Hembury is chiefly noted as the site of a neolithic settlement and one of the finest hillforts of the Iron Age in the South-West (PL. XXIV & FIG. I ) . These prehistoric works lie at the southern tip of a long, narrow promontory extending southwards from the Greensand mass of the Blackdown Hills and overlooking the broad valleys of the Otter and the Culm. Beyond these to the west lies the Exe valley and further west still (and visible in clear weather) the Haldon ridge and the eastern tors of Dartmoor. Excavations by Miss D. M. Liddell (Liddell, 1930; 1931; 1932; 1935) between 1930 and 1935 revealed the significance of Hembury for the south-western Neolithic in particular, the material culture of the early neolithic settlement being plainly related to that of Windmill Hill. Miss Liddell's examination of the iron age fort was centred upon the two fine gates, on the western side and at the north-west angle. Little work was devoted to the interior except to trace the ditch of the neolithic causewayed enclosure and to explore the extreme southern tip of the promontory.

In 1905 Francis Haverfield, Camden Professor of Ancient History at Oxford, read, before the British Academy his now-famous paper, ‘The Romanization of Roman Britain’ (later published in the second volume of the Academy's Proceedings and in book form: second, enlarged, edition 1912). It was an elegant distillation of Haverfield's painstaking researches into the minutiae of Romano-British archaeology, presented against the background of the wider Empire. His vision was clear ‘. . . Romano- British life was on a small scale. It was, I think, normal in quality and indeed not very dissimilar from that of many parts of Gaul. But it was in any case defective in quantity. We find towns in Britain, as elsewhere, and farms or country-houses. But the towns are small and somewhat few, and the country-houses indicate comfort more often than wealth . . , We have before us a civilisation which, like a man whose constitution is sound rather than strong, might perish quickly from a violent shock.

The metal-detector is an electronic instrument; it is incapable of any independent act of free will. It is outside the reference of a system of good and evil : it is neither benign nor malign, ethical nor unethical, as neutral in such matters as a stone. It is capable merely of indicating the presence of certain objects on or below the soil. It bears no responsibility for human action consequent upon such indications. If this appears to be superfluous comment, it must be borne in mind that the very mention of the words ‘metal-detector’, with no reference at all to the machine's user, is guaranteed to raise the hackles of many archaeologists. Readers of this journal are surely aware of the wide range of archaeological opinion on metaldetecting; the issue of the relationship between orthodox archaeology and nietal-detecting has been aired at considerable length over the last few years and does not directly concern us here. Rather we intend to examine the practical application of the instrument to archaeological procedures.

The Italian resort of Bordighera, on the Riviera close by the French border, still has a little to show from the time, a century ago, when its British population-at least in the winter ‘invalid season’- ran to more than 3,000 and outnumbered the native Italians. The Hotel T. Windsor (‘T’ stands for tennis; the Bordighera tennis club, founded by the British, is the oldest in Italy) flourishes; prim municipal notices-‘A polite behaviour will be enjoyable for everybody’ and ‘Free bathing, clean holidays’-assert Edwardian proprieties. And tucked away in a side-street among the villas, its pink-washed facade frothing with wisteria, stands the Museo Bicknell, built in 1886 by an English amateur botanist, Clarence Bicknell. His foundation continues as the regional research institute, the Istituto lnternazionale di Studi Liguri. Clarence Bicknell (1842-1918) appears in none of the histories of archaeology, but his work deserves to be remembered. His study of the bronze age rockengravings of Mont BCgo, in the Maritime Alps above Bordighera, was the first adequate work on an Alpine rock-art tradition, and the forerunner of the astonishing discoveries over the last 30 years in Valcamonica (Anati, 1961; 1980), at Sion (Gallay, 1972) and now in the Aosta valley (Daniel, 1983). Bicknell's life and work, beyond its intrinsic interest, is an illuminating case-study in the history of the discipline, during that crucial late 19thcentury period when antiquarianism was everywhere giving way to the new science-based archaeology. Finally, Bicknell-though not in the major league with Buckland or Petrie-in his quiet way deserves a place in the gallery of archaeological characters.

On 12 September 1940 Lascaux was discovered accidentally by four youths. They kept the secret for a few days, then decided to inform their former schoolmaster. Crowds of visitors came quickly: 1,500 during the first week. The abbC Breuil, who had moved to Brive because of the war, came on 21 September and drew up a report which was read to the AcadCmie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres on 10 October. From that point on, Lascaux received official recognition. It is quite a large cave, and the decoration starts about 25 m beyond the entrance. All of the chambers and the main galleries are decorated with figures of animals and symbols: over I 50 paintings and about 1,500 engravings are more or less well preserved, but the cave is particularly famous for the remarkable quality of the painted figures in the Hall of the Bulls and in the Painted Gallery (Diverticule Axial). Unlike most palaeolithic decorated caves, the sanctuary of Lascaux has been dated with precision. In fact, the cave was frequented in only one period, about 17,000 years ago. Its porch collapsed some time afterwards, thus sealing in the parietal figures and protecting the traces which the magdalenian artists and visitors had left behind.

David Traill's article in Antiquity, LVII, debunking ‘Priam's Treasure’, will no doubt be seen by some as one more bullet in the chest for Schliemann. In recent years the firing-squad has been getting quite active. Now that Schliemann's archaeology has become the target it is time to ask: how accurate are the shots? Schliemann's new executioners trace their pedigree back to their nineteenth-century predecessors. This is unwise, for Hartmut Dohl has shown very clearly that the conduct of, among others, the Berlin clique was quite as reprehensible as any failing of Schliemann's (Dohl, 1981, 16-75). Perhaps their problem was indeed, as Calder has evidenced (Calder, 1972, 347-8; 1980, ‘so), that they found him just too provincial, too common and too rich. The new wave of disaffection actually has its genesis in a series of articles by W. G. Niederland, a Freudian psycho-analyst with a research interest in the psychology of exploration (Niederland, 1964- 5 ; 1965; 1966-7; 1967; 1971). Niederland's papers make fascinating reading. He highlights some very unusual features in Schliemann's writings, and pinpoints a number of recurrent themes. His work is of undoubted interest to anyone concerned with Schliemann. He also comes up with the startlingly original suggestion that Schliemann was all along suffering from an unresolved Oedipus complex. His relentless exploration of Mother Earth, his fascination with cemeteries and his libidinous recollection of his early love-play among them with Minna, indicate a life-long search for his dead mother.