Broken Pots, Mending Lives: The Archaeology of Operation Nightingale

By Richard Osgood and Alice Roberts

A fully illustrated insight into an innovative recovery program that supports wounded soldiers through involvement in archaeology.

For those that survive, the traumas of military conflict can be long-lasting. It might seem astonishing that archaeology, with its uncovering of the traces of the long-dead, of battlefields, of skeletal remains, could provide solace, and yet there is something magical about the subject. Operation Nightingale is a program set up in 2011 within the Ministry of Defence of the United Kingdom to help facilitate the recovery of armed forces personnel recently engaged in armed conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, using the archaeology of the British Training Areas. In the following decade, the project expanded to include veterans of older conflicts and of other nations – from the United States, from Poland, from Australia and elsewhere.

In archaeology there is a job for everyone: from surveying and drawing, to examining the finds, to digging itself. Often this is in some of the most beautiful and restful of landscapes and with talks around a campfire at the end of the day.

This book is the story of those veterans, of their incredible discoveries, of their own journeys of recovery – and sometimes into a lifetime of archaeology. From the crash sites of Spitfires and trenches of the Western Front in the First World War, through to burial grounds of convicts, camp sites of Hessian mercenaries, and Anglo-Saxon cemeteries. Lavishly illustrated, this work will show the reader how the discovery of our shared past – of long-forgotten houses, of glinting gold jewelry, of broken pots, can be restorative and help people mend otherwise damaged lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casemate
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781636242477

Richard Osgood

Richard Osgood works as Senior Archaeologist for the Defence Infrastructure Organisation within the Ministry of Defence of the United Kingdom. He has excavated widely with research interests including the North European Bronze Age, the archaeology of conflict, and the cathartic benefits of archaeology.

Book preview

Two soldiers recover remains from the graves at Rat Island. © Harvey Mills

INTRODUCTION

IT IS A HOT JULY DAY and a soldier lies prone in the dusty earth. He is a Royal Engineer and his duties include disarming explosive devices buried in the soil. He works slowly, carefully, ensuring that no mistakes are made; his face a picture of concentration. And yet, this isn’t Afghanistan or Iraq. He is working on an archaeological excavation at Bullecourt, France, and the battlefield he is helping to excavate was last fought over in 1917. He is uncovering a twisted and frayed mass of leather components, with rusted metal fittings throughout – all that remains of what was once a boot. A careful examination of this object as the mud is slowly scraped away shows that, within this boot, a foot is still in place, the bones yellowed and dry. As is standard procedure for such sites in France, the work is stopped while the mayoress and police are contacted (making sure it is not evidence of a local murder) and then the Commonwealth War Graves Commission come to collect the remains. A representative from the latter informs our dig team that the bones will be buried in what is called a ‘scant remains’ grave. A headstone will proclaim the burial to be of remains of soldiers from the First World War rather than an ‘unknown soldier’ as, of course, the soldier ‘might have survived the loss of his foot’.

This, however, we already know, as our archaeologist has only one foot himself. Oh, and one eye – the results of his military service; such are the unique circumstances of Operation Nightingale. This book tells the story of the genesis of our programme and the aims of using archaeology to aid the recovery of military personnel.

I have never been a part of the armed forces – it has always been archaeology for me; something I wanted to do from a very early age. And yet, I was still aware of the enormity of warfare in general as a young boy. Both of my grandfathers had fought as artillerymen in the First World War (one in the British and one in the Australian army) and their experiences were harrowing. My Dad had been in the British Army in the Second World War (the 5th Royal Inniskilling Dragoon Guards) and took part in the campaigns through Normandy and the Low Countries in 1944. He was a gentle person, academic, and not somebody one would consider at all when conjuring up martial images. He wanted to be an actor but the events of 1939–1945 made this dream much tougher to achieve – though he did appear as a news reader in the last ever Laurel and Hardy movie.

Royal Engineer veteran John excavating the remains of an Allied boot at Bullecourt: empathy personified. © Harvey Mills

Signage at Chisenbury Midden making it clear to soldiers that ‘no digging’ is permitted. Badgers, however, cannot read. © Harvey Mills

As I grew up, my love of history was clear and I was, of course, fascinated by everything he might or might not have done in the war. Somewhat disappointingly, I was only ever given the funny stories of amusing mishaps or brief episodes of jollity facilitated by camaraderie. In the last week of his life, however, as he was dying of cancer, he would wake up from sleep in a panic, believing himself to be back in Normandy and, once again, suffering the horror of being on the radio to a friend in a neighbouring tank when it was hit, immolating the entire crew. Which he heard. I have no doubt that this was simply his body and mind releasing all those elements that he had suppresed, not wishing his family to know: that he, without doubt, had what we would call Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) today and which I just called ‘depression’. You could always tell when Dad was in one of these moods and I had the happy knack, at least superficially, of being able to draw a smile from him even at those times – and what to do with him. He died in 1997 and I find it almost impossible to put myself into his boots, to imagine what my closest relative went through in his early twenties.

Fast forward to 2004 and I’ve landed a job as the archaeologist for the military training area of Salisbury Plain. It surprises some that the Ministry of Defence (MOD) in the United Kingdom employs archaeologists but, as owners of 1% of the UK mainland, parts of nine World Heritage Sites, over 700 Scheduled Monuments protected by law, and 800 plus Listed Buildings – the Ministry of Defence has a great deal of heritage that needs looking after, while still facilitating the military training requirements. I do this alongside wonderful colleagues and it is a genuine privilege.

At 38,000 hectares (around 94,000 acres), Salisbury Plain is the largest of the British Army training areas in the UK and, in geographic terms, the same size as the Isle of Wight in southern Britain. It might not seem that large for any readers from Canada or the United States but, believe me, for the UK this is BIG. A dream job therefore. With unspoilt monuments from the Neolithic to the 20th century – and with parts of the Stonehenge World Heritage Site all in glorious Wiltshire countryside in the west of England. I still feel this about my job and believe the area to be the most glorious archaeological landscape in western Europe (though my colleagues in the archaeology team within the MOD may well plead the case for their areas!). As I started, British armed forces were still engaged in visceral fighting in both Afghanistan and Iraq and there were, of course, casualties. As we worked to gain them the training facilities they needed, you could see the military units that were coming onto the Plain for pre-deployment exercises and were painfully aware that you would read about men and women from these groups being killed and wounded in action a few weeks later. It was an incredibly sobering experience and one that really did focus