A tale of a trench. Here we start out with the turf removed. It looks idyllic, no?
Around lunch time yesterday I found a nice clean, straight edge on the western side of the trench:
Here you start to see how much of a problem we have:
So, half our trench is at the moment worthless. We are not yet sure how deep the damaged area runs, but best guesses as to the culprits run something like this:
In the 1930s the site was worked intermittently by an academic who went off to war in 1939. (British Intelligence officer, really a rather remarkable chap). At some point he seems to have put his laborers to the same task we are on just now, tracing the water channel for the bath house. They did not find it. And having taken the most logical spot and mucked it up for us, we may not either. And no written record was made.
Ah well, such is life in the trenches. I suppose it could be worse. I heard a tale at the pub last night. We will leave a few details mercifully absent, but it involved hard work, assurances of a virgin area, and at the bottom a trowel marked with the initials of a rather senior emeritus director of excavations!
Marvelous weather forecast for today, I will post pictures and notes of whatever we salvage from the difficult circumstances.