Auswahl der wissenschaftlichen Literatur zum Thema „Ohio archaeological and historical quarterly“

The Amos Spafford farmstead (33Wo50) of Port Miami in northwest Ohio disappeared from the historical record after the War of 1812. Port Miami, a Franco-American village, was the first U.S. federal customs facility established in Ohio in 1805. It was destroyed in 1812 by a British and Native American detachment led by Captain Peter Latouche Chambers (British 41st Regiment of Foot), the Shawnee leader Tecumseh, and the Wyandot leader Roundhead. Port Miami’s destruction became lost over the years to the historical memory and consciousness of Ohio. Salvage excavations of the Spafford farmstead (1810–1823) in 1977 and its history provide an archaeological window within which to view Port Miami’s obliteration and its recovery to the community heritage of the state.

AbstractOhio Hopewell is an archaeological concept that is known worldwide but that suffers from “a disarray of radiocarbon results” (Lynott 2015:60). Here, we establish a comprehensive dataset of 425 14C dates from Ohio Hopewell sites and apply formal chronometric hygiene criteria to all dates. We then iteratively assess the temporal placement and span of the six most important Ohio Hopewell sites—the Hopewell Mound Group, Liberty, Mound City, Seip, Tremper, and Turner. A staged relaxation of hygiene criteria for our best three categories (Classes 1–3) permits alternate but generally consistent conclusions. As the first large-scale analyses of Ohio Hopewell temporality since the publication of IntCal20 (Reimer et al. 2020), the available data show a ritual complex that begins 90 or more years later than generally has been recognized circa 2010 14C BP, or as Bayesian modeled, AD 90–120. Our analysis reveals site histories of differing spans, more late dates than early dates, and with most Hopewell activity ending across these sites circa 1640 14C BP, or as Bayesian modeled, AD 395–430. An increased consideration of contingency in contemporary temporal reckoning increases the utility of the historical narratives that we as archaeologists can construct.

Despite advances in techniques, methods, and theory, northeastern North American archaeologists continue to use early to mid-twentieth century culture historical taxa as units of analysis and narrative. There is a distinct need to move away from this archaeological practice to enable fuller understandings of past human lives. One tool that enables such a move is Bayesian analysis of radiocarbon dates, which provides a means of constructing continuous chronologies. A large dataset of radiocarbon dates for late prehistoric (ca AD 900/1000–1650) sites in the lower upper Ohio River basin in southwestern Pennsylvania and adjacent portions of Maryland, Ohio, and West Virginia is used here as an example. The results allow a preliminary assessment of how the settlement plans of contemporaneous villages varied considerably, reflecting decisions of the village occupants how to structure built environments to meet their needs.

The article covers the main points of the town-planning history of Karasubazar, the city of the Crimean khanate, and, most importantly, offers a graphic reconstruction of its master plan for the last quarter of the 18th century, the final stage of the state’s existence. Reconstruction of the historical topography of the late medieval city was carried out for the first time on the basis of three types of sources – written, cartographic, and archaeological. All the basic elements of the city’s historical topography as well as the plan of quarterly residential development and a network of streets are reconstructed. Characteristic features of the location of the quarters inhabited by the Greek, Armenian and Jewish population among the main population of the Tatar inhabitants are revealed. City mosques, bathhouses, fountains supplying the citizens with water, hotels-caravanserais, shopping malls, and production workshops are localized. It is found out that Karasubazar was the second largest settlement in the state, its capital Bakhchisarai being the largest one. By the final stage of the Crimean khanate’s existence the area of the urban development of Karasubazar was 109.0 hectares

03—230 Andress, Reinhard (St. Louis U., USA), James, Charles J., Jurasek, Barbara, Lalande II, John F., Lovik, Thomas A., Lund, Deborah, Stoyak, Daniel P., Tatlock, Lynne and Wipf, Joseph A.. Maintaining the momentum from high school to college: Report and recommendations. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 1—14.03—231 Andrews, David R. (Georgetown U., USA.). Teaching the Russian heritage learner. Slavonic and East European Journal (Tucson, Arizona, USA), 45, 3 (2001), 519—30.03—232 Ashby, Wendy and Ostertag, Veronica (U. of Arizona, USA). How well can a computer program teach German culture? Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 79—85.03—233 Bateman, Blair E. (937 17th Avenue, SE Minneapolis, MN 55414, USA; Email: bate0048@umn.edu). Promoting openness toward culture learning: Ethnographic interviews for students of Spanish. The Modern Language Journal (Malden, MA, USA), 86, 3 (2002), 318—31.03—234 Belz, Julie A. and Müller-Hartmann, Andreas. Deutsche-amerikanische Telekollaboration im Fremdsprachenuterricht – Lernende im Kreuzfeuer der institutionellen Zwänge. [German-American tele-collaboration in foreign language teaching – learners in the crossfire of institutional constraints.] Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 36, 1 (2002), 68—78.03—235 Bosher, Susan and Smalkoski, Kari (The Coll. of St. Catherine, St. Paul, USA; Email: sdbosher@stkate.edu). From needs analysis to curriculum development: Designing a course in health-care communication for immigrant students in the USA. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 1 (2002), 59—79.03—236 Brandl, Klaus (U. of Washington, USA; Email: brandl@u.washington.edu). Integrating Internet-based reading materials into the foreign language curriculum: From teacher- to student-centred approaches. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 87—107.03—237 Bruce, Nigel (Hong Kong U.; Email: njbruce@hku.hk). Dovetailing language and content: Teaching balanced argument in legal problem answer writing. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 321—45.03—238 Bruton, Anthony (U. of Seville, Spain; Email: abruton@siff.us.es). From tasking purposes to purposing tasks. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 280—95.03—239 Candlin, C. N. (Email: enopera@cityu.edu.hk), Bhatia, V. K. and Jensen, C. H. (City U. of Hong Kong). Developing legal writing materials for English second language learners: Problems and perspectives. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 299—320.03—240 Chen, Shumei. A contrastive study of complimentary responses in British English and Chinese, with pedagogic implications for ELT in China. Language Issues (Birmingham, UK), 13, 2 (2001), 8—11.03—241 Chudak, Sebastian (Adam-Mickiewicz-Universität, Poznán, Poland). Die Selbstevaluation im Prozess- und Lernerorientierten Fremdsprachenunterricht (Bedeutung, Ziele, Umsetzungsmöglichkeiten). [The self-evaluation of process- and learner-oriented foreign language teaching.] Glottodidactica (Poznań, Poland), 28 (2002), 49—63.03—242 Crosling, Glenda and Ward, Ian (Monash U., Clayton, Australia; Email: glenda.crosling@buseco.monash.edu.au). Oral communication: The workplace needs and uses of business graduate employees. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 1 (2002), 41—57.03—243 Davidheiser, James (U. of the South, USA). Classroom approaches to communication: Teaching German with TPRS (Total Physical Response Storytelling). Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 25—35.03—244 Duff, Patricia A. (U. of British Columbia, Canada; Email: patricia.duff@ubc.ca). The discursive co-construction of knowledge, identity, and difference: An ethnography of communication in the high school mainstream. Applied Linguistics (Oxford, UK), 23, 3 (2002), 289—322.03—245 Egbert, Joy (Washington State U., USA; Email: egbert@wsunix.wsu.edu), Paulus, Trena M. and Nakamichi, Yoko. The impact of CALL instruction on classroom computer use: A foundation for rethinking technology in teacher education. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 108—26.03—246 Einbeck, Kandace (U. of Colorado at Boulder, USA). Using literature to promote cultural fluency in study abroad programs. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 59—67.03—247 Fallon, Jean M. (Hollins U., Virginia, USA). On foreign ground: One attempt at attracting non-French majors to a French Studies course. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 35, 4 (2002), 405—13.03—248 Furuhata, Hamako (Mount Union Coll., Ohio, USA; Email: furuhah@muc.edu). Learning Japanese in America: A survey of preferred teaching methods. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 134—42.03—249 Goldstein, Tara (Ontario Inst. for Studies in Ed., U. of Toronto, Canada). No Pain, No Gain: Student playwriting as critical ethnographic language research. The Canadian Modern Language Review/La Revue canadienne des langues vivantes (Toronto, Ont.), 59, 1 (2002), 53—76.03—250 Hu, Guangwei (Nanyang Technological U., Singapore; Email: gwhu@nie.edu.sg). Potential cultural resistance to pedagogical imports: The case of communicative language teaching in China. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 93—105.03—251 Huang, Jingzi (Monmouth U., New Jersey, USA; Email: jhuang@monmouth.edu). Activities as a vehicle for linguistic and sociocultural knowledge at the elementary level. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 3—33.03—252 Hyland, Ken (City U. of Hong Kong; Email: ken.hyland@cityu.edu.hk). Specificity revisited: How far should we go now? English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 385—95.03—253 Jahr, Silke. Die Vermittlung des sprachen Ausdrucks von Emotionen in DaF-Unterricht. [The conveying of the oral expression of emotion in teaching German as a foreign language.] Deutsch als Fremdsprache (Berlin, Germany), 39, 2 (2002), 88–95.03—254 Jung, Yunhee (U. of Alberta, Canada; Email: jhee6539@hanmail.net). Historical review of grammar instruction and current implications. English Teaching (Korea), 57, 3 (2002), 193—213.03—255 Kagan, Olga and Dillon, Kathleen (UCLA, USA & UC Consortium for Language Teaching and Learning, USA). A new perspective on teaching Russian: Focus on the heritage learner. Slavonic and East European Journal (Tucson, Arizona, USA), 45, 3 (2001), 507—18.03—256 Kang, Hoo-Dong (Sungsim Coll. of Foreign Languages, Korea; Email: hdkang2k@hanmail.net). Tracking or detracking?: Teachers' views of tracking in Korean secondary schools. English Teaching (Korea), 57, 3 (2002), 41—57.03—257 Kramsch, Claire (U. of California at Berkeley, USA). Language, culture and voice in the teaching of English as a foreign language. Language Issues (Birmingham, UK), 13, 2 (2001), 2—7.03—258 Krishnan, Lakshmy A. and Lee, Hwee Hoon (Nanyang Tech. U., Singapore; Email: clbhaskar@ntu.edu.sg). Diaries: Listening to ‘voices’ from the multicultural classroom. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 227—39.03—259 Lasagabaster, David and Sierra, Juan Manuel (U. of the Basque Country, Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain; Email: fiblahed@vc.ehu.es). University students' perceptions of native and non-native speaker teachers of English. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 11, 2 (2002), 132—42.03—260 Lennon, Paul. Authentische Texte im Grammatikunterricht. [Authentic texts in grammar teaching.] Praxis des neusprachlichen Unterrichts (Berlin, Germany), 49, 3 (2002), 227–36.03—261 Lepetit, Daniel (Clemson U., USA; Email: dlepetit@mail.clemson.edu) and Cichocki, Wladyslaw. Teaching languages to future health professionals: A needs assessment study. The Modern Language Journal (Malden, MA, USA), 86, 3 (2002), 384—96.03—262 Łȩska-Drajerczak, Iwona (Adam Mickiewicz U., Poznán, Poland). Selected aspects of job motivation as seen by EFL teachers. Glottodidactica (Poznán, Poland), 28 (2002), 103—12.03—263 Liontas, John I. (U. of Notre-Dame, USA). ZOOMANIA: The See-Hear-and-Do approach to FL teaching and learning. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 36—58.03—264 Littlemore, Jeannette (Birmingham U., UK). Developing metaphor interpretation strategies for students of economics: A case study. Les Cahiers de l'APLIUT (Grenoble, France), 21, 4 (2002) 40—60.03—265 Mantero, Miguel (The U. of Alabama, USA). Bridging the gap: Discourse in text-based foreign language classrooms. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 35, 4 (2002), 437—56.03—266 Martin, William M. (U. of Pennsylvania, USA) and Lomperis, Anne E.. Determining the cost benefit, the return on investment, and the intangible impacts of language programmes for development. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, VA, USA), 36, 3 (2002), 399—429.03—267 Master, Peter (San Jose State U., CA, USA: Email: pmaster@sjsu.edu). Information structure and English article pedagogy. System (Oxford, UK), 30, 3 (2002), 331—48.03—268 Mertens, Jürgen. Schrift im Französischunterricht in der Grundschule: Lernehemnis oder Lernhilfe? [Writing in teaching French in primary school: Learning aid or hindrance?] Neusprachliche Mitteilungen aus Wissenschaft und Praxis (Berlin, Germany), 55, 3 (2002), 141–49.03—269 Meskill, Carla (U. at Albany, USA; Email: cmeskill@uamail.albany.edu), Mossop, Jonathan, DiAngelo, Stephen and Pasquale, Rosalie K.. Expert and novice teachers talking technology: Precepts, concepts, and misconcepts. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 46—57.03—270 Mitchell, Rosamond and Lee, Jenny Hye-Won (U. of Southampton, UK; Email: rfm3@soton.ac.uk). Sameness and difference in classroom learning cultures: Interpretations of communicative pedagogy in the UK and Korea. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 35—63.03—271 Mohan, Bernard (U. of British Columbia, Canada; Email: bernard.mohan@ubc.ca) and Huang, Jingzi. Assessing the integration of language and content in a Mandarin as a foreign language classroom. Linguistics and Education (New York, USA), 13, 3 (2002), 405—33.03—272 Mori, Junko (U. of Wisconsin-Madison, USA; Email: jmori@facstaff.wisc.edu). Task design, plan, and development of talk-in-interaction: An analysis of a small group activity in a Japanese language classroom. Applied Linguistics (Oxford, UK), 23, 3 (2002), 323—47.03—273 O'Sullivan, Emer (Johann Wolfgang Goethe-U. Frankfurt, Germany; Email: osullivan@em.uni-frankfurt.de) and Rösler, Dietmar. Fremdsprachenlernen und Kinder-und Jugendliteratur: Eine kritische Bestandaufsnahme. [Foreign language learning and children's literature: A critical appraisal.] Zeitschrift für Fremdsprachenforschung (Germany), 13, 1 (2002), 63—111.03—274 Pfeiffer, Waldemar (Europa Universität Viadrina – Frankfurt an der Oder, Germany). Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der interkulturellen Sprachvermittlung. [The possibilities and limits of intercultural language teaching.] Glottodidactica (Poznán, Poland), 28 (2002), 125—39.03—275 Rebel, Karlheinz (U. Tübingen, Germany) and Wilson, Sybil. Das Portfolio in Schule und Lehrerbildung (I). [The portfolio in school and the image of a teacher (I).] Fremdsprachenunterricht (Berlin, Germany), 4 (2002), 263–71.03—276 Sonaiya, Remi (Obafemi Awolowo U., Ile-ife, Nigeria). Autonomous language learning in Africa: A mismatch of cultural assumptions. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 106—16.03—277 Stapleton, Paul (Hokkaido U., Japan; Email: paul@ilcs.hokudai.ac.jp). Critical thinking in Japanese L2 writing: Rethinking tired constructs. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 250—57.03—278 Sullivan, Patricia (Office of English Language Progs., Dept. of State, Washington, USA, Email: psullivan@pd.state.gov) and Girginer, Handan. The use of discourse analysis to enhance ESP teacher knowledge: An example using aviation English. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 397—404.03—279 Tang, Eunice (City U. of Hong Kong) and Nesi, Hilary (U. of Warwick, UK; Email: H.J.Nesi@warwick.ac.uk). Teaching vocabulary in two Chinese classrooms: Schoolchildren's exposure to English words in Hong Kong and Guangzhou. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 65—97.03—280 Timmis, Ivor (Leeds Metropolitan U., UK; Email: i.timmis@lmu.ac.uk). Native-speaker norms and International English: A classroom view. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 240—49.03—281 Toole, Janine and Heift, Trude (Simon Fraser U., Bumaby, BC, Canada; Email: toole@sfu.ca). The Tutor Assistant: An authoring tool for an Intelligent Language Tutoring System. Computer Assisted Language Learning (Lisse, The Netherlands), 15, 4 (2002), 373—86.03—282 Turner, Karen and Turvey, Anne (Inst. of Ed., U. of London, UK; Email: k.turner@ioe.ac.uk). The space between shared understandings of the teaching of grammar in English and French to Year 7 learners: Student teachers working collaboratively. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 11, 2 (2002), 100—13.03—283 Warschauer, Mark (U. of California, USA). A developmental perspective on technology in language education. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, VA, USA), 36, 3 (2002), 453—75.03—284 Weasenforth, Donald (The George Washington U., USA; Email: weasenf@gwu.edu), Biesenbach-Lucas, Sigrun and Meloni, Christine. Realising constructivist objectives through collaborative technologies: Threaded discussions. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 58—86.

At last year’s Tour de France—the three-week cycling race—the winner of one stage was disqualified for allegedly obstructing a competitor. In newspapers and on social media, cycling fans immediately started a heated debate about the decision and about the actual course of events. They uploaded photographs and videos, which they had often edited and augmented with graphics to support their interpretation of the situation or to direct attention to some neglected detail (Simpson; "Tour de France").Due to their competitive character and their audience’s partisanship, modern media sports continuously create controversial moments like this, thereby providing ample opportunities for what Jason Mittell—with respect to complex narratives in recent TV drama—called “forensic fandom” ("Forensic;" Complex), in which audience members collectively investigate ambivalent or enigmatic elements of a media product, adding their own interpretations and explanations.Not unlike that of TV drama, sport’s forensic fandom is stimulated through complex forms of seriality—e.g. the successive stages of the Tour de France or the successive games of a tournament or a league, but also the repetition of the same league competition or tournament every (or, in the case of the Olympics, every four) year(s). To articulate their take on the disqualification of the Tour de France rider, fans refer to comparable past events, activate knowledge about rivalries between cyclists, or note character traits that they condensed from the alleged perpetrator’s prior appearances. Sport thus creates a continuously evolving and recursive storyworld that, like all popular seriality, proliferates across different media forms (texts, photos, films, etc.) and different media platforms (television, social media, etc.) (Kelleter).In the following I will use two examples (from 1908 and 1966) to analyse in greater detail why and how sport’s seriality and forensic attitude contribute to the highly dynamic “transmedia intertextuality” (Kinder 35) of media sport. Two arguments are of special importance to me: (1) While social media (as the introductory example has shown) add to forensic fandom’s proliferation, it was sport’s strongly serialized evaluation of performances that actually triggered the “spreadability” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green) of sport-related topics across different media, first doing so at the end of the 19th century. What is more, modern sport owes its very existence to the cross-media circulation of its events. (2) So far, transmedia has mainly been researched with respect to fictional content (Jenkins; Evans), yet existing research on documentary transmedia forms (Kerrigan and Velikovsky) and social media seriality (Page) has shown that the inclusion of non-fiction can broaden our knowledge of how storytelling sprawls across media and takes advantage of their specific affordances. This, I want to argue, ensures that sport is an insightful and important example for the understanding of transmedia world-building.The Origins of Sport, the Olympics 1908, and World-BuildingSome authors claim that it was commercial television that replaced descriptive accounts of sporting events with narratives of heroes and villains in the 1990s (Fabos). Yet even a cursory study of past sport reporting shows that, even back when newspapers had to explain the controversial outcome of the 1908 Olympic Marathon to their readers, they could already rely on a well-established typology of characters and events.In the second half of the 19th century, the rules of many sports became standardized. Individual events were integrated in organized, repetitive competitions—leagues, tournaments, and so on. This development was encouraged by the popular press, which thus enabled the public to compare performances from different places and across time (Werron, "On Public;" Werron, "World"). Rankings and tables condensed contests in easily comparable visual forms, and these were augmented by more narrative accounts that supplemented the numbers with details, context, drama, and the subjective experiences of athletes and spectators. Week by week, newspapers and special-interest magazines alike offered varying explanations for the various wins and losses.When London hosted the Olympics in 1908, the scheduled seriality and pre-determined settings and protagonists allowed for the announcement of upcoming events in advance and for setting up possible storylines. Two days before the marathon race, The Times of London published the rules of the race, the names of the participants, a distance table listing relevant landmarks with the estimated arrival times, and a turn-by-turn description of the route, sketching the actual experience of running the race for the readers (22 July 1908, p. 11). On the day of the race, The Times appealed to sport’s seriality with a comprehensive narrative of prior Olympic Marathon races, a map of the precise course, a discussion of the alleged favourites, and speculation on factors that might impact the performances:Because of their inelasticity, wood blocks are particularly trying to the feet, and the glitter on the polished surface of the road, if the sun happens to be shining, will be apt to make a man who has travelled over 20 miles at top speed turn more than a little dizzy … . It is quite possible that some of the leaders may break down here, when they are almost within sight of home. (The Times 24 July 1908, p. 9)What we see here can be described as a world-building process: The rules of a competition, the participating athletes, their former performances, the weather, and so on, all form “a more or less organized sum of scattered parts” (Boni 13). These parts could easily be taken up by what we now call different media platforms (which in 1908 included magazines, newspapers, and films) that combine them in different ways to already make claims about cause-and-effect chains, intentions, outcomes, and a multitude of subjective experiences, before the competition has even started.The actual course of events, then, like the single instalment in a fictional storyworld, has a dual function: on the one hand, it specifies one particular storyline with a few protagonists, decisive turning points, and a clear determination of winners and losers. On the other hand, it triggers the multiplication of follow-up stories, each suggesting specific explanations for the highly contingent outcome, thereby often extending the storyworld, invoking props, characters, character traits, causalities, and references to earlier instalments in the series, which might or might not have been mentioned in the preliminary reports.In the 1908 Olympic Marathon, the Italian Dorando Pietri, who was not on The Times’ list of favourites, reached the finish first. Since he was stumbling on the last 300 meters of the track inside the stadium and only managed to cross the finish line with the support of race officials, he was disqualified. The jury then declared the American John Hayes, who came in second, the winner of the race.The day after the marathon, newspapers gave different accounts of the race. One, obviously printed too hastily, declared Pietri dead; others unsurprisingly gave the race a national perspective, focusing on the fate of “their” athletes (Davis 161, 166). Most of them evaluated the event with respect to athletic, aesthetic, or ethical terms—e.g. declaring Pietri the moral winner of the race (as did Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in The Daily Mail of July 25). This continues today, as praising sport performers often figures as a last resort “to reconstruct unproblematic heroism” (Whannel 44).The general endeavour of modern sport to scrutinize and understand the details of the performance provoked competing explanations for what had happened: was it the food, the heat, or the will power? In a forensic spirit, many publications added drawings or printed one of the famous photographs displaying Pietri being guided across the finish line (these still regularly appear in coffee-table books on sports photography; for a more extensive analysis, see Stauff). Sport—just like other non-fictional transmedia content—enriches its storyworld through “historical accounts of places and past times that already have their own logic, practice and institutions” (Kerrigan and Velikovsky 259).The seriality of sport not only fostered this dynamic by starting the narrative before the event, but also by triggering references to past instalments through the contingencies of the current one. The New York Times took the biggest possible leap, stating that the 1908 marathon must have been the most dramatic competition “since that Marathon race in ancient Greece, where the victor fell at the goal and, with a wave of triumph, died” (The New York Times 25 July 1908, p. 1). Dutch sport magazine De Revue der Sporten (6 August 1908, p. 167) used sport’s seriality more soberly to assess Hayes’ finishing time as not very special (conceding that the hot weather might have had an effect).What, hopefully, has become clear by now, is that—starting in the late 19th century—sporting events are prepared by, and in turn trigger, varying practices of transmedia world-building that make use of the different media’s affordances (drawings, maps, tables, photographs, written narratives, etc.). Already in 1908, most people interested in sport thus quite probably came across multiple accounts of the event—and thereby could feel invited to come up with their own explanation for what had happened. Back then, this forensic attitude was mostly limited to speculation about possible cause-effect chains, but with the more extensive visual coverage of competitions, especially through moving images, storytelling harnessed an increasingly growing set of forensic tools.The World Cup 1966 and Transmedia ForensicsThe serialized TV live transmissions of sport add complexity to storytelling, as they multiply the material available for forensic proliferations of the narratives. Liveness provokes a layered and constantly adapting process transforming the succession of actions into a narrative (the “emplotment”). The commentators find themselves “in the strange situation of a narrator ignorant of the plot” (Ryan 87), constantly balancing between mere reporting of events and more narrative explanation of incidents (Barnfield 8).To create a coherent storyworld under such circumstances, commentators fall back on prefabricated patterns (“overcoming bad luck,” “persistence paying off,” etc.) to frame the events while they unfold (Ryan 87). This includes the already mentioned tropes of heroism or national and racial stereotypes, which are upheld as long as possible, even when the course of events contradicts them (Tudor). Often, the creation of “non-retrospective narratives” (Ryan 79) harnesses seriality, “connecting this season with last and present with past and, indeed, present with past and future” (Barnfield 10).Instant-replay technology, additionally, made it possible (and necessary) for commentators to scrutinize individual actions while competitions are still ongoing, provoking revisions of the emplotment. With video, DVD, and online video, the second-guessing and re-telling of elements—at least in hindsight—became accessible to the general audience as well, thereby dramatically extending the playing field for sport’s forensic attitude.I want to elaborate this development with another example from London, this time the 1966 Men’s Football World Cup, which was the first to systematically use instant replay. In the extra time of the final, the English team scored a goal against the German side: Geoff Hurst’s shot bounced from the crossbar down to the goal line and from there back into the field. After deliberating with the linesman, the referee called it a goal. Until today it remains contested whether the ball actually was behind the goal line or not.By 1966, 1908’s sparsity of visual representation had been replaced by an abundance of moving images. The game was covered by the BBC and by ITV (for TV) and by several film companies (in colour and in black-and-white). Different recordings of the famous goal, taken from different camera angles, still circulate and are re-appropriated in different media even today. The seriality of sport, particularly World Cup Football’s return every four years, triggers the re-telling of this 1966 game just as much as media innovations do.In 1966, the BBC live commentary—after a moment of doubt—pretty soberly stated that “it’s a goal” and observed that “the Germans are mad at the referee;” the ITV reporter, more ambivalently declared: “the linesman says no goal … that’s what we saw … It is a goal!” The contemporary newsreel in German cinemas—the Fox Tönende Wochenschau—announced the scene as “the most controversial goal of the tournament.” It was presented from two different perspectives, the second one in slow motion with the commentary stating: “these images prove that it was not a goal” (my translation).So far, this might sound like mere opposing interpretations of a contested event, yet the option to scrutinize the scene in slow motion and in different versions also spawned an extended forensic narrative. A DVD celebrating 100 years of FIFA (FIFA Fever, 2002) includes the scene twice, the first time in the chapter on famous controversies. Here, the voice-over avoids taking a stand by adopting a meta-perspective: The goal guaranteed that “one of the most entertaining finals ever would be the subject of conversation for generations to come—and therein lies the beauty of controversies.” The scene appears a second time in the special chapter on Germany’s successes. Now the goal itself is presented with music and then commented upon by one of the German players, who claims that it was a bad call by the referee but that the sportsmanlike manner in which his team accepted the decision advanced Germany’s global reputation.This is only included in the German version of the DVD, of course; on the international “special deluxe edition” of FIFA Fever (2002), the 1966 goal has its second appearance in the chapter on England’s World Cup history. Here, the referee’s decision is not questioned—there is not even a slow-motion replay. Instead, the summary of the game is wrapped up with praise for Geoff Hurst’s hat trick in the game and with images of the English players celebrating, the voice-over stating: “Now the nation could rejoice.”In itself, the combination of a nationally organized media landscape with the nationalist approach to sport reporting already provokes competing emplotments of one and the same event (Puijk). The modularity of sport reporting, which allows for easy re-editing, replacing sound and commentary, and retelling events through countless witnesses, triggers a continuing recombination of the elements of the storyworld. In the 50 years since the game, there have been stories about the motivations of the USSR linesman and the Swiss referee who made the decision, and there have been several reconstructions triggered by new digital technology augmenting the existing footage (e.g. King; ‘das Archiv’).The forensic drive behind these transmedia extensions is most explicit in the German Football Museum in Dortmund. For the fiftieth anniversary of the World Cup in 2016, it hosted a special exhibition on the event, which – similarly to the FIFA DVD – embeds it in a story of gaining global recognition for the fairness of the German team ("Deutsches Fußballmuseum").In the permanent exhibition of the German Football Museum, the 1966 game is memorialized with an exhibit titled “Wembley Goal Investigation” (“Ermittlung Wembley-Tor”). It offers three screens, each showing the goal from a different camera angle, a button allowing the visitors to stop the scene at any moment. A huge display cabinet showcases documents, newspaper clippings, quotes from participants, and photographs in the style of a crime-scene investigation—groups of items are called “corpus delicti,” “witnesses,” and “analysis.” Red hand-drawn arrows insinuate relations between different items; yellow “crime scene, do not cross” tape lies next to a ruler and a pair of tweezers.Like the various uses of the slow-motion replays on television, in film, on DVD, and on YouTube, the museum thus offers both hegemonic narratives suggesting a particular emplotment of the event that endow it with broader (nationalist) meaning and a forensic storyworld that offers props, characters, and action building-blocks in a way that invites fans to activate their own storytelling capacities.Conclusion: Sport’s Trans-Seriality Sport’s dependency on a public evaluation of its performances has made it a dynamic transmedia topic from the latter part of the 19th century onwards. Contested moments especially prompt a forensic attitude that harnesses the affordances of different media (and quickly takes advantage of technological innovations) to discuss what “really” happened. The public evaluation of performances also shapes the role of authorship and copyright, which is pivotal to transmedia more generally (Kustritz). Though the circulation of moving images from professional sporting events is highly restricted and intensely monetized, historically this circulation only became a valuable asset because of the sprawling storytelling practices about sport, individual competitions, and famous athletes in press, photography, film, and radio. Even though television dominates the first instance of emplotment during the live transmission, there is no primordial authorship; sport’s intense competition and partisanship (and their national organisation) guarantee that there are contrasting narratives from the start.The forensic storytelling, as we have seen, is structured by sport’s layered seriality, which establishes a rich storyworld and triggers ever new connections between present and past events. Long before the so-called seasons of radio or television series, sport established a seasonal cycle that repeats the same kind of competition with different pre-conditions, personnel, and weather conditions. Likewise, long before the complex storytelling of current television drama (Mittell, Complex TV), sport has mixed episodic with serial storytelling. On the one hand, the 1908 Marathon, for example, is part of the long series of marathon competitions, which can be considered independent events with their own fixed ending. On the other hand, athletes’ histories, continuing rivalries, and (in the case of the World Cup) progress within a tournament all establish narrative connections across individual episodes and even across different seasons (on the similarities between TV sport and soap operas, cf. O’Connor and Boyle).From its start in the 19th century, the serial publication of newspapers supported (and often promoted) sport’s seriality, while sport also shaped the publication schedule of the daily or weekly press (Mason) and today still shapes the seasonal structure of television and sport related computer games (Hutchins and Rowe 164). This seasonal structure also triggers wide-ranging references to the past: With each new World Cup, the famous goal from 1966 gets integrated into new highlight reels telling the German and the English teams’ different stories.Additionally, together with the contingency of sport events, this dual seriality offers ample opportunity for the articulation of “latent seriality” (Kustritz), as a previously neglected recurring trope, situation, or type of event across different instalments can eventually be noted. As already mentioned, the goal of 1966 is part of different sections on the FIFA DVDs: as the climactic final example in a chapter collecting World Cup controversies, as an important—but rather ambivalent—moment of German’s World Cup history, and as the biggest triumph in the re-telling of England’s World Cup appearances. In contrast to most fictional forms of seriality, the emplotment of sport constantly integrates such explicit references to the past, even causally disconnected historical events like the ancient Greek marathon.As a result, each competition activates multiple temporal layers—only some of which are structured as narratives. It is important to note that the public evaluation of performances is not at all restricted to narrative forms; as we have seen, there are quantitative and qualitative comparisons, chronicles, rankings, and athletic spectacle, all of which can create transmedia intertextuality. Sport thus might offer an invitation to more generally analyse how transmedia seriality combines narrative and other forms. Even for fictional transmedia, the immersion in a storyworld and the imagination of extended and alternative storylines might only be two of many dynamics that structure seriality across different media.AcknowledgementsThe two anonymous reviewers and Florian Duijsens offered important feedback to clarify the argument of this text.ReferencesBarnfield, Andrew. "Soccer, Broadcasting, and Narrative: On Televising a Live Soccer Match." Communication & Sport (2013): 326–341.Boni, Marta. "Worlds Today." World Building: Transmedia, Fans, Industries. Ed. Marta Boni. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2017. 9–27."Das Archiv: das Wembley-Tor." Karambolage, 19 June 2016. 6 Feb. 2018 <https://sites.arte.tv/karambolage/de/das-archiv-das-wembley-tor-karambolage>.The Daily Mail, 25 July 1908.Davis, David. Showdown at Shepherd’s Bush: The 1908 Olympic Marathon and the Three Runners Who Launched a Sporting Craze. 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Introduction: Technology EnthusiasmEnthusiasts are people who have a passion, keenness, dedication or zeal for a particular activity or hobby. Today, there are enthusiasts for almost everything, from genealogy, costume dramas, and country houses, to metal detectors, coin collecting, and archaeology. But to be described as an enthusiast is not necessarily a compliment. Historically, the term “enthusiasm” was first used in England in the early seventeenth century to describe “religious or prophetic frenzy among the ancient Greeks” (Hanks, n.p.). This frenzy was ascribed to being possessed by spirits sent not only by God but also the devil. During this period, those who disobeyed the powers that be or claimed to have a message from God were considered to be enthusiasts (McLoughlin).Enthusiasm retained its religious connotations throughout the eighteenth century and was also used at this time to describe “the tendency within the population to be swept by crazes” (Mee 31). However, as part of the “rehabilitation of enthusiasm,” the emerging middle-classes adopted the word to characterise the intensity of Romantic poetry. The language of enthusiasm was then used to describe the “literary ideas of affect” and “a private feeling of religious warmth” (Mee 2 and 34). While the notion of enthusiasm was embraced here in a more optimistic sense, attempts to disassociate enthusiasm from crowd-inciting fanaticism were largely unsuccessful. As such enthusiasm has never quite managed to shake off its pejorative connotations.The 'enthusiasm' discussed in this paper is essentially a personal passion for technology. It forms part of a longer tradition of historical preservation in the United Kingdom and elsewhere in the world. From preserved railways to Victorian pumping stations, people have long been fascinated by the history of technology and engineering; manifesting their enthusiasm through their nostalgic longings and emotional attachment to its enduring material culture. Moreover, enthusiasts have been central to the collection, conservation, and preservation of this particular material record. Technology enthusiasm in this instance is about having a passion for the history and material record of technological development, specifically here industrial archaeology. Despite being a pastime much participated in, technology enthusiasm is relatively under-explored within the academic literature. For the most part, scholarship has tended to focus on the intended users, formal spaces, and official narratives of science and technology (Adas, Latour, Mellström, Oldenziel). In recent years attempts have been made to remedy this imbalance, with researchers from across the social sciences examining the position of hobbyists, tinkerers and amateurs in scientific and technical culture (Ellis and Waterton, Haring, Saarikoski, Takahashi). Work from historians of technology has focussed on the computer enthusiast; for example, Saarikoski’s work on the Finnish personal computer hobby:The definition of the computer enthusiast varies historically. Personal interest, pleasure and entertainment are the most significant factors defining computing as a hobby. Despite this, the hobby may also lead to acquiring useful knowledge, skills or experience of information technology. Most often the activity takes place outside working hours but can still have links to the development of professional expertise or the pursuit of studies. In many cases it takes place in the home environment. On the other hand, it is characteristically social, and the importance of friends, clubs and other communities is greatly emphasised.In common with a number of other studies relating to technical hobbies, for example Takahashi who argues tinkerers were behind the advent of the radio and television receiver, Saarikoski’s work focuses on the role these users played in shaping the technology in question. The enthusiasts encountered in this paper are important here not for their role in shaping the technology, but keeping technological heritage alive. As historian of technology Haring reminds us, “there exist alternative ways of using and relating to technology” (18). Furthermore, the sociological literature on audiences (Abercrombie and Longhurst, Ang), fans (Hills, Jenkins, Lewis, Sandvoss) and subcultures (Hall, Hebdige, Schouten and McAlexander) has also been extended in order to account for the enthusiast. In Abercrombie and Longhurst’s Audiences, the authors locate ‘the enthusiast’ and ‘the fan’ at opposing ends of a continuum of consumption defined by questions of specialisation of interest, social organisation of interest and material productivity. Fans are described as:skilled or competent in different modes of production and consumption; active in their interactions with texts and in their production of new texts; and communal in that they construct different communities based on their links to the programmes they like. (127 emphasis in original) Based on this definition, Abercrombie and Longhurst argue that fans and enthusiasts differ in three ways: (1) enthusiasts’ activities are not based around media images and stars in the way that fans’ activities are; (2) enthusiasts can be hypothesized to be relatively light media users, particularly perhaps broadcast media, though they may be heavy users of the specialist publications which are directed towards the enthusiasm itself; (3) the enthusiasm would appear to be rather more organised than the fan activity. (132) What is striking about this attempt to differentiate between the fan and the enthusiast is that it is based on supposition rather than the actual experience and observation of enthusiasm. It is here that the ethnographic account of enthusiasm presented in this paper and elsewhere, for example works by Dannefer on vintage car culture, Moorhouse on American hot-rodding and Fuller on modified-car culture in Australia, can shed light on the subject. My own ethnographic study of groups with a passion for telecommunications heritage, early British computers and industrial archaeology takes the discussion of “technology enthusiasm” further still. Through in-depth interviews, observation and textual analysis, I have examined in detail the formation of enthusiast societies and their membership, the importance of the material record to enthusiasts (particularly at home) and the enthusiastic practices of collecting and hoarding, as well as the figure of the technology enthusiast in the public space of the museum, namely the Science Museum in London (Geoghegan). In this paper, I explore the culture of enthusiasm for the industrial past through the example of the Greater London Industrial Archaeology Society (GLIAS). Focusing on industrial sites around London, GLIAS meet five or six times a year for field visits, walks and a treasure hunt. The committee maintain a website and produce a quarterly newsletter. The title of my paper, “If you can walk down the street and recognise the difference between cast iron and wrought iron, the world is altogether a better place,” comes from an interview I conducted with the co-founder and present chairman of GLIAS. He was telling me about his fascination with the materials of industrialisation. In fact, he said even concrete is sexy. Some call it a hobby; others call it a disease. But enthusiasm for industrial archaeology is, as several respondents have themselves identified, “as insidious in its side effects as any debilitating germ. It dictates your lifestyle, organises your activity and decides who your friends are” (Frow and Frow 177, Gillespie et al.). Through the figure of the industrial archaeology enthusiast, I discuss in this paper what it means to be enthusiastic. I begin by reflecting on the development of this specialist subject area. I go on to detail the formation of the Society in the late 1960s, before exploring the Society’s fieldwork methods and some of the other activities they now engage in. I raise questions of enthusiast and professional knowledge and practice, as well as consider the future of this particular enthusiasm.Defining Industrial ArchaeologyThe practice of 'industrial archaeology' is much contested. For a long time, enthusiasts and professional archaeologists have debated the meaning and use of the term (Palmer). On the one hand, there are those interested in the history, preservation, and recording of industrial sites. For example the grandfather figures of the subject, namely Kenneth Hudson and Angus Buchanan, who both published widely in the 1960s and 1970s in order to encourage publics to get involved in recording. Many members of GLIAS refer to the books of Hudson Industrial Archaeology: an Introduction and Buchanan Industrial Archaeology in Britain with their fine descriptions and photographs as integral to their early interest in the subject. On the other hand, there are those within the academic discipline of archaeology who consider the study of remains produced by the Industrial Revolution as too modern. Moreover, they find the activities of those calling themselves industrial archaeologists as lacking sufficient attention to the understanding of past human activity to justify the name. As a result, the definition of 'industrial archaeology' is problematic for both enthusiasts and professionals. Even the early advocates of professional industrial archaeology felt uneasy about the subject’s methods and practices. In 1973, Philip Riden (described by one GLIAS member as the angry young man of industrial archaeology), the then president of the Oxford University Archaeology Society, wrote a damning article in Antiquity, calling for the subject to “shed the amateur train drivers and others who are not part of archaeology” (215-216). He decried the “appallingly low standard of some of the work done under the name of ‘industrial archaeology’” (211). He felt that if enthusiasts did not attempt to maintain high technical standards, publish their work in journals or back up their fieldwork with documentary investigation or join their county archaeological societies then there was no value in the efforts of these amateurs. During this period, enthusiasts, academics, and professionals were divided. What was wrong with doing something for the pleasure it provides the participant?Although relations today between the so-called amateur (enthusiast) and professional archaeologies are less potent, some prejudice remains. Describing them as “barrow boys”, some enthusiasts suggest that what was once their much-loved pastime has been “hijacked” by professional archaeologists who, according to one respondent,are desperate to find subjects to get degrees in. So the whole thing has been hijacked by academia as it were. Traditional professional archaeologists in London at least are running head on into things that we have been doing for decades and they still don’t appreciate that this is what we do. A lot of assessments are handed out to professional archaeology teams who don’t necessarily have any knowledge of industrial archaeology. (James, GLIAS committee member)James went on to reveal that GLIAS receives numerous enquiries from professional archaeologists, developers and town planners asking what they know about particular sites across the city. Although the Society has compiled a detailed database covering some areas of London, it is by no means comprehensive. In addition, many active members often record and monitor sites in London for their own personal enjoyment. This leaves many questioning the need to publish their results for the gain of third parties. Canadian sociologist Stebbins discusses this situation in his research on “serious leisure”. He has worked extensively with amateur archaeologists in order to understand their approach to their leisure activity. He argues that amateurs are “neither dabblers who approach the activity with little commitment or seriousness, nor professionals who make a living from that activity” (55). Rather they pursue their chosen leisure activity to professional standards. A point echoed by Fine in his study of the cultures of mushrooming. But this is to get ahead of myself. How did GLIAS begin?GLIAS: The GroupThe 1960s have been described by respondents as a frantic period of “running around like headless chickens.” Enthusiasts of London’s industrial archaeology were witnessing incredible changes to the city’s industrial landscape. Individuals and groups like the Thames Basin Archaeology Observers Group were recording what they could. Dashing around London taking photos to capture London’s industrial legacy before it was lost forever. However the final straw for many, in London at least, was the proposed and subsequent demolition of the “Euston Arch”. The Doric portico at Euston Station was completed in 1838 and stood as a symbol to the glory of railway travel. Despite strong protests from amenity societies, this Victorian symbol of progress was finally pulled down by British Railways in 1962 in order to make way for what enthusiasts have called a “monstrous concrete box”.In response to these changes, GLIAS was founded in 1968 by two engineers and a locomotive driver over afternoon tea in a suburban living room in Woodford, North-East London. They held their first meeting one Sunday afternoon in December at the Science Museum in London and attracted over 130 people. Firing the imagination of potential members with an exhibition of photographs of the industrial landscape taken by Eric de Maré, GLIAS’s first meeting was a success. Bringing together like-minded people who are motivated and enthusiastic about the subject, GLIAS currently has over 600 members in the London area and beyond. This makes it the largest industrial archaeology society in the UK and perhaps Europe. Drawing some of its membership from a series of evening classes hosted by various members of the Society’s committee, GLIAS initially had a quasi-academic approach. Although some preferred the hands-on practical element and were more, as has been described by one respondent, “your free-range enthusiast”. The society has an active committee, produces a newsletter and journal, as well as runs regular events for members. However the Society is not simply about the study of London’s industrial heritage, over time the interest in industrial archaeology has developed for some members into long-term friendships. Sociability is central to organised leisure activities. It underpins and supports the performance of enthusiasm in groups and societies. For Fine, sociability does not always equal friendship, but it is the state from which people might become friends. Some GLIAS members have taken this one step further: there have even been a couple of marriages. Although not the subject of my paper, technical culture is heavily gendered. Industrial archaeology is a rare exception attracting a mixture of male and female participants, usually retired husband and wife teams.Doing Industrial Archaeology: GLIAS’s Method and PracticeIn what has been described as GLIAS’s heyday, namely the 1970s to early 1980s, fieldwork was fundamental to the Society’s activities. The Society’s approach to fieldwork during this period was much the same as the one described by champion of industrial archaeology Arthur Raistrick in 1973:photographing, measuring, describing, and so far as possible documenting buildings, engines, machinery, lines of communication, still or recently in use, providing a satisfactory record for the future before the object may become obsolete or be demolished. (13)In the early years of GLIAS and thanks to the committed efforts of two active Society members, recording parties were organised for extended lunch hours and weekends. The majority of this early fieldwork took place at the St Katherine Docks. The Docks were constructed in the 1820s by Thomas Telford. They became home to the world’s greatest concentration of portable wealth. Here GLIAS members learnt and employed practical (also professional) skills, such as measuring, triangulations and use of a “dumpy level”. For many members this was an incredibly exciting time. It was a chance to gain hands-on experience of industrial archaeology. Having been left derelict for many years, the Docks have since been redeveloped as part of the Docklands regeneration project.At this time the Society was also compiling data for what has become known to members as “The GLIAS Book”. The book was to have separate chapters on the various industrial histories of London with contributions from Society members about specific sites. Sadly the book’s editor died and the project lost impetus. Several years ago, the committee managed to digitise the data collected for the book and began to compile a database. However, the GLIAS database has been beset by problems. Firstly, there are often questions of consistency and coherence. There is a standard datasheet for recording industrial buildings – the Index Record for Industrial Sites. However, the quality of each record is different because of the experience level of the different authors. Some authors are automatically identified as good or expert record keepers. Secondly, getting access to the database in order to upload the information has proved difficult. As one of the respondents put it: “like all computer babies [the creator of the database], is finding it hard to give birth” (Sally, GLIAS member). As we have learnt enthusiasm is integral to movements such as industrial archaeology – public historian Raphael Samuel described them as the “invisible hands” of historical enquiry. Yet, it is this very enthusiasm that has the potential to jeopardise projects such as the GLIAS book. Although active in their recording practices, the GLIAS book saga reflects one of the challenges encountered by enthusiast groups and societies. In common with other researchers studying amenity societies, such as Ellis and Waterton’s work with amateur naturalists, unlike the world of work where people are paid to complete a task and are therefore meant to have a singular sense of purpose, the activities of an enthusiast group like GLIAS rely on the goodwill of their members to volunteer their time, energy and expertise. When this is lost for whatever reason, there is no requirement for any other member to take up that position. As such, levels of commitment vary between enthusiasts and can lead to the aforementioned difficulties, such as disputes between group members, the occasional miscommunication of ideas and an over-enthusiasm for some parts of the task in hand. On top of this, GLIAS and societies like it are confronted with changing health and safety policies and tightened security surrounding industrial sites. This has made the practical side of industrial archaeology increasingly difficult. As GLIAS member Bob explains:For me to go on site now I have to wear site boots and borrow a hard hat and a high visibility jacket. Now we used to do incredibly dangerous things in the seventies and nobody batted an eyelid. You know we were exploring derelict buildings, which you are virtually not allowed in now because the floor might give way. Again the world has changed a lot there. GLIAS: TodayGLIAS members continue to record sites across London. Some members are currently surveying the site chosen as the location of the Olympic Games in London in 2012 – the Lower Lea Valley. They describe their activities at this site as “rescue archaeology”. GLIAS members are working against the clock and some important structures have already been demolished. They only have time to complete a quick flash survey. Armed with the information they collated in previous years, GLIAS is currently in discussions with the developer to orchestrate a detailed recording of the site. It is important to note here that GLIAS members are less interested in campaigning for the preservation of a site or building, they appreciate that sites must change. Instead they want to ensure that large swathes of industrial London are not lost without a trace. Some members regard this as their public duty.Restricted by health and safety mandates and access disputes, GLIAS has had to adapt. The majority of practical recording sessions have given way to guided walks in the summer and public lectures in the winter. Some respondents have identified a difference between those members who call themselves “industrial archaeologists” and those who are just “ordinary members” of GLIAS. The walks are for those with a general interest, not serious members, and the talks are public lectures. Some audience researchers have used Bourdieu’s metaphor of “capital” to describe the experience, knowledge and skill required to be a fan, clubber or enthusiast. For Hills, fan status is built up through the demonstration of cultural capital: “where fans share a common interest while also competing over fan knowledge, access to the object of fandom, and status” (46). A clear membership hierarchy can be seen within GLIAS based on levels of experience, knowledge and practical skill.With a membership of over 600 and rising annually, the Society’s future is secure at present. However some of the more serious members, although retaining their membership, are pursuing their enthusiasm elsewhere: through break-away recording groups in London; active membership of other groups and societies, for example the national Association for Industrial Archaeology; as well as heading off to North Wales in the summer for practical, hands-on industrial archaeology in Snowdonia’s slate quarries – described in the Ffestiniog Railway Journal as the “annual convention of slate nutters.” ConclusionsGLIAS has changed since its foundation in the late 1960s. Its operation has been complicated by questions of health and safety, site access, an ageing membership, and the constant changes to London’s industrial archaeology. Previously rejected by professional industrial archaeology as “limited in skill and resources” (Riden), enthusiasts are now approached by professional archaeologists, developers, planners and even museums that are interested in engaging in knowledge exchange programmes. As a recent report from the British think-tank Demos has argued, enthusiasts or pro-ams – “amateurs who work to professional standards” (Leadbeater and Miller 12) – are integral to future innovation and creativity; for example computer pro-ams developed an operating system to rival Microsoft Windows. As such the specialist knowledge, skill and practice of these communities is of increasing interest to policymakers, practitioners, and business. So, the subject once described as “the ugly offspring of two parents that shouldn’t have been allowed to breed” (Hudson), the so-called “amateur” industrial archaeology offers enthusiasts and professionals alike alternative ways of knowing, seeing and being in the recent and contemporary past.Through the case study of GLIAS, I have described what it means to be enthusiastic about industrial archaeology. I have introduced a culture of collective and individual participation and friendship based on a mutual interest in and emotional attachment to industrial sites. As we have learnt in this paper, enthusiasm is about fun, pleasure and joy. The enthusiastic culture presented here advances themes such as passion in relation to less obvious communities of knowing, skilled practices, material artefacts and spaces of knowledge. Moreover, this paper has been about the affective narratives that are sometimes missing from academic accounts; overlooked for fear of sniggers at the back of a conference hall. Laughter and humour are a large part of what enthusiasm is. Enthusiastic cultures then are about the pleasure and joy experienced in doing things. Enthusiasm is clearly a potent force for active participation. I will leave the last word to GLIAS member John:One meaning of enthusiasm is as a form of possession, madness. Obsession perhaps rather than possession, which I think is entirely true. It is a pejorative term probably. The railway enthusiast. But an awful lot of energy goes into what they do and achieve. Enthusiasm to my mind is an essential ingredient. If you are not a person who can muster enthusiasm, it is very difficult, I think, to get anything out of it. On the basis of the more you put in the more you get out. In terms of what has happened with industrial archaeology in this country, I think, enthusiasm is a very important aspect of it. The movement needs people who can transmit that enthusiasm. ReferencesAbercrombie, N., and B. Longhurst. Audiences: A Sociological Theory of Performance and Imagination. London: Sage Publications, 1998.Adas, M. Machines as the Measure of Men: Science, Technology and Ideologies of Western Dominance. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1989.Ang, I. Desperately Seeking the Audience. London: Routledge, 1991.Bourdieu, P. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. London: Routledge, 1984.Buchanan, R.A. Industrial Archaeology in Britain. 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Archaeological investigations of the Gronauer lock #2 revealed the presence of the well-preserved lower portion of the lock and associated cribbing. Clearing of the fill in the lock proper and wing area and test excavations in the southern cribbing provided important details on the construction of the lock which were not completely consistent with the historical documentation and building specifications. Few artifacts directly associated with the construction and use of the lock were found although significant numbers of secondarily deposited artifacts from the adjacent lockkeeper's house were recovered. Dating of the artifacts was consistent with the recorded history of the construction and use of the lock. In general, without the physical details recovered through the archaeological investigations, interpretations of the site from the written records alone would have presented an inaccurate view of the actual situation.Ball State UniversityMuncie, IN 47306
Department of Anthropology

This chapter considers domesticity and social life within two “houses”: the fair’s Ohio Building and the Charnley House. It begins with an overview of American ideologies of domesticity and domestic spaces through historical and archaeological accounts. Next discussion moves to the Ohio Building, a small structure from the fair that operated as a sort of clubhouse for tourists. Many conceived of the fair’s quasi-domestic state buildings as domestic because of their non-monumental scale, their intended use as spaces for informal social life, and the cutting-edge sanitary infrastructure, such as toilets, that tourists could experience within them. The chapter turns to a detailed residential history of the Astor Street home, to reveal further interconnections and entanglements of elite social networks in Chicago. Adding to these experiences, a look at the limited documentary record of servants from the Charnley House and the Ohio Building expands upon domestic life, architecturally, materially, and socially.

Abstract Epigraphia Indica [EI]: Vols. 1 (1892) to 42 (1977-78). From vol. 3, published by the Archaeological Survey of India under the editorship of the chief epigraphist (formerly government epigraphist for India) biennially in eight parts issued quarterly (but no issues for 1904 and 1943-46). An Index to vols. 1-34 by A. N. Lahiri was published as Appendix to vols. 34-36. Vols. 1-34 were issued in reprint editions by the ASI, New Delhi (vol. 2 by Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi), 1960-87. Actual publication dates of the newer volumes have lagged behind the ostensible dates; vol. 42 (1977-78) was issued in 1989. Inscriptions are published in Devanāgarī or Roman transliteration with detailed introduction on historical, paleographic, and linguistic matters, with or without translation (generally without in recent volumes). EI is traditionally the principal organ for the publication of inscriptions in lndo-Aryan as well as Dravidian and other languages. In recent volumes, the proportion of Dravidian language inscriptions has increased.