Current Research in Nubian Archaeology (Regenerating Practices in Archaeology and Heritage) 9781463239404, 1463239408

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Current Research in Nubian Archaeology

Regenerating Practices in Archaeology and Heritage 3 Editorial Board Gemma Tully Mal Ridges Leif Isaksen Richard Madgwick

Regenerating Practices in Archaeology and Heritage is a new interdisciplinary series, exploring emerging debates in Archaeology and Heritage studies. Shaping future directions for research through contemporary theory and practice, the volumes in this series are intended to build on and complement each other, developing perspectives and positions taken by other authors in the series, showing connectivity between diverse scales of discourse and between different subfields in Archaeology and Heritage. The series encompasses methodological, scientific and theoretical themes in both edited volumes and monographs and will encompass: collaborative archaeology; museum practice; digital humanities; archaeological fieldwork methodologies; and the intersection between scientific techniques and new understandings of the past.

Current Research in Nubian Archaeology

Edited by

Samantha Tipper Gemma Tully

gp 2018

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2018 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. ‫ܝܒ‬

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2018

ISBN 978-1-4632-3940-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A Cataloging-in-Publication Record is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS Table of Contents ..................................................................................... v Acknowledgments .................................................................................. vii Introduction .............................................................................................. 1

Archives in Archaeology: Treasure Troves or Disorganised Detritus? — Archaeology in Durham University’s Sudan Archive .............................................................................................. 5 CHLOË WARD

Colour Taskscapes in Ancient Sudan .................................................. 23 KATE FULCHER

A Preliminary Analytical Investigation of Nubian Glass of the Meroitic Period .............................................................................. 37 JULIET V. SPEDDING

The Pottery Production in the Kassala Area. Ethnoarchaeological Approaches .......................................................... 81 VALENTINA PERNA An Ethno-archaeology of Mobile Networks on the Island of Meroe............................................................................................... 99 PETRA WESCHENFELDER The Egyptian Temple Towns in Nubia ............................................119 JÖRDIS VIETH

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New Insights into Disease Prevalence in Two Medieval Cemeteries from the Fourth Cataract ......................................139 ANNA M. DAVIES-BARRETT REBECCA WHITING DANIEL ANTOINE Postmarital Residence in Medieval Upper Nubia ...........................165 EMILY ROSE STREETMAN Trauma at Mis Island: A Spatial Approach to Understanding Skeletal Trauma and Mortuary Practices in an Adult Sample from Medieval Nubia ....................................................193 VALERIE A. LEAH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We would like to thank the authors for committing their time to contribute to this book. It is greatly appreciated. Many thanks also go to Al for proofreading the various chapters. Finally, we are grateful to our families (especially Eva and Mia) and friends who have supported us over the past year.

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INTRODUCTION Sudan, once one of the largest and most geographically diverse states in Africa, split into two countries in July 2011, after the people of the south voted for independence. It is a country rich in cultural and archaeological heritage that has often been overlooked when compared to its better-known neighbour, Egypt. The last two civil wars have not just cost the lives of over 1.5 million people (de Waal, 2016), but continued conflicts have increasingly put archaeological and cultural sites and artefacts in danger of being lost forever. Ancient Nubia stretched along both sides of the river Nile and was divided between what is today the modern countries of Egypt and Sudan. Sudan is divided by a series of rapids caused by the river cutting through outcrops of granite rock, called cataracts, which serve as regional boundaries. Ancient Nubia was divided into Upper and Lower Nubia, with Lower Nubia reaching from Aswan at the first cataract of the Nile to the second cataract, and Upper Nubia stretching from just below the second cataract to the sixth cataract, just south of the modern-day capital, Khartoum (Edwards, 2007; Fisher et al, 2012). In May 2017, the first Sudan studies conference was held at Durham University in England. This one-day conference brought together researchers from around the world in order to explore new, innovative approaches to research in Sudan and to build connections across disciplines. Interest in working in Sudan, whether the focus is on modern or ancient society, is growing, especially across Europe. Thus, there is a real need for conferences and other forums where those researching the region can present and discuss their work, and this is especially true for postgraduates and early career researchers working in all areas of the Archaeology of Sudan. 1

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The Sudan studies conference was inter-institutional, with keynote speakers Dr Kate Spence from Cambridge University, Professor Peter Woodward from Reading University and Dr David Edwards from Leicester University, who shared their range of expertise on Sudan. There were 15 podium presentations from postgraduates and early career researchers across a wide range of disciplines including: archaeology, history, policing, museum studies, art and politics, united by the location of study and current relevance of their work. The event created a platform for interdisciplinary discourse, promoting the exchange of ideas and building new networks at a pivotal time in the history of Sudan when socio-political change has facilitated the expansion of international research collaborations across the country. This book is the result of the success of the conference and the proceeding nine chapters are a selection of the papers presented. While archaeological in focus, they represent the interdisciplinary theme of the conference, bringing together scholars from across the globe through a range of research topics. The first paper is by Chloe Ward, who uses her experience at the Durham University Sudan Archives to discuss the advantages and limitations faced when dealing with archival archaeological information. She discusses the breadth of the archaeologically relevant material held at the Sudan Archives and the application of modern archival theory as well as the creation of an archaeology-specific database of the material curated at the Sudan Archive. The second paper is by Kate Fulcher, here she examines the material evidence for paints and pigments from the pharaonic town of Amara West, located between the second and third cataracts of the Nile river. Fulcher discusses the experiments she carried out in order to identify possible tools and pigments as well as the difficulties faced during the preparation process. Juliet Spedding writes about her research on ancient glass from the Mediterranean, highlighting and filling gaps in the current literature. She looks at the chemical composition of glass from four Nubian sites dating from the Meroitic period (c. 400BC–AD400) and the X-Group/Ballana Culture (c. AD400–600) in order to identify similarities with glass from around the Mediterranean. The fourth contribution is an ethno-archaeological paper written by Valentina Perna on the study of nomadic pastoralism and pottery production in Eastern Sudan. The research was conducted

INTRODUCTION

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during the 2014 excavation season in the area of Kassala, by the Italian Archaeological Expedition to Eastern Sudan. Petra Weschenfelder provides another ethno-archaeological discussion on mobile networks on the island of Meroe. She examines the presence and contact of nomadic groups in the initiation and management of trade networks in the past, using not just the archaeological record, but also modern mobile networks. Jordis Vieth explores the problems of definition, terminology and typology of Egyptian temple towns in Nubia. She does this by using spatial pattern analysis, site typology and landscape archaeology in order to provide a better understanding of the nature of the Egyptian-Nubian relationship. The final three papers bring together different aspects of bioarchaeology. Anna Davies-Barratt, Rebecca Whiting and Daniel Antoine present an investigation into the prevalence of respiratory and dental disease at two Medieval sites from the fourth cataract. The authors examined the ribs and maxillary sinuses for bony changes that would indicate the presence of respiratory diseases, which are affected by air quality and particulate pollution. Dental disease can help to identify subsistence activities and diet and these were analysed through the prevalence of carious lesions and other periodontal disease. Emily Streetman discusses post-marital residence patterns in Medieval Upper Nubia through analysis of the nonmetric traits of the skull. From a total of 450 individuals her work provides generalised conclusions about the social organisation across Upper Nubia during the Medieval period. The final chapter is by Valerie Leah, who writes about trauma and mortuary practices at Mis Island, in the fourth cataract. Examination of 218 adult individuals from two Medieval cemeteries on Mis Island demonstrate the importance of synthesising mortuary archaeological methods and spatial analysis into bioarchaeological research. It is hoped that this volume will provide an insight into some of the contemporary scientific, archival, archaeological and ethnoarchaeological research being carried out in Sudan which may shape the future direction of work in the region. As international interest in Sudan continues to grow, and the infrastructure for research is further enhanced by governmental and academic partnerships, more sites and artefact collections will be brought to the fore. Such developments are beginning to provide both the ancient and modern societies of Sudan with the international attention they

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deserve, making this an exciting time for the study of all aspects of cultural heritage and archaeology in Sudan.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Edwards, D. N. (2007) The Archaeology of Sudan and Nubia. Annual Review of Anthropology, 36:211–228. Fisher, M., Lacovara, P., Ikram, S., D’Auria, S. (2012) Ancient Nubia; African Kingdoms of the Nile. The American University in Cairo Press, Cairo. De Waal, Alex (2016) Sudan: Patterns of violence and imperfect endings. In Bridget Conley-Zilkic (ed.) How Mass Atrocities End: Studies from Guatemala, Burundi, Indonesia, Sudan, BosniaHerzegovina, and Iraq. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

ARCHIVES IN ARCHAEOLOGY: TREASURE TROVES OR DISORGANISED DETRITUS? — ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE CHLOË WARD INTRODUCTION

This article is based on some of the research undertaken on the archaeological material from Durham University’s Sudan Archive and presented at the Postgraduate Sudan Studies Conference in Durham in 2017. The main aim was to establish not only a searchable database of all the archaeological material in the Sudan Archive, but also demonstrate the reliability and potential of the Archive in future archaeological research. Most of the Archive relates to the Anglo-Egyptian Condominium in the Sudan between 1898 and 1955, which was a period of joint Egyptian and British rule in the country. During this time, Sudan was administered by a British Governor-General appointed, on the advice of the British government, by the Egyptian Khedive. 1 Archaeological research fell under the mandate of the Education Department of the Condominium Government, which was common at the time. 2

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Collins, A History of Modern Sudan, p. 33. Crowfoot, ‘Early Days 1903–1931’, pp. 54–56.

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The following will introduce the Sudan Archive, describe the creation of the database, and discuss some specific examples from within the Archive.

THE SUDAN ARCHIVE

The Sudan Archive is a collection of mainly papers, documents and photographs held in the Special Collections of Durham University in the Barker Research Library on Palace Green. 3 The Archive was established in 1957 to save and preserve records from the AngloEgyptian Condominium in Sudan (1898–1955) 4; as a consequence most of the material in the collection was written by British Government officials or their families. As such the Sudan Archive is mainly composed of both official and personal material relating to social, political and administrative concerns of Sudan during the first half of the 20th century, although other periods and countries are also represented. The unpublished material, which makes up most of the Archive, is available to consult from within the library, and sorted by collection — normally referring to the original creator or owner of the papers — which vary significantly in size from one or two boxes to over seventy. Most of the catalogue, and some digitised material, is available through the Archive’s website. 5 While most of the Sudan Archive is of an administrative nature, a large amount of material is directly relevant to archaeological research. This includes a range of material, from official government reports on excavations, private notes by archaeologists or visitors, as well as photographs. The digitised parts of the Sudan Archive include the Annual Reports on the Finances, Administration and Condition of the Sudan, which were sent out each year by the British Governor-General of Sudan to the British High Commissioner in Egypt. These are fully available and searchable on the Sudan Archive website and most contain a short account by the Governors General on any archaeological activities undertaken in the precedSpecial Collections, Palace Green Library, Palace Green, Durham, DH1 3RN. 4 Forbes, ‘The Sudan Archive of the University of Durham’, p. 49. 5 https://www.dur.ac.uk/library/asc/sudan/ 3

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 7 ing year. Many also include more detailed reports by the Commissioner for Antiquities and Museum Directors, which give information on specific excavations or sites, as well as lists of objects acquired by the Museum in Khartoum. As a non-archaeological archive, the Sudan Archive is not always easy to use for archaeological research. While most of the catalogue has been digitised and is available online, the search facility is based on the individual summaries of each collection rather than its contents. For example, one of the results for ‘archaeology’ is the collection of Anthony Arkell, due to his role as Commissioner for Archaeology and Anthropology in Sudan between 1938 and 1948. 6 However, all the material from the Arkell collection dates to before 1930 and is not directly relevant to archaeology. Other issues with the catalogue include inconsistencies in the terminology and spelling used, often based on their original spelling in the material. As such, the site of Meroë appears alternatively as Merawi, Merowe, Meroe, Medawi, Bedawi, Kanushia, Begarawia among others. Furthermore, there seems to be very little distinction between the way 19th – 20th century locations or towns and the ancient sites are referred to. Archaeology is also referred to in different ways, such as antiquities, artefacts, monuments, sites, etc. These issues make using the current search facilities of the Sudan Archive problematic in identifying material relevant to either archaeology or specific sites.

THE DATABASE

Most of this research is based on an attempt to remedy some of the issues described above and to create a searchable database of all the archaeologically relevant material in the Sudan Archive. Due to the problems with identifying archaeological material within the collections – based on the current online search facility – it was easier to download and read the entire catalogue from the Archive website and request material which could be potentially relevant to archaeological research. The documents could then be considered within the Archive and a decision made as to whether to include 6

Arkell Collection, Sudan Archive catalogue [accessed 2017].

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them in the database. The resulting database is sorted by country and site/theme, and also details the date, type, author, reference and collection of the material, as well as a short description (c.f. figs. 1–2). The final database has over 1000 entries from about 50 different collections in the Sudan Archive. The majority relate to sites or monuments in Sudan, but Egypt is also particularly well represented and other countries as far away as China are also present. The creation of the database helped establish the collections and individuals most relevant for archaeological research. This includes not only well-known names in archaeology and Egyptology such as John Garstang or George Reisner, but also Sudan Government officials such as General Sir Francis Reginald Wingate (1861–1953), who was the Governor-General of Sudan between 1899 and 1916. 7 Wingate seems to have had a personal interest in archaeology 8 and much of the archaeologically relevant material from the Sudan Archive can be found in his collection, including letters by archaeologists and official reports. While the archaeological potential of the Sudan Archive is relatively obvious – for instance many of the excavations referenced in the material have never been fully published – the following sections provide a number of more specific examples of the potential of the Archive or favourite anecdotes from the collections.

USE OF MATERIAL Excavation The documents and photographs from the Sudan Archive provide a unique perspective on many of the field methods and techniques used in the late 19th and early 20th century Sudan. These give significant insights into which methods were employed as well as some of the thought processes behind them, helping to situate past archaeological work within its contemporary historical and technological context rather than from a purely modern perspective. This 7 8

Warburg, The Sudan Under Wingate, p. 7. Wingate, letter to Sir Eldon Gorst 1908, SAD.284/4/15.

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 9 was a time of major archaeological research in Sudan, including Sayce and Garstang’s discovery of the city of Meroë9 and Reisner’s excavations at Jebel Barkal. One of the best examples of the expectations of an archaeological monument can be found in a 1916 letter by George Reisner, the American archaeologist, to the then Governor-General of Sudan, Sir Reginald Wingate, describing the excavation of a pyramid in Jebel Barkal. 10 Reisner describes how the pyramid was first excavated 15 years earlier by Sir Wallis Budge, who ordered his men to dig a shaft from the superstructure to the burial chamber below. On discovering it empty, Budge gets his men to keep digging down, assuming there to be a secondary burial chamber below the first. Unfortunately, the shaft becomes unstable and Budge stops the excavation due to safety concerns. Reisner, some years later, digs back from the burial chamber found by Budge and uncovers the original staircase leading down to it. This letter reveals much about the thought processes and considerations of these early investigations into Sudanese archaeology. The episode describes one of the earliest excavations of Nubian pyramids, many of which had been partially destroyed by Ferlini in the 19th century. Methodologically, Budge, and to an extent Reisner, therefore had very little previous research on which to base their excavations of these pyramids. As such, their main model of comparison was the Egyptian-style pyramid which does not have an external staircase leading down to a burial chamber, but shafts found within or below the superstructure. This influence of Egyptian archaeology on its Sudanese and Nubian counterparts can be found throughout documents in the Sudan Archive, and the excavation methods used. ‘Salvage Archaeology’ In addition to the numerous ‘official’ excavations run in Sudan during the Condominium and described in the Sudan Archive, a numWard, ‘Durham University Sudan Archive — An overlooked resource in current archaeological research?’, pp. 19–20. 10 Reisner, letter to Wingate 1916, SAD.199/2/94 – SAD.199/2/95. 9

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ber of documents make reference to what we would now refer to as ‘salvage’ or ‘rescue’ archaeology. The 20th century saw extensive industrial development in Sudan, including the establishment of railways and the construction of dams on the Nile. As a consequence, there are numerous references in the Sudan Archive material to archaeological finds being uncovered during such developments. These include a reference to a number of Meroitic artefacts uncovered during the construction of the Makwar dam in the 1921 and 1922 Governor General Reports.11 As these were not part of official archaeological excavations, it is unlikely that the objects are referred to in contemporary archaeological publications. A more detailed example includes an episode recorded in the 1926 diary of George Ronald Storrar (1877–1959), who was one of the railway engineers in Sudan between 1905 and 1927. 12 Storrar describes in his 1926 diary the construction of a new railway station at Karima (near Jebel Barkal), which includes clearing a medieval cemetery to make space for the new building. During the clearance Storrar is horrified to discover that many of the tombs are made of bricks from nearby antique temples, including some with hieroglyphic inscriptions. 13 While Storrar’s tone suggests he is appalled at the damage caused to the Nubian temples over 300 years earlier, he himself has no issue in reusing material from the cemetery in the construction of the new station. This a good example of ‘archaeology’ which is unlikely to be recorded elsewhere as well as an ultimate sign of the ‘semi-colonial’ time, not only in Storrar’s hypocrisy over the reuse of bricks of stones from the cemetery and consequently the temples in the 20th century railway station but also in his dismissal of the medieval archaeology compared to the antique period equivalents. This reflects a trend in the overall holdings of the Sudan Archive, with very little reference to archaeology after the end of the Meroitic period (ca. 350 CE), despite the fact that many sites and monuments, such as cemeteries, would have been visible in the landscape. Furthermore, there is a complete disassociGovernor General Report 1921, p.35 and Governor General Report 1922, p. 46. 12 Storrar Collection, Sudan Archive catalogue [accessed 2017]. 13 Storrar, Unpublished diary 1926, SAD.49/1/177– SAD.49/1/178. 11

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 11 ation of local Sudanese workmen at Karima to both the ancient temples and the more recent cemeteries: both the ancient and medieval heritage of the Sudan disassociated from the contemporary 20th century populations by Storrar and other British officials. Conservation The environmental conditions of Sudan and the remoteness of many sites make conservation and preservation of archaeology in the country particularly challenging; this was no different during the Condominium. Problems mentioned in the Sudan Archive also include references to temples being used to keep livestock or even as houses. Unfortunately, there seems to have been a lack of extensive government funding available for any archaeological research, let alone the preservation of monuments. 14 As a consequence, this was often left to individual expeditions working on the sites, with mixed results. One of the easiest and perhaps cheapest methods seems to have been to remove artefacts, if not entire monuments, from their original location to local or international museums and collections, in part due to the harsh environment but also the cost of keeping guards or building protective walls around important archaeological sites. Unfortunately, these removals are not always successful, as is attested to by the case of the so-called Musician’s Wall from the temple of Kawa, which was excavated in the 1930s by a team from the University of Oxford 15 and later published by Macadam in 1955. 16 Fearing the environmental conditions at the site, the excavation team decided to remove the frescoes and reerect them in the museum grounds in Khartoum. 17 Unfortunately, the next and final reference to the monument in the Sudan Archive is in 1941 where it is referred to as damaged beyond repair, and presumably disposed of. 18 While an unfortunate incident, this did Governor General Report 1906, p. 51. Governor General Report 1936, p. 90. 16 Macadam, The Temples of Kawa. 17 Governor General Report 1937, p. 88. 18 Governor General Report 1939–1941. 14 15

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lead to a reassessment of the conditions of the museum, and both a new roof and improved storage facilities were ordered. 19 Despite the lack of finances there seems to have been genuine concern over the preservation of archaeology during the Condominium, as suggested by the case of the ‘Musician’s Wall’. That same year, experts on Egyptian monuments were also brought to Sudan to assess how best to preserve many of the monuments, including at Semna and Meroë. 20 This reveals an increasingly proactive role of the Condominium government in caring for archaeology in Sudan, and the damage caused by the removal of monuments is raised in several personal communications by both archaeologists and government officials. The presence of guards and protective walls is also attested to in several letters and diaries, as well as in photographs of visitors to certain sites. Survey Due to the lack of funds available for archaeology in early 20th century Sudan, there were very few opportunities to conduct exhaustive surveys of archaeological sites and monuments in Sudan. An exception to this can be seen in the 1926 diary of Frank Addison – at the time Conservator of Antiquities of the Condominium Government, perhaps better known as the publisher of Henry Wellcome’s excavations at Jebel Moya. 21 In 1926 Addison embarked on an inspection of both schools and archaeological sites and monuments between Karima and Halfa, during which time he kept a diary in the form of letters addressed to his wife. 22 This diary provides a unique perspective on which sites were known of at the time, in many cases before their excavation, as well as which were considered important by the government; from the large excavations such as Meroë and Jebel Barkal to the colossi on Argo Island. In some cases, the difficulty of accessing and even locating some of the more remote sites is particularly well conveyed. The reliance on Governor General Report 1939–1941. Governor General Report 1939–1941. 21 Addison, Jebel Moya. 22 Addison, Unpublished Diary, SAD.294/19/37–SAD.294/19/108. 19 20

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 13 Budge’s 1907 publication 23 – based on Budge’s survey of Sudan archaeological sites in 1897 – clearly highlights some inconsistencies between the two, with Addison suggesting either mistakes or deterioration of some of the sites. The Sudan Archive’s holdings in the Addison collection also include a significant number of photographs taken by Addison of sites and monuments mentioned in his diary. Although not dated, the sequence of the photographs and the remoteness of some of the sites suggest that they were taken during Addison’s inspection of sites in 1926. Taken together these materials provide a fascinating insight into many major archaeological sites and monuments in Sudan during the first half of the 20th century, providing an update – albeit unpublished – on Budge’s 1907 publication. In fact, Addison’s inspection of sites is indirectly referred to in a number of published works, including his own in 1953 24, as well as in a 1927 25 translation of the stela of Seti I at Nauri published by Griffith, who mentions that the squeeze used in the translation was sent to him by Addison. The recording of the stela is described in vivid detail in Addison’s diary. Other expeditions recorded in the Sudan Archive include a journey in 1923 made into the Libyan desert, of which the archaeological evidence was published by Douglas Newbold (1894–1945) in 1928. 26 Mostly comprised of rock art, both photographs and drawings were published as a short report. A typewritten draft of the publication is available in the Sudan Archive which is almost identical to most of the publication. 27 Similarly, the originals of some of the photographs can also be found in the Archive, as well as many more, providing a useful complement to Newbold’s 1928 report. The remoteness of the site further increases the value of

Budge, The Egyptian Sûdân. Addison, ‘Early Days, 1903–1931’, p. 56. 25 Griffith, ‘The Abydos Decree of Seti I at Nauri’, pp. 193–208. 26 Newbold, ‘Rock Pictures and Archaeology in the Libyan Desert’, pp. 261–291. 27 Newbold, Draft Report, SAD.577/3/11. 23 24

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this resource, as the site is still relevant in more recent archaeological research. 28 Images of rock art are also mentioned in other material from the Sudan Archive, including many examples in the notes of another member of the Sudan service, H. C. Jackson, made while he travelled in Sudan. 29 These notes, presented as draft reports, include numerous descriptions and photographs of rock art in the country. While unlikely to be exhaustive, these types of unofficial surveys provide a rare opportunity to current archaeologists, especially in the case of less well-known examples, such as rock art which has been particularly affected by flooding in the Nile Valley, be it natural or due to the ongoing construction of dams. Administration Administration is where the Sudan Archive offers something truly unique and invaluable to understanding the development of archaeological research in 19th and 20th century Sudan. Besides the official Governor General Reports mentioned above, the Archive also holds minutes of meetings, private reports, correspondence evaluating archaeologists and excavations, as well as accounts of exhibitions, to name but a few. The Minutes of the Meetings of the Archaeological Committee of the Sudan can be particularly insightful in understanding the inner workings of the Sudan government’s approach to archaeological research. One example from 1914 discusses the division of finds from Garstang’s excavations at Meroë. 30 With this material, it is possible to understand the complex negotiations required to acquire objects by the British Museum and other organisations. For example, objects including two stelae are only sold on the condition that the money is spent specifically on conservation of monuments at Meroë rather than further excavation. Other documents, Kröpelin, S. 2004. ‘New Petroglyph Sites in the Southern Libyan Desert (Sudan-Chad)’, pp. 111–118.
 29 Jackson, Unpublished Reports, SAD.466/14/1–105 & SAD.466/18/1–73. 30 Minutes of a Meeting of the Archaeological Committee 1914, SAD.189/2/37. 28

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 15 in particular correspondence, raise the complexity of the distribution of many of the finds and to an extent the controversy behind these, in particular the bronze head of Augustus which was ‘donated’ rather than directly sold to the British Museum in exchange for a financial donation to the excavations. The controversy behind this is implied in a number of letters, with some government officials and funding bodies for the excavations at Meroë finding the entire episode unfair. 31 These kinds of documents demonstrate that the sale and distribution of finds from excavations in Sudan were carefully monitored and controlled by the Condominium government, revealing the complexity of administrating archaeological sites and assuring the interests of all parties, from the European or American investors, the archaeologists and Sudan. The organisation of some of these committees is also interesting, with many such as the Archaeological Committee, sometimes containing few actual archaeologists. This may be what leads to a series of documents in the Sudan Archive referring to the appointment of Garstang as an unpaid unofficial advisor to the archaeological committee by Wingate despite the protests of the Committee. Government involvement in archaeological investigations can also be seen on a less official level. The Wingate collection, in particular, has several instances of archaeologists inspecting and reporting back on their colleagues’ work (for example a review by Reisner of Wellcome’s excavations at Jebel Moya). It is unclear how official some of these inspections were. Other correspondence discusses which archaeologists should not be allowed to excavate or remove objects from the country. The material in the Sudan Archive can provide both the official excuse and less official reasons for not allowing certain researchers into Sudan. The political undertones of many of these discussions, such as a concern of Budge visiting Meroë in the 1890s due to French monopoly in the area, are also particularly revealing of the inexplicit and in many ways non-archaeological decisions which were being made at the time. That being said, in many cases there is very little sign of any government involvement with archaeological investigations. Many, Unpublished Letter Garstang SAD.189/2/51–SAD.189/2/52. 31

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especially in Wingate’s case, seem to be based on genuine interest rather than official concerns, making government intervention inconsistent at times. This does shift over time, with increasing involvement as well as the development of the Archaeological department, which later includes Sudanese inspectors and the translation of tourist guides into Arabic. Tourism as a whole is also increasingly emphasised, evident in some of the correspondence, as well as the financing of and interest in archaeological exhibitions set up abroad in the hope of attracting visitors to Sudan. A number of newspaper clippings kept by Wingate also attest to this, as does the emphasis on official visits to archaeological sites by visiting officials such as Lord Kitchener, of which both discussions of the itinerary and report on the visit are kept in the Wingate collection of the Sudan Archive. The increase in tourism is often raised in relation to financial advantages to help preserve parts of archaeological sites as well as the employ of guards at some sites. Beyond Sudan, administration of the Egyptian Antiquities Department is also discussed. Wingate went on to become the High Commissioner in Egypt and this part of his papers is also preserved in the Sudan Archive. This includes a series of particularly secretive correspondence discussing changes to the antiquities department and notably a number of letters discussing the political implications of the British taking control of the department from the French between 1918 and 1919. A compromise is obviously later reached with a split staff led by a French director. However, this series of papers raises an incident and potential take-over of the department which may not be evidenced elsewhere, including advice from eminent members involved in Egypt at the time, such as Lord Carnarvon, Reisner and Gardiner. These are just a few examples of the kind of research that can be achieved with material from the Sudan Archive, in some cases providing a complement to existing or published research and in others completely new and original information.

PROBLEMS WITH THE MATERIAL

As with all archival material a number of issues can arise when using the Sudan Archive. On the whole, the Sudan Archive provides a very specific perspective on archaeological work in Sudan. While letters and reports from archaeologists are included, most is based on official or non-specialist work, giving a sometimes basic or mis-

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 17 taken interpretation of sites and monuments. This can also lead some of the descriptions to be slightly vague and increased detail is sometimes missing. Furthermore, the administrative nature of the material means that there is a noticeable lack of women in the Sudan Archive’s archaeological material, despite the fact that many would have been directly involved in much of the archaeological work in the country during the early 20th century. This absence seems to be reflected in the very nature of administrative and government milieu of the time, as demonstrated by the recorded case of a Mrs Broun. In 1906 Mrs Broun was the manager of the museums in Khartoum which, as recorded by a letter that year, meant that she was supposed to sit on the central economic board of the Condominium Government.32 However, the correspondence in the Archive suggests that it was problematic for a woman to sit on the board; as such, a delicate solution was needed to prevent her from attending meetings while not officially removing her from the board. Wingate writes to Mr Broun asking him to ask his wife simply not to turn up to meetings. Unfortunately, this seems to have backfired slightly as Wingate is forced to write directly to Mrs Broun in order to consult her on some of the economic matters concerning the museums. A similar absence in the archaeological material can be seen in local Sudanese populations, beyond a few references to the ‘workforce’ of excavations. A dissociation is clearly visible between the contemporary and ancient societies of the country, and it seems a pity that despite the administrative nature of the Archive more detailed records of workers on sites were not preserved. More practical issues include the absence of specific documents. While carbon copies of some letters are kept, references to previous letters or attached reports are frequent only for the documents themselves not to be included in the Archive collections. However, this is not unique and on the whole the Sudan Archive material can be cross-referenced both internally and externally, indicating a reliable and trustworthy resource (although a number of mistakes, particularly in the naming of Egyptian temples, in the photographic material were spotted). Similarly, the photographic 32

Unpublished Letter Wingate to Broun 1906, SAD.278/2/59.

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material is often imprecisely dated, with the years given relating to the period the collector/photographer was in the country rather than the year the picture was taken, which in some cases can be up to 30–40 years.

CONCLUSION

The Sudan Archive includes a large amount of archaeological information which is significant to current research, be it in reconstructing past excavations, their historical or social contexts, and wider interpretations of the administration and development of archaeological research in Sudan during the late 19th and early 20th century. While the Sudan Archive’s main scope is the AngloEgyptian Condominium in Sudan, there is also earlier and later material in the Archive as well as material from much further afield geographically. It is hoped that the creation of the database will encourage and assist with further archaeological research using the Sudan Archive. Presented in this paper are only a very limited number of some of the possible uses and interesting anecdotes available from the Sudan Archive which contains many more, such as on the treatment of workers at Wellcome’s excavations in Jebel Moya, the pillaging of sites and complex considerations of human remains. A clear competitive spirit amongst the archaeologists emerges from some of the collections, which officials, such as Wingate, clearly exploit to their own advantage, revealing a different side to archaeological research in Sudan during the late 19th and early 20th century.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Addison, F. 1949. Wellcome Excavations in Sudan: Jebel Moya. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Addison, F. 1953. ‘Early Days, 1903–1931’ Kush I, pp. 56–59. Arkell Collection, Sudan Archive, http://reed.dur.ac.uk/xtf/view?docId=ark/32150_s18c97kq4 3c.xml [accessed 2017] Budge, E. A. W. 1907 The Egyptian Sûdân: Its History and Monuments. London: K. Paul, Trench, Trübne. Collins, R. O. 2008. A History of Modern Sudan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

ARCHAEOLOGY IN DURHAM UNIVERSITY’S SUDAN ARCHIVE 19 Crowfoot, J. W. 1953. ‘Early Days, 1903–1931’ Kush I, pp. 54–56. Forbes, L. 1980. ‘The Sudan Archive of the University of Durham’ in Bloomfield (ed.) Middle East Studies and Libraries. London: Mansell, pp. 49–57. Griffith, F. Ll. 1927. ‘The Abydos Decree of Seti I at Nauri’ Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 13(3), pp. 193–208. Kröpelin, S. 2004. ‘New Petroglyph Sites in the Southern Libyan Desert (Sudan-Chad)’, Sahara 15, 111–118. Macadam, M. F. L. 1955. Oxford University Excavations at Kawa: The Temples of Kawa vol. 2 - History and Archaeology of the Site. London: Oxford University Press. Newbold, D. 1928. ‘Rock Pictures and Archaeology in the Libyan Desert’, Antiquity 2(7), 261–291. Sudan Archive Online Catalogue, http://reed.dur.ac.uk/xtf/view?docId=ark/32150_s1k930bx0 5z.xml [accessed 2017] Storrar Collection, Sudan Archive, http://reed.dur.ac.uk/xtf/view?docId=ark/32150_s18910jt61 s.xml [accessed 2017] Warburg, G. 1971. The Sudan Under Wingate: Administration in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, 1899–1916. London: Cass. Ward, C. 2016. ‘Durham University Sudan Archive – An overlooked resource in current archaeological research?’ Sudan & Nubia 20, pp. 170–178.

ARCHIVE MATERIAL Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1906. Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1921. Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1922. Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1936. Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1937.

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Report on the finances, administration, and condition of the Sudan 1939–1941. SAD.49/1/177– SAD.49/1/178, Unpublished diary G.R. Storrar, 1926. SAD.189/2/37, Minutes of a Meeting of the Archaeological Committee 1914. SAD.189/2/51– SAD.189/2/52, Unpublished letter Garstang to Drummond 18/02/1914. SAD.199/2/94 – SAD.199/2/95, Unpublished letter Reisner to Wingate, 27/02/1916. SAD.278/2/59, Unpublished letter Wingate to Broun 15/02/1906. SAD.284/4/15, Unpublished letter Wingate to Gorst, 04/12/1908. SAD.294/19/37– SAD.294/19/108, Addison’s Unpublished Diary 1926. SAD.466/14/1– SAD.466/14/105, Jackson’s Unpublished Report [no date]. SAD.466/18/1– SAD.466/18/73, Jackson’s Unpublished Report [no date]. SAD.577/3/11, Newbold’s Draft Report 1923.

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Figure 1 - Example of a page from the created Database

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Figure 2 - List of sites/themes, authors, collections and types of material entered in the Database

COLOUR TASKSCAPES IN ANCIENT SUDAN KATE FULCHER

We live in a material world, as did people in the ancient world. Human beings are constantly interacting with objects, and also with surfaces, both natural and constructed, textiles, food, water, even the air around us. The lived environment is integral to a consideration of the material culture of a society: we are ecologically embodied (Boivin 2008, 75; Ingold 2011, 166–168; van Dyke & Alcock 2003). Landscapes are known, used, and manipulated, a concept which is theoretically drawn from Bourdieu’s “habitus”, the ingrained knowledge and habits that come from a life and a culture situated within a particular material world; a “feel for the game”, to use Bourdieu’s sports metaphor (Bourdieu 1990, 66). Overlaid on the landscape and taking place within the habitus are the constant actions of people, which collectively have been described as a “taskscape”, the interlocking ensemble of activities performed by people (Ingold 2011, 195). Landscape, person, technical task, and socio-cultural life do not exist independently, and must be considered as one organism, each affecting the other. My research takes as its starting point the material evidence for the production and use of paints and pigments at the pharaonic town of Amara West, now in northern Sudan. Amara West lies between the Second and Third Nile Cataracts in the area known to the ancient Egyptians as Kush (Upper Nubia). Founded in c. 1300 BCE, during the reign of Seti I, the town originally consisted of a walled enclosure of 108 x 108m, within which were constructed a sandstone temple, a residence for the leading pharaonic official (the “Deputy of Kush”), storage facilities, and houses. From around 1200 BCE the residents of Amara West began to build additional houses outside the town walls, notably in the “western suburb”. The first excavations at the site were begun in February 1939 by 23

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Fairman on behalf of the Egypt Exploration Society (EES), followed by a second season a year later, and three following a hiatus during World War II (P. Spencer 1997). The EES seasons uncovered the temple and excavated two areas of the walled town, including the Deputy’s residence, and a number of tombs in the nearby cemeteries. A British Museum research project commenced in 2008, focussing on lived experience and cultural entanglement, with new excavations of housing areas within and beyond the town walls, and in two burial grounds (N. Spencer 2015; www.britishmuseum.org/amarawest). In 2009 excavators discovered a large amount of objects and raw material relating to paint within deposits in building E13.14. Originally a sizeable storage complex, the deposits relate to a change in use for the space, perhaps as small workshops and/or the dumping of material before the construction of new houses over the levelled buildings. This paint-related material dates to Phase II, early to mid-19th Dynasty (c. 1280–1200 BCE). These materials included a very large number of ceramic sherds reused as painting palettes, many pieces of raw pigment, and grindstones with evidence of pigment grinding. Due to breakage, the original number of palettes was difficult to estimate, but the number of pieces excavated from this phase was over 400, and 100 more were found underneath the western suburb in what appeared to be rubbish dumps, thrown out from the walled town. Much of the painting material within E13.14 also appeared to have been dumped as rubbish, alongside evidence of small-scale metal working, flint tools, and ostrich shell. The colours found are black, white, red, yellow, blue and green. Paint palettes, pigments and grindstones with evidence for pigment grinding were found throughout the site, but in small numbers after Phase II. Whereas the large amount of painting materials in Phase II suggested a large-scale project, the scattered finds from later phases point to a much more ad hoc approach, probably carried out by individuals or small groups. The evidence for paint on walls also mostly comes from Phase II. House E13.7, to the southwest of E13.14, had a painted mastaba (low bench) in the main room (E13.7.6), and a pile of rubble found in front of the mastaba provided evidence for a wall niche with an applied mud architectural frame moulded in the form of a cavetto cornice, with evidence of at least three phases of painted décor, one being polychrome. The east walls of this room were

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painted white to a height of about one metre with a band of black along the top, about 2cm thick; this decorative scheme extended across the western wall of adjacent room E13.7.3, but the other walls have only white paint remaining. There were traces of red and yellow paint on top of white plaster on the walls of E13.7.5, a room to the north of E13.7.6. Fairman’s 1930s excavations in the town south of the temple uncovered a room D14.5 with “fine decorated plaster” on the walls (P. Spencer 1997, 122). The south wall was whitewashed with a 2.5cm band of black; further west on the south wall of D.14.5 was a niche topped with moulding, painted in white and red (P. Spencer 1997, 125). Among the houses to the north of the Deputy’s Residence, a niche was cut into the wall in the south-west corner of E12.1. The niche was painted red above bands of yellow and black, and the face of the south wall had also been painted in coloured bands (P. Spencer 1997, 175; Figure 3). There was evidence of a cavetto cornice, which had been painted red and black. The 1930s excavators found fragments of painted plaster in the floor fill of E12.3 decorated with “squares, rosettes and other patterns in red, blue, white and black paint” (P. Spencer 1997, 172), which brings to mind some of the decorated pieces of plaster from E13.7.6. Area E13.20, east of house E13.7, was excavated down to the earliest occupation phase, which featured yellow painted plaster on wall fragments that had collapsed into the room, though it is unclear if this was a house or fulfilled a different purpose. Colour was noted on the walls of a few Phase III houses: traces of red and yellow were found in room E13.4.2 (the house built on top of E13.7.6); E13.3N and S, and E13.3.24 were extensively painted in white, with very small patches of red paint remaining. In the western suburb several houses had white painted walls, but the evidence for colour on walls is limited. A small loose fragment of mud plaster with two smears of blue paint was found in house D12.7. A section of pink painted ceiling was found in D12.5. House D12.8 contained a small piece of plaster painted in yellow and red, three pieces of black painted plaster on mudbrick from a wall, and a stone door lintel and stone doorpost support painted in red and yellow. Several doorways were found to be marked with red paint. In addition to architectural elements, coloured paint was also found on a few moveable objects, notably the ancestor bust

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(F4182) found in E13.3.26, and a ram image excavated from the temple by EES, which bears yellow and blue paint. Two burial areas have been excavated by the British Museum project team, Cemeteries C and D. Cemetery C was about 200m to the north east of the walled town and contains a variety of grave types, including multiple burials and small niche burials, but had suffered badly from erosion, with little evidence of superstructures (Binder 2011). Ceramics from the tombs indicate that the cemetery was in use from the late Ramesside Period until the 8th century BCE (Binder 2011). Cemetery D was 450m north-west of the walled town and included pyramid tombs, vaulted brick tombs, and tumulus superstructures (Binder et al. 2010; Binder 2017). The cemetery was first used in the 19th Dynasty and continued in use (and re-use) through to the 8th century BCE (Binder et al. 2010). Coffins excavated from Amara West were fragmentary but retained some exterior painted surfaces. The wood was plastered before being painted in white, black, red, yellow and blue. Pieces of painted coffin were found in pyramid tombs G301, G309, G320, and G322 in Cemetery D (all 19th to 20th Dynasty), and G244 in Cemetery C, probably dating to the 20th Dynasty. Painted coffins were also found in post New Kingdom tombs G238 (c. 9th century BCE), G201 (10th-8th century BCE) and G222 (M. Binder, pers. comm., January 2015). In order to investigate the production and use of paint at Amara West, I combined four strands of research: archaeological data, a scientific analysis of the paints from the town and the coffins, ethnoarchaeological interviews with modern residents of the area, and experiential archaeology to attempt to replicate the process of making the paints. This article discusses the experiential section of the research, which was undertaken at the site of Amara West, and the dig house on Ernetta Island, in February 2017. The aim of this work was to think about the haptic process of paint manufacture, from beginning to end, and to try to understand all the stages that might be involved, including intangible elements that cannot be accessed from the archaeological record. The phenomenological and sensory nature of collecting materials, processing them, and using paint, was considered, as was the wider implication of the use of tools and materials. Technological studies of archaeological material usually focus on the chaîne opératoire, which aims to incorporate the functional

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and cultural choices made in the production process. However, these studies rarely allude to the sensory aspect of production. To approach the material world from a sensorial point of view is to consider the effect of materials rather than their (disembodied) meaning; the full richness of the material sensorium cannot be studied without a phenomenological perspective (Boivin 2008, 94; Meskell 2004, 51). There is a growing interest in phenomenology and sensory studies within archaeology (Day 2013; Hurcombe 2007); using these approaches archaeologists attempt to address the problem of the lack of social actors, that is people, in the distant past. Tringham’s “faceless blobs” have become shorthand for the issue of the prioritisation of concepts over lived experience in archaeological interpretation typical of the processual school (Brück 2005; Fowler 2004; Tringham 1991). Based on the philosophy of Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty, the concept of phenomenology is that there is no inherent Cartesian mind-body divide as is so central to the European post-Enlightenment mindset, and that people create their social selves by being-in-the-world; people and things are mutually constituted, we change them and they change us (Boivin 2008, 65–67; Heidegger 1962; Ingold 2011, 168–170; MerleauPonty 2002). People and objects do not exist independently; people create objects and have ongoing relationships with them as they are used, observed, and moved around. Materials do not simply accept the impression of human intervention, but respond, thus creating a relationship; for example, the rocks ground to make pigment have certain material qualities that require treatment in a certain way: first the rock needs to be hammered with a percussive action, and then ground between two hard surfaces, during which action the rock becomes a powder, and as it gradually changes its form it requires the wielder of the hammerstone to adapt and apply a different treatment (pressure, angle). The person performing this task is practising “an unbroken, contrapuntal coupling of a gestural dance with a modulation of the material” (Ingold 2012, 434). The material can be manipulated, but the ways in which that can happen are constrained by the material’s properties (Boivin 2008, 168). The way in which materials are selected, collected, and manipulated creates a cycle of meaning, a dynamic feedback loop of knowledge, learning, memory and experiences (Boivin 2008; Dornan 2004). The importance of materials lies not only in their physi-

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cal properties; the meaning of objects comes from the process of their making (Dobres 2001; Pfaffenberger 2001). Many of the painting materials identified at Amara West were available in the local environment, and others had to be obtained via trade. To investigate the full experience of making paints, I walked from Amara West into the desert to collect white rock from a source used by modern inhabitants to paint their houses. Landscapes are lived-in spaces that are known to their inhabitants; humans alter the landscapes around them, so the land is not just bestowed with meaning and memories, but is used to create them, and therefore retains them (Edmonds 1999, 9; Hamilakis 2013, 103). These memories can be recent, but also stretch into the past and are passed down from elder to younger. Group and personal memories combine to give an environment a character and voice of its own. It is part of the story of the people who lived here. I do not belong in this desert landscape, my life experience is of growing up in a middle class family in south-east England; it is far removed from ancient times and it is far removed from north Sudan. My health is good, my teeth are in good condition, I am well fed; these are not conditions that we can assume for the ancient inhabitants of Amara West (Binder & Spencer 2014; Hummler 2008). When I set out from Amara West across the desert to fetch rock to make pigment, my outlook was vastly different from that of an ancient inhabitant. Furthermore, I have only experienced these environments during the January-February fieldwork seasons, and the climate can be both warmer and wetter at other times of the year. But having made clear these differences (Hamilakis 2013, 100), I can explain the experience and try to imagine this experience for someone else. The route to the rock sources would have been known, and younger people would have learnt the route by accompanying more experienced people on the journey. What seems at first to be a featureless desert is nothing of the sort: there are rock outcrops, and mountains on the horizon to navigate by, and the course of the sun through the sky. Facing north from Amara West the land dips into the paleochannel, which early in the history of the town would have been flowing with water and would have required a boat to cross, but which within a century or less had become dry for much of the year (Woodward et al. 2017). Beyond this the land rises to the desert escarpment, with its burial grounds (Cemetery D). A

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person or group heading north would either have to walk through or around the cemetery. A cemetery is a large modification to the landscape, and almost certainly a place to which strong feelings would have been attached. It must have been more common in ancient Amara West than in modern times to witness the death of a family member, and trips to the cemetery may have been fairly frequent (Stevens estimates that a funeral took place every day at the non-elite Amarna cemeteries (Stevens 2017)); the cemetery was a familiar place. As people moved away from the town and the cemetery, the noises of life, of animals, of work and play, would have faded away and been replaced by the quiet of the desert. They may have set out early on their journey to avoid the heat of the day, in which case the sun would have only just been rising as they made their way to the top of the escarpment that then drops away into the desert. The air is cool at this time of day, the wind is low and there are almost no insects. In modern times there is almost no vegetation visible but during the New Kingdom some channels of water flowed seasonally (Woodward et al. 2017), and where there is water there are plants. At the time when Amara West was inhabited the landscape would have been less dry and desolate than it is today. The desert is scattered with archaeological remains, including Neolithic and Kerma tombs, rubbish mounds and encampments belonging to 18th Dynasty and pre-New Kingdom populations (Spencer et al. 2014; Stevens & Garnett 2017). The inhabitants of Amara West would have been familiar with this evidence of previous inhabitants; this was not a virgin site, the area already had a history. During the New Kingdom some of the historic buildings may have still have been standing, providing oases of shelter. As the sun climbs in the sky, the colours of the desert become brighter and more assertive: the vivid blue of the sky, the very dark black of the rock, and the warm yellow of the sand lying between. At around 9am the desert wind starts up. Perhaps the casual conversation that has until now been exchanged among people in the party dies off as they wind scarves around their ears, noses and mouths to prevent the ingress of sand and to deaden the howling noise. As the wind dies off, the insects arrive. By 11am the sunlight is very intense. There is nowhere to hide, there are few trees or buildings, and the rocks are too small to cast a shadow. Perhaps the

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group followed a flowing channel in order to shelter under the available foliage, or took a rest in the shade of a donkey. On arrival at their destination they would have collected the materials they needed. Ceramic containers are heavy so perhaps they used bags, baskets or scarves, all of which would have to be manufactured beforehand and carried with them. Perhaps they told stories of previous visits, of people who had made the journey before them, sharing memories and creating continuity. The journey home would have been hot. If there was no donkey, the rock would be heavy and walking uncomfortable. They would have been glad to get home, unload their spoils, and have a cool drink and some food. The experience of fetching the pigment is then part of the pigment. And not only this one experience, but the cumulative experience of the community, and each person’s combined individual experiences. A pigment is not just a coloured rock, but a material from a specific place, gathered by a group of people in a social setting, who are repeating a task that has been done many times previously, and has been learnt from those who went before. The collection of paint materials was a task with far reaching tendrils, including local journeys to specific locales, and also trades (direct and indirect) with people for materials from near and distant locations. All these interconnected and overlapping tasks would also have combined with other tasks required in the lives of the people of Amara West. The performance of all of these smaller actions within their landscape and built environment forms the taskscape. For example, to obtain pigment from the desert may require travel in a boat built from felled trees, using the learnt skills of a boat-builder; or a donkey, which would have to be fed, watered and stabled. To carry the pigment would probably require a container made from plant fibres, which themselves have to be gathered and processed. To obtain a pigment via trade may involve travelling to a market, known from established habits, or from word of mouth, both of which are enmeshed in social interactions with a network of people wider than one town. The exchange is made in a socially acceptable manner, and a pigment is received, which has its own entire backstory and life history. The action of acquiring a pigment has wide implications for the interconnectivity of tasks and people. One requirement leads to another, almost indefinitely, so that these layers of actions, actors, and materials are

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completely entangled; pigments are one element of a taskscape that stretches much further than Amara West. The creation of paint does not exist as a solo event, but nestles into the constant ebb and flow of people and their needs, as they fetch, carry, and gesture to complete their tasks. All of this takes place within their habitus, the environment and cultural situation that they are habituated to, making decisions based on their cultural and lived memory and learnt knowledge. Once the pigments have been collected, they can be ground into powders to make into paints. Grinding the pigments initially seems to be a simple task, but there are some important considerations. The location chosen for the grinding is important. Even in a light breeze the pigment powders will blow away, wasting all the effort that has gone into collecting and grinding the pigment. A sheltered area is best, or a very still day. The majority of grindstones found at Amara West are quite small; on a small grindstone, only a limited amount of pigment can be ground at one time. If more pigment is added the powder starts falling off the edge of the grindstone, and it becomes impossible to achieve a good particle size because the build-up of powder prevents the particles from being crushed between the grindstone and the hammerstone. Therefore the powdered pigment has to be regularly decanted to another vessel if any sizeable amount is to be ground. The maximum amount that could be ground at one time on my grindstone (taken from a 1930s spoil heap) was a piece of pigment with a diameter of 2–3cm, approximately 10g of fine grained ochre (Figure 1). No vessels containing ground pigment have been excavated from Amara West, but a small pile of green pigment was found close to a large grindstone in E13.14.2, which may originally have been held in a bag. Baskets or bags would have been manufactured from plant materials, involving a whole series of tasks such as harvesting, processing, and weaving, which coincide with paint manufacture at this point, linking the activities within the taskscape.

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Figure 1. Grinding red ochre with a grindstone and hammerstone. The grindstone is full after grinding this one small piece.

Based on my experimentation with painting a plastered wall with ochre paints, I estimate that 10g of fine grained ochre, plus water, would be enough to cover a 0.04 m2 section of wall. To cover a 4 m2 section of wall, for example behind the mastaba in E13.7.6, would therefore require 1kg of ochre. I was able to grind 10g to a fine powder in about 14 minutes; 1kg would take me 23 hours to grind. Although it is of course likely that a resident of Amara West would take less time, this is an indication of the order of magnitude of time investment required to paint a wall. While the person is performing this activity, they are unable to perform their normal duties, such as tending crops, cooking, or looking after animals and children. Grinding is hard work, and the grinding hand is constantly scraped and knocked; it would be very unpleasant to spend many hours grinding without stopping. This suggests that this task was a team effort. The person grinding would need to temporarily hand their responsibilities onto another person, and people may have taken turns to perform the grinding. The layout of houses at Amara West suggests that some domestic activities were shared (N. Spencer 2015), and it is possible that the preparation of paint may have been one of them. Experimentation with the application of paint has led me to conclude that a paintbrush would have been a necessary item. Thick mud plaster and white plaster may have been applied by hand, as is done today by residents in the local area (Dalton 2017), but I attempted to paint stripes onto a gypsum plastered mudbrick wall using my finger and found it to be impossible. The water that holds the pigment in suspension is absorbed immediately into the plaster, leaving dry pigment on the finger and preventing the

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sweeping action that would create a line of paint. In contrast, the bristles of a paintbrush hold the whole suspension and allow the paint to be applied across the surface. No paintbrushes have been found at Amara West, but paintbrushes would have been made from organic materials, and there is very little organic preservation at the site. I experimented with various local plant resources to attempt to manufacture a paintbrush. The most success was had with the fruit bearing branches of the date palm. These are made up of many thin strands that naturally hold together well but which at the broken end can be beaten with a hammerstone to create bristles. A brush manufactured in this way holds paint well and is easy to manipulate. Many brushes can be made from one branch, and this is one way in which similar paintbrushes may have been made by the people of Amara West, another component of the wider taskscape related to painting. The most numerous paint-related finds from Amara West are ceramic palettes that hold paint. These palettes are also known from Egyptian sites, thus it seems that this was common practice (Pagès-Camagna & Raue 2016; Kemp & Stevens 2010, 533–544). Ceramic sherds would have been easy to obtain, and may even have been created for the purpose by deliberate breakage. For large-scale projects it would have made sense to grind the pigments and decant them into a container before mixing at the point of use. Binders might also be pre-prepared, for example plant gum ground and stored in a container. This would result in the painter having a toolkit consisting of a vessel for each colour required (possibly six: red, yellow, white, black, green, blue), plus one for water, perhaps one for binder, palettes, and paintbrushes; this would be quite a large amount of materials to be gathered, processed, and assembled. This experiential study demonstrated that the preparation of paints and the execution of painting was not a simple process. Many materials had to be gathered, traded, manufactured, and processed, taking time, effort, and planning. There would have been many people involved, both directly and tangentially, and therefore several levels of social interactions. The performance of all these actions would have been culturally regulated, including gestures, songs, timings, and the status of the actors within the society. Peripheral objects and tasks to the one focussed on here probably included cooking food (requiring food, pots, fire, utensils), travel-

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ling by donkey or boat, making bags or baskets, producing items to trade, meeting and trading with other people, collecting water, minding animals and children, and cleaning. The task of painting was part of a much wider interconnected taskscape enacted within the habitus of the people of Amara West, situated within their own landscape and society, and the wider cultural world.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Binder, M., 2011. The 10th-9th century BC - new evidence from Cemetery C of Amara West. Sudan & Nubia 15, 39–53. Binder, M., 2017. The New Kingdom tombs at Amara West: funerary perspectives on Nubian – Egyptian interactions. In: N. Spencer, A. Stevens, & M. Binder (eds.), Nubia in the New Kingdom: lived experience, pharaonic control and indigenous traditions. Leuvan: Peeters, 589–611. Binder, M. and Spencer, N., 2014. The bioarchaeology of Amara West in Nubia: investigating the impacts of political, cultural and environmental change on health and diet. In: A. Fletcher, D. Antoine, & J. D. Hill. (eds.), Regarding the dead: human remains in the British Museum. London: British Museum, 123–136. Binder, M., Spencer, N. and Millet, M., 2010. Cemetery D at Amara West: the Ramesside Period and its aftermath. Sudan & Nubia 14, 25–44. Boivin, N., 2008. Material cultures, material minds: the impact of things on human thought, society, and evolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P., 1990. The logic of practice. Cambridge: Polity. Brück, J., 2005. Experiencing the past? The development of a phenomenological archaeology in British prehistory. Archaeological Dialogues 12(1), 45–72. Dalton, M., 2017. Reconstructing lived experiences of domestic space at Amara West: Some preliminary interpretations of ancient floor deposits using ethnoarchaeological and micromorphological analyses. In: N. Spencer, A. Stevens, & M. Binder (eds.), Nubia in the New Kingdom: lived experience, pharaonic control and indigenous traditions. Leuvan: Peeters, 357–388.

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Day, J., 2013. Introduction: making senses of the past. In: J. Day (ed.), Making senses of the past: toward a sensory archaeology. Carbondale, Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press, 1–31. Dobres, M.-A., 2001. Meaning in the making: agency and the social embodiment of technology and art. In: B. Schiffer, Michael (ed.), Anthropological perspectives on technology. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 47–76. Dornan, J.L., 2004. Beyond belief: religious experience, ritual, and cultural neuro-phenomenology in the interpretation of past religious systems. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 14(1), 25–36. van Dyke, R.M. and Alcock, S.E., 2003. Archaeologies of memory: an introduction. In: R. M. Van Dyke & S. E. Alcock (eds.), Archaeologies of memory. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 1–13. Edmonds, M., 1999. Ancestral geographies of the Neolithic: landscapes, monuments and memory. London: Routledge. Fowler, C., 2004. The archaeology of personhood: an anthropological approach. London: Routledge. Hamilakis, Y., 2013. Archaeology and the senses: human experience, memory, and affect. New York: Cambridge University Press. Heidegger, M., 1962. Being and time. Oxford: Blackwell. Hummler, M., 2008. Review of stone worlds: narrative and relexivity in landscape archaeology. Antiquity 82(318), 1156–1157. Hurcombe, L., 2007. A sense of materials and sensory perception in concepts of materiality. World Archaeology 39(4), 532–545. Ingold, T., 2011. The perception of the environment: essays on livelihood, dwelling and skill. 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Ingold, T., 2012. Toward an ecology of materials. Annual Review of Anthropology 41(1), 427–442. Kemp, B.J. and Stevens, A., 2010. Busy lives at Amarna: excavations in the main city (Grid 12 and the House of Ranefer, N49.18). Volume II: The objects. EES Excavation Memoir 91. London: Egypt Exploration Society and Amarna Trust. Merleau-Ponty, M., 2002 [1962]. Phenomenology of perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London: Routledge. Meskell, L., 2004. Object worlds in ancient Egypt: material biographies past and present. Oxford: Berg.

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Pagès-Camagna, S. and Raue, D., 2016. Coloured materials used in Elephantine: evolution and continuity from the Old Kingdom to the Roman Period. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 7, 662–667. Pfaffenberger, B., 2001. Symbols do not create meanings - activities do: Or, why symbolic anthropology needs the anthropology of technology. In: M. B. Schiffer (ed.), Anthropological perspectives on technology. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 77– 86. Spencer, N., 2015. Creating a neighborhood within a changing town: household and other agencies at Amara West in Nubia. In: M. Müller (ed.), Household studies in complex societies: (micro) archaeological and textual approaches. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 167–208. Spencer, N., Stevens, A. and Binder, M., 2014. Amara West: living in Egyptian Nubia. London: British Museum. Available at: http://www.britishmuseum.org/pdf/Amara_West_Living_in _Egyptian_Nubia.pdf Spencer, P., 1997. Amara West I: the architectural report. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Stevens, A., 2017. Death and the city: the cemeteries of Amarna in their urban context. Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 1–24. Stevens, A. and Garnett, A., 2017. Surveying the pharaonic desert hinterland of Amara West. In: N. Spencer, A. Stevens, & M. Binder (eds.), Nubia in the New Kingdom: lived experience, pharaonic control and indigenous traditions. Leuvan: Peeters, 287–306. Tringham, R., 1991. Households with faces: the challenge of gender in prehistoric architectural remains. In: J. M. Gero & M. W. Conkey (eds.), Engendering archaeology: women and prehistory. Oxford: Blackwell, 93–131. Woodward, J., Macklin, M., Spencer, N., Binder, M., Dalton, M., Hay, S. and Hardy, A., 2017. Living with a changing river and desert landscape at Amara West. In: N. Spencer, A. Stevens, & M. Binder (eds.), Nubia in the New Kingdom: lived experience, pharaonic control and indigenous traditions. Leuvan: Peeters, 225–255.

A PRELIMINARY ANALYTICAL INVESTIGATION OF NUBIAN GLASS OF THE MEROITIC PERIOD JULIET V. SPEDDING1 INTRODUCTION

Ancient glass from the Mediterranean is a subject that has been extensively studied (e.g. Al-Bashaireh et al, 2016; Freestone, et al, 2003, 2003(b); Freestone, 2015; Gliozzo, et al, 2017; Jackson and Paynter, 2016). Whereas, Rehren and Freestone acknowledge that there are gaps in our geographical and chronological knowledge of ancient glass compositions, citing the early Iron Age to Hellenistic periods in the Mediterranean (Rehren and Freestone, 2015, 233– 241), Nubia also needs to be considered. My research aims to fill some of these gaps by exploring the chemical composition of glass from four Nubian sites active during the Meroitic period (c.400BCAD400) and X-Group/Ballana Culture (c.AD400–600) to identify any similarities/differences to glasses found around the Mediterranean (and beyond). 1 I would first like to thank the Arts and Humanities Research Council North West Consortium Doctoral Training Partnership (AHRC NWCDTP) for funding my research, as well as the conservators and curators of Manchester Museum (I. Narkiss, Dr C. Price), the British Museum (A. Meek, Dr D. Welsby), Petrie Museum University College London (A. Benzonelli, P, Edqvist, Dr A. Stevenson), and Liverpool World Museum (Dr. A. Cooke) for allowing access to and sampling of the objects examined in this study. I would also like to thank my supervisors Dr. V. Chauvet, Dr. M. Ponting, and Dr. C. Price.

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Ancient glasses consists of a soda-lime-silica mix: silica from sand or siliceous rock, the soda either mineral based (for example natrun) or plant based, and the lime occurring either through contamination of the silica source or as result of deliberate addition (Henderson, 1985, 269–270; Rehren and Freestone, 2015, 234– 235). In addition to these raw materials, the source of colourants and decolourants and the control of the atmospheric conditions of the heating can all affect the colour. Copper, for example, can give two colours. When it is oxidised to give cupric (Cu++) ions, it gives a transparent blue colour (Brill and Cahill, 1988, 17). Alternatively, should the atmosphere of the furnace be reducing, either by introducing internal reducing agents or very carefully controlling the atmosphere above the glass, then cuprous (Cu+) ions will be produced and result in the copper precipitating out as minute, bright red crystals of cuprous oxide (Cu2O), also known as cuprite (Ibid.). It is these particles of cuprite that make the glass opaque as they scatter the incident light (Freestone et al, 2003(a), 143). Because of this need to master and control this strong reducing environment (Brill and Cahill, 1988, 18), opaque red is acknowledged to be among the most technically demanding of glass colours produced by ancient craftsmen (Freestone et al, 2003(a), 142). The colour of the finished product can also result from contaminants present in the raw materials. Naturally, sand will contain iron, which also gives glass a blue-green colour if another colourant or decolourant is not added to the mixture (Jackson, 2005, 764). Known decolourants of glass are manganese (derived from the mineral pyrolusite (MnO2), psilomilane, dialogite, wad, or rhodochrosite) and antimony (from the minerals stibnite (Sb2S3) and also bindheimite) (Jackson, 2005, 764). Glass making and working were two separate processes, giving rise to the model suggesting large primary glass-production sites with numerous secondary processing sites (Freestone et al, 2002, 259), as well as cullet recycling (Rehren and Freestone, 2015, 236). This permits many different scenarios for the production of glass in Nubia: either a primary production site; secondary working sites (which could have led to slight regional variation); importation of finished objects; or – more likely – a combination of all three. There is also the question of raw materials – were they imported or local? Such technological choices were due to internal and external factors, not simply the availability of resources. Therefore, there are

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questions about the historical context of glass from Nubia such as the interrelationships between trade, technological knowledge, and manufacturing set in the economic, political, and cultural frameworks of Nubia and other cultures. Additionally, while the Meroitic kingdom was an independent entity there were still lingering threads of Egyptian influence on their art and religion, leading to questions about the influence, via trade, Egypt and other cultures might have had on production within Nubia. For the following discussion, glass from four sites in Nubia – Faras, Gabati, Meroe and Qasr Ibrim (see map 1 below) – was analysed, with what follows being solely the presentation and examination of these preliminary results. Since Nubian glass has hitherto been little studied (Brill, 1999, 111, 113), the aim of my current research is to examine a representative sample analytically in order to begin to establish Nubia’s place in the larger context of glass making and working in the ancient world. This is therefore a broad study, outlining the research context and questions arising from this material following analytical investigation. It is hoped that this will provide a foundation for the further discussion and analysis of Nubian glass.

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Map 1 – Map of Nubia

NUBIAN GLASS OF THE MEROITIC PERIOD

METHODOLOGY AND MATERIALS

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A total of 319 Nubian glass samples were analysed from collections held by the Manchester Museum, Petrie Museum, British Museum, and Liverpool World Museum. This gave 218 bead samples for the site of Faras, 36 vessel fragment samples from Meroe, 53 bead samples from Gabati, and 12 bead samples from Qasr Ibrim. The Faras material derives from graves, with the bulk of the material dating from first century BCE to second century CE, with 15 pieces dated to the X-Group/Ballana Culture (Griffith, 1925, 57–172). The Gabati material, also from grave contexts, dates from the end of first century BCE to third century CE (Edwards, 1998, 29, 33, 42). The Meroe material was considerably harder to anchor in the chronology but glass was present at the site at a similar time to the Faras and Gabati samples analysed here (Török, 1997, 124, 128). The Qasr Ibrim samples date to the XGroup/Ballana Culture (Rose, pers. com.). To prepare samples for analysis they were mounted in epoxy resin blocks, polished to 0.25 µm, and vacuum coated with a layer of carbon between 20–30nm (for best practices see Newburry and Ritchie, 2015, 493–518). Analysis of the major and minor elements was done on a JEOL JSM-IT300 scanning electron microscope (SEM) equipped with a Thermo System 7 energy dispersive spectrometer (EDS) detector in the Professor Elizabeth Slater Archaeology Laboratories at the University of Liverpool. The machine was operated at an accelerating voltage of 20kV, with a probe current (PC) of 50nA, working distance (WD) of 10mm, for 60 seconds. This analysis was performed three times for each sample with a mean then taken. Only totals of 97–103wt% (weight percentage) were accepted to produce comparable normalised values. This gave a final total of 136 samples that were normalised for comparison (see dataset table below). The remaining samples had decayed and will not be discussed further. Multi-element mineral standards were used to calibrate the SEM before using Corning A and B (Brill, 1999; Adlington, 2017, 1–8) as the standard reference material (SRM) at the beginning and end of each session of analysis. The elements Si, Ca, Na, K, Mg, Mn, Cu, Co, Pb, P, Fe, Al, Sb, and Ti are expressed as oxides. The SEM was used with the same parameters detailed above when analysing the Corning SRM. Table 1 (below) details the mean values,

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percentage error, and precision for Corning A and B when compared to Brill’s published results. TABLE 1 – Mean values, standard deviation, error and precision for the SEM as compiled from Corning Standard A and B from Brill. CORNING A

CORNING B

OXIDES

PRECISION %

%ERROR

PRECISION %

SiO2

±0.14

±2.62

±0.14

±1.81

Na2O

±0.03

±2.25

±0.07

±3.00

K2O

±0.00

±1.97

±0.01

±9.82

CaO

±0.01

±3.47

±0.02

±2.08

MgO

±0.03

±12.14

±0.03

±17.20

Al2O3

±0.00

±5.47

±0.04

±6.60

P2O5

±0.00

±16.79

±0.04

±35.87

PbO

±0.01

±186.72

±0.02

±39.08

%ERROR

Ti2O

±0.02

±36.42

±0.00

±25.00

Fe2O3

±0.00

±2.33

±0.00

±2.00

MnO

±0.01

±8.00

±0.01

±22.02

Sb2O5

±0.02

±23.53

±0.02

±46.67

Cu2O

±0.01

±7.20

±0.01

±2.88

CoO

±0.00

±23.17

±0.00

±118.89

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RESULTS

The results of the analysis for the non-decayed glass samples from all the sites have been divided into four subgroups based on key characteristics of the compositions of the glass. These are the nonleaded group, leaded group, high-aluminium group, and the highsilica group. These subgroups will then be compared to published material to examine any similarities and/or differences in the ‘Discussion’ below. Non-Leaded Glasses This group is characterised by glasses from Faras, Gabati, and Meroe with less than 7% lead oxide (PbO), the majority being below 2% to indicate that Pb was not present due to intentional addition (Freestone et al, 2003(a), 145). This group shows a reasonably even distribution of the samples across the three sites with a slight leaning towards Meroe. Faras Twenty-two samples from Faras had PbO levels