Tombs with a view: landscape, monuments and trees

Antiquity, June, 2003 by Vicki Cummings, Alasdair Whittle

There is plenty of ethnographic evidence which reinforces the suggestion that woodland and trees may have been significant in the past. Of course, this does not prove that Neolithic people in north-west Europe thought the same way, but it raises important questions to think about in interpretation. For example, in the Arctic, sacred places are frequently marked by trees; groves are also important, and the birch is a particularly potent tree (Ovsyannikov & Terebikhin 1994). Specific trees may have been named and incorporated into an inscribed and symbolic landscape (Basso 1996). Particularly distinctive trees may even have been tied to local myths and legends. In many cultures, woodland and trees are thought to be the dwellings of spirits or ancestors (Rival 1998). Trees can also have a more ambiguous status, providing both resources and danger (Bird-David 1992; Whittle et al. 1999: 384). Trees are also potent metaphors for broader conceptions of the cosmos. For example, to the Mdembu of Zaire the tree is a rich symbol and stands as a sign of strength and permanence (Davies 1988: 34). Other peoples believe that a tree stands at the very centre of the world where the roots represent the underworld, the branches represent heaven, and the trunk stands for this realm (Davies 1988; Ovsyannikov & Terebikhin 1994). This 'world tree' is thus a conceptual ordering of the universe. We could imagine monuments being located in order to draw upon this kind of metaphor, with monuments themselves being an entranceway to the underworld. For the Zafimaniry of Madagascar, wood is a crucial metaphor for the body and life-cycles (Bloch 1995). Similarly, the Yolngu of Arnhem Land, Australia, connect tree-trunks with bone and leaves with flesh (Keen 1990). (This is particularly interesting given the fact that many Neolithic monuments in north-west Europe were used for the transformation and deposition of dead bodies.)

Speculatively, we can put observation and analogy together. The seasonality of the annual woodland cycle may relate to how these sites were actually used and perceived. Stone monuments surrounded by trees in the summer could have been used for the burial of fleshed bodies and the presence of leaves on the trees may relate in part to the flesh on the body. In this way the highly potent and polluting act of burying a fleshed body would have been hidden from the wider community, as many of the views of the wider landscape would have been blocked or partially obscured from view, as would views of the monument itself. It is possible that trees may also have been conceived as polluting and dangerous at this time of year. In contrast, the winter may have been a time for the deposition, movement or other treatment of defleshed bones. Now the leaves were gone from the trees leaving the bare trunk, a possible analogy for the removal of flesh from the bones. The wider landscape would also have been visible and the monument visible from the landscape, enabling the movement of bones or essences throughout the landscape. This putative seasonal use of monuments and movement of bodies and bones may have tied into other movements: of people, of stock and of objects, and it could also have tied into the seasonal use and management of woodland. It is this interest in the seasons which seems to have been formalised at later monuments, such as Stonehenge, where mid-summer and mid-winter were actually marked out in stone.