Brochs
are a true enigma: everyone seems to have a theory on them, a
different one. There is no diversity or variation in certainty, only
beliefs; everyone thinks they have the definitive answer: there is
very little consensus. Ian Armit's book Towers in the
North, looks broadly at the brochs of Scotland,
(the sub-title of the book), touching on their beginnings and
endings, and the various opinions and theories that seek to explain
them. The study encompasses a bit of everything, covering a little of
most of the issues involved without itself taking a strong position
on anything. The book reads somewhat like an extended entry in an
encyclopedia, bland and generally informative in a strangely
distracted, uninvolved but organized manner. No commitment is made to
any concept. The reader is left bathed in opinions and ideas,
somewhat baffled but informed on the various concepts and
possibilities.
Typical roundhouse
The
research suggests that roundhouses, said to be the precursors of the
broch form, and the brochs themselves, might have been built by
communities to mark the ownership of arable land, an idea that
challenges the notion of the defensive nature of the castle-like
vision of the role of these structures that their dominance and scale
suggests. Such community ownership might suppose a social use for
these buildings. Armit raises this issue dispassionately, perhaps
dismissively, and goes on to discuss the buildings with more apparent
certainty as status markers for the superior family dominating the
settlement, a position that defines the roundhouse/broch as a proud,
private dwelling identifying power and prestige: dominance rather
than defiance. He notes specific burials and unusual wells in some
brochs that, he comments, might hold religious meaning, but he never
suggests that the broch/ roundhouse could have had such a spiritual
purpose, even though it would appear to be one that would knit nicely
with the concept of community enterprise and functions. Just how this
religious role could have been intertwined with ordinary private,
residential life only extends the enigma; complicates it. Theories
need to be challenged and tested if they are to hold their stamina:
they need coherence. The general study of the brochs seems to muddy
matters rather than begin this process of clarification, and
subsequent confirmation or rejection. Is this the beginning of the
problem of the brochs: everyone is both right and wrong depending on
an individual’s perception, as there are few other measures, just
many egos?
Where does the inter-mural stair go?
One
of the surprising discoveries of modern psychology is how easy it is
to be ignorant of your own ignorance. . . .
It
takes special provoking . . . to get the absence of information to
reveal itself to us. (p.31)
Mousa broch - note the 'fair face' of the external surface:
the rough work at the top is the restoration work carried out in 1861
Broch of Clickimin, Lerwick, Shetland
The
general concepts of
archaeology appear to drive defined opinions: burials must be sacred;
gestures, in form, dress or decoration, have to be spiritually
symbolic; straight paths must be processional; large must be for
prestige, to impress, to intimidate; power means control; solid and
huge means defensive; guessed alignments are always meaningful: why?
That so little seems to be known about iron-age society makes all of
these assumptions that get layered into broch interpretations, mere
blind guesses, simple interpolations, hopeful wishes – perhaps mere
archaeological clichés?
Like the iron of the age itself, evidence to confirm these matters is
no longer available as simple tangible facts for us to analyse and
confirm; it has gone: we are left to infer circumstances using the
most flimsy of ephemeral data, mere shadows of the past and figments
of our present-day imaginations.
Gurness broch
An
inert idea, if it were designed just right, might have a beneficial
effect on a brain without having to know it was doing so! And if it
did, it might prosper because it had that design. (p.5)
Gurness broch village
Armit
uses an
interesting different
approach on p.105-6.
Here
he describes his vision
of life in a
broch village as he
interprets it from the remains
at Gurness (see -
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2016/09/how-architecture-shapes-and-moulds.html
) - a
life suggested in the ghosted pattern of the remnant walls.
Thinking
like this does add ‘flesh and blood’ to a place and
its experience, as
a real life re-enactment might, suggesting
figments, functions and
feelings, but
one has to be sure that this story-telling is not just some flight of
fancy. Matters need tough testing. The approach is admirable in its
ambition to give some sense to stones that once sheltered the living.
That this ‘real
life’ interpretation is
not used
or attempted more
broadly in archaeology
is puzzling. Perhaps it
is seen as unscientific, too romantic; but what’s new with broch
studies? Just look at the artist’s impression at Mousa that renders
a complicated mesh of inferences almost as if they were photographic
facts. One has to be
careful not to impose one’s
own preferences, but
one can consider propositions
arising from read realities
rather than only
publish
vague ambitious and
dreams that
pretend to be reasoned and rational.
Scarecemnt on interior broch wall
Envisaging
the everyday life dramas is worthwhile, if only to establish a
context for further questioning; but it is the building, the
construction of these places, the processes of the making, that
researchers seem to manage just too schematically when it is one
aspect of things that should be and can be reverse engineered to
establish some facts of fashioning that would help with
interpretation. One needs to hypothesise with real, practical
engineered details, not schematic diagrams. Putting things in place
and together involves much the same process today as ever before.
There are not many ways in which rocks can be carried and precisely
placed on top of one another: the laws of gravity have not changed.
While there is a certain vagueness on the broad approach on how
brochs were built, there is much more effort given to interpreting
the specific details: what this ledge was for; the purpose of this
recess; the function of the rebate? There is much debate about the
six holes excavated in one broch floor. It seems to be generally
accepted by broch researchers that the scarcement, a projecting rock
ledge on the inside of the brochs, supported a timber floor: but
still there is no complete agreement here. Brian Smith of Shetland
Museum and Archives challenges this concept, as well as the idea that
brochs were once roofed. He promotes the notion of the function and
role of brochs - their purpose, relationship and siting – as being
primarily for communication. One is left wondering if some academics
and researchers like to be different just to stimulate debate and
draw attention to themselves and their publications. Most of Armit’s
illustrations indicate a roof over the broch and a timber floor
inside. Archaeology appears to lack the rigour of pure science in many
of its aspects, perhaps because it relies a lot on personal
interpretations, ‘maybes’ to be assessed by others. Just how one
might choose to interpret a set of holes in an excavated floor of a
broch is left to one’s imagination – a best guess gauged by one’s
past experience or freshly-stimulated imagination: likewise with the
idea of a roof, and the use of the scarcement that is clearly a
deliberate and precise arrangement/alignment of stones.
The linear scarecement can be seen at the top of the image
Artist's impression of a broch village
Considered
as examples of engineering, suspension bridges and cathedrals both
obey the law of gravity and are subject to the same sorts of forces
and stresses. (p.29)
Mousa broch interior, looking up, showing the 'fair-faced' walls
One hypothesis for a completed broch: note sloping stones
and diagrammatic floor and roof structure (two lines)
Brian
Smith gave a public lecture on the brochs in Lerwick on 21 April
2016, arguing that they were never roofed.** This seemed to be his best
guess. His overview of the history of broch research was thorough and
informative, but his views finally relied on his own interpretations
– his analysis of his guesses, perhaps his preferences that had
been discussed with colleagues. This seemed to be the limit of his
testing. Smith maintains the idea that the brochs were big to impress
and intimidate; on the details, he argues that the scarcement was
for scaffolding during construction, not for a permanent timber
floor. For Smith, brochs were placed and constructed for
communicating with each other. How the messages were sent and
received and what they might be is never raised other than to suggest
a method - perhaps fire. Why communication was necessary is another
issue that is only vaguely explained, or hinted at: was it to warn of
attacks? Does this mean that brochs were refuges? Given that we seem
to know so little about the ordinary lives of this era, hypothesizing
is an open book that is difficult to prove right or wrong. Anything
appears possible. The size and scale of the brochs is apparently,
according to Smith, for distant identification (what happened to the
intimidation idea?): to be able to be seen, located and identified
from afar. Perhaps this is all as fanciful as the ideas of Armit and
others. Theories never really appear to look at things as the real
world of ‘body and brain’ involvement. Smith repeatedly notes how
skilfully brilliant the broch builders were, as if this could explain any gaps in his explanations – voids overcome by the unlikely possibilities of sheer genius. The
broch builders were obviously not fools, so their thoughts and
processes should be able to be rationally reviewed by us today. There
is a consistency in being, and being in the world that does not make
us all complete strangers. The human condition is far better defined
and comprehended than any broch.
An artist's impression of a broch interior: a grandly, spacious home
Drystone wall building - a precise process involving alignments, frames and strings
So
how were brochs built? They are drystone structures. We know how
drystone walls are built, so how might something of the scale of the
broch be erected? One might assume that the techniques used today
might be the same as those of the iron age. Would profile frames and
string lines have been used to define the alignments, shapes and
sizes of the walls as they are today? The process starts with a set
out and a large pile of stones. So how were brochs set out? How were
the circles defined? This must not have been an ad hoc, random start
somewhere with a guessed circle and with work continuing until the
stones ran out. It must have been planned. One might guess that a peg
in the ground and a length of string was used for the circle. This
strategy would work for the walls up to a certain height, but then
other ways of defining the arc or establishing the centre are needed.## Building is an ancient craft that still uses strings, chalk, squares
and plum bobs. Even though these items might have adopted a different
technology today, maybe lasers, the functions, intentions, strategies
and processes are basically identical.
In
the same way as walls
are constructed around a field,
it is easy to contemplate piles of rocks lying on the ground ready
and available for broch
walls up to a certain
height. One can get a
sense of the quantity of stones needed when one sees a ruin
collapsing: see -
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/04/lund-haunting-place-memory.html
This construction process is still used today for drystone walls: a
huge pile of rubble becomes transformed, orgainsed into the alignment
of a perfect wall. Beyond
these normal heights
where one can work standing on the ground,
choosing stones and
placing them, one has
to begin theorizing:
little is clear or certain. How
was the pile of rocks raised for the higher walls? Were
scaffolding platforms constructed? Where?
How? Smith argues that
brochs did not have interior timber floors because it would be too
difficult to get the
timber lengths in and
out through
the narrow opening. He
also notes the unusual and unlikely multilevel functional
relationships that get illustrated in broch interiors just to
graphically fill the space. Armit
repeatedly notes that lengths of timber are critical for ideas on
roofing and spanning generally. Brochs
require significant spaces to be spanned. So what happened with the
interior scaffold that, with what must be some degree of irony, Smith
speculates was used? How was it installed, removed? At least there
seems to be some logic in suggesting that there was a permanent
internal timber structure – no removal problems for timbers that
could be progressively lifted over the walls.
A broch interior sketched as a possibility -
an open broch with inner lean-to suggested by Hamilton in 1968
So
what really happened? The point is that once one has some agreement
on at least one matter, then this understanding can be used to
establish other theories on purpose and function. Agreement is
critical; without this, researchers are left in the spin of
uncertainty they now endure. What if the inner structure was the
scaffold, (Smith apparently agrees with this constructional concept),
that stayed there (Smith apparently disagrees – why when it is
difficult to get out)? What if shorter lengths of timber were lashed
together to poles and props that propped shorter spans? Consider the
bamboo scaffolding that is still used in China, now lashed together
with plastic ties instead of bamboo strapping. The Smith position
that scarcements were for scaffolds is odd. Why are there scarcements
just inside? How was the scaffold removed? The Roman aqueduct at
Nimes in France has projecting stones for scaffolding, but these
protrusions are everywhere and anywhere one might expect support for
constructional timbers and become the aesthetic itself rather than
any other preference for appearance. So how were brochs constructed?
Some say that there was no scaffold.
The Mousa broch stair and bridging stones in the gallery space between the walls:
note the rough internal stone faces
On
the galleries and what these are for, one again has to consider the
typical drystone wall around a field. Rocks are layed through the
wall from layer to layer to tie the wall together - like a
stretcher-header concept in English bond brickwork. Why is it
difficult to envisage the skins in the higher parts of the broch as
being likewise without the stone core - to save on stone, its
quantity as well as its mass? Armit notes this point, but fails to
follow up on any resolution. Is he playing just too safe? Does
academia make one over-cautious? Is it safer to write encyclopaedic
books with grand titles to get a reputation? That some of these
necessary constructional voids might be seen to be useful is surely
merely a plus, a bonus, if it is not considered to have an essential
spatial function; but why can both possibilities not hold sense at
the same time? The functional, structural form itself can be compared
to a bird’s wing bone structure, hollow with cross strutting to
maximize strength and minimize mass, while, in the broch, the
voids are useful for a range of sundry purposes. But this still
leaves the method of building unresolved. It adds very little to the
debate other than including some distracting intellectual embroidery.
Typical drystone wall section - the broch wall in miniature with fines filling the voids
English bond: one stretcher course alternating with one header course
English bond in brickwork
A self-draining drystone wall
There
is another matter to consider: Yorkshire wallers lay their stones so
that water is drained to the outside to avoid water collecting,
concentrating and undermining the integrity of the whole. How are
broch walls layed? Might the stones be placed to drain away from the
interior? Armit records that this is one theory. Sections through the
walls of Mousa all show stones sloping out, away from the interior,
so water will indeed run to the outside. Might this detail suggest an
effort to keep the interior dry? Does this understanding point to a
roofed space? Why bother otherwise? What might Mr. Smith say? The
general principle of a cavity in brickwork is that the two brick
skins are stitched together structurally with metal ties that drip
and drain and do not allow water to reach the inner skin – either
by pitch (slope), or the shaping for an intermediate drip. The idea
is that the outside skin can be wet, saturated, while the inside skin
is always kept dry. If the 'gallery' floors/stones slope outwards,
they will achieve this purpose. What does this mean?
Various ties used in cavity brickwork construction
The
other principle with cavity construction is to ventilate the voids so
that moisture vapour is removed rather than being left to condense on
the inner skin. If the voids between the skins are seen as places to
store goods, or indeed live in, as some hypothesize with the brochs,
then another matter comes into play beyond the damp - the avoidance
of mould. Mould can be overcome in any one of three ways: by managing
temperature, humidity, or air movement. Could the carefully
organized, obviously deliberate inner openings of the broch be there
to ventilate the cavities to make them useful, dry and mould-free?
With some rigour in the research, there might also come some
agreement that could help clarify other issues; but this seems
extremely difficult to achieve in broch research. Is it that each
researcher is working alone to enhance a reputation, to develop a
specialist expertise just too competitively?
Interior openings in Mousa broch
Dun Telve broch, Glenelg
The typical gallery space (right0 and the interior voids (left)
On
the actual making of the brochs: Smith, in his lecture, showed one
diagram that seemed to indicate the idea that brochs were built
'overhand,’ from the inside out/outside in, with the dry stone
worker standing in the gallery space working on both the inner and
outer walls. This concept apparently helps answer the obvious
question about the laying of the stones in the walls above ground
level access. It seeks to explain away the vexed question about
internal/external scaffolding: was there any? The suggestion seems to
be that no scaffolding was used – well, since Smith seeks to
explain the scarcements as ledges for scaffolding, the point would
have to be that there was no external scaffolding. Now this
‘overhand’ gallery approach to construction might appear to be a
rationally sensible concept, especially with the intramural stairs
providing access in some brochs, until one discovers that some
galleries eventually get too narrow for this working position to be
possible - this is at the extremes of height too - and that access to
stones, even if they are at the working level, (how?), becomes an
extremely awkward manouvre with every rock and pebble having to be
passed over the wall being layed, even without having to decide
whether stones were stacked both inside and out, or just inside; or
just outside? There seems much still to be agreed upon. Is the worry
that agreement minimizes argument and debate, terminates it, leaving
little for academics and researchers to debate?
Broch, Glenelg, Scotland
Aerial view of Mouse broch showing gallery spaces
Looking
at the brochs, one notices that the faces of the walls on the outer
and inner skins are 'fair' faced, smooth on the outside of the outer
skin, and the inside of the inner skin; and that the interior
surfaces of the walls forming the void between are rough – well,
rougher. This seems to suggest that the walls have been layed with
workers standing on the outside of the outer wall, and on the inside
of inner wall to construct the twin broch skins, not in
between them. It is difficult to ‘fair face’ a wall from the
‘other’ side. Further, it seems that all galleries do not have
continuous 'floors' available for a working platform: there are only
intermittent bridging stones like the ties in a cavity brick wall.
How awkward might this ‘hit-and-miss’ arrangement become for a
construction work platform? Why has this notion of the gallery as a
construction worker’s location ever got traction? The idea that the
intramural stair might be for construction purposes appears fanciful
as it has very limited use on its own, providing access only to one
particular point of the circle at any one time as the height of the
broch increases. This analysis appears to suggest that brochs were
built with an inner and an outer timber scaffold. Lengths, like
today's scaffolding, do not have to be enormous as pieces could be
braced and lashed together. Scarcity of timbers is not an argument
either as, like today, scaffolds could be re-used. Did broch builders
bring their scaffolds as well as their skilled workmen and tools?
Consider the mediaeval masons and their processes.
Mousa broch: note quality of exterior 'fair-faced' walls
Looking down at interior of Mousa broch
So
can one speculate that brochs did have extensive scaffolding inside
and out upon which platforms for workers and stones were supported?
Might some of the inner scaffold have become permanent, overcoming
the need for awkward removal? Indeed, might the inner scaffold have
been essential for the set out of the walls? Could a core of say six
posts have been used to define a centre for string rotation, or for
arcs to be located without a centre, maybe with chords? Did the
scarcement carry chords for the floor (or scaffold)? Might profiles
have bridged between inner and outer scaffolds to define the ‘fair’
faces, their alignments both their curved verticality and the
circular horizontality, leaving the inner gallery faces for rough
freehand finishing and a close, skewed, guessed alignment by the
‘overhand’ eye that cannot see precise detail?* Wallers today use
profiles. One has only to look at the exterior of the brochs in
bright sunlight to see the care in their making, in their alignment
of the stone faces. We cannot assume that these men were geniuses who
could freehand a 3D drystone structure miraculously from nothing but
stones handed to them one by one, over walls at dizzying heights
while working overhand when balancing on bridging stones. Life is
more consistently ordinary than this romantic vision might suggest.
Mousa broch
A concept drawing for a completed broch:
getting to the upper level (how?) seems to involve a significant effort, a real inconvenience
Note the naively diagrammatical timber structure
There
seems to be some agreement that brochs were constructed to a pattern;
that there were broch builders who held the knowledge. Armit uses the
features of construction as the defining points for what as brooch
is. He has a checklist. So were there travelling masons/architects
with their teams and tools and scaffolding, and know-how, who moved
around to do the work as required? Such expertise might then have
used locals as unskilled labourers, as Armit notes. Was it like the
mediaeval mason and his workers and helpers - specialist teams go to
work when materials, money, time and labour were available?
Broch of Gurness
It
appears possible: but why the stairs, intramural as they are
described? Some stairs start a couple of metres above the lower
interior level. Mousa starts at the ground level and goes directly to
the top of the walls. It is said to be one of the few with this
feature. Why? There seems to be no place to pause, to access
galleries or any hypothesized timber infill floors. The stairs
structure a direct journey from ground to top. What happened at the
top?
Gallery 'inter-mural' stairs
Mousa broch looking north
Aerial view of Mousa broch:
the detailing at the top of the broch remains a puzzling conjecture
Oddly,
some researchers who
propose a roof structure, appear to ignore the stair and any
access/egress
point, as if it wasn't there at all. More
rigour is needed. Have researchers been too entranced by artists’
impressions? Mousa is
the most intact of brochs – see:
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/mousa-broch.html
Just
why there seems to be some idea that stairs never went up in other
brochs
is a puzzle, because we are not even sure about the
upper detailing of the Mousa
walls that have been
subjected to the enthusiastic restorative ‘genius’ of amateur
archaeologists. Black
houses on Lewis (see:
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2016/12/the-arnol-blackhouse-place-culture.html
) have twin stone walls
filled with compacted
peat/earth. These
walls are roofed with the timber
frame sitting on the
inner skin. The
surrounding ledge shaped
by the thickness of the wall,
usually grassed, can
be accessed by stepping stones built into the outer stone walls as
styles are in dykes.
So
why might the Mousa
stair
not be a similar
access to a roof
supported on the inner wall,
assuming Brian Smith's argument that
there was no
roof could
be wrong or misguided? Might
stairs be for general surveillance; for
general maintenance;
for removing refuse? Indeed,
how was refuse removed?
How
was human waste taken out? Did
all brochs have their well or a water supply? Every
croft on Shetland did; why not the brochs? How
was water stored? There
are many simple, practical questions that need answers, that theories
should accommodate. The
ignoring of such matters only complicates possibilities. Every
narrative must be taken in its wholeness, as an idea in a set of
possibilities, accommodating ordinary, everyday existence – life’s
simple necessities. These are the tests. The black house had a drain
in the byre that took waste away outside; and part of the wall was
demolished annually to clean out and replenish the store. Similarly,
a wall was opened for winnowing.
The blackhouse at Arnol, Lewis:
the roof of the old Norse mill on Lewis is identical to that of the Arnol blackhouse
and very similar to the roof of the traditional Shetland croft house
Section through blackhouse
Mousa Island from Mainland: find the broch; imagine a message
One
needs to ponder more on the Brian Smith argument that size was for
appearance from afar, to be seen for communication, while it was also
handy for intimidation/to impress - (“imagine a visiting ship
turning into Mousa”); that the particular relationships and
sitings were not random, but selected for visual communication
between brochs. Has he seen Mousa from the mainland nearby, its
closest viewpoint? The thirteen-metre high broch looks like a pin
prick from the photo-opportunity location. Smith appears to
anticipate this critique by suggesting that the pin prick can be
located in the landscape by the dark rocks nearby at its base. His
suggestion that messages might be via fire needs more consideration
too: it would be like signalling with a match at a kilometre. Why have
such huge structures just to signal the twin digital possibility - on
or off: fire or no fire? Was there a smoke signal system like the
North American Indians used, or perhaps some crude semaphore system, that might have extended chat sessions
with more meaningful messaged signals? How did the fire get up to the
top of the broch? What was the size of the flame? Was it carried up
the stairs? Why not use a large pile on a hill like the celebrations
do today when pyres start at Saxaford on Unst and continue the length
of Britain, hill to hill to celebrate a royal birthday or a change of
century? Instead of going to the trouble of constructing a tall,
twin-walled circular tower, why not use the elevated land for a
signal? Building brochs for signage makes little sense. What does
make sense is the idea that the broch was a defensive structure. Is
this why there is only one access point; and why the external walls
have no projecting stones or scarcements that could be used for
access? Smooth walls can be used to brace scaffolds, especially ones
that swell out at the base. A strutted ring frame would offer a good,
solid working platform. This form of platform is still seen today
used by roofers. Was the broch a place of refuge for people and their
animals? What happened with food supplies, water and waste? Would a
broch become its own problem when considered as a defensive retreat,
trapping those inside in their own ‘safety,’ siege-like?
Sketch of an idea of a broch village
Idea for a roofed broch
Mousa Island viewed from the water to the south
If
cattle were in the lower byre section of the broch, was the
intramural stair used to remove this waste? Were
cattle housed in the same manner as those in the black houses that
were given shelter and provided some additional bodies with warmth
for everyone? There are
many questions that need detailed consideration. Scarcements
can take floors, perhaps,
but a couple of lines
on a diagram, (as
Armit
illustrates the
possibility), is far
too simplistic a
notion. Floors
have bearers and joists, trimmers as well as floor boards and
point loads:
they have depth that
increases with their spans and required corbels to take the
substantial loads. Just
what was supported, how and where? Is
the scarcement really strong enough to take a floor? The
old kirk at Baliasta
on Unst
had an upper
timber floor, but it has no scarcement. just
holes in
the walls for the joists. These
can be seen in the stonework today,
as they can also be viewed in the ruins of the walls of the ancient
kirk at Lunna. One
can clearly
read the pattern of the structure and
know that it was strong enough for its purpose.
A continuous,
thin, rough
stone
ledge tells us much less, leaving
more gaps for guesses.
We
need to work harder, more thoughtfully and with greater rigour in our
theorizing: our hypotheses
need to be questioned, tested
more thoroughly. Being
stubbornly, blindly hopeful or
argumentatively academic with an answer for everything
might create a good story and
stimulate endless debate,
but it is an approach
that will fall apart only too quickly once the conjectures have been
refuted - see Karl Popper, Conjectures
and Refutations The
Growth of Scientific Knowledge:
see -
https://www.amazon.com/Conjectures-Refutations-Scientific-Knowledge-Routledge/dp/0415285941
Typical floor construction
Baliasta kirk wall interior showing holes for floor framing
Interior of Balistia kirk
Scientists
in every field have pet theories they hope to confirm, or target
hypotheses they yearn to demolish, but, knowing this, they take a
variety of tried-and-true steps to prevent their bias from polluting
their evidence-gathering: double-blind experiments, peer review,
statistical tests, and many other standard constraints of good
scientific method. (p.32)
Artist's sketch of Gurness broch, Orkney
Howe broch, Stromness
There
is the other point on assuming too much, too soon. Supposing that
iron-age religion was simplistic or non-existent; that it could not
have been deeply embodied in life and every aspect of it; that iron
age society was hierarchical in a different way; that its culture was
singular and differentiated rather than integrated, rich, and whole,
with every part being an integral segment of a necessary totality, as
in a hologram, is a real problem. It might suit guesses, but it flies
in the face of experience. A completely integrated culture and
society, practically and emotionally, is far more likely than any
idea of trying to project some different version of our being onto
broch life from today’s understanding, interpretation, experience
and expectations. We need to try to see and comprehend things from
their sources, their origins, as best we can.
Gurness broch
Mousa broch from nearby waters
Ananda
Coomaraswamy tells us things would have been a rich whole, where
symbolism was substantially vibrant in a radiant world of light and
mystery; enchantment; magic. Knowing more of this will help us
understand. We should always avoid placing our reading of things onto
other cultures. We need to learn from them while being wary of the
power of the idea: hence the importance of proving things wrong. It
is just too easy to be right. Brian Smith believes he has shown us
that Mousa had no roof and argues his case by refuting all
questioning. Being ‘right’ is not good science. We need to
delight in proving things wrong, not being excited about or proud of
being able to show every idea is right.
Concept for typical Pictish broch
Broch o' Borwich, Sandwick, Orkney
Researchers
tend to be either respectful, differential, diplomatic, tentative -
or hostile, invasive, and contemptuous. It is just about impossible
to be neutral in your approach (to religion), because many people
view neutrality in itself as hostile. (p.32)
Dun Telve broch, Glenelg
Culswick broch, Aithsting, Shetland
The
point of this piece is not to offer any final solution to the problem
of brochs, but to highlight just how the research to date has become
cluttered with a hybrid mishmash of possibilities that will never be
resolved until rigour becomes the basis of analysis; when the full
facts are faced with endless questions and repeated doubts. What is
critical is that skills other than that those archaeological and
historical need to be brought into the research. One thinks of
engineering and architectural expertise. Drawing a floor as two
parallel lines is naive to any architect, and meaningless for any
true understanding of building. Likewise with other issues too, like
the roof. Roof or no roof, the broch will comply with functional and
constructional necessities as everything else does. Deconstruction of
the ruins needs to be meticulous, not a matter of a new and different
hypothesis that is a set of new guesses within the framework of a
bespoke academic approach. It must never be assumed that we can
understand the brochs from our era alone. We must know as much as we
can about the society and culture that gave them birth. Drawing
parallels with other eras about which we might be more familiar is
fruitless; hopeless. As a basis of power, or prestige; or is it a
communal core, a refuge; a communications centre; a citadel; a
chapel; all three together – what is a broch? Societies of old were
never like ours; rarely fragmented into unrelated parts. If there is
a religious or spiritual basis for any part of the broch, then this
will very likely be integrated into its purpose, not exist as a mere
aside as religion does today. That a society could be coerced into
building such a private residence for the chieftain seems to suggest
slavery; brutality, like that seen on Shetland when the hated
Stewarts built their castles at Muness and Scalloway. What were these
societies?
Broch well, Channerwick, Shetland
Boat-shaped 'well' feature at Whitegait broch
Dun Carloway broch, Lewis
Midhowe broch, Orkney
Armit
proposes a farming community that is something like we might expect
in our recent past. Is this so? In one way he must be true. Walls
divide and perform in a particular manner; paths lead and direct in
one way likewise: but this lifestyle seems different to one managed
by a ‘lord-like’ figure. Was a broch really a private residence;
or a spiritual and safe sanctuary for all? Was it sacred place;
shared space; a refuge; a signal site? If a retreat for safety, why
could it not become its own entrapment; its own problem ready for the
siege, or the fiery attack? The brock looks defensive; it is likely
to have had a roof given the design of the walls; and likely to have
had an interior structure too. As a communication site - ? What? How?
Are we dreaming just too much? We need care and consideration; true
scientific research, not general guessing. We need tolerant, open
minds too. The final question has to be: when might we get agreement
on the brochs – and on what; then what might a broch become?
Dun Carloway, Lewis - typical broch interior
Dun Carloway broch, Lewis - bridging stones in typical gallery
The
strange thing is that we get a real sense of something vaguely
certain growing out of all of this confusion of ideas and
possibilities: are we too happy with the poetics of this romantic
‘brochish’ muddling, a circumstance that seems close to the
grandly idyllic, fantasy world created by Sir Walter Scott that seems
to have generated a convincing, pseudo-realistic nationalistic world
with a quaint, but fanciful phantom history and physicality all of
its own?#
Cross sectional concept of completed broch
Carn Liath broch, Scotland
How
are ideas created by minds? It might be by miraculous inspiration, or
it might be by more natural means, as ideas are spread from mind to
mind, surviving translation between different languages, hitchhiking
on songs and icons and statues and rituals, coming together in
unlikely combinations in people's heads, where they give rise to yet
further new "creations," bearing family resemblances to the
ideas that inspired them but adding new features, new powers as they
go. (p.6)
Broch, Glenelg, Scotland
NOTE:
All
quotes interspersed throughout the text have been taken from:
Daniel
C. Dennett Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon
Penguin London 2007
Dun Telve broch, Glenelg
Up Helly Aa, Lerwick
# Today is Up Helly Aa day in the Sheltand Islands: Tuesday 31st January 2107 – see; http://www.uphellyaa.org/ and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Up_Helly_Aa It occurs to me that the Sir Walter Scott (who named Jarlshof) world and that of the brochs is something like the Up Helly Aa experience. This festival of ‘fun, feasting and fire’ as the commentator of the parade described it, had its beginnings in drunken rioters who rolled lighted tar barrels through Lerwick in the late 1800s. The event has no roots in the Viking world, but the Guizer Jarl, (Lyall Gair for 2017), who has waited fifteen years for this role, (such is its promoted and perceived importance), and his squad spend thousands of pounds on their Viking ‘fancy dress,’ and many hours building the make-believe galley, (to be burned), and the 900 plus torches (a two-metre long, 50 x 50mm stick with three kerosene-soaked hessian bags wrapped around and nailed to one end), just to provide the spectacle.
Like
everything in this annual festival, all of this fantasy is taken
extremely seriously. Everything is managed by a committee that has
rules and establishes a strict programme, not only for the whole day,
but for the years before and after the celebration. In spite of its
ad hoc beginning, Up Helly Aa is now an important Viking-based, fire
celebration with the squad being given the freedom of Lerwick for
twenty-four hours. The group that comprises the guizer’s family and
friends are treated almost as gods for this period. Throughout the
year, the squad reforms from time to time to perform ‘Viking’
roles in various cites in the world, by invitation. The men in fancy
dress become ambassadors for Lerwick and the Shetland Islands.
Ironically, this fiction is reinforced and perpetuated, is given
credence by its own history, and has nothing to do with ‘real’
events in time.
The
Shetland Islands is, according to the study of its gene pool, half
Pictish and half Viking blood. There is a Viking history, but it has
little to do with any rampaging, raiding and parading squads that Up
Helly Aa promotes. In a similar fashion, the study of the brochs, as
with the world of Sir Walter Scott, has generated a mythic identity
that has sufficient sway with its loose, poetic coherence and
romantic character to allow one to feel its inflections, its charms,
and project on to this emotional fuzziness some semblance of a
preferred reality, albeit, like the Up Helly Aa, a complete fantasy,
a disguise, a make-believe that shrouds an underlying hodgepodge of
research, a circumstance that highlights the power of the story: the
fairy story.
Mousa broch
*
ON SCAFFOLDING
For various types of scaffolding, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scaffolding
##
ON DRAWING CIRCLES
**
The talk was printed in New Shetlander, 276, 2016: Brian Smith 'Did the broch of Mousa have a roof? and why not!'
For more on brochs, see: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2017/02/brochs-more-ponderings-on-fragments.html
27 APRIL 2019
ON SCAFFOLDING
For various types of scaffolding, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scaffolding
##
ON DRAWING CIRCLES
How to draw a circle
without knowing the centre:
There are numerous possibilities -
Here's another option that should be easy to
implement and hopefully is exact enough. You can approximate the arc
of a circle with an ellipse by adjusting the distance between the
foci of the ellipse depending on how close you can get to the center.
Once you've found the foci, you drive your stakes there, tie off the
right length of rope across them and scribe the arc.
First, the math: Start with a circle at the origin. For a fixed
y-distance from the center of the circle (written as pRpR where pp is
the percentage of the Radius), I center an ellipse so that the major
axis is the chord of the circle through that closest point of
approach to the center of the circle, perpendicular to the y-axis.
(This puts the ends of my ellipse on the circle.) I set the minor
axis so that the top of the ellipse is also on the circle. That
defines a unique ellipse.
In the diagram, the target circle of radius RR is blue, the
constructed ellipse is green. XX is the center of my
ellipse. BB is the length of the semi-major axis. AA is
the semi-minor. CC is the distance to the foci. YY is
the center of my desired arc.
(Note on choices: You could get a better fit with
different methods, such as splines, or possibly by using different
fixed points to construct the ellipse, but I chose this method to
make the actual measurements and construction in the field as
dirt-simple as I could, assuming that the errors incurred from
cutting and tying string, walking around, and measuring across the
lawn would out-weigh any gains I would get by complicating it.)
Now how do you implement it. The good news is, all you need to
compute is CC. Everything else you can measure. I'll do this
assuming a 100 foot radius circle, and then all of our units will be
in feet and can be compared as a % of the radius. Everything scales,
so if we're within 1 foot of the circle for a 100 foot radius, then
we're within 1%, and we'll be within 2 feet on a 200 foot one, 1212 a
foot on a 50 foot one, etc.
Start by driving a stake in the center of your arc (point YY on
the diagram), then find the center line to the middle of your circle.
Find the closest point (XX on the diagram) you can get to the
center of the circle so that you are unobstructed on either side of
the line (your left and right as you face the center), and write the
distance to the center of the circle as a percentage of the circle's
radius. So, if you're 10 feet from the center of our 100 foot circle,
that's 10%10%, or p=0.10p=0.10. Now compute CC as
then drive a stake at a distance CC on either side of the
center line (point XX); these are your ellipse foci. Tie a
string around one of the foci stakes, loop it around the stake at the
center of your arc (point YY), then tie the other end to the
other foci stake. Pull up the center stake from your arc and use the
loop to scribe the arc.
According to the numbers I ran, the accuracy starts to drop off a bit
once the width of the arc that is about the same as the circle
radius, that's why I drew a chord across the top of the diagram with
a length of RR. It would take 6 of these arc sections to
completely draw the circle. Across this arc, your % error is
about 110p110p. So in our example, where p=10%p=10%, your
error is about 1%1%, or within 1 foot. And everything scales
pretty well, so at 20 feet out your error is less than 2%2%, or
2 feet for the 100 foot case, etc. It tapers off further out, so even
out at 7070 or 80%80% you're still
under 5%5% error.
Hopefully, this level of error is ok, especially given that you only
need to make 3 measurements and drive 3 stakes to whip this out.
(Maybe 4 stakes, adding one at XX and running a string
between XXand YY, and another between the foci to ensure
they are perpendicular.)
Here's another option that should be easy to
implement and hopefully is exact enough. You can approximate the arc
of a circle with an ellipse by adjusting the distance between the
foci of the ellipse depending on how close you can get to the center.
Once you've found the foci, you drive your stakes there, tie off the
right length of rope across them and scribe the arc.
First, the math: Start with a circle at the origin. For a fixed
y-distance from the center of the circle (written as pRpR where pp is
the percentage of the Radius), I center an ellipse so that the major
axis is the chord of the circle through that closest point of
approach to the center of the circle, perpendicular to the y-axis.
(This puts the ends of my ellipse on the circle.) I set the minor
axis so that the top of the ellipse is also on the circle. That
defines a unique ellipse.
In the diagram, the target circle of radius RR is blue, the
constructed ellipse is green. XX is the center of my
ellipse. BB is the length of the semi-major axis. AA is
the semi-minor. CC is the distance to the foci. YY is
the center of my desired arc.
(Note on choices: You could get a better fit with
different methods, such as splines, or possibly by using different
fixed points to construct the ellipse, but I chose this method to
make the actual measurements and construction in the field as
dirt-simple as I could, assuming that the errors incurred from
cutting and tying string, walking around, and measuring across the
lawn would out-weigh any gains I would get by complicating it.)
Now how do you implement it. The good news is, all you need to
compute is CC. Everything else you can measure. I'll do this
assuming a 100 foot radius circle, and then all of our units will be
in feet and can be compared as a % of the radius. Everything scales,
so if we're within 1 foot of the circle for a 100 foot radius, then
we're within 1%, and we'll be within 2 feet on a 200 foot one, 1212 a
foot on a 50 foot one, etc.
Start by driving a stake in the center of your arc (point YY on
the diagram), then find the center line to the middle of your circle.
Find the closest point (XX on the diagram) you can get to the
center of the circle so that you are unobstructed on either side of
the line (your left and right as you face the center), and write the
distance to the center of the circle as a percentage of the circle's
radius. So, if you're 10 feet from the center of our 100 foot circle,
that's 10%10%, or p=0.10p=0.10. Now compute CC as
then drive a stake at a distance CC on either side of the
center line (point XX); these are your ellipse foci. Tie a
string around one of the foci stakes, loop it around the stake at the
center of your arc (point YY), then tie the other end to the
other foci stake. Pull up the center stake from your arc and use the
loop to scribe the arc.
According to the numbers I ran, the accuracy starts to drop off a bit
once the width of the arc that is about the same as the circle
radius, that's why I drew a chord across the top of the diagram with
a length of RR. It would take 6 of these arc sections to
completely draw the circle. Across this arc, your % error is
about 110p110p. So in our example, where p=10%p=10%, your
error is about 1%1%, or within 1 foot. And everything scales
pretty well, so at 20 feet out your error is less than 2%2%, or
2 feet for the 100 foot case, etc. It tapers off further out, so even
out at 7070 or 80%80% you're still
under 5%5% error.
Hopefully, this level of error is ok, especially given that you only
need to make 3 measurements and drive 3 stakes to whip this out.
(Maybe 4 stakes, adding one at XX and running a string
between XXand YY, and another between the foci to ensure
they are perpendicular.)
NOTE: with a hexagon
pole structure in centre, each pair of poles could be focii for a set
of string ellipse arcs and maximize accuracy by limiting arc lengths
to the best approximation.
ON BROCH ROOFS:
See
also http://intarch.ac.uk/journal/issue19/4/3.3.3.html
for roof and history - found radial timbers in ash excavations;
also: http://intarch.ac.uk/journal/issue19/4/3.3.3.html
also: http://intarch.ac.uk/journal/issue19/4/3.3.3.html
ON SCARCEMENTS:
See images for
scarcement -
https://www.google.com.au/search?q=scarcement&espv=2&biw=1125&bih=1067&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiKlP-IxvLRAhXDkJQKHbCmAdoQ_AUIBigB**
The talk was printed in New Shetlander, 276, 2016: Brian Smith 'Did the broch of Mousa have a roof? and why not!'
For more on brochs, see: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2017/02/brochs-more-ponderings-on-fragments.html
27 APRIL 2019
For more on building brochs see:
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