“That speaks, don’t it? The past.”

So says Ralph Fiennes’ character, the archaeologist Basil Brown, from the new Netflix movie, The Dig. The film dramatises excavations at Sutton Hoo during 1939, the results of which were so stunning that it re-defined our understanding of the Anglo-Saxon era.

Brown’s words resonated strongly with me as a flood of memories returned from my archaeological career, first in Belize, and later the City of London. Career may be too grand a word, but the sheer thrill when something of significance is found is one that stimulates all archaeologists, regardless of experience.

I first caught the archaeology bug when working at Xunantunich in early 1995. I had travelled to Central America to learn the trade before my degree began later that year. The site is dominated by a stunning example of a Maya pyramid, and was part of a network of cities within the Upper Belize River Valley. Of the nearby sites, the most famous is Tikal – iconic in the Maya world, and for its appearance in Star Wars. Most ruins in the region (and there are so many) have been looted, and that joy when a cache of beautifully engraved jade is found was by then all too rare.

I worked on the excavation of a playing field, where a rather unique sport was played. A ballgame, a cross between volleyball and football, with the winning team sacrificed to the gods. The Maya glyphs we uncovered have lived long in my memory. But a disastrous event occurred around 750AD, most likely an earthquake, and the city was abandoned. These Central American Maya cities may have been alien to me, a European, but the past was speaking.

There is a scene in The Dig when an archaeologist admits damaging an artefact during the dig. Cue immediate and public admonishment from the senior archaeologist presiding. In my experience, damage was commonplace, but honest declarations less so. The archaeologist’s reaction was, once the find was dropped/crushed/split, to immediately look around and check for surveillance by colleagues. If unobserved, continue work until tea-break/lunch/end-of-day. On return to the work-area, declare, “Oh my goodness, look what’s happened here, this piece has unfortunately been damaged by someone!”

This was particularly true on the site of Spitalfields Market, now home to Itsu and Leon, but previously a burial ground and medieval hospital.  Most, if not all, archaeology in central London is in the context of construction, and carried out under tight deadlines. Back when I worked there in 1999, we excavated hundreds of human remains dated throughout the medieval period. Skellies as we affectionately called them, were buried facing east towards Jerusalem. These skeletons were in mass graves, and often difficult to distinguish from one another. They were also incredibly fragile, but archaeologists were under pressure to excavate and we had a quota per day – Royal Bank of Scotland needed the office space.

Earlier on in the year, a lead sarcophagus had been found to contain a Roman woman, dated around 400AD, and which prompted plenty of excited press interest. Subsequent analysis has uncovered material in the coffin from as far away as China, and the woman herself was found to have originated from southern Europe – perhaps even Rome. 

These excavations had their unique finds, and they made work as an archaeologist feel very special at times. One could put up with the miserly pay, miserable weather conditions and back-breaking labour so that we could feel that excitement when something unique was found.

Whether the past is a Roman, Maya or medieval one, it speaks the same language.