Staying local – experiencing local landscapes and the potential of hidden stories

ABSTRACT

This article considers some of the opportunities increased visitation to recreational areas presents in terms of engaging residents and visitors with local heritage in the form of Historic Environment Records (HERs). There are countless potential ‘hidden stories’ related to cultural heritage sites and artefacts within palimpsest landscapes. These sites and artefacts present opportunities for alternative narratives of place to be negotiated, creating links to the past in the present, and between the exotic and the familiar. The changing approach to landscape practices resulting from COVID-19 restrictions presents new opportunities to engage people with these hidden stories, linking places near with far-off lands across time and space. It also encourages new connections with place that have the potential to (co-)create new narratives; increasing engagement, as well as correlating with pressing issues centred around the climate crisis and the urgent need to reduce travel to achieve Net Zero targets.

KEYWORDS:

• Historic environment record
• stories
• cultural heritage
• climate change
• COVID-19

Introduction

In the beginning was the story. Or rather: many stories, of many places, in many voices, pointing towards many ends (Cronon 1992, 1347).

COVID-19 restrictions between 2020 and 2022 in Scotland (and across the globe) required people to focus their activities on staying local, particularly in relation to outdoor activities (Scottish Government 2020). These restrictions encouraged more introspection and focus on the local in terms of travel and access to outside space for recreation. This resulted in an increase in the number of people undertaking outdoor recreational activities in their local areas compared to pre-lockdown activities (Semple, Fountas, and Fonzone 2021).

Taking Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park on the outskirts of the Scottish city of Perth as its focus, this article considers some of the opportunities this increased visitation presents in terms of engaging residents and visitors with local heritage. Within the landscape are countless potential ‘hidden stories’ related to cultural heritage sites and artefacts as part of palimpsest landscapes. These sites and artefacts present opportunities for alternative narratives of place to be negotiated, creating links to the past in the present, and between the exotic and the familiar. Heritage is often something that people travel to experience, and previously what was local may have been undesired or unknown (Lew 2018). Broadly speaking, outdoor recreation spaces saw an increase in activity resulting from varied COVID-19 lockdown measures (Bustad, Clevenger, and Rick 2023, 90). The restrictions on movement also provided the opportunity for explorations of ‘urban green spaces and the (re)formation of perspectives and practices attached to these’ (King and Dickinson 2023, 112). The changing approach to landscape practices resulting from COVID-19 restrictions presents new opportunities to engage people with these hidden stories, linking places near with far-off lands across time and space. It also encourages new connections with place that have the potential to (co-)create new narratives, increasing engagement; as well as correlating with pressing issues centred around the climate crisis and the urgent need to reduce travel to achieve Net Zero targets.

Perceptions of landscape

The concept of landscape has evolved from its origins as landschap, used to refer to an area of land (Antrop 2013, 12), to what Wattchow describes as ‘a classic trans-disciplinary concept’ (2013, 87). It is a complex construct that need to be interpreted, a reflection that social realities are constructed rather than innate (Atha et al. 2013, 2). As such, landscape does not just exist. Instead, landscape has been variously conceived as both a spatial and cultural entity (Brace and Geoghegan 2010, 287). They are texts to be read (Duncan and Duncan 1988); something that favours the visual, though the conscious and subconscious actions of individuals identify what is seen and how it is understood (Antrop and Van Eetvelde 2017, 62). It has been considered a dualism between its material reality and ideal representation (Timms 2008); landscape as a verb as well as a noun (Leyshon and Geoghegan 2012, 240). Though the separation of the cultural and the natural is not so clear cut:

As the familiar domain of our dwelling, [landscape] is with us, not against us, but it is no less real for that. And through living in it, the landscape becomes a part of us, just as we are a part of it (Ingold 2000, 191).

Bound up within discussions of landscape are ideas around place, identity, and attachment. Aspects of identity then can have a geographical component. Place-identity refers to the way people use place as an influencing factor in the construction of identities (Proshansky, Fabian, and Kaminoff 1983). Tuan (1974) saw space given meaning through the development of identities connected to landscape – what he defined as ‘topophilia’ (a love of place), with stronger attachments to place developing over time. Massey uses the term ‘a progressive sense of place’ (Massey 1994) to reflect the idea that the character of places is constructed by the flows of people and ‘things’ in and out of a space. Place attachment (Altman and Low 1992; Devine-Wright 2009) creates a sense of belonging with a spatial context in the sense of being in place.

The role of place attachment, place identity and sense of place have been recognised as playing a critical role in influencing human responses to climate change (Devine-Wright 2013, 67). Narratives of climate change have also reflected on it as an ‘ideologically charged phrase’ (Brace and Geoghegan 2010, 284), with growing recognition of the complexities of defining it (Leyshon and Geoghegan 2012, 237). Increasingly, the focus, at least within the discipline of (human) geography, has evolved from the primacy of science as the discourse (Brace and Geoghegan 2010, 293) towards the recognition of more nuanced processes that are ‘culturally embedded’ and rooted in place (Köpsel, Walsh, and Leyshon 2017, 175).

Perceptions of heritage

The purpose or role of heritage has been widely debated. Perceived distinctions between tangible remains and ‘objective’ history, have been compared to subjective, populist accounts which have been defined as heritage (Lowenthal 1998). The process of heritage is a selection of elements in the present that can be attributed to or provide connection with the past (Smith 2006; Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996). It has been argued, then, that these processes have facilitated a continued separation between archaeology and heritage in terms of management and practice, enabling archaeologists to be ‘very successful in protecting what they perceive to be their database’ (Smith and Waterton 2009, 1).

A more critical reflection on the concept of objectivity and the past is reflected through the development of critical heritage, with the way ‘the past’, is recognised, managed, protected, and promoted within modern Western perspectives as an authorised heritage discourse (AHD) (Smith 2006). These processes are controlled by heritage experts, positioned as ‘legitimate spokespersons for the past’ (Smith 2006, 29) who designate certain practices in the conservation and management of physical, tangible remains of past human activities. It may be understood ‘not as being made up of survivals from the past […] but more broadly as the accumulated body of everything that reminds contemporary society of the past’ (Holtorf 2011, 157), where it is ‘“promoted” out of the everyday to a special cognitive realm where we think about it differently’ (Carman 2009, 195).

Holtorf makes the case for heritage loss as an integral part of the process of heritage-making. It is through the destruction of tangible remains of past human activities that attention was drawn to its existence and value, leading to national legislation and international charters (the AHD), designed to address the perceived threat to the ‘resource’ (Holtorf 2006). The conservation and preservation ethos of cultural heritage management is therefore underpinned by a focus on preserving tangible remains and information about the past for future generations (Harris 2020).

The perception of being worthy of protection reflects this process of evaluation, selection, and preservation within a value system. As Avrami and Mason recognise, values are ‘not fixed, but subjective and situational [and] must be understood in relation to the person or group ascribing a value to a place, and in relation to the place’s physical and social histories’ (Avrami and Mason 2019, 11). These values are not ascribed equally by different interest groups, but rather are informed by the priorities of heritage experts who set the agenda and define what is (and is not) heritage (Smith 2006, 51). The results can be exclusive/exclusionary practices, creating tensions between (for example) communities and ‘experts’ (Kok 2009, 138). Social values for the historic environment may align with these formal authored narratives, but social values are often created through informal processes and practices (Jones 2017).

Part of this process of cultural heritage management is the creation of a database of heritage assets. In the UK, these originated in the early-twentieth century as paper-based inventories to ‘support the enactment of the Ancient Monuments Protection Acts of 1882 and 1900 by providing definitive lists of buildings and monuments that could be used to identify those most worthy of protection’ (Carlisle and Lee 2016, 129).

What this has resulted in is a ‘crisis’ of accumulation of the past, with an ‘expansion in the categories and numbers of objects, places and practices which have come to be defined, listed, conserved and exhibited as heritage, [with] fundamental shifts in the values which heritage is held to represent’ (Harrison 2013, 579). This also alludes to changing perspectives on what is significant (and insignificant) in terms of the aspects of heritage that should be valued, protected, preserved, and promoted in the present (Ireland, Brown, and Schofield 2020).

Today they are databases commonly referred to as historic environment records (HER), formerly sites and monuments records (SMR) (Newman 2011). HERs are a key part of local and national cultural heritage management, particularly in relation to development control (Illsley 2019). They are catalogues containing records of all known archaeological remains, increasingly available as digital databases combining written records with images and a mapping system (Gilman and Newman 2007) that prioritise events (Evans 2013, 21) that are measurable in time and can be attributed a beginning and an end. This contrasts with the everyday practices of landscape that include recreational users of place who engage in deliberate (if subconscious) acts of place-making, which will have considerable impacts on broader socio-cultural perceptions of place and value, but do not impact on the geospatial record of a site’s usage.

HERs are also works-in-progress. They are never complete, as they are a record of what is known at a point in time, with new additions recorded as new discoveries are made. They are also a tool devised and controlled by heritage experts for their own use, with other (lay) interests not normally accounted for through the processes of recording and reporting (P. McKeague, Corns, and Posluschny 2017). They are also partial as they are a record of what is valued at that time, with many tangible (and intangible) aspects of past and recent human activities not recorded.

In Scotland, Canmore is the national record of the historic environment which is managed and compiled by the national public body Historic Environment Scotland (Historic Environment Scotland 2023a). Canmore is an active, evolving database containing more than ‘320,000 records and 1.3 million catalogue entries for archaeological sites, buildings, industry and maritime heritage across Scotland’ which is ‘added to on a daily basis’ (Historic Environment Scotland 2023a). This includes new information gleaned from regional HERs maintained and updated at a regional level by local government authorities. In the Perth and Kinross region the HER is maintained by Perth and Kinross Heritage Trust (Perth and Kinross Heritage Trust 2023). PastMap is a map-based web portal database managed by Historic Environment Scotland along with local government archaeologists and allows the public to ‘view information about the archaeology, architecture and landscapes of Scotland on one single map’ (Historic Environment Scotland 2023b).

The value of formal archaeological records such as HERs to ‘positively impact research and society at large’ remains unrealised (McKeague et al. 2020, 1–2). Due to the technical nature of the data, understanding the content of HERs requires a level of archaeological knowledge which most members of the public will not possess (Illsley 2019, 116). There are opportunities for wider benefit in making this data available to non-expert audiences to use; the development in Scotland of MyCanmore, enables members of the public to contribute to records (McKeague and Thomas 2016, 118), though this does require a pre-existing level of knowledge and understanding of archaeology/the historic environment.

There remains a scarcity of research into benefits of archaeological data records for non-specialist audiences, though the opportunity for archaeology to be incorporated within interdisciplinary work, for example in relation to climate change, highlights the potential for new approaches (McKeague et al. 2020, 21). There is also more work to be done in integrating archaeological records and data management with wider landscape management processes, with ‘disciplinary fragmentation [placing] significant obstacles in the way of using landscape research to answer major social, economic and environmental challenges’ (Fairclough and van Londen 2010, 654). This is highlighted for example in research into the European Landscape Convention (ELC) and the management of Iron Age Oppida within cultural landscape management initiatives that address the needs of a wide range of landscape users and stakeholders (Tully et al. 2019).

Telling stories

Within the process of heritage, telling stories is central. Narratives of place commonly relate to perceived shared aspects of the past as they are manifest in tangible (and intangible) forms in the present. As such they can have a central role in constructing and reaffirming identities (Graham, Ashworth, and Tunbridge 2000; Timoney 2020).

Heritage interpretation is the mechanism through which publics often engage with heritage in situ. The discipline of heritage interpretation has storytelling at its core, as a means of communication that is more than just the transmission of facts, potentially with an emotional focus (Ham 1992, 3). Interpretation uses storytelling to help communicate bigger meanings within experiences, aiming to make those experiences relevant to individuals and communities in inclusive and engaging ways (National Association of Interpretation 2023).

Traditionally, interpretation has used two broad forms of communication – static media (e.g. primarily written text and images) and live media (e.g. in the form of guides) (Knudson and Beck 2003, 230). Within the last two decades there has been a rapid expansion in the use of new non-personal technologies, including augmented reality, virtual reality, and mixed technology to facilitate the communication of stories and experiences at heritage sites (Liu 2020), with the possibility of providing audiences with more flexibility in terms of the essence and focus of the experience (Antoniou et al. 2019).

The National Association for Interpretation suggest that ‘interpretation is a mission-based communication process that forges emotional and intellectual connections between the interests of the audience and the meanings inherent in the resource’ (National Association of Interpretation 2023). This definition reflects a common theme within heritage, that sites and artefacts have an inherent or authentic meaning that is waiting to be uncovered and communicated to others. This view is widely challenged, from the position that there are no inherent meanings, only interpretations of meaning and value in the present (Graham, Ashworth, and Tunbridge 2000). The stories that are told are partial, temporal narratives of place.

Heritage is then proposed as a pluralistic concept addressing wider social needs and practices (Wollentz and Kuhlefelt 2021). The growth of community-led and co-created heritage projects reflects a wider response to many of the issues raised around the dominant narratives of place. The issue then is around whether a polyvocality of heritage is enabled, or whether there is simply the replacing of one narrative with another. Hart and Homsy (2020), for example, discuss the value of ESRI’s ArcGIS Story Map application for heritage place-making in an urban neighbourhood of New York, reflecting on a project that ‘weaves together the multiple meanings residents attach to neighborhood places by layering audio, images, and text to create stories of work, home, and community life, past and present’ (2020, 950). De Nardi (2014) also discusses the benefits of mapping approaches using collaborative experiential maps as a specific heritage fieldwork and interpretation tool solely using inputs from members of the local community. What this results in is a landscape scattered with small stories and partial narratives, reflecting the opportunity to engage with multiple and layered narratives of place, though the focus is on (re)telling stories already known within parts of the community.

Case study location: Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park

Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park (KHWP) is located to the east of the city of Perth, Scotland (Figure 1). The park is approximately 0.5 km from the city centre, across the River Tay. With clear signage there is easy access by foot and road making it a popular recreational area for residents and visitors. It is also a clear feature in the landscape for those travelling along the arterial A90/M90 road, with the hill and cliffs dominating the landscape view for vehicles travelling north-east across the Friarton Bridge (Figure 2).

Figure 1. Map showing location of Perth. Made in QGIS using natural earth data.

Figure 2. Kinnoull Hill dominating the landscape from the M90 road travelling north-east. Photo by author.

KHWP comprises Kinnoull Hill, Corsiehill, Barn Hill, Deuchny Hill and Binn Hill (Figure 3). The park is owned and managed by the local government authority Perth and Kinross Council (PKC) and Forestry and Land Scotland (FLS), the Scottish Government agency responsible for managing Scotland’s national forests and land. The area owned and managed by PKC was gifted to the citizens of Perth by the landowner Lord Dewar in 1924 (Perth and Kinross Council 2019). The current Management Plan lists a range of stakeholders interested in the management of Kinnoull Hill, including local heritage and countryside trusts, Police Scotland, the Samaritans, and the Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park Users Group (KHWPUG), a stakeholder group established in 2001 to represent the wide range of users of the woodland park (ibid.).

Figure 3. Location map for Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park. Contains public sector information licenced under the Open Government Licence v3.0. Made in QGIS using OpenStreetMap data CC BY-SA 4.0.

A familiar landscape

The woodland park has long been a popular place for recreation in the area. Tourists, mountain bikers, walkers, dog walkers and runners are all regular users of the park (Forest 2023). The top of Kinnoull Hill provides a vantage point providing views towards the mountains of Ben Vorlich and beyond to the west, Beinn a’Ghlo to the north and the Lomond Hills to the south. Kinnoull Hill is such a well-known part of the landscape that the regional newspaper, The Courier (14 May 2021), published articles on it during the phases of COVID-19 lockdown celebrating the ‘natural iconic hill’, and interviewing a range of local users, highlighting its important role as a source of local engagement with the natural environment.

The recognition of Kinnoull Hill as a dominant feature in the local landscape also reflect its infamy, as the cliff location is a national area of concern for completed suicides (Perth and Kinross Council 2019), a stark juxtaposition with the recreational activities that the park is popular for. Warning signs about the dangers of the cliffs are a reminder of this ongoing issue (Figure 4).

Figure 4. Dangerous cliffs warning sign. Photo by author.

An interpreted landscape

There are also authorised aspects of place-narrative in the form of interpretation panels encountered across the woodland park. Formal narratives of place criss-cross the landscape, including the focus on Kinnoull Hill as an extinct volcano (Figure 5), and the Geddes Way, a route from the centre of the city to the top of the hill to celebrate Patrick Geddes, the world-famous polymath who is renowned for his work in the development of modern town planning. Geddes spent his early years living in a house located on the side of Kinnoull Hill, and his formative experiences here are credited with shaping his ‘appreciation of the interplay of city and region, built environment and natural wilderness’ (MacDonald 1994, 54).

Figure 5. Interpretation panel on Kinnoull Hill. Photo by author.

Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park - sites in the HER

The HER contains records for a number of sites located within KHWP (Figure 6). These refer to a range of possible site types and structures, alongside the location of findspots for artefacts that have been stray (opportunistic) finds by individuals.

Figure 6. Map of the KHWP with location markers for sites from the HER. Contains public sector information licenced under the Open Government Licence v3.0. Contains ordnance survey data (c) crown copyright and database right 2023.

Depending on the record, the amount of information stored in the HER is limited (see Table 1). For example, site 9 on the map (Canmore ID 28400) provides basic information about the findspot for the prehistoric flint scraper on Corsie Hill:

A flint scraper was found in 1921 behind Corsiehill, on the moor, and was presented to Perth Museum in 1923. Its old Acc. No. is 2405, the proposed new number is 3a (Historic Environment Scotland 2023c).

Table 1. Details for HER sites within Kinnoull Hill Woodland Park. Contains public sector information licenced under the Open Government Licence v3.0.

No.	Site Name	Canmore ID	Classification
1	Barnhill	296667	Building (Period Unassigned)
2	Barnhill	300521	Platform (Period Unassigned)
3	Dragon’s Hole	28387	Cave (Period Unassigned), Structure (Period Unassigned)
4	Goul Hill	300522	Settlement (Period Unassigned) (Possible)
5	Kinnoull Hill, Perth	28380	Gouge (Bronze)(Bronze Age)
6	Kinnoull Hill	28402	Leaf Arrowhead (Flint)(Neolithic) – (Bronze Age)
7	Kinnoull Hill Quarry	127647	Quarry (Period Unassigned)
8	Corsiehill	28454	Polished Axehead (Stone)(Neolithic)
9	Corsiehill	28400	Scraper (Tool) (Flint)(Prehistoric)
10	Kinnoull Hill	28401	Scraper (Tool) (Flint)(Prehistoric)
11	Kinnoull Hill	354268	Commemorative Stone
12	Kinnoull Hill	354274	Triangulation Pillar (20th Century)
13	Kinnoull Tower	79822	Folly (18th Century)
14	Kinnoull Hill, Perth	77398	Well (Period Unassigned)
15	Deuchny Quarry	127585	Quarry (Period Unassigned)
16	Deuchny Wood	28206	Spearhead (Flint)(Prehistoric)
17	Deuchny Wood	28217	Fort (Prehistoric), Cup (Stone) (Period Unknown)
18	Binn	28247	Implement (Antler)
19	Binn Hill Tower	161675	Observatory (19th Century), Tower (19th Century)
20	Binn Hill	28214	Arrowhead (Flint)(Prehistoric)

This issue is recognised within the heritage sector, with an understanding that HERs favour professional use over individual use, and that ‘without sufficient mediation, this can fail to encourage public value-based interaction with the historic environment’ (Illsley 2019, 116). This reflects a broader issue with social and communal values often overlooked within existing heritage management structures (Jones 2017, 24).

For most records in the wider HER the information is likewise limited (Carlisle and Lee 2016, 133). This is understandable, as much archaeological context can only be added to records through research and or investigation (including invasive and non-invasive techniques). As it currently exists the HER is, however, not an engaging resource for most of the public. There is an opportunity, then, to perceive it as a resource in a different way, one which requires a move away from the specifics of the archaeological record towards an alternative approach that sees these sites and artefacts presenting opportunities as mediums to engage with alternative narratives of place, and in so doing develop new or enhance existing communal and social values, for a range of benefits.

Some hidden stories

What follows reflects some, not all, possible hidden stories in this specific, bounded landscape. My intentions here are twofold. Firstly, to show a range of potential stories for this small landscape that may be derived from a resource that can be considered hidden. HERs are not common public knowledge even though they are ostensibly public resources. The records listed in the HER can be considered hidden from the public in various ways. For those records accounting for artefacts and findspots, the artefacts may be sitting in collections storage and hidden from view, dislocated from their original source. For those records that log details of tangible, extant remains, these too may remain hidden in plain sight, given the nature of archaeological sites and the skills required to identify the cultural from the natural through morphology or lack of tangible remains on the ground. The second intention is to reflect that this landscape is not special in any way over any other local landscape – the potential for hidden stories can be found everywhere, as the multitude of HER records attests.

Prehistoric finds such as the leaf-shaped arrowheads and flint scrapers (Canmore IDs 28402, 28400, 28401, 28206) provide glimpses of human activity on the hill 5,000–6,000 years ago (and most likely much longer). These artefacts now reside behind closed doors with museum collections, with no record on the ground. The existence of the artefacts and the findspot connection to the woodland park presents an opportunity to engage the public with narratives on site which could incorporate families in prehistory moving across and living on the hill, hunting, and preparing the kill, reflecting the everyday nature of life in this place. It also links to the idea of living in harmony with the environment. The arrowheads allude to hunting – perhaps a missed shot during the hunt as a group tracked prey across the slope? The scrapers suggest a successful end to a similar story (for the humans at least) with these implements used to process the kill.

The bronze gouge (Canmore ID 28380) reflects another journey into the past, taking us approximately 3,000 years back to the Late Bronze Age, and along with it the mystery (alchemy) that would have surrounded the ability to turn rock into metal. Here again we have humans in the landscape, and though the period is commonly referred to as the Bronze Age, it does not mean that bronze was commonplace. These would have been valuable objects, not something that would have been casually discarded or lost through lack of care. This then begs the question – how did they end up here? Were they part of an unrecorded settlement? Or do they link to a more deliberate act, a common theme through the Bronze Age, where valuable possessions (especially metalwork) have been considered as votive offerings (Bradley 1988)? What kind of bronze is this, and where did the source materials come from? They could represent the travel of metals from within the British Isles, or much further afield across the farthest reaches of continental Europe and beyond (see Radivojević et al. 2019).

The movements of these prehistoric inhabitants may also have been restricted, but rather by terrain and the need to focus resources and energy on the demands of the everyday. In similar ways communities were forced to consider life and movement in terms of the fundamental basics during COVID-19 restrictions – what was needed as opposed to what was desired. In the present, we are increasingly needing to consider where we travel, how we travel, and if we need to travel in the first place. They could also link into narratives of technological change in the present, for example in the move to renewable energy.

A record that ties legends and physical locations, with Perthshire linked to the Levant, is the intriguingly entitled Dragon’s Hole (Canmore ID 28387). A legend linked to the cave on the cliffs to the west of the stone table alludes to this being the home of a dragon who was slain by St Serf in the 6th century. This comes from a 13th century manuscript the Vita Sancti Servani/The Life of Serf (Macquarrie 1993, 122). From Kinnoull we (figuratively) travel across land and sea to Mount Zion, where St Serf was said to have cut four staves from the tree from which ‘the saving cross of Christ was hewn’ (ibid., 146). Upon hearing of the arrival of a ‘great, fearsome and terrible dragon, whose glance no mortal could endure’ (ibid., 151) St Serf sought out the dragon, battled it and was victorious, slaying the beast with one of the stakes. The cave itself is difficult to access, being located on the precipitous cliff-face of Kinnoull Hill (Figure 7). Few people ever try to access it, and this is possibly a good thing as the cave itself is underwhelming (when considering the dimensions of a dragon), being 5 m high by 1.5 m wide at the entrance, tapering to 2.0 m high by 0.6 m wide at the back (see Canmore ID 28387). There is then the opportunity to highlight the exotic in the local, encouraging people to view their local landscapes in different ways and encouraging engagement, for example through hyperlocal adventures (Houge Mackenzie and Goodnow 2021).

Figure 7. The Dragon’s Hole. Photo by author.

On the edge of the woodland park is the findspot for a polished stone axehead (Canmore ID 28454) which was discovered in 1969. The HER furnishes us with limited information, that this is an axehead of dark, polished stone, measuring 101 mm by 65 mm, and that petrographic analysis suggests the stone was one from a number quarried from Antrim in Northern Ireland. Although they are called axes, they do not usually show any sign of use, but instead may have acted as symbolic items (Sheridan, Cooney, and Grogan 1992). Axes from the same Antrim rock have been recovered from sites across Britain and Ireland (Cooney, Ballin, and Warren 2013). Was the source of the stone somewhere that was important, and could span communities and great distances? Other polished stone axes from this period, the most famous being jadeite axes from central Europe, have been discovered across the European continent (Pétrequin et al. 2013). What this axehead presents is a very local connection to activities that spanned belief systems and practices across distances that are challenging to cover today, never mind 4,000–6,000 years ago. The time and effort that went into producing something that has no obvious practical purpose (that can be discerned today), and the distances these objects travelled from their source locations, highlight their value in prehistoric society, and reflect an opportunity to engage with ideas of wonder and enchantment, both in the past and the present, again linking the exotic to the local.

On Deuchny Hill is Deuchny Hillfort (Canmore ID 28217), passed by most as it is not on one of the main paths around the hill, and crossed over unknowingly by others following a single-track created by mountain bikers. From the main path below it is innocuous – a hilltop cleared of conifer planting with no discernible structural remains (Figure 8). Hidden in plain sight here is what remains of a hillfort that may be over 2,500 years old, and something that once would have dominated this part of the landscape (R. Watson 1923). The site has not been excavated, and so the information that has been gleaned is based on its morphology and how it compares to other, similar sites which have been excavated. It provides an exciting metaphorical springboard to distant lands, however, with the potential for the site to have been inhabited by a local chief during one of the phases of Roman incursion, perhaps in the second century AD, when a legionary fortress was located on the banks of the Tay near Abernethy (Keppie 2019), in the river valley below. So too may the site hold evidence for metalworking and exotic goods which have been found on other sites of this type. Here we may have a local royal centre that has connections to communities and resources hundreds of miles away. A site dominating the landscape during the Iron Age, now denuded to some barely discernible ramparts. As with all these hidden stories, it requires an active imagination, but the idea of standing within the seat of power with connections across distant lands is within reach.

Figure 8. Deuchny Hillfort from the main path. Photo by author.

Discussion and conclusion

In considering the examples above, I do not propose them as specific, authored, narratives for the woodland park, but rather using this location and HER records to illustrate how something that is hidden, insignificant and lacking wider value can be (re)discovered and utilised for aims beyond preservation and conservation of the historic environment (archaeology), if the constraints of traditional heritage narration are loosened.

The possible hidden stories discussed above are rooted in non-fiction in that I have connected them to tangible artefacts but are ultimately fictional narratives. From an archaeological perspective it can be argued that they are flights of imagination, straying too far from the processes of archaeological interpretation, but I would suggest that they represent an opportunity to engage wider audiences with a range of concepts and ideas. This includes responding to social change and wider needs (Wollentz and Kuhlefelt 2021) that the climate crisis presents, alongside opportunities to raise awareness of the hidden heritage beneath their feet to encourage new connections to place (Ireland, Brown, and Schofield 2020) and new social values (Jones 2017).

Linking artefacts back to the landscapes they were found in presents this opportunity for (re)connection, creating new values for stray finds and hidden remains. To recontextualise Lorimer, it creates ‘a vital landscape of interconnected phenomena, processes and presence’ (Lorimer 2006, 506). They do not stand out as the source of conspicuous narratives of place because they are hidden, insignificant and minor. The HER records tend not to say much, but they have the potential to let us conceptualise places in new ways. They require imagination to go from the very basics of what we can glean from them to allow us to assemble (not to ‘tell’ as we never can) stories.

The suggestion here is that narratives of place, these hidden stories, may be developed in various ways of co-creation and co-production, including through the development of new interpretive media outputs and community heritage projects. Technology, in the form of new media, presents new opportunities to engage visitors and communities with new narratives, if the media is appropriate for the purpose. For example, technologies such as QR codes and near-field technology provide opportunities to tell stories in place, without imposing on the landscape in the same way that an interpretation panel would. This can encourage connections to, and an enhanced sense of, place, where the embodied experiences of individuals underpin the performance of place-making (M. Watson 2003). One of the benefits of digital platforms is the opportunities provided to facilitate the negotiation of content in more personal, individually driven ways, subject to the design of the platform. This flexibility can enable visitors to engage with content as co-creators of their experience (Galani and Kidd 2019). From a heritage interpretation perspective, this presents opportunities to develop a range of narratives that can be added to or changed over time which complement existing live approaches, supporting a polyvocal interpretation (Tsenova, Wood, and Kirk 2022). This creates space for discussion and debate around critical issues such as climate change. Such an approach can have profound effects on audience experiences (Galani and Kidd 2019).

The lack of detail or certainty of these hidden stories, or in developing narratives from limited information as has been suggested, may be a cause of concern for some. On the contrary, these kinds of hidden stories have the potential to take advantage of lacking detail. The benefit of many of the sites and artefacts discussed above, and as recorded in HERs more broadly, is that they are insignificant (see Ireland, Brown, and Schofield 2020). By not relating them to specific individuals or groups in exclusive or exclusionary ways, it presents the opportunity to incorporate them into more inclusive (and flexible) narratives of place that can engage a range of different individuals and groups. This includes those that have historically been marginalised within heritage. For example, through opportunities to engage migrant groups in both learning about local cultural heritage and finding opportunities to link this to their own cultural heritage (Giglitto, Ciolfi, and Bosswick 2022), to create new narratives of place in the present. It also provides opportunities for alternative readings of heritage, for example for individuals with autism (Schofield et al. 2020). Hidden stories can also give new value to artefacts hidden or lost (often literally) in museum collections, with artefacts removed from their source considered to be as valuable to local communities as if they had never been discovered (Jones 2005). From this perspective, hidden stories may give new life to those artefacts once again hidden from view, developing new social values for the artefacts and broader heritage practices.

These hidden stories can also create stronger links to place both near and far; creating new meanings and understandings of place that can link into much bigger narratives as discussed above, serving the aims of both experiencing something exotic and reducing the desire to travel (Lew 2018). Increasing connections and value to local landscapes can encourage an increased sense of belonging and social cohesion leading to pro-environmental behaviour (Uzzell, Pol, and Badenas 2002) and can encourage positive action on climate change (Nicolosi and Corbett 2018). Storytelling can be used to help individuals and groups make sense of climate change (Harris 2020), and heritage can be a focus for these discussions. As such it presents opportunities for ‘renewing a relationship with place during phases of significant social upheaval, ecological disruption or as part of broader cultural shifts’ (Lorimer 2018, 333).

What we have, in the form of HER records, are the starting points for many stories hidden in the landscape which have the potential to take us on imaginative (if we are willing) journeys across time and space to exotic lands and other worlds. This presents an opportunity to engage local communities with place that can instigate a stronger sense of topophilia (Tuan 1974). It also presents an opportunity, through their insignificance, to develop inclusive and alternative narratives of place that can engage a range of groups, encouraging a sense of connection and belonging. As the phrase attributed to Patrick Geddes and carved into the bench on the top of Kinnoull (Figure 9) attests, ‘think global, act local’.

Figure 9. Bench on summit of Kinnoull Hill with the phrase ‘Think global, act local’.

Acknowledgements

This article has its origins in ‘Imagining the future of travel (with reference to the past)”, a collaborative cultural programme from the University of Glasgow’s College of Arts, showcasing creative and critical responses to the climate emergency. I am grateful to the organisers for inviting me to participate and to encourage thoughts around artefacts in the landscape.

Thanks to my colleague Kerry Hannigan and to the anonymous reviewers for their valuable feedback on an earlier draft of this paper.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Steven Timoney

Steven Timoney is Programme Leader for the MSc Interpretation: Management and Practice and MSc Tourism programmes at the University of the Highlands & Islands, Scotland. His wider research interests include interpretation of cultural heritage; critical heritage; and social geography, particularly place-making, experiential landscapes, and societies past and present.