What are the advantages of equipping a wooden arrow with stone, rather than just using the sharpened wooden tip? Very few it seems. In a series of well-controlled experiments the authors show that stone arrow-heads achieve barely 10 per cent extra penetration over wood. They then raise some pertinent ideas about the other advantages, social and symbolic that may have driven hunters the world over to adopt the stone tip.

The origin of the English is an interesting problem – and not only for them. In one short century, the evidence from texts, burial, artefacts, stable isotopes and now DNA provides several different answers to the question of whether England was invaded by Germans in the fifth century and if so in what manner. The rigorous approach by our authors tips the balance back in favour of a population changing its cultural allegiance – rather than being physically overwhelmed – but, as they emphasise, any new reading must depend on a very high level of archaeological precision – perhaps only now coming within reach.

In reply to Machin's criticism of Kohn and Mithen's (1999) 'Sexy Handaxe Theory' in a recent Antiquity debate (Machin 2008: 761-6), Mithen (2008: 766-9) states that sexual selection is still relevant to the symmetry of Acheulean handaxes because this provides the only theory that can account for the various features typical of such artefacts. This conclusion may be misconceived, however, due to the conflation of the various factors relating to symmetry, attractiveness, and health. Crucially, recent studies have not found a genetic link based on sexual selection for physical traits based on symmetry. For example, Koehler et al. (2002) established that there was no difference in preference for the symmetry of male faces by females nearing conception compared to those females taking contraceptives. Similarly, Rhodes et al. (2001) found that, although there might be a link between facial symmetry and perceived health, there was no correlation between facial symmetry and actual health.

It all began in a railway carriage. Two businessmen, travelling to the Kingston Assizes in Surrey, nodded to each other as strangers do, but did not strike up a conversation. They were expert witnesses appearing for different sides in the Croydon Water Question; a legal test case that boiled down to who owned the undergroundwaters of London (Mather 2008: 83–4). Joseph Prestwich (Figure 1a), the older by 11 years, represented the water suppliers. As the train rattled along under full steam he would have seen landmarks from his pioneering geology of the London Basin. But water was not his business. His family ran a profitable wine importers. Geology, however, was his passion.

Field terraces are notoriously difficult to date – but historically of high significance. Here the author uses a Bayesian model applied to radiocarbon dates to date the tiered rice fields of the northern Philippines. They turn out to have been built in the sixteenth century probably by peoples retreating inland and upland from the Spanish.

2007 was an eventful year for the ethics of burial in Britain: the Science Museum returned the remains of Tasmanian Aborigines to their cultural home (Henderson 2007), the legal system governing the excavation of human remains was reinterpreted (Small 2008), The Guardian reported on the desire of neo-pagans to take ownership of human remains (Randerson 2007) and there was a debate in the museum literature on just this topic (see Restall Orr & Bienkowski 2006 and Smith & Mays 2007). In light of these changes and debates it may be unsurprising to learn that many British archaeologists feel that it is 'getting more difficult to work with human remains'.

During the ongoing excavations in the palace of the famous Qatna complex, the excavators noted patches of brown staining on the floor of a high status tomb. Chemical extraction revealed the presence of brominated derivatives of indigo and indirubin, and more detailed characterisation showed that it likely came from Hexaplex trunculus. In short, this was none other than the renowned Tyrian or Royal Purple mentioned by Pliny, which was to have such an influential career colouring the clothing of the powerful. Furthermore, it was associated in the tomb with ghosts of high quality textiles preserved in gypsum.

Stable isotopes get personal in this analysis of burials at a medieval cathedral. Compared with the local meat-eating rank and file, those people identified as bishops consumed significantly more fish and were incomers from the east. These results, while not so surprising historically, lend much increased confidence that isotope analysis can successfully read the status and mobility of individuals in a cemetery.

Recent years have seen renewed interest in Darwinian concepts as an inspiration for evolutionary theory in archaeology (for example Barton & Clark 1997; Hart & Terrell 2002). This is not, however, the thrust of this paper, whose aims are more historiographic than programmatic. It will not focus upon Darwin's 'big book', The Origin … of 1859 (or even The Descent … of 12 years later), but rather his last volume, the wonderfully curious The formation of vegetable mould through the action of worms of 1881 (hereafter Worms).

The dead are back. Like a horde of irritating poltergeists the human remains of the ancients have returned to harass us in the form of the reburial issue; perennial source of postcolonial guilt and undergraduate seminar material. Only this time there is an unusual twist: the remains in question are British. The Council of British Druid Orders (CoBDO) has requested the reburial of a specific group of prehistoric human remains from the collection of the Alexander Keiller Museum. In response English Heritage have carried out a consultation, amidst considerable publicity and public debate (Hole 2008).

Treasures in themselves are fetishes. Only the admirer can make 'treasure' of a find in isolation; but to wonder about it as treasure opens apt questions about why the thing was valued, by whom and under what conditions. It was worrying, then, when the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge University's art collection, took in an exhibition of striking ancient finds returning to the Georgian National Museum from the USA (Smithsonian Institution and New York University). For the usual focus on the intrinsic qualities of fine art sits awkwardly with archaeological concern for context. The Fitzwilliam did tend to isolate the exhibits; but, here, that yielded an advantage as well as a difficulty.

Much has been written about the extraordinary impact of Darwinism during the mid- to late nineteenth century, expressed in the scholarship of 'reception studies' (see for example Ellegård 1958; Glick 1988; Numbers & Stenhouse 1999). A significant focus has been on developing an understanding of the impact of Darwinian thinking on just about every aspect of Victorian society, particularly on literature, science, politics and social relations (see for example Beer 1983; Frayter 1997; Lorimer 1997; Moore 1997; Paradis 1997; Browne 2001). A great deal of attention has also been paid (by historians and philosophers of science) into the specifics of how the Darwinian message was disseminated so quickly and so broadly. Here the interest lies in the links between the rhetoric of scientific naturalism and the politics of the day, be it Whig-Liberal or Tory (see for example Clark 1997; Barton 1998, 2004; Clifford et al. 2006). A consequent interest lies in the ways in which science was popularised in Victorian Britain (see especially Lightman 1997, 2007).

In this debate the authors tackle a problem fundamental to researchers and resource managers in the Mesolithic period: what sort of prehistory do flint scatters represent?

We will never be able to excavate everything – nor should we – but it would be good to know how to make the best use of what is visible in the landscape to write social prehistories. In this project the author creates a set of parameters for the 1000 mound-cemeteries seen north of Lake Mälaren and clusters them by period, using 51 examples that have been excavated and dated. The result is that 1000 cemeteries can now be allocated to period, with that special kind of confidence in which statisticians rejoice.

I thank Crombé et al. for their comment on an earlier paper (Vanmontfort 2008) and the editor of this journal for providing me with the opportunity to reply to their critique. They use two intensively surveyed and studied areas in the lower Scheldt region to compare the microlith-based method with a site-based approach. Actually this comparison nicely illustrates the potential of the method. My Figure 3 compares the calculated frequencies of sites and microliths – which is not quite the same as the 'Mesolithic use' of these regions – over the Mesolithic period for the two regions. The results correspond remarkably well. This agreement is perhaps not surprising, since the presence of microliths is also one of the most determining factors in the attribution of sites to each of the Mesolithic phases. However, the results from the two methods might easily have diverged from each other. Contrary to Crombé et al.'s expectation of correspondence, the distribution of a particular artefact type may offer different and complementary information to site-based data (Vanmontfort 2008: 250).

The new Acropolis Museum was opened in June 2009 with worldwide fanfare. For this was for the Athenian acropolis – the Acropolis. After two lower galleries, visitors reach the top floor and find what is now the world's most exciting coup of archaeological presentation – a sudden view of the Parthenon. We stand there in the middle of a gallery that sets out the temple's sculpted pediments, metopes and friezes according to the original plan. They are hung on a framework that matches the Parthenon's colonnades at the same orientation and scale and on the same plan as the great temple itself (Figure 1); so that, walking along the gallery, we can imagine ourselves in the temple by just looking out at it on the Acropolis.

In a single year two of the fundamental principles for the study of antiquity were established: chronology and process. Both have been elaborated and re-visited since: chronology most significantly 90 years later in 1949 with the development of radiocarbon dating by Willard Libby. That these two foundations should be established in the ambit of a single year – 1859 – is remarkable, and worthy of celebration.