The Later Iron Age in Britain and Beyond

New narratives of the Later Iron Age

Colin Haselgrove and Tom Moore

The nature and causes of the changes that took place in the last centuries of the Iron Age, particularly in southern Britain, have been a major focus of interest ever since Evans’ (1890) pioneering study of the Aylesford cemetery and its continental antecedents. The idea of a culturally distinct Late Iron Age in south-east England triggered by Belgic immigrants (‘Iron C’) was formalised in the earlier twentieth century (e.g. Hawkes and Dunning 1931) and retained its significance even after Roy Hodson deconstructed invasion as the primary agent of change in Iron Age Britain. Emphasising the long trajectory of insular groups, Hodson (1964) replaced the by now over-complex ABC system (Hawkes 1959) with a simpler binary opposition, between an essentially indigenous early pre-Roman Iron Age lasting up to c. 100/50 BC, followed by a late pre-Roman Iron Age, defined by the introduction of La Tène D metalwork to Britain, and by the inception of the Aylesford culture – acknowledged as a distinctive, foreign element – in south-east England.¹ Elsewhere, the ‘Woodbury Culture (Late)’ held sway up to, and ‘in many highland areas’ beyond, the Roman conquest, although now subject to strong continental influences, reflected in innovations like coinage, rotary querns, and wheel-made pottery. Owing to the late dating in vogue in the 1960s, Hodson attributed several features to his ‘late’ phase which Hawkes and his generation associated with Iron B – and which we too would now see as much earlier – including currency bars, elaborate multivallation and decorated saucepan pottery.

Hodson’s model of steady development from the Bronze Age followed by a short period of continentally-induced changes was adopted by Barry Cunliffe (1974a) for his highly influential Iron Age Communities in Britain, both in his initial presentation of the material (chs 2–9) and in the interpretation (ch. 16), which emphasised the social and economic dynamism of Late Iron Age groups linked to the resurgence of external contacts, contrasting this with the primacy of endogenous factors and more static nature of society over much of the first millennium BC. For Cunliffe, the Late Iron Age was also intrinsically different from what had gone before, as first coinage and then literacy encroached on south-east England, generating new sources of evidence through which to view pre-Roman (and Roman) Iron Age societies, whilst at the same time attesting to the major social and economic changes then taking place (ibid., ch. 5). Following Allen’s (1960) reappraisal of the imported coinage, Cunliffe put the onset of these changes a little earlier than Hodson, in the second century BC, at the same time correcting the dating of saucepan pottery and related pottery styles. Whilst Cunliffe’s book has undergone various changes over the years as new data and ideas have emerged, and he has more recently subdivided the earlier pre-Roman Iron Age into ‘Earliest’, ‘Early’ and ‘Middle’ phases, the underlying structure has been retained in all three subsequent editions (Cunliffe 1978; 1991; 2005).²

Since the 1970s, most discussions of Late Iron Age developments have followed Cunliffe’s lead, firstly by focusing on south-east England,³ and secondly, by invoking mainly external causes. What the relevant changes actually represented has been largely a matter of theoretical fashion: in the brief heyday of processualism, they were construed as urbanisation linked to the intensification of external trade (Cunliffe 1976; 1978; Haselgrove 1976); in the 1980s, they became the rise and fall of paramount chiefdoms fuelled by Roman trade in prestige goods, as in the core–periphery model (Haselgrove 1982; 1984; 1987; Cunliffe 1988; 1991); nowadays, they are viewed as dynasty building and the adoption of continental-style identities, driven by Roman political agency and cultural imperialism, and even migration (Millett 1990; Creighton 2000; 2006; Hill 2002). There have been some attempts to explain the changes of the Late Iron Age in more local terms and to play down the role of external trade, but these have been in the minority, and, perhaps significantly, have been directed at areas outside south-east England (e.g. Fitzpatrick 1989; 2001; Sharples 1990).

Partly under the growing influence of post-processual approaches, disquiet about the then current models of the Late Iron Age and especially the focus on south-east England began to be voiced in the late 1980s and continued to mount up through the 1990s. As Haselgrove (1989, 1–3) noted, little attention was given to the formative role of the Middle Iron Age, despite growing evidence to suggest that many supposedly ‘Late’ Iron Age changes began earlier or were rooted in changes prior to the first century BC. The prevailing orthodoxy was also at variance with Iron Age studies in continental Europe, where the Middle La Tène period is widely regarded as marking a radical realignment in social structures (e.g. Duval 1976; Bintliff 1984; Haselgrove 1990; Pion 1990; Collis 1995; Kristiansen 1998). Haselgrove (1989) called for more research on the social and economic changes in the rest of Britain, which the new settlement data being generated by rescue archaeology suggested were more far reaching and extensive than had hitherto been thought, a view that subsequent work has reinforced (e.g. Hill 1995; 2002; Armit 1999; Haselgrove 1999a; 2004). It is now apparent that the archaeological record left by Iron Age communities outside the pottery- and burial-‘rich’ areas of southern Britain, far from being ‘impoverished’, has been distorted by complex cultural and depositional factors, whilst the apparent coexistence of culturally ‘Middle’ and ‘Late’ Iron Age groups in parts of southern Britain has cast further doubt on this terminology (Hill 1995), even where it once seemed to make sense

Reflecting these concerns, the recent review of research on Iron Age Britain called for new narratives to be developed to explain the widespread transformation in settlement, social structure, and material culture from c. 400–300 BC onward (Haselgrove et al. 2001, 28–31). The present book has its origins in a seminar on this theme held at the University of Durham in March 2002. The meeting also sought to set British developments in a wider geographical context by inviting papers on neighbouring countries such as Denmark, Ireland and the Netherlands. Further papers have since been added to enhance the regional coverage (Cripps; Davies; Frodsham et al.; Hamilton; Haselgrove), or to address other topics (Collis; Macdonald; Van der Veen and Jones). As we will see, the contributors offer a diversity of approaches and many papers also eschew traditional boundaries, instead seeking an integrated analysis of community and identity. While not excluding the highly visible changes in south-east England (e.g. Bryant; Carr; Hamilton; Hill), the majority of contributions focus on regions and topics that have received less attention in the past. We will begin with a brief discussion of terminology and of the new theoretical directions that have started to take shape in Iron Age studies, before going on to examine the specific themes in more detail.

Chronologies and terminologies

In this book, the Later Iron Age is taken to cover the period from c. 400–300 BC onward until the Roman conquest.⁴ Such a framework is more appropriate to the many regions of the British Isles and north-west Europe that lack a distinctive Late Iron Age horizon characterised for example by oppida or wheel-made pottery, and where significant changes can be argued to have begun rather earlier and/or to have been played out well into the first millennium AD (e.g. papers by Armit; Hunter; Webley). Whilst the traditional terminology is retained in some papers, there is nonetheless a mood not to be constrained by rigid chronological divisions wherever other temporalities are implied by the material, and general agreement that ‘Late Iron Age’ developments can only be fully understood in a wider temporal and geographical context.

Later prehistoric archaeologists are also becoming increasingly aware that the landscapes we examine are not just geographical entities but temporal constructs (Gosden and Lock 1998; Bradley 2002). We need to explore how Iron Age communities interacted and negotiated with landscapes, both of their present and their past. As Cripps and Hey remind us, Later Iron Age communities did not live in a temporal vacuum, but were indebted to the monuments of the Neolithic and the Bronze Age. Later Iron Age communities created their worlds with reference to genealogical or mythical histories of the past. Such relationships with earlier landscapes can inform us about the negotiation of power and social organisation in the Later Iron Age.

As other recent studies have noted (e.g. Gwilt and Haselgrove 1997a; Hill 1999), the continued use of certain terms to define specific types of landscapes, settlements, and material culture can only inhibit attempts to build new social models and interpretative frameworks. As a number of contributors argue, labels like ‘enclosure’, ‘hillfort’ and ‘round’ are fraught with conceptual difficulties and have connotations that are at variance with the results of recent research (e.g. Cripps; Frodsham et al.; Wigley). Equally, as Albarella points out, the major cultural or chronological divisions tend to be based on very specific aspects of the material record. A faunal perspective, for instance, would provide very different divisions, but just as valid. Even such taken-for-granted elements of the Later Iron Age as La Tène art styles are being reassessed, providing new insights into the nature and timing of change (Macdonald). Instead, the wealth of material now available is giving researchers the confidence and ability to construct new models and frameworks through which to examine Iron Age societies.

Theoretical perspectives

The last 15 years have seen a major shift in Iron Age studies. Once criticised as dull and familiar (Hill 1989), the period is now at the forefront of theoretical debate. Recent analyses have been dominated by post-processual approaches (e.g. Cumberpatch and Hill 1995; Gwilt and Haselgrove 1997b; Bevan 1999). These have stressed the inter-relatedness of material culture, deposition practices, and settlement form with social practices, emphasising individuals as active agents in the shaping and structuring of these processes. The ways in which Iron Age people structured their settlement space has proved a particularly fruitful area for study (e.g. Hill 1996; Parker Pearson 1996; Fitzpatrick 1997; Giles and Parker Pearson 1999), as have the various changes in lifestyle and material culture in the Later Iron Age seemingly linked to new ideas about being and personal appearance (e.g. Hill 1997; 2002).

Whilst recognising the important advances that have resulted from this work, an increasing number of researchers have expressed concern over the failure of these approaches to engage with the broader scale changes and patterns present in the Later Iron Age and to address the causes and processes of regional and inter-regional change (e.g. Gerritsen 2003; Pope 2003; Moore 2006). Thus, whilst few of the papers see any necessity to assert the role of the individual agent, several of them have begun to stress, overtly or implicitly, the need to develop broader narratives of landscape and social change. At the same time, Collis warns us against the danger of first caricaturing and then rejecting previous models, without regard for the context in which they were formed or their possible merits. As Collis reminds us, in their time some of the approaches that now stand in disfavour were bold attempts at formulating new models of social organisation and change, leaving him a firm advocate of a pluralistic approach, a position that we entirely endorse.

Alongside theoretical debates, many of the papers respond to the call in national and regional agendas (e.g. Bryant 1997; Haselgrove et al. 2001; James and Millett 2001; Willis 2006) to engage with the data generated by developer-funded excavations (e.g. Bryant; Gwilt; Hey; Hamilton; Knight; Moore; Rylatt and Bevan). Following the implementation of PPG 16 in England in 1990 and its analogues in the rest of the United Kingdom, most ‘new’ Iron Age material comes to light as a result of contract archaeology and there has been a breathtaking rise in the amount of evidence in many areas (Bradley forthcoming; Moore 2006). At the same time, extensive metal-detecting and the launching of the Portable Antiquities Scheme in England to record this material has opened up whole new avenues for material culture and landscape research (Gwilt; Hutcheson; Worrell), to say nothing of spectacular individual discoveries (e.g. Hill et al. 2004). These developments are not restricted to the UK, with similar increases in metal detecting apparent, for example, in France and the Low Countries, where rescue archaeology is also providing a wealth of new site data (Haselgrove; Roymans).⁵ Not only is the research potential of developer-funded and metal-detected material now abundantly clear almost everywhere – highlighting the need for more integration between academic research and the work of contract units and Finds Liaison officers – but we may expect it to yield some very different perspectives on later prehistoric societies (Yates 2001; Willis 2006; Bradley forthcoming).

Moving settlements: the new landscapes of the Later Iron Age

The period from the fourth century BC to the first century AD was one of dynamic change in settlement patterns and landscapes. Here, papers are characterised by their focus on the landscape as a whole, as an arena for display and as a place of visual references bound in with expressions of identity, social bonds, status, and ritual, reflecting a phenomenological approach to examining communities’ relationships, perceptions and dialogues with the landscape (Tilley 1994; Bradley 2000; 2002; Chapman 2000). Through these themes, several papers emphasise the extent to which changes in settlement form, and manipulation and perceptions of the landscape, can inform us about the changing nature of social relations.

Studies of oppida demonstrate some of these new approaches in settlement studies. Despite long-standing interest in the sites and allowing for the failings of the nomenclature itself (Woolf 1993; Haselgrove 1995), we still understand remarkably little about the nature of these monuments, how they ‘worked’ or even their chronology (Burnham et al. 2001, 67; Haselgrove et al. 2001, 31). Bryant’s re-examination of ‘oppida’ in Hertfordshire demonstrates the varied and multiple roles of such sites, a phenomenon which is also apparent on the Continent (Haselgrove; Hill). A particular problem, at odds with the dominance of environs projects in Iron Age studies (e.g. Cunliffe 2000), has been the failure to examine oppida in relation to their wider landscapes. Bryant, Hill, Haselgrove (for northern France), and Moore attempt to redress this by placing these sites in a wider context, also emphasising the need to investigate other poorly understood settlement types, from banjo enclosure complexes such as Gussage Down to complexes like Braughing or Dragonby, which form part of the same wider developments.

The extent of the link between Iron Age landscapes and ‘Roman’ settlement patterns also needs exploring. Both Mark Corney (at the seminar) and Moore, for example, have identified a relationship between possible high-status (for want of a better term) Late Iron Age sites and early Roman villas, yet we remain largely ignorant of the implications this may have for the nature of power in both periods. It is no longer sufficient to couch this argument in terms of the ‘Romanisation’ of native elites; a more sophisticated understanding of how Late Iron Age groupings became ‘Roman’ communities needs to be developed. For instance, why did early villas develop on some sites but not others? What was the status of such communities prior to the conquest? Too often this crucial phase of social, settlement, and landscape change is interpreted from a Roman perspective and is regarded as marking the evolution of a hierarchical tribal system that was essentially fossilised by the Roman occupation and administrative structure (Millett 1990; Cripps et al. forthcoming).

In an inversion of the core–periphery model, Hill and Moore suggest that some of the sites and communities often regarded as central to Late Iron Age developments were once peripheral in their region, only later constructing their own distinctive identities. These studies also examine in more detail the observation that many British oppida emerged in areas of the landscape which were seemingly under-utilised prior to the first century BC or AD (Haselgrove and Millett 1997). Both Bagendon and Verulamium are now seen as emerging in this way, on the edge of existing social networks, but the significance of this has so far been underplayed, with the rise of oppida more usually being ascribed a functionalist explanation, such as a move to better trading locations. More research is needed on the use of these landscapes prior to the emergence of the oppida, and to explain how why these potential centres of power, status, production, exchange, and ritual are where they are, not elsewhere. These questions have major implications for how we understand the transition from earlier settlement patterns and social structures to the development of new modes of power and authority.

How Iron Age people themselves perceived ‘marginal’ and ‘peripheral’ areas is key to this debate. Whether marginality was recognised at the time and was crucial to the purpose and meaning of sites in such locations – or is instead a construct of our own making – is vital to understanding their role in wider social systems. This is pertinent not only to discussion of the oppida, but also for sites like Hengistbury Head or the Somerset Lake Villages, whose distinctive status has been linked to their supposed marginality (Sharples 1990). Hill shows how modern perceptions of which parts of the landscape were central and which were peripheral may mask the complex realities of prehistory; the East Anglian Fens, for example, were far from ‘marginal’ in the Later Iron Age, as Chris Evans noted at the seminar, but have often been treated as such by archaeologists, based on their perceived status today. As far as possible, we would be better to avoid using dichotomies like ‘central’ and ‘peripheral’, as these both oversimplify the archaeological record and are often based on anachronistic perceptions.

The heterogeneity and complexity of Late Iron Age landscapes is now much better appreciated. The British Isles and other areas of north-west Europe were far from uniformly settled, and even allowing for the unevenness of research, it is clear that many of these variations reflect particular forms of land use and differences in social organisation. Moore and Wigley both note a clustering of visible settlement in the West Midlands, implying that certain areas of the landscape were favoured for occupation, and a similar phenomenon is apparent in eastern Britain (e.g. Haselgrove 1999b; Hill 1999). Once again, the evidence points to new settlement forms having emerged in areas that were previously sparsely inhabited, although other explanations cannot be entirely discounted.

The clustering of settlement, representing either static or shifting communities, has implications for the social expression of these groups. If many houses and enclosures were only occupied for relatively short periods, the process of rebuilding them nearby has repercussions for concepts of community identity, their sense of place, and the transfer of social labour. This is especially true if we accept Wigley’s argument that constructing these monuments was beyond the means of individual households and that the process of construction was intertwined in social relations between communities. Giles goes further still, suggesting that the collective labour of digging and cleaning out enclosure ditches helped ingrain lineage and a history of place into people, an affirmation of their identity in society and in the landscape.

Landscape locales

There is widespread agreement that the Later Iron Age was characterised by increasing specialisation of the landscape and the intensive use of sites and locations away from the normal areas of settlement for specific activities, as notably in the case of the Somerset Lake Villages with their apparent role as regional centres of production and exchange (Sharples 1990; Henderson 1991). As Bryant points out, the variety of sites collected together under the umbrella term oppidum might indicate an increased specialisation in the landscape for exchange, elite centres, and ritual practices. Such specificity of action can also be suggested for other activities such as salt making, quern provenance, and pottery manufacture, which were often focused on distinctive locations in the landscape (Morris; Moore; Willis). Morris suggests that there may well be a link between the magical character of these places in Iron Age eyes, situated well away from ‘everyday life’, and the magic needed to transform substances like salt from one state to another. As Hutcheson shows, other distinctive topographic areas were selected as the place for acts involving the repeated ritual deposition of high-status metalwork. Such locales of ritual activity were generally devoid of settlement activity, as at Snettisham. In some cases, these locations remained important well into the Roman period.

We have to remember, however, that landscapes were not static, but instead dynamic elements of the social environment. Willis and Hamilton examine the often neglected ‘landscapes’ of coastal zones and estuaries, recognising them as liminal interfaces between land and sea. Resonating with Morris’ discussion of salt making in Lincolnshire, Willis shows that the coastline was the focus for a range of important activities, reinforcing previous studies which see the emergence of powerful industrial communities in liminal environments as one of the most significant developments of the Later Iron Age (Sharples 1990; Henderson 1991). There is considerable scope for further research in this area, using new technologies like GIS to understand why specific places were marked out for particular practices. Moore, for example, suggests that prominent landscape features could act as foci for production and be an expression of social relations. Similar associations between landscape features and locales of provenance or production have been noted elsewhere, for example associated with pottery production in Cornwall (e.g. Harrad 2003). We also need to explore the histories of such locations: why they became significant and how their meanings altered and developed in relation to mythical or genealogical histories (Gosden and Lock 1998) and to changing social contexts. Increasingly, landscapes are regarded as not just an economic resource or neutral backdrop, but as visual, evocative stimuli, in some senses social actors in their own right.

Different Iron Ages: the Later Iron Age beyond south-east England

A welcome re-orientation of research away from the traditional ‘hotspots’ of southern England, and, in Scotland, the Northern and Western Isles, towards areas of the British Isles where the changes of the Later Iron Age have received less attention, is seen in several papers. Regions examined in detail include south-west England (Cripps), the upper Thames valley (Hey), the Severn– Cotswolds (Moore), the Welsh Marches (Wigley), south Wales (Gwilt), the Trent valley (Knight), the Cheviots (Frodsham et al.), eastern Scotland (Davies) and Northern Ireland (Armit). Whilst emphasising the specificity of individual regional trajectories, which makes it to difficult to generalise across the island as a whole other than at a very superficial level (cf. Haselgrove 2004), these papers stress the vitality of the social and economic changes that occurred during the Later Iron Age and the long-term character of many of the relevant processes. The only reason that many of these regions have not figured more heavily in previous narratives has been a relative lack of excavation and research, not because of any inherent backwardness or conservativeness. Some lacunae remain, such as northwest England and some highland areas of Wales and Scotland, but even here developer-funded archaeology is causing a reassessment (e.g. Nevell 1999).

Those papers that focus on south-east England reevaluate the uses and roles of many sites and artefacts that have long been recognised as ‘typical’ of the Late Iron Age (e.g. Bryant; Carr) and emphasise areas which were once perceived as peripheral to mainstream developments, such as the south coast and most of East Anglia (Hamilton; Hill). Comparison with material from the near Continent (Collis; Haselgrove; Roymans; Webley; Wells) also enables the Later Iron Age in Britain to be placed in a wider context. Although differences exist between these areas, similar themes emerge, in particular the growing importance of expressing both individual and regional identities alongside the development of larger socio-political groups. This further establishes the often unreal and unhelpful nature of the divisions drawn in the past between Britain and the Continent and the dangers in over-emphasising Britain’s difference to the rest of Europe (Haselgrove 2001). Despite the diversity and strong sense of regionality in papers, broader inter-regional themes emerge – such as an increasing emphasis on enclosure – which hint at the wider preoccupations of Later Iron Age communities.

Bounding landscapes and people

The Later Iron Age is marked by radical developments in settlement form across north-west Europe. Whilst this should not be regarded as marking exactly the same process everywhere, it may reflect more widespread changes in the ways that modes of settlement space were negotiated. Several papers note the increasingly enclosed landscapes and communities of the Later Iron Age (Frodsham et al.; Giles; Haselgrove; Knight; Wigley; see also Moore 2007). This can be contrasted with an often more ‘open’ or unenclosed, and frequently less visible, Late Bronze Age and Earlier Iron Age pattern (Haselgrove and Pope 2007a). In the Later Iron Age, defining areas of landscape became increasingly important – from the dyke systems of the oppida to the smaller enclosures used to define individual groups or households. Such boundaries have been interpreted in various ways: as marking relative autonomy and independence from other communities (Hingley 1984) or as signifying status (Frodsham et al.; Wigley), but it is clear that their social meaning is still more complex.

Rather than signifying independence, many enclosure boundaries are simply too large for the enclosed community to have constructed unaided. The exchange of labour, and the relationships thus engendered, was of prime importance in the development of these settlement forms. As Giles, Moore, and Wigley indicate, settlement and landscape boundaries, along with ‘natural’ features, were used by Iron Age societies to construct social spaces and articulate relationships. Settlement patterning was not purely functional; instead, the construction of landscapes helped reproduce social relationships. By implication, the development of more physically bounded social spaces in the Later Iron Age marks the emergence of new forms of relationship.

The complexity of boundaries is well demonstrated by Rylatt and Bevan’s discussion of pit alignments. These enigmatic features are increasingly being recognised throughout Britain, yet their roles remain hotly debated (Thomas 2003; Wigley 2007). Rylatt and Bevan argue that pit alignments can only be understood in their landscape context, in particular their location on routes leading to periodically waterlogged tracts of land. Any functional roles they possessed were combined with symbolic transitions. From wet to dry, from floodplain to land, from winter to summer, the role of these features was intimately tied to changing cycles of agricultural and social life. In other parts of Britain, pit alignments seem to be predominantly early in date, many being transformed into ‘segmented’ ditches or uninterrupted linear ditches in the course of the Later Iron Age (Moore 2006; Wigley 2007). In such instances, we may be seeing changing social relationships played out in these features – as a relatively permeable boundary became increasingly impassable.

Ireland provides a somewhat different picture. Boundaries marking the household or community appear to be generally absent from the settlement record of the later first millennium BC. Instead there is growing evidence that a number of large linear boundary systems existed, defining much larger social units or territories. The emphasis appears to be upon communal boundaries, of symbolic and territorial significance, at the expense of defining the smaller social unit. Ireland also contains the complex royal sites – combinations of monuments of varying forms and meanings combining perhaps secular and sacred power – discussed here by Armit. The use of space on these sites resonates with the Late Iron Age oppida or royal sites in Britain (Hill 1995). Oppidum boundaries also often appear ‘illogical’ and it is unclear what they demarcate or define. At Bagendon, for instance, they appear to form an elaborate ‘entranceway’ to the valley, whilst Bryant suggests some of the Verulamium earthworks acted as processional ways to be visualised in particular ways as well as used to control movement.

The association and definition of wet areas at many such sites (Verulamium, Stanwick, Bagendon) further implies that the areas of land thus demarcated were symbolic or ritual foci (Haselgrove and Millett 1997, 281; Haselgrove 2000). The form of these sites evidently had an important role in directing people around them, possibly projecting power but also demarcating symbolic space. This use of movement and visual messages might also be the key to explaining similar features, such as the banjo complexes of Wessex. Together these studies stress the use of landscapes and topography, as well as constructed space, to convey social messages, recognising that ‘natural’ landscapes are themselves ‘constructed’ through the reworking of physical and visual landscapes to create and maintain boundaries, themselves ingrained in social activities and the creation of relations between individuals and communities (e.g. Tilley 1994; Bradley 2000; Chapman 2000; Hamilton and Manley 2001).

Examining the ‘household’

The house and household have been a major focus of research in recent years (e.g. Parker Pearson and Richards 1994; Giles and Parker Pearson 1999; Pope 2003) and continue to be a focus of many studies here. Those papers that discuss the smallest social unit, the household, stress the importance of not returning to generalised, monolithic ‘Celtic’ models, instead recognising the variation that existed through time and space (cf. Brück and Goodman 1999, 11). Giles, for example, notes that the household was not a monolithic entity and cannot be regarded as a simple building block for Iron Age societies. As many discussions of identity emphasise, the construction of the household may have been relative to different societies and groups. Nevertheless, despite the continued emphasis on the household and intra-spatial patterning on Iron Age sites, we still know little of these essential elements of Iron Age society. Whilst generalising models have rightly been rejected, the ensuing relativism has not replaced them with a sound understanding of Iron Age societies, either at the household level, or at the scale of the wider social group.

As Webley notes, changes at household level both influenced and replicated wider processes of change. In Denmark, modifications in house form, and the abandonment and rebuilding of houses elsewhere, reflect changes in the social role of the household and in the internal social relations of this group. Alterations in the form of enclosures used over a long period of time may also be linked to changes in the status and form of the household, as Wigley argues. Thus, discussion as to why settlements shifted or remained rooted to distinct locales is framed in a social debate about the nature of the household rather than purely in economic or subsistence terms. If, as recent research suggests, changes in the household were indeed in constant interplay with wider changes in society, it should be possible, by analysing this relationship, to explore how the different processes of change took place and manifested themselves on both a small and large scale.

Several papers reinforce the view that a fundamental shift in household form, and subsequently settlement patterns, occurred in many areas of north-west Europe in the later first millennium BC. In the Netherlands, Gerritsen (1998; 2003) has noted the increasing stability of social units, and a move from individual, ‘wandering’ households to larger, more stable units in the Later Iron Age. Webley notes a similar phenomenon in Jutland. Judging from the increased emphasis on enclosing the household and the greater permanence and stability of such units in the landscape, comparable changes took place in many parts of Britain (Giles; Knight; Wigley).

Other papers stress the crucial role of settlement space in constructing and engendering new social relationships, linking the appearance of new settlement forms to new forms of social relationship (e.g. Cripps). Webley emphasises the more restricted and structured use of space evident in Late Iron Age settlements in Jutland, related perhaps to an increasing sense of privacy and private ownership in this period. A neglected but potentially stark indicator of this changing perception may be the appearance of keys in the archaeological record at this time, indicative perhaps of a shift from a lack of need for closure, or one based on taboo and social practice, to one based on physical barriers. A different, but tantalisingly similar, process of increasing enclosure and restricted access apparent in the Later Iron Age in many parts of Britain may well mark similar social developments (Wigley). As Giles notes, physically defining enclosures creates a sense of outside/inside, creating notions of trespass and liminality as thresholds become more visible and meaningful.

All the papers are in broad agreement that the Late Iron Age is marked by a fundamental change in the use of settlement space, which points to new forms of social interaction between individuals and communities. Giles, for example, sees the rise of individuals or smaller social groups coinciding with a rejection of communal ceremonies, with the inhabitants of East Yorkshire no longer recognising group identity through cemeteries. As with much of the material culture, there is a sense of an increasing desire to define the individual and the household within the larger group. Among the factors that might have led individuals and communities to emphasise their identity and – in some cases – independence through the manipulation of landscapes and material culture, two that stand out at this time are rising population levels and contacts with larger ‘corporate’ entities such as Rome.

Artefacts and identity

Landscape and settlement studies have somewhat dominated discussion of the Iron Age in recent years and much of the material culture has been relatively neglected, not least the brooches and decorative metalwork that traditionally served as the ‘linch pins’ of both chronological and social models. In seeking to reintegrate this material into the mainstream of research, most of the studies offered here do not draw firm distinctions between artefact and landscape studies, seeing the relationship of artefact production, use, and deposition within the landscape as key to determining its different roles in society. This approach is leading to a far better understanding of artefact roles and distribution patterns. Hutcheson’s analysis indicates strong links between Later Iron Age metalwork deposition and the construction of social relations and identities in northern East Anglia, whilst Worrell’s research on the new Portable Antiquities data shows strong regional variations in the metalwork categories most often recovered – and thus by implication preferentially selected for deposition. This and the investigation of various British and European find sites for prestige metalwork and coin hoards (Priest et al. 2003; Hill et al. 2004; Haselgrove and Wigg-Wolf 2005) shows clearly that terms like ‘stray find’ are too simplistic, in danger of obscuring the complex relationships between artefact, form of deposition, and the wider natural and human landscape context. It was at sites like these that the construction and playing out of individual and community identities was taking place (Moore 2006). This is especially relevant in areas without obvious focal sites, where people came together periodically and where power and identity were negotiated, be they hillforts or oppida, or cemeteries and formal sanctuaries – as in parts of northern France (Wellington 2005).

Discussions of identity at various levels – from the household to the supra-regional – emphasise the often unreal division between artefact analysis and landscape studies. Identity may be expressed by very different means in different contexts and at different scales. A number of papers seek to unravel precisely what identity was being expressed and in what context. Hunter, for one, suggests that defining material culture in terms such as ‘Celtic’ and ‘Roman’ oversimplifies the construction of identities in the Roman Iron Age. Rather than seeing the continued use of ‘Celtic’ art as ‘native’ survival or even ‘resistance’, we might perhaps view it as indicating the formation of new, ‘creolised’ identities (cf. Webster 2001). Armit offers a similar perspective on Roman finds in Ireland. Long seen as evidence of either trade or raiding, he suggests a less prosaic explanation. Placed in the context of La Tène material culture, these imports might represent the articulation of new, potentially oppositional identities in the first century AD.

Wells, too, stresses the complexity of meanings that material culture can possess, noting that the increased prevalence of swords and horse gear in Late Iron Age burials could express not only opposition to Rome, but also Roman influence and even a role in the Roman army. In all instances, the context of finds is paramount. It is time to stop treating all imports found in burials and on settlements as if they express one simple dichotomy, and allow for more complex manipulation of external influences by people set on articulating new social identities. We must not, however, expect to explain all such material as manifestations of identity. Often, such expressions are ones of power – some things were adopted, others were imposed.

Despite the prominence of La Tène art in early studies of the British and European Iron Age (e.g. Powell 1958), it has largely been neglected in recent reviews of the period. However, in reminding us of the metaphors and meanings expressed through the use not just of style and design, but also colour, in material culture, recent research in other branches of archaeology should inspire us to ‘theorise’ the study of La Tène art (e.g. Chapman 2002). Both Macdonald and Fitzpatrick seek to explore the meanings behind the artwork, whilst moving beyond interpreting the material as simply reflecting cultural or ethnic identities. Fitzpatrick’s suggestion that colour as well as decorative form was used to express certain meanings – red for display, blue perhaps associated with the body – further underlines the complexity of expressions articulated through decoration. These studies are particularly enlightening in their discussion of the varied and changing visual world of the Later Iron Age. As material culture associated with the individual and the body became more prevalent, in the form of increasing quantities of brooches, horse harness, coinage, glass beads and so on, the colour and style of such objects became part of an expanding visual repertoire, which can tell us far more about identity, status, and perceptions of the body than mere origins and derivation.

The Later Iron Age also appears to be a period when the negotiation of identities at the opposite ends of the scale, the individual and the corporate group, became increasingly important. The changing organisation of space is matched by an increasing desire to negotiate social relations and construct new identities through changing modes of display and eating (e.g. Hill 1997; Creighton 2000). A number of papers have started to wrestle with what is perhaps the most difficult aspect of these developments: how can the varying levels – individual, household, community, and ‘tribe’ – be compared or related to one another? Wells regards the growing prominence of the sword in burials in Later Iron Age Europe as an expression of individual warrior identity. In contrast, changing depositional practices are seen as reflecting broader changes in social organisation. Hutcheson, for example, argues that the adoption of coinage marks the formation of wider social groups, with less restricted access to metalwork, in the latest Iron Age. In some instances, the same objects (such as coins) may attest personal relationships and inclusion in a larger group. There is no reason therefore why individual and corporate identity may not both have become more visible in the Late Iron Age. We may be witnessing a process of dialogue between these different scales of identity.

The distinct regional distributions of material culture discussed in a number of papers (Hunter; Hutcheson; Moore) also hint at the emergence of wider group identities. This area has been somewhat neglected in recent years. Whilst older interpretations suffered from a culture-historical approach, the broader material and depositional patterns themselves remain and require explanation, as Hunter notes.

Such distributions cannot be accounted for in purely functionalist or quasi-economic terms. Moore suggests that they were tied into symbolic landscapes and the creation of a set of wider, loose relationships and identities, embodied through exchange. Morris’ study of salt making also emphasises how ‘economic’ activities were embodied within social and ritual practice. In many cases, material culture was bound into belief systems relating to the cultural biographies of artefacts, from production to deposition, themselves intimately tied to landscape biographies (Chapman 2000; Fowler 2004, 57). All the different elements of these biographies – production, exchange, use, fragmentation, and deposition – could have been important in communicating identities. By examining these biographies, for example from the extraction of a quernstone to its eventual discard, or the manufacture, use, and votive deposition of a La Tène sword, we should be able to learn more about the multiple and complex identities and meanings of these artefacts and the people associated with them. Overall, the emphasis of the papers is on seeing exchange processes and choices over material culture not in economic or ethnic terms, but as a part of social negotiation and reproduction, and intimately engaged in structuring the landscape.

New ways of living and dying

Communal and individual identities were increasingly reproduced through the foodstuffs people ate and the ways in which they were prepared and consumed. It has long been recognised that the material culture associated with eating and drinking changed markedly in the Later Iron Age, with the adoption of continental-style pottery linked to new habits of consumption, particularly the move to wine drinking (e.g. Hill 2002). New modes of drinking and feasting may have been important elements of Later Iron Age social relations and papers here explore the complexities of these foodways, in particular emphasising the absence of a simple dichotomy between ‘Iron Age’ and ‘Roman’ consumption patterns.

Choices over what was consumed were well defined. There is mounting evidence that these were not purely dictated by sustainability or geographical considerations, but by factors such as taboo, status and identity. Dobney and Eryvnck indicate, for example, the extent to which Iron Age groups rejected the consumption of fish, even in areas where we might expect such resources to be exploited. The consumption patterns of particular foodstuffs may therefore have been engaged in expressing community or group identity as well as reflecting cultural mores or economic necessities. The holistic review of wetlands and seascapes undertaken by Willis may even imply that it was not just the fish that were taboo, but that water itself was a place of magic and transformation.

Albarella and Van der Veen and Jones offer a timely reminder that the conspicuous consumption of food as part of social identities and status, both within and between individuals and communities, was already part of Iron Age culture prior to the late first millennium BC. But it is in the Late Iron Age that major changes occur in production and consumption patterns. Albarella notes an increase in the numbers of sheep, and to some extent pig, with further dramatic changes taking place after the Roman conquest with a rise in cattle numbers, possibly part of an acculturation to foreign consumption patterns. The changes in eating habits appear complex, with hints of an increase in both arable and meat production, possibly part of the development of new foodways to express new power relations and identities. These changes cannot, however, be framed purely in terms of ‘Romanisation’ (or even ‘Belgicisation’), as they differ from continental patterns. Thus the faunal evidence raises important questions about the extent to which these new foodways represented entirely new ways of feasting and expressing social identity distinctive to Britain, or were partly a continuation of the expression of power and status through production and consumption seen in earlier periods.

Debates over the existence and nature of the Germanic mode of production (e.g. Hingley 1984; Hill 1996) and existence of consumer and producer sites (e.g. Van der Veen 1992; Jones 1996) have meant that the nature and social impact of food production have figured prominently in Iron Age studies. Landscape studies suggest that the Later Iron Age saw an intensification of land use in many areas of Britain with heavier soils taken under cultivation (Haselgrove 1989; 1999a) and placing agricultural change in a wider social context remains crucial (Haselgrove et al. 2001, 10–11). Van der Veen and Jones explore how the production, storage and consumption of arable crops can be identified in the archaeological record and its implications for social organisation. They argue that detailed examination of the botanical and faunal remains is needed to understand Iron Age communities, stressing that a lack of attention to their context and taphonomy can lead to highly misleading interpretations of the nature and extent of production and thus social structures.

Alongside the changing foodways implied by the material culture, Van der Veen and Jones suggest an increasing emphasis on producing a surplus, accompanied by a decline in storage, possibly signifying more exchange of surplus beyond the immediate region. This may have been part of a move from communal feasting in the Earlier Iron Age to a more exclusive dining process, associated perhaps with new, imported material culture. It seems that whilst feasting was important throughout the first millennium BC, and continues to be regarded as a key element of the social changes evident in the Late Iron Age, the nature of such feasts may have changed markedly and was no longer a process of reciprocity (Dietler 1996; Hill 2002). Combined with the appearance of new material culture forms and the developments in settlement patterns and landscape discussed above, the emergence of very different forms of personal relationships is implied in the Late Iron Age.

Changes in material culture and foodways can be regarded as a social as much as an economic process, and cannot simply be attributed to levels of ‘Romanisation’. Roymans stresses that the process of exchange, of gift giving, may have been as important as the nature and source of the ‘things’ themselves. As new forms of material culture appear, particularly coinage, it is the new relationships that these signalled and engendered – rather than their adoption per se – that informs us about the changing nature of society (Hill; Roymans; Van der Veen and Jones). These constituted social systems that were not necessarily ‘Romanised’, but were both new and distinctively regional within Belgic Gaul and southern England (Hill; Haselgrove; Roymans). Particularly clear in these accounts is the complex relationship between consumption and choices over material culture; practices vary regionally and are related to a range of specific community elements identifying, class, status and social choices.

Changes in the treatment of the dead in the Later Iron Age have long been regarded as crucial markers of ethnic (Hawkes 1959) or social change (Cunliffe 1991; Hill 1995). Carr, however, argues that rather than treating the adoption of cremation as a fundamental shift in perceptions of the dead, it may contain elements of continuity with Earlier Iron Age practices. We may also note the increased variation in mortuary practices apparent from the Middle Iron Age onward, not only regionally, but also at individual sites and within communities, illustrated by the recent discovery of cemeteries like Suddern Farm (Cunliffe and Poole 2000) and Yarnton (Hey et al. 1999). Later Iron Age societies are marked by their lack of homogeneity in the creation of new worlds for the living and the dead. Instead of the adoption of a Late Iron Age ‘cultural package’ (cf. Hodson 1964; Haselgrove 1984; Hill 2002), we should perhaps instead think in terms of the fracturing of societies, with individuals and communities responding in different ways to the social upheavals of the period (Barrett et al. 2000, 323; Moore 2006).

States and tribes

A theme to emerge throughout the volume is the extent to which all forms of living in the Later Iron Age were engaged in the expression and reinforcement of communal identities. The complexity and interaction of identities at different scales and in different forms of expression emphasises the difficulties in drawing simple boundaries around group identity. A major problem remains: we need to understand the ways in which the increased emphasis on individual and community identities during the Later Iron Age relates to the growth of larger socio-political groups. The formation of larger polities has been downplayed in recent studies. This is partly because of its past associations with ‘tribes’ interpreted from classical sources and uncritically coupled with archaeological evidence. However, as Collis notes, larger social groups, whether ‘tribes’, ‘states’, or something else, undeniably existed in the Late Iron Age, but the form and organisation of such entities and how this fits in with the increased emphasis on individual and household identities remains something of an unknown. Whilst recent studies have rightly stressed agency as key to understanding the processes of change (Gwilt and Haselgrove 1997a, 2; Barrett 2000), we need to explain why in the later first millennium BC there was a move towards larger – and more archaeologically visible – groupings.

A number of papers examine the larger scales of society. The form and even existence of the states and tribes alluded to in earlier accounts (e.g. Haselgrove 1987; Cunliffe 1991) is regarded as contentious, frequently bound up with questions of identity, the ‘Celts’, Classical sources, and questions of urbanism (Collis; Haselgrove; Roymans; G. Woolf 1993; A. Woolf 1998). It is interesting, however, that discussion of ‘tribes’ is still regarded as key in studies of Iron Age Gaul,⁶ yet largely bypassed in studies of the British Iron Age. This perhaps marks an overdue need in European Iron Age studies as a whole thoroughly to re-examine the evidence pertaining to the nature and reality of tribal groups (Cripps et al. forthcoming). This should be tempered by the call not to reject their existence wholesale (Collis), recognising the need to explain why these entities, or names, emerged even if they were short-lived or merely represent Roman nomenclature.

The debate over tribal identities is inextricably bound up with questions about other forms of regional identity explored in some of the papers (Gwilt; Hunter; Roymans). Hunter examines how regional identities can be defined through material culture, asking the extent to which such regions have any validity. Whilst the provinces of Hawkes (1959) and Piggott (1966) and the tribal entities defined in Late Iron Age studies (e.g. Millett 1990; Cunliffe 1991; 2005) have attracted widespread criticism, there have been few attempts to explore the underlying reasons for the material culture patterns or to reconstruct wider, regional groups. On a broader scale, as Fitzpatrick (1996) and Kristiansen (1998) have argued, there is still a need to explain the similarities in metalwork across large areas of Europe. Do these relate to forms of supra-regional identities, as the employment of La Tène art may also suggest, or are local identities being submerged in our own broad generalisations of such phenomena, as Macdonald suggests? How did these identities influence each other in the development of new ones? Or did they work on such different levels of meaning and consciousness as to be distinct from each other? The papers by Webley and Roymans illustrate the problem and some possible solutions by showing the extent to which changes perceptible on one scale of social groupings affect those at other levels. It is surely in these processes where the reasons for social and cultural change in the period lie and the processes of structure and agency are at work (Giddens 1984; Barrett 2000).

Causality: what about the Romans?

Current research is moving away from the Romanisation paradigm that has dominated Later Iron Age research for the last twenty years, not just in south-east England but also in many other regions. For example, Cripps and Giles show how, in both Cornwall and East Yorkshire, settlement changes were attributed on minimal evidence to a ‘Roman event horizon’, as part of a widespread desire to equate archaeological developments across Britain to Roman influence. Other areas of Britain where Roman influence and causality are now being played down include Northumberland and eastern Scotland (Davies; Frodsham et al.). As Cripps comments, there was almost a ‘need’ to perceive Roman influence in areas where it is hard to identify. Now, however, as we have seen above, the focus of much current research is on longer-term processes of change and the contribution of indigenous factors, emphasising individual agency and regionality.

This shift in emphasis nevertheless runs a risk of ignoring the fundamental influence of Mediterranean societies on north-west Europe at this period (Collis; Wells). Growing recognition on the part of Iron Age and Roman archaeologists of the lack of a single ‘Roman’ social and cultural norm should lead to more sophisticated understanding of the impact and role of non-indigenous influences on Later Iron Age societies. The impact of Mediterranean societies on Iron Age groups was certainly far from straightforward, resulting in the articulation of a diverse range of ideas and material culture in different regional discourses (Collis; Hill; Haselgrove; Roymans). To take a single example, whilst the consumption of freshwater fish increased in England after the Roman conquest and remained significant in the Netherlands, Roman Belgium continues to show hardly any evidence for the exploitation of freshwater resources (Dobney and Eryvnck). The debate over the relative influence of indigenous cultural factors and external forces on social change in Late Iron Age and Roman north-west Europe continues.

The proximity of Rome undoubtedly influenced material culture and the expression of identity, but this took a number of forms, sometimes including opposition. Examination of the impact of influences along the western seaboard (e.g. Cunliffe 2001) indicates that the forms could be varied and were manipulated in a variety of ways. It was seldom a ‘one-way’ process. Cripps’ discussion of courtyard houses thus to some extent reflects Hunter’s review of material culture: the courtyard house was an expression of indigenous and regional identity, but at the same time marked external, ‘Roman’ influences. Rather than focus on simplistic arguments of insular versus external, models of social change are becoming more dynamic, exploring the ways individuals and groups manipulated cultural, economic, ideological, and political influences to create new identities and forms of power.

Class and war

Within the debate over the nature of the changes in Later Iron Age societies, class and social divisions are emerging as important topics. At the seminar, John Barrett attempted to introduce class divisions into the period, arguing that it was in the Late Iron Age that such distinctions become more visible. The final centuries BC and the first century AD were characterised by the emergence of a new (or at least more visible) elite. For the first time, we have named individuals and places, and, in Britain at least, tangible manifestations of kingship in coin imagery and legends, permitting increasingly sophisticated insights into the nature of the relationship between these individuals and Rome (e.g. Creighton 2000; Williams 2005). However, there needs to be more discussion of how the role of high-status individuals within Late Iron Age society can be analysed archaeologically, along with that of named castes like the druides.⁷ We need to explore their place and importance in the social and political changes that took place at this time in different parts of Europe and to ascertain their influence over the functions and form of the new types of site that emerge, such as oppida and sanctuaries. Were these individuals the prime instigators of the new forms and patterns of material culture and landscape developments that we see in these and other regions? What was their power base? And what lies behind the emergence of these new ‘class divisions’ in the first place?

Related to ideas of class and kingship is the issue of warfare. Despite the increasing prominence of interpersonal violence and warfare in other areas of later prehistory (e.g. Carman and Harding 1999; Osgood et al. 2000; Parker Pearson and Thorpe 2005) and some recent discussion relating to the Iron Age (e.g. Craig et al. 2005; James 2007), the subject is notably absent from most of the papers in this volume. Rather, the ‘defensive’ role of hillforts and enclosures continues to be questioned (Frodsham et al.; Wigley), in line with research over the last twenty years (e.g. Bowden and McOmish 1987; Hill 1996). This conflicts with the extensive evidence for trauma and weaponry from Later Iron Age Europe (Wells; Roymans),⁸ possibly reflecting what James (2007) calls the ‘pacifying’ of the Iron Age. There is a need to explore the role of warfare in the Later Iron Age, accepting that violence may not be divorced from social or ritual practices (Ferguson 1990; Aijmer and Abbink 2000) and recognising that the securing of power could be violent. Giles, combining the burial, chalk figurine, and landscape evidence from East Yorkshire, leads the way, seeing an increasingly divided society in the Later Iron Age, but emphasising that distinct forms of conflict existed and that any understanding of inter-personal violence in the period needs to examine it within the broader context of the settlement and landscape evidence.

Warfare is far more prominent in discussions of the continental Iron Age. The Late Iron Age in Gaul, in particular, has been dominated by discussion of the Caesarian conquest, used both as a chronological marker and an impetus for change (extending to southern England). For Wells, martiality and warfare were a central preoccupation of Later Iron Age societies in northern Europe, the sword being of immense symbolic importance in conveying individual and community prowess (see also Hunter 2005). Wells sees warfare, the role of mercenaries, and the conflict with Rome as fundamental to the changing expressions of identity and power in the Late Iron Age. Similarly, Roymans regards the lower Rhine region as comprised of martial societies, challenging previous egalitarian interpretations. Haselgrove and Collis also view warfare as important, but suggest its impact was subtle and varied. Haselgrove’s discussion of the limited and ambiguous nature of much of the ‘evidence’ left by even a major and well-chronicled conflict like the Gallic war reminds us just how difficult it is to recognise warfare in the protohistoric period. The division between a continental Iron Age, where warfare is regarded as a key social factor and cause of change, and a British Iron Age, where it is frequently conspicuously absent, increasingly appears to be one of archaeological approach, rather than a reflection of past levels of conflict.

Conclusions and future directions

The wealth of material now available for the Later Iron Age is at last enabling us to start writing the kinds of social histories called for by previous researchers. Combining material culture studies and landscape archaeology also allows for a far more multi-vocal Later Iron Age, one no longer perceived primarily through the lens of settlement hierarchies, economic forces and expanding empires. The individual has been placed centre stage as agent and locus of social change. At the same time, we have started to explore the complex interplay between individuals and the large-scale patterning and processes of change that we see at this period, necessitating new methodologies and heuristic devices, as John Collis notes. A healthy diversity of approaches is apparent, which had to a certain extent been lost during the processual/post-processual debate. Through such diversity a fuller picture of the nature of Later Iron Age societies will emerge. The themes of identity, causality, household structure, society, and class are all implicated in current debates about the nature of the dramatic social and material changes of the period and attempts to understand why they occurred.

We are conscious that the book does not reflect all aspects of the research currently under way on the Later Iron Age. In particular, there is no discussion of the developed hillforts of central southern England, the reasons for their demise, and of the settlements that grew up in the landscapes they had dominated (and physically, and perhaps conceptually, continued to dominate), despite much important work on these questions over the last decade (e.g. Barrett et al. 2000; Cunliffe 2000; 2005). The Danebury environs programme is now well into its second phase and it too promises – if the initial results (Cunliffe 2003) are any guide – to transform our understanding of society and landscape in Hampshire at the very end of the Iron Age and on into the Roman period. Nor do any of the papers deal with the intriguing developments apparent in the Northern and Western Isles of Scotland