The prehistoric stone circles of Britain, and Stonehenge in particular, have achieved iconic status in contemporary culture. Their images appear on postcards, in advertisements, in newspaper cartoons, and repeatedly in television documentaries, to the extent that stone circles have become the obligatory, if clichÈd, signifiers of Britain's 'ancient past'. Yet these representations might merit only passing academic attention - or perhaps analysis as British tourist attractions for an international market - were it not that stone circles have become sites of contested meanings, and, in the case of Stonehenge, often bitterly so. Archaeologists, heritage managers, tourists, religious adherents of Paganisms and 'alternative spiritualities', earth mystics, 'new-age travellers', and festival-goers, all express very different interpretations of stone circles, interpretations which generate incompatible modes of engaging with them. Inevitably some interpretations and modes are legitimised, whilst others are marginalized or even criminalized.
Given that all these varied groups produce and consume images of prehistoric sites, we might expect to see these diverging positions variously represented pictorially. Indeed this is the case, for, far from being 'neutral', images of stone circles are discursive devices used to articulate, negotiate, and contest the meanings that these sites convey. This paper presents a variety of images of stone circles, principally of Stonehenge, and through discourse analysis, reveals underlying and often obscured positionings of their authors. For instance, the dramatic images of the sun rising behind the deserted silhouette of Stonehenge, are indicative of a particular view of how the Stones should be physically encountered, managed, and interpreted: they serve to promote a discourse of the past favoured and legitimated by many heritage managers. The paper problematises our (Modern Western) relation to the past by questioning such images and (connotative or denotative) narratives produced by heritage managers, tourists, and 'alternative' devotees. Finally, the paper demonstrates how images of Stonehenge have created 'hyper-real' expectations amongst visitors which the physical reality can not meet, and how plans for a new visitor centre are designed, in part, to compensate for this. This paper draws on previous work of the Sacred Sites, Contested Rights/Rites project (see e.g. website at www.sacredsites.org.uk) and on critical discourse analysis informed by the work of Wodak and Meyer (2001), Chouliaraki and Fairclough (1999) Potter and Wetherall (1987), Smith (1990), as elsewhere developed by Blain (e.g. 2002). It is not 'neutral': members of the project have their particular relations to sites, groups, paganisms and to heritage management, which are made explicit in the project's work and elsewhere (e.g. papers in Blain, Ezzy and Harvey, forthcoming).
The dominant, legitimised, discourse pertaining to prehistoric sites is that articulated by those groups entrusted with their management: archaeologists and heritage managers. This so-called 'preservation ethos' rests on the foundation that the past is 'closed', and whilst it may be knowable to a greater or lesser extent, the past is ultimately unreachable. Thus archaeologists interested in the religious significance of Stonehenge look to the archaeological record, perhaps even to historical records, but not to the present day. Contemporary ritual activity is invalid as a form of archaeological knowledge, can not be considered 'real', because it lies outside of this arbitrarily defined boundary of closure. What counts as being 'of interest' are the ritual activities of the 'original' culture(s).
The past may be closed and unreachable, but within the preservation ethos it holds 'value', both intangible and tangible. Its tangible value is partly that it provides the material objects, the physical evidence, that enables archaeologists to have a profession, and partly economic: through tourism the past generates significant amounts of revenue) [1] . However, the preservation ethos also sees the past and its artefacts as possessing an intangible value, in and of themselves, that must by necessity be preserved: "the remains of the past, both moveable and immovable and also including the intangible - the historic environment - should be protected and preserved for their own sake and for the benefit of future generations" (APPAG 2003: 6). Rather like a Victorian butterfly collection, the now lifeless relics from the past are to be pinned down, labelled, protected and conserved so that future generations of people can also look at and treasure them. It is an ethos, therefore, that privileges intellectual and visual engagement with the past and its material objects, and archaeologists as final arbiters of meaning.
Important implications follow from the routine application of the preservation ethos to the management of stone circles, implications which are particularly evident at Stonehenge. First, the ethos reifies the activities of people in the past, and the impact that these activities may have had upon a site, to the detriment of contemporary activities and any resulting amelioration. Given that the ethos demands that a site must be preserved in its current state, and that change constitutes 'degradation', contemporary activities must necessarily be regarded as potentially threatening a site's stability and continuity. In other words the ethos creates the situation in which sites are regarded as being continually and permanently under threat. Thus Stonehenge is "under pressure not only as a result of the large numbers of visitors that it attracts, but also from the impacts of trafficäPost-war agricultural intensification, changes in military useäand increasing demands for leisure and recreational use of the countryside" (English Heritage 2000: 1.3). Management plans seek to minimise 'visitor pressure', to determine a site's 'carrying capacity' [2] or 'sustainable' number of visitors, and to agree 'limits of acceptable change'. "The physical environment at the Stones has proved unable to withstand pressure from the number of visitors with the result that strict visitor management measures have been introduced such as roping off the Stones" (English Heritage 2000: 3.22). From the point of view of the preservation ethos therefore, visitors to Stonehenge and other sites constitute a fundamental problem.
The discursive nature of this position is made clear when the history of Stonehenge is examined; Stonehenge has never been a singular thing but is rather a palimpsest, or composite, resulting from many phases of intervention. Throughout its long history the monument has been altered, changed, developed, abandoned, and reused (Chippindale 1994; Bender 1998). The name, Stonehenge, dates to the Anglo-Saxon period, some 2000 years after it was constructed - and is itself of uncertain derivation. The layout of the monument with which we are familiar dates back only to the 1950s, when stones fallen since the 18th century were re-erected, the rest left as examples of 'damage' from ancient times. Thus the felt need to preserve Stonehenge as it currently exists is a comparatively recent development.
Second, the ethos privileges a visual, rather than physical or tactile, mode of engagement with sites: to appreciate sites fully they should be looked at, like museum exhibits, but preferably from a distance so that they can be appreciated in the full context of their archaeological landscape (but for archaeologists challenging this view, see e.g. Wallis 2003). Management plans for Stonehenge repeatedly stress the importance of landscape, and distance views. Stonehenge is "not so much a site as a 'cultural landscape'; a relict landscape preserving evidence of a long history of man's interaction with the environment" (English Heritage 2000: 2.4). "Typically much of the WHS is an open landscape in which the sky dominates" (English Heritage 2000: 2.15). "From the highest points on the downland (often the location of the most significant archaeological remains), views are extensive and landscape features can be visible from a considerable distance" (English Heritage 2000: 3.13).
The visual bias inherent within the preservation ethos is consequently influential upon current archaeological interpretations which foreground spatiality, distance and perspective, and vice versa. Furthermore it has contoured thinking regarding the planned improvements to visitor facilities at Stonehenge, and the proposed 'visitor experience'. The A303 is to be replaced with a bored tunnel, the A344 and the current visitor centre are to be closed and turfed over (or in part painted green!) and a new visitor centre built some three miles from the Stones. Visitors will be bussed to vantage points from which to view the panorama of 'the landscape' (now perceived to be untrammelled by recent human architecture), and thereby to appreciate the perspective, apparently, of archaeologists. It will constitute the latest (and likely not the last) amelioration of the landscape in the history of Stonehenge. What people will see is Stonehenge 2003, but whether this is actually what visitors want remains a moot point (Baxter and Chippindale 2002; see below).
Unsurprisingly therefore, this discursive position may be found in the images of Stonehenge produced by heritage managers and archaeologists. These representations typically show Stonehenge from a variety of dramatic, unusual, and long distance perspectives (ie from the air, silhouetted against the sun rise etc), reinforcing the notion that the grandeur and 'mystery' of the place can only be experienced from a distance. The Stonehenge Project web site, www.stonehengeproject.org.uk, is a case in point. Moreover, and in contrast to most people's experience of the site, they invariably show a Stonehenge devoid of humanity. The Stones are rendered not as architecture but as 'natural', framed as part of a dramatic landscape in which humans no longer play a part. The Stones appear frozen in time, hence they are 'timeless', 'unchanging', and ultimately 'mysterious' (see e.g. on-site presentation panels at Stonehenge visitor centre); qualities set in stone which heritage managers have committed themselves to preserving.
Additionally archaeologists regularly feature in documentaries (discussed further below) which tend to reinforce the preservation ethos through clichÈd images and sounds. Archaeologists, as 'experts', are seen striding purposely through deserted sites, or through virtual tours of 'stone-age' Britain, as it is currently imagined. A surfeit of digital editing shows stones 'looming' from unusual camera angles (contrast with similar representations of cathedrals), shrouded in dry-ice, and accompanied by a soundtrack of stereotyped vox-effect drones. Archaeologists, eager to promote their discipline, use documentaries to forward their most recent interpretations and, indirectly, the preservation ethos. However, in doing so, and in conceding to the demands of 'good' television, that is, with high ratings, these programmes tend to portray stone circles primarily as mysterious, enchanted places. The archaeological message is thereby obscured by the visual trickery, a romanticisation that makes both the programmes and the sites themselves extremely appealing to the wider public. It is ironic, therefore, that the images and representations of these sites produced by heritage experts are instrumental in generating the very tourism which they believe threatens sites' stability and continuity (e.g. Lowenthal). It is to a consideration of tourism, and the meanings of sites to non-specialist visitors, that we now turn.
"Stonehenge is perceived internationally as a 'must see attraction'" (English Heritage 2000: 2.11), but for heritage managers wedded to the preservation ethos, the increasing numbers of visitors to Stonehenge (up to 800,000 p.a.) are problematic. On the one hand visitors contribute to the site's tangible value, in that tourism generates considerable revenue, but on the other, visitors present one of the identified threats to the stable continuity of the stones through the steady erosion of so many feet. At Avebury, for example, tourists are reluctantly accepted by the National Trust. The management plan states that the "purposes of the National Trust embrace the principle of providing public access, where it is consistent with its primary duties of preservation and good neighbourliness. The Operational Guidelines for nomination to the World Cultural Heritage list do not, in fact, require sites to be accessible to the public" (National Trust 1997: 25). The plan is actually committed to reducing visitor numbers; its idealised image of the site, we argue, is an engraving from 1724, in which the site is deserted, unnoticed except by antiquarians! The plan, in other words, side-steps the issue of why stone circles have become so popular, or why they have become so meaningful within contemporary culture.
Interest in the past is currently booming. Channel 4's successful archaeological programme, Time Team, commands an audience of 6 million, whilst the unexpected popularity of his History of Britain propelled Simon Schama to the status of celebrity academic. Schedulers have responded to this audience-led demand with a plethora of documentaries covering all periods: history and archaeology are the surprise successes of recent broadcasting. The past, and particularly the distant past, matters to people.
The reasons why this is so are complex and beyond the scope of this paper. However two points can be mentioned briefly. The first is that the people distant in time or space, at the 'periphery', provide the 'other' upon which contemporary hopes and fears of those at the 'centre' can be projected (Piggott 1968; Said 1978; Bowman 1995). During times of confidence and faith in the 'progress' of mainstream culture, the other is represented as exotic and primitive. At times when people become disillusioned with the mainstream, the exotic other becomes desirable, 'primitives' becoming 'noble savages'. The second is that during times of rapid social change, the past represents a point of continuity and stability: hence 'traditions', implying continuity, may be resurrected or invented (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983). That we are moving both through a time of both rapid social change, and disillusionment with traditional sources of authority, is generally agreed by scholars (see Heelas et al. 1996; Sardar 2002), and consequently the past has become increasingly important as a stable reference of identity and meaning. The great longevity of Stonehenge means that it, quite literally, represents continuity with the ancient past - or with an ancient past, in Blain's phrase 'the past in the imagination of the present' - which is regarded as unchanging.. Furthermore its inherently unknowable qualities makes this distant past particularly amenable to polysemic interpretation: Stonehenge can support a host of alternative meanings in a way that, for example, a cathedral, with a known history, can not. For contemporary culture, destabilised by the uncertainties of post-modernity, the appeal of Stonehenge is considerable.
Additionally, Stonehenge has been given an even greater international significance through its inclusion as a 'World Heritage Site' (along with Avebury). The inscription of these modern 'wonders of the world' has attributed to them an "outstanding universal value" (English Heritage 2000: 1.2) for all of humanity. It has also delineated these sites as icons of national identity. Thus the Taj Mahal is iconic of, and epitomises, 'indianess', the Great Wall of China 'chineseness', and Stonehenge and Avebury variously 'englishness', 'britishness', even 'celticity' or some other variant of constructed (and also contested) UK identity. Foreign visitors to the UK go to places like Stonehenge (alongside the Tower of London and Madam Tussauds) not just to experience the past, but also to partake of this quintessential branded English/British experience.
Visitors to Stonehenge therefore find meanings in the site that may or may not accord with the preservation ethos. Whilst some may appreciate the site intellectually for its archaeological interest, the majority seek some kind of emotional encounter with it, with its past or with its significance as national icon (see Baxter and Chippindale 2002). As Baxter and Chippindale have argued, the majority of visitors do not want to appreciate the Stones from a distance as part of a landscape, but close at hand (ibid). They want to experience exactly those qualities of drama and mystery they have been primed to expect through the plethora of stereotyped images to which they have been exposed. They want to photograph themselves against the background of the Stones so that on their return home they can say 'I have been there'. For Baxter and Chippindale therefore the new plans for visiting Stonehenge represent the imposition of an archaeological discourse of how the site should be interpreted and encountered. It is a discourse shaped by the concerns of supply, not demand.
The past is appealing to visitors, then, because it creates a sense of stability or continuity. However, for many in the post-modern world, the past represents a standard against which contemporary life can be critiqued. The past represents a 'golden age' in which some essential lack of modern times can be met. For many contemporary people that lack is one of enchantment; the imagined past re-enchants. Paganisms, their diverse forms united by the commonality of looking to the past for sources of belief, practice and identity, are some of the fastest growing contemporary spiritual movements. Similarly, Earth Mystics and Alternative Archaeologists seek patterns of meaning in the past 'overlooked' or 'ignored' by mainstream archaeology. A typical, widely held, belief by Pagans and Earth Mystics alike is that "ancient peoples were sensitive to aspects of the physical world that are not appreciated in modern day society" (Rollright Trust 2001: 20). This discourse parallels, and in part replicates, attempts by indigenous people in North and South Americas, Australia and elsewere, to claim knowledge of landscape and place: it is an inherently political discourse of the 20th and 21st centuries, through which indigenous groups have been able to advance (for instance) land-claims. This political dimension is often not recognised in the 'new age', English Heritage, or Pagan usages. Nevertheless, the political implications remain.
So, practitioners exhibit 'topophilia' (Bowman 2000), and thus sites such as Stonehenge are not simply for them places of archaeological interest. For many they are sacred places, temples even, which appear to hold answers to important questions of meaning and ontology, and to meet the need for re-enchantment. However, if, as Baxter and Chippindale contend, visitor expectations and meanings are largely ignored, then those of Pagans, alternative archaeologists, earth mystics, travellers and free-festivallers are actively marginalized and have even been criminalized. At an abstract level, alternative discourses are incompatible with, and directly challenge, the preservation ethos. For alternative practitioners the past is not closed, nor is it unreachable; its relics are 'living' things. Thus many consider Stonehenge to be a living temple, as sacred now as it was to the 'ancestors'. Through a variety of practices, which include dowsing, meditation, visualisation, ritual, entheogen consumption, and the cartographic search for 'alignments', it is believed that the knowledge of these ancestors can be rediscovered, and the lack in our culture met. It is understandable why academic archaeology, resting upon rational enquiry and the procedures of graduate training, peer review and so on, is suspicious of these alternatives, for there is a fundamental methodological and philosophical incompatibility.
However, it follows from alternative discourses that intellectual engagement with sites from a distance is not sufficient, and the need to interact physically, emotionally and spiritually with sites is what renders these discourses so problematic for the preservation ethos. That managers perceive alternative visitors as a threat is evidenced by the following statement, unsubstantiated with data: "Visitor pressure is compounded by the highly seasonal nature of tourism at Stonehenge together with peaks created by the influx of visitors at certain times of the year, mainly at the summer and winter solstices and equinoxes" (English Heritage 2000: 3.22 Elsewhere (in The Times), bank holidays are seen as time when site is most threatened). The Stonehenge management plan does attempt to accommodate these alternative views to some extent, saying "It is essential that plans for visitor management do not affect the essential mystical quality of Stonehenge, a quality which for many people lies at the root of its attraction" (English Heritage 2000: 3.23). It is possible to negotiate an 'hour in the stones' for groups, at a price, and while strictly controlled, these private Druidic or other group engagements, are tolerated (Blain and Wallis, 2002). Druidic and other pagan rituals and are so commonplace that they are represented on postcards at Avebury. However, rituals and alternative views are only accommodated to the extent that the preservation of the site is not compromised - the preservation ethos remains non-negotiable.
The situation has been made more complicated by the emergence, growth, and eventual suppression of the Stonehenge free-festival. Running for ten years from 1974-84, the festival, with its overt contravention of societal conventions, drug laws, and with its black market economy (Hetherington 1992), unsettled the authorities; its proximity to the archaeology of Stonehenge unsettled the archaeologists. Its demise was inevitable. What the authorities underestimated was how important the festival had become to those attending. Not only did people construct their identity and lifestyle around it, but also, through its utopian vision and entheogen consumption, it met the fundamental need for re-enchantment. People were attached to the festival in a very deep, sometimes religious, sense, and would act to further its continuity. The forced closure of the festival, the resulting confrontations, and the demonisation of travellers and festival goers, merely served to give Stonehenge a powerful new meaning. It became an icon of freedom and alterity for anyone dissatisfied with Thatcher's Britain (McKay 1996. Going to Stonehenge, or at least making the attempt, became an act of resistance.
The more recent story has been told from a variety of perspectives by Chippindale et al, (1990) Sebastion (2001), Worthington (2002) and indeed ourselves in a variety of articles. A lengthy negotiation process has been continued over years, with participation of both 'pagan' and other celebrants, and heritage personnel. The negotiation is not without its problems: this year (2003), some of these relate to date and time of the summer solstice managed open access, with many pagans considering that the access event will take place on 'the wrong day'. This has occurred before, less spectacularly, at the winter solstices of 2001 and 2002.
For 2001, according to many Pagans, this was the morning of Friday 21st December, and a number of Druids (including Tim Sebastion of SOD), travellers, and others planned to be at Stonehenge then, Sebastion saying they would celebrate on the 21st 'as we always have done' (Sebastion pers. com.). Other pagans including the druid King Arthur Pendragon had already negotiated access with English Heritage for the following morning, Saturday 22nd (Pendragon, pers com). And the English Heritage director of Stonehenge, Clews Everard had stated, based on Druids she had spoken with, and according to the data obtained from astrology websites, that Stonehenge would only be open on the Saturday morning (Everard, pers. com.). So, while Sebastion and friends made it plain that a number of people apart from themselves would be at Stonehenge on the morning of 21st, English Heritage categorically stated entrance would not be possible because they had preparations in place to facilitate access on the 22nd (specifically regarding health and safety protocols, but also provision of hot food retailers).
In effect, whatever their intentions to facilitate a negotiated managed access, EH were telling Pagans and other celebrants when their festival days should be. Harvey (2001), writing soon after the event, stated: 'Without permission from Clews Everardä [English] Heritage were doing nothing, insisting we were there on "the wrong day". So much for freedom of religion!' So - and after a puzzled debate on the Stonehenge Peace process email list about which was the 'right' day - a considerable number of people did turn out at Stonehenge on the 21st, and English Heritage, as they stipulated, denied access. A number of travellers wanting to scatter the ashes of a child had a verbal confrontation with the security guards who said English Heritage would not be allowing people into the stones. No one had expected such a large turnout (apparently more than on the 'official' day) and the security guards, along with the small police presence, were clearly perplexed at what to do. At one point, a security guard made it plain that he would not stop anyone if they tried to get in by climbing over the fence: needless to say, people began climbing over the fence. At this point, the police, who were obviously concerned about accidents on the A344 (juxtaposed with the fence to the northeast of Stonehenge) where some hundreds of people were gathered, prompted the security guards to open the gate. Those who had not trespassed at this point, now deemed they had been invited into the stones; the proceedings thereafter were peaceful.
Feedback after the event - on various email lists, in person to various people involved, and gained from various conferences we have attended - raises further points pertinent to our discussion over forms of access and engagement with Stonehenge. Clearly, English Heritage were concerned that events had not proceeded as they, as site managers, would have liked. In a telephone interview, Clews Everard suggested: 'criminal damage' was caused to gain entry with the electric fence and a padlock broken; further, glass bottles were left behind and people climbed on the stones 'with no regard for the sanctity of the place' (pers. com.). She added that the years of work negotiating access were compromised by these latest events, leaving English Heritage in the position of having to review how this would affect the future.
Press reports the following week are revealing, the description of the 'unofficial' Friday event - 'Revellers break into Stonehengeä THREE hundred revellers broke a padlock in order to greet the dawning of the shortest day of the yearä in defiance of an order from English Heritage to stay away until the following day' (www.thisiswiltshire.co.uk 27.12.01) - contrasting with the description of the 'official' event which was so 'peaceful' the headline could say no more than 'Winter solstice is an all-weather eventä Druidsä were treated to snowflakes, a rainbow and a clear sunrise' (www.thisiswiltshire.co.uk 28.12.01).
From our viewpoint as participants (in the officially 'wrong day' in 2001 and the officially 'right day' in 2002, when the dilemma of 21st or 22nd was similarly problematic), these issues of 'ownership' (of knowledge or interpretation, rather than physical ownership of the monument) are central to all 'sides' in this debate. But what is contentious when 300 people turn up at winter solstice threatens to become far more serious in June, 2003. We write this initial draft during the approach to solstice 2003. Our final paper will report on its outcome and the images of 'sacredness' and 'heritage' - whether negotiated, contested, or under threat - that result.
Druids, Pagans, festival-seekers and other 'alternative' visitors typically find the experience of Stonehenge falling far below their expectations. Indeed the image of the Stones has been so over-represented that visitors of all shades, particularly tourists, expecting hyper-reality find reality a disappointing second. Fenced off, ringed by throngs of other visitors and watchful attendants, set off against two heavily used roads, Stonehenge-as-actually-experienced is very different from the images of dramatic and mysterious solitude. No wonder that Stonehenge has been famously described as a 'national disgrace'.
Our final point, then, concerns the future of Stonehenge and the proposed management plans which will see the creation of a new 'visitor experience'. These plans have been shaped in large part by the need to fill the 'reality gap'. However, rather than shape the representations to fit reality, the landscape is to be managed so as to make it fit more closely with visitor expectations (and with the needs of preservation) - as announced by the Stonehenge Project website. The removal of the A303, A344, and the relocation of the visitor centre can be read as cosmetic landscaping exercises to contour the land to hyper-real expectations. Visitors can now expect to see the long-distance views and dramatic panoramas for themselves. They may also be able to wander amongst the Stones and encounter their mysterious qualities first hand (although this intention has yet to be confirmed, and Baxter and Chippindale have cast serious doubt on the feasibility of a greenfield site on which all can wander, pointing out however trendy landscape archaeology has become, that it is the stones themselves that people want to see, touch, experienced at first hand). However, in case reality is still not enough, the new visitor centre is to contain the latest virtual reality technology, so that hyper-real expectations can be met. It is hoped, for those charged with preserving the site, that the lure of virtuality coupled with a bus ride and a mile walk will deter many from venturing to the Stones. We will have to wait and see whether this is indeed the outcome.
It is clear from the discussion above that Stonehenge is not a singular thing. It suffers from polysemia, in that it signifies a range of meanings, discursively contested through image and text. Our position here (and with the Sacred Sites project more generally) has not been to favour any particular interpretation, but rather to reveal the often hidden positionings of image makers and consumers, in order to further dialogue. Given that all images, regardless of context, tend to show Stonehenge as it is imagined, progress might be made if there was a turn towards producing images of Stonehenge as it is experienced by visitors in 2003 - a diversity of henges to display a multivocality of meanings. To do that, however, would be to undermine the very potent and almost universal need for Stonehenge to remain 'essentially' shrouded in mystery, the ancient guardian of a hidden past... Such an entrenched perspective will not be surrendered lightly.
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[2] A term borrowed from environmental discourse, in which it means something slightly different. In mathematical modelling the carrying capacity is the stable population that an environment can support. The use of the term in heritage management to suggest the maximum number of visitors a site can support without damage to the site is a subtle discursive, shift. In ecology the environment constrains the population and not vice versa.
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