Journal articles on the topic 'Cape Town heritage'

AbstractCape Town was founded in 1652 and many of its historical buildings are constructed of local natural stone. Malmesbury Group slate was exploited from 1666 and used to build Cape Town Castle, which is the oldest building in Cape Town. Two other local stones, Cape granite and Table Mountain sandstone were utilized for buildings from 1850. A medium-grained granite named Paarl Grey was exploited from an area adjacent to the town of Paarl, 50 km east of Cape Town, from 1890. This granite is the most extensively-used natural stone in Cape Town.The resource fields of natural stone near Cape Town, namely Malmesbury Group slate, Cape granite and Table Mountain sandstone, lie within the Table Mountain National Park and Robben Island World Heritage Site and can no longer be exploited, but similar resource fields occur outside Cape Town. Paarl Grey granite is still extracted at one quarry and, despite part of the resource field lying within the Paarl Mountain Nature Reserve, there are still sufficient quantities of stone available.From an international perspective, the heritage stones of Cape Town, South Africa, are best considered as having national significance.

The article analyzes the evaluation of the transformation potential of valuable urbanised landscape. Many of the old towns formed as valuable urbanised landscapes. However, the transformation of urban structures of viable cities, which also entails transformation of urbanised landscapes, is inevitable. Basically, there are only two ways of transformation – either it happens in its own way or it can be professionally controlled. In this article the problem of urbanised landscape transformation is illustrated by the analytical work carried out for the eastern part of the Old Town of Vilnius (UNESCO heritage site). In the eastern part of the Old Town of Vilnius there are two architectural ensembles that form the characteristic panoramas and silhouettes of the Old Town. In this part of the city, various new built-up initiatives have been active since 2007. The article discusses the urban research, the purpose of which was to answer the question about the potential height of the newly designed built up in a former historic suburb of Vilnius. The potential impact of new buildings on the panoramas, silhouettes, dominant elements, and perspectives as well as nominal spaces of that concrete street of the historical suburb is assessed based on the analysis of the towns cape seen from typical external and internal viewing points of the Old Town. The article describes an integrated method of assessing visual effect on the urbanised landscape.

Abstract The principal issue which this paper addresses is the identity and status of the minority Ahmadi community within the larger majoritarian Sunni Muslim community in Cape Town (itself a minority in the country), which was characterised by hostility, violence and exclusion perpetrated against the Ahmadi community. By examining archival material, local Muslim publications and interviews regarding events that transpired during the 1960s, I will argue that the tools of public avowal and socio-economic boycotts were wielded as weapons to buttress the authority of a Sunni clerical leadership as custodians of an orthodox Islamic heritage and a Sunni iteration of Islamic theology and Muslim life against what was considered to be a heretical manifestation in the form of Ahmadiyyat.

This article questions the extent to which municipal bylaws aimed at cultural heritage resource management (CHRM) reflect the objectives of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996 (the Constitution), national legislation and the discourse on cultural governance more broadly. In terms of Schedule 4A of the Constitution, the function of "cultural matters" is not an original power of local government. It is a function assigned to the national and provincial spheres. Municipalities are assumed, however, to have a responsibility to execute aspects of this function that may be incidental to other typical local government functions. This view finds support in the interpretation of various rights in the Constitution (e.g. sections 15, 30, 31 and 24) as well as the heritage, environmental and local government framework legislation and policy documents of South Africa. The premise of this article is that cultural heritage resource management by way of instruments such as bylaws promotes the overarching objectives of local government, such as sustainable development, while also promoting the rights to culture, language and religion, amongst others. To expand on its theoretical basis, this article provides a critical assessment of the bylaws of the City of Cape Town Metropolitan Municipality

Ebrahiem Manuel sits opposite me, about to embark upon his story. His living room is filled with material manifestations of his research: boxes overflowing with books and papers cover his entire sofa, newspapers and articles line the floor, and collages of images and texts hang on the walls and sit in the cabinets. It is clear that he is consumed by his passion for heritage, and his personal journey of discovery. He speaks in an animated, almost theatrical tone, raising and lowering his voice, stressing certain syllables, alive as he tells his story of “the ancient kietaabs.”The journey began in 1997, when Ebrahiem returned to South Africa after years at sea, working as a cook on shipping vessels. Upon his return, he began a quest to learn about his personal heritage, inspired by a dream he had had about his grandfather. This search led him to an oldkietaab, given to him by an elderly aunt. This was not the first time he had come across the old book; he remembered seeing it as a child, amongst other kietaabs, stored out of reach of the children, on top of his grandfather's wardrobe. It was inside this book that a possible key to his ancestors was to be found.This significant find was a range of hand-written inscriptions inside the book, in Arabic, English, and an unknown script. The Arabic script and its corresponding English transliteration read “Imaam Abdul Karriem, son of Imaam Abdul Jaliel, son of Imaam Ismail of Sumbawa.” Here was his family tree, starting from his great-grandfather and leading to two generations before him and, it seemed, their place of origin, the island of Sumbawa in eastern Indonesia. Ebrahiem then decided to go to Indonesia to solve what had become the mystery of “the ancient kietaab.”

Abstract: Metropolitan cities are large multi-cultural urban areas. Their colour schemes, which contribute to their unique identities, are influenced by factors, such as when the city was established, climate, city ordinances, and cultural heritage. City colours also evolve overtime due to new construction materials, innovative building designs, and urban development. The objective of this study is to determine if there are similarities in dominant colours for twelve metropolitan cities spanning six continents. They include Cairo, Cape Town, Singapore, Tokyo, Perth, Sydney, London, Madrid, Mexico City, New York City, Buenos Aires, and Lima. The Fuzzy C-Means (FCM) colour extraction technique was used to extract five dominant colours from images of these twelve cities. The extracted dominant colours were outputted as hexadecimal codes with their corresponding names obtained from the color-name.com website. Results show that some of these cities have similar dominant colours. Two colours, cobalt blue and sonic silver, are found in 25% of the cities. Furthermore, ten colours are present in pairs of cities. Most notably, some cities share two of the five dominant colours. Mexico City and New York City both have eerie black and platinum in their colour schemes, while Singapore and Lima share Charleston Green and Gainsboro. Cape Town and Perth both have light cobalt blue and sonic silver in their colour patterns, while Madrid and Buenos Aires share khaki and shadow colours. Dominant colours identified as a result of this investigation could be used to produce colour palettes for these cities. Since colour is an important component of urban development and preservation projects, the ones that incorporate aspects of existing colours would create buildings that are harmonious with the cultural heritage as well as the overall colour scheme of this city. Keywords: Colour extraction, Fuzzy c-means (FCM), soft clustering, unsupervised learning, machine learning, cosmopolitan cities, dominant colours, city colour palettes

When the idea of heritage conservation arises, one specific facet of the ensuing reflection is bound to emerge at some stage: the (inevitable) tension between property rights, on the one hand, and the right to culture (of which heritage conservation is an aspect), on the other. This tension intensifies when the cultural material to be conserved concerns a traditionally sensitive issue—that of the burial places of the ancestors of people designated in the South African context as previously disadvantaged.

This paper offers a reflection on a research project undertaken over a period of nearly five years at the St Cuthbert’s Anglican community near Tsolo in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. St Cuthbert’ was established by Father Bransby Key, an Anglican missionary in the nineteenth century. On a site visit with art historian professor Anitra Nettleton, we met elders who still remembered the missionaries and could relate to lay-worker Frank Cornner who collected beadwork made by the amaMpondomise even though the missionaries discouraged these practices. Cornner’s collections are housed at the Iziko South African Museum in Cape Town, the British Museum in London and at Pit Rivers in Oxford, in the United Kingdom. The importance of recording testimonies of elders underlines the value of ‘living heritage’ as an added research tool in attempts to contribute to the existing archive, especially as many of the elders have since passed away. The elders recall their experiences with fondness and it was only at a later stage that the researcher encountered dichotomous reactions to the missionary project in the area. For the researcher / documentary filmmaker this tension presented a dilemma as the value of the testimonies could in no way whatsoever be undermined despite the challenges faced by practitioners at this time in the history of our country. My research does, however, point to the importance of constantly adding to existing archival collections of historical records by recording the lived experiences of relevant individuals.

Digital tools for User Generated Content (UGC) aim to enable people to interact with media in conversational and creative ways that are independent of technology producers or media organisations. In this article we describe two case studies in South Africa that show that UGC is not simply something tied to technology or the internet but emerges in non-digital storytelling. At the District Six Museum in Cape Town, District Six ex-residents are central collaborators in the narratives presented. Ex-residents tell stories in the museum and can write onto inscriptive exhibits, such as a floor map showing where they used to live, and visitors can write messages on ‘memory clothes’, which are later preserved through hand embroidery. Such explicit infrastructures to access and protect cultural records are less available to rural inhabitants of the former Transkei. To address this gap local traditional leaders and villagers collaborated with a National Archives Outreach Programme by co-generating a workshop that linked various local priorities, such as representation to government, land rights and ecotourism to natural and cultural heritage. Both studies start to reveal opportunities to design technologies that increase participation in recording and sharing personal and cultural stories. They also show the need to respect values embedded in place-based oral customs, such as the importance of enabling transparency and supporting alternative views on historical events.

AbstractViolence exposure is associated with psychological and behavioural maladjustment in adolescents. Yet, not all adolescents exposed to violence experience negative symptoms. Resilience is an outcome that is in part determined by multiple protective factors, or developmental assets, that protect adolescents from the negative influence of encountered stressors and allow them to attain positive developmental outcomes. A qualitative study was conducted to acquire an in-depth understanding of the developmental assets across different layers in the ecological system that promote positive psychological and behavioural functioning in South African adolescents exposed to violence. Semi-structured individual interviews were conducted with a multi-ethnic group (black, white, and people of mixed heritage) of South African adolescents (boy: n = 17; girl: n = 13; age: 14–19 years) from seven schools in Cape Town. Adolescents reported both internal and external assets that helped them adaptively cope with violence exposure. The internal assets entailed individual characteristics and skills, including commitment to learning, positive values, positive identity, social competencies, and emotional insight. The external assets were boundaries and expectations, social support from adolescents’ peers, family, school, and community, and adolescents’ constructive use of time. The findings of the study may inform strengths-based interventions to enhance emotional and behavioural skills in adolescents at risk for violence exposure. Moreover, involving key stakeholders in the interventions from major developmental domains can be particularly helpful to optimise the social support that are needed for adolescents to be resilient.

To understand this book, a little background information helps. I first encountered Ali Mazrui in 1968–70 when I was the first lecturer in linguistics at Makerere University in Kampala, Uganda; Mazrui, a member of the political science faculty, was already a famous orator, acknowledged by all as possessing “a golden tongue.” Since then, he has gone on to become probably the most famous African studies professor in the United States; he was the presenter of the nine-part BBC/PBS television series The Africans: A triple heritage, and he is the author of many books and articles on Africa. He has taught at many universities around the world, and is now director of the Institute of Global Cultural Studies and Albert Schweitzer Professor in the Humanities at the State University of New York at Binghamton. His junior co-author (a relative?), Alamin M. Mazrui, was trained as a linguist and is an associate professor of Black studies at Ohio State University. Both are native speakers of Swahili from Mombasa, Kenya (they prefer to refer to the language as Kiswahili, with its noun class prefix, as it would be if one were speaking the language itself). Kiswahili, of course, is probably the best-known African language; many people in East Africa and other areas (e.g. the Democratic Republic of Congo) speak it as a second language. Furthermore, it is one of the few indigenous languages with official status in an African nation; it is the official language of Tanzania, and the co-official language in Kenya along with English. However, Kiswahili is spoken natively mainly along the East African coastline and on the offshore islands (e.g. Zanzibar), often by persons with a dual Arabic-African heritage similar to that of the Mazruis.

In South Africa the practice of toppling statues is as old as the practice of erecting them. The most recent episode in this history began in 2015 with the Rhodes Must Fall campaign at the University of Cape Town, from where it rapidly spread to sites throughout South Africa. Confronted with the fact that 97% of South Africa’s 3500 declared heritage sites related to white values and experiences at the end of the apartheid era and that there has been little progress towards crafting a more representative heritage landscape, one cannot dispute the Rhodes Must Fall assertion that South African statues anachronistically honour the leading figures of South Africa’s colonial and apartheid past. Observing that public debate around the statues was rapidly polarised into two camps, those who would defend the statues and those who would destroy them, this paper argues that neither option sufficiently addresses the multiple meanings of statues. By examining the changing public-history discourses of the 20th century we propose a third approach grounded in post humanist arguments about the limitation of critique and the promise of care as an ethical, affective and practical pursuit. We argue that this post humanist approach to the question of what to do with statues in South Africa is capable of transforming them from fetishised objects of offence or of heritage into points around which new publics can gather and through which the historical ontology of contemporary power dynamics can be accessed, interrogated and acted upon in order to build new forms of citizenship. In Suid-Afrika is die praktyk van standbeelde omgooi net so oud soos die praktyk om hulle op te rig. Die mees onlangse episode in hierdie geskiedenis het in 2015 in Kaapstad begin met die Rhodes Must Fall veldtog by die Universiteit van Kaapstad en daarvandaan het dit vining versprei na plekke dwarsoor Suid-Afrika. Gesien in die lig van feit dat teen die einde van die apartheidera 97% van Suid-Afrika se 3500 erfenisplekke verwant was aan blanke waardes en ervaringe en dat daar min vordering was met die daarstelling van ‘n meer verteenwoordigende erfenislandskap, kan mens nie wegkom van Rhodes Must Fall stelling dat Suid-Afrikaanse beelde ‘n anachronistiese verering is van die leidende figure van Suid-Afrika se koloniale en apartheidsverlede. Gegewe dat die openbare debat vining gepolariseer geraak het in twee kampe, naamlik diegene wat die beelde woul beskerm en diegene wat hulle wou vernietig, is die argument wat aangevoer word in hierdie artikel dat nie een van die opsies voldoende handel met die veelvuldige betekenisse van beelde nie. Deur ‘n ondersoek te doen na die veranderende diskoerse oor openbare geskiedenis in die 20ste eeu stel ons ‘n derde benadering voor, wat ingebed is in post-humanistiese argumente oor die beperkinge van kritiek en die moontlikhede van sorg as ‘n etiese, affektiewe en praktiese benadering. Ons argumenteer naamlik dat die post-humanistiese benadering tot wat mens moet doen met beelde in Suid-Afrika is om hulle te omvorm van fetisjistiese voorwerpe wat aanstoot gee of van erfenisvoorwerpe tot plekke waar nuwe publieke kan vergader en waardeur die historiese ontologie van kontemporêre magsdinamiek benader, ondersoek en oor gehandel kan word om nuwe vorme van burgerskap te bou.

AbstractAs every Indonesians know, Pekalongan is the one of batik's Indonesian producers. The batik of Pekalongan has a special charateris tic, therefore this makes the Pekalongan's batik famous in all over the world. But, this is not such the only one cultural product in Pekalongan. Based mi the history background. Pekalongan was a big harbour town in past, so that many merchants in over the world came to this town for trading. In the period of Dutch colonialist, Many government buildings had built by Dutch. Dutch government buildings in Pekahmgan as we know as well today as heritage architectures. Dutch heritages architectures in Pekalongmt not just government buildings, there are also public buildings and residences. But, there is no enough attention from us, especially Pemerintah Kota Pekalongan, that the heritage architectures in Pekalongan have a hidden potential as a cultural tourism. By reading this article there will be a new awareness of us about one of our cultural products, especially architecture. This article also gives the image of Dutch heritages architectures in Jakarta and Malang, as a comparison.AbstrakSetiap orang Indonesia pasti tahu bahwa Pekalongan adalah salah satu kota penghasil batik di Indonesia. Batik Pekalongan memiliki ciri khusus, hal ini menjaciikan Batik Pekalongan terkenal di seluruh dunia. Tetapi batik hukanlah satu-satunya produk budaya yang ada di Pekalongan. Berdasar latar belakang sejarahnya ciahulu Pekalongan adalah sebuah kota pelabuhan besar sehingga banyak pedagang di seluruh dunia melakukan perdagangan di kota tersebut. Dalam masa penjajahan Belanda, banyak gedung pemerintahan yang clibangun oleh Belanda pada masa itu. Bangunan-bangunan pemerintahan Belanda tersebut sekarang kita kenal sebagai arsitektur heritage. Arsitektur heritage di Pekalongan tidak hanya berupa gedung-gedung pernerintahan, tetapi juga gedung-gedung

This article approaches the position of the call to prayer (adhan or azan) in South Africa from the perspective of both legislation and case law. Although only an unamplified adhan has religious status in Islam, Muslim religious authorities (ulama) have since the twentieth century also approved of, and permitted, an amplified adhan. The adhan has been rendered in both forms from South African mosques (masjids) for some 223 years. However, the unamplified adhan has recently come under the legal and judicial spotlight when the volume of its rendering by human voice was restricted. In August 2020, after prior attempts at municipal level and mediation had been unsuccessful, a high court in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, ruled that the sound of the unamplified adhan emanating from a mosque located on the premises of an Islamic institution (madrassa) in the city of Durban should not be audible within the house situated on nearby property belonging to a Hindu neighbor. Wide media coverage reported that the ruling was publicly decried and met with criticism. The Madrassa lodged an appeal in September 2020 and the matter is ongoing. The High Court’s decision is binding in KwaZulu-Natal, a province where Hindus, as a religious minority, are concentrated. The article highlights that although the decision is not binding on similar courts in other provinces, its outcome may yet have far-reaching consequences for the adhan as a religious and cultural heritage symbol, and for religious symbols generally, because similar complaints have been lodged, albeit against amplified adhans, against several mosques located in major cities (Cape Town and Tshwane) of two other provinces where Muslims, as a religious minority, are largely concentrated. The article examines the adhan in the context of competing constitutional rights to religious freedom and property (neighbor law) in South Africa. The article proffers some recommendations for the way forward in South Africa based in some instances on the position of the adhan in several countries. It concludes that, ultimately, unamplified, unduly amplified and duly amplified adhans may all yet be found to constitute a noise nuisance in South Africa, if challenged and found to be unreasonable.

AbstractInspired by E. P. Thompson's modelling of class as the contingent outcome of historical processes, this paper explores how autochthony and descent came to inform the boundaries of industrial workforces in the Indian steel towns of Jamshedpur and Rourkela. We suggest that if class is a historical object, then it relates to other forms of power and identity in ways that question the use of rigid analytic typologies. In the private sector Tata company town of Jamshedpur, an industrial working class was constructed during the late colonial period from labour migrants, whose employment became heritable within families. In the public sector Rourkela Steel Plant, founded in the mid-twentieth century, the politics of ethno regionalism coincided with state development policy to inform employment reservation for autochthons. Through a historical analysis of urbanization, migration and employment policy, we consider how elite workforces that bound themselves according to the principles of autochthony and descent were formed in the social laboratories of India's steel towns. We suggest that such processes demand a class concept that engages more subtly with the work of E. P. Thompson.

Abstract. This article aimed to examine the physical space management of Phimai town related to Phimai Sanctuary with a goal for improving of physical aspect that mainly focused on the conservation of the town and archaeological sites. The framework of this study was conducted during 1954-2017 by analysing through the concept of discourse analysis. It was found that a main factor at such time was happened from declaration of the government policy on "Boundary Line of Phimai Archaeological Site" in 2016 and Phimai Sanctuary had ever been in the "Tentative List" of world heritage in 2003. At that time, it was affected to the changing and improvement of the area from 2 main groups of representatives that had their duties to look after and manage that area as; a group from central administration as Fine Arts Department and another group from regional or local administrations. The study came from production of physical space i.e. construction of road networks, public spaces or other compositions. The cultural heritage of Phimai Sanctuary was applied to describe or manage the spaces for conservation and promotion of tourism activities. Those demands were managed by only one group or authorized group of representatives that did not answer or indicate problems of Phimai area development. On the other hand, it was emphasized on the space management without any local participation and effected to current residents in that area directly.

Liverpool was a great port in the eighteenth century and after the Industrial Revolution its growth was spectacular. This is reflected in the heritage of public buildings designed on a scale and with a richness of detail which surprises many visitors, but because the affluence of the city was so sustained, the people of Liverpool came to think of their city not so much as a provincial town, but as a great metropolis, and when they built, they usually built on a grand scale.

The squares and gardens have always been constructed at the heart of cities, enshrining its history and giving place to the public and private events of the population. The historic gardens contribute to the memory and identity of a people, and can be considered as cultural heritage and living monument and therefore the importance of its preservation. These gardens are present in many localities, especially in the colonial towns of Minas Gerais, which have their roots in the incessant search for gold and the ways traced by the then Royal Road. Congonhas, a town that emerged from the gold exploration, and also from the faith of the portuguese, has enormous tourism potential. It´s history is marked by Aleijadinho masterpiece, which turned it into a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. This study had as objective to consider the importance of historic gardens, to study the historical-cultural evolution and landscape of the square of the Basílica Bom Jesus de Matosinhos with emphasis on morphological transformations of the space it occupied, and the social representations found. For this, it was made an exploratory research through site visits, interviews, and literature and iconographic searches. The gathering of the collected data allowed to organize them in the historical process of area occupation and enabled the identification of the main changes that occurred over time. There was no intention of occupying the square, either as a community space, whether as ornamentation until the 1920´s. The idea of beautifying the place came only with the arrival of the Redemptorist Priests in Congonhas in 1923. Since then, several forms were acquired through the garden, including a project by Roberto Burle Marx. The square has a religious purpose and does not load the design of most Brazilian squares as a place of social coexistence of the population or framework from political power.

Munsiyari is a region located at an altitude of 2,200 meters in the hilly state of Uttarakhand, India. The eponymous town is surrounded by twenty-two villages mostly inhabited by Bhotiya tribes, who once formed a community that traded with those crossing from India to Tibet, though this trade came to an abrupt end with the 1962 Sino-Indian war. Owing to the region’s prosperity, the villages exhibit a very interesting typology of hill architecture. This architectural identity is also a manifestation of a geographical and cultural response to a difficult terrain. Our study was carried out as part of the preparation of a dossier for inventorying the Kailash sacred landscape with the aim of documenting the present state of the traditional vernacular heritage of the selected indigenous community for the UNESCO nomination of the wider region. That thorough documentation process was used as a means of analyzing local vernacular heritage and its current situation, and with a view to offsetting the rapid transformation of the past two decades.

This paper focuses on the methodology and dynamic system of New-town practice, which corresponds with the policy-oriented principle in Xi’an, and analyzes the relativity between the evolution of spatial structure and the influential factors such as the land usage, resources endowment, economic development, population growth, by studying the process of Xi’an Newtown construction over the past 20 years. Xi’an Newtown is attached to the main city area like a magnetic container, absorbing population either from urban or rural area. Furthermore, it is more like a huge magnetic field composed with multiple small poles. To some extent, New-town practice in Xi’an follows the policy-oriented principle, and meanwhile meets the goal of regeneration of cultural heritages, ecological restoration and low-carbon control. Yet it is very different from the experiences of building an anti-magnetic system of metropolitans in European countries after the World War II. Till now, seven relatively independent "edge cities" have came into being with new cluster centers and edge-economic growth poles, which effectively keeps the suburbs from spreading disorderly.

The concept of collective memory raises fundamental questions regarding the assessment of heritage, especially of built heritage in contested spaces. The simultaneous presence of different groups in conflict introduces into the space parallel memory discourses that can be recognised both in the built environment as well as in public sculpture, and both can be read as a symbolic marking of space (Veschambre, 2008). The urban space of northern Istria, where the Italian and Slovene communities have become intertwined throughout history, were drastically marked by the political and historic events of the mid-20th century. Post-war conflict-solving processes lead and an ongoing process of “ethnic metamorphosis” (Purini, 2010) in the region came to a peak when the majoritarian Italian-speaking population of the urban area emigrated, while the space was settled by newcomers from inner Slovenian regions and other Yugoslav republics. Tensions between Slovenes and Italians arose in the early 20th century, especially from the period of Fascist oppression and violence against the Slovene population. Nevertheless, the antifascist struggle united the two ethnic groups, specifically within the Communist ideology, so after WWII the area of the so-called Zona B of the Free Territory of Trieste was marked by the ideal of fratellanza, the brotherhood between Italians and Slovenes in Istria. A monument to this ideal was created by a sculptor from Capodistria, Oreste Dequel, who is unknown in the Slovene context. The sculpture represented the Protestant Bishop of Capodistria, Pier Paolo Vergerio il Giovane, a friend of the key Slovene Protestant Primož Trubar. Despite the then leading Socialist Realist aesthetics, the artist managed to intertwine in the artwork, using a subversive approach, several collective memories.

The concept of collective memory raises fundamental questions regarding the assessment of heritage, especially of built heritage in contested spaces. The simultaneous presence of different groups in conflict introduces into the space parallel memory discourses that can be recognised both in the built environment as well as in public sculpture, and both can be read as a symbolic marking of space (Veschambre, 2008). The urban space of northern Istria, where the Italian and Slovene communities have become intertwined throughout history, were drastically marked by the political and historic events of the mid-20th century. Post-war conflict-solving processes lead and an ongoing process of “ethnic metamorphosis” (Purini, 2010) in the region came to a peak when the majoritarian Italian-speaking population of the urban area emigrated, while the space was settled by newcomers from inner Slovenian regions and other Yugoslav republics. Tensions between Slovenes and Italians arose in the early 20th century, especially from the period of Fascist oppression and violence against the Slovene population. Nevertheless, the antifascist struggle united the two ethnic groups, specifically within the Communist ideology, so after WWII the area of the so-called Zona B of the Free Territory of Trieste was marked by the ideal of fratellanza, the brotherhood between Italians and Slovenes in Istria. A monument to this ideal was created by a sculptor from Capodistria, Oreste Dequel, who is unknown in the Slovene context. The sculpture represented the Protestant Bishop of Capodistria, Pier Paolo Vergerio il Giovane, a friend of the key Slovene Protestant Primož Trubar. Despite the then leading Socialist Realist aesthetics, the artist managed to intertwine in the artwork, using a subversive approach, several collective memories.

In this article, the author explores the nature of traditional wisdom and the ways it came under attack in the most terrible century of human history. The Bosnian town of Stolac suffered the violent depredations of fascists, Communists, and extreme nationalists, culminating in a veritable orgy of destruction, murder, and expulsion during the 1992 to 1995 war, with the systematic “liberation” of the town of every and any trace of the historical existence of difference or the other. The author sees this situation as arising out of the very nature of modernity, the age of alienation and human arrogance. We have become the slaves of our fantasies of mastery and domination, seeking justification not in the transcendental or the divine, but in the works of our own hands, in utopian dreams of this-worldly perfection, and in group identities in which we hope to hide the smallness of our souls. This work of disconnection, deracination, and ideological deformation has found its most terrible expression in great historical projects of destruction and slaughter in the name of Man, Society, and other false gods. This modern folly has turned us against our own cultures, our common spiritual heritage, and all forms of traditional intellectuality and wisdom. It has stripped us of compassion and respect for the other and of understanding for the different. It has made us deny our most crucial debts to the vulnerable and to the dead.

This study deals with Ivan Lucic-Lucius (Giovanni Lucio, Iohannes Lucius) (1604–1679), the father of the Croatian historiography and his manuscript heritage which contains more than 2000 mostly medieval documents. In 2015, a research group came into existence at Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest led by Tamás Körmendi to research the manuscripts, particularly the unpublished documents of the Árpádian and Angevin era and the author of this study is a member of the group. In this paper, I present Ivan Lucic-Lucius’s life, scholarship, research methodology and analyze his place in the Croatian historiography. The main subject of the paper is the manuscript heritage which is a collection of sources gathered together by Ivan Lucic-Lucius and his colleagues, friends, and family members from all around Dalmatia from the 1630s. Ivan Lucic-Lucius and his helpers researched in many secular, ecclesiastical and family archives, copied documents, and after a critical analysis, Lucic-Lucius arranged them by regions and put them in writing in chronological order. Many of the collected sources were published in his works, but hundreds of them are still kept in Ivan Lucic-Lucius’s heritage while the original documents, from which they were copied, are lost by now. The manuscripts are kept in the Archbishopric Archive of Split and a twentieth-century handwritten copy also exists in the Archive of the Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts in Zagreb. The heritage of twelve books contains hundreds of unpublished medieval documents for example Hungarian royal and ducal privileges, documents of the urban administration and the burghers of many Dalmatian towns, charters that can be connected to the Hungarian administration in Dalmatia, and ecclesiastical documents.

Ghanta-Ghar has been considered a marked distinction of British Architecture indicating a symbolic centrality of imperial administration and reflecting the cultural, religious and political acumen of the imperial mind in the town planning of an administrative center. This symbolic erection has been used as means of expressing wealth, power, manifestation of authority and influence of empire. Multan as an important and central point of Southern Punjab came under the British empire in the mid of 19th century. The British erected urban and religious establishments to exhibit their power, authority, wealth and control. Multan has been a rich region with a strong legacy of architectural heritage from the oldest hindu times to the time of British’s Muslim predecessors. However, British contributed significantly to that heritage. Northbrook Tower and Ripon Hall (Ghanta-Ghar Multan) is one of the major Imperial administrative establishments in Multan constructed with a blend of the English and Indian (synthesis of Indian and Mughal) architecture between 1884 to 1888 CE. According to Francoise Dasques, the clock tower was built using Anglo Indian, Indo Saracenic and Greeko-Roman patterns. The purpose of this paper is analyze the structure, style and approach of the Ghanta-Ghar establishgment, along with exploring the tradition of clock towers in India by the British and amalgamation of native & European built environment. Hence the paper highlights the elements and features used in architectural scheme of the building and explains the nature of its structure with a contribution-assessment of use and compatibility of native/indigenous and foreign techniques and materials The paper explains the advent of British in Multan and its construction in the area very briefly while it explains the history, construction of Northbrook Clock tower and Ripon Hall, its construction style, structural pattern, and decorative material in detail. The study analyses the elements of the building separately comparing with other colonial and Mughal structures. Drawings, photos of the building and terminologies has been used in the paper to make the study easier and understandable.

AbstractThe cults and ritual practices of the Sino-Thai communities of southern Thailand are a distinctive aspect of a region in which Chinese heritage has a high degree of social significance. Chinese came to the Malay Peninsula in several waves; many settlers arrived as early as the sixteenth century, and others flooded into the region to work in tin-mines and rubber plantations in the nineteenth century. Although now “Thai” in many respects, the descendants of Chinese immigrants in the south retain a distinctive identity, visibly expressed in the annual ritual cycle focused on specific rites and temples. These events provide a sense of connection to ancestral origins, but also make important statements about the contemporary position of Chinese descendants in a complex multiracial context. Tourism, both national and transnational, has played an important role in the expansion of ritual performance. During the capitalist boom years of the 1990s, elements of Chinese identity became a valued social marker in Thailand and some aspects of the southern cultural and ritual practices were adopted more widely, although most of the Sino-Thai descendants outside the south had little or no understanding of the origins or meaning of the practices. This paper examines rites performed annually in two southern Thai towns, investigating how they reflect complex negotiations of ethnic identity vis-à-vis national and regional contexts.

The two sites of Al 'Ubaid and Eridu in southern Iraq are among the most significant historically for our understanding of the 'Ubaid culture. Al 'Ubaid is the type site while Eridu has yielded, not only the best known 'Ubaid occupation sequence, but also evidence of the development of the settlement from its beginnings as a village to its later floruit as a town, complete with a temple and an extensive extra-mural cemetery. Both sites have been partially excavated, Al 'Ubaid on two occasions and Eridu by at least four expeditions. The results of all these various explorations have been published so that we have a good idea of the nature of both sites. I was able, with T. J. Wilkinson, to visit Al 'Ubaid and Eridu in June 1990 (Fig. 1). During our visits we found indications of the firing of 'Ubaid pottery on the surfaces of both sites; this discovery was unexpected since the existence of pottery kilns had not been mentioned in the published accounts. The purpose of this note is to draw the attention of archaeologists to these remains, to describe them briefly and to discuss their significance.The opportunity to visit Al 'Ubaid and Eridu came during a reconnaissance of prehistoric sites in Iraq carried out with the encouragement of Dr Muayad Said Damerji, then Director General of the State Organization of Antiquities and Heritage in Iraq. I wish to thank Dr Damerji and his staff for the welcome they extended on that occasion and the assistance they provided. I also wish to express appreciation and thanks to T. J. Wilkinson, then the Assistant Director of the British Archaeological Expedition in Iraq and an old friend and colleague, who accompanied me on the reconnaissance and gave valuable help throughout.

Mwanatari is a community located between Lafiya and Lamurde in Lamurde LGA of Adamawa State. It lies on Latitude 9.560N and Longitude 11.70E, 164.00m/538.06ft ASL. The community shares boundary with Bwatiye (Bachama and Bata) communities. The ethnic groups found within the area are Mwana, Chobbo, Kwah, Waja, Lunguda, Dadiya, Jenjo, Hausa, and Fulani. The people of Mwanatari are predominantly agrarian. Lamurde is the administrative headquarters of the local government area and it is about 100 kilometers from Yola, the State capital. Like any other people Lamurde local government is noted for its unique cultural heritage. The Bachama people are noted warriors as is easily depicted in their popular dance “Wuro Kaduwe” closely related are the Homtu Gbatakaito at Gyawana which has to do with hunting, and the “Badan” at Nghakawo. They have the “kwete” wrestling festival in the town of Lamurde which comes up once in a year. It is a wrestling between the people of Gyawana and Lamurde. It is during the festival that His Royal Highness the Hama Bachama discloses his plans and vision to his subjects. Apart from Kwete wrestling festival, there is the “Poto” at Waduku, “Vayato” at Gyawana and Opalo. The Kwah “ Gikan” festival is celebrated yearly. The Waja celebrates “Saulawe” Chobbo “ Cito” and “Dikulem” “kreth” among the Lunguda and Dadiya respectively. Lamurde itself is a historical town where western civilization and tradition exist side by side. The Mwana people, according to history migrated from Cham in present day Balanga Local Government Area of Gombe State. The people of Cham migrated from Yamel in the East with some tribes like Lunguda, Tula, and Dadiya at about 1777. They came to Africa through Egypt and settled at Wanda. As a result of unproductive agricultural land, bad climate and weather, the people of Cham being good agriculturalists decided to move from Wanda to a free and fertile land at Fitilai (Kuntur) in 1797. At Fitilai, Baba Dan Bulo, an informant said, “The people of Cham settled in groups according to their clans. In these small clans, there is a type of disperse, cross or integrated relationship which is shown by ties of reputed kingship, chieftaincy and religious complexities. The major clans among these settlements were Fitilai to Bwelimi, and Fitilai to Dijimi, out of which the following small clans emerged: Jabe, Bwelimi, Kwasim, Lebe, Dungurang and Tiksir. These clans believed in peace and have special love and care for one another and therefore regard themselves as brothers (Shete) plural of Chum, brother”.

Based on the first widely presented in Russia exhibition of works by the Russian emigrant artist Konstantin Ivanovich Gorbatov (1876–1945) organized in 2021 by the State Museum of History and Art ‘New Jerusalem’ with the participation of museum and private collections, the author analyzes a part of the master’s pictorial heritage dedicated to Italy. A graduate of the Imperial Academy of Arts and a follower of the Russian impressionist tradition, Gorbatov first came to Italy during his retirement trip in 1912. There he was able to feel the power of color and the influence of the light and aerial environment on the transformation of color, and forever remained faithful to the Italian landscape. Having left their homeland in 1922, Gorbatov and his wife settled in Berlin but made numerous journeys to Italy, where he always worked a lot. While staying in Capri, he would travel along the Italian coast, creating his chronicle of charming towns scattered on the coastal cliffs and poetic landscapes inspired by the emerald color of the sea and the bright sun. The subject of the research is the paintings by K.I. Gorbatov dedicated to Italy and his Notes on Art and Life that provide comments on the peculiarities of the master’s perception of nature, vision of color and balance of colors, and his work with color. The research aims to study K.I. Gorbatov’s works in the context of life and work of the Russian artistic emigration in Europe in the second quarter of the 20th century through the analysis of his Italian landscapes, and to analyze the master’s creative method using archival materials. This will contribute to raising understanding and awareness of his art among Russian viewers who were deprived of the opportunity to familiarize themselves with the artist’s work for a long time. The development of the declared research topic involves the application of the interdisciplinary approach, archival, empirical, and iconographic methods, and comparative, artistic and stylistic analyses.

Here we present a translation of paragraphs concerning the saunas of the Estonians, Livonians and Latvians, as described in the Doctoral thesis “Bastu och torkhus i Nordeuropa” (“Saun ja kuivati Põhja-Euroopas”, 1960) written by the ethnographer and writer llmar Talve, who studied the culture and history of various nations. The Doctoral thesis summarises ethnographical sources describing saunas assembled mainly during the time of the Republic of Estonia (1918–1940), providing also a comprehensible overview for the Swedes. Ilmar Talve (17.01.1919–21.04.2007) studied ethnography, folklore and literature in Tartu University, graduating cum laude in 1942 after his Master’s studies with a research paper on burning tar and coal in Estonia. While studying he also worked in the Estonian National Museum from 1940 on. After the war he worked in the Stockholm Ethnography Institute and continued his studies at the University of Stockholm. After defending his Doctoral thesis in 1960, he applied for the position of the ethnography professor in University of Turku. He conducted thorough ethnographic research in Finland, Sweden and Estonia. In Sweden, Talve mainly worked with local ethnographical materials, integrating it with his interest in Estonian ethnography. It may be assumed that the central barnhouse theme in Estonian farm architecture encouraged Talve to study heated ancillary buildings in rural areas in Sweden and neighbouring countries more thoroughly. In 1960, a thorough research paper containing two parts was completed, of which one part (his Doctoral thesis of 1960) focused on the saunas and driers of Northern Europe, while the other part focused on threshing barns in North-East Europe (“Den nordost-europeiska rian: en etnologisk undersökning”, published in 1961). In both parts, references to Estonian vernacular architecture can be found. In his Doctoral thesis, Talve explained that he focused on ethnographic auxiliary buildings of Sweden and other northern countries (primarily in Norway and Finland) used for drying and washing like bastu (‘drier’ or also a ‘washing house’) and kölna (‘grain drier’). He wanted to study their historical development, their various types, layout solutions, constructions, heating appliances, functions and other ethnological data. Buildings constructed during the period of 1850–1900 were the ones observed. He used comparative examples of architectural heritage in several other European and nearby areas in order to make conclusions about different aspects of the construction and the usage history of saunas and driers. The main source for the ethnographical study is material collected from country people during the first decades of the 20th century. The author used archive materials from Norway and Finland (data from fieldwork, questionnaire sheets) and his own field work materials. For other regions, he used the existing and available literature. In case of the Doctoral thesis concerning mainly Sweden, Finland and Norway, it is important for us to trace the difference between the words denoting the sauna. While the Finnish word sauna means a washing sauna familiar to us, then the Swedish bastu may historically mean a building for drying agricultural products as well as the washing sauna. The latter was rather rare in Sweden. To distinguish the function of washing one’s body in the auxiliary building, in his Doctoral thesis Talve used the term badbastu – washing sauna. The situation was similar with the threshing barns: for Swedes, rian denotes a threshing barn, not the multifunctional barnhouse as we know it. In Sweden village life was conducted differently. In addition to the name of the building, he also gathered information about its position in the farm yard, the material of its walls, saunas dug in the ground, anteroom or its absence, building a sauna together with auxiliary buildings, the shape and the covering material of the roof, the most widespread solutions of ceilings and floors, the method of letting smoke out, the location of the bathhouse platform and the pile of stones on top of the stove, the location of the hearth opening, and the details of piling the stones. An overview of sauna usage then follows: when was the sauna used (by days of the week and according to holidays), family traditions: did men and women go to sauna separately or all together, the sauna as a place for ritual washing, healing and giving birth. Smoking meat, using the sauna as a dwelling and a shed for animals, one sauna used by several families and a place where young people came together (kildsann, istjad). An overview is given of the information in earlier written sources, comprising very interesting information about older saunas located in towns. The same plan is followed in the overview of Livonian and Latvian saunas, depending naturally on the reference sources available to the author at that time. If you are interested to know more of Ilmar Talve’s work dedicated to the Estonian sauna, you may read his book “Virolainen sauna” (“Estonian sauna”), which was published in 1960 – the same year as his Doctoral thesis – in the University of Turku.

Here we present a translation of paragraphs concerning the saunas of the Estonians, Livonians and Latvians, as described in the Doctoral thesis “Bastu och torkhus i Nordeuropa” (“Saun ja kuivati Põhja-Euroopas”, 1960) written by the ethnographer and writer llmar Talve, who studied the culture and history of various nations. The Doctoral thesis summarises ethnographical sources describing saunas assembled mainly during the time of the Republic of Estonia (1918–1940), providing also a comprehensible overview for the Swedes. Ilmar Talve (17.01.1919–21.04.2007) studied ethnography, folklore and literature in Tartu University, graduating cum laude in 1942 after his Master’s studies with a research paper on burning tar and coal in Estonia. While studying he also worked in the Estonian National Museum from 1940 on. After the war he worked in the Stockholm Ethnography Institute and continued his studies at the University of Stockholm. After defending his Doctoral thesis in 1960, he applied for the position of the ethnography professor in University of Turku. He conducted thorough ethnographic research in Finland, Sweden and Estonia. In Sweden, Talve mainly worked with local ethnographical materials, integrating it with his interest in Estonian ethnography. It may be assumed that the central barnhouse theme in Estonian farm architecture encouraged Talve to study heated ancillary buildings in rural areas in Sweden and neighbouring countries more thoroughly. In 1960, a thorough research paper containing two parts was completed, of which one part (his Doctoral thesis of 1960) focused on the saunas and driers of Northern Europe, while the other part focused on threshing barns in North-East Europe (“Den nordost-europeiska rian: en etnologisk undersökning”, published in 1961). In both parts, references to Estonian vernacular architecture can be found. In his Doctoral thesis, Talve explained that he focused on ethnographic auxiliary buildings of Sweden and other northern countries (primarily in Norway and Finland) used for drying and washing like bastu (‘drier’ or also a ‘washing house’) and kölna (‘grain drier’). He wanted to study their historical development, their various types, layout solutions, constructions, heating appliances, functions and other ethnological data. Buildings constructed during the period of 1850–1900 were the ones observed. He used comparative examples of architectural heritage in several other European and nearby areas in order to make conclusions about different aspects of the construction and the usage history of saunas and driers. The main source for the ethnographical study is material collected from country people during the first decades of the 20th century. The author used archive materials from Norway and Finland (data from fieldwork, questionnaire sheets) and his own field work materials. For other regions, he used the existing and available literature. In case of the Doctoral thesis concerning mainly Sweden, Finland and Norway, it is important for us to trace the difference between the words denoting the sauna. While the Finnish word sauna means a washing sauna familiar to us, then the Swedish bastu may historically mean a building for drying agricultural products as well as the washing sauna. The latter was rather rare in Sweden. To distinguish the function of washing one’s body in the auxiliary building, in his Doctoral thesis Talve used the term badbastu – washing sauna. The situation was similar with the threshing barns: for Swedes, rian denotes a threshing barn, not the multifunctional barnhouse as we know it. In Sweden village life was conducted differently. In addition to the name of the building, he also gathered information about its position in the farm yard, the material of its walls, saunas dug in the ground, anteroom or its absence, building a sauna together with auxiliary buildings, the shape and the covering material of the roof, the most widespread solutions of ceilings and floors, the method of letting smoke out, the location of the bathhouse platform and the pile of stones on top of the stove, the location of the hearth opening, and the details of piling the stones. An overview of sauna usage then follows: when was the sauna used (by days of the week and according to holidays), family traditions: did men and women go to sauna separately or all together, the sauna as a place for ritual washing, healing and giving birth. Smoking meat, using the sauna as a dwelling and a shed for animals, one sauna used by several families and a place where young people came together (kildsann, istjad). An overview is given of the information in earlier written sources, comprising very interesting information about older saunas located in towns. The same plan is followed in the overview of Livonian and Latvian saunas, depending naturally on the reference sources available to the author at that time. If you are interested to know more of Ilmar Talve’s work dedicated to the Estonian sauna, you may read his book “Virolainen sauna” (“Estonian sauna”), which was published in 1960 – the same year as his Doctoral thesis – in the University of Turku.

We’ll have trouble now!The Archaeological Society of Jutland was founded on Sunday, 11 March 1951. As with most projects with which P.V Glob was involved, this did not pass off without drama. Museum people and amateur archaeologists in large numbers appeared at the Museum of Natural History in Aarhus, which had placed rooms at our disposal. The notable dentist Holger Friis, the uncrowned king of Hjørring, was present, as was Dr Balslev from Aidt, Mr and Mrs Overgaard from Holstebro Museum, and the temperamental leader of Aalborg Historical Museum, Peter Riismøller, with a number of his disciples. The staff of the newly-founded Prehistoric Museum functioned as the hosts, except that one of them was missing: the instigator of the whole enterprise, Mr Glob. As the time for the meeting approached, a cold sweat broke out on the foreheads of the people present. Finally, just one minute before the meeting was to start, he arrived and mounted the platform. Everything then went as expected. An executive committee was elected after some discussion, laws were passed, and then suddenly Glob vanished again, only to materialise later in the museum, where he confided to us that his family, which included four children, had been enlarged by a daughter.That’s how the society was founded, and there is not much to add about this. However, a few words concerning the background of the society and its place in a larger context may be appropriate. A small piece of museum history is about to be unfolded.The story begins at the National Museum in the years immediately after World War II, at a time when the German occupation and its incidents were still terribly fresh in everyone’s memory. Therkel Mathiassen was managing what was then called the First Department, which covered the prehistoric periods.Although not sparkling with humour, he was a reliable and benevolent person. Number two in the order of precedence was Hans Christian Broholm, a more colourful personality – awesome as he walked down the corridors, with his massive proportions and a voice that sounded like thunder when nothing seemed to be going his way, as quite often seemed to be the case. Glob, a relatively new museum keeper, was also quite loud at times – his hot-blooded artist’s nature manifested itself in peculiar ways, but his straight forward appearance made him popular with both the older and the younger generations. His somewhat younger colleague C.J. Becker was a scholar to his fingertips, and he sometimes acted as a welcome counterbalance to Glob. At the bottom of the hierarchy was the student group, to which I belonged. The older students handled various tasks, including periodic excavations. This was paid work, and although the salary was by no means princely, it did keep us alive. Student grants were non-existent at the time. Four of us made up a team: Olfert Voss, Mogens Ørsnes, Georg Kunwald and myself. Like young people in general, we were highly discontented with the way our profession was being run by its ”ruling” members, and we were full of ideas for improvement, some of which have later been – or are being – introduced.At the top of our wish list was a central register, of which Voss was the strongest advocate. During the well over one hundred years that archaeology had existed as a professional discipline, the number of artefacts had grown to enormous amounts. The picture was even worse if the collections of the provincial museums were taken into consideration. We imagined how it all could be registered in a card index and categorised according to groups to facilitate access to references in any particular situation. Electronic data processing was still unheard of in those days, but since the introduction of computers, such a comprehensive record has become more feasible.We were also sceptical of the excavation techniques used at the time – they were basically adequate, but they badly needed tightening up. As I mentioned before, we were often working in the field, and not just doing minor jobs but also more important tasks, so we had every opportunity to try out our ideas. Kunwald was the driving force in this respect, working with details, using sections – then a novelty – and proceeding as he did with a thoroughness that even his fellow students found a bit exaggerated at times, although we agreed with his principles. Therkel Mathiassen moaned that we youngsters were too expensive, but he put up with our excesses and so must have found us somewhat valuable. Very valuable indeed to everyon e was Ejnar Dyggve’s excavation of the Jelling mounds in the early 1940s. From a Danish point of view, it was way ahead of its time.Therkel Mathiassen justly complained about the economic situation of the National Museum. Following the German occupation, the country was impoverished and very little money was available for archaeological research: the total sum available for the year 1949 was 20,000 DKK, which corresponded to the annual income of a wealthy man, and was of course absolutely inadequate. Of course our small debating society wanted this sum to be increased, and for once we didn’t leave it at the theoretical level.Voss was lucky enough to know a member of the Folketing (parliament), and a party leader at that. He was brought into the picture, and between us we came up with a plan. An article was written – ”Preserve your heritage” (a quotation from Johannes V. Jensen’s Denmark Song) – which was sent to the newspaper Information. It was published, and with a little help on our part the rest of the media, including radio, picked up the story.We informed our superiors only at the last minute, when everything was arranged. They were taken by surprise but played their parts well, as expected, and everything went according to plan. The result was a considerable increase in excavation funds the following year.It should be added that our reform plans included the conduct of exhibitions. We found the traditional way of presenting the artefacts lined up in rows and series dull and outdated. However, we were not able to experiment within this field.Our visions expressed the natural collision with the established ways that comes with every new generation – almost as a law of nature, but most strongly when the time is ripe. And this was just after the war, when communication with foreign colleagues, having been discontinued for some years, was slowly picking up again. The Archaeological Society of Jutland was also a part of all this, so let us turn to what Hans Christian Andersen somewhat provocatively calls the ”main country”.Until 1949, only the University of Copenhagen provided a degree in prehistoric archaeology. However, in this year, the University of Aarhus founded a chair of archaeology, mainly at the instigation of the Lord Mayor, Svend Unmack Larsen, who was very in terested in archaeology. Glob applied for the position and obtained it, which encompassed responsibility for the old Aarhus Museum or, as it was to be renamed, the Prehistoric Museum (now Moesgaard Museum).These were landmark events to Glob – and to me, as it turned out. We had been working together for a number of years on the excavation of Galgebakken (”Callows Hill”) near Slots Bjergby, Glob as the excavation leader, and I as his assistant. He now offered me the job of museum curator at his new institution. This was somewhat surprising as I had not yet finished my education. The idea was that I was to finish my studies in remote Jutland – a plan that had to be given up rather quickly, though, for reasons which I will describe in the following. At the same time, Gunner Lange-Kornbak – also hand-picked from the National Museum – took up his office as a conservation officer.The three of us made up the permanent museum staff, quickly supplemented by Geoffrey Bibby, who turned out to be an invaluable colleague. He was English and had been stationed in the Faeroe Islands during the war, where he learned to speak Danish. After 1945 he worked for some years for an oil company in the Gulf of Persia, but after marrying Vibeke, he settled in her home town of Aarhus. As his academic background had involved prehistoric cultures he wanted to collaborate with the museum, which Glob readily permitted.This small initial flock governed by Glob was not permitted to indulge inidleness. Glob was a dynamic character, full of good and not so good ideas, but also possessing a good grasp of what was actually practicable. The boring but necessary daily work on the home front was not very interesting to him, so he willingly handed it over to others. He hardly noticed the lack of administrative machinery, a prerequisite for any scholarly museum. It was not easy to follow him on his flights of fancy and still build up the necessary support base. However, the fact that he in no way spared himself had an appeasing effect.Provincial museums at that time were of a mixed nature. A few had trained management, and the rest were run by interested locals. This was often excellently done, as in Esbjerg, where the master joiner Niels Thomsen and a staff of volunteers carried out excavations that were as good as professional investigations, and published them in well-written articles. Regrettably, there were also examples of the opposite. A museum curator in Jutland informed me that his predecessor had been an eager excavator but very rarely left any written documentation of his actions. The excavated items were left without labels in the museum store, often wrapped in newspapers. However, these gave a clue as to the time of unearthing, and with a bit of luck a look in the newspaper archive would then reveal where the excavation had taken place. Although somewhat exceptional, this is not the only such case.The Museum of Aarhus definitely belonged among the better ones in this respect. Founded in 1861, it was at first located at the then town hall, together with the local art collection. The rooms here soon became too cramped, and both collections were moved to a new building in the ”Mølleparken” park. There were skilful people here working as managers and assistants, such as Vilhelm Boye, who had received his archaeological training at the National Museum, and later the partners A. Reeh, a barrister, and G.V. Smith, a captain, who shared the honour of a number of skilfully performed excavations. Glob’s predecessor as curator was the librarian Ejler Haugsted, also a competent man of fine achievements. We did not, thus, take over a museum on its last legs. On the other hand, it did not meet the requirements of a modern scholarly museum. We were given the task of turning it into such a museum, as implied by the name change.The goal was to create a museum similar to the National Museum, but without the faults and shortcomings that that museum had developed over a period of time. In this respect our nightly conversations during our years in Copenhagen turned out to be useful, as our talk had focused on these imperfections and how to eradicate them.We now had the opportunity to put our theories into practice. We may not have succeeded in doing so, but two areas were essentially improved:The numerous independent numbering systems, which were familiar to us from the National Museum, were permeating archaeological excavation s not only in the field but also during later work at the museum. As far as possible this was boiled down to a single system, and a new type of report was born. (In this context, a ”report” is the paper following a field investigation, comprising drawings, photos etc. and describing the progress of the work and the observations made.) The instructions then followed by the National Museum staff regarding the conduct of excavations and report writing went back to a 19th-century protocol by the employee G.V. Blom. Although clear and rational – and a vast improvement at the time – this had become outdated. For instance, the excavation of a burial mound now involved not only the middle of the mound, containing the central grave and its surrounding artefacts, but the complete structure. A large number of details that no one had previously paid attention to thus had to be included in the report. It had become a comprehensive and time-consuming work to sum up the desultory notebook records in a clear and understandable description.The instructions resulting from the new approach determined a special records system that made it possible to transcribe the notebook almost directly into a report following the excavation. The transcription thus contained all the relevant information concerning the in vestigation, and included both relics and soil layers, the excavation method and practical matters, although in a random order. The report proper could then bereduced to a short account containing references to the numbers in the transcribed notebook, which gave more detailed information.As can be imagined, the work of reform was not a continuous process. On the contrary, it had to be done in our spare hours, which were few and far between with an employer like Glob. The assignments crowded in, and the large Jutland map that we had purchased was as studded with pins as a hedge hog’s spines. Each pin represented an inuninent survey, and many of these grew into small or large excavations. Glob himself had his lecture duties to perform, and although he by no means exaggerated his concern for the students, he rarely made it further than to the surveys. Bibby and I had to deal with the hard fieldwork. And the society, once it was established, did not make our lives any easier. Kuml demanded articles written at lightning speed. A perusal of my then diary has given me a vivid recollection of this hectic period, in which I had to make use of the evening and night hours, when the museum was quiet and I had a chance to collect my thoughts. Sometimes our faithful supporter, the Lord Mayor, popped in after an evening meeting. He was extremely interested in our problems, which were then solved according to our abilities over a cup of instant coffee.A large archaeological association already existed in Denmark. How ever, Glob found it necessary to establish another one which would be less oppressed by tradition. Det kongelige nordiske Oldsskriftselskab had been funded in 1825 and was still influenced by different peculiarities from back then. Membership was not open to everyone, as applications were subject to recommendation from two existing members and approval by a vote at one of the monthly lecture meetings. Most candidates were of course accepted, but unpopular persons were sometimes rejected. In addition, only men were admitted – women were banned – but after the war a proposal was brought forward to change this absurdity. It was rejected at first, so there was a considerable excitement at the January meeting in 1951, when the proposal was once again placed on the agenda. The poor lecturer (myself) did his best, although he was aware of the fact that just this once it was the present and not the past which was the focus of attention. The result of the voting was not very courteous as there were still many opponents, but the ladies were allowed in, even if they didn’t get the warmest welcome.In Glob’s society there were no such restrictions – everyone was welcome regardless of sex or age. If there was a model for the society, it was the younger and more progressive Norwegian Archaeological Society rather than the Danish one. The main purpose of both societies was to produce an annual publication, and from the start Glob’s Kuml had a closer resemblance to the Norwegian Viking than to the Danish Aarbøger for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie. The name of the publication caused careful consideration. For a long time I kept a slip of paper with different proposals, one of which was Kuml, which won after having been approved by the linguist Peter Skautrup.The name alone, however, was not enough, so now the task became to find so mething to fill Kuml with. To this end the finds came in handy, and as for those, Glob must have allied him self with the higher powers, since fortune smiled at him to a considerable extent. Just after entering upon his duties in Aarhus, an archaeological sensation landed at his feet. This happened in May 1950 when I was still living in the capital. A few of us had planned a trip to Aarhus, partly to look at the relics of th e past, and partly to visit our friend, the professor. He greeted us warmly and told us the exciting news that ten iron swords had been found during drainage work in the valley of lllerup Aadal north of the nearby town of Skanderborg. We took the news calmly as Glob rarely understated his affairs, but our scepticism was misplaced. When we visited the meadow the following day and carefully examined the dug-up soil, another sword appeared, as well as several spear and lance heads, and other iron artefacts. What the drainage trench diggers had found was nothing less than a place of sacrifice for war booty, like the four large finds from the 1800s. When I took up my post in Aarhus in September of that year I was granted responsibility for the lllerup excavation, which I worked on during the autumn and the following six summers. Some of my best memories are associated with this job – an interesting and happy time, with cheerful comradeship with a mixed bunch of helpers, who were mainly archaeology students. When we finished in 1956, it was not because the site had been fully investigated, but because the new owner of the bog plot had an aversion to archaeologists and their activities. Nineteen years later, in 1975, the work was resumed, this time under the leadership of Jørgen Ilkjær, and a large amount of weaponry was uncovered. The report from the find is presently being published.At short intervals, the year 1952 brought two finds of great importance: in Februar y the huge vessel from Braa near Horsens, and in April the Grauballe Man. The large Celtic bronze bowl with the bulls’ heads was found disassembled, buried in a hill and covered by a couple of large stones. Thanks to the finder, the farmer Søren Paaske, work was stopped early enough to leave areas untouched for the subsequent examination.The saga of the Grauballe Man, or the part of it that we know, began as a rumour on the 26th of April: a skeleton had been found in a bog near Silkeborg. On the following day, which happened to be a Sunday, Glob went off to have a look at the find. I had other business, but I arrived at the museum in the evening with an acquaintance. In my diary I wrote: ”When we came in we had a slight shock. On the floor was a peat block with a corpse – a proper, well-preserved bog body. Glob brought it. ”We’ll be in trouble now.” And so we were, and Glob was in high spirits. The find created a sensation, which was also thanks to the quick presentation that we mounted. I had purchased a tape recorder, which cost me a packet – not a small handy one like the ones you get nowadays, but a large monstrosity with a steel tape (it was, after all, early days for this device) – and assisted by several experts, we taped a number of short lectures for the benefit of the visitors. People flocked in; the queue meandered from the exhibition room, through the museum halls, and a long way down the street. It took a long wait to get there, but the visitors seemed to enjoy the experience. The bog man lay in his hastily – procured exhibition case, which people circled around while the talking machine repeatedly expressed its words of wisdom – unfortunately with quite a few interruptions as the tape broke and had to be assembled by hand. Luckily, the tape recorders now often used for exhibitions are more dependable than mine.When the waves had died down and the exhibition ended, the experts examined the bog man. He was x-rayed at several points, cut open, given a tooth inspection, even had his fingerprints taken. During the autopsy there was a small mishap, which we kept to ourselves. However, after almost fifty years I must be able to reveal it: Among the organs removed for investigation was the liver, which was supposedly suitable for a C-14 dating – which at the time was a new dating method, introduced to Denmark after the war. The liver was sent to the laboratory in Copenhagen, and from here we received a telephone call a few days later. What had been sent in for examination was not the liver, but the stomach. The unfortunate (and in all other respects highly competent) Aarhus doctor who had performed the dissection was cal1ed in again. During another visit to the bogman’s inner parts he brought out what he believed to be the real liver. None of us were capable of deciding th is question. It was sent to Copenhagen at great speed, and a while later the dating arrived: Roman Iron Age. This result was later revised as the dating method was improved. The Grauballe Man is now thought to have lived before the birth of Christ.The preservation of the Grauballe Man was to be conservation officer Kornbak’s masterpiece. There were no earlier cases available for reference, so he invented a new method, which was very successful. In the first volumes of Kuml, society members read about the exiting history of the bog body and of the glimpses of prehistoric sacrificial customs that this find gave. They also read about the Bahrain expeditions, which Glob initiated and which became the apple of his eye. Bibby played a central role in this, as it was he who – at an evening gathering at Glob’s and Harriet’s home in Risskov – described his stay on the Persian Gulf island and the numerous burial mounds there. Glob made a quick decision (one of his special abilities was to see possibilities that noone else did, and to carry them out successfully to everyone’s surprise) and in December 1952 he and Bibby left for the Gulf, unaware of the fact that they were thereby beginning a series of expeditions which would continue for decades. Again it was Glob’s special genius that was the decisive factor. He very quickly got on friendly terms with the rulers of the small sheikhdoms and interested them in their past. As everyone knows, oil is flowing plentifully in those parts. The rulers were thus financially powerful and some of this wealth was quickly diverted to the expeditions, which probably would not have survived for so long without this assistance. To those of us who took part in them from time to time, the Gulf expeditions were an unforgettable experience, not just because of the interesting work, but even more because of the contact with the local population, which gave us an insight into local manners and customs that helped to explain parts of our own country’s past which might otherwise be difficult to understand. For Glob and the rest of us did not just get close to the elite: in spite of language problems, our Arab workers became our good friends. Things livened up when we occasionally turned up in their palm huts.Still, co-operating with Glob was not always an easy task – the sparks sometimes flew. His talent of initiating things is of course undisputed, as are the lasting results. He was, however, most attractive when he was in luck. Attention normally focused on this magnificent person whose anecdotes were not taken too seriously, but if something went wrong or failed to work out, he could be grossly unreasonable and a little too willing to abdicate responsibility, even when it was in fact his. This might lead to violent arguments, but peace was always restored. In 1954, another museum curator was attached to the museum: Poul Kjærum, who was immediately given the important task of investigating the dolmen settlement near Tustrup on Northern Djursland. This gave important results, such as the discovery of a cult house, which was a new and hitherto unknown Stone Age feature.A task which had long been on our mind s was finally carried out in 1955: constructing a new display of the museum collections. The old exhibitio n type consisted of numerous artefacts lined up in cases, accompaied ony by a brief note of the place where it was found and the type – which was the standard then. This type of exhibition did not give much idea of life in prehistoric times.We wanted to allow the finds to speak for themselves via the way that they were arranged, and with the aid of models, photos and drawings. We couldn’t do without texts, but these could be short, as people would understand more by just looking at the exhibits. Glob was in the Gulf at the time, so Kjærum and I performed the task with little money but with competent practical help from conservator Kornbak. We shared the work, but in fairness I must add that my part, which included the new lllerup find, was more suitable for an untraditional display. In order to illustrate the confusion of the sacrificial site, the numerous bent swords and other weapons were scattered a.long the back wall of the exhibition hall, above a bog land scape painted by Emil Gregersen. A peat column with inlaid slides illustrated the gradual change from prehistoric lake to bog, while a free-standing exhibition case held a horse’s skeleton with a broken skull, accompanied by sacrificial offerings. A model of the Nydam boat with all its oars sticking out hung from the ceiling, as did the fine copy of the Gundestrup vessel, as the Braa vessel had not yet been preserved. The rich pictorial decoration of the vessel’s inner plates was exhibited in its own case underneath. This was an exhibition form that differed considerably from all other Danish exhibitions of the time, and it quickly set a fashion. We awaited Glob’s homecoming with anticipation – if it wasn’t his exhibition it was still made in his spirit. We hoped that he would be surprised – and he was.The museum was thus taking shape. Its few employees included Jytte Ræbild, who held a key position as a secretary, and a growing number of archaeology students who took part in the work in various ways during these first years. Later, the number of employees grew to include the aforementioned excavation pioneer Georg Kunwald, and Hellmuth Andersen and Hans Jørgen Madsen, whose research into the past of Aarhus, and later into Danevirke is known to many, and also the ethnographer Klaus Ferdinand. And now Moesgaard appeared on the horizon. It was of course Glob’s idea to move everything to a manor near Aarhus – he had been fantasising about this from his first Aarhus days, and no one had raised any objections. Now there was a chance of fulfilling the dream, although the actual realisation was still a difficult task.During all this, the Jutland Archaeological Society thrived and attracted more members than expected. Local branches were founded in several towns, summer trips were arranged and a ”Worsaae Medal” was occasionally donated to persons who had deserved it from an archaeological perspective. Kuml came out regularly with contributions from museum people and the like-minded. The publication had a form that appealed to an inner circle of people interested in archaeology. This was the intention, and this is how it should be. But in my opinion this was not quite enough. We also needed a publication that would cater to a wider public and that followed the same basic ideas as the new exhibition.I imagined a booklet, which – without over-popularsing – would address not only the professional and amateur archaeologist but also anyone else interested in the past. The result was Skalk, which (being a branch of the society) published its fir t issue in the spring of 1957. It was a somewhat daring venture, as the financial base was weak and I had no knowledge of how to run a magazine. However, both finances and experience grew with the number of subscribers – and faster than expected, too. Skalk must have met an unsatisfied need, and this we exploited to the best of our ability with various cheap advertisements. The original idea was to deal only with prehistoric and medieval archaeology, but the historians also wanted to contribute, and not just the digging kind. They were given permission, and so the topic of the magazine ended up being Denmark’s past from the time of its first inhabitant s until the times remembered by the oldest of us – with the odd sideways leap to other subjects. It would be impossible to claim that Skalk was at the top of Glob’s wish list, but he liked it and supported the idea in every way. The keeper of national antiquities, Johannes Brøndsted, did the same, and no doubt his unreserved approval of the magazine contributed to its quick growth. Not all authors found it easy to give up technical language and express themselves in everyday Danish, but the new style was quickly accepted. Ofcourse the obligations of the magazine work were also sometimes annoying. One example from the diary: ”S. had promised to write an article, but it was overdue. We agreed to a final deadline and when that was overdue I phoned again and was told that the author had gone to Switzerland. My hair turned grey overnight.” These things happened, but in this particular case there was a happy ending. Another academic promised me three pages about an excavation, but delivered ten. As it happened, I only shortened his production by a third.The 1960s brought great changes. After careful consideration, Glob left us to become the keeper of national antiquities. One important reason for his hesitation was of course Moesgaard, which he missed out on – the transfer was almost settled. This was a great loss to the Aarhus museum and perhaps to Glob, too, as life granted him much greater opportunities for development.” I am not the type to regret things,” he later stated, and hopefully this was true. And I had to choose between the museum and Skalk – the work with the magazine had become too timeconsuming for the two jobs to be combined. Skalk won, and I can truthfully say that I have never looked back. The magazine grew quickly, and happy years followed. My resignation from the museum also meant that Skalk was disengaged from the Jutland Archaeological Society, but a close connection remained with both the museum and the society.What has been described here all happened when the museum world was at the parting of the ways. It was a time of innovation, and it is my opinion that we at the Prehistoric Museum contributed to that change in various ways.The new Museum Act of 1958 gave impetus to the study of the past. The number of archaeology students in creased tremendously, and new techniques brought new possibilities that the discussion club of the 1940s had not even dreamt of, but which have helped to make some of the visions from back then come true. Public in terest in archaeology and history is still avid, although to my regret, the ahistorical 1960s and 1970s did put a damper on it.Glob is greatly missed; not many of his kind are born nowadays. He had, so to say, great virtues and great fault s, but could we have done without either? It is due to him that we have the Jutland Archaeological Society, which has no w existed for half a century. Congr tulat ion s to the Society, from your offspring Skalk.Harald AndersenSkalk MagazineTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

Gang Town, so promises the back leaf, ‘tells a tale of two cities’. The front cover juxtaposes the two cities – Cape Town and Gang Town. The outline of Table Mountain beckons in the distance. Superimposed onto that world heritage emblem of the city is the body of a young man. A crude tattoo is visible on his naked torso. The arms of the body are stretched outward. The hands clasp a handgun. The torso, the tattoo and handgun signify ‘the gangster’. He hails from Gang Town. The gangster-subject is not without agency. The body is tilted in anticipation of the deadly velocity of the gun. But that agency, we know, is painfully circumscribed by the debilitating conditions of social exclusion that characterise Gang Town. So it is with anticipation that one turns to Pinnock’s account of the interplay between structure and agency and gangs.

Gang Town, so promises the back leaf, ‘tells a tale of two cities’. The front cover juxtaposes the two cities – Cape Town and Gang Town. The outline of Table Mountain beckons in the distance. Superimposed onto that world heritage emblem of the city is the body of a young man. A crude tattoo is visible on his naked torso. The arms of the body are stretched outward. The hands clasp a handgun. The torso, the tattoo and handgun signify ‘the gangster’. He hails from Gang Town. The gangster-subject is not without agency. The body is tilted in anticipation of the deadly velocity of the gun. But that agency, we know, is painfully circumscribed by the debilitating conditions of social exclusion that characterise Gang Town. So it is with anticipation that one turns to Pinnock’s account of the interplay between structure and agency and gangs.

Cape Town is a fast-growing cityscape in the Cape Floristic Region in South Africa with 24 formally protected conservation areas including the World Heritage Table Mountain National Park. These sites have been protected and managed as critical sites for local biodiversity, representing potentially one-third of all Cape Floristic Region flora species and 18% of South Africa’s plant diversity. Cape Town is also inhabited by a rapidly growing culturally and economically diverse citizenry with distinct and potentially conflicting perspectives on access to, and management of, local natural resources. In a qualitative study of 58 locally resident traditional healers of distinct cultural groups, we examined motivations underlying the generally illicit activity of harvesting of wild resources from Cape Town protected areas. Resource harvester motivations primarily link to local economic survival, health care and cultural links to particular resources and practices, ‘access for all’ outlooks, and wholesale profit-seeking perspectives. We describe these motivations, contrast them with the current formal, legal and institutional perspectives for biodiversity protection in the city, and propose managerial interventions that may improve sustainability of ongoing harvest activities.

AbstractIn this article we provide a discussion of present-day Khoisan activism in Cape Town, South Africa. The main actors in this movement are people whose heritage is complex: their history can be traced back to the early days of the colonial settlement, reflecting the interactions and cohabitation of the indigenous Khoisan, slaves and the European settlers. Currently, their main languages are English and Afrikaans; yet, efforts are also made by activists to learn Khoekhoegwab. In discussing the Khoisan resurgence we draw on a wide range of sources. The data include: in-depth interviews with language activists; video and audio recordings of ceremonies and other cultural events; discussions and performance of language and identity on blogs and tweets; newspapers; linguistic landscapes; and, finally, artistic performances (with particular focus on the hiphop opera

Abstract This study discusses the works of art presented by Randlord Max Michaelis and his wife, Lilian, to public institutions in South Africa, particularly in Cape Town. The study notes that benefactions of this kind were unusual for the Randlords– many of whom were, like Michaelis, of German-Jewish origin – and considers the gifts in the context of South African union and the drive to provide a ‘new’ nation with a humanist cultural heritage. But it observes that the works of art presented by the Michaelises – paintings as well as works on paper – prompted as much controversy as gratitude, since they were often judged to be of dubious authenticity. These various gifts, and their reception, are analysed to assess the extent to which this response was justified. Ultimately, it is argued, the honourable intentions of the couple, and some important benefactions, have been undervalued and might have been more positively acknowledged.