Academic literature on the topic 'Cremation volumes'

Thailand has a long, well-established practice of publishing books to commemorate events and personages. Among these are volumes commemorating deceased persons which are distributed to participants at cremation ceremonies. They contain obituaries written by the deceased's superiors, peers, and subordinates as well as relatives. Commemorative books are also published by government agencies, private companies, schools and individuals. While most are published in the Thai language, Chinese communities in Thailand also produce a large number of such books in Chinese. There has been no slackening of the practice; rather the publication of commemorative books has been gaining strength over the past decades.

This article attempts to illuminate Duncan McCargo's influential yet ambiguous concept of ‘network monarchy’ — the source of political power wielded by Thailand's royalist establishment. Drawing on Thai-language primary sources, especially cremation volumes, I argue, first, that many individuals who have made up various institutional components of the network monarchy come from a constellation of traditional royalist families that have intermarried with each other. Contrary to what McCargo suggests, these people are not just bound by their devotion to the monarchy alone, but also by their families’ pervasive intermarriage ties forged over many decades. These ties have given the network monarchy additional resilience, even though not all its members toe the ideological line all the time. My second argument concerns the temporal context in which the network monarchy has come into being. Although McCargo makes it seem that the late King Bhumibol developed the network monarchy — his personal patronage network — as a political tool from scratch in the post-1973 period, it has actually grown, in part, out of the pre-existing elite family networks. I develop these twin arguments by using the case of one royalist prime minister — Anand Panyarachun — as a focal point of analysis.

AbstractA central aspect of Thai legal consciousness since the mid-twentieth century, widely shared among the general population, has been a perception that judges have an exalted status entitling them to make broad-ranging pronouncements about social and political issues as well as legal matters. Popular legal consciousness of the Thai judge has to a large extent been shared by the judges themselves, as well as by their families and followers. The power and authority of Thai judges go far beyond the limited formal role they are given in Thailand’s civil-law system. This article suggests that the exceptional status of the Thai judge derives from a process of identity construction, emphasizing four traits that set the ideal judge apart from ordinary people. The first is that a Thai judge must be a “khon di” (good person), with specific reference to the traditions of Thai Buddhism. The second is that a Thai judge must be polite, kind, and socially refined—a “phudi” (proper gentleman). The third characteristic of the ideal Thai judge is that he or she must be highly educated and knowledgeable about the law—a “phuru” (learned and wise person). The fourth trait is that a Thai judge must be a “phupakdi” (loyal servant of the king), not only loyal to the monarchy as an institution, but to the late King Rama IX as a person. When the identity of the Thai judge is constructed from these four constituent elements, the pronouncements of the judge acquire legitimacy, even when they range beyond the narrow letter of the law. The article explores this central aspect of Thai legal consciousness by analyzing the construction of judges’ identities through a distinctive set of historical documents—the cremation volumes (nangsue ngan sop) that are published and distributed at the funerals of noted public figures. These volumes contain a wealth of biographical information as well as related legal and historical material that shed light on the life and work of Thailand’s most prominent judges during the past 50 years.

SummaryDespite its market volume of more than four billion EUR p. a. (in Germany) the market for funerals has been disregarded by economists so far. Nevertheless a burial is a high complex product involving not only an undertaker and a cemetery but also several other market actors like stone cutters, crematories and public authorities. Indeed, the providers find themselves in different market forms like a wide oligopoly in the case of funeral homes or a regional monopoly in the case of cemeteries. The abolition of legal conditions, changes in the individual way of life (e. g. a minor concentration on afterlife) and the consequences of the global financial crisis led to several changes and innovations in the market within the last years: E. g. caskets made of paper, an increasing market share of cremation in Germany and discount-funerals can be noticed. For the future we estimate a different role of the mortician. As the central protagonist he might become some kind of ‘manager’ being responsible for the complete funeral and acting as a grief counsellor for the surviving members of the family.

The Boxed Springs Mound site (41UR30) is one of three major Early Caddoan (ca. A.D. 900- t 200) multiple mound centers in the Sabine River basin of northeastern Texas, the others including the Jamestown (41SM54) and Hudnall-Pirtle (41RK4) sites upstream and downstream, respectively, from Boxed Springs. It is situated on a large and prominent upland ridge projection that extends from a bluff on the Sabine River about 500 m north to where the landform merges with a broader stretch of uplands and Bienville alluvium. Sediments on the site are Trep loamy fine sand, a relatively fertile soil. The site is approximately 1.6 km west of the confluence of Big Sandy Creek and the Sabine River, but the old channels, sloughs, and oxbow lakes on both sides of the upland ridge and alluvial terrace suggest that previous channels of the Sabine River as well as Big Sandy Creek ran from north to south immediately adjacent to the site. When the Boxed Springs site was originally recorded by Sam Whiteside, an avocational archeologist from Tyler (see Walters and Haskins, this volume) in the early 1960s, it had four earthen mounds arranged around an open area or central plaza. The four mounds apparently included two low "structural" or house mounds with clay floors at the southeastern and southwestern ends of the plaza (Mounds #2 and #7 on a ca. 1962 sketch by Whiteside), one burial mound about 12 x 8 m in size and 1 m in height at the northwestern plaza edge (Mound #3), and a flat-topped mound of unknown function at the northeastern end of the plaza (Mound #6). There were borrow pits apparently visible to the east of Mound #3 and south of Mound #6, and occupation areas/midden deposits along the uplands at the southern edge of the site as well as north and northwest of Mound #3. Some years ago, while Dr. James E. Bruseth and Dr. Timothy K. Perttula were documenting a large collection of vessels and stone tools from the Boxed Springs site, they became aware of the fact that a cremation burial with associated vessels had been dug at the site. A few years later, the cremated remains from that burial were turned over to Dr. Perttula for study. In this paper, Diane E. Wilson summarizes for the first time the results of her bioarchaeological analyses of the cremated burial. With this information now available, it seemed appropriate to provide an archaeological context--as it was known--on the cremated burial, and also summarize in one place the available information on the archaeological record from the Boxed Springs site. Key to this effort was the fact that Mark Walters provided unpublished information and notes from the 1960s archaeological investigations by Sam Whiteside at the Boxed Springs site. Although it is a major Early Caddoan mound center, the archaeology of the Boxed Springs site is very poorly known. We hope that this paper on a cremated burial from the site, as well as a discussion of previous archaeological investigations at Boxed Springs, will rectify this situation to a certain extent, and also spur renewed professional archaeological interest in this very significant prehistoric Caddoan mound center.

Introduction Special occasion cookery has been a staple of the cookbook writing in the English speaking Western world for decades. This includes providing catering for personal milestones as well as religious and secular festivals. Yet, in an era when the culinary publishing sector is undergoing considerable expansion and market segmentation, narratives of foods marking of one of life’s central and inescapable rites—death—are extremely rare. This discussion investigates examples of food writing related to death and funeral rites in contemporary cookbooks. Funeral feasts held in honour of the dead date back beyond recorded history (Luby and Gruber), and religious, ceremonial and community group meals as a component of funeral rites are now ubiquitous around the world. In earlier times, the dead were believed to derive both pleasure and advantage from these offerings (LeClercq), and contemporary practice still reflects this to some extent, with foods favoured by the deceased sometimes included in such meals (see, for instance, Varidel). In the past, offering some sustenance as a component of a funeral was often necessary, as mourners might have travelled considerable distances to attend the ceremony, and eateries outside the home were not as commonplace or convenient to access as they are today. The abundance and/or lavishness of the foods provided may also have reflected the high esteem in which the dead was held, and offered as a mark of community respect (Smith and Bird). Following longstanding tradition, it is still common for Western funeral attendees to gather after the formal parts of the event—the funeral service and burial or cremation —in a more informal atmosphere to share memories of the deceased and refreshments (Simplicity Funerals 31). Thursby notes that these events, which are ostensibly about the dead, often develop into a celebration of the ties between living family members and friends, “times of reunions and renewed relationships” (94). Sharing food is central to this celebration as “foods affirm identity, strengthen kinship bonds, provide comfortable and familiar emotional support during periods of stress” (79), while familiar dishes evoke both memories and promising signals of the continued celebration of life” (94). While in the southern states and some other parts of the USA, it is customary to gather at the church premises after the funeral for a meal made up of items contributed by members of the congregation, and with leftovers sent home with the bereaved family (Siegfried), it is more common in Australasia and the UK to gather either in the home of the principal mourners, someone else’s home or a local hotel, club or restaurant (Jalland). Church halls are a less common option in Australasia, and an increasing trend is the utilisation of facilities attached to the funeral home and supplied as a component of a funeral package (Australian Heritage Funerals). The provision of this catering largely depends on the venue chosen, with the cookery either done by family and/or friends, the hotel, club, restaurant or professional catering companies, although this does not usually affect the style of the food, which in Australia and New Zealand is often based on a morning or afternoon tea style meal (Jalland). Despite widespread culinary innovation in other contexts, funeral catering bears little evidence of experimentation. Ash likens this to as being “fed by grandmothers”, and describes “scones, pastries, sandwiches, biscuits, lamingtons—food from a fifties afternoon party with the taste of Country Women’s Association about it”, noting that funerals “require humble food. A sandwich is not an affront to the dead” (online). Numerous other memoirists note this reliance on familiar foods. In “S is for Sad” in her An Alphabet for Gourmets (1949), food writer M.F.K. Fisher writes of mourners’s deep need for sustenance at this time as a “mysterious appetite that often surges in us when our hearts seem breaking and our lives too bleakly empty” (135). In line with Probyn’s argument that food foregrounds the viscerality of life (7), Fisher notes that “most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak. […] It is as if our bodies, wiser than we who wear them, call out for encouragement and strength and […] compel us […] to eat” (135, 136). Yet, while funerals are a recurring theme in food memoirs (see, for example, West, Consuming), only a small number of Western cookbooks address this form of special occasion food provision. Feast by Nigella Lawson Nigella Lawson’s Feast: Food that Celebrates Life (2004) is one of the very few popular contemporary cookbooks in English that includes an entire named section on cookery for funerals. Following twenty-one chapters that range from the expected (Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and wedding) to more original (children’s and midnight) feasts, Lawson frames her discussion with an anthropological understanding of the meaning of special occasion eating. She notes that we use food “to mark occasions that are important to us in life” (vii) and how eating together “is the vital way we celebrate anything that matters […] how we mark the connections between us, how we celebrate life” (vii). Such meals embody both personal and group identities because both how and what is eaten “lies at the heart of who we are-as individuals, families, communities” (vii). This is consistent with her overall aims as a food writer—to explore foods’ meanings—as she states in the book’s introduction “the recipes matter […] but it is what the food says that really counts” (vii). She reiterates this near the end of the book, adding, almost as an afterthought, “and, of course, what it tastes like” (318). Lawson’s food writing also reveals considerable detail about herself. In common with many other celebrity chefs and food writers, Lawson continuously draws on, elaborates upon, and ultimately constructs her own life as a major theme of her works (Brien, Rutherford, and Williamson). In doing so, she, like these other chefs and food writers, draws upon revelations of her private life to lend authenticity to her cooking, to the point where her cookbooks could be described as “memoir-illustrated-with-recipes” (Brien and Williamson). The privileging of autobiographical information in Lawson’s work extends beyond the use of her own home and children in her television programs and books, to the revelation of personal details about her life, with the result that these have become well known. Her readers thus know that her mother, sister and first and much-loved husband all died of cancer in a relatively brief space of time, and how these tragedies affected her life. Her first book, How to Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food (1998), opened with the following dedication: “In memory of my mother, Vanessa (1936–1985) and my sister Thomasina (1961–1993)” (dedication page). Her husband, BBC broadcaster and The Times (London) journalist John Diamond, who died of throat cancer in 2001, furthered this public knowledge, writing about both his illness and at length about Lawson in his column and his book C: Because Cowards Get Cancer Too (1999). In Feast, Lawson discusses her personal tragedies in the introduction of the ‘Funeral Foods’ chapter, writing about a friend's kind act of leaving bags of shopping from the supermarket for her when she was grieving (451). Her first recipe in this section, for a potato topped fish pie, is highly personalised in that it is described as “what I made on the evening following my mother’s funeral” (451). Following this, she again uses her own personal experience when she notes that “I don’t think anyone wants to cook in the immediate shock of bereavement […] but a few days on cooking can be a calming act, and since the mind knows no rest and has no focus, the body may as well be busy” (451). Similarly, her recipe for the slowly hard-boiled, dark-stained Hamine Eggs are described as “sans bouche”, which she explains means “without mouths to express sorrow and anguish.” She adds, drawing on her own memories of feelings at such times, “I find that appropriate: there is nothing to be said, or nothing that helps” (455). Despite these examples of raw emotion, Lawson’s chapter is not all about grief. She also comments on both the aesthetics of dishes suitable for such times and their meanings, as well as the assistance that can be offered to others through the preparation and sharing of food. In her recipe for a lamb tagine that includes prunes, she notes, for example, that the dried plums are “traditionally part of the funeral fare of many cultures […] since their black colour is thought to be appropriate to the solemnity of the occasion” (452). Lawson then suggests this as a suitable dish to offer to someone in mourning, someone who needs to “be taken care of by you” (452). This is followed by a lentil soup, the lentils again “because of their dark colour … considered fitting food for funerals” (453), but also practical, as the dish is “both comforting and sustaining and, importantly, easy to transport and reheat” (453). Her next recipe for a meatloaf containing a line of hard-boiled eggs continues this rhetorical framing—as it is “always comfort food […] perfect for having sliced on a plate at a funeral tea or for sending round to someone’s house” (453). She adds the observation that there is “something hopeful and cheering about the golden yolk showing through in each slice” (453), noting that the egg “is a recurring feature in funeral food, symbolising as it does, the cycle of life, the end and the beginning in one” (453). The next recipe, Heavenly Potatoes, is Lawson’s version of the dish known as Mormon or Utah Funeral potatoes (Jensen), which are so iconic in Utah that they were featured on one of the Salt Lake City Olympic Games souvenir pins (Spackman). This tray of potatoes baked in milk and sour cream and then topped with crushed cornflakes are, she notes, although they sound exotic, quite familiar, and “perfect alongside the British traditional baked ham” (454), and reference given to an earlier ham recipe. These savoury recipes are followed by those for three substantial cakes: an orange cake marbled with chocolate-coffee swirls, a fruit tea loaf, and a rosemary flavoured butter cake, each to be served sliced to mourners. She suggests making the marble cake (which Lawson advises she includes in memory of the deceased mother of one of her friends) in a ring mould, “as the circle is always significant. There is a cycle that continues but—after all, the cake is sliced and the circle broken—another that has ended” (456). Of the fruitcake, she writes “I think you need a fruit cake for a funeral: there’s something both comforting and bolstering (and traditional) about it” (457). This tripartite concern—with comfort, sustenance and tradition—is common to much writing about funeral foods. Cookbooks from the American South Despite this English example, a large proportion of cookbook writing about funeral foods is in American publications, and especially those by southern American authors, reflecting the bountiful spreads regularly offered to mourners in these states. This is chronicled in novels, short stories, folk songs and food memoirs as well as some cookery books (Purvis). West’s memoir Consuming Passions: A Food Obsessed Life (2000) has a chapter devoted to funeral food, complete with recipes (132–44). West notes that it is traditional in southern small towns to bring covered dishes of food to the bereaved, and that these foods have a powerful, and singular, expressive mode: “Sometimes we say all the wrong things, but food […] says, ‘I know you are inconsolable. I know you are fragile right now. And I am so sorry for your loss’” (139). Suggesting that these foods are “concern and sympathy in a Pyrex bowl” (139), West includes recipes for Chess pie (a lemon tart), with the information that this is known in the South as “funeral pie” (135) and a lemon-flavoured slice that, with a cup of tea, will “revive the spirit” (136). Like Lawson, West finds significance in the colours of funeral foods, continuing that the sunny lemon in this slice “reminds us that life continues, that we must sustain and nourish it” (139). Gaydon Metcalf and Charlotte Hays’s Being Dead is No Excuse: The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral (2005), is one of the few volumes available dedicated to funeral planning and also offers a significant cookery-focused section on food to offer at, and take to, funeral events. Jessica Bemis Ward’s To Die For: A Book of Funeral Food, Tips, and Tales from the Old City Cemetery, Lynchburg, Virginia (2004) not only contains more than 100 recipes, but also information about funeral customs, practical advice in writing obituaries and condolence notes, and a series of very atmospheric photographs of this historic cemetery. The recipes in the book are explicitly noted to be traditional comfort foods from Central Virginia, as Ward agrees with the other writers identified that “simplicity is the by-word when talking about funeral food” (20). Unlike the other examples cited here, however, Ward also promotes purchasing commercially-prepared local specialties to supplement home-cooked items. There is certainly significantly more general recognition of the specialist nature of catering for funerals in the USA than in Australasia. American food is notable in stressing how different ethnic groups and regions have specific dishes that are associated with post-funeral meals. From this, readers learn that the Amish commonly prepare a funeral pie with raisins, and Chinese-American funerals include symbolic foods taken to the graveside as an offering—including piles of oranges for good luck and entire roast pigs. Jewish, Italian and Greek culinary customs in America also receive attention in both scholarly studies and popular American food writing (see, for example, Rogak, Purvis). This is beginning to be acknowledged in Australia with some recent investigation into the cultural importance of food in contemporary Chinese, Jewish, Greek, and Anglo-Australian funerals (Keys), but is yet to be translated into local mainstream cookery publication. Possible Publishing Futures As home funerals are a growing trend in the USA (Wilson 2009), green funerals increase in popularity in the UK (West, Natural Burial), and the multi-million dollar funeral industry is beginning to be questioned in Australia (FCDC), a more family or community-centered “response to death and after-death care” (NHFA) is beginning to re-emerge. This is a process whereby family and community members play a key role in various parts of the funeral, including in planning and carrying out after-death rituals or ceremonies, preparing the body, transporting it to the place of burial or cremation, and facilitating its final disposition in such activities as digging the grave (Gonzalez and Hereira, NHFA). Westrate, director of the documentary A Family Undertaking (2004), believes this challenges us to “re-examine our attitudes toward death […] it’s one of life’s most defining moments, yet it’s the one we typically prepare for least […] [and an indication of our] culture of denial” (PBS). With an emphasis on holding meaningful re-personalised after-disposal events as well as minimal, non-invasive and environmentally friendly treatment of the body (Harris), such developments would also seem to indicate that the catering involved in funeral occasions, and the cookbooks that focus on the provision of such food, may well become more prominent in the future. References [AHF] Australian Heritage Funerals. “After the Funeral.” Australian Heritage Funerals, 2013. 10 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.ahfunerals.com.au/services.php?arid=31›. Ash, Romy. “The Taste of Sad: Funeral Feasts, Loss and Mourning.” Voracious: Best New Australian Food Writing. Ed. Paul McNally. Richmond, Vic.: Hardie Grant, 2011. 3 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.romyash.com/non-fiction/the-taste-of-sad-funeral-feasts-loss-and-mourning›. Brien, Donna Lee, Leonie Rutherford, and Rosemary Williamson. "Hearth and Hotmail: The Domestic Sphere as Commodity and Community in Cyberspace." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). 28 Apr. 2013 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/10-brien.php›. Brien, Donna Lee, and Rosemary Williamson. “‘Angels of the Home’ in Cyberspace: New Technologies and Biographies of Domestic Production”. Biography and New Technologies. Australian National University. Humanities Research Centre, Canberra, ACT. 12-14 Sep. 2006. Conference Presentation. Diamond, John. C: Because Cowards Get Cancer Too… . London: Vermilion, 1998. Fisher, M.F.K. “S is for Sad.” An Alphabet for Gourmets. New York, North Point P, 1989. 1st. pub. New York, Viking: 1949. Gonzalez, Faustino, and Mildreys Hereira. “Home-Based Viewing (El Velorio) After Death: A Cost-Effective Alternative for Some Families.” American Journal of Hospice & Pallative Medicine 25.5 (2008): 419–20. Harris, Mark. Grave Matters: A Journey Through the Modern Funeral Industry to a Natural Way of Burial. New York: Scribner, 2007. Jalland, Patricia. Australian Ways of Death: A Social and Cultural History 1840-1918. Melbourne: Oxford UP, 2002. Jensen, Julie Badger. The Essential Mormon Cookbook: Green Jell-O, Funeral Potatoes, and Other Secret Combinations. Salt Lake City: Deseret, 2004. Keys, Laura. “Undertaking a Jelly Feast in Williamstown.” Hobsons Bay Leader 28 Mar. 2011. 2 Apr. 2013 ‹http://hobsons-bay-leader.whereilive.com.au/news/story/undertaking-a-jelly-feast-in-williamstown›. Lawson, Nigella. How to Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food. London: Chatto & Windus, 1998. ---. Feast: Food that Celebrates Life. London: Chatto & Windus, 2004. LeClercq, H. “The Agape Feast.” The Catholic Encyclopedia I, New York: Robert Appleton, 1907. 3 Apr. 2013. ‹http://www.piney.com/AgapeCE.html›. Luby, Edward M., and Mark F. Gruber. “The Dead Must Be Fed: Symbolic Meanings of the Shellmounds of the San Francisco Bay Area.” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 9.1 (1999): 95–108. Metcalf, Gaydon, and Charlotte Hays. Being Dead Is No Excuse: The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral. New York: Miramax, 2005. [NHFA] National Home Funeral Alliance. “What is a Home Funeral?” National Home Funeral Alliance, 2012. 3 Apr. 2013. ‹http://homefuneralalliance.org›. PBS. “A Family Undertaking.” POV: Documentaries with a Point of View. PBS, 2004. 3 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.pbs.org/pov/afamilyundertaking/film_description.php#.UYHI2PFquRY›. Probyn, Elspeth. Carnal Appetites: Food/Sex/Identities. London: Routledge, 2000. Purvis, Kathleen. “Funeral Food.” The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink. Ed. Andrew F. Smith. New York: Oxford UP, 2007. 247–48. Rogak, Lisa. Death Warmed Over: Funeral Food, Rituals, and Customs from Around the World. Berkeley: Ten Speed P, 2004. Siegfried, Susie. Church Potluck Carry-Ins and Casseroles: Homestyle Recipes for Church Suppers, Gatherings, and Community Celebrations. Avon, MA.: Adams Media, 2006. Simplicity Funerals. Things You Need To Know About Funerals. Sydney: Simplicity Funerals, 1990. Smith, Eric Alden, and Rebecca L. Bliege Bird. “Turtle Hunting and Tombstone Opening: Public Generosity as Costly Signaling.” Evolution and Human Behavior 21.4 (2000): 245–61.Spackman, Christy. “Mormonism’s Jell-O Mold: Why Do We Associate the Religion With the Gelatin Dessert?” Slate Magazine 17 Aug. (2012). 3 Apr. 2013.Thursby, Jacqueline S. Funeral Festivals in America: Rituals for the Living. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 2006. Varidel, Rebecca. “Bompas and Parr: Funerals and Food at Nelson Bros.” Inside Cuisine 12 Mar. (2011). 3 Apr. 2013 ‹http://insidecuisine.com/2011/03/12/bompas-and-parr-funerals-and-food-at-nelson-bros›. Ward, Jessica Bemis. Food To Die for: A Book of Funeral Food, Tips, and Tales from the Old City Cemetery, Lynchburg, Virginia. Lynchburg: Southern Memorial Association, 2004. West, Ken. A Guide to Natural Burial. Andover UK: Sweet & Maxwell, 2010. West, Michael Lee. Consuming Passions: A Food Obsessed Life. New York: Perennial, 2000. Wilson, M.T. “The Home Funeral as the Final Act of Caring: A Qualitative Study.” Master in Nursing thesis. Livonia, Michigan: Madonna University, 2009.

History, State of and Necessity for Research on the Roman and Migration Period Military Equipment from Poland. Subjective Approach (Despite Good Intentions)Significant studies on military equipment from the Roman Period have been initiated by Martin Jahn (1916a; 1921). For many years his works have been the main point of reference for research on weaponry of the Germanic peoples. This picture has not been changed radically by the post-war works of Klaus Raddatz, devoted mostly to the Germanic military equipment in the Late Pre-Roman Period (1966), Younger Roman Period (1967), and wide spectrum from the Late Pre-Roman until the Migration Period (1985). Although important at the time, they were insufficiently involving inner cultural diversity of the ‘Germanic’ world, presenting the issue from the first and foremost northern European perspective.After the war the studies on weaponry of the Central European Barbaricumhave been based mostly on the materials of the Przeworsk culture, due to abundance of military equipment in graves of this cultural unit. It is achronicler’s duty to mention rather unsuccessful work of Janina Elantkowska (1961), but then underline also the fundamental works of Kazimierz Godłowski in the field of chronology of weapon graves (1970; 1992; 1994), enabling further, more precise works on armaments of the Przeworsk culture. This scholar has educated several hoplologists, experts in archaeological military equipment (active – just like him – at the Jagiellonian University) who broaden the knowledge in this field considerably. Among those one should name especially Piotr Kaczanowski (1988) – the author of the studies on inlaid pole weapon heads, finds of imported weapons from the area of Barbaricum (Kaczanowski 1992) or the classification of heads of shafted weapons from the Przeworsk culture (Kaczanowski 1995). The latter is especially important, because establishing typologies and chronology of the pole weapon heads enabled further studies on military equipment in multiple aspects, thanks to the ability to precisely date graves equipped only with spear- or javelin heads, until that time dated very widely. Equally important person ‘descended’ from Kraków is Marcin Biborski, to whom academics owe research on Barbarian and Roman swords from the Barbarian Europe (Biborski 1978; 1994a; 1994b; 1994c; 1994d; Biborski, Ilkjær 2006); he has also begun the discourse on the ritual weapon destruction (Biborski 1981), as well as decorations of shafted weapon heads and swords (1986). Both aforementioned researchers have initiated the metal analysis of swords, which enabled devising of criteria for identification of the Roman imports (Biborski et alii1982; 2003). In the Kraków’s academia the classification of spurs has also been developed (Ginalski 1991), as well as axes (Kieferling 1994). Acomplement to the abovementioned is the study of weapon sets from graves, i.e. Germ. Waffenkombination issue (Kontny 2001; 2002; 2003a; 2008b), and – embracing broader territorial range – studies on pole weapon heads ornamented with astitch-like pattern (Kontny 2008a) and negative ornament on their blades (Kontny 2017a), or an eye-motif decoration placed at the sockets (Czarnecka, Kontny 2008), as well as the newest registers of watery deposits of weapons from the area of Poland (Kontny forthcoming b).Piotr Kaczanowski has also initiated the studies on weaponry of the Wielbark culture (Kaczanowski, Zaborowski 1988). Due to the specifics of burial rituals (taboo on weapons in grave goods) the research on arms of the Wielbark culture has arather short history. In the aforementioned work singular finds of weapons from graves have been used, interpreted by enduring traditions of the Oksywie culture – in the period of the Wielbark culture formation – or the Przeworsk culture – at the former areas of this cultural unit, later occupied by the Wielbark culture peoples. What was used there abundantly was the archival source – the files of Martin Jahn, in which one could find notes and sketches presenting finds of weapons from, i.a. Pomerania. However, the authors did not refer to written sources, especially very important remark of Tacitus (Tacyt, Germania 44, 1) about short swords and round shields, which were supposed to be distinctive for the peoples of Gotones, Rugii, and Lemovii, associated with the area of the Wiebark culture. This gap has been filled, which gave an opportunity for verification of the part of archaeological sources for reconstruction of the Wielbark military equipment and complementing their list (Kontny 2006a; 2008d).The usefulness of the accounts of Tacitus for the reconstruction of weapons from the Roman Period occurred to be insignificant, but it came to light that the Roman author had not always used the contemporaneous sources (the aforementioned description fits the picture of weaponry of the Oksywie culture). Discoveries of further Wielbark military objects as well as the renewed analysis of the discovery from Żarnowiec (Kontny 2006b) considerably broaden the database of sources and were used to formulate the working hypothesis about the influence of the Przeworsk model on the Wielbark military equipment in the Early Roman and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period, later replaced by the Scandinavian pattern (Kontny 2006b, 152; 2008d, 195). The probability of this concept grew, since the analysis of male belts led to similar inferences (Madyda-Legutko 2015). Therefore, the need for verification of the suggested picture occurred, with the use of possibly complete corpus of Wielbark military finds; all the more because the issue was complicated by the discovery of the inhumation burial with asword and sword bead in Juszkowo near Pruszcz Gdański, i.e. in the area of the important settlement centre of the Wielbark culture. The grave is dated to the time of the decline of this cultural unit (Dyrda, Kontny, Mączyńska 2014; Kontny, Mączyńska 2015). In effect, the synthesis of the Wielbark military equipment has been developed (Kontny 2019a, 69–113), in which it was possible to confirm the Przeworsk inspirations to Wielbark armaments in the Early Roman Period and subphase C1a, as well as to notice later influences of the northern European weaponry model. What was added to this picture was the probable introduction into the sphere of nomadic influences in the terminal stadium of the Wielbark culture, suggesting, that it was in fact the eastern-Germanic-type weaponry then, in which the nomadic influences are quite noticeable, manifesting in the adaptation of bow and trilobate arrows with rhomboid blades, as well as spathae of the Asian type. It was also possible to classify some conceptions formulated in the pioneering work; thus, the suggestion of the Wielbark origins of the negative ornament on shafted weapon heads has been rejected (Kontny 2017a), as well as the one about the important role of abow in the Wielbark armamentarium (Kontny 2019a, 85–87). On the other hand, in the light of current research the idea of the axes’ importance seems valid (Kontny 2019a, 83–85; 2019c,154–158).As opposed to the weapons, the Wielbark spurs were analyzed on multiple occasions. The newest classification of Wielbark spurs (Smółka 2014, 48–51) was mentioned only in the form of summary of the unpublished M.A. thesis and therefore it is hard to refer to it in details and evaluate it. It is beyond doubt, however, that spurs from the Early Roman and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period, in principle, were based on Przeworsk forms – with obvious differences in material (the lack of iron examples in graves, which is conditioned by the burial rituals), slight morphological ones, as well as the larger popularity of the chair-shaped examples (Germ. Stuhlsporen). In the later timespan one should notice more explicit northern European influences, although along with the preservation of arangeof local forms (Kontny 2019a, 87–88), and at the dawn of the Wielbark culture’s existence one might indicate the examples of spurs having been imported or inspired by Roman solutions (Kontny 2020, 673–675; Kontny, Michalak 2020). These observations, to the large extent, inscribe into the general dynamics of changes in the Wielbark military equipment. Asaresearch objective one should recognise the intensification of studies on watery deposits, as at some sacrificial sites of this kind Wielbark-culture arms have been discovered.In the last few years there has been ahuge advancement in the research on weapons of the West Balt cultural circle from the area of north-eastern Poland. This issue has been basically unrecognised until recently, and the progress is owed to discovery and dissemination of the archives and collections of the former Prussia-Museum, as well as private files of scholars active in the pre-war period. Currently the researchers have at their disposal the studies on Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures’ swords from the Roman Period (Kontny 2017b; see Nowakowski 1994; 2007) as well as seaxes of the Elbląg and Olsztyn group from the Late Migration Period (Kontny 2013a; 2019a, 142–147; see Prassolow 2018). Besides, the idea of the use of battle knives has been rejected, as they were too short to serve this purpose (Kontny 2019a, 128–129). The earliest (Kontny 2007a) and latest (Kontny 2008c) finds of weapons from Bogaczewo culture have been elaborated, which allowed to establish the timeframes of the phenomenon of including weapons in grave inventories: from the dawn of the Late Pre-Roman Period until subphase C1b. Particular categories of blunt weapons have been comprehensively analyzed, i.e. socketed axes (weapon characteristic for the West Balt circle and some areas of eastern Europe) and axes from Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures (Kontny 2016a; 2018). Furthermore, the issue of using the organic blunt weapons has been introduced, which popularity in the Balt milieu is suggested by the Tacitus’ remark about fustis. It has been established (Kontny 2015a) that such weapon has been used in the West Balt Barrows culture, but most probably it has not played any important role in the Roman Period, and the account of Tacitus is (in this aspect) anachronic. Elaboration of shafted weapon heads (Kontny 2007b) has shown that examples from the Bogaczewo culture imitate solutions known from the Przeworsk culture, although they show some local features (e.g. asocket is frequently mounted on ashaft with ause of asingle nail, and not rivet, as it was in the Przeworsk culture). On the other hand, in the Sudovian culture similar inspirations might be indicated only in the earliest stadium of its development and they are rather scarce. Shafted weapons match, however, the Lithuanian pattern, proposed by Vytautas Kazakâvičius (Kazakâvičius 1988, 12–63). One can also encounter here the Scandinavian imports. In the case of the Sudovian culture it was also possible to attempt to reconstruct sizes of shafted weapons, thanks to the analysis of the position of their heads in inhumation graves (Kontny 2019a, 119–124). It was also indicated that the significance of javelins in both cultures is rather scarce, which manifests in the sporadic presence of more than one weapon head in grave inventories (Kontny 2019a, 119, table 1), as well as the sparsity of barbed heads (Nowakowski 2014). The influences of the Przeworsk culture are noticeable also in the decorations of weapon heads (see: Kontny 2008a; 2017a; Czarnecka, Kontny 2008). Only recently the topic of bow and arrows from the Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures has been introduced. They were mainly used for hunting purposes (Kontny 2019a, 137–139). Equine equipment is quite well-represented in the Balt area, the proof of which are quite numerous finds of headgear and horse tack with chain reins, requiring – similarly to spurs – comprehensive studies (see Kontny 2019a, 139–141). On the presented background the research on Balt shields from the area of Poland seems at adisadvantage. It is necessary to challenge the possibility of an uncritical use of the (still incomplete) classification of middle-European shield-bosses and grips for the analysis of the Balt examples, as they indicate adifferent rhythm of popularity and morphological development, and in the same time also arange of primitive features (shield-bosses assembled from two parts, joint with rivets) and archaisms in construction (e.g. many attaching points at the brim; using big disc-headed nails and rivets as late as the Roman Period). It is also important to notice the large diversification in morphology of shield-bosses with blunt apex and probability of popularity of wooden shield-bosses (Kontny 2019a, 132–133, fig. 25), as well as the use of metal supports of shield constructions (Kontny 2019a, 136, fig. 30). The reconstruction of the shape of Sudovian culture shields was also proposed, on the basis of the location of shield elements in inhumation graves (Kontny forthcoming a).Numerous are the finds of the military equipment of the so-called Lubusz group (see the paper by Bartłomiej Rogalski in the hereby volume), located by the lower Oder River in the Early Roman Period and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period. Distinctive feature of this cultural unit is the use of cremation and including into graves burnt and sometimes – by the Przeworsk custom – destroyed weapons. Studies of this issue still have not been fully published, although it has been approached for some time now (Wołągiewiczowie 1964); aM.A. dissertation was even written on this topic (Czarnecka 1995). The theses, which have been included there, became obsolete due to the rapid increase in the archaeological record, i.a. thanks to the fieldwork at the necropolis in Czelin, as well as the lake sacrificial site in Lubanowo. On the basis of the hitherto observations, it has to be acknowledged that the model of the military equipment is very similar to the solutions known from the Przeworsk culture (Kontny 2019b, 349). The forms of shafted weapon heads, single- or double-edged 74B. Kontnyswords, shield-bosses, grips, and even arrowheads and spurs (with the documented exam-ples of the so-called bow-shaped – Germ. Bügelsporen – and chair-shaped spurs correspond with the Przeworsk prototypes. There are no axes known from burial grounds of the Lubusz group so far, which diversifies it from the Wielbark-culture armament, and shows even more ties with the military equipment of the Przeworsk culture. However, their presence has been confirmed at the sacrificial sites; it is possible that the weapons discovered there have been seized from the defeated Wielbark-culture invaders from the east (similar interpretation is accepted for the analogical northern European deposits). Scarce examples of weapons from the dawn of the Lubusz group refer to the solutions known from Scandinavia. It is thus probable that the change, which can be observed here, is analogous to the process known from the Wielbark culture.Basically unrecognised remains the military equipment of the Dębczyno group, which superseded the Wielbark culture in Western Pomerania in the Younger Roman Period and functioned until the Migration Period. Also in the case of Luboszyce culture what is lacking is the synthetic approach towards the issue of military equipment from the typological and chronological point of view. The finds of weapons were collected in the monograph of this culture; the attention has been paid in this case to the diversity from the Przeworsk model of military equipment, expressed in the use of axes (their classification was proposed); singular ties to the Scandinavian patterns have been observed (Domański 1979, 43–54), although one cannot find here comprehensive analysis of the issue. Adissertation devoted to military equipment of the Luboszyce culture has been written lately; unfortunately, it was not printed (Demkowicz 2014); only some of the issues approached there were published (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015a; 2015b; 2016). They indicate the emulation – with slight modifications – the Przeworsk-culture model of weaponry in the early phases of development of the Luboszyce culture (phase C1), which might be indicated e.g. by the forms of shafted weapon heads and spurs, while new elements, such as asymmetric axes parallel to the ones known from the Elbe region, became numerous only from the C2 phase (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015a; 2015b; 2016). Scandinavian elements are represented i.a. by the knives with along grip, associated with the equipment of warriors (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz2016), although most probably not used in battle. Among the Scandinavian forms one might indicate also range of pole weapon heads (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015b, 119), as well as ashield-boss and grip from the grave XII at Grzmiąca (Marcinkian 1978, 98, fig. 14:g,h).One has to notice new possibilities which occurred in amoment when the picture of diversities in the military equipment of the cultures: Przeworsk, Sudovian, Bogaczewo, and Wielbark has been recognised (see the synthesis of the hoplological research: Kontny 2019a), as well as – reaching beyond the borders of Poland – northern European Barbaricum, and – partly – Elbe circle. It presents possibilities of creating comparative models of military equipment, indicating mutual influences and reconstructing their mechanisms. Already now it was possible to indicate the culture-forming position of the Przeworsk pattern of military equipment in the Early Roman Period and subphase C1a; in the later time asimilar role was played by the Scandinavian model, although this influence was not that standardizing (Kontny 2019c). It was also possible to identify Przeworsk-culture and Balt archaeological materials at the chosen sacrificial sites in Scandinavia (Kontny 2017c; 2019e), as well as Crimea (Kontny 2013c). It allowed to form ahypothesis on undertaking even far-going military expeditions by the warriors from the area of current Poland in the Roman Period, while participating in frequently ethnically heterogeneous war bands (Kontny 2003b; 2019d); it can clarify, to some extent, also some changes in cultural ranges. Fuller knowledge of the picture of military equipment diversity in Barbaricum (paying attention especially to the analysis of the shafted weapon heads, being agood indication of the cultural affiliation) will allow to continue similar comparisons and deepen the knowledge in the field of history of wars in Barbaricum, on the top of that, reconstructed without any precise data from the written sources. Northern European sacrificial sites showed huge potential which is presented by this kind of studies. Such direction is even more promising because the studies of lake and riverine deposits identified lately in the area of Poland should create new research perspectives, although they not necessarily have acharacter identical to – truly not homogeneous – Scandinavian sites. It seems that there is an abundance of the most exciting topics for along time!

The fiery transformation of the dead is replete in our popular culture and Western modernity's death ways, and yet it is increasingly evident how little this disposal method is understood by archaeologists and students of cognate disciplines in the humanities and social sciences. In this regard, the archaeological study of cremation has much to offer. Cremation is a fascinating and widespread theme and entry-point in the exploration of the variability of mortuary practices among past societies. Seeking to challenge simplistic narratives of cremation in the past and present, the studies in this volume seek to confront and explore the challenges of interpreting the variability of cremation by contending with complex networks of modern allusions and imaginings of cremations past and present and ongoing debates regarding how we identify and interpret cremation in the archaeological record. Using a series of original case studies, the book investigates the archaeological traces of cremation in a varied selection of prehistoric and historic contexts from the Mesolithic to the present in order to explore cremation from a practice-oriented and historically situated perspective.

Archaeologists have long acknowledged the absence of a regular and recurrent burial rite in the British Iron Age, and have looked to rites such as cremation and scattering of remains to explain the minimal impact of funerary practices on the archaeological record. Pit-burials or the deposit of disarticulated bones in settlements have been dismissed as casual disposal or the remains of social outcasts. In Death and Burial in Iron Age Britain, Harding examines the deposition of human and animal remains from the period - from whole skeletons to disarticulated fragments - and challenges the assumption that there should have been any regular form of cemetery in prehistory, arguing that the dead were more commonly integrated into settlements of the living than segregated into dedicated cemeteries. Even where cemeteries are known, they may yet represent no more than a minority of the total population, so that other forms of disposal must still have been practised. A further example of this can be found in hillforts which, in addition to domestic and agricultural settlements, evidently played an important role in funerary ritual, as secure community centres where excarnation and display of the dead may have made them a potent symbol of identity. The volume evaluates the evidence for violent death, sacrifice, and cannibalism, as well as age and gender distinctions, and associations with animal burials, and reveals that 'formal' cemetery burial or cremation was for most regions a minority practice in Britain until the eve of the Roman conquest.

Given its inherent nature as fiery transformation, the archaeological traces of past cremation practices are always partial and fragmentary. However, recent advances in archaeological excavation and osteological analyses, and novel theoretical investigations of cremation’s variability, character, and context, have enriched and developed the archaeology of cremation in prehistoric and early historic societies (for a review, see Chapter 1, this volume; see also; Williams 2008, 2015b; Wessman 2010; Cerezo-Román and Williams 2014). For the later first millennium AD, archaeologists persist in underestimating the potential for investigating cremation practices, and this is particularly true of the study of mortuary structures and monuments associated with cremation burials (see also Chapter 4, this volume; Chapter 13, this volume; Williams 2013, 2014a). To some extent, the impoverished archaeological investigation of the architectural dimensions of cremation in particular is understandable. Archaeologists are well acquainted with the fact that burial monuments can be multiphased and become subject to uses and reuses over millennia, and indeed, many early medieval cemeteries focus on, reuse, and adapt, far older monuments (Williams 1997;Wessman 2010). There are also examples of large monumental barrows built over cremation burials, as in the late sixth and early seventh centuries at Sutton Hoo, Suffolk, showing that cremation ceremonies could be utilized to make enduring, prominent monuments to commemorate the dead and project remembrance down the generations (Carver 2005). However, the more ephemeral mortuary architectures of the late first millennium AD which characterize the majority of cemeteries in most regions—mounds, ring-ditches, stone-settings, post-holes, and the like—are often damaged or destroyed by postdepositional processes. When burial monuments are identified they often appear to have been inherently modest structures that defy familiar explanations as status-markers and landmarks to project the commemoration of the dead across the landscape and through time. It is often all too tempting for archaeologists to dismiss these structures and refer to cemeteries in which cremation burials occur as ‘flat cemeteries’ or else to kaleidoscope these monuments into a single chronological phase and portray them as ‘collective’ structures. Hence, many archaeological accounts, emphasizing the spectacle and fragmentation of open-air cremation in the human past, wrongly imply, or explicitly stipulate, that cremation is counter-architectural.

The displays of articulated, unburned, and fleshed human remains in European museums are often claimed to fixate and simultaneously repulse the modern viewer, and provoke all manner of varied responses in between these extremes (Brooks and Rumsey 2007: 279–80). Unused to the sights (and smells) of corpses and skeletons, the modern visitor is certainly fascinated by the uncanny nature of the archaeological dead. While bearing the signs of transformation by time and treatment, they often retain an unsettling individual persona, regularly enhanced by being posed, re-clothed, and sometimes awarded facial reconstructions when selected for museum display (Swain 2002, 2007a; Wallace 2005). Seemingly denying and disrupting the passage of time and drawing the past into the present, these cadavers afford the illusion of sleeping persons suspended between animation and oblivion (see also Nordström this volume). Such ‘immortals’ can become emblematic of entire societies and periods in the human past and icons of archaeology itself as a discipline that deals with the traces of human mortality through time (Nordström 2007, this volume; Williams 2009). It is the strikingly ‘human’ and ‘whole’ cadavers that have provoked the strongest emotional responses from the public as well as securing direct spiritual connections for particular religious minority groups. Such is the case of the campaign by the British Order of Druids who focused their claim for reburial centred on the memorable and evocative skeleton of a Neolithic child ‘Charlie’ on display in the Keiller Museum at Avebury (see Giles and Williams this volume; Tatham this volume; Rathouse this volume). Such claims of affection and affinity are clearly predicated on the corporeal integrity and the emotive responses this integrity evokes for the viewer. While human remains provoke the most powerful emotive engagements with the archaeological dead, other strategies for displaying mortuary contexts, such as casts of human bone (Goodnow 2006a: 18–19) and artist’s reconstructions of funerals (Williams 2009; Giles this volume), can inspire strong reactions. The same also applies to dioramas with mannequins: their uncanny resemblances to living persons can create powerful imaginative and educational connections between visitors and past individuals and the societies they represent within the museum context.

In their Introduction to this volume, the editors note that the contextual analysis of cremation requires an understanding that is broader and more complex than we generally assume. This chapter examines what has been termed a crematory at one site, and tries to determine the accuracy of this label and its cultural implications. The research included in this chapter is not European in focus, but instead looks at the North American site of Aztalan in southern Wisconsin. Aztalan has been excavated, studied, and interpreted over a period of more than 150 years, and serves as a useful contrast to some of the European sites in this volume because research at Aztalan has drawn on different kinds of analogies, modern allusions, and different histories of development of archaeological method and theory. However, because Aztalan is also a site that represents a widespread, structured, complex, agriculturally based society, it should provide a useful comparison with similar European groups, and expand the range of understanding and examples of cremation and fiery technologies. Of course, there is not a formal link between this site and those in Europe, but many of the same kinds of processes, and especially modern allusions and interpretations, apply to both. A discussion of cremation, copper working, and fiery displays is presented first, followed by details of the Aztalan example and the feature originally labelled a crematory (Rowe 1958). Following this, an outline of the range of Aztalan mortuary practices and pertinent ethnographic and ethnohistoric data highlights the importance of both copper and fire in the Mississippian context. Rather than simply looking at the Aztalan structure as an alternative mortuary location, this chapter tries to place the feature contextually in a much broader social, physical, landscape, and behavioural frame. Since 2000, archaeological approaches to the analysis of mortuary sites have become more sophisticated, both theoretically and analytically. In this process, scholars have begun to focus on the fact that cremation practices have often been presented and interpreted as nothing more than an alternative mortuary practice, and the presence of both cremation and inhumation in a single site is often seen as representing no more than choice or a reflection of changing practices over time.