Ewart- Park type Bronze age Rapier
circa 8th century BC " Ewart-Park" type which is post "wilburton" which was a magnif.icent find on a south coast beach !!!
I thought it was part on an east indiaman shipwreck and nearly threw it back in the water (phew) one of the oldest artefacts I have found.
"If in doubt take it home and check it out"
I thought it was part on an east indiaman shipwreck and nearly threw it back in the water (phew) one of the oldest artefacts I have found.
"If in doubt take it home and check it out"
Bronze Age Swords
Bronze Sword Casting
The swords from the Bronze Age represent some of the finest work of the bronze smiths 3000 years ago, and in books, archaeologists encompass it with a few simple words ‘they made moulds of clay and cast swords’.
One of the first things you notice if you look at Bronze Age metal work, is that blade length was always at the edge of casting technology, and even from the early Bronze Age, bronze daggers had their handles riveted on, so all the casting length was in the blade.
As the early Bronze Age metal worker developed his skill in casting daggers using both clay and stone moulds, he managed to push the blades longer. From the middle Bronze Age these blades, some of them over 24 inches in length, are known as rapiers: the blades tend to be very narrow and the handles are still riveted on. in the past it was assumed these long narrow stabbing blades were not very successful in battle, and were more likely worn as symbols of rank. However more recent work has shown these were very efficient weapons.
The Figsbury Ring sword (above) and a similar reproduction (below).
Recently research on blade damage has pointed to some of the damage being deliberately inflicted by other blades, possibly from battle, but it’s also possible that swords were ritually broken or “killed” on the death of their owner.
One other major step in technology, which is often overlooked, is the forging of blade edges. This starts with the early Bronze Age with the arrival of beaker copper blades, probably done with hand held stone tools. But the work on later bronze daggers 2000BC is so incredibly neat that they must have been done with bronze anvils set in guides with the blades being drawn between them whilst being hammered. This style of Recasso edging continues in nearly all bronze edged weapons throughout the Bronze Age including spears.
Bronze Sword Casting
The swords from the Bronze Age represent some of the finest work of the bronze smiths 3000 years ago, and in books, archaeologists encompass it with a few simple words ‘they made moulds of clay and cast swords’.
One of the first things you notice if you look at Bronze Age metal work, is that blade length was always at the edge of casting technology, and even from the early Bronze Age, bronze daggers had their handles riveted on, so all the casting length was in the blade.
As the early Bronze Age metal worker developed his skill in casting daggers using both clay and stone moulds, he managed to push the blades longer. From the middle Bronze Age these blades, some of them over 24 inches in length, are known as rapiers: the blades tend to be very narrow and the handles are still riveted on. in the past it was assumed these long narrow stabbing blades were not very successful in battle, and were more likely worn as symbols of rank. However more recent work has shown these were very efficient weapons.
The Figsbury Ring sword (above) and a similar reproduction (below).
Recently research on blade damage has pointed to some of the damage being deliberately inflicted by other blades, possibly from battle, but it’s also possible that swords were ritually broken or “killed” on the death of their owner.
One other major step in technology, which is often overlooked, is the forging of blade edges. This starts with the early Bronze Age with the arrival of beaker copper blades, probably done with hand held stone tools. But the work on later bronze daggers 2000BC is so incredibly neat that they must have been done with bronze anvils set in guides with the blades being drawn between them whilst being hammered. This style of Recasso edging continues in nearly all bronze edged weapons throughout the Bronze Age including spears.
The Pool of Orange Light
The inside of the round house seemed quiet, the thick granite walls and thatched roof insulated them from the comings and goings outside: for a while this was a private space for the chosen few.
The old man paces back and forth across the dirt floor of the round house, like the accused awaiting judgement. Showers of sparks rise with each blast of the bellows in the smoke and darkness above their heads. This is their third attempt and the deadline approaches. ’What have I done to upset the gods like this.’ he wonders. Looking down through the flames into the furnace, his face glows from the light. The three other men watch his every move, waiting on his word.
They had been bellowing for what felt like ages,’ It’s time’ he says. Two of the assistants move quickly. Using sticks which start to burn; they manoeuvre the hot mould from the fire and stand it in a hole in the ground. The third person starts raking back the charcoal from the furnace.
He looks to the old man for reassurance, the old man nods. The heat from the furnace is intense, almost unbearable. With large animal skins wrapped around his arms to shield him, he uses wooden tongs to tease the white-hot crucible out of the glowing coals. Lifting it free from the fire he holds the crucible next to the mould.
One of the helpers holds a flat stick across the lower edge of the crucible to dam the charcoal that floats on the surface. He starts to pour, the metal runs out under the stick. Thoughts race through his head, if the mould cracks the metal will splash across the floor around their feet. If it leaks, will there be enough bronze to fill the mould?
He pours for what seems like an eternity. This is the time when the gods feed on your soul. They watch the golden liquid pouring into the mould, it only takes on tiny piece of charcoal to get washed in and the sword is ruined, the mould fills to the top.
The pool of orange metal sits there, they stare into the orange as if it were a window to the next world. Gradually the pool sinks as the metal sets. No one dares to break the silence, as if forces that control both worlds hold sway over the sword. The old man has been here many times before but it never gets any easier, this is the price for pouring the sun’s blood.
They wait until the mould cools enough to be dipped in the water. They push the doors open slowly and the soft light of the day streams in though the smoke. Trapping the mould between two sticks they carry it outside to a wooden trough. As they lower it in it spits and pops, so many different smells of burning. The water wins its fight against the heat, the hissing stops. With steam rising from the mould they tap the clay off, the sword emerges. The younger men start talking excitedly the sword looks good but the old man is more cautious, “wait”, he says, “wash it”. They wash off the last of the mould fragments.
He looks carefully along the blade for holes and bits of charcoal trapped in the bronze, he checks to see if both sides of the blade line up, he lifts the blade from the water and wipes it. Holding it up at arm’s length he turns his wrist slowly from side to side and looks along the blade. The sun glints on the wet bronze, his face softens, it is a beauty.
‘May the gods be praised!’
Thanks to Neil for
Text and images © Neil Burridge 2004
The inside of the round house seemed quiet, the thick granite walls and thatched roof insulated them from the comings and goings outside: for a while this was a private space for the chosen few.
The old man paces back and forth across the dirt floor of the round house, like the accused awaiting judgement. Showers of sparks rise with each blast of the bellows in the smoke and darkness above their heads. This is their third attempt and the deadline approaches. ’What have I done to upset the gods like this.’ he wonders. Looking down through the flames into the furnace, his face glows from the light. The three other men watch his every move, waiting on his word.
They had been bellowing for what felt like ages,’ It’s time’ he says. Two of the assistants move quickly. Using sticks which start to burn; they manoeuvre the hot mould from the fire and stand it in a hole in the ground. The third person starts raking back the charcoal from the furnace.
He looks to the old man for reassurance, the old man nods. The heat from the furnace is intense, almost unbearable. With large animal skins wrapped around his arms to shield him, he uses wooden tongs to tease the white-hot crucible out of the glowing coals. Lifting it free from the fire he holds the crucible next to the mould.
One of the helpers holds a flat stick across the lower edge of the crucible to dam the charcoal that floats on the surface. He starts to pour, the metal runs out under the stick. Thoughts race through his head, if the mould cracks the metal will splash across the floor around their feet. If it leaks, will there be enough bronze to fill the mould?
He pours for what seems like an eternity. This is the time when the gods feed on your soul. They watch the golden liquid pouring into the mould, it only takes on tiny piece of charcoal to get washed in and the sword is ruined, the mould fills to the top.
The pool of orange metal sits there, they stare into the orange as if it were a window to the next world. Gradually the pool sinks as the metal sets. No one dares to break the silence, as if forces that control both worlds hold sway over the sword. The old man has been here many times before but it never gets any easier, this is the price for pouring the sun’s blood.
They wait until the mould cools enough to be dipped in the water. They push the doors open slowly and the soft light of the day streams in though the smoke. Trapping the mould between two sticks they carry it outside to a wooden trough. As they lower it in it spits and pops, so many different smells of burning. The water wins its fight against the heat, the hissing stops. With steam rising from the mould they tap the clay off, the sword emerges. The younger men start talking excitedly the sword looks good but the old man is more cautious, “wait”, he says, “wash it”. They wash off the last of the mould fragments.
He looks carefully along the blade for holes and bits of charcoal trapped in the bronze, he checks to see if both sides of the blade line up, he lifts the blade from the water and wipes it. Holding it up at arm’s length he turns his wrist slowly from side to side and looks along the blade. The sun glints on the wet bronze, his face softens, it is a beauty.
‘May the gods be praised!’
Thanks to Neil for
Text and images © Neil Burridge 2004
Bronze socketed axe, circa 1000 to 800 BC
Found in Wiltshire, a beautiful broken example of a bronze age axe. Still has a sharp cutting edge after all these years in the plough soil.
Could this have been an incomplete casting, too valuable to discard maybe?
Tanged chisel
Tanged chisel with a triangular shaped blade and a long squared sectioned tang with raised moulding at the junction of the tang and the blade, witch acts as a stopped ridge for the wooden handle, circa 800-700 BC