It was a quarter of a century ago that ANTIQUITY first announced the ‘Pleistocene colonization of Australia’, when Mulvaney (1964) reported secure dates before 12,000 b.p. from Kenniff Cave, Queensland. The last three years alone have seen dates from New Guinea of around 40,000 b.p., early dates from the offshore islands of the Bismarck Archipelago, and dates from Australia itself that show a rapid colonization of both the arid central desert and cold, wet Tasmania – environments very different from the tropical islands of Southeast Asia, whence the first Australasian populations must surely have come. It is a record with great implications for early settlement elsewhere, most plainly of the American continents.

The progress of archaeology in Britain, as elsewhere, depends on excavation. This is a commonplace; but a more leisurely approach to that final arbitrament than is usually adopted would, we think, be advantageous. Until an area is studied, its visible antiquities planned, the evidence afforded by their geographical and topographical relationships weighed, the natural environmental conditions—forest and open country—assessed, and resultant possibilities discussed, the selection of particular sites for excavation in that area is premature. The following account of a field survey of a limited area in Glamorgan is a practical expression of this point of view.

While engaged in field work near Llanbister in Radnorshire, the writer saw by the roadside, near a country wheelwright’s shop, a remarkable vehicle the like of which he had never imagined. On being questioned, the wheelwright said that it was a ‘wheel-car ’ and was of a standard type used throughout the Radnor forest area (and indeed, as was afterwards learned, throughout the central moorland of Wales). It had been made entirely by himself and his smith. He drew attention to a second example, half completed, in the shop. This was purchased for the Welsh Folk Collection of the National Museum of Wales.

Brunanburh was fought in the late summer of 937 between king Athelstan and all the might of England on one side, and the viking Olaf Guthfrithson, king of Dublin and claimant to the throne of York, and his ally Constantine II, king of Scots, upon the other. The thousandth anniversary of this British battle of the nations is an occasion for reviewing critically the evidence upon the disputed question of its site. The well-known poem in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, being impressionist rather than narrative, provides only two or three slight clues; the Latin poem preserved by William of Malmesbury,l of early but uncertain date, helps us only a little further; and the Northumbrian annals used by Symeon of Durham seem to have supplied him with an alternative name for the battlefield but no other indication of its locality. Judgment must therefore be based largely upon the names by which the battle was known and upon traditions preserved by writers who had no claim to be contemporary; and the reliability of such evidence must be tested.

Over the past decade or so, the submerged prehistoric archaeology and landscapes in the area that is known to us today as the North Sea have received increasing attention from both archaeologists and earth scientists. For too long, this body of water was perceived as a socio-cultural obstacle between the prehistoric Continent and the British Isles, the rising sea level a threat to coastal settlers, and the North Sea floor itself an inaccessible submerged landscape. Notwithstanding the many pertinent and pervasive problems that the archaeology of the North Sea still needs to overcome, recent research has made clear that these rather uninspiring beliefs are misplaced.

The main object of these articles is to examine the evidence on the subject of Pyramids in general and the Great Pyramid of Khufu (Cheops) in particular; and to see if a reasonable conclusion can be reached as to the purpose for which the Great Pyramid was erected.

In the autumn of 2013, a discovery was made in the Doganaccia necropolis close to the ancient Etruscan city of Tarquinia. A sepulchre was uncovered, mercifully and unusually unlooted. Inside were the remains of two individuals and a range of grave goods, allowing the tomb to be typologically dated to the late seventh or early sixth century BC. One of the individuals had been cremated, while the other was laid out in a supine position. Both were placed on funeral benches similar to those known from Etruscan tombs across the region (Steingräber 2009). This excavation was as unusual as it was spectacular—the equally vigorous efforts of nineteenth-century enthusiasts (Leighton 2004: 12) and twentieth-century tomb robbers (van Velzen 1999: 180) have left little of the Etruscan burial record undisturbed. Unsurprisingly, there was a great deal of media excitement over the burial, as its excavator, distinguished Etruscan scholar Alessandro Mandolesi, spoke with the press of his impressions of the remains and their relationship to the artefacts found in the tomb. Little of his exact words remain in the public sphere, but the impression he provided to the press was clear in the flurry of media reports that followed his statement. The ensuing media interest and archaeological developments present a number of serious issues for the practice of archaeology in an age in which digital media can magnify the impact of any major discovery. In addition, the interpretation put forward exposed the continued androcentrism inherent in many sub-disciplines of archaeology, which, 30 years on from Conkey and Spector's (1984) transformative publication, remain locked in deeply problematic interpretative patterns. This interpretation of the Tarquinia burial is emblematic of a far wider phenomenon, both within and beyond Italy, which has serious implications for future archaeological practice. This article unpicks both the media storm and interpretative paradigms that characterised this case study, and queries archaeological responsibility and visibility in an age of 24-hour news.

The repatriation of human remains (Editorial Antiquity 78: 5) is a matter in which two viewpoints, both equally valid, are confronted. Human skeletal remains are part of the record of our past. They tell about our shared past – about the story of human adaptive radiation and dispersion. Recent research using modern and ancient DNA evidence is adding considerably to this understanding, and puts our diversity into context by the finding that we share something like 99 per cent of our genetic makeup with all other human beings. Research on human skeletal remains tells us also about how our predecessors lived and died, and has considerable potential to contribute to medical research. Medieval skeletons from a deserted medieval village in Yorkshire, for instance, have showed that osteoporosis was just as common among medieval women as it is now, giving fresh insight into the causes of osteoporosis and calling into question ideas that blame our modern lifestyle. The techniques used in this study were not available when the remains were first excavated; this illustrates the value of long-term retention of skeletal material, which allows application of new techniques so that new information can be obtained from old collections.