Today we dug and sieved our 33rd and last square-meter test pit at Djurhamn, and I took the gear back to the County Museum's stores. Unless a colleague with better early-modern pottery skillz than mine provides any surprises, it seems that we have not found any of the evidence for 16th/17th century harbour life that we sought. We do however have quite a bit of 18th/19th century household and tavern refuse. And it seems unlikely to be pure chance that the single pit that yielded any bones was the one nearest to the abandoned cemetery depicted on a 1630s map of the area. Osteology will tell.
I also had an unexpected brush with rock stars. One of my digging volunteers turned out to be the mother of Opiate of the Masses' bass player, formerly of Drain. And the lady told me about the time when she had dinner with Tony Iommi (who is married to another Drainer) and he told her the story of how he hurt his fingers. Two degrees of Black Sabbath! I'm a sorcerer of death's construction! Whatever that means.
"A sorcerer of death's construction"...I like that line. Can I borrow it?
Barbara Huffert: It's from War Pigs by Black Sabbath, so perhaps Ozzy is the one you should ask?