Ritual Landscapes reconsidered

When we talk of historical ritual landscapes, our approach is a little broader than the traditional definition, which typically focuses on ceremonial and funerary monuments that were constructed during the Neolithic era (4000-2500 BC), often including causewayed enclosures, long barrows and ditches.^[1]

Whilst these impressive Neolithic monuments clearly shout ‘ritual’, what does it mean if an ancient landscape doesn’t readily possess such bold markers or overt constructions. Can we truly say that in their absence a landscape cannot be said to be a ‘ritual’ one? Of course not, and no one would suggest otherwise.

Having lived in the county of Suffolk in East Anglia for all our lives, we have become accustomed to appreciating the more visually subtle and latent ritual landscapes that we are fortunate enough to be surrounded by. That said, sometimes even knowing their whereabouts and what type of things to consider searching for can often require a lot of leg work to uncover.

Incidentally, the only rituals that Arcane Landscape Trust personally practice are being and thinking in the landscape itself, and for us at least, this is the key that unlocks our heightened relationship with the space around us and keeps us live to the possibilities that both history and science afford us.

So, what really makes a landscape a ritual one? It might seem strange but before we can answer that question, we first must reflect on how we think.

Finding ways of attaining a synergic relationship with the natural world can all too easily allude us, and it has been said that we have transformed nature and landscape from an essential “existential ‘partner’ — charged with mythical, cultic, numinous, and socializing places of memory, places with which people had a ‘religious’ connection — into economic entities, containers of resources and raw materials, that we can use or rather misuse in a unilateral way”.^[2] For many of us today, how we relate to our environment is largely a modern Western ‘problem’, born out of a societal worldview that on the whole downgrade’s ideas or notions of the power of place.^[3]  By proposing a subtle shift in our thinking as we consider this new ‘grammar for the mind’, our aim is to deepen our relationship with place and reconcile the dissociative split between spirit and nature that so many of us feel.^[4] This is because what we see and choose to mentally attune to is as much guided by our communal character (shared values and collective identity) as it is the objects themselves ‘out there’, be these hills, rivers, trees, or stones. The language and labels that we ascribe to our surroundings frames our perceptual understanding and in turn can govern our experiences, our perceptions, and ultimately how we look, think, and feel. For despite different people possessing the same biological equipment with which to perceive the world around them, the reality is, that it is through the unconscious process of “worlding” that we discriminate and filter the qualities of that environment, and how our world views are made.^[5]

Like us, we wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you may also have had that experience of passing by a very familiar place or location, perhaps one you have passed hundreds of times, yet somehow missed the obvious right in front of you. “How have I never noticed that before?!” – we exclaim, bemused and almost embarrassed by our own mind blindness. The point is, we see what we want to see, or more importantly choose to take note of, as we unconsciously filter out and create our own world view.

“Ritual sites might be expressions of cosmological ideas, but it is also possible that the sites and monuments themselves created and reinforced cosmological notions.” ^[6]

Wonder and belonging

The world we see and how we relate to it is “constructed in our head – cognition is inseparable from the realm of affect.”^[7] The acts of thinking and doing are inseparable. They combine across the activity and the setting, where thought is embodied and enacted.^[8] The key is that we need to be live to that experience and ensure we do not filter out and miss what is before us. The trick for us all, is to try to see the landscape around us with beginner’s mind, as if we were seeing it for the first time.

Neuroplasticity is our brains capacity to constantly create new neural connections as we respond to every thought, experience and word that is read. By the time you have read this sentence, the reality is that the hard wiring in your brain will have changed, altering your thinking and reshaping your mental landscape. Even a single word has the power to influence the expression of genes that regulate physical and emotional stress.^[9] Imagine then the power behind the 6,200 thoughts that we are known to have each day!^[10] How can we help shape and positively channel these?

One simple prescription that can have a profoundly transformative effect is to “look for more daily experiences of awe”^[11] by being in the presence of something vast that can transcend our understanding of the world.

The feeling of awe was once at the heart of early human history, and science is now starting to understand why during seven million years of hominid evolution it has become so central to our species emotional repertoire. One suggestion “is that awe binds us to social collectives and enables us to act in more collaborative ways… improving our odds for survival.”^[12]

This increased sense of wonder and belonging is exactly what our work looks to re-establish.

Stepping into the otherworld

Our approach invites you to consciously consider four themes, and you will see these weaved throughout all our work.

• The character and topography of place and its influences, including the liminality of locations, and seasonal cycles.
• Solar observation, orientation, bearing and alignment.
• Celestial movements, skylore and mythology.
• Research, records, historical evidence, data, and lore.

Across the globe, indigenous peoples perceived their space to be the domain of interacting natural powers, inhabiting both individual and collective beings, in a world that was understood as animistic and totemic.

Ancient landscapes became a canvas of expression for cosmological ideas, where monuments and sacred sites reinforced and created notions of self and ‘mythic identity’. The process of sacred continuity created a ritual and religious palimpsest in the landscape, with the reimagining and reanimation of the sacral on top of older sites.

The creation of ritual space, and place, is a human act intended to ‘embody symbolic content’ and to demarcate it for transformation and special use.”^[13] Whilst personal rituals would most often be carried out privately, social rituals would have been forged in “some form of shared space over the course of some time, and will naturally represent a form of shared cultural memory, shaped communally by those involved… which can add potency to the moment by creating what Eliade refers to as a sense of ‘sacred time’ in which past (mythical and historical) and present blend to create a powerful performative moment”.^[14/15] During these moments, the natural world had the capacity to achieve divine status, heightened at such liminal locations where the realm of the numen or unseen, this ‘otherworldly’ power could be appeased or communed with through offerings in order to secure their goodwill.

In late Iron Age Britain 400 BC – 50 AD, sacred and cultic sites were integrated and woven within “religiously significant landscape features.”^[16] This included being close to waterways or a boundary, as places of such liminality seem to have been perceived as sacred and important – or on an elevated or prominent location, in closer proximity with the “celestial entities”.^[17]

“…Natural topography, in the sense of the configuration of landforms, was an important influence on the development of cultural identities.” ^[18]

Whilst the people inhabiting our landscape may have changed over time, from the Romans invading Britain in 43 AD through to the medieval period up to the late 15th Century, reusing what was already present in the environment was commonplace. For instance, medieval field boundaries in the Central zone of England used the same boundaries as that of the Romans 70% of the time.^[19] Meaning was ascribed to the landscape, with natural features often revered, not going unnoticed, and where supernatural forces were associated with earthworks from the past, all amongst a people who held a tradition of practicing assembly at boundary landmarks. The temenos was a segregated area of land, cut off from the mundane and had a sacred boundary, often demarcated with palisades around a shrine or temple.^[20]

These ensouled landscapes were often charged with profound psychological significance, underpinned by high level technical surveying abilities, as landscapes become “woven into life, and lives are woven into the landscape, in a process that is continuous and never-ending.”^[21]

Monuments in these sacralized landscapes have the capacity to provoke states of remembrance, and as such they possess properties that can “draw the believer into a meditative mood or even an altered state of consciousness.”^[22] The integrity of place suffers when we become disconnected from our imagination. By participating in the local imagination, we include the whole synthesis of located experience, including the sights, feelings, stories and concepts, a holistic sense of place can be achieved, through our organ of perception.^[23]

The ritual practice of depositing burial hoards in the Viking Age favoured “borders of topography, where one type of landscape changes into another, as, for instance, a beach of a lake is a border between land and water”. The bank of the water formed a central point in cosmology and consequently the use of the landscape, with the bank of the water considered to be a liminal place where humans could communicate with the gods.^[24]

People constructed and built their identities on the correspondences and connections between landscape features, celestial bodies, particular animals, archetypes, and ancestral memories, alongside the occurrence of everyday events and relationships.^[25] But what played a central outstanding role amongst these interacting powers of nature, were the objects and appearances in what we call the celestial sphere, as skylines themselves were both ‘monuments and monumental’.^[26]

Mythical stories formed a corpus for understanding what could be seen on a starry Winter night. What appears to be simply the physical stars and their white paths as they move across the dome of the heavens going down below the horizon “should rather be imagined to be the home of divine figures, with different dwellings and with individual characters visible and moving around in both a regular pattern.”^[27] Skyscapes provide a framework for thinking about how beliefs could be shaped by the observations and patterns witnessed above, or against the horizon as these interacted with the earth. Orientations towards both precise and broad astronomical events in this sense can be accommodated, with events played out over time, for it was the unfolding ‘drama’ of the changing heavens that was important, not always just a single moment.^[28] In this sense, orientations were not just reflecting a social activity, they were an active part of it.^[29]

In addition, the horizon at a given location can vary enormously, as it is rarely perfectly flat. Whilst highly accurate landscape surveying and construction was possible, solar alignments at some megalithic monuments “suggest that solsticial orientation, if deliberate, was of a much lower level of precision: an alignment of symbolic significance associated with the rituals of death and burial.”^[30] For instance, behind the construction of Neolithic tombs in Southern Europe, it was often as important to orientate the entrance to where the rising sun or moon would be seen to pass, rather than necessarily solely towards its actual point of rising.^[31] It is this more symbolic and less analytical, scientific approach towards place and space that can alienate us from ancient societies, blinding us if we are not careful from understanding the meaning of an alignment, for it is more about “the holistic task of watching.”^[32] Moving away from narrow scientific modes of observation, it is only by watching that we can truly see how the landscape or any alignment, path or landscape feature truly engages with place. The process of watching explicitly includes the passage of time, by having time to dwell. According to Daniel Brown, Associate Professor at Nottingham Trent University in the school of science and technology, it is only when we allow ourselves time to see and feel the changes and rhythms in the landscape, that we can be open to the experience of the landscape, and more important, the alignment. As a cultural resource, the sky has been neglected.^[33] It is only in this context where the entire landscape, including sky, sea and land coalesce that we can yield any true meaning or connectedness. Only with the passage of time, when we dwell can we “emotionally connect and communicate with a landscape… In so doing, the viewer will note that time has made them part of it and its cosmic cycles.”^[34]

Traditional archaeology has also been criticised for rooting its beliefs around a framework of knowledge too wedded to agreed concepts about the past based on evidence from material traces.^[35] The propitious moment at the start of many sacred rituals, often associated with the moment of sunrise, involved ceremonies “organized in relation to beams of sunlight and the movement of the stars, melding together human and celestial time.”^[36] George Dimitriadis (Scientific Director at the Hellenic Rock Art Centre) refers to this ‘management of light’ and the challenge this would pose to such traditional archaeological analysis. What material traces of the management of light would be left in the archaeological record? What remains would we look for to tell us that a place was designed to watch the passage and movement of the rising sun? Similarly with the arcane use of shadow. In the Peak District national park a late Neolithic, early Bronze Age monolith dating to between 2,500 – 1,500 BC was astronomically aligned to act as a seasonal sundial.^[37] The shadow it cast acted as a communal marker and social arena, providing cosmological knowledge in the form of a direct display, correlating to the ‘death’ and ‘rebirth’ of the Sun. In the Winter half of the year during the Winter Solstice, the monolith’s north facing side was cast in a permanent shadow and bathed in light in the Summer half of the year around the Summer Solstice. Such a design embedded within the ritual landscape demands from us a different way of being. Places that incorporated seasonal shadow casting illustrates that landscapes can provide the “lore of life.”^[38/39]

In the past, it was believed that there was a correlation between astronomical, biological and social time. Ritual processions often related to primary landscape features, time-factored and anchored to astronomical phenomena that served to empower and animate “the living space and to renew cosmogony… Going to special sacred places at sacred times was to get in contact with the original power and to chain oneself to the archetypical pattern, displayed by the ancestors, who influence and dominate the world.”^[40]

New perspectives

The power behind the moment of sunrise and sunset mirrored a liminal moment in time. This liminal state has been defined as the period between two fixed points in a rite of transition where a sort of magic-in-ambiguity occurs at certain periods of the day – such as dusk and dawn being neither day nor night.^[41] Whilst the long daylight hours of midsummer were a time for human activities, life and communal celebration, the dark hours of Midwinter, in contrast, were a time for the gods. Their movements were more visible in the heavens throughout the long dark nights. The nighttime was so revered, for this was perceived as being the abode of the ‘gods’, when they had their time, ‘their day,’ when the planets, stars and constellations could shine for longer in darker skies and dominate around the Winter Solstice.^[42] Sacred landscapes do not exist without skyscapes. The points marked against the horizon dominated spatiotemporal places in the cosmos according to shamanistic worldviews, along the path of the zodiacal belt, the milky way or path of the sun and moon.^[43] Harmonizing this cosmovision with the Earth led to the development of precise ritual landscapes wedded to the heavens.

Whilst we may be familiar with the idea of the Summer Solstice being celebrated because it is the longest day, evidence indicates that its celebration formed part of a complex interaction of astronomy, society and ritual – it was far more than simply a mechanism that acted as a farmer’s calendar.^[44] A less popular but more enduring belief, is that the Summer and Winter Solstices were considered the time when the borders between this world and the otherworld, the conditions between the living and the dead, and with the gods – became “transitory and permeable, and therefore susceptible to be crossed in both directions.”^[45] These conditions were heightened at the Solstices because at these two times of the year, at both the Summer and Winter Solstice, the path of the sun, the ecliptic, crosses the Milky Way forming two celestial gates, portals, where the descent and ascent of souls was believed to occur.

Most of us will be familiar with the Christian apostle St Peter, who is believed to stand guard at these heavenly gates, a religious ideal that followed the Egyptian’s, who also viewed the celestial afterlife with the same regions of space, the ‘Street of Stars’ that is the milky way.^[46] This magico-religious tradition was however even older and known to hunter-gatherers from the Palaeolithic era 21,000 years ago through the Roman republic in 312 AD and into the Christian conversion.^[47] Macrobius in his ‘Commentary on Cicero’s Dream of Scipio’ in the early 5th Century records the twin stars of Gemini, the Dioscuri, standing guard at these intersections where souls were believed to pass between the sky and earth.^[48] Over time, these two gates on the path of ecliptic, which sit between two pairs of zodiacal constellations, Gemini and Taurus marking the Northern gate of the Summer Solstice and Scorpio and Sagittarius marking the Southern gate became associated with just Gemini and Scorpio, overwhelmingly the symbols of Solstice duality, involving birds and serpents.^[49] The scorpion gate appears on the Mithraic krater, a ritual pottery vessel showing a ladder and scorpion opposite the heavenly intersection beside the constellation Scorpius ^[50] and it is from this celestial allegory that we have over time developed our attribution of serpents with the underworld, hell.

The Solstice orientations, if marked against the horizon form a cross, an “X” between the cardinal directions of North, East, South and West which became a common motif and arcane symbol over time. Silver coins of the Roman republic from 136 BC – 312 AD for instance depict these cosmic intersections with the divine twins standing guard, holding knowledge of these celestial portals. In one of these, a denarius of C. Servilius (136 BC) ^[51] divine twins astride prancing horses and behind them the spears that they are holding cross in a peculiar, symbolic manner. At these pivotal times in the solar year, such as at the Solstices and equinoxes, these points of balance would be capitalised by the deified emperor or priestess, providing “passageways between the time-bound, mortal world of the ‘here and now’ and the timeless, immortal world of the ‘before’ and ‘after”.^[52]

Positional power and spatial influence were created through “the surveying, mapping, planning and foundation of dwellings, towns” and religious architecture by structuring the landscape and architecture.^[53] Having first looked for auspicious signs in the sky, be these weather phenomena or divination through the position of birds in flight, it was first the task of the augur to define the two main perpendicular axis, creating a terrestrial image on the ground that would divide the celestial sphere. From this central point, it was the task of the agrimensore, land surveyor, to lay out straight lines setting out the four cardinal points, making a cross across the land.^[54] This was achieved through direct observation and measurement of the sun with the surveyor recording the azimuth at sunrise on the foundation day in order to record the critical solar azimuths at sunrise and sunset at both the Winter and Summer Solstice. The agrimensore would determine this umbilicus, engineering straight lines from a central point creating the cosmic axis, making a cross “X” across the landscape.^[55]

The seminal work by John Blair, Professor of Medieval History and Archaeology at the University of Oxford, has shown that from the 600’s settlements in Central and Eastern England were constructed to strict planned design principles, laid out in accordance with geometrically designed grids 18.3 metres square, with towns divided into insulae.^[56] Furthermore, this “grid planning was pre-eminently an Anglian cultural trait”and mirrored the work of the Roman agrimensores.^[57]

References

1. Pryor, F. (n.d.) Ritual Landscapes. The London Magazine. https://thelondonmagazine.org/ritual-landscapes/
2. Brink, S. (2013) Myth and ritual in pre-Christian Scandinavian landscape. In Nordeide, S.W. and Brink, S. (eds.) Sacred Sites and Holy Places: Exploring the Sacralisation of Landscape through Time and Space. Brepols, Turnhout, Belgium
3. Devereux, P. (1997) The archaeology of consciousness. Journal of Scientific Exploration, 11(4)
4. Metzner, R. (1994) The Well of Remembrance: Rediscovering the Earth Wisdom Myths of Northern Europe. Shambhala, New York & London
5. Descola, P. (2014) Modes of being and forms of predication. Hau: Journal of Ethnographic Theory, 4(1)
6. Andrén, A (2014) Tracing Old Norse Cosmology. Nordic Academic Press
7. Ingold, T. (2000) The perception of the environment: Essays on livelihood, dwelling and skill. Routledge, London
8. Ingold, T. (2000) Ibid
9. Newberg, A. and Waldman, M.R. (2012) Words can change your brain: 12 conversation strategies to build trust, resolve conflict, and increase intimacy. Hudson Street Press, New York
10. Poppenk, J. and Tseng, J.W. (2020) Brain-based markers of new thoughts: Discovery of “thought worms”. Nature Communications, 11(1)
11. Keltner, D. (2016) Why do we feel awe? Greater Good Magazine
12. Keltner, D. (2016) Ibid
13. Prendergast, F. (2015) “An Architectural Perspective on Structured Sacred Space—Recent Evidence from Iron Age Ireland.” In Skyscapes in Archaeology: The Role and Importance of the Sky, edited by Fabio Silva and Nicholas Campion, 87–105. Oxford & Philadelphia: Oxbow Books
14. Gunnell, T. (2019) Ritual, Introduction. In Handbook of Pre-Modern Nordic Memory Studies Interdisciplinary Approaches Series: De Gruyter Reference edited by: Jürg Glauser, Pernille Hermann, and Stephen A. Mitchell. De Gruyter
15. Eliade, M. (1958) Patterns in Comparative Religion. Sheed and Ward, New York
16. Smith, A. (2000) The differential use of constructed sacred space in southern Britain, from the late Iron Age to the 4th century AD. Doctoral Thesis, University of South Wales
17. Smith, A. (2000) Ibid
18. Williamson, T. (2013) Environment, society and landscape in early medieval England: Time and topography. Boydell & Brewer, Woodbridge
19. Rippon, S. (2018) Kingdom, Civitas, and County. The Evolution of Territorial Identity in the English Landscape. Oxford University press
20. Aldhouse-Green, M. (2018) Sacred Britannia: The Gods and Rituals of Roman Britain. Thames & Hudson, London
21. Ingold, T. (2011) Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge, London
22. Walter, E.V. (1988) Placeways: A Theory of the Human Environment. University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill
23. Walter, E.V. (1988) Ibid
24. Lund, J. (2005) Thresholds and Passages: The Meanings of Bridges and Crossings in the Viking Age and Early Middle Ages. Acta Archaeologica, 76(1)
25. Iwaniszewski, S. (2016) The Social Life of Celestial Bodies: The Sky in Cultural Perspective. In: Astronomy and Power: How Worlds Are Structured. Proceedings of the SEAC 2010 Conference. British Archaeological Reports Ltd, Oxford
26. Walter, E.V. (1988) Ibid
27.  Sigurðsson, G. (2014) Snorri’s Edda: The Sky Described in Mythological Terms. Nordic Mythologies: Interpretations, Intersections, and Institutions. Ed. by Tangherlini, T.R. North Pinehurst Press. Berkeley, Los Angeles
28. Grigsby, J. (2019) Skyscapes, landscapes, and the drama of Proto-Indo-European myth. Doctoral Thesis. Bournemouth University
29. González García, A.C. and Belmonte, J.A. (2014) Sacred architecture orientation across the Mediterranean: A comparative statistical analysis. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry, 14(2)
30. Burl, A .(1983) Prehistoric Astronomy and Ritual. Shire, Princes Risborough
31. Hoskin, M.; Allan, E.; Gralewski, R. (1995) Studies in Iberian archaeoastronomy: (3) Customs and motives in Andalucía. Journal for the History of Astronomy, 26
32. Brown, D. (2016) The Experience of Watching: Place Defined by the Trinity of Land, Sea, and Skyscape. Culture and Cosmos, 17
33. Iwaniszewski, S. (2015) Concepts of space, time, and the cosmos. In: Silva, F. and Campion, N. (eds.) SEAC 2011 Stars and Stones: Voyages in Archaeoastronomy and Cultural Astronomy. BAR International Series 2720, Archaeopress, Oxford
34. Brown, D. (2016a) Ibid.
35. Iwaniszewski, S. (2015) Ibid
36. Dimitriadis, G. (2000) Architecture of Light. In: Pasztor, E. (ed.) Archaeoastronomy in Archaeology and Ethnography. Papers from the Annual Meeting of SEAC (European Society for Astronomy in Culture) Held in Kecskemet, Hungary, 2004. BAR International Series 1647, Archaeopress, Oxford
37. Brown, D., Alder, J., and Bemand, A. (2015) Exploring Cultural Astronomy: Insights from BAR 2720. In: Silva, F. and Campion, N. (eds.) SEAC 2011 Stars and Stones: Voyages in Archaeoastronomy and Cultural Astronomy. BAR International Series 2720, Archaeopress, Oxford
38. Brown, D., Alder, J., and Bemand, A. (2015) Ibid
39. Pryor, F. (2010) The Making of the British Landscape: How We Have Transformed the Land, from Prehistory to Today. Allen Lane, London
40. Rappenglück, M.A. (2016) Keepers of Time and Guardians of Space – Some Basic Concepts of Astronomy and Power. In: Silva, F. and Campion, N. (eds.) Astronomy and Power: How Worlds Are Structured. Proceedings of the SEAC 2010 Conference. BAR International Series 2720, Archaeopress, Oxford
41. Van Gennep, A. (1909, 1960 ed.) The Rites of Passage. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London
42. Therkorn, L.L. (2004) Landscaping the Powers of Darkness & Light: 600 BC – 350 AD: settlement concerns of Noord-Holland in wider perspective. Amsterdam
43. Rappenglück, M.A. (2015) Voyages Guided by the Sky: Ancient Concepts of Exploring and Domesticating Time and Space Across Cultures. In: Silva, F. and Campion, N. (eds.) SEAC 2011 Stars and Stones: Voyages in Archaeoastronomy and Cultural Astronomy. BAR International Series 2720, Archaeopress, Oxford
44. McCluskey, S.C. (1998) Astronomies and Cultures in Early Medieval Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge
45. Barillari, S.M. (2017) The Shamanic Roots of European Culture: Visions of the Otherworld and Ecstatic Battles from the Middle Ages to the Present Day. Brepols, Turnhout
46. Latura, G.B. (2009) Visible Gates in the Pagan Skies. Amazon Digital Services, Seattle
47. Hancock, G. (2015) Magicians of the Gods: The Forgotten Wisdom of Earth’s Lost Civilisation. Thomas Dunne Books
48. Stahl, W.H. (1952) Macrobius: Commentary on the Dream of Scipio. Columbia University Press, New York
49. Ogier, J. (2013) Two-Faced Solstice Symbols and the World Tree. In: Antoni, K. and Weis, D. (eds.) Sources of Mythology: Ancient and Contemporary Myths. Proceedings of the Seventh Annual International Conference of Comparative Mythology, May 2013, Tübingen. Comparative Mythology Press, Tübingen
50. Latura, G.B. (2009) Ibid
51. Latura, G. (2020) Planetary Harmonies & Celestial Symmetries. https://www.academia.edu/45021798/Planetary_Harmonies_and_Celestial_Symmetries
52. Hannah, R. (2019) The Orchestration of Time in Ancient and Medieval Buildings, in: Magli G., González-García A., Belmonte Aviles J., Antonello E. (eds) Archaeoastronomy in the Roman World. Historical & Cultural Astronomy. Springer
53. Rappenglück, M. A. (2016) Keepers of Time and Guardians of Space – Some Basic Concepts of Astronomy and Power. In et al. Astronomy and Power : How Worlds Are Structured : Proceedings of the Seac 2010 Conference. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports Ltd
54. Pennick, N. & Devereux, P. (1989) Lines on the Landscape: Leys and other Linear Enigmas. Robert Hale, London
55. Pennick, N. & Devereux, P. (1989) Ibid
56. Blair, J. (2018) Building Anglo-Saxon England. Princeton University Press, Oxfordshire
57. Blair, J. (2018) Ibid