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 ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS:
ARCHAEOLOGY

Volume 5

THE EUROPEAN COMMUNITY IN

LATER PREHISTORY
 THE EUROPEAN COMMUNITY IN
LATER PREHISTORY
Studies in honour of C. F. C. Hawkes

Edited by
JOHN BOARDMAN, M. A. BROWN AND T. G. E. POWELL
First published in 1971
This edition first published in 2015
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 1971 Routledge & Kegan Paul
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks,

and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-138-79971-4 (Set)

ISBN: 978-1-138-80591-0 (Volume 5)

Publisher’s Note
The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this book but points out that
some imperfections from the original may be apparent.

Disclaimer
The publisher has made every effort to trace copyright holders and would welcome
correspondence from those they have been unable to trace.
 The
European Community
in Later Prehistory
Studies in honour of
C. F. C. Hawkes
edited by
'John Boardman) M.A. Brown
and
T. G. E. Powell

Routledge & Kegan Paul London

 First published 1971
Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd,
Broadway House, 68-74 Carter Lane
London, EC4 V 5 EL
Printed in Great Britain by
W & J Mackay & Co Ltd, Chatham
and set in 12 pt Van Dijck 2 pt leaded
© Routledge & Kegan Paul 1971
No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form without permission from
the publisher, except for the quotation
of brief passages in criticism

ISBN o 7100 6940 5

Natali die Christophori Hawkes sexaginta quinque annos peracti, doctoris praeclari,
professoris eruditi, amici fidelissimi, viri in tota vita ejus integri, qui incursionem in
Britanniam Belgarum aperuit, urbem Cunobelini ac coloniam Camuloduni
illustravit, deinde totae Europae saeculorum aeneorum atque protohistoricorum
permutationes studiis suis explicavit haec scripta nos amici, collegae, discipuli
honoris causa libenter dedi camus.
 Contents

Plates IX

Figures XI

Abbreviations Xlll

one From Bronze Age to Iron Age: a sequel to a sequel

N. K. Sandars I
two The first European body-armour
A. M. Snodgrass 3I
three Kaineus (Caeneus): a further link between the Mycenaean and
the Greek worlds
Sp. Marinatos sr
four Some remarks on 'Peschiera' bronzes in Hungary
A. Mozsolics 57
five Openwork 'bird-cage' bronzes
Jan Bouzek 77
SIX Late Bronze and Early Iron in the valley of the Ebro
J. Maluquer de Motes 105
seven A southern view of Situla Art I2I
John Boardman
eight The construction of the felloe in Iron Age spoked wheels
G. Kossack 141
mne The Waldalgesheim Master
E. M. ]ope 165
ten From Urartu to Gundestrup: the agency ofThracian metal-work
T. G. E. Powell r8r
eleven Tribes and archaeological groupings of the La Tene period in
Belgium: some observations
M.E.Marien 2II
twelve Firedogs in Iron Age Britain and beyond
Stuart Piggott 243
Bibliography of the published works of C. F. C. Hawkes 271
Index 289
 Plates

Frontispiece-Christopher Hawkes

Between pages I44 and I45

I Bronze panoply from Dendra (Argo lid), Greece

2 Fragments ofbronze breast-plate from Ducove (Okr.TrenCin), Slovakia
3 Bronze back-plate from Cierna nad Tisou (Okr.Trebisov), Slovakia
4 Bronze breast-plate from Argos, Greece
5 Attic Late Geometric amphora
6 Gold seal from Mycenae, Grave Circle A, Shaft Grave ill
7 Caeneus and the Centaurs: mid seventh-century bronze plate found in Olympia
8 Fourteenth-century amethyst seal from a tholos at Koukounara
9 Thirteenth-century Chinese painting ofOgotai-Khan holding two naked swords
IO Bronze razors from Piliny and Hungary
II Bronze strip from Arcadia, Athens NM I65I4
I2 Bronze strip from Boeotia, Athens NM 7836
I3 Bronze strip from Boeotia, Athens NM 7836
I4 Bronze situla from Vace
15 Bronze belt fragment from Brezje
I6 Detail from a bronze belt plaque from Magdalenenburg
I7 Neck of a 'Pontic' black-figure vase (Reading 47, vi, I)
I8 Hradenfn, Bohemia: iron attachments from the wagon wheels
I9 Grosseibstadt, Bavaria: iron attachments from grave I; wagon wheels and their
position in situ
20 Nineveh. Assurbanipallion-hunting
2I Waldalgesheim gold finds
22 Waldalgesheim gold tore: details
23 Late fourth-century Campanian bucket from Waldalgesheim
24 Waldalgesheim gold bracelet (one of pair): details
25 Impressions and details from the Waldalgesheim tore and gold and bronze
bracelets, and the Oploty gold tore

IX
 PLATES

26 Smaller of two silver beakers from grave-group, Dalboki, Stara Zagora, Bulgaria
27 Silver beaker from the lower Danube region
28 Silver rhyton from Poroina, Muntenia, Roumania
29 Gundestrup cauldron: outer plate 'b'
30 Gundestrup cauldron: outer plate 'f'
31 Gundestrup cauldron: inner plate 'D'
32 Bronze cauldron from Bolcske, Tolna, Hungary
33 Stradonice: bull-headed upright
34 Barton, Cambs. Type A firedog
35 Capel Garmon, Denbighshire. Type A firedog
36 Capel Garmon, detail
37 Mount Bures, Essex, detail
38 Iron firedogs in the Laon Museum

X
 Figures

page
I Pottery from Ockov, Vardaroftsa, Troy and Babadag 20
2 Pottery from Monteoru, Troy and Babadag 2I
3 Chronology after Miiller-Karpe and Sandars 24-5
4 Swords and daggers from central Europe and Italy 6I
5 Bronzes from Hungary 63
6 Hungarian sickle hoards and Italian finds 67
7 Key to description of 'bird-cages' 79
S Finds from Luristan So
9 Finds from the Caucasus area S2
IO Finds from the Caucasus area, and pole-tops S3
II Scythian pole-tops and bells S5
I2 'Thraco-Cimmerian' bronzes and Scythian pole-top in east-central Europe S6
I3 Finds from Macedonia and Greece SS
I4 Finds from the Western Balkans S9
I5 Finds from Switzerland and eastern France 90
I6 Finds from Italy 9I
I7 Distribution of'bird-cage' bronzes in Europe 92
IS Generalized distribution of 'bird-cage' bronzes in Europe and Asia 93
I9 Sketch of Late-Bronze-Early Iron Age migration into Spain III
20 Diagram of the stratigraphy of La Pedrera, Vallfogona de Balaguer
(Urida) II4
2I Sketch of Athens NM I65I4, bronze strip from Arcadia I25
22 Sketch of Athens NM 7S36, bronze strip from Boeotia 12S
23 Cable patterns I3I
24 Bud patterns from Alpine situlae I33
25 Detail from Vienna I7.036, bronze situla from Kuffarn I34
26 Lyres and player from Alpine situlae and Crete I35
27 Detail from Innsbruck I6.700, bronze situla from Sanzeno I36
2S La Tene period wagon wheels: Dejbjerg,Jutland and Karlich,
Rhineland I45
29 Reconstruction of the wagon wheel from Bell, Hunsriick I46

XI
 FIGURES

30 Wagon wheels from the Bronze Age and Urnfield periods: Cortaillod,
Abos; Athens and Tiryns 148
31 Wagon wheels from Hallstatt period chambergraves: Hradenfn,
Bohemia and Grosseibstadt, Bavaria ISO
32 Hradenfn grave 46, Bohemia I 52
33 Iron attachments from wagon wheels I 54
34 Reconstruction of a wagon wheel from Salamis, Cyprus 156
35 Representations of wagons in Assyrian wall-paintings and reliefs rs8
36 After Jacobsthal, Early Celtic Art (PP 353, 354, 441, 355 and 358) r69
37 After Jacobsthal, Early Celtic Art (PP 450 and 445); fairlead from
W aldalgesheim 170
38 After Jacobsthal, Early Celtic Art (PP 444, 447, 442 and 446) 172
39 After Jacobsthal, Early Celtic Art (PP 437, 435 and 436) 173
40 After Jacobsthal, Early Celtic Art (PP 439, 451, 452, 457 and 453) 174
41 Animals on gold sheathing ofbattle axe from Kelermes, Kuban 192
42 'Voracious' and other beasts on neck-guard of gold helmet from
Poiana-Cotofene~ti, Roumania 194
43 Sacrifice of ram on cheekpiece of gold helmet from Poiana-Cotofene~ti 195
44 Silver vase from Mastjugino, Voronesh 196
45 Gundestrup cauldron: outlines of outer plates 200
46 Gundestrup cauldron: outlines of inner plates 20!
47 Lion from reverse ofEVOIURIX silver issue; lion from inner plate 'A',
Gundestrup cauldron 203
48 Head from silver-gilt plaque from Letnica, Bulgaria; head from inner
plate 'D', Gundestrup cauldron 204
49 Central plate of silver-gilt belt-plate from Lovec, Bulgaria; inner plate
from bronze cauldron, Rynkeby, Funen, Denmark 204
so Early groups ofBelgian La Tene pottery 216-17
sr Late groups of Belgian La Tene pottery 226-7
52 Special groups of La Tene Inb pottery in Belgium 23Q-I
53 Map of initial La Tene in Belgium 232
54 Map of final La Tene in Belgium 233
55 Reconstruction of iron fragments from the Kappel hoard 248
56 Type A firedog reconstructed from the Kappel hoard 258
57 Distribution of iron firedogs in Britain and Europe 261

XII
 Abbreviations

Acta Arch. Acta Archaeologica Copenhagen

Acta Arch. Hung. Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae Buda-
pest
AD Archaiologik6n Deltion Athens
AE Archaiologike Ephimeris Athens
AjA American journal ofArchaeology New York
Antiq. Antiquity Gloucester /Cambridge
Antiq. journ. The Antiquaries journal London
Arch. Archaeologia London
Archaeol. Belg. Archaeologia Belgica Brussels
Arch. Anz. Archaologischer Anzeiger (in jahrbuch des deutschen archao-
logischen Instituts) Berlin
Arch. Camb. Archaeologia Cambrensis Cardiff
Archlol. Archlologie (section of L'Ant. Class.)
Arch. Ert. Archaeologiai Ertesitff Budapest
Arch. Hung. Archaeologia Hungarica Budapest
Arch. journ. Archaeological journal London
Arch. Kihl. Archaeologiai Kihlemenyek Budapest
Archivo Esp. de Arqueol. Archivo Espaiiol de Arqueologia Madrid
Bayer. Vorgeschichtsbl. Bayerische Vorgeschichtsblatter Munich
BCH Bulletin de correspondence hellenique Athens and Paris
BM!ffl.. British Museum §l..uarterly London
Bonn. jahrb. Bonner jahrbiicher Bonn
BPI Bullettino di Paleontologia Italiana Rome
BRGK Bericht der Romisch-Germanischen Kommission Frankfurt a.M./
Berlin
BSA Annual ofthe British School at Athens London
CAH Cambridge Ancient History
Celticum Celticum ( suppl. of Ogam) Rennes
ESA Eurasia septentrionalis antiqua Helsinki
Ethnogr.-Arch. Forsch. Ethnographisch-archaologische Forschungen Berlin

Xlll
 ABBREVIATIONS

Glasnik Pri!tina Glamik Mozejskega Kosova i Metohije Pristina (Yugoslavia)

Helinium Helinium Wetteren (Belgium)
Inv. Arch. Inventaria Archaeologica (published in each participating
country)
IPEK jahrbuch fiir prahistorische und ethnographische Kunst Berlin
jahrb. RGZM Maim:, jahrbuch des Romish-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz
jHS journal of Hellenic Studies London
jRS journal of Roman Studies London
jSGU jahrbuch der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft fiir Ur- und Friih-
geschichte Frauenfeld
KSIA Kratkije SoobHenija Instituta Arkheologii Kiev
KSIIMK Kratkije Soob!Cenija Instituta Istorii Materialnoj Kultury
Moscow
L'Ant. Class. L'Antiquitl classique Brussels
Latomus Latomus Wetteren (Belgium)
MAK Materialy po Arkheologii Kavkaza Moscow
Mat. Cere. Arb. Materiale si cercetdri arheologice Bucharest
MIA Materialy i Issledovanija po Arkheologii SSRR Moscow-
Leningrad
Mon. Ant. Monumenti Antichi Rome
Not. Scav. Notizie degli Scavi di Antichita Rome
OAK OtCety Imperatorskoj Archeologiceskoj Kommisii St Petersburg
Opusc. Arch. Opuscula Archaeologica Lund
Pamdtky Arch. Pamdtky archaeologick! Prague
PPS Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society Cambridge
Prah. Zeitschr. Prahistorische Zeitschrift Berlin
Principe de Viana Cronica arqueolOgica del Instituto 'Principe de Viana' Pamplona
Proc. Brit. Acad. Proceedings of the British Academy London
Proc. Hants. Field Club Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological
Society Southampton
Proc. Soc. Ant. Scot. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland Edin-
burgh
Pyrenae Cronica arqueo!Ogica del Instituto de Archeologia et Prehistoria
del Universidad Barcelona
Rad vojv. muz. Rad vojvodjanskich muzeja Novi Sad
Rev. Arch. Revue arch!ologique Paris
Rom.-Germ. Forsch. Romisch-Germanischen Forschungen Frankfurt
SA Sovietskaja Arkheologija Moscow-Leningrad
Situ/a Situ/a, Opuscula Musei Nationalis Labacensis Ljubljana

XIV
 ABBREVIATIONS

Slav. Arch. S!ovenskd archeofogicl Bratislava

Trier. Ztschr. Trierer Zeitscbrift Trier
WMBH Wissenschaftliche Mitteilungen aus Bosnien und Herzegowina
Sarajevo
WPZ Wiener Prahistorische Zeitschr~{t Vienna
ZfE Zeitschrift fur Ethnologie Berlin

XV
 one

From Bronze Age to Iron Age:

a sequel to a sequel

N. K. Sandars
In the first winter of the last war Christopher Hawkes wrote: 'The feeling of solidarity
and friendship between archaeologists of many nations has truly been, in the last
twenty years, among the forces making for the intellectual harmony of our civiliza-
tion, and I know that it will not be killed'. That was in the preface to his Prehistoric
Foundations of Europe; and now, nearly thirty years later, we can see how truly he
prophesied, and how justified was the spirit of that hope. The book which it prefaced
was a fine achievement, quite different in intention and scope to Childe's Dawn. It
may now have a rather old fashioned look: the pages are small and so are the illustra-
tions, but how packed and apt they are. It was never an easy book to read, the
banquet was spread so thickly, but like all Christopher Hawkes's writings, it set one
thinking and arguing. In 1939 he drew the line at 1400 B.C., by which time the
prehistoric foundations were truly laid; while looking ahead, in the last chapter, he
wrote of how, after the Mycenaean supremacy, the old Aegean order fell and Myce-
naean culture stopped short, and a 'fatal blank' was left for some three centuries.
Then in 1948, in a memorable paper written together with Gordon Childe's 'Final
Bronze Age in the Near East and Temperate Europe' he jumped into the middle of
the 'fatal blank'.l Since then, though the balance may have shifted here and there
(it is always shifting), the blank has continued to narrow and to fill. Stanley Casson
once spoke of the 'frisson of excited anticipation' which is invariably aroused by the
approach of a Dark Age, 2 and even if another and more recent Dark Age has lately
absorbed much of Christopher Hawkes's time he has not lost his former concern. I
shall hope, therefore, to express my personal gratitude and esteem by some thoughts
and comments on that earlier Dark Age; and in particular to look once more at the
chronological guide-lines which have been thrown out across it since 1948.
It is not my purpose, nor would I be competent, to pass in review that vast
material of the European Late Bronze Age, with the relative chronologies that have
been worked out for different regions. All these I accept gratefully. My purpose is the
strictly limited one of attempting a first impression of the bearing upon barbarian
Europe of recent changes in the archaeological scene in the Aegean and the Near East.
The immense archaeological industry of the last twenty years has made the
Mycenaeans themselves, with the outlines of their world down to the time of its

3
 N. K. SANDARS

collapse, immeasurably better known to us; but when we come to that collapse we
are still asking many of the same questions that were worrying us twenty, and even
thirty years ago. Who are the northerners so often and so irritably referred to by
Egyptian texts and inscriptions? There has been a great deal of discussion and some
progress but we still do not know who it was who 'coming from all lands' joined the
Libyans to raid Egypt in 1238 (or as some would say in 1219); or who made up the
ramshackle army defeated by Ramesses III in the Delta about II90 (or in u6s), and
which of those dates we should choose?3 Who destroyed Ugarit, Alalakh and other
Bronze Age Levan tine cities, and when? What brought the Hittite Empire to a
wretched end? Who attacked Mycenae and other Mycenaean sites, and how many
times, and when? Who were the newcomers in Troy VII? Who were the Dorians and
where did they come from, and finally, what part did the barbarian north play in
these events?
We still do not know the answers, and specialists in Aegean archaeology insist
that absolute chronology seems, if anything, less certain now than it seemed formerly
when we knew so much less.
Leaving aside for the moment these more absolute questions, Vincent
Desborough's magisterial survey published in 1964 still provides the best interpreta-
tion of events in the Aegean and on the Greek mainland at the end of the second
millennium. 4 He has painted a picture of the breakdown, due in some part to attack
or attacks from outside, of a civilization already highly complex and centralized, and
for that reason so much the more vulnerable. The most destructive attack was by
land and apparently from the north, since the Aegean islands, the east coast of Attica,
and the far western seaboards were not affected until some time later; sea communi-
cations remained open till long after the destruction of the central Mycenaean sites.
This crisis was probably followed by a sharp drop in population and abandonment of
sites, not only in the Argolid, but also in Laconia, Messenia, Phocis and Boeotia, and
by a scattering of refugees to the outer coasts and islands, including the Ionian islands.
Later there was a gradual resettlement by a people, in some ways very different
though probably coming from no great distance, who are archaeologically recognized
by their burials, inhumed in stone cists, and are identified as 'Dorians'.
In an important subsequent paper Desborough has reinforced the argument in
favour of a new occupation, listing some four hundred cists and earth-cut tombs -a
formidable number when compared to the small tally of known cists of Mycenaean
age. At Thebes and Mycenae they actually overlie earlier Mycenaean walls, and
Desborough is able to write that this manner ofburial 'is generally characteristic of
the whole Greek mainland between uoo and 1ooo'. But at the same time the
characteristic pottery is 'still rooted in the Mycenaean tradition . . . with little
or nothing that cannot be derived from the Mycenaean style'.5 There is also very

4
 FROM BRONZE AGE TO IRON AGE: A SEQUEL TO A SEQUEL

little in the material culture of these post-Mycenaean centuries that is really new.
The early iron industry can be traced to Cyprus, but with a second early centre in
Macedonia. There is also a small, if much paraded, group of 'northern' bronzes
(fibulae, swords, knives and spears), though on closer examination their northern
credentials do not all stand up to scrutiny.6 The argument remains open at the
moment whether the change was due to a backward and previously down-trodden
element in the population: shepherds from the hills and their like, or to newcomers
and neighbours from not very far away to the north-west, in Epirus and Albania. On
the whole opinion favours the latter explanation; though given the modes and
traditions of transhumance as it existed till very recently in the Balkans, the two
explanations may really be quite compatible. Shepherds who spent the summer with
their flocks in the Albanian mountains may have wintered nearer the Aegean or
Ionian seas. Famine may also have played its sinister part in these changes, since
correspondence between Pharaoh and the Hittite king in the later thirteenth century
refers to scarcity in Anatolia.7 If the cause was climatic it could imply unrest and
famine in other regions, including perhaps the Ukraine and Transcaucasia, but this is
speculation. What is important at the moment is the recognition that the main
destruction of Mycenaean sites and the subsequent resettlement of the Aegean were
distinct acts, separated by a recognizable lapse of time. This view, if well-founded,
has important consequences for an understanding of what was happening in Europe
north of the Pindus, and particularly for the beginning of the European Late Bronze
Age and for its chronology.
Among the new lines of investigation there is the important work on emission
spectrography carried out on Aegean Late Bronze Age pottery in the Research Labora-
tory at Oxford, and the archaeological conclusions that Dr Catling has been able to
draw from it concerning trade and colonization.s Professor Nicholas Hammond's
survey of Albania has added much new material, also recent work in Rumania, to
both of which I shall return later; whilst an important review of Mycenaean pottery
in the Levant by Mrs Vronwy Hankey appeared recently.9 One consequence of this
archaeological activity is a revision of chronology in the Aegean and the Near East.
With few exceptions the changes have not been towards greater certainty, but
rather to a realization of the great range of possibility. We still depend on Egyptian
dates in the last resort for the phases oflater Helladic civilization, and especially for
the land and sea raids and the linked destruction of cities in Syria and Palestine where
Mycenaean pottery has been found. This was the evidence on which Furumark
built his chronology, which in its turn has come to stand as a self-supporting model,
although many of its bases are no longer valid in Egyptian terms and have been
amended in his own more recent work.
The beginning of Mrs Hankey's article should be quoted, for it sets out a central

5
 N. K. SANDARS

problem. She writes: 'It is rather startling to find that since the diffusion of the
Furumark concept and his monumental typology, Mycenaean pottery is itself often
used as the cultural cross-contact to date levels at sites in the Middle East where
local pottery has, as yet, a less accessible typology and where Egyptian dated finds,
or seals from Syria and Mesopotamia, however abundant, often have to be distrusted
for dating as they provide too wide a margin in time'. In place of the independent
dating we hoped for we have, all too often, classic examples of the argument in a
circle, though it is possible that a very close study of material from the Levant,
which is now in progress, may produce dating criteria independent of the Mycenaean
contact.
From Late Helladic III A onwards Mycenaean dates become increasingly im-
portant to the wider prehistory ofEurope. On them depend the cultural phases in
Lipari, Sicily, Italy and further north as well. The LH III A pottery found at Tell
El-Amarna dated between 1379 and 1362 in itself delimits neither the beginning nor
the end of a Mycenaean phase or style, but it gives a certain span some part of which
must coincide with that style. LH III A pottery imported to Qatna on the Orontes
and in use there before the destruction of the site by the Hittites around 1375
provides another pointer. But more important still is the fact that pots of transitional
LH III A and III B style, from Ghurab in the Faiyum, are not found before the
accession of Ramesses IT in 1304, so that this transition probably falls within the
period between the accession of Tutankham iin and the early years of Ramesses IT,
that is to say the closing decades of the fourteenth century.lo
This point gained, it is embarrassing to find that in the Levant the LH III A
style seems to have continued in use alongside III B right through the thirteenth
century. At Deir Alia in the Jordan valley LH III A2 and III B pots were found to-
gether in a level fairly closely dated to the last decade of the thirteenth century, for
they were both still in use when the building was destroyed by earthquake. A burnt
faience vase with a cartouche ofTausert, the widow of Seti IT, who reigned after his
death in 1210 and before the accession ofRamesses III about II98, was also found on
the same floor dating this destruction. But the difficulty of settling the lower date
ofLH Til A is as nothing compared to the complexities of the transition from LH III B
to Til C; this is one of the most debated and most crucial dates in east Mediterranean
chronology. Furumark's choice of 1230 was based on negative evidence: that no
LH III B pottery had been found with objects later than Ramesses II who died c. 1232.
But the Deir Alia evidence disposes of this argument, while the same story is told by
other sites in the Levant. For the latter end of his chronology Furumark used the
so-called 'Philistine' pottery of the Levant, which was developed under the influence
ofLH III C pottery, and has often been connected with the 'Philistine' settlements in
Palestine after the defeat of the great land and sea raid of c. II9I. Vincent Des borough

6
 FROM BRONZE AGE TO IRON AGE: A SEQUEL TO A SEQUEL

pointed out in 1964 that, apart from the question ofPhilistine pottery, there was 'no
evidence that LH III B may not have persisted for some long time after 1230, a
hundred years for all one could tell', but he continued, 'I do not think that 'Philistine'
pottery ean have been introduced later than II65 since it is a mainly stylistic off-shoot
of early III C, the first appearance (of which) in the Aegean can hardly be less than
twenty years earlier', so that 'the situation is that LH III B is still current in 1230,
while LH III C cannot have started later than II85'. He thereupon chooses 1200 as a
date 'perfectly admissible' for the transition from III B to III C. Basing himself on the
same 'Philistine' argument, along with the absence ofiii C pottery from sites destroyed
by the raiders on their way to the delta, Stubbings writes that the III C phase cannot
have begun before the n8o's.ll
Unfortunately neither the destruction levels of cities in the Levant, nor the
'Philistine' pottery, provide such dear-cut answers as had been hoped. Some destruc-
tion may have been due to an earlier raid during the reign ofMerneptah c. 1220; and
for various reasons the stratigraphies of Alalakh (Tell Atchana), Ugarit (Ras Shamra)
and Tell Abu Hawam, no longer give the most unequivocal answers; but fortunately
there are other sites that can be used to supplement them.
LH III B pottery has been found in fifty-seven sites in Syria, and in Palestine
(even as far east as the Jordan valley), of which twenty-five also had LH III A, but
there is extremely little III C throughout the Levant. It only occurs at Tell Sukas on
the coast between Ras Shamra and Byblos, possibly at Ashdod (also on the coast but
thirty kilometres south ofTel1 Aviv), and at Beth Shan which lies at the Jordan end
of a route that starts inland from the coast at Megiddo.12
From the time of Merneptah correspondence between the ruler of Cyprus
(Alasia) and the ruler ofRas Shamra (Ugarit) brings alive the threatening atmosphere
in the cities of the Levant. From his position of temporary safety and strength, the
former can advise: 'Even if what you have written is true, that "the enemy ships
have been sighted at sea", stay firm. Where are the troops and chariots? Are they
not with you? ... Fortify the towns, bring in the troops and chariots and await the
enemy with firmness'. The answer reads, 'My father, already the enemy's ships are
here. They have burnt my towns with fire artd done dreadful things in the country.
Does not my father know that my troops and chariots(?) are in the Hittite Land, and
all my ships in Lycia. They have not yet returned to me and the land is abandoned to
itself . . . Yes, seventy ships are here and have ravaged. If there are more enemy
ships (about) tell me what they are like'.13 This correspondence also points to danger
by land from the direction of Anatolia, ahead of raids from the sea.
Megiddo away to the south-east of Haifa was not destroyed in the Ramesses III
wars. It had very late LH III B pottery, and no III C, but some 'Philistine' pots that
look early in the series, and which Mrs Hankey compares to Late He1ladic pots from

7
 N. K. SANDARS

Kerameikos and Kephallenia.14 Hazar on the other hand was destroyed at the end of
the Late Bronze Age and also had LH III B but no III C pottery, and this is the
commoner situation. Tell Taanek and Schechem (Balata) are similar, but the destruc-
tion at the latter site is put into the second half of the twelfth century. There is no III
Cat Deir Alla, east of Jordan, and the destruction there, due probably to an earth-
quake, cannot be earlier than 1209, and may be several years later. There is a clear
gap after this and before the 'Philistine' pottery appears. The 'temple' at Amman
with its LH III B pots may have been destroyed 'some time in the thirteenth century'.
There is LH III Bat Lachish, none of it particularly late in style, and the Bronze
Age city was destroyed, either at the timeofMerneptah's raid or just before Ramesses
III's victory in c. II9I. The latter date seems likelier since a scarab ofRamesses III
was found on the burnt surface, and had itself been damaged by the fire. Olga
Tufnell writes, 'The balance seems to fall for a date early in the XX dynasty for the
destruction of the Bronze Age city', that is to say after 1200.15
Leaving aside the unstratified stirrup-jar at Ashdod, if we look at the two sites
with III C pottery, Tell Sukas and Beth Shan, then according to the excavators, Tell
Sukas was probably destroyed in the eighth year ofRamesses III and had LH III A
and III B pottery, and one ( unillustrated) piece ofLH III Cr in the destruction debris.
At Beth Shan LH III B is recorded in Level Vll, with Cypriot Base Ring II and White
Slip II, but it is disappearing towards the end of this phase. Then in Level VI the
first LH III C appears with a complete stirrup-jar, which is illustrated by Mrs
Hankey, and which Mr Oren informs me was found in a structure (Room 1586 of
House rsoo) which follows closely the layout ofEgyptian buildings and may have
been the headquarters of the Egyptian garrison. Moreover he points out that it is
'accurately dated by stone-cut hieroglyphic inscriptions ofRamesses Weser Khepesh,
an official ofRamesses III, perhaps soon after the victory over the Sea Peoples'.16 This
stratigraphy is of great importance for Late Mycenaean chronology for, if there is no
gap in the occupation, and no destruction between Level VII (with LH III B) and
Level VI (with III C), the latter being 'a mere reconstruction of the earlier stratum',
then LH III B seems likely to have survived at Beth Shan till around II90, and the III
C to have come in perhaps in the n8o's, and anyhow before n66, the end of the
reign of Ramesses III. There is again, according to Mr Oren, no evidence for a
Philistine garrison at Beth Shan and practically no 'Philistine' pottery has been found.
The most useful sites for our purpose are then: Deir Alia, Tell Sukas, Beth Shan
and Lachish. From these a tentative conclusion can be drawn that the LH III A
pottery style remained in use in the Levant throughout the thirteenth century, and
that the III~ style, in use in the thirteenth century, continued well down into the
twelfth, and finally that III Cis extremely rare, and usually found in sites that did not
suffer destruction at the time of the land and sea raids in the reign of Ramesses III.

8
 FROM BRONZE AGE TO IRON AGE: A SEQUEL TO A SEQUEL

The exception to this is Tell Sukas on the coast, where a single III C sherd was
found, apparently in the destruction level. The extent to which styles override one
another is very striking, so that the transition from III B to III C is gradual and
diverse. This is the case elsewhere too. There is independent evidence for LH Ill B
surviving longer in the Dodecanese than in the Argolid, and the Levant simply
continues this tendency. Nor are the stylistic criteria so clear-cut as they once
seemed, and that applies also to the 'Philistine' pottery. Indeed the 'Philistine ques-
tion' is in a state of considerable flux and uncertainty.17 What is clear is that Fum-
mark's original estimate of c. 1230 for the change over from LH III B to III Cis far too
high, though proposals for lowering it by thirty, fifty or more years are not yet
generally agreed. The whole problem is far more complex and contingent than is
convenient for anyone who tries to erect a sensible chronological structure upon it,
or tries it out in the hope of finding something solid on which to hitch various
relative chronologies.
The fact of the long survival ofLH III A pottery in the Levant should be taken
to heart as a warning when we turn to Sicily and south Italy. If this style can last till
the end of the thirteenth century at Deir Alla, this may also be true of Thapsos,
Cozzo del Pantano, Lipari and Ischia, and the retardation consequent upon this will
apply with even greater force to more distant correlations in north Italy and across
the Alps. In the general chapter of his recent study ofTarquinia, Hugh Hencken has
adopted n8o for the change from LH III B to III C, with Ausonian I and its LH III C
sherds beginning around that date, and Pantalica I just before 1200, though he does
not exploit the full consequences of this down-dating on the Late Bronze Age periods
north of the Alps.lS
In view of all this new work it is time to take a closer look at the chronology of
the European Late Bronze Age. Nearly all the different regional chronologies com-
monly adopted depend upon H. Miiller-Karpe's impressive study published in 1959.!9
The system there presented was admittedly over-schematized, but though certain
points have since been amended by the author, it has been adopted more or less in
toto as the working model for the European Late Bronze Age not only in the areas for
which it was constructed but also much further east and north. It is therefore this
system that must be studied rather than its partial amendments. The absolute
chronology is based on certain propositions: that the LH III A pottery style belongs
to the fourteenth century, LH III B to the thirteenth century and LH III Cr to the
twelfth century. Further, it is assumed that imports ofLH III A and III B pottery,
and of certain bronzes and ornaments, in the Sicilian cemeteries ofThapsos, Cozzo
del Pantano, Matrensa, and Plemyrion date the phases of the Sicilian Late Bronze Age
to which they belong to the late fourteenth and thirteenth centuries, along with the
mainland Apennine pottery, which on Lipari is associated with Mycenaean imports.

9
 N. K. SANDARS

The long series of Mycenaean wares from LH III A to III C found, along with
'Peschiera-type' bronzes, at Scoglio del Tonno in the Gulf of Taranto, in spite of the
absence of any controlled stratigraphy, is taken to date these bronzes also to the
fourteenth and thirteenth centuries. These chronological conclusions are then
stretched to cover the whole Apennine region, through its contacts with Lipari and
southern Italy, and thence again to the Terremare, to the urnfields of Lombardy and
the Garda sites and to admit of extension across the Alps, where Thapsos, Matrensa,
Plemyrion, and the 'Peschiera' bronzes in their wider distribution, correlate with the
Bronze C and D of South Germany and the Alpine zone. Peschiera and Boccatura del
Mincio placed chronologically between the Middle Bronze Age of Italy and the
beginning of Proto-Villanovan urnfields are also geographically central, bridging
the Mycenaean Mediterranean world and that of Europe in and over the Alps.
These are general propositions; they are followed by more specific arguments
concerning certain pieces of material equipment: swords, helmets and knives, which
seem to have strayed from the one sphere into the other, providing opportunities to
check dates and align periods. Foremost are the sword from Hammer near Ni.irnberg,
found with a Reinecke C pin and compared to cruciform swords in use in Greece
during and after LH III A; and the cheekpiece of a helmet from a BronzeD hoard at
Wollersdorf in Lower Austria, which is compared to one from an LH III B grave in
the Ialysos cemetery on Rhodes; another cheekpiece and helmet found with a median-
winged axe at Pass Lueg near Salzburg, and dated to BronzeD in the Chronologie of
1959, though since then this has been amended 'Bronze D to A' ;20 and finally a
ring-ended knife related to the northern Bronze D 'Baierdorf' type found in another
Ialysos grave, this time LH III B to early C. This is the foundation for all the currently
accepted dates, with Bronze C belonging to the fourteenth century, and BronzeD to
the thirteenth.
In 1959 these were eminently reasonable propositions and the chronological
framework which they supported, like that of Furumark for the Aegean, was
immensely valuable and provided the necessary foothold for the next advance.
Mi.iller-Karpe gave strong warning, moreover, as to the symbolic nature of his
sixfold division of the Late Bronze Age, but inevitably it has come to be applied too
rigidly and too literally, and in places far from those for which it was intended. From
the first part of this article it will be clear that archaeological data and archaeological
thinking in the Aegean and Near East have undergone drastic revision in the last
dozen years. The foundations have shifted, and with their shift they carry the whole
superstructure of Sicilian, Italian and trans-Alpine chronology.
We will start with Reinecke Bronze C and the Hammer sword, which has been
used to support a fourteenth century date for this period. The argument is at best
fragile. The Hammer sword is not an Aegean type; the blade is native and shows

10
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 CHAPTER XIX
A single glance at the map to-day—I am writing this in January—is
sufficient to give an idea of the enormous difficulties the Italians have
still to contend against and surmount in forcing their way across the
formidable barrier of stony wilderness between their present position
and their obvious objective—Trieste.
It is said that they will find that apart from the terrible character of
the natural obstacles, which, as I have endeavoured to show, they
are up against, the Austrians have series after series of entrenched
lines, each of which will have to be captured by direct assault.
Although it has been seen that man for man the Italian is far and
away superior in fighting quality to the Austrian, it cannot be denied
that when well supplied with machine guns, and behind positions
which afford him almost complete protection, the Austrian soldier will
put up a very determined resistance before he gives in. This factor
must, therefore, be reckoned with in any commencement of an
attempt at an advance.
The dash and reckless courage of the Italians, whilst thoroughly to
be relied upon under any circumstances however trying, must
always be held, as it were, in leash, otherwise even the smallest
forward move will be only achieved at an awful sacrifice of gallant
lives. The utmost caution, moreover, will have to be exercised, so as
not to fall into a guet apens, and every step forward must be fully
protected.
When success, therefore, can only be reckoned on, as it were, by
yards, it is not surprising to find on examining the map how slow
apparently has been the progress during the past four months; but it
is progress nevertheless, and the most tangible proof of it is
contained in the concluding lines of the brief summary issued by the
Italian supreme command of the operations from September to
December:
“The total of prisoners taken on the Julian Front (i.e., the Isonzo
and the Carso) from August to December was 42,000, and the guns
numbered 60 and the machine guns 200.”
The gradual advance has not been confined to any one particular
sector of this Front, but was part of the general scheme which is
operating like a huge seine net over this part of the Carso. The
interest, therefore, was entirely concentrated in this zone after the
fall of Gorizia, and I never missed an opportunity of going in that
direction on the chance of getting some good subjects for my sketch
book.
I remember some years ago when I was crossing the Gobi desert,
I discovered that the desolation of the scene around me exercised
an inexplicable sort of fascination, and at times I would have a
strange longing to wander away alone into the wilderness.
I experienced somewhat the same sensation on the Carso. It is
most probably what Jack London designated the “call of the wild.” In
this case, however, the fascination was tempered by the knowledge
that one’s wandering fit might be cut short by an Austrian bullet, so
one’s peregrinations had perforce to be somewhat curtailed.
There was, of course, much of great interest to see and sketch in
the area where active operations were in progress, whilst every day
almost there seemed to be something, either in the shape of a
rumour, or in the official communiqué, that formed a good excuse for
getting into a car and heading for the “sound of the guns” again.
 They came racing across the stretch of “No man’s land” (see page 294)
To face page 270

On one of these occasions I had as my companion Robert

Vaucher, the correspondent of the Paris Illustration, who had just
arrived at the Front for a short visit.
We decided to make for San Martino del Carso, the first village
captured by the Italians on the Carso, as it was quite close to the
fighting then going on round Oppachiassella.
Our route was via Palmanova, Romans and Sagrado a road one
had got to know by heart, so to speak, but of which one never tired,
for somehow, curiously enough, everything always seemed novel
although you had seen it many times before.
There was also the charm of starting off in a car just after sunrise;
it had a touch of adventure about it that made me feel quite youthful
again. I never tired of the long drives; and in the early morning the air
was like breathing champagne.
 One frequently had the road to oneself at this hour, and you could
have imagined you were on a pleasure jaunt till you heard the
booming of the guns above the noise of the engine; for it did not
matter how early one was, the guns never seemed to be silent. With
a sympathetic companion in the car these runs out to the lines were
quite amongst the pleasantest features of one’s life up at the Front.
On this particular occasion the fact of being with someone with
whom I could converse freely made it still more agreeable. We went
off quite “on our own,” as Vaucher speaks Italian fluently; and as our
soldier chauffeur knew the road well, there was not much fear of our
getting lost.
We decided that it was advisable for form’s sake to call on the
Divisional General, and ask for his permission to pass through the
lines. With some little difficulty we succeeded in discovering his
Headquarters. These were, we learned, on the railway, close to the
Rubbia-Savogna Station, on the Trieste-Gorizia line.
It turned out to be about the last place where one would have
expected to unearth a General. The station itself was in ruins, and
presented a pathetically forlorn appearance, with posters and time-
tables hanging in tatters from the walls; no train had passed here for
very many months.
We left the car on the permanent way alongside the platform, and
picked our way along the track through the twisted and displaced
rails to the signalman’s “cabin,” which had been converted into the
Headquarters pro tem.
It was as unconventional and warlike as could well be imagined,
and as a subject for a picture would have delighted a military painter.
The General was a well set up, good-looking man of middle age,
and quite the most unassuming officer of his rank I have ever met.
After carefully examining our military permits to come there, he
received us with the utmost cordiality. He spoke French fluently, and
was apparently much interested in our work as war correspondents.
There was no difficulty, he said, about our going to San Martino,
but we did so at our own risk, as it was his duty to warn us that it was
still being constantly shelled; in fact, he added, the whole
neighbourhood was under fire, and he pointed out a gaping hole a
few yards away where a shell had burst only an hour before our
arrival, and had blown a small hut to atoms.
The railway station was being continually bombarded, and he was
sorry to say that he had lost a good many of his staff here.
No strategic object whatever was attained by this promiscuous
shelling; the only thing it did was to get on the men’s nerves and
make them fidgetty.
“They want to be up and doing instead of waiting about here when
their comrades have gone on ahead.”
We had quite a long talk with him, and gathered some interesting
details of the fighting that had taken place round here. He was most
enthusiastic about the moral of his troops, that no fatigue or pain can
quell.
The only difficulty the officers experienced was in getting them to
advance with caution. “Ils deviennent des tigrés une fois lancés;
c’est difficile de les retenir.”
As we bade him adieu, he asked us as a personal favour not to
mention him in any article we might write, adding modestly: “Je ne
suis qu’un soldat de l’Italie, et ne désire pas de réclame.”
There was a turning off the main road beyond Sdraussina that
passed under the railway embankment, and then went up to San
Martino del Carso.
Here there was an animated scene of military activity. A battalion
of infantry was bivouacing, and up the side of the hill, which was one
of the slopes of Monte San Michele, there was a big camp with tents
arranged in careful alignment. I mention this latter fact as it was an
unusual spectacle to see an encampment so well “pitched.”
Both the bivouac and the tents were quite protected from shell-fire
by the brow of the hill, but they would have made an easy target had
the Austrians had any aeroplanes here; doubtless, though, all
precautions had been taken by the Italian Commander in the event
of this.
Over the crest of the hill the scene changed as though by magic,
and all sign of military movement disappeared.
The desolate waste of the Carso faced us, and we were in the
zone of death and desolation. The road was absolutely without a
vestige of “cover”; it was but a track across the rocky ground, and
now wound over a series of low, undulating ridges, on which one
could trace the battered remains of trenches.
Huge shell-craters were visible everywhere, and the road itself
was so freshly damaged in places that I involuntarily recalled what
the General had told us, and wondered whether we should get back
safely.
The country was so open and uninteresting that one could see all
that there was to see for several miles ahead; it was therefore
certain no scenic surprises were awaiting you.
Meanwhile shells were bursting with unpleasant persistency round
about the road; it was not what one could term an inviting prospect
and recalled an incident that had occurred a few days previously on
this very road.
There was a good deal of firing going on as usual, and the
chauffeur of an officer’s car suddenly lost his nerve and became
completely paralysed with fear, not an altogether unusual case, I
believe.
It was a very awkward situation, as the officer knew nothing about
driving, so he was obliged to sit still for over an hour, when,
fortunately for him, a motor lorry came along, and he was extricated
from his predicament.
It seemed to me to be very purposeless going on further, since
there was absolutely nothing to sketch and still less to write about.
Since, however, we could not be far from our destination now, I
thought it best to say nothing.
 But where was the village? I knew by what we had been told that
we must be close to it by now; yet there was no trace of habitation
anywhere.
The chauffeur suddenly turned round and, pointing to what
appeared to be a rugged slope just ahead, said quietly, “Ecco San
Martino del Carso.”
I am hardened to the sight of ruins by now after more than two
years at the war, but I must admit I had a bit of a shock when I
realized that this long, low line of shapeless, dust-covered rubble
actually bore a name, and that this was the place we had risked
coming out to see.
No earthquake could have more effectually wiped out this village
than have the combined Italian and Austrian batteries.
We drove up the slope to what had been the commencement of
the houses. To our surprise a motor lorry was drawn up under the
shelter of a bit of wall; two men were with it. What was their object in
being there one could not perceive, as there was no other sign of life
around.
We left the car here, and I went for a stroll round with my sketch
book, whilst Vaucher took his camera and went off by himself to find
a subject worth a photograph.
The Austrian trenches commenced in amongst the ruins: they
were typical of the Carso; only a couple of feet or so in depth, and
actually hewn out of the solid rock, with a low wall of stones in front
as a breastwork.
So roughly were they made that it was positively tiring to walk
along them even a short distance. To have passed any time in them
under fire with splinters of rock flying about must have been a terrible
ordeal, especially at night.
San Martino was certainly the reverse of interesting, and I was
hoping my comrade would soon return so that we could get away,
when the distant boom of a gun was heard, followed by the ominous
wail of a big shell approaching.
 The two soldiers and our chauffeur, who were chatting together,
made a dash for cover underneath the lorry; whilst I, with a sudden
impulse I cannot explain, flung myself face downwards on the
ground, as there was no time to make for the shelter of the trench.
The shell exploded sufficiently near to make one very
uncomfortable, but fortunately without doing us any harm. A couple
more quickly followed, but we could see that the gunners had not yet
got the range, so there was nothing to worry about for the moment.
Vaucher soon returned, having had a futile walk; so we made up
for it all by taking snapshots of ourselves under fire, a somewhat
idiotic procedure.
As we drove back to Udine, we were agreed that, considering how
little there had been to see, le jeu ne valait pas la chandelle, or
rather ne valait pas le petrole, to bring the saying up to date.
A very pleasant little episode a few days later made a welcome
interlude to our warlike energies. The Director of the Censorship,
Colonel Barbarich, received his full colonelcy, and to celebrate the
event the correspondents invited him and his brother officers to a
fish déjeuner at Grado, the little quondam Austrian watering place on
the Adriatic.
We made a “day’s outing” of it; several of the younger men starting
off early so as to have a bathe in the sea before lunch.
It was glorious weather, and we had a “top hole” time. It all went
off without a hitch; the déjeuner was excellent; I don’t think I ever
tasted finer fish anywhere; the wine could not have been better, and,
of course, we had several eloquent speeches to wind up with.
There was just that little “Human” touch about the whole thing that
helped to still further accentuate the camaraderie of the Censorship,
and the good fellowship existing between its officers and the
correspondents.
Grado, though at first sight not much damaged since our visit on
the previous year, had suffered very considerably from the visits of
Austrian aircraft. They were still constantly coming over, in spite of
the apparently adequate defences, and many women and children
had been killed and many more houses demolished.
There was a curious sight in the dining room of the hotel where we
gave the lunch. The proprietor had built a veritable “funk-hole” in a
corner of the room. It was constructed with solid timber, and covered
in with sand-bags in the most approved style.
Inside were a table, chairs, large bed, lamp, food, drink, etc.; in
fact, everything requisite in case a lengthy occupation was
necessary; and there the proprietor and his wife and children would
take refuge whenever the enemy was signalled.
After lunch we were invited to make a trip in one of the new type of
submarine chasers, which are said to be the fastest boats afloat
anywhere, and went for an hour’s run at terrific speed in the direction
of Trieste; in fact, had it not been for a bit of a sea fog hanging about
we should have actually been well in sight of it. Perhaps it was
fortunate for us there was this fog on the water.
Things were a bit quiet in Udine now. Stirring incidents do not
occur every week, and the usual period of comparative inactivity had
come round again whilst further operations were in process of
development; there was but little inducement, therefore, to spend
money on petrol just for the sake of verifying what one knew was
happening up at the lines.
But I had plenty to occupy me in my studio, working on the
numerous sketches the recent doings had provided me with, till
something worth going away for turned up again.
In the interim an event of historic importance occurred.
 CHAPTER XX

Declaration of war between Italy and Germany—Effect of declaration

at Udine—Interesting incident—General Cadorna consents to give
me a sitting for a sketch—The curious conditions—Methodic and
business-like—Punctuality and precision—A reminder of old days—I
am received by the Generalissimo—His simple, unaffected manner
—Unconventional chat—“That will please them in England”—My
Gorizia sketch book—The General a capital model—“Hard as
nails”—The sketch finished—Rumour busy again—A visit to
Monfalcone—One of the General’s Aides-de-camp—Start at
unearthly hour—Distance to Monfalcone—Arctic conditions—“In time
for lunch”—Town life and war—Austrian hour for opening fire—
Monfalcone—Deserted aspect—The damage by bombardment—
The guns silent for the moment—The ghost of a town—“That’s only
one of our own guns”—A walk to the shipbuilding yards—The
communication trench—The bank of the canal—The pontoon bridge
—The immense red structure—The deserted shipbuilding
establishment—Fantastic forms—Vessels in course of construction
—A strange blight—The hull of the 20,000 ton liner—The gloomy
interior—The view of the Carso and Trieste through a port-hole—Of
soul stirring interest—Hill No. 144—The “daily strafe”—“Just in
time”—Back to Udine “in time for lunch”—Return to the Carso—
Attack on the Austrian positions at Veliki Hribach—New difficulties—
Dense forest—Impenetrable cover—Formidable lines of trenches
captured—Fighting for position at Nova Vas—Dramatic ending—
Weather breaking up—Operations on a big scale perforce
suspended—Return London await events.
 CHAPTER XX
On the 28th August, 1916, Italy declared war on Germany. The
declaration had, however, been so long anticipated that, so far as
one was in a position to judge, it made little or no difference in the
already existing state of affairs; since the two nations had to all
intents and purposes been fighting against each other for months,
and at Udine, at any rate, it scarcely aroused any comment outside
the Press.
However, it settled any doubts that might have existed on the
subject, and henceforth the Italians and the Huns were officially
justified in killing each other whenever they got the chance.
Curiously enough, it was through General Cadorna himself that I
learned that war had been declared. It was under somewhat
interesting circumstances, which I will relate.
I had always desired to make a sketch of the Commander-in-Chief
of the Italian Army, and with this idea had asked Colonel Barbarich at
the Censorship if he would try and arrange it for me.
He willingly agreed, but a few days after he told me that he had
done the best he could for me, but that the General had said that for
the moment he was far too occupied, but perhaps he would accede
to my desire a little later. I must therefore have patience.
This looked like a polite way of putting me off, and I accepted it as
such.
Gorizia and other subjects engaged my attention, and I had
forgotten the incident when, to my surprise, one day Colonel
Barbarich came up to me and said that if I still wished to make the
sketch of the General, His Excellency would be pleased to receive
me on the following Monday morning at eleven o’clock precisely, and
would give me a sitting of exactly half-an-hour.
 “But,” added Colonel Barbarich, “you must clearly understand it is
only half-an-hour, and also that the General will not talk to you as he
will not be interviewed.”
The “following Monday” was nearly a week ahead, so this was
methodic and business-like indeed.
Of course, in spite of all the conditions attaching to the sitting, I
was delighted to find that my request had not been overlooked, so I
replied jocularly to the Colonel that failing an earthquake or the ill-
timed intervention of an Austrian shrapnel, I would certainly make it
my duty to keep the appointment.
Well, the auspicious day arrived in due course, and so did I in
good time at the Censorship to meet Colonel Barbarich, who was to
take me on to the General, whose quarters were in a palace
originally intended for the Prefect of Udine, only a short distance
away.
With the knowledge of the punctuality and precision of the
General, at l’heure militaire, that is to say, as the clock was striking
eleven, we made our way up the grand staircase to the first floor
where the General resided and had his offices.
In a large anti-chamber, with a big model of the Isonzo Front
occupying the whole of the centre, we were received by an aide-de-
camp, who evidently expected us exactly at that moment. Colonel
Barbarich briefly introduced me, then to my surprise left at once.
The Aide-de-camp took my card into an adjoining apartment, and
returning immediately, said that His Excellency General Cadorna
was waiting for me, and ushered me in.
 A grey-haired officer of medium height, whom I
immediately recognised as the Generalissimo, was
reading an official document
To face page 283

Up till then nothing could have been more matter-of-fact and

business-like. It reminded me of the old days when I sought
journalistic interviews with city magnates. But the business-like
impression vanished as soon as I was inside the door.
I found myself in a very large room, well but scantily furnished.
Standing by a table, which was covered with maps, a grey-haired
officer of medium height, whom I immediately recognised as the
Generalissimo, was reading an official document.
He came forward and cordially shook hands with me in the most
informal way. I began to thank him for his courtesy in receiving me,
and was apologising for not being able to speak Italian, when he cut
me short, saying with a laugh:
“I speak but very leetle English,” but “Peut-être vous parlez
Français.” On my telling him I did he exclaimed genially:
“A la bonheur, then we will speak in French. Now what do you
want me to do? I am at your service.”
His simple and unaffected manner put me at once at my ease and
made me instantly feel that this was going to be a “sympathetic”
interview, and not a quasi official reception.
I must mention that I had asked Colonel Barbarich to explain that I
did not want to worry the General, but would be quite content if I
were permitted to make a few jottings in my sketch book of him at
work and some details of his surroundings. This, as I have
explained, was granted, but with the curious proviso that I was not to
talk whilst I was there.
It came, therefore, as a very pleasant surprise to find myself
received in this amicable fashion, and the ice being thus broken, I
said, I should like to sketch him reading a document, as I found him
on entering the room. He willingly acquiesced, and I at once started
my drawing as there was no time to lose.
With the recollection of the stipulation that I was not to open my
mouth during the sitting, and that I was only allowed half-an-hour I
went on working rapidly and in silence.
But I soon found that the General was not inclined to be taciturn,
and in a few moments we were chatting in the most unconventional
manner as if we were old friends. As a matter of fact, I shrewdly
suspected him of interviewing me.
When he learned how long I had been on the Italian Front he was
much interested, and was immediately anxious to know what I
thought of his soldiers. Were they not splendid? He put the question
with all the enthusiasm and affection of a father who is proud of his
children.
As may be imagined, I had no difficulty in convincing him that I
have a whole-hearted admiration for the Italian Army after what I had
seen of its wonderful doings at Gorizia and elsewhere.
It was then that he gave me the news of the declaration of war
between Italy and Germany; the morning papers had not published it
in the early editions.
“That will please them in England,” he remarked with a laugh. I
agreed with him that it would, although it had long been expected.
The mention of England reminded me that he had just returned
from the war conference in London, so I asked if he had ever been
there before.
“Yes,” he replied with a humorous twinkle in his eye, “forty years
ago; but I do not remember much of it; although my father was
ambassador to England I only lived with him in London for a short
while. It is, of course, much changed since then.”
Whilst thus chatting I was working with feverish haste at my
sketch.
I now noticed he was getting a bit impatient at keeping the same
position, so I suggested a few moments rest. He came over to see
how I had got on, and asked if he might look through my sketch
book.
It happened to be the one I had used at Gorizia, and the sketches
I had made that day pleased him very much.
“You were fortunate, you were able to see something; I never see
anything,” he remarked quite pathetically.
I felt there was no time to lose if I wanted to get finished in the
half-hour, so hinted at his resuming the pose for a few minutes
longer. He did so at once, and I ventured to tell him in a joking way
that he would make a capital model.
 “Well, I am as active now as I ever was,” he replied, taking me
seriously, “and I can ride and walk as well now as I could when I was
a young man.”
This I could well believe, because he looks as “hard as nails,” and
chock full of energy and determination, as the Austrian generals
have discovered to their undoing.
I had now completed my rough sketch sufficiently to be able to
finish it in the studio.
The General expressed his gratification at my having done it so
rapidly, so I suggested another ten minutes some other day to put
the finishing touches.
“Come whenever you like, I shall always be pleased to see you,”
replied His Excellency genially.
Although, as I have said, there was no outward evidence of the
declaration of war making any difference in the conduct of the
campaign, rumours soon began to be persistently busy again, and it
became pretty evident that something big was going to happen on
the Carso before the weather broke up and the autumn rains set in
and put a stop to active operations for some time.
There had been a good deal of talk of operations pending in the
vicinity of Monfalcone, so I got permission to accompany a Staff
Officer who was going there one morning. I had always wanted to
see the place and its much talked of shipbuilding yards, but curiously
enough this was the first opportunity I had had of going there.
My companion was one of General Cadorna’s aides-de-camp, so
we went in one of the big cars belonging to Headquarters. We
started at the usual unearthly hour to which one had become
accustomed and which, as I have pointed out, is delightful in the
summer, but is not quite so fascinating on a raw autumn morning
before sunrise.
I was very disappointed when I learned that we should probably be
back in Udine “in time for lunch” unless something untoward
occurred to force us to stay away longer; as I had been looking
forward to an extended run that would last the whole day, but as I
was practically a guest on this occasion I could say nothing. My
companion, like so many Italian officers, spoke French fluently, and
turned out to be a very interesting fellow; and as he had been
stationed for some time at Monfalcone before going on the Staff, he
knew the district we were making for as well as it was possible to
know it.
The distance from Udine to Monfalcone is, roughly, the same as
from London to Brighton, and we went via Palmanova, Cervignano,
and Ronchi.
It was a bitterly cold morning, with an unmistakable nip of frost in
the air, so although I was muffled up to my ears I was gradually
getting frozen, and my eyes were running like taps. It may be
imagined, therefore, how I was envying my companion his big fur-
lined coat.
I had arrived at the Front in the hottest time of the year, so had
taken no precautions against Arctic conditions. Motoring in Northern
Italy in an open car during the winter months must be a very trying
ordeal indeed, if what I experienced that morning was any criterion of
it.
As we sped along I asked the Aide-de-camp if there was any
particular reason for his starting off so early, and if it was absolutely
necessary for us to be back “in time for lunch.” To my mind the very
thought of it took the interest off the trip and brought it down to the
level of an ordinary pleasure jaunt, which was to me particularly
nauseating.
After all these months at the Front I have not yet been able to
accustom myself to the combination of every-day town life and war,
and I am afraid shall never be able to. Doubtless it is a result of old
time experiences.
My companion treated my query somewhat lightly. “You will be
able to see all there is to see in and round Monfalcone in three
hours,” he replied, “so what is the use therefore of staying longer?
Moreover,” he added seriously, “the Austrian batteries have made a
practice of opening fire every morning at about eleven o’clock, and
usually continue for some hours, so there is the risk of not being able
to come away when one wants to.”
There was, of course, no reply possible, and the more especially
as I am not exactly a glutton for high explosives, as will have been
remarked.
Monfalcone is a nice bright little town, typically Austrian, and
before the war must have been a very busy commercial centre.
When I was there it was absolutely deserted, with the exception of
a few soldiers stationed there. The shops were all closed, grass was
growing in the streets, and it presented the usual desolate
appearance of a place continually under the menace of
bombardment.
The damage done to it up till then was really unimportant
considering the reports that had been spread as to its destruction.
Many houses had been demolished, as was to be expected, but I
was surprised to find how relatively undamaged it appeared after the
months of daily gun-fire to which it had been subjected.
We left the car in a convenient courtyard where it was under cover,
and made our way to the Headquarters of the Divisional
Commandant, where, as a matter of etiquette I had to leave my card.
For the moment the guns were silent, and there was a strange
quietude in the streets that struck me as being different to anything I
had noticed anywhere else, except perhaps in Rheims during the
bombardment when there was an occasional lull.
One had the feeling that at any moment something awful might
happen. Even the soldiers one met seemed to me to have a
subdued air, and the drawn expression which is brought about by
constant strain on the nerves.
Instinctively one walked where one’s footsteps made the least
noise, in order to be able to hear in good time the screech of an
approaching shell.
It had turned out a lovely day, and in the brilliant sunshine
Monfalcone should have been a bright and cheerful place, instead of
which it was but the ghost of a town with the shadow of death
continually overhanging it.
The peaceful stillness was not to be of long duration. Silence for
any length of time had been unknown in Monfalcone for many a long
day.
Whilst we were having a talk with the officers at Headquarters
there was a loud detonation, apparently just outside the building. To
my annoyance I could not restrain an involuntary start, as it was
totally unexpected.
“That’s only one of our guns,” remarked, with a smile, a Major with
whom I was chatting, and who had noticed the jump I made. “The
Austrians won’t commence for another couple of hours at least,” he
added.
My companion and I then started off to walk down to the
shipbuilding yard, about a mile and a half from the town, and which
was, of course, the principal sight of the place.
One had not gone far when one had some idea how exposed was
the position of Monfalcone. A deep communication trench
commenced in the main street and continued alongside the road the
whole way down to the port—no one was allowed to walk outside it.
The object of this was to prevent any movement being seen from
the Austrian batteries, which were only a comparatively short
distance away, though it must have been no secret to them what was
going on in Monfalcone.
The Italian guns were now getting busy, and the noise was
deafening, but still there was no response from the enemy; it was
evidently true that he worked to time, and it was not yet eleven
o’clock.
Although only a mile and a half, the walk seemed longer because
one could see nothing on either side, the walls of the trench being
quite six feet high; but at last we came out on the bank of what
looked like a broad canal. This is part of a waterway constructed to
connect up the port with the railway.
 The communication trench now took the form of a sunken pathway
winding along the bank under the trees, and was quite picturesque in
places.
At last we reached the end, and facing us was the Adriatic as calm
as a lake, and away on the horizon one could see the hills that guard
Trieste.
We crossed the mouth of the canal by a pontoon bridge, which I
believe had been abandoned by the Austrians when they evacuated
Monfalcone at the beginning of the war.
A short distance ahead, towering above a conglomeration of long
sheds on the low-lying ground, was an immense red structure, the
outlines of which recalled something familiar. As one got nearer one
saw that it was the unfinished steel hull of a gigantic ocean liner, and
that the red colouring was caused by the accumulation of rust from
long exposure.
We soon reached the entrance to a vast shipbuilding
establishment. There were no bolts or bars to prevent our walking in.
The whole place was deserted, and all around us was a spectacle
of ruin and desolation that was more impressive than actual havoc
caused by bombardment.
In the immense workshops the machinery was rotting away; on the
benches lay the tools of workmen; strange metal forms, portions of
the framework of big ships lay here and there on the sodden ground
like huge red skeletons of ante-deluvian animals.
Many vessels had been in the course of construction, mostly for
the Mercantile fleet of Austria, though there were some destroyers
and war-craft on the stocks as well. Rust, of a weird intensity of
colour. I had never seen before, was over everything like a strange
blight.
Alongside the sheds was the hull of the big liner one had seen in
the distance. A 20,000 ton boat, I was told, which was being built for
the Austrian Lloyd Line.