The Oxford Handbook of Neolithic Europe

by Chris Fowler

  Their sometimes spectacular locations also contributed to making axe quarries special places. These include mountains, at the extreme the Alpine jadeitite quarries on Mont Viso (Piedmont, Italy) at 2,000–2,400m altitude (Pétrequin et al. 2006, 2009), but also sites like Great Langdale (tuff) in north-west England, Killin (calc-silicate hornfels) in Scotland, and Tievebulliagh in north-east Ireland, one of the two porcellanite sources (Cooney 1998). Quarries for axehead production are also frequently located on islands, as seen along the Atlantic façade from Bømlo/Hespriholmen (rhyolite) on the west coast of Norway (Alsaker 1987) to the riebeckite felsite from Shetland (Ballin 2011), the red flint from Helgoland in the German Bay (Beuker 2005), the porcellanite from Brockley on Rathlin Island off north-east Ireland (Cooney 2000, 192–194), the porphyry (porphyritic andesite) from Lambay, off the Irish east coast (Cooney 2005), and the presence of both locally produced and imported axes on the Channel Islands (Patton 1991a). Here, axes made from a visually distinctive grey dolerite with rectangular white plagioclase crystals (Type P) appear to come from the spectacular site of Le Pinacle, Jersey (Patton 1991a, 35–36; 1991b).

  Indeed the Channel Islands illustrate several of the patterns discussed above; the visual distinctiveness of axes from particular sources, the spectacular location of some of the quarries, and their occurrence on islands. In an island world such as the Channel Islands, where axes of various visually distinct rocks moved between islands and between islands and the mainland, the value of possessing and circulating such objects in underpinning social relationships may have been accentuated (see Skeates 2002 for relevant discussion regarding Malta).

  AXEHEADS AT HAND—THINKING AND WORKING WITH STONE

  In interpreting the functions, uses, and roles of axeheads we can draw on the contexts in which they are found and other evidence for their use, such as the sources they are made from, their size and morphology, tool marks on wood, and wear patterns on axeheads themselves. As this term covers objects functioning as adzes, chisels, and wedges, as well as axes, they would have been used in cutting trees, splitting timber, trimming, carpentry, and a wide range of expedient roles. Axeheads also functioned as weapons. For example, the skulls in the LBK mass grave at Talheim bear the impact of both thin and thick (shoe-last) axeheads (Wahl and König 1987; Guilaine and Zammit 2005, 86–91). The axe may have been strongly associated with male roles and the acquisition of an axehead for use as a tool and weapon may have validated male identity (e.g. Whittle 2003, 39). It seems appropriate, then, to think of axes as powerful material metaphors and metonyms with layers of meaning and symbolism.

  Returning to the life of an axehead, the grinding and polishing that transformed a rough-out or preform into a finished axehead frequently took place away from the quarry sites (although there are exceptions; Cooney 2005). In western and northern Europe, there are specialized production workshops where rough-outs or blanks were shaped into specific forms and taken on to settlement sites for polishing and use (e.g. Larsson 2011; Giligny et al. 2011). Production zones may have existed around major sources. For example at the black pelite quartz source at Plancher-les-Mines in the southern Vosges mountains, small-scale exploitation began in the later sixth millennium BC. The first proper quarries date to the later fifth millennium and by 4000 BC settlements concerned with the secondary working of extracted stone existed in a zone 20–55km from the source (Pétrequin and Jeunesse 1995, 66).

  In production zones the working of stone into stone axeheads would have become embedded into the life of some Neolithic communities. This contrasts with areas further away where axes from distant sources ended up, often to be used alongside local lithic materials. Whittle (2003, 47) has pointed out that in LBK contexts, axes and adzes tend to be the major lithic material to come from any distance. In southern Italy and Sicily, there is a contrast between locally sourced, less carefully finished granite and basalt axes and small, well-finished, ‘exotic’ greenstone (and jadeitite) axes (Leighton and Dixon 1992). Sometimes the focus appears to be on local, secondary sources. For the early Neolithic in Greece Perlès (2001, 232–233) suggests that most axes were made of suitable river/beach pebbles or cobbles in the context of domestic production. This is borne out by Stroulia’s (2003, 8–9) detailed analysis of axes from Franchti Cave in the north-eastern Peloponnese. By contrast Tsoraki’s (2011) analysis of the Makriyalos site indicates that in northern Greece in the late Neolithic both local and non-local sources were used.

  One of the most commonly used ciphers for interpreting axehead function is their size. Chappell (1987) in her examination of Group VI (tuff) axes in England, divided them into very large (larger than 20cm), large (15–20cm), and small axes (less than 15cm). Of some 4,500 axeheads from Ireland that were measured, over 73% were 8–16cm, 14% over 16cm, and 13% less than 6cm long (Cooney and Mandal 1998, 39; the latter are often referred to as ‘miniature’ axes; other studies have used a length of less than 5cm to define a miniature). These figures are comparable with those for axes from Wales and mid-west England (Darvill 1989, 38–39). Drawing on ethnographic analogy it is often suggested that large, visually distinctive, well-finished axeheads are likely to have carried the most complex social meanings and to have circulated in exchange for other objects and materials to create and underpin individual and communal identities and relationships (e.g. Weiner 2003). Whilst this can be accepted as a general statement, there were regional and contextual variations. Perlès (2001, 231–232) points out an important contrast between regions of Europe, particularly in the early Neolithic. In south-east Europe, axeheads are rarer, local sources tend to dominate, and there are few large examples (Perlès 2001, 231–232). In central and north-west Europe they tend to be larger and the production, use, and exchange of stone axeheads are often seen as critical to the articulation of links between communities (e.g. Cunliffe 2001, 206). In a regional case study of Orkney, Clarke (2011, fig. 9) has shown that whilst no axehead there is longer than 16cm, size did matter, with examples in megalithic tombs and special deposits being longer and more likely to be complete.

  The frequent occurrence of broken axeheads on settlement sites suggests their importance as functional objects. Those between 6 and 15cm in length are most likely to have been used for cutting timber and woodworking, as shown by experimental work and the analysis of axehead marks on worked wood (e.g. O’Sullivan 1996). Miniature axes have been variously discussed as potential fine woodworking tools, toys, or amulets, especially where there is a perforation suggesting that the object was worn around the neck. For the central Mediterranean, Skeates (1995) has argued that miniature greenstone axes were ‘terminal’ commodities, too worn down to be of further practical use, but with a history and origin too highly valued to be thrown away. So they were transformed into valuables and sometimes modified into axe-pendants and amulets, becoming related to particular individuals and in the process perhaps taking on the power of personification. Bailey (2005, 29–36) has talked about how miniaturizing things can give people a sense of control. In this context, we can see how an axehead miniature could become a condensed locus of action and social meaning.

  Finally, the Projet JADE (see key discussion in Pétrequin et al. 2008b, 2011) has transformed our understanding of the role and scale of networks of axe movement and exchange during the Neolithic (Fig. 27.3). From the end of the sixth to the beginning of the third millennium BC, two groups of quarries in Alpine northern Italy were the source of most of the eclogite, omphacitite, and jadeitite axeheads found in Neolithic Europe. The axeheads were very widely distributed in the period 4700–3800 BC and particularly in the centuries from 4500–4300 BC. The focus outside the production zone was on axeheads over 15cm in length. Their distribution shows the extent of the dispersal and exchange systems in the fifth and fourth millennia BC. There are two routes from the Alpine sources, one through the lower Rhône valley, then west and north via the Carcassonne Gap-Garonne-Gironde to the Atlantic and on to the Loire valley and Brittany, corresponding with
the general distribution of southern types of Alpine axeheads (Pétrequin et al. 2008b, fig 22.2, 22.4); the second, corresponding with the northern types of axeheads, leading up the Rhône-Saone valley and then splitting, one branch leading into the Seine valley and the other to the Rhine-Moselle valleys and beyond (Pétrequin et al. 2008b, fig 22.2, 22.6). Pétrequin et al. (2008b, 276) suggest that the majority of Alpine axeheads in Britain and Ireland came from contacts with the coastal area between Brittany, the Seine valley, and possibly as far north as the Rhine estuary.

  FIG. 27.3. Distribution of large Alpine axeheads.

  (Source: Programme JADE; cartography E. Gauthier et J. Desmeulles, documentation P. Pétrequin).

  Given the status of these objects as symbolic and sacred, Pétrequin et al. (2008b) argue that they played a key role in the Neolithization process in Ireland and Britain. For Cooney (2008), the use of stone, including the organized quarrying of specific sources for axes, was a critical resource in Neolithic Ireland and western Britain. It is possible that this was at least partly driven by the desire to emulate the power of a stone that had its orgins back in time and over 1,700km to the south (Sheridan 2007).

  DEPOSITION—BURYING THE HATCHET

  A jadeitite axe was deposited beside the trackway known as the Sweet Track in the Somerset Levels in south-west Britain some time around 3807/3806 BC 1 (Coles and Coles 1996, 28). As well as providing us with a date for the deposition of an Alpine axehead, it is a reminder that the life of axes was often deliberately ended by placing them back in the ground. Discussion has tended to focus on axeheads from known archaeological contexts: occupation sites, ceremonial sites, burials, and hoards. This has involved classing most axeheads as ‘stray’ finds, without any archaeological context. However, a broader understanding of how axes were used and deposited is needed. In Ireland, Cooney and Mandal (1998, 34) were able to present detailed contexts for over 2,000 axes. Over 40% came from river beds, relating both to modern drainage operations and also to the original deposition of axes, particularly at fording places. The concentration of axeheads in rivers has long been noted in Britain, for example in the Thames (Adkins and Jackson 1978). In Ireland, smaller numbers came from related riverside and lacustrine contexts. Almost 12% came from bogs, at least in some cases as deliberate deposits, and almost 15% from agricultural land, if nothing else indicating the extent of prehistoric, particularly Neolithic, activity across the landscape.

  If the axe was a key material expression of social identities and relationships, the focus of this active role varied in different cultural settings and over time. We can examine this variability through the contexts in which axeheads are found: discarded or deposited on occupation sites, placed with the dead, put in ceremonial contexts such as ditches and pits of enclosures. Here, I focus on the deposition of axeheads in hoards. The result of a series of deliberate actions, hoards force us to consider how people thought about axes, and to reflect on their meaning in other contexts. Hoards are part of a wider pattern of deliberate deposition (Whittle 1988, 124–26) and widespread across north-west Europe (e.g. Pitts 1996; Cordier and Bocquet 1998; Ebbesen 1993; Rech 1979; Nielsen 1977; Midgley 1992; Karsten 1994; Wentink 2006). In Ireland, the largest hoard comes from Malone, Belfast, with 19 porcellanite axeheads, at least 14 placed with the butt in the ground, the blade facing to the sky. This hoard stands apart because most hoards in Ireland comprise only two or three axeheads. Very large axeheads (over 20cm) are much more frequent in hoards (26% of the total number of axes) compared to their general occurrence in Ireland (4.8% of the total). This can be compared to thin-butted axeheads in southern Scandinavia, where those in hoards tended to be significantly longer that those found on settlements (Olausson 1983). Thus, axeheads were deliberately chosen for placement in hoards (see Larsson 2011), and where we have details of their arrangement we can sometimes see a concern with placement itself (Fig. 27.4).

  FIG. 27.4. Arrangement of axes in TRB hoards

  (after Rech 1979).

  Axeheads carry their histories in their materiality, the stone they are made from, and the narratives that people wove around these mnemonic objects. Through their use and exchange, they extended and bound people together and in this socially active sense had the potential to be part of the future. On the other hand, they also came from the past, hence the production and deposition of axeheads may have been envisaged as linked actions (e.g. Larsson 2011; Wentink et al. 2011). Wentink (2006, 71; 2008) demonstrated that the axehead hoards of Drenthe in the northern Netherlands consist of large, ceremonial flint axeheads, produced in northern Germany or Denmark, exchanged over significant distances, and deposited in wet locations. From use-wear analysis the axeheads appear to have been wrapped, placed, unwrapped, viewed, re-wrapped, and returned to the ground. So, rather than considering production and deposition as separate, perhaps more importantly they represent the points at which the cycle began again.

  In at least some cases axeheads were placed in hoards unhafted, and hence held in the hand. For Bailey (2005), objects depicting or representing the human form, or other animate forms, in miniature could be handled, used in ceremony or the transfer of knowledge, and gave people a sense of control and security. It seems clear that on some occasions axes did stand for people (see Battaglia 1990). In Thessaly in Greece (Bailey 2005, 155–156), the most basic figurines are decorated triangular marble axehead-like objects found with the butt stuck into undecorated clay bodies, in place of a head and neck. In western Iberia, there are striking similarities between engraved stone plaques and stone axeheads (Fig. 27.2a and 27.2b), and both are about the size of a human hand. Lillios (2008, 118–119) suggests that a plaque evoked ‘axeness’ and that the axe was a potent visual metaphor in the Neolithic, with its connotation of taming the land, being a potential (and real) weapon, and evoking strength and durability.

  In this context it becomes easier to understand why big axes were special. Partly, they may have represented the power and prestige of particular individuals or something bigger than a person, something animating ancestral forces or the wider community. Non-local axes from sources far away in time and space, which had the aura of distant, mythological origins rather than a known, short, local history, would be considered particularly significant. Their sheer physical size and appearance would also have made an impression. In the early Neolithic in Carnac in southern Brittany, Alpine axeheads were reshaped, repolished, and moved again, for example across the Bay of Biscay to Galicia (Cassen and Pétrequin 1999; Cassen and Vaquero 2000). The contemporary decorated menhirs in Brittany, some of which bear an axe motif, could themselves be seen as a monumentalization of the axe form (e.g. Whittle 2003; Tilley 2004), an image that brings to mind the deliberate placement of axes in a vertical position in hoards. As Lillios (2008, 19) put it, the axe ‘was a tool essential in the construction of social and cultural personhood. Axes made one human’.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My thanks to Vin Davis and Alasdair Whittle for their valuable comments on an earlier draft of the paper and to the editors for their patience!

  NOTE

  1.Dendrochronological date.

  REFERENCES

  Adkins, R. and Jackson, R. 1978. Neolithic stone and flint axes from the River Thames. London: British Museum.

  Allard, P., Bostyn, F., Giligny, F., and Lech, J. (eds). 2008. Flint mining in prehistoric Europe. Oxford: Archaeopress.

  Alsaker, S. 1987. Bomlo—Steinalderans rastoffsentrum pa Sorvestlandet. Bergen: Historisk Museum, Universitetet i Bergen.

  Andersen, N.H. 1997. The Sarup enclosures: the Funnel Beaker culture of the Sarup site including two causewayed camps compared to the contemporary settlements in the area and other European enclosures. Moesgaard: Jysk Arkaeologisk Selskab.

  Babel, J. 2008. The Krzeminoki flint mines: latest underground research 2001–2004. In P. Allard, F. Bostyn, F. Giligny, and J. Lech (eds), Flint mining in prehistoric Europe. Interpreting the archaeological records, 97–109. Oxford: Oxbow.
<
br />   Bailey, D.W. 2005. Prehistoric figurines: representation and corporeality. London: Routledge.

  Balcer, B. 2002. Ćmielów, Krezemionki, Święciechów: zwiaki osady neolitycznej z kopalniami krzemienia. Warsaw: Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii, PAN.

  Ballard, L. 1994. The centre cannot hold: trade networks and sacred geography in the Papua New Guinea Highlands. Archaeology in Oceania 29, 130–148.

  Ballin, T. 2011. The felsite quarries of North Roe, Shetland—an overview. In V. Davis and M. Edmonds (eds), Stone axe studies III, 121–130. Oxford: Oxbow.

  Barber, M., Field, D. and Topping, P. 1999. The Neolithic flint mines of England. London: English Heritage.

  Battaglia, D. 1990. On the Bones of the Serpent. Person, memory and mortality in Sabarl Island society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.