A new and handsome find, a decorated bone comb from Tell Abraq in the United Arab Emirates dated about 2100–2000 BC, provides another link between eastern Arabia and the distant Bactrian lands.

One way to understand how a landscape captures memories is to study places where documents have also preserved them. The author does this to remarkable effect in the island of Rarotonga, showing how the great road Ara Metua and its monuments and land boundaries were structured and restructured through time to reflect what was to be remembered. Students of the pre- and proto-histories of all continents will find much inspiration in the pages that follow.

The relationship between antiquity, archaeology and national imagination in Greece, the sacralisation of the Classical past, and the recasting of the Western Hellenism into an indigenous Hellenism have been extensively studied in the last 15 years or so (see e.g. Hamilakis 2007, 2009). In fact, Greece has proved a rich source of insights for other cases of nation-state heritage politics. The new Acropolis Museum project was bound to be shaped by the poetics of nationhood right from the start, given that its prime referent is the most sacred object of the Hellenic national imagination, the Acropolis of Athens. This site is at the same time, however, an object of veneration within the Western imagination (you only have to look at the UNESCO logo), a pilgrimage destination for millions of global tourists, with all its revenue implications, and an endlessly reproduced and modified global icon (in both senses of the word).

Some years ago, in a short review of some of the major questions concerning agricultural efficiency in Roman times, I pointed out that we do not possess the materials on which to base an accurate computation. In attempting to make an assessment of agricultural efficiency we should require as a minimum basis a body of statistical information on the following points: first, the numbers of persons engaged; second, average yields per acre of certain crops for comparison with average yields in other producing countries; and third, statistics of output measured in man-hours according to recognized methods of determining the productivity of labour. The type of dficulty mentioned here is not confined to research in ancient agriculture; lack of records, and paucity of precise information, make investigation difficult in almost every department of ancient economic history. But lack of precise information has not deterred historians from making rough analyses and generalizations. The evidence on wheat-yields showed, inter alia, that it is not legitimate to use Columella’s general average return on Italian wheat of four-fold as evidence of a generally low standard of productivity in cereals (De Re Rust., III, iii, 4). So far as crop-yields are concerned, the common postulate of a low level of agricultural technique cannot be upheld.

The familiar term “pseudoarchaeology” allows us to categorise and comfortingly dismiss a diverse group of alternative presentations of the past, and reinforce our own professionalism as scholars and scientists. Glyn Daniel regularly denounced the ideas of a “lunatic fringe” in Antiquity editorials, and contributors to a recent unforgiving book analyse “how pseudoarchaeology misrepresents the past” (Fagan 2006). Other terms like “alternative” or “cult” archaeologies describe the same phenomena, and it is appropriate to consider elements of pseudohistory in the same argument. The conventional image is of a clear gap between the knowledge gained through our scholarly and scientific research and thinking, and the illusory pasts and falsehoods created by others. But such a binary division does present problems.

A recent study has suggested that the decorated Bronze Age metalwork of South Scandinavia depicted the path of the sun through the sky during the day and through the sea at night. At different stages in its journey it was accompanied by a horse or a ship. Similar images are found in prehistoric rock art, and this paper argues that, whilst there are important differences between the images in these two media, they also signal some of the same ideas.

Mr J. C. MANN holds that ‘each civitas of Gaul (and of Britain) was presumably a city, and like all true cities, each will have consisted of a single physical city surrounded by its territorium, the whole under the control of its magistrates, council and assembly, the last no doubt usually of little importance.’ I, on the other hand, following Jullian and Stevens, have suggested that the civitas was the whole tribal area, its capital (caput) normally ranking merely as a vicus where the government happened to have its seat. This, Mr Mann suggests, is a myth, which he doubts whether a Roman lawyer would understand.

The evidence admittedly is not all that it might be; yet as the question is important for a correct understanding of the development of local government in Roman Britain (and elsewhere), I may venture to take it up once more, especially as Mr Mann’s note appears to me to be erroneous in one or two particulars, and to exhibit the triple weaknesses of a too narrowly legalistic outlook, an inadequate account of historical development, and a neglect of some of the relevant facts.

Once upon a time (so tradition says) a region of extreme fertility lay between the Scilly Islands and Cornwall. This land was called Lyonesse; and where now roll the waters of the Atlantic there once stood prosperous towns and no less than a hundred and forty churches. The rocks called the Seven Stones, seven miles west of Land's End, are said to mark the site of a large city. This country was overwhelmed by the sea, and the sole survivor, one Trevilian, escaped destruction only by mounting a swift horse and fleeing to the mainland.

Such, stripped to the bone, is the famous legend of Lyonesse. Had it any real basis in fact, or is it merely an invention of the “dreamy Celt”? There are good reasons for believing that the substance of the legend is true, that within prehistoric times there did actually exist land which is now covered by the sea, and that it has been gradually overwhelmed. In one respect only does the modern critic disagree with tradition. He believes that Lyonesse was the Scilly Islands themselves, not a completely vanished region between them and Cornwall; and that what is now an archipelago of islands was a single large island, surrounded perhaps by a few rocky islets.

The English reviewer for Nature (Renfrew 1990) declared that Bruce Trigger's new history of archaeology will become the standard account of our subject's history, and the French reviewer for ANTIQUITY also has a warm view (this issue, page 960). Having looked to the past, what does Trigger see for the future of archaeology in North America, as the reaction comes to the view of archaeology as, primarily, science that has dominated these last decades?