An Amateur's Experience of Fieldwalking

It was a cold, damp, grey autumnal day, the sort of day when you sense the sun is glowing somewhere behind the seemingly impenetrable clouds.  Just the sort of day when we volunteers (or masochists!) like to be out and about in the wilds – well, Netherton. It was the last day of fieldwalking, a few days which comprised my experience of practical archaeology – after many years of interest, retirement had given me the opportunity to get involved.

We'd had our lunch and were on our lines for the final sweep across the field. One step, two, three, four, a glimpse of the day's grey colour on the ground, looking so obvious I doubted it could be what I thought it might.  If it were, surely someone would have noticed and collected it long before now? I picked it up – it looked how I thought flint should look, but I was well aware that my knowledge of geology was less than miniscule.  Its edges were sharp, but perhaps that was because a plough had run over and broken it?  Should I put it in the bag or discard it? Surely nothing like what I'm thinking this may be lies so unremarkably on the surface of a field?

Yet…yet…on the principle of when in doubt, pick it up, I put it into the bag. Who cares if I look like a fool for having picked up a lump of worthless rock? That's how you learn. These and other encouraging thoughts run through my head, not completely overcoming the programme of too many years of education which taught me never to take a chance. As we finished the final sweep, I showed the bag to Elanor – my small, round pierce of stone was indeed a prehistoric tool, a Bronze Age scraper made 4000 years ago! Her excitement and enthusiasm a spur to mine, the perfect end to a perfect day.

J. Robinson, Coquetdale Community Archaeology Volunteer