The clock is ticking for archaeology in Brisbane, as the city prepares for a major transformation. In the heart of this bustling metropolis, a unique and intriguing puzzle unfolds, one that challenges our understanding of the past.
In a nondescript office, a young archaeologist, Emily Totivan, is piecing together a fragmented history. Her gloves, a symbol of precision, guide her through a delicate task. The ceramic shards she handles are more than just broken plates; they are windows into a bygone era, a time when Brisbane was transitioning from a penal settlement to a thriving river port.
But here's where it gets controversial... these fragments don't tell a story of violence, as one might expect from a frontier town. Instead, they paint a picture of elegance and refinement. The intricate blue and white patterns on the plates, inspired by Chinese art, reveal a world of pagodas, willows, and swallows. Totivan describes this style as 'insanely common' during that era, a testament to the cultural influences of the time.
"It's like solving the world's most challenging puzzle," Totivan says, "but the satisfaction is unparalleled."
In an age defined by artificial intelligence and climate concerns, Totivan represents a new generation of archaeologists. They are not just observers of the past; they are its custodians, reaching out to connect with history on a personal level.
Contrary to popular belief, the work of archaeologists isn't always about raiding tombs or uncovering hidden treasures. Many, like Totivan and her peers, will find themselves in major cities, uncovering and studying everyday artifacts like these blue China plates.
"I've never even seen Indiana Jones," Totivan admits with a smile, highlighting the contrast between pop culture depictions and the reality of archaeological work.
And this is the part most people miss... Brisbane is on the cusp of a salvage archaeology boom, driven by the city's preparations for the 2032 Olympics. Vast amounts of soil will be moved to make way for new infrastructure, including a proposed stadium on a site with a rich heritage.
Working alongside Totivan is Elisha Kilderry, another young archaeologist with a passion for the past. Kilderry's journey began with a childhood fascination with dinosaurs, and now she's studying genetics and archaeology, hoping to uncover stories of human and biological evolution through bone and genome analysis.
In this room, Kilderry is working with a set of white ceramic shards, each piece bearing a unique viridian green geometric design. As she pieces them together, the object's purpose becomes clear: it's a chamberpot.
"Being able to hold something that belonged to someone who lived just down the street from me is surreal," Kilderry says, reflecting on the intimacy of her work.
The University of Queensland has ten other archaeology students working on this project, each clustered around fragments of ceramic, glass, and bone. This week-long, hands-on experience is the first of its kind offered by the university, and it's a testament to the growing interest in salvage archaeology.
Dr. Caitlin D'Gluyas, a lecturer at the university, emphasizes the joy of teamwork in archaeology. "It's an intimate and intense experience to excavate with others," she says. "Living and working together around the clock, side by side in the trenches, you develop a bond that's hard to find in an office setting."
The William Street assemblage, however, didn't come to light through traditional excavation. Its journey began during the 2011 floods, when a burst water main dislodged tens of thousands of artifacts, sending them cascading past the historic Commissariat Store.
The University of Queensland Archaeological Services Unit (UQASU) worked alongside emergency crews to salvage what they could, in a true race against time. Nick Hadnutt, the archaeology curator at the Queensland Museum, explains that while this type of 'archaeology against the clock' is more common than one might think, it's usually associated with large infrastructure projects, not plumbing disasters.
"At the Queensland Museum, we don't often acquire assemblages due to plumbing issues," Hadnutt says with a hint of humor.
Faced with an overwhelming amount of material, the UQASU team selected the most unusual and insightful items, offering a glimpse into the everyday life of the era. From torpedo-shaped Hamilton bottles that held carbonated liquids to an ornate toilet seat, each artifact tells a unique story.
One of the few intact objects is a small ink bottle, once used in the government printing house. It still holds a dash of ink, a reminder of the legislation crafted within its walls. The bottle, now an exquisite shade of midnight, leaves a stain on the paper towel used to clean it, a physical connection to the past.
John Duckett, a student working on the ink bottle, reflects on the appeal of physical, local history in an age of digital addiction. He volunteered for a dig on a Bronze Age brewery in Norfolk, England, and found that experiencing history firsthand is far more impactful than virtual replicas.
"Playing Assassin's Creed is one thing, but actually touching something from that time period is a whole different experience," Duckett says.
While the William Street objects may lack scientific value due to their violent dislocation, Hadnutt argues that their acquisition by the museum was driven by more emotive reasons.
"Archaeology is a physical pursuit as much as an intellectual one," he says. "There's a weight, a texture, and a smell to it. You're handling history, and that's a powerful experience."
This unique assemblage, acquired in such an unusual manner, serves as a reminder of the diverse and often unexpected ways in which we connect with our past.
