The Tale of The Archaeologist and The Keeper: Clearly a Fictitious Fable

I’m giving up on this archaeology blog and from now on I’ll be using it to showcase my creative writing. Please read my latest piece of fiction:

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Narrator: Let me take you back in time!

The European: How far back?

Narrator: All the way back! Well, back to the Bronze Age anyway … bump, click, whirr! Bang! And here we are in a place that will one day be known as Tullallen in the county that will eventually be called Louth.  We’re watching the digging of a ring ditch and the placement of a cremation burial at its centre. But we can’t stay here! … We have to go the couple of hundred metres to an area of land that will be called Mell. Here we see a rather strange, elongated ring ditch that is being filled up with burnt stone, and bone … so much bone! All of it burnt, but it includes both animal and human bone. Unfortunately, the veils of time dim our ability to see exactly what’s happening here and we, my dear reader – like a Morty to my Rick – are whisked away south to a place that will, one day, be called Ballough where the locals are preparing a series of circular troughs. They’re heating stones, dropping them into the naturally filling troughs and heating that water. What for I hear you ask? Well, we have the benefit of our time machine, and we can confidently assert that they were getting clean and shagging … so much shagging! The ‘Mis and Dubh Rois Hypothesis’ was right all along! Although it looks like the orgy scene from Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point down there, we must press on. The machine bangs, clicks, hisses and we’re thrown back north to a place that’s called Balgatheran. We’ve jumped a bit forward in time to the Early Medieval period and can see at least one blacksmiths workshop inside the two large ditches of the enclosure. I’m just pointing out the cereal drying kiln to you and saying how, if you look closely, you can see that young person drop a beautiful blue glass bead. I know that their parents will be angry with them, and they’ll search the area for hours, but they’ll not find it – it’s gone! And so are we! Zigged then Zagged and now Zigged once more and we’re back in Ballough (now definitely called Ballough). It’s the medieval period and people are digging field ditches here and burying some broken pottery in a series of small pits. Unfortunately, we had to cut out our intended trip to Newtown-Monasterboice, just because we weren’t sure when to turn up to see the action.

Excuse me a minute … I’m off to rustle up some Dilithium crystals, to refill the flux capacitor. It’s my fictional time machine – it works the way I say it does! Anyway … we’re all fuelled up and ready for a big jump into the future … to the very beginning of the 21^st century. July in the year 2000 to be exact. From the safety of our cloaked time machine, we watch a chubby, socially inept archaeologist, with a proclivity for saying ‘f*ck’, take his first tentative steps as a Site Director. He begins with a small series of pits at Newtown-Monasterboice 4 that produce no dating evidence, before being sent to the Early Medieval site at Balgatheran 1 (where we recover a perfect blue glass bead on the surface, right beside the cereal drying kiln), then Tullyallen 1, Mell 2, before crossing into Dublin to Sites 17 and 23 in the Townland of Ballough. If we keep quiet and still, we can watch as he writes up the preliminary reports, readies short articles for the Excavations Bulletin, and prepares the lists of post-excavation work necessary to bring these sites to conclusion. We see him write endless emails and take unending phone calls, some looking to get paid for work undertaken, some begging and pleading for the go-ahead to get analyses done and material sent off for dating. All of it futile.

I can see you’re getting bored … let’s move the time machine forward … 2005! … Looks like nothing is happening … Really? How about 2007? … still nothing! Let’s try 2010 … it’ll definitely be resolved by 2010, right? Still nothing! Is this thing even working? (Tap. Tap! Thump!)  Just spin it forward and see where it stops … February 2019! February 2019? As in the February 2019 that’s nearly two decades on from when the excavations started? That February 2019? … apparently so! Look at that archaeologist dude! He’s fatter and definitely greyer than he was back then, but he’s still socially awkward and (oh my!) the swear words really don’t stop do they? Turns out he’s been out of archaeology nearly a decade, but he still keeps his little blog going. He’s thinking to himself that ‘If I’ve got loads of archaeological materials crammed under the eaves of my house, I guess that other people may too. Perhaps if I write a satirical blog post about it, we might be able to talk about it as a profession and see how we might resolve it.’ And that is exactly what he does. He calls it ‘Archaeological Archives for Sale! Buy it or bin it!’ It’s a hoot! He pretends that it’s a genuine attempt to sell the archives he’s been storing for nearly 20 years, gives a rough list of the materials he has and says he’s looking for £10k for the lot or they’ll go in the bin. You’d laugh your leg off it he didn’t go and spoil it by making some serious points about how archives are quietly binned, broken up, and never seen again and how our collective knowledge of the past is the less for it. A few people commented publicly, quite a few more messaged me The Archaeologist to say that they were in similar situations, left curating archaeological archives long after the money and (sometimes) the archaeological consultancies are gone. The Archaeologist sighs. He thinks ‘Oh well … nothing is going to change … no one is interested’. That was February 6^th 2019. By February 8^th The Keeper of Irish Antiquities put pen to paper to make some demands. In amongst stating their deep and abiding care for all artefacts they’ve not given a rat’s posterior about for two decades, The Keeper demands that The Archaeologist drop everything and immediately undertake the production of ‘complete listings of the archaeological objects (including animal bone, human remains and flots from environmental samples) and their current locations along with an assessment of their documentation and storage with a view to future deposition as part of the National collection’. The Archaeologist took a deep breath and waited for his emotions to settle. On February 17^th he replied to The Keeper. He noted that they would not have had correspondence from him about the archives, as this direct communication was banned by the original consultancy, they alone having the right to communicate with government bodies. He asked what correspondence they had from the original consultancy on the subject? He did note that he had once broken that rule and applied to the then Chief Archaeologist for assistance and advice, but received none. The Archaeologist asked if The Keeper had, despite the decades of neglect, been sending out similarly threatening letters to other current & recovering archaeologists, or just to the ones that wrote blog posts about it? He’s not an unreasonable chap, that fat, sweary malcontent – he agreed to produce the requested listings, once the parties could come to terms over such simple things as what they were going to pay for the work, as well as undertaking a legally binding agreement to publish the material in full.

Let’s spin the dial on our time machine just a nudge forward … to February 27^th. The Keeper is back and goes full ‘By the power of Grayskull...’, copypastaing legalease and making several points that have not so much as nodding acquaintance with reality. The Keeper, clearly hearing the guitar riff from Bat out of Hell in their head, steps the madness up a gear and says that ‘It is completely unacceptable for you to attempt to extract public monies for the discharging duties to which you signed up to under the terms of the excavation licence’ … and claims that I’m (sorry) The Archaeologist is still bound by the terms of the excavation licence, signed two decades ago and they no one has sought to inquire about in all that time. The Archaeologist is as up for a bit of S&M as the next hairy bear, but being bound for 20 years is ridiculous! The missive ends with the demand that the satirical blog post be removed immediately. Looking back on it, The Archaeologist thinks that, like the time Donald Trump mocked the disabled reporter, this should have been a career ending moment for The Keeper. How many other government employees could get away with demanding the removal of a satirical piece, critical of the failing of their institution, and still retain their job? Well, The Donald managed to get four years as US president, so the sky’s probably the limit for The Keeper. On April 5^th The Archaeologist, having considered the poorly constructed arguments, non sequiturs, and thinly disguised attempts to provide answers to questions that in no way answer the questions, took a deep breath and wrote once more. He again asked for answers to the previously asked questions. He reiterated the clear negligence by The Keeper’s organisation in not once enquiring after this material for two decades, and their hypocrisy in expecting The Archaeologist to be bound to the letter of the licencing agreement. He also sought a full retraction and apology for the being characterised as some lowlife grifter, trying to steal money when all that had been asked for was an agreement for reasonable fees for work The Keeper demanded. Like the scene in The Sword in the Stone where Madam Mim battles Merlin, The Archaeologist and The Keeper bat some letters back and forward, she demanding adherence to a licence that her organisation broke through lack of interest and him restating the unanswered questions and demanding an apology. Eventually, and despite claims that The Keeper was going to bring in reinforcements in the form of The Director of the National Museum of Ireland and the Chief Archaeologist, the correspondence ceased.

The End

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OK … I’ll admit it the characterisation is poor and that ending needs work, but it’s a pretty good story, right? Got some pace to it … maybe relies a little too heavily on the Willing Suspension of Disbelief … but I do think I’ve got potential as a writer of fiction!

But wait! I’ve fooled you all! This isn’t fiction! It really happened (OK, probably not the Fulacht Fiadh group sex, but the rest of it really happened!). I feel I’m like an overweight Tim Curry in The Rocky Horror Picture Show where he casts off his cloak to reveal a taught body, clad in the finest lingerie! The Lingerie of TRUTH!

I put it all together in a long blog post in December 2019 [here] and followed up with a timer to record exactly ‘How many days has it been since the Keeper of Irish Antiquities claimed that I was trying to defraud the Irish State when I was merely looking to be paid for work they directed me to undertake?’ [here]. Fun Fact: As I’m writing this, it has been 1312 days!

By December 2019 I reaslied that there was no meaningful apology coming from The Keeper and that I couldn’t proceed without one. I held out the hope that either The Director of the National Museum of Ireland or the Chief Archaeologist would step up and demonstrate some degree of actual leadership, but they didn’t. Then came the Covid-19 years and somehow arguing about some bits of bone, stone, and pottery didn’t seem as relevant. Suddenly, here we are in 2022. The Archaeologist has started going to the gym, so he marginally less rotund, but still very grey and definitely still very sweary. Like the exchange between Miracle Max and Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, you might be thinking “and thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you're at it, why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it? We're closed.”

Well, you can only imagine my surprise when the other day (Wednesday 26^th October 2022) a Facebook page that styles itself ‘National Monuments Service – Archaeology’ published a short post that begins: ‘The National Museum of Ireland and the National Monuments Service - Archaeology would ask that all individuals and institutions in possession of archaeological objects from archaeological excavations at their premises complete a relatively brief survey’ … now, apparently, they ‘would ask’! No more demands. No more ‘The Power of the National Monuments Act Compels You!’. No more ‘Kneel before Zod!’ They ask you! So lovely, so polite! Their stated aim is to ‘plan the future capacity of storage facilities to ensure that assemblages can be appropriately stored’ (Did no one read that through? I’m not expecting that they have a professional copy editor on hand at all times, but ‘storage’ and ‘stored’ in the same sentence reads poorly and besides, what else would you do with a storage facility other than store things? … But I digress …). They’d like you to have it all done by December 22^nd and they describe survey as ‘relatively brief’. Did I miss anything? Oh yes! I nearly forgot! They also add that ‘We realise that all such surveys take time and scarce resources but the information is vital to the future for archaeological collections storage.’ Let’s not forget that these people are paid actual wages in real money … the stuff you can bring to a shop and buy actual physical stuff with … you know the kinda thing … food, heating oil, electricity, you might even consider making a mortgage or rent payment with it. That stuff! Money! But they’re asking you – trained professionals – to forego this filthy lucre because ‘the information is vital to the future for archaeological collections storage’. Did I miss anything? They get paid for doing this job, but you don’t deserve to get paid for it – you’re just there to do what you’re told and believe happy lies about how your stolen labour is ‘for the good of the profession’.

But, really? … how bad is it? I may be overreacting (Moi?). Perhaps it really is as ‘relatively brief’ as they say … Well, gentle reader, I did the survey and can tell you in detail!

Page one is just the same poorly thought out boilerplate as their Facebook post. (As an aside, my 15yo informs me (and is backed up by the demographic data that John O’Keeffe showed in an IAI presentation in Belfast), no one under 30 uses Facebook. Perhaps there are also the posts on TikTok, Instagram, Snapchat, Bugler & Pintrest that I missed).

Questions 1-3 are the basics: Do you have stuff & who are you. Simples! Admittedly, they neglect to ask for any form of contact details that people living in the 21^st century might expect … phone, email, name of your favourite wizarding owl … that kind of thing. But I digress.

Question 4 is expected: Where is the stuff … but this rollercoaster has reached the top of the big climb and it's just screaming and hanging on for dear life from here on out … Questions 5 & 6 are requesting the total volume (expressed in m³) of material that doesn’t require specialised storage, and then the volume of human bone. It’s simple, measure length, breadth, & depth for each box and add it all together. No bother!

Questions 7-10 are also looking for volumes: conserved metals, conserved boxed wooden objects, outsized conserved wooden objects, and pallets of outsize stone objects. I may as well mention it here that there is a whole field of Data Validation that hasn’t troubled the creators of this form. At the most basic level, if you ask a question that can be only answered by an integer (whole number) – such as the number of boxes – you should format the response to only accept an integer response (e.g. you’ll not expect an answer of 1.001 Boxes). The purpose of this data hygiene is to allow it to be easily machine readable, thus making it amenable to being statistically interrogated and producing useful insights and facilitating data-driven decision making. At the very simplest level, it prevents dickheads filling your pretty form with nonsense text, or even just a mix of numbers and words. But I digress.

You thought it was involved before? Now wait for Questions 11-12 … not simply does one have to count the boxes already dutifully converted into cubic meters, now the hapless archaeologist is expected to look inside each one and produce an estimate for what percentage are stored in acid free archival quality boxes and what percentage are accompanied by NMI template spreadsheets? Allow me, if you will, a moment to appreciate the different approaches applied to Question 11 as opposed to Question 12. Question 11 gives you four radio buttons to choose the broad percentage: <25%, 25-50%, and so on. Obviously, there is an issue with poorly defined boundaries. What happens if the percentage is 50% … does it go in the 25-50% group or the 50-75% one? And what will the inevitable differences in interpretation of the question mean for your final (spolier: definitely flawed) analysis? But … wait … there’s more! Question 12 reverts to a simple text box to record the percentage of excavated assemblages with MNI spreadsheets. It’s like consistency is a foreign concept to these people! Maybe I was wrong and the good folks in the NMI and National Monuments division aren’t paid for their time … it would explain the ‘amateur hour’ approach to this form. But I digress.

Question 13 asks after the number of boxes of paper records and handily gives the standard NMS box size as a helper … on Question 13! It hasn’t been mentioned before. Is this the box size to be used elsewhere? Do we have to go back and recalculate the boxes we previously counted? Who knows? Question 14 asks after the number of folders of plans … but is there an NMS folder size we must conform to? Who knows! I think I know what they mean in Question 15 when they ask about boxes of digital information … CDs of photos … I assume. Are there more? OK, I admit it, I’m at a loss - a bit more clarity and guidance would have been welcome here. But nowhere does anyone ask about the size in Mb, Gb, or Tb or the actual digital archive … or do they not care?* Finally, Question 16 asks about the number of rolls of archaeological plans … how this differs in real terms from the number of folders of ‘archaeological plans etc.’ asked about in Question 14 is not explained.

So, there we have it … just 16 questions! Nothing to worry about! Certainly nothing to require you to get bothered about getting paid for. It’ll not take long.

… Except … it bloody well will! Even with the few site archives I have stored in my house, this would probably take a couple of days what with getting up into the attic and under the eaves, moving stuff around to be counted and measured. Maybe archaeological consultancies who pay for warehouse style rooms with robust shelving won’t have to do quite so much work getting into every nook and cranny, but it’s no small task you’re being asked to undertake … for all of £0 and 0p.

I would invite you to spend a few moments (that I, unfortunately, cannot pay you for) either filling this form with redundant nonsense, as I may or may not have done, or simply answer Question 3 (the first one with a text box) stating that you will not comply. Failing that, ignoring it in its entirety is also acceptable. One way or another, a strong message must be sent to these organisations that they can’t get away with appeals to the good nature of trained professionals to undertake a large amount of unpaid labour just to help them out. Ask yourself this – If you asked one of these people to give you a few days work for free, what answer would you expect to get?

 

I’m genuinely heartened by the final page you get to see on this form … the GDPR statement proudly claims that: ‘The National Museum of Ireland retains the information contained in this Survey.  This information will be permanently retained as part of the archaeological archive of the Irish Antiquities Division. The records contained therein form an essential part of the archaeological, historical and scientific information relating to the collections held at the National Museum of Ireland.’ (my emphasis) … so, not only do they say that they can’t delete your response, they let you know how important it is for the National Collections. I may be persuaded to fill out a few more!

 

Notes

* Oh no! I have the worst sinking feeling in my stomach. Could it be that the people who wrote, checked, approved, and signed off on this abomination of a form once watched The IT Crowd and, mistaking it for a hard-hitting documentary, believe that the Internet (and consequently, all digital files) can be carried about in a box? [here]

I got it into my head that the cadence of the sentence required the names of five social media platforms, but I could only think of four. Bugler is completely made up. Sorry.

The exchange between The Narrator and The European is a reference to Alexander Sokurov's 2002 masterpiece, Russian Ark. But, of course, you knew that.