Archaeology, Community and Identity

© W. S. Maney & Son Ltd 2011 DOI 10.1179/175675011X12943261434602

the historic environment, Vol. 2 No. 1, June, 2011, 49–67

Archaeology, Community, and Identity in an English New TownPaul BelfordNexus Heritage, UK

It has been widely accepted that elements of the historic environment have been deployed to create an ‘authorized heritage discourse’ which supports the ‘top-down’ reinforcement of particular identities. Archaeology can be a vehicle for the expression of alternative identities. This article looks at the ways in which the historic environment has been used in Telford, an English new town created in the 1960s, both to support the creation of this new place, and in opposition to it. A community archaeology project undertaken by the author in 2010 is described, and forms the basis of a discussion on the role of communities in heritage, the ways in which community identities may shift, and how relationships between communities and the historic environment profession may evolve.

keywords archaeology, community, England, heritage, identity, museum, new town, public engagement, Shropshire, Telford

Introduction

The historic environment is central to the construction of identities. Identity, of the

individual, of groups, of regions, and of nations, may be shaped by many factors,

including heritage, of which the historic environment is the most obvious material

manifestation. Yet heritage and the historic environment are not the same things.

Heritage, as Brian Graham and Peter Howard suggest, ‘has little intrinsic worth’;

rather, it is a situationally determined construct.1 Cornelius Holtorf regards heritage

as a vehicle containing cultural memory — a collective understanding of the past in

a given social and historical context. The past is ‘presenced’ through what Holtorf

calls ‘history culture’, the mechanism by which historical memory guides and aug-

ments collective identities.2 Historical memory certainly incorporates the historic

environment, and what we now call ‘historic environment resources’ have long been

deployed to reinforce particular identities. Åsa Boholm has described how non-

Christian sites and landmarks in medieval Rome were appropriated and manipulated

to enhance Papal authority.3 Similarly, in early modern England, the new owners of

former monastic estates legitimized their usurpation of the hegemonic order through

50 PAUL BELFORD

the historic environment features they came to possess.4 More recently, earlier

pasts have been used to construct national identities. For example the megalithic

monuments of southern England were used to establish a ‘British’ identity in the

seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.5 Twentieth-century totalitarian societies went

further. Andrzej Boguszewski has recently reminded us how the uncontrolled past is

‘always one of the biggest enemies of any totalitarian ideology’; Heinrich Himmler

sought to ‘project into the dim and distant past the picture of our nation as we

envisage it for the future’.6

Heritage, therefore, selectively deploys elements of the historic environment to

provide what Gregory Ashworth describes as ‘contemporary creations for contempo-

rary processes’;7 meanings, as Stuart Hall reminds us, ‘will always change’ between

different cultures and periods.8 This, to most readers of this journal, is self-evident.

The Faro Convention describes heritage as a medium through which society’s ‘con-

stantly evolving values, beliefs, knowledge and traditions’ are reflected and expressed.9

However, implicit in the theorization of heritage and identity is the notion that the

physical fabric of the historic environment may incorporate certain objective truths.

The evidence of earlier human activity — which can equally be buried in the ground

as ‘archaeology’, encapsulated within the remains of standing buildings, or evident as

marks on the palimpsest of landscape — bears witness to earlier human activities and

their cultural meaning at the time of their creation. This evidence may be in contrast

to official documentary records, as archaeologists are well aware. Examples are so

numerous that it is easy to find one by flicking though the pages of the previous issue

of this journal: Lilia Basílio and Miguel Almeida describe how the Rua Nova (‘New

Street’) in Coimbra was ‘not documented before the fifteenth century’, yet the

archaeological evidence of the standing buildings clearly revealed the earlier existence

of a vibrant and wealthy medieval Jewish community. This was physically suppressed

in the mid 1500s; forgetting was officially encouraged by the act of renaming the very

ancient street at the heart of the Jewish social and cultural world ‘New Street’.10

Laurajane Smith has used the term ‘authorized heritage discourse’ to describe the

ways in which heritage is deployed by the dominant social, religious, political or

ethnic groups in any given society to reinforce their position.11 In apparent contrast

to such hegemonic heritage (often, but not always, sponsored by the state) is the idea

of resistant, or perhaps ‘unauthorized’, heritage. Tensions between authorized and

unauthorized heritage (both in the past and in the present) have often been expressed

in simple binary terms: colonizer versus colonized, indigenous versus outsider, élite

versus underclass, professional versus amateur. However these relationships are

rarely straightforward dichotomies of domination and resistance. The historic envi-

ronment provides tangible evidence through which multiple alternative political and

cultural identities may be articulated. Thus the discovery of the African Burial Ground

in New York prompted significant debate which recast the ways in which the long

and complex history of African Americans was interpreted and understood.12

In Western Australia, development on the Burrup Penninsula threatened significant

indigenous heritage: a public campaign against the government’s ‘dominant develop-

ment ideology’ characterized heritage as both an entitlement and a place of engaged

citizenship.13 Indeed the Faro Convention regards heritage as a universal human right:

‘everyone, alone or collectively, has the right to benefit from the cultural heritage and

to contribute towards its enrichment’.14

51ARCHAEOLOGY IN AN ENGLISH NEW TOWN

Archaeology is a uniquely accessible process through which communities can

engage directly with the historic environment, and, through that engagement, articu-

late identities that may run counter to that of the ‘authorized heritage discourse’.

Archaeology looks at expressions of identity and power relations; it tries to under-

stand relationships between groups of material culture and the cultural identity of

groups. Archaeologists also recognize that heritage can be multi-vocal, and in par-

ticular that subaltern heritage is valid, valuable, and vibrant. However, recognition

is one thing; delivery is quite another.

The UK has a long history of multi-vocal engagement with the historic environ-

ment by people who are not historic environment professionals. The amateur

archaeological society has proved an enduring element since the nineteenth century,

and many continue to make significant contributions.15 Archaeology’s popular appeal

further developed in the mid twentieth century by those who, in Bruce Fry’s phrase,

had a ‘determination to make archaeology interesting and accessible to a wide

audience’, such as Sir Mortimer Wheeler.16 A strong extra-mural teaching tradition

in British universities peaked during the post-war period,17 and early ‘rescue’ excava-

tions during urban redevelopment in the 1960s and 1970s were often reliant on ama-

teur expertise. Increased awareness of the historic environment, and its inclusion in

the wider planning process from 1990, led to the professionalization of archaeology,

leaving some amateurs isolated. After the first decade of the twenty-first century two

main strands of community archaeology are evident in the UK. The first is effec-

tively a continuation of the local society tradition, often involving long-term projects

with dedicated participants (usually white, middle class) and sometimes quite inde-

pendent of the profession. Indeed in many cases, these groups may not see themselves

as doing archaeology at all. In the Vale of York, for example, Jon Kenny has gently

encouraged ‘historical’ groups who look at documents to develop archaeological

directions through landscape approaches such as mapping earthworks, field bounda-

ries, and deserted villages.18 A recent study of community archaeology by the

Council for British Archaeology acknowledged this by including ‘in its remit any

groups that have conducted research into the physical remains of the past’.19 The

second strand of community archaeology takes the form of outreach by professional

archaeologists and others. Such projects are usually formally constructed, developed,

and managed by professional archaeologists and are guided by academic research

frameworks; they occur both in the public sector (that is, directly through local

authorities and universities) and in the private sector (either subcontracted to public

sector bodies or done as part of developer-funded projects).20

There are of course difficulties with both strands. Over forty years ago Sherry

Arnstein devised a ‘ladder of citizen participation’, containing eight rungs represent-

ing three levels: non-participation, tokenism, and citizen power. The bottom rung

is ‘manipulation’; ‘citizen control’ is at the top.21 Many community archaeology

projects aspire to be near the top of this ladder. However, as Carol McDavid has

pointed out, otherwise well-intentioned community engagement may be compromised

when it is designed by heritage professionals who make no allowance for their own

cultural background.22 At worst, projects run the risk of becoming what Gabriel

Moshenska has characterized as a ‘bureaucratic pantomime’.23 Pat Reid has argued

52 PAUL BELFORD

for community archaeology to be ‘a living process, embedded in a local community’.24

Rachael Kiddey and John Schofield go further in advocating archaeology as a

vehicle for social change and personal empowerment.25 On the extreme margins,

archaeology may well be a place to begin re-engagement with the disenfranchised.

Yet where a democratic ‘archaeology from below’ is attempted, its fragile structures

may be fatally compromised by a ‘struggle for political power’ amongst archaeolo-

gists which may serve only to alienate sections of the community, as events at

Sedgeford have shown.26 The reality, as Mike Nevell has recently acknowledged, is

that most community archaeology tends to hover around the ‘tokenistic middle’ of

Arnstein’s ladder.27 Does this really matter? Does community archaeology have to

be ‘bottom-up’ to make it worthwhile, or can useful social outcomes result from

‘top-down’ approaches?

Telford new town: authorized and authentic heritage

Archaeology and community have interacted in various ways in Telford. Telford

did not exist fifty years ago; it was the result of centralized government planning.

However, Telford was not built on terra nullis, although to many of its designers,

who regarded themselves as pioneers at the cutting edge of new society, it may have

seemed that way. Before Telford there was the East Shropshire coalfield, an area

of largely Carboniferous geology containing economically important minerals such

as coal, iron, limestone, and clay. Early medieval settlement and monastic estates

resulted in an agricultural landscape and economy. This was supplemented by coal

mining from the later middle ages, leading to sixteenth- and seventeenth-century iron-

working; eighteenth-century developments in the use of mineral fuel for iron smelting

ended the iron industry’s reliance on renewable resources (wood and water), and

enabled massive economic growth through the use of fossil fuels and steam power.28

The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries also saw the development of other industries

in the East Shropshire coalfield, such as brick and tile manufacture. By the end of the

nineteenth century it was an interconnected industrial landscape containing mines,

furnaces, kilns, and settlements linked by roads, canals, and railways.29 Exhaustion

of mineral resources, together with development of industrial centres elsewhere,

resulted in economic decline in the mid twentieth century. With high unemployment,

ruined buildings, and a polluted landscape, the perception of East Shropshire indus-

trial communities was, as Roger White and Harriet Devlin have suggested, that they

were ‘dying on their feet’.30

Regeneration was identified as the solution, although the primary role of

new towns was never intended to be regeneration. The idea had developed from the

‘garden cities’ that were built in England during the first part of the twentieth cen-

tury, themselves influenced by late-nineteenth-century company housing.31 A Royal

Commission reported in 1940 that ad hoc development created economic and social

imbalances: these ‘constitute[d] serious . . . dangers to the nation’s life’ and could only

be corrected by strategic development, decentralizing, and dispersing industry and

population.32 This and other reports33 informed the New Towns Act of 1946, which

created development corporations with sweeping powers.34 The first phase of eleven

new towns, largely London overspill, were built from 1946 to 1960; the following

decade saw a second phase of nine further new towns. Designated in 1963, Dawley


New Town (as it was then called) was one of these; it was to draw its initial popula-

tion of c. 50,000 from Birmingham. Within two years further enlargement was

already being considered, to ‘accommodate overspill from the West Midlands conur-

bation’.35 The extended area included the towns of Wellington and Oakengates to the

north of Dawley, as well as Madeley to the south-east and the Ironbridge Gorge

to the south (Figure 1).36 The decision to proceed with the enlarged plan (with an

intended population of 225,000 by 1991) was made in 1967.37 The population in 2009

was estimated at 162,000.38

The creation of Telford radically altered physical landscapes, and required large

adjustments in people’s mental landscapes, as they struggled with this new, centrally

imposed post-industrial space. Heritage was deployed from the outset to create a

unified identity which would assist the transformation from an ‘assemblage of indus-

trial hamlets’ into a ‘contiguous urban mass’.39 The symbolic first act was rebranding:

in choosing an eighteenth- and nineteenth-century engineer with local associations,

Telford became the only English new town not to take its name from pre-existing

settlements.40 This ensured that no individual pre-existing settlement had a pre-

eminent position: all were equally included or excluded, from prosperous middle-

class Wellington in the north to semi-derelict and geologically unstable Ironbridge

in the south. The Telford Development Corporation (TDC) was fully aware of the

fi gure 1 Location of Telford and of the sites mentioned in the text.Source: author

54 PAUL BELFORD

‘valued historical associations’ of the Ironbridge Gorge, so incorporation of this

area (helpfully located in a peripheral, difficult-to-develop, and subsidence-prone part

of Telford) provided reflected historical light in which the new town could bask.41

In 1967 TDC established the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust as a mechanism for

the ‘preservation, restoration, improvement [and] enhancement’ of ‘features and

objects of historical and industrial interest’ in the wider East Shropshire area.42

In 1968 work began to transform a former industrial site at Blists Hill into an open-

air museum, where historic environment assets affected by the creation of Telford

could be relocated. The first exhibit was a pair of steam-powered blowing engines

from the Lilleshall Company’s Priorslee works. Meanwhile the former company

offices at Priorslee Hall were adopted as the TDC headquarters — a classic appro-

priation of prominent heritage assets to provide legitimacy of antiquity. Over time

Blists Hill’s focus changed from relocation of buildings to the creation of a ‘Victorian

Town’; this required entirely new buildings which replicated existing or imagined

ones — an approach which the first director acknowledged would ‘always be

regarded critically from a conservation point of view’.43 The question of authenticity

in a World Heritage Site is an important one, as the debate over the status of

the reconstructed Mostar Bridge has shown. In that context Christina Cameron has

remarked how ‘authenticity refers to the truthfulness of a cultural place and is defined

through physical attributes found in various historical layers’.44 In this sense Blists

Hill, however faithfully executed, does not constitute an authentic heritage of the East

Shropshire coalfield. Moreover, as Stephen Mills has pointed out, even the relocation

of buildings results in a loss of context, which blurs ‘the distinction between museum

exhibit and heritage site’.45 Such historical re-creation also subdues the most

important aspect of historical enquiry: debate and discussion.

Ironically, less than a kilometre from TDC’s preparations for a repository of

‘authorized’ but inauthentic heritage at Blists Hill, the same organization was busy

reshaping the authentic but ‘unauthorized’ historic identity of Madeley. Here, the

centre of the town was comprehensively remodelled. Opposition was most fiercely

articulated at Robert Moore’s bakery on the High Street, which had been established

by his grandfather at the turn of the century. Unfortunately, this socially and eco-

nomically viable historic business stood in the way of a proposed roundabout. Moore

refused to move, despite a compulsory purchase order, and continued to trade as a

roundabout was built around him. He was eventually evicted on 22 April 1968 amidst

the protests of Madeley housewives buying the last loaves from the independent

family-run bakery (Figure 2).46 A TDC spokesman acknowledged the locals’ dissatis-

faction, but argued that ‘we will get a different attitude from the people’ once they

had learned to appreciate ‘the tremendous advantages they will gain’.47 TDC’s desire

to impose unity of identity through heritage was also manifested through their crea-

tion of the Telford Archaeological and Historical Society in the 1970s, and, later, their

funding of a Victoria County History volume on Telford.48 The only volume in the

century-old series not to observe ancient and historically coherent units of study, its

publication represented ‘the readiness of Telford to establish its historical identity’

over and above that of existing communities.49

Since the winding up of TDC in 1990, ‘improvement and enhancement’ of the

historic environment in Telford has tended to be less dramatically divisive. Telford


and Wrekin Council is more open to multi-vocal interpretations of the past. The

emphasis of the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ continues to be on the monumental

achievements of great men. However, several community initiatives have developed

in recent years which have sought to rebalance the distribution of heritage away from

this narrative and into more interesting trajectories. Certainly many of these have

sprung from an initial opposition to ‘authorized’ heritage, but the subtleties and

complexities of the subject matter itself as well as the act of engaging with it have,

in Graham Fairclough’s phrase, ‘taken heritage out of its separate box’ and made it

part of wider debates.50

Vanished voices: the archaeology of Hinkshay

This is not to say that there are not still tensions between ‘authorized’ and ‘authentic’

heritage. These were clearly articulated during a recent community archaeology

project, which took place in the Telford Town Park. This is an area of approxi-

mately 170 hectares to the south and west of Telford town centre. Both the Town

Park and the town centre occupied parts of Dawley and Stirchley parishes, character-

ized during the development of Telford as a ‘derelict mining area’;51 their creation

fi gure 2 Authentic but unauthorized heritage? A low-resolution contemporary image of the eviction of Robert Moore from his bakery at the bottom of Madeley High Street on 22 April 1968; the long-established business stood in the way of a roundabout which linked the new town to Blists Hill, the repository of authorized but inauthentic heritage.Photograph © Alan Eaton

56 PAUL BELFORD

effectively removed the settlements of Malinslee, Old Park, Dark Lane, and Hink-

shay. Parts of the Town Park close to the town centre were landscaped with varying

degrees of formality; features include playgrounds, a sensory garden, a cherry orchard

(donated in the early 1980s by a Japanese manufacturer) and a children’s fairy-tale

‘Wonderland’. However most of the park consists of informal woodland and agricul-

tural land, with pools and paths which reuse industrial features. The Town Park’s

potential was never fully realized, and in 2009 Telford and Wrekin Council was suc-

cessful in a ‘development phase’ bid to the ‘Parks for People’ project, a joint initiative

between the Heritage Lottery Fund and BIG Lottery Fund. The project described here

was funded under that phase; a second bid in autumn 2010 was also successful and

further work is intended in 2011 and 2012.52

The project included a community archaeology element, which was undertaken by

the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust and Nexus Heritage; the former supplied links

with the ‘authorized’ heritage and educational expertise and fieldwork, and the latter

undertook research, fieldwork, and outreach.53 The first stage, undertaken by Nexus

Heritage, comprised a desk-based assessment and walkover survey of the whole of

the Town Park ‘to determine . . . which areas are suitable for a community archaeo-

logical excavation programme’.54 This revealed thirty-one archaeological sites in the

Town Park, dating from the medieval period to the twentieth century; this was the

first indication that both ‘authorized’ and ‘unauthorized’ versions of the Telford

story had misrepresented aspects of the new town’s development. Of these, six were

shortlisted as potential excavation sites, and the site of an industrial hamlet emerged

as the strongest candidate. This was because it had an interesting and well-

documented history, it contained remains in a good state of preservation likely to

generate a wide range of artefacts, it was accessible with minimum intervention to

ensure the health and safety of participants, and it offered the greatest potential

for community engagement. The excavation took place over six days in April 2010,

and had three main aims. These were, in order of priority: to provide experience of

archaeological fieldwork and post-excavation processing for volunteers and commu-

nity groups (especially encouraging non-traditional audiences); to engage with local

communities and to encourage closer links between existing groups; and to undertake

archaeological research.55 It was at this stage that discussions began with community

groups. Accordingly this was clearly a top-down project and, before the beginning

of the excavation, still in the ‘tokenism’ area of Arnstein’s ladder. Despite this its

primary objectives were not archaeological ones.

Hinkshay was built in the 1820s by local entrepreneurs Thomas and William

Botfield to house workers in their nearby ironworks and mines. In 1790 the Botfields

had established the Old Park ironworks; this developed rapidly, and by 1806 it was

the largest ironworks in Shropshire and the second largest in the country.56 In c. 1826

the Botfields expanded production with two pairs of blast furnaces at Hinkshay and

Dark Lane.57 Workers’ housing was constructed at both sites. Originally a row of

forty-eight back-to-back cottages (‘Double Row’) and a row of twenty-one blind-back

houses (‘Single Row’), Hinkshay was later enlarged with the addition of ten double-

fronted blind-back cottages, called ‘New Row’ or ‘Ladies’ Row’ (Figure 3). Commu-

nal wash-houses, each shared by several houses, were incorporated into the rows.58

The houses had land attached, and residents rented further plots to create extensive


areas of garden allotments incorporating pigsties and other outbuildings. There were

playing fields to the south, and a rubbish tip at the eastern end of the site. By the

1870s the three rows of houses had been joined by nine other buildings, including an

Anglican Mission church and school. The northern end of Double Row was trun-

cated between 1882 and 1903, and further demolition of parts of the rows took place

in the twentieth century. Census returns suggest that skilled workers such as iron

puddlers lived in Ladies’ Row; unskilled ironworkers and miners, and later agricul-

tural labourers, brickmakers, and chemical workers, lived in Single Row and Double

Row. Job prospects improved in 1953 with the construction of the ‘Ever Ready’

battery factory on the former playing fields. In the 1960s the factory extended further

north, demolishing Single Row and the Mission to create a car parking area. Double

Row was demolished in c. 1969 by the TDC as part of its slum clearance programme;

the residents were relocated, and the gardens, pigsties, roads, and tip all became

overgrown and forgotten. The Ever Ready factory closed in the early 1990s and was

itself demolished in 1994, although the gates and railings are still extant.

The excavation took place at the western end of Double Row, with the intention

of excavating a group of adjoining houses (Figure 4). Demolition debris overlying

the site contained a range of twentieth-century material including pottery, glass,

fi gure 3 Hinkshay. A photograph of the settlement taken in c. 1965. The still-extant Stirch-ley chimney is visible on the left-hand side of the photograph, with the Ever Ready factory on the right. The building in the foreground is the Anglican Mission Chapel. Double Row (left) and Single Row (right) run down the hill away from the photographer; the back of Ladies’ Row is visible to the rear of the Ever Ready factory.Photograph courtesy of the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust

58 PAUL BELFORD

fi gure 4 An archaeological perspective. Clockwise from top left: view of one of the back-to-back houses, with the concrete fl oor of the wash-house in the background; the concrete ‘fold’ and adjacent rubble path (note the depression in the ‘fold’ left by a stone doorstep); assorted artefacts recovered from the communal tip; electrical fuse box from demolition rubble; assorted artefacts from garden soil.Source: author


architectural furniture, and electrical fittings. The foundations emerged beneath this.

Outside the houses, space was similarly arranged on both sides of the row: originally

a compacted cinder road separated the houses from the gardens, and the garden walls

were dry-built using reclaimed rubble. Later, a roughly laid path of reused bricks and

stone was created adjacent to each house. Later still, strips of concrete had been laid

abutting the outer walls and over the earlier paved surface. This feature, known

locally as a ‘fold’, provided protection from rainwater. On the south side the ‘fold’

had been cut through by the later insertion of a gas pipe; its northern counterpart

retained the depression left by a stone doorstep. Numerous sherds of pottery, glass,

clay pipe, and other artefacts were recovered from both garden soil and roadway

— in the latter case comprising extremely small fragments of exclusively nineteenth-

century date. Inside Double Row, excavation revealed four rooms. Two of these were

clearly back-to-back houses; they measured approximately 3.8 m by 4 m in plan and

their fireplaces shared a common chimney in the central wall. The brick and quarry-

tile floors had been heavily robbed during demolition, but enough survived to surmise

the original locations of entrances and stairs. A third room was noticeably narrower;

this had a concrete floor which overlay two earlier (tiled) floor surfaces, and appeared

to be contemporary with the creation of the exterior ‘fold’. This room was one of the

communal wash-houses. The fourth room was larger than all of the others, the result

of a poorly executed modification which created a double-fronted house with two

rooms on each floor. It would also have permitted greater privacy within the house

through the insertion of partitions.

Archaeologically unremarkable, the Hinkshay houses represent a common type,

albeit an example which was particularly badly built and incorporated certain ver-

nacular peculiarities. Direct comparisons can be made with other local examples.59 In

terms of the project’s first aim — providing archaeological experience for volunteers,

especially from non-traditional audiences — the project was moderately successful.60

Twenty-nine people actively participated in the excavation, of whom a quarter were

children (Figure 5). Of these there were about half a dozen committed regulars, all

white and middle class. Most were happy to join in at the level which best suited

them and responses to the project were overwhelmingly positive. However non-

traditional audience participation was harder to achieve. That is not to say that

non-traditional audiences were not encountered during the project; rather, connection

failed. Evidence of unconventional use of the park, for example, was recorded during

the walkover survey; we came across two makeshift shelters, one on the Hinkshay

site. The soft ground of the former Hinkshay tip was ideal for rabbits, and poachers

with dogs and traps walked through the site on three occasions whilst we were there.

The poachers followed the same paths they always had, walking alongside the edge

of the excavated area, avoiding eye contact, and effectively refusing to acknowledge

the existence of the excavation.

The Hinkshay project was most successful in its aim of engagement with local

communities and encouraging closer links between existing groups. Over 200 people

came to the site during the four open days. These included members of local history

groups who had formerly been shy of, and in some cases hostile to, the ‘authorized’

heritage represented by the Museum and the Council. These are what the Faro

Convention calls ‘heritage communities’, consisting of ‘people who value specific

60 PAUL BELFORD

aspects of cultural heritage’.61 For these groups, Kate Page-Smith provided a way in;

cheerful and enthusiastic, crucially she was not a representative of the ‘authorized’

heritage.62 A typical response was: ‘it is good to see interest in our history outside the

Gorge’.63 Despite overt identity-building by TDC, many of these local groups remain

small and mutually wary; one very positive outcome of the project was to provide

common ground for dialogue between them. Two public open days developed an

enthusiastic momentum that led, ad hoc, to a third.

Nineteen former residents and their families, together over seventy people, visited

the excavations (Figure 6). Memories of people, places, and events were retold;

a community which had been dispersed over forty years ago was briefly brought

together again. Relationships between place and identity were strong; relationships

between place and memory, however, were more tenuous. Not all of the memories

were consistent with the physical evidence; indeed many memories were inconsistent

with one another. This is perhaps not surprising as all of the former residents had

been children or teenagers when they lived at Hinkshay. Memories revolved around

childhood activities such as fetching water on washing day (‘we always had wet feet

on Mondays’, recalled Alan Harper who had lived at 8 Single Row); other recollec-

tions incorporated the playing fields, the tip, private ceremonies of remembrance and

acts of childhood rebellion. Interestingly, the excavation only acted as a springboard

for remembrance. Although all of the former residents did spend time considering

fi gure 5 Participatory excavation in action: a particularly busy moment during excavation and recording.Source: author


fi gure 6 A formerly local community. Top: meeting old faces and recalling old memories; Kate Page-Smith (Nexus Heritage) facilitating a discussion amongst former residents, who are focused on documents and photographs and have their backs to the excavation. Bottom: members of the Poole, Corbett, Tonks, Ellis, and Morgan families reunited at Hinkshay forty years after its demolition.Source: author

62 PAUL BELFORD

their relationship to the physical remains (indeed about half initially declared that this

was their old house), only one person was genuinely able to establish a direct relation-

ship between her own life and the excavated remains: Barbara Whitney (née Corbett),

a former resident of 11 Double Row who recalled using the wash-house (Figure 7).

As discussion of the old community gathered momentum there was actually much

more interest in the photographs, electoral rolls, maps, plans, and drawings than in

the archaeology. None of the former residents wanted to excavate the site. Neverthe-

less, through an emotionally powerful combination of the physical and remembered

past, the project arrived at a very reasonable re-creation of the social layout of the

Hinkshay rows: who lived where and how they got on with whom.

Conclusion: archaeology and community

As already noted, this particular community archaeology project was ‘top-down’. It

could not be described in Pat Reid’s terms as a community-embedded living process,64

not least because there is no extant local community who can identify as stakeholders.

All former residents now live elsewhere, and the site is isolated and unpopulated

(except by transient poachers). Thus it was not possible to develop what Shelley

Greer and others have called an ‘interactive approach’ using ‘contemporary com-

munity identity’ to inform research agendas and methodologies.65 So who are the

community, as Faye Simpson and Howard Williams have asked, and what do ‘they

want from and value in these community archaeology projects’?66 Leaving aside for

the moment the notion that historic environment professionals themselves form a

community (as explicity noted by the Faro Convention), at Hinkshay there were two

mutually exclusive communities. The first, and most emotionally involved, were the

former residents. However, the interest of the former residents focused on the reunion

which took place at the excavations; their encounter with archaeology has not then

encouraged further engagement for them with established ‘heritage communities’. For

them, engagement with memory was much more important than direct engagement

with historic environment professionals or the archaeological process. The experience

of memory at Hinkshay supports John Boardman’s assertion that people are

‘motivated by faith and imagination more readily than historical “facts” of the type

we think we can glean from texts and from the ground’.67

The second community, and perhaps the most important for the future, were the

numerous ‘heritage communities’ of Telford. The distinction made at the beginning

of this article between ‘the historic environment’ and ‘heritage’ is important, since the

former may exist objectively but is only understandable through the latter which is

culturally constructed. Peter Groote and Tialda Haartsen see heritage as a communi-

cative practice which ‘brings the socially constructed and contested nature of heritage

to the forefront’. They argue that professional heritage managers (in their words,

‘agents in the policy discourse’) are more concerned with the material remains of the

past, whereas non-professionals (‘agents in the lay and popular discourses’) appear to

be better equipped to engage with the socially constructed, pluralist, and narrative

understandings of heritage.68 This view is echoed by Laurajane Smith and Emma

Waterton, who note the dysfunctions and frustrations caused by the ‘compartmen-

talization’ of experts from communities.69 However, this was not the experience of

the Hinkshay project. This is not to say that the project was not extremely open to


fi gure 7 Different communities. Barbara Whitney (née Corbett), a former resident of 11 Double Row, revisits the wash-house she used as a child. In the background, Brian Savage of the Telford Historical and Archaeological Society is recording the remains.Source: author

64 PAUL BELFORD

non-professional critique of methodology and research objectives: quite the opposite.

The admittedly rather loose ‘archaeological’ aims expressed in the original project

design were readily changed as the project went along to incorporate ideas and initia-

tives from the enthusiastically engaged representatives of those groups. Understand-

ing was enhanced by wide-ranging discussions with participants and visitors, bringing

extensive life experience to bear on all aspects — from the interpretation of individ-

ual artefacts to the complex evolution of the landscape. However, the communities

involved in the Hinkshay project weren’t actually seeking ‘citizen control’; rather,

they valued the input of experts who validated the archaeological process and pro-

vided formal approval. In a way they were seeking to become part of the ‘authorized

heritage discourse’, not necessarily to challenge it.

This has important implications for the way archaeologists engage with communi-

ties in the future. By developing approaches that seek inclusiveness, archaeologists

have encouraged multi-vocal, bottom-up, and decentralized interpretations — argu-

ably an agenda which the ‘big society’ (if taken at face value) is itself articulating.

This is reflected in the language of the Faro Convention and its notion of ‘heritage

communities’, which place the aspirations of groups possibly unconnected in con-

ventional ways by time or space on a more or less equal footing with professional

expertise. Noel Fojut has described this as a ‘shift in the balance of power’ between

expert and public.70 Graham Fairclough further notes that many elements of the his-

toric environment have a social and economic value which is independent of their

expert-defined status: ‘not all heritage needs public subsidy, and not all heritage needs

designation’.71 Indeed developers argue that ‘they are willing to pay the extra money

to ensure their developments are not jeopardized by a skills shortage’.72 This is a

long-term shift, nothing to do with recent changes in UK government. Seven years

ago Roger Thomas argued that the authoritative state ‘expert’ was rapidly evolving

into more of a ‘guide and facilitator’ — a trend also reflected in Malcolm Cooper’s

article in the previous issue of this journal.73 Some professionals see the multi-

vocality resulting from decentralization of authority as an erosion of their expert

status, and therefore a threat. Although this is precisely the outcome that many of the

more radical community archaeologies have been attempting to create, it is not a

threat. The sort of community approach represented by the Hinkshay project has

been criticized for reinforcing a ‘top-down’ approach which excludes marginalized

groups. In fact this project, and others like it, only exclude those groups which choose

to be excluded (like the poachers); a wide range of participants experience positive

social outcomes. Could there be a danger of going too far, and alienating the main-

stream? The archaeological profession has been articulating a desire to see itself as a

socially relevant and positive force for social change. Perhaps it already is.

Acknowledgements

The Hinkshay project was realized thanks to the unwavering enthusiasm of Joanne

Ridgeway of Telford and Wrekin Council, and her colleagues Nicola Allen and Becky

Eade; it was only possible thanks to all of those who participated. The author

is extremely grateful to Roger White, the anonymous referee, and Nexus Heritage

colleagues Gerry Wait, Anthony Martin, and Kate Page-Smith for their comments on

earlier drafts of this article.


Notes1 Brian Graham and Peter Howard, ‘Introduction:

Heritage and Identity’, in The Ashgate Research

Companion to Heritage and Identity, ed. by Brian

Graham and Peter Howard (Aldershot: Ashgate,

2008), pp. 181–94.2 Cornelius Holtorf, Monumental Past: The Life-

Histories of Megalithic Monuments in

Mecklenburg–Vorpommern (Germany), electronic

monograph, University of Toronto: Centre for

Instructional Technology Development (2000–2008),

http://hdl.handle.net/1807/245 [accessed 20 Septem-

ber 2010].3 Åsa Boholm, ‘Reinvented Histories: Medieval Rome

as Memorial Landscape’, Ecumene, 4, 3 (1997),

247–72.4 Paul Belford, ‘English Industrial Landscapes: Diver-

gence, Convergence and Perceptions of Identity’, in

Crossing Paths, Sharing Tracks: Future Directions

for Post-Medieval Archaeology in Britain and Ire-

land, ed. by Audrey Horning and Marilyn Palmer,

Society for Post-medieval Archaeology Monograph

5 (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2009),

pp. 179–94.5 Mark Gillings and Joshua Pollard, ‘Breaking Mega-

liths’, in Written on Stone: The Cultural History of

British Prehistoric Monuments, ed. by Joanne Park-

er (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing,

2009), pp. 36–48; David Harvey, ‘“National” Identi-

ties and the Politics of Ancient Heritage: Continuity

and Change at Ancient Monuments in Britain and

Ireland, c. 1675–1850’, Transactions of the Institute

of British Geographers, 28, 4 (2003), 473–87.6 Andrzej Boguszewski, ‘The Massive Corruption

of Clever Minds’, paper delivered in the session

Archaeology under Communism: Political Dimen-

sions of Archaeology at TAG (University of Bristol,

17 December 2010); Himmler cited in Bettina

Arnold, ‘The Past as Propaganda’, Archaeology,

July–August (1992), 33.7 Gregory Ashworth, ‘In Search of the Place-Identity

Dividend: Using Heritage Landscapes to Create

Place-Identity’, in Sense of Place, Health and Qual-

ity of Life, ed. by John Eyles and Allison Williams

(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), pp. 185–99 (p. 187).8 Stuart Hall (ed.), Representation: Cultural Repre-

sentations and Signifying Practices (London: Sage/

Open University, 1997), p. 61.9 Council of Europe, Framework Convention on

the Value of Cultural Heritage for Society (Faro:

Council of Europe Treaty Series no. 199, 27 October

2005), Article 2a.10 Lilia Basílio and Miguel Almeida, ‘The Baixinha de

Coimbra Project (Coimbra, Portugal) in the Context

of Portuguese Buildings Archaeology’, The Historic

Environment: Policy and Practice, 1, 2 (2010),

185–202.11 Laurajane Smith, Uses of Heritage (Oxford:

Routledge, 2006).

12 Warren Perry, Jean Howson and Barbara Bianco

(eds), New York African Burial Ground: Archaeol-

ogy Final Report (Washington: Howard University,

2006); Edna Greene Medford (ed.), New York Afri-

can Burial Ground: History Final Report (Washing-

ton: Howard University, 2004); US National Parks

Service, Draft Management Recommendations

for the African Burial Ground (Philadelphia: US

National Parks Service, 2004), pp. 8–16, 18–21. 13 Andrea Witcomb, ‘The Past in the Present: Towards

a Politics of Care at the National Trust of Australia

(WA)’, in Heritage and Identity: Engagement and

Demission in the Contemporary World, ed. by Elsa

Peralta and Marta Anico (Abingdon: Routledge,

2009), pp. 169–80.14 Council of Europe, Faro Convention, Articles 1a

and 4a.15 To take three examples from three corners of

England which have well-respected academic output

and impressive portfolios of historic properties and

museums: the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle

upon Tyne (established 1813), the Dorset Natural

History and Archaeological Society (established

1846), and the Sussex Archaeological Society

(established 1846).16 Bruce Fry, ‘Reaching out to Bureaucracy and

Beyond: Archaeology at Louisbourg and Parks

Canada’, in Past Meets Present: Archaeologists

Partnering with Museum Curators, Teachers, and

Community Groups, ed. by John H. Jameson Jr

and Sherene Baugher (New York: Springer, 2007),

pp. 19–33 (p. 21).17 Notably at Birmingham with Philip Rahtz, Philip

Barker, and Graham Webster, and at Leicester

under W. G. Hoskins.18 Jon Kenny, ‘Heritage Engagement with Hard-

to-Reach Communities: Hungate and Beyond’,

paper presented at On the Edge: New Approaches

to Community Heritage, one-day seminar supported

by the CBA and Gloucester City Council (Glouces-

ter, 17 September 2010).19 Suzie Thomas, Community Archaeology in the UK:

Recent Findings (York: Council for British Archae-

ology, 2010), http://www.britarch.ac.uk/sites/www.

britarch.ac.uk/fi les/node-fi les/CBA%20Community

%20Report%202010.pdf [accessed 21 September

2010].20 Faye Simpson and Howard Williams, ‘Evaluating

Community Archaeology in the UK’, Public Archae-

ology, 7, 2 (2008), 69–90 (pp. 73–76).21 Sherry Arnstein, ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’,

Journal of the American Institute of Planners, 35,

4 (1969), 216–24.22 Carol McDavid, ‘The Death of a Community

Archaeology Project? Ensuring Consultation in

a Non-Mandated Bureaucratic Environment’, in

World Heritage: Global Challenges, Local Solu-

tions, ed. by Roger White and John Carman

(Oxford: Archaeopress, 2007), pp. 107–11.

66 PAUL BELFORD

23 Gabriel Moshenska, ‘Community Archaeo logy:

Against the Odds’, Current Archaeology, 213 (2007),

34.24 Pat Reid, ‘Community Archaeology: From the

Grassroots’, Current Archaeology, 216 (2008), 21.25 Rachael Kiddey and John Schofi eld, ‘Digging for

(Invisible) People’, British Archaeology, 113 (2010),

18–23. I am very grateful to John Schofi eld for sight

of a paper about the Bristol project which he and

Rachael have submitted to Public Archaeology.26 Neil Faulkner, ‘The Sedgeford Crisis’, Public

Archaeology, 8, 1 (2009), 51–61 (p. 53).27 Mike Nevell, ‘Dig Manchester, Youth Offenders

and Heritage Engagement’, paper presented at On

the Edge: New Approaches to Community Heritage,

seminar supported by the CBA and Gloucester City

Council (Gloucester, 17 September 2010).28 Conventionally see H. R. Schubert, History of the

British Iron and Steel Industry from c. 450 BC to AD

1775 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1957);

and T. S. Ashton, Iron and Steel in the Industrial

Revolution (Manchester: Manchester University

Press, 1924). Many aspects of this process, and

present-day consequences of it, were discussed at a

conference in Coalbrookdale in 2009; the proceed-

ings can be found in Paul Belford, Marilyn Palmer

and Roger White (eds), Footprints of Industry

(Oxford: Archaeopress, 2010).29 For background information see: Judith Alfrey

and Kate Clark, Landscape of Industry: Patterns

of Change in the Ironbridge Gorge (London: Rout-

ledge, 1993); Barrie Trinder, The Making of the

Industrial Landscape, 3rd edn (London: Orion,

1997); Barrie Trinder, The Industrial Revolution in

Shropshire, 3rd edn (Chichester: Phillimore, 2000).30 Roger White and Harriet Devlin, ‘From Basket Case

to Hanging Baskets: Regeneration, Alienation

and Heritage in Ironbridge’, in White and Carman,

pp. 47–51.31 Dugald MacFayden, Sir Ebenezer Howard and the

Town Planning Movement (Cambridge, MA: MIT

Press, 1970); Ebenezer Howard, Garden Cities

of To-Morrow, edited reprint of 1902 edition

(London: Faber and Faber, 1946), pp. 50–57, 138–

47.32 HMSO, Report of the Royal Commission on

the Distribution of Industrial Population (Barlow

Report), Cmd 6153 (London, 1940).33 HMSO, The Greater London Plan 1944 (Abercrom-

bie Plan), Ministry of Works and Planning (London,

1945); HMSO, Interim Report of the New Towns

Committee, Ministry of Town and Country Plan-

ning, Cmd 6759 (London, 1946); HMSO, Second

Interim Report of the New Towns Committee,

Ministry of Town and Country Planning, Cmd 6794

(London, 1946); HMSO, Report of the New Towns

Committee (Reith Report), Ministry of Town and

Country Planning, Cmd 6876 (London, 1946).

34 New Towns Act 1946. The fact that these enquiries

and their reports were undertaken during the

Second World War, under the shadow of mass

bombing and possible invasion, is itself interesting,

and perhaps explains why the ethos of central

planning was uncritically accepted by the post-war

consensus.35 John Madin and Partners, Dawley, Wellington,

Oakengates: Consultants’ Proposals for Develop-

ment. A Report to the Minister of Housing and

Local Government (London: HMSO, 1966); D. A.

Bull, ‘New Town and Town Expansion Schemes.

Part I: An Assessment of Recent Government Plan-

ning Reports’, The Town Planning Review, 38, 2

(1967), 103–14.36 George Baugh (ed.), The Victoria History of Shrop-

shire. Volume XI: Telford (London: Institute for

Historical Research, 1985), pp. 8–10. Ironically,

Ironbridge is now the prosperous middle-class

settlement, and Wellington has suffered economic

decline.37 Maurice De Soissons, Telford: The Making of

Shropshire’s New Town (Shrewsbury: Swan Hill,

1991), pp. 55–65.38 See http://www.statistics.gov.uk/census2001/pyra-

mids/pages/00gf.asp [accessed 17 November 2010].39 Rodney Tolley, ‘Telford New Town: Conception

and Reality in West Midlands Industrial Overspill’,

The Town Planning Review, 43, 4 (1972), 343–360

(p. 343).40 De Soissons, pp. 64–69.41 Emyr Thomas, unpublished MS, cited in White

and Devlin, p. 48; Angus Buchanan, ‘Review’, The

Economic History Review, 39, 3 (1986), 474.42 Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust, Memorandum

and Articles of Association (Clause 3), incorporated

18 October 1967, amended 9 October 1990 and 27

July 2005.43 Neil Cossons, ‘Ironbridge: The First Ten Years’,

Industrial Archaeology Review, 3, 2 (1979), 179–86

(pp. 184–85).44 Christina Cameron, ‘From Warsaw to Mostar: The

World Heritage Committee and Authenticity’, APT

Bulletin, 39, 2/3 (2008), 19–24 (p. 20).45 Stephen Mills, ‘Moving Buildings and Changing

History’, in Heritage, Memory and the Politics of

Identity, ed. by Niamh Moore and Yvonne Whelan

(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 109–20 (p. 111).46 Alan Eaton, Madeley through Time (Stroud:

Amberley, 2010), pp. 14–16.47 Dawley Observer, 4 October 1967.48 Brian Savage, personal communication.49 Buchanan, p. 474.50 Graham Fairclough, ‘New Heritage Frontiers’, in

Heritage and Beyond (Strasbourg: Council of

Europe, 2009), pp. 29–42 (p. 40).51 Baugh, plate 32.


52 See http://www.parksforpeople.co.uk/projects/

65#telford [accessed 19 November 2010].53 The present author was at the time Head of Archae-

ology at Ironbridge; work by Nexus Heritage was

undertaken by Kate Page-Smith. Other Ironbridge

Gorge Museum staff, volunteers, and trustees

included: Gillian Whitham, Mel Weatherley, Rob

Crumpton, Vanessa Hold, Paul Smith, John Powell,

Simon Kenyon-Slaney, Neil Clark, and Ken Jones.54 Kate Page-Smith, Telford Town Park, Parks for

People Project, Shropshire: Archaeological and

Historical Desk-Based Assessment, Nexus Heritage

Report no. 3035 (unpublished report for Telford

and Wrekin Council, 2010). All the historical infor-

mation in this section, unless otherwise referenced,

is taken from this report.55 Paul Belford, Archaeological Excavations at Double

Row, Hinkshay, Telford Town Park, Ironbridge

Archaeological Series no. 307 (unpublished report

for Telford and Wrekin Council, 2010). All the

archaeological information in this section, unless

otherwise referenced, is taken from this report.56 Barrie Trinder, Industrial Revolution in Shropshire,

pp. 73–74, 83.57 Shropshire Historic Environment Record: 02885,

03882, 03883, 12907, 21536, ESA2713. 58 In East Shropshire and the Black Country the term

‘brew-house’ (pronounced ‘brew’us’) describes a

room or building used for laundry and also brewing

and other activities. They were usually shared

between several houses, and thus provided a

communal meeting-place for women and children.59 Notably at Langley Fields, Carpenters’ Row at

Coalbrookdale, and the former settlement at Dark

Lane. See Paul Belford and Ronald Ross, ‘Industry

and Domesticity: Exploring Historical Archaeology

in the Ironbridge Gorge’, Post-Medieval Archaeol-

ogy, 38, 2 (2004), 215–25; Dennis Rogers, Dark

Lane: The Forgotten Village of Telford (Wellington:

Wellington News, 2002).60 Paul Belford, Engaging with the Community: Inter-

im Report on the Telford Town Park Community

Archaeology Project, 1004–A (unpublished report

for Telford and Wrekin Council, 2010). All of the

information about engagement, unless otherwise

referenced, is taken from this report.61 Council of Europe, Faro Convention, Article 2b.62 Outsiders, however much they may be ‘profession-

als’, can often fi nd a way of engaging which eludes

local professionals. See Paul Belford, ‘Bridging the

Atlantic: Archaeology and Community in England

and Bermuda’, in White and Carman, pp. 97–106.63 Malcolm Peel, personal communication.64 Reid, p. 21.65 Shelley Greer, Rodney Harrison and Susan

McIntyre-Tamwoy, ‘ Community-Based Archaeol-

ogy in Australia’, World Archaeology, 34, 2 (2002),

pp. 265–87 (p. 268).66 Simpson and Williams, p. 74.67 John Boardman, The Archaeology of Nostalgia

(London: Thames and Hudson, 2002), p. 74.68 Peter Groote and Tialda Haartsen, ‘The Communi-

cation of Heritage: Creating Place Identities’, in

Graham and Howard, pp. 181–94.69 Laurajane Smith and Emma Waterton, Heritage,

Communities and Archaeology. (London: Duckworth,

2009), p. 52.70 Noel Fojut, ‘The Philosophical, Political and

Pragmatic Roots of the Convention’, in Heritage

and Beyond, pp. 13–22.71 Fairclough, p. 38.72 An initial response to Department for Communities

and Local Government, Proposals for Changes to

Planning Application Fees in England: Consultation

(19 November 2010), http://www.communities.gov.

uk/documents/planningandbuilding/pdf/1769286.

pdf [accessed on 22 November 2010], at http://

www2.westminster.gov.uk/press-releases/2010/uk-

heritage-at-risk-as-councils-subsidise-planning/ [ac-

cessed 22 November 2010].73 Roger Thomas, ‘Archaeology and Authority in the

Twenty-First Century’, in Public Archaeology,

ed. by Nick Merriman (London: Routledge, 2004),

pp. 191–202 (p. 197); Malcolm Cooper, ‘Protecting

our Past: Political Philosophy, Regulation, and

Heritage Management in England and Scotland’,

The Historic Environment: Policy and Practice, 1,

2 (2010), 143–59.

Notes on contributor

Paul Belford is an archaeologist with diverse research and professional interests,

including post-medieval industrialization, colonialism and urbanization, and relations

between the different historic environment professions. A Sheffield graduate, Paul has

worked on a wide range of projects in various parts of the world, and for ten years

was the Head of Archaeology at the Ironbridge Gorge. He is now Principal at Nexus

Heritage. Paul is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries and a Council Member of the

Institute for Archaeologists.

Correspondence to: Paul Belford. Email: [email protected]

Archaeology, Community and Identity

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