Early Pilbara Headstations

Spatiality and Social Relations

Stafford Smith 2008

Submitted as partial fulfilment of a BSc with Honours in the Discipline of Archaeology at the University of Western Australia

This work is dedicated to my grandparents.

Acknowledgements
A number of people have contributed to the success of this thesis. Firstly, I would like to thank my family, who have given me support and understanding especially towards the end of this year. My supervisor, Alistair Paterson, for some great ideas and discussions. Andrew Wilson for invaluable advice on GIS techniques. The members of my honours class, for the sharing of burdens, advice, and companionship. All the other people around the department who have helped me with one thing or another. And last but not least, friends who stick by you no matter how stressed out you get. You all had a part in this.

Declaration
To the best of my knowledge, this thesis contains no material previously published or written by any other person, except where due reference is given in the text.

Contents
Acknowledgements ............................................................................................................... 3 Declaration............................................................................................................................ 4 List of Figures ....................................................................................................................... 7 Abstract ................................................................................................................................ 8 Chapter 1: Introduction ......................................................................................................... 9 Chapter 2: Historical Background ....................................................................................... 12 Social Structure in the Early Pilbara Pastoral Industry ..................................................... 12 The Settlers ................................................................................................................. 12 The Servants................................................................................................................ 14 The Aboriginal People ................................................................................................. 15 Interaction Between the Groups ................................................................................... 17 Background to Sites ........................................................................................................ 20 Chapter 3: Methodology...................................................................................................... 22 Spatial Analysis in Archaeology ...................................................................................... 22 Different Groups, Class/Status, and Ideology .................................................................. 26 Key Studies ..................................................................................................................... 29 Chapter 4: Methods ............................................................................................................. 32 Preliminary Examination of the Data ............................................................................... 33 Division of the Data ....................................................................................................... 34 Creating the Models ........................................................................................................ 36 Display and Symbology Producing the Distribution Maps ............................................ 36 Densities vs. Raw Counts ............................................................................................ 37 Display Colour Choices ............................................................................................... 38 Exclusions ................................................................................................................... 39 Classification of Density Classes for Colour Display ................................................... 40

Chapter 5: Site Descriptions ................................................................................................ 42 Old Sherlock Station ....................................................................................................... 43 Inthanoona Station .......................................................................................................... 51 Springs Station ................................................................................................................ 57 Chapter 6: Discussion of Group Areas ................................................................................. 62 Archaeological Findings Spatial Patterns ...................................................................... 66 Comparison of Archaeological Findings with Historical Record ...................................... 67 Explanation/ One Interpretation ....................................................................................... 68 A Characteristic Site Type of the 19thC World System ................................................... 71 Chapter 7: Conclusion ......................................................................................................... 73 References .......................................................................................................................... 77 Appendix 1 Distribution Maps ......................................................................................... 83 Appendix 2 Composition of Assemblages ........................................................................ 84 Old Sherlock Station ....................................................................................................... 84 Inthanoona Station .......................................................................................................... 85 Springs Station ................................................................................................................ 86 Appendix 3 Technical Processes ...................................................................................... 87 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.8 Topography Creation ............................................................................................ 87 Georeferencing the Feature Record Sketches ......................................................... 87 Digitisation of Scatter Extents ............................................................................... 90 Artefact Data Entry ............................................................................................... 92 Extrapolation of Samples ...................................................................................... 94 Object Record Data ............................................................................................... 95 Joining .................................................................................................................. 96

List of Figures
Figure 1. Map of study region showing sites recorded by HAPP.......................................... 11 Figure 2. Typical Feature Record ........................................................................................ 33 Figure 3. Division of features into artefact zones ................................................................. 35 Figure 4. Dot density display method .................................................................................. 37 Figure 5. Alternative colour ramp strategies ........................................................................ 38 Figure 6. Data exclusion process in ArcMAP ...................................................................... 39 Figure 7. Distribution of zonal density values for an artefact class, with one outlier at 100 .. 40 Figure 8. Common features at north-west stations (Adapted from Sanders 2005)................. 43 Figure 9. Areas observed at Old Sherlock Station ................................................................ 44 Figure 10. Areas observed at Inthanoona Station ................................................................. 52 Figure 11. Areas observed at Springs Station....................................................................... 58 Figure 12. Group areas visible at Old Sherlock Station (add hill) ......................................... 63 Figure 13. Group areas visible at Inthanoona Station ........................................................... 64 Figure 14. Group areas visible at Springs Station ................................................................ 65 Figure 15. Matching the survey point to the GPS point - Georeferencing F11 at OSS .......... 87 Figure 16. Manipulation of georeferencing link table values ................................................ 88 Figure 17. Clipping mutually exclusive zones of artefact density at F14, Springs Station..... 91 Figure 18. Rescaling reductions at OSS ............................................................................... 92 Figure 19. Relationship between true and sampled artefact counts ....................................... 94 Figure 20. Calculating X_Factor values ............................................................................... 94

Abstract
This thesis is an initial archaeological study of three pastoral headstation complexes from the Pilbara region of Western Australia, during the period 1870-1915. These headstations were places where elite settlers, their servants, and Aboriginal people interacted. GIS has been used to build spatial models of the three study sites, in order to understand these little known sites in broad overview. Spatial analysis was applied to these models. Spatial patterns were identified at the headstations which were found to relate to documented social relations in the Pilbara pastoral industry, suggesting that spatiality and social relations were connected at these places. It is proposed that the spatiality at the headstation complexes was manipulated by the settlers to reflect and maintain an ideology of social stratification. The identified patterns and their connection to social relations were found to have similarities to other places in the 19th century economic world system.

Chapter 1: Introduction
This research is about the early pastoral industry in the Pilbara region of Western Australia. Following Francis Gregorys exploration of the region in 1860, a number of pastoral stations were established. These set the stage for interaction between different groups of Europeans and Aboriginal people. In this thesis, archaeological evidence at three of the earliest pastoral stations to be established in the Pilbara is studied. Very little is known about these places that existed on one of the remotest fringes of the British Empire. The historical record is very limited, especially in terms of day to day life at the stations, which represents a knowledge gap. There has been no historical archaeology conducted, except for one analysis of ceramics at Old Sherlock Station (Sanders 2005), and an initial investigation of rock art at Inthanoona Station (Paterson & Wilson 2009). Because so little is known about these places, this project began with the intention to analyse a selection of the headstation sites in broad overview. I decided that the best way to analyse the sites in broad overview would be to look at all groups of people who lived and worked there. The concept of different groups is central to this thesis. Whilst history is often about the individual, archaeology is about groups. From my initial historical review I noticed that Pilbara society could be meaningfully divided into three groups: settlers, servants, and Aboriginal people. I became interested in the relationships between these groups because they existed in an extreme hierarchy, which to me seemed exploitative, and appealed to my sense of social justice. In the historical record this social stratification is not examined critically, and the methods used to maintain the stratification are hidden. This represented a knowledge gap. Archaeological analysis of early headstation complexes had the potential to elucidate their form, which would increase our understanding of day to day life at these places; to provide a dataset with which to critically examine social stratification in the pastoral industry at some level; and to explore some methods used to maintain this social stratification. The historical archaeology of the early Pilbara pastoral stations also has much promise for developing an understanding what could be seen as one of the characteristic site types of the 19th century European capitalist world-system: pluralistic, hierarchically structured, economic ventures based on extreme social stratification and exploitation. Spatial analysis was chosen because it is well suited to analysing sites in broad overview. Spatial analysis is also well suited to this

project because previous research has shown that social stratification can be both reflected and maintained though spatiality. Derived from these knowledge gaps and the choice of a spatial analytical technique, the main objectives of this thesis are threefold: 1. To create GIS models of the three study sites. 2. To use these models to determine the broad spatial patterning of the headstation complexes, especially in terms of areas used by the different groups, and to determine whether there are spatial patterns that are shared by all three sites. 3. To determine how spatial patterning is connected to social relations in this context. The methods of this thesis can be summarised as follows: Historical research was conducted, with the aim of establishing what was known of social groups and relations in the early Pilbara pastoral industry; GIS based site models were constructed using a selection of the site data; by analysing the distribution of archaeological materials any observable discrete areas were identified at the sites; these areas were related to the different groups who used them; the spatial patterning of these group areas was analysed and compared between the sites; the spatial patterns were compared and contrasted with the historical research into social relations, and with the broader archaeological literature. The main objectives can be rephrased as a few key questions which I sought to answer with this research. Firstly, can my method of GIS site model construction be useful for analysis? Secondly, were there similar patterns of spatial organisation at the early Pilbara headstations? If present, do these patterns of spatial organisation reflect what is known of social relations at early Pilbara stations from the historical record? And finally, has spatiality been used to maintain social stratification at the sites? During the 2004 and 2008 field seasons of the Historical Archaeology of the Pilbara Project (HAPP), the headstation complexes of six of the earliest of the Pilbara stations were subject to archaeological survey and recording. From these, Old Sherlock, Inthanoona, and Springs Stations were selected as study sites (see Figure 1) based on a few factors. Firstly, these stations were all established by the 1870s, and as such are amongst the earliest established in the region, which suited my interest in early Pilbara pastoralism. Secondly, all three were abandoned as headstations before 1915. This meant that there would be less confusion of old 10

and modern material at these sites than some of the other candidates, an important consideration for analysis of surface material. Springs Station was particularly included because I had participated in the site recording. Beyond this the site selection was arbitrary, because so little was known about the individual sites. As all three sites were established as headstations by the 1870s and abandoned for this purpose before 1915, this was chosen as the study period. The dissertation begins with a presentation of the historical research that was undertaken. This is followed by a methodological literature review that explores theoretical concepts and key archaeological studies relevant to this project. The Methods chapter describes the data, the construction of the models (technical GIS procedures are located in Appendix 3), and the production of distribution maps. The Site Descriptions that follow are derived from the distribution maps. The spatial patterning of the sites is then discussed with reference to the historical record, and to the broader archaeological literature. In the Conclusion chapter the project is evaluated, and suggestions for further research are made.

Figure 1. Map of study region showing sites recorded by HAPP

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Chapter 2: Historical Background

In 1861, Francis T. Gregory explored a very large area of the north-west of Western Australia, covering 3300km (A. C. Gregory & F. T. Gregory 1884). Gregory reported favourably on the country he had seen, and on the basis of his report pastoral settlement began (Battye 1915, p.68), with initial settlement taking place in the Pilbara region. Most of the early stations were established in the vicinity of Roebourne, and three of these stations are the subject of this study. In this section I have reviewed key historical sources documenting north-west pastoralism. It was deemed impractical to conduct a thorough review of primary historical sources, and a comprehensive review of secondary sources was undertaken. From this I have developed a model of the different groups of people who lived and worked on the early pastoral stations in the Pilbara and the relationships and interaction between these groups. Whilst these group entities can, importantly, be viewed as classes, the groups also have other defining and delimiting characteristics such as ethnicity and occupation. As such, I have decided to refer to these entities mainly as groups.

Social Structure in the Early Pilbara Pastoral Industry

Historical sources document the existence of three more or less distinct groups of people that operated hierarchically within the Pilbara pastoral station world: the elite Settlers and their families who owned and managed the stations, their Servants that performed domestic tasks, stock work, and trades like blacksmithing, and the Aborigines who lived and worked on the stations, performing many types of labour for the Settlers. Despite their being only a small amount of historical documentation describing work and day to day life on the early stations, there are a number of sources that attest to the presence and distinctness of these three groups. I will begin by characterising each group, and then describe the relationships and the nature interaction between them. The Settlers The first Settlers to the north-west were wealthy pastoralists, who chartered ships, and loaded them with the provisions, equipment, and stock necessary for the establishment of a new station. For example, John Wellard chartered the Tien Tsin and with William Shakespere Hall as Manager, five European men and two Aborigines, had brought to Nichol Bay, three hundred and seventy sheep, twenty six cattle and nine horses, together with stores, provisions

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and timber for a house (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.28). John Withnell, who inhabited the Old Sherlock Station homestead during the period analysed here, chartered a three-masted schooner and provided all the fittings on this vessel for the accommodation of 1,000 picked ewes, 50 choice rams, 10 cows, 10 draught mares, one two-year-old stallion valued at 250, and a big supply of station requisites stores, clothing, tools, firearms, medicine, and all the etceteras necessary (Battye 1915, p.206). This was a financially demanding undertaking; only those who were of high socioeconomic status could afford to become a Settler. The early Settlers of the north-west were characteristically born to a high status family: it was not uncommon for them to be descended from British aristocratic families, such as John Withnell who was a descendant of the ancient family of Withnell, possessors of the lands of Withnellfold and Withnellcroft (Battye 1915, p.206), and the Hancocks whose family was a branch of the Gregorys, Lords of the Manors of Freseley and Ashfordby Farms (Battye 1915, p.206). Over time the original Settlers were replaced by young elites: born to respectable families and well educated, these men were fast tracked through the hierarchy of northwest pastoralism, gaining experience as jackaroos and managers to become part owners and then station owners and fully fledged Settlers in less than 10 years. The story of Charles Mitchison Straker is typical: Immediately after arrival at Fremantle, in January, 1882, he proceeded to the NorthWest, and, after a sojourn at Chirritta Station, took a position as jackeroo on the Millstream property, where he gained sufficient experience to undertake, some time later, the duties of sheep overseer on Croydon Station. After filling various other positions, in 1887 he took over the lease of Tambrey Station, in partnership with Mr. Harry Meares, and conducted operations until 1891 (Battye 1915, p.219). Most of these replacements for the original Settlers were their relatives or members of the local elite. Beyond this, rather than giving manager positions to existing workers on the stations, the Settlers instead sought men from far afield who were of the appropriate social standing. The quote about C. M. Straker in fact shows how these men who were inexperienced with Australian pastoralism were fast tracked through the hierarchy in preference to the experienced but lower class men who were already present in the Pilbara pastoral industry.

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The Settler group had political influence. Charles Harper was the representative for the North Western Province in the Legislative Council in 1878, at the same time he was a joint owner of a number of stations in the area (Battye 1915, p.209). He used his political influence to liberalise land laws, and was also chairman of the Agricultural Bureau (Battye 1915, p.209). Alexander Robert Richardson, who had ownership interests in Pyramid and Mardie Stations in the Roebourne area, was a member of the Northern Roads Board, represented the Northern district in the Legislative Council, was a member for the DeGrey district, and then Minister for Lands (Battye 1915, p.210). James Aubrey Withnell, one of John Withnells sons and a part owner of multiple stations in the Roebourne area, held a seat on the Roebourne Roads Board and the Licensing Bench (Battye 1915, p.212). Another son of John Withnells, William, was a member of the Roebourne Vermin Board at the same time as holding financial interests in stations in the Roebourne area (Battye 1915, p.214). Charles Mitchison Straker was appointed Travelling Inspector of Aborigines for the government in 1892 when he also held the lease on Tambrey Station in conjunction with H. Meares (Battye 1915, p.219). H. Meares held a seat on various Roads Boards (Battye 1915, p.221). Charles Ogilvie Ferguson was the chairman of the Tableland Roads Board at the same time that he was the managing partner of Tambrey Station (Battye 1915, pp.221-222). Henry Gillam, Charles Mitchison Straker, and Charles Ogilvie Ferguson were all members of the Settler group that held the appointment of Justice of the Peace at one time or another (Battye 1915). The Servants The early Settlers usually brought non-Aboriginal workers with them, and this group will be called the Servants for the purposes of this study. For example, J. Orkney M.L.A. chartered a ship and brought with him L. L. Mount as a paid manager, and A. R. MacKay as a shepherd (Forrest 1996, p.10). Other men came to the region independently and worked for wages, such as Henry Cusack who spent 35 years in the North-West, in different districts, having followed the trade of blacksmith for a lengthy period, in which capacity he easily found employment on the stations (Battye 1915, p.221). Another role performed by the Servants group was that of domestic servant, such as Matilda Henderson who accompanied the Denison Plains Association to the Pilbara (Forrest 1996, p.51). The Servants group also performed stock work roles (e.g. Weller 1979, p.82). It should be noted that in the earliest years of settlement white labour was limited and expensive (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.51), but during the 1880s it became far more prevalent due to an influx of people related to the gold rush. Indentured Asian servants became a more 14

numerous component of the Servants group at around the same time (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.214). On the stations Asian Servants were employed as cooks, station hands, gardeners, general servants, and fencers (De La Rue 1979, p.103; Forrest 1996, p.176). Despite the relative breadth of the Servants group, there are still common features that make it a useful category: The Servants worked for a wage, none owned a station, and they generally were considered to be separate from the Settlers socially. Richardson, one of the early Settlers, characterises the difference between Servants and Settlers as based in capital: whilst it was necessary to have capital to become a Settler, there were also those who did go [to the north-west] with very little means, often as servants and station hands, working for others (1914, p.77). It is likely that the Servants group was not present on all stations, especially when nonAboriginal labour was scarce. On some stations, the Settlers children performed much of the station work that would otherwise be performed by wage Servants (Withnell-Taylor 1980). The Aboriginal People
Castor Oil, Charcoal and Bull they work much better than any white man and carried heavy trunks and boxes on their heads for a long distance before getting tired. After carrying the things to our tent they all started off, each with a four gallon beaker on his head, to bring us some water from the camp, which is distant from here seven miles. They returned at dusk with the beakers full. Trevarton Scholls Journal, 1865.

(in Forrest 1996, p.29)

The aborigines were numerous on the DeGrey River in the early days and gradually small parties of the natives were prevailed upon to remain at the station and assist with the sheep Later when pearling was undertaken by the firm and turned into an extremely profitable adjunct to its pastoral effort, there were over 400 natives engaged in pearling and other operations, and they formed a small army Later, when the natives became friendly and accepted the white residents as permanent fixtures, the men were taught to undertake the various station occupations, and for years under the guidance of a white overseer, they carried out shearing, fencing, well sinking, boundary riding, mail carrying, and other duties in a satisfactory manner. A.W. Edgar.

(in Weller 1979, p.75) These quotes describe how from the earliest days of European settlement in the Pilbara Aboriginal people contributed their labour to the undertakings of the Settlers. As early as February of 1866 it was normal for Aboriginal people to be present at the station homesteads. Whilst the Aboriginal contribution to pastoralism may have varied in magnitude over time, across the north-west Aboriginal labour on stations was the norm: referring to the Murchison

15

F.T. Norris describes Billabong Station as the only station in this area that did not employ natives (Weller 1979, p.274). Aboriginal people acted as stock-workers, including but not limited to shepherding, and performed a miscellany of station tasks. Indeed at some stations all stock and mechanical work was done by the 40-odd aboriginals (Weller 1979, p.33). Aboriginal women were often domestic servants, for example Gray Lacy writes that aboriginal women took turns to pump water by hand into buckets for domestic use (Weller 1979, p.31), and refers to them as the house women (Weller 1979, p.35). During the 1880s the labour situation changed: more European and Chinese labour became available due to the gold rush, and the heavily reliance on Aboriginal people probably decreased (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.214). It appears that the demography of the Aboriginal groups on the station comprised a broad spectrum of ages and working abilities. Some of these people, including the old and infirm, have been characterised as station dependents. Indeed it is likely that the Aboriginal group included members who did not perform station work, so the group is called Aboriginal people as opposed to Aboriginal workers. In the Pilbara as was the case elsewhere, pastoral stations were established on Aboriginal peoples traditional country. This being the case it would be expected that some of the Aboriginal people on the stations attempted to maintain a more completely traditional bush life. However, there many stories of bush blacks not being tolerated, and driven or exterminated from station properties. This being the case it is unlikely that Aboriginal people living a more completely traditional bush life would have lived at the homestead complexes during the study period, but the historical record does indicate that the station Aboriginal people were given time off to participate in seasonal rituals. For example, when referring to Aboriginal people who had signed up to work on a station for a year, Hardie writes if during the year the native wanted to go on walkabout, there was nothing that would stop him leaving (Hardie 1981, p.91). In reality it is likely that sometimes this was allowed, and sometimes not. Aboriginal people on the stations are recorded as living in mia-mias, from the earliest days of the Pilbara pastoral industry in 1864 (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.43), and as late as 1929: the camp, where the aboriginals lived in their own humpies Mia-mias they called them. (Weller 1979, p.35). The exact nature of mia-mias in the Pilbara is unknown, although it seems likely that they were huts made of boughs, twigs, and grass matting (Stafford 1983, p.43). 16

Interaction Between the Groups

I must protest against the title of settlers of Roebourne being applied E.J. Kelsh was a servant at several stations and is at present a seaman on board Mr. Broadhursts boat. Mr. A.R. MacKay came in the employ of Mr. Mount is at present earning a livelihood by the sale of a few stores. He is often drunk and has been at deaths door from the effects of drink. R.J. Eaton was a shepherd on Viveashs station and is now in charge well conducted but certainly not a settler. Resident Magistrate R.J. Scholl to the Colonial Secretary, March 25th, 1869. (in

Forrest 1996, p.30)

Scholl reveals here that the Settler and Servant groups were conceptualised as separate, at least by the local government officials. It should be noted that the terminology for the groups largely derives from this quote, in an attempt to use the language of the study period. Referring to the nascent town site at Mt Welcome (later to become Roebourne), De la Rue writes that Even in such a small community, class distinctions were observed. As the son of the Government Resident Magistrate, Trevarton did not mix socially with people such as the police constables, the lesser government officials, and the few artisans in the settlement. His social milieu was restricted to the pastoralists [Settlers], and any professional people there (1979, p.30). Despite the tendency of the Settler and Servant groups to be thought of as separate, in reality the division between them was not fixed or immutable. Firstly, the historical documents suggest that some members of the Servants group achieved upwards mobility within the social system, eventually becoming members of the Settler group. For example, after spending 35 years working as a Servant in the north-west, including jackerooing on Inthanoona Station, Henry Cusack became a partner in the ownership of Tambrey Station (Battye 1915, p.221), and could be said to have moved into the Settler class. However, the available history suggests that this class mobility was a rare occurrence. Secondly, some stations were owned by companies, made up of shareholders, and it is hard to characterise these shareholders as belonging exclusively to the Settler or Servants group (Forrest 1996, p.31). And thirdly, it appears that different people defined the Settler and Servants groups in different ways. The quote from the Resident Magistrate illustrates this: elites such as he sought to maintain the exclusivity of the Settler class, whilst lower class people such as the subjects of the excerpt resisted their exclusion from the Settler class. There was a power dialectic between these two groups, which could only be maintained if the separateness of the groups was not seen as artificial, i.e. was legitimised. This can be seen 17

from the quote by R. J. Scholl at the beginning of this section: Settlers are idealised as temperate, well-conducted, financially successful and independent, and Servants are characterised as none of these things. It appears that the elite Settlers had an interest in maintaining the separateness of the groups. This separation would help to maintain the exclusivity of membership in the Settlers group, keeping power in the hands of a few families. It is speculative, but this may have been the motive for the elite Settlers desire to maintain class separation. The distinctness of the Settlers and Aboriginal people as groups must have been taken as a given. The Europeans regarded themselves as a superior race to the Aboriginal people, and De La Rue writes that This attitude was not unusual for the period: it was taken as a matter of course (1979, p.103). The relationship between the Settlers and Aboriginal people on the stations was one of dominance and subordination. This is vividly characterised by the shearer Bill Vickers, himself a member of the Servants group in this model.
Were on Manilya now, mate. Old Angus McLeods place. Good bloke, old Angus. Reckons he was one of them Scottish lairds or lords. Got a big tribe of kids. And the old ladys a dead ringer for old Queen Victoria You should see em when they go to dinner at night. The old lady with the veil on her head, and old Angus in his clawhammer suit, all the kids togged up Big dining room. Big table to seat about fifteen of em. All the gins done up in their clean white jinna-jinnas and their hair oiled up all standing on each side of the table when old Angus and his missus come in arm-in-arm. (Weller

1979, p.30)

Residential areas were kept separate, shown in this particularly clear example:
In the early days John Withnell worked out his own practical system for peaceful co-existence with Aboriginal neighbours. He painted a white line around his home, explaining that no Aboriginal could come across it without permission, or if he were carrying a weapon. To be scrupulously fair, Withnell also painted a line around the natives camp and applied the same rule. (Hardie

1981, p.90)

The Aboriginal people would work, and the Settlers would benefit and take the credit. For example, Mrs. Somerset was a true pioneer. There was no water laid on at the homestead, but a well was sunk midway between house and kitchen, where the aboriginal house women took turns to pump water by hand into buckets for domestic use. (Weller 1979, p.31). Some areas of station work were performed by both Servants and Aboriginal people, such as domestic servant roles and stock work. However, it is likely that members of the Servants group saw themselves as being quite separate from Aboriginal people and different at some basic level. Unfortunately, first hand documentary evidence from Servants is uncommon, so

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the attitudes of these people are hard to establish. The reality is that the worlds of the Servants and the Aboriginal people would have had considerable overlap. Whilst Servants and Aboriginal people were involved in overlapping areas of station work, it appears that the nature of this work differed for the two groups. Often, the white Servants acted in a managerial or overseer capacity, and directed a numerically superior group of Aboriginal labourers. For example:
the men were taught to undertake the various station occupations, and for years under the guidance of a white overseer, they carried out shearing, fencing, well sinking, boundary riding, mail carrying, and other duties in a satisfactory manner. (Weller

1979, p.75)

Reg [machinery maintenance Servant] was a good organiser and teacher and the boys who worked with his became efficient at their jobs. (Weller

1979, p.33)

Harley had quite an unusual method of mustering sheep in the big paddocks A line of aboriginal women on foot were backed by aboriginal stockmen on horseback, and Harley rode along behind them, checking the lines.

(Weller 1979, p.75) In summary, the historical record suggests the following: that the people who lived and worked on the early Pilbara stations could be divided in to three broad groups, Settlers, Servants, and Aboriginal people; that these groups were related in a hierarchy based on differential relationship to the means of production resulting in unequal division of labour and unequal division of profit; and that the Settlers were a powerful and exclusive group. It also suggests that the Servants group and Aboriginal people had greater overlap in the roles they performed than either of these groups had with the Settlers. The boldest pattern to emerge from the historical review is the power and exclusivity of the Settlers group. The Settlers group was interrelated by marriage, and power in the north-west was held by a few families (Forrest 1996, pp.160-161). They held political power, especially in the areas of land, infrastructure development, Aboriginal relations, and Justice of the Peace appointments, all of which could influence their success as pastoralists and employers. They also had a monopoly on station ownership, which is sometimes expressed in north-west poetry:

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That nice little run I used to count on owning Was swallowed up long ago in the next estate. It was always a big mans country. No use Moaning, Says Hartigan, against your cut with fate.

(Mary Durack in Weller 1979, p.21)

For the Settlers group to maintain their power monopoly, it was essential that the distinctness of their group was seen as legitimate, and that membership in that group remained exclusive. This was largely achieved by separation of the Settlers from the other social groups: they were separated from the Servants socially, occupationally, and in landholding status. They were separate from the Aboriginal people in a way that was taken for granted. In fact, it seems that Aboriginal subordination was used to emphasise the elite status of the Settlers. With so few European people around in the north-west, it seems that the Settlers defined themselves as elite with reference to the other people around, Aboriginal people and Servants. In reality, Aboriginal and Servant labour enabled the Settlers to profit, and was crucial to them achieving and maintaining their elite status. In summary, the Settler group used their power monopoly to maintain the division of labour, the class separation, the relative high status of the Settler group, and the social structure of north-west pastoralism as a whole.

Background to Sites
All three sites have been abandoned for their primary purpose as headstations by the time of Battyes 1915 review of the north-west (Battye 1915). Inthanoona Station was formally leased by S. Viveash in 1865 (Reynolds 1987, p.85), and was still held by him in 1872 (Weller 1979, p.212). Viveash came to the north-west and settled at Inthanoona with two other European men, Thomas E. Middleton and James Wilkinson (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.48), who were most likely members of the Servants group. There is historical evidence that European stock workers were employed on Inthanoona, including Henry Cusack as jackaroo (Battye 1915, p.221). Some time before 1915 the Inthanoona pastoral lease had been subsumed into Warrambie Station (Battye 1915). Once this had occurred it is likely that the stockyards remained in use for outstation work as part of the Warrambie operations.

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Old Sherlock Station was leased and occupied in the study period by one of the most historically famous families of the early Northwest, the Withnells. John Withnell is frequently glorified as a pioneer of the north-west (e.g.Battye 1915, p.206). He and his wife lived for 26 years in the north-west, and Emma is credited on a Roebourne memorial plaque with being The first white woman to settle in the north west (Weller 1979, p.262). They established one of the first stations in the region, and held or worked on 10 Pilbara stations in total (Weller 1979, p.262). Despite the often glowing reports of this family in historical sources, John Withnell led one of the two punitive parties in the Flying Foam Massacre (Forrest 1996, pp.60-62) during which a large number of Aboriginal people were killed. John Withnell acquired the Sherlock lease during the 1860s and had been developing it since then (Withnell-Taylor 1980). The Withnells moved to what they called Sherlock Station in 1879, when the town of Roebourne began to be established around their first station at Mt Welcome: John was dismayed and told Emma the place was becoming far too civilized and they must go bush. Out they went to the Sherlock lease which John had been developing (Weller 1979, p.262). The historical record indicates that the Old Sherlock site was inhabited by the Withnells for the majority of the study period: they established the station during the 1860s, moved there in 1879, and lived there until 1888 when they sold it to their four sons (Battye 1915, p.208). At this time it had 301,000 acres, 20,000 sheep, 120 horses, and 150 cattle (Withnell-Taylor 1980, p.230). A Lands and Surveys Department inspectors report shows that by 1920 a new headstation complex had been built roughly 10km from the Old Sherlock headstation complex (Land and Surveys Department 1920b). From this I infer that the original headstation complex was abandoned in terms of its primary function some time before 1920. It is likely that at least the yards continued to be used for outstation purposes. Historical information pertaining to Springs Station is sparse. The station is described as being owned by Mr H. Hicks in 1872 (Weller 1979, p.212), so it was established at least by this date. A. C. Campbell was the manager at Springs Station around 1909-1910 (Battye 1915, p.218). After this time I could find no mention of Springs Station, but by 1920 it had been subsumed into the Cooya Pooya lease (Land and Surveys Department 1920a). So it is most likely that the Springs headstation complex had been abandoned for its primary function sometime between 1910 and 1920, and probably before 1915 due to its omission from Battyes review (1915). Again, the stockyards probably continued to be used for outstation activities.

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Chapter 3: Methodology
My approach, comprising my theory and methods, has been built on a number of concepts. To contextualise my approach, in this chapter I will discuss spatial analysis in archaeology, and archaeological approaches to the study of class, status, and ideology. This chapter also provides a discussion and review of archaeological studies that have dealt with these concepts, and describes how they have informed my theoretical approach and methods. I have not given a full overview of key studies in all of these areas, but have instead concentrated on studies that incorporate multiple themes critical to this thesis.

Spatial Analysis in Archaeology

Archaeologists have paid attention to the spatial component of the archaeological record since the earliest days of the discipline. The use of precise maps and plans dates back to the 18th century (Wheatley & Gillings 2002, p.3). Hodder and Orton write that spatial analytical techniques are of general relevance in archaeology because the distribution of sites and artefacts, and the distribution of variables such as the percentage of a pottery type, are important types of archaeological data (1976, p.234). Actual analysis of this location data has been practiced informally since the earliest findings of prehistoric artefacts, when prehistorians attempted to interpret the spatial patterns and associations of artefacts in their depositional context (Kroll & Price 1991, p.1). Spatial analysis was first developed in prehistoric archaeology, but it has become equally if not more popular in the more recent sub discipline of historical archaeology. For example, spatial analysis is a particularly powerful technique for studying culture contact (Lightfoot 1995; Harrison 2004a), one of the central themes of historical archaeology. In recent archaeological studies, spatial analysis has generally been carried out at a broader scale than that used in this study. Often it is the landscape scale (Harrison 2004b) that is examined, or that of the settlement pattern (Paynter 1982). Intrasite patterns are studied less frequently, but Susan Kents work on activity areas is an example that has relevance to the methods employed in this thesis (1984; 1987; 1993). A major debate within spatial analysis in archaeology has been that of intuitive techniques versus quantitative techniques. This debate had its roots in processual archaeology and was essentially an attempt to introduce more scientific rigour into archaeological spatial analysis via the use of quantitative, statistical techniques. It was hoped that this approach would yield 22

results that had an objective validity, as opposed to the subjective nature of intuitive approaches (Ammerman 1992). Numerous quantitative techniques were advocated for spatial analysis including regression analysis (Hodder & Orton 1976), nearest neighbour analysis (borrowed from other sciences), Hodder and Orkells (A) coefficient (1978), dimensional analysis of variance (Whallon 1973), pure locational clustering (Kintigh & Ammerman 1982), and unconstrained cluster analysis (Whallon 1984). The intuitive approach to spatial analysis has a longer tradition than the quantitative approach, and many of the early techniques, such as map visualisation and comparison, are still practiced (e.g. Balme & Beck 2002; Deacon 2002; O'Connell 1987). The main advantage of intuitive approaches is that they allow for the inclusion of contextual knowledge of a site (Simek & Larick 1983, p.165), for example, they allow maximum integration of the excavators knowledge into the pattern recognition process (Rigaud & Simek 1991, p.201). The inclusion of contextual information acts to inform analysis and interpretation. Both quantitative and intuitive approaches have inherent weaknesses, and Kintigh and Ammerman sum this up when they say that informal [intuitive] approaches to spatial analysis have often been hindered by a lack of systematic rigor and information processing capacity, while quantitative approaches to this problem have been crippled by the naivet of their assumptions (1982, p.33). Referring to the debate, intuitive approaches quite obviously were open to subjectivity and were not ideal for dealing with large amounts of data that were becoming more common, but the criticism of quantitative methods, whilst equally valid, was more complex: the analytical methods used are often not congruent with the questions being asked of the data (Whallon 1984, p.242), nor congruent with the nature of the archaeological record. This flaw was partly the result of techniques being borrowed from other disciplines such as geography, plant ecology, and economics (Wheatley & Gillings 2002, p.7), instead of being specifically developed for analysis of the archaeological record. The outcome of this was that the quantitative techniques yielded results that were either not meaningful in terms of past human behaviour, or that they constructed non-real patterns due to the a priori assumptions about how the record was formed (Rigaud & Simek 1991, p.199). The current state of opinion in this debate is that a combination of quantitative and intuitive approaches is optimal. This results in multiple lines of evidence, which can be tested against each other, and ultimately lead to stronger arguments. Proponents of this approach abound, including Kintigh & Ammerman (1982), Paynter (1982, p.114), and Rigaud & Simek (1991). 23

My methods have been influenced by this debate. Algorithmic quantitative analysis techniques such as those listed above have been avoided due to their propensity to create nonreal patterns. Instead, my approach focuses on intuitive interpretation, but will also involve some quantification. A primarily intuitive approach is well suited to analysis of historical sites because much contextual information is known, as opposed to prehistoric sites. These sites were created in the recent past, and many of the behaviours that created the assemblages are similar to those practiced today. The historical record also provides contextual information that would be hard to integrate into mathematical analyses. The tendency for intuitive approaches to invite subjectivity will be balanced by using Geographical Information Systems to calculate some spatial artefact percentages to quantify intuitively visible patterns. The weakness of intuitive approaches in dealing with a large and complex dataset will be relieved by using the tools of GIS to manage and present the large amounts of data in summarised forms. Aside from the specific problems of both quantitative and intuitive methods as mentioned above, there are some limitations that affect spatial analysis more generally. Some derive from the practice where most spatial analysis is conducted using the surface record. The most critical factor of this nature is the differential survival of archaeological material across space (Hodder & Orton 1976). This creates a limitation for spatial analysis: one can never be sure that gaps in artefact distributions are representative of the spatial patterns produced by cultural activity. This problem is made more extreme by the fact that many decay processes are landform specific and thus vary strongly across space. Lewarch and OBrien outline the problems that are generally considered to compromise surface assemblages (1981), primarily that they suffer from sever post-depositional processes, both natural and cultural. The natural post-depositional processes at the Pilbara study sites would have had a relatively minimal effect on the assemblages: there is low rainfall, a low rate of sediment deposition, and aeolian transport is unlikely to have affected the types of material culture analysed in this study. Areas that have been affected by flooding were identified during recording. Cultural factors may have had a greater effect on the assemblages, but it must be remembered that these sites are extremely remote even today, and so have been left relatively undisturbed by modern human activity. The biggest limitation of the surface record that applies to the Pilbara study sites is that, unlike a stratified deposit, there is little means of chronological control. One cannot be sure if the archaeologically observed distributions reflect a real life pattern or whether the distribution resulted from successive 24

occupation periods which left their traces on the landscape palimpsest (Hodder & Orton 1976). There is another major problem that affects the interpretation of archaeological spatial patterns, namely that different spatial processes may produce the same spatial form (Hodder & Orton 1976, p.239). The result is that it is sometimes impossible to distinguish between many possible causes of an observed pattern. Sanders has conducted a spatial analysis of the ceramics at Old Sherlock Station (2005), one of the sites examined in this study. Her analysis of the distribution of ceramics at the site enabled her to define three areas: the homestead area, the pastoral working area, and a highly disturbed area containing a stone knapping floor. She then relates the differential quality of the assemblages in these areas to the social relations at the station. This interpretation influenced my research design: If OSS could be divided into these discrete areas, then I hypothesise that similar divisions of area will occur at other headstation sites, and that these areas could be related to the different groups present on the station. However, I additionally hypothesise that the spatial patterning of these areas, when considered using a number of sites, will be connected to the social relationships that existed within the early Pilbara pastoral industry. Harrison has also studied pastoral station sites in remote Australia, and has incorporated spatial analysis as part of these works (2004a; 2004b). His approach is largely intuitive as opposed to quantitative. He sees the site of Old Lamboo Station as divided into a number of areas, some of which were primarily used by sub-groups of the total station population. Whilst the sites in total may represent the activities of indigenous people and settler pastoralists, the material remains of Aboriginal station workers and fringe campers consist of fringe camps adjacent to the station, a large holiday camp, a mens law site, and a large stone quarry (2004a, pp.123-124). In this way Harrison sees these pastoral station sites as consisting of numerous group areas. This concept of group areas was incorporated in my methods. Whilst Harrison has explicitly focussed on the Aboriginal experience of and reactions to pastoralism, this thesis attempts to include all groups who lived and worked at the head station complexes in order to understand the sites in broad overview. Susan Kents research on activity areas has done much to advance our body of theory concerning how humans use space (e.g. 1987; 1984) . She writes that human use of space is patterned, and that the spatial organisation of the archaeological record reflects the spatial 25

organisation of activities (Kent 1987). Kent has also studied the relationship between activity areas and domestic architecture, although most of this analysis occurs at a finer scale than that used in this thesis (see papers in Kent 1993). The basic principles of Kents work on the human use of space have influenced my approach. I have identified activity areas at the study sites based on the function of those areas in the context of the site, and these form the first step in interpreting the group areas which are central to my analysis. Another aspect of Kents work that has influenced my approach is the question of why some groups segment and differentiate their space and built environment more than others (1993, p.5).

Different Groups, Class/Status, and Ideology

As one of its aims, historical archaeology seeks to understand the modern world (Little 2007). Capitalism has been the driving force behind colonization and the growth of the modern world, and class, race, and gender are the social categories constructed within the capitalist social system (Delle, Mrozowski & Paynter 2000, p.xiv). As such, the construction and maintenance of class is an important focus of historical archaeology. In historical archaeology class groups are most often linked to material culture through the study of socio-economic status, and historical archaeologists often use the terms class and status interchangeably (Wurst 2006, p.192). Studies of class are an essential component to the study of historical colonial contexts, due to the strong links between colonization and capitalism. Class studies are important because they have the potential to expose the real social inequalities that are often hidden, both at the time and in histories. Wurst characterises class as the most important concept to focus on issues of struggle, conflict, and contradictions in productive relations (2006, p.197). Additionally, we can use the concept of class to investigate the mechanisms by which these contradictions and inequalities are produced and maintained, eventually leading to a more complete understanding of the modern world. Central to this thesis is the idea that different groups of people lived and worked at the study sites. Societal differences are an essential part of the archaeological research paradigm, and these differences can take a variety of forms. The differences between the groups at the study sites can be characterised in multiple ways. As class difference, but alternatively as ethnic difference, legal status difference, occupational difference, wealth difference, or land ownership status difference. Whilst I was initially tempted to refer to them as classes, due to the multitude of important differences between the groups, I have decided to refer to them as 26

just that: different groups. Wurst says that it is important to realise that class does not provide the only entry point into the analysis of this social totality, but that arguing over which surface appearance is paramount is non-productive (Wurst 2006, p.197). An example of the complexity of studying groups which differ in multiple characteristics is Lightfoots work at Fort Ross (1995; Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998). He uses the term multiplicity to refer to the social situation at the site, where multiple groups were present. The main groups present at the site complex where the Russian administrators of the fur trading company, native Alaskan workers, and native American Kashaya Pomo people who were involved by employment and marriage (Lightfoot 1995). These groups differed in their racial, economic, and political status. The social situation at Fort Ross shows strong similarities to that at the early Pilbara headstations. For me, one of the most interesting differences between the groups at the early Pilbara headstations is their different relationships to station work, which can be conceptualised as a differential relationship to production. Despite the fact that I have avoided principally categorising the groups as classes, class studies do indeed provide one appropriate entry point into the analysis of the relationships between these groups. There are a number of assumptions associated with the study of class or status in the archaeological record. Traditionally archaeologists have inferred class or status from the archaeological evidence. This assumes a direct correlation between real life status and status indicators in the material record such as quality and quantity of foods, material possessions, housing, etcetera (Otto 1984, p.11). Later studies acknowledged that this was not always the case. Especially in complex societies, status and access to material rewards are not perfectly correlated. As an example of the imperfect association of status and material rewards Otto says that there was often similarities in the housing and foods of the white farmers, white labourers, and black slaves in Southern plantation society (Otto 1984: 12), although socioeconomic and even legal status varied strongly between these groups. Some recent studies have been directed towards resolving this issue. Otto has conducted a study of social stratification at Cannons Point Plantation in 19th Century America (1984). The groups present were the planters, overseers, and slaves. He uses historical records to establish the identity and status of the people who lived there, establishes from this that there were three status groups, then correlates areas at the plantation with these different status groups again primarily using the documentary record. He then examines the archaeological 27

assemblage at these different areas to reveal how status differences are expressed in material culture, living conditions, and access to resources (Otto 1984). Also attempting to resolve this issue, Connah has conducted research into the Lake Innes Estate, an early-mid 19th century country estate in NSW (2007; 2001). He establishes the various status groups of people who lived and worked at the Estate from the historical record, and then analyses the assemblages from a number of different domestic sites on the estate. He links these domestic sites to the different groups, and demonstrates that status differences are at least partially observable in the archaeological record. However, Connah also finds that some of the historically known status groups are not discernable from each other in the archaeological record. In this thesis I have avoided the issue of simply equating status with status-indicators through my specific method. Firstly, like Connah and Otto, I have used the historical record to establish that class difference/social stratification did exist at these sites. Secondly, my identification of the different classes/status groups in the archaeological record does not rely solely on status indicators, but is based on identifying material correlates of the documented station roles performed by each of the three groups. It is the relations between classes or groups that are most important. Wurst defines two ways of conceptualising class, as an entity, or as a set of social relations, and writes that the aim of class studies should be to bring into focus aspects of the totality of social relations that would otherwise be invisible (2006, pp.200-201). This is important because the relation actually defines what the entity will be and that the entity does not and cannot exist apart from that relation (Wurst 2006, p.195). The study of ideology is also key concept in historical archaeology, and is intimately linked with class relations. Althussers definition of ideology is the main way that the term is conceptualised by archaeologists: ideology as a set of taken-for-granted assumptions that people use to structure their awareness of the world (McGuire 1993). In addition to this simple definition, Mark Leone writes that these assumptions are used to naturalize and mask inequalities in the social order [and] when accepted uncritically, serve to reproduce the social order. Ideologys function is to disguise the arbitrariness of the social order, including the uneven distribution of resources, or social stratification (1984, p.26). However, this assumes that all groups or classes within a society subscribe to the same ideology, and the concept requires further development. It is more useful to conceptualise Leones example as a 28

dominant ideology which can be differentially accepted by different people within a society (Little 2007, p.67). A good example of the differential acceptance of an element of a dominant ideology is taken from Little, referring to an ideological assumption that material wealth legitimizes social power. Although the non-wealthy may question the message, they may not necessarily overturn it. The wealthy, however, may completely internalize the message, making it for them a matter of cultural common sense (Little 2007, p.67). Based on the theory presented, I will investigate spatiality at the early Pilbara pastoral head stations in terms of how it was used to communicate the dominant ideology of the Settlers, not to communicate universally accepted beliefs about the world. The dominant ideology at the early Pilbara pastoral stations can be interpreted in part from the historical record. It is an ideology based on capitalism, with a strong emphasis on class separation between landholders and workers that probably derived from rural British traditions. The relationship between indigenous people and European people as being separate and different at some basic level was also probably strongly embedded in the dominant ideology. An attempt will also be made to understand the other groups responses to this dominant ideology.

Key Studies
Lightfoots work at Fort Ross combines spatial analysis, class/status, and ideology. He investigated how the different ethnic neighbourhoods were spatially arranged, finding that principles of class and status were employed (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998, p.215) by the Russian administrators in an attempt to segregate people into discrete areas. Lightfoot also found that the organizational principles of households and communities are in part manifested in the spatial arrangement of domestic, recreational, and ceremonial activities across space (Lightfoot 1995, p.207). In another paper he wrote that individuals will enact and construct their underlying organizational principles, worldviews, and social identities in the ordering of daily life (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998, p.199), and explored this in part by examining the spatial arrangement of areas and buildings within settlements. In her study of Armidale, New South Wales, Heather Burke uses archaeological evidence to interpret and understand the evolving class relations in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (1999). She demonstrates how the evolving class relations and ideologies of each of her time periods are manifested in the built environment. Burke observes a number of strategies in the built environment, such as the appropriation of ecclesiastical imagery by the pastoralist elite, and says that Each of these strategies became ideological in that each 29

used legitimation and rationalization to establish the right of the upper and middle classes to govern others (1999, p.184). McGuire has investigated the changing class relations in late nineteenth and early twentieth century Broome County, New York (1991). During the late 19th century, he writes that the class relations were rationalised (for the elite) and obscured (from the workers) by an ideology that equated society with nature and derived the apparent inequalities from the characteristics of individuals (McGuire 1991, p.103). However, during the early 20th century this form of capitalism underwent a forced transformation due to a number of factors including the inherent contradictions in the existing social system, and a threat from socialism: Integral to the transformation was the formulation of a new ideology of class relations which, rather than naturalising class inequalities, denied the existence of class (McGuire 1991, p.102). McGuires work shows once again how class relations are regulated by ideologies. McGuire observed evidence for the changing ideology in the cultural landscape and the built environment (1991). Again, the Broome County elites used the landscape to project and legitimise their chosen ideology (McGuire 1991, p.108). The construction of that landscape actually brought some elements of the ideology into existence, for example, class segregation: The landscape can be manipulated to invite interaction between groups in some contexts and discourage it in others (McGuire 1991, p.108). Paynters research has shown that spatiality can both reflect and maintain social stratification (e.g. 1982). For example, he finds that the settlement patterns of the nineteenth-century Connecticut River Valley favoured some social groups over others, and in doing this the built environment contributes to maintaining the social order of stratification (Paynter 1982, p.1). Paynters research further supports the notion that spatial analysis is potentially informative about social relations. However, his work is principally concerned with patterns that exist at a scale larger than a few settlements, but smaller than a nation state (Paynter 1982, p.3). The intrasite scale analysed in this thesis is in contrast to Paynters approach, and thus different spatial analytical techniques will be used. Some of the studies of slavery-based plantations in America and elsewhere have also linked spatiality with class/status/ideology, for example Singletons study of the spatial dialectics on Cuban coffee plantations (2001). Here she looked at the manipulation of spatial organisation by the planters to control the workers, and writes that Nearly every aspect of 30

plantation space from the location and arrangement of slave quarters to the details of slavehouse construction resulted from conscious decision making on the part of planters to maximise profits, exercise surveillance and reinforce the subordinate status of enslaved people (Singleton 2001, p.105). Again, the manipulation of space served to maintain a social hierarchy, in this case by reinforcing the control of planters over slaves. Nassaney and Abel (2000) explore class relations at a 19th Century factory in the US, an early example of factory based industrial capitalism. In similarity to Singletons findings, they show how the factory owners exerted control over the lives of the factory workers both at work and within the domestic realm, through the manipulation of space. At work this was achieved through building designs that maximised surveillance opportunities amongst other strategies. Outside of work, the factory owners designed, owned, and controlled the tenements of the workers, and structured the whole neighbourhood to suit their ends, ultimately profit. This example, in combination with Paynters work, shows that spatiality can be manipulated at a wide range of scales. These studies have influenced my approach primarily in that they shows how spatiality is connected to social relations, that spatial segregation of different groups can be an active strategy, and that ideologies can be expressed in spatial organising principles.

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Chapter 4: Methods
In this chapter I will describe the methods I used to create GIS models of the study sites, and the methods used to produce distribution maps and other summarisations of the data. The aims of this part of the project were to create GIS models that could be used to interpret the spatial patterning at the sites, concentrating on the areas used by the different groups. Firstly, I will summarise the methods. The data consists of spatially complete recordings of three early pastoral head station sites in the Pilbara, in the form of paper field records and GPS derived data. Each paper record, called a Feature Record, describes the spatial location and extent of an artefact scatter, structure, or some other archaeological feature at one of the study sites. The GPS data described the location of each of these features, and also the location of prominent landscape features. These spatial data were digitised into a GIS to form site plans or models of the sites. The artefact location data was digitised as part of my project. Through a series of technical processes that are described in Appendix 3, quantitative artefact data were attached to the locational artefact data within the GIS. This quantitative data consisted of the counts of artefacts of a number of predetermined classes that were found at each location. In this way, a representation or model of each site was constructed, describing the location and character of all structural, landscape, and artefactual features. The model was then queried about the spatial patterning of the archaeological material, and distribution maps were created for each class of material culture. Importantly, construction of the GIS models also enabled these distributions to be examined with reference to landscape features. Observed spatial patterns were interpreted in the light of the documentary record that suggests that there were three broad different groups of people who lived and worked at the early pastoral head stations in the Pilbara: an attempt was made to determine which areas were used by each particular group. The majority of the work described in this chapter takes place within ESRIs ArcGIS software which is comprised of a number of interrelated programs. ArcCATALOG has been used for data management. ArcMAP has been used for all other GIS operations, comprising georeferencing, digitising, editing, joining, topography creation, and display and symbology.

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Preliminary Examination of the Data

First, the data were examined so that I could become familiar with (1) the content, and (2) the structure. This was important to know what was described about the sites, and how it was described. This process was largely intuitive and exploratory. In this section I will present the outcome of this process, and describe the data, as this is necessary to understand the methods which follow. As mentioned previously, the data consists of paper Feature Records, and a GPS derived spatial dataset, which I will discuss separately.

Figure 2. Typical Feature Record

Each Feature Record described an individual archaeological feature at one of the study sites, with the Feature Type indicated on the Feature Record (see Figure 2). In this way, each site was represented as a complex of features, each of which could be an area of general artefact cover, a scatter, cluster, heap, fill, or single artefact, a regular or non-regular structure, or some specified other such as a rock engraving. Each feature record described an individual occurrence of one of these feature types, or a structure and surrounding scatter (e.g. see Figure 2).

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Each Feature Record consisted of nine data fields: the site code and feature number; the field recorders initials and date; the feature type (e.g. scatter or structure); a brief description from the perspective of the field recorder; comments on the archaeological integrity of the feature, mainly describing post-depositional disturbances; the artefact counts table; a table for glass bottle bases and finishes; an object record, describing particularly informative artefacts in greater detail; and a sketch of the feature. I had to make decisions about which types of Feature Record data would be included in my GIS site models. Ideally, all recorded data would have been incorporated into the models, but time constraints were a significantly limiting factor. Consequently, I focussed on the artefact counts: because these were standardised by being grouped into classes of material culture, the data could be relatively quickly converted to table format and meaningfully integrated into a GIS based site model. The sketch data was also relied on heavily, as will be seen. When combined, the sketch and artefact count data (when combined with the GPS dataset) provided a good overall picture of each site: for the time invested, it would yield the best model to use to answer my research questions. The object record data were also included in the models, because this field described additional artefact types that had good potential to directly show the presence of one or other of the three groups. The descriptive object record data was appended to the count data, in a highly reduced form. The bottle base/finish data was not included in the study (this had a detrimental effect on the usefulness of the model and will be discussed in Chapter 7). The GPS derived data described the sites spatially. This dataset consisted of the following elements: the location of the survey point at each feature, as indicated on the Feature Record sketch for that feature; multiple points for each structure, especially the main buildings; lines showing various landscape features such as watercourses, modern tracks, and the base and crest of ridges. This data was recorded in the field using a Trimble differential GPS system. The actual point and line data was captured using handheld Trimble rover units, which had the capability to enter point attributes. As such, a point could be labelled as e.g. F39 or ridge crest in the field.

Division of the Data

Having inspected the content and structure of the data, I made decisions about how best to restructure this data in my GIS model. This had important implications for the analytical potential of my model. It should be noted that each of the three study sites was treated 34

separately, resulting in a separate GIS representation of each, and this should be borne in mind when conceptualising the following data structure. So, the selected Feature Record data and the GPS derived data for each site were eventually divided into the following datasets. The Scatters layer - The feature types general cover, scatter, cluster, heap, fill, and single artefact from the Feature Records were conflated into this more generally defined Scatter dataset, that contained all artefactual data for the model. The great majority of entries in this dataset were defined as scatters on the field records. The feature type assigned in the field was preserved in the Scatters layer in a table field called Type. Henceforth the term scatter will refer to all of these data types. It was necessary to restructure the data at this point: whilst in the field data was divided into features, the GIS based scatters dataset consisted of an entry (row) for each artefact scatter sub-zone: this was necessary because some features had been recorded as consisting of multiple zones of different artefact composition. These features were represented in the GIS by more than one row in the Scatters layer (see Figure 3). In the Scatters dataset the spatial extent of each artefact scatter sub-zone was described with a GIS polygon, derived from the Feature Record sketch. Each Zone entry also described the artefact data for that zone. This incorporated the Artefact Counts data and the Object Record data. 49A artefact zone F49 feature record 49B artefact zone 49C artefact zone
Figure 3. Division of features into artefact zones

P/A Scatters - Some scatters (n=5) had been recorded using presence/absence data instead of quantification. This posed a problem because the presence/absence data was inconsistent with the quantified artefact count data, and consequently could not meaningfully be included in the same table, but some of the affected scatters were extensive, so their inclusion was necessary to any interpretation of the spatial distribution of material across the sites. This problem was resolved by creating a separate layer describing these scatters. The material culture was recorded in a table similar to that for the Scatters layer, but using values of 1 and no data only. 35

The Structures layer - The structures dataset consisted of a GIS polygon layer that describes all regular and non-regular structures, and was created by Andrew Wilson, the survey director for the HAPP project. Landscape features - The location of watercourses and topographical ridges were also recorded using GPS in the field, and these were included in my models. In addition, I created topography data from the point data gathered in the field (see Appendix 3).

Creating the Models

I converted the Feature Record data and GPS derived data into GIS models of the sites. These processes and the problems encountered are primarily technical and are described in more detail in Appendix 3. In summary: The selected artefact data from the Feature records was entered into an Excel spreadsheet, with a unique row for each artefact zone. For each feature record that described an artefact scatter, the field sketch was scanned, and then georeferenced using the GPS data. Each sketch was then digitised, as a separate GIS polygon for each artefact zone. Areas were calculated for each of the polygons, and this data was used to extrapolate those artefact counts that had been recorded using sampling. The zone polygons and the zone spreadsheet rows were then joined in ArcGIS. Landscape feature layers were added, and the structure layers were added.

Display and Symbology Producing the Distribution Maps

I now had a GIS based model for the headstation complexes of Springs Station, Inthanoona Station, and Old Sherlock Station, which showed all structural features and important landscape elements, and the location and character of all artefactual material. I used these models to produce a series of distribution maps, each showing the distribution of an artefact class across one site (see Appendix 1). However, a multitude of ways existed to present the data in these distribution maps, some of which could give a misleading representation of the sites. Decisions regarding display and symbology had to be made with reference to both the nature of the data, and the aims of the research.

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Densities vs. Raw Counts After creating the GIS models I initially displayed the raw counts of artefact classes across the sites. In this way, the artefact zones were displayed in graduated colours according to the number of fragments of the subject artefact class in that zone. For example, those zones with a high number of olive bottle glass fragments would be displayed as a darker colour than those zones with few fragments. This had the effect of showing dark colours for the large zones, and light colours for the small zones. I decided that this was not particularly informative, and in fact redundant, as the size of zones was already represented by their extent on the map. As such, I decided that density was a more meaningful way to represent the distribution of artefacts across the site. I identified two practical ways to display artefact density across the sites. Firstly, the dot density method could be used. In this method, dots would be used to represent a defined multiple of artefacts. For example, see figure x where one dot represents 10 fragments of blue glass.

Figure 4. Dot density display method

This is visually intuitive way to show density across a site. However, there are some problems with this approach. Firstly, this display implies that each point is an artefact location. This is not true, as the resolution of the dataset is only at the resolution of the 37

artefact zone. This means that we may know that 100 artefacts were found within zone 1A, but we do not know where they were found within this zone. The above method of display works by randomly distributing the appropriate number of points within the zone polygon, and as such is misleading. It may imply that the data is more precise than it actually is. Secondly, this method of display required setting the number of artefacts represented by 1 dot. To get a readable display this value had to be different for each artefact class, which again is misleading. Thirdly, if an artefact class was present at a feature, but in a lower quantity than the number represented by one dot, then no dots would be displayed for this feature. This was not appropriate for this context, as the presence of even a small quantity of an artefact class could have important implications. Display Colour Choices To display the different densities as graduated colours I needed to define a colour ramp that would dictate the colours used to display the different density classes.

Figure 5. Alternative colour ramp strategies

Figure 5 shows two ways of displaying densities as graduated colours, and both have their advantages and disadvantages. The first, using a range of unrelated colours from blue to red is strong in that it makes it easy for the eye to discern groups of similar colours. For example, it is easy to see the cluster of blue to the south, and the cluster of red to the north-east. The 38

second makes it easier to visually interpret trends in density darker areas are more dense, lighter areas are less dense. The actual classes have no direct relevance to human behaviour, and it is the general trends in density that is more important to the broad spatial patterning of the site, so the second strategy of using a light to dark colour ramp was usually employed. Common colour ramps used were light purple to dark purple, yellow to red, or white to yellow to red. The colours were not standardised, because this might imply to the casual map viewer that the same density classification was used for each map. Instead, the colour ramps were varied. Additionally, the chosen colour ramps have no relevance to the colour of the material culture represented. Exclusions In order to produce visually intuitive maps, it was necessary to manually exclude some features from the classification process. All features with account of 0 for the subject artefact class had to be manually discluded (see Figure 6).

Figure 6. Data exclusion process in ArcMAP

39

Classification of Density Classes for Colour Display For each artefact class, the statistical distribution of the densities for the different artefact zones was almost always characterised by many low values, and few higher values. The first quartile of the artefact zones would have a narrow range of density values, and the fourth quartile would have a much wider range. In other words the density data was exponentially distributed. This had implications for the classification method used. Classes that divided the total range of densities into equal intervals would not be appropriate, as almost all values would lie in the lowest class. Predefined classes would not be appropriate due to the large variation in the density means and ranges for the different artefact classes. Despite the fact that the density classes could not be kept constant for each distribution map, but it was recognised that some degree of consistency would be beneficial to the maps readability. To this end I derived my classes for each distribution map in the same way, using quantile classes, where each class contains an equal number of artefact zones.

Figure 7. Distribution of zonal density values for an artefact class, with one outlier at 100

40

I decided on 3 quantile classes for most, so that each class contained one third of the total number of artefact zones for which the subject artefact class was present (because the zero count zones were excluded from the classification process). However, occasionally this did not provide a good representation of the data. Some artefact classes were only present at a small number of features, so only one class or two quantile classes were used. Some distributions, for example dark olive glass at OSS, required 4 quantile classes due to the wide range of densities present. In other cases the high density class described an extremely wide range compared to the other two classes. If this was due to one high outlying density value (see Figure 7) then a separate maximum class was manually created in addition to the 3 quantile classes, containing only the outlier. In the example shown in Figure 7, when an extra class break was manually inserted to divide the maximum class, there was little difference to the map produced, because the outliers were always very small in extent.

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Chapter 5: Site Descriptions

In this chapter I will use the distribution maps to describe each of the study sites. The descriptions will focus on defining any discrete areas that are discernable from the archaeology at each of the sites. These discrete areas are primarily functional in nature, such as homestead, or rubbish dump, and are related to the concept of activity areas. The approach of identifying discrete functional areas is based on the premise that these areas can be related to the different groups of people living and working at the sites, due to the different roles that they performed. Some of the likely types of material culture to represent the three groups are now presented, as derived from the historical background chapter. Settlers Hospitality related items; homestead type structural remains; status display items like slate and marble; expensive ceramics (decorated, tea-drinking); higher incidence of

perfume/clothing/hygiene related items; liquor bottles, including expensive types; high density of total artefacts. Servants Some kind of built accommodation; cheaper ceramics; blacksmithing tools; stock work equipment; horse equipment; liquor bottles, with a bias towards cheaper types; smoking paraphernalia (pipes and match tins). Aboriginal people Lithics (flaked stone tools); vitrics (flaked glass tools); grinding tools; petroglyphs; stock work equipment; horse equipment; smoking paraphernalia (pipes and match tins); food cans; lower density of European material culture (due to low access to capital). Pastoral stations have certain types of structural features present (Sanders 2005, pp.29-30). Based on Battyes review of north-west pastoral stations published in 1915, Figure 8 describes the commonly identified features. This is potentially useful for interpretation of the structural remains at the sites.

42

Feature Homestead Sheep Stockyards Horses Shearing Sheds Windmills Outbuildings (workers quarters, toilets) Wells Gardens

Present at % of sampled stations 100 100 67 60 40 40 33 33 13

Figure 8. Common features at north-west stations (Adapted from Sanders 2005)

In the following section, each distribution map will be discussed in turn, with greater emphasis placed on those artefact classes that are more highly represented at the sites, and those thought to be more diagnostic in terms of functional areas. Unless otherwise stated, the percentage of the total assemblage accounted for by any one class has been calculated from the raw counts (sherds or fragments) recorded in the field. Numerical values have generally been given to two significant figures. It is essential that the reader refer to the distribution maps in Appendix 1 for each class of material culture discussed.

Old Sherlock Station

Archaeologically, the Old Sherlock head station complex is represented by artefactual material extending for approximately 40,000m2. This composition of this material is given in Appendix 2. Structural features identified at the site include two main buildings, and a system of stone walls. The two main structures were tentatively identified as the station homestead to the north of the site (Building 1) and a work-related building to the south of the site (Building 2), and the system of stone walls was identified as a stockyard (Paterson and Wilson, pers comm. 28/8/08). A partially complete structure immediately south of the yards (Building 3) also was recorded and artefactual evidence to be presented suggested an equine-related function. A series of concrete pads to the south of Building 2 were identified as modern additions to the site resulting from use by road workers (Paterson and Wilson, pers comm. 28/8/08). Indistinct structural features to the far south of the site were also interpreted as resulting from this 43

modern site reuse, and this area had been heavily affected by grading. The U shaped structure immediately north of the yards could not be identified. Landscape features were also recorded at the site, the most important of these being the hill in the middle of the site, on the eastern side of the yards. The artefactual, structural, and landscape evidence suggested that the site could be divided into a number of discernibly different areas: the homestead and its auxiliary (perhaps kitchen) building; a large dump; the area along the outside of the northern yard wall; the hill peak and its surrounding area; an area used by stock workers to the south of the yards; and the highly disturbed area to the far south (see Figure 9). I will now detail how I arrived at these areas from the archaeological evidence.

Figure 9. Areas observed at Old Sherlock Station

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Dark olive bottle glass is widely distributed across the site, being present at 63% of the recorded artefact zones. However, this distribution is more spatially constrained in the south compared to the north of the site. Dark olive glass also occurs in higher density in the north of the site compared to the south. It is present at almost all recorded artefact zones on the hill. It is present in low density at the hypothesised homestead, but in high density near it, which suggests rubbish removal activity. Dark olive glass is present in medium and high densities at what appeared to be the main dump for the site. The highest concentration of dark olive glass, at 70 fragments per square meter, occurs in a small zone near Building 2. It is possible that this feature represented an additional bottle dump for the working area. Dark olive bottles most often contained alcoholic beverages (Lawrence 2006), and the prevalence of this glass type at Old Sherlock Station indicates that alcohol consumption was high. The wide distribution across the site suggests that all groups engaged in alcohol consumption. However, the greater amount in the northern areas of the site suggests that the people who used this area had greater access to these products. Olive bottle glass was also used for alcohol containers (Lawrence 2006). Less olive glass is present at OSS compared to dark olive, but it is also widely distributed across the site. There is a cluster of high density zones near the homestead (6 high density zones within 22m of the homestead building), suggesting consumption of these beverages by the elite homestead occupants. There is another cluster of high density zones approximately 50m east of the homestead, but the meaning of this is not as clear. Olive glass is present in six zones along the northern wall of the yards. There is some olive glass on the hill, notably a concentration at the peak. Whilst olive glass is present in mostly low densities in the stock workers area, it is at least present at most of the recorded zones in that area. The highest density zone is again at the hypothesised dump for the working area. Overall, the distribution of olive bottle glass suggests: high consumption of alcohol by the occupants of Building 1; the presence of some kind of activity area at the peak of the hill; consumption of alcohol in the stock workers area; and strengthens the argument for the hypothesised working area dump feature. Tinted bottle glass was mainly used to bottle non-alcoholic carbonated beverages such as soda water (Lawrence 2006). It is important to note that tinted glass was used, albeit less often, to bottle alcohol, food, and condiments, but these functions were indistinguishable using the available data. Bottle form could have been used to achieve this, but form data was not included in the models. Tinted bottle glass is the most widely distributed artefact class,

45

being present at 78% of the recorded artefact zones, which may reflect the wide range of uses for tinted glass. Tint glass is present in higher density to the north of the site, both near the homestead, along the north wall, and in the main dump. Given that it is likely that the majority of these bottles represented aerated water bottles, this distribution suggests a greater access to this product for the occupants of Building 1 and any other groups living/working in the northern area of the site, for example those who used the area along the northern wall of the yards. Again there is a cluster of high density zones of tint fragments at the peak of the hill, and this glass type is at least present at most of the zones recorded on the hill. Tinted glass is widely present at the hypothesised stock workers area, but in lower density than in the north. However, the highest density of tint is again found at the hypothesised working area bottle dump, with 128 fragments per square meter in the centre of this feature, and a total count of 571 fragments. However this amount of glass is not sufficient to put tinted bottle use in the working area on a par with that in the northern areas. Amethyst coloured bottle glass is the result of glass with manganese additive being exposed to the sun (Lawrence 2006). Manganese was added to glass primarily between 1890 and 1916, although the practice appears to have continued for some time after this (Bolton 2005). It was used to enhance the clarity of the glass. By inference, appearance was an important quality of these products, and amethyst glass was used for tableware, perfume bottles, and other high status items. Amethyst bottle glass is present at 25% of the recorded zones at Old Sherlock Station and comprises only 1% of the assemblage. It is markedly concentrated around Building 1, which would tend to reinforce the hypothesised function of this building as the residence of elites, or the homestead. In fact, 75% of the amethyst glass is within 25m of the hypothesised homestead building. Amethyst bottle glass is also present in generally low density around the main work-related building. A high density zone is present at the hypothesised working area bottle dump, which again serves to reinforce that interpretation. It is also present in small quantities on the hill and along the northern wall of the stockyards. Colourless glass was most commonly used for condiment bottles (Vader & Murray 1975), such as Worcestershire sauce, HP sauce, vinegar, and salad oil. Whilst this was the most common use for colourless bottles, other uses were also prevalent. The evidence for these bottles is clustered around three areas: the hill; the area along the northern yard wall; and the area around the main work-related building. There is also a large dense scatter at the hypothesised kitchen building, but a complete absence around the homestead. If these do

46

represent

mostly

condiment

bottles,

then

their

distribution

may

indicate

food

preparation/consumption areas. This would support the notion that the structure immediately west of building was the kitchen, as this has the highest number of condiment bottles. But it also seems that food consumption/preparation was also practiced in the three areas listed above. Food preparation/consumption either occurs in a specialised area such as the detached kitchen, or in domestic contexts: it is likely that the hill, the work area, and the area along the northern wall were places where different groups of people spent considerable amounts of living time, engaged in extra-work activities. In her study of the Arltunga mining settlement Holmes found that The sauce/pickle types [condiments] tend to concentrate in areas that the documentary and building evidence suggests may have been used for domestic purposes (1990, p.215). Overall, the distribution of colourless glass indicates the existence of multiple discrete areas for domestic activities, and also supports the kitchen hypothesis. Blue glass was commonly used to bottle pharmaceutical products (Vader & Murray 1975). Blue glass primarily occurs around the homestead, in the dump area, and in the main working area (around the main work-related building). Blue glass is relatively absent on the hill and along the north wall. There is a large dense scatter to the south of Building 3. There are also numerous small isolated zones of blue glass, including some to the far east and to the far west, which indicate that medicine bottles being used at many locations across the site, including locations towards the very edge of the site. Blue bottle glass is more evenly dispersed across the site than most of the other glass types, with no distinct bias towards the north or south. So, whilst blue glass is well distributed across the site at the large scale, at a finer scale we see that it is relatively absent at the hill and at the north wall areas, suggesting that medicine was not used in these areas. In the HAPP project, ceramics were classified as either decorated or utilitarian. Decorated ceramics were almost solely fine tablewares, and utilitarian ceramics were primarily coarser storage vessels. Decorated ceramics are a large component of the assemblage at Old Sherlock Station, being the third most highly represented class at 16% of the total assemblage. Whilst they are present at 68% of the recorded zones, they are present in markedly higher density in the northern part of the site. This northern area of high decorated ceramics density includes the homestead area, the kitchen, the dump, and slightly less along the northern wall. They are present on the hill and in the stock workers area in much lower densities, mostly less than 0.2 fragments per square meter. In fact, the only high density zones that are not located in the

47

northern areas are very small zones, probably the result of individual broken vessels. Decorated ceramic is present in both dumps. Utilitarian ceramics are much sparser than decorated ceramics. They are absent around the homestead. They are concentrated primarily along the north wall, with some at the stock workers area, a small cluster of high density at the hill peak, and a dense cluster of zones approximately 50m east of the homestead in the far NE of the site. Overall, the ceramic evidence suggests far higher access to expensive decorated ceramics, and greater use of highstatus tablewares, by those in the north of the site. This evidence further strengthens the hypothesis that Building 1 was the homestead, and residence of the Settler elites. The ceramic evidence also suggests that the area along the north wall served some domestic function, perhaps the living/working area of domestic Servants. The low density of ceramics in the stock workers area strengthens the hypothesis that low status people used this area. Food cans are present at 34% of the recorded zones, but they account for only 0.55% of the total assemblage. The largest concentration was found in the main dump area. They are also clustered along the north wall area, and are widely scattered across the stock workers area. There are some in the yard and around the yard walls. There is a virtual absence of food cans around the homestead/kitchen and on the hill. The presence of food cans in the northern wall area, the stock workers area, and the yards, suggests that food consumption took place in these areas. This further reinforces the hypothesis that these areas had a domestic or living area function in addition to their work-related functions. In the HAPP project, tobacco and match tins were recorded as non-food cans. These occurred at 15% of the zones. This is a problematic category, because whilst both types could be related to smoking, match-tins could also indicate fire-lighting activities, e.g. for cooking. The majority of these cans are clustered along the north wall. If these were match-tins this might strengthen the hypothesised domestic function of this area. There are also a significant number of non-food tins inside and around the stockyards, which may be related to the smoking activities of pastoral workers. A significant number of non-food tins around the stock workers area also suggest smoking activities in that area. No examples were recorded within 50m of the homestead. The clay pipe distribution would tend to confirm that the nonfood tins found along the north wall represented match-tins for fire-lighting, as no clay pipes were found there. However, clay pipes were found at the homestead in small quantities (1 fragment at the homestead, and 2 fragments 15m away). To further confuse the picture, 48

matchboxes were specifically recorded at some zones (as an _add field in the data). These were found near the homestead and the working area. None were specifically recorded along the north wall, but the _add data is problematic in this respect (see section 3.6 in Appendix 3). Considered together, the matchbox, tobacco, and pipe evidence suggests that smoking activity was practiced at the yards, homestead, and at the stock workers area, and that nonsmoking-related fire lighting was a regular activity in the north wall area, strengthening the hypothesised domestic work function of that area. Bone comprises 16% of the assemblage. It is almost exclusively located along the north wall and in the northern dump. The distribution of bone strengthens the hypothesised domestic work related function of this area, suggesting activities related to food preparation. Lithics and vitrics comprise only 0.90% of the total assemblage, but they are amongst the few reliable specific indicators of Aboriginal people at the site. The majority of zones containing lithics are located on the hill, and the densest of these are located at the peak. There are six other zones containing lithics close to the stockyard walls. Vitrics are more prevalent than lithics, and the majority are located on the hill and along the north wall, with some in and around the yards. The few lithics to the far south of the site were probably created by the modern grader activity that has disturbed this area (Paterson and Wilson, pers comm. 28/8/08). The lithic and vitric evidence strongly suggests that the hill peak and surrounding area was used by Aboriginal people. It also suggests that Aboriginal people were associated with the yards, most probably as stock workers. The high amount of vitrics in the proposed domestic work area along the north wall may suggest that these workers were also Aboriginal. Of the selectively recorded additional classes, a few are worth mentioning. Horse-related equipment is heavily concentrated in the stock workers area, which strongly confirms the hypothesised pastoral work-related function of this area. There are nine horse-related artefacts recorded at Building 3 (30% of the total), suggesting an equine related function for this structure. Shear blades are concentrated around Building 2, suggesting that this building functioned as a shearing shed, at least during the shearing season. Expensive decorative marble is only found at Building 1, and the vast majority of window glass is found there, both strengthening the elite homestead hypothesis. Similarly, hygiene and stationery items are also mainly found at the homestead.

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Examination of the archaeological evidence at the Old Sherlock head station complex reveals six main areas. The homestead area contains the most extensive building, and has the greatest amount of material culture. The presence of high status items such as marble, many decorated ceramics, window glass, hygiene items and stationery confirm the elite status of the residents of this building. It is most likely that members of the Settler group used this area. The area immediately south of the yards, containing Building 2 and Building 3, appears to be an area used by stock workers. The presence of horse equipment and shearing equipment confirms this. In addition to the work-related function, the substantial evidence for food consumption suggests that this area was also used as a domestic and living area for these stock workers. In this case it was not possible to discern whether the area was used by members of the Aboriginal workers group, or the Servants group, or both. However it does seem relevant that stone tools are associated with the stockyard walls, strongly suggesting that the workforce had Aboriginal members. The area covered by the hill was used by Aboriginal people, with a high proportion of the stone and glass tools located here. There is a focus of activity at the peak of the hill. Interestingly, a petroglyph has been engraved on the highest point of the stockyard wall, where it crosses over this hill. It appears that the hill area was used in part for more traditional Aboriginal activities. The area immediately outside the northern wall of the stockyards is more problematic. This area appears to be related to domestic work, and the presence of vitrics here may or may not indicate the presence of the Aboriginal workers group. There is a large quantity of evidence for food consumption in this area, indicating it may have also functioned as a domestic/living area for those who worked there. The domestic/living area function of the homestead, north wall area, hilltop, and the stockworkers area is also supported by the high density of total bottle glass in these areas, which is more likely to be concentrated around living areas, than work areas (Holmes 1990, p.127). The presence of two rubbish dumps can also be discerned. A large dump covering 2100m2 probably serviced the northern area of the site. A much smaller (24m2) but very dense dump probably serviced the working area. The function of the area to the far south of the site could not be identified from the available evidence.

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Inthanoona Station
Archaeologically, the Inthanoona head station complex is represented by artefactual material extending for approximately 20,000m2 on the north side of the Jones River. There is also a smaller area of archaeology on the south side of the river, around what appears to be a system of stockyards, covering approximately 5,000m2. The composition of the artefactual material across the site is given in Appendix 2. Some landscape features were recorded, the most important of these being the Jones River which divides the site, and a rocky hill immediately east of the yards on the southern side of the river, where both contact and non-contact petroglyphs were observed. The rocky hill to the east of the yards is also the location of what appear to be the remains of semicircular huts (see Inthanoona Overview 2 map in Appendix 1): it is likely that this hill was used by Aboriginal people for more traditional activities. The huts may or may not have had a domestic function for Aboriginal people. Referring to Arltunga, a mining site, Holmes says that identified semi-circular stone arrangements could be either related to industrial or domestic use, but that those found in small groups were more likely to have had a domestic function. She says that there is a suggestion that they may have been used by the Aboriginal population attracted to the goldfields (1990, p.212). This implies domestic use of these types of structures by Aboriginal people in post-contact contexts, and by analogy the Aboriginal people group at the station may have used these huts. They may be connected to the mia-mias described in the historical record. The artefactual, structural, and landscape evidence suggested that the site could be divided into a number of discrete functional areas (see Figure 10). The most obvious discrete area is that of the stockyards on the south side of the river, which appears to have been a working/living area for stock workers. To the east is the rocky hill used by Aboriginal people and its associated stone huts. Buildings 4, 5 and 6 appear to be the residential homestead and its auxiliary buildings, probably including a kitchen and amenities. The area surrounding Building 1 appears to be a domestic/working area, possibly for a blacksmith. The large multizone scatter to the south of the hypothesised homestead complex is hypothesised to be a rubbish dump. A large scatter of glass to the north of Building 3 appears to be a vitric knapping area, which was probably created after the site was abandoned and ceased to function as a head station complex. 51

Figure 10. Areas observed at Inthanoona Station

Dark olive bottle glass comprises 32% of the total assemblage at Inthanoona, and is by far the most highly represented artefact class. It is widely distributed across the site, occurring at 60% of the recorded artefact zones, but as with most classes of material culture there is more dark olive bottle glass on the north side of the river. This artefact class occurs in high density in the hypothesised dump area, around Building 8, and in the hypothesised vitric knapping 52

area. Dark olive glass is also present at most of the stockyard zones, but in low densities. Whilst dense and moderately-dense dark olive scatters occur close to the hypothesised homestead complex, no fragments were found directly at these buildings. This suggests rubbish removal from these buildings, which could be interpreted as a form of status display. This tends to support the hypothesised homestead function of Buildings 4, 5 and 6. The distribution of dark olive bottle glass suggests high consumption of alcohol across the site, but also suggests higher access to this resource for those on the north side of the river, especially those who lived at the homestead complex Olive bottle glass is similarly distributed to dark olive, but with a few key differences. It is present at far less of the stockyard zones, and it is present in low densities directly at the buildings of the homestead complex. There seems to be relatively more association between olive glass and the homestead at both Inthanoona and Old Sherlock, compared to dark olive glass. This may suggest that the types of beverages bottled in olive glass were more expensive or high status. Tint coloured bottle glass comprises 21% of the total assemblage at Inthanoona, and is widely distributed across the site, being present at 60% of the recorded zones. As with other glass types, there is a high density zone at the hypothesised vitric knapping area. Apart from this zone, tint bottle glass is markedly concentrated to the southeast of the northern side. Tint bottle glass was most often used to bottle aerated beverages, but the reason for the latter locational bias is indistinct. Tint bottle glass is also present at most of the stockyard zones, but in lower densities. Overall, the distribution of tint bottle glass suggests consumption of aerated beverages across the site, but suggests that the occupants of the homestead complex had the highest access to this resource. Amethyst bottle glass is only present at a small 13% of recorded zones. Over 99% of the amethyst fragments were found on the northern side of the river: amethyst glass forms only a very small part of the stockyard assemblage. Apart from the high density presence in the vitric knapping area, the only other high (or medium) density scatter of amethyst glass surrounds Building 8, to the east of the homestead complex. The function of this building is uncertain. Overall, the distribution of amethyst bottle glass indicates higher access to expensive items for those on the north side of the river.

53

The distribution of colourless glass is concentrated in three areas, around Building 5 of the homestead complex, around Building 1 to the west, and around the stockyards. In the description of Old Sherlock Station I argued that colourless glass could indicate domestic function. Similarly at Inthanoona, these three areas were probably places where people spent a considerable amount of living time, in addition to their work-related functions. Blue bottle glass is again present at the hypothesised vitric knapping area. Apart from this area it is very dense around Building 8, is moderately dense around Buildings 5 and 6 of the homestead complex, and has a small presence at the stockyards. It is likely that homestead had some medicinal function. The small presence of blue glass at the stockyards suggests some use of medicinal products here, perhaps field medicine for work related injuries. However the function of Building 8 remains difficult to interpret. Decorated ceramics are distributed almost entirely on the northern side of the river (99.98%), with only 2 fragments on the southern side near the yards. There is a high density of decorated ceramics in the hypothesised dump, and also in three large scatters north of the track. Some decorated ceramic is present near almost all of the buildings on the northern side, but the centre of the distribution is near the homestead. In the case of decorated ceramics, the densest scatters are those further away from the buildings, suggesting that extensive rubbish removal was practiced at this site. Utilitarian ceramics are similarly distributed to decorated ceramics, with over 99% of fragments located on the northern side of the river, and only 3 fragments at the yards. Utilitarian ceramic is highly present in the dump and around the homestead complex, suggesting that these people had higher access to yet another resource. Again, the densest scatters are those that are removed from the structures, strengthening the rubbish removal hypothesis. Overall, the distribution of ceramic suggests that the highest status people at the site lived in the homestead complex, that lower status people lived near the stockyards, and that rubbish removal and dumping was extensively practiced at the site. 19% of the food cans recorded at Inthanoona are located on the southern side of the river, in the area around the yards. This is a high proportion compared to the distribution of total material, which shows that only 3.4% of the total material is located in this area. So food cans are an important component of the assemblage at the yards. The presence of so many food cans at the yards strongly suggests that people were living in this area, and that low quality 54

tinned foods were a more significant component of their diet than that of the homestead residents. This evidence strengthens the hypothesis that elites lived in the complex formed by Buildings 4, 5, and 6, and that lower status people lived around the stockyards on the other side of the river. Non-food cans are present at Building 1, at the homestead complex, and at the yards. This distribution is congruent with that of matchboxes, but not clay pipes, suggesting that the nonfood cans represent non-smoking-related fire-lighting activity in these three areas. This strengthens the notions that these three areas were locations where people lived, which may be directly related to the three main groups of people known to have lived and worked on these stations. The highest density of scrap metal, both ferrous and non-ferrous, is found near Building 1, although the actual number of metal artefacts here is outweighed by the number at other locations across the site. The largest dense scatter of scrap metal is also located closest to Building 1, about 15m to the east. Although tenuous, it may be that blacksmithing activities took place at Building 1. It seems likely that the area around Building 1 was occupied by a blacksmith worker from the Servants group, as most blacksmiths were European, at least in the early period (e.g. Henry Cusack, Battye 1915, p.221). The distribution of bone also strengthens the hypothesised three domestic areas. This distribution again suggests that food consumption took place near Building 1, near the homestead, and around the yards. The only dense scatter not accounted for is at the vitric knapping area, which was probably deposited after the site was abandoned. Lithics are found exclusively at the stockyard, being present at 52% of the recorded artefact zones in that area. A grindstone was also recorded at the yards. This evidence attests to the presence of Aboriginal people around the stockyards, which suggests that the stock workforce at Inthanoona had a large Aboriginal membership. The distribution of vitrics is similar to that of lithics, but there is an additional scatter on the northern side of the river as mentioned previously. This scatter contains the majority of the vitrics at the site. Its proximity to the main buildings of the site, and the fact that it covers a large area in the middle of the centre of the complex, suggests that the feature must have been created after the site ceased to function as a head station. The large amount of discarded bottle glass could have represented

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a significant tool-making resource, which was exploited. This pattern has been observed at other Australian sites (e.g. Williamson 2002). Of the additional artefact classes that were selectively recorded, a few are worth mentioning. Modern cartridges were identified in the vitric knapping area, which supports the hypothesis that this feature was created after the study period. 92% of the window glass is located around Building 4, suggesting that this building was the most important of the three forming the homestead complex. The majority of the horse-related equipment is located in the hypothesised blacksmiths area near Building 1. Given that maintenance of horse-equipment was a major component of blacksmithing work at these stations, this distribution would support the blacksmith hypothesis for the area near Building 1. Examination of the archaeological evidence at the head station complex of Inthanoona Station suggests the presence of three areas where different groups lived and worked. Building 4, 5 and 6 appear to be the homestead and its auxiliary buildings. Status indicators such as high quality building construction including glazing suggest that social elites lived in this area. There is a low density of artefact directly close to these buildings, and it seems that rubbish removal was practiced at the homestead. A rubbish dump was identified behind and downhill from the homestead complex. The structural and artefactual evidence fits with the hypothesised stock work function of the yards on the southern side of the river. It appears that lower status people were both living and working in this area. The presence of all lithics, grindstones, and many vitrics suggest that many of these people were Aboriginal. The area near Building 1 appears to be a living/working area for a non-stock worker. The available evidence tentatively suggests that this may have been a blacksmith. As most blacksmiths were European, at least in the early period, it is likely that this represents an area attributable to the Servants group. A large scatter of glass and glass tools on the northern side of the river, close to the homestead complex, is an interesting feature, and seems out of place. It is most likely that this dense scatter of glass and glass tools was created after the site was abandoned as a pastoral head station.

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Springs Station
The head station complex at Springs Station is divided by a natural ridge running SW-NE through the site. Most of the archaeological material is located on the southern side of this ridge, including five buildings. Based on an interview with members of the HAPP project (Paterson and Wilson, pers comm. 28/8/08), Building 4 was hypothesised to be a blacksmith. Buildings 2 and 3 were hypothesised to be the homestead and a related building, perhaps the kitchen. The hypothesised homestead faced onto the Harding River, in and around which an extensive system of stone walls had been built. These were either used to control stock access to the river near the homestead, or to control flood waters (Paterson and Wilson, pers comm. 28/8/08). East of the hypothesised homestead, another extensive structure was recorded (Building 5), but the function could not be determined. North of the ridge was a system of stone walls hypothesised to be stockyards and a shearing area. This structure and the associated artefactual material were located approximately 130m from the ridge. A significant amount of material was located on the ridge itself. This included artefactual material, irregular stone structures, and petroglyphs. A cluster of six hut-like structures were recorded on the northern side of the ridge, at its eastern end (see Springs Overview 3 map in Appendix 1). These are very similar to those recorded at Inthanoona Station. The artefactual, structural, and landscape evidence suggests that the site could be divided into a number of areas: the yards; the ridge crest; the cluster of huts; the main area containing the homestead buildings and Building 1; the blacksmith; and Building 5 (see Figure 11). Springs Station was recorded using only 20 quantified artefact zones, compared to 134 at Old Sherlock and 67 at Inthanoona. According to the HAPP team, the reason for this difference was attributable to the different ground cover. At Springs, the ground surface was not rocky and the artefact scatters could be observed as continuous, often over large areas, and they were recorded as such. At Old Sherlock and Inthanoona, artefact scatters were often divided by large rocks, and when this was the case they were recorded separately. This was in line with the survey methodology, but has resulted in an artefactual dataset for Springs that has lower spatial detail, making interpretation more difficult at this site. An additional five zones at Springs were recorded using presence/absence data only. These five zones covered over 25% of the total area of artefacts recorded, and this difference in survey methodology also posed unique problems for the interpretation of the Springs dataset. The composition of the artefactual material from Springs Station is given in Appendix 2.

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Figure 11. Areas observed at Springs Station

Dark olive bottle glass was widely distributed across the site, being present at 80% of the quantified zones. The densest zones of dark olive are located around Building 1, and in one zone to the east of Building 3, close to the river. The density appears to be moderate at the yards, but may be higher due to the fact that the two largest scatters in this area were only recorded as unquantified presence/absence data.

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The highest density of olive bottle glass is again in the zone to the east of Building 3, and it may be that this is a rubbish dump. The distribution of olive bottle glass seems to be weighted more towards the main area than that of dark olive glass, again suggesting an elite preference for the types of beverages in olive bottles. Tint bottle glass is widely distributed across the site, being present at 85% of the recorded artefact zones. It is also present in high density in the hypothesised dump, tending to confirm that hypothesis. Amethyst bottle glass is present in similar densities at the yards and in the main area which goes against the expected status patterning at the site. Colourless glass is quite evenly distributed across the site, but the presence/absence data at the yards again poses problems for comparison between the areas. Amber bottle glass is found across the site, in relatively high densities compared to the two other study sites. This may suggest that more modern activity has occurred at Springs Station. The highest density of amber bottle glass is located in the hypothesised dump, tending to confirm that hypothesis. The distribution of decorated ceramics is also not congruent with the expected status patterning at the site. It exists in high density at the blacksmith and Building 1, moderate-tohigh density at the yards, and low density at the homestead. The only wine glass found at the site was located near the yards, which also contradicts the expected status patterning at this site. Utilitarian ceramics are present at the yards, ridge crest, and main area, but the presence/absence data again precludes comparison between the areas. Lithics and vitrics are located exclusively along the ridge crest. In combination with the petroglyph location data, this would suggest that Aboriginal people were using the hill-crest, and that this use included some relatively traditional activities. The subject matter of the petroglyphs may suggest that Aboriginal people were using this area to observe the Europeans at the station. The only shear blade found at the site was located on the ridge crest, which may indicate its reuse as an engraving tool. A number of items of horse-equipment were located at Building 5, which may suggest that this structure had an equine function. The nature of the structural evidence at this feature would support this hypothesis: the walls do not look as though they formed a building, but may well have formed a small yard for keeping horses. The field method used at Springs has resulted in a dataset that is difficult to interpret, because too few zones have been used. This is essentially a problem of resolution: the site is recorded 59

in too coarse resolution to reach solid conclusions. The mean area covered by a quantitatively recorded artefact zone at Springs was 350m2, compared to 80m2 at Inthanoona and 72m2 at Old Sherlock. For an extreme example, all artefacts surrounding the blacksmith building are recorded as one zone, covering an area of 2100m2. It is highly unlikely that the assemblage in such large zones would have been uniform across space. The variation across space is what my interpretations have been based on for the other study sites, but at Springs this variation is recorded in far less detail. The higher number of artefact zones used at the other study sites has another advantage over the method used at Springs Station. At the other sites numerous zones have been recorded in any hypothesised sub-area of the site, and these zones can be checked against each other to see if a pattern is present. For example, of the approximately 15 zones in the northern wall sub area at OSS, 12 contain a medium or high density of decorated ceramics. Of the approximately 15 zones at the work area, 11 contain a low density of decorated ceramics. The high number of zones recorded enables a clear pattern to be observed: decorated ceramics are more dense at the northern wall area than in the working area. The low number of zones used at Springs does not allow these kinds of patterns to be seen, and the few that are visible are tentative. The Springs dataset also contains the unique problem of presence/absence recording. At Springs Station, zones recorded using only P/A data comprise 20% of the recorded artefact zones by number, and 25% of the artefact zones by area. This is a large proportion of the artefactual material at the site, and it creates a problem when attempting to compare the density of artefacts between the hypothesised sub-areas of the site. For example, the yards cannot be compared to the homestead area, because much of the yard area has not been quantified. As this method of comparing the densities of artefact classes between areas could not be carried out satisfactorily at Springs, interpretation was limited at this site. Some of the artefact distributions contradict the expected status patterning at the site. Based on the historical record and the archaeology at the other two study sites, we would expect that the homestead would be associated with higher status assemblage than the stockyard or other workers areas. This is not the case: amethyst glass, generally correlated with higher status, has a higher presence at the yards than at the homestead area; the only wine glass is found at the yards; decorated ceramics are more dense at the blacksmiths and the yards than at the homestead area. Whilst it is possible that the hypothesised functions of the buildings are 60

erroneous, the structural evidence strongly supports these functions: the stockyards are relatively intact, and include half-height walls and an area of slate flooring, common for shearing areas; the blacksmiths contains a forge; the homestead has a veranda and garden out the front, and faces the river. It is more likely that the assemblages do not solely reflect the period when the site functioned as a head station complex, but are combined with artefact deposition from the time period subsequent to abandonment (as a head station). The Springs Station pastoral lease was subsumed into Cooya Pooya Station in the 20th century, and it is very likely that at least the stockyards continued to be used as an outstation after this time. This activity would have affected the assemblages. There is also some evidence for modern camping activity at Springs Station, especially in the main area around Buildings 1, 2 and 3. Although it is a small component of the assemblage, amber glass is more prevalent at Springs Station compared to the other sites (4.9% compared to 2.9% at OSS and 3.3% at INA), and is present at 47% of the quantified zones. As amber glass is used extensively for modern beer bottles this would tend to confirm the hypothesised modern use of the site. Overall, the artefactual record at the site is relatively uninformative compared to the other study sites. However, the structural evidence is relatively intact and informative at Springs, and from this evidence the broad spatial organisation of the site can be reconstructed: the homestead is separated from the work area by a natural landscape feature, in this case the ridge; the place where Aboriginal workers probably camped is also separated from the homestead, in this case dramatically so, on the other side and far end of the ridge; and at least some servants are located at a distance, for example the smithy. However, this distance is not so great, and may reflect the status hierarchy at the site, of Settler, then Servant, then Aboriginal people. There appears to be evidence of rubbish removal activity, in the form of the hypothesised dump. Aboriginal people were again using the high point (ridge top), and more traditional activities were practiced in this location, including engraving and stone and glass tool manufacture. It should be noted that the preceding interpretations assume that the structural evidence is related to the early period, or that at least the components of the head station complex stayed in relatively similar locations as the station was developed. Because Springs was probably abandoned around the turn of the century, and reuse of the site did not require structural redevelopment, it is likely that this assumption is relatively safe. 61

Chapter 6: Discussion of Group Areas

In this chapter I will discuss the group areas that were suggested in the previous chapter. I will present these group areas, and investigate the spatial patterning of these group areas. I will then juxtapose the observed spatial patterns with what is known from the historical record of the social relations in the early Pilbara pastoral industry. Finally I will offer an explanation for the spatial patterning, and attempt to contextualise the findings within the broader archaeological literature. The definition of group areas is based on the assumption that different areas within the sites would have been used by the different groups known to have been present at early headstations in the Pilbara. In practice it was difficult to differentiate between the Aboriginal people and Servants groups due to the similarity of the station roles they performed. A group area is therefore defined as an area for which the archaeology suggested use by a subset of the three main groups of people present at the sites. The group areas are derived from the site areas defined in Chapter 5. It should be noted that the primary use group was not discernable for the entire area covered by each site. As such what is presented is a necessarily incomplete picture of group use across the headstation complexes, but this remains sufficient to address the aims of the study.

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Figure 12. Group areas visible at Old Sherlock Station

At Old Sherlock Station four group areas could be established from the available evidence: the Settlers area, consisting of the homestead and the surrounding area; an area along the northern yard wall, used by Servants and/or Aboriginal people for domestic work and as a living area; an area to the south of the yards used by Aboriginal and/or Servant stock workers as both a working and a living area; and an area used by Aboriginal people for more traditional activities at the peak of the hill (see Figure 12). With the exception of the newly identified northern wall area, the results of this study are in broad agreement with Sanders ceramic analysis of Old Sherlock Station (2005).

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At Inthanoona Station three group areas could be discerned: The Settlers area, consisting of the three buildings forming the homestead complex and the surrounding area; a living/working area for a blacksmith Servant; and the area around the stockyards, used by Aboriginal people and possibly Servants for stock working, and used as a living area by Aboriginal people (see Figure 13).

Figure 13. Group areas visible at Inthanoona Station

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At Springs Station five tentative group areas were visible (with less certainty at this site): the Settlers area comprising the homestead buildings, garden, and surrounding area; a working/living area for a blacksmith Servant; a stock working/domestic area used by Aboriginal people and/or Servants; and two separate areas on the hill used by Aboriginal people, for more traditional activities and possibly habitation (see Figure 14).

Figure 14. Group areas visible at Springs Station

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Archaeological Findings Spatial Patterns

A number of similarities exist in the arrangement of the group areas across the three study sites, which I have called spatial patterns. Firstly, whilst the three groups can be identified in the spatial patterning, at all three sites there are areas for which the primary use group could have been Aboriginal people and/or Servants. At all three sites there is spatial overlap between the group areas of Servants and Aboriginal people. However, other areas were identified as more likely to have been used primarily by just one of these groups, such as the blacksmith area at Springs Station as a Servant area, and the hill top knapping and engraving areas as Aboriginal areas. At each site the Settlers and their homestead are separated from the other groups by distance. There seems to be a hierarchy to this separation: at the three study sites the non-stock workers are located closer to the homestead than the stock workers. Natural landscape features have been used to separate the stock workers areas from the Settlers areas at both sites. At Old Sherlock these areas are separated by the major hill at the site, at Inthanoona they are separated by the Jones River, and at Springs they are separated by the long and high ridge. As both Aboriginal people and Servants performed stock work roles, and it is difficult to discern between the two archaeologically, it is difficult to phrase this pattern directly in terms of the three groups. However, there is a definite barrier between the elite Settlers and the stock work areas at the headstation complexes. In fact, both the Old Sherlock and Springs Station homesteads face ~180 degrees away from the stock work areas, which could be interpreted as a symbolic distancing from the stock work. Whilst there are definite patterns of separation between the groups at the headstations, there is a limit to this separation: a balance exists between separation and proximity. All group areas are within 300m of the homesteads, and almost all are within 200m. At all three study sites, the Settler group is housed in the most elaborate and expensive buildings. For example, at Springs Station, evidence of a decorative garden exists, the homesteads had glazed windows, and decorative metalwork, slate and marble were used in their construction. The quality of construction of the Settlers homesteads was far superior to the accommodation of the Servants and Aboriginal people, to the point where the accommodation for the latter, if ever present, was so ephemeral that it is no longer visible in the archaeological record, in stark contrast to the substantial homestead ruins. Indeed at

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Inthanoona there is good evidence for Aboriginal people using such low-status shelter as the animal occupied stockyards. At all three sites Aboriginal people were using of the high points in the landscape. Multiple activities are evidenced in these areas, including more traditional activities such as stone and glass tool manufacture/use, and engraving. To summarise, 6 patterns were observed that held true for all three of the study sites: 1. Evidence for the three groups at the headstation complexes, but overlap between Servants and Aboriginal people 2. A hierarchy of spatial separation of the workers from the Settlers 3. Imposing natural barriers separating homesteads from stock work areas 4. An element of proximity between the group areas, that limits their separation 5. The homestead as the most impressive building. The Settlers have the most well appointed accommodation. 6. Aboriginal people using the high points for traditional practices

Comparison of Archaeological Findings with Historical Record

Most of these spatial patterns seem to reflect elements of the social relations as identified from the historical research. Firstly, the spatial patterning at the headstations reflects the presence of the three different groups (Pattern 1). There is also considerable overlap between the areas used by the Aboriginal people and the Servants (Pattern 1), but this reflects the historically documented occupational similarities of these two groups. Secondly, the spatial separation of the Settlers from the other groups (Pattern 2) reflects the documented exclusivity of the Settler group. This separation is hierarchical, with stock workers more distal than non-stock workers. The historical record indicates that whilst there were always Aboriginal stock workers, the non-stock workers would less commonly be Aboriginal, especially after the mid 1880s. If stock workers were more commonly Aboriginal and non-stock workers more commonly non-Aboriginal, then the hierarchy of spatial separation may reflect the documented social hierarchy of Settler>Servant>Aboriginal people. The separation, both symbolically and by distance, of the homesteads from the stock work areas (Pattern 3) reflects the more distant relationship to production (managerial role) of the Settlers. The use of imposing landscape barriers between these areas is certainly the boldest

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pattern to emerge from the analysis. Given that Aboriginal people were probably camping near the stockyards (at least at Inthanoona and Old Sherlock) there may also be a racial component to this separation. The proximity of the group areas (Pattern 4) reflects the documented interaction of the three groups at the headstation complexes. The differential quality of the built environment (Pattern 5) reflects the documented dominance of the Settler group. The presence of more traditional Aboriginal activities (Pattern 6) reflects that the documented phenomenon of culture contact occurred at these places. In general, the spatial patterning reflects the documented social relations, and thus supports the historical evidence. The spatial patterning may also suggest that there was more overlap between Aboriginal people and Servants than is generally described in the historical records. Overall the comparison of the spatial patterns and the historical research suggests that spatial patterning is a good indicator of social relations. Where possible, spatial analysis has a useful contribution to make to studies of social relations.

Explanation/ One Interpretation

Whilst the spatial patterning may reflect the social relations of the early Pilbara pastoral industry, this does not necessarily explain the process by which that patterning was created. So what explains the patterning? It is not stochastically driven because the patterns described exist at all three of the study sites. This being the case, it is more likely that the patterns are a common feature of early Pilbara headstations, and less likely that the patterns are random. Another alternative is that the patterning is driven by the landscape. Are areas separated because landscape features such as rivers are going to be present at these site types, and will tend to divide the site randomly? This does not seem likely, because the patterning is too similar across the sites sample. At all three sites, landscape features have been used to divide the sites by choice, as alternative large undivided areas do exist. It may be that the observed spatial patterning is characteristic of sheep farming practices. For example, the ridges, hills, and rivers that separate the homesteads from the stock work areas may be intended as sensory barriers, due to noisy or pungent livestock. More research into common sheep farming practices and the reasons behind them is necessary to test this. The congruence between the spatial patterns and the documented social relations suggests that there might be a social explanation for the spatial patterning. One explanation of the 68

patterning is that it is an expression of ideology. This way of interpreting the spatial patterning of the past has been applied by historical archaeologists to many places around the world, as detailed in Chapter 3 (Burke 1999; Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998; McGuire 1991; Nassaney & Abel 2000; Paynter 1982; Singleton 2001). Was the spatial patterning of the early Pilbara headstation complexes intentionally created as an active strategy on the part of the Settlers to reinforce an ideology of social stratification? If the Settlers intended to manipulate space at the study sites, then the archaeological record may reflect this but also the multiplicity of responses to these intentions. The best evidence for the Settlers intentions is probably to be found at the level of the overall spatial organisation of the complexes, as this would have been primarily under their control. Similarly, at Fort Ross Lightfoot et al. found that The imprint of Russian managers on the Ross landscape is most evident at the scale of the overall colonial spatial structure (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998, p.215), at which scale they actively manipulated spatiality to achieve their goals of ethnic segregation. According to the researchers, the worldviews and structuring principles of the other groups operated at other scales, for example, within their own group areas, or within individual domiciles. Analysing the broad spatial organisation of these sites is ideal for exploring the Settlers intentions, but unfortunately the scale is not so revealing of the responses of the other groups. In his study of Broome County McGuire noted that physical proximity has a strong effect on the extent and nature of interaction between individuals and groups (McGuire 1991, p.108). Similarly, through the use of physical separation the early Pilbara head stations have been designed in a way that minimises interaction between the Settlers and the Aboriginal people, and also but less strongly minimises the interaction between the Settlers and Servants (Pattern 2). Was this hierarchical structure the Settlers intention? If so, by discouraging interaction between the different groups through the construction of the built environment, the Settlers have been acting to create and reinforce the class segregation component of the dominant ideology. It is interesting that the Settlers have distanced themselves from what is supporting their elite status, the stock work (Pattern 3). Was the separation, both physical and symbolic, between the Settlers and the work areas an active strategy to project and legitimise the different relationships of the groups to production? This can also be viewed as a component of the dominant ideology: that the Settler elites were, and should be, more distantly related to work 69

than the other groups. The same spatial pattern is seen in the cultural landscape of 19 th century Broome county, New York, where the elite Kilmer built his mansion on the west side of the Chenago River, away from his factory, businesses, and workers (McGuire 1991, p.113). McGuire interprets this as characteristic of the elites attempt to reinforce their view of the world [ideology] and to give realty to that view (1991, p.108), through the manipulation of space. In the Pilbara, the Settlers ideology that they were separate from labour was similarly reinforced and made real in the spatial patterning of the headstation complexes. The headstation complexes were constructed in a way that served to reinforce the dominance of the Settler group. Simply put, the Settler group was housed in the most elaborate and expensive buildings (Pattern 5). The intention of this costly status display would have partially been to impress the elite status of the Settler group upon the other groups. By then distancing these other groups from the well-appointed homestead building, the Settlers were both legitimising and reinforcing their elite-subordinate social relationships at the stations. Put simply, the Settlers had the best spot, and the others could look but not touch. The overtly visible difference in housing could also have served to legitimise the higher status of the Settlers in a social Darwinist sense. McGuire writes of another 19 th century social Darwinist interpretation to housing inequality:
The working class of nineteenth-century Binghamton lived in housing markedly different from Kilmers castle. They occupied multiple family houses and tenements across the river and downtown from the homes of Kilmer and other local capitalists. The majority of these buildings werelacking in basic comforts There could be little doubt in nineteenth century Binghamton as to who were the fit and the unfit. The squalor and crowded condition of the working-class neighbourhoods clearly showed why their occupants had failed in the struggle for success. (McGuire 1991, p.113)

If the patterns of separation were based on the dominant ideology, then the proximity of the groups (Pattern 4) was driven by something else. In Harrisons spatial analysis of Old Lamboo Station in the Kimberley region, he noticed that the Aboriginal camps were located inside the station fence: Aboriginal people maintain a sense of identity as pastoral station insiders through their working activities within these fences, which reinforce and reproduce the cultural difference between station workers and outsiders (2004a, pp.132-133). By analogy, the proximity element of the living areas at the study sites may have had something to do with these Aboriginal peoples identity as station insiders. As ideology in its simplest sense is a set of taken-for-granted assumptions that people use to structure their awareness of 70

the world (McGuire 1993), this component of the spatial patterning at the early Pilbara headstations can be viewed as an expression of the ideology of the station Aboriginal people. By using the high points in the landscape (Pattern 6) the Aboriginal people were also straddling the imposed boundaries between the Settlers and the stock work areas. Does this evidence reflect a response to the dominant ideology? It could be tentatively interpreted as a form of ideological resistance, where the Aboriginal people are using the very barrier meant to separate them from the Settlers, and using this it to observe and depict the Settlers in a way that contradicts the intention of separation. Alternatively, this evidence could be construed to indicate an acceptance of the Settlers ideology, whereby the Aboriginal people are engraving rock art at the stations, and are depicting the Settlers in traditional ways, thereby embracing the Settlers into their culture. These seem to be reasonable explanations of the spatial patterning observed at the early Pilbara headstations. However, they involve a high level of inference, and there may well be other processes that are equally likely to account for the observed patterning. The inability to discern between multiple explanations for any observed pattern is one of the weaknesses of spatial analysis.

A Characteristic Site Type of the 19thC World System

The study sites can be viewed as places that had important parallels with many other places in the expanding world economy of the 19 th century (Wallerstein 2004). Plantations, trading outposts, and industrial ventures were all places where different groups came into contact in often exploitative working relationships, in similar ways to the Pilbara pastoral industry. With reference to Fort Ross for example, the similarities with the study sites are numerous: the social structure is very similar at these pluralistic communities, to use Lightfoots term (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998). Whilst at the headstations the groups consisted of elite Settlers, Servants, and Aboriginal people, Fort Ross was home to elite Russian administrators, Creoles, Native Alaskans, and Native Californians (as defined by the Russian administrators). At both the headstations and at Fort Ross these groups were ranked in a hierarchy, with a racial component. In both places this hierarchy was expressed in the rewards for work paid to each group, and in the differential relationship of the various groups to production (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998, p.161). Lightfoot found that at Fort Ross the elites also used spatiality to maintain the group separation that was essential for the continued functioning of the enterprise (Lightfoot, Martinez & Schiff 1998, p.167). 71

McGuire has studied paternalistic company towns, where the form, substance, and spatial relationships of homes and other edifices clearly reflected each individuals position in the factory order (1991, p.104). In similarity to the study sites, these 19th century industrial towns, such as Binghamton in Broome County, New York, were also based on extreme social stratification, which was maintained in part by the manipulation of spatiality and the built environment (1991, p.108). To give an Australian example, colonial estates like that at Lake Innes near Port Macquarie also bear strong similarities to the study sites. Connah found that the Lake Innes Estate was based on a hierarchy of servitude, comprising the elite Innes family, free labourers, and convict labourers (2007; 2001). This hierarchy was partly maintained through the intentional separation of the groups across space (2007, p.257), and was so essential to the very existence of the place that the venture failed with the cessation of convictism in NSW (2007, p.11). Many plantations are also similar places to the study sites, in that they were pluralistic, hierarchically structured, economic ventures. An example is Cannons Point Plantation, as studied by Otto (1984). The strong similarities between these geographically separated places are well illustrated when Otto writes:
A plantation such as Cannons Point could best be defined as an agricultural and social unit where there was a sharp separation between the owner, the supervisors, and the workers; where the aim was year-round commercial agriculture; where there was a specialisation in one or two cash crops; and where the owner was a businessman first and a farmer second. A plantation was also an instrument of force, creating and maintaining a hierarchy of planters, overseers, and slaves. (Otto 1984, p.157)

The similarities between the early Pilbara headstations and other 19th century pluralistic, hierarchically structured economic ventures are notable. For this analysis, the most important similarity between these places is that they were founded, and made possible on a basis of extreme social stratification. The technique of manipulation of the built environment to reflect and reinforce status hierarchies is also a common theme across these widely separated but similar sites. At all of these places the social stratification had to be maintained in order for the continuing function of the place, and the elites found ways to ensure that is did continue. They could be said to be examples of a characteristic site type of the 19 th century economic world-system.

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Chapter 7: Conclusion
In this chapter the aims of the project are evaluated, the strength and weaknesses of the methods are assessed, and suggestions for further research are made. Objectives The aim of creating GIS based models of the study sites was largely successful. Whilst time consuming to create, the models were found to be very useful and even necessary to visualise the sites in broad overview. As a result, much more is known about the broad form of these hitherto archaeologically unknown sites. These models can now be used for further research at the sites, and their analytical potential is extensive. However, it is perhaps more important to asses whether the models were useful for answering the research questions of this thesis. Firstly, could the models be used to determine the spatial patterning of group areas at the sites? This was found to be difficult, primarily because it was hard to distinguish Servants from Aboriginal workers. Instead of being seen as a limitation of the method, this is perhaps better conceptualised as a finding of this study, that these two groups used similar areas at the headstation complexes. The second main issue with the usefulness of the models in addressing the research questions was that bottle glass, comprising 54% of the total assemblage, was inadequately described in the model. Only bottle glass colour was described in the model, owing to the inexperience of the author in historical glass analysis. It was later discovered that bottle glass colour is only loosely related to function (Jones & Sullivan 1989, pp.12-13). The bottle bases and bottle finishes data gathered in the field would have been a useful addition to the model. This could have been informative in terms of consumption patterns, which could have assisted with the identification of group areas at the sites. Some classes of material were more useful than others in identifying group areas. Occupation specific tools were the most useful, such as shear blades and horse equipment, Aboriginal artefacts were informative, and high status items were also useful. But is the concept of a group area even valid? If it is conceptualised as a functional area, which is then correlated with a group known to have performed that function, then it does seem valid given that human use of space is patterned.

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Secondly, the models were also useful to investigate whether there were common spatial patterns at these sites. They provided a ready means to compare the sites, in the form of distribution maps, and the inclusion of landscape features was particularly useful. The only limitation in determining these common patterns was that it relied on the determination of group areas, which had its limitations. That in most cases Servant and Aboriginal areas were indistinguishable did not prove fatal, as useful results concerning other spatial patterns were observable. The third objective to investigate how these common spatial patterns might relate to social relations in the early Pilbara pastoral industry was achieved, but again, the success of this step relied on the validity of identifying group areas. There were numerous parallels observed between the spatial patterning and the documented social relations, but as stated in Chapter 6, this does not establish causality. Indeed there seems to have been some loop in my reasoning in this step, which is a result of my inductive approach. The ecologist Peilou characterised this problem as to argue back, from observed effects to hidden causes (Ammerman 1992, p.246). Whilst it seems plausible that the spatial patterning at the headstations was the result of the social relations at these places, we cannot know with certainty if this was the cause of the patterning. As Hodder and Orton write, different spatial processes may produce the same spatial form (1976, p.239). The main strength of my approach was studying the sites in totality, as this allowed the sites to be understood in broad overview. Kent agrees when she writes The entire area must be opened up to be able to study the internal organization and structure of the site (1987, p.23). The intuitive analytical approach, when combined with some basic quantification to check initial interpretations, was also a strength of my approach. Also, by looking at three sites I have been able to make generalisations which form the basis of a model for early Pilbara headstations. This model can now be tested with further research. The main problems of the approach were the uncertain validity of the group area concept, and also that many assumptions were made about how the various classes of material culture reflected the different groups. Whilst this is safer in historical archaeology where analogy is heavily used due to the recent time depth and cultural similarities with modern practices, it remains a weakness of my approach. There is also the problem of chronological control. The patterns revealed by the analysis could have resulted from successive occupations of the site instead of existing in complete form at any one time. This is a limitation of surface sites, but 74

further research could focus on chronological indicators such as glass bottle manufacturing differences to date individual features/artefact zones. On the technical side, the main accuracy problem was the scale distortion resulting from the field methods. This affected the precision of all the other steps. The method of representing the sites as a complex of artefact zones worked well for Old Sherlock Station, where the site was divided into a large number of artefact zones. However, it worked least well with SPS as the whole site was described by much fewer scatters. Future researchers using this method of recording/display should ensure to use a satisfactorily high number of zones to represent a site. The method of displaying artefact distributions as density zones was not appropriate for the lowly represented artefact classes. For example, as only a few clay pipes were present at the sites, it would have been more useful to know where each one was found. It was also limiting to present the GIS models in paper form using distribution maps. In the future it may be more informative to publish the distributions as an interactive GIS that could be explored online. Because the HAPP survey methodology was designed to provide a dataset that could describe the sites in broad overview, the next step would be to go back and analyse the tentatively defined group areas in more detail. Further research into the material correlates of the three groups would also be useful to check the results of this study. Investigation of sites in other regions, or other site types, using this method of field recording and GIS model creation would further test the usefulness of the method in other situations. However, I am confident that it could be applied to other surface sites as an expedient method to understand sites in broad overview, as the initial stage of a research project. The GIS models constructed as part of this thesis have great analytical potential and should form the basis of future research projects that focus on questions other than social relations. In summary, the GIS models were useful in answering the research questions. The uninformed selective inclusion of data was the biggest problem, but the model architecture was robust, and good for managing and displaying the large amount of site data, producing maps for intuitive analysis, querying for specific information, and conducting some basic quantitative analysis.

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The documents provide a framework of known groups and social relations in the Pilbara pastoral industry, and the archaeology shows how this was expressed in the spatial patterning of the headstations. The spatial arrangement of these headstation complexes is not recorded in historical documents, and the archaeology contributes to our understanding of this. The archaeology also allows an interpretation of this spatial patterning to be made: that it could have been an active strategy on the part of the Settlers to reflect and reinforce the dominant ideology and social stratification of these places, in order to maintain the power and exclusivity of their group. This study is not only relevant to the individual stations, or even to early Pilbara pastoral society, but to the 19th century economic world system, through which this type of social stratification was reproduced across the world based on the elementary division of labour between wealthy white capitalists, non-indigenous workers, and indigenous labourers. Kent writes that archaeologists can only formulate reasonable hypotheses for testing propositions concerning site structure by first conducting inductive pattern recognition studies that elucidate the factors influencing site structure (1987, p.30). Strictly, what I have achieved in this thesis is to formulate a hypothesis regarding the early Pilbara headstations, about which so little was known: I hypothesise that the spatial patterning of these places both reflected and maintained the social stratification. However, this still needs to be tested.

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Appendix 1 Distribution Maps

For the electronic version of this thesis, please refer to the separate Maps.pdf file. These have been separated for ease of viewing.

They are organised by site in the following order: Old Sherlock, Inthanoona, Springs.

They are organised by material culture class in the following summarised order: Overviews, glass by colour, ceramics, cans, scrap metal, Aboriginal artefacts, bone, and additionally recorded classes from the Object Record (see Appendix 3 part 3.6).

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Appendix 2 Composition of Assemblages

Old Sherlock Station
MATERIAL CULTURE CLASS Dark Olive Olive Tinted Amethyst Colourless Amber Emerald Blue Ceramic decorated Ceramic utilitarian Insulator Can food Can other Scrap (Fe) Bone Bone Burnt Lithic Vitric Additional Classes Button Nail Milk Glass Building material Clay pipe Horse equipment Modern Cartridges Fencing material Pearlshell Slate Metal non-Fe Marble Matchbox Tobacco tin Childs toy Window glass Shears Wine glass Hygiene Perfume Stationery Oyster Buckle Tea equipment Cutlery Burnt material TOTAL FRAGMENT COUNT 6728 3546 20341 692 1087 2006 36 1563 10947 2293 1 384 144 7652 11079 22 101 532 14 183 14 12 22 30 13 32 0 8 22 6 5 10 3 1 110 8 0 2 4 2 2 6 5 1 30 69699 PROPORTION OF TOTAL FRAGMENTS 9.65% 5.09% 29.18% 0.99% 1.56% 2.88% 0.05% 2.24% 15.71% 3.29% 0.00% 0.55% 0.21% 10.98% 15.90% 0.03% 0.14% 0.76% 0.02% 0.26% 0.02% 0.02% 0.03% 0.04% 0.02% 0.05% 0.00% 0.01% 0.03% 0.01% 0.01% 0.01% 0.00% 0.00% 0.16% 0.01% 0.00% 0.00% 0.01% 0.00% 0.00% 0.01% 0.01% 0.00% 0.04% 100% ZONES WHERE PRESENT 84 57 105 34 37 36 1 37 91 39 1 45 20 95 13 5 19 25 11 24 6 5 9 11 6 13 0 6 10 4 5 9 3 1 4 6 0 2 4 2 2 6 4 1 5 134 PROPORTION OF ZONES WHERE PRESENT 63% 43% 78% 25% 28% 27% 1% 28% 68% 29% 1% 34% 15% 71% 10% 4% 14% 19% 8% 18% 4% 4% 7% 8% 4% 10% 0% 4% 7% 3% 4% 7% 2% 1% 3% 4% 0% 1% 3% 1% 1% 4% 3% 1% 4% 100%

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Inthanoona Station
MATERIAL CULTURE CLASS Dark Olive Olive Tinted Amethyst Colourless Amber Blue Ceramic decorated Ceramic utilitarian Scrap (Pb) Can food Can other Scrap (Fe) Bone Bone burnt Lithic Grinding stone Vitric Additional Classes Button Fencing material Nail Building material Matchbox Metal (non-Fe) Shell (ambiguous) Clay pipe Milk glass Childs toy Slate Horse equipment Cartridges Window glass Shears TOTAL FRAGMENT COUNT 22124 5224 14869 471 52 2307 477 8399 2486 1 123 10 4083 6896 1024 803 1 249 4 47 27 3 10 8 6 13 3 1 1 7 3 12 1 69746 PROPORTION OF TOTAL FRAGMENTS 31.72% 7.49% 21.32% 0.68% 0.07% 3.31% 0.68% 12.04% 3.56% 0.00% 0.18% 0.01% 5.85% 9.89% 1.47% 1.15% 0.00% 0.36% 0.01% 0.07% 0.04% 0.00% 0.01% 0.01% 0.01% 0.02% 0.00% 0.00% 0.00% 0.01% 0.00% 0.02% 0.00% 100% ZONES WHERE PRESENT 40 21 40 9 8 11 8 23 14 1 13 7 48 12 3 15 1 15 4 4 14 2 9 7 5 11 3 1 1 7 3 2 1 66 PROPORTION OF ZONES WHERE PRESENT 60% 31% 60% 13% 12% 16% 12% 34% 21% 1% 19% 10% 72% 18% 4% 22% 1% 22% 6% 6% 21% 3% 13% 10% 7% 16% 4% 1% 1% 10% 4% 3% 1% 99%

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Springs Station
MATERIAL CULTURE CLASS Dark olive Olive Tinted Amethyst Colourless Amber Emerald Blue Ceramic decorated Ceramic utilitarian Can food Can other Scrap (Fe) Bone Bone burnt Lithic Vitric Additional Classes Button Nail Matchbox Metal (non-Fe) Clay pipe Milk glass Horse equipment Cartridges Shears Bed Wine glass TOTAL 2 19 17 2 2 2 24 5 1 1 1 229792 0.00% 0.01% 0.01% 0.00% 0.00% 0.00% 0.01% 0.00% 0.00% 0.00% 0.00% 100% 2 9 7 2 2 2 3 4 1 1 1 20 10% 45% 35% 10% 10% 10% 15% 20% 5% 5% 5% 100% FRAGMENT COUNT 31095 26903 20407 2266 8791 11204 205 1000 13993 921 1411 303 9848 67176 34182 3 8 PROPORTION OF TOTAL FRAGMENTS 13.53% 11.71% 8.88% 0.99% 3.83% 4.88% 0.09% 0.44% 6.09% 0.40% 0.61% 0.13% 4.29% 29.23% 14.88% 0.00% 0.00% ZONES WHERE PRESENT 16 13 17 10 10 9 1 3 10 3 6 4 14 3 4 2 3 PROPORTION OF ZONES WHERE PRESENT 80% 65% 85% 50% 50% 45% 5% 15% 50% 15% 30% 20% 70% 15% 20% 10% 15%

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Appendix 3 Technical Processes

3.1 Topography Creation

This was accomplished by first creating a Triangular Irregular Network (TIN) from the points, using the Create TIN tool. Contours were then created from this TIN surface using the TIN Contour tool. It was not possible to create an accurate topography from the Springs Station dataset, due to large areas with no point data recorded, but the main topographical feature, a large ridge, was adequately described in the Ridge layer.

3.2

Georeferencing the Feature Record Sketches

Georeferencing involved locating a scanned image of the sketch in geographic space within ArcGIS. For each feature record that described an artefact scatter, the field sketch was scanned and imported into ArcMAP as a raster, using the add data tool. Each field sketch raster was then georeferenced using the Georeferencing toolbar in ArcMAP. The survey point of the sketch was used as the primary ground control point (GCP): Using the Add Control Points tool I indicated that the survey point marked on the sketch should align with the GPS derived point for that feature (see Figure 15).

Figure 15. Matching the survey point to the GPS point - Georeferencing F11 at OSS

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Because the survey point was intentionally positioned on a grid vertex, and the sketches included a scale, orientation, and grid lines, additional virtual GCPs could be created with validity. One point was created on a grid vertex some distance west of the survey point, for example 10m west. The exact distance is unimportant, although I always used a distance of five metres or greater to promote accurate georeferencing. I indicated that this point should be located 10m west of the first ground control point by subtracting 10m from the easting coordinate of the survey point GCP, manually entering this data into the link table (see Figure 16). The northing coordinate from the survey point GCP was reused without modification.

Figure 16. Manipulation of georeferencing link table values

The third point was created in the same manner, this time north of the survey point, at a distance of 10m for example. The Easting from the survey point GCP was reused, and the 10m added to the northing coordinate of the survey point GCP. This instructed ArcMAP to match the points selected on the sketch raster to the coordinates I specified, thereby locating the sketch in its correct geographic position within the GIS. To check that the georeferencing was successful and accurate, I measured the length of the grid panel (15 scale units) in an east-west and north-south direction using the Measure tool in ArcMAP. If these measurements were not within 5% of the correct distance (15 scale units) then the georeferencing process would be repeated. In practice this only occurred once 88

due to an error in coordinate subtraction. The georeferencing information was then stored with the raster in an auxiliary file of the same name by selecting Update Georeferencing from the Georeferencing tool menu. Some Feature Records (n<10) did not have a corresponding point in the GPS derived set of points. The issue was easily resolved in almost all cases. A teleconference was held with two members of the HAPP team (Paterson & Wilson pers comm. 28/8/08), and the features were positioned by them based on memory, photographs, field notes, and the description fields of the Feature Records. There were variable reasons for the missing points. Some points had occasionally been incorrectly named when they were recorded using the handheld GPS in the field. If this was the case then the appropriate point was identified by the survey team, from those unused. When georeferenced, I found that some field sketches did not correspond with other GPS data describing the site. Sketches that described an artefact scatter near a structure often indicated that structure as well. For example, F58 at Old Sherlock Station depicts an artefact scatter that terminates on its eastern side at a wall, which is indicated on the sketch. However, when georeferenced, the position of the sketched wall did not correspond with the position of the wall in the GPS derived Structures layer. This also occurred with some of the sketches describing scatters around major buildings. This was a result of the scale distortion that had occurred during field recording, attributed to the pacing method of measurement. What is important with these features is the relationship of the scatter to the building or structure, so it was paramount that the two representations were correctly placed relative to each other. An example is F35 at Springs Station. This was georeferenced using three points from the buildings F18 and F19, both described in the sketch and in the GPS data. When this was done an almost perfect match was obtained, but the scale was slightly out, with one grid square representing 8m instead of the 10m indicated on the scale of the sketch. I decided that this was probably due to an inaccurate pace measurement by the field recorder: If the buildings were so accurately represented on the plan, but the scale was only 80% correct, then it is likely that the rest of the sketch was also accurate but with similar scale distortion. So the scale distortion was accepted. It is important to realise that pacing was the distance measurement method used in the field, and there are limitations in accuracy inherent in this. Decisions had to be made to construct the best representation possible from this limited data.

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3.3

Digitisation of Scatter Extents

The spatial extent of each artefact zone could be best represented in the GIS model as a polygon. A new polygon shapefile was created in ArcCATALOG, in which the zone extent polygons would be stored. This shapefile was called Scatters, and will henceforth be called the Scatters layer. Each artefact scatter field sketch was digitised into the Scatters layer separately. The georeferenced Feature Record raster would be displayed on-screen, and the pencil line representing the extent of the scatter would be traced using the Create New Feature tool in ArcMAPs Editor toolbar. A GIS polygon is described by a series of connected nodes, and these nodes were positioned by effectively tracing the sketch with the mouse. I positioned nodes at intervals of no more than 0.5 metres, and most often with greater precision. The reason for this variability is the widely variable size of the scatters recorded in the field, and therefore widely variable sketch precision. Nodes were placed at intervals of roughly 5mm on what would be the paper feature record. Thus the polygon digitising precision was roughly proportional to the sketch precision. Single artefact feature types were included in the Scatters layer. Their spatial location was digitised as a very small polygon, usually a circle of between 0.1 and 0.2m diameter. An example is F23 at Old Sherlock Station. It would have been more accurate to digitise the location of single artefacts as points, but this would unnecessarily split the artefact data in the GIS model into two layers. The decision to digitise the single artefacts as polygons and include them in the scatters layer was made to minimise the complexity of the GIS model. This would facilitate analysis, and any future use of the models by third parties. Scatters that were recorded as consisting of multiple zones of differential artefact composition were recorded as separate polygons for each zone. When appropriate the Clip tool from the Editor toolbar was used, so that no area was described twice in the Scatters layer (see Figure 17).

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Figure 17. Clipping mutually exclusive zones of artefact density at F14, Springs Station.

In ArcMAP each shapefile has an attribute table which stores information about each entry (in this case each polygon). A field called Zone was created in the Scatters layer attribute table. After each polygon was digitised, the feature number and zone were recorded in this field: F14 zone B would be recorded as 14B in the zone field of the attribute table (see Figure 17). For the sake of data format consistency within the Zone field, the polygon for a single zone feature, say F65, would be recorded as an A zone polygon, 65A. Some scatter extent polygons exhibited considerable spatial overlap, due to the scale distortion introduced by the field recording methods. This only became apparent once the feature record sketches were georeferenced and digitised. This problem was resolved by rescaling the scatter extent polygons after they had been georeferenced and digitised and all overlaps assessed. Scatter overlap was a significant problem at Old Sherlock Station, with roughly 15 polygons affected, but it was only encountered once at Springs Station, and four times at Inthanoona. This is probably due to the higher density of scatters at Old Sherlock Station. Overlapping features were scaled using the Scale tool in Arc GIS. Scaling was carried out relative to the survey points of the sketches (by moving the selection anchor over the GPS derived feature_point), as often this was the pacing origin. Because field recorders would pace outwards from this point to draw their sketch, most scale errors should increase in magnitude outwards from this point, so using this point to anchor the scaling would provide the most appropriate scale correction. When the two overlapping scatters were of similar size, the scatters were both reduced by approximately the same degree. For overlap between a large and a small scatter, most of the reduction was applied to the larger scatter. This could not be exactly quantified in ArcMAP, and as such was estimated by eye, using my contextual 91

knowledge of the survey methods. Also, due to the fact that a spatially continuous scatter would in most cases not have been separated into two features, a gap between features was assumed in most cases. This was also estimated, using a gap of 10% of the average of the diameters of the overlapping scatters. Figure 18 shows the effect of the scale reductions carried out on the OSS data.

Figure 18. Rescaling reductions at OSS

3.4

Artefact Data Entry

A table was created using Microsoft Excel. Each row in the table was used to describe an individual artefact zone. A few columns were used for descriptive data for that artefact zone: the feature Type as recorded in the field; the sample size if sampling was used. A column was created for each of the 24 classes of material culture listed in the Artefact Counts field of the Feature Records. The count recorded for each of these artefact classes was entered as a 92

number for each artefact zone. Occasionally, extra material culture classes had been added to the feature records by the field recorders. These material culture classes were added to the table as columns with the suffix _add: for example, Nail_add. In the Artefact Counts field of the Feature Records, some values had been recorded in the form >x. For example, the F2 record from Inthanoona Station records >1000 fragments of bone. It is a requirement of the data structure of my GIS model that all counts were entered as integers. As such, these instances had to be modified, and preferably in a standardised manner. I decided to interpret the greater than sign as indicating a value 25% greater than the given number. So for the >1000 pieces of bone, 1250 was used as the value in my table. Approximately one fifth of the total artefact zones at all sites had been recorded using sample squares. The size of the sample was recorded in the table for each row, with N used for those artefact zones recorded in full (not sampled). This data was later used to extrapolate the samples to totals. Some artefact zones had been recorded using multiple sample squares. In this case each of these samples was initially entered in the table as its own row. For example, Feature 22 from Springs Station was recorded using four 2x1m sample squares, but these all described the same artefact zone. The counts from each of the four sample squares were initially entered as individual rows. Then these counts were then added, for each of the classes of material culture, using an automated process in the spreadsheet program. This left me with the total number of artefacts of each class recorded in the total area sampled. In the case of F22 at Springs Station, sample squares A, B, C & D were all 1x2m, so the final numbers at the end of the addition process were indicated as being from an 8m2 sample. This sample area data was used later to extrapolate totals for the full area of the sampled artefact zone. The same process of table creation was replicated for the presence/absence data, the only difference being that the presence of a material culture class was simply indicated with a 1 value in the appropriate table column. The P/A data was stored as a separate table.

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3.5

Extrapolation of Samples

Approximately one fifth of the artefact zones were recorded using sampling. For the GIS model to be an accurate representation of the site, these samples had to be extrapolated, and this was accomplished using both ArcMAP and the spreadsheet program. The basic premise is that the sampled counts needed to be multiplied by what I have called a multiplication factor (see Figure 19). True Count = Sampled Count . Multiplication factor Multiplication Factor = Zone Area/ Sample_area
Figure 19. Relationship between true and sampled artefact counts

The area of each artefact zone polygon was calculated in ArcMAP using the Calculate Areas tool, found in ArcToolbox>Spatial Statistics>Utilities. The result was appended to the Scatters layer attribute table in a field called F_Area. Data was then entered into Sampling_Area field in this same table so that it represented the total area recorded for the artefact zone. If a 1x1m sample square was used, then the value would be 1, or if the entire feature was recorded, then the F_Area value was copied to this field. A new field was created in the attribute table called X_Factor. The field calculator was then used to derive these values (see Figure 20).

Figure 20. Calculating X_Factor values

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As part of this step the values were rounded to whole numbers. This was necessary because the artefact counts only make sense as integers. The reduction in precision is acceptable, given the relatively low precision of scatter area recording in the field, using pacing for measurement. The values in the X_Factor field could then be applied to the artefact counts for every zone as a multiplication factor. This would increase the values for sampled features, and retain the original values for unsampled features. To multiply the artefact count values I copied the X_Factor values as a field into my artefact counts spreadsheet. I then used the Paste Special - Multiplication command in Excel to multiply the counts by the X_factor values. This multiplication factor was only applied to the regular artefact count categories. It was not applied to the x_add categories because these were derived from the object records, which applied to the whole feature, not the sample squares.

3.6

Object Record Data

As discussed in Chapter 4, I decided that the data in the Object Record field of the Feature Records was relevant to my research aims, and thus should be included in the GIS models. However, this posed some problems, as this data was structured differently to the artefact count data, on which my artefact table was based. Firstly, each Object Record pertained to an individual feature. This contrasted to the rest of my data structure, which was divided into sub-feature-level artefact zones. As such, this data could not be completely legitimately integrated into the GIS model, but a solution was reached. As most multiple zone features consisted of one main extent zone, and one or two relatively small other zones (see Figure 17), the object record data would be recorded as part of the data for the largest zone of any multi-zone feature. Secondly, the Object Record described material from the entire feature, and sampling was not used for this field. This needed to be considered when adding the object record data to the rows for artefact zones that had been recorded using sampling: it would be incorrect to extrapolate the Object Record values along with the Artefact Counts values. The simple, but important, solution to this issue was to add the object record data after the sample extrapolation process had been carried out.

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Thirdly, the object record data was not recorded as items of particular material culture classes, but as unique artefacts, many of which did not have a place in the material culture classes already recorded in the table (from the Artefact Counts field of the Feature Records). However, after a thorough examination of the types of artefacts recorded in the Object Record, it became apparent that these artefacts could be crudely divided into a small number of categories. These categories included buttons, nails, matchboxes, clay pipes, horse tack, and shear blades. Each of these categories was added as a column to the artefact table, with the suffix _add, for example Horse_tack_add. This is the same method used for the extra classes sometimes added to the Artefact Counts field, and as such the data structure of my model was not made more complex by the inclusion of this extra data. Whilst I considered the inclusion of the _add fields to be potentially useful in my analysis, their use would also have some special limitations. Importantly, as these categories/classes of material culture were not routinely recorded at each feature, gaps in their resulting spatial distribution would not necessarily reflect real gaps at the sites. Presence would be certain, absence would not. This was indicated on the affected distribution maps.

3.8

Joining

Joining the artefact counts table to the Scatters layer polygons was achieved using the Joins and Relates tool in ArcMAP. The join was based on matching the Zone fields of the artefact counts table and the Scatters layer attribute table. With completion of the joining process, each artefact zone polygon was linked to the data describing the artefacts that had been recorded at that zone.

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