As an archaeologist who sees archaeology as a product, and who loves to share history with people rather than keeping archaeology for future generations, I became interested in an approach to archaeology that shares cultural heritage with people. My goal was to identify an approach to archaeology that would allow people to interact with their past in the ways they wanted to. I learned about the concept of ‘community archaeology’ and was faced with a question: is there a demand, and are there possibilities, for community archaeology in the Netherlands? Most of the results presented in this chapter are based upon research undertaken (Lampe 2010) for my Masters degree in Heritage Management in a World Context at the University of Leiden, Netherlands. The results presented here are based on findings from groups of respondents representing all volunteers in archaeology, as well as professional archaeologists within this area of interest in the Netherlands. After drafting this chapter, I discussed some parts of it with Professor Willem J H Willems, Dean of the Faculty of Archaeology at the University of Leiden. Therefore some of Professor Willems' remarks are quoted alongside my own comments or results.

Background

In 2007 the Netherlands revised its Monuments Act, as a reaction to the Valetta Convention of 1992. One important element covered by the Valetta Convention was not fully understood by the new Monuments Act: the stimulation of, and increase in, the Dutch public's awareness of cultural heritage. With the introduction of the Valetta Convention, Dutch archaeologists showed little consideration for the Dutch public's interests.

Much of what was accounted in the nineteenth century as illegitimate and unwarranted popular punishment had its antecedents in the orthodox modes of chastisement observable in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; a time when, if communities did not own their justice systems, they nevertheless remained very interested shareholders. Given the rather vestigial nature of the government, some rough accommodation with general opinion was a necessity. William Paley warned in 1785:

Nowhere, of course, was the need to reconcile general opinion to the operation of the legal system greater than in the area of criminal law, where the community had always played an important role in the identification and prosecution of offences. A reward system was in operation, but thief-taking and approving went into general decline following the disreputable career and final fall of Jonathan Wild in 1725. The system at the end of the eighteenth century was almost entirely dependent on the inclination of private prosecutors, the activities of private prosecution societies, or the vigour of the constables and their assistants in spying out and hauling malefactors before the magistrates.

In 1838 ‘five little girls sat on five wooden benches, specially made for them, at the Opening Meeting of the School and Home for Missionaries' Daughters … in the charming village of Walthamstow, five miles from London.’ Later, in the 1850s, former scholars of Walthamstow Hall would recall their appreciation of a Miss Hale for her ‘amiable and consistent conduct’. For seven years from 1842 Miss Hale had acted as music teacher, and it is known that she concentrated on singing because it was impossible to cope with the demands for learning piano. Indeed, singing must surely have been the prime musical activity in many schools, whether in chapel or the local church, and this was certainly the case in many of the girls' schools which have kindly given me an insight into their music provision.

Boarding schools for girls arose during the second half of the nineteenth century and, as far as we can tell, most provided some sort of musical education. Today some schools have opted for weekly boarding and so not everywhere can boast weekly Sunday chapel choirs. Sadly we read that only a few new boys' schools at this time provided music, mainly in their great daily chapel service, whereas the long-established places like Eton, Winchester, Westminster and Harrow appear to have concentrated on singing, just like many of the older girls' schools.

Like many schools, Gresham's School in Holt, Norfolk, has been fortunate to experience some fine educators over the course of its existence. Through the strengths of their beliefs, the broad scope of their activities, and their desire to make music known, understood, and enjoyed by all, the music masters and mistresses at Gresham's have enriched the lives of many students, parents, colleagues, and friends of the school. During the twentieth century the school has had its fair share of talented pupils pass across the Parade Ground, but it is the ethos of ‘bringing out the best in every child’ that remains a truer philosophy and reflects the nature of its everyday musical activities.

1900–10: The Shaw Years

In 1900 George Howson, a scientist, was appointed headmaster of Gresham's. Musically he was no practitioner, but he saw value in the arts and ensured well-staffed departments with the finest teachers. As an early Director of Music at the school, Geoffrey Shaw, once remarked, ‘his conviction that the humanities must form an essential part of education made it possible for music to flourish at Gresham's. No music master ever had a truer friend in his headmaster.’

In 1900 a small school choir existed and public concerts were given under the guidance of classics master R. Langford James. Concerts were regularly given in Great School, with members of staff usually providing the main body of the programmes.

Introduction

‘Communication’, ‘education’, ‘learning’, ‘outreach’, ‘participation’ and ‘engagement’ are all terms that have been used when referring to the public—archaeology interface. The terminology issue reflects both the diversity of understandings of the public engagement field and of the approaches that exist. This, in turn, reflects the diverse theoretical backgrounds of the researchers and ‘practitioners’ who work in this field, the remit of whom is to develop and understand the relationship between the public and the content, methods, processes and practices used to study the past through archaeology. Despite the differences, a common thread in all of the definitions and approaches to participation/engagement in archaeology seems to be the role that the public is perceived to be playing and the nature and role of the disciplinary knowledge.

By presenting the different public engagement frameworks commonly used, this chapter aims to make explicit the goals of different public engagement (PE) activities for different audiences with the view to help public engagement in archaeology (PEA) researchers and practitioners identify, utilise and study the elements that lead to good quality engagement. Combining theoretical perspectives and research conducted in the areas of science communication, informal learning and museum communication, the chapter proposes a new framework which links PE activities with their underlying communication and learning approaches and aligns them with appropriate methodological frameworks. Specifically, this chapter: (1) presents and defines the terms associated with the public participation/engagement field; (2) discusses the different approaches and models of public participation movement, using examples from different fields; (3) shows their link to particular communication, learning and (participant) research approaches; and (4) discusses tested research frameworks and proposes new ones.

This explanation of the causes and effects working within the human body is found in an eleventh-century medical text from Salerno, the Passionarius (‘Book of Diseases’) attributed to the physician Gariopontus. This medical text survives in sixty-five medieval manuscripts, one of which is now London, British Library, MS Royal 12. C. xxiv. Michael Gullick has identified the script of this manuscript as that of an early twelfth-century scribe of Bury St Edmunds, demonstrating that this text was known at Bury in the generation after the physician-abbot Baldwin.

This is a book about justice. It is not about justice as observed in the courtroom (unless it be a ‘courtroom’ of an unorthodox variety) but about unofficial justice as visited upon malefactors by the collective actions of private citizens. Justice is a difficult word, and I should say at the start that for my purposes the term ‘unofficial justice’ is taken to exclude deeds of furtive vengeance (however much deserved). I am not concerned here with those occasions upon which offenders were simply set upon in the dark and given a good beating – though it is likely that such instances occurred often enough. Rather my interest is in those occasions upon which groups acted openly, publicly and unapologetically against wrongdoers. Unapologetically because they claimed that they were doing so by right and in accordance with customary practices that supposedly legitimated group responses to moral defects. Reference will indeed be made to some actions that were both public and yet quite indiscriminate in respect of the violence visited upon the wrongdoer. However, it will soon become apparent that most public collective acts were intended primarily to shame their victims rather than to harm them, and that they were performed within an understood rubric of customary practice that served (in the main) to contain the violence inherent in group action. This study, then, is primarily focused on public shaming rituals – and these generally (though not invariably) involved a noisy perambulation through an offended community.

There was a time when all good and alert critics, according to E. Talbot Donaldson, were supposed to be in love with the heroine of Troilus and Criseyde. Gretchen Mieszkowski, writing on Donaldson's important and compelling criticism, addresses this oddity:

Leaving aside Donaldson's apparent dismissal of same-sex attraction, further leaving aside the privilege on display, try replacing ‘falling in love’ with lust, ‘their first loves’ with the first girl who lets them get to fourth base. At that point, we might be nearer to an understanding of Pandarus than most criticism has previously allowed: for the possessiveness of Donaldson is a milder, partly because it is extra-diegetic, form of the possessiveness of Pandarus. Donaldson argues that the reader must ‘skate over’ the scene in which Pandarus visits Criseyde in bed, the morning after she first sleeps with Troilus, otherwise said reader will ‘end up in some very cold, very dark water’.

It is late February 1913, and in London five men are planning a ballet. They meet in various grand hotels close to the Royal Opera House Covent Garden, where Sergei Diaghilev's company, the Ballets Russes, is mounting a season. Two men out of the five, Diaghilev himself and the dancer Vaslav Nijinsky, are staying at the Savoy. A third, the German Count Harry Kessler, patron of avant-garde artists and engineer of collaborations between them, is at the Cecil. The other two planners have deeper London roots. The theatre artist Edward Gordon Craig, though he has been based in Italy for the last seven years, visits London quite often and is currently in town in connection with a School for the Art of the Theatre he wants to set up, while the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams actually lives all the year round in Chelsea. Between 17 and 27 February, the five men meet twice as a plenary quintet and several times in smaller groups; and it is the final meeting at the Carlton Hotel, with Diaghilev, Kessler, Craig and Vaughan Williams taking a late supper together, that is the crucial one.

Uppingham School began the second half of the twentieth century blessed with a fine musical legacy. Eighty years of sustained endeavour by two remarkable men, Paul David (for forty-three years) and Robert Sterndale Bennett (for thirty-seven years), gave Douglas Guest a firm foundation on which to build in his five dynamic years at Uppingham before he left to go to Salisbury Cathedral as Organist and Master of the Choristers in 1950. Among Guest's innovations were the establishment of music scholarships and the founding of the Paul David Society and of the Uppingham and District Concert Club. In addition, he appointed the school's first band master, John Allen. He introduced performances of Bach's great choral works and staged a production of Purcell's The Faery Queen, which was favourably reviewed in The Times.

All three men had been supported by headmasters who believed that music is important and makes a unique and valuable contribution to the education of the young. This established principle continued to develop in the gradually changing social and artistic environment of the next fifty years. It was not necessarily a steady progress, but it was progress nevertheless.

In the 1950s and 1960s, resources, time and many inspired teachers encouraged the playing of a wide range of chamber music. This was stimulated by the annual Henry Ley Cup competitions, which were organised ostensibly on a house basis in which ensemble players were matched according to ability.