the following account we will continually return to and emphasise these boulder-strewn and rocky landscapes. This is because to fully appreciate the ‘drama’ of dolmens as the earliest forms of composite megalithic architecture it is necessary to situate them in these extraordinary stone worlds. If people built

8 Monuments in the Making dolmens for affect it is also important to put dolmen building in the equally extraordinary social milieu that defines the early Neolithic in northern and north-western Europe, and it is to that which we now turn.

1.3. A new Neolithic?

The introduction of the Neolithic into different areas of northern Europe has long been a persistent area of debate and uncertainty. For many years it seemed unclear whether the so-called ‘Neolithic package’ spread via the movement of people (e.g. Ammerman and Cavalli-Sforza 1984) or the diffusion of ideas (a debate extending back as far Childe 1925; also see Rowley Conwy 2004).

Different sequences in northern Europe appeared to support different processes. For example, in southern Scandinavia it can be demonstrated that the Mesolithic inhabitants were in contact with Neolithic groups to the south for an extended period of time (e.g. Gron and Sørensen 2018). This meant that while social groups we identify as Ertebølle seemingly adopted aspects of the Neolithic such as pottery, this ran concurrently with a maintenance of their hunting and gathering subsistence base. Consequently, there was an extended period of ‘availability’ for indigenous people to absorb elements of the Neolithic package (see in particular Zvelebil and Rowley Conwy 1984; 1986; also Gron and Sørensen 2018). The implications of this were that indigenous social strategies structured the uptake of Neolithic practices and things in this area (Whittle 2007b; Zvelebil 2000; and see Louwe Koojimans 2007 in relation to the Low Countries). However, there was also a sense that while hunter-gatherers may have resisted the full uptake of a Neolithic way of life for quite some time, once the decision was made to adopt farming people ‘went over’ relatively quickly.

This rapid process was marked by the onset of the TRB between 4100 BC and 3800 BC in northern Germany and southern Scandinavia (Hartz et al. 2007; Müller 2011). For many, the speed of the change from the Ertebølle to the TRB was so rapid that it must have involved the movement of new people into the area (Hartz et al. 2007, 569; L. Larsson 2007b, 596; M. Larsson 2014).

This debate was also explored in depth in other parts of north-west Europe.

For example, for Britain and Ireland Julian Thomas (1988a; 1999; 2013) argued for the indigenous adoption of the Neolithic where socially developed Mesolithic groups adopted selective traits from continental Europe across an extended time period. In Britain and Ireland there was considerable emphasis placed on the ideological transformations involved in ‘going over’ (e.g. Hodder 1990; Whittle and Cummings 2007). As we can see from Tilley’s (1996b) views of the relationship between dolmens and Cornish tors in south-west England (see Chapter 8), this approach was also embedded within the area of landscape studies where an assumed degree of continuity between the Mesolithic and Neolithic communities formed a core component of the narrative (also see Edmonds 1998; Cummings and Whittle 2004). This led to broader statements concerning megalithic architecture echoing continuity and maintenance of tradition where

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 9 it was the ‘development of symbolic places in the Mesolithic which laid the foundations for the origins of monumentality’ (Cummings 2003, 79).

One person who has consistently offered an alternative narrative of the origins of the British and Irish Neolithic is Alison Sheridan. For a number of years she has argued for the introduction of the Neolithic predicated on a series of migrations (Sheridan 2007; 2010; 2013). In many ways this scheme perpetuates the views of Piggott (e.g. 1954, 15–16), where it was envisaged that a variety of groups of migrants, derived from different locations in western and north-western France and the Low Countries, stepped ashore at specific places in Britain and Ireland. This in turn led to the recognition of specific cultural groups settling in different areas of the British Isles. The identification of such groups was predicated on searching for continental similarities in both material culture and monumental architecture which has been a long-term preoccupation among Neolithic archaeologists (e.g. Sheridan 2003; 2004; Whittle 1977).

This returns us to traditional typologies employed in chambered tomb studies as proxies for cultural assignment (Daniel 1950; de Valéra 1960, 40–8; Powell 1969; Scott 1969, 175–82, among others.). For some, chambered tomb typologies continue to provide the basis for classifications supporting interpretations of the movement of peoples (Sheridan 2010, 99–101; 2011, 27–9). Perhaps this is the main problem with this manner of argument because in tone it appears to align too heavily with culture-history discourses and consequently seems suspiciously retrogressive (Thomas 2013, 159–73).

The extreme polarisation of the debate on the Mesolithic-Neolithic transition in Britain and Ireland as typified by Thomas and Sheridan has seen calls for a ‘middle ground’ in the last decade. Instead, it has been argued that there were a multitude of differing, regional transitions to the Neolithic across north-western and northern Europe neatly described as a process of ‘fusion’ (endless combinations of unique circumstances) by Whittle (2007b) and others (see Whittle et al. 2011; also Cummings and Harris 2011). Recent aDNA studies have further altered the debate by illustrating the extent to which people moved into different areas at the start of the Neolithic (the implications of which are that they were taking new Neolithic traditions of practice with them). Again, there is considerable regional diversity in this emerging field. In southern Scandinavia it appears that there was a notable contribution of hunter-gatherer ancestry into Neolithic populations, although still involving a notable influx of people into the area (Furholt 2021; Sánchez-Quinto et al. 2019; Skoglund et al. 2014). In Britain aDNA studies demonstrate evidence for a very significant influx of people in the early Neolithic with only limited genetic input from the indigenous hunter-gatherers (Brace et al. 2019). The aDNA data indicate the arrival of populations into these islands were genetically descended from people who ultimately originated in Iberia (Cassidy et al. 2016; Olalde et al.

2018). The aDNA evidence is therefore enabling the identification of differing amounts of genetic influx in specific areas of north-west Europe. By implication this suggests differing processes of Neolithisation involving, to greater

10 Monuments in the Making and lesser extents, indigenous people and incoming peoples (Furholt 2021).

What is clear, however, is that there was a significant influx of new people into Britain, Ireland, northern Germany and southern Scandinavia early in the fourth millennium BC. Consequently, important questions revolve around the relationship of dolmen building to the movement of Neolithic people across north-western and northern Europe, and under what social conditions (see Chapter 8).

1.4. A time and place for the dolmen The basic megalithic architecture that we are describing as a dolmen appeared in a number of places in Europe and sometimes at different times. Moreover, the appearance of the dolmen also occurred at different points in the uptake of a Neolithic way of life, sometimes accompanying incoming people as an established tradition, and at other times not being deployed until the Neolithic was more thoroughly established (e.g. Andersson and Artursson 2020; Gron and Sørensen 2018). Along the Atlantic façade megalithic architecture was first constructed in the second half of the fifth millennium cal BC (see Schultz Paulsson 2019 for details). In northern France there is evidence for both incoming ‘Castellic agriculturalists’ as well as a degree of integration of indigenous hunting and gathering populations with Neolithic groups creating a mosaic of different cultural groups (Rivollat et al. 2020). This makes the initial start of the Neolithic a complex process involving multiple influences, presumably formulating and reformulating subsistence practices alongside kinship networks. It is of particular note that menhirs appear to have been the earliest form of megalithic architecture constructed in north-western France (Cassen 2009; Schulz Paulsson 2019). This seems to have taken place alongside other, smaller-scale monumental constructions such as tertres, which have been suggested to combine both Mesolithic and Neolithic traditions of practice (Scarre 2012, 88–95). It is unclear whether dolmen architecture (described as passage graves in the literature) accompanied menhirs and tertres at this time, but there remains a strong possibility. However, by the time people were raising and displaying broken menhirs such as the Pierre Césée (Fig. 2.27) or Table des Marchands (see Chapter 2), they had been practising Neolithic ways of life for many hundreds of years and there is little evidence of hunting and gathering surviving long-term as a practice. In this area, then, the incorporation of large stones, either broken pieces of menhirs, or newly quarried capstones, occurred in the latter part of the fifth millennium in Brittany in stone passage graves once the Neolithic was firmly established (Scarre 2011, 118; Schultz Paulsson 2019).

Throughout the rest of north-west Europe dolmens began to be constructed in the early to middle centuries of the fourth millennium cal BC. The earliest dates for dolmens from Britain and Ireland are from the site of Poulnabrone in Ireland which could have been constructed as early as 3885–3720 cal BC (Lynch

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 11 2014, 112). However, very few sites have produced dating material for either construction or use (however see Chapter 7), and it is worth noting that there are other, earlier Neolithic practices evidenced from both Ireland (see Whittle et al. 2011, 562–668) as well as south-east England where there are also a small number of dolmens (Whittle et al. 2011, 377–83). Judging from the dates from human skeletal material, such as the sequence from Coldrum, Kent, southeast England (Wysocki et al. 2013, 12–4), it seems we can present a case that dolmens were constructed early in the fourth millennium BC concurring with the arrival and spread of the Neolithic populations into Britain and Ireland (see also Scarre 2015, 81–5). But it is also worth noting that this was not a social strategy deployed systematically across Britain and Ireland, and only certain communities chose to build dolmens.

The very earliest dolmens in northern Germany and southern Scandinavia also date to the first few centuries of the fourth millennium cal BC (Schultz Paulsson 2019; Wunderlich et al. 2019), although, again from limited dating evidence, the main floruit of construction seems to be in the middle part of the fourth millennium for most dolmens in southern Scandinavia (Eriksen and Andersen 2016). This indicates the strategy of dolmen building to be part of a different and later process in the Neolithisation of this area. The first monumental constructions were in wood – mainly in the form of houses but also Barkaer structures which housed the remains of the dead. It is in these locations, and others, that dolmens were subsequently constructed once the Neolithic was fully established, occasionally over pre-existing houses and enclosures (see, for example, Andersen 2019; Eriksen and Andersen 2016, 50–3).

We can look at this in two different ways; first, the construction of dolmens apparently comes towards the end of a period of development, where people adopted components of a Neolithic way of life over approximately 200–300 years. Second, in being constructed between c. 3600 – 3400 cal BC (Schulz Paulsson 2019) dolmens appear to coincide with substantial changes in both society and material culture (identified as the change from EN1b to EN2) across southern Scandinavia and northern Germany (Gron and Sørensen 2018, 968–9). We are now in a position to challenge the assumptions that in Britain and Ireland, and ‘the Netherlands and Germany as well as Scandinavia, the earliest appearance of dolmens and passage graves is to be found mostly later during the second half of the 4th millennium BC’ (Wunderlich et al. 2019, 28). Instead, dolmen building can be situated earlier and in the specific social conditions relating to an incipient Neolithic across the different regions of our study area (see Chapter 8).

1.5. Visiting dolmens Having briefly provided the times and social contexts of dolmen construction in northern and north-western Europe, we wish to now turn to the specificity of dolmen architecture as investigated within this project. Apart from

12 Monuments in the Making excavation, fieldwork and site visits played a substantial role in the methodology and duration of the dolmen project, which ran from 2010 to 2019. By initially being guided by the experiences of encountering dolmens in the field in an almost phenomenological manner, a number of archaeological procedures were rendered redundant. From the very beginning it became apparent that any adherence to traditional typologically based monument classifications was not only of little utility but actually subverted our investigations. Certainly at the beginning of the project, questions of classification and definition caused us some pause for thought, especially when we were speaking with other researchers who valued such approaches. Ultimately, through visiting dolmens and assessing their distinctive megalithic architecture we came to recognise the deficiencies and biases inherent in ‘the dry typologies into which megalithic structures in all their infinite subtle variation have to be squeezed’ (Bender et al. 2007, 413). Indeed, during fieldwork, learning to step back from a number of ‘traditional’ assumptions including typological shackles allowed us more fully to engage with the heterogeneity and subtle qualities of one of the earliest and most extraordinary forms of composite megalithic architecture in northern Europe, and to appreciate the ‘power of stones’ (Scarre 2010). In order to draw out some of the most interesting features of dolmens that we explore in this book, let us briefly visit five different monuments and describe how they influenced our thinking.

Kit’s Coty House, Kent, England Just south of Bluebell Hill in Kent, England, is Kit’s Coty House, which together with several other sites, including the Coldrum Stones (Wysocki et al.

2013) forms part of an isolated cluster of megalithic structures known as the Medway group (Daniel 1950, 12; Jessop 1930). Kit’s Coty House was one of the first archaeological sites to become a Scheduled Ancient Monument in Britain.

However, today the site appears rather forlorn in having poor access and being closely encased within railings that were originally set up in the late nineteenth century to prevent vandalism. As a megalithic structure it is extremely impressive with two massive sarsen orthostats standing nearly 3 m high and supporting a substantial lofty capstone (Fig. 1.5). In being in south-east Britain, Kit’s Coty House, and the Medway group, appear marginalised and infrequently feature in discussions of megalithic tombs. Nonetheless, the gnarled sarsen capstone is angled slightly upwards to the front and between the two supports is a third lateral stone giving an H-shaped orthostatic plan. Any awareness of the ‘portal dolmens’ of western England and Wales, or the ‘portal tombs’ of Ireland, reveals this to be a very familiar form of megalithic architecture. Actually, Kit’s Coty House was identified many years ago as having a ‘false’ portal arrangement (Jessop 1930, 69), and more recently it was reiterated that the closest parallels were the portal dolmens of western Britain (Garwood 2012, 2). Yet, curiously this megalith failed to be included in the most recent major study of portal dolmens in Britain and Ireland (Kytmannow 2008). One possibility may be that

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 13 it was assumed to have been merely a stone chamber within a long barrow (Jessop 1930, 68–9).

However, when Paul Garwood and a team from Birmingham University undertook geophysical survey and excavation at Kit’s Coty House between 2009 and 2011 they were surprised to discover the dolmen was offset to the central axis of the long barrow. This led to the conclusion that the megalithic structure was of pre-mound date (Garwood 2012, 2). Hence, we possess evidence of a free-standing dolmen being erected, and judging from the Coldrum dates (Wysocki et al.

2013, 69–77), at a very early time in the fourth millennium cal BC (see also Whittle et al. 2011, 871–5).

Its subsequent encasement and inclusion in a long mound may have led to a frontage resembling Belas Knap in Gloucestershire, southern England (Fig. 8.28).

Visiting and thinking about Kit’s Coty House raised the issue of dolmen architecture being a very early outcome of the engagements of new people with new landscapes. These would have been unfamiliar worlds for incoming populations which contained no ancestral significance nor had been affected in any way by their forebears. For us, this raised some really interesting issues about what may have stimulated this megalithic architecture as effectively erected by strangers in a strange land (this will be explored in Chapter 8). figure 1.5. Kit’s Coty House, Kent, south-east England, is likely to be of an early fourthmillennium cal BC date, but has been relatively neglected in megalithic studies.

The Devil’s Den, Wiltshire, England Situated over 120 miles to the west of Kits Coty’s House and the Medway megaliths is the Devil’s Den (Fig. 1.6), an equally dramatic arrangement of uprights supporting a massive sarsen block of stone. Actually, a similarity between the two sites was recognised by Stukeley in an unpublished note of 1723; ‘tis the very same as Kits Coty house (the upper) but rather bigger… the ground plot an H but the middle stone is sunk down’ (Piggott 1948, 391).

Without doubt, the impression gained when first visiting the Devil’s Den is not of a ‘ruined’ megalithic chamber but of an enormous stone held aloft.

Included on the first Schedule of Ancient Monuments in 1882, the site caused considerable problems for the Wiltshire Archaeology Society in 1921.

The problem was not so much that ‘owing partly to the continual ploughing away and levelling of the ground immediately surrounding it, this well-known dolmen, standing some half a mile off the Bath Road, between Avebury and Marlborough, showed signs of probable collapse’ (Goddard 1922, 60), but more

14 Monuments in the Making

the raising of £54 to cover remedial works. These entailed unproductive excavations under the watchful eyes of Mr A. D. Passmore, a stalwart of the society, and the insertion of an unsightly concrete block being set around the base of the north-east supporting stone. Fortunately for the society, a special fund was initiated and the amount successfully raised and paid (Passmore 1922, 526).

The setting of the site is both interesting and deceptive. Unexpectedly, as a monumental structure it is not positioned in a highly visible, or even prominent location, and as Field notes, ‘on the contrary, it was hidden away on the floor of a valley’ (Field 2005, 89). Equally, its monumental presence today is enhanced by its isolated grandeur but in the past this valley had one of the greatest densities of sarsen boulders in the area to such an extent that supposedly you could step from one boulder to another (Brentnall 1946). Consequently, when constructed the Devil’s Den would have been a large sarsen stone elevated above masses of other large stones (see Figs 5.12 and 8.19).

As noted above, the appearance of the Devil’s Den is extraordinary given that it is interpreted as merely being the remains of a burial chamber. A massive bulbous sarsen block, weighing c. 17 tonnes is literally perched and supported on two angled sarsen uprights, with two smaller recumbent sarsens lying between them. The upper area of the ‘capstone’ is a rounded weathered natural surface while the base appears relatively flat, which prompted Mr Passmore to

figure 1.6. The Devil’s Den stands on the lower slopes of the Marlborough Downs in southern England. It is located at the base of a valley and was once surrounded by a ‘river’ of sarsen stones; see Figs 5.12 and 8.19 (Josh Pollard).

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 15 make an interesting observation in noting that ‘a critical examination of the underside of the capstone reveals certain marks which at first appeared to be due to pounding with a maul’ (Passmore 1922, 525). He subsequently changed his mind attributing the marks to weathering.

Visiting the Devil’s Den raised very interesting questions about location and potential dressing of the capstone. Primarily we pondered under what circumstances would a monument that is meant to be seen occupy a relatively inconspicuous topographic situation and being further camouflaged amidst the surrounding ‘river’ of sarsen boulders (see Chapter 5). Equally, Passmore’s observation concerning the base of the capstone being dressed raised a concern that had been at the back of our minds for a while (Chapter 4), especially as the prevalent view in the literature seemed to emphasise that these stones were neither modified or dressed (e.g. Furholt and Müller 2011, 19; Mercer 2015, 100; Scarre 2004a; 2004b; but see Kytmannow 2008, 55).

Carrowmore, Co. Sligo, Ireland During an early stage of the project, we were undertaking fieldwork in western Ireland and decided to visit the megalithic tombs at Carrowmore in Co. Sligo (Figs 1.7 and 5.29). This was the first visit for one of us (CR) and its description as a passage grave cemetery (e.g. Cooney 2000, 163–4) invoked expectations of encountering monuments similar to the Carrowkeel passage graves, Maeshowe, Bryn Celli Ddu, and so forth. When we drove into the Carrowmore area it came as some surprise to see a number of monuments alongside the road which seemed to be extremely similar to the dolmens that we had been visiting over the past few weeks. Apart from the large mound at Listoghil (Site 51) there appeared to be no resemblance whatsoever to the expected passage grave architecture with long access passages and substantial circular mounds or cairns. Yet again, expectations of form based on typological designation were not only misleading, but utterly failed to capture the extraordinary architectural bearing or presence of what we would describe as the Carrowmore ‘dolmens’ (Fig. 5.29). Current identification of Carrowmore as a passage grave cemetery is a little deceptive and quite ambiguous, as previously Herity and Eogan had described many of the sites as ‘extremely simple “dolmen” forms constructed with the large rounded granite boulders of the area’ (Herity and Eogan 1977, 65) only to later refer to their material contents in the context of the ‘Irish passage grave builders’ (Herity and Eogan 1977, 75–6; see also Sheridan 2004). Bergh and Hensey (2013, 344) also regard the Carrowmore megalithic structures as ‘the smallest and most simply constructed sites’, but they, too, on the basis of dating bone pins suggest ‘that passage tombs were being erected [at Carrowmore] previous to the construction of the Mound of the Hostages, Co. Meath… and several centuries before the large Boyne Valley tombs’ (Bergh and Hensey 2013, 358).

As dolmens, a closer examination of the more complete Carrowmore monuments (Sites 4, 7 and 13) does reveal a noticeable difference with the portal tombs in that the capstones are set relatively level, as opposed to being slightly

16 Monuments in the Making

angled. In a way this difference displays the capstones to greater effect with the horizontal surfaces and domed top giving an extraordinary mushroom-like appearance (Fig. 1.7). In contrast, excavations of the mound at Listoghil (Carrowmore Site 51) demonstrated the primary element to have been a probable portal tomb comprising a substantial angled capstone of limestone pavement supported on glacial boulders (Shee Twohig 2004, 34), Visiting this monument complex was both opportune and instructive in that the monuments materialised our ongoing discussions concerning the ambiguous architecture of dolmens. On the one hand sites such as Coldrum, Kent, Presaddfed, Anglesey (see Chapter 4) and Chun, Cornwall (Fig. 6.2) have an enclosing, chamber-like orthostatic arrangement supporting the capstone, while others such as Pentre Ifan, Wales and Proleek, Co. Louth, Ireland (Fig. 1.8), have a more open array of orthostats supporting the capstone. Moreover, these differences tended not to have any geographic integrity with both forms of architecture being present in all areas. For example, as we will discuss below, in southern Scandinavia both open and closed chamber dolmens are present (cf. Dehn 2013; Eriksen and Andersen 2016; see also Midgley 2008, 56–71).

Two main research questions presented themselves after our visit to Carrowmore (and subsequent visits with Stefan Bergh). First was the issue of defining dolmens, which has been discussed earlier in this chapter. Suffice to

figure 1.7. The Carrowmore passage graves, Co. Sligo, western Ireland, appear more as dolmens with their oversize capstones held aloft by a small number of orthostats.

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 17 note that many years ago Tim Darvill anticipated a shifting conception of dolmen architecture and its description when he said ‘the range of recorded archaeology that can be considered under the general heading of dolmens has expanded well beyond the ‘sub-megalithic tombs’ and ‘demi-dolmens’ of conventional typologies to include ‘propped stones’ and a whole raft of structures for which no suitable terminology currently exists but what are essentially raised boulders and rearranged slabs of various kinds’ (Darvill 2004, 48). The other important question that Carrowmore raised was the status of these monuments as tombs. Clearly, they were places of burial but what did these mortuary practices actually represent? This is something we constantly pondered throughout the project and address in Chapter 6, arriving at a conclusion that the presence and function of the dead in dolmens have been completely misconceived.

Strids Mølle dolmen, east Zealand, Denmark

figure 1.8. The Proleek dolmen in Co. Louth, Ireland, elegantly displays a substantial glacial boulder as a capstone.

The Danish fieldwork for the project was extremely enjoyable. At a general level it tended to be directed more towards evaluating landscape position and assessing the claimed status of dolmens as visible, free-standing megalithic architecture (cf. Dehn 2013; Eriksen and Andersen 2016). On a bright day in October 2016 we were en route with Torben Dehn to the famous Gunderslevholm dolmen, south-east of Slagelse in Zealand, when he suggested visiting Strids Mølle dolmen with which we were unfamiliar. After crossing a bridge over the river Suså and parking the car we walked along a track to the nearby dolmen. Here we were presented with a relatively small and unassuming monument that on first sighting did not seem to warrant any great attention. However, as we drew closer it became apparent that the upper surface of the capstone was smothered with cup-marks (Fig. 3.8).

Once noticed, the cup-marks were unexpectedly magnetic in drawing the eye to the capstone.

Although the cup-marked capstone was very much the centre of attention, our discussions at the site revolved less around the cup-marks or their significance and more on their presence demonstrating access to the capstone at a subsequent time (see Iversen 2019). In all fairness, this was the main focus of the day; to discuss the alternative viewpoints concerning whether dolmens were exposed and open or closed and covered by a mound. Curiously, at the time the significance and function of cup-marks seemed epiphenomenal and outside our interest. Perhaps this is also understandable as each of us considered them to be a much later addition; an assumption in which we are not alone (Daniel

18 Monuments in the Making 1950, 118; Kytmannow 2008, 48; Mercer 2015, 119–20; Nash 2019, 100; Tilley 1999, 12–3; but see Scarre 2012, 59).

After a while we left the Strids Mølle dolmen and proceeded to the larger and more spectacular Gunderslevholm long dolmen. Yet, as will be discussed further in Chapter 3, the significance of the encounter with the Strids Mølle dolmen with its heavily cup-marked capstone surface lingered. Ultimately, it was a seed that resulted in our entirely reconsidering cup-marks as part of a process of emergence and materialisation, where the (cap)stone is differentiated and displaced and drawn from its context in a process of transformation from a glacial erratic into a displayed capstone.

There was a further consequence of our visit to the Strids Mølle dolmen.

Up until this time there had been a tendency to assess capstones in terms of their magnitude. Indeed, the scale of the capstone had formed the basis of our ideas of dolmen as wondrous and enchanting megalithic architecture. However, through encounters with Strids Mølle and other smaller monuments we came to appreciate the totality of the dolmen; the capstone and orthostatic supports as an integrated and exquisite megalithic structure (see Fig. 1.1).

Pentre Ifan, Pembrokeshire, south-west Wales Last but not least, Pentre Ifan in south-west Wales is the most famous and iconic dolmen in the British Isles. Visiting this dolmen, which is located in the wild and beautiful Pembrokeshire National Park, is an illuminating experience. Upon arrival, after passing through a small gate and along a short path the monument comes fully into view. The impact is immediate. A graceful stone of great magnitude is held aloft by three slender uprights or orthostats (Figs 1.9, 2.8 and 2.9). Moving closer and carefully examining the megalithic architecture reveals how deftly the large capstone is balanced on the pointed tops of the supporting orthostats. Careful inspection reveals that despite the obvious weight of the capstone there is no visible damage to the upper points of the supporting stones. The capstone is noticeably wedge-shaped, with the upper surface being a weathered and worn natural exterior surface whilst the lower face appears cleaved and relatively fresh and even.

In standing back and surveying Pentre Ifan it becomes apparent that this arrangement of substantial stones is to a large degree staged. By this we mean it is very clever and sophisticated megalithic architecture principally concerned with elevating and displaying a massive stone, the capstone, to its best advantage (cf. Bradley and Philips 2008; Scarre 2004a; 2010, 91). Indeed, at this point it is realised just how efficacious this method of display is because much of the time at the site has been spent looking upwards at the capstone. Despite this amazing spectacle, according to the information board at the site, Pentre Ifan is simply a Neolithic stone burial chamber. As with Kit’s Coty House and Devil’s Den, the very architecture of Pentre Ifan that attracts so much attention is suggested to have been once enveloped by a long mound or cairn (see below and Chapter 8). Scarre is correct to state that ‘the encasing of Pentre Ifan within

1. The enchantment of megalithic architecture 19

figure 1.9. Pentre Ifan has a capstone which has been described as ‘floating in the air’ by Jacquetta Hawkes (1951, 223) and Alasdair Whittle (2004).

a mound would result in a monument radically different in appearance from the denuded chamber that greets the visitor today’ (Scarre 2010, 93), but for us this presented a conundrum since surely this megalithic architecture wanted to be seen (see below).

Gazing across the fields beyond the dolmen, a number of embedded stones and boulders are visible poking through the grass (Fig. 4.5). Visiting Pentre Ifan today offers a very different experience from encountering the site even a mere hundred years ago. Over this time many stones have been cleared and the land generally ‘improved’, which serves to dislocate the dolmen from its original setting and surroundings. Just like the Devil’s Den, Pentre Ifan was effectively built in a land of stones, and in the shadow of the extraordinary Preseli hills (Figs 8.9 and 8.10), with their wondrous clumped outcrops of projecting dolerite and rhyolite rocks (see Tilley 1994, 105). In many ways our many visits to Pentre Ifan, especially when excavating at the nearby dolmen Garn Turne (Chapter 7), generated a number of the ideas explored in this book.

Overall, our thesis is relatively straightforward in that we contend that dolmens have been misinterpreted in terms of both utility and function. We suggest that dolmen architecture is best conceived as an installation of display; a display of affect, affordances and powers. On display are capstones that were differentiated and transformed by emergent and innovative technologies. The

20 Monuments in the Making exercise of such technologies, to elevate a substantial stone and create a dolmen, evidences magical forces. In tandem, the processes of transformation and emergence manifest in dolmen making were accomplished through the deployment of social practices which we claim articulate broader discourses of wonder.

During the many seasons of dolmen fieldwork we were surprised at just how many observations and interpretations that we thought were new, had, one way or another, been identified and outlined in the past. Our main disjuncture with previous observations is our conclusion that the dolmen is not principally a megalithic tomb or a ‘type’ of monument at all, but something vital, enchanting and wondrous that was strategically built for affect and reflection (Fig. 1.1). Looking afresh at dolmens (and chambered tombs more generally) it became clear that a succession of uncritical assumptions had gradually become embedded in archaeological discourse. This occurrence gradually established disciplinary traditions and assumptions providing the cradle for which more recent interpretations were based.

Returning to Pentre Ifan, the manner in which the capstone is held aloft at this dolmen captures our principal contention; that of dolmen architecture being a megalithic installation of display (Chapters 2 and 4). However, if this was the intention of building dolmens – to be experienced and seen – then it is necessary to address the question of their visibility, and rather surprisingly this has proved somewhat contentious over the years, so it is to this which we now turn.

1.6. A question of visibility: mounds and dolmens In 2008, an interesting but rather unusual excavation occurred at Gunderslevholm long dolmen in Zealand, Denmark. The excavations were directed

by Sven Hansen in collaboration with Niels Andersen, Torben Dehn and Palle Eriksen amongst others. The aim of the excavation was to secure unequivocal evidence to resolve a long-standing debate in Danish Neolithic archaeology concerning the status of dolmens as either free-standing or covered megalithic structures. Niels Andersen and Palle Eriksen took one side, arguing that not all dolmens where a mound is currently absent is simply a product of later alteration or robbing. Instead, they suggested that some dolmens were never covered by a mound, an architectural form they named the ‘open dolmen’ (Eriksen and Andersen 2016). This would mean that a number of dolmens in Denmark were encased in mounds but that others were not. For instance, in north-west Zealand, Denmark, of the 364 recorded dolmens, 100 have long mounds, 102 have round mounds and 64 have an open chamber (Schülke 2016, 336). Taking the counter position, Torben Dehn and Sven Hansen have consistently argued that all dolmens were encased within a mound, and that a large number of sites had been subject to post-depositional robbing and erosion leading to the disappearance of mounds over time (e.g. Dehn 2013). This argument envisages the dolmen and mound as a cohesive and unified form of megalithic construction.