Sir Norman Lockyer considers the whole question of Gorsedd circles so important, that, in the second edition of his work (1909), he has devoted a special chapter to the subject. Should it be finally established, beyond cavil, that Gorsedd circles have been frequently erected throughout the period which extends from the fifth century of our era until the present day, there will be a fair claim for continuity, if not of function, yet of habit, from prehistoric times. But there will also arise a grave suspicion whether some of the cromlechs, hitherto ascribed to prehistoric peoples, may not, after all, be the more permanent Gorsedd circles of a later date. We cannot forget the misleading stone-circle set up at Pontypridd no farther back than fifty years ago, by the “Arch-Druid” of that time, Myfyr Morganwg (or Myvyr Morgannwg); nor the sham “Druidic structure,” raised in the neighbourhood of Pateley Bridge, in Yorkshire, about thirty years previously.
Having uttered these objections, and having implied the necessity of slow-moving circumspection, one cannot think that the boundary of knowledge has yet been reached. Frequently, excavations reveal little more evidence than was already suspected after critical external examination. If then the archaeologist and the astronomer can find agreement in common premisses, the theodolite may indeed help the spade and atone for its limitations. While feeling persuaded that our megalithic monuments were never alined with such nicety that the orientation can be expressed in seconds, one can still understand that they may have been set out with greater accuracy than is commonly supposed. When we recollect, too, that many of our megaliths had at first probably a sepulchral purpose, we shall see no sufficient reason why they should not have been planned, at any rate, as skilfully as funeral earthworks.
The Rev. J. Griffith, indeed, carries the orientation theory further, and applies it to primitive earthworks of a general character—those which are popularly known as camps and forts. Speaking of Burrington Camp, Somerset, he claims that its Southern bank is oriented to the equinox, and that another bank corresponds both to the sunset line at the summer solstice, and to sunrise at the winter solstice. He adds that the star alinement of this earthwork has been “worked out” by Sir Norman Lockyer to Arcturus. Castle Dyke, near Aysgarth, Yorkshire, gives indications of an alinement either to Alpha Centauri or to Capella[635].
These much-canvassed theories have led us away from our highroad, yet the digression was really slight, seeing that many of our megaliths mark the position of early burial-places. It is not asserted that all our ancient stone monuments are of this character, but some, at least, of those which are claimed as “temples,” were primarily graves; hence they come under our survey. Here, too, it seems fitting to notice another matter, dependent to some extent on the orientation of graves, and illustrative of the persistency of unconscious folk-memory.
The modern sexton, having filled up the grave, banks up the surplus soil in the form of a long, neatly-finished mound. Is there any obvious reason why he should do this, instead of spreading out the remaining earth until all is level? The explanation of positive necessity is not admissible: I have noticed one churchyard in which mounds are not raised, just as, in two or three other instances, all the tombstones are laid in a horizontal position. The popular belief, if it is found to exist, ascribes the mound to an economical cause—the advantage of banking up some soil to prevent the shallow depression which is the after result of subsidence. But this does not account for the oblong mound with curved ends—a shape which does not altogether correspond with that of the pit which is being closed. Nor does it explain the careful turfing-over which sometimes follows, nor the masonry or coped tombstone which is frequently designed to preserve the accepted form of the mound.
The only satisfactory answer to the question, so far as competent authorities have yet discovered, is that the modern grave-mound is the shrunken representative of the long barrow, the features having been retained because of the inertia of social custom, and because inveterate imitation is easier than new experiment. It is noteworthy that the modern mound is often so large as to be unsightly. The size is especially increased in places where, as in the little Huguenot burying ground at Wandsworth, the pile is surmounted by a “box” tomb of brick or stone. (These mounds are not, however, comparable in size to that of Chislehurst, p. 76 supra.) To the late Mr Grant Allen belongs, I believe, the chief credit for the barrow theory, the conclusion having been forced upon him by long study of the comparative burial customs of primitive folk[636]. Thomas Wright had earlier classed the Saxon barrow as the prototype of the modern grave-mound; and, in the eighteenth century, Hearne had remarked, concerning tumuli and churchyards: “But now the straitness of [churchyards] will not permit such aggeres consecratos, as some terme them, to be made there.”
The proposed interpretation involves the assumption that the practice of barrow-burial, in the sense of raising a tumulus of some kind over the dead, has never completely died out in our country. Link by link, as we pass onwards from the Neolithic period, through the Bronze and Iron Ages, and include the Romans, Saxons, and Danes in our survey, we discover that this claim can be made good. The chief difference between the ancient practice and that of our own day lies in the fact that mound-burial is now almost universal, at least throughout our country, while in former ages it was not quite so general. One may hazard the opinion that mound-burial may have been markedly the exception in prehistoric times. The great ones of the land were truly laid under these earthen monuments, but in what manner the great masses of the poorer folk were buried we may never know. Perhaps these humbler members of the community were interred in much the same way as nearly the whole of the present population may expect to be interred; that is, a hole was dug in the ground, and perhaps a tiny tumulus was heaped above the buried corpse. But the mound was not always raised, especially when cremation came into fashion. The question need not be here complicated by a consideration of the evolution of the coffin, since some remarks will be made on this subject later. An instance or two will tend to confirm the opinion just expressed. Dr T. Rice Holmes has collected numerous records to show that there were moundless graves during the Bronze Age[637]. Such graves were dug in caverns, or sunk on the chalk downs, or in other soils near a settlement. Doubtless, other examples remain yet to be discovered. The reader will, however, note that, except in the case of caves, the original absence of a mound cannot always be absolutely proven; the forces of Nature, aided by the plough, may have obliterated the external signs of burial. During the Early Iron Age, mounds appear to have been even less general than in the preceding period. Thus, several pit-burials have been recorded from Hagbourne Hill, near Didcot, Berkshire[638], and from the celebrated “urn-field” at Aylesford, Kent, which dates from c. B.C. 50[639]. For the intervening Roman period, there is no need to cite examples, since they abound, and of the Anglo-Saxon burials, it may be sufficient to state that in various localities (Cambridge, Northampton, Gloucester, Wiltshire), groups of graves have been found in such close proximity that the tumuli, if they ever existed, must have been of small dimensions[640].
All through these centuries, nevertheless, barrow-burial had persisted. Nay, more, the barrows were often collected in groups, representing the prototypes of our modern cemeteries. The classic example of such clusters is seen in the barrows around Stonehenge; within a circuit of three miles it is said that there are about three hundred barrows[641]. Another illuminating record is that of the collection of barrows known as the Danes’ Graves, near Kilham, on the Wolds of Yorkshire. Not fewer than 500 graves once existed here, “massed together as in a modern churchyard, not isolated as in the Bronze period[642].” Mr J. R. Mortimer found that the burial-mounds of East Yorkshire fell readily into clusters, some of which contained so many as thirty or more individual barrows. From Mr Mortimer’s conclusion that the ground-plans of these groups agree with the outlines of certain of the heavenly constellations, notably with that of Charles’s Wain, we must, however, withhold assent. The Stonehenge barrows are grouped, not actually “massed.” Other groups of tumuli might be given; we will merely mention those interesting cases where one or two large barrows are connected with collections of tiny mounds; the smaller ones, perhaps, representing the resting-place of the poorer tribesmen[643]. It would be safe to assert that most of the small barrows have ere now been long levelled down. Of the larger mounds not a tithe of the original number remains.
The clusters of barrows, one may consider, led indirectly to the Christian cemeteries. At first, as stated in a sermon by St Chrysostom (A.D. 403), the Christian communities had their cemeteries outside the walls of cities[644]. Interment in churchyards was not a primitive practice, and was prohibited by the decrees of early church councils. The custom gradually crept into use about the sixth century[645], the innovation appearing first in connection with monastic settlements. By the time of St Cuthbert (c. A.D. 742) the practice was becoming well known, the bones of pious men and martyrs being actually admitted within the building itself[646]. To such an extent did the practice grow, that the floors of churches often became too uneven for walking over. As a parenthesis, we note that the early ban against churchyard burial must not be interpreted as contradicting the probability of the building of churches near older Christian cemeteries.
Scandinavia was apparently in a state of transition from barrow burial to small-mound burial at a later date, namely, during the Viking Age (A.D. 700-1000). At that period it became the habit to make low barrows for the poorer folk, the “warrior houes” being reserved for the families of powerful chieftains[647]. And one cannot doubt that the collaterals of the Scandinavians—the Anglo-Saxons—developed their burial customs along similar lines. In addition, it must be remembered that these latter peoples, when settled in England, had a marked predilection for burial in the older and larger barrows which they found already in existence. Such “secondary burials” are familiar to the archaeologist, and are discriminated by the level and posture of the skeletons, as well as by the associated objects. When the conversion of the people to Christianity became more general, such practices were discountenanced. Down to the eighth century, however, it was usual to bury the illegitimate offspring of nuns and others in these older mounds.