MacKie, the foremost Scottish scholar to address himself in recent years to the study of brochs, has said, with characteristic firmness, that ‘brochs are among the most striking of all the prehistoric monuments of Europe’ (1975, 72). Certainly this is so, and ever since the first real awakening of interest in Scottish antiquities around the midnineteenth century the broch has always been felt to be Scotland’s archaeological show-piece. Yet, close on a hundred years after Alexander Rhind set the ball rolling with his excavations at the broch of Kettleburn, Wick, Sir Lindsay Scott was forced to admit that ‘No ancient sites have been more excavated than those of the broch and, unfortunately, none with less result’ (1947, 3). In the 30 odd years since Scott, the full excavation reports of only three brochs have appeared. With this consideration it is perhaps less surprising to see so little space devoted to brochs in Cunliffe’s recent major review of the British Iron Age (1974a, 219–22; 2nd ed. 1978, 235–8) and their total omission from British prehistory (1974b) is marginally less startling; such summary treatment is a result of a dearth of the right kind of information, which itself derives from the whole approach to brochs throughout most of the history of Scottish archaeology.

A recent re-examination of the architectural and other sculpted stone fragments from Silchester (Calleva Atrebatum) drew attention to the small sandstone column on which is scored an ogham inscription. The commonest materials used for columns, capitals and ornamental sculpture at Silchester are the fine Jurassic limestones of Bath or Portland type. A very few pieces are carved intertiary sandstones or imported marble. This is the pattern for architectural masonry throughout southern England in the Roman period; limestone predominates and sandstone, usually greensand, is rare. On visual examination the particular stone with the ogham appears to be different from that of the other architectural fragments in the Silchester collection. It should also be noted that no similar material has so far been identified in the city wall or amongst any of the other ordinary building materials recovered from the Roman town. On the basis of visual examination alone it has been suggested that the stone originated from the calcareous grit of the Oxfordshire Corallian (Boon 1959, 87), but doubts about this identification led us to a more searching investigation to ascertain the character and source of the stone. Before introducing these analyses and their results it will be useful to summarize our present knowledge of the Silchester ogham. In this way the implications of the new results can be more satisfactorily appreciated.

Since the mid-1960s, significant advances have been made in the techniques and organization of archaeological research in British waters. However, the sites discovered and explored during the first decade of such work have dated without exception to the centuries after 1500 AD. The results from investigations such as those on the Mary Rose of 1545 (Rule, 1978) or the wrecks of the Spanish Armada (Martin, 1975) have clearly demonstrated the potential of such sites to shed light on periods and topics for which documentary sources are also available; nevertheless, the full archaeological significance of this new area of research remained unrealized through being limited to the post-medieval period. The discovery and study of two underwater bronze age sites in the past few years have thus changed the whole complexion of British maritime archaeology. The purpose of this note is to provide a brief interim account of the sites involved, and indicate a few of their implications for Bronze Age studies.

Looking back over a concern with archaeology which has lasted for half a century I am grateful to have been present through a crucial period in its development.

There were few advantages in my earliest days. On my father’s side I come from a line of farmers, land appraisers, bailiffs and the like which I can trace back in some detail for nearly three hundred years, living for the most part in Northwest Essex; on my mother’s side my ancestors were North Wessex peasants and inn-keepers, with a probable admixture of Welsh cattle-drover blood at the end of the eighteenth century. Wantage and Abingdon were their local centres. All with the exception of one or two backsliders were strict Evangelicals, often wavering on the verge of Dissent, and none ever aspired to any higher standard of education than one who entered the Congregational ministry in 1827. Any known interest in learning or antiquity showed itself more among the Wessex peasants than the clod-hoppers of Essex. My maternal grandfather, who was a native of the Vale of White Horse, was personally known to me and was interested in the many relics of the past observable about him, an intelligent man but with little formal instruction.

In 1972 Paul Johnstone initiated a project to build and sail a hide-covered boat which would embody the theories of those Norwegian scholars—in particular Professor Sverre Marstrander—who have classified the boats of the Scandinavian Bronze Age with the Eskimo umiak and the Irish curragh. Thanks to the publicity given the experimental model by the BBC ‘Chronicle’ series and the enthusiastic advocacy of Bregger, Marstrander and Johnstone himself (‘Bronze age sea trial’, Antiquity, XLVI, 1972), the skin-boat theory has become almost an orthodoxy in Britain and Scandinavia. In fact, however, the reconstructed boat itself clearly demonstrated the awkwardness of translating into the medium of a hidecovered frame the boat designs of the bronze age rock art, which include several features utterly irreconcilable with the requirements and norms of skin-boat construction.

For no type of boat before the age of photography has such a vast corpus of evidence been preserved as for the vessel that served the fishermen, traders and raiding parties of Scandinavia between 1200 and 600 BC (that is, the Bronze Age periods 111, IV and V). The boat is a favoured motif in thousands of rock carvings in southern Norway, Sweden, and the Baltic islands, and on at least 200 late bronze age razors from Denmark and North Germany.