There were four of us on the unsheltered top of a hill. The high winds took the sounds of our shovelling away. The damp sand was robbed from each shovel-load and scattered onto the cleaned earth. The flints toppled into the wheelbarrows but the little bangs and scraping noises were also muffled by the wind.
Dark clouds rolled heavily from behind us and over the valleys to our side. Rain had come earlier with hailstones driven into the earth. Puddles and mud made wheeling the barrows onto the squelchy spoil-tip a chore. It was not raining now, but wind-swept sprinklings from where it was flew horizontally in the constant gusts.
The story might will be familiar to many field archaeologists and will give others a taste of what it can be like. Archaeology is not all treasure and glory, as you will see from this short story.
Read the rest of “Site“.