by Paul Elliott
According to both historical references and the archaeological record, pork was popular feasting fare, indeed the pig had few uses other than meat and lard (used in cooking and the lighting of lamps). The Roman writer Strabo noted that the Celtic Gauls enjoyed ‘large meals with milk and meat of all kinds, but most of all they loved pork, both fresh and salted. Their pigs run wild outdoors and are exceptional for their size, speed and strength’ (Strabo 4.3). Pigs themselves did not require intensive livestock management and the most practical method would have been to let the pigs forage in nearby woodland. This kept the animals away from crops and had the effect of clearing away the woodland undergrowth. With voracious appetites and indiscriminate tastes, pigs could be let loose on arable fields after the harvest in order to dig out roots, remove weeds, and break up the soil. Most pigs were culled at a young age and only a small breeding stock, made up chiefly of females, would then be kept into adulthood. Modern attempts have been made to recreate the type of pig seen in Celtic figurines. This has been done by crossing wild boar with the oldest known British domesticated breed—the Tamworth. The resulting breed is known as an ‘Iron Age’ pig.
Little hard evidence exists for the domestication of geese, hens, and ducks, although the Celts as a whole were very fond of cooked goose. Pliny described roast goose as the most sumptuous dish known to the Britons. But did they hunt their geese and duck, or farm it? Chickens are recorded as food items on a grocery list found at Vindolanda Roman fort, close to Hadrian’s Wall, and it is thought that the native Britons may also have kept and cooked these animals.
Woodland Management
From the very beginnings of agriculture in the British Isles, humans had managed the woodland landscape around them. Initially, forest had to be cleared to make way for pasture and arable land, but wood was an important resource and land clearance could not go unchecked. Pigs, for example, are at home in deciduous woodland and prefer to graze there; in particular, they prefer the marshy regions along forested valley floors. Other animals, too, were able to benefit from nearby woodlands. Peter Reynolds, the first director of Butser Ancient Farm, suggested that the traditional practice of collecting summer leaves for use as fodder in the winter was carried out in prehistoric times. Leaves would have been collected on their twigs and small branches, and fed to the goats and sheep. Peter noted that the Soay sheep at Butser preferred to browse on dried leaves if given the choice of either leaves or grass. To dry the woodland fodder, Peter’s team erected simple drying racks upon which the leafy branches were hung. Adding weight to this theory, I often spotted goats sat around the front doors of farmhouses in southern Nepal, where the owners had strung up a handful of leafy twigs for them to graze on.
Of course, the greatest benefit that woodland can provide is a source of both fuel and building material. All roundhouses required a set of timber uprights and analysis has shown that there was a preference for oak posts—straight and of a diameter close to 30 cm. Trees of this size are typically between forty and sixty years old, which suggests that they were planted and carefully protected as a building material for the next generation. When it was realised that a roundhouse needed to be built, it was no good wandering through the woods looking for suitable trees. As in all things, the prehistoric farmer planned ahead. Wood was needed for the creation of tool handles, buckets, ards, fence posts, beds, doors, benches, carts, cartwheels, drinking troughs, and sundry other items.
Most fencing seems to have been of the wattle-hurdle type, where flexible hazel or willow rods were woven between a long series of upright timber posts. These fences were used to surround some arable fields (while others were bounded by raised banks, ditches, or hedges). Huge amounts of hazel would have been needed and its collection, like that of oak posts, could not be left to chance. Certainly Celtic farmers coppiced, that is cut shrubs or trees down to their stumps or roots in order to promote fresh growth. Numerous new stems emerge, growing straight up, and after several years the coppiced hazel tree provides perfectly suitable building material—long, straight hazel rods. In order to have a ready source of hazel rods throughout the year, the traditional technique of harvesting several coppiced areas (or ‘coups’) on a rotating basis, was probably practiced. Butser Farm experiments were able to demonstrate that a relatively modest 2.5 hectare site was able to provide over 500 tons of hazel rods for hurdle fencing.
Where hazel was not available, willow would have served the same purpose, although it was not as strong and lasted only half as long. Willow trees, of course, do not produce nuts. Charred hazelnut shells are found on many sites across the British Isles, which, together with the evidence for vast amounts of hazel rod fencing, suggest that hazel coppicing was a common feature of prehistoric farming. The competing requirements of hazel woodland needed careful management, however; coppiced hazel is best grown in shady areas within the forest, to encourage the shoots to grow straight upwards as they search for light. Hazelnuts, though, require sun and thrive on the edge of woodland. The need for two different resources from the same type of tree must have forced the farmer to dedicate certain coppiced hazels to one resource or another.
The role of firewood within a prehistoric community cannot be emphasized enough. As we shall see in Chapter 6, the central hearth served as the heart of every roundhouse. Fire flickered within the hearth throughout the day and to feed it an ever-replenishing stack of dry firewood had to be in place. Collection of firewood has been a daily task for women and children for millennia. As the sun set behind the slopes of Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania, I watched Masaai children and women, in ones and twos, hurrying back to their homes laden with the firewood they had collected. Local woodland likewise served as the source of this unending prehistoric hunger for fuel.
As the metal age began, the hunger accelerated. The temperatures required to smelt copper or work iron were far higher than was needed to cook a stew. Only the heat provided by burning charcoal would do and an ever growing volume of it was needed. Charcoal is created by the slow ‘roasting’ of selected logs (alder is preferred) over a long duration either in a sealed pit, or in a charcoal pile. The pile technique leaves virtually no archaeological trace, but must have been used extensively in prehistory. A number of charcoal pits have been found, however, and a good example from the Iron Age was discovered at Laigh Newton, near Darvel in Scotland. Found a few metres from a temporary shelter, the excavators uncovered a rectangular pit 1.7 m × 1.1 m that was filled with a stack of charred timbers to a depth of 0.4 m. The base of the pit showed evidence of firing and a number of rounded stones in the pit suggested that the pit might even have been lined.
4
The Celtic Year
[The Fianna] divided the year into two parts. During the first half, namely from Beltane to Samhain, they hunted each day with their dogs; and during the second half, namely from Samhain to Beltane, they lived in their mansions…
The Pursuit of Giolla Dacker and his Horse, a 16th century Irish tale
While we see time as an endless progression, with continual growth and improvement both desired and encouraged, the Celtic worldview was cyclical. Life was repeated endlessly, not just from year to year, but from generation to generation; this was a farming mind-set. According to the Roman writer Pliny, the Celtic year began and ended at its high point—Midsummer. Each day was reckoned to last from one sunset to the next, rather than from midnight to midnight as we do today.
Since the priests of the Celtic world—the druids—did not write anything down, we have only a vague idea of how the Celtic peoples measured time and how they celebrated their major festivals. In 1897, however, fragments of a bronze tablet were discovered at Coligny, in eastern France. Although the writing on the bronze sheet is in Latin script, the language is Gaulish, and, after a great deal of study, the archaeologist J. Monard came to the startling conclusion that the inscription represents a Celtic calendar.
The Coligny Calendar gives us a tant
alizing glimpse into the Celtic world view. There were twelve months in most years, each month being containing twenty-nine or thirty days, making a Celtic year 354 days in length. Every month began at the full moon rather than the new moon, perhaps due to the fact that the full moon is easier to observe and record. An extra month, named Mid Samonios, was added every few years for intercalation, ensuring that the calendar kept pace with the seasons. Mid Samonios was slotted between the months called Cutios and Giamonios.
The Celtic Months
Month
Period
Length
Samonios
June–July
Thirty days
Dumannios
July–August
Twenty-nine days
Riuros
August–Sept
Thirty days
Anagantios
Sept–Oct
Twenty-nine days
Ogronios
Oct–Nov
Thirty days
Cutios
Nov–Dec
Thirty days
Giamonios
Dec–Jan
Twenty-nine days
Simivisionios
Jan–Feb
Thirty days
Equos
Feb–March
Twenty-nine days
Elembiuos
March–April
Twenty-nine days
Edrinios
April–May
Thirty days
Cantlos
May–June
Thirty days
If Pliny is correct, and the Celtic New Year began at Midsummer, then the first month was Samonios, during which the festival of Lughnasa was held. Both Lughnasa, as well as Beltane, which was an end of year celebration, were indicated on the Coligny calendar by small sigils. Two other major festivals, Imbolc and Samhain, are not indicated on the tablet. The etymology of the Celtic months is unclear, although some are more obvious than others. Samonios is most likely ‘summer’ and Giamonios is ‘winter’; Riuros may be ‘fat-time’ (probably a reference to the harvest), Equos is almost certainly ‘horsetime’, and Cantlos is ‘songtime’. Ogronios may perhaps refer to ‘cold’.
Summer
Bees with their little strength carry a load reaped from the flowers; the cattle go up muddy to the mountains; the ant has a good full feast.
The corncrake is speaking, a loud-voiced poet; the high lonely waterfall is singing a welcome to the warm pool, the talking of the rushes has begun.
The light swallows are darting … the speckled salmon is leaping; as strong is the leaping of the swift fighting man.
The Boyhood Deeds of Finn mac Cumhaill, Laud 610
A year began at Midsummer and the farmer’s first task would have been the making of hay. This fodder was going to keep the community’s animals fed throughout the winter and the amount of fodder must have been directly related to the number of animals that had to be kept alive. Dry grass could have been cut from fallow fields (i.e. those fields left without a crop for that particular year) or alternatively areas of pasture might have been reserved for this purpose from spring until late summer. Ash and elm leaves were also probably gathered at this time for drying and they would go to supplement the hay.
Haymaking coincided with sheep shearing, since the native breeds shed their fleeces naturally in June. This meant that sheep could be ‘plucked’ rather than shorn. Farmers had to time this activity carefully, left too long and the sheep would rub off their moulting fleeces, but done too early and the fleece would not yet have fully developed. Bronze shears found at Flag Fen were initially thought to have been used for shearing, but experimental work with the Soay sheep now suggests that the shears were probably used for cutting cloth.
Bulls had to be mated with cows around this time of year to ensure that calves could be born in springtime, giving them the best chance of survival. This practice suggests that bulls were grazed apart from the herd for much of the year. However, it was the harvest that dominated late summer work and the culmination of a year’s worth of effort by the family. There were two stages to a prehistoric harvest; those crops sown last autumn needed to be harvested first, followed by the crops that had been sown in spring. Harvesting was done with a great sense of urgency, a window of good weather was needed and if the farmer hesitated his entire crop might be spoilt. Crops were collected, processed, and stored in the shortest possible time, with everything edible put away for human use and the rest earmarked for animal feed. Unlike the stalks of modern wheat strains, cattle found emmer and spelt straw perfectly edible. During most of the Bronze Age as well as the Iron Age, dried crops and cereal grains were stored either in purpose-built granaries or in grain pits. Before that, crops were probably crammed inside the farmhouse.
Once cereal crops had been harvested, it was the turn of peas and beans. Some of these legumes would be put aside and eaten as green vegetables, but most would be dried and stored for consumption later in the year. Fruits, nuts, and berries were also likely to have been gathered at this time from well-known and regularly visited stands of trees and bushes. Other products that needed to be gathered including nettle stems (pounded and dried and woven together as thread), reeds (for thatching and basketry), and flax (with oil extracted from the seeds and fibres dried and combed to be turned into linen thread).
Midsummer was a high point for Celtic communities, a time of good weather, long days, healthy animals, and feasting and drinking. This period of comfort and plenty was associated with all the best that the Celtic afterlife had to offer. While Vikings, who were killed in battle, went either to Valhalla or Fólkvangr for a life of eternal combat, the Celtic paradise was Tir na Nog, a happy and abundant land of youth, a vast apple orchard where trees were forever in fruit. This says much about the Celtic outlook on life and death, on what was valued and appreciated. The Viking looked forward to endless bloodshed, while the Celt anticipated a paradise of fruit trees and agricultural abundance.
Lughnasa was the first big festival of the Celtic year and may have lasted a whole month. Today it is allocated to 1 August, but prehistoric communities almost certainly marked their festivals by the counting of full moon lunations. Lughnasa in one particular year, for example, might have been held in the third or fourth full moon after Midsummer. Members of the Iron Age priesthood, the Druids, will have kept a more careful account and disseminated the fact that the lunation had changed and that the festival was going to be a full moon earlier, or later, than it had been the year before. Lugh was an oak god known throughout Celtic Europe, he was a folk hero and several Roman towns bore his name. Lughnasa fell between the hay harvest and the wheat harvest and was probably a commemoration of Lugh’s death. Funerary rites and processions must have taken place, using effigies or even living substitutes. Lugh was a barley-god, a sun-hero, who had to die so that the community might live another year. Rites that re-enacted the death of Adonis, Tammuz, and John Barleycorn have featured in traditional European folklore for over two millennia. He is cut by the reapers’ sickles, trampled on the threshing floor, and finally crushed beneath the millstone. A local Lincolnshire rite involved burying a straw effigy of John Barleycorn in the fields once
the harvest had been completed:
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head.
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.
‘John Barleycorn’, traditional song
The ancestry of the straw doll, fashioned each year only to be destroyed, represents the harvest god and his ultimate demise at the hands of men. Names of the gods vary from place to place and from age to age, but the tradition persisted throughout European history. Ancestor spirits may also have been remembered at Lughnasa, marriages may also have been more frequent and the stations of kings and chiefs were likely to have been confirmed.
Autumn
The ox is lowing, the winter is creeping in, the summer is gone. High and cold the wind, low the sun, cries are about us; the sea is quarrelling.
The Boyhood Deeds of Finn mac Cumhaill, Laud 610
Following the rush to harvest in late summer, crucial follow-up work was necessary. It was vital that the ground was prepared for a new crop. Work done here would have important repercussions for the family’s survival in a year’s time. After the fields were sufficiently manured, ploughing with the ard could begin. Planting then followed, typically using seed gathered the year before that had been held in reserve for that purpose. By far the best candidates for an autumn sowing were emmer, spelt, and barley.
Why were crops sown before winter, when the cold temperatures and regular frosts would not give the seed chance to grow? Was it not better to wait until the early spring? It was a case of spreading the workload. The autumn crop would mature earlier in the summer than one sown in spring, resulting in a staggered harvest. This allowed a community to maximise its limited manpower and the amount of cultivated land that it could successfully manage. Also, the frosts of early spring could have a pruning effect on new shoots similar to the way in which farmers coppiced hazel trees by aggressively cutting them back. When frost occurs (where snow does not lay on the ground, to blanket and insulate the seed) it can kill young shoots, forcing a profusion of new ones to emerge from the plant’s root. These energetic new shoots are called tillers, and they lead to more abundant harvests. Of course, frost still posed a great danger to the young and vulnerable crops. A long, frost-filled winter with little snow could kill the crops dead in the fields, leaving the community with nothing to harvest in the summer. Frost-prone areas included valley bottoms and higher ground.
