BEARDED BULL 

Squealing, Xagu sprints into our little camp. Qan and I get up from our fireside squat to calm her, but she cannot speak; her excitement completely overcomes her tongue. I give her a hot tea made from the lime-tree flower to steady her nerves and bring back her words.

I beg her, ‘Sister, please tell us—what in the wilds has stunned you?’

The calming tea does its work, and finally she shares her news.

‘I was foraging downstream for cat-tails when I heard them enter the wild meadows,’ she says, her breath still short. ‘At first I thought it a herd of aurochs, or those foreign cattle the barbarians keep. But when I looked, my eyes fell upon a beast only spoken of in our hearthside myths. A bovine creature, with a woolly head and a humped back.’

Qan cannot contain himself. ‘Xagu, you saw them? You saw the Bearded Bull? I knew it. I knew this was the sacred place.’ He leaps up, his spirit completely lifted. ‘Take me now. Take me to them. Come, sisters! I feel joy at seeing my brother’s spirit so lifted.

We crouch low behind the banks of sedge, peeping over the stems to see these mythical beasts. Our parents believed they were all gone from the world. I count a dozen or more bison, guarded by a prominent old bull with a pair of sons awaiting the fall of his rule. The rest are cows and young calves. They are tall and heavy, their heads set lower than the wild aurochs that patrol our woods, though they are no less formidable.

Never before have I seen Qan so elated. Unlike Xagu and me, Qan was born to the ancient Children of the Bearded Bull. I know what the appearance of this herd means to him; it is his chance to realise his dream.

‘Tonight we must dance to invite this bull to our game,’ he whispers to us. ‘Look, his sons are ready to fight for succession. If we do not extend our invitation, the wolves will beat us to the prize.’

Xagu lowers her voice, threatening to break his upbeat mood. ‘Brother, there are only three of us. Such a hunt brings great danger.’

‘Which is why we must take care with our prayers on this eve,’ Qan retorts, desperation showing in his eyes. ‘O A’killao wills that we honour his bearded sons.’

I remain quiet. I am quaking at the thought of challenging the bull when we are so few, but I understand that this is my brother’s moment. These bison are here for him.

‘I have seen enough and do not wish to spook the herd,’ Qan announces. ‘Let us collect their dung, then return to our camp and begin the preparations.’

Around the night-hearth, we three siblings beat our drums and chew the midwife’s fungi, prepared just as our parents taught us. We sip the enchanted tea and don our best hides. Qan wears the horns of the aurochs bull upon his crown, and together we dance to provoke the ecstasy of the spirit world, chanting our prayers to invite the Bearded Bull to our game. One by one, we drop to our knees as we visit the other realm. The spirit takes me.

I see the ghost of the Bearded Bull enter our little camp. His hooves strike the dirt and he bows to my brother, accepting our invitation. Without this permission, we could not hunt him. The bull turns toward where I kneel and looks down upon my weak form, his breath condensing in the chilly night air. When I look into his eyes, I see a figure reflected in his dark orbs—but it is not mine.

I see a strange young woman, a witch of the barbarian kind. She is naked, wearing only the pelt of a hedgehog over her groin, held by a thin belt that suspends the dried skins of frogs around her waist. Her small breasts are painted with chalk and clay in the swirled symbols of her alien sorcery.

I hear her voice calling my name in my own tongue: ‘I’teedo, look behind you into the woods.’

With that, the vision of the witch and the bull vanishes, and I snap back into the mortal realm. I feel eyes upon me. I twist around.

There, on the edge of our camp, a pair of eyes stares back, reflecting our hearthfire. These eyes are of this world, not the bull’s. They belong to a man—a stranger spying upon our rituals. Then they retreat into the darkness of the forest, and I lose consciousness.

A new day, and we are ready for the hunt. The bison remain in the wild meadows. On hands and knees, three of us crawl through the beige, fading summer grass, dressed in our functional hunting hides. I carry my bow and quiver, for I am quick with my darts. Xagu is a strong thrower, bringing a trio of sharp casting javelins, while Qan approaches with his stone-headed thrusting spear strapped to his back. It is our brother who must make the kill.

We use the breeze to hide our scent, having smothered our skins in the bison’s dung. We watch our quarry chew his cud. Our movements must be careful, or the herd will spook and melt into the wildwoods.

It is Xagu who leads the choreography.

She rises from the grass, waves a javelin at the old bull, and taunts him. ‘Bull, your ugly calves are scrawny, but they’ll fit our spit just fine!’ She pretends to throw at a nearby calf and laughs. ‘Come dance with Xagu, bull, or I shall stitch new breeches from your calf skins!’

The bull takes the bait. He spits his cud and, unaware that two more dancers are hidden in the field, launches his mighty charge at my sister.

We await our chance. I feel the thunder of his hooves striking the earth. Fear and excitement mix in my chest. He lowers his head, presenting his crown of horns. Xagu stands her ground until the last moment, then leaps and rolls into the tall grass just as death bears down on her. As the bull rushes past, she hurls her first javelin deep into his rump. I rise from my crouch, my bowstring snapping as my first arrow pierces his shoulder.

The herd corrals the calves, just as we hoped. The bull must be lured further away. Pained by our projectiles and annoyed by my pesky sister, the Bearded Bull comes to a dusty halt and looks around. I vanish back into the cover while Xagu crawls to safety. Now, it is Qan who leaps up from the grasses further afield.

He hollers his invitation cheerfully. ‘Grandfather! O A’killao! I am Qan of the Galarri, and I am here today to dance with you!’

The bull turns and charges my gangly brother. While he is distracted, Xagu lands her second javelin near his rear hamstring before the shaft snaps. My next arrow pierces his ribcage. Already, the Bearded Bull’s charge begins to falter. Last night’s prayers have been heard.

The bull reaches Qan, who jumps and rolls aside, avoiding the deadly horns and hooves. With his flint-spiked spear, Qan jabs and rips the underside of our quarry, spilling blood across the wild orchids. The bull is weakening fast.

Still on my feet, I sprint further from the herd to take the next position. My heart beats like last night’s drum. I yell out to the bovine creature, ‘Over here, pretty bison! Come and play with I’teedo, daughter of Tashkilla, of the Goshawk! I wish to dance with you!’

The Bearded Bull snorts, blood showing at his nose. His wounds are already fatal, but his spirit is determined and he comes for me anyway. The ground shakes with the clatter of his heavy hooves. Taking steady aim, my yew wood bends before I release the tension. The arrow pierces him directly in the eye.

The Bearded Bull bellows mournfully and falls. The dropping leviathan tumbles toward me; his horns could still dispatch me to the spirit forests. I jump and roll almost too late, escaping the crash as he collapses into the dirt. He kicks wildly, casting up a cloud of dust as his legs try to find purchase on the earth. Through the haze, I see Qan run forward. I want to scream in ecstasy—this is my beloved brother’s dream. His time.

Qan lifts his brave spear.

‘Do it!’ I scream. ‘Do it now!’

He plunges the flint point down into the Bearded Bull’s chest.

The kicking subsides. Xagu runs over to join us, falling to her knees by my side. Together, we sing our prayers, beseeching the Bearded Bull not to haunt us.

Qan withdraws his bloody spear and wails his chant. ‘Grandfather, I pray for you to move on peacefully to the next realm, where you may join the ancient herds. We promise not to further damage your family in this world. Your strongest son will be free to lead your cows and grandchildren. My kin are grateful for the gifts you bestow upon us.’

It is done. The Bearded Bull is no longer a sacred being, but meat and hide for us to butcher. Qan pulls a sharp flint blade from his belt and leans down to slice the hairy throat. Xagu places her alderwood bowl beneath the wound to catch the flow.

I stir out the clots using a wooden fork, and we take turns toasting the spirit. The blood of the sacred bull energises us. This has been our finest day. As we slice into our prize, we are soon drenched in the red spill.

Concealed in the elderberry scrub, Sugea tracks the kill, his breathing laboured. In the communes, he was taught that the wild-born people were barely human—lazy, starving wretches who survived only by eating their own kind. Yet the three before him defy the herders' lore. They speak in strange sounds full of dry clicks. There is a dark-skinned, long-limbed man and two girls; one shares the man’s deep, earthen skin, while the other looks enough like Sugea’s own kin to make him blink.

They move through the bush with absolute confidence. The bull is a mountain of muscle, yet it goes down with terrifying efficiency. Every spear and flint-tipped shaft finds a vital spot. No fumbling. No wasted breath. These wild-borns are not the broken remnants he has seen dragged into the farming settlements as breeding stock. They are providers, and they are thriving.

He waits until they take their fill of the meat and vanish into the treeline. Only then does Sugea emerge, dragging his injured leg through the dust. He is a scavenger now, his dignity traded for a full belly and a warm hide. His stone blade works frantically, hacking at the cooling mounds of red muscle and prying loose the heavy marrow bones the hunters left behind.

The first snarl does not come from the undergrowth. The wolves simply appear—a grey perimeter closing the distance without a bark or a posture. Sugea freezes, his hands slick with sticky bison grease, his sharp stone flake suddenly feeling uselessly small. One brute, larger than the rest and scarred across the muzzle, breaks into a steady trot toward the midden. It does not rush; it moves with the easy pace of a predator that knows injured prey has nowhere left to run.

WAR

The bark shield-wall shatters in a spray of dry splinters. The Sheonni pour through the gaps, their faces smeared with ochre, wielding lethal flint. Sugea feels the soil tremble under his feet—the hard, wet thud of birch-bark boots packing down earth that just this morning was consecrated for growth.

Sugea is a shaman for the wheat, not a trophy for the enemy. To be taken alive would be a rot no spell could scrub away. For years he has trained to serve Daghnu, the Wheat Father, chanting and spilling blood into the dirt to make the grain rise. But with the Sheonni breaking through, the priest is gone. He wants to be a man. He rips away the heavy straw mask and tears at the itchy costume. He will not stand in the background like Daghnu’s shadow, shouting holy words while braver boys are butchered.

To his left, Zoreon—a seasoned warrior who had danced beside him for the harvest blessing—takes a mace full to the head. His peaked leather hat collapses into a bloody mess.

The air doesn't smell of burning husks anymore. It tastes of wet, hammered slate, sour sweat, and greasy cowhide. Boys Sugea envied only moments ago fumble blindly in the press, their wooden spear shafts slick with sweat, sliding right through their fingers.

A rope-turbaned Sheonni raider, reeking of the wolf-pelt on his shoulders, lunges at a fallen Leva boy. His movements are heavy, efficient, punctuated by a blunt grunt of effort. All the prayers for rain and the old litanies for the Wheat Father disappear. The earth isn't asking for a neat bowl of bull’s blood anymore—it is drinking everything his people have.

Sugea grips his greenstone axe until his knuckles turn white. The head is cold and smooth, polished by weeks of sand-rubbing. Flint-tipped arrows zip through the air, hunting for Leva skin. He lunges, swinging in clumsy, heavy arcs that pull at his shoulder. He aims for the face of a Sheonni boy who looks just as terrified as he is.

Then, something slams into the side of his head with a sickening crunch. His vision goes black. His knees fold, and he hits the stony ground hard. The last things he sees are the wheat stalks he was supposed to protect, swaying in the wind as if he weren't there at all.

When he comes to, a Sheonni warrior is urinating on his face. Sugea twists, fighting the rough ropes binding his wrists.

He spits his curses up at them. ‘Dung-eating wildborns! Clanless wolf-stinkers!’

They just laugh at his Leva tongue, kicking him with their birch-soled boots. They bind him spread-eagle inside a clay hut. For three days, their crones enter at their leisure to beat him and defile him.

By the third day, the fever takes hold. His body is broken, filthy, and reeking so badly that their Sun-priestess deems him unworthy of a proper Ireslari sacrifice to her pits. They drag him out and dump him onto a midden heap at the edge of the settlement, leaving the strawman priest to rot into the soil of their wheat gardens.

But he refuses to die.

He crawls from the stinking refuse mound. Weak, burning with fever, and unable to stand, he drags his useless legs out of the cultivated plots and into the margins of the dark forest. Among the trees, surrounded by the fallen fruits of the autumn wilderness, his breath slows. As soon as his legs will bear his weight, he sucks air through his swollen throat and limps north, toward the wilds.

 Sugea remains a thou.

PEACE

I am one of three. I have a brother named Qan, and a sister called Xagu. Together, we are the children of the wilds and we are among the last of our kind. My name is I’teedo.

My brother Qan leads, as always. He is several years the senior of both Xagu and me, well guided by the spirits whom we follow. We have spent all summer resting beneath rock shelters whilst hunting on the hills, but the game is dispersing into the valleys now. The babbling brook we choose to follow down is not deep enough to float upon; we must trek on foot along the hazardous shallows.

Xagu groans at the cumbersome legwork. ‘Qan, are you sure that this is the best way to reach the low valleys?’

Our older brother, his chest high and narrow like a bird’s, turns to flash a grin. The sun has baked his skin to a deep, permanent shadow—a stark contrast to Xagu. Despite her proud, athletic build, my sister's face still holds the round softness of a girl, her skin the pale hue of a fresh-shelled hazelnut.

‘This is the way of the Bearded Bull,’ Qan tells her. ‘He will lead us to safe winter quarters, free of strife. Xagu, the spirit of the Goshawk will grant you a reunion with your fabled other sister.’

He smirks in my direction. Ever since our mothers told us the dream stories, Xagu selfishly brags of her destiny to meet this barbarian sibling. It is her own pride, though I must not be mean. I love Xagu dearly; aside from her ambitions, she is a quiet, thoughtful, and clever person, fiercely loyal to her family.

The brook twists around a bend of its rocky gorge, and we stumble over the mossy stones of the limestone vale. I watch carefully where to place my bare feet to avoid slipping. Xagu follows suit, stepping exactly in my footprints.

Qan disturbs our meditation. ‘There. Look down ahead.’

We both pause to see what has caught our guide’s attention. My jaw drops in wonder. The hillside brook descends to become a wide trout stream, wiggling through a steep-sided gorge before spilling out onto a broader floodplain. Thin forests suggest many browsing kinds—both deer and bovines. Already the leaves are changing to autumn colours. They will be heavy with nuts, and the understory thick with berries. It is a beautiful landscape, the kind that only savages—we wildborn folk—can fully appreciate the true meaning of. This will be where the herds shelter from the cold hillsides; it looks like a very good place to spend the winter.

Xagu spoils our wonder. ‘There will be barbarians there! It will not be safe for us. They’ll have found this sheltered valley before us. Those thinly wooded meadows beyond look too perfect for their cattle.’

Qan raises his eyebrows. ‘No, sister. I tell you that this is the place for us to take shelter from the winter winds. The Bearded Bull is my guide.’

Qan is uniquely in communion with that representation of the bovine—a legendary beast that neither Xagu nor I have ever set eyes upon. My mother told me she once saw Qan conjure up a ghost of his guide when he was a child, but otherwise, the Bearded Bull features only in our stories.

I look at the scenery to the south. I want to reach this paradise, and I hope that Xagu is wrong. Together, we resume our hobble along the stones, climbing down towards the promised land.

To encourage my sister, I offer a mischievous grin. ‘Little Vole, maybe there are folk down there? Others of our own wild kind? There may be pretty boys there to entertain us.’

Xagu snorts, snapping instantly. ‘Boys! Yes, boys of the barbarian sort. Those that would beat you, then enslave you as their concubine-thing to work and to enjoy.’

I look over my shoulder, stick out my tongue, and pull an ugly face at my holier-than-thou sister. I really do love her, even if our desires are sometimes estranged.

From ahead, Qan calls back, ‘There are falls ahead! We will need to walk around.’

Behind me, Xagu groans with despair.

We make it down to lower, less steep ground where the stream grows wider, snaking out of the gorge and across the upper reaches of a foundling floodplain. We have little chance to explore the valley before Xagu offers another thought.

‘Brother and Sister, here we should forage and make camp.’

Her suggestion is, as always, sensible. I leave her to build the overnight den, for she is best suited to that duty. Qan uses his magic bow and drill to coax heat from a small hearth, while I explore the wilderness in search of its fruits. I need not look far. Despite the efforts of squirrels, pigs, and bears, the hazel trees are heavy with nuts, and berries are plentiful within the understory. As I wander around, my nimble fingers picking away the fruits, I dream of bumping into a handsome boy of these woods. I am a young woman, keen to start my own life; despite the pleasant company of my siblings, I feel so horribly alone.

On my return, I find a bivvy constructed under the low bough of a great, spreading yew, which serves as its main beam. It is well insulated with a thick carpet of fresh fallen leaves. A hearth burns at a safe distance in front of the opening. Our new camp is devoid of its creators, however, and I guess that my sneaky siblings have ventured out to hunt without me. The rotters.

I make myself comfortable by the fire and shell hazelnuts for roasting. The scent of the cooking will soon lure them home.

It works. My brother returns with a guilty-looking boomerang in his hand and a small pig slung over his shoulders. The poor thing had barely grown out of its stripes when struck by the throwing stick. Xagu accompanies him, grinning with victory. Tonight, we are going to feast very well.

Xagu cheers up with this success, her tone turning to a cheerful taunt. ‘Beautiful!’

Ugh, she calls me that just to tease me.

Xagu continues, ‘The spirits of this wilderness are generous, and I must beg your forgiveness, for on our jaunt, we saw no evidence of the barbarians.’ She sticks out a rude tongue. ‘Nor of any pretty wild boys!’

Did she really need to say that?

I let her teasing fly free. We busy ourselves with cooking and eating, agreeing that in the morning, with our bellies full, we shall explore more of this magical valley and follow the stream further. Sleep soon follows.

A full day we saunter further down this bountiful valley, continuing to see no sign of any folk, let alone the barbarians who plague our world. We decide to make a more permanent camp. Together as a family, we build a sturdier pair of dens—one for Qan, and another for his sisters. I find heavy stones and establish the magical hearth of our winter camp. This place is deeply enchanted. Now we need to secure our stores of autumn excess. Tomorrow, Xagu and I will set out to forage for nuts to be roasted.

Image Source - my own, taken today, of a flint blade from an old finds box. Thetford Forest. It would have been recorded as a snapped blade, possibly transitional Mesolithic-Neolithic. Now in the 21st Century I understand that this blade was strictly, Mesolithic. I no longer believe there was transition.

I've written a novel. The story provided me with an escape from unbearable life. The tale has two primary settings, both circa 6,000 years ago.  One in what is now South Iraq on the edge of the marshes where civilisation starts to take shape, and the other in South East Britain, as Mesolithic hunter-gatherers meet Neolithic farmers. It is a little play on parts of the Genesis story.

I was cut off from all Nature. I am only just now starting to reconnect. It will be a very long healing experience if I decide to maintain it. Because I'm running short of hope. I had very little access to data. I had to scrap around in order to attempt any understanding of how the Mesolithic British may have experienced life, and was left with little more than contemplation. This is how I reconstructed a fictional South-eastern British environment 6,000 years ago:

Natural Britain during the Early Holocene

Birch scrub advanced first. Followed by pine, yew, and other evergreens.  This is the Age of Star Carr. The tundra grasslands receded with this rapid advance. Temperatures increased annually. Waters began to rise.

The birch grew taller. Alder joined them. Willow and holly. Followed by oak. Lime and hazel arrived on the British peninsular of North West Europe. Wych elm, hawthorn, blackthorn then ash. In South Eastern Britain, it was the lime which dominated as the most common tree.

Tree biodiversity was actually quite limited in Late Mesolithic Britain. Because the North Sea (Doggerland), and the English Channel, flooded with thawed out glacial waters to make Britain an island, before more species could shift across any land-bridge.

Later Mesolithic SE Britain.  Wild-woods or temperate-forests?

How I portray Late Mesolithic Britons in fiction

The final in my series exploring the hunter-gatherer cultures of modern humans within Western Eurasia. First I briefly looked at Apidima fossils as evidence that modern traits had been in Europe from an early date. With the Aurignacians, I investigated the earliest known modern human culture in Europe. With the Gravettians, I learned about how hunter-gatherers adapted in the lead up, and into the Last Glacial Maximum How they divided into the Solutrean Culture of Iberia and France in the west; and with the Pavlovian and Epigravettian Cultures of Italy, Czech and the East. With the Magdalenians I discovered how they burst back following Last Glacial Maximum, and through the warmer Bølling–Allerød interstadial.

Above image is my own. Years ago, I recorded several flint microblade waste cores, of which the above wasn't the most regular or impressive. But it's a photo that I could still resource. These artefacts, along with a tranchet axe-head and a few microliths that I recorded, were Mesolithic. I thought that it would be nice if I could bring this series to a close with something, a bit more personal.

Genetics

Mesolithic Europe

Lola, Mesolithic girl on National Geographic

The above is a link to a reconstruction by Tom Björklund of a Mesolithic girl who lived in what is now Denmark. It is a very unique and creative reconstruction, because nothing physical of this girl nicknamed Lola survives into our archaeological record! She is only known by her DNA (and that of recently eaten food) that she left on a lump of birch tree pitch that she had chewed as a gum some 5,700 years ago. But I really like this reconstruction. I think that she makes a beautiful wild child. Straight out of the lines of a novel that I'm trying to write.

Analysis of her DNA strongly suggests brown toned skin, if not dark brown. Her hair dark brown. The DNA supports that her eyes were light coloured. Perhaps blue, blue-green or hazel? I'll return to Lola, but first these features correspond to those suggested by the genomes of other Mesolithic remains scattered around Europe.

Cheddar Man who lived in South West Britain around 10,000 years ago is the best known. The revelation several years ago that the DNA sequenced from his genome, suggests both dark skin and blue eyes caused quite a commotion. A lot of people didn't like it, and accused the geneticists of woke.

We always knew that the earliest modern humans were likely to have plenty of melanin. Subsisting on a hunter-gatherer diet that was rich in dietary Vitamin D meant that there was little adaptive pressure for them to lose this dark skin in a hurry. Just as some hunters in the far north and far south have retained dark skins into recent times. The emphasis to reduce melanin may not have arrived until following major shifts to a poor, agricultural diet in northern zones. The DNA associated with very light skin of modern Western Europeans may not have arrived until quite recently (prehistorically speaking).

We also had Villabruna Man in Northern Italy. His presence and DNA is less known to the general public. But even before the controversy of the Cheddar Man reconstruction, we knew from Villabruna and other remains that he lacked certain genetic indicators of light skin and:

Additional evidence of an early link between west and east comes from the HERC2 locus, where a derived allele that is the primary driver of light eye color in Europeans appears nearly simultaneously in specimens from Italy and the Caucasus ~14,000-13,000 years ago.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4943878/

But one recent study proposes that there were at least two distinct clusters of hunter-gatherers around Europe at the close of the last Ice Age:

On the basis of the genetic variation of present-day Europeans, this could imply phenotypic differences between post-14 ka hunter-gatherer populations across Europe, with individuals in the Oberkassel cluster possibly exhibiting darker skin and lighter eyes, and individuals in the Sidelkino cluster possibly lighter skin and darker eye colour.

Imagination

Black and grey realism work by Ross Lee of Ink Addiction tattoo studio in Norwich.  This is a partial phase of a full sleeve project on my right arm and shoulder.  Hopefully complete by Autumn 2019. If you can't see it - then you're not a NW European prehistorian.  It's a British landscape scene, with boulder rocks in the foreground.  On those rocks are a series of carvings pecked into rock, during the Later Neolithic and Earlier Bronze Age.  They consist of a class of Rock Art markings known as cups and rings, or cup and ring markings.

No-one really knows what they symbolised.  I can't think of a more worthy tattoo for a time traveller.

The Dance of Cogul, tracing by Henri Breuil.

A Timeline for my ancestry based on current evidences.

3,000,000 years ago.

In Africa.  Eastern and / or maybe Southern Africa.  Hominids.  We call them Australopithecines, and in some ways, they resembled modern chimpanzees but that were adapting to walking upright bipedally, in open environments.  They made stone tools.  They had an omnivorous diet.  They were my ancestors three million years ago.  As they were for all of us.  Natural Selection was the big, very slow kicker for prehistory.  Things changed very, very slowly,

200,000 years ago.

The first hominids that are regarded rather loosely as Anatomically Modern Human emerging in Africa.

At this time, most of my ancestors still lived in Africa, but some of my non-anatomically modern ancestors had already migrated out of Africa, and had dispersed across Eurasia for some time.  They included those archaic humans that anthropologists presently call Neanderthals and Denisovans. 

50,000 years ago.

Most likely by now, most of my hunter-forager ancestors had left Africa.  An early out-of-Africa base appears to have been Arabia and the Middle East.  Some of my ancestors had met now, after long family separations (I have 328 Neanderthal variants in my DNA, according to 23andMe), it was the birth of the Eurasians.  The last Ice Age encroached.

14,000 years ago.

People had been learning to live with the climatic fluctuations of the last Ice Age.  Each hardening of climatic conditions had frozen Eurasian human populations into isolated conditions that increased genetic drift.

Where were my hunter-forager ancestors 14,000 years ago?  Most likely in pockets dispersed across Western Eurasia, from South-West Europe, across to Central Asia, and from Arabia up to Siberia.  My direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor at this time, most likely lived somewhere between what today is Syria, and Pakistan.  He could for example, have been an ibex hunter in the Zagros Mountains of Iran.  My direct maternal ancestor (mtDNA line) most likely lived in another pocket of hunter-foragers somewhere in Central Asia, such as what is now Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, the Siberian Plain, or nearby.  Some of her, or other of my ancestors at this time, had shared ancestry with a Siberian tribe of mammoth hunters, that archaeologists now call the Mal'ta–Buret' culture.  Other of my ancestors of this time may have most likely lived in the Caucasus, Southern Europe, Middle East, and Arabia.

5,600 years ago.

Many people in Western Eurasia were adapting to a new way of living, where farming and agriculture, with a range of domesticated species of animal and plant were spreading, often carried along in waves that are marked in our DNA.  The Neolithic Revolution that had affected my ancestors had occurred a few thousand years earlier in South-West Asia, in an area that we call the Fertile Crescent - the Levant, and down the Tigris and Euphrates river valleys. Some of my ancestors may have been early pioneers of this new way of life in the Middle East.

My direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor may have lived in one of the Uruk farming settlements in Babylonia, or could have been a Neolithic farmer in a number of cultures spread across what is now Iraq, Iran, or Pakistan.  He alternatively could be one of a number of specialists that early civilisation was generating - a potter, a weaver, or a miner.

My direct maternal line had drifted out of Central Asia, and onto the Eurasian Steppe Corridor.  My mtDNA ancestor was most likely living now on the Pontic and Caspian Steppes - what is now Ukraine, Southern Russia, or Kazakhistan.  Her people would have most likely herded domestic livestock including horses, cattle, goats and sheep.  They were mastering the horse and using the first wheeled wagons. On the Steppe corridor, they had access not only to trade with the civilisations south of the Caucasus, but to other cultures, and their materials.  They were experimenting with some of the earliest metallurgy including copper working.

Asides from her, I most likely had a number of other ancestors living in these pastoralist cultures on the Steppes at this time. Perhaps around 28% of my ancestors 5,500 years ago, lived there.

Other ancestors of mine at this time, were dispersed across Europe.  They include the Neolithic European farmers.  They had descended largely from populations that had previously lived in the Levant and Anatolia (what is now Turkey and the Middle East).  Some of my Neolithic European Farmer ancestors could have even lived in Megalithic Britain, but most likely, many of my European Neolithic ancestors lived elsewhere on the Continent, in for example, the Rhine valley, Danube valley, Italy, or Iberia.  Many of them had ancestry that had hopped westwards along the Mediterranean, the first farmers from Anatolia and the Levant (50% of my ancient admixture), but with a smaller admixture of hunter-gatherer ancestors that had previously lived in Europe (12% of my ancient admixture). Did this 12% admixture include the surviving DNA of any of the last Mesolithic hunter-gatherers of the British Isles?  I'd like to think so, but possibly not.

4,600 years ago.

My Copper Age, horse riding Steppe ancestors had migrated westwards into Europe.  There they had admixed with the earlier European Neolithic people.  Their DNA appeared in a Copper Age fusion culture across Central Europe (Poland, Germany, Czech, Slovakia, Hungary, etc) that we call the Corded Ware Culture.  My direct maternal ancestors (mtDNA line) were most likely of that culture for a time.  Their mtDNA markers turn up associated with it.

Aside from her, some of my other ancestors would have been in the Corded Ware Culture.  However, the westward movement of DNA from the Steppes didn't end there.  In Western Europe, it triggered the birth of another culture, that archaeologists call Bell Beaker Culture.  Much of the Y-DNA of the Steppes, was carried into the Rhineland Bell Beaker men.  Some of my ancestors could have belonged to the Bell Beaker culture in Iberia, or Western France.  However, what is more likely is that at least some of them belonged to the Bell Beaker culture that had settled in the Lower Rhine Valley (The Netherlands and NW Germany).

Many of my ancestors at this time may have played a part in the Corded Ware and Bell Beaker cultures of Europe.  mtDNA (H6a1 and H6a1a) very close to my direct maternal line has been found in both cultures, including in a Bell Beaker context in the Netherlands.

My direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor was an exception.  He most likely was living somewhere around what is now Iran, possibly as a farmer in the Bronze Age civilisations there.  Ancestors in Southern Europe were less affected by the Copper Age Steppe migration event (mainly in their Y-DNA), and continued to carry mainly Neolithic European Farmer DNA in their autosomes.

3,600 years ago.

I want to just stop here, to record that some of my Bell Beaker Culture ancestors had crossed the North Sea from the Lower Rhine (Netherlands) to settle in South East Britain.  Their descendants were living in Bronze Age Britain.  I can't say with any degree of certainty, if my direct maternal (mtDNA line) ancestor was a part of this migration, or whether her line was still on the European Continent, and crossed later.  Either are equally feasible.   I would have had other ancestors, perhaps the majority at this time, scattered across the European Continent, but most likely, some in what is now Germany, France, Scandinavia, and Southern Europe.

My direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor was most likely still in the area of Iraq, or Iran. Perhaps for example, he was an Assyrian.

2,600 years ago.

I'd estimate that perhaps around 38% of my ancestors were now living in Iron Age Britain.  My Iron Age British ancestors would have lived in the round houses and would have farmed the land.    Some people refer to the culture of the British Isles at this time as Celtic.  Some of my ancestors may well have belonged to a tribal federation, that was later known as the Iceni.

This may or may not have included my direct maternal (mtDNA line) ancestor, who could have been a Briton, but may have equally lived along with many of my other ancestors - in an Iron Age Germanic culture in the Netherlands, Northern Germany, or Denmark. Others may have lived further to the south and west in Europe in other cultures  such as the Gauls.  I have a great great great grandparent from Switzerland.  His ancestors at this time, could have been dispersed through a number of tribes across Central and Southern Europe.

My direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor was most likely still in the area of the Middle East, or Iran. Perhaps for example, he was a subject of the Persian Empire.

1,700 years ago.

Lets stop here a moment.  Roman Britain.  Perhaps 40% of my ancient ancestors living here at the time.  Britain had been occupied by the Western Roman Empire for some time.  My ancestors in Britannia would have very much identified as Romans, although they largely descended from the Iron Age Britons. However, there were traders, soldiers, and merchants from further afield here.  That might have even included my direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor, that could for example, have traveled to Southern Britannia from Assyria or Persia, or perhaps even from the Eastern Roman Empire in Anatolia and the Levant.

Meanwhile many of my ancestors were living in Germanic pagan tribes across the North Sea in what is now the Netherlands, Northern Germany, and Denmark.  Others may have been living in Roman Gaul, Tuscany, or elsewhere on the Continent.

1,000 years ago.

I believe that the majority of my ancestors now lived in early medieval southern Britain, although some may have still lived further to the south in places such as Netherlands, France, Switzerland, Spain, or Italy.  If he didn't arrive earlier, perhaps my direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor arrived in Wessex about now, as for example, a specialist from the Middle East, working for the Roman church.  Many of my ancestors in South-East Britain had arrived from across the North Sea over the preceding centuries, with Germanic tribes such as the Angles, Frisians, Danes and Saxons.   Archaeological artifacts in Norfolk correlate best with some sites in Northern Germany, towards the border with Denmark.

This would have included Anglo-Saxon ancestors of my mother, that most likely rowed past the decommissioned Roman shore fort at Burgh, and perhaps moored at Reedham.  It may have included Danish ancestors of her that a few centuries later settled the district of Flegg in East Norfolk.  DNA shared on the Continent in places such as modern day Germany, Netherlands, France, Belgium, and Denmark reflects strongly in my ancestral DNA tests.  Much of it may have arrived during these early medieval immigration events.

My direct maternal (mtDNA line) would most likely be in East Anglia or nearby by now.

500 years ago.

Exchange between South East Britain and the European Continent didn't end.  It is possible that I had more ancestors arrive here from Normandy, Medieval France, and the Spanish Netherlands.  However by 500 years ago, It is possible that most of my ancestors now lived in Tudor England.  There would most likely still been a minority of later ancestors migrating from elsewhere, although I so far only see one great great great grandparent from Switzerland, in my genealogical record.  It is likely that my direct paternal (Y-DNA line) ancestor was living in Southern England, and that my direct maternal (mtDNA line) ancestor was living in East Anglia.   I trace his line back to the Oxfordshire / Berkshire border, and her line back 300 years ago to the village of Bunwell in Norfolk.

It is likely that the majority of my Tudor ancestors were living in East Anglia by now, particularly in the County of Norfolk.  Many of the men would be transitioning from medieval peasant status to that of free rural labourers or some into farmers or tradesmen.

300 years ago.

It is highly likely that by now, all of my ancestors (except the Swiss line at Generation 6, arriving 160 years ago), lived in South-East England.  The majority in Norfolk, East Anglia, perhaps as high as 77% East Anglian, also a cluster in the Thames Valley of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, and a smaller cluster around Lincolnshire and Northamptonshire.

Their trades included agricultural labourerers, shepherds, horsemen, marshmen, smallhold farmers, watermen, carpenters, inn keepers, hawkers, etc. They were the English rural working classes of the 18th Century.

Their recorded surnames included: