The Genesis Chronicles: The evolution of humankind

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The Genesis Chronicles

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The Genesis Chronicles The evolution of humankind

Glen McBride

ALLEN & UNWIN


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Copyright © Overlord Holdings Pty Ltd, 2000 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2000 by Allen & Unwin 9 Atchison Street St Leonards NSW 1590 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 E-mail: [email protected] Web: http://www.allen-unwin.com.au National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: McBride, Glen. The genesis chronicles: the evolution of humankind Bibliography. Includes index. ISBN 1 86508 108 6. 1. Human evolution. 2. Social evolution. I. Title. 599.938 Set in 11.5/13.5 pt Baskerville by DOCUPRO, Sydney Printed and bound by Griffin Press Pty Ltd, Adelaide, SA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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Contents Contents

Preface 1 After Eden: in quest of our human beginnings

vii 1

The Chronicles of Ramapithecus and Australopithecus: The Beginning 2 The first step 3 Tiny—triumphantly upright against all odds 4 Groomer discovers the joy and fruits of sex 5 From ape to hominid—our first ancestors

15 17 33 41 51

The Chronicles of Homo habilis 6 Spearman and the dance of the fawn 7 Handsigner’s story 8 Stroker follows her heart 9 The first language

81 83 92 99 103

The Chronicles of Homo erectus 10 Fireboy’s magnificent obsession 11 Sensi the toolmaker—designer and trader 12 Wulu the firemaker 13 New skills for new people

123 125 143 153 162

The Chronicles of Homo sapiens 14 Stories in the dark 15 Roo—Dreamer of dreams and mother of gods 16 Words, gods and humanity

171 173 183 195 v


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The Chronicles of Homo sapiens sapiens 17 Sharptools—whose arrows killed mammoths 18 Through another’s eyes 19 The boy and his wolf 20 Brudherder—keeper of sheep 21 Sower—a woman of vision 22 A flowering of talents 23 Legacies—bequests and blemishes?

207 209 219 228 237 249 264 271

Further reading Index

311 313

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Preface Preface

As you turn this page, somewhere a child sits chin in hand, eyes wide and shining, enthralled by a storyteller—one able to weave magic in the minds of their listeners, conjuring pictures, actions and, later, daydreams. In today’s societies, a love of stories nurtures our most extravagant arts—film, television, opera, ballet or theatre. But however told, the effect of a story is always the same, the listener’s imagination is fired into activity. Without imagination, a dance without a story is but exercise, a song merely a tune, a theatre only a hall. This is a book of stories about beginnings—stories were our first truly ‘human’ communication and we need them for many reasons, not least to explain our existence, the unknowable mysteries of our beginnings. Such are the myths of our origins, of the foundation of our world and everything therein. These diverse and wondrous stories-become-myths are the bedrock of all human groups—fundamental carriers of culture, whether sung, danced, signed or quietly told around a fireside. They are zealously guarded by their official custodians, be they priests or scientists, each insisting on the exclusive truth of their tales! The sources of stories have always been the great stream of human consciousness. Whenever people, or animals, go about their daily lives, stories spring into being. Our human evolutionary journey must surely be the richest source of stories yet to be exploited: for example, the first instance of human communication—what a scoop! Or, when an early erect and heavily pregnant female suffered the first ‘slipped vii


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disc’, who was first with the story? Obviously, these events precede recorded time but we know the questions, we understand the problems, and we have the evolutionary skill of imagination to attempt the answers. While versions of events in human evolution may vary, there is complete unanimity on the general account of our origins. Fossils—bones and products of human activity, particularly stone tools, and their geographic distribution provide hard evidence. Often, bones are incomplete and all too few of them have been found to make interpretation easy or complete. Sophisticated technology has allowed fossils to be dated and positioned in the evolutionary path with a high degree of reliability. I am indebted to all who have uncovered the fossil record, for without it I could not have written The Genesis Chronicles. My intent here is not to provide yet another account of hominid evolution from fossils discovered: rather, the record provides an accurate reference for the fascinating sequence of the various hominid species which it reveals. For those who wish to broaden their knowledge of the fossil record, there is a range of further readings at the end of this book. Fifteen chronicles unfold a unique and detailed account of those steps which I believe were crucial in the evolution of human posture, technology, speech, creative intelligence, spirituality and religion—that is, the evolution of Homo sapiens. Each step was made by an individual living in a small social group and each precipitated a period of dramatic change in the lives of our ancestors as they adapted, gradually improving their skills and the efficiency with which they harvested their environment. Each step, however alternated with enormously long periods of gradual consolidation, expansion and increasing diversity. The Genesis Chronicles are neither right nor wrong, good nor bad. Rather, they deal with universal questions and concern key evolutionary transitions along humanity’s long and arduous journey from a small ape to an Australopithecine, from Australopithecine to Homo habilis, thence Homo erectus, Homo sapiens and, finally, to us—Homo sapiens sapiens. My account does not clash with any accepted version of human evolution based on the analysis of fossils. Rather, in the Chronicles I attempt to provide a completely new picture based on the evolution of behaviour viii


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the study of which has been my private and professional passion for over 40 years. Because you have opened the covers and read thus far, I assume you are a curious reader and for that reason each group of stories is complemented by a scholarly discussion, albeit in plain English, to assist you to ponder the issues it addresses. My stories will evoke many responses. Most importantly, they are told as through the eyes of a storyteller—had one been present—for it is when the human imagination is stimulated that we are likely to be stirred to further curiosity. If my writing The Genesis Chronicles stimulates others to write finer stories which increase our understanding of our origins, for me, there could be no more exciting outcome. For the magic of the story never fades.

Naturally there are others to acknowledge. The first must be Charles Darwin. I read his Descent of Man—and most of his other books—as a student in Edinburgh; the excitement they generated has lasted over half a lifetime. My major help has come from my wife Helen, whose dedicated efforts shaped my academic writing into readable prose. Noelene McBride provided me with her portable computer which allowed me to work while away from home—and most was written ‘on vacation’. I am grateful to Susan Mercer, of the Department of Anatomy, University of Otago, New Zealand, for her guidance in the problems of standing erect and the changes necessary in the human spine and its associated muscles. Literary agent Tim Curnow supplied belief in the project and encouragement throughout. Ian Bowring of Allen & Unwin gave his support, right from his reading of the first draft. Naturally the hundreds of books and articles read throughout a long career, both remembered and unremembered sources, provided the information on which I have drawn to create the Chronicles. For this book came from them and from the stimulation they gave me, not from the dedicated hours in libraries normally associated with a book’s preparation. ix


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Chapter 1 is a background to the Chronicles—if you want to start the human evolutionary picture without further delay, skip directly to Chapter 2, the first Chronicle—of Yellowtip. Glen McBride Brisbane, 1999

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1 After Eden: in quest of our human beginnings After Eden

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he them; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply . . .’ Genesis, 1, 27–8 The main conclusion here arrived at, and now held by many naturalists who are well qualified to form sound judgement, is that man is descended from some less highly organised form. The grounds on which this conclusion rests will never be shaken. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

SEEKERS AFTER ‘TRUTH’—FAITH VERSUS REASON How could we, Homo sapiens sapiens—modern people—have reached such extreme explanations in our search to understand ourselves and our heritage? The author of the book of Genesis arrived at his story from the perspective of faith, by looking inward to the collective dreams of a paternalistic society. His, or theirs for there may have been many authors, was the way of the storyteller and myth-maker. Darwin, on the other hand, arrived at his position from the perspective of reason, by looking outward and seeking facts, tangible evidence; nothing less would satisfy him—the way of those whom we call ‘scientists’. There are as many known myths about humanity’s origin as there have been civilisations through recorded human history. 1

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Developed independently in both time and place, it is fascinating that they commonly propose a creation theme of a time ‘before knowing’. Perhaps this theme acknowledges what Charles Darwin believed, that there was indeed a time before our ancestors could form ideas and mental pictures about their lives and relationships—long before they could communicate these to each other. A further common theme is that of a cataclysmic event, which led to an exodus from a ‘garden’ of peace and plenty—changing the ‘unknowing’, or innocent, state forever. Thereafter our ancient ancestors ‘knew’; they experienced and understood life as an existence of travail and striving. The compensation for our expulsion from paradise would be our inherent creativity or ingenuity, that placed our future in our own hands. Even among the scientists, there have often been controversy and conflict, for science is a human activity, where people can respond to differences of opinion or interpretation by anger and acrimony. The conflict between faith and reason can seem irreconcilable to many people. In the western world, as the twentieth century of a Christian era draws to a close, the struggle is escalating between the ‘creationists’—those who believe that ‘creation science’ can only demonstrate truths which have already been revealed in the word of God, written in the Bible—and those who by implication are ‘true’ scientists. The scientific quest for understanding is worthy of its own brief story and provides a fitting introduction and context for the Chronicles which follow.

GLORIOUS REBELS: CHAMPIONS OF EVOLUTIONARY THEORY Evolution is the scientists’ account of life on this planet, from its very beginnings to the myriad life forms with which we share the planet today. As with all great discoveries the scientific journey began in curious minds. Many creative thinkers—glorious rebels in their time—contributed to the development of evolutionary knowledge and we will touch on some of their stories. Their fundamental proposition is that life on earth evolved, with all species deriving from other pre-existing species. Even the extinction of untold animal and plant species which we have witnessed 2


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during the twentieth century is one of the steps in this story. We humans look aghast at the changes we are bringing about today, but in evolution there have been many such bursts of extinctions although up to now they have never been judged in moral or ‘value’ terms. Values are something uniquely human and new to evolution. Human evolution comprises only a tiny part of the evolutionary story. Scientists know that the difference between our genes and those of our nearest relative, the chimpanzee, is only of the order of 2 per cent. What this means is that in our physical form, our developmental processes and the vast range of chemical reactions within our bodies, we are almost identical with chimpanzees. The small differences in our DNA have made us a separate species; yet when we compare our worlds, the differences between us seem to be large enough to put us in a separate taxonomic grouping or phylum, because of the complexity and range of our behavioural, intellectual, societal and cultural repertoires. The central figure in the journey of discovery is unquestionably the English naturalist Charles Darwin, who lived and worked between 1809 and 1882. Darwin also trained in medicine and holy orders but didn’t practise either. His contribution to the scientific debate needs to be appreciated in the historical context of his time, for questioning and scholarship in biology and geology were well developed prior to the nineteenth century. It was in the eighteenth century that a Swedish scientist, Carolus Linnaeus, set out to classify all of the then known plants and animals on the basis of their similarities and differences, one with another. This was to become the great taxonomy—and is still the fundamental basis for classifying all known life forms. Linnaeus provided the necessary unifying schema which enabled others to think in terms of relationships within and between species and therein lies his specific contribution to the developments which led to evolutionary theory and Charles Darwin. Many scientists had begun to consider the nature of the species, their origins and the necessary mechanisms, from differing perspectives. In 1794, Erasmus Darwin, Charles’ grandfather, published a treatise proposing an evolutionary process. It was not a new idea, but one whose time was approaching. Perhaps the 3


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greatest of the evolutionists preceding Charles Darwin was the French biologist Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, who, in 1801, wrote a brilliantly clear account of evolution throughout the plant and animal kingdoms. Lamarck, however, made one claim which has been hotly disputed ever since and, in fact, many modern biologists have not studied his splendid account of evolution; his theory that the mechanism of evolutionary change was the inheritance of characters acquired by individuals in their handling of environmental challenges. Thus the cheetah, for example acquired its ability to run well because its ancestors had striven to run ever faster, and had so developed running skills. Lamarck has not yet been forgiven, though Lamarckian mechanisms have been found.

NATURAL SELECTION From observations gathered during a five-year voyage on HMS Beagle, Charles Darwin proposed a theory of evolution—the relatedness between all organisms. For Darwin, the great cornerstone of evolution is the concept of ‘natural selection’. Darwin made many significant contributions to our understanding of the world around us, but this was his most magnificent, though in his preface to the later editions of The Origin of Species, he pays tribute to others who had also proposed the concept of natural selection. The idea of selection is deceptively simple. All that is involved is that some individuals, animals and plants, with special valuable characteristics different from their fellows, leave more offspring than others. These ‘special’ individuals breed relatively true, thereby changing the next generation. When selective forces arose from the environments in which organisms lived, the selection ‘fitted’ them for life in that context. What could be easier? Wrong! Animal and plant breeders knew of the efficacy of selection in bringing about change—artificial evolution—but the step from there to natural selection as the creative force in all biology, was too great a conceptual leap for most to make. So how did Darwin come to his understanding? Darwin knew that selection worked. The realisation that natural selection was the mechanism of evolution did not come to 4


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him until he had read the essay by Thomas Malthus, On Population. Malthus observed that people produced more offspring than were necessary to replace themselves, so that populations grew as a result. Moreover he saw that reproductive growth was on a multiplicative scale, which he realised was faster than the expansion of food supplies, which he saw as increasing on an arithmetical scale. He therefore asserted that population growth would always outstrip food supplies, thus leading to starvation and misery. Throughout my life I have repeatedly heard that Malthus ‘got it wrong’. But no-one has yet shown me why, or how. So I still believe that Malthus ‘got it right’. Darwin realised that the same was true for both animals and plants and, that of those exposed to such competition for nutrients and food, some would compete better than others. The successful ones would live and leave offspring, the unsuccessful would not. The offspring would probably carry the characteristics of their parents which gave them their competitive advantage. He recognised this as a selective process similar to that used by animal and plant breeders, whose work had greatly interested him. He had seen their control of selection by choosing each generation’s parental stock from the ‘best’ of the previous generation. The way each breeder defined ‘best’ depended on what characters of animals or plants they chose to select. The offspring of the ‘best’ were always a little ‘better’ than other offspring so, after a few generations, there were appreciable changes in the stock. Darwin deduced that if a selective force also happened naturally, then it was most likely the central mechanism of evolution. He prepared these ideas in 1844 as a book but made no move to publish. There were good reasons for his hesitation even though by now he was one of the most highly respected naturalists of his day, with a prodigious writing output. These new ideas were outrageous and shocking by the religious standards of the times and would undoubtedly challenge and cause conflict within the powerful religious establishment. For himself, he probably had little care, though he was by nature shy and diffident and in poor physical health. He drew back from the certain public controversy out of concern for his family. Publication took another fifteen years and an unexpected request from another biologist, 5


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Alfred Russell Wallace, who had arrived independently at the same conclusion on natural selection. Wallace wrote to Darwin as a senior member of the scientific community to explain his ideas and ask if Darwin would be prepared to present them to scientific colleagues. Imagine the surprise they must both have felt on discovering each other. A joint paper on natural selection was presented to the Linnean Society on 1 July 1858. The proverbial cat was then out of the bag and Darwin moved to have his The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection published in 1859. He had, however, correctly discerned the prevailing societal response and he and his ideas were subjected to lampooning and denunciation. Darwin continued with his scholarship and writing, leaving it to others to make public defence on his behalf. This was undertaken most capably in England by T. H. Huxley, a brilliant biologist and orator. Though argument rumbled on, Darwin lived to see his propositions accepted into mainstream scientific thinking. Darwin made an important error because he did not understand the nature of inheritance of characters. He recognised his deficiency. He thought that the characters of both parents were blended together when they mated, although he rgalised that this would lead to a destruction of variability. Though it had been published already, albeit in an obscure journal, he did not know the work of the Austrian monk, Gregor Mendel. Mendel became fascinated with exactly how characters were inherited in, of all things, garden peas. He worked alone and tirelessly on his experiments, carefully documenting the processes and eventually demonstrated exactly how some characters were inherited. He had discovered the laws of inheritance, since shown to be quite general, but his great contribution was not recognised until after his death and that of Charles Darwin. Let me attempt a simple explanation of the selective process, from our own human experience. You have two parents, four grandparents and eight great-grandparents. This doubling each generation is inevitable unless there is inbreeding and one ancestor fills two roles. Thus, ten generations back you have 1024—say 1000 for ease—ancestors in that generation and 20 generations back you have a million ancestors! Go back another 500 years (about 20 generations) to just before the battle of Hastings in 6


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1066 and you and I each have, or should have, one million million (1,000,000,000,000) ancestors in that generation alone. Of course there have never been so many humans since the dawn of time, so how do we make any sense of the proposition? If we had full and accurate pedigrees of everyone back to that time, we would find that a large number of people in that first generation, for a great many reasons, died before reaching the age of reproduction; others had children, and these are possible ancestors. However unless these had grandchildren and in turn, great-grandchildren, they too disqualify themselves as ancestors. Those who are left are the interesting ones, for they are the real and selected ancestors of all future generations. Some individuals would have hundreds of millions of pedigree lines from us tracing back to them, while others might have only thousands, and many would have none. There is always that irritatingly capricious element of ‘chance’ in choosing mates, in early deaths of people or their children. A colleague, John W. James (1962), showed how its effects could be calculated. Yet selection was the regular and consistent force. If individuals in that distant generation had some characteristics which caused them to produce highly viable offspring, to whom they also passed these characteristics, where they had the same effect and so on, then this was the selective process in action. Valuable characteristics, inherited over many generations, would cause particular families to spread their genes widely compared with families without these qualities. Extreme families would vary from extinction to literally overwhelming contributions to later generations. The greater the range, the greater the selection which occurred over that period. Transmission of characters is through genetic material—genes carried on chromosomes and pieces of chromosomes and either of these are easily eliminated—if only by chance. Yet we now know much about what happens to characters under selection from many long-term animal experiments. The selected character generally responds, probably for about 30 generations, then slowly ceases to change, though continued selection will lead to occasional short bursts of response. If the lines under selection are crossed with other lines and the descendants selected, there 7


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is an immediate rgsponse, even if the outside lines have also ceased to respond to selection themselves. Selection is successful because there is normally plenty of genetic variation in any character which comes under selection. There is no need to await new mutations. Sewall Wright, a great American geneticist, showed that the optimum condition for natural selection was a large population divided into semi-isolated subgroups. I suspect that these were exactly the conditions of our ancestors over most of their evolution. They lived in small groups, and regularly exchanged members in various ways. The regular interchange of members of groups meant that selection was always able to exploit the genetic variation which existed between the groups, as well as any variation that existed within a particular group. It also meant that any group which made fortuitous progress in any useful character would eventually pass this on to its neighbours, from where it would spread throughout the species. With every evolutionary step, there is an enormous energy of colonisation or exploitation of new resources, and usually a replacement of many pre-existing species. The early steps are all exciting, some with more appeal to people than others.

FROM THE FISHES OF THE SEA: HUMANITY’S JOURNEY BEGINS The evolution of a spinal cord in animals was followed by an explosion of fishes. The movement of some of these onto land allowed a whole new world to be conquered by a new evolving group, the amphibians. Today these comprise the frogs and newts, but then the variety was enormous, with a range almost as large as the dinosaurs albeit with the constraint that water was still needed for their reproduction. Even so, thousands of species evolved to occupy every niche in this dry world. The step to reptiles, laying eggs on the land, opened up another environment to conquer. Following this conquest, there was a replacement of almost all of the amphibians by newly evolved species of reptiles. Most amphibians paid for their lack of competitiveness by becoming extinct—thousands of species died out. But the seemingly 8


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unconquerable reptiles had an Achilles heel—they were inactive and helpless in the cold and they too would eventually succumb. Small mammals evolved. They kept their body temperatures constant and grew hair to help them do so. They broke free of the need to incubate their eggs at their body temperature, as birds did. Instead, mammals kept their eggs within their warm bodies while embryos developed throughout gestation. Parental care was essential, to provide milk, protection and an introduction to the environment in which the young would live. They adapted to a totally new land environment—the cold—and a whole new world opened up to them—that of the temperate nights and winters. With mastery of their environments they became powerful predators and competitors who then stole from the reptiles the very niches from which they had displaced the amphibians. There have been suggestions that a great meteor striking Earth could have been responsible for the extinction of the great reptiles—the dinosaurs. It seems that there was such a meteor and the dust it raised did envelop the Earth. If the dust blocked out the sun and lowered the Earth’s temperatures, then it certainly would have had less harmful effects on the cold-tolerant mammals. Yet the extinction of the reptiles was inevitable, for few had effective maternal behaviour to protect their eggs and certainly none could match the active, deadly nocturnal mammalian predators. Their elimination of the dinosaurs was certain.

FROM DARWIN’S ‘APE INDEFINITE’ TO ‘MAN THE WISE, THE WISE’ We have few primate fossils from the geological time 5 to 25 million years ago—the Miocene period—so the type of quadrupedal ape in our direct line of descent is still controversial and unlikely to be recognised until many more fossils are found and examined. Even then, the range of candidates may be large. It is likely that during the Miocene, one of the possible candidates, the Dryopithecines (Darwin’s ‘ape indefinite’), broke into two main lines, one leading to us and the other to the chimpanzees and gorillas. Our ancestors could have been one called ‘proconsul’, dated at about 18 million years ago, or one of its relatives 9


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among the Dryopithecines; another contender is Ramapithecus, but there are others. This debate will last until an adequate fossil record is available. The Miocene lasted 20 million years. Towards its end, the great ice ages bggan, tying up enormous quantities of water in polar ice caps. This meant a drying out of much of Africa, Darwin’s preferred site for the origin of human evolution. Subsequent exploration and fossil discoveries have confirmed Darwin’s hypothesis. For despite a worldwide search, it is only in Africa that archaeologists have found fossils of the first hominids, Australopithecines and Homo habilis as well as the two related species, chimpanzee and gorilla. The fossil distribution of our ancestors does not noticeably expand until Homo erectus enters the scene. Tropical African forests gave way to savannahs, great open grassy plains with scattered trees. The habitats of many forest animals disappeared, although some adapted to life on the grassy plains. The time gap between potential quadruped ancestors and the erect primates is large, possibly 10 million years. The first erect primate fossils, of which we have many, date from about 4 or 5 million years ago. The earliest group was named the genus Australopithecus. There are several species of Australopithecines, A. afarensis, the oldest and possibly the ancestor of the others, A. africanus, A. robustus and A. boisei. There is some argument about which of these are in the direct line of human evolution. Time and the discovery of more fossils will sort this out. The African continent probably held as many different environments then as it does today. As the Australopithecines spread across the continent, they occupied many of them, with local selective factors leading to differences between the groups. The strains which emerged had distinct physical forms and behavioural adaptations to their local conditions. Even the present population of Africa contains many physical types; Pygmies differ from their larger neighbours, and both differ from the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert. Future archaeologists could have problems in deciding whether these were different species, though we accept that all are members of this single, but polytypic human species. Australopithecine groups would occasionally come into contact with one another. Genes could then be interchanged. Such 10


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crossbreeding would provide the genetic variability which would fuel new responses to any selective processes already operating. Thus one, or a combination of these ‘species’ could lie directly in the ancestry of our species. The Australopithecines resembled us mainly in that they walked erect. We would consider them small. A. afarensis and A. africanus stood from less than a metre high to about 1.25 metres. Their faces were apelike and chinless. Their arms were long, with fingers reaching to their knees. Their brains were small and any tools they may have made have not survived. They probably used sticks and bones for digging roots. They may well have made a range of wooden tools from sticks but these would not have become fossilised. Some A. robustus were larger, about 1.6 metres high. A. boisei was the largest of the Australopithecines, from 1.6–1.8 metres high. It was also heavier with a heavy brow and central skull ridges. The fossil evidence shows the evolutionary sequence from the Australopithecines to modern people reasonably clearly. Those who followed the Australopithecines have all been named Homo, the category or genus into which we place ourselves. There is and will always be new evidence of hominid fossils and time will be needed to sort these findings into a new sequence. I shall stick to the presently accepted succession of hominid types, since my Chronicles concern a sequence of changes, not a sequence of fossils. The first and most ‘primitive’ hominid is Homo habilis, or ‘handy man’ and, in sequence, we find H. erectus, H. sapiens and finally H. sapiens sapiens. All these merge into each other and overlap, with few clear boundaries between them. H. habilis and H. erectus probably were contemporaries for a while, perhaps about 2 to 1.8 million years ago (even some Australopithecines lived on until about a million years ago). H. erectus survived probably until 250,000 years ago, the first people called H. sapiens appeared about 400,000 years ago. Homo sapiens lived in Africa, Europe and Asia until H. sapiens sapiens emerged, perhaps 200,000 years ago. Throughout the story of evolution, each species evolved behaviour to carry out its essential functions of feeding, defence of the tribe and reproduction. Part of this behavioural repertoire was social behaviour, by which they built relationships with their 11


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fellows and, through this pattern of relationships, their societies. Within this societal context, animals harvested and distributed the resources of energy used by their species. Hitherto species had but one set of social behaviour, and the ability to create one or two types of societal structure. The next step taken in the evolution of humans produced a species with the ability to create a vast and varied range of societies, particularly in the development of specialised subgroups to carry out the many functions in their society. All modern people are members of the one species, but no-one could say that all groups have the same societal structure. The essential feature of societal structure is a division of labour. All animal species divide labour. Whenever complex behavioural genders are present, there is a division of labour involving much more than just sex and reproduction. Throughout the social insects, the divisions are complex, sometimes in the form of structural castes—workers and soldiers. Other insects, for example honey bees, divide labour by age groups. All still produce reproductive male and female genders. Characteristically, however, we tend to look back at our history in terms of its technological strides—the various stone tool cultures, the Bronze and Iron Ages, while realising but not recognising that special societies were needed to allow labour specialisation and trade in the materials produced b{ each component of society. We note the steps from stone to copper, bronze and iron, again without fitting them into their essential cultural settings, which would include appropriate societal structures, in particular, specialised groups of tradespeople and soldiers supported by those who produced food. The steps to herding and cultivation, especially of grain, gave rise to permanent camps which, in turn, became villages and towns in which artisans could work, invent and develop material cultures. The first step taken by a species of apes on the convoluted pathway to Homo sapiens sapiens was that of standing erect. The transition was neither quick nor easy and probably took many, possibly hundreds of thousands of years. Once mastered, however, new potentials emerged. The most important results were technology and human communication. The latter is quite different from the communication of other species. The first human 12


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communication was totally different from speech for it took millions of years before modern speech evolved. The Chronicles take us through each of our ancestors’ steps in this pathway. From its very beginning, the new communication’s significance lay in the fact that youngsters could learn from the experience of their elders. They could learn the dangers and techniques of hunts they had never seen and hone these skills in play. As communication became capable of handling complex negotiation, new forms of social relationships were possible. Tribes could arrange trades that were mutually beneficial. Whole trading routes and specialists became possible. Some members of each tribe could turn away from the basic forms of production which had always provided the necessities of life and, with their improving technological skills, could produce surpluses of items for trade. Similarly, specialisation of roles could occur within groups, so that those best able to produce particular items could exchange their surpluses for goods produced by others. This is the sort of division of labour central to all human societies as we know them.

We know the end point of the story of human evolution, for all modern humans are the one species we have named Homo sapiens sapiens—‘Man the wise, the wise’. We occupied many different environments and our societies varied enormously. Since all of us are the same species, our story must end with us, whether we are Australian Aborigines, Kalahari Bushmen, Americans or Japanese. I choose that this history ends with the Chronicle of Sower—in the simple cultures from which Homo sapiens sapiens began his conquest of this planet, some 200,000 years ago, reaching its final stage at the end of the last ice age, 10,000 years ago. And so at last to the stories of our beginnings—The Genesis Chronicles . . .

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The Chronicles of Ramapithecus and Australopithecus: The Beginning The Beginning

WHAT WAS THE WORLD LIKE AT THE BEGINNING OF OUR JOURNEY? It was late in the age we call the Miocene (from 25 to 5 million years ago), perhaps 6 or 7 million years ago. The terrain was heavily wooded, with good rainfall, though climate changes were creating extensive areas of rain shadow—open woodland and savannahs. Superficially, the land looked much as it does today, though a botanist would notice many differences. While the animals were different in various ways from their modern descendants, many would look reasonably familiar to us. Predatory carnivores as well as grazing and browsing herbivores ranged across the land. Several species of monkeys and apes inhabited the trees and savannahs. No-one knows the exact starting point for the human evolutionary journey for, as yet, we have found no fossil that we can clearly recognise as belonging to our primary ancestor. We can recognise several species of Australopithecines, but we have also found animal fossils that date from many millions of years before the Australopithecines. Therefore, the search for a recognisable human ancestor continues. For the purpose of these Chronicles, I have chosen Ramapithecus, a small ape, possibly 1 to 1.3 metres tall. Once evolved, they adapted to the new world of bipedalism, a long, uncomfortable and dangerous process. Once erect, they are classified among the ancestors of humans, and called hominids. 15


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For The Genesis Chronicles, Ramapithecus will do. For it is only important that we have a starting point, and there is no doubt that it was an ape, certainly living in Africa during the Miocene. Three evolutionary steps were necessary to produce a bipedal ape—Australopithecus. The Chronicles of the Beginning draw us into the lives of those singular individuals who achieved these vital first steps, thus setting in motion a long, tortuous, but fascinating journey. Our beginnings cover some millions of years. Australopithecine faces are still apelike, although the head has now moved back above the spine, allowing forward vision. Dense body hair is now absent on both males and females, their black skin protecting them from the sun. Female hips and breasts are more prominent, at least in adults. Babies are carried on their mother’s hips until they are capable of walking by themselves; then they hold their mother’s hands. Australopithecus’ lifestyle ensures that all keep strong, but females can no longer range over long distances on the plains and remain close to their sleeping trees at all times. Though essentially vegetarian, their digging sticks help them to kill small animals, snakes, lizards or aquatic animals to add some variety to their diet. Males have learned to defend their troops from the attack of most predators and even to drive some predators from their kills. Australopithecines are first found in the fossil record some 4 to 5 million years ago. They divided into many separate races and even species as they spread over most of Africa. Each probably lived in a different environment, such was the climatic diversity of the time, although they would have met from time to time. Australopithecines survived until about 1 million years ago, so it is most likely that they would have come into contact with later evolving hominids. And so our human story begins . . .

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2 The first step Time and Place: The late Miocene—perhaps 4 to 7 million years ago, on an African savannah.

In each great region of the world the living mammals are closely related to the extinct species of the same region. It is therefore probable that Africa was formerly inhabited by extinct apes closely allied to the gorilla and chimpanzee; as these two species are man’s nearest allies, it is somewhat more probable that our early progenitors lived on the African continent than elsewhere. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Not even a whisper of a breeze disturbed the savannah grasses, still and tall as far as the eye could see under a tropical sun, now high in the sky. Old Alpha, the leader, rose to his full height letting his deep-set, steady dark eyes roam across the plains. Sunlight caught the grizzled silvery mane which streamed down his flat head and back, contrasting with the dense black hair covering the remainder of his short stocky body. His face was tense and alert, smooth, shiny, and black, his wide mouth firmly pulled together over immense canines; a full beard of grizzled black hair encircled his face. Gazelles grazed quietly downwind among the few scattered skeletons of once shady trees. No ripple or disturbance by predators interrupted the morning tranquillity of the troop—his troop. The gazelles’ sensitive noses and his superb long sight would, together, provide fair warning of approaching danger. Nevertheless, he glanced around to satisfy himself that the troop’s male sentinels remained vigilant. Old Alpha relaxed down on all fours among the tall grass. Loping forward on his knuckles, he selected a clump of grasses, 17


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slowly pulled it free then beat it against the ground to reveal prized juicy roots and stems. His females, ever watchful in his presence, gathered closely around and soon all were feeding quietly. Infants wrestled and chased each other in boisterous play. Every now and again a male sentinel on the troop’s periphery raised himself above the grasses to stand erect, checking for danger. A sense of well-being pervaded the scene and Old Alpha felt well pleased—but not for long. His eye caught the telltale sign of impending trouble—at the very least, a disruption of the peace. Two of the younger adult males had positioned themselves eyeball to eyeball, sitting stiffly back on their haunches, silent and still, back hair bristling, staring fixedly at each other. All recognised this prelude to a challenge, to combat. How tiresome were these strutting young males with their endless challenges for higher status in the troop’s hierarchy? Yet Old Alpha did not move—the course of events was ancient and predictable; he knew that when the fight began, another senior male would move in to halt it before either of the contenders suffered serious injuries. He was secure in his continuing dominance and leadership as yet, but one day he too would succumb—this was the way of the troop, the key to its renewal and survival. Within minutes the peace was well and truly shattered, focusing all eyes on the combatants. The younger male, Yellowtip—so named because of the unusual tips of colour to his otherwise dark hair—was big in height and girth and strong beyond his years. It was he who gave the first provocative yawn, followed by staring directly at the older male. The cheeky, blatant challenge brought an immediate response. With a roar the offended male charged, with his knuckles sweeping across the ground, his face contorted into a mask of affront and rage and his lips fully drawn back to display a set of menacing canines. Yellowtip hopped aside slightly and, more by good luck than skill, bit his opponent on the shoulder as they collided. Dust flew, bodies tangled and the air was shattered by the youngster’s wild, harsh screams. Yet within moments, the fight moved to its inevitable conclusion as the offended one applied his superior skill, born of experience. Yellowtip turned once again to face him. Rapidly tiring and sensing that he could not win this one, he knew that the fight 18


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must somehow be terminated or he would be severely injured. He drew himself upright to strike down at his opponent, torn between the opposing urges to fight and to submit. His hand accidently brushed an old branch of a fallen tree, wedged loosely in the ground. Rgaching desperately for support, he pulled the branch forward to brace himself against his charging opponent; this caused the straight end of his stick to point directly at his adversary. Before either knew what had happened the older male hit the point at full tilt and screamed as it ripped into his shoulder. For a split second both he and Yellowtip were still, blinking with uncomprehending shock. Then the wounded ape tore himself free from the branch and raced away, howling in agony and disbelief. But Yellowtip’s reprieve was short-lived. Unwittingly he had moved backward and, in so doing, had trespassed into the space of Beta, the second dominant male. Beta roared a warning and charged at Yellowtip. Sensing rather than seeing the attack, Yellowtip swung to face Beta, still grasping the branch. At full pelt Beta fell directly onto the straight point of the stick. With little more than a grunt, he wrenched himself back, then fell on the ground twitching, and was still. Jaws stopped in mid-chew as the troop stared at the corpse. The shrill call of a distant bird broke the silence, but not the spell. One by one they turned to Old Alpha. He seemed hardly to have noticed; he still appeared absorbed in feeding. Females grunted urgently to youngsters, gathering them close to them. The troop huddled around their leader. Bodies itched, demanding scratching, urgently. Sentry duty forgotten, adult males watched Yellowtip, now standing over the body of Beta. Yellowtip looked from the branch to each of his two defeated superiors, struggling to comprehend. Bewilderment suppressed triumph. It was a dangerous moment for him but he knew he must hold onto this branch. Somehow it was power. The troop also watched and waited silently, fingers still scratching itching bodies. Yellowtip drew himself erect, stick in hand. He had not deliberately challenged Beta but, by destroying him, he should replace him in the hierarchy, though young and inexperienced. Tensely he stared down at each male in turn, inviting challenge. One by one, they struggled to return his gaze, then dropped their 19


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eyes and turned aside. This was triumph—it felt glorious. He had become Beta, second only to Old Alpha. With this stick, Yellowtip had taken a rank he could not be expected to attain for many years. He remained upright, leaning on the stick as Old Alpha walked slowly on all fours towards him, then turned his rump. Averting his eyes, Yellowtip reached out to make the traditional submissive, if perfunctory, grooming motion. Appeased, Old Alpha walked serenely back to his females and his interrupted meal. Yellowtip’s new rank was confirmed. One by one the females walked over and inspected Beta’s motionless body. All had seen dead animals before. With these rituals performed, the new order was established. The troop resumed feeding. Yellowtip squatted, inwardly trying to grapple with the turn of events as he pulled out some grass, beat it against the stick and began eating the fleshy roots and stems. In his hand, his stick rose above everyone. He saw two yearlings pick up small sticks and playfully thrust them at each other. Whenever they struck home, there was a squeal and flight from this deadly weapon. He noted and relished the sly glances of females who quickly looked away as he turned to them, stick upright in his hand. The horizon shimmered in the searing midday heat and the savannah grasses seemed to dance. Old Alpha stood erect and all turned to watch him. For several minutes he looked around. Slowly he dropped to his knuckles, then began the trek towards the clump of trees where they would sleep through the midday heat. Quickly the troop formed its moving pattern—Old Alpha in the centre with the females close beside him, adult males to the very front and rear of the troop. Yellowtip moved to the front just behind two other high-ranking males, who separated to make room for him. He looked around, awarg of the troop’s attention, particularly that of the females. Attention was the highest flattery, the prize of dominance. But to remain Bgta would require vigilance, skill—and his precious stick. The dead ape hardly drew a glance from the moving troop, though already two large birds were circling above. Yellowtip and the two other males walked upright ahead of the troop, swaying from side to side as they walked. His com20


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panions dropped to all fours when tired but Yellowtip remained erect for the entire 400-metre journey, still dragging his stick, occasionally leaning on it. Somehow he sensed that being upright and thus taller reinforced his status as Beta. Two youngsters mimicked him, walking erect beside their mothers and carrying small sticks. But as they tired of the unaccustomed posture they regularly fell back onto their knuckles, dragging their sticks. Walking erect was nothing special—a useful posture—nothing more. Everyone in the troop could walk erect and did so regularly, but never more than for a few score paces and it was usually the males who chose to walk erect. Males stood erect to watch for predators, and sentries in the foreguard of the troop regularly walked upright looking across the long grass. The troop’s security lay in spotting predators rather than blundering into them as they lay hidden in the grass. It was not too uncomfortable a posture to hold for a hundred paces or so, or to stand erect on sentry duty. Fortunately the journey to the trees was short, but it was long enough to exhaust Yellowtip. He was tired—very tired. He needed the shelter of trees—and sleep. Yet the many eyes watching him provided the incentive for him to stay erect all the way, although leaning heavily on his precious stick. He and Old Alpha, as the most senior, kept watch while the others drank from the spring and climbed the trees to settle themselves in leafy nests. At last Yellowtip climbed his tree, followed, as was the custom, b{ Old Alpha. Climbing with a stick was not difficult. Yellowtip pulled down some leafy branches, laid the stick across his shady nest, and settled to sleep. There would be no challenges here. Some youngsters played without enthusiasm, but silence soon descended on the sleeping troop. Another troop who shared the small clump of trees and spring were already enjoying their midday siesta. Each troop always inhabited the side of the spring adjacent to its range, aware of but pointedly ignoring the other. Occasionally infants intermingled and young males and females would eye each other from the safety of their respective troops. Sometimes braver—or more reckless—young males threatened each other and, very rarely, dominant males faced each other in threatening postures. Occasionally young females, emboldened by their awakening sexual 21


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curiosity, might move between troops, attracted by the strange young males. Only the boldest succeeded, such was the discouragement from the elders, especially the rgsident females. That afternoon, while the troop fed, Yellowtip puzzled over his precious stick. He drew his hand along it, feeling its rough surface and examining it closely. He saw the blood and hair from his adversaries on the sharp point. He picked some off and looked at it in his fingers. The stick was about 1.75 metres long, over half a metre taller than he was. He tore off a couple of twigs branching near the sharp end. Then came the momentous occasion when he sought to recreate the first event with his stick. He pushed the tapered, jagged end backwards into the ground. The base of the stick wedged firmly into the soft black soil while the shaft bent a little but stood the heavy pressure from the point. Dimly he rgalised how anyone rushing at the point would be stopped and run through. Yellowtip wrenched his stick from the soft soil and with it came a whole clump of grass along with its root system. There lay exposed several prized white nutty lumps that were sometimes torn up with roots when a tuft was pulled out. Triumphant in his new understanding, he saw that pushing his stick into the ground under the clump had lifted out more food than could be harvested by pulling them out. An old female, watching from the sidelines, ambled over beside him and tentatively started to groom his thigh. Yellowtip sank back; this was luxury. She groomed down to his ankle, then with one hand, reached out to the clump of grasses. She looked keenly at the roots, picked off a nodule, brushed it on the front of her wrist and put it into her mouth. Furtively she plucked the rest of the nodules and stuffed them into her mouth. Yellowtip looked down to see why she had stopped combing his hair—quickly she resumed. Then, as now, there is no such thing as ‘a free lunch’ and in the pleasure of the moment Yellowtip did not notice the disappearance of his tasty treat! Yellowtip turned toward Old Alpha to check his response; all was well—he too was being groomed, by the dominant female. Yellowtip looked back to the female grooming his leg and the grasses; he again pushed his stick into the black soil beside another clump; it broke off at the surface, leaving the roots below. 22


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He tried again. This time he pushed out most of the roots, but the angle was still too shallow. The third time he was rewarded. He pushed the stick right down and lifted a large clod from the soil. The old female shook the clump of grass and several nodules dropped out with a shower of dirt. Another, bolder female broke away from her watching sisters and made a frantic grab at the nodules—a shrill scuffle ensued. Yellowtip ignored them both. He continued to push under tufts of grass, one after another. More and more females gathered around to sift through the soil and roots. He was surrounded by the females of the troop for the first time in his life. He glanced anxiously at Old Alpha, now standing erect looking over the plains, apparently watchful for predators. The dominant female had left him and was scraping around the debris Yellowtip had dug up. Yellowtip anticipated trouble and lowered his stick, pointing it towards Alpha. There could be a showdown between them. The females surrounding him bolstered his feeling of defiance. But the tension passed as Old Alpha gathered the group for the walk back to the trees as the first cool breeze of evening rustled the grasses. However, for the first time, he travelled with only half of the females around him. The others walked beside Yellowtip. Most of them either were heavily pregnant or had infants hanging beneath them or riding jockey-like on their backs. These burdens made it difficult for them to stand upright for more than a few paces. They commuted on all fours—no sticks for them. Yellowtip remained the only adult making the entire journey upright, though he noticed several juveniles also walking erect for the full distance, with their sticks for support. As he became accustomed to the posture, the strains on his body eased with each completed journey. After the troop drank and settled around the trees, there was another fight. This time an immature male with a stick engaged a male a year older, without a stick. The youngster stabbed twice at his attacker, wounding him in the leg; the older male turned and fled. All stared at this new upset in the rank order, impossible in the stable hierarchy before Yellowtip and his stick.

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The ensuing days were hard on Yellowtip. Youth was both his handicap and his advantage; his dominating erect height and his ever-present stick more than compensated. Twice each day the troop moved out to feed. Walking made heavy demands on his back and knees, but he persisted stubbornly. His stick was a support. He had already faced a challenge from a very senior male after drinking on the morning after his promotion, before the troop moved out. But the vision of Yellowtip standing tall, stick pointed towards him, stopped the challenger, who pulled up short and returned to the troop’s periphery. Most youngsters and a few young adults now had sticks—of all shapes and sizes—and followed Yellowtip’s lead, walking erect for increasing distances. Play fighting with sticks became their favoured activity. Yellowtip walked erect at all times and was thus always a sentinel. Older adult males watched warily, but made no attempt to follow his example. Old Alpha watched these new developments. A year passed. Old Alpha continued to hold the singular position as leader. All still deferred to him and he initiated all movements of the troop. When a change of any sort was anticipated, all sat waiting for Old Alpha to take the first step. He made the important decisions about where the troop would move to feed or when to leave the feeding grounds in the face of gathering storm clouds. Adults vaguely understood that Old Alpha held their security in his hands. Older males ignored sticks and travelled always on their knuckles. Yet they retained respect as vital sentinels of the troop. Even though Old Alpha remained leader, there was a subtle change in his status. All females except the old dominant female now walked in the troop’s centre with Yellowtip. As the females became sexually receptive in full oestrus, they mated most frequently with Yellowtip—only occasionally with Old Alpha. Only the old dominant female remained his loyal and constant companion, mating with him after each of her youngsters was weaned and she came again into full oestrus. There had been many other changes in the troop. Immature females now often stood erect for short periods and some young mature females had acquired sticks which they used to dig under grass clumps and obtain the full root harvest. Standing upright for long remained impossible for females when they were preg24


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nant or carrying infants. Digging sticks served as walking sticks for the few immature females who stood erect. Young adult males revelled in the power their sticks gave them. Within a few weeks another youngster had displaced an older mature male in status. None of the old males challenged the erect males. The troop was separating: Yellowtip and one other adult stood erect along with the younger males. But standing upright came at a high price. One male had managed to stay erect, after a fashion, with the help of his stick. Then once, walking home exhausted, he had turned quickly to look at Old Alpha behind him. He twisted his back and fell in great pain. For two days he struggled to keep up with the troop, then one day he remained behind at the grove. The troop never saw him again. Sticks became indispensable tools, though one enterprising female also acquired a long sharp bone. It didn’t take long for the females to discover that a stick with a flat, sharp end would not only dig up tasty roots, but equally successfully knock down fruit or nuts and strike lizards, frogs and small animals. Wellshaped sticks became so valuable that they were retained from season to season, despite their owners having to drag them awkwardly with them, trying to avoid entangling hind legs as they loped along on all fours. Old Alpha’s troop prospered. In the rainy season their Earth was truly a garden of peace and plenty. Plump berries, nuts, buds, herbs and the sweet young roots and seeds of grasses abounded. Insects, eggs and, for a few days a year, newborn animals lying in the grass provided variety. All ate well and grew sleek and plump which was just as well, for the dry season inevitably followed and then the scorched land yielded little but dry grasses and their roots. It was in the rainy season that neighbouring troops came together as they fed in the home grove. Females came into oestrus and there was a general air of anticipation as their interest in males and mating heightened. Occasionally a female preferred the males of the neighbouring troop and migrated to it. On full bellies, there were few aggressive contacts between the neighbouring troops. Furthermore, all had seen play encounters between youngsters and had learned to avoid the sticks of Old Alpha’s troop. Fighting with sticks always sent one combatant running 25


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away screaming. The females, on the other hand, were no threat and thus movement bgtween troops was chiefly through female migration. At some stage, dominance passed to Yellowtip, though he still deferred to Old Alpha in all decision-making. There were notable encounters with other neighbouring bands which had far-reaching effects for Old Alpha’s troop. The other troops had a normal hierarchy—that is to say, their dominant males were large, with full hair growth around their faces and grizzled hair from their heads down their backs. By contrast, Yellowtip’s beard was not yet full and his back was black. When the strangers came close enough to see his apparent immaturity as well as that of the other dominant males, they mounted confident—even cavalier charges. Each time Yellowtip stood his ground surrounded by his males, the young ones armed with their sticks. The intruders rushed unwittingly onto sharp sticks jabbed at them; they fled screaming. No member of Old Alpha’s troop was ever harmed, but some of the attackers ran off with blood flowing from their wounds; their fellows followed. These intruders never learned the trick of the sticks, but gave Old Alpha’s troop a wide berth. Fights between troops had never before ended in so many wounds and deaths. Time passed—about seven years by our reckoning. All the high-ranking males now commuted erect with sticks. Most had changed their sticks, some several times. The period had not been altogether prosperous for the troop. Six erect males and one immature female had developed agonising back pains which always ended with them being left behind when the troop moved out. Inevitably they were missing when the troop returned. Four young males had been seriously wounded in fights. All had died. Others had sustained wounds which took long periods to heal and one had a withered forearm and hand. Nevertheless, the visible prizes of early status—female adulation and easier access to foods—were ample rewards. But there was another important downside. No young adult males had joined the troop from outside since the use of sticks became commonplace. Most previously dominant males, including Old Alpha, had joined the troop as fully mature young adults. They were gradually incorporated into the troop as they fought their way up the hierarchy. By contrast, Yellowtip had been born 26


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within the troop, as had all the young males who now held high status. With such easy access to high rank within the troop why would young, agile males leave to face unknown dangers, even death? There had been several attempts by outsiders to join but their lack of sticks had made entry impossible. Such a situation was without precedent—and full of portent for the troop’s future. In time, their nearest neighbours acquired the stick addiction as young stick-wielding males left Old Alpha’s troop to join them. Two males left the troop on reaching full maturity, seemingly uninterested in mating with females with whom they had grown up. With the advantage of their stick power, both succeeded in establishing high status in other troops. And with each movement out of the troop, the secret and power of the stick was spread, until the imbalance between the haves and have-nots disappeared. Now, for the first time in a long history, young males found it impossible to penetrate other troops and this, coupled with the lure of sex, precipitated an upset in the predominantly male migration pattern. For peers had always been less interesting as sexual mates and this forced a dramatic turn of events: males now actively sought exciting nubile females from other troops and lured them across the troop boundary. The changes brought about by Yellowtip and his stick did not end there. Troops had always foraged within easy reach of their trees, in case danger threatened. Small in stature, Yellowtip’s troop were no match for the many predators of the plains. When trapped away from timber by a large or numerous predator, they would close ranks and create a formidable display of bargd canines and noisy distrgss hooting. It was a risky, if often successful tactic. Even so, the troop could sometimes bg broken apart, scattering the apes and rendering them easy prey. Delaying an attacker gave the troop a chance to flee to the trees. The hunting dog packs were their most feared and deadly enemy. So it was a momentous day when the balance finally turned in the troop’s favour. It came about thus. The hunters had walked out onto the plain as usual in the early morning and were approaching a newborn gazelle when, seemingly from nowhere, they were face-to-face with a pack of hunting dogs. Instantly, the hunters stood together, baring their menacing canines and hooting, but now stiffly holding their long straight sticks at arms’ 27


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length and thrusting them at the dogs as they circled and skirmished. The barrier of sharp points stopped the dogs. Two were wounded and the pack withdrew—to seek easier prey. Old Alpha recognised that sticks had carried the day, though he did not have one. The next day he picked up a stick, but he was too old to acquire the talent and soon discarded it. He simply could not maintain the erect posture long enough. In reality, the hunters had no alternative but to stand and threaten, for these newly erect apes could no longer run at speed. But with each success, the confidence of the troop grew. In time, they faced much larger predators—bears and large cats—successfully. Most importantly, immature males now learned at first hand every detail of the troop’s encounters with dangerous predators. They held their sticks tightly and watched fearfully while the first line of adult males held off the attackers. Their sticks and those of the females were the second line of defence and these youngsters would have to take the place of any warrior if the need arose. The learning was direct and effective. The youngsters’ confidence grew with that of their elders. For the first time the troop felt in control over their daily lives. They ventured ever further to forage, no longer hugging the tree line as an easily-reached source of refuge. The larger hunting area meant more food was available to them. Yellowtip’s troop had begun the full conquest of the savannahs. They still needed trees to sleep in, but flight was no longer their only defence on the plains. Old Alpha, now frail, retained his special role in decisionmaking and the old dominant female remained his loyal mate. But Yellowtip, the real dominant male, held the troop’s attention. Many youngsters now carried the yellow tinge in their hair. Only Old Alpha and two other males remained quadrupedal, along with all of the adult females. Many females now kept sticks for digging, dragging them with them as they walked. Juvenile females walked erect most of the time. The younger animals, who had always walked upright, were much more agile and adept at handling their sticks than their elders. One young male had managed to thrust his stick up when he was pounced upon by a leopard from a tree; the leopard had impaled itself on the stick, 28


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breaking it, but allowing the male to escape serious harm. The troop fled, leaving the bkg cat dying, unable to regain the trees. The search for good, straight sticks became an imperative. A new find would be examined painstakingly by the finder. There were always others waiting eagerly in the wings to seize a discarded stick, should it prove superior to their own. Good straight sticks, sharp at one end, were not common. Improving both digging and hunting sticks became a skill. Occasionally, the troop disturbed a hare in the long grass. The agile youngsters leapt into action, leaping and stabbing until the hapless prey either escaped or, more often, was killed. The meat provided by these encounters was a great delicacy and carefully distributed. Adult males gathered around the carcass, tearing at it and sometimes passing pieces back to an oestrus female, waiting patiently behind them. Since much foraging was still done in the tree canopies, for nuts, buds or fruit, sticks could become a rgal handicap to easy movement aloft. Yet the loss of such important personal property was unthinkable. Before a sustained session in the trees, each animal found somewhere to place his or her stick so that it could be retrieved easily when the troop was ready to move on. Quarrels were rare, since each animal knew its own stick and would fight furiously to recover it should another try to take it. Sticks were occasionally stolen, but not without considerable disruption in the troop.

The troop grew rapidly and became unbalanced, comprising 30 females along with infants and juveniles, but only eleven males. Yet it took another ten years before internal tensions made a split inevitable. There were still two female clans, each comprising a high-ranking female, followed by two daughters and a granddaughter remaining in the troop, all with their current infants and immature juveniles. Some of the females had no relatives bgside their offspring; they had migrated from other troops. All males now walked erect. All females carried sticks which they used for digging up roots. 29


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Old Alpha and Yellowtip had died and been replaced by Leopard-Killer both as leader and the Alpha male. He had become very skilled at obtaining meat from predators disturbed with their prey. However his position was by no means secure. When the troop moved, there were now two males in the centre with females, Leopard-Killer and Son-of-Yellowtip. Most predators in the area had grown wary when they encountered this troop who no longer fled. When the apes observed a lone predator making a kill, Leopard-Killer led his whole troop forward, presenting to the solitary hunter a thicket of sharp pointed spears shielding a hooting band, and drove it from its prey. Some attempted to penetrate the spears, but the resulting wounds meant that the predator could no longer hunt as efficiently. If the spears didn’t kill it, starvation would. The confidence of the troop males grew with each success. Females found Leopard-Killer—or perhaps his skill in providing meat—very attractive, so that many walked with him whenever the troop moved. The other young males distributed themselves between the two parties, choosing to stay with their clans or grooming partners. There were occasional disputes between Leopard-Killer and his rival, Son-of-Yellowtip, but both seemed wary of outright confrontation. Fighting with sticks usually meant death to one or both combatants. The two parties now rested or slept slightly apart among trees on their side of the copse around the spring. The grove was not large, certainly not large enough for their two groups plus a neighbouring quadrupedal troop. Nor would the old foraging range provide for two troops at the end of the dry season. Already the provision of adequate food for all in the dry season posed a problem and each day the troop was forced to venture even further from the grove. But were the troop to split, one party would have to move to a neighbouring territory, to fight and perhaps to displace a resident troop. The shortage of males in each party lowered their fighting capacities considerably. Only their sticks gave them an advantage. The split finally came after a fire swept across the plains destroying most of the grasses. While the roots were undamaged, much of the pasture had already been harvested. The critical morning started with the two parties drinking at the muddy hole. 30


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Two young males began to squabble over clear space beside the water. Quickly, the older and dominant males of the two parties faced each other beside the muddy water. Sticks were shaken and thrust towards each other. The younger males waited impatiently for the older males to engage each other, but they were more prudent. The neighbouring troop quietly watched the emerging contest. They too had increased in numbers, but with a larger complement of adult males several of whom were now erect. As few had sticks with which to engage in conflict, they felt no threat from their neighbours. Leopard-Killer had the numbers, both of males and females. As he moved cautiously forward, an impatient younger male rushed past him, brandishing his stick in threat. He wounded a large male in Son-of-Yellowtip’s party in the shoulder. That was enough. The smaller party backed off, turned and moved quietly away. The conflict had been settled easily, with minimum damage. There was no pursuit. That noon, Leopard-Killer led his troop back to the trees; they alone shared the grove with the neighbouring larger troop. Next day, another troop of quadrupedal apes passed them while they fed. A month later, they encountered Son-of-Yellowtip and his troop at the periphery of their range. They had done well. The territory they had taken had not been harvested down to the roots; their digging sticks had given them a real advantage. Sticks changed as better ones were found and they became a standard part of the young male’s play equipment—certainly for fighting. Play-fights were now regularly conducted standing up and youngsters spent much time standing, leaning on their sticks. They acquired ever greater skills with sticks, some longer and pointed, some thick, blunt clubs. Finally, all juveniles acquired sticks. From their vantage point on their mothers’ arms, they watched closely the many different ways that their mothers used digging sticks or sometimes long bones. The first time a possible stick became available, a youngster took it and tried to imitate its mother’s actions. If the stick was too bent to bg useful or it broke, another was sought until the youngster found something suitable. All youngsters struggled to walk upright; sticks were an essential support. As young males entered adolescence, they sought sticks more like those of adult males, eagerly seizing any 31


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discarded by adults. Carefully, infants watched their parents scraping soil from and often improving the sharp edges of their sticks. Playful young males began to mimic the preparation and the thrusting of sticks they saw in hunting and in the fights that had become rare in these troops. At first, in play fights no youngster escaped unwounded. Very quickly, each learned restraint—jabs were for frogs and lizards, not for their fellows. Sticks were too deadly for play-fighting. The inability to fight each other with sticks led gradually to increased cooperation. Young males playfought together against a common enemy, presenting a wall of sharp sticks to imagined predators, either to defend the troop or to drive a killer from its prey. When the time came for the real thing, these males presented a formidable cooperative front to would-be attackers. In Leopard-Killer’s lifetime, his troop range was surrounded by other male bipedal troops. Always their success lay in an increased harvest of the new territories and their ability to move far out onto the plains without fear of predators. Their digging sticks allowed a more effective collection of food from savannah environments, especially in the dry season. Over time, the troop’s range grew, pushing neighbours back from its boundaries. Troops split, rarely but repeatedly; daughter troops always displaced quadrupedal apes because of the power of their sticks-becomespears. The loss of adult males was the major handicap for any troop. Their backs were fragile, but in every generation some were long-lived and successful leaders who sired the next generation of youngsters. Throughout these new troops, adult females remained quadrupedal. Legs, feet and backs of all were changing, but only males, unencumbered by pregnancy or young, could travel upright.

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3 Tiny—triumphantly upright against all odds Time and Place: Perhaps up to 100,000 years after Yellowtip, still on an African savannah.

Man alone has become a biped; and we can, I think, partly see how he has come to assume his erect attitude, which forms one of his most conspicuous characters. Man could not have attained his present dominant position in the world without the use of his hands, which are so admirably adapted to act in obedience to his will . . . But the hands and arms could hardly have become perfect enough to have manufactured weapons, or to have hurled stones and spears with a true aim, as long as they were habitually used for locomotion— Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Greyhead’s troop comprised eight adult males and sixteen females with their young of various ages. They were neat creatures, smaller than those of Yellowtip’s generation and welladapted for blending into the dry grasses which surrounded them. Black faces and shaggy hair covered their bodies. Greyhead was typical of the older males with his grizzled hair streaming down his neck to his spine, his face surrounded and enlarged by a beard. Displaying the intimidating ‘threat face’, he bgcame a fearsome sight—his mantle of head and facial hair bristling stiffly with the central weapons—his great sharp canines—clearly visible. Powerful neck structures supported his head without muscular effort. Greyhead’s troop had straighter legs than their ancestors, firm slim hips and curved backs which sloped forward to protruding necks and heads. 33


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Only immature females walked erect with their brothers. The young adult females in the troop were pregnant, but only the one we will call Tiny managed to continue walking erect even as she became heavy. Tiny was an exception, perhaps because being short and slightly built she had never walked on knuckles from the time she first acquired a suitable stick; she seemed reluctant to change her erect posture. Her cousin Blackchild had lasted until the last few weeks of pregnancy but finally gave up; now she endured the long trip to the feeding grounds on untoughened knuckles. The troop was on the move, almost out of sight of the trees, far out on the plains. Greyhead led from the troop’s centre with the older females, their infants and juveniles surrounding him. Clustered around them were the young females and males. Adult males walked at the front and rear of the troop, occasionally following Greyhead’s orientation as he gazed over the wide plains. Greyhead halted, providing a welcome break. Males at the front of the troop leant on their spear sticks, alert while others squatted to wait for Greyhead’s decision. Females examined the grass, hopeful of a snack. It was late in the season; the day was cloudless and promised to be hot, but soon the rains would arrive to usher in the wet season. The oppressive heat slowed the troop’s progress but Greyhead never relaxed his vigilance, even though most predators gave these armed troops a wide berth. The sight of antelopes peacefully grazing nearby was comforting. Soon there would be easy pickings when the rains brought a crop of helpless newborns—antelopes and ground-nesting birds. Meanwhile, the season remained harsh. Roots and dry herbs provided the troop’s meagre diet. Greyhead stood looking around, then squatted. This place would do. Blackchild was weary; her pregnancy was far advanced and dragged down on her back through the morning walk. Her shoulders ached from the weight pressing down on her long throbbing arms; her knuckles stung from a hundred scratches and bruises. Her hips were no longer adapted for long-distance walking on four legs. She pulled her body upright, leaning heavily on her stick, and looked around. Tiny was a few metres away, rgsting against her stick and breathing heavily. Blackchild took two steps towards Tiny but was halted by an urgent squeal from her infant 34


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sister. She spun sharply to see the cause, then screamed, grabbing the troop’s attention. Her back felt broken. She collapsed to the ground, rolled flat and lay still; the pain eased. Males watched quietly while the females gathered around her. Blackchild’s mother tried to lift her onto her knuckles and feet but the pain was unbearable. Those females clustered around Blackchild chattered and groomed each other anxiously. Greyhead had seen males collapse when their backs failed and remembered what it meant. He dug up some grass roots and began eating; others followed his example. Her mother and sister crouched over Blackchild as she lay prostrate and unmoving. The mother groomed her daughter—anxiety filled her small brain and grooming was her only option—but for Blackchild, every movement was agony. As the morning passed, mother and sister ate little but gently groomed Blackchild while their infants played nearby. From time to time other members of the troop looked expectantly toward Blackchild and her mother, the females sensing that Blackchild could not move—yet the troop must return to the trees. All had seen males struggling in pain, just like this; they were finally left behind. This was different—not only was Blackchild a female, she was also a pregnant female. The morning was strained. At last Greyhead stood, looked around and grunted. The sun was high and the heat suffocating. All eyes followed him, anxiously. He turned towards the trees and made a few steps, for it was siesta time. Mothers grunted to call their infants and the troop shuffled together into their travelling formation, except for one mother and her prostrate daughter. Greyhead paused to look at them. All eyes were on the inert body. The young female struggled to move but it was impossible. Several females shuffled over beside her and made grooming motions. Finally Greyhead stepped forward again and the die was cast. Her mother rose chattering piteously, but walked away with the other females, turning from time to time to call her daughter. Blackchild lay in the long grass, alone for the first time in her life. She heard her mother chattering as the troop moved away and then there was only silence. Heat hung heavily around her, but Blackchild was not even conscious of this; she was consumed with pain and fear. Several times she struggled to stand but 35


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managed only to make the pain worse. She lay still, feeling the movements of the infant inside her. A pig and her litter hurried past, terrifying the lone ape as she lay exhausted, completely silent. A large bird began to circle, attracting others. They landed close by, stood waiting at first, then they closed in. She struggled in agony, but her misery was soon over. As Greyhead led the troop out of the grove in the late afternoon, he saw the birds gathered in the haze, fighting over Blackchild’s remains. Several hundred metres on, he settled at a place where the grass seemed to afford most cover. He stood vigilant with the other males—scavengers would be attracted to Blackchild. He itched and scratched; he was worried. Sentries would have to be especially attentive today. At the moment, however, seemed safe. A small group of deer grazed downwind, a reassuring sign. Tiny felt uncomfortable. Never before had she felt spasms of pain like these. She moved close to her older sister—they had both joined from the same troop, a year apart. Then she squatted as pains—labour pains, though Tiny didn’t know this—racked her body. Recognising the signs, females clustered around while her sister groomed her. An infant daughter was born a few minutes later. The birth had been particularly easy for a first—the infant was very small though perfect in every detail. Tiny reached and gathered it against her body. She had seen many births and handled many babkes, but this squirmy, brown, wet clamouring bundle was hers! The infant seemed to bg all eyes—large amber, liquid orbs—and she clung for dear life to Tiny’s hair, nuzzling for a nipple. Tiny held her daughter—‘Ambereyes’—closely to her chest. The infant’s smell was strong and she began to nuzzle the sweet-flavoured juices in the newborn’s fur. Tiny licked the baby until her coat was smooth and almost dry. Certainly most of the flavour was gone. Her sister stayed close beside her, gently stroking and combing Tiny’s back and shoulders, occasionally reaching over to touch the baby. Tiny felt another contraction and pressed down hard; she expelled the afterbirth, picked it up, inspected, smelled and ate it—as was the custom. Ambereyes nursed while Tiny ate, savouring the pleasant taste of the afterbirth. The searing heat of the day was over; she felt at peace and totally preoccupied with her 36


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baby. Mother and infant sat while the troop fed; other females came to groom mother and aunt, reaching forward to touch the baby. Tiny stroked Ambereyes. Her nipples were sore but the baby was nursing and sleeping. Her sister groomed her through the afternoon, occasionally stroking the infant at the nipple. Tiny only now became aware of the cool wind of evening. Greyhead stood and summoned the troop together, before moving back to the trees. Tiny stood, Ambereyes clinging onto her hair, swinging on her abdomen while she struggled to walk upright with her stick; it was uncomfortable. She lifted the baby higher but that was even worse. Its weight pulled her body forward. She pushed the baby down towards her loins. That was easier on her back, but the baby crowded her legs and swung wildly as she walked. Shifting the infant was difficult. It clutched furiously at her hair, making any movement painful. She pushed the infant around to her side so that it sat over her hip, directly above her left leg. The baby found handholds on her front and back, its feet hung free, struggling to cling to a moving leg, but her hand supported its back. This was the most comfortable posture so far. Tiny had no plan; she could only improvise. Ambereyes could reach her left nipple, just. Back among the shady trees, Tiny relaxed, shifting the baby to her front while she drank awkwardly at the stream, then climbed her tree. Settling in her nest, she moved Ambereyes against her belly—the age-old posture for mother and baby—adjusted the leafy branches of her nest and relaxed, gently examining and grooming her baby. Soon both slept contentedly. From the start, Tiny found that it was easiest to hold Ambereyes against her hip with one hand while walking, supporting herself with her stick in the other hand. She alone nursed her baby upright. For her part, Ambereyes held firm to her mother’s flat hips and most of her weight bore down on Tiny’s leg. Tiny faced completely new problems, struggled with them and found new solutions. She discovered that she could maintain this posture and keep up with the troop. From time to time, she changed Ambereyes from side to side to give herself some relief as well as shading the infant from the glare of the sun, but its hands still pulled down on her body, placing some strain on her 37


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back. Her back was strong, however, for she had always walked erect. Ambereyes grew heavier daily. When she reached the age when infants normally switched to riding jockey-style on their mothers’ back, Ambereyes was still sitting heavily on Tiny’s hip. Tiny felt the weight most strongly on her hair, pulled down by baby’s hands. Having hair in these areas had toughened her skin, but these places were never meant to carry such weight. Poor Tiny—she suffered constantly—her skin was always sore and inflamed, irritated by little clutching hands. The arm which held her baby against her hip relieved the hair-tugging, but only a little. Yet she never wavered from her upright posture and gathered strgngth as she sat feeding or nursing Ambereyes, who rested comfortably between her mother’s legs. Another young female, Littlelegs, had also survived her pregnancy while still walking upright with her stick. Like Tiny, she too managed to bgar her infant and remain erect, carrying the baby on her hip. She watched Tiny cargfully, observing how she carried Ambereyes but watching was one thing—the reality was different! Littlelegs also found her skin burning from the constant gripping of tiny hands. In turn, Tiny was pleased when she saw Littlelegs mimicking her. Out of adversity grew friendship and support. They groomed each other daily, especially those parts which each knew were most bothersome.

Eventually Tiny’s time for weaning Ambereyes was at hand—a few months after Littlelegs gave birth. In the old order, weaning followed a predictable pattern and was, to say the least, difficult for all—but especially for mother and infant. Day after day the troop ignored infants’ tantrwms as mothers persistently denied access to their teats. As the number of feeds reduced, so the length and intensity of the tantrums increased, until only nightfall brought the comfort of a final feeding, and merciful quiet for the troop. The mothers added insult to injury by refusing to allow youngsters to ride jockey-style. With every passing day, irritable mothers responded as had their mothers and grandmothers 38


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before them—with aggressive, punishing behaviours, such harsh treatment was central to loosening the bond and moving the youngster forward into independence. Finally, a mother would no longer allow her youngster to sleep with her at night. Eventually contact ceased as her milk dried up, and she soon came into oestrus. Then she moved into the company of adult males, eager to mate; there was no place for the youngster. In spite of the frustration felt by other troop members during weaning, distressed youngsters usually received kindly succour from other adults. It was usual for juvenile males to turn to young adults, usually their brothers; juvenile females sought out older females, perhaps their sisters or close relatives. But there was a new twist to the weaning of Ambereyes. Tiny had never carried her youngster jockey-style. She had been carried always pressed against her mother’s hip. As Ambereyes had slowly broken away to play with other youngsters, she found Tiny’s hip gave little comfort. She preferred to walk beside her mother, holding her hand—the long arm easily stretched down to hold her. From the beginning, Tiny’s hand was the support necessary to walk erect, though she could not reach to tug the nipple as others could. Her only hope of getting to the nipple was to induce her mother to pick her up, a ploy which Tiny avoided. When they squatted to feed or climbed to the nest together, the nipple was available, and only then. In most other respects, Tiny and Ambereyes suffered the same anguish as other separating weaning pairs. The end was the same, weaning was complete. When Littlelegs’ baby struggled to escape the long restraining arm of her mother, Tiny’s infant was weaned and playing close by, trying always to lure the baby away for play. When Littlelegs finally let her daughter escape, the two little females spent long hours together, scampering around the troop when it stopped to feed or rest. The troop now had two erect females, consistently managing the upright position. Tiny’s back failed when her fourth infant was almost weaned. By this time six young females had tried standing with their infants. Two had died when their first babies approached weaning; another lasted until weaning her third. Gradually the troop changed as more and more young females stood upright with their infants on their hips. Reverting to 39


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knuckle-walking quickly became impossible for young females who had never walked quadrupedally before—and now had a model to follow. Tiny’s older sister and her generation remained quadrupedal and mercifully free from the terrible back problems of the young females. Yet young mothers persisted in trying to walk upright throughout the ensuing generations.

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4 Groomer discovers the joy and fruits of sex Time and Place: This occurred during the transition begun by Tiny, still in Africa on the savannahs.

Thus we have given to man a pedigree of prodigious length, but not, it may be said, of noble quality. The world, it has often bgen remarked, appears as if it had long been preparing for the advent of man: and this in one sense is strictly true, for he owes his birth to a long line of progenitors. If any link in this chain had never existed, man would not have been exactly what he now is. Unless we wilfully close our eyes, we may with our present knowledge, approximately recognise our parentage; nor need we feel ashamed of it. The most humble organism is something much higher than the organic dust under our feet; and no one with an unbiased mind can study any living creature, however humble, without being struck with enthusiasm at its marvellous structure and properties. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Longsight, the Alpha, stood still and vigilant leaning on his spear, his black face with its thick mantle of facial and head hair outlined against the sun. Powerful muscles rippled beneath the sparse hair covering his shiny black body. Upwind grazed a herd of buffaloes while antelopes spread out downwind, grazing over a large area. Any predator coming from that direction would disturb them. Under a clear sky he scanned the horizon, searching for movement but saw nothing. His attention turned to his troop. Two other senior males also stood sentinel, leaning on their spears. The rest of the troop squatted, digging for roots. Some females nursed infants; others, pregnant or with youngsters playing 41


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nearby, dug away peacefully, now and then looking up at the sentinels or their neighbours. On a small rounded termite mound, youngsters played a game of ‘king of the castle’. Over many generations these descendants of Yellowtip had mastered the skill of walking erect and were now passable runners —a significant development for the hunters. Untold generations had passed since they last ran at speed on four feet. Their mastery of spears made sudden flight unnecessary. The first to stumble into a clumsy bipedal run had been the youngsters. They were agile enough to overcome the challenge of gravity without crumpling, and even falling over was easier for them. These youngsters grew into skilled runners.

Young Groomer moved among the females, stopping to stroke one or touch another, persistently soliciting mutual grooming. Most ignored her, continuing to dig and eat. Longsight had noticed Groomer before. Her need for grooming, to be touched and stroked seemed insatiable. His females had sparse hair on their black limbs and a denser pubic patch. By contrast hair grew luxuriantly on their heads, cascading around shiny black faces. Nevertheless, they still spent hours each day combing through their soft body hair as well as each other’s heads. Once, as Longsight watched two other young females stroking Groomer, he thought that he had never seen such a bundle of contentment. She groomed others seemingly just to be stroked and touched herself. When the others were busy feeding or settled in the shade resting, her persistent grooming and soliciting sometimes caused irritation—even impatient dismissal. The older dominant females accepted grooming from others but were less likely to reciprocate. Accordingly, Groomer normally sought contact among her peer group—younger females and occasionally, males. She was too young yet for mating, though some males had shown interest after long grooming sessions. But their clumsy explorations only ended the pleasant interlude—for Groomer walked away—albeit reluctantly—when any attempted mating with her. However, there were older but still immature females who 42


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were less reluctant to encourage the young males’ clumsy advances. Brighteyes was one. Later in the day when the band rested under trees by a strgam, Longsight watched Brighteyes, surrounded by eager young males, taking turns at mating. She was a favourite in the troop—submissive to her elders yet charmingly playful and graceful of movement. Now sexually mature, she would probably change troops soon, when the rainy season brought plenty of food and contact between neighbouring troops. Though pubescent Brighteyes could not yet be fully sexually receptive or she would be seeking mates among the dominant males, not these insignificant youngsters. Even so, Longsight had mated with her that day and the memory was pleasant. He dimly thought that younger females were receptive for a long time, seeking dominant males when they could. He did not remember the old Alpha of his youth ever mating with females before a redness showed through their pubic hair. He became aroused as he watched the long sequence of mating and strode over to the river bank, the youngsters scattering as he approached. The Alpha carefully examined the young female. When she bent forward onto her knuckles, inviting mating, he parted her pubic hair seeking the telltale redness around her vulva. There was none. Were she fully in oestrus, redness should show, though this should only be apparent from behind when she was bending. When females stood erect, however, he had occasionally noticed a provocative red pubic smudge. Longsight’s explorations had excited Brighteyes and she backed up to him. He mounted, mated and again the encounter was enjoyable. But this situation was puzzling and new in the Alpha’s experience—oh well, time would tell. It did. Her oestrus was not visible, but, in time, it ended. The troop settled to sleep in shady trees. Most were spaced out in separate nests, but Groomer always slept with her mother or sister, hands usually entwined in hair or touching skin. Awakening, Groomer cuddled against her chosen neighbour, gently stroking soft hair and smooth skin until the other woke too. Then there would be a half-awake session of stroking. Any part of Groomer’s body delighted in stroking, but there were specially sensitive places. She made these clear by stroking them in others—around the nipples and pubic hair. 43


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Some six months later in the spring, Groomer was dripping blood as she walked around and leaving red patches on the ground where she squatted. She appeared bewildered and wiped herself with handfuls of grass when the blood caked on her legs. The older females examined her without surprise for vaginal bleeding always occurred at least once in young females. The discharge lasted only a few days and was quickly forgotten. In older females, bleeding only occurred after they had weaned their infants, and was soon followed by oestrus, mating and another pregnancy. Occasionally this pattern varied, with some bleeding twice before again becoming pregnant—but this was rare. Something had changed for Groomer, though. The selftouching and mutual female grooming sessions only left her more restless and somehow dissatisfied. Randomly she went from one to the other, exhausting female patience and moving to the young males who were her peers. Thus it was that, soon after her bleeding, Longsight first noticed Groomer mating with a very young male, in the early morning after the group had drunk at the river. The pair had been grooming each other for some time and Groomer had become highly excited and agitated. There were no secrets in the troop and Groomer’s mating was as natural a part of life as eating. Groomer had witnessed sexual behaviour countless times and needed no coaching. She dropped onto her knuckles and presented herself to him in the regular female posture. Though aroused, the youngster was slow to mount her, for he had never mated before. She pushed back urgently. Clumsily he moved up behind her and after several awkward attempts, penetrated her and they copulated. Groomer continued to bg restless and backed up to him again. This time he showed no hesitation. She turned, snuggled against him and settled down to groom his almost hairless body. A rare treat, he squatted beside her, relishing the attention and pleasure. Groomer still trembled and tingled, relishing the thrill of her first truly sexual experience. Her body had responded as never before in their mutual stroking sessions, even though they had previously been almost exclusively among females. This morning was different—but what had changed to cause such a dramatic effect? Groomer was bewildered. She looked down at her pubic hair, seeking the telltale redness. There was none. She knew that 44


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redness indicated readiness to mate—indeed without some redness, she had not seen a female allow a sexual approach. She searched herself intently, yet found nothing. Yet she had mated and tingled to do so again. Her older sister came over and groomed her pubic hair, also searching for signs of the red swelling. When she found none, she seemed to lose interest and turned away, leaving Groomer, as usual, anxious for more stroking. That evening, when the troop returned from the feeding grounds, Longsight approached Groomer and sat beside her. There were no females in oestrus, but she had mated without showing any signs of oestrus. Giving suitably submissive signs, she began to groom his hairy shoulders. He bent to examine her genitals. As his hands combed through her sensitive hair, she trembled, turned away, bent forward and presented to him. He leant over her to look closely at her vulva, then moved forward, clasped and copulated with her. She responded excitedly to Longsight, not knowing that she was behaving like a fully oestrus female. After it was over, Longsight lounged contentedly and she turned to groom his bgard and neck. They sat together until it was time to climb the trees for the night. She continued to groom the Alpha until all the others had climbed to their nests, then he stood, turned her around and again mated with her. Once more she trembled with excitement. She climbed with him and he settled beside her in the same nest. Each member of the troop was aware that Groomer had mated without any signs of sexual colouring—and with the Alpha. Such a thing simply did not happen—it was hard to understand and the troop was in a state of high alert. Up to now, the Alpha had consorted only with females in full oestrus. Sleep was fitful that night and all were aware that the pair copulated again. Mating in trees with oestrus females in consorting pairs was common enough during the night—the rustling of branches made everyone aware of it. But this female was not in oestrus, and an adolescent female could not be considered to be ‘consorting’ with the Alpha. Or could she? Dawn revealed the changes which had occurred overnight. Longsight descended with Groomer from their nest. Together they drank at the stream. Groomer spent her time stroking and 45


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combing his hair, concentrating on his face and head. They were behaving like a consort pair, as if Groomer was in oestrus. When Longsight began moving to the creek where they would feed, Groomer walked closely beside him. There were clear signs of discontent from the dominant females, but none would dare threaten the upstart in the immediate presence of the Alpha. Her ‘oestrus’ would soon finish and then she would be taught her proper place in the troop. When they stopped, Groomer squatted closely beside Longsight, quietly poking with her stick along the creek bank for tasty morsels. After a long sentry duty, Longsight fed and rested while Groomer combed through his hair. Typical of an Alpha, he dug and fed, leaving her ignored and ungroomed. She looked around, seeking the grooming she craved. A middleranking female approached, sat down and began stroking Groomer’s smooth neck to her hair. Before long, all the dominant females would groom her as they grudgingly came to accept her new position. Groomer relished the attention her new relationship had brought. While she was consort with the Alpha, others would groom her as they would groom him. She instinctively knew she could hold this high status only while her receptivity and his interest lasted. The other dominant females would cooperate to depose her, especially if the males went out hunting. But this was springtime, when there was plenty of vegetable food and soon there would be meat from many helpless infant antelopes. There was no need for the males to leave the females. In the days that followed, Longsight did not desert her. Groomer remained receptive and highly interested in sex, in fact they carried on mating throughout day and night. Groomer’s ‘oestrus’ just did not seem to end—it went on and on. Even when another female came into full oestrus, Longsight walked over, pushed aside the other males and copulated with her, but returned immediately to Groomer. This caused considerable discontent among the females. Normally each would become a dominant consort, albeit a temporary one, while they were in oestrus. Each female looked forward to her moment of glory by the Alpha’s side in the centre of the troop. The upstart Groomer seemed to have changed all that! When the brief birth season came there were many kills of newborn animals. All the males ate well, but they rarely gave 46


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any of the prizgd meat to females or youngsters, though all gathered around begging and snatching at scraps. Traditionally, only oestrus females were offered meat. Longsight, however, who ate meat daily, always handed pieces of flesh back to Groomer.

Groomer soon showed signs of pregnancy. Normally females avoided sexual behaviour while pregnant, for oestrus was over, but Groomer showed no such restraint and continued to mate regularly with Longsight throughout her pregnancy. The Alpha had acquired a permanent consort. Groomer produced a daughter. Within a few days, she was again mating with Longsight, in between grooming her mate and her baby, feeding and being groomed by other females. In the rest of the troop, things went on as normal. Females had their bleeding after weaning then came into oestrus, at which time they became highly active sexually. At their peak of receptivity Longsight mated with each— but always he returned to Groomer. The female hierarchy had become unusual in that Groomer, well before the usual age, was the permanent consort of the Alpha and thus the highest-ranking female. All eventually accepted this and the other dominant females regularly associated closely with her in the centre of the troop. Longsight retained his Alpha rank for many years and produced numerous offspring. Groomer had five daughters and one son. Like their mother, her daughters grew up to be confirmed strokers and touchers and, as they became sexually mature, they all had their period of bleeding and then bgcame continuously receptive to males. For this they were highly prized and were taken in turn as permanent consorts by the next highest-ranking males. One of her daughters migrated to another troop where she bgcame the permanent consort of its Alpha male. Groomer’s adult son remained close to her, his support allowing the aging Alpha to retain his rank. In time, this troop and those in which Groomer’s daughters had found mates, became quite different from other troops. Their social structure was now a hierarchy of mated pairs with some 47


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unmated males and females holding lower ranks below them. The females always took the rank of their mates. The mated females were sexually receptive and interested in sex throughout the year, their interest abating only in the period immediately before and following the birth of their babies. At night, mated pairs slept together with their infants, in what had become a ‘family’ nest. The mated pairs preferred to copulate in their nests, when they were separated from other adults. Coitus therefore was becoming more private among the pairs. There was a great deal of sense in this, for public matings could sometimes attract the attention of a higher-ranking male. Should he decide to exercise his prerogative, there was nothing for it but to acquiesce. Sharing one’s mate was no longer a popular option. Sexual jealousy over the desirability of oestrus females had always been part of consort pairing, now it became incorporated in the structure of these societies. Longsight’s troop grew in numbers and prospered. There was a steady flow of young females between troops in times of intermingling. These youngsters were quickly claimed by dominant males. In the early days, escapes were strongly resisted by Longsight’s males, for the troop’s sexually receptive females were highly prized. Eventually, more and more females developed Groomer’s sexually receptive and enthusiastic behaviour. In this newly-emerging ‘family’ society, males cooperated closely with their mates, digging and locating food together, and sharing it with their families when they begged. The troop ranged widely as a band, actively seeking prey or the prey of other predators. At the feast following a kill there was competition at the carcass, but mated males were dominant and took the main share. Each mated male passed meat to his female waiting close behind him. Unmated males never shared unless a female was in oestrus, so females without consorts rarely obtained meat. If any meat reached youngsters, it was from the hands and mouths of their mothers. In the trees, each family maintained a relatively permanent nest, separate from other family nests. Usually the Alpha pair nested in the centre of the troop. When the troop moved around its range following food availability, new nests were built. Nests were used until they became uninhabitable, usually overrun with 48


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parasites, fleas or lice, and were then easily rgplaced. Pairs fed together in the trees, the males often helping their mates to reach fruit otherwise out of their reach, sometimes even offering food to their immature offspring. Females seldom made long forays away from the nest. When food was scarce, males went hunting; the females remained together, feeding close to home base where they could quickly seek shelter in trees. But they were not completely defenceless—indeed, they were anything but. Very rarely it happened that a pack of dogs attacked while the males were away; then the females gathered in a circle, shielding their youngsters in the centre. The dogs were faced with a bristling barricade of sharp sticks, which the females used with deadly accuracy and effectiveness. However hungry, predators soon learned to seek easier meals elsewhere.

Years later, Longsight died and this brings us almost to the end of Groomer’s story. Widowhood could have been a treacherous time for her, left without a protector and provider. However, her status and high level of sexual attractiveness guaranteed that she was quickly claimed by another male. True, there was a price— some loss of status as the male was still young—but what he lacked in status, he made up for in vigour; so life went on as before for Groomer. Deaths were common in the natural course of daily life; males died from wounds rgceived either in conflict or on a hunt, whereas females were prone to back problems especially during late pregnancy, parturition, or when carrying a heavy infant. When no adult female was available, male widowers easily attracted nubile females when troops come together in the rainy season—their status made them attractive. Widows, too, soon found new consorts, usually young males. When young females reached sexual maturity, those not already mated within their troop were eagerly sought as partners by males of neighbouring troops. Over time, Groomer’s troop split into daughter troops, according to tradition. Taking their heritage with them, they changed forever those other troops with no pairing structure that would 49


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provide additional food for females. Where males failed to support their consorts with meat, their reproductive performance was poor. As troops with sexually rgceptive females bgcame common throughout the region, peaceful contact and interchange between the troops bgcame more regular—when food was plentiful.

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5 From ape to hominid— our first ancestors

The free use of hands and arms, partly the cause and partly the result of man’s erect position, appears to have led in an indirect manner to other modifications of structure. The early male forefathers of man were, as previously stated, probably furnished with great canine teeth; but as they gradually acquired the habit of using stones, clubs, or other weapons for fighting with their enemies or rivals, they would use their jaws and teeth less and less. In this case, the jaws, together with the teeth, would have become reduced in size, as we may feel almost sure from innumerable analogous cases. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Our knowledge of evolutionary processes confirms the notion of a transitional period between an ancestral ape—Darwin’s indefinite ape—and the first hominid genus, the Australopithecines. It is said that a journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step. I have characterised the ape who took the momentous first step as Yellowtip, the hero of our first chronicle. Yellowtip, Tiny and Groomer initiated the long transition and the rest of the journey became inevitable. It does not matter that there is no fossil evidence available—yet. The explanation may lie simply in the relative timing of the periods. Even if the change to bipedalism took 100 000 years, this time frame is short compared with the period in which Australopithecines are known to have inhabited Africa and their fossil remains are rare enough even now. 51


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Yellowtip, Tiny and Groomer introduce us to evolution not only at an individual level, but also at a societal level. Individual selection is easy enough to specify. Individuals evolved from quadrupeds to bipeds, through a variety of physical changes. The changes made by Yellowtip increased the animals’ foraging potential and their ability to deal with predators or to force other quadrupedal apes from their territories or ranges. The freeing of hands from locomotion, thereby making it possible to use them for gripping tools, seems to me to be a central feature to begin the transition process. Yet the gains from bipedalism would certainly have been temporarily balanced, at least initially, by increased loss of life while succeeding generations were not best adapted to either quadrupedalism or bipedalism. The step taken by Tiny must have occurred directly before that of Groomer, for the erect females needed support from males to ensure their continuing reproductive performance and thus selection.

SOCIETIES EVOLVE TOO Today we can identify myriad forms of society in the animal kingdom. Our bgst explanation is that, like individuals, societies evolve as the behaviours which create them evolve. Let me illustrate. The troop is by far the most common pattern of Old World primate societies, that is, monkeys and apes. A characteristic troop will have more than one adult male, with males and females living together permanently, though the number of each will vary widely. Both sexes have a hierarchy. Dominant males usually live at the troop’s centre surrounded by the most dominant females and their offspring. Low-ranking males exist at the outer periphery. Many males will grow to maturity without gaining a high status and often move out to join other troops. Females usually, but not always, remain resident. As infants grow and are weaned, females remain with their mothers so that small clans develop. Each old female is therefore surrounded by her daughters, who in turn have their daughters close by. While troop males build other social relationships, particularly dominance ones, with other 52


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males, they rgtain a special relationship with their mothers and sisters. Whoever were our ancestors—Darwin’s ‘indefinite apes’— they probably lived in troops, spread out over the whole environment. We can assume that they slept in the trees, but spent their days on the ground, in open woodlands or savannah grasslands, a common enough arrangement. Whether these open savannahs arose because of the drying out of forests during the late Miocene or not seems irrelevant. Wherever there was such an environment, primate troops would have colonised it. I have suggested that this society evolved from a standard primate troop to a troop of mated pairs, each nesting separately at night with their own offspring but joining together daily to forage. Today’s acrobatic gibbons of South-east Asia have a family unit of a male–female pair and their youngsters; each family lives on a separate territory. As the young reach sexual maturity, adult males drive off their sons and mothers do the same to their daughters. In other species like the Hamadryas or ‘sacred’ baboons, many harems live together, comprising large troops. In these, young males forced out of harem families congregate to live together in separate ‘all-male’ troops. In chimpanzees, it is the females who occasionally change troops, with males remaining resident in the parental group. Clans are less strongly developed because of this. The hierarchy changed from separate male and female orders to a single order of pairs. This type of society is common enough, but not in mammals. Konrad Lorenz (1952) described such a society in jackdaws in his famous book, King Solomon’s Ring, but there are many others. The pairing behaviour probably evolved from pre-existing consort pair behaviour, common enough in large troops and presumably a standard part of oestrus activity. Their extension to permanent associations—first with dominant males, then other males as sexually receptive females became available was selected by the ability of females to receive food and protection throughout pregnancies and motherhood. With long associations involving regular sex between partners, the giving and receiving of food and daily grooming, the pairing behaviour was highly reinforced, while the ability of such a pair bond to rear better offspring than those who were 53


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not so bonded would assimilate the bonding behaviours into individuals’ genotypes.

SERENDIPITY AND CREATIVE OPPORTUNISM The chronicle of Yellowtip contains two themes which recur throughout humanity’s long evolutionary journey—serendipity and imaginative opportunism. There were probably two fundamental stages in initiating the evolution of a race of quadrupedal apes into the first hominids—the Australopithecines—who were fully adapted to upright posture and movement, both males and females. First, the move to the upright posture for increasing periods, thus discarding quadrupedal travel for walking on two legs by males. Second, of course, the ensuing freeing of the hands and the adoption and retention of sticks. These two elements are inextricably intertwined, interdependent and their ramifications were far-reaching. Let us take a closer look at just how serendipity and opportunism operated to bggin the human evolutionary journey. These apes probably had used sticks and stones as tools before. Yet the new feature was that Yellowtip retained his stick— today’s apes do not do this. Why would he do this? First, the use of the stick was rewarded twice in quick succession, culminating in Yellowtip’s leap to extremely high status with the death of Beta. Still holding the stick, he looked around at the other males, all of whom previously held higher rank in the hierarchy. Each lowered his eyes when challenged by Yellowtip, standing upright, holding his stick and looking down at them. Standing erect emphasises size and status. Still standing erect with his stick, he saw the sly glances of the females, recognising his status for the first time. The status and stick were part of these appreciated glances. He examined the stick carefully, learning about it and its properties. He quickly found another use for the stick, one which was of interest daily—digging roots. This was an essential part of the discovery. I believe that Yellowtip’s journey could not have occurred without the rgtention of the stick. This is the central 54


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feature to explain—and this retention was reinforced by the most powerful rewards, sex, status, attention and food. Yellowtip’s fast track up the social hierarchy to second behind the dominant leader, Old Alpha, was pure serendipity—a case of a sturdy straight stick being in the right place at the right time! The callow youngster was born into a social system which up until then had served without change. The high social status of Alpha or Beta was only achieved by males in their prime and superior in every way, but at great personal cost over a long time. The dominant and leader—sometimes but not always, the same individual—guided the troop successfully through seasons of plenty as well as meagre times, led the raids necessary to repel unwelcome stranger troops from the tribe’s turf, and spread his genes generously among the breeding females, thus ensuring continuing troop vigour. He fought off occasional challenges from younger males eager to wear the crown. The effort was made worthwhile by the prizes—access to the best of everything; food, females or nest. But most precious of all prizes—absolute control—had the highest cost, responsibility. From birth, each individual slowly learned his or her place in the unvarying and tightly knit social hierarchy of its troop. Each quickly learned that attention was organised up the hierarchy, from most subordinate of the juveniles (the females) at the bottom of the ladder, to Alpha at the pinnacle. All knew the very limited manoeuvres which might be employed to climb the rank order—but social inertia mostly kept the order stable.

DOMINANCE IN HIERARCHIES—THE ULTIMATE PRIZE Most natural groups are organised hierarchically—they have peck orders based mainly on age, with the youngest being subordinate. In most gregarious animals, the attention of each is structured, and the structure is related to the relationships each has. Attention is always organised by the hierarchy. Animals pay attention to those higher in rank than themselves. Only Alpha animals are free of this constraint and it is often they who direct their attention outside the group, presumably on guard. But every 55


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other relationship also involves a structuring of attention. A mother attends to her infant, not at every moment, but usually at regular, spaced intervals and these intervals increase as the young mature. Similarly, youngsters attend to their mother and regularly make physical contact. The most dominant primate females live with high-status males in a special social environment, in the centre of their troop. There, all of their relatives are also high in status, and the offspring of these females may ‘inherit’ high status. When they fight with other youngsters, they often do so in the presence of their mothers, and they are not averse to displaying threats from the security of their dominant mother’s or protective older brother’s sheltering arms. Social inheritance of status is not something we humans invented, but a practice widespread throughout the animal kingdom, and there are sound reasons for this. The selective process which drives evolution is concerned with the leaving of descendants, and high status is universally associated with successful reproduction. Individuals of high status are at least strong and healthy. If they also lead their troops successfully, they may have other useful characteristics to pass on. It is essential that all individuals be able to recognise each other and that all learn the language of posture for a hierarchy to exist. Individual recognition does not need language. We do it so easily, though we may forget names. My mother has bgen dead for 50 years, but in a moment I can see her face, with my eyes open or closed. I can see her face either happy or upset. I have no idea how I do it, but I suspect that most animals can do it too, and it is such an image they compare with what they see in their recognition of each other. We have similar mental images of familiar places. There is no such thing as an animal, only an animal in a posture. These postures, whether in humans or other animals, are always communicative, usually telling something about an individual’s relationship with the nearest other individual. For example, when subordinates approach dominants, there is a distance at which appeasing behaviour begins. Heads turn aside and, for subordinate cocks, for example, their magnificent erect posture disappears, their high cascading tail collapses, the tail feathers drag along the ground and their body feathers press flat 56


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against their skin so that they look half their normal size. Again, in many species of mammals, for example domestic cattle, when two individuals stand together one will have its eyelashes raised, while the other has them lowered—in appeasement, for it is subordinate. So it is with humans. Next time you pick up a copy of Time magazine or its equivalent, examine any photo of the President of the United States with a visiting dignitary. Their postures usually will express their relative status as host and guest. There are a thousand elements of these postures, and photographers and their editors select the photo which best captures the appropriate posture for their story. No human can fail to recognise the editor’s intention, for the knowledge is part of us all. So it is with most animals. The hierarchies most often discussed are those of the domestic fowl—the simple peck order. Unfortunately it is anything but simple. If you assemble a small group of chickens, they will fight among themselves, two by two and each pair will form a dominant–subordinate relationship. These will roughly rank the bkrds into an order from the Alpha—who can dominate all others—to the Omega, who is dominated by all. Except in very small groups, the order is seldom perfect. The fighting ceases, though outsiders are still attacked vigorously. In other words the group has become a unit of lowered aggression in which there is behaviour controlled by rules. Fights between animals can have various outcomes. For example, a fight need have no actual winner or loser but an equality, as two individuals stare at each other over what we call a ‘territory boundary’. More commonly, a fight ends in a loser, who submits and is attacked no longer. The most common form of submission is flight which takes the loser away from the victor who seldom chases far. Other forms of submission include the adoption of infantile behaviour, which works because most animals do not usually attack their infants. Observe this for yourself next time you have reason to reprimand your dog—it may respond by lying on its back, an infantile posture. Another common form of submission is female sexual behaviour, commonly used by primates, but also normal in chickens. I may walk gently among a flock of chickens and suddenly stamp my foot. The birds within a metre or so of me will crouch sexually—not 57


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a sexual invitation to me—but in submission; but note the importance of the distance factor, for spacing is a central component of the hierarchy. Perhaps in submission and the acceptance of submission by the victor we find the evolutionary basis for the first morality. Attacks do cease. It may only be that a given signal changes the aggressive drive to a sexual (or parental) one bgfore dissipating it. The effect is a crude morality. The distance component of the hierarchy also produces a social control of behaviour. Within certain distances of a dominant individual, there are all sorts of restrictions on behaviour. There is no fighting by subordinates. Young males would not attempt to mate in the presence of a dominant male. Remember how Yellowtip inadvertently moved through some invisible distance barrier, thus provoking the definitive challenge from Beta. It is the sort of control that occurs when my speedometer always settles on a legal speed when I notice a police car in my rgar-vision mirror!

DOMINANCE VERSUS LEADERSHIP Consider the separation of leadership and dominance, for this can be a puzzling idea. Leadership and dominance are most commonly found in the one individual, but they are separate roles. We are quite sure about the separation because we can find many examples in the behaviour of modern primates, similar to that described with Old Alpha and Yellowtip. A Swiss ethologist, Hans Kummer (1968, 1975), was probably the first to show this separation in his study of the Hamadryas baboons of Ethiopia. The retention of leadership in older animals is very common. Only they have the experience and memories with which to answer the many idiosyncratic problems which groups of animals encounter. A student of mine, the late Don Tulloch (1967), studied water buffaloes in Northern Australia. In a normal herd of females, a single female held both dominance and leadership roles. The roles seemed to pass to her daughters, within the same ‘clan’. In some cases, however, most of a clan could be wiped out in a drought when they became bogged in drying waterholes. In such 58


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a case, Don found only one young female remaining in the Alpha’s clan, a daughter of the Alpha. This female tried to take dominance and failed. The matriarch of another clan bgcame dominant, but the youngster led the herd on the daily movements. Much later, when the water dried up completely, the older dominant female also provided leadership by leading the herd to a distant alternative waterhole which the younger animal could not have known about. The lack of an experienced leader can have drastic effects. While I was jackarooing in western Queensland, two of us were sent out after heavy mid-summer rains to rescue a whole flock of merino ewes that had become bogged in deep black soil at the low end of a huge paddock. For days we lifted ewes onto our saddles and led the horses out of the bog, turning back immediately to rescue another. We killed those whose eyes had been taken out by crows. The experience was harrowing and memorable. It took many years and a career in animal behaviour before I understood the problem which caused such devastation to flocks. By weaning the lambs from whole flocks of ewes together and separating them from their mothers, we took them away before any of the experience of one generation could be passed on to the next. Sheep are generally rggarded as ‘stupid’, but it is hard to see genius in men who have for generations prevented lambs learning from the experience of their elders! Welsh farmers are wiser. In the hills of Wales a farmer would not buy a farm without the sheep, for they recognise that it is the old ewes who know where to shelter when a blizzard or any other natural hazard occurs. In sheep, the ancestral flocks are of ewes; males live solitary lives. Yellowtip’s happy accident in discovering that sticks both hold and bgqueath power led to dramatic changes in his troop’s social arrangements. It was the need to maintain his new rank that drove him to remain erect continuously—against all odds. It was sheer creative opportunism that led to the sticks becoming increasingly versatile—crutch, food tool and combat spear. Let us consider what happened to our ancestor apes as they struggled to stay erect and found widening uses for their hands.

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NATURAL SELECTION AT WORK The new type of ape slowly conquered the plains of Africa. They became the dominant type, always displacing their fully quadrupedal neighbours. Naturally their initial supremacy diminished once neighbouring troops also had sticks, but their ranges were now more productive through their use of sticks as digging and hunting tools. While this territorial expansion was happening, selection was changing the physiological structure of the apes. Those animals most successful at standing and functioning upright were most likely to reach Alpha status and disseminate their genes throughout their troops. This natural selection sculpted the changes necessary for effective upright posture in standing and walking. At first, arms remained long to cater for knuckle-walking females. Over time, sticks replaced the apes’ great canines, both in display and fighting. The direct result was that other functions of teeth came under more direct selection, for example, for tearing meat. The apes’ jaws and teeth began to change to accommodate their more varied diet. Strong selection initially brings rapid changes, for something like 30 generations (we measure a generation length as being approximately the average age of parents when their offspring are born). Responses then cease for a while, with later, shorter periods of change, particularly after matings between individuals from different troops. If the generations averaged 20 years, then we can hypothesise that rapid changes occurred for perhaps 600 years. The period in which males were erect and females quadrupedal was probably very much longer than this, perhaps some thousands of years.

SEX AND A CHANGING SOCIETY Mastery of sticks led to a complete upheaval in the hierarchy of the troop, which saw increasingly younger males achieve high status, many years before they could have expected to. These stick-wielding apes also became highly successful at repelling intrwders from other troops. But there was a serious downside to 60


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these ‘achievements’, which in evolutionary terms had the potential to destroy the ascendant new breed. Previously the norm was that quadrupedal young males left their troop on reaching sexual maturity to seek a place in another troop. Thus the Alpha in any troop was likely to have brought new genes into his adopted gene pool. This movement of males and their genes between troops was the established safeguard against inbreeding, since only a few more adventurous and determined females changed troops and this migration was sporadic and vigorously discouraged. Accordingly, when Yellowtip became the high-ranking animal in his own troop and the other young males followed his lead, the old social order was turned on its head and inbreeding became a real, albeit long-term, threat within the established bipedal troops. Mating of close relatives is probably always harmful, and is potentially high in troops, for a single Alpha male sires a high proportion of the youngsters. Inbred animals are less vigorous and healthy. True, for a while males continued to leave the troop and thus to disperse their genes and their new skills. They were agile enough to avoid most predators, and had spears with which to defend themselves. A spear would help a lone male gain a high rank in a troop of quadrupedal apes, but would be of little help in joining another bipedal troop. As bipedalism and spears spread widely among troops, young males could not have continued to move out of their troops—fighting for rank against opponents who were also proficient in the use of sharp sticks was too dangerous. If our erect apes were not to suffer from continued inbreeding, there must have been interchanges of breeding animals. It seems reasonable to suppose that the emphasis gradually switched from male exchange to the rggular exchange of females who, being noncombatants, could move freely between troops. Moreover, troops mostly came into proximity in times of plenty when competition and tensions about resources would be minimal and when the females were most likely to be in top breeding condition. Males of both troops would find the visiting oestrus females sexually attractive, probably more so than their own females, and the attraction would be mutual due to a tendency across species, including humans, for individuals growing up together to show reduced sexual interest in each other. 61


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These two patterns have bgen documented in modern primates involving regular interchanges of young mature animals. In species like the olive baboons, it is the young mature males who move away, probably because of their inabklity to rgach dominance in their own troop due to an ‘inertia’ in dominance hierarchies. Social inertia is a concept introduced by the ethologist A.M. Guhl (1968), of Kansas State University. It seems to be hard to defeat one who has dominated you throughout your life. Thus, fully-grown males move off alone, perhaps visiting several other neighbouring troops until they find one where they decide there is a chance of defeating some of the high-ranking males. The first demonstration of this process was shown by the ethologist Jane Goodall in her study of baboons. The adventuring males sit at the outskirts of the new troop, watching and learning the hierarchy for some days. They then move in and challenge low-ranking males at first. Battles occur when they challenge highranking animals, but they seldom challenge the Alpha male. If the interlopers win, they show appropriate submission to the Alpha, and are accepted and assimilated into the troop. Having gained high rank through their challenges, they may, in time, sire some offspring but, more importantly, they are also in a position later to take over the Alpha or Beta position and its reproductive benefits. In the second pattern, Jane Goodall found that male chimpanzees remain permanently within their troops. It is the young females who sometimes move between troops as they reach sexual maturity. However their attempts to migrate may be resisted by males in their troop.

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES Our ancestors mastered the erect posture and reaped significant rewards. They thrived as they developed the skills necessary for them to harvest the plains freely, without the need to retreat furiously to the trees whenever danger threatened. The bipedal apes multiplied because females could dig for food which kept them well nourished on their existing range, even at the driest 62


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times. Quadrupedal troops were forced into forests where the sticks gave little advantage in digging. Most ground-living primates are larger than those which are fully arboreal. Because of the dangers of ground living, troops are well organised to deal with the threats around them. They are generally not friendly to neighbouring troops, though these may even be relatively closely related, perhaps the rgsult of a recent splitting of a very large troop. When a troop of baboons moves along there is an advance guard and rearguard of males (see Washburn & DeVore 1961). If a threat is detected behind the moving troop, the advance group of males and the main party increase their speed, leaving the rearguard of males as a buffer. When the danger is detected ahead, the senior males move from the centre of the troop to the front to face the threat—with their combined age and experience they constitute a formidable force. It is the spacing between troops which is of interest here, for all animals space themselves, both within and between their groups. It was Professor H. Hediger of the Zurich Zoo (1955) who first brought the complexities of animal spacing to the attention of biologists and inspired my own interest in the subject. I have generally used the term ‘range’, which places the emphasis on the area a group covers in its normal activities and includes the places where the group rests, feeds, drinks, hunts and forages. The range may also be a territory, where the neighbouring groups have ‘agreed’ on a mutual boundary which limits the movements of each troop. It is a network of such agreements which sets the boundaries we find on maps of nations, and we think in similar terms when we think of animal territories. When crossing boundaries is part of the agreements, the ‘contracts’ must deal with the times and conditions of the host–guest component of the relationship. Such arrangements are quite common, and called ‘home range’ patterns. When troops meet at the borders of their ranges or territories there is generally a contest—usually limited to threatening display behaviour by the males. The normal outcome of these threat contests is the maintenance of a boundary, not a fight. However the threat contests have been observed to break into open warfare in chimpanzees, with the males of one troop actually killing off every male in another troop. It is interesting, to note that this did not occur in an overt battle, but in a series of 63


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fights in which the members of the lesser troop were ambushed or set upon and killed.

Let us move on some thousands of years after Yellowtip. The apes were still small by our standards, perhaps a little over a metre high. They may have weighed a little less than those of Yellowtip’s troop because selection would not have operated only on the backbone, shoulders, hips and knees but on any character which gave an advantage to those standing erect; carrying less weight may have been such a trait. New shapes for hips, knees, spines, necks and skulls were necessary and, with all skeletal changes, muscles changed their functions and actions. A ‘pelvic dish’ slowly replaced the spine as a primary support for the abdomen. Much later, the development of lumbar lordosis led to control over the centre of gravity and provided ‘shock absorber’ properties to the spine. There is a process within evolution called ‘neoteny’, which involves the incorporation of the juvenile characteristics of one generation into the adult design of future generations. Neoteny probably accounts for the rgtention of youthful flexibility of posture into maturity and, as we shall see, it would also account for the later juvenile play behaviours which appear in adult communication behaviours. Yellowtip’s descendants did not need to become much smarter to handle spears and digging sticks. They probably made and shaped other, smaller tools, and the new tools they developed were different from those used by today’s chimpanzees only in their size. Rocks may have been used to break nuts. Over time, they may have shaped their sticks better and learned which trees on their range provided them with the most suitable tools. When they moved away, they would have tried other woods and identified new sources. The stick-become-spear/spade was the central tool. They would expend considerable effort and skill to fashion sharp but durable points for spears, but waste minimum efforts on the shafts. It was the same with digging sticks. Flat, sharp, durable points were all-important. Sticks had to be light 64


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to carry, nothing more. These apes were not concerned with the attractiveness of their spears, only their effectiveness. When males stood first, females could have remained quadrupedal, thus creating a major dimorphism. But the fact that the young females were already standing erect, admittedly only for short periods of time, probably made Tiny’s debut inevitable. Tiny’s story is one of true courage, for the slight benefits of standing tall like their brothers exacted a terrible price from our female ancestors. Those ‘sensible’ old females who remained quadrupedal—had they been human like us—must have shaken their heads with disbelief and wonderment. Why would anyone in her right mind stubbornly risk life for the dubious benefit of hobbling along upright, often in pain, and having one’s body hair torn out? Solutions were clearly needed—but only time could bring them.

YELLOWTIP’S LEGACY At the time of Tiny’s story, nature was redesigning the apes’ bodies to allow erect posture in both genders and the animals in this generation were quite different from those of Yellowtip’s era. All now had relatively straight knees with hips that allowed females to be reasonably comfortable when standing erect and walking, but were not yet convenient supports for infants. Those males with troublesome backs had been ‘culled’ in the selective process; they left no descendants. Tiny was able to persist with the erect posture through her pregnancy because many hundreds of generations of natural selection among males had given her the design which allowed her to try and her slight build increased the odds in her favour. Her step was the one which brought finality to the process if, even now, it can be said to have reached finality. Yet the future of the erect posture did not depend solely on Tiny’s troop, for the changes brought about by Yellowtip had gone so far as to make it inevitable that females would become bipedal, and there were hundreds of troops like Greyhead’s all over the country. Sooner or later, another female in another troop would have made the step. The real weight of selection now fell on females and, for them, the process was not completed easily. The evolving changes 65


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made hips a little less serviceable for those females who still walked on their knuckles. Those who had made the step upright, but were unable to stand every day through the later stages of pregnancy reverted to equally painful knuckle-walking, or acquired severe back problems. The difficulties they faced and the degree of their handicap is hard to evaluate at this distance. For a female who had to walk many kilometres every day, normally carrying a baby either in utero or on her hips, the discomfort must have been considerable. Untold thousands of females over hundreds of thousands of years paid the cost of redesigning the backs, knees and legs of future generations. The ensuing back failures, which continue to the present day, are the price that humans have paid for our erect stature. Vertical females did not live as long as quadrupedal apes. They died early, very early at first. Tiny’s troop had great difficulty maintaining its numbers—natural selection was maximum. For a while, perhaps 20 or 30 years, this was the only troop with both genders standing erect.

BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD Throughout history backbones had always been horizontal and the weight of chest and abdomen simply hung down directly from the spine. This is still the situation for most of the animal world. However when we stood upright, we had to change the mechanics of the skeleton. The spine then became a vertical string of beads held in place by powerful bands of ligaments and muscle. The weight of the abdomen and chest dragged down and forward on the erect spine. The vertebral column and rib cage in turn supported the heavy weight of the abdomen and, in females, the additional load of a heavy foetus during late pregnancy until selection spread the pelvis to become a ‘saucer’ to support them. Vertebrae also had to bg redesigned to protect them from the new stresses operating on the spine. These requirements made it inevitable that our first Chronicle had to give a male the honour of being the first to master upright walking. Juveniles and immature males could manage the new posture more easily than adults. It was only with full maturity 66


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that knees, hips and backs caused problems. A swaying gait was inevitable at first until powerful muscles changed their functions from extensors to adductors to stabilise the pelvis and allow pelvic rotation. Backs could suddenly become excruciatingly painful either when pulling up heavy clumps of grass or when twisting suddenly. The initial costs of becoming bipedal were heavy losses of adult males, either from back failure or wounds inflicted by fighting with sticks. Those who were unable to keep up with the troop succumbed to a waiting cat or a fast-moving pack of dogs; death was mercifully quick. For the apes, security was in numbers. As generations passed, backs and knees became stronger, redesigned, and losses of males decreased, but very slowly. The real costs were yet to be paid by females. By this time, young females were also standing erect—until their first pregnancy. Most walked upright with their brothers, falling down onto their knuckles or squatting at the feeding grounds. Thereafter they were like all adult females—either pregnant or carrying an infant on all fours through their lives. There was no menstrual cycle as we understand it; cycling was only a way to provide a second chance for the few infertile females. Females too carried sticks, for digging. Older females had no difficulties with digging while squatting, but carrying their sticks was always a nuisance. Knuckle-walking with an infant clinging to their chest or on their back made holding a stick awkward. Yet it had to bg managed as sticks rapidly became too important to be left behind. Throughout all vertebrate history, backs had been designed as slings, to carry the weights of heavy abdomens. With an erect spine a different type of strength was needed. Already the heavy head, chest, shoulders and arms bore down on this spinal column. Pregnancy meant that a new set of forces pulled on this vertical string of beads. The weight of the foetus hung from the spine and rib cage, itself levered out from the spine while the pelvic saucer evolved. At the same time, however, the rib cage was changing from a narrow protruding shelf to a flattened wide chest and this lowered the strain on the spine. Necks, which had been designed to support a heavy head well in front of the body, could now allow the weight of the head to bear down directly on the spine. But the old structures were still present so the neck still 67


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leant forward without effort, except on the spine. Shoulders now had new functions. Previously they had pressed their weight downwards on the forelegs; the new design required them to support not only the load of arms which hung from them but also the heavy objects these arms often carried, usually infants. Females with wider hips found it easier to support the weight of their infants. Generations of walking upright made some changes in the feet of these apes, transforming them from a design for grasping to one more efficient for long walks across open plains. The new design assisted females, since grasping infant feet had no place to hold on moving legs. Yet climbing remained an important skill. Running would never be as fast on two as on four legs but the feet, calves, knees and hips were slowly modified for effective bipedal transport.

ALMOST THE ‘NAKED APE’ In the first few millennia of standing erect, our ancestors lost most of their body hair, especially the females. Primate babies had always carried their own weight, swinging from their quadruped mother’s hair until they could ride like jockeys on her back. The sequence has hardly changed today. The hair on primate babies is a different colour from that of adults: in chimpanzees the young are brown and the adults black and, in most monkeys, adults are brown and the infants black. Until infants change colour, they can do little wrong and are especially protected by all members of the troop. When females began to walk erect, their young still held onto their hair, but only by the mother supporting the baby over a hip could the infant’s weight be transferred from the spine to the legs. This change altered also the points of hair-grasping. It is easy to understand how selection reduced hair on females: irritated by persistent pulling in various places, those mothers might have been less nurturing than others with little hair to grasp. If the wrenched hair caused irritation and skin infections then again, selection is intelligible. If this was how hair was lost, then it is another change for which females were responsible. 68


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BAB[ AS OBJECT—A SHIFT IN POWER Perhaps the closest of all social relationships is that of the mother–infant bond and physical spacing or contact is an important expression of that bond. Another significant expression is the pair’s attention structure. We can observe the pattern of our quadrupedal ancestors in today’s primate troops. At first, the spacing between a mother and her baby is minimal with both maintaining close bodily contact, as in many human societies. Soon the infants are attracted to the other youngsters around them. They pull away from their mother—but she holds on— sometimes by that built-in monkey-leash, the tail. The first conflict between them escalates until she gives in and allows her baby to move away. It is in no danger since its colour protects it from serious harm, but the play of young primates can be rough. The spacing between mother and infant slowly changes, as it does in every mammal species. At first the spacing is maintained by the mother pulling back, especially during the weaning process. Later the distance increases, but there are regular returns and contacts, so that timing intervals between contacts become the expression of the spacing. These intervals slowly increase as the youngsters mature. There was yet another important consequence of the erect posture for mothers. Until this time, every infant was born superbly equipped with innate behaviours which enabled it to manage the essential tasks of early life. For example, an infant could locate the nipple, independently of its mother’s help; it also had the behaviour to hang on and support its own weight. After Tiny, females needed a free hand to hold the baby far more than previously. A mother needed to struggle with the baby to choose the most comfortable carrying position—for her. For the first time in our evolutionary journey mothers, necessarily, began to interfere, taking over those decisions which previously infants had been fully equipped by heredity to make themselves. Remnants of the innate behavioural repertoire can still be demonstrated in modern infants. I have not seen it, but a movie was made in the early 1960s (I think in Cornell University), of babies finding the nipple without help when placed on the mother’s abdomen immediately after birth. I remember teaching 69


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a course in an American university and discussing this difference: between ‘the baby as an object to be handled by the mother’, rather than ‘the mother relying on the bab{’s own innate skills’. I did not know that there was a young man in the class whose wife was soon to give birth to their first child. Apparently they discussed my lecture and decided that they would put the ‘innate skills’ proposition to the test, and let their baby find a nipple itself. In due course, the baby was born, the experiment carried out and duly reported to me in a class. However, the new father added that though the baby did as expected, he did not recommend the exercise. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Because the baby screamed for the half hour it took to find the nipple, and this was very distressing to my wife,’ he replied. The innate organising behaviour persists in what child development specialists call ‘reflex patterns’, which change over time from birth—some disappear completely and others persist throughout adulthood. Any mother is familiar with the ‘walking’ behaviour of a newborn infant who is held upright with the soles of the feet touching a firm surface—or again, of the automatic grasping of any object touching an open palm. It is enough to note here that Tiny was the first mother to begin the process of replacing the innate behaviour with control by the mother. Today this control has become dominant in the mother–infant interaction. Paradoxically, maternal control increased further as each increase in brain and head size made birth more difficult and meant that infants were born at an earlier developmental stage.

THE CHANGING WORLD OF TINY’S TROOP Tiny could have lived in any of the environments of Africa, on the beaches of a sea or lake, along a river or as suggested, on a savannah. Troops still climbed trees or cliffs every evening for security against nocturnal predators. While there were still quadrupedal females within the troop, the normal seasonal contact between troops would have taken place, allowing the exchange of females. These contacts would have the additional effect of letting neighbouring troops see erect mothers, so that nubile females in other bands may have been influenced to try erect 70


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living, even through parturition and rearing their infants. The upright mode of life of females spread slowly but little else changed. Male migration between troops had ceased but females regularly made the switch, mostly encouraged by the outsider males seeking sex with more attractive females. Thousands more years were needed before an erect race of apes bggan to spread out and inhabit the thousand environments of Africa. These animals clearly succeeded and multiplied and we have called them Australopithecines. We must remember, though, that troops with newly upright females would have a problem with collecting food. While the males roamed the savannahs, moving freely away from the treeline, the first erect females would not have had the stamina to venture far from the trees. They could only manage shorter distances while carrying their offspring and tools on their fragile backs. They had limited access to the additional harvest of the plains so necessary during the harsh dry season bgfore the rains, the time of greatest hardship. The females needed help to survive. Thus one more change was necessary bgfore the success of these bipedal troops was assured—support of females by males.

GROOMING Grooming of others has always been and still is part of the behavioural repertoire of primates. It serves the practical function of removing foreign bodies and parasites from the hair, but is clearly much more significant than that. Most ethologists recognise that grooming others, ‘allogrooming’, is part of the social glue that keeps a troop together and well-integrated. Visit any primate enclosure at a zoo and see for yourself just how extensive are the periods animals spend grooming each other. Groomer was not an unusual ape, just one with an exceptionally high need for stroking—and therein lies the ‘happy accident’ which precipitated another significant evolutionary step toward Homo sapiens. Long association and mating between Longsight and Groomer built up a strong attachment between the two, in spite of Longsight’s occasional dalliances with other females when they were in oestrus. This bond developed from a common enough 71


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behaviour: consort pairing, where the Alpha guards a valuable resource—an available female, from all other males.

THE LURE OF SEX—ITS REWARDS AND RESPONSIBILITIES Oestrus is the period of sexual receptivity in female mammals and normally accompanies ovulation. In some species, for example mice and rats, oestrus is limited to a single mating, after which there is a vaginal plug which renders the female unavailable for mating. More commonly, oestrus lasts several days so that repeated matings are possible, thus ensuring that sperm are available when ovulation occurs. In many primates the female develops a ‘sexual skin’ which becomes swollen during oestrus. During this period she becomes attractive and receptive to males. As the oestrus takes its course, she mates, at first with low-ranking males and then with increasingly dominant males as she reaches her peak of oestrus and receptivity. When she passes this peak of swelling, ovulation has occurred and the most dominant males have lost interest in her. She will mate again with low-ranking males until her sexual skin disappears, marking the end of oestrus. In chimpanzees, there is little competition among males for mating—they just seem to wait their turn patiently! Because a female normally becomes pregnant during her oestrus, this sexual behaviour does not recur until after her offspring is reared and weaned, some four or five years later. Thus female chimpanzees are either pregnant or lactating throughout their lives, so that oestrus and the show of blood which in humans we call ‘menstruation’ is rare. Humans have a ‘menstrual’ cycle rather than an oestrus cycle. Without contraception, early humans showed no more cycling than do other mammals. Mating during the first menstrual cycle was followed by pregnancy and lactation. Cycling was then finished until the baby was weaned. Then a new menstrual cycle began, followed by pregnancy—and so on throughout a female’s reproductive life. Today, cycling is emphasised. In an earlier world, cycling, which occurs in all mammals, was only a way of fertilising the few abnormally infertile females who failed to get 72


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pregnant in a single cycle. Pregnancy has always bgen an effective contraceptive! In chimpanzees, as we have seen above, there is a situation which falls somewhere between humans and other primates. There is a bleeding, followed some days later by an oestrus. Mating leads to fertilisation, pregnancy, lactation and then another menstruation and oestrus. However the chimpanzee is not sexually receptive except during the oestrus. Yet we know that at least one chimpanzee species, the Bonobo or Pygmy chimpanzee, and modern humans have divorced sexual activity from ovulation. Mating can, and does, take place often and at any time throughout the year. The females are always sexually receptive. At the time of Groomer’s story the length of the female oestrus had been extending. Groomer’s apes, in common with most other primate females, never acquired the extreme oestrus display of bright red, swollen, pubic skin that evolved in chimpanzees. Thus a change in the visible signalling, though noticeable, was less dramatic than the behavioural change depicted in our story. Sexual fidelity was never part of the behaviour of our ancestral apes. Male or female, if placed in a sexually stimulating situation with another individual (where danger was unlikely) would have responded by copulating. High-ranking males had always tried to monopolise oestrus females by forming consort pairs with them, thus denying access to other males. Jane Goodall, while working in the Gombe Stream Reserve, Africa, observed middle-ranking male baboons herding oestrus females in consort pairs, isolating them from their groups and from other males. Such females are sometimes forced to remote parts of the troop’s range, by attacking them if they failed to follow or attempted to escape. She found that chimpanzee females, on the other hand, do not deny access to any males during their oestrus. In the troops of Groomer and her descendants, females were receptive to daily matings, so that the sexual skin advertisement was irrelevant; permanent associations meant that the fertilisation was ensured whenever ovulation occurred. The evolution of females capable of continuous sexual receptivity was beneficial, indeed essential for one benefit above all others: ensuring a 73


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reliable meat supply for the females, from willing males who would also help to rear their own babies. We do not know the genetic change responsible for the loss of the behavioural oestrus —or perhaps its extension so that sexual rgceptivity became continuous. The change may well have been a slow one due to selection rather than the sudden appearance I have suggested in Groomer’s Chronicle.

FATHERHOOD—A NEW KIND OF FAMILY Females did not need permanent associations with single males while they were quadrupedal and able to do all of the rearing of their offspring alone. As the period of female sexual receptivity stretched—ultimately to bgcome continuous—so the consort pairings continued, gradually consolidating into a strong and reasonably exclusive uniting bond. The highest-ranking male, the Alpha, always had first choice and so consort pairs formed down the male hierarchy as each additional receptive female was taken by the next highest-ranking male. The pairing of males and females was based on sex and yielded food-sharing behaviours. Pair-bonding supported the female in rearing her young. Actually, the only regular provisioning of females by males is found in pair-bonded species, and this occurs usually when the females are reproducing; for example, incubating in birds and pre- and post-parturient in canids—the dog families. There are many species with social organisations like the canids—bonded pairs with offspring—in which both adults contribute to the rgaring and feeding of the rgproductive parent and the dependent offspring. Societies with pair-bonds within a discrete group are the most complex found in animals. An Austrian ethologist and Nobel Laureate, Konrad Lorenz, described such a society among jackdaws in King Solomon’s Ring. Most of the corvids (the crow family) have pair-nesting territories within a group’s range. Our early ancestors’ mating relationships evolved because successful matings yielded well-reared offspring and unsatisfactory relationships did not. Strong bonds between the parents produced fathers who were highly protective of their families. To the extent that the changes were incorporated in the genes, we 74


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can call it evolution by natural selection. To the extent that the changes were learned without changing the learning ability, they were cultural changes or, perhaps, cultural evolution. Success in rearing healthy offspring is a central feature of natural selection. Everything that contributed to successful reproduction in these animals was selected, including the bond between male and female and all behaviours associated with it, the sexual receptiveness of females, which strengthened the bond and reciprocal support given by males in providing extra food and protection for their females and their youngsters. It is only in this selection that we can understand the spread of the new pattern of sexual behaviour which supported the erect female throughout the long period of her adaptation to a permanent upright posture. There are many forms of bond servicing in animals—for example, mutual grooming, giving and receiving of food or nest materials —and mating (independently of fertilisation) is but one of them, but these situations are always found in species where male and female are bonded. The attachment of each male to his female was strengthened by their mating in the privacy of their tree nest and the female’s availability. In this way, natural selection produced new societal structures and the new bonds were thus also subject to selection. In sum, help from the males was essential for upright females to rear offspring successfully. Thus, this new male role was the benefit and key to troops maintaining the high reproductive rate necessary to ensure the survival and success of these novel animals. Female losses through back injuries remained generally high for millennia while hunting continued to account for most male losses. I have mentioned the lack of fidelity in these animals, for it was certainly so at first and status had always given priority in matings. Yet once pairs became the norm, ‘adultery’ would have been disruptive to the new societal structure. It may have been difficult to achieve unobserved, since the females kept closely together as they foraged while males were away, and opportunities were probably limited when males and females were together. Probably occasional opportunities occurred—most animals seem to find suitable occasions. Yet for millions of years, perhaps until organised divisions of labour emerged, adultery was unlikely to 75


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be common. ‘Illegitimate’ offspring would also have been rare, for females were so seldom fertile—a few days in every four or five years—although sex was available continuously.

SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS The pair bonds which evolved between mates are but one form of social relationship. There are many others. To me, these relationships are the central feature of the study of animal and human societies. As I said above, I think of ‘territories’ as sets of ‘agreements’, which are the basic component of social relationships. Thus solitary animals in territories are social in the sense that they have social relationships with their neighbours which are expressed in the agreements which control the behaviour of each animal on each side of their agreed boundaries. The interactive bghaviour which formed the rglationships was fighting. But relationships, obviously, are much more variable than this. Mammalian mothers form relationships with their babies. These are unusual relationships bgcause they change constantly as the young grow and develop. They are finally broken, usually by aggressive behaviour of the mother, which over a period of time will drive the offspring away, either to stay within the group or, in some species, to leave the parent and start life alone. Aggressive behaviour is the universal separating behaviour throughout the animal kingdom. The interactive behaviours of animals are, therefore, those which form relationships, maintain them, change them and, finally, terminate them. Fighting in dominance–subordinate relationships and courtship in the formation of pairs are two common behaviours seen in the formation of social relationships. In mated pairs, I have mentioned the complex sets of maintenance interactions called ‘bond-servicing behaviours’. In Groomer’s case, sex and grooming were the first of these and led to feeding by Longsight. Other bond-reinforcing behaviours have emerged over time. Whenever mating occurs more frequently than for reproduction, it services the bond between the pair. A relationship always involves a set of agreements about controls over behaviour. In dominance–subordinate relation76


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ships, the controls are mostly over the appropriateness of the behaviours of the subordinate: how close it may approach without appeasement in posture, its priority in feeding and use of facilities. In pairs, there is always a division of labour in the maintenance of the nest or territory and the feeding and care of any young. There are many tasks to be done, and all must be done. There are thousands of species of birds which form pairs, and most have different divisions of labour. In all cases, everything gets done—if it didn’t, there would be no successful rearing of young, and no point to the pairing. We now call this organisation a social relationship. This does not mean that it is always organised genetically. For even genetic organisation must be completed in behavioural interactions. Certainly our human relationships and the interactions/negotiations they include are not seen to bg genetic. Their forms are often culturally determined. For example, when I was a boy everyone knew the division of labour between husband and wife in our culture. There was no need for negotiation except about details. Sixty years on, our culture has changed and we have discarded some of the accepted cultural ‘wisdom’. Now each individual in a marriage must negotiate the many details of the division of labour. The same requirement exists, however, that no task may be left undone. Negotiation can be difficult. It certainly takes time. Social rglationships, then, are built by interactions between people in which they negotiate agreements about the behaviour they will include and exclude from their interactions in future. The agreements can be unspecified but ‘understood’ in the culture, or worked out tediously over time, or a combination of both. They will evolve as their component behaviours and agreements change. Since any society is a matrix of these relationships, the society changes as the rglationships within it change and adjust to each other.

A NEW TECHNOLOGY—CREATIVE OPPORTUNISM We can assume that, at this time, our ancestors were still not effective hunters, relying on other predators to do most of the killing. But they were probably the only species which could drive 77


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a leopard from its kill high in a tree. At first, bipedal running was not very effective. Only when adults saw the advantage in driving predators from their kill did they find a need to get there quickly—and ran. They learned to run as children, and brought this skill to adulthood. Soon hunting came to depend on the ability to run and with increasing balance and motor skills, these people had taken the steps to full bipedalism and effective hunting. At first, perhaps even for most of the transition period, spears were stabbing weapons. Eventually spears were thrown, probably by youngsters at first, and not very efficiently. Over thousands of generations throwing became a skill. Our ancestors were successful foragers. Every troop member carried their wooden tools at all times: spears were long straight sticks, chosen for their sharp points; digging sticks were shorter and spade-like, or perhaps sharp bones. We have no evidence for this, presumably because wooden implements leave no fossils. If there were fossils, these stories would already have bgen told. Perhaps they occasionally used sharp-edged stones to hone the points of spears or digging sticks, break sticks, crack nuts or hack off pieces of flesh and bone from carcasses. Such stones would become part of the fossil record, but their unfashioned state would make them difficult to recognise as tools. This was a wood, not a stone culture. Along coasts, diets adapted to the sea shore and included crustaceans and fish caught in rock pools. While females dug up the nests of turtles and pried mussels from rocks, they could also kill lizards, frogs and small animals. Our ancestors were primarily vegetarian, eating mainly roots and grasses but also fruits, seeds and nuts when these came into season. As they spread into new habitats they adapted to new foods, as had their ancestors. Food sharing became a two-way process and females came quickly to the feast when their males provided them with meat. Conversely, males were also fed when they returned emptyhanded from hunts, for the newly-erect posture meant that females could carry food home just as their males. But the amount carried was small at first, for they had also to carry their infants and their precious sticks. A female needed another tool. First she had to gather food beyond what she needed and store it, moving the store as she herself foraged further afield. Then she had to 78


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pick up the store and carry it home. Her back was now strong enough to carry the stick and she could carry some of her store in her free hand. It was not long before an inventive female learned that more could be collected and borne home on a piece of bark or the large leaves of some plants. Others would find that strips of skin torn from a kill would serve and, in time, even grasses were tangled—the forerunner of weaving—to do the task. Skin strips or vines made an adequate infant support while she walked, freeing, to some extent, her other hand. Over time, skin pieces developed into slings, for both babies and food. Increasingly creative solutions continued to emerge, though form followed function, without any thought of aesthetics as we know it. So began a most unexpected consequence of Groomer’s behaviour—the beginning of a female technology, a wonderful example of creative opportunism.

FROM GROOMER’S WORLD—A NEW ORDER As consort pairing became normal in troops, a new source of conflict and disruption emerged. Mated females shunned or even attacked any hapless unmated female coming into oestrus, vigorously ‘protecting’ their males from the advances of the eager, sexually excited oestrus female. Admittedly, with oestrus occurring only about once in four or five years for those females, the disruption was minimal. Bwt an unattached female’s ability to obtain meat from males was also negligible. Only the readily receptive, mated females had this advantage, which they enjoyed not just at fertilisation, but at the times it was needed, through lactation and pregnancy. Yet oestrus females would continue to be born within the troop for some centuries, before strong selection for receptive females finally displaced them. In time, the Australopithecines subdivided into a number of separate species and migrated around the continent. Their fossils have bgen found in such disparate environments as the limestone caves of southern Africa and the arid far north of Ethiopia. If you wish, you may trace their record through the references in the bibliography (e.g., Leakey 1994) for I shall not deal further with this data. Together, our first three Chronicles embody the 79


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essential steps which changed an unknown ancestral group of apes to the genus or group of species scientists have named Australopithecus. I believe there is no credibility problem here despite the lack of fossil evidence. The first bipedal apes in the fossil records are Australopithecines. They did not just appear, therefore there must have bgen some essential steps in the transformation from quadrupedal into bipedal apes. It seems to me quite logical that this transformation needed at least three steps, though others may see this differently. The first and most essential was that in the chronicle of Yellowtip, namely that males stood erect continuously and mastered travelling upright. The next two steps were, I think, inevitable. The second was that the females also conquered the upright posture, but in doing so they lost the ability to walk the long distances required for successful foraging. Thus, for females to receive adequate dietary protein, the third step needed was that they secure reliable support from males in providing for them and their offspring. Groomer ushered in the Australopithecines. Her step was essential to complete this transformation—the first gigantic evolutionary leap forward from apes to humans. The next leap is no less dramatic, for these ancient ancestors had no language beyond the communication systems of other animals and perhaps, a few hand signals which were adequate for their needs. But the freeing of hands probably made the next steps inevitable and these are illustrated in the following set of Chronicles, beginning with Spearman’s chronicle.

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The Chronicles of Homo habilis The Chronicles of Homo habilis

Homo habilis seems to have emerged about 2.5 million years ago (though the status of the species may change in light of recent fossil discoveries), and remained on the scene for about a million years. These people were short by our standards: males stood about 1.5 metres and females 1.1 metres tall. They were blackskinned with scanty body hair, especially the females. Our first Homo habilis chronicle concerns an Australopithecine, a genius who gave us our most treasured possession—communication, albeit firstly only in stories or monologues. His descendants became the first Homo habilis troops. They, in turn, were destined to produce the first of the troops who later evolved to become Homo erectus long before the Australopithecines died out, their later varieties leaving no descendants. What makes Homo habilis so interesting to us is their use of tools; they are popularly known as ‘handy man’. The tool culture now known as Oldowan also began about 2.5 million years ago, though it lasted up until about 100,000 years ago. It is therefore reasonable to assume that the tribes of Homo habilis regularly met with bands of Australopithecines, for both would have lived contemporaneously in the same regions of Africa. Homo habilis was a variable species and I have presumed that it arose from the particular Australopithecine troop which first invented a human communication, miming. It seems to me that miming had to be assimilated for a vast period before the habilis hominids (perhaps we can call them ‘people’ now) were ready for the next step to a true language—signing. These people made 81


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the transition, for once miming had brought its great benefits, signing was only a matter of time. ‘Handy people’ were probably the first to manage fire, as distinct from making it. Control seems also to have started during the existence of Homo habilis, though there is much debate here. Because this step is central to the evolution of Homo erectus, next to take centrg stage, I have deferred it until the Chronicles of Homo erectus, although I suggest that they would have inherited this skill from the handy people. Recent fossil finds may change the present emphasis on Homo habilis as the first of the genus Homo, yet the names of fossils have little direct effect on these Chronicles—for they are a logical sequence in themselves. The known list of fossil species is merely a rack on which the sequence is displayed.

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6 Spearman and the dance of the fawn Time and Place: Perhaps 2.5 million years ago, at the peak of the domination of Africa by Australopithecines.

. . . as man gradually became erect, and continually used his hands and arms for fighting with sticks and stones, as well as for the other purposes of life, he would have used his teeth less and less. The jaws, together with their muscles, would then have been reduced through disuse, as would the teeth through the not well understood principles of correlation and economy of growth; for we everywhere see that parts, which are no longer of service, are reduced in size. By such steps the original inequality between the jaws and teeth in the two sexes of mankind would ultimately have been obliterated. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

The rhythm of life was unvarying and uncomplicated—some might be tempted to say, monotonous, but Spearman and his troop had no concept of boredom, nor of an ‘alternative’ way of life. Every night, parents and young climbed ‘their’ tree, carefully arranged soft leafy branches into a nest and sank into sleep together. Every morning, families descended and gathered to drink at the stream before Alpha led them out to forage. Their range, like that of most troops, provided daily variety and pleasant anticipation. Always together, females dug in the bgach sand for shellfish or poked around in rock pools for fish stranded by the tide. In the forest, seasonal fruit and nuts were plentiful and the plains and creek yielded roots and bulbs. They were familiar with most of the plants and animals of their range and their 83


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knowledge increased as males experimented with branches from different trees for their spears and their mates’ digging sticks. Security and contentment in this early Eden lay in togetherness. Males hunted in packs, stalking or ambushing their prey—techniques learned from watching other social predators. The primitive jab with a spear, on the rare occasions a prey came within range was a thing of the past. As generations of youngsters grew up using spears, they became increasingly accurate spear throwers at close range. If they hit their target, they would patiently stalk a wounded animal until it fell and they could finish the kill. Their success usually attracted others, eager for a free meal. Yet the gathering of unwelcome competitors—even the hated hyenas—was not a serious problem for these hunters—they had become the acknowledged dominant predator, thanks to Yellowtip’s legacy. Hunters now stood their ground and bravely defended their troop—long gone were the days of pitiful, terrified flight. Prey animals and would-be predators all maintained a minimum Flight Distance from these dangerous new predators. (The term Flight Distance was introduced by Dr H. Hediger in 1955.) Nevertheless, the troop still gained much of its meat by theft from other predators—it was dangerous, but easier and less arduous than hunting. When a hunter spotted a predator at its kill the males sped off, Alpha in the lead, wildly hooting and waving their spears to drive off the victor and claim its prize. Such was the world in which one youngster dreamed of becoming the best hunter in his troop. We will call him Spearman, because his earliest playthings had been sticks which he searched out and sharpened, mimicking his elders long before other youngsters showed such interest. Adult hunters were amused and tolerant of their persistent little shadow as he trailed after them, watching intently and practising spear stabbing and throwing. Spearman’s persistence and a natural flair resulted in considerable skills in the use of his spearstick. However it was a snake which brought him real adult attention. Another youngster disturbed a large snake and immediately the snake alarm rang through the troop. Spearman sprang forward, stabbing and pinning the snake to the ground. An adult male quickly intervened to smash its 84


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The Chronicles of Homo habilis

head with a large stone. But young Spearman had already broken its back: he glowed at the attention he attracted. Spearman became proficient at impaling fish in rock pools. He practised stabbing pieces of moss below the water until he found exactly where to aim his spear. He alone in the troop could spear fish in shallow water. Each success brought more attention. By the time he was old enough to join the adults’ hunting parties, his skill was acknowledged. On his first hunt he slew a young pig which strayed from its mother. The next day he speared a rodent disturbed in the grass. His speed and skill impressed the other huntsmen. Soon, it was always Spearman who first spotted game or predators on the hunt. The others learned to watch him and freeze when he did, with the rgsult that hunting parties seldom returned empty-handed. It was Spearman who devised clever, new hunting tactics. Once, he spotted a pregnant sow rooting in the ground—and he froze. Gently he raised an arm, ever so slightly; his fingers signalled others to move around to his right and drive the sow towards him. The hunters followed his instructions and the sow rushed directly onto his spear. The troop was well-fed and healthy. Spearman was still young when he paired with a young, nubile female from a neighbouring troop. It wasn’t long before Alpha let this young predator lead the hunting party; it proved to bg a wise decision. Hunting groups soon learned to watch Spearman’s every move, to respond to his signs; a finger motioned them to right or left, or backwards. His long sharp spear was a deadly weapon which every male understood. No-one would face his spear and he soon became the chief hunter. Alpha was old; he still led the troop but now ceased to hunt, preferring to remain behind with the foragers. Though young, Spearman was clearly the dominant male and leader in all hunts; inevitably, in time he became Alpha. His mate accepted the choicest titbits of meat and closely guarded her position beside her strong black mate. Early one spring, the hunters moved out to seek newborn prey. It was a clear and sunny day with a slight breeze stirring the grass. Moving quietly upwind, Spearman was the first to spot a solitary antelope grazing quietly. He squatted, signalling to his hunters to freeze. Spearman motioned two hunters to creep 85


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around the doe to where he thought her fawn would lie. He gestured to another two to slink around to the left. He and the remaining hunter squatted, peering intently at the doe. He felt sure that they would catch the newborn but he wanted to spear the antelope too. This was a new ploy but he was confident that he could bring her down, if only his hunters could succeed in driving her towards him. Sensing the hunters moving upwind, the doe snorted and fled directly toward Spearman. At the critical moment, Spearman stood and drove his spear into her neck. Blood spurted from her jugular vein and a second spear in her flank brought her to the ground. A few moments later, the fawn was discovered and dispatched. Spearman’s party broke into hoots of triumphant pleasure. Not only prize meat, but a new tactic to add to their growing repertoire! There would be time to celebrate later, though, now it was more important to carry the carcass back to the troop before unwelcome scavengers discovered the kill. They quickly gutted the doe. The entrails would distract scavengers and the carcass would be lighter to carry without them. One hunter threw the fawn across his shoulders and the other four took a leg each and began to drag the doe unceremoniously towards the camp. The sun was hot, the antelope heavy; weariness overcame them and they stopped to rest. Vultures began circling—other scavengers would soon follow—though the hunting party was large enough to defend their prize. Spearman pondered on less strenuous ways to move this heavy animal. Then he took his spear and thrust it through the beast’s two front legs. He pushed another spear through the two hind legs. He signed to one hunter to pick up the other end of his spear and lift it onto his shoulder, another pair to lift the other spear ends to their shoulders. One more took the head and together they set off towards home. The remaining hunter slung the fawn over his shoulder and followed. From time to time they stopped to rest. The carcass was heavier to carry than to drag, but they moved faster and all found it more comfortable. Images raced through Spearman’s mind. The hunt had been spectacularly successful. Normally they would only expect to capture the fawn but today the whole troop would feast on meat. The females and youngsters knew nothing of the hunt, however, 86


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and would never understand how such a feat had been achieved. Spearman yearned to share it with them! Some of the youngsters would soon be hunters; they could learn much from this hunt. So strong was his yearning to share the hunt experience that he mentally replayed the sequence as they journeyed home. An idea began to form dimly—if he could ‘see’ the hunt in his mind, he could recreate it and the others could see it too. The females and youngsters saw the hunters coming and ran excitedly to meet them. In a few minutes they would be surrounded and the feasting would begin. Spearman made his decision. He dropped his load and ran to the front of the hunting party, raised his hands and hooted loudly, following this with a panting grin. He was Alpha and immediately had the troop’s attention. Everyone stopped and stared at him, bewildered. Why should he give the play signal, the pant-grin? Did he want to play? They were not children, and anyway, Alpha did not play! While they stood waiting in perplexed silence, Spearman gathered his hunters together and moved them back. Keen eyes watched while he took the fawn and carried it some distance from its mother. Then he returned to his hunters. He turned again to the puzzled watchers and signalled them with the panting grin, again telling them that this was play, not real. They stared at him, some tentatively repeating the play grin. Then he led his hunters in hunting postures towards the antelope. He stiffened, crouched and signed his hunters to squat behind him. They immediately recognised what he was getting at and joined in the hunting play. He waved two to the right and two to the left. The hunters rushed forward, picking up the antelope and running it onto the spears of their leader and his partner. The hunter who had found the fawn acted out a search and suddenly jumped forward and speared it. The doe was speared through the legs, picked up and carried forward. There was a burst of excited hooting and panting as all of the youngsters and most of the adults grasped the significance of the play. But two adults remained unimpressed, especially as this nonsense was delaying the feast! These dullards failed to understand the meaning of Spearman’s play, even when it was repeated later that afternoon in the resting area before the troop climbed trees for the evening. It was only much later that even they came to 87


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grasp its significance; they saw that youngsters now played hunting games in a new way, incorporating every detail of behaviour they had seen adults use in their mimes.

That evening, Spearman was not the only one who played and replayed the hunting story. Every mind was digesting its first story, told as a story and visualised as a play. A magic had entered every life. From that evening on, stories were brought home daily. If they were not exciting enough, every hunter had his own special adventure clear in his mind, which he was delighted to mime—repeatedly—even though most adults had observed the event and knew the rgal details. Yet the youngsters continued to provide an enthralled audience for every story from the adults. With each tale youngsters broadened their experience and horizons. Standard stories gradually became enriched, embroidered and acted out with exaggerated movements, until storytelling and dancing became united. Spearman felt contented as he watched his hoped-for outcome of storytelling come to fruition. Young males had seen for the first time the complexities of the hunt and now incorporated hunting techniques into their playing. Through this type of play they honed the skills of the hunt, and watched every post-hunting mime for details of new tactics. Their play became a preparation for adult life. For the females, this hunting play was a pleasant diversion but held little relevance to their daily lives. Their world focused on the plants, the small animals, the seasons—and the babies. It was an arduous life for a young female—there was so much to learn and remember every day, and on them rested the responsibility for the main daily meal. What meat the hunters found was a luxury, but it was females’ daily foraging that kept the troop fed and healthy. Only mothers could feed their babies, but there were many other duties for young females: youngsters took care of their infant brothers and sisters, held them, rgstrained them, soothed and stroked them. They learned to hold the babkes on their small hips while their mothers foraged. 88


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Yet females were not without their own adventures and these quickly gained significance for the whole troop. Within a few days, one mimed an event which changed the lives of all females and juveniles. She held up a piece of plant and mimed the story of her youngster eating this new plant, and the aching stomach which followed. She had tasted the leaves and her belly also became sore. Most recognised the plant from the leaves passed around for examination. Never bgfore had it been possible to share useful dietary information—Spearman had unwittingly started something. Youngsters found that they could readily gain adult attention with their exploration of new foods. Leaves, succulent stems, and bulbous roots were tried by tiny tastes while others watched. If there was no effect, the material was brought home, displayed and a ‘food dance’ presented. Sharing information through dances—or mimes—brought a new consciousness of the food exploration process. When infants tried something new without permission, they were still punished, but also watched carefully. For whatever happened to the child, there would be a mime to tell. If there had been no ill effects, young females usually examined the item, sniffed it and tasted it. Taste was central, for the unfamiliar is seldom as pleasant as the old, especially when there is a fear of the new. The spread of each new food remained slow, yet it was now more organised, and the information shared quickly. Old females chattered their teeth together anxiously—no good could come of this rash behaviour. Young females might be satisfied by one day without harm; older ones often waited many weeks or months, and even then would not share new foods with their mates until they had themselves eaten it for some time. There was no hurry to find new foods, as their diet was always varied. While young males mimed their favourite stories of hunts, females began miming the stories of their lives; of birth, of nursing, of the killing of lizards or tortoises and escapes from snakes or large predators. New stories were made and told so that after the day’s work was done, pantomime time reigned until darkness brought sleep. Youngsters were the first to deliberately exaggerate their stories and, as the impossibility of the stories was apparent, they were greeted by wild hoots of derisive enjoyment from their peers. 89


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When they were watched by adults, they too joined in the fun, excitedly responding to the preposterous stories. Once, when a male mimed his story—exaggerating his role—and then fell over in the middle of the story, the whole troop burst into excited hooting. The hunter stood, surprised at the response, then hooted himself at being caught so red-handed. He entered into their enjoyment, now exaggerating even more. The next time he fell over it was deliberate. Joyous hooting followed his every move. Comedy was born, recognised, loved and used to turn many a poor story into a side-slapping theatrical success. Here was something that youngsters could do better than adults, and busy brains struggled to plan stories which would bring delighted hooting from the whole troop. Through such ‘play stories’ laughter entered our human repertoire as communal primitive panting hoots, punctuating the quiet of an African savannah.

From the very beginning, some things were difficult to mime. Males could mime most animals they knew: for snakes, for example, a sinuous arm movement together with the snake alarm call was enough to convey the message. Hands could trace out shapes of many types of horns, denoting familiar prey and predators. Signing and some calls bgcame a part of the stories almost as soon as storytelling mimes began. Spearman had started something momentous, but it would take generations before his troop’s small rgpertoire of mimes and signs would be enlarged into a well-developed communicative process. Our chronicle of Spearman is not quite finished. He was the first creator and teller of stories. His later stories were often of his own exploits, and did not need the help of others in the telling. Usually his prey was available as a prop, but at other times there was the one that got away and these needed special mimes or signs to introduce them to his audience. Animal mimes that became abbreviated to the first fixed signs were learned by everyone. They were used especially in the hunt, where the animal one saw was immediately communicated to those behind. 90


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These were the first primitive signs/words of a language, where all ‘agreed’ on the meaning of a sign or sound. Spearman’s troop flourished as youngsters trained in hunting play graduated into the hunting parties. Food was plentiful and as the troop grew and divided, its young females were exchanged and this new communicating hominid spread throughout the country. These troops still had to forage every day or they went hungry. When there was no hunting, the troop usually found enough food for the daily meal well before dusk fell. It was then that they returned to their campsite to drink and to rest. This was the time for stories. The males held centre stage, commanding the full attention of the troop, especially that of the young, immature males. If there was time, that is light to see by, females danced their stories of the day’s adventures, particularly when they had brought home a fat snake or lizard which had been shared, or had a new food to introduce. The youngsters loved these story times. There couldn’t be too many stories—some things never change.

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7 Handsigner’s story Time and Place: About 2 million years ago, somewhere in Africa.

The mental powers in some early progenitor of man must have been more highly developed than in any existing ape, even before the most imperfect form of speech could have come into use: but we may confidently believe that the continued use and advancement of this power would have reacted on the mind itself, by enabling and encouraging it to carry on long trains of thought. A complex train of thought can no more be carried on without the aid of words, whether spoken or silent, than a long calculation without the use of figures or algebra. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Tallspear dragged himself from the melée, his leg horribly torn by the enraged boar. Two hunters had driven it towards him and his partner—their usual tactic. The boar charged at Tallspear taking two spears in its stride, one in the chest and one in the side, breaking both as it hurtled onwards. It hit Tallspear squarely on his left leg as he struggled to escape its path. A sweep of its tusks tore open the flesh and muscle and he felt the sickening crunch of breaking bone. The impact caused the boar to stumble. Before it could rise, the one who had driven it from its thicket leapt upon it, thrusting his spear through to its heart. The boar stood, swayed and fell dead. The others gathered around Tallspear and stood looking unhappily at his mangled leg. Each knew that such wounds meant only one end—death. But there was work to be done, and quickly. 92


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So with a calm acceptance of the inevitable, Tallspear struggled upright on his good leg, leaning on a spear. He was still Alpha and gestured to his hunters to cut up the carcass. They moved quickly to hack the animal into pieces with bone knives. They tore hunks off with their teeth, ate some and passed the rest to Tallspear. The trip back to camp was tedious for all and agony for Tallspear. Each hunter took a turn to walk beside him, his left arm around their shoulders, hopping on his good leg—his left leg dangling uselessly. Others carried the spears, digging sticks and meat. Back at camp, his mate ran to meet Tallspear. He was carried to a pile of grass where he lay while his female bent, licking and sucking his wounds clean, biting off loose tissue. Someone brought him water in a pod. Life went on around him. The hunt was enacted, using the head of the boar to show how the wounds were inflicted with its large tusks and how the beast had finally been killed. The troop watched the story with more than usual interest, for all had already accepted the inevitability of Tallspear’s death. Their interest centred on his successor and they looked to Bgta for guidance. Tallspear was helped into the tree where he and his mate had their nest. His wounds throbbed painfully and the heavy red swellings of infection were already developing around them. His mate licked and sucked the wounds again when he settled in the nest. Other females brought leaves which had been used for centuries to cover wounds—all knew their healing powers, but few expected these wounds to heal. His mate groomed and stroked his body, a vain attempt to comfort him while her infant suckled, until at last all slept. Days passed while Tallspear tossed in the nest, most of the time, delirious. He could not be moved. Whenever he regained consciousness, which wasn’t often, his mate brought water in small pods and what food she could obtain; hunters brought meat. His mate did what she could to keep him comfortable, cleaning the terrible wound the only way she could, with her mouth and tongue, but there was food to collect, an infant to nurse and a small one to care for. Life went on in the troop. Hunters ventured forth daily while the females foraged by the strgam, nursed their babkes and tended their youngsters. Females 93


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now had quite a varied collection of tools, items and knowledge handed down through generations, each adding their own creative improvements. They sharpened their digging sticks on rough stones when they became blunt. Very sharp sticks, sharp edged bones and stones were used to dismember prey brought home by the hunters. Sharpened sticks also helped remove the skins, though once hands could be forced beneath the skins, they could often be stripped from the flesh without damage, needing only the occasional use of small sharpened pieces of wood or bone. Stones could break bones or skulls and render up tasty treats of marrow, brains and tongues. Big pieces of skin were useful for carrying home the roots, bulbs, fruits and seeds which the females harvested from the range as well as for slings to carry infants. Many members of the troop climbed his tree to visit Tallspear. There was excitement and disbelief when he wakened on the tenth day and signalled for food and water. He was alive—and hungry! He looked at his mangled, twisted leg, raised the leaves and saw the weeping scab over the wound. He knew the leg would never be straight again. Maybe he would be able to hop around for short distances and even go out with the women foraging, but that would be the best of it. He would never hunt again and he knew that he was no longer the Alpha male. It was months before Tallspear could take his weight on the deformed leg and limp around the camp, leaning on his spear, or struggle out short distances to forage with the females. Eventually, he took along his spear and stood on guard while the females foraged, squatting regularly to collect food for himself. When the hunters returned in the evening, he sat wistfully on the sidelines watching the hunt re-enactment, and the females acting out their daily experiences. His own dancing days were over. Over eons, dance had evolved and now gracefully moving hands moved to sign many elements, in harmony with the dance movements. The big predators from whom much prey was stolen were signed or their calls mimicked, for they could never be brought into the dance. Streams and trees, long grass and bushes were also signed, for these could hardly be mimed. Spoken names of individuals and a few other well-known sounds were also 94


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inserted into the stories. As he watched, Tallspear struggled to participate. The signs he could manage—but the energetic mimes were impossible. Constantly in the company of the females, Tallspear had earned their confidence and they had gradually shared with him their many additional signs, developed as they foraged together. Females had much larger sign repertoires than their males. As he watched the dances, Tallspear’s hands began to devise new signs for each movement of the dance story. They moved gracefully, producing signs which echoed the stories as they were mimed by dancers. He was interpreting the mimes while sitting— though as yet only he understood his signs. Those around him began to watch him curiously, as did the dancers—but with less goodwill, for it was frustrating to have a competitor who diverted attention from them. The females and youngsters were quick learners, open to the idea of new signs and slowly grasped their meaning by watching the dance. As they learned, the females’ hands gradually made a chorus to Tallspear’s lead role—all moving in graceful unison through the mimes. It became fun to join in rather than just watch and soon all were participating in the familiar dances—the dancers and the signing watchers. Moreover, females began using their signs for everyday communication and creating new signs, sometimes turning to Tallspear for help to tell of something beyond their skills. Each time, he came up with a new sign to overcome the problem for there were many onomatopoeic features to choose from any object. Youngsters were quick to learn new signs and added many for actions and objects that interested them, especially in their play. In turn, their mothers learned from them.

The females were first to rename Tallspear the cripple as ‘Handsigner’, an honour which recognised him as initiator and most skilled of the signers. The troop’s sign language grew apace, and began to replace the need for miming and dancing in everyday communication. While still using their non-specific alarm calls, it 95


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became commonplace to indicate particular dangers and events, and animals whose sounds could easily be reproduced. Then, as now, females would claim that males are slow learners when it comes to communicative skills! So it should come as no surprise that the spread of this explosion of communication reached the adult males last. The reason is simple—the attention structure was that of most animal groups, according to rank, and within relationships. When males came home, all eyes turned to them. The males, however, only returned their females’ attention perfunctorily—they were too preoccupied keeping a wary eye on males more senior to them. Learning is slow when pitted against the status hierarchy! Females, on the other hand, dealt with their mates (whose signs were the most limited), their offspring and each other. They learned from the youngsters as they watched them play. When they called to them, they identified each by spoken names. They learned still more from each other as they conversed daily, bringing the signing to life as they sat feeding infants or foraging. Most important, females could now discuss the ever-present problems of what foods to seek, where to search for them, any new plants and their effects on those who tasted them. As their forum expanded to deal more efficiently with the problems of place and foraging, their signing skills increased to name an enormous range of plants, roots and other food items. Young males had long played ‘hunting’, incorporating every tactic they learned from the dances of hunters. Each aspect of the hunt could now be signed to design better hunting games. Whenever something arose that had no sign, mimes were used and signs quickly chosen to eliminate the need to mime the event again. Handsigner, leaning on his spear, watched most of these developments and used the new signs in his conversations with women. The youngsters helped by translating when necessary. Most important, the range of hunting games and variations that youngsters could use in play increased enormously. It took only minutes to devise new games, new hunts and new hunting tactics with this versatile skill. It was really due to young males with advanced signing skills entering the hunting groups that adult males bgcame at all proficient. The wider and more flexible hunting skills acquired 96


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in play soon showed in the hunt and earned young males high attention from the hunters. As their status grew, so did the rggard paid to them and their signing, which blossomed with such attention. By this time, Handsigner had died and yet another generation of communicating hominids began to colonise the African countryside as their group became more successful, grew in size and split. This process was repeated hundreds of times. When they came into competition with other troops, their ability to organise and plan their conflicts ensured that they would win. When signing groups came together in times of plenty, conflict was rare; full signing was now widespread and misunderstandings more easily rgsolved.

The seasonal gatherings developed into festivals—times of dancing and the exchange of females creating important inter-tribe alliances. Not only were youngsters more interested in mating with outsiders than their peers, but generations of communicating people knew that new blood was needed if sickly, inbred individuals were not to be born. On the face of it, control of breeding and migration between the troops appeared to be firmly in the hands of senior males—the reality was very different! It was the females who sat together to find appropriate matings for their offspring. They knew the youngsters who were ready to bg mated and had discovered the preferences of each. They knew their parents, their status and their relationships to the other young females who had previously come from other troops. While hunters were signing important male-talk about spears, hunting and game, getting to know the skills and strengths of their opposite numbers, the essential elements of the exchanges were worked out by the females. At dusk when the males returned to their nests, they learned the details of the exchanges which lay ahead. Pillow-talk is an ancient female skill! Males watched the flying hands of their mates until tired heads swam. Seldom were they interested enough to interfere with the females’ decisions. As a result, when the public gathering for the exchange occurred, 97


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everyone knew what had to be done, and so it was—but naturally b{ males! The emergence of these peaceful festivals, so different from early suspicious encounters, is worthy of its own little Chronicle. So let us digress for a moment to hear how it happened before as, up until now, females had always chosen their own mates whether by actively leaving their own troop to search for a mate or succumbing to the lures thrown out by an attractive male from another troop. Widespread common communication stripped females of this freedom and the power of choice passed to parents as the value of female exchange as a resource became increasingly apparent.

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8 Stroker follows her heart

Stroker was a nubile daughter of Straightspear, the Alpha warrior and hunter in a troop living at the edge of the forest. Daily they watered at a creek where it crossed the woodland boundary to wander across the plain, dragging with it a long finger of forest. On either side spread the endless savannah with its scattered clumps of trees. Flirt was another young female in the troop. She and Stroker reached their first bleeding together, and were both developing a growing interest in the young males around them. Stroker sought sessions of mutual grooming and stroking with males or females, but Flirt was quite clearheaded, seeking only young males. There were no adult males without partners and the troop already had an unpaired female, Wo, who had lost her mate in a hunt, leaving her with an infant daughter. These three females caused some havoc! Other adult females jealously watched them, especially Wo, whenever their mates were about. Given an opportunity, any male would willingly have mated with one of them. The summer season was at hand and Straightspear knew that soon there would be a gathering of two or three troops at a nearby grove of fruiting trees. Then young males from all troops would seek nubile mates; Straightspear hoped that the problems of the three unattached females would soon be solved. It was raining heavily when the troop first reached the grove. They climbed trees, families huddling together in the downpour. The following morning broke fine and humid. As they wakened and stretched, defecated and groomed, youngsters were first to search 99


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for ripe fruit but were soon joined by the adults. Spears and digging sticks were left in the overnight nests. The morning was filled with the shrill babel of squabbling as they searched the trees. Few found ripe fruit; they would need to forage for other food and return in a couple of days. A second troop arrived, but there was nothing edible left. Adults hurried to retrieve spears and digging sticks. The other troop was probably friendly, but there was always a possibility of trouble when two troops met. Mothers held their infants closely but youngsters were quick to escape, eager to play with their peers from the other troop, many of whom they rgcognised from previous years. Others were particularly excited; they would see mothers or sisters again, in joyous reunions. Males of both troops remained reserved, but their females and offspring showed no such caution. Mated females from both troops sought long family grooming sessions. Each examined the tools of the others, and there were female mimes of foods, dangers or adventures. Exchange of information and gossip was both dear and functional to all females. They had many issues of interest, new food sources, the design of baby slings, carrying bags and which woods were most suitable for digging sticks. Straightspear’s troublesome trio of nubile females soon crossed the boundary bgtween the troops, Stroker and Flirt restrained half-heartedly by their younger brothers. However the youngsters from both troops were excited. All knew that they may find partners among the strangers. Wo walked alone among the strangers, her infant on her hip, making it clear that she was not paired. Escaping the restraints of their own males was easy for Stroker and Flirt, aided and abetted by their best allies—their troop’s paired females who were openly hoping to be rid of them. Throughout the afternoon, the troops intermingled. Wo found an unattached adult male. Flirt found a strong young male with whom she managed to mate jwst out of sight of the troops. Stroker groomed with another young male and sought food from him, but there was no fruit for him to offer. He seemed to give her the stroking she needed, yet for some reason, she held back. There was considerable hooting when the time came for the troops to separate. No individual changed troops—yet. If there were any change-overs, they would occur over the next few days 100


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or weeks while the two troops, and perhaps even a third, were visiting the fruit trees. A week later the two troops met again at the fruit grove. This time most of the fruit was ripe and the troops spent several days together in the trees, sleeping nearby in nesting trees. Wo slept in a nest with her new mate on the first night. On the following night Flirt joined her young male. Stroker was less lucky. The male she had groomed did not satisfy her needs for grooming and caring. There were no other males old enough to interest her. On the fourth day a third troop joined them to feed. Again, males and females recovered their spears and digging sticks, just as a precaution, but the youngsters and females from both troops quickly broke down the barriers. That afternoon, the males of each troop took turns to dance their stories. While the males danced, Stroker set her sights on a tall young hunter who had brought some meat and settled with her for a long mutual grooming session. She was excited; they mated away from the crowd around the dancers. Two days later, she joined her new mate in his nest on the outskirts of the large gathering, close to his troop. When the trees were bare of fruit, the troops separated. The parting was complex. In all, five females, including Wo, had changed troops. The four young females brought their new mates to join their parents. The young males sat nervously among strangers while the mothers groomed and touched their daughters. When it was clear that the leaders of their own troops were making moves to depart, the young males stood immediately, taking their mates firmly to join their new leaders. Straightspear led his troop away. His mate was distressed. She had lost her daughter. He too felt upset by this. His troop had lost three females and one infant but gained none as his unmated males were too young yet to attract females. It would be at least another year and some hunting experience with adults before they would find mates. Meanwhile, he had no doubt they would find some sexual playmates among the juvenile females within the troop. Most youngsters managed to get sexual experience before they finally selected a mate. Permanent matings occurred 101


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within troops, but rarely, and were strongly opposed by adult females, most of whom had come from other troops. As had long been the case, females took their range of skills into neighbouring troops. Any new skills attracted interest and attention, giving the newcomers added status in their strange social surroundings. Troops learned from each others’ experiences, expanding their horizons. Even males learned from the outsiders, for the young females carried many details of their own troop’s habits into their mates’ troops. And so increasing attention was directed to young unmated females, not only for their physical vigour and attractiveness, but also for the range of developed skills and ingenuity that they might bring to a troop. As yet, females chose their own mates for there was no other way it could be organised in these troops. Alpha males all recognised the importance of the coming together of the troops and, over time, planned meetings with all their neighbours. Thus it was that these early fortuitous gatherings became festive occasions, eagerly sought by all.

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9 The first language

The habitual use of articulate language is, however, peculiar to man; but he uses, in common with the lower animals, inarticulate cries to express his meaning, aided by gestures and the movements of the muscles of the face. This especially holds good with the more simple and vivid feelings, which are but little connected with our higher intelligence. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

In two steps, admittedly spanning a million years, an ape had moved from an ordinary, if intelligent animal, to a real hominid with some of the ability to converse as we do now, though not with the vast range we bring to our speech. Certainly their language was primarily in signs, but ask anyone who communicates in sign language today whether this is or is not a handicap. Of course it isn’t. Many Australian Aborigines, all of whom can converse as easily in signs as in speech, would argue that signing is more elegant; certainly none would feel handicapped in their own communities if restricted to signing. Standing freed the hands; hands now carried humanity, or at least its beginnings. How can we account for this dramatic change?

PLAY—A SERIOUS BUSINESS What is ‘play’ and how do we distinguish it? Gregory Bateson first drew my attention to his article ‘The message ‘‘This is Play’’ ’. M

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When I began studying animal behaviour, I concentrated on chickens and pigs. I wanted to learn how they developed their peck orders and I expected their fights to throw light on this. However I soon found their fighting behaviour completely confusing. Many fights seemed to end quite peacefully, without any clear winner and loser, indeed, with the most casual separation; of course, there were also many ‘normal’ fights (with winners and losers). Slowly I discovered what differentiated the two types of fights. A true fight began with the two animals approaching each other directly and engaging in fighting behaviour. In chickens, they stretched out their necks, with hackles raised and fought beak-to-beak. In piglets, one approached the other and, face to neck, each thrust upwards as though they had tusks, and were ripping at each other’s throat. But the mock fights started differently. A young cockerel would run in a short circle, wings flapping, then approach another in a fighting stance. From this point, I could not tell that this was not a true fight—until the end, when one would just stop and turn to preen or walk away. A real fight would end by the two standing motionless together, beak-to-beak, until one moved away. The loser would remain motionless until the victor was some distance away; then he could move. In pigs, the play fights also started with one running or, better, scampering in a circle and then running up to the other piglet and engaging in what appeared to be a normal fight. Again, only the end was different. When the fight was real, the loser finally broke away, followed by the winner who tried to bite its neck. In a play fight, the end took various forms, but it was completely meaningless—one would walk over to the wall of the pen and scratch itself, take a few steps and lie down and the other would simply walk off. My choice of the word scamper is important. I can’t describe a ‘scamper’, but you have all seen it when a dog scampers in a circle and then rushes up to you and assumes the play stance— head down on front paws, rump up and tail erect, gently waving. You know that, if you respond, you can put your hand in your dog’s mouth and wrestle with it, but those powerful and potentially deadly teeth will not hurt you—not much anyway. The beginning in all cases is the play signal, what Bateson called the 104


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play ‘metasignal’, because it is a signal about a signal—what follows is not ‘real’. Play is a central behaviour for most young mammals, and probably for many birds and even other groups. Play is part of maturing and we use play metasignals in many ways as adults. Consider the comedian who makes the most preposterous statements—with a deadpan face. No-one is confused—the deadpan expression gives the play away. For chimpanzees, the pant grin is the play signal—or metasignal. What Spearman did was to use the play signal in a new way—the normal context would have been when engaging in person-to-person play. His signal had the effect of stopping his tribe and arousing their curiosity, thus allowing him to recreate the hunt. His ‘play’ was immediately recognised as a replay of the story of the hunt. The important message in Spearman’s story is that he and his troop already had all the behaviour needed to wrench communication free of the ‘here and now, between you and me’ limitations which hitherto had constrained it. No new behaviour was needed, just the all-important creative idea to use ‘old’ behaviour differently. Spearman and his troop were Australopithecines, who had come a considerable way from Tiny or Groomer. Some millions of years of selection had brought about many changes as these creatures adapted both to their new societies and Africa’s many different environments. Males and females could function separately in their daily routines, but families shared food and supported each other. The step made by Spearman was possible because the animals were ready for it, though certainly Spearman was a genius among his fellows. Spearman could never have realised that his mime would be the foundation of the whole communication system of future humans. The full potential of his form of communication lay in the very distant future. Let me tell you how I envisage the process happening. Consider the possible reaction of an observer to that first mime. Throughout the species history, any animal would have a fixed set of reactions to another animal approaching to interact. The first question was ‘Who is it?’ Male or female? Adult or 105


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juvenile? Higher or lower in rank? Familiar or stranger? There followed an examination of face, body and approach to determine intent—hostile or friendly, to groom, nurse or play, to displace or just to sit together. Skilled in reading these situations, each could identify the behaviour patterns of others approaching and, naturally, each could recognise another performing any of the activities or movements seen daily. In every case, these actions were real and fully in a context understood by all. Spearman and his hunters were returning with meat. Everyone knew what happened next: there would be a gathering, greetings and an examination of the carcass. Then the group would sit immediately to eat, the males squatting closely around the carcass hacking and tearing it into pieces, some of which they handed back to their females. On this occasion, however, Spearman, the Alpha male, disrupted the normal pattern by stopping everyone and indicating ‘play’. This was peculiar in this context, for he used a signal that would normally engage another individual in fighting play, the most common form of play between males. But he did not proceed as expected. Imagine the bewilderment of the watchers when Spearman laid down the carcasses, well apart, gathered his companions some distance from them, and repeated the play signal to the troop. Then he signalled the hunters to make a cautious approach towards the game, gave them all still another play grin; and stopped, motioned his hunters into position while he and his partner squatted in the grass. Only at this point did the other hunters grasp what they were expected to do, that they were to play-hunt. But the audience was still bewildered. The two who had moved stealthily around behind the adult antelope, rushed forward waving their spears, picked up the antelope and ran forward with it, whereupon Spearman leapt up and played at dispatching it as he had earlier in the day. At this stage most of the audience would have grasped that the hunters were playing their hunt! When two other hunters began searching in the grass it became clear what they were looking for since everyone knew where the fawn lay. They played the finding, sprang upon it appearing to spear it, then they too gave the play signal to the audience, picked up the dead fawn and brought it to Spearman. 106


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Spearman repeated the play grin to his audience, and the hunters picked up the two animals as they had carried them home. The ‘do this’ and ‘go there’ type of communication was common throughout the animal kingdom and used daily by his troop, especially by Spearman in the control of his pack while hunting. Every movement of his fingertips conveyed instructions. The telling of a story was something quite new. The story had to be something unknown to the audience. Only an Alpha animal could have commanded the necessary attention to get his message across when competing against the troop’s motivation to feed. The primate play grin was essential to allow the audience to focus on the story rather than responding directly to the teller’s behaviour and had to be repeated throughout to maintain the audience’s attention. The story was embedded in the gaps within this interaction—the message was easy enough to follow. The important question is how could Spearman re-create this episode, and why? No ape had ever done this bgfore. His excitement was high—the hunt had been very successful. His hunters had admired his performance and he had relished their attention—and sought more. His memory of the event was recent, and it had been an important learning experience for him and his companions. Moreover all of the props were present to remind him: essentially, Spearman was boasting, seeking even more attention. Those two dullards who failed to grasp the situation—beyond prolonging their hunger pangs—eventually came to see Spearman’s first mime, not as a simple communication of something which had happened, but as a mime for young males to use in their playing. Thus they grasped the crucial element that would transmit to future generations. Miming could teach youngsters about adult life. Pleasurable though the storytelling was for its own sake, its real significance for the troop’s future lay in educating others, particularly youngsters. This was the first communication of information without spatio-temporal restraints. Stories were essentially one way—mimed by one or a few individuals and watched by many—with no scope for any interruptions or questions. In other words, miming of stories was always in monologues and this is the context in which human communication began. Monologues are great for telling stories 107


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but b{ definition, they do not allow any exchange of information between individuals. Monologues placed great demands on Spearman’s audience, who had only one chance to understand what was happening. The actors were equally challenged as they had to plan the sequence they were to act. It wasn’t hard to tell the stories of events that had just happened, but it was much more difficult when the context and props of the hunt were absent. The audience had to follow and remember every detail of a story before its significance could be understood. In their daily lives they were skilled observers and had seen many real events played out before. Bwt these new stories were always out of context and each tale brought different problems in following it through to its unknown end. It would be a serious oversight to ignore the importance of miming for females. They spent their lives foraging and were responsible for gathering most of the food eaten by the troop. Indeed, when males came back empty-handed from a hunt, the females provided the only food the troop would eat that day. Yet there could be no real culture about food gathering without a sharing of information between the gatherers. Previously this had depended on learning through the attention structure, which was effective but slow. Youngsters learned appropriate and inappropriate foods from their mothers. They took food from their mothers’ mouths and had inappropriate food items snatched away from them and discarded. Now all could be involved, and there could be a small presentation of every new development in their diets. Dances and mimes could advocate, denigrate or warn against each new item. A forum could develop.

THE FIRST TRULY HUMAN COMMUNICATION Mime was not ‘language’, but it was clearly an advance on all existing forms of animal communication. It was the first truly ‘human’ communication. What happened was that the ordinary animal communication structure was retained, but the communicative interaction became a double structure. If we call the old animal structure the ‘primary’ interaction, it was reduced to an attention-holding format—at first simply the play signal, with 108


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nods emerging to encourage the performer and indicate understanding. The spaces in the primary interaction were used to act out a second mime interaction which had nothing to do with the primary structure. This was the story, of an event remote in time and place. Holding the troop’s attention in that first mime would not have been possible for any but the Alpha male, the centre of all hierarchically structured attention within the troop. Comedy made individuals warm towards each other, especially when things had not gone as planned. Youngsters’ stories soon became fictional. They played the adventures they longed to have—always to each other so that the idea of lying was fun rather than serious. Among adults, exaggeration was introduced almost from the beginning. Real stories were embellished, but most of the audience would recognise the inaccuracies and laugh—an exaggerated panting grin—because they had seen the youngsters playacting and recognised that ‘fiction’ made good stories. ‘Laughing’ together became a bonding process.

Miming brought many benefits and the skills it needed were quickly assimilated by all. Natural selection ensured that our ancestors soon became highly talented at miming and interpreting mime, supplemented by a few signs and calls. While miming skills evolved, signing ‘do this’ or ‘do that’ remained the main means of direct interaction ‘between you and me, here and now’. This ancient component—‘bgtween you and me, here and now’—still operates as we create a conversation by engaging another into an attention-holding structure. While one talks, the other nods to encourage the flow of talk or, alternatively, frowns to communicate lack of understanding. We call this ‘nonverbal’ communication ‘body language’. There is hardly a conversational interaction, which is not controlled and smoothed along its path by this primary interaction, which we have inherited directly from our animal ancestors. Millions of years of human intercourse have welded the two interactions together into a single functional whole so that today there are parts which are not easy to separate into primary or secondary interactions. Yet a whole scientific 109


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study of the primary interaction has emerged as the field of nonverbal communication. I am indebted to my friends Ray Birdwhistel and the late Al Scheflen, a New York psychiatrist, for introducing me to body language, and ‘paralinguistics’. Thanks to wonderful animal behaviour television programmes, we have become familiar with the so-called ‘dance of the bees’— a powerful form of animal communication which has captured the attention of modern scientists. The ‘language’ of bees is also a mime, first described b{ the German biologist and Nobel Laureate, Karl von Frisch (1947). It is essentially a ‘pointing’ behaviour which indicates direction and distance, but its form is clearly that of a mime. The smell of a new food is available to all of the watchers. The bee then ‘acts’ out the direction and distance of the journey to this source of food. All bees nearby may watch the dance, but it is the ‘unemployed’ bees who follow the instructions and harvest the new source. When the dance is for a potential new hive site at swarming, there is no smell of food, but the context of the hive contains this information. It is fascinating that scientists have described this mime as a ‘dance’.

BUILDING ON MIME Spearman’s Australopithecines could never speak. The selective forces to change the brain, hands and vocal system to deal with rapid flows of movement containing relatively enormous quantities of information would take thousands of millennia. This development was necessary before the final change to speech could be attempted. The biggest limitation in the use of sounds was that imposed by the inadequacy of the vocal system of these animals. Hand or body movements were flexible and versatile, and familiar to watchers, but the variety of sounds was not, and the difficulty of combining sounds with breathing in a continuing discourse was impossible for these animals. But I am rushing ahead of our Chronicles. To dance stories about others, signs were needed to identify them—the first names emerged. Names probably emerged early because mothers used them to call infants. Infants quickly grew 110


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to try to escape the pull of mothers, struggling to join older infants in play. Exhausted, the mothers eventually loosened their grips and the young enjoyed freedom to play. At first the play was close by but excitement soon drew a youngster further and further from its mother. Her anxiety always brought her young back, first with a pull, then a call and the sign for their name, but a called name was easiest; it always caused the infant to look for her. Infant and mother recognised each other’s voices so that calls to mother when the youngster was out of sight became as common as calls by mother. Calling of names quickly became the preferred method of drawing attention, particularly in the games of children and later between adults. Visual communication was useless without an audience’s attention, and there was always a story to be told. Onomatopoeia was the source of most of the signs and sounds invented. The shapes and calls of animals and birds, the rumble of thunder, the whistle of the wind were easy to mimic. Other new signs started by pairing them with the objects or mimes of them; most were in some way onomatopoeic. For there are many features of any animal or object, any of which could be the referent in deriving a sign. From then, our ancestors gradually became free of the objects as all learned their signs and incorporated them directly into the mimes.

A CHANGING BRAIN FOR CHANGING NEEDS Miming led to many changes in these animals. Clearly the range of intelligence now increased as those competent to handle the new communication became dominant and their families prospered. I believe that this was the big step that initiated selection for larger brains than those of the simple Australopithecines. The making of complex plans for a story—incorporating props and other signs, all taken out of context—required a special form of intelligence. Similarly, the understanding and growth of imagery required to follow the story in all of its details demanded considerable cognitive skills. I suggest that this was the beginning of a new evolutionary path which led eventually to what we now call Homo habilis. 111


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Africa appears to have been the site of all of these steps, though debate continues on this point. It is possible that the area involved was not large: The Russian scientist Vavilov proposed that the origin of a species bgcame, over time, the ‘centrg of maximum variation’ of a species or the place where biologists should go to seek the greatest diversity, which is the basis of natural selection. Certainly Africa was such a centre for hominids. Spearman’s culture sprgad widely, for these communicating troops had a big advantage over those around them. At the edge of each expanding culture, neighbours had to bg displaced, and the survival skills necessary for each new environment incorporated into the culture of the troop. When a troop reached areas where no erect hominids were present, their exploratory behaviour was supplemented by their ability to communicate information, especially on foods.

HOW ATTENTION STRUCTURE UNDERPINS COMMUNICATION From time to time I have mentioned the concept of ‘attention structure’ in social rglationships and groups. We have reached an appropriate point at which to examine this concept more thoroughly in order to understand better some details common to all communicative processes. With Spearman we saw how attention to the Alpha animal allowed a totally new communication when his troop saw the first message about something that had happened beyond their ken. Only he could command the absolute attention needed. I first heard of the exciting concept of attention structure from an English social psychologist, Michael Chance. Put simply, Chance’s (1970) notion of attention structure goes something like this: in any group of animals, whom each attends to is not random. For example, mothers attend to infants and their juveniles, and vice versa. There is a social relationship between them and this organises the attention between them. If you watch a mare feeding with its foal, both regularly raise their heads together and lower them to the grass again. Occasionally the mare raises its head and the foal does not. The mare then raises and 112


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lowers her head again vigorously until the foal raises its head, then both lower their heads again. They have made contact. In addition, the foal has received another lesson in paying attention. In other words, attention is not continuous, but on an interval system. Once a friend and I were working together on the preparation of an academic paper at his house, while he was looking after his three-year-old daughter. I was fascinated to notice that the little girl regularly came and pressed against her father, who absentmindedly patted her—or something. Unobtrusively, I made a note of the time intervals. Though he was completely unaware of it, the interval was about five minutes. However, on one occasion, the five minutes elapsed but the child did not appear. My friend excused himself while he went to see what his daughter was doing. He found her playing outside, then went and adjusted her clothes, quite unnecessarily. I suspect that this provided a reason for him to make physical contact—to touch her—before returning to continue our work. The regular contacts continued throughout the afternoon until his wife returned. I presume that she then took over the contacting. The fascinating aspect of this story is that my friend had no idea of the timing of the ‘contacting’ between him and his daughter. I am grateful to my dear friend the late Al Scheflen, of the Albert Einstein Medical School in New York, for showing me that people in relationships made contact with each other at regular intervals. Michael Chance showed how attention is also organised in the dominance relationships of the hierarchy, normally upward rather than downwards. This is why the now famous Japanese Macaque males took so long to learn the task of washing sliced sweet potatoes. The infants learned the trick. Their mothers learned it, because they were attending to their infants. But the dominant males attended to each other and only irregularly to subordinates. Ironically, the leaders were the last to learn—by a long time. Imagine for a minute what might be the consequences for a troop, if the senior males were not conservative in feeding. If a dominant male was investigative and tried a new food, immediately every member of the troop would observe this and eat it too. If the food were, for example, like sorghum, which can have a cyanogenic stage of growth, a requiem could be held 113


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for the whole troop when that season arrived. On the other hand, if only a few—especially expendable juveniles—had discovered this new food, then they alone would die and the troop would survive. This situation reflects a highly functional consequence of attention structure and the conservatism of dominant males.

THE FIRST TRUE LANGUAGE From the first, signing had the properties of all modern human communication—indeed it was the first true language. Our ancestors used sign languages probably over many hundreds of thousands, possibly more than a million, years while they were evolving the mental and physical structures, breathing synchronies and vocal repertoires which would allow speech to replace them. Speech did not evolve because it allowed communication at greater distances. More probably it evolved under special conditions for, once established, signing gave people everything they needed in communicating. With the wisdom of hindsight, we can see the advantages of speech but these were not obvious to those who already had an adequate communicative system. Thousands of years of miming had selected the skills necessary to follow new mimes. Spearman’s troop had required great efforts to produce and follow the simplest of stories but the experience of thousands, probably tens of thousands of generations of miming hominids made the next step an easy one. The mimes were never perfect and imagination was a necessary element to understanding mimed stories, for there were poor actors as well as competent ones, and all had stories to tell! Handsigner’s troop could understand almost anything mimed, however remotely the signs resembled the referents in the stories. Their imaginations had grown sufficiently to conjure up the mental pictures that storytellers portrayed. Similarly the intelligence required for storytelling had increased to the extent that long tales could be planned, broken up into components, then assembled into the full narrative so that everyone could grasp the details. It needed only a creative opportunist to force this crude signing system into an operating system which could flow. The 114


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seminal step toward making signing a workable language required a group prepared for the change. The flow would improve over the next centuries, particularly with each new generation, but Handsigner had started something quite different from miming: a flexible communication system which could grow to handle every situation and topic which these creatures encountered. Since it required agreement on the meanings of each sign, this was a language. Increasing the range of communication was theoretically possible immediately Handsigner made the first step, but no-one was ready for it. Each time a new idea was expressed, or a plan made for the first time, watchers puzzled over it and perhaps sought more information before the idea was finally understood and accepted. Hands could not yet move very quickly and brains could not compose or follow anything fast. The simplest forms were the first to be signed—the stories that all had grown up with—for these people were adapted to monologues, which gave little scope for interruptions and questions; watchers either understood or they didn’t. Mimes usually had a context which was part of the communicative process but signing had no such restrictions. The abbreviation involved in signing naturally made things harder at first, until the acceptance of set meanings for each sign gave an exactness which miming could seldom achieve. Agreed meanings for each sign were central to a true language. Women and children were pivotal to the new developments which broke free of the monologues. The men, conscious of their ‘superior’ position, paid minimal attention to what was signed by women or children. They gave orders to these, especially within their individual family units; monologues were familiar. Interpretation or misinterpretation of these orders was in the hands of the women who had to carry them out. (Since we are now discussing an evolutionary stage at which we can see the first ‘human’ language, it is now appropriate to refer to our ancestors as ‘men’, ‘women’ and ‘children’, rather than the non-species specific ‘males’, ‘females’ and ‘youngsters’/‘juveniles’.) It was left to women—and especially children—to ask the first questions, which almost certainly were requests for signs to be repeated, seeking better understanding. Meanings were established by questions and answers. For the onomatopoeic properties of signs were less than those of mimes. Questions led to answers 115


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and the first meaningful dialogues emerged. The process of matching meanings began interactively; later came the matching of ideas, personalities, and complex dialogues. Lifetime familiarity with each other was a special benefit to these early communicators, for anonymity multiplies complexities. I don’t need to say ‘my brother John’—‘brother spearthrower’ is a perfect solution for everyone who knows that I have only one brother who can fit this description. Everyone soon learned the idiosyncrasies of each mimer and, later, of each signer, and how each different performer expressed meanings, or contents. We still handle easily the idiosyncratic expressions of those we know well. We also have images of places, so that while we hardly notice familiar places, we immediately detect any changes which have occurred in them. Again, as an ongoing process, we compare everything we see with our image maps. When what we are seeing matches the map, we pay no attention. When there is a mismatch, we are alerted and must then decide how to react. The minimum action will be to update our image maps, though we may still ‘notice’ the change for the next several visits. An understanding of these image maps is central to the understanding of behaviour. When we watch the behaviour of others, we ourselves are behaving in similar ways. When the behaviour is familiar and expected, we know what is happening and minimum attention is required. All animals (including ourselves) are trying to understand every behaviour they see around them every day in members of their own species. Most communication is mainly expected and received without much increase in attention. But totally new messages do appear, and demand our full attention and perhaps a search for understanding. Conversation brought a new level of attention to social events. Seeking to understand the behaviour of other species is equally important, especially in hunting or avoidance of predators. For people who have matured and lived long in one of our essentially anonymous modern societies, it is difficult to grasp the simplicity and benefits of signing for those who live in a totally familiar society. Modern examples can still be found in some remote Australian Aboriginal communities, all of whom have sign languages in daily use. There is no topic which they cannot discuss in signs. When the occasional deaf person lives in a group, 116


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all switch to signing in their presence. For those for whom speaking is taboo, for example, women whose husbands have recently died, there are no restrictions on communication by signing. Though onomatopoeic, there are many features of any referent to choose from. For example, Australian Aborigines in one territory sign a kangaroo by gathering their two hands together in front of their chests, resembling the front paws of a kangaroo. In another territory with a different sign language, the sign is a raised thumb, where the line of the thumb from its nail down to the wrist resembles the back line of a kangaroo. Presumably there are many other onomatopoeic signs for this animal in other languages. While men cooperated with each other in hunting and bringing back meat, women had many more components of their daily lives in which cooperation was needed. They organised their daughters to hold and carry their infants; they gave the first instructions to their children and upbraided them for disobedience; and they arranged with each other to carry back the hundreds of small items collected in daily foraging. Skin bags had to be spread out, filled and the carrying shared so that all infants were brought home safely. Every spare hand was needed to bring along the small walkers who accompanied them each day. At carrying time, hands were not free to sign—everything had to bg organised in advance by careful arrangements and instructions. The culture of foraging was their heritage and signing now allowed this forum to expand as women shared their knowledge, comparing each new experience with previous ones. Conversations had begun. The scope for growth of the men’s language was limited to hunting and its problems. Back at camp, men discussed the making and sharpening of tools and weapons. On the hunt there was little to bg said that required innovation. Plans could be made in rest periods, but this was still hunting talk bgtween men who knew hunting. Yet over time signing changed these to a series of statements, rather than interaction. Men had always watched the hunting tactics of other predators. Now they could share the observations that each made, for everyone noticed different aspects, even of the same hunt. Each shared observation raised the possibility of new tactics, adapted from those of other pred117


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ators. Every new piece of information on prey behaviour was shared, again to provide clues for new tactics for hunting them. Each generation produced young men who had learned signing at their mother’s knee and brought their skill with them to the hunt to expand those of adult males. The men became interested in stories about their children when their women brought up the subject. They learned the details of everyone’s relationships from their women but they found the complexity of these signing interactions difficult. Women managed these things better and while men told the old, familiar stories, women discussed the details of each other’s relationships. It was now possible for mothers to choose the mates for daughters and, even more importantly, the mates for sons, for these young women would be taken into the troop, or perhaps we should now call it a tribe. Greater success probably came to those tribes who did not leave something as important to their future as the choice of a suitable mate to inexperienced youngsters.

THE MATING GAME Viewed with the benefits of hindsight, humanity’s evolutionary journey demonstrates repeatedly the wondrous consequences of serendipity. There was no planning in the sequence of events which began with standing erect. It led to the switch in which unmated females left their troops, thence to a communicative system which, in turn, led to a formalisation of female exchange, perhaps as the first group resource which increased the collective wealth of each troop. The mate-choosing sequence described in Stroker’s story had operated for thousands of generations. Groups came together for a variety of reasons, but these were the optimum times for nubile females to choose mates, particularly ones who could satisfy their needs for food and support in the endless tasks of family life. Males with little concern for the needs of females made poor mates. Only the young females themselves would benefit by assessing the suitability of males, for without a supportive mate, life could be extremely hard. With effective shared communication, the needs of others in the tribe could also be considered. Mothers were interested in 118


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the choice of mates from close tribes for their daughters. Fathers could show interest in a sort of loose alliance between neighbouring tribes, and seek their daughters’ mates from tribes likely to make good allies. The vital point is that the new form of signing communication changed the mating game. Though a benign system in its infancy, the seeds were sown for its potential abuse—as with any valuable resource—millennia into the evolutionary future. Perhaps Handsigner has much to answer for! We have digressed, so let us return to the excitement of our evolving human languages.

THE CONTINUING LURE OF STORYTELLING Beginning with Handsigner, stories slowly became more complex, and fiction became an important part of the stories told. True stories were repeated for generations and became myths. Perhaps at this time the morality of stories entered the story plots, so that those worthy of winning won and those unworthy were punished or reached a sticky end. Wise and unwise leaders entered stories as did the provident and improvident, the tidy and untidy—over time, every virtue and vice became part of the tales told, especially to children. Stories incorporated a new shared experience—‘community’. In an audience, every emotion generated in stories was a shared emotion: sadness, happiness and, of course, laughter were now part of the shared responses. Well-known stories became hand dances, with every hand moving in unison. Faces expressed and mirrored the audience’s emotions, showing the teller where the story was unclear or confusing.

FROM MONOLOGUE TO CONVERSATION Interaction with signs grew slowly. There had always bgen a tradition of interaction in all species but, in the new communication, miming monologues had given slight preparation for conversation. Signing grew rapidly to accommodate the familiar stories, but conversations grew more slowly. Questioning was an 119


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important starting point. Correcting or ‘qualifying’ statements played a part as did disagreements and questioning interruptions. All of these elements had also to bg incorporated into the primary interaction, ‘between you and me, here and now’—so that the smooth flow could continue. The range of sounds used in communicating increased, albeit slowly. Hominids of Handsigner’s time and those who followed had no vocal or breathing skills to allow speech as we know it. Yet they could incorporate a few specific sounds into their increasingly fast-moving signing conversations. These ‘words’ served as signs once had during mimes, to support, and lacked the fluency of signs.

MODERN LANGUAGE IN THE MAKING From the beginning, signing had the two central components of all languages: nouns and verbs. Nouns—either as signs or vocal sounds—described everyday items, animals and plants, places, tools and people. People soon had words for names and perhaps for animals whose calls could be mimicked. The basic or primary interaction in the developing sign languages now contained a secondary message, quite different in format from the dances which had previously told stories. Miming may have fixed components and a well-defined structure, yet everyone could tell similar stories in quite different ways. With signing, each sign had a specific agreed referent. Verbs, adjectives and adverbs, came into being. Verbs could not be abstract. They represented doing and going, acting with hand or legs. Minds could grasp sounds or signs for objects, yet movement still had to be watched to understand the behaviour. The qualifiers, adjectives and adverbs grew slowly. Simply opening the eyes widely and raising eyebrows could express the size of the gazelle—very large. Another gesture would reduce its size. ‘Things’ could be abstracted but happenings could not; where they had been danced, now verbs were signed. Slowly the range of topics which could be discussed became limitless. Hunts could be planned well in advance. People could discuss each other and their relationships. Children explored new and exciting games. Through the rapid sign conversations which were emerging, 120


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sounds fitted in where they were appropriate, with no loss of speed. The use of miming decreased, except for ubiquitous dancing of hunting stories and those rare occasions in which we may be forced to use it even today. If I want to tell you about a particular characteristic say a limp of another, speech gives me limited scope. I can show you how someone limps much easier than I can tell you. So it was with the new language.

HANDSIGNER’S LEGACY LIVES ON Free hands had created language. Though this step had such a vast potential for evolutionary change it was, in itself, a small one, followed by an enormously long process of modification and development. The use of signing as the secondary interaction has never died. It remains a common type of human communication and there are natural sign languages all over the world. For example, around the Mediterranean, sign languages are common: women may sit around the walls of a room while the men sit at a central table. The men speak, the women sign. In religious orders where rules forbid speech, there are no restrictions on signing. Throughout the Amerindian tribes of the great plains, each tribe has its own sign language, with a common language covering the whole range. The sign language of the deaf is a language of its own. Spoken language may be replaced by finger spelling, but this is not sign language. Sign languages arose spontaneously within institutions for deaf children and the same languages now form the basis of the widely used American Sign Language. Sign languages are especially effective in small societal groups, where most people know each other throughout their lives, and know every detail of each other’s relatives and experiences. I have watched stories being told, probably for the hundredth time: the speaker signs and the whole audience finishes every sentence, with every hand moving in complete unison, as in a dance. Signing makes possible communication between individuals at long distances, hundreds of metres apart, and people in vehicles passing each other, each travelling at eighty to a hundred kilometres per hour, a total 121


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approach speed of more than 160 k/hour can exchange information through the windscreens as they flash past. We remain excellent at miming and can easily acquire proficiency in any of the world’s many sign languages. If you have ever sat spellbound watching the great contemporary master of mime, Marcel Marceau, you will have no difficulty agreeing with me. At every stage of its evolution, communication was embedded into an interaction between two or more people, so that both components of the communicative interaction evolved together. Those with advanced skills in the process could ‘sweet talk’ potential mates, calm angry neighbours or kinsmen, become leaders, and thus rear more children than others. Girls with such skills gained control over their destinies and, potentially, their mates. To the extent that communicative skills were inherited, their descendants would have them, and in each generation those with the greatest skills had the potential for the highest reproductive performance. Indeed, we know that the skills were highly inherited, since we find them all in ourselves as a natural component of every human being. These talents did not get there unless they were both inherited and subject to natural selection. This only means that those with the skills left more descendants than did those without. It does not seem a difficult case to argue, but it is something we can openly argue about, for there is no direct evidence of this selection except in our own design. Those who spoke rather than signed were not the same species as our signing hominids. The descendants of Handsigner evolved over many thousands of years into the group we know from the fossil record as Homo erectus. Much later, those with speech became Homo sapiens. Meanwhile, much else was still to happen in the long journey to Homo sapiens—and so to our next Chronicle, that of Fireboy.

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The Chronicles of Homo erectus The Chronicles of Homo erectus

Homo habilis propelled hominids into human communication and tool technology. Homo erectus exploited these advances. They arrived on the stage about 1.6 million years ago. They became a variable species and some races lasted until perhaps 300,000 to 200,000 years ago. They were the first hominid that moved out of Africa, migrating over the whole walkable world, through Europe and Asia, right through to China and what we call Indonesia. Such migrations became possible because the great ice ages had begun and lowered sea levels as much as 100 metres, enabling the early hominids to walk between most of the land masses, presumably to the great glaciers which covered the northern continents. In height, they were not unlike us, from about 1.5 to 1.8 metres tall, though heavy brows and sloping foreheads made their faces much more ape-like. In all these characteristics, they were a marked advance on their ancestors. They were the first species in which races probably had different skin colours: black in the tropics, brown, and probably fair skinned in the cold northern regions—in order to assimilate sunlight and make vitamin D. Northern tribes have left clear evidence of both fires and buildings, indicating their full control of fire—both its starting and maintenance. These people inherited the technological skills of their ancestors but a range of new tool technologies grew out of those inherited skills. However, not all the new technologies spread throughout all tribes. Homo erectus tribes regularly came in contact with bands of both Homo habilis and Australopithecus in Africa, and eventually 123


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displaced these more primitive species. New developments ensued, particularly in language. Signing for a million years had changed these hominids. Their brains and vocal skills had improved and they took the next step, to human speech. Descendants of the speakers became the first Homo sapiens.

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10 Fireboy’s magnificent obsession Time and Place: Perhaps 1.7 million years ago in Africa.

The feeling of pleasure from society is possibly an extension of the parental or filial affections, since the social instinct seems to be developed by the young remaining for a long time with their parents; and this extension may be attributed in part to habit, but chiefly to natural selection. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

It was a long journey to the safety of their bare stony range at the base of the mountains. For all of Shoo’s life, the tribe had sought refuge there when the last surface water dried on the plain, at the end of the long dry. This year they had lingered just that little bit too long on their hunting range. What grass remained was now tinder dry, broken and mostly eaten down to the mounded tufts. Thorn bushes still showed some signs of green along with the grey green of occasional trees. The few creeks crossing the plains were gashes of dry sand and hard-baked mud, their courses marked only by the stunted trees which grew along their banks. Soon would come the terrible dry thunderstorms which could set the plains on fire. If a fire overtook the tribe on this grassy savannah, they would be lost. Only later would come the welcome storms which brought rains. Shoo could almost smell his memory of the fires that once, long ago, had almost caught them as they raced to their stony refuge. He searched the horizon anxiously for warning signs of the treacherous thunderclouds. Shoo was tall, about 1.5 metres. The black hair on his head 125


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swept down his cheeks into a wide beard and flowed smoothly down his neck, back and shoulders. His sweaty black skin shone through the sparse hair on his body. He rubbed his short flat nose, shaking himself to throw off a cold feeling of foreboding and turned his attention to more immediate needs. Three of his most experienced hunters led the party; another two brought up the rear in case of an attack from behind. Sensing Shoo’s unease, they chivvied along the stragglers. Fire was a great and terrible force and its power to destroy must never bg underestimated. The journey across the plains held its own dangers. Even though Shoo was a good leader, who knew which clumps of trees were large enough to provide off-ground sleeping for everyone, men still became tired and careless when taking turns to keep watch. Finding drinkable water was another urgent problem. Shoo remembered which creek beds provided water if the tribe dug deeply in the sandy patches. Food was less of a problem. The grazing herds they passed were weakened from the long dry season—their predators grew sleek and plump on easy meals. They had travelled for four days across the parched plain when the first distant curls of smoke were sighted. Later that day they reached the safety of the hillside whose bare rocks and widely scattered bushes offered shelter from the grassfires. Celebration would wait for the moment—there was much to bg done to prepare the campsite. The women went directly to their familiar sleeping areas in caves and under rocky overhangs. There was a commotion as a woman discovered a deadly snake in one of the caves. Her shouts brought other women whose digging sticks quickly dispatched it. Boys and girls were sent out to gather grasses to soften the sleeping areas. Once fire swept across the plain, there would be nothing left to pad the bare rocks. Food would be scarce until the rains came and the women’s foraging would yield little from the dry hillside. A soakage pit which had never quite dried up over the years made life possible on this barren range. There was a creek nearby, but it only flowed after the rains began. The spring in the pit provided both water and the chance to kill any game visiting it. Two men dug out the soakage pit deeply to collect water. There would soon be enough for all to drink. Others repaired the wall of thorn bushes surrounding the sleeping caves. There were plenty of old bushes 126


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The Chronicles of Homo erectus

from previous years, but new ones had to be harvested with long digging sticks to fill gaps in the wall. By dusk, the camp was reasonably safe for sleeping. The snake, a few lizards and a small pig killed rooting at the soakage pit were divided out, each man sharing with his woman and their children. Tomorrow, the hunters would need to bring home some game. Dawn brought an end to sleep and activity filled the camp. A large cat had clearly walked the perimeter of the thorn wall. It could easily have jumped over. More work was needed to improve the wall, but first everyone gathered at the soak to drink. It was slow work but there was enough clear water to go around, albeit a bit muddy for latecomers. Two men stayed in camp to build up the thorn wall while others took their spears out onto the plains in search of game. Some women followed them to gather more grasses for the sleeping areas. Others worked their way along the sandy bed of the creek, gathering roots, bulbs and fibrous stems, eating as they went but, as their appetites were satisfied, making small piles to take back to camp. Children accompanied their mothers—little ones playing together, older ones helping to dig or nursing the infants. For the next few days, this pattern was constant. Men and women gathered food for immediate eating and more to bring home for the evening meal. It was never enough. On the fifth day the fire came. It had been a hot and oppressive day, leaving all tired and dispirited. Late in the afternoon the storm broke, with repeating roars of thunder that shook the earth and an awesome display of brilliant lightning that coloured a livid sky—but no rain. As they watched, lightning fired the grasses and the flames swept towards their encampment. Apprehension spread among adults and outright fear among the little ones—fire always had this effect. Terrified animals, predator and prey together, ran in panic from the fire, many toward the encampment. The fire blazed around the dry hillside but the bare slope offered no fuel. Safe enough in their caves, families choked in the heavy smoke. Everyone lay face down, nuzzling into their grassy sleeping piles, breathing through the grass. Finally, the fire burnt itself out, the smoke cleared and, with it, the tribe’s anxiety was replaced by anticipation and energy—there was much to do. Fire not only destroyed, it also left gifts. Some frightened animals 127


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had escaped the fire to find a spurious safety near the cave. From behind the wall, one man speared an antelope. Quickly the wall was opened and the bgast dragged inside. For the women and older children, there were delicacies to collect on the plain. Already the birds were returning to gather burnt animals and insects. The tribe also knew that burnt animals were especially tasty. Even when burnt black, the worst of the charred flesh could be scraped off leaving particularly savoury morsels. The scavenging party spread out, each individual weaving his or her way carefully between the still smouldering grass tufts. There were plenty of pickings, from fat cocoons to scorched lizards and reptiles. Smaller delicacies were eaten immediately, but the larger ones were collected—there would be a feast tonight. One boy, nearing manhood, returned to the clearing’s edge. There he found a tough old shrub still burning. He watched as flames licked away at the dry wood around the base of the shrub and flickered along a twig. Squatting, he picked up a twig from a nearby shrub and poked it into the flames. It took a few moments, but soon it too was on fire. He watched fascinated. One by one he added more twigs to his brightly blazing pile and soon he had created a fine fire a short distance from the shrub. From around the scattered thorn bwshes he gathered a handful of dead twigs and branches—picking them up so their thorns did not spear him—and added them to his fire. He watched as they too came alight—there was now a big fire burning on the bare ground. The heat was unpleasant on this stifling afternoon and drew him back to reality. His mother approached, her sling filled with half-scorched delicacies. He was not yet old enough to regard her with the superiority of an adult male and shot an apprehensive look in her direction. To his relief he saw curiosity on her face, not anger. She was about 1.2 metres tall, with long black hair and hardly visible fine hair over her black body. An infant on her hip peeped curiously over a flat breast, propped up by the nipple in its mouth. Another girl-child stood clinging to her thigh, looking unhappily at the fire. The woman moved closer and dropped a dead snake across the edge of the flames. Together they watched as the already blistered skin blackened and started to peel back. 128


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She passed the infant to her daughter and picked up her digging stick. When she thought the snake had enough burning, she rolled it out with her stick. It was almost dusk and she and her children squatted beside the fire. As others returned, they too gathered around the fire. As it burned down, the boy walked off and gathered more sticks to bwild it up. Fascinated, the tribe watched it rekindle and others threw their prey across the embers, watching the carcasses singe and sizzle, until they reached the stage that each knew made the best eating. Eager hands raked meat from the fire with spears and sticks. As the fire burned down, there were many hands to collect more dry wood. Fear had vanished for this fire was tame. Darkness fell and a bitter wind skittled down the hills. The tribe clustered closely around the fire, laughing and feasting. Together they kept the fire going late into the night. Men hacked up the antelope speared earlier and laid pieces across the flames. As the outside cooked, meat was torn off, eaten or returned to the fire for more bwrning. Everyone slept very well that night. The boy woke and strgtched. Rgmembering his fire, he leapt up and ran to where it had been—nothing more than a few embers remained. He hurried off to find more dry grass and twigs and heaped them on the remains of the fire. At first a few grasses smouldered and smoked. He had learned already that only the smallest twigs and grass could ignite from glowing embers. He leant over the glowing mass. Smoke made his eyes water and he choked out a cough. The sudden burst of air momentarily lit the embers but they died down again. Perhaps if he coughed again—another tiny flame erupted. Squeezing his eyes together, he tried blowing at the small flame. It became stronger. Persistently, he blew gently until flames caught the grasses—then the twigs. Throughout his performance the boy’s mother sat unnoticed, nursing her infant and watching her son. She felt pride in this man-child and a shaft of sorrow at the thought that he would soon leave her for the world of men. She looked over his straight body. He would be tall, but as yet he was only just over a metre. His body hair was almost as fine as hers, though soon he would grow the heavier facial and body hair of a man. As the fire grew stronger, she became excited. She signed to him a name—‘Fireboy’. Others were awake now, watching with interest the boy 129


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squatting before his fire, willing it to burn. Shoo sent men and women to find more sticks to bwrn. The fire lasted for several days. Firgboy watched it throughout each day, adding more wood when it burned down, learning how each piece of fuel burned. The fire itself was exciting enough but, in addition, for the first time in his life he was the centre of attention in the tribe. The fire had given him status normally reserved for adults. Eventually there were not enough twigs and dry wood around to maintain the fire. The tribe woke one morning and watched while Fireboy tried persistently to rekindle the fire—and failed. He stood up, defeated; he sensed that his status would now disappear. He lumbered back down by the ruins of his fire, a picture of abject misery. His father came over and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. That day he took Firgboy hunting with the men. But Fireboy had learned much from his first fire and he knew that he would find another fire, even if it took another season. He now knew what would burn and what would not. He also knew that large amounts of firewood of the right sort would be needed and must be collected in readiness. He would be prepared for the next time. Though no fire was found over the next year, Fireboy retained his name, for his accomplishment had been momentous. His name was a continuing reminder to him of his secret determination to succeed next time and he thought repeatedly about his next fire. It became his magnificent obsession. And so it was that the seasons followed each other and the tribe returned to their hillside. Fireboy had left his mother’s side to become a man but he still went to collect grasses for sleeping, returning with extra sticks and branches gleaned beneath the trees scattered nearby. His father and mother helped him with the collection. Some of the others were interested, but not sufficiently to get them collecting firewood. Still others were openly scornful of the activity. By the time the looked-for grassfire erupted in a dry storm, there was an enormous pile of firewood assembled. As the fire burned itself out, the tribe spread out quickly to gather the harvest of the fire, all except Fireboy. He went down to the edge of the fired area searching for any shrubs still alight. In his hands he held a bundle of grasses, twigs and small dry sticks. Remembering what it would take to rgstart a fire he chose some embers close 130


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to the firewood heap. His first attempt was a failure. Quickly he moved on to the next smoking bush. This time his grasses were soon alight, his twigs lit slowly, and some sticks caught fire. When the tribe returned at dusk, Fireboy was waiting for them with a good fire blazing outside the thorn wall, this time fully under his control. Much meat had been collected, though most was only partly scorched and needed more bwrning. Firgboy’s mother took control of the cooking and laid scorched animals on rocks and embers around the base of the fire. As the singed outside parts were eaten, she returned the meat for a second burning. There were willing hands to help. Scorched meat tasted good. All sought the warmth of the fire when the night became cool; slowly they dozed off. That night a large cat came close to the group, growling as it approached the people lying around the fire. The men stumbled up alarmed, their spears ready. They were outside the thorn wall but the beast did not approach the frightened people at their fire. The fire was poked and soon was burning brightly again. Only Fireboy was brave enough to walk the few paces to collect more firewood. The next morning, Shoo squatted with Firgboy at the fire. He was impressed. He had seen several times what happened to fires when rains came. He signed to Fireboy what to expect when the storms brought rain, any day now. But Fireboy was not about to relinquish this victory—or his status—so easily. An idea was germinating in the recesses of his mind. Rain did not come into caves. Left alone in camp next day, Fireboy took a long, burning stick from the previous evening’s fire and carefully carried it right inside the sleeping cave which his family shared with several others. Here was shelter from rain and the cold winds that blew at night. He took some grass from the sleeping heaps and went back outside for twigs and small sticks. Soon he had another small fire going, this time deep in the shelter of the cave. When it was burning well, he began to move his heap of firewood to a convenient place near the fire. This time, there would be fire to last the tribe until the rains brought plenty back to the plains and they could return to their normal summer range. The tribe’s response was predictable: noisy protests erupted when the cave’s inhabitants returned. No-one liked to find their 131


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sleeping nests moved to make way for the fire. But Shoo saw and understood what Fireboy had done and quelled the objections. He had supported this boy throughout. He knew that soon men and women would be out gathering food in the rain and would return tired and cold. A fire inside the cave would be of enormous benefit to the tribe. And so it was. When the storms brought the first rains, the men went out hunting and the women foraged. The season of birthing was close and predators were killing females with swollen bellies, weakened and less agile after a long dry season. The men arrived back at camp, wet and cold, with a pregnant antelope. Sharp sticks and bone knives soon dismembered the carcass and pieces were spread out around the fire to scorch. Men and women stood, rubbing their hands, drying and warming themselves in the firelight. Fireboy was the acknowledged guardian of the fire. It was his responsibility, to keep it going and to collect the dry grass and leaves which allowed him to coax the embers into flames each morning. Many others now helped him collect firewood, following his instructions about which woods bwrned quickly and slowly. Long branches were easy to transport but hard to use, but Fireboy insisted on collecting them. His status forced the men to break up awkward branches, using sharp-edged stones. In return, he was given choice pieces of meat, and titbits collected by the women in their foraging. He was also given a girl to help him, his first girl. Firgboy slept with her close to the fire, the only youngsters allowed beside the fire at night. Day and night, fire remained his obsession. Fire had given him status. It had given him a girl/woman. He never tired of experimenting with his fire. He lit sticks and tried to keep them burning while he walked out on the plains but the lush grasses offered nothing to bwrn. He needed to carry dry grass and twigs with him to start a fire when his stick was almost out. He found out the sticks that would burn longest. He soon learned that if he stopped every couple of hours and rekindled a fire from his glowing sticks, he could keep a fire going through the day and start a new one at dusk.

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Shoo watched these experiments closely. He rgalised that his tribe could have fire permanently if they stayed in the cave, but they could not hope to transport fire back to their normal range without losing it when it rained. The women were improving their cooking skills and the meat his hunters collected was always tasty now. Meat was no longer dropped into the fire. Women either carefully laid it on rocks pushed close to the flames or stabbed pieces of meat on long green sticks and held them over the flames. Seldom was it burned—it was cooked. Whenever cold winds blew or rain fell on their hunting, his men were soon warmed after their return to the caves. Fireboy kindled fires in all the caves within the fence, and even built a campfire down beside the creek in fine weather. The fires outside could be maintained through short light showers, but heavy rain doused them completely, leaving no embers to allow rekindling. Firewood was always a problem. Branches were broken from trees where possible, but smashing them into useful pieces required the strength of the men, using heavy stones. The most useful shapes of stones for the task were soon discovered. People had fashioned rough hand-axes before, and these were now the focus of attention as the main tool for breaking up firewood, but it was not easy. As firewood grew low, anything at hand was thrown onto the embers. So it was that they discovered how pats of dung burned. They glowed and smoked, very slowly, even after being removed from the fire. Moreover, it seemed that their acrid smoke drove away mosquitoes. At last it was time for the tribe to return to its summer hunting grounds. There had been plenty of rain. A fast-running creek had replaced the soakage pit. The plains were clothed with long grass, teeming with insects and healthy game. Their summer hunting range would provide a rich source of all of the food they needed. A general mood of suppressed excitement pervaded the tribe— they would make contact with neighbouring tribes again and make new alliances. Shoo alone felt troubled as he mentally turned over a disturbing option—whether to return to their range, leaving fire behind, or to stay here and make a new life with fire always available. It was ultimately his decision, but the tribe should help him decide; he would present the options to them. He knew that there were other tribes living further along the 133


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mountain slopes. These might become neighbours willing to exchange women, but they had never made contact before. All were aware that Shoo had delayed the return and guessed why. Nightly around the fire fast-moving hands discussed the pros and cons, for much depended on the outcome. Youngsters who would be involved in the normal exchange of mates wanted to return. Most of the women had come from other tribes and the intertribal gatherings allowed them to see their mothers and siblings. They could see no new source of mates here. The men and older people wanted to stay. They realised that fire had become an important part of their lives. They wanted to explore areas around this place, to locate other tribes. Anxiety grew until at last Shoo and the men decided. Shoo’s hands moved swiftly to tell his people. The tribe would stay. He would lead some of the men on a search for other tribes. The next morning Shoo sat with his warriors. All had worked together for years and knew what had to be done. Fireboy’s father would remain and take charge of the camp. Shoo and two men would seek out the stranger tribes. Shoo signed—there should be gifts. One spear and one digging stick would be taken and some meat would be gathered on the way. ‘Who will provide the gifts?’ asked Fireboy’s father, his eyebrows raised and hands moving smoothly. Shoo gestured toward the oldest man and woman. He stood, walked over and collected the ‘gifts’, ignoring the silent ‘protests’ of the ‘givers’—others would help to replace them. The three men set out the following morning. Soon they left the lower mountain slopes and stony area on which they camped for grassy slopes scattered with trees. They passed three swiftflowing creeks, for this was still the rainy season. At each creek Shoo waited while his men walked off in each direction along the banks, seeking hominid tracks. None were found. There was game aplenty and in late afternoon they chased a leopard from its prey, a sow. They hacked up the carcass and, squatting, ate some raw meat and carried off the remainder for the evening meal with perhaps enough for the morning. That night they slept in a large tree. The next two days passed in similar fashion. Then they crossed a creek into forest country. Shoo speared a monkey; they stopped and ate. At a second creek, a call from one man brought his companion running. Many tracks along a sandy bank 134


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led them to a well-used path. Shoo led his men slowly along the path which soon opened into a wide clearing. A large thorn wall surrounded a deserted camp. Tense and fully alert, they walked down the hillside to where the creek opened on to a wide swamp. Several women dug around the edge of the marsh, their children mischievously creating the harmless havoc of children everywhere. Two males were present, apparently on sentry duty, though one was old and the other limped. The sight of the intruders brought them to attention and they stepped forward anxiously, their spears at the ready. Shoo laid down his own spear, took the gifts of spear, digging stick and two legs from the monkey carcass and walked towards the strangers. He stopped ten metres from them, laid his offerings on the ground in full view, turned and walked back to sit with his hunters. The two sentries walked slowly forward to examine the gifts, ever watchful. They lowered their spears and signed in the common language, ‘Where do you come from?’ and ‘What do you want of us?’ Shoo stood to answer. With a wave of his arm he indicated where they had come from, four days’ walk away. He signed that his tribe had young women who could be exchanged. After a few moments of consultation, the older sentry signed that they should sit under a certain tree until his hunting party returned. He carried the gifts to the women who gathered to examine them, regularly looking up at the visitors. Obviously pleased, they rgturned to their foraging, their hands moving excitedly as they discussed the newcomers. It was almost dusk when the hunters returned. The women and sentries hurried to meet them. They pointed to the strangers, still seated under the tree, and displayed the gifts they had brought. Their leader, Ahyah, walked forward and sat in front of the strangers. Both leaders stretched out open palms. Ahyah signed questions: ‘How many young women do you have in your tribe?’ Shoo raised three fingers. ‘Will you bring your tribe here?’ Shoo indicated that he invited Ahyah’s tribe to his camp. He promised food and safe sleeping. Ahyah looked worried: he would have to consult his people. He waved to one of his hunters and signed for him to bring meat. The man picked up a large piece of flesh hacked from an antelope they had killed that 135


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afternoon. Ahyah offered the meat to his guests. Shoo tore off some with his powerful teeth and passed it to his followers. They took some and returned it to Ahyah who ripped off a bite and passed it on again. They sat together until the meat was finished then Ahyah stood and walked back to his people who were seated, patiently, beside the swamp. He was the leader—he had their full attention. His hands moved quickly to tell them of all he had learned of the outsiders, their mission and their invitation. There was a mixed response. Hands flew in questions and protests. The men made the decision to go. The move would make friends with another tribe and form a new alliance. Early the next morning, the tribe gathered up its few belongings and moved out, Shoo and Ahyah in the lead. Shoo had sent one of his men hurrying home to tell of the coming visit, to arrange the preparation of food and sleeping spaces for the visitors. There would need to be a big hunt and much food gathered. Fireboy was to prepare more fires for the visitors. The cavalcade moved slowly; pregnant women and young infants do not hurry. There was plenty of game to harvest on the five-day trip. Each night, camps were made beside creeks. As they walked together, Ahyah and Shoo gestured in conversation. Shoo told the stranger of Fireboy, who had collected fire and brought it to their camp to cook their food. Ahyah was unbelieving. He and his people knew and feared fire, but they too enjoyed the post-fire harvest of scorched meat. Ahyah could not see how fire could be used every day to singe meat to eat. Yet his mouth watered. The visitors’ arrival was a big event. Shoo’s range was not as productive as that of Ahyah, but all had been done to provide ample food for everyone. Fireboy and his girl, Glowing Ember, had prepared special fires by the creek for the feasting. These fires caused great fear, interest and excitement among the visitors. They had seen Shoo telling of Fireboy and his control over fires but there was general scepticism. Now all wanted to learn about the fires. How were they obtained and maintained? Men stood watching Fireboy show how he made new fires, how he blew the grasses to start them burning, then slowly added twigs and, finally, sticks. Two visitors took burning sticks, collected grass and 136


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twigs and tried to repeat what they had seen but the grass and twigs they collected were green. They failed. Fireboy gave them dry grass and twigs to try again, this time with success. Meanwhile Ahyah’s women watched meat being laid on rocks around the fire or held over embers, the women turning and scooping it from rocks with their sticks. Scorched meat was piled upon rocks to cool. The visitors were invited to try their hand, but their lack of experience was woefully evident and caused much merriment. For a while the need to ‘taste’ meant that cooked meat vanished as fast as it was ready—there were too many eager mouths! Soon all the women were helping with tearing and cooking and the pile of cooked meat grew rapidly. There were many hungry people to feed but there was enough meat and many willing hands to tear it up with stones, teeth, sharp sticks and bones. Shoo basked in the success of his venture. Ahyah was impressed and equally pleased that his decision to visit had been a good one and that no-one in his tribe could think otherwise. Women from this tribe would be valuable. They would have the skills of making fires and cooking. Fireboy was called on to tell how the fires could be brought to their camp. Fireboy was not optimistic. He pointed out that their only permanent source of fire had to be kept in the caves and that, even now, Glowing Ember was there maintaining the fire. Fire could be taken short distances across country but only in dry weather. The trip would be slow since they would need to stop and build a fire several times each day. Even if this could be done without rain putting the fires out, there would need to be a dry place for the fire and a supply of firewood at the new camp. The site would have to be perfectly dry and free of strong winds. Someone would also have to ensure that each night the fire was set up to last through the night and be rekindled each morning from the embers. The task was very demanding. Ahyah’s hands moved to ask if a girl could do all of these things. Fireboy said that his girl could do them but others would need to help collect enough firewood. Some would need to be brought in from long distances. Ahyah called his daughter to him. She was almost Firgboy’s age. He asked if Fireboy and Shoo would agree to exchange her for Glowing Ember. Activity ceased 137


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at this suggestion, bodies stilled and eyes focused unblinking on Shoo. It was usual to exchange women, but no-one had ever suggested exchanging a woman already paired. Shoo searched Fireboy’s face and noted his openly admiring stare at Eya, Ahyah’s daughter. Shoo’s women were interested. Some thought it had been wrong for Fireboy to have a girl from within the tribe, one he had known all of his life. He and Glowing Ember had played together as children. Others were equally clear that there should be no breaking of established matings. Shoo grunted and his hands moved slowly. If both Glowing Ember and Fireboy agreed, there could be an exchange. But fire could not be taken now. This was the rainy season. Girls could be exchanged, but Ahyah would need to leave a young man to live with Shoo’s tribe to learn from Fireboy. The young man would be mated with one of the girls to be exchanged. In the dry season, the lad would bring his girl and fire over to Ahyah’s range, escorted by Shoo’s men. There were sighs and busy hands all around but all were relieved. Shoo had found the right answer. Decisions on exchanges were left till the morning. Now the dancing began. Most men and women had favourite dances, stories which all would understand and enjoy. Shoo danced first, the story of his father’s battle with a leopard. His tribe had seen the dance many times, but there were excited gasps and shouts from the visitors as the story unfolded. Ahyah followed with his dance of a struggle with a large snake, which ended only when he sank his sharp bone dagger into the spine of the beast. Each tribe took turns to perform their dances until late into the night. Ahyah’s people were not used to staying up late around a fire. As the fires burned down, women and men picked up their sleeping children and moved behind the thorn wall to the cave fires. The first night had been a great success. The next morning saw the serious business begin. Shoo and his people sat facing their visitors across an open space. Ahyah’s tribe sat on the side nearest their distant home. Three girls and three boys from his tribe were brought by their fathers into the space between the two tribes. Fireboy and Glowing Ember had made their decision. They were close friends, but very willing to make a change. Fireboy took her into the arena amid hoots of interest and excitement. Glowing Ember was quickly claimed by 138


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one boy from Ahyah’s tribe. Fireboy claimed Eya. Another boy came forward with his father to claim the other girl. The pairings were made in the time-honoured manner. The men, especially the fathers, took the public leadership role in the exchanges, but the women had been working out the proper matings since the tribes came together. They had sought information from each other to make the ‘right’ decisions. The advantages of their decisions had been made clear to their mates—but these were always subject to vetoes if any boy or girl objected strongly to their parents’ choice. There were no objections and the six pairings were agreed by Shoo and Ahyah. Ahyah then announced that the smallest of his boys, Oowah, would be the one to remain with Shoo’s tribe to learn fire-keeping. He would also hunt with Shoo’s tribe so that he would not be a burden on them. They broke up the gathering to collect food for the evening meal. Women from both tribes went out foraging and the men broke into three parties to hunt. That night there was another feast around the fires by the creek. Those who had not danced previously had their chance and all of the stories of each tribe, personal and traditional, were danced. Each tribe had some ancient stories, handed down from distant generations, guarded and danced by the older men of each family. Most women also had dances, telling stories of their exciting adventures, their food discoveries, or those of their families. Children slept and were finally carried inside the thorn wall for the night. The next morning Ahyah’s tribe gathered to return home. The two tribes stood together while Ahyah and Shoo touched each other on the shoulders, grinning in farewell. They turned and the women from both tribes hooted together. Farewells were made; Ahyah led his tribe out of the camp and the men and women of Shoo’s tribe turned aside to their various tasks. Partings were wistful and tender in those families losing youngsters, the girls reluctantly hanging back in their mothers’ embraces for a few extra moments.

The year ahead was a hard one for Shoo and his people. Certainly they had fire, but this part of their range was not as productive 139


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as their previous one and this became painfully apparent as they moved into the dry season. The creek dried up and they returned to the soak. Daily, the women were forced to move further out on the plains seeking food. The dry season was always bgtter for hunting than foraging, but this year was a lean one. Eventually Oowah learned what was necessary to become the fire-keeper for his tribe. Fireboy showed him the advantage of maintaining small fires, which could be built up, but would not quickly deplete firewood stocks. The two youths walked out onto the plains many times to start small fires and keep a series of embers going throughout the day. It was time for Oowah to return home and they had long sought a way to carry the fire. They had tried carrying glowing sticks, but these did not last long enough. Fireboy tried dung pats, taken and dried before the beetles could break them; they would glow for hours and could be kept glowing by feeding them on scraps of dung the beetles left—there were always scraps of dung everywhere on the plain. It was not difficult to blow the glowing dung into flames with some very dry grass and twigs. A receptacle for the glowing dung was found. Stone was too heavy and green bark did not last. Skulls were chosen as being most convenient, and they were wrapped in green bark and carried in slings of skin. Three of Shoo’s men accompanied the young lads with their two firgpots. They stopped several times each day to make new fires and replenish their firepots; the dung must be kept glowing. The trip took six days. When they arrived at Ahyah’s a large fire was made. Glowing Ember had prepared well with two enormous heaps of dry firewood. A great feast was prepared around the fire. There was plenty of meat to be cooked and, after the eating, dancing by firelight. Oowah was not involved. He had made the feasting fires, now he had to find the place for the small permanent fire. Ahyah and Glowing Ember had made other preparations for there were no caves here. A high bank overhanging a broad sandy beach beside the creek was the best spot they could find. They had dug out soil at the base of the small cliff to make a cavity beside which they placed a large pile of firewood. Oowah was to put the permanent fire in this artificial cave above the high water of the creek. Oowah felt the need for more shelter, 140


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but this was the best that was available. A thorn bush hedge had been built around the area. Oowah, Glowing Ember and their mates would live here beside the fire, away from the rest of the tribe. Ahyah had collected other heaps of firewood under trees within the camp wall and he and his men had carefully removed skins from the animals they killed and laid them across the firewood, along with wide strips of bark. When the skins and bark had blown off in heavy winds, he had anchored them with large stones and logs. The wood should stay dry enough to keep fires going, though only experience in the heavy rain would test the covers. Oowah was astonished at the many preparations Ahyah had made. No-one had used skins to keep out rain before. Oowah made the next step. He collected some long branches and laid them from the ground to the overhanging cliff above the fire. He asked Ahyah for skins to cover these branches so that his fire would get more protection when heavy rains came. It took many days to gather enough skins; one by one they were laced to the branches with strips of skin; the fire was now covered, and they left several small holes through which smoke could escape. When the grassfires came, Ahyah and his tribe moved into the swamp for safety. The swamp was almost dry and the tall rged beds burned easily, but there were wide expanses of mud which thwarted the fire. They lost some firewood, but the fire, its covers and the adjacent heap of firewood were safe. Oowah had dug out all the grasses in the area. When the rains came, Oowah and his girl were extremely comfortable—no-one else was. Not only did they have the sole fire, but the tent provided the only complete shelter from the heavy driving rain. It was not long before Ahyah saw that the whole tribe could be like the fire workers in their dry world. He realised that more skins must be gathered to build more tents around the bases of trees, to provide shelter for families sleeping within the thorn walls. The rainy season was always a miserable time for tribes bgcause there had never been adequate shelter from the heavy rains. It was several years before there were tents for everyone, and each tent had its own small fire, maintained by those sleeping within it. There were several accidents when tents caught fire, 141


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but the tribe learned to build shelters which allowed them to keep their fires burning throughout the year. With fires constantly available, it was soon discovered that the fats from some carcasses burned, and that this fat could be dripped onto wood to make it more flammable. Fire became a part of the fabric of life—no longer evoking dread and terror—but respect. It would be a long time until the next step, the starting of fires. But Fireboy and those he had taught learned well and understood the value and importance of fire—necessary motivation for moving forward.

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11 Sensi the toolmaker— designer and trader Time and Place: About 1.3 million years ago in north-east Africa.

As it is improbable that the numerous and unimportant points of resemblance between the several races of man in bodily structure and mental faculties should all have been independently acquired, they must have been inherited from progenitors who had the same characters. We thus gain some insight into the early state of man, before he had spread step by step over the face of the earth. The spreading of man to regions widely separated b{ the sea, no doubt, preceded any great amount of divergence of character in the several races; for otherwise we should sometimes meet with the same race in distinct continents; and this is never the case. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Alpha’s firstborn, Sensi, was a quiet one—his peers considered him a bit of a wimp really. From the earliest age he preferred to play in the camp with sticks and stones rather than join the rough and tumble of the other boys. Playing with objects was normal, but only objects? The other boys gave him the derisive name of ‘Playboy’—out of sight of adults. Sensi never walked out on the plains alone or with other boys, only with the women in their daily foraging. His father, Alpha, had been so proud and excited when he was born; he looked forward to his son growing up to master the mysteries of the hunt and become a great fighter, as he was. As the boy grew, the dances of the hunters filled him with pleasure, but he showed little interest in playing hunting games with the other boys. His father’s interest gradually turned 143


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to disappointment, then disinterest. Second son claimed his attention for he was a normal, strapping lad—one who could fulfil the dreams of any father, but especially a warrior. It wasn’t that the Alpha rank would pass to Sensi that caused Alpha’s frustration—for rank was not passed from father to son. Beta was always ready and waiting in the wings. Rather, he was bewildered that a son of his who had enjoyed all of the advantages of an Alpha’s son—advantages that had existed for untold thousands of years—could be like this. Sensi had a favoured start in life with the best of everything the tribe could offer and, more important, attention from others within the group. Furthermore, even ‘wimp’ children of Alpha have a decided edge in their conflicts with other youngsters. Their parents are usually nearby, and no-one dares threaten such a peer in the immediate presence of a dominant individual. So although the position was not hereditary, many sons of the Alpha do become Alphas in maturity when the position becomes vacant. All fathers took particular care to instruct their sons in hunting skills—Alpha was no exception. He took his sons out onto the plains to teach them the nature of the world around them. Showing them the savannah animals, he used the easy signing of his troop to describe how each lived and was hunted and its importance to their tribe. Yet whenever Alpha pointed across the plains, Sensi looked out and around as if he couldn’t see; ‘Where?’ he queried with eyes and fingers, while his excited brother’s hands sought details of everything around them. Alpha was frustrated. The boy was not blind, but he couldn’t seem to see anything far away. His eyes looked normal. Sensi had given up trying to explain to his father that he could see everything close around them, but out there at a distance everything was blurred. His father had no understanding of this and often became angry with him. His preference for his younger son was galling to Sensi. Within the camp, however, things were different. The camp sprawled untidily over a small rise overlooking rolling downs, lightly forested. Wood was important and an abundance and variety of trees in the landscape had influenced their choice of campsite. Game was plentiful in the temperate climate, while a fast-flowing stream gave sparkling water. The camp had the usual wall of thorn bushes to keep out large 144


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predators. Within, each family had its own rough tent of skins, often covered over with thick layers of thatched grasses. Skins also supplied the simple body coverings, however small or simply decorative, worn by most adults. Sensi was most at ease here, especially when he was left in peace to sit quietly under a shady tree grinding sharp points on his father’s spears and the family’s digging sticks, the blades of which he had hardened in the fire. Best of all, his work occasionally drew Alpha’s attention and approval. Digging sticks were important and needed constant sharpening. The keenness of their cutting edges helped not only with digging, but also with the hacking up of game for transport and for tearing meat into pieces for cooking. Spears also needed sharp, hard points to be effective. Hardwood was best, both for spears and digging sticks because the points and edges kept sharp and seldom broke. Hardwood took much preparation, but required less regular maintenance. Sensi had keen eyes for the points and the patience necessary to find those stones which could rub the points to a sharp edge— why was it so different on the plains? Every hunter normally made his own tools but their skills varied. To most, tool-making was a bore—the real work for men was hunting. Sensi seemed willing, even pleased, to take over the tiresome tool-making. More and more hunters brought him special food and, in return, he sharpened their spears. Increasingly there was much for this boy to do in the camp—he had found a real niche for himself. Sensi was strong and when other boys teased him, he attacked them so fiercely that they soon learned not to provoke him. ‘Playboy’ as a name slipped into the past. Before he was old enough to be taken out with hunters, Alpha’s son had begun to earn respect and attention from adults for his work on their weapons. His father slowly recognised the special role his son had acquired. When he saw Sensi’s fine work on tools, his own and those of his men, he began to feel some pride in this strange son. He noted the respect other hunters showed the lad. When out hunting, Alpha also took to collecting pieces of hardwood which could be shaped into a digging stick or spear, or stones suitable for sharpening tools, and brought them home. Sensi thrilled at his father’s interest, after years of believing that his father did 145


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not care for him. Alpha’s attention was the spur which drove him to spend untold hours, carefully grinding and shaping tools from the wood his father brought. His skill was growing and he always produced particularly handsome and effective weapons for his father, who swelled with pride when using these fine tools. Sensi’s tribe were not novices in shaping stone; generations before them had developed a variety of clumsy tools. Everyone had very heavy choppers and hammer stones for smashing bones and firewood, or rough cutters for hacking up meat. Stone scrapers cleaned the hides of animals the hunters brought back to camp. Clean hides were then scrubbed with rough bark to make them soft and smooth, for babies’ slings or sleeping rugs. His folk had also long been aware that points of spears used to poke fires hardened with heat, becoming more suitable edges for spears or digging blades. Sensi specially fired the points of spears to bring them to maximum hardness. He tried many shapes for his spear points, experimenting with flat blades, grooves and barbs. Hunters were excited when he discovered the benefit of lengthening short straight spears of heavy hardwood by binding on lighter wood shafts. Weight and toughness on the point coupled with a long, light, guiding shaft reduced carrying weight while improving accuracy and effectiveness. This was a wondrous innovation and the nightly dances changed dramatically to reflect the magic power of the new spears. Alpha had taught Sensi the traditional skill of striking two stones together to shape them into the various tools he needed for making weapons, and for domestic use—he learned it well. Now, however, he sought better ways of shaping stone. Whenever he made fine choppers or cutters, he drew great praise from his father. But he was not satisfied—surely it was possible to achieve sharper and finer edges. Sensi began to experiment with different stones for polishing his tools: rough sandstones allowed quick shaping of the tools; fine-grained stones produced smoothly polished wood; and curved stones would even shape curves on his tools. When his polishing stones became blunt, he tried to break them to expose new sharp edges and surfaces to allow more effective grinding of the hardwood. Alpha’s willingness to collect new stones was important to Sensi, for his finds were much more varied than those normally 146


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used by his tribe. Each new mineral was discussed at length with Alpha and the other men as they compared it with the standard stones in use. The new flakes he produced were often very sharp. Carefully he practised blows, skilfully directed, to produce fine scrapers and cutters but still he wasn’t satisfied. There had to be better ways of making the hand-axes which everyone used to chop up firewood, a constant chore. Wood and bone choppers were difficult when cutting up carcasses. If he could make stone tools with long, sharp edges, easily handled, the blades would last much better than either wood or bone. His mother used sharp split bones to make holes in skins for binding them together into body coverings, tents or bedding. Sensi tried to make even finer points on the stones he worked. Every piece of stone was a challenge. The lad grew to manhood respected by all, especially the men of his tribe, though he had never hunted. They renamed him ‘Toolmaker’, which was easy to sign but more difficult to speak. In due course, he was given a mate from a neighbouring tribe and they worked together, receiving food from the hunters in exchange for fine tools. When his mate foraged with the women, she too brought home pieces of wood or stones she thought suitable for shaping into tools. As the tribe moved around its range, Toolmaker examined the rocks of each area, chipping at each and noting their differences, seeking always the best materials. He discovered that every stone needed a different type of strike to make it split. Chips also varied in hardness so he began to search for stones that could retain extremely sharp edges and hard points. He struck chips from hundreds of stones to shape them into a variety of tools and with these he improved his effectiveness in making fine wooden or bone tools and weapons. Toolmaker had turned the most boring of tasks into an adventure. Every day Toolmaker sat beneath a shady tree, a thick skin across his lap, a wooden anvil between his knees and tools and heaps of stone bgside him. One day he sat working with a new stone his father had brought home. This grey rock was finegrained and very hard, with a thick white crust around one side—quite unlike anything he had used before. As he worked, it became clear that he had good control while striking flakes from it. He knew what he wanted, a sharp axe. It had to be 147


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heavy, with a smooth, rounded back to fit the hand comfortably, and tapered to a fine, sharp edge. Hours of gentle knapping at the stone produced the hand-axe, shaped like a large flattened pear. Its blade was very sharp—quite different from the heavy broken rocks which smashed, rather than cut, through branches. It fitted smoothly into his hand. Now for the moment of truth. He took up a branch and began to cut at it. The stone was good and its blade sharp and durable. The weight was right for easy use without tiring him. Only a few blows were needed to cut the heavy branch smoothly. Toolmaker was exultant. When his father returned, Toolmaker hurried to show him the new axe. Alpha weighed the new tool carefully, slowly turning it in his hand and balancing it, while his son shuffled impatiently from foot to foot, awaiting a verdict. Alpha looked around for something to cut and spied the heavy branch Toolmaker had used. He settled and aimed his blows carefully. In a few minutes the branch was severed again, neatly. Toolmaker cried out in triumph and elation as he peered over his father’s shoulder. Alpha looked up with pride to his son, and turned smiling to some hunters who had gathered to watch. Everyone wanted to try. Each in turn checked whether the blade had remained sharp, running their thumbs tentatively along the blade. Heads shook in disbelief —no-one had seen anything like it. Everyone made a few blows at the branch to feel the balance of the axe and to examine any damage to the edge. All of them had spent hundreds of hours with tools; they knew this was different, a great leap forward. Next day, Toolmaker worked under his tree while the men and women were away. The scene was peaceful; the slight smell of wood smoke and the rustle of leaves above him were the only accompaniment to the ringing of stone against stone. He had long wanted to make an effective stone knife and this flint seemed promising. Some of its chips were extremely sharp, so he laid his firm leather sheet over his lap to catch them. He chose a long piece of flint, slowly chipping off flakes until he had a sharp edge. Then he worked on the back, rounding it to fit his grip, making sure there were no sharp edges that could cut his hand. By evening when the men returned, he had his first flint knife, about 150mm long. One side was sharpened to a fine cutting blade and the back was rounded for easy handling. He took it to his father 148


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who was hacking at the carcass of a deer with a bone knife. Alpha took the new blade and cut with it. The knife was sharp and ripped through skin and flesh effortlessly. He wiped away the blood and tissue which covered it and handed it to another of the hunters working with him. He slashed at the meat, with the same results then wiped the blade on some grass before handing it on. Predictably, everyone wanted both an axe and knife. Toolmaker was dubious. This new flint seemed to be the future of tool-making but he had very little of it. He questioned Alpha, who had first brought the stone home. He was vague—he had brought home many stones. Other hunters asked to see the coarse, white limestone covering one side of fine dark flint. They examined the white covering and the many fine, flint chips. No-one remembered noticing such a stone before. Toolmaker gave each man some chips. If they could find more, then he might be able to make them new tools. Alpha promised to search for the place he had made the original find. In the following days, many different stones were brought in but most were not hard enough. Flint was rare. It took months before more was found and, in the meantime, Toolmaker had tried many stones as strikers, for these too had to be shaped. He sought stones similar to the one from which he had created the first axe and it took three full moons before he produced the next suitable axe. B{ this time, Alpha had demonstrated repeatedly the value of his new axe and knife. Two years later, four men appeared near the camp, late one afternoon. Alpha immediately gathered his men and led them forward to meet the intruders. The visitors stopped, then one man, Leader, walked forward without his spear, signing his intentions. He brought meat, nuts, fruit and skilfully sharpened digging sticks. These tribes had met before and the newcomers knew the quality of Toolmaker’s work. They had tried to find quality gifts with which to attract Toolmaker’s attention, for they hoped to obtain samples of his work to bring home. Alpha went forward alone and unarmed to meet Leader. The two men knew each other and their hands flew in the smooth mutual signing as they discussed arrangements for a meeting of their tribes. The conversation was an elegant display; their signs were slowly and 149


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deliberately exaggerated so that all could watch and understand. Eventually they rose and the visitors were invited into the camp where a meal was cooking. The visitors’ attention was immediately taken by the great array of fine tools Alpha’s people were using. Could they see? Spears were willingly proferred for inspection. Gathering around, they tested the grip and balance of the shafts and examined the carefully shaped points. Their attention then turned to axes and knives. The efficiency of the new flint tools was beyond their wildest imaginings. Alpha presented Leader with a small flint knife. The visitors stayed only a day. They were anxious to bring their people to this camp to see its wonders. Mostly they wanted to learn how they could make such tools or what they could exchange for them. With gifts in mind, they talked to Toolmaker, seeking clues about presents he and his family would appreciate. It was a challenge to find suitable gifts, for Toolmaker was already the richest person in his tribe in the few possessions he needed. His family occupied a fine tent of skins thatched with grass and furnished with abundant soft skins. They had the best collection of tools in the tribe for the woman’s many tasks. However, Leader had noted how her eyes had flown secretly to their drinking gourds and lingered wistfully on them. He saw that their collection of gourds for carrying water was indeed superior—so gourds it would be. Returning to their tribe, they told of the wondrous tools. Gourds were clearly their bgst bartering gift and willing hands worked swiftly to prepare many large ones that were as attractive as they could be made. They were even prepared to give away their best; later they would fashion more for their own use. It was 20 days before the tribes met again. Alpha’s people had made shelters for them, collected firewood and prepared fires. There was excitement in both tribes. The visitors approached and stopped while Alpha and Leader approached each other unarmed, palms open in friendly greeting. This accomplished, all mingled together and the guests were led around the camp to where their shelters had been prepared. Seeing was quite different from hearing and Leader’s people were astonished at what they saw. They watched spellbound while 150


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women easily cut through the gift meat they had brought with blades of flint—some with wooden handles. Hunters gaped at the mighty axes which crushed skulls as easily as they cut firewood. But it was the fine spears that their hosts carried which drew the most gasps of awe and admiration. Equally, Alpha and his tribe were impressed with the fine gourds brought as gifts. His woman could barely contain her excitement and her eyes glistened with anticipation. Toolmaker had made a new spear—his best yet—for his father who now solemnly offered it to Leader. Toolmaker stepped forward to demonstrate how the joint of the spear needed maintenance. He looked among the spears of his tribesmen and found one which was tattered. He took it and called the new spear’s owner to sit with him while he showed him how the spear would need repairs once the binding on the haft frayed. He then presented Leader with a piece of stone to be used when new points and blades needed to be ground, as they blunted. The night came alive with feasting and dancing—clapping hands and sticks beating out insistent, stirring rhythms. The new spears played an important part in the dances. Next morning, some visiting women found Toolmaker’s heaps of discarded flakes and eagerly combed through them. Many of these rejects were taken as highly suitable by these novice visitors. The visiting men gathered around Toolmaker begging him to show them how he made flint axes and knives. He showed them how to recognise flint and other useful stones. He had very little flint left. He selected a hammer—a heavy piece of stone shaped to a point— and showed how pieces of flint were struck with glancing blows that caused flakes to slough off. Many blows had to bg struck before a shape could be completed, but all now had an image of the final shape. This was a critical new starting point. Later that morning, he produced several flakes highly suitable either for cutting or for making small knives when bound to handles. He had no stone suitable for making an axe. The visitors snatched up and examined every flake he produced. They were very impressed and many skinned knuckles attested to the difficulty of effectively knapping stone. Eventually Toolmaker’s supply of suitable stone was exhausted. He told the visitors that flint was very rare. 151


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Meanwhile, the women of both tribes had been busy, nestled close to their mates among the soft skins, for each side recognised the benefits of alliance through their children. Negotiations and exchanges of young ones bggan. Agreements were made by the men, obedient to the seemingly endless instructions of their women in the intimacy of their sleeping skins. Among the young visitors seeking a mate was Wulu. He had noted the status Toolmaker held in his troop. Toolmaker, in turn, had noted Wulu’s interest and enthusiasm. Wulu was sure he knew where flint could be found on his tribe’s range, but he failed to convince Toolmaker who had seen how difficult it was even for his own experienced tribesmen to recognise flint. Still, if flint was available in large quantities on their range and brought to him, he would willingly help the visitors make tools. Wulu gathered scraps of flint as samples—it would not do to return with the wrong stone. Furthermore, with the confidence of youth, he was determined to be the one that Toolmaker would instruct, and thrilled when the master placed his hand on his shoulder in encouragement. Wulu was too excited to see the doubt written over the older man’s face.

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12 Wulu the firemaker Time and Place: Immediately after Toolmaker, still on an African savannah.

It must not, however, be supposed that groups of organic beings are always supplanted, and disappear as soon as they have given birth to other and more perfect groups. The latter, though more victorious over their predecessors, may not have bgcome better adapted for all places in the economy of nature. Some old forms appear to have survived from inhabiting protected sites, where they have not been exposed to severe competition; and these often aid us in constructing our genealogies, by giving us a fair idea of former and lost populations Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

The clan returned from the visit with Toolmaker’s tribe, and people resumed their normal lives except, that is, Wulu. He was worried. He was positive he knew where to find the flint that would so enrich his tribe. But would Leader pay any attention to him? Probably not. Yet he was determined: first he must persuade his brother and father that he could find flint. They could remember seeing dark grey stones in the area Wulu described, but had not paid sufficient attention to them and, anyway, they doubted that they were flint. Wulu struggled with them for hours, his hands in urgent motion, eyes flashing, pleading, begging for their support. Imperatives like this were rare in the tribe. Eventually—and with obvious misgivings—they agreed to help and to accompany him to the rocky hillside at the edge of their range. 153


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Diffidently, Wulu approached Leader and asked leave to go with his father and brother, seeking flint. He showed the flakes he had brought from Toolmaker, arguing that the same stone could be found on the tribe’s range. Leader pondered the request. It would deprive him of hunting men, yet he recognised that the reward could be great. Leader was immensely proud of his new spear and knife; he wanted others in the tribe to have such weapons. Too often had blunt spears failed to make the kill. He also respected the judgement of Wulu’s father. Weighing all the arguments, he consented, for a three-man party was relatively safe on the savannah. Their preparations were minimal. Leaving early, they travelled all the following day to the hilly country. There was little to eat on the journey but hunters always carried some hard dried strips of meat to chew on as they walked. As dusk fell they set about selecting a sleeping tree and finding food. An unsuspecting snake and some lizards eased their hunger, even though eaten raw, for there could be no fire. After eating they settled in the tree. In the morning, the men found a shallow stream in a deep gully. These tribesmen knew their range and all of its resources. They drank from the clear water, munched on some roots and bulbs, then searched for the precious stones. The range of hills was large, split with deep gorges and rough slopes. The day drew on, warm and overcast. The three stayed together. Each time grey stones were found, the other two stood guard while Wulu compared them with the flint samples, hammering them together as he had watched Toolmaker do when striking flakes. Wulu was clumsy but soon made flakes which exposed the underlying stone. He took each flake and tried to crumble its edge. Any sign of crumbling meant the soft rock was discarded. Carefully he compared the texture of the flakes with Toolmaker’s samples. The three toiled all day and were rewarded with several rocks of workable sizes that they agreed were flint. Each had the crumbly white surface covering part of the underlying fine grey stone, just as Toolmaker had signed. One piece had a vein of the white stone running right into the flint. The flakes Wulu struck from them were curved and showed firo hard edges. Wulu and his brother bundled the rocks in a skin tied to a strong wooden 154


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branch. Young and strong, they carried the heavy package across their shoulders, while their father walked ahead to escort them back to their sleeping tree. Tomorrow they would bring home the flint. Slowly they made their way homeward. Struggling across the wide grassland, taking turns carrying their heavy burden, they stopped regularly to rest under shady trees. Another hungry night in a strange tree and then, mercifully—home. Foraging women saw them first, and started shouting excitedly; some children ran out to meet them. The hunters were away, leaving only two men protecting the women. The two guards carried the heavy load into camp while the three travellers drank and luxuriated in the cool, healing creek water, washing away the sweat and aches of the journey. The women gathered round to watch their story and to prepare food for them. Refreshed, Wulu settled under a shady tree with the precious flint beside him. He struggled to remember the details of Toolmaker’s working pattern. In his right hand he gripped his old stone axe and took up a flint in the other. Carefully he struck the flint a glancing blow. His woman squatted beside him, watching. She handed him the flakes he struck from the flint. As she watched, the base stone slowly became a hand-axe. Toolmaker had provided the image; Wulu worked to create the model, slowly chipping at the edges to make a sharp blade. Other men struck flakes and knuckles—the knuckles won, leaving them to watch Wulu as he persevered. By the time the hunters returned, Wulu had produced several useable scrapers, cutting flakes and a crude but serviceable hand-axe. Leader examined the stones and Wulu’s work; he was impressed. At the fire that night, he signed his decisions. Wulu’s father would lead three men on an expedition to find more flint. He himself would follow with the tribe and make camp close by, beside water, to provide food and succour for the flint fossickers while they collected the precious stone. As promised, Wulu and two other men would take the rocks to Toolmaker as a gift. Wulu’s mate, Esher, should accompany him for she would be welcomed by her mother and family; the two young people would stay with Toolmaker’s tribe while Wulu learned skills from Toolmaker. 155


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When Leader and his tribe visited with more flints, Wulu and his mate would be brought home. At dawn two groups set out in the cool clear light, before shimmering heat patterns began to dance on the horizon. Anticipation gave wings to the fossickers—the tribe straggled after them. Wulu and Esher walked in the opposite direction, behind two warriors carrying the stones. Wulu took his turn carrying the heavy load while Esher and the resting man held the spears. Leader thought that it would take four days to reach the hills, slowed as they were by women and children and the need to carry fire. Leader was a careful manager who had moved camp many times. Everyone carried a supply of dried meat, but men were always on the watch for game and women foraged as they walked. Everyone knew the watering places on their range. Moving camp was a familiar task. Fire was carried carefully in a buffalo skull suspended from a pole. Two men were needed to carry the precious bwrden. Those following, always aware of wisps of acrid smoke from the smouldering dung, carefully watched and fed the fire with fuel every half-hour or so. A tedious task, but essential so that the ember did not die. The men made a large fire that night to repel predators. If there were heavy rains, they would lose the fire and need to sleep in trees until another could be brought. Everyone collected stocks of suitable dung for the fire as they walked. Four days later, Leader’s group built their temporary camp in a clump of trees beside a creek flowing down the rocky hillside. They erected a protective shelter over a small fire but everyone slept in the open around the communal fire. The daily pattern was unvarying: men went out to hunt and women to forage—the need for food was always a driving force. Flint was abundant and on good days, two loads were collected. Soon there was more than could be carried by the whole tribe. Leader planned the next move—to take the tribe to Toolmaker’s camp. It was a long journey and all would be weighed down with heavy flint; they would arrive completely exhausted. Meanwhile Wulu and his party had arrived at Toolmaker’s camp. Esher went ahead to ensure their welcome. The news that they had flint caused great excitement. The flint was spread out before Toolmaker, who examined every piece carefully, striking 156


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several pieces before he looked up with a broad smile. ‘Flint’ he signed. There were celebrations, feasting and dancing to the rhythms of clapped hands and sticks. Arrangements were made for Wulu to join the camp until Leader arrived with even more flint. Wulu would work with Toolmaker, while Esher joined her mother’s party in their daily foraging. The next morning Wulu’s companions made their farewells and began their long journey to Leader’s new camp. In the peace of an empty camp, Toolmaker and Wulu sat together surrounded by heaps of stone. Under Toolmaker’s guidance, Wulu struck blow after blow of hammer stone against flint. Wulu found one hammer of reddish rock which regularly struck sparks from the flints. Wulu’s fingers asked about the sparks, ‘What are they?’; ‘Are they the same sparks from fires?’ To Toolmaker, sparks were no novelty. He had wondered the same questions once, but had long since ceased wondering. They interested him no longer—but he had no answers. Flint took up all their attention. Toolmaker was a patient and kindly teacher and time flew by in congenial activity. By evening both sat surrounded by useful scrapers, cutters, one fine point, a borer and one carefully fashioned pear-shaped hand-axe and hundreds of flakes of flint. Toolmaker took extra delight in his assistant’s clear vision, as he could see clearly all around the camp and describe any disturbance or movement. That night, Wulu took a burning stick away from the camp fire and shook out some sparks over some very dry grass bedding. Most of the sparks went out, but one spark dropped on some very fine, powdery straw and started to glow. Gentle blowing coaxed the tiny ember to reach other fine dry leaves, when a flame flared up. Wulu was excited. He fed more fine grass leaves onto the flame and in minutes he had a fire. Sparks could start new fires. Only the quality of the tinder was important. Tiny sparks could only ignite the finest tinder. The next morning, his excited hands told Toolmaker what he had done. He had brought along the finest dry tinder he could find from among the grass heaps he and Esher had slept on. Would sparks from the stones also make fire? He spread out the tinder, then struck a piece of flint over it with the red hammer 157


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stone. Producing sparks was not difficult, but aiming them onto the tinder was. Toolmaker watched patiently. It took dozens of strikes before Wulu produced the first sign of glowing tinder, and then many more before he was able to fan the embers into flame. Finally—success—and with it great excitement, for they had produced a fire. They now knew that they could create a fire at will, provided they had the necessary flint, red stone and tinder. Making tools was forgotten as both men became absorbed in trying to make another fire. That day, they produced three more fires, only one of which they could maintain. When the men returned from hunting, they told their story and showed them their fire. The hunters gathered around, examining the fine tinder and striking the stones together to see whether they too could make sparks. Clearly, this was a momentous event. Men collected grass tinder from their sleeping sites and squatted to try firemaking. Only one was successful that evening but it was enough. The tribe danced in celebration and Wulu was named ‘Firemaker’. He was delighted—and very proud of his new name. There was no hunting the next day. Women went out foraging while the men settled to fire-making. Everyone knew what had to be done and was anxious to succeed. There were enough flints and ironstones for everyone to try. Each of them had been out on overnight camps without fire and no-one enjoyed raw meat or cold nights spent precariously perched in trees. No longer would the tedious business of bringing fire from neighbouring tribes be necessary when very heavy rains occasionally doused their camp fires or soaked their stores of firewood. Raw knuckles and fingers proliferated, but so did carefully tended little fires. Each man wanted his fire to be kept to show the women on their return but this was impossible; there were just too many. There would be no firewood left. Alpha saw the problem and sent a small party out to collect more wood, using the fine axes Toolmaker had made. While each fire gave him great satisfaction, he insisted that it be put out when it was shown to bg successful. Fire-making was not easy, but now all knew that it was possible and this would change many aspects of their lives. Hunters occasionally caught out at dusk after a long hunt would bless this day for flames were the only certain protection from predators of the night. 158


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Eventually Wulu’s tribe arrived for the long-awaited visit. He went out with Alpha to greet and welcome them. Large sacks of flint were delivered to Toolmaker, enough to keep him bwsy for many seasons. The visitors were then taken to their sleeping camp. There were plenty of sleeping spaces prepared, lots of firewood collected, but no fires were prepared for the visitors. The hosts called the guests together in groups and each settled down to make fires. Leader’s group stared uncomprehendingly at men striking flint over tiny heaps of tinder. But a shout of excitement from one group brought a crowd to see what had happened. A small fire was being fanned and blown into life. Shouts, gasps and flying fingers expressed the feelings of the astonished visitors. After three fires were started, most of the groups broke up to start the preparations for feasting, leaving only a fascinated few to watch the firemakers. Feasting was on everyone’s mind but before the celebrations started, Alpha raised his hand for attention. With graceful but exaggerated signing, he summoned Toolmaker and Wulu to his side. Then he turned to the assembled crowd and related how Wulu had conquered fire and had been named ‘Firemaker’, a great warrior of his tribe. There were hoots of acclamation from all as Firgmaker stepped forward to stand beside Alpha. He was immensely proud of his new name. Leader rose and walked over to embrace him while his tribesmen gathered round to touch and greet him by his new name. When appetites were satisfied, Toolmaker rose to perform the first dance—the tale of Firemaker’s discovery. Firemaker joined in and repeated the story. He was the hero of the hour. Toolmaker was the other honoured man. While every man present would learn how to make fire, only Toolmaker could make the tools all coveted. The dancing continued until all were exhausted. Women took their sleeping children to settle among soft sleeping skins. Other women banked the fires to last through the night. Toolmaker and Firemaker achieved other successes. They made two new spears with new bindings, using strong sinews to fasten the two pieces of the long shafts together. As yet untested, they seemed to be stronger than the strips of skin they rgplaced. They also embedded flint flakes into gummy resin from a tree and welded them to a split bone handle. This was a new idea. 159


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Toolmaker had idly watched how some hard gum softened and bubbled as it lay on a piece of burning wood. He scooped up the gum and watched it harden as it cooled. Plunging it back near the heat, the gum softened enough to bg worked as it warmed. Spread around a groove in the bone and then warmed, the gum gripped the flint which was pushed into it. Toolmaker warmed the gum again while applying the binding, then scraped away the surplus gum. He gave this first knife to Firemaker. Two days later the tribes separated. Leader took his tribe home with Firemaker walking proudly beside him. Though one of the youngest men of the tribe, Firemaker now had high status. He had found flints, learned Toolmaker’s skills and discovered a way to create fire. His tribe would prosper.

And so it was. The two tribes flourished. They met regularly to exchange goods and women. Each tribe eventually split when it grew too large for its range. Their daughter tribes conquered their neighbour’s lands with strong, well-made spears and their ability to travel long distances, quickly making new fires as needed. Dawn attack became a favoured tactic, before their presence was even detected. Throughout, they retained contact with their parental tribes, for they still needed to trade for ironstone and the flints needed for tools and weapons. In the daughter clans, the skills of Toolmaker and Firemaker were learned by young men and women. Occasionally, specialist toolmakers emerged but all could be called upon to make fires. From time to time, another shortsighted person was born. Once derided, such men or women could now find respected specialist roles, for although such men could never be hunters, toolmaking was always required, and shortsightedness was no great handicap to women in their daily foraging. At first, the objects of trade were few. Firemaker’s tribe was the source of flint for generations, even as descendant tribes spread far and wide from their origin. Trade and trade routes emerged through sheer necessity. In time, other sources of flint were found, creating new centres of trade. Flint was the most 160


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valuable commodity, along with the gum which embedded it in various tools. Sinews, skins, gourds, sharp-pointed bones, horns or antlers and good pieces of wood were carefully collected and saved for trading visits. These new tribes built strong alliances through trading. Trade extended tribal ranges without a need to cover huge distances or cross boundaries to find uncommon assets. Trade routes became exempt from normal territorial conflicts. People harvested food or skins from their ranges, exchanging some for new tools or flints from neighbours. For hundreds of thousands of years their movement had been restricted by the need to carry fire with them, a slow and tedious process. Now, men carried fire-making stones and tinder with them at all times and were protected from all but the heaviest rains. At the first sign of rain, a fire was built and dry firewood gathered. Very long periods of continuous rain could use up all the dry firewood, but while fires were maintained wood could be dried. It was irritating and inconvenient when fires were extinguished, but the rain would cease eventually and a new fire could be started. Long after Toolmaker and Firemaker died, in another time and place, their descendants produced visionaries who created another way of producing fire, from the heat of hardwood sticks rubbed together.

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13 New skills for new people

. . . there appears to me much truth in Sir J. Lubbock’s suggestion, that when primeval man first used flint stones for any purpose, he would have accidentally splintered them, and would then have used the sharp fragments. From this step it would be a small one to break the flints on purpose, and not a very wide step to fashion them rudely . . . In breaking the flints, as Sir J. Lubbock likewise remarks, sparks would have been emitted, and in grinding them, heat would have been evolved: thus the two usual methods of obtaining fire may have originated. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

PLAYING WITH FIRE There have always been natural fires in the tropics and our ancestors developed strategies to avoid being burned. The story of Fireboy is a reasonable one, for taming natural fires—and especially learning how to maintain fires—had to come well before its making. I submit that Fireboy’s achievement was the necessary first step on the journey to real mastery of fire. If you accept that, then the story also illustrates again the roles of those two crucial elements in our evolutionary journey, serendipity and creative opportunism. The discovery once more required that a curious individual be in the right place at the right time and that 162


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he, or she, be open-minded enough to explore creatively ideas which could become solutions to hitherto insoluble problems.

FROM DESTRUCTION TO SERVICE Once fires were familiar, people could slowly learn their uses: deliberate cooking, heating and protection against wild animals at night. Yet once a fire went out, it could not be easily restored. Thus fire-keeping had to become an important and demanding social role in tribes that used fire. The first tribe to use fire had to be cave-dwelling because caves provided the only natural shelter that would allow fire to be maintained through heavy rain. People had always lived in the open, for caves are rare and Africa’s plains are wide and offer little shelter from the elements. People could huddle under trees and skins, but rain and storms were an uncomfortable part of their lives. Most likely, the production of strong and permanent shelters did not arise to shelter people but to shelter fires, which could not live without housing, as people could. With mastery of fire, there was an enormous burst of new technology. Rough broken stones had always been used for smashing bones, sharpening spears and digging sticks. Now there was a constant demand for firewood—far more than the supply found under most trees, and even much of this needed further breaking. Logically, this was the demand which generated interest in making stone tools to better smash and break firewood. Rough stone axes were now a part of the permanent possessions of tribes and their improvement was inevitable. In each territory the facilities and materials for building ‘tents’ were different and new designs were needed; but all needed long props to support the coverings. The new technology also enabled the use of functional stone and bone tools to work with skins, to sew them together, to cut them into serviceable shapes or long strips, and to preserve them. The human hand was central to this new technology. Its fine dexterity was shaped over millions of years as a grooming tool. Now, over thousands of generations, it was moulded into a powerful instrument by the use of wooden tools: spears which 163


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required grips which no ape hand could master, and spade-like digging tools, the use of which required both control and power. For the striking of stones together to produce new shapes required coordination and manual skills far beyond those of any ape. Even today, those who have mastered the techniques required to fashion effective stone tools are impressed by the demands made on our hands, for developing such skills is not a simple task, and our hands have had millions of years of further evolution. Hands changed by selection: those with tool-using skills provided better for themselves and their families, who prospered. This does not seem a difficult case to argue. Yet the case for stone tool development depends upon hands far different from those of Yellowtip, who first freed our ancestors from the burden of knuckle-walking.

Over time, the chances of all losing their fires simultaneously became smaller as every family owned a shelter, and with it a small fire. Skills from one specialised individual accordingly became incorporated in the repertoire of many, a process common through the ages.

FIRE: THE KEY TO NEW ENVIRONMENTS Their use of fire, tools and language opened many developments to these people. They had begun the long step towards the people we call Homo erectus. The ice ages lowered sea levels and Homo erectus became the first people to trek out of Africa, spreading throughout the dry world of their time, right up to the edges of the cold northern lands. Some descendants of Toolmaker’s tribe became Homo sapiens, but not yet. As they spread out of Africa, they learned to adapt their technologies to the new habitats they now occupied. People diversified into what we now call ‘races’. Each developed its own way of living and culture. Some of these probably were the first people to lose their black skin, presumably to take in more solar radiation in order to produce vitamin D. 164


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So far, all human history had occurred in tropical and subtropical areas of Africa. Fire-making people crossed the many land bridges caused by falling sea levels. Their mastery of fire meant that people could colonise to the very edges of the glaciers and follow them northwards during the short summer season in search of the many animals which harvested the tundra lands.

THE TECHNOLOGICAL REVOLUTION Tribesmen with Toolmaker’s skills expanded their technologies. Initially, control of fire had begun a revolution in housing, to protect the precious fires. This brought people to a wider appreciation of the uses of animal skins. They had long been used for sleeping and to carry babies but now there arose a demand for shelters. Scrapers cleaned skins thoroughly of offensive scraps of meat or fat. Working skins made them supple. Toolmaker’s new flint knives led to an explosion of skin culture. Good knives cut fine strips to thread through tiny holes pierced by fine stone or bone points. Most important, people could never have conquered the northern lands without the ability to make real clothes—shaping skins and sewing them into human contours, for leggings, trousers, tunics, mittens and hoods—or to fashion boots of heavy hides. Grooves could be cut into bone or wood in which to bind flint flakes, creating powerful knives and cutters. Strips of skin were plaited to make strong rope. Good axes gave more control over wood, not only to fashion better spears and weapons, but to shape struts for the shelters which were covered with skin, thatch and turf. Collecting and cutting up firewood was an endless chore.

THE LONG PATH FROM SIGNING TO SPEECH Throughout all of this period, signing was the primary language. Our ancestors understood the ‘body language’ of those around them: they matched the behaviour they saw against a ‘dictionary’ of mental images they carried. Thus signing was a natural development, for signs are themselves movement and a communication which intrinsically links images to movements. Hands which flew 165


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with speed and flexibility made it more difficult for clumsy, even ugly, spoken language to overtake signing. Evolution of the many features—both physical and motivational—to promote spoken language would require special conditions—and time. Signing was a critical factor, supporting as it did an evolving brain which had already millions of years of connection between movement and understanding. Yet throughout all the dominance of Homo erectus, signing was probably incorporating more words, especially among women, when their hands were full with foodstuffs and children. Words would have begun almost at the onset of human communication, alongside miming, but only as extras, helping with the representation of audible onomatopoeic features. Their use continued through the long period of signing. Those who first signed had neither the vocal nor breathing apparatuses necessary to incorporate words into their rapid stream of signs. This skill developed very slowly, perhaps aided by mimicking the myriad sounds around them. The full transition to human speech plausibly began with Homo erectus, probably towards the end of their period of dominance of almost two million years. Somewhere about 700,000 years ago, the great ice ages created the conditions which favoured vocal speech and eventually brought Homo sapiens on to the scene. Yet signing remains an important part of the culture of many peoples today.

WHO WERE THESE PEOPLE? Toolmaker was another of those we call Homo erectus. The period of their dominance was long, from about 1.6 million years ago until approximately 300,000 years ago when they were finally displaced by Homo sapiens, though there are always grounds for debate about exact dates. Over this period, racial types emerged, differing in many traits, but particularly in their technical skills.

WHAT SORT OF TOOLS DID THEY USE? Tools are an important part of the fossil and archaeological record, and the various stone tool cultures are well described in 166


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the ‘Further Reading’ section at the end of the Chronicles. I can particularly recommend David Lambert et al., 1987. Because many thousands of stone tools have been found all over the world, they comprise an important part of our understanding of our ancestors. Diligent scientists have trained themselves to reproduce the tools of each culture and, in doing so, they quickly discovered just how skilled these early craftsmen were. Each advance in craftsmanship was accompanied by an increase in the amount of blade which could be wrought from each kilogram of stone. Sharpened sticks were probably the first tools for hacking up flesh, and the sharp edges of split bones would have made reasonably adequate knives. Wood leaves few fossil remains so there is little evidence of its use. Bone is only a little better, but stone easily lasts the enormous times needed to provide us with evidence of the early tools. The first stone tools were clearly little more than naturally broken pebbles. Later, stones were broken several times to achieve shapes which were enormously useful to their owners. Once people had images of what was required, they continued to break stones until either the rgquired shape was achieved or the stone was spoiled. Carefully shaped stones were the starting point, but the addition of handles and hafts of wood or bone led to more effective knives, scrapers, axes and spears. At this distance it is easy to dismiss the benefit of shaping a new axe, spear or knife—all seem grossly crude by our standards. Yet for these people each step, however trivial it may seem today, was a spectacular success. Consider how a 1930s’ carpenter would respond to a drop-arm saw—or a nail gun. Toolmaker was responsible for just such a technological leap. The tools of Homo erectus were varied. Hunters probably used slings, for spherical stone balls have been found. Flint was used, as were a variety of other hard stones. Hardness was necessary if both points and edges were to remain sharp. Later, people began to use not just the base stones but also the flakes or chips made when stones were struck together. These chips made good knives, an essential part of the daily equipment for hunting peoples. (There are many types of hard stones I could have chosen to illustrate Toolmaker’s story, but flint is more widely recognised than the others—that is the only reason it was chosen.) 167


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The first stone culture has been named Oldowan, and the fossil record dates tools of this type to as far back as 2.5 million years ago, about the time Homo habilis came on the scene. Tools of the Oldowan culture persisted right through until about 200,000 years ago; clearly they were effective. The tools made b{ our Toolmaker have been called Acheulian, though the variety included in this category seems large and its study is well outside my experience. They appeared first perhaps 1.3 to 1.2 million years ago. There has been a series of advances in toolmaking techniques since then, and we will see another of these when we visit Sharptools, a member of our own hominid species. Toolmaker was certainly not the first maker of stone tools, but he illustrates one of the first major improvements in the culture of stone. It is interesting to think that Toolmaker’s skills are probably directly linked to a genetic aberration that rendered him unfit for the traditional ‘male’ roles in his tribe. While every hunter was responsible for the design and shaping of his own tools, shortsightedness produced a few people who were quite unable to hunt with their fellows. Before toolmaking became a real skill, there was little for these individuals to do. They were useless for sentry duty, hunting or warfare. They could contribute little to ensure that they received food from hunters and men would have been forced to forage daily with women. They probably would have left few descendants. Once the shaping of tools bgcame part of the repertoire of tribes the situation changed remarkably. Skilled individuals could then produce goods of value to hunters; they had both the time and the incentive to develop skills in toolmaking and became the first craftsmen.

THE DESCENDANTS OF TOOLMAKER Every site where Homo erectus fossils have bgen found contains a different array of tools, so that the story of Toolmaker can bg considered to deal with a tribe in a particular region. Yet not all the tribes of this era made the transition to their descendant species, Homo sapiens, and I suggest that such a successful development occurred in those tribes descending from Toolmaker. After each new colonisation, numbers grew and there was both 168


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trade and competition between tribes for resources. The land in which Toolmaker’s Chronicle takes place is not near the frontiers of the ice sheets, but neither is it in the tropics. These people knew both cold and heat; they were skilled manipulators of their environments. Slowly they became ready for the next step, which leads us to the Chronicles of Homo sapiens.

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The Chronicles of Homo sapiens The Chronicles of Homo sapiens

Homo sapiens is the first ancestor we can call truly ‘human’. Their heavy brows and slightly sloping forehead were noticeable, but mostly the races would have passed within the range we call human, with one exception—the Neanderthals. A successful race, they hunted big game in the far North against the ice sheets, were technologically advanced and buried their dead. We are extremely proud of our large brains, so this is always one of the first comparisons made with fossil skulls. Neanderthals had larger brains than we have, yet it seems clear that our own ancestors replaced them, though the two races lived side b{ side for long periods. Most races of Homo sapiens lived from about 400,000 to 100,000 years ago. The Neanderthals lasted until 30,000 years ago when they faced modern humans, the species we have named Homo sapiens, variety sapiens, who we believe were responsible for their extinction. Homo sapiens were inventive. They produced excellent tools and were the first to revere gods, which served their tribes’ needs well. I have proposed that all of this species had human vocal speech, and it was this which gave them their skills of cooperation. Most of all, it gave them storytelling, which dominated their lives throughout the long winters in cold lands. Gods entered their consciousness and gave a new dimension to life. The descendants of the godmakers were our own species, Homo sapiens sapiens, who stood on their shoulders—and reached for the sky. 171


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14 Stories in the dark Time and Place: Approximately 700,000 years ago, close to the ice sheets—perhaps Russia or the Middle East.

The mental powers in some early progenitor of man must have been more highly developed than in any existing ape, before even the most imperfect form of speech could have come into use; but we may confidently believe that the continued use and advancement of this power would have reacted on the mind itself, by enabling and encouraging it to carry on long trains of thought. A complex train of thought can no more be carried on without the aid of words, whether spoken or silent, than a long calculation without the use of figures or algebra. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Down through the generations, tribal elders danced, mimed and signed the traditional stories of how the greedy sea had relentlessly devoured their land, shrinking the useable areas. But the catastrophe which would generate new tales, told with solemn faces and drooping shoulders, hit unexpectedly one spring when salt water finally flooded vast areas of their tribal range and all the marshy hunting grounds. They were not alone in their misfortune. From the south there had been a steady stream of displaced bands, moving across their lands in search of new ranges. Chua and Shuma were of a sun-loving tribe, content to harvest the narrow grassy plains and and wide marshes that ran down to the seas. After the cataclysmic flood, however, their old leader decided that the tribe must move north. None were happy—the 173


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hated cold winds blew from the north. Yet only the north held hope, so they set their faces resolutely into the feared unknown. Once-friendly neighbours resisted the intrusion into their traditional lands, for many other coastal tribes were on the move. Inevitably there were skirmishes—and tragic losses. Each spring Shuma’s tribe moved further north, following the migrating deer. Hunting had been good from the first, especially when summer brought the huge herds of reindeer and migratory birds from the south. Few other tribes had ventured so far north, their numbers already severely depleted by fighting rather than the rigours of long, frozen winters. Finally, Shuma’s tribe settled, basing its range on a large cave which became their winter camp. They, and the few other surviving tribes struggled just to survive, no-one had the resources for inter-tribal conflict. Shuma had become a great hunter and the tribe’s leader. Throughout the summer months, they took their tents and followed game north onto the flowering tundras. These were days of light leather tunics, bound simply and loosely by a thong around the waist; carefree days of ease and plenty; of women gathering abundant food around the campsites; of infants and children gambolling cheekily among flowering herbs—and mosquitoes. Yet there was an ever-present shadow over the glorious spring and summer—the need to prepare for the long, dark, inactive winter months. The tribe learned to dry meat taken during summer. Any game to be had in winter—a rare delicacy— would be cut up while still warm, brought into the cave’s dark recesses and frozen to add to their larder. Shuma’s tribe had moved beyond the treeline. Forests were beginning to grow on the great plains to their south as the land gradually warmed, but there was never enough timber to keep fires alight throughout winter. They had always known that fat could be burned with wicks of moss and now found that fat was the only answer to their problems. Fat was carefully separated from meat after every kill. Fat lamps provided both light throughout the dark winter and heat, to thaw and cook meat and melt ice. Fat became essential for winter survival—almost as valuable as meat. When the cold winds blew down from the glaciers, Shuma’s tribe moved back into its home cave. The cave months were long 174


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The Chronicles of Homo sapiens

and tedious. Men chafed against their enforced idleness; women missed the cheerful hand-talk chats of long summer evenings. Survival in winter meant wearing tunics and trousers of cumbersome, heavy skins, sewn with sinews or fine leather strips, long fur-lined boots, leggings and clumsy mittens. What a dilemma those mittens created! Talking needed hands which were now hidden in furs and only reluctantly exposed to the bitter cold, even within the warmth of reindeer-skin tents inside the cave. There had been some adaptation to signing with mittens on, but conversational scope was very limited. Sometimes the men would gather in a tent and warm the atmosphere enough to be able to discuss plans for the next hunt, or to boast about notable successes on previous hunts. Hands left their fur cocoons to exclaim and explain but returned while answers were being watched. Laughter rippled through the group as well-beloved stories were retold and appreciated, as only other hunters could appreciate them. There were many spoken words, but these were limited to names—people, places, animals and objects. Such words, when used, came in solitary sounds; they did not flow—indeed there was no need for them to flow. The fluid, rapid, conversations were carried out with hands. Verbs had always been the central gestural movement of hand-talk, for minds grasped action in movement better than in sounds. Words were mostly nouns and fitted into the spaces left for them in the rapid flow of hand movements. This was how it had been throughout the tribe’s remembered time. In winter, signs which had once been vigorous onomatopoeic movements were reduced to minimum gestures, an essential economy in cold tents. In the dim light of fat lamps it was difficult to see expressions on brown faces, which might have conveyed qualifying adjectives and adverbs. These were also used minimally and, again, mainly by hands. New mental images gradually formed—a graceful single sweeping line for a fleeing gazelle—a generous curved sweep for the fearsome sabre teeth of a tiger, distinguishing it from other large animals. A vital change for the tribe came about accidentally, but exacted a heavy price from Shuma. Here is how it happened. For some days, Shuma had been alert to the telltale signs of fermenting unrest—fractious children and bad-tempered men 175


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niggling and squabbling with their women, a sure sign that even sex was becoming boring. Thankfully, the next morning dawned clear and bright, although bitterly cold. Shuma led his men out to hunt—anything to release them from the oppressive confinement of the cave. Cautiously, they picked their way along the foothills where snow had been blown from lichens nestled between rocks. Hungry deer sought such places to feed. Other animals would push among the shrubs and stunted trees, to eat stiff fibrous buds and bark. The hunters wandered far from home this day. The wind was very cold but they rejoiced in the welcome activity as they searched for game. They were several miles from the cave when the clouds began closing in and the wind rose rapidly—well-known portents of a blizzard. Immediately they turned for home, knowing how serious it would be to be caught out in a blizzard so far from shelter. It began to snow; at first lightly, but soon the hunters were off balance against the ferocity of wind and the driving snow. Shuma frantically gestured to his left where he had seen a cliff under which they could find immediate sanctuary from the wind. It was only a hundred metres away but the effort to reach it was enormous, leaning into the gale as it howled around them. Shuma slammed headlong into the cliff, the rest of the party tumbling over him. Frantically they dug into the snow to form a cavity as close to the cliff face as possible. They scrambled into their shelter, huddling together under their fur cloaks and scooping up more snow to cover them. Thus protected, they could survive until the storm blew out. For two days the men huddled together in total darkness, moving only occasionally when hands or feet became numb. Shuma worried about the frostbite which could destroy fingers and toes. Crippled men could mean the difference between survival and death for the whole party—even the tribe in the long run. He must keep them all whole and able to make the journey home as quickly as possible. Their garments were well made and as warm as women could make them. Their mittens and boots were of the finest fur. Spread around, above and below, their cloaks formed a cocoon, not warm, but sustaining, allowing them to conserve their combined body heat. A sliver of light filtered through the snow above them. Forty176


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eight or so hours into the blizzard, Shuma anxiously scratched a hole through which to raise his head. A blast of snow filled his eyes and with a cry of pain he jerked his head back into the shelter. His eyes burned relentlessly. The next day light appeared through the filtering snow but Shuma sat with his throbbing eyes closed tightly against it. Another looked up to see how the blizzard blew. This time the wind had subsided. He dived below to shake the others—they could escape—but they had to move immediately. As they struggled to the surface, Shuma realised that his eyes were too painful to keep open. He motioned to another to lead the party, keeping only one eye open at a time, and then for moments only. Hours later they staggered into the home cave, where anxious women gathered to receive them. Shuma’s woman, Chua, hurried to feed her man and wrap him in furs. By the tiny light, she saw that his eyes were closed, red-rimmed and smothered with frost. She bent over him, licking, sucking his eyes, warming them with her mouth and tongue. For three days Shuma lay motionless, wrapped in skins in their tent. Chua was worried. She tended regularly to his eyes, for she knew what damage frost could do. When he finally rose from his furs, she saw that he was helpless. He could not see enough to find his way around the gloomy cave. Both could hand-talk, but only she could see what he said. There were still months of cold ahead, but Shuma would not go hunting again, perhaps till the spring. While Chua worked, caring for the children and preparing food, Shuma sat alone, brooding. No longer did he join the men to hand-talk and boast in a cosy tent. As he could not see hands, stories meant nothing to him. He could talk to Chua, but her responses were invisible. In quiet times, Chua spoke in words to him, using the larger vocabulary of women. At first, Shuma understood little. He remembered some of the words from his childhood, but he had forgotten most of them, scorning them as woman’s talk. Oh! How he now regretted that. For Chua, Shuma’s handicap made additional work, but there was time during the long winter months. She would speak some words to him and he would answer with his hands. Whenever his hands signed words she could speak, she had him rgpeat them 177


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and spoke the words along with him. Her children watched and listened. They already knew the talk of women and could repeat everything Chua said easily and comfortably. Shuma felt frustrated at his own clumsiness with the words, yet he was learning the women’s talk and his feelings of isolation were lessening. This talk would not help him communicate with the men, but he was now talking with both his mate and their children. Chua felt happy. For the first time since the early days of their pairing, she felt at one with Shuma. Each day their pleasure grew as they talked together. He learned of her life and the problems women faced. He came to know his children, and wondered why he had not attended much to them before. Chua had so much more to talk about than Shuma, and chafed at the inadequacy of their speech. Whenever Shuma signed to her, she struggled to create words which would express the signs he made. Sometimes she made suitable words, and sometimes she could not. When she did, she repeated them slowly while he signed, until he could say them. While Shuma struggled, the children grasped the new words immediately and helped him say them. They saw what Chua was doing and joined in the game enthusiastically. Their vocabularies leapt ahead of their parents, allowing them to chat together, while their hands remained warm in their mittens. Chua could keep up with them—just. She learned the words they invented within the confines of the family tent. However, each time they visited other children to play together, they returned with new words. All the children loved this new game, wordmaking. Soon the other women were also joining in, learning from their children and finding ways of saying things that had never been spoken before. Fortunately for the men, they could escape the cave on clear days, at least to search for game and even occasionally to capture some. For women, there was little respite from the daily round. Children had to be fed and watched, fat prepared for lamps and skins slowly worked into rugs and clothes. They gathered together to work, craving the company, in each other’s tents, or sometimes in patches of sheltered sunshine. Togetherness also meant cooperation in the management of children. Boys still young enough to be with the women were subject to their control—just. The 178


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older girls managed the children bgtter than the women—they had less work to do. The hunters mostly ignored the changes exploding around them. They watched their once proud leader with compassion, indeed pity, as he engaged in this new clumsy staccato babbling— and walked away from him. As children, all had learned the spoken language of women, but as adults they had little to do with the world of women and children. Yet at night, curled comfortably against their women in the dark, they shyly and secretly learned new words from them. They saw their children talking with their hands hidden in mittens, and slowly perceived that something exciting was happening. All had respected Shuma. He had been a great hunter and a good leader. Now they saw him talking in words with the women and children, saying things they could not understand. The women and children could and did answer him, however, often laughing together at spoken words. Spring finally arrived. Once outside in the sunlight, Shuma found he wasn’t totally helpless. He could carry his family tent along with the tribe and could erect it, needing only minimum help. He would never bgcome a hunter again, but he could be a camp guard, relying partly on the sharp eyes of the children while the men were away. Food was never a problem. The hunters always brought home enough for all and to spare. Meat had to bg cut and dried in the sun, the fat separated and packed into skin bags. Skins had to be carefully stretched, dried and scraped with stones and rough grass pads, then greased and worked into pliable fabric. Gathering parties went out daily collecting herbs and berries, roots and eggs. Dilly bags and baskets were woven from reeds and stone tools had to be sharpened and repaired. Suitable pieces of wood were slowly shaped into bowls. Shuma found there were many jobs he could handle. His strength could carry heavy loads and his sight was adequate to guide him as he moved around the campsite. Shuma listened to the children chanting words into rhythms and tunes. He could and did chant with them. Words came out more smoothly in chants, especially when the rhythms were beaten out with sticks or hands. Without the rhythms, words sounded rough and staccato. Even the men paid attention to these 179


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catchy, rhythmic chants, for they usually told brief stories, although they could not as yet fully understand their meanings. The rhythms were those of walking, of running, of breathing and puffing. When they turned to their women for explanations, their hands followed the stories of the chants. For they were the simple ditties of children. Soon, women chanted their own stories—of pain and danger, of tedious work and hardship, of babies and sorrow. Chants began with a few words and would sometimes extend into a single sentence. Word rhythms were catchy and coaxed the clumsy voices into speech. Sentences multiplied, keeping to the rhythms. Quiet chants helped the time pass during boring work, eased tensions and bound groups together. Chanting was fun.

Shuma’s life was played out as an assistant to the women of his tribe. From Chua he learned to speak. From her and the children he gained some fluency with words. Children flocked to Shuma for he had many exciting stories to tell. He told his own yarns and those of other men whose exploits he had seen. He told the stories he had learned from his father’s generation as they signed nightly around fires in the long twilights of summer. When all these were exhausted, Shuma made up more stories, of what might have been, and what could be. Moreover, Shuma perfected the children’s game of chanting to rhythms. He learned to smooth clumsy words into easily repeatable chants, repeated hundreds of times over his lifetime. The endless repetition perfected Shuma’s new motor skills and honed his listeners’ ears for the nuances in the new sounds of their beloved stories. Over time, all in Shuma’s tribe could repeat many stories, sometimes with more skill and rhythm than he could. This new talent changed his tribe’s perceptions of the hitherto dreaded winters. No longer were there irritation and ill-feeling among women and men, born of boredom and frustration, of imagined injuries and insults. Winters became especially dear to the children and even the hunters quickly joined in the endless storytelling. All had real adventures to tell and other imaginary 180


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tales. Those who best wove narratives into easy rhythms became favoured storytellers. These were the youngsters who as yet had few of their own stories, but many they had watched, heard and remembered. Women crooned tales to their children, beginning with babies at breasts. They crooned songs of fathers’, brothers’ and sisters’ adventures to older infants. Those babies grew to childhood with minds stimulated by endless stories, and their appetite for tales grew with them. This new language served more than just the practical, daily functions of the tribe. These first, faltering stories grew into a vibrant and enriched language, which by chanting and repetition grew strong enough to serve an ever-widening tribal culture. Over time stories became longer and more complicated and the role of storyteller became one of importance in every tribe. Of course there were both good and mediocre wordsmiths and the occasional superb one, who could fire the imagination of listeners with rhythmic, and even rhyming, chants. The chants became music, crude but appealing, for songs could be easily remembered and sung during other tasks. Music through words— poetry—was born. Sighs and hoots, grunts and laughter encouraged storytellers to even greater efforts to give their listeners what they wanted. Silent but rapt attention was not enough to encourage—or indeed to reward. Nothing has changed. The world over, when people flock together, whether in a theatre, a rock concert or around a camp fire, they sigh, sway, call out to and with the ‘bard’. Briefly, they are bound in a warm communal certainty of togetherness— individual loneliness seems to vanish. The quiet, dark lives of Shuma’s tribe had provoked a yearning and provided the incentive to fill a vacuum. Ice ages lasted for thousands of years. In the short summers and interglacial periods, tribes multiplied, divided and fought amongst themselves. Those with speech disconcerted their opponents, shouting instructions to each other as they fought. Then every victory, however small, was told in thrilling songs, to fire the imagination, ardour and admiration of boys and girls. Legends of heroes and heroism crept into songs and narratives, stimulating tribal pride. The morality built into signed stories translated easily to spoken stories. Boredom disappeared from 181


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long winters and dissent among tribesmen reduced. Children played out the great victories of their heroes, charging and jousting, wrestling and training. Men grew in stature as warriors, as well as hunters. Tribes who had the storytelling speech, chants and songs were designed for victories. They conquered other tribes, taking their women and young boys captive. Out of Shuma’s tragedy, speech was born. Homo sapiens had emerged.

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15 Roo—Drgamer of dreams and mother of gods Time and Place: 250,000–300,000 ago, possibly in Africa or the Middle East.

When a savage dreams, the figures which appear before him are believed to have come from a distance, and to stand over him: . . . But until the faculties of imagination, curiosity, reason, etc., had been fairly well developed in the mind of man, his dreams would not have led him to believe in spirits, any more than in the case of a dog. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Strongarm sat beside his fire with Roo, his woman. To the extent that there was a leader in the tribe, it was Strongarm, esteemed for his hunting skills and revered for his wisdom and fairness. Among the elders it was always to Strongarm that people first turned for resolution and conciliation when disputes arose. His grizzled beard showed that he had lived long and his bearing reflected the respect in which he was held by his people. As befitting his status, the tent he shared with Roo was large, though all but one of their children, an adolescent girl, were grown and had their own families. It was early morning; the family had washed and defecated at the creek. Scavenging dogs would clean up after them. The fire had been stoked up and was burning brightly as they sat eating a meagre breakfast of leftovers, scraps of meat and a few bgrries from the previous night. Breakfast had become Roo’s time for telling her night’s dream. She was a prolific dreamer and her family a captive, if somewhat bored audience. This day Roo told 183


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how she stood beside a huge bear, watching Strongarm driving his spear through the chest of an ox. He and his men brought back heavy loads of meat for a great feast. The bear stood beside her at the feast while she ate. Strongarm’s interest was sparked— there had been no large kills lately. When the men gathered for the hunt, Strongarm told of his woman’s dream. This was not the mating season, so bulls lived alone on the hills while cows herded together on the fertile plains below. The vigilance of many more eyes and noses made approaching herds of females very difficult. It was agreed that today they would hunt along the low hillsides, seeking solitary, male aurochs—the enormous ancestor of oxen. So Strongarm’s hunters climbed a hill to overlook the slopes where bulls usually grazed, careful to remain upwind. Strongarm stood erect. He was tall, about 1.7 metres. His long, greying hair was tied back from his face with a plaited skin cord. He wore a sideless tunic made from a single strip of soft skin, with a hole for his head to go through. The soft leather hung down like an apron, front and behind and was tied at the waist with a thick leather band, from which hung a bag on each side. In these temperate climates, the people were a soft brown. Strongarm’s arms were covered with fine hair, which clearly spread across his chest and shoulders under the tunic. Soft sparse hair was also visible under the arms down to the waist band. Dark brown eyes surveyed the world from under heavy brows. He searched for signs of oxen below and saw two bulls, some distance apart, lying on rises overlooking the land below them, chewing their cud. The hunters chose their prey and worked out their tactics. They would move from bushes to rocky outcrops to cover their final approach, building careful mental maps of every detail of the attack scene. Strongarm and two men would approach from above, upwind; the other men would approach on either flank of the resting animal, until it took their scent. They knew it would then stand, defecate and move quietly uphill towards Strongarm and his men, waiting in hiding. Their manoeuvre worked perfectly. The bull moved as predicted, stopping beside the hidden Strongarm to turn around, presumably seeking the threat from below. Strongarm leapt out and thrust his spear deep in the bgast’s chest. The animal bel184


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lowed, then turned to charge its attacker. Immediately it was assailed on its other side b{ the two other men, who plunged their spears into its chest and neck. It stumbled for a moment, long enough for hunters to strike with their second spears. Within moments the beast lay dying on the ridge. The hunters stepped forward to lap up the blood running freely from the neck wound as the others arrived, hooting with excitement. Each knew what he must do as they settled to skin and butcher the carcass. High above, large birds were already circling, but eight hunters meant that there was little to fear from other predators or scavengers. Their sharp stone cutters quickly separated the tough skin to provide them with a makeshift sack in which to collect and transport the many smaller pieces of meat, the tongue, brains, liver, kidneys and scraps. Bones and intestines were discarded as unnecessary burdens. Larger limbs of meat were skewered on heavy spears, each to be carried by two men. When they had finished, the hunters looked with satisfaction at the amount of meat they had gathered as they wiped their blood-covered knives and arms on handfuls of grass. The makeshift skin sack was tied to a spear and slung, hammock style, between two men. Some good feeds were left for circling vultures, but the men had all they could comfortably carry. This meat would feed their tribe for a week. Strongarm thought about Roo’s dream—surely she had foretold the events of this hunt. (That he had set out deliberately to find an ox and the hunting tactics he chose had led to the kill, seemed less relevant!) Though often bored by her dream stories, he had secretly believed for some time that his woman possessed a great gift—for there had been other signs. He knew that the large bear often appeared in her dreams. Everyone dreamed and often discussed the meanings of their dreams. Mostly the meanings seemed obscure yet all believed that their dreams opened to them worlds outside their own. Roo answered many questions about dreams, with ringing confidence, so that the people placed their trust in her pronouncements. She told of another world, from which her bear came to visit her in her dreams. Those of their tribe who had died also lived in this spirit world, since they also visited their kin in dreams. Life was rich with stories—or ‘superstitions’—which both explained and 185


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validated everyday actions. Places where fearful events had happened were carefully avoided and these avoidances could last for many generations. Usually there were dances and stories which told the terrible dangers of such malignant places. But tonight fear played no part in the feasting. Strongarm told his people about Roo’s dream and its prediction of the kill. There were gasps of amazement and sly glances at Roo, who relished the attention. She did not doubt that her dream bgar spirit had made the hunt successful, that he was the powerful source of her knowledge and the hunters’ power. Already held in honour as Strongarm’s woman, now her dream spirit brought her status of her own. Roo was well pleased. The meat from the ox lasted a week. On the night after it was finished, Roo had a nightmare and awoke screaming, causing uproar in the camp. Alarmed men rushed out with their spears into the grey light of early dawn. Wild dogs scavenging around the outskirts of the camp began to howl. It was at that moment that a war party from a neighbouring tribe attacked. They had expected a sleeping camp and an easy victory, but they were the surprised ones. Strongarm and his men, fully roused, fought furiously, killing one of the invaders and wounding others. The survivors fled in disarray. Later, someone asked who had given the alarm. Strongarm pointed to Roo. Her dream had saved the tribe. (The fact that it was a nightmare and these happened commonly enough seemed irrelevant.) No-one now doubted Roo’s special powers. Roo preened in the attention and thought back to other events in her life when she had done something useful to the tribe. Clearly they too had flowed from the special powers conferred on her by her dream bear spirit. She did not seek to ask ‘Why me?’. That night she danced her two triumphs and one from her memory, which some others also remembered. She honoured her dream bear spirit in every dance. Before the next hunt, Strongarm anxiously questioned Roo about her dreams. He wanted advice about where and what to hunt. She sat quietly thinking of her bear, passively running her fingers over her bearskin. At last it came—a pig hunt. Strongarm was delighted. Immediately, he planned a hunt along the edge of a swamp bordering their creek. Later that morning, the hunters 186


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moved quietly upwind to the swamp and soon found a sow rooting among the soft grasses along the bank. The men froze. Then Strongarm moved quietly forward, making no sideways movement which could attract the sow’s attention. He was only four metres away from the unsuspecting animal when he leapt forward and speared it. In moments, he was joined by other spearmen and the sow was dispatched. This time it was Strongarm who knelt to lap up the life-blood. Three hunters shouldered the carcass and turned back to camp. The women would help butcher the pig and share it out among the families. The other men continued the hunt. It was early afternoon before they found the next pig. It saw them coming and the chase was on. The pig ran for at least two kilometres bgfore it turned at bay, exhausted. Pigs are not designed to run long distances in warm weather. It was over quickly for the hapless beast. It was a long walk home, so the disembowelled carcass was slung between two spears. Taking turns to carry the heavy load, the party made its way home. They arrived home tired but triumphant. The women were delighted. Roo now knew with certainty that her bear spirit guided her and had chosen her tribe for special protection. Daily now, Strongarm sought his wife’s guidance for the hunt. Roo always sat on her bearskin, stroking it, while she made her decision. She was convinced that it was a link to her source of knowledge. She told Strongarm what to hunt and the hunters used their considerable skills to seek and kill the chosen animals. They were not always successful, sometimes bringing home prey different from that sought, and sometimes returning emptyhanded. Yet their skills were such that Roo’s reputation grew and, with it, her certainty of the power of her dream bear. One night a discussion arose about the need for stone for tools and the prospects for trade; Roo suggested that a raid on their neighbours would prove profitable. There was shocked silence as hunters considered this. Never before had a woman suggested a raid on a neighbouring tribe—let alone a strong opponent, larger in numbers—this was men’s business. Yet Roo had guided them to success so many times that they could not ignore her. An attack against a strong foe could only succeed with surprise. Roo suggested that they attack at night, by the light of the full moon. The men were still hesitant, seeking a lead from 187


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Strongarm. They had carried out successful attacks at dawn, but never at night. Scavenging dogs could howl an alarm so the final attack would be a rush at armed men. Perhaps if the night were cloudless and windy—and they could attack upwind from three sides. On such a night an attack could possibly succeed. Strongarm nodded. It was agreed. Over the next few days, the subject was discussed repeatedly, while resting on hunts or in the evenings as they ate. They knew the neighbours’ camp. There were a dozen shelters of skin and thatched grasses. At night there were usually winds blowing down from the hills. Below the camp was a stream which would have to be crossed just before the attack. If a piece of well-aged meat could be carried up the hill above the campsite during the night, most of the dogs would go to investigate, lowering the chances of them alerting the sleepers. Roo volunteered to prepare and carry the meat with help from her daughter. They would drop the meat and escape before the wild dogs arrived. On the night of the full moon, the men set off, well-armed with short stabbing spears and clubs. Roo threw her bearskin over her shelter; she believed the bear would protect them. For security, the remaining women and children moved out of camp, in case of a counter-attack. All went as planned: the dogs didn’t raise the alarm; Strongarm’s war party crossed the creek quietly and raced quickly into the camp, catching its inhabitants completely unawares. Six men and three women were killed, two men were wounded and the rest escaped in flight. The wounded men were killed. Except for two adolescent girls captured by the warriors, and three infant boys taken by men whose women wanted sons, the women and children were rounded up and driven away, unharmed. The spoils were considerable, for their neighbours not only had access to a good source of stone suitable for tools, but also an excellent toolmaker. There were many spears, digging sticks, carry bags, skins and cutting tools. When everything of value had been collected, the tents were fired. As the sun rose high in the sky, the victors returned to their camp, heavily laden with plunder. They were joined by their women, who had been watching anxiously for their arrival. There was much excitement as everyone rummaged through the spoils 188


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and Strongarm had to settle a few disputes over particularly choice articles. There was no sign yet of Roo or their daughter. They eventually arrived home late in the afternoon for the wild dogs had forced them to spend an uncomfortable few hours in a tree. There was little hope for the defeated tribe. A few men with inadequate spears and tools would have little chance of surviving, with their campsite burned to the ground. If they could not become resettled before winter came they would certainly perish and their range would be forfeit to any tribe that sought to take it. When evening came, Strongarm’s tribe settled to eating and dancing. Roo was clearly now a dominant force in the tribe. She sat serenely on her bearskin. Her dances now always included it as a symbol of her dream spirit. To her, the Bear was always present. No other woman had ever held such a position in the tribe. She and Strongarm sat together while all danced before them. Yet it was clear to all that Roo had taken a special status, which Strongarm could never hold. Everyone knew that he always sought Roo’s guidance before leading out a hunt. When she spoke, everyone listened. Beside her, she knew, the Bear was standing, watching. If only the others could see him. One day, Roo woke with the answer. She could see the Bear—she now knew how others could see it also. She called the tribe together and asked her people to build a model bear, just like the Bear she saw in her dreams. It would not live, but would stand erect on its hind legs and watch over them, just as she knew it did while she stroked her bearskin daily. She would sit at its feet and everyone would see them together. The model would be covered with a bearskin, its head stuffed with grass and sewn together; round coloured pebbles would be its eyes. Her listeners were hesitant—there were many more urgent tasks—but Roo insisted. She made clear exactly what she wanted, so the men assembled a frame round which the women wove a basket. They then sewed together a bearskin and bound it to the structure with strips of leather. The design was crude, but there was no doubt what it represented. It was the ‘Bear’. Everyone stood back to survey their work. There was no other work done by men that day, though the women still had to hurry through their daily 189


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foraging, collecting food from the creek, grasslands and trees around them. That evening, Roo danced her stories in front of the ‘Bear’ and, with special veneration, included her dream spirit in each dance. The following day the tribe returned to its normal chores: the men went hunting and the women resumed their camp duties. The hunters returned with meat from an ox which provided a great feast. Roo had suggested the hunt and lost no time attributing success to her Bear spirit. Such a large amount of meat was unusual for this time of year. Roo told her tribe that the bounty came from the presence in their midst of the Bear model, whose dream spirit was pleased with what they had done. Throughout that season, hunting was good and everyone came to accept that their spirit Bear was indeed pleased with them. It was a short leap from this acceptance to believing that the Bear actually sustained them, through Roo—its messenger. Every morning she sat on her bearskin before the Bear while she made decisions on the day’s hunt. She knew from the talk of the men which animals were plentiful—and their hunting skills ensured that most hunts were successful. The years passed. Strongarm was killed in an attack on a rhinoceros. The new leader, Beeha, was another tall man with a mane of grizzled hair. Naturally he sought Roo’s guidance on every issue, as Strongarm had done. Roo began to distance herself from the everyday life of the tribe. She received food from every hunt, especially from her oldest son whose woman, Moa, was now her main support. Her youngest daughter had mated with a man in another tribe. The tribe prospered. It had many warriors and extended its range to take in their neighbours’ rich sources of stone. There had been several raids on other neighbours in which young women were taken and more young boys fostered. The tribe knew its power resided in its guiding spirit, the Bear. Every dance now honoured the Bear who guided all their hunts and raids. In dances before the Bear, all chanted its songs, together. Most of the tribe had dreamed about the Bear on some occasion, and Moa had become Roo’s assistant in all her dances and in the daily conferences on the hunt. Roo was old and would not live long. Moa coveted her role and status. 190


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When Roo died, Moa moved quietly into her role. She organised Roo’s burial, wrapped in her bearskin. She had the Bear rebuilt and, from time to time, maintained and improved. She listened to the men’s discussions every night to learn the habits and availability of the local game. She sat with the hunters every morning, offering suggestions on the chase. Of course she dreamed about the Bear; it was part of her world and in her thoughts all and every day. Women came to her to discuss their problems. Sick and injured men and women were brought to her for guidance on their healing. Sometimes she had cures and other times the Bear did not ‘choose’ to heal those who were sick. Together with Roo, she had collected various fragrant and strong-smelling herbs and roots. When they were used to heal, sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn’t. When they did, the Bear received the credit and these herbs became the healing treatments of the tribe. All the women had tasted, smelled and discussed every type of herb, leaf, root, bark and grass. Foraging was their business. They knew which plants were poisonous and which edible. Now they were learning, systematically, which had curative properties. But it was the Bgar who took the credit. No one noticed that the talents of the Bear had changed with its new keeper. The Bear was now a healer as well as a hunter. When young girls showed the blood of their first menstruation, they were taken to Moa. She talked to them, sitting in front of the Bear. Young girls knew what was involved; they had all seen women menstruating and had heard their many complaints. They had observed their parents mating hundreds of times in their tents and heard women discussing women’s matters daily throughout their lives. They had observed births of babies and helped with their care, from immediately after their births. They needed little instruction in the facts of life. Yet their first menstruation meant that they were now women and would soon be exchanged when tribes came together. It also meant that they were now showing interest in sex. Moa instructed them to avoid mating with their peers in the camp, though the instructions came too late for 191


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some—there were always opportunities for youngsters, even if such assignations were open secrets in the tribe. Everyone could rgad tracks, knew who the tracks belonged to—and could guess the activities! Moa wanted the young girls to look to the Bear for guidance and find strong mates when exchanged into other tribes—under the direction of their parents, of course. The Bear would support its women throughout their lives. Women had learned that during pregnancy they must take especial care of their backs, standing straight and digging only while squatting rather than while bending, but all now learned to attribute their good health to their Bear spirit’s benevolence. From the beginning, men were excluded from ceremonies which developed specifically for women. Men knew that women had problems that were beyond their understanding and made no objections to their exclusion. Young boys normally accompanied their fathers on brief hunts close to camp. This would happen many times before they were taken on their first big hunt with adults, well away from camp. The first hunt in a boy’s life was an important event, recognised and celebrated as such by adults. It became accepted that, before his first hunt, each lad came with his father and the tribal leader to sit with Moa by the Bear. Moa sang to the Bear before the hunters, and led the lad in his petition to the Bear for success on his hunt. Success in this case meant coming home intact, since it was unusual for a youth to make any real contribution to his first hunt. Over time, the ceremony of the first hunt became a fixed ritual for boys, their initiation into manhood. A boy could then wear the wide belt of a hunter or warrior. As the ceremonies bgcame established, young girls, and later all women except Moa, were excluded from initiations of young men. In the evenings, most dances included some reference to the Bear. Hunting dances portrayed the Bear watching the chase, and he also figured in every story danced by women. During any of these dances, the stories were sung together, hands still moving over parts of the stories. Other hands beat out rhythms, clapping in unison. Togetherness was the new feeling of the group. How could one fail to know the potency of the Bear over their tribe, when the emotional power of acting together filled their bodies with such certainty? Similar dances had been part of all tribes 192


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for millennia; now they were ceremonies, with the Bear as their focus. The tribe had grown large and each victory over another tribe vindicated their faith in the Bear. Even those who could remember Roo hardly noticed how the qualities of the Bear had changed over Moa’s lifetime. Inevitably, the tribe reached a size that put strains on the daily hunting parties. It was therefore agreed that it should be divided into two tribes. All worked together to attack their weakest neighbours and gain their land. The new tribe carried their Bear spirit with them and built themselves another ‘Bear’. A friend of Moa’s who dreamed daily about the Bear took her role in the new tribe. She had sat with both Roo and Moa over many years and the role sat easily with her. The two tribes kept in regular contact and occasionally came together for Bear ceremonies. Both prospered. The Bgar tribes maintained their age-old practice of meeting with other tribes to exchange young women and other valuables. Bear women who moved into other tribes found life dull without the elaborate rituals and especially the crooning and clapping together during Bear dances. As they settled into their new tribes, they talked of the Bgar daily to other women while foraging. They in turn told their menfolk and, in time, there came a general acceptance that the obvious strength of the Bear tribes came from their guiding spirit. Others now knew how the Bear guidance worked for the women, rather boastfully, had told everything they knew. They had exulted in the power the Bear spirit had given their tribe. Po was a woman from a Bear tribe who had grown old in another tribe. Her man had died in a hunt but she was supported by her sons and their women. One morning she told of a dream in which a great ox had shown her how their tribe would grow great and spread over the world. For many years Po had spoken of the power of dreams so the men sought her advice on their hunt. To everyone’s surprise, the animals they hunted were killed. It became clear that the great Ox was guiding the welfare of their tribe. Another totem, another spirit and another tribe grew strong and multiplied. When tribes with different totems came together in skirmishes, people began to see these battles as contests between the powers 193


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of the totem spirits rather than between the tribes. When women were exchanged between tribes of different totems, they had to change their allegiance to the totem of their new tribe and it soon became necessary to hold a dance ritual to ensure that a newcomer gave her allegiance to the totem of her man. The totem spirit commanded the complete allegiance of every member of its tribe. The worship of totem spirits spread as their tribes prospered and distributed their daughter clans throughout the country, while exchanges of women spread the power of the totems still further. In the brief space of a few hundred years, tribes with totems spread over a vast area. Their power and influence grew and were consolidated as they joined together in mutual ceremonies and dances in honour of their spirits. Tribes without totems lacked the cohesion, support and confidence which totems and their rituals provided; they fell easily to those with these powers. With each victory, the potency of the totem increased. Footsteps had been set on a pathway which would lead to a distant future generation with spiritual certainty and bodies and minds designed to need and hold dearly the guidance from nonhuman sources.

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16 Words, gods and humanity

The feeling of religious devotion is a highly complex one, consisting of love, complete submission to an exalted and mysterious superior, a strong sense of dependence, fear, reverence, gratitude, hope for the future, and perhaps other elements. No being could experience so complex an emotion until advanced in his intellectual and moral faculties to at least a moderately high level. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

THE DISPERSAL OF HUMANS As tribes of Homo sapiens spread across the world, they encountered hundreds of new environments. They settled in Asia, right down to what we now call Indonesia. More important, they spread northward to the great ice sheets which at this time covered the entire northern world, for this was the time of ice ages. During some centuries, the ice retreated northwards; in others, it crept south. People did not live in this icy world but they conquered its cold fringes. Every summer as the ice covers retreated, there was a spectacular burst of plant life, just as there is today on the great tundras. This seasonal biome was rich in fauna as well as flora. There was a yearly explosion of insect life; bgars awoke from hibernation to feast on berries and game; wolves preyed on deer and other herbivores that migrated into or remained in the area; 195


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and thousands of migrating birds invaded the vast wetland areas. Summer was the time of plenty and people joined in to harvest the abundance. The people who settled these lands advanced slowly. They had to find ways to live and thrive, easy enough in summer, but they could not migrate far enough south each year to escape the long bitter winters. Over thousands of years they learned new ways of life to sustain them through the long winter months. These winters were not times of continuous darkness, however, for the lands were not within the Arctic Circle. Those who adapted did so in many ways.

NEW ENVIRONMENTS—NEW TECHNOLOGY People designed many forms of shelter. They had brought some with them on their travels while others were designed in response to the fierce environment. Already they could make tents of skins, turf and thatch but it was now necessary to learn to make shelters that would sustain them through blizzards—for the long periods when they couldn’t go outside. They had fire, but little wood. They could build fire in containers, but to live for long periods inside they must also have light. Roasting meat released its fat, which burned brightly. Fat could be harvested, especially in summer when most animals were laying down great layers of it to last them through the winter. Only stores of fat could insulate people while providing reserves of energy so they found ways to preserve food. This was easy enough for game killed when the snows covered the ground, for the world was then a deep freezer, but this was when game was most scarce. Prey killed in summer had to be preserved, and much was dried and smoked. Only the sharpest stone, bone and antler tools would cut through meat that was frozen solid. These people also learned to insulate themselves with the skins of the animals they killed, and so the first clothes were designed. Fur boots and mittens were especially important as protection against frostbite. Death was a regular companion during the long winters. In the summer camps, dead bodies could be carried away to a safe 196


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distance and left for scavengers to consume. Now bodies remained in the shelters throughout the long winters. Away from the fire in the coldest corners, they did not decompose, but froze, solid. Alternatively, the bodies were taken outside and buried in the deep snow, where they rgmained until the thaw, when scavengers would find the remains.

HUMAN SPEECH We are fascinated by our speech. We know it is a unique ability, but still we remain curious about the abilities of other animals. This is because we see and hear other animals communicating with each other, in songs, in calls and a variety of displays. Spearman showed how emerging humans added a completely new and different level to an ancient animal communication system; there was no gradual upgrading of animal communication until it became a human speech system. In order to grasp what happened when our human language evolved, it is essential to understand how other animals communicate, to look at the similarities and differences bgtween them and us. Let us start from one key idea, namely, ‘body language’—a concept that has become widely popularised in recent times. Its name suggests, and many assume, that body language works like a spoken language. It doesn’t. Body language is non-verbal and has many functions: it sets up the interaction between people, in which the conversation takes place; and it expresses agreement or disagreement in the ongoing interactive process, nuances of meaning of the words or expressions used, the beat-time to the speakers’ rhythms—it signposts the beginnings and ends of ideas. Additionally, there are non-verbal aspects of human communication called ‘paralinguistics’. A good example is the music in our voices as we speak, ranging from dull monotones to lilting excitement. The actual words we bring which form our oral contributions to conversations are embedded in this rich tapestry of sound and movement. We may write in sentences or we may even bglieve that we speak in sentences. Yet just try to transcribe a taped conversation. It isn’t easy. Sentences are often not completed, or end with a different idea to their original premise, in response 197


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to a frown or sign from the listener. Body language is the key to engaging another in interaction and evoking a rgsponse. Words are no more than a part of what goes on between us when we interact. You and I ‘know’ whether or not we are ‘getting on’ in conversational interchange, quite apart from the words we are using. For non-verbal signals of listeners provide immediate feedback to the speaker. It is this double interaction—between speech and non-verbal communication which confuses most people when they think about the difference between animal and human communication. Animals have primary interactions, on which they also build their relationships. The communication is always ‘between you and me, here and now’. Animals can do a little more than this, but not much. They can emit rather than direct their communicative sequences. Birds, for example, use their songs to signal their identity and location as well as their ‘ownership’ of a territory. In directed communication, animals can communicate ‘do that’, or ‘go there’, ‘come here’ or ‘go back’, but the vast majority of animal interaction is of the sort that we use in our non-verbal modes. What our ancestors did was to embed a totally new communication system—first mimes, then signs and, finally, speech —within their ancient primary communicative system. Right from the start, this new system could break the ‘between you and me, here and now’ restriction. But it could only exist within the old animal system of interactions between individuals with ongoing relationships. Dominance was an essential component in the evolution of speech, since the attention structure always is directed up a hierarchy. In ‘do this’ and ‘do that’ communications, the dominant would be seen to give the instruction, and most likely obeyed. There had to be the two main protolanguages, before speech, miming and signing. Over time, mimes were simplified to signs, and sounds were used to form words, probably only names and nouns. The second phase was the development of sign language, although mimes would still have been used when necessary. The number of words would have increased. With signs, monologues gave way to dialogues—conversations. The occasional birth of deaf people meant that signs were maintained and extended, as 198


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they are in Aboriginal cultures today. Some signs would have had a common meaning to facilitate communication between tribes. The third stage led to truly ‘human’ communication. Speech gradually rgplaced formal signing and the use of mime became negligible. The rate of evolution of speech was probably limited throughout by the need to evolve the necessary cognitive and physiological speech-producing mechanisms, and more sensitive auditory mechanisms. We don’t speak in words, yet the flow of sounds we make is not continuous. There are breaks in the stream of sound, but these breaks are as likely to be in the middle of words as between them. The units of continuous sound in human speech are called morphemes. Morphemes are part of every language. They concern us here only because they make the point that none of us speak in words, yet our brains detect words, not the breaks in our speech. This would have made early speech clumsy and staccato but stringing words together in rhythmic chants would have created continuity, or fluency. Repeated chanting of wellknown stories led to physiological changes such as breathing control. Shuma’s story illustrates how the final break into speech was probably made, to replace the signing which had constituted hominid communication for a million years. Signing was not only an effective form of communication, but it fitted the way of life of these people. Signing was the most logical language for the hunt, when silence was the rule. Every task was action-oriented and required body movements. Hands mimicked these movements, acted them out, and represented them. Our ancestors’ nervous system was primarily organised for seeing and understanding movement and the representation of these movements needed this first step, in which the nervous control of movement remained dominant. Eventually an abstraction of the original movements occurred as onomatopoeic sounds and movements were first abbreviated, then ultimately bore no relation to their referents, whether reprgsentations of movements, animals, or natural events. Such sounds emerged as another form of representation. But even these were not new, for alarm calls signalling snakes and many other dangers were used by our most primitive primate ancestors. Women’s daily lives were not constrained by 199


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the silence of a hunt, so women bgcame the first users of words and developed much wider spoken vocabularies. Perhaps women had also found the need for words through rarely having free hands with which to sign. Understanding, however, was a struggle, for there were not enough words to make meanings clear. Yet year by year, women gradually increased both the range of conversational topics and their powers of expression. Men, however, would have used speech reluctantly, only when the comfortable fluency of signs was not possible, perhaps during the long, gloomy winters when there wasn’t enough light to see facial expressions and hands were muffled in fur mittens. This was when speech became worth the effort. Words never tumbled out, but were produced and sounded carefully, one by one, clumsily and without continuity of sound, but the boredom of the long days was reduced. Together, the processes of abstraction and representation had produced an organism ready to take the next step, to vocal speech. Yet by this time, signing had become so integral to daily life that there was no real need to change. We could liken this to a hypothetical modern-day situation in which we find a new, advanced system of communication, perhaps telepathy, very difficult to learn and clumsy to use. How difficult would it be to convince people that it would be to their advantage to adopt a new communication system which would be imperfect for the next few thousand years? No-one would make the change willingly unless it offered some immediate advantage. Only a real need for this new speech could start the change. The first step needed someone to expend much time and energy, long hours of boredom, in weaving the new words into a form at least acceptable, and ‘catchy’ enough to arouse interest. These were the most favourable circumstances under which the new speech could develop. Natural selection did the rest, genetically assimilating the necessary physiological requirements by selecting against those too dull or awkward to acquire skills, while favouring those whose skills in speech gave them the advantages of high status. These were the people who inherited the earth. Their descendants were Homo sapiens. 200


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TOTEMS, SPIRITS AND GODS Gods brought mankind into humanity. They provided the first powerful abstract constructs which welded tribespeople together in their clear knowledge of outside spirit support. Ceremonies slowly became fixed and familiar rituals for these new people, under the guidance of their shamans and priests. Time and natural selection developed the instrument of the emotions, which became the carrier of love or hate, joy or sadness, all of which found expression in the totem rituals. Minds and bodies became receptive to these powerful feelings, and the next step was to actively seek as well as receive mutual emotional rewards. Even the greatest of warriors could die in battle or on a hunt, for both activities were dangerous. Whenever possible, his body was brought home to his woman and laid in front of the tribal totem figure. A godkeeper, we will call him, or her ‘The Dreamer’ kept a tribe in contact with its totem spirit. The Dreamer would ask the deity to watch over the spirit of the great warrior, whose body was then buried, usually with flowers and perhaps a favoured knife or spear. In the beginning, this ceremony was reserved only for great hunters or warriors and chieftains. Over time, the line bgtween great and good hunters became blurred, so that all bodies were brought to the totem bgfore bwrial. So it was also that those beloved of hunters were given a spirit blessing and burial. This could be arranged easily by the bereaved providing gifts of meat to the servant of the totem. No-one understood death, but all knew their totem spirit, who came to them in dreams and could be induced to take an interest in their tribe. They knew that their dead kin also lived in the spirit world from which they came occasionally to invade dreams. The pain of grief was eased by the ceremonies for the survivors. The knowledge that their spirits would cross to the spirit world eased the fear of death among the living. Living with a totem spirit must be wonderful, since the totem would always lead them on successful hunts; food would never be scarce. Since gods were made by people, they reflected the personalities of the people who made them. In a hunting tribe, the god was most interested in successful hunts. A strongly xenophobic godkeeper discovered a god jealous of neighbours. A more 201


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gregarious keeper found a peaceful and kindly deity, perhaps more interested in the healing arts and the support of young people. Since the basic need of the people was food, offerings of food were organised to appease the god when help was needed. When help was not forthcoming, it was evidence that the god had not been adequately appeased. No two godkeepers were the same so that no two gods were the same, though obviously all had some characteristics of the people who had ‘served’ them. Over generations, the qualities of many godkeepers were amalgamated in the tribal gods. Taboos probably originated in ‘fearful places’—places where something terrible had happened. Such an event would be told as a story and enhanced with many re-tellings, until the place eventually became a myth, part of a tribe’s history. With language, these places became well-known, and once generated, the fear could last for generations. Mankind is not unique in our response to fearful places—only in our ability to invest them with magical and mythical properties. All animals respond carefully to places where there has been danger. They attend very carefully to the minutest details of their surroundings, perhaps bgcause this enables them to detect the smallest sign of danger. We owe much to our godmakers, who can bg considered to have founded our species by adding a new certainty and even an immortality to the many skills their ancestors had evolved. They were our first source of abstract ideas and, over time, we have constructed thousands of them—truth, justice, reason, fairness and sin. We treat them as we do real objects, compare them and debate the properties we have given them as though they were a tangible part of the constructs. We see our ability to deal in abstract constructs as one of our most valuable attributes and our veneration of gods and religions as evidence of our higher humanity. We seldom ask how this property evolved by natural selection. What were the factors which led to the tribes which ‘made and needed gods’ producing more descendants than those who did not have this capacity? For it is only in this question that we can understand how our religious side evolved. We are free to believe what we wish. Some are convinced that some time in our evolutionary journey, a real god made contact with us and instructed us on our relations with ‘Him/Her/It’. Most formal 202


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religions can actually put a date on this, though all accept that there were pre-existing religions, that were replaced and thus, by definition, false. A problem is that there are so many of these revelations. I have chosen the evolutionary alternative, with the story of Roo, the first godmaker, and the selective properties of the gifts she gave to her tribe. In her crude Bear totem we can see the first glimmerings of those great artistic, architectural, poetic, literary and musical works that, through the ages, people would be inspired to create in honour of their god—or gods. Yet this heritage has a down side. From their very beginnings, religions gave the power of their god to each tribe and fostered a new distrust of any who opposed their god. This would have been the characteristic which ensured the survival and dominance of godmaking people, yet this distrust and hatred of religious difference remains today as our most degrading inheritance. Even now, at the end of the twentieth century, atrocities are still being committed in ‘holy’ wars. Religious zealots lurk in every creed. The development of abstract thought presented us with another problem. For now we had people who could think about problems and questions—and come up with different conclusions. We are so impressed with our great brains that we forget that they are also the source of our greatest dilemma—our endless disagreements with each other. With stable dominance systems, most arguments could be defused, for there was order and rank was right. But other ways were also needed to reach agreements when opinions differed. High-status individuals, however, probably always required additional skills in settling quarrels. Our moral codes became more sophisticated as our intellectual powers generated more complex debates.

THE SPREAD OF HOMO SAPIENS As new tribes of Homo sapiens spread, they often came into contact with tribes of Homo erectus, their predecessors. Where there was competition for resources, there were fights and, physically, the two hominids were pretty evenly matched. Yet vocal speech added an extra dimension to the planning of attacks, which usually gave Homo sapiens the edge and over many thousands of 203


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years, they replaced the more primitive tribes. The two species lived contemporaneously for over 500,000 years but Homo erectus was finally eliminated when the newcomers acquired gods— totems which welded their tribes into extremely effective fighting teams and which started them on their final evolution, to those we call Homo sapiens sapiens.

Homo sapiens divided into many types or races, one of which has become familiar to everyone. We call them Neanderthals. They covered most of Europe, through to the Middle East and probably had their origins in tribes that conquered the perimeters of the glaciers. They were short, thickset, and appear to have been extremely powerful. Neanderthals were skilful toolmakers and their brains were at least as large as our own. The fossil records date them from about 250,000 through till as recently as 30,000 years ago. Neanderthals were powerful hunters. They killed the woolly mammoths and rhinoceroses, musk oxen and giant cave bears, reindeer, bison and horses. In more temperate times they slew hippopotamuses and the straight-tusked elephants, giant elk, lions and leopards. Perhaps we have gained such a respect for them because they were the first we know who buried their dead, sometimes with tools and even with flowers. As tribes moved further from their original ranges, they met other tribes whose sign and spoken languages were different from theirs. Sometimes they were able to work out a signing sequence which allowed a modicum of communication and, occasionally, some exchanges. More commonly, different totems and different languages led to conflict and warfare. Branches of these humans spread throughout Europe and Asia, and far enough north to be at the limits of the habitable world. They were in no way dependent on signing, though they still used it for many daily functions. Most words they used had lost all semblance of onomatopoeia and had become pure symbols. Their minds handled such symbols easily, and this was an important precursor of godmaking, for spirits are but shadows in 204


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the mind. They lived a tough life, maintained by their totems and ceremonies. Nothing is straightforward in the evolutionary process, however. While godmaking people were bgcoming Homo sapiens sapiens, the tribes of Homo sapiens were still making new advances in toolmaking. Each region had a continuing tradition of great toolmakers, who produced new cultures based on their stone-working skills. These new developments also shaped the tribes of Homo sapiens sapiens. Our next chronicle concerns such a craftsman.

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The Chronicles of Homo sapiens sapiens The Chronicles of Homo sapiens sapiens

Homo sapiens sapiens is a name we gave ourselves—proudly. The chronicles here do not concern modern people living as we do, for there are many histories of our world which tell of our distant ancestors, through prehistory. We stand on their shoulders, and the progress they made was no less impressive than ours, for they started with so little. A common name for these early people is Cro-Magnon, and I shall use it here as it gives an easier separation from ourselves. About 200,000 years ago they had the technical skills to work bone, wood and stone, though it is their stone equipment which has provided us with valuable insights into their daily lives. They possessed spoken languages and were godmakers. They spread across the earth—to the modern Americas and Australia. In each region the people developed different tool technologies, some more advanced than others. For the first time, we can see that these people had the leisure time and the skill to create objects of beauty—not just the tools of survival. Cro-Magnon people decorated themselves and their various equipment. They crafted objects for ritual, for ornament, or purely for decoration. These chronicles of the Cro-Magnon cover only a small range of the capabilities of the people. I have exercised an author’s prerogative, rightly or wrongly, in choosing developments which seem most important to me. I chose those of manual creative skills and the taming of other species, fauna and flora, for it is these tales which bring humans to the point where recorded history takes over. 207


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17 Sharptools—whose arrows killed mammoths Time and Place: Perhaps 40,000 years ago, somewhere in the Middle East.

Animals endowed with the social instincts take pleasure in each other’s company, warn each other of danger, defend and aid one another in many ways. These instincts do not extend to all individuals of the same species, but only to those of the same community. As they are highly beneficial to the species, they have in all probability been acquired by natural selection. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

The lad Char and his father sat cross-legged, gently tapping stone against stone on their laps. Tern, his mother, knelt over a large ox skin, scrubbing it with stone scrapers and bundles of rough bark. It was a beautiful late summer day, cool but sunny, with wispy white clouds drifting across the sky. Contentment, which comes with full bellies, reigned throughout the camp after a big feast the previous evening. A mammoth had been killed and the tribe had moved their camp to beside the carcass, where they would remain until driven away by the smell of rotting flesh. There was no immediate need to hunt so men squatted or sat in the sun, working on their spears, knives and axes. Skin tents were pitched in a rough circle around the carcass on a wide clearing in a pine forest, beside a small stream which ran into a broad river a few hours’ walk away. Rolling downs, punctuated by occasional bogholes left by retreating glaciers, surrounded the forest. Once the area had been covered by a great icesheet, now many days’ walk to the north. In winter, the open, 209


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scattered forests were cloaked with snow; then the tribe moved into winter camp beside a low cliff which offered some protection from prevailing winds. In summer they migrated out to roam over their range, shifting camp when and as the hunting dictated. Birds from the south also migrated to the range during the summer months to take advantage of the enormous crop of insects as well as the abundant flowers and berries. In summer this was a veritable land of plenty, but the hunters needed all their skills to eke out a living in winter. Mammoth skins were tough; spear points and knives needed to be very sharp to penetrate them. Too often spears or arrows failed to inflict wounds that would eventually bring down the huge bgast. Hunters knew the best tactic, to aim their spears at the legs, hopefully scoring a hit and thus slowing the beast. Over the following days the wounded beast would lag further behind the herd; then came the possibility of adding more barbs until the animal became too weak to move. Usually the great beast came to rest near water. Its herd normally lingered beside the wounded animal for a while but hunger eventually drew them away. Only then did the hunters move in for the kill. It was a slow but effective process, with minimum danger to the hunters. The herd always returned, standing around the dead beast, and prodding it with their trunks; but they seemed to recognise death and, finally, departed, allowing the tribe to bring their camp to the dead animal. This had happened three days before. Wild dogs and vultures had also gathered but were not a serious problem, for there were many in the tribe and the scavengers had a healthy respect for these hunter bands. Like all other animals, scavengers too had a Flight Distance from each different predator or potential predator—according to the danger that each posed. But without doubt, their longest Flight Distance was from people. Even the wild dogs who came closest to the camp in the mornings to eat peoples’ faeces, kept their distance when people were guarding such a treasure as a mammoth. Char’s father, Marn, was working on a flint spear point. Many other materials had been tried and were still used, for the brittle flint, though best, needed great care to work it. Even after hundreds of generations of practice, it was very difficult to bring flint to a fine point or blade: no matter how gently the striking 210


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The Chronicles of Homo sapiens sapiens

and honing process was done, points could be as easily lost as improved beyond a certain level. Yet flint spearheads retained their points and sharpness much longer than any other material. If well cared for and prepared, flint had the weight and cutting power to penetrate a mammoth’s hide. Many of Marn’s spears were tipped with sharpened bone or antler, or even fire-hardened wood. It was possible to get antler points much sharper than any other material, but their edges went blunt too quickly. Ivory from mammoths’ tusks was also used but it too was soft. Marn had achieved a good point already but was trying to improve it. Char bent over his old, blunt flint spearhead on a flat wood anvil—a picture of concentration as he imitated his father. With each gentle blow of his pointed stone he sought to strike more flakes from the point. After each strike he carefully rearranged the point on the anvil for the next blow. He was disturbed for a moment by a shout from his father, who had grazed his knuckles. Char looked up just as he was about to strike then, realising what he was doing, glanced back at the point. There was a small chip of stone on the blade, just where his next blow would fall. He tried to lessen the impact, but to no avail. His striker hit the chip instead of the spearhead. Anxiously he snatched up the point to see what damage he had caused. He couldn’t see any, but a tiny flake had been struck off the tip just where it was needed to sharpen the point. Char was amazed. He had never before been able to force so small a flake from a flint. He called to his father, to come and see what he’d done and was complimented on the small fine edge he had achieved. Char tried to reconstruct what had happened. He had struck the chip, not the blade. The chip had been forced against the blade and shaved off the small flake from the blade’s edge. The blow had not been heavy, for it was arrested mid-strike. Char carefully placed the chip on another part of the blade and struck it softly. Again a tiny flake flew off the blade. This time the chip was itself smashed; yet another section of the blade was now sharp. Clearly, striking through a well-placed chip gave better results than striking the blade directly. Char looked around for another chip to place for striking but could find nothing which would sit firmly on the blade. He picked up a piece of antler his father had dropped and held this in his 211


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hand firmly against the blade. He hit the antler piece gently. Nothing happened. He hit it again more firmly. Another flake sloughed off the edge. Char was excited; he felt in control of his tools because he was able to aim the piece of antler directly where he wanted to sharpen the blade. He called to his father to watch what he was doing. Marn watched while Char carefully pressed his antler chisel exactly where he wanted to remove the next flake and struck it with the stone. Nothing happened for the three strikes but, on the fourth blow, another flake sloughed off. Marn grabbed the point and examined it. There was no doubt that Char was striking finer flakes from the blade than ever before. He also had better control over where to target his blows Marn watched for the next hour while Char continued with his work, every three or four times removing another flake, so that a fine and very sharp edge was creeping along the blade. Carefully he turned the blade so that flakes were struck from both sides. Never bgfore had they seen such an edge. Tern had been watching the whole episode, fascinated, and joined Marn as he showered praise on their son. Marn looked around for another antler chisel. If his son could do this, then he could. He had watched every detail of Char’s work—exactly where the chisel was placed, the strength of blows applied—noticing the boy’s patient persistence. He examined the edge of the chisel and saw that it was already beginning to go blunt. Marn thought he saw what was needed in a chisel and settled down to shape himself such a tool. When he thought it was ready, he placed his own blade on his anvil and carefully pressed the tip of his chisel against the edge, and struck it with a small stone. Nothing happened for the first few blows, then he chipped off his first fine flake. He was jubilant. Now father and son concentrated on their work while Tern watched with pride as she scraped her great skin. Char’s point had now acquired a sharp edge on one side right up to the point. He needed to sharpen the other side before the spearhead would be ready for binding back onto a shaft. Char stood and gathered up the many sharp chips in his leather apron and carried them to a hole. They could cut feet too easily to be left on the ground. Char handed the blade to his mother to see. Tern took it and began to scrape her skin with it. 212


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Disaster! She had never used such a sharp blade before—it cut right through the skin. She dropped the blade in alarm. Skins were important and to cut one like this was a serious matter. Marn scolded her bwt she protested—holding out the offending blade and blaming it. Marn took the blade and ran his tough thumb along it. He could feel it cutting through his rough skin. This serrated edge could cut anything it touched, he had never felt anything quite so sharp. He could make ivory or antler knives which were almost as sharp, but they did not have this serrated blade which made cutting so easy. He was smiling when he turned to his son. Char would make a fine warrior and hunter if he could produce blades such as this. They would easily cut into the thick, tough skin of a mammoth or rhinoceros and wound other animals even more easily. Marn called the other men to him. One by one they examined Char’s blade. These were skilled hunters who knew the importance of keen points and sharp blades on spears and arrows. They must learn how to produce such a fine blade. Char settled down in front of his father, surrounded by other hunters. He covered his lap with his leather apron and set the anvil firmly between his legs. Placing a blade carefully across the anvil, he pressed his chisel against an edge. The first blow took off a flake and the blade was handed around. None of the men had seen its like. Certainly no-one had seen such precision before. Using stone hammers gave far less control. Marn took the blade over to the carcass. The serrated edge cut smoothly through tough skin and heavy hair. Other men wanted to try. The blade was passed around and each made a cut in the skin. One leaned right inside the carcass and cut off two fine strips of meat, the sort which were being dried all over camp. They came away smoothly in his hands and he passed them out for inspection, then stood up, handed back the blade and took his pieces of meat to his woman. Another man cut out two pieces of the mammoth’s skin, shaped to make new boots. Char watched the men and glowed with pride; never had he received such attention. He wanted his blade back to finish it, for the other side had to bg sharpened and its point perfected, but for now he had other work to do. The evening fire had to 213


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be built up; mammoth meat had to be cut up and laid out on the flat cooking stones, balanced on other stones around their family fire. His mother had returned from cleaning a bag of nuts, roots and berries in the stream and was preparing them as accompaniments to the meat. Char knew that after the meal, the men would sit around someone’s fire, probably theirs tonight, to talk hunting matters. He knew that his blade would be a central topic, especially as his father had also tried the technique with some success. Tomorrow there would be no hunting; the men would concentrate on sharpening their spears. Three days later, the smells from the now putrid mammoth forced the camp to move. Most of the men had made some improvements to their spears. Marn had two fine-pointed spears ready to take hunting with him. Char was left to work on fashioning new edges for all the stone tools the family owned. Tern had become better at using the sharp scrapers, appreciating how much the new blade eased her task. Every evening the hunters returned to the new camp with fresh meat and excited comments about the ease with which their spears penetrated prey. No longer were animals escaping with valuable spears dangling from their flanks. People were happy and well fed. Char became a centre of attention. Men came every evening to see his new tools and admire his workmanship. Char found his control over flints improving daily: now he could not only make fine edges, but could straighten bent edges, make curves in straight blades and even reduce the thickness of spearheads. He could work with smaller pieces of stone than ever before. One day he tried to work a flake of flint into a tip for an arrow. Arrows were usually pointed either with antler or sharp flakes of bone. If flint points were so successful for spears with their larger blades, surely they would be equally useful for arrowheads. Lighter arrows could seldom cut through skin at a distance, once their impetus was spent. Char toiled on an arrow point. He found that he could create a fine sharp point, and was also able to shape a base for easy attachment to the shaft. Previously this had been a ‘hit and miss’ task with stone; one of the rgasons arrows were usually tipped with more malleable materials. Carefully he bound the flint head onto a firm, straight shaft and set out to try it with his bow. He 214


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chose a tuft of grass as a target so that the arrow would not be damaged. His reward was a direct hit. The heavier arrowhead on a shaft with small flight feathers gave him a powerful and accurate shot. This arrow was a winner. Char returned to his anvil. Earlier he had fretted to go hunting with his father. Now his motivation to master the flints had taken over. Over the next two days he completed another arrow. His father was delighted. Naturally he took both the arrows on his hunts and returned full of praise for their performance—and with plenty of game to feed the tribe. The next month dragged for Char. He made arrowheads and bound them onto shafts while his father took them, shared them with other hunters, and daily brought home proof that they were exceptional. He also brought home more and more pieces of flint. Char was tied to the anvil, shaping arrowheads and spearheads for the men. Fortunately the other two adolescent boys in the tribe envied his status and offered to help. The three youngsters gave up their normal daily activities to work together, encouraged by fathers who, in turn, acquired status from their work. It took several months, and winter was almost upon them, before the boys produced enough arrow- and spearheads. At last they could leave their anvils and return to normal work, collecting firewood and foraging with the women, for their chores brought them into contact with small game which they could hunt themselves. They soon realised how much better their arrows were than any used previously and relished any opportunity to use them—quite recklessly—on rabbits and ground-living birds. They were not experienced hunters, nor were they yet good shots, but they produced a steady supply of small game which delighted their mothers. Cutting firewood was also easier with Char’s sharp axes. Autumn meant a meeting with two neighbouring tribes. There were three young men without mates and two young women to exchange. The elders would have to barter for the extra woman. The boys were told to make more spears and arrows, for such fine weapons would easily pay for her. Char and his two colleagues were to get mates, but first they had to be initiated into manhood, so a ceremony and hunt were arranged. This would be a special ritual, as Char was also to bg given a new name— 215


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Sharptool—for his tools were the pride of his tribe. To date, the men had appeared more interested in his spears and arrows than in Char. Now, however, they were generous in their praise and sought to honour him with this new name. Their gift was genuine. All men had skills in making spearheads and some had tried to shape the arrowheads but they readily acknowledged that Char’s skill was far beyond theirs. The lads’ first hunt was uneventful. All the hunters made sure that the three new huntsmen were given every opportunity to bring down game, standing aside to help them. Char brought home one of the six geese killed that day. There was meat for everyone and the best feathers were set aside for arrows. The big gathering took place at the time of the full moon. Three camps were built where the three ranges came together. Two tribes camped on one side of a small stream and Sharptool’s tribe settled on the other. There was a wide clearing beside Sharptool’s camp and this would be the gathering place. Boys worked furiously to bwild up stocks of firewood; there were many fires to feed. Men spent their days hunting; there were many bellies to fill. Women of the tribes joined together to forage—and to conspire and plan matings. Their menfolk would bend to their counsel and persuasions. The oldest woman, Won, stayed in the camp, for everyone knew that she was a powerful Dreamer who would bring the world of spirits to their meetings. Her tribe held the Wolf totem; she wore a necklace of wolf teeth around her skinny neck and a cloak of wolf skins over her frail body. Everyone knew she had the ears of the spirits and could give strength to the tribes. With her blessing and approval, matings made here would be good and yield strong sons. Sharptool’s weapons were the talk of the men, who struggled to understand how such fine weapons could be made by one so young. Women were more impressed by his axes and knives. Even the young men sought to learn from Sharptool; they envied his standing among the hunters. Young women from the other tribes noted young Sharptool’s status and sought his attention, watched with interest by their mothers. Status was not easily attainable for youngsters and the lad was surrounded at all times: hunters wanted to discuss his methods; young men wanted 216


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demonstrations of his skills; and girls were content to watch his every move—Sharptool was a ‘catch’. Sharptool might have bgen the main focus of attention of the meeting but the tribes’ real power lay in their leaders or headmen. It was the daughter of a headman who was finally paired with Sharptool, who was delighted since she was the most comely of the young women. The gathering lasted for four nights and, on the last evening, Won called the eight newly-mated young women together while she chanted a song and dance ritual for them. She then brought in the eight young men to join their mates in a dance around her and her Wolf. Then she sent them off to eight little tents which had been specially prepared for them, amid the jokes and laughter of their tribesfolk. Won had received several gifts—a fine knife from Marn was especially welcome—and she was well pleased with the meeting. The tribes separated, but all had learned something of Sharptool’s talent and put the knowledge to good use in improving their own skills. Not only could they envision more successful hunts but more important, they believed that other warlike neighbours were now less fearsome.

In time, Sharptool became a great hunter and warrior. His weapons were sought after and used by all his tribesmen, yet he was the most skilled in their use, or perhaps his own weapons were a little better than those he made for others. With small game, every man could kill with a flint-tipped arrow. But when a mammoth was hunted, all relied on Sharptool to sink the first spear, or even a razor-tipped arrow, into a woolly leg or trunk. It was rare that his arrow hit the target without causing serious injury. With such big game, the shafts of arrows and spears were usually snapped off by the enormous beasts, but the heads remained in the wounds, eventually bringing them down. Sharptool had five children, an unusually large family. With his skills to feed them comfortably, his woman managed to rear them all. His three sons were carefully trained in toolmaking, not just in fashioning stone points, but also in seeking perfection in 217


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the balance and straightness of their arrows and spears. They worked, as did other boys, but their father took more time than most hunters to teach them mastery of the weapons they used. They gathered hunting lore in their play, based on the stories told by adults, but their weapons skills were derived from a father who was a master craftsman and a master teacher. The success of Sharptool’s tribe lay in their superiority in the hunt. Their weapons eclipsed any preceding them. The tribe made alliances with their neighbours so that the territory they controlled grew larger as their numbers grew. No enemy was their equal, particularly in the force with which their arrows hit their targets—other men. It was not until great toolmaking skills became common over the whole land that tribes were evenly matched. The tools of these people were not confined to hunting and battle. Sharp stone tools harvested the plains’ grasses in many parts of the world. They became knives for women—meat was cut rather than hacked, which made it easier to dry thin strips in the sun or cook steaks over open fires. Bigger trees could be cut down and worked with improved axes. The resulting timber made stronger huts while firewood, the bane of tribal boys, was more readily available. Tasks were completed faster and consumed less energy. Men and women then had time on their hands and it wasn’t too long before they began to experiment, using their sharp knives, in decorating their various weapons and tools. Fine designs were carved; antlers and ivory were fashioned much more effectively into delicate shapes, into fish hooks, carefully barbed arrowtips and fish spears. The use of sharp flint tools opened up new crafts—the making of beads and ornaments, fine leatherwork and woodwork. What had previously been essential tools for survival now also became sources of pleasure. Sharptool’s name was his achievement. Throughout his life he fashioned many fine weapons but, more importantly he trained the men of his tribe, young and old, in the skills he had acquired. Men of other tribes came to sit at his feet to learn his skills, bringing many gifts to his tribe. He grew old in a great nation, covering more of the world than he had known. He was the father of this success. 218


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18 Through another’s eyes Time and Place: About 50,000 years ago, perhaps in Europe or the Middle East.

The evidence that all civilized nations are the descendants of barbarians, consists on the one side of clear traces of their former low conditions in still existing customs, beliefs, language, etc.; and on the other side, of proofs that savages are independently able to raise themselves a few steps on the scale of civilization, and must have actually thus risen. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Arro knelt beside his mother on the sandy river bank. His younger sister sat behind her mother, crooning to the baby on her knees. His mother held a concave stone on her lap into which she shook seeds from her dilly bag. Round and round, back and forth she pushed a rounded pebble, grinding the seeds to a coarse powder which she then shook onto a smooth piece of skin at her side. She was making flour for dough to bake on hot stones for the evening meal. Arro and other children had helped the women collect seeds out on the meadows, parched after an exceptionally hot summer. Now he sat idly drawing lines in the sand. He sketched the outline of a duck, swimming on the water. A big hawk landed in a tree overhanging the river. Arro looked at it, smoothed a space on the sand and began to trace its outline with his finger. Frustrated by the clumsy lines, he picked up a thin twig. It was still no good. The dry sand allowed only the crudest of sketches. 219


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Arro wriggled further down the bank where sand was wet. There it was better. The twig etched clean, sharp lines, forming a good representation of the hawk, but the strip of wet muddy sand was only wide enough for a small drawing. He needed mud for a good sketch which would still be there when the mud dried. He rose and walked downstream to where he had several drawings in mud that was now dry. He was proud of these because his mother had recognised the animals immediately, laughing with pleasure. He sank down onto the soft warm mud, gathered some in his hands and began squeezing it. His thumbs searched for the feel of grains of sand, but found none. This was the clay his mother used to make her sun-dried lamps. Arro liked nothing better than to join his mother while she made her lamps. Then he would draw animal shapes on lumps of wet clay and leave them with the lamps, to dry and harden in the sun. When they hardened, they became lamp saucers, each with a distinctive appearance. His mother always encouraged him to draw on her lamps, before she hardened them in the sun or beside the fire. For as long as he could remember, Arro had drawn. No-one else in the tribe shared his interest or had this skill. In fact, if anyone thought about it at all, it was dismissively—he was, after all, still a child—but most enjoyed the drawings. Hunters occasionally suggested that he alter some feature to make an animal more lifelike. His mother and Old Goom were, however, different. She inspected his drawings carefully, praising him for their accuracy. Old Goom, who managed the ceremonies, wondered if the lad had a power to capture spirits of animals in his drawings. Other boys, more interested in hunting and warrior games, usually pestered Arro to play with them. Arro usually joined in the games bwt, as he did so, the images of animals they playhunted flitted before his eyes and became more important to him than their make-believe. Then he slipped away to draw. Little girls spent most of their time caring for babies and playing at being mothers. But they found time to watch the animal shapes emerging in Arro’s pictures and chortled with delight as they recognised the animals he drew. Boys and girls worked with their mothers daily, gathering whatever food could be coaxed from the range while their men were hunting. Clothes had to be made as well, and firewood 220


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gathered for the long winter ahead. These were the jobs everyone did when successful hunting reduced the urgency for foraging. Summer was a season of plenty and the younger members of the tribe had the luxury of leisure time, when boys could play hunting games, and young Arro could sneak away to make drawings. Arro learned the materials that were best for his drawings. When he rubbed stones against flat rocks on a cliff, some scratched while other soft stones made lines with hardly a scratch. Burnt sticks traced clear black outlines. These lines could be rubbed out and replaced or improvements made to old drawings. He quickly learned the best stones for his work and collected them when he found some. Arro’s father saw the pleasure that his drawings gave his mother and sometimes brought him home coloured stones to use. Arro also drew on skins, but most of the colour wore off when the skins were used or became wet. When men returned from the hunt with their kills, Arro had his bgst opportunities to examine the shapes and forms of each animal, as it was laid out on the ground. He had to be quick because once old Goom had examined them and made his ritual chants, the skinning and butchering began. Most of his drawings were made from memory. It was only occasionally, as with the duck on the water, that he could draw a subject before him. The opportunity to see exactly what an animal looked like, even if it was only stretched out on the ground, was very precious to Arro. Arro grew straight and tall, well-liked by all in his tribe and never shirking his youthful tasks and duties. His graffiti spread over every surface around the camps and in caves used in winter; it became an accepted feature of the tribe’s camp environment. He drew the various animals of the region, standing and walking, or birds flying or resting. Hunting was central to the life of his tribe and animals their dominant interest—game animals featured prominently in his pictures. As new sketches of animals appeared, men gathered around it to comment on the way each looked, what was wrong with it and where it was accurate. Arro listened quietly, alert to their observations. He enjoyed their praise and tried to correct any faults they saw. Hunters knew their animals and were fine critics; besides, their criticism was always interested and friendly. It became a lighthearted, playful game, as hunters vied with each other to give advice—thus displaying their ‘supe221


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rior’ knowledge! Each new sketch earned Arro more attention from his elders, and he quietly thrilled to the praise. Most cliff ‘walls’ were cleaned by rains so there was always somewhere to draw. As manhood approached, Arro found less time for drawing. He learned to use a spear, axe and club, to cut up meat and to clean skins and sinews. When he was old enough to manage an axe, there was firewood to chop for younger boys to carry home. Fallen branches could never supply enough wood to keep fires burning through long winters, so branches were broken down, cut up and allowed to dry. He must practise with spear and sling to acquire skills he would soon need. Arro had played hunting games; they finally became real when he went out daily with the men. His interest in hunting grew and drawing was left aside. Only when blizzards roared outside in winter would he creep down into the darkest recesses of their tribal cave to sketch, with a greasy lamp and a bag of coloured stones. Drawing was difficult in the dim, flickering light, but there was one advantage; the pictures lasted. In the open, his drawings seldom survived the next heavy rain. That never mattered; he made so many that he was always grateful to find previously used places clean again. Alone in the gloom of the cave, Arro was free to let his memories take over, to draw the many scenes or animals he observed on hunts. He now knew the correct outlines and postures of game he hunted. He became his best critic. One day he drew a large bull auroch using two colours. When he stood back to examine his work, he found he was not alone. Goom was squatting in the shadows, watching. Gesturing to the drawing Goom nodded approval and suggested that Arro add hunters and some spears in the ox. Arro was surprised and flattered by the old man’s interest and willingly added to the scene. When he finished, he heard other footsteps approaching the cavern. Goom had walked back to the camp to bring back the tribe’s hunters to see the picture. The oldest hunter showed where he would have made his spear enter the beast and asked if Arro would change this. It was easy to alter. The hunters were impressed, especially by his accurate representation of exactly 222


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how a spear should be placed where it would quickly bring down the beast. The next day the weather was fine and Arro went out with the hunters. The morning was frustrating; the only game they saw was far in the distance, through deep snow. Then they saw movement in a heavy fall beside a cliff. A huge auroch bull was floundering in the deep, powdery snow, breasting through the drift in a desperate attempt to escape. The old hunter leapt forward and drove his spear exactly where he had shown Arro, through the heart. For the next hour the men were busy. They had to clear the snow to work on the carcass, which was much too large to drag back to the cave so it was skinned and butchered where it lay. A man was sent to bring as many hands as could be found to help carry back meat. Goom was one of those who came to help. Excited hunters told him what had happened and Goom was thoughtful. As he worked with blood-spattered men to cut the carcass into loads for the women and boys to carry, his mind was in turmoil. For years he had wondered whether, unknowingly as yet, Arro could somehow access the secret dream world where the spirits of men and animals dwelt. He had felt this most strongly while he watched Arro painting the previous day. The painted ox seemed to leap from the wall—to be a real ox which his hunters could kill, and now they had. For Goom, the two events were related. By asking for spears to bg drawn, he assumed he had determined this kill. The hunter who had shown where the spear should be drawn had struck the mortal blow. The parallel between the present beast and the painting was exact. This was no accident. Sling stones kept scavengers back through the butchering, but there was plenty left for them when work was finished. People scrubbed themselves with snow, and moved off together, carrying their heavy loads. With so much blood around, solitary individuals would be vulnerable to attack. Everyone was happy and sang as they staggered along under their burdens. As Goom trudged along, leaning into a strong wind, he planned his chant. The men had seen the drawing. Now he would assemble everyone, men, women and children for a ceremony at the ox mural, so that all would recognise the picture’s importance. 223


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Then they would feast on meat, for which he saw himself taking much of the credit. The night passed as Goom planned. His story and dance was not entirely accurate, yet everyone saw that something significant had happened. Arro had painted the ox; Goom had insisted on adding at least one spear; the leading hunter had positioned it exactly where he had thrust the spear that killed the ox. Goom announced the ‘fact’ that he knew Arro had drawn on the spirit of this ox to prepare for its death in the hunt. Arro’s drawing showed the hunter who killed the ox. Clearly this was the man who thrust his fatal spear. There was no doubt that Arro could bring spirits of animals to the tribe. He had shown this with his drawings on every available surface. With Goom to guide him, hunters would be rewarded in hunts. Buried in the familiar hunting triumph ritual, how could anyone disbelieve his story? No-one was more surprised, secretly, than Arro—but if Goom said it was thus, who was he to question it? Not every hunt was so successful, yet hunters had always relied on Goom’s suggestions in their plans. Their skills had led to Goom’s reputation and, by association, demonstrated the importance of Arro’s contacts with animal spirits. Yet Goom was not anxious to build up Arro’s status. Arro drew bgcause it was his favourite pastime, and now his sketches were seen as important props which Goom would occasionally use. It was only when Goom felt sure that a particular animal could be hunted successfully that he called on Arro to make drawings of a kill which hunters would certainly make—if possible. Most murals Arro made were outside the cave—it was much easier to work in bright daylight. Arro was impressed by the powerful magic he saw in Goom. He had no doubt that the success of that first hunt derived from Goom’s contribution to his picture. Drawing had been fun, an endless source of pleasure to him, but the idea that he was in contact with animal spirits seemed possible. As the years passed, evidence mounted that his drawings, along with Goom’s magic, could bring food to their tribe. Arro was musing over this as he worked to prepare a spearhead from a piece of antler. He watched a fine barbed head slowly taking shape as the hours passed. With his sharp flint knife, 224


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he scraped at the hard surface. It was easy to force deep scratches on the antler base and he realised that some of the scratches had formed a rough horse head. Arro looked and wondered whether he should carve a drawing onto the spear. It would take time and be difficult, but he thought it could be done. The task took much longer than he expected. He first scratched a horse’s head very lightly on the antler spear, then slowly forced the flint deeper until the head stood out clearly along the spearhead. When, finally, he was satisfied with the shape, Arro rummaged through his pile of coloured stones, looking for a piece of red ochre. He took it back to the spear and rubbed the scratches with ochre until the red outline of the head showed clearly. He turned over the spearhead and began to work on the other side until it too depicted a horse’s head. He was pleased with his work and stood to show it to other men. They were impressed, but only when Goom pronounced that the spirit of the horse would come to this spear did they realise how portentous was this engraving. Two days later a hunting party formed—all believing that this day Arro’s spear would kill a horse, so much so that they ignored some deer that they might otherwise have hunted. But no horses were to be found. The next day they came on a mob of horses grazing in a gully. Their hunting technique was sound. Arro and three others moved around to hide downwind from the mob. The remaining hunters crept some distance upwind before turning and approaching the herd openly, driving the animals towards Arro and the hidden hunters. Because the approaching men were not close, the shaggy little horses merely trotted slowly downwind towards Arro. They were alert, but their attention was on the men following them. They did not sense the waiting ambush until a man leapt out on each side and plunged spears into both sides of the lead horse. It reared while the rest of the mob turned and galloped furiously across wind to escape the hunters ahead and behind them. The wounded horse tried to follow them but a third spear brought it down. The hunters examined the three spears. It was Arro’s spear with its horse’s head which had penetrated the animal’s breast and killed it. As the party gathered, news of Arro’s kill was shared. They knew that Goom would ask for a special feast for 225


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the tribe, with a picture of a horse to be drawn on the cave wall to mark the event. The horse was carefully skinned and butchered. Each man carried home a heavy load of meat or skin. There was much celebrating that night. Goom had had another triumph and took full advantage of it. Everyone ate well as Goom danced and chanted the story of his tribe and their access to the world of animal spirits. No tribe would be so successful and this tribe would grow and flourish with food for all. No-one doubted this prediction and every day now, when the hunters set out, they believed they would succeed. Their confidence and, of course, their skills were sufficient to keep the tribe well fed. Mothers had plenty of milk, even throughout winters; babies lived and thrived. The tribe’s numbers grew until, long after the death of both Goom and Arro, they conquered their neighbour’s range and divided into two. Their descendants colonised lands that enlarged during the intervals between ice ages, and successfully fought their neighbours for land when glaciers spread again over the world.

Arro’s sons were also skilled at drawing. They learned their craft from their father because they knew that drawing animals was a way to capture their spirits which, in turn, led to successful hunting. The combination of skilled hunters and warriors who ‘knew’ that animal spirits were working with them was formidable. Now there emerged a need for artists in tribes if these benefits were to be widely available. Children incorporated sketching into their play. Tribal artists now became role models for talented children. In the balmy summers there was time to relax and make drawings which were then sanctioned by the spirit leader. When they lived in lodges of wood, turf, skins and stones, they decorated the walls. During the long winters, they drew their stories on cave walls. Artists in every generation carved the shapes of animals they hunted on their weapons, and their dwellings. They carved figures from ivory, antler or soft stone and decorated them with pigments from coloured stones. In 226


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summer, they decorated their own bodies and the skins they wore, especially for summer festivals. Arro had started something when he engraved his first spear. Fine toolmakers were not common, but they did exist and their tools were highly prized. Such artisans could also produce decorations for people, especially for women. Necklaces were made, simple at first, but they became increasingly sophisticated. Leather could be worked to fashion belts for warriors, and to decorate the skins they wore. Individuals capable of making excellent ornaments could produce all the goods required by their own tribe as well as a surplus to barter with other tribes. More commonly, artisans were ordinary workmen with above average, but not great, skills. There were no schools where good craftsmen could learn from better and more experienced teachers. Those able to see examples of fine work had images to copy and standards by which they could improve. Those who could watch skilled craftsmen learned, but these opportunities were rare. It was not easy to earn meat and support from crafts. Food was always available but surpluses were not, so most craftsmen were also hunters and gatherers. The new crafts filled thousands of empty hours through the long winters. In those tribes where fine craftsmen were not available, crude but recognisable diagrams were the best possible. As a result, whole tribes developed art forms which required less technical skill, for they did not require accurate representation of the animals depicted. Simple outlines or even schematic representation were adequate for the needs of most hunters and their shaman. Talented artists came and they in turn took the schemas and improved them so that they also became powerful forms of representation, but still forms that ordinary artists could copy and imitate. The styles of depiction became as varied as the numbers of tribes. Over time, people recognised the importance of drawing and carving: artisans gained high status, their families were supported and fine artists bgcame more common among their descendants in all tribes. As we have already seen, high status has always meant some reproductive advantage.

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19 The boy and his wolf Time and Place: About 14,000 years ago in the Middle East.

Variability is the necessary basis for the action of selection and is wholly independent of it. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Young Ton lay stretched full-length along the sturdy tree limb, still as a snake, absorbed by the activities of ‘his’ wolves playing around the old bitch’s den. He knew them all well for he often came here. The old male, probably father of them all, sat quietly. Play fighting was not his concern. None would challenge him or the bitch. Most active were two youngsters, whelped last spring. They had long ago worked out their status yet often played as though they had not. Ton was a quiet boy who enjoyed the solitude of his lonely vigils. He had been watching the wolves for as long as he could remember and had found this tree the previous year. It was on a steep hill overlooking the den, downwind from the animals during the day-time sea breezes. At night the winds howled down the steep hills to the sea. Ton felt safe while breezes blew from the wolves to him. It was not that he was afraid of them, but if they were hungry and he was alone on the ground, he would be in grave danger. He carried a small bow, but this would not stop more than one of the pack if they attacked. Yet he was sure that the wolves knew him. Scavengers always loitered around camps of hunting tribes. When people butchered their large kills and left the site, wolves 228


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gathered with other scavengers to clean up the discarded scraps, stomachs, intestines and bones. After each feast, many bones were thrown away—all contained some meat and many were soft enough for wolves to eat. Over generations a mutually tolerant and beneficial rglationship had developed between Ton’s people and the wolves. In return for the scraps, the wolves performed the role of ‘camp cleaner’—clearing it each day of the peoples’ faeces. Ton did not have much spare time in which to watch the wolves. Boys went out with the women most days, foraging for plant food and small game. He joined the other boys in collecting firewood, chopping it with stone axes and carrying stocks back to camp. Finding firewood was an endless job, forcing boys ever further from camp until the tribe moved. This was an ‘everyday’ job and sometimes the men accompanied them, to break down branches from trees and to chop up larger branches. Today, however, Ton was free. The hunters had killed a big ox and there would be no hunting for three or four days. Women would not forage while there was plenty of meat, so there was a mood of festivity and relaxation in the camp. There were nine families in the tribe. Their tents were of poles and skins with stones around the base. Fires were kept outside the tents except when rain appeared likely; then small fires were started inside. The climate was temperate: there would sometimes be snows in winter but not always. The tribe moved their tents regularly when game ran out, but there were no separate summer and winter ranges. Ton was enjoying a sunny spring day, perched in his tree. Ton wriggled with excitement—he had just seen the first of the cubs peeping from the den. He had watched the whole story. He had been in his tree when he saw the male ‘tied’ to the bitch after mating many weeks ago. He knew what mating was—it happened beside him in the family tent most evenings and sometimes during these lazy days after a big kill. Youngsters knew that one day they would be paired with mates from other tribes. Lads eyed with interest young women from other tribes who were mated to their older brothers. The sun was now high in the sky and Ton grew hot and uncomfortable in his stillness as he strained to see how many pups would emerge from the den. He had watched the whole 229


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process last year but today he waited in vain. Two little faces peeped from the den and as quickly disappeared. He had only seen the bitch twice since she lost her swollen belly. Every time the pack returned from a hunt, each would come forward and regurgitate some meat, often bright red, for the bitch to eat. Later, meat was regurgitated for the pups. The den was now quiet and he decided to leave. The wolves would go out hunting soon and he did not want to be caught on his way home, even though there were good climbing trees on his route. His mother Mawa was cross when he finally arrived back in camp. The other boys had just left to collect more wood and he was dispatched after them. Her baby lay in the wide skin sling hanging from her neck and one shoulder, the two-month-old baby girl’s weight pressing against her hip. It was feeding time and Mawa settled in readiness as she watched Ton turn and run in the direction she pointed. The infant stretched and grunted— Mawa took her swiftly from the sling and held at arm’s length while she pressed to urinate. Mawa grunted too, as she always did when she felt her baby grunting. Sometimes her grunting would induce the baby to defecate or urinate when it heard her. Now, she lay quietly suckling. The nipple was never far from her mouth and she turned to it many times throughout the day. Sometimes she drank for food, other times for comfort when Mawa was upset or disturbed and commonly for no other reason than comfort as she slipped off to sleep. Mawa took off the sling occasionally. She put the baby down beside her while she slept, with her man Longspear on one side and Ton and his young sister Meea on the other. If the baby wakened at night, a nipple provided immediate comfort and she would quickly go back to sleep, with Mawa hardly wakening. When Mawa foraged with the other women, they usually took off their slings and left the babies together with one or two girls. Girls liked this job; it was much easier and more relaxed than digging for roots or collecting seeds and leaves, though the children enjoyed fossicking in rock pools when the women foraged along the coast. Mostly the babies slept and some were old enough to play with. When a baby started to grunt its minder moved swiftly—though no-one minded a little dampness, each girl tried to keep the baby-slings as clean and dry as possible. 230


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Three days later, the men were hunting and the women foraging. Two girls had been left with the babies and an unmated youth with a bow and spears kept watch over them and the women. There was seldom danger with so many people around. No-one saw the bear until it was almost upon the girls. As they each snatched a baby and ran, their screams brought the young hunter running—but he was too late. The young man saw the blood and raced after the bear. Alone, he was no match for it, but an arrow might force it to drop the baby. The bear was already out of sight and by the time he found its tracks, it had too great a lead. The blood told him that he was probably too late, but he continued the pursuit. He returned an hour later to be greeted by wailing women. Mawa was bereft. It was her baby. The other infants were safely slung across their mothers’ bodies. The boys had heard the commotion from far away and had joined the women’s party. Two women held and stroked Mawa, who was crying inconsolably. The young guard ushered the women toward the camp. He knew there would be trouble when the men returned. He might be held responsible and the girls who had cared for the creche might also be in trouble, though they had saved two babies, their own siblings. The baby’s sister Meea had been with the women. It was dusk when the men arrived home. They were already upset. A hunter had been attacked by wolves when he became separated from the others and had been forced to climb a tree to escape. Fortunately, the hunting party heard his shouts and rescued him. The pack was well known to them—it had grown large and increasingly bold. It was already a real source of concern and this latest incident was the final straw. They would hunt down the wolves and kill as many as possible. Longspear had told his fellows that his son knew where to find the den. Weary and tense, they were extremely distressed when they reached the camp to find that Mawa and Longspear’s baby was dead and they angrily reproached the young guard. But the elders recognised that the lad had done his best—no-one could watch the women and remain close to the babies at the same time. Mawa was exhausted and collapsed into Longspear’s arms once they were alone in their tent. The next morning, she 231


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appeared composed but miserable. Women gathered around, holding her hands, stroking and gently crooning to her. The men quietly set out with Ton to find the wolf den. The pack was away hunting and only the bitch and her pups were there. When the men gathered around, she broke out, desperately trying to protect her litter. She met her end on a spear. Longspear lay before the den, pulled the pups out one by one and handed them to those behind him. Ton took one, a tiny, furry female and hugged it to his breast. The others were killed, their necks snapped in strong hands. Longspear asked Ton for the pup but the boy clutched it tightly to him and begged to keep it. His father held back. He was reluctant to cause more unhappiness in his family. The pup would soon die naturally without its mother to feed it. He put his hand on the lad’s shoulder and led him home. The carcasses of those killed were brought along; they would be eaten. That night Ton took the pup to sleep with him. During the night, the hungry pup smelled Mawa’s milk and squirmed past the boy to her nipples. Mawa woke to the feel of strong sucking at one breast; her other breast ached with the pressure of milk. Instinctively she reached to snatch the pup from her breast, then hesitated. The painful pressure was relieved so she held the pup to the other breast to relieve it too. The puppy snuggled into her and fed greedily. Mawa settled again and was asleep in a minute. She was exhausted and the suckling had calmed her. In the morning, Ton reclaimed his pup. He lay outside the tent, stroking its stomach. It urinated and defecated. He brushed the faeces away. He knew his mother had fed the pup and wondered if she would feed it again. Mawa was still unhappy but stroked the pup as she talked to Ton. He had to collect wood and she must go out with the women to forage. The slaughtered wolves had been eaten last night and men would be hunting again that day. Ton took the pup and carried it in a bag around his neck. Ton had a busy day. He was determined to collect enough firewood to bring him praise and relieve the pressure on him to let the pup die. Mawa was tired and her breasts were aching. She took the pup from Ton when he returned and walked into the tent, settled down and fed it, emerging to make the meal, leaving a sleeping pup on the skins in the tent. Later Ton retrieved his 232


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pup. He had watched the bitch licking her pups’ stomachs, stimulating their urination and defecation, and then cleaning them. He realised that stroking caused the pup to urinate and defecate. This time he took it away from the tent to stroke it. At the evening meal, Ton chewed up his meat and offered it on his hand to the pup. He had often watched the wolves regurgitating food for pups to eat. The pup licked at the offering tentatively at first, but soon ate the boluses as quickly as Ton could prepare them. With Mawa’s milk and a supply of food from Ton, the pup grew rapidly. It had been about four or five weeks old when captured and so was completely dependent on Ton and his family. The whole family were absolutely taken with the pup, who played endlessly and frolicked daily with the children. It ran with them when the boys went in search of wood; sometimes when the family was in camp, girls gathered to spoil the pup while boys played hunting games, or when Ton was away at his tree, watching the wolf pack. The wolves had now acquired a new bitch and were less restricted to the den area. Mawa fed the pup for only a couple of weeks; her milk was drying up. She menstruated a few weeks later, an uncomfortable but rare event, and was soon pregnant again. But she retained a keen interest in the pup. It was she who named it Chew and her son was teasingly called Wolf boy, a name which would stick with him for life. She always kept some food scraps for the wolf-bitch and laughed as it caught them when she threw pieces into the air. Wolf boy and his playmates soon extended the trick by tossing sticks for Chew to catch and gradually they trained her to bring the sticks back to them, rewarding her with caresses when she succeeded. Within a few months, Chew went out with the boys daily, giving them warning of danger by her growls when any other animal came near. They learned to rely on Chew, climbing trees when she growled. Wolf boy carried Chew up the tree with him. Wolf boy was impressed by how closely Chew watched him. As they ran, he found he could cause the wolf-bitch to run away to one side or the other by waving an arm in the desired direction. A call brought her racing back. Of course Chew took off immediately she saw a rabbit or any small game. It was during 233


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such a chase with Wolf boy that he waved the bitch to one side, to bring the rabbit around towards him. Chew obeyed without hesitation. When he saw the trick working, Wolfsizg2 boy stopped, arrow strung ready for the rabbit to run towards him. Chew turned the rabbit directly towards Wolf boy; his arrow hit the rabbit just as it saw him. The hunt was over. Quickly he cut off the head and tossed it to Chew. A single wolf-bitch would sometimes struggle to catch a rabbit, but Chew and the boy together had been successful. It was the first of many productive hunts, almost always ending in success and a tasty reward for Chew. The boy and his wolf had become a formidable hunting team, if only of small game. The following year, Chew whelped. Her season had been an irritation to everyone in the camp, but Wolf boy had fought to stop her being killed. Now there were four pups and everyone wanted one. At first Chew would let no-one but Wolf boy and his mother come near her but after four weeks, Chew was tired of the pups’ constant demands and stopped growling when the children came to play with them, usually at late afternoon. They always brought the pups home to Chew before going to sleep. Both men and women found the pups delightful and only one father objected to his son taking one home. The year after that, Wolf boy was taken out with the hunters. He had become a tall, lean lad with a heavy thatch of dark hair, though his face remained smooth and beardless. His mother had made him his first man’s skin tunic, which he now wore secured by a wide belt which held a small bag with a stone knife. He carried two spears, both tipped with sharp stone. Over his shoulder he carried a bow and four arrows, each with sharp, barbed antler points. As if to put the lie to his new manly appearance, his voice seesawed across octaves—to his immense embarrassment. Running beside him was Chew, whose presence had raised some objections from the men but Longspear insisted that they let the wolf come, since it had been such a hunting aid to Wolf boy. His son had convinced him that Chew could also help the hunters by turning game towards them but most of the other men were sceptical. Chew showed her worth on that first hunt. When a small herd of deer was sighted, Wolf boy waved Chew to one side to bring them towards him. The wolf raced off around the game, 234


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turning them. The men lay in the grass waiting, bows and spears ready. As soon as the deer came within range, the hunters stood, took aim and sent off a shower of arrows. Two leading deer were hit, one badly enough to cause it to fall; the other stumbled and limped away. Chew immediately turned it back to the men and it was quickly dispatched by more arrows and a spear. Wolf boy called over his wolf-bitch and praised her. He asked for some scraps. A leg was hacked off, stripped of skin and thrown to Chew. All the men were jubilant and each stroked the wolf. By the time the animals were butchered, there were plenty of scraps for Chew, and many more left behind for other scavengers. That evening those boys with wolf cubs found themselves the centre of their fathers’ attention. All had taken their pups out with Wolfboy and Chew, and the pups had demonstrated some grasp of a role in the hunt. But the fathers soon found that the pups would not accompany them on hunts—they only obeyed their sons, who had been their ‘parents’ since infancy. Fathers couldn’t return the pups’ total devotion and attention and had no interest in running and playing, as did their boys. However, pups were always sensitive to the status of fathers in the family and paid them due deference. For the next year, only Wolf boy and Chew went out with the hunters. The young boys listened every night to their fathers praising Wolf boy and Chew and spent many hours training their wolves, determined to gain status to equal Wolf boy, when they became hunters. Increasingly, the tribe became obsessed with the value of their wolves. Each hunt was more successful than the last and that meant more leisure in the camp—for the hunters at least. Boys still faced the relentless daily grind of wood-gathering and women, food collection. Fathers now often accompanied their sons on rabbit hunts, learning the tricks of training the wolves, which in fact needed little training—they were born cooperative hunters. The tribe grew and prospered throughout the next year, especially during the winter. The team of Chew and Wolf boy had become essential to big hunts. Winters were seldom harsh, and in autumn there was always plenty of easy meat. Each year, as grasses dried out, young animals born the previous spring faced their first real test of survival—the surplus population always died 235


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before next spring. In late winter it was a different story, for only the strongest had survived and hunting became more difficult. It was then that Chew showed her true value. The usual vegetable and insect gathering ceased in the cold months and there was nothing to eat but meat. For the first winter in memory, Wolf boy’s tribe was well-fed throughout—no-one went hungry. Their trained animals brought a new dimension to living, but there were problems. Within a few years, there were more wolves in the camp than people, and a subtle change had crept into their rearing. Pups were no longer taken from their mothers as soon as their eyes opened, and the dams were left to rear their pups with little intrusion from people. The result was a generation of pups which grew up to be more savage and less obedient to their owners. These animals became pests. They fought amongst themselves for food whenever people tried to feed their trained wolves or defecated in the mornings. Finally, several children were attacked and the men killed every wolf not firmly attached to a person. Also, hunters quickly learned that too many wolves on hunts was as much a problem as none: two or three well-managed animals proved to be better than a dozen. Wolf boy argued that well-disciplined, useful wolves were those who had been taken from the bitches within weeks of birth, and adopted by one lad. Thereafter surplus pups, without a human carer, were routinely killed. Chew lived out her life with Wolf boy, tied by a deep mutual bond of loyalty, trust and affection. How many of you have reached down beside your chair to ruffle the soft fur of a loyal companion, even as you come to the end of Wolfboy’s Chronicle? An ancient pattern lives on with us.

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20 Brudherder—keeper of sheep Time and place: Perhaps 13,000 years ago, in the Middle East.

Man can long resist conditions which appear extremely unfavourable for his existence. He has long lived in the extreme regions of the North, with no wood for his canoes or implements, and with only blubber for fuel, and melted snow for drink. In the southern extremity of America the Fuegians survive without the protection of clothes, or of any building worthy to be called a hovel. In south Africa the aborigines wander over arid plains where dangerous beasts abound. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Brudherder led his people over a mountain range. They travelled lightly, each man and woman carrying what was needed for their next camp and the next hunt. Three days before, they had left the shelter of their grotto to head north. Game animals were also spreading out from valleys and plains, moving up hillsides and northwards. Winter was over and the hills and valleys were verdant; trees had exploded into leaf and the ground was smudged with a palette of greens. There were now two other tribes hunting over the traditional range of Brudherder’s tribe so by the end of summer there would be little game to share among many mouths. Brudherder’s tribe were on this journey because he remembered that his father had once described a wide valley beyond these mountains, where there was always game. A man of vision, he had urged the tribe to move there, but was killed before he could bring that about. 237


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The tribe had stayed in its range because that was what it had always done. But to remain now inevitably meant conflict and the elders had remembered the stories of a valley beyond the hills. There was a minimum size for a tribe, about ten families. Tribes grew slowly to about 20 families before splitting; it was too hard to find food for so many in winter. Men were sometimes killed in battle but, more commonly, died from wounds received on the hunt. Women died during long harsh winters when their children drained them of the sustenance they needed to make milk and maintain themselves. Life was hard. During summer, the tribe seldom stayed more than a few weeks in any camp. Every move meant an enormous effort. Firstly men located a new campsite. Then each person picked up their essential possessions and walked across. Inevitably, precious things were left behind—useful flints for scraping skins and stones for grinding. Much had to bg replaced with every move, even though the tribe had standard campsites within their range and many objects were stored in readiness for the next visit. The tribe’s winter grotto was huge and draughty; it did little bgside keep out snow and allow fires to bg kept going, provided enough wood was stored. This journey was different; no-one knew how long it would take. Neither did anyone know if they would find good stones, essential for so many tasks. It would be a strange experience for Brudherder’s tribe to be on an unknown hunting range and all the adults were apprehensive. Kal, the tribe’s Dreamer, had called on their totem, the spirit Ram, and joyfully announced that Ram promised them a fertile new range with much game. Her assurances were important, but no substitute for knowledge. The tribe struggled through mountain gorges along narrow animal paths. On the tenth day, their dogs flushed out a large ram grazing on a hillside. The dogs attacked on sight; men dropped their loads to race after them. The ram turned at bay, backing into a large bush to face its formidable foes. Attacked on both sides, it would have been torn to pieces had not the men beat the dogs away and dispatched the animal with a single stab of a spear. It was butchered immediately and the men returned to their temporary camp. The women had already gathered some 238


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tinder and sticks and were setting a fire beside a protecting cliff. The fire was soon burning brightly and the mouth-watering aroma of meat staked out to grill on green sticks floated through the camp. Brudherder walked up the ridge and looked around. There before him lay a wide valley, stretching as far as he could see on either side, with another mountain range far in the distance. He called for attention and everyone gathered to look at the sight below. Kal the Dreamer beheld the glorious valley and announced that this was indeed the new range that the Ram had promised. Carefully they looked for signs which would indicate that others were using the range, but there were no smudges of smoke. Watch was kept until dark but no fires were seen. The men remained wary, however, for the valley was well-wooded, which prevented them from seeing fires in the dusk. Dry wood made little smoke from small fires kept alight during the day. That night there was plenty of meat and all settled down contented to sing around the fire. Kal gave thanks to the Ram for the guidance they had received and sought assistance from the tribe’s spirits for future hunts. The next day, women were discovering new plants, herbs and flowers while men saw signs of game everywhere. Along the foothills they found mouflon (wild sheep) droppings and spotted two rams in the distance. Following a stream down into the valley, they passed several ideal watering holes for communal gathering and drinking by herds of mountain sheep and other animals. As they moved across the valley, there were many signs of game but none of people. There was only one more temporary camp before Brudherder and his people stopped beside a wide river. The men took counsel and agreed that this should be the location of a long-term camp and they chose a site on a high rise beside the river, sheltered among trees that lined the bank. Two big fires were built and wood gathered to keep them burning all night. Where there were sheep, there would be predators and men had already found tracks of big cats. Sleeping people made easy prey, but not when fires were burning. Morning saw everyone working to bwild a safe camp. Bushes, especially those with thorns, were cut and gathered to fence the camp. Sticks, bark and grass for thatch were collected to make 239


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shelters for each family. Mostly, families slept outside, but all sought shelter when it rained and their small fires needed to bg under cover. Women did most of the work in camp while Brudherder took four men to explore the area and find game. Everyone was hungry after the long trek. The men were late returning to the camp. They had seen vultures circling and surprised a great cat at its kill, a mountain ewe. The dogs and a shower of arrows had driven the cat away with two arrows deep in its side. Tomorrow would be time enough to stalk and perhaps kill the cat. The camp was not finished but there was a general excitement in the air. No signs of people had been found and there was plenty of meat for a feast. The men had seen clear evidence of sheep, deer and goat herds all over the valley. There would be predators of course, but Brudherder was confident in his ability to defend his tribe and hopefully overcome any predators. The tribe needed all the meat which could be hunted. This valley might support bears, cats, foxes and wolves but, together, these seldom consumed as much as a tribe with their dogs, all eating meat daily. The women had been out foraging but found that much of the vegetation was new to them and lifetimes of foraging had made them cautious. It would take years before they could identify the full harvest of this valley. Yet there were still many plants they knew and could collect for food. All slept well, with full, contented bellies. The next morning, the men gathered their long spears as well as their bows and prepared to find the wounded cat. They knew it would not have gone far and if badly wounded, it could be easy prey. Wounded cats had to be approached with caution, though. Arrows could wound at a distance but heavy spears were more useful if the men were charged. The cat lay in bushes only a short distance from where it had been wounded. Its tracks and signs of blood were found but dogs made it clear that the cat was still there. The fact that it had not moved away suggested that it was seriously wounded. The men held back their dogs to protect them from stray arrows. Hunters and victim waited. Brudherder gathered his men behind a phalanx of spears, while two men shot arrows over the protective spears towards where they judged the cat to lie. They 240


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fired many arrows before a roar told them one had hit its mark. The dogs were released and scattered as the great beast burst from its hiding place, charging them. Two arrows from the previous day had been chewed off but a new one had penetrated the cat’s rump and another hit it as it charged. The rush was less impressive than that of a healthy beast, but all spears were lowered to take its powerful momentum. The great predator hit four spears together, wrenching all of them from the hunters’ hands. Two more spears were thrust into its flank as it came to rest, mortally wounded, in the midst of scattering men. It was a tigress, blood running from its mouth. Its giant fangs had ripped into one hunter, who lay writhing in agony, his thigh torn open, bright arterial blood spraying from the wound. The dogs had swept in after the cat, but were chased away. Brudherder saw immediately that his man would die—a heavy price to pay for this hunt. His companions tried to bind up the wound with leather thongs but couldn’t stem the flow of blood. They watched in silence as their friend grew weaker, two men gently cradling his head. No-one touched the dead tigress. Brudherder knelt beside the dying man, assuring him that he would be taken back to the camp, to his woman and children. He talked quietly until the man lost consciousness. They laid him out to carry back to camp slung under two spears. Kal would say the words to send him on his journey to the spirit world as a great hunter. They butchered the tiger and quietly returned to camp. Hunters laid the body down before the widow, Ne-me and her children. Her anguished wail was taken up by other women as they gathered around her. It was long after dark before meat was cooked. Men scratched out a shallow grave and laid the corpse in it, along with the teeth that killed him, his bow and the tiger’s tail, to show the spirits what a great hunter he had been. Kal wore her headdress of ram’s horns while she sang to Ram who would be pleased with the gift of the tiger’s tail. Grasses were laid over the body before covering it first with earth and then rocks, stacked over the grave. Dinner was eaten silently, accompanied only by the sound of Ne-me quietly sobbing as she sat hugging and rocking her two children. Families crawled under their skins for the night, without the usual chatter. Death was no stranger and was accepted with 241


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quiet resignation. The next morning their mood remained subdued. Women cooked more meat and men squatted around, talking quietly while the meat sizzled over embers. Brudherder wanted to explore the valley, to search carefully for signs of human occupation. They had to know whether the river lands were within the range of another tribe. It seemed too much to expect them to be unoccupied. After they had eaten, Brudherder left two men as camp sentries and led the others upstream. He did not expect to return that evening unless they found evidence of another tribe. As they walked, they turned up every tributary as far as possible, searching for signs of people. All day they searched, finding no signs of habitation. On several occasions they found small herds of deer and many sheep families grazing, each led by an old ewe; they rushed together into a tight flock when disturbed by the dogs. The men also found beaver dams, and tracks of large cats and wolves. Late on the second day, the dogs set up a small family of ewes, driving them back to the men. One was wounded by arrows and, as it struggled, the dogs brought it down. It was quickly killed and butchered. Men and dogs ate well that evening around a good fire. They decided that there was no point in travelling further. If other tribes occupied this valley, they would not interfere with the land chosen by Brudherder’s tribe. It was time to return and search downstream. Brudherder was impressed by the abundance of mountain sheep. In the hills, sheep were agile and almost impossible to catch. They jumped lithely over rocks and gullies and were seldom close enough for an arrow. Even dogs could not move over rocks quickly enough to turn them. On the plains, sheep seemed to run faster, but there was nowhere for them to escape. Dogs could run with them but not easily overtake them. Usually the sheep ran to cover in the gullies along creeks where their agility gave them an advantage over dogs. Yet working together with men, dogs could turn sheep towards the hunters, whose arrows usually slowed one enough to make a kill. Twelve days later their exploration was complete. They found a tribe living on the high rocky seashores. The two tribes met and exchanged meat and salt, conversing in a clumsy primitive 242


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sign language as their spoken languages were quite different. The strangers hunted inland for a day’s walk, but no further. Brudherder found that the alien tribe had a woman to exchange and agreed to return at the next full moon to feast and exchange women. Next season was kind to Brudherder’s tribe—their Ram had been good to them. Three babies were born, one young woman exchanged with the seashore tribe and the young newly paired man became a hunter. His tribe had never spent a winter away from their grotto, but it was too far to return now. They found a sheltered embankment beside the frozen river on which to set up a winter camp. An enormous heap of firewood was collected and chopped up with stone axes. Since the land appeared not to have been occupied before, there were plenty of fallen branches under the older trees. The widow Ne-me remated with a young lad of the tribe. There were occasionally polygynous matings, especially with Alpha males, but this could generate trouble—especially when the man failed to maintain adequate food. Ne-me was already pregnant, but her new mate would care for her child. Her tribe lived far away, in the valley from which they had migrated. In the early spring, however, she bore and lost her baby. It was only a few days old when it died and again she was distraught. That afternoon, the hunters returned with a ewe and a live newborn lamb, to be kept for a day or two before slaughter. As they sat before the fire, Brudherder noticed a fine spray of milk squirting from the bgreaved Ne-me. He thought immediately of the lamb, lying tied up in a shelter away from the dogs. In the morning, he brought out the lamb and suggested that the woman nurse it. She was reluctant, but the pressure of her milk was painful. Gingerly she took up the lamb and brought it to her breast. It sucked, weakly at first, butting her as it became stronger. The other women laughed at the butting but Ne-me cradled her breast so her fist took the force of these blows and her breast was soon eased of its painful pressure. She stroked the lamb’s coat of tightly curled wool under long surface hair. Within two days the adoption process was complete. The elders pronounced that Ne-me should use her milk to keep the lamb alive until meat was urgently needed when it would be slaughtered. Soon the 243


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lamb was following her wherever she went, whether out foraging with the women or working around the camp. Dogs had been bullied to keep away from it; they gradually became accustomed to its presence and ceased to bother it. Young puppies born that spring grew up with the lamb and gave it almost no trouble. It was late summer when Ne-me weaned her lamb. It was almost full grown now and one day it disappeared when she was in the foothills picking berries with other women. Ne-me felt that the Ram had taken away her pet and was wretched. The lamb was eating grass by now and other women joked that it had rgturned to the wild—it was the mating season. When it returned three days later, her milk had almost gone but she was delighted to have her pet back. Winter was a hard time for the lamb. Ne-me gathered a stack of grass beside her own shelter. The lamb lived with her family, moving freely around the enclosure. Many times others pressured her to kill the ewe when food was scarce, but always the hunters made a kill that gave her pet a reprieve. In spring, the ewe lambed. She was a good mother and as warm weather brought fresh grasses and herbs, the ewe and her lamb accompanied the women on their various activities. Around the fire at night men and women often discussed the strange relationship which had developed between Ne-me and her two sheep. One woman jokingly commented that if it lasted, every year would see more sheep joining the tribe until there were more sheep than people. Everyone laughed. Yet Brudherder looked thoughtful. He had laughed too, but now he wondered what it would be like to have sheep, like dogs, living as part of the tribe. How would they protect them from the dogs, and from predators? How would they feed them during winter? How would they respond to wild sheep when they met? How would ewes be mated? How would they manage rams, since rams did not live with ewes for most of the year and were much more aggressive and difficult to handle? There were many questions to bg considered. Meanwhile the ewe, now called Lammy, and its lamb remained part of the tribe and all came to accept them. Next season, both ewes produced lambs—one a ram. Brudherder looked at them and his questions remained. In the following autumn one of his 244


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questions was answered for the ram mated with all three ewes. There would be no difficulty getting ewes in lamb. However, by winter the young ram had become difficult and was slaughtered. A night yard made of branches and thorns within the camp enclosure safely protected the ewes. In spring, all bore lambs—one was another ram. Now Brudherder and his men had to face the other questions posed by the growth of their flock. Ne-me’s young son Ke-we solved some of the questions. He had accompanied Ne-me on her foraging and the ewes knew him as well as his mother. He was now ten and spent every day with the ewes, sitting with them while they grazed, leading them back to camp in late afternoon. One summer day he came running to his mother, his words tumbling out incoherently in his breathless excitement. He told how an adult wild ram had driven off their own young ram. A few days later it was obvious that all of the ewes had come into season together, the usual outcome of an adult ram’s presence. He mated all five ewes and left a few days later. When the young ram finally returned it was slaughtered. During next winter, it became Ke-we’s task to find feed for the ewes, taking them out on fine days to muzzle out food from beneath the snow. The people had developed a real liking for sheep meat, though it was with great reluctance, and only in the face of pressing hunger, that any of their flock were butchered. Known and nurtured from birth, each animal was known by everyone as an individual. Nevertheless, all recognised that the sheep were a valuable food source, especially in the lean times of winter. Ke-we acquired the dubious honour of selecting which animal to slaughter, then butchering it for the tribe, distributing feet, stomach and intestines to the dogs. This wasn’t the sort of attention he liked—the sheep were his friends as well as his responsibility. Brudherder saw the boy’s conflict and in his kindly way made him a gift of a strong small bow and some arrows, tipped with fine, sharp stone points. He coached Ke-we with the bow and urged him to take it with him always when herding the sheep. Such favour and attention from a great hunter was indeed consolation for the youth. Ke-we was a lad with a vivid imagination. Every day with the ewes, he watched for signs of wolves, cats or bears, talking to his 245


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flock as their protector. His skills as a bowman increased and Brudherder rewarded Ke-we’s caring attention to his flock by giving him a very young pup to take with him. Only one other boy had his own pup. Ke-we called his pup Choo—which meant ‘he who roars like a lion’. Choo was less than three months old. Ke-we grew to manhood as the keeper of the sheep. After his manhood ceremony he sometimes went out with the hunters, but his role as shepherd was more important. Brudherder and Kal both made much of his responsibility to provide food for the tribe during winter. The flock had grown to sixteen ewes, led by the now elderly Lammy. Staying together as a clan was as natural to sheep as living, and the old female was mother and grandmother of the flock ewes. For Ke-we, this was an advantage since Lammy had no interest in leaving the tribe, except briefly when no ram joined the flock in the mating season. Then she would leave and seek one out. When the flock numbered 22, Lammy’s teeth had gone—she was now very frail. Reluctantly, Ke-we took her from the enclosure one evening and killed her. Her oldest daughter immediately became leader—of her daughters and granddaughters. They remained one clan, a natural flock of ewes, though larger than most natural clans. Minimum pressure from both Ke-we and Choo kept them together. When Ke-we was given a mate, Lala, she came with him most days for the first year until her child was born. Patiently, Ke-we taught her details of each ewe’s behaviour, how each cared for its lambs differently, and what sheep did when they were disturbed. She learned the flock’s daily cycle of activities and how they changed from one activity to another. The leader would stop grazing, walk a few paces away from the others and stop. She was then joined by another ewe, often her eldest daughter who then walked with her a little further from the flock and stopped. One by one, the other sheep looked up, then moved forward to join them until the whole flock was drawn into the movement, with the oldest ewe leading from within the flock as younger ewes pushed to the fore. Lala was captivated by the spectacle. Daily Lala learned that each movement was predictable, either to water or to rest in the shade in regular places where the droppings built up into widely scattered piles. Some always pressed out in front when the flock began to graze. Each sheep 246


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kept another in focus with one eye, while its head was down grazing. There was no straying and no loss of visual contact between sheep. There was little to fear from large predators since Brudherder worked his hunters hard to destroy them; yet there would always be another cat or pack of wolves moving onto the range. Each year, the flock grew. Problems arose when Lammy’s daughter died and the flock tried to break into three families or female clans. Ke-we and Choo simply could not manage more than one flock, so they strove to keep the sheep in a single group. Ke-we thought that perhaps two dogs might work together to ease his load, so little Bam came into their lives. At first the pup wanted to chase and frolic with the ewes and strict discipline was needed to prevent the sheep from scattering. But slowly he learned from Choo what had to be done with each movement of the flock and was praised or scolded by Ke-we. Choo had long ago learned to walk beside Ke-we as he drove the sheep to pasture each morning and back to the evening enclosure. Bam learned to follow Choo whenever he raced out to turn back straying ewes, or even the whole flock if they tried to turn from the chosen route. The man and his dogs were an effective team. Still later, Ke-we was joined by his young son Shew, like Bam an enthusiastic student of sheep. His father had much to teach him for it was now clear that soon the flock would need to be divided. Butchering had become less stressful for Ke-we as the flock grew, though he still knew every ewe in the flock. While he watched the flock, Ke-we often shot a hare or rabbit and one day he put two arrows into a deer which strayed past the flock. Swiftly he ran it down, finished the kill, rgmoved the entrails to lessen its weight and arrived home that evening behind the sheep, carrying the deer over his shoulders. Not only was he the keeper of the sheep, but he was still a hunter.

Brudherder died before the flock finally divided into two, each with its own shepherd, dogs and enclosure for the winter. Life for men had changed enormously, for there was now enough 247


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food for the tribe whether or not they hunted. Before winter, everyone helped to cut and stack the grass needed to feed the sheep during the coldest weather, though the flocks could be taken out to forage in milder weather. As the flocks grew, more lads and dogs were recruited to help with the shepherding for this became the tribe’s chief activity. Men now hunted primarily to protect themselves and their flocks from predators. As the flocks spread across the valley, deer and goats were also hunted to provide more pasture for sheep. In time, pressure on the range forced some herders to take their flocks and dogs up into hill pastures during summer, to preserve the low meadows for winter grazing. Women’s lives and responsibilities hadn’t changed—they remained the main providers of everyday food, which complemented the daily meat. For the men however, herding sheep made their lives much easier and they now had more leisure time in which to shape spears and arrows, or fashion cutting tools to gather grasses for the winter stores. They built better huts in permanent camps. While shepherds had no such leisure time in the camps, theirs was not a difficult life during the summer months. Sheep had to be watched, but the dogs helped and there was time to gather and work stones, to shape and experiment with bows or new arrowheads, to carve antlers for spear and arrow points. The dogs always gave advance warning of any predators. Brudherder could not have foreseen that shepherding would eventually lead to more leisure time which, in turn, meant big improvements in technology and material comforts for his descendants. He lived long enough to see that sheep herding led to a fuller harvest of the range, by eliminating predators and competitors. The country carried more people than ever before. And another vital step was about to be made, but that is for our last chronicle—that of Isla the sower.

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21 Sower—a woman of vision Time and Place: About 12,000 years ago, the Middle East.

I dispute whether a new race or species is necessarily or even generally descended from a single pair of parents. The whole body of individuals, I believe, became altered together—like our race horses, and like all domestic breeds which are changed by unconscious selection by man. Charles Darwin in a letter to Bentham

Isla’s back ached from long hours of bending—scything grain in the heat of a summer’s day—carrying an increasingly heavy bag of seeds. Yet she smiled to herself as she stretched. This wide expanse of floodplain by the big river was a rich source of grass seeds. Holding handfuls of seed heads together, the women sliced them off with flint knives, then shoved them into fibre bags. Dry heads were sharp and Isla’s tough hands were covered in fine cuts. It was good when the grass heads were close together and many tops could be gathered in one hand. More commonly, however, each clump of grass was separate from the others, so that a cut might yield only a few heads. Today the tedium of the job was rewarded by the richness of their harvest. There would be plenty for tonight’s meal and she could add some to the growing stockpile. Dry grain kept well and was a valuable resource during the long winter, for there would often bg periods when there was nothing else for her family to eat. The other women had also filled, or nearly filled their bags. Isla looked around and saw them standing together talking. It 249


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was clear that they too were finished and ready to walk home, all struggling with their heavy bags. It was late afternoon. No-one enjoyed working through a whole day on the plain, but if they did not make the harvest now, the birds would gather it for them. Isla joined the other women and within minutes they set off. Their camp was in a clearing beside the river. The river banks were high and unlikely to flood except after exceptional rain, when there would be plenty of warning. It was only a short walk to the camp and the women chatted happily together despite their long and tiring day. More work awaited each woman at home, though, thankfully, neither hot nor back-breaking. One by one they left the group, stooped and entered their tents. Each shelter was a rounded structure which stood about two metres high in the centre—covered with skins held down by heavy turfs and sticks; around the base were weighty stones and logs. The entrance was low and could be covered by a hanging skin. Smoke rose from each family fire burning just outside the entrance. Isla threw down her sack beside other bags of grain, took up an open one and shook out some grass heads onto a smooth skin on the floor. Scooping up a handful she rubbed them between soft leather so that husks and grain were separated and dropped on another skin. Her hands were sore but her family had to be fed. Handful after handful, her task continued until, at last, enough heads were rubbed. Cargfully gathering the skin, she walked outside where she went through the next process of scooping up a handful of grain and letting it drop again onto the skin, blowing away the husks as they fell. Over and over she scooped, dropped and blew, until the skin contained mostly grain. Finally, she picked over the mixture to remove any remaining stalks and debris. Back in the tent, Isla prepared the evening meal. She poured a quantity of grain onto her grinding stone, added fragrant leaves and seeds for flavour and rhythmically crushed the mixture with a round stone. The process was tedious, but slowly the grain became a powder. Deftly she scooped up some animal fat from her precious store, mixed it through the powder and added some river water to make a dough. Her practised hands flew through each step, as if with a mind of their own—leaving her imagination free. During this quiet evening interlude, humming tunelessly to 250


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herself, she thought over events in her life and wondered about the world beyond the river. So many moons had passed since she had been mated—a small, brown girl with flowing matted hair, the colour of firelight and wide questioning eyes, always seeking. It had been a good mating. Her man was straight of back and comely—she thought that when first she saw him and hadn’t changed; moreover he treated her considerately and they shared much, in contentment. The ways of his people were so different from hers. Time had accustomed her to the changes—so many differences. She remembered her horror that first autumn when they left their comfortable friendly tents, trekked wearily for days, to hole up for winter in a dank, gloomy, smelly cave. Another winter approached. Isla gave an involuntary shudder as she pushed a glimpse of the grotto away. Rgturning to the task, her hands formed little flat cakes and placed them to cook on a hot flat stone, dragged from the fire outside her tent. Her family would sleep with contented bellies this night—as indeed they would every night while the grain lasted. Inside it was becoming dark; time to light the moss wick in a sun-dried clay lamp. She scratched at fleas which found her, the sole occupant of the tent. Her man and their ten-year-old son arrived home and joined her beside the fire. Their hunger was heightened by the tantalising aroma of freshly baked cakes and scraps of meat from the day’s hunt were soon roasting on green sticks. Isla’s man looked at her bag of grain with satisfaction. They shared the events of their day as they ate. No hunter had been successful. They had dug out some lizards, rabbits and small rodents—enough for a snack for each family, nothing more. The camp needed little protection, certainly no guards. This was fertile country so the tribes around were camped relatively close by, within a few hours’ walk. Camp dogs gave notice of any approach by wild animals or strangers. There were very few predators left in this area. The tribe slept calmly. Most families had a dog, but there was no need to feed them—they ate human faeces, and whatever else they could kill or scavenge. When a big animal was killed, there were bones and entrails enough for dogs to fight over. The next morning brought another day—at this time of the year the daily tasks did not vary. Every tent had its skin water 251


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bag hanging in the tent and it was the eldest son’s first duty of the day to fill it at the river. After ablutions, families shared a meagre morning meal—a few scraps of dried meat and some stale grain cakes. Adults gathered at the river to drink, before setting out on the day’s tasks. There was always some good-natured banter and teasing by the brighter sparks while the older men confirmed their plans for the day’s hunting. Women with young nursing infants remained in camp with the very small children. The others would be out again collecting grain. Most of these women were also lactating, but their infants were mobile and could be left. The women who remained behind had much to do beside minding children. There were skins to scrape and stretch; pelts to be cut, shaped and holes pierced with fine pointed bones for sewing with strips of skin. Softer skins were made into extra clothes, needed when cold days came; tough skins made mats for tents or the tents themselves. Many skins came from successful hunts, but sometimes skins were traded from tribes who lived in the mountains, many days’ walk away. These tribes lived with their herds of sheep, and hunted only the big cats and wolves that preyed on their flocks. Soft lamb skins were highly prized by Isla’s tribe. Women nursed their children for at least three years, usually longer. To have a new bab{ before the last one was relatively independent was dangerous. Not only would the woman be weakened, but her baby could die or be neglected so that it became a serious burden. On the very rare occasion that twins were born, always the mother left one aside—she could never manage two. This was her right and it was never questioned. A baby meant a huge investment for a woman—long periods of carrying on daily walks and the physical strain of the long lactation, coupled with the extra stress of keeping her bab{ both alive and healthy through gruelling winter conditions. Older children could grow fat during the summer, to help them through winter. A nursing mother could seldom fatten, so that losing her milk meant losing her baby. Isla was lucky. She had reared two children, a daughter who now lived in another tribe and her ten-year-old son, who could carry a good load. She had lost one child born after him, but had not been pregnant since. Her man was a good hunter so she often had meat. 252


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As summer came to an end, the tribe prepared to move to their winter quarters—a large limestone cave in the foothills—two days’ walk away. Bats owned it in summer but they migrated before the first snows. Most large game migrated southwards, yet some animals remained, although snow covered the ground for many hundreds of miles around. This annual trek was carefully organised and executed. Before they left, skins from tents which could not be carried were tied into bwndles and hoisted up into trees where they could be retrieved next spring. The menfolk carried loads of skins or grain, but their spears always remained ready for danger. The trip was especially arduous for women, since they carried both heavy loads and any infants unable to walk. Every child old enough to walk unaided did so and most carried something across their shoulders. It was amazing then—as now—how many possessions people could accumulate in a summer. Little water was carried so it was necessary to move quickly between creeks or springs. The tribe was most likely to meet other tribes at water, but these meetings were neither friendly nor hostile; if a fight broke out, it could mean the end of one tribe or sometimes both but most of the tribes knew each other and had met to feast together in summer. Isla’s tribe reached its wintering cave. There were many caves around these limestone hills, all of them occupied during winter. Hunting was especially good in autumn and early winter, for young animals facing their first season without their mothers made easy prey. Humans were almost, but not quite, the only predators in the area. Wolves were hunted, especially during birthing times, when the dens were sought out and the pups killed. Big cats were more of a problem. Usually large groups hunted them, keeping them moving day after day until they either turned at bay and were killed, or moved far away from the caves. Many hunters died hunting predators, but it was necessary to kill them to ensure adequate supplies of game during winter. There were also migrating herds of fat animals which could sometimes be stampeded over banks, where some were injured enough to make easy catches. Their fat was prized for the light it brought. Much of winter was spent in the cave. When there was meat or when weather was bad, the tribe huddled together talking or telling stories; they spent much of their time sleeping. The men 253


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went out with their dogs to hunt whenever weather permitted. Winter was also the time of deaths; two men, two women and one child died. One man’s body was lost in a snowdrift, but during calm spells the others, together with their favourite possessions, were covered with rocks to protect them from scavengers. There could be no shallow grave, no bark wrapping or gifts of flowers in this hostile, frozen world. The tribe had reverently named their Dreamer ‘Shaman’, for his wisdom and strong voice—even though he was an old man. Shaman sang the song of the dead to send each departed to the spirit world, where they would be welcomed by those who had gone before and where they would find good hunting and abundant food. As spirits they would return in dreams to comfort their loved ones. All knew that these spirits would guide warriors in battle or in hunts. Some spirits were known to return to the bkrth of their descendants; they were recognised in their grandchildren, in their looks or walks. On the death of a hunter his woman became mate to his brother—if he had one—and shared the food of that family. Otherwise she would join Leader’s tent. In these cases there was less meat, but two women managed to gather more grain. When a woman died so did her infant, unless it was old enough to survive without her milk. The man she left would take any available woman, often a widow; she would then care for his and her own children. With the first clearing of snow in spring, all were impatient to return to summer pastures. For days, women prepared for the trip while their men hunted. One fine spring day, they arrived back at their summer camp. Not much remained—sticks, stones used to make tents and the outlines of tents on the ground. There was an enormous amount of work to be done and a hunt to be organised, for there was no meat. Isla looked at her tent site. The first job each year was to clear what had been the floor area of its covering of dense, fresh grass shoots. She pulled some grass and sucked on its sweetness. This year, two old tents were not needed so that there was extra tent-making material available to repair the old tents. It was two days bgfore the tents were rebuilt; everyone was exhausted. The men had brought home one young calf which filled hungry people. There was no grain left so women moved out to forage 254


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early next morning. It was still too early in spring to expect much but there would be plenty of buds, bulbs and herbs along the river bank. Snares would be set for small game and fish could sometimes be speared. The food would not all be exciting, but with a full day’s work there would be enough to feed every family. If the men were successful, there would be a feast. Isla had collected a full bag of herbs and roots and three frogs were cooking on the hot rock beside the fire. She sat musing on the summer ahead. Her eye was caught by the brilliant colour of lush green grass growing on the two unoccupied tent sites. She walked over to examine it more closely, wondering why it was so uniform. She pulled out a tiny shoot just pushing through the soil. It came away from the soft ground with a seed at its base. Grain was always spilled in the tents and then scattered on the ground when floor skins were picked up as tents were dismantled. She examined the seed. It seemed to be an ordinary grain seed of the sort she harvested every year. Carefully she dug under some other small shoots and each time found the same seed, with a white or green leaf above and tiny white roots below. She was sure that these shoots were growing from grain which had been left behind, pressed into the soil, before the winter. That evening she told her man of her discovery. He was not interested. Hunting was men’s work. Grain, although important, was women’s work. Each day Isla watched the cereal grow. The grass was close together so she knew it would make an easy harvest if only it was not trampled during the months ahead. She was sure it would be the harvest grass. She built a ring of rocks around one of the tent spaces and told the women who watched her that it was to honour the spirits of those whose tent had been there previously. This kept people out, but not her dog, who made a cosy nest in the rapidly growing grass. Isla was excited when the grass developed seed heads. Now she could see that they were the same heads that she and the women harvested every year. She called to the other women, and they agreed with her. They saw that the grasses grew closely together and would be easy to harvest. But there was so little of it. Isla told them how she believed that this grass had grown from grains which were spilled on the tent floors and then trampled underground so that birds did not find it. She outlined her plan. Come autumn, she would spread grain 255


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over a large area beside the burial ground where people seldom walked. She would scratch the ground so that the grain was covered and out of sight of birds. Next year they could expect an easy harvest of dense grass close to camp. Some women shared her excitement and offered to help; others thought the idea silly, if not dangerous. The plains still provided everyone’s needs and there wouldn’t be enough from such a small planting to feed even one family. In any case, all grain they gathered in the summer was needed to get their families through the winter— there was no surplus to waste on such fanciful ideas. Only the spirits could provide grain for their people and they might be angry if women tried to provide their own. Nevertheless, Isla and two other women spent their spare time scraping the soil in the chosen area, ignoring the ridicule of the other women. They scratched and pulled out other grasses that grew there and loosened the soil so that grain could be easily covered once it was scattered. Finally, each woman sacrificed one of her remaining store bags of grain, collected after the harvest, just before moving out of the summer camp. Carefully they scratched soil over the grain so that none was visible. They knew only too well how quickly birds would steal grain if they could see it. They sowed the grain as thickly as they thought it could grow, since they knew how closely it was possible for it to grow on the plains. By the time the tribe was ready to leave for their winter quarters, they had planted an area of about 70 metres square. The whole tribe knew about their project. Leader thought it might be an important development but was doubtful as to whether the yield would be as valuable as the women thought. Shaman called upon the spirits to make the grain grow into food for the tribe. Many remained sceptical and, in fact, the project was forgotten throughout winter, except towards the end when grain supplies ran low and Isla and her friends were accused of putting the tribe at risk. When the tribe returned to their summer camp, early in spring, everyone was anxious to see how the grass was growing and stopped at the edge of the grain field to look. There was already a even covering of green shoots, with only a few bare patches. A few days later the whole field was covered with 256


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healthy growing grass, with very few other plants among the green shoots. Throughout that summer, the daily work of foraging and hunting occupied most of the tribe’s attention. Young children played in the sun and with each successful hunt, there was time for adults to relax. Isla and her friends visited their plot regularly to see their crop growing. They pulled out many weeds growing among their grass and thrilled at the density of the grass clumps. Even the sceptics were grudgingly changing their opinions. Finally the grass turned brown and ripe for harvest. Out on the plains, the grass ripened earlier and the women made their daily trek to gather the harvest. Within a week the field was also ready and men and women watched while Isla and her two friends moved among the grass making their harvest. The crop was an outstanding success: it was small—too small to be useful for three families—but the women had proved their point. Within a couple of days three women had harvested more than they would in over a week’s hard work out on the plains. After the next successful hunt, Leader sat around his fire with his hunters. They had thought deeply about the field of grain and the ease with which a sizeable crop had been collected. Leader took counsel with Shaman and announced his decision that grain would be planted again. He knew that extra grain must be collected to allow this and still leave enough for winter. He therefore asked his men to join in the harvest until enough grain was collected to provide for a large planting in which all members of the tribe could participate. Their response was as he expected—loud protests at such an indignity. There were many arguments but, in the end, they agreed to help, emphasising that this was only for the first year. After that there would be so much grain that women alone could manage the planting and harvesting easily—or so they reasoned. When the grain had been harvested, enough was put aside for winter. Everyone had a good idea of how much was needed to survive. Then everyone set to work on the plains around the camp, clearing away plants and grasses which grew there; and scraping and chipping the soil with flints lashed to long sticks, rough hoes. Men, women and children joined together in the last big job of spreading the grain, carefully so that no two seeds were too close together. Even more care 257


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was taken to cover the grain so that none showed above the soil. This last task was left to children whose quick eyes and deft hands made it successful. No-one wanted birds to discover the hidden grain. The area planted was impressive. Each family had planted more than the three women had planted the previous year. Leader was worried. He knew if this enormous effort failed, it was he who would be ridiculed. If failure followed a particularly harsh winter, his people would be unforgiving and his disgrace considerable. Always there were young men eager to usurp his rank and this would become inevitable if the crop failed. Fortunately, his worst fears were not realised. It was a mild winter and hunting was good. One baby died and one was born. Two youths reached the age of manhood and were initiated into the tribe. Just before spring, his tribe came together with another for a feast and a young woman was exchanged. The outlook for the tribe looked optimistic for the coming summer. Only the outcome of the crop remained a worry, but this final concern disappeared when the tribe returned to the summer camp. They came a little early—anxious to see their crop—but the mild winter meant an early spring and green shoots covered the whole area already. There was general jubilation and a great sense of relief for Leader. Older children were sent to the fields to walk carefully among the new grasses and remove weeds—everything except the grasses that had been sown. Life returned to normal throughout summer. Everyone went about their usual duties and there was a general sense of wellbeing and contentment in the camp. All were watching the grain crop, trying to imagine how it would be to harvest almost limitless grain, or so it seemed. This feeling of self-satisfaction remained through summer—right up to harvest. The women had made more bags for grain than ever before. Everything was ready. By late summer both crops, cultivated and wild, were ready and exceptional—brown with full, plump grain heads. Everyone, yes, even the men, went out to harvest their cultivated grain. From every plant, several stalks grew, each was crowned with a heavy head of grain. The crop was so dense that it was simple to gather large handfuls of heads together, saw them off—and bags filled quickly. Harvesting had never been so easy. Each evening tired workers even found energy to sing, such was their jubilation. A 258


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new song was made for Isla, now recognised as a heroine. On one memorable evening she was called forward by Shaman to sit beside him in a ritual to thank the spirits for blessing their crop. Clearly the spirits favoured Isla. Then he and Leader raised her up, crowned her with a wreath of golden grasses and announced to the gathering that, from now on, Isla would be known as ‘Sower’—a name of great honour bestowed b{ the grateful Leader and elders. After the crop harvest, the women returned to the plains to collect still more grain. There was little enthusiasm for this but it was clear that more grain than ever before was going to be needed to get them through winter and increase the planting for next year’s crop. They might grumble among themselves, but everyone saw the spectre of winter starvation disappearing. When the harvest was in, work started preparing the ground in which to plant next year’s crop. Again the area was extended and, this year, Leader had little difficulty in persuading his hunters to help prepare the land. Everyone from the smallest to the oldest worked to plant the crop—this time with enthusiasm. Yet when the planting was done, a new problem arose. There were more bags of grain than could ever be carried to the winter caves. The tribe had many other possessions to carry: men had their spears and stone tools as well as the skins and heavy clothing to carry; women must carry clothes, their infants, their tools of food preparation; and both sexes had to carry grain. Ordinary amounts of grain they could manage but, this year, the bags of grain were not ordinary. Leader sat beside his fire with his hunters and debated the alternatives. They could travel to the cave and the men could return to the summer camp to bring heavy loads of grain. Or they could leave some grain behind. It was Sower’s man who first suggested that they would be better remaining in the summer camp during winter. All were quiet. Of course it was probably possible, but who knew? No hunter of this tribe had ever done this before. They knew that many tribes did not move into caves but lived every winter in camps, rather like theirs. Usually they built bigger tents, closer together, with two or three families sharing each dwelling. Their tribe, however, had always travelled to their cave. Sower had come from a tribe which stayed in its tents during winter—she had never quite reconciled to the 259


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winter exodus. Secretly elated, she held her counsel until other women offered their opinion. Many of them had grown up in tribes that lived in tents through winter. They knew it was possible. Leader and the women knew that their grain supply was sufficient, regardless of where they spent the winter. Sower and the other women assured Leader that they remembered how the large tents were built, large enough to hold three families. There would be a fire in the centre, with a slit in the roof for smoke to escape. Snow would be deeper than on the hills, but firewood would be easier to chop and gather. The trees that grew along the river would offer some protection from the winds. Hunting would be no worse here than on the hillside. Over the next weeks, men and women discussed the options constantly. Leader would make the final decision, but only after every detail had been carefully examined. The time to depart had already passed when he announced that they would stay in the present camp. The summer tents would be pulled down and bigger ones built. The side walls of each tent would be covered with both turf and thatched straw, with more thatch on the roof. Entrances were made smaller and covered with a double layer of skins. Logs and twisted skin ropes would hold the coverings down. Men were sent out to hunt, but with instructions always to bring back firewood if they were not carrying game. Winter was a success. Hunting was no poorer than in the hills. There was ample grain and, for the first time, there were no infant deaths. Most families still had enough grain to last them through the spring. The crop in the field had been covered with snow throughout winter but, when the snows cleared, the first shoots appeared. Spring came and went. Tents were opened and cleaned; skins were taken to the river and washed of the fleas and bugs which had built up to uncomfortable levels since there had been no winter break. Fresh grasses were spread over the floors and most families moved back into smaller summer tents. Life was good for Isla’s tribe, but storm clouds were brewing on the horizon and a vague unease pervaded the atmosphere. The land had become crowded. Miles away, rising seas inundated large areas of low-lying coastal land. Tribes who had occupied these lands now pressed against ancient boundaries which had once been stable. They could not know that their situation was 260


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repeated all over the world as ice sheets melted. All they saw was a new and unwelcome pressure on their lands. Strange tribes entering existing ranges were fought and usually beaten. The newcomers were inevitably disadvantaged—in unknown territories with strange harvests, facing residents who knew all the rgsources of their country and defended it fiercely. Tribes which were defeated in battle had no future. Women and small boys were sometimes adopted into victorious tribes but, in a crowded land, defeated wanderers soon died in misery. Game had become very scarce, though sometimes hunters returned with meat from a bull or more rarely a cow. On those days, the tribe stopped their normal activities to feast and hold their hunting ceremonies. Men danced their hunting stories and their Dreamer made rituals to ensure that the spirits were appeased and would support the hunters. Women clapped and sang. Singing was an inheritance from ancient generations when the tribes had followed the ice caps when they retreated in summer and huddled together in caves during bleak winters. Singing and chanting created togetherness, lowering the tensions which could develop in the confinement of caves.

Early one summer, a hunting party discovered a small group of six families camping on their range. It was clear that they were too poorly armed and too few in numbers to bg a threat. The hunters watched their story; their spoken language was difficult but signing was general over the whole region. Driven from their range, this ragged party was all that remained of their tribe. Though sympathetic, the hunters told them they must leave. Offering a gift of salt, because they had come from lands beside the sea, their headman pleaded that they be allowed to settle. Salt was a great and scarce delicacy—eagerly accepted—and a further meeting was arranged. Leader and his warriors sat long into the night, debating what to do. The invaded land was at the limits of their range and poor in grain, grasses and large game. But there was a good creek on a savannah plain. Finally, it was agreed that the settlers could 261


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stay, if they paid a regular tribute—especially of salt. A woman should also be exchanged to secure an alliance. Their men would help Leader’s tribe fight off other strangers passing through in search of land. If the intruders refused these terms, they must leave well before next winter. The intruders had been astonished at the crop of grain they were shown and recognised the importance of building an alliance with this rich tribe. They reasoned privately that, if they could find game during winter, they would be able to trade for grain. They examined the large tents to learn how they were built. The two tribes conferred beside the river: Leader noted with satisfaction that the intruders had brought another gift of salt—this augured well. But, as is generally the case when people come together in conference, both tribes needed to establish their position by long talks before any agreement was possible. At length, exhaustion triumphed. It was agreed that the newcomers would exchange a woman and would pay meat whenever they killed large game. The seasons passed. Each year Sower’s tribe grew in numbers and resisted all attempted invasions by displaced tribes. Infant and child mortality rates dropped, almost completely. Leader and Shaman took control of the cropping areas and allocated land, so that everyone knew which land was theirs and which belonged to another family. The two leaders held the largest portions and in time they induced men from the dependent tribe to work on their lands. Visitors from the hills brought skins and flint tools to exchange for grain. As women were exchanged with neighbouring tribes, they took with them the skills which Sower had first developed. In this manner, crop cultivation spread across the flat lands throughout the great river valley and eventually to other river valleys. Tents were repaired many times and enlarged, and new building methods were tried—making walls of cut turf, stones and blocks of muddy earth. Struts, skins and leaves or grass thatch remained the chief roofing materials. As lands filled with fields of crops and leisure time increased, men and women expanded their technological skills to making pots of hardened clay to hold water and better tools for cultivating land. They carved figures for no other reason but to please the spirits. Village industries came into being. Men went on 262


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hunting, but now they had time to practise their skills with spears and bows, and to improve the qualities of their weapons. Coastal peoples were still being forced inland as seas rose and the need for warriors never diminished. All men could be called to fight when wandering tribes entered their lands. For these people were no longer wanderers; they were now farmers.

The story of Isla—who bgcame Sower—was told and retold around hearths from generation to generation. This story of the first true farmer of our species became one of the great legends of all tribes albeit, as with all great stories, a little changed in the hands of each storyteller. This chronicle is our last: it completes the story of our evolution, for Isla’s people were our people. She released our ancestors from the daily grind of finding food. Every subsequent development in what we call ‘civilisation’ grew out of her innovation. She domesticated grain, and we can presume that other ‘Islas’ found other crops in other places, for the innovators were probably all women. With assured food supplies, villages grew to support crafts, soldiers, priests and nobles—and, eventually, cities with a thousand other specialists—all fed from agriculture. Nothing has changed.

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22 A flowering of talents

The same high mental faculties which first led man to believe in unseen spiritual agencies, then in fetishism, polytheism, and ultimately to monotheism, would infallibly lead him, as long as his reasoning powers remained poorly developed, to various strange superstitions and customs. Many of these are terrible to think of—such as the sacrifice of human beings to a blood-loving god; the trial of innocent persons by the ordeal of poison or fire; witchcraft etc.—yet it is well occasionally to reflect on these superstitions, for they show us what an infinite debt of gratitude we owe to our reason, to science, and to our accumulated knowledge. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

A PEOPLE LIKE US Sharptool’s people were those we have named Cro-Magnon— people like us. In the last five chronicles, they were acquiring the skills which enabled them to conquer the world. For unlike their predecessors, the tribes of Homo erectus, they had no empty world to invade. The walkable world was already occupied by tribes, firstly of Homo erectus, and then by their successors, Homo sapiens, who had broken into many different races like the hominid species before them. We have been able to discover what little we know of these different races through variations—and similarities—in the fossil record. This dissemination is quite normal 264


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in biology. When there is a new successful variant which spreads over enormous areas, it usually breaks into subspecies or races, differing in some features, but still capable of interbreeding easily if given an opportunity. The Neanderthals were skilled hunters, with fine tools, but they died out when the people of Sharptool’s tribes were beginning to colonise their world. We can presume that modern humans were responsible. When we look at the succession of Homo habilis, Homo erectus and Homo sapiens, all divided into many separate races, there is the question of how the succession occurred. Each was a highly successful hominid species which colonised enormous regions. They could not have died out simply because another successful hominid evolved: I presume they became extinct at the hands of their successors who, as their numbers grew, needed more extensive ranges. The original inhabitants of these lands could be forcibly dispossessed by more advanced peoples—with superior fighting skills, communicative skills, god-making skills and technological talents. And so it was.

A FLOWERING OF CRAFTSMANSHIP The early modern humans had many different stone cultures. They were skilled at crafting a range of tools, of stone, bone, antler and wood. They also manufactured decorative objects—a development which allowed for the first time, the craftsman’s imagination to be expressed in material and tangible ways. This innovation would impact on every aspect of the tribe’s life and would have immensely far-reaching effects as more and more time was freed for leisure activities; in fact, we could consider these crude attempts at decoration as the first step in formalising what we now know as ‘aesthetics’. I have had to conflate a number of the advances in toolmaking into the story of Sharptools. Some of the skills he exhibits had probably been common for generations, while others would have developed later, for example the use of bows and arrows. What is important is that there was a flowering of craftsmanship in early humans, which exploded into many different forms, and has continued its development over our whole history. Many 265


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related skills were emerging in these versatile people, and one of these was art—the only known examples that remain today are those found on cave walls in various parts of the world.

ART: A STEP TOWARDS MODERN PEOPLE To the north, ice sheets covered most of northern Europe. To the south, the land joined with Africa. Sea levels had dropped perhaps a hundred metres. The people living in these lands were truly human, with a full command of spoken language and the capacity it gave for abstract thought. They sang as well as danced; they dreamed up complex religions with real gods that took a concerned interest in their affairs. They offered up prayers to influence those gods, made offerings to them and buried their dead: their gods were their support in battle. Every tribe had its great heroes, who were praised in song and legend. Great heroes were the gifts of the gods. Everywhere they went, these people carried tools which showed more than minimum construction—some were even decorated. They produced the first artists who decorated the walls of the caves they occupied during the frozen winters. This art clearly had spiritual significance. The drawings suggest that details were learned from dead animals laid out on the ground, yet the skills of representation were as great as those of today’s artists. I have chosen a story about an artist who drew on walls. If he sketched so well on damp, dimly-lit cave walls, how much more could he have drawn on well-lit walls? We are fortunate, though, that the lack of resources available to these artists means that their work has lasted for millennia. Archaeologists have found various types of artistic work, of different eras. There are crude outline drawings, some dating back almost to the age of Arro. The great outburst of coloured murals is much more recent, and this moved forward into more portable forms of drawing and carving. We can presume that these artists also decorated their dwellings. Every culture had its own, very different, art forms and these varied both within and between regions. It is not possible to deal with this flowering of artistic talent in a single chronicle, yet neither is it possible to contemplate our evolution 266


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without acknowledging that these people had the same imagination as we have. Throughout the world their cultures were flowering. Technological skills flourished, but there were other developments which profoundly affected their ability to conquer their environments. The last chronicles depict this harnessing of their world.

WOLVES, DOGS AND DOMESTICATION The taming and eventual domestication of wolves changed the lives of people in many ways, over many years. Tamed animals brought many benefits to their handlers: wolves and men created a successful hunting partnership; and the wolves would give advance warning of any surprise attack, whether by hungry predators or hostile strangers. But the animals also created problems, which were neither readily nor quickly resolved. At first the wolves were simply tamed animals, accustomed to people well before weaning, so that they grew up as part of the human family or pack. Without that early familiarity with people they were just wild animals, but ones with little fear of, or respect for, people. In numbers, they could be dangerous pests. Today we understand that there is an optimum time for separating a dog from its dam if it is to become a suitable pet. The best age is about ten weeks. Take the pup too much later and it is less human dependent, and can fight for dominance in its human family; take it from its mother much earlier than ten weeks, and it becomes too human dependent, sometimes without much capacity for independence. It was—as has so often been suggested in other stories—serendipity that Chew was captured at about the right age for her to be responsive to human training. At that age she needed milk. Had it been either much earlier or much later, the experiment might have failed, with obvious implications for the domestication of wolves. The origin of the domestic dog is not clear, or even whether there was only one point of origin, for our ancestors came into contact with scavenging dogs, wolves and jackals everywhere throughout their long history. Certainly it would not be easy to reconstruct an accurate history of the domestic dog, nor, I think, 267


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is it necessary. Yet Wolfboy’s Chronicle marked an enormous step in our evolution, bringing people and dogs together in an extremely valuable relationship. From the beginning, people sought pups from Chew, because Chew had become the best hunting dog. Choosing pups from the very best parents became part of the culture of hunters, and has continued throughout history. As each generation was selected within the context of a relationship with people, the animals changed and slowly evolved into dogs as we know them today. No doubt other tribes who selected among scavenging dogs or jackals similarly chose the same characters—chiefly biddability. Each tribe, and owner, had a different idea of what constituted the ‘best’ and, with these various goals, they slowly shaped dogs into the many different types of animals we see today. It was a small step from the domestication of one sort of animal to exploring possibilities of domestication in others.

DOMESTICATED HERDS We know that, after the dog, our ancestors domesticated meat animals. I have chosen the mouflon, an ancestor of the modernday sheep, as my example. This too was another seminal step in our human evolution: domestication created a protein source at peoples’ fingertips, the first reliable supply; the primary function of hunting changed from a quest for essential food to a defence of the domesticated flock against predators—though naturally hunters brought home other meat supplies until their domestic herds were large enough to supplant them; available and reliable supplies of meat led to increased leisure time, especially for men, which in turn opened up opportunities for creative and non-essential pursuits. The essence of domestication was in that first step, namely, the creation of a pet lamb. This required a very young, still dependent lamb—who had not yet learned to fear humans. What our ancestors learned is now known to most country people as the ‘pet lamb problem’. Specifically, such a lamb follows its feeder and people wherever possible, becoming a nuisance to the farmer’s family. It does not behave as a sheep and prefers human 268


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company. It has been ‘imprinted’. Konrad Lorenz coined the term ‘imprinting’ to describe the unique learning pattern displayed by many animals and birds in the first few days of life. Animals ‘learn’ their mothers and often learn the species towards whom they direct their mating preferences when adult. Yet rearing Ne-me’s lamb gave our ancestors a tractable ewe, which felt itself to be part of the tribe and therefore was content to stay within the human community. The second problem was how to get the domesticated ewes mated. Feral ewes lived on lowland pastures while the rams lived solitary lives along foothills. Females live in clans, each led by the oldest ewe, who is mother and grandmother to the whole clan. The organisation is a common one, used also by cattle and, presumably, the aurochs. Bringing the sexes together must have been a problem, for rams are not as easily handled as ewes. The early herders would have had no corrals in which to hold a captured ram—mating probably just happened with a visiting ram. Later it became easier. Here, what can sometimes be a problem in modern-day farming would have helped these herders. When a ram lamb is left with its mother, it mates with her when old enough. Ram lambs are now castrated to avoid this, and these wethers are much easier to manage than rams. As numbers increased, the natural clan structure of sheep would have kept the flock together through the early days. Losses of newborn lambs to predators could be controlled because the lambing season is so short. Most herbivores have synchronised births in nature, which limits the numbers of helpless infants which can be taken by predators. This phenomenon was first noted b{ F. Fraser Darling, an eminent British biologist, and has become known as the Darling effect. In sheep, the mechanism is that when rams first enter a flock at the beginning of the mating season, they stimulate the ewes. There is then a short period, the length of an oestrus cycle, (14–18 days), before all the ewes come into oestrus simultaneously, and this is responsible for the synchronised births months later. These early herders already had domesticated dogs, which now assumed a new, invaluable role. The skill of droving animals is to create a balance of space—which the Swiss biologist, H. Hediger (1955) called ‘the Flight Distance’—between the drover and his 269


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herd or flock. To speed up the animals, the drover moves closer and to slow them, he moves further back. To turn a flock, the drover simply moves to one side, prompting the flock to turn to the other direction. Predators like dogs know this instinctively— they have evolved to hunt cooperatively in packs. Thus, dogs have always had the intelligence and selected skills to assist with herding, but herders required only highly-disciplined dogs which could be prevented from hunting the ewes as game. Herding was such an important step in our evolution because it freed our ancestors from the daily chore of finding food and changed the function of hunting to that of removing competitors and predators. Killing these provided extra food. Yet time was now available for other uses and this generated an enormous burst of creative activity among people. Removal of predators and competitors meant that the full rgsources of each area were now available for people to exploit, and the domestication of meat animals was directly responsible for the first great explosion of human populations. The next step, domestication of plants, further increased people’s control over their environment, with many new consequences.

THE BIRTH OF AGRICULTURE You all know the end of this story, for Sower and her people had all of our capabilities. Sower took the first of those steps which would bring us to the complex divisions of labour which still form the basis of our communities. From small tribal groups, our ancestors built villages, then cities. The productivity of crops allowed armies of soldiers or artisans to develop the cultures of war and government, of literature and art, of mechanics and machines. Everything we have achieved since has depended on our freedom from the daily grind of finding food through the productivity of our farmers—and it still does.

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23 Legacies—bequests and blemishes?

Man tends to increase at a greater rate than his means of subsistence; consequently he is occasionally subjected to a severe struggle for existence, and natural selection will have affected whatever lies within its scope. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Natural selection fits organisms for environments—nothing more. Those people who emerged from the last ice age 10,000 years ago were fitted to live in small groups, be suspicious of their neighbours, and honour gods who looked after their tribe but not their neighbour’s tribe. They needed their gods and the rituals which kept these sheltering deities on side. Everyone worked hard all day, just to survive. Parents co-operated throughout their short lives because it was impossible to exist without each other’s help and support. They reared their children to be like themselves; they were the ultimate role models, but ‘community’ was the key to their strength, nurturing and very survival. Community was their source of support within the tribe; social controls regulated and ensured harmony and cohesion. Anonymity was a concept that our ancestors would find incomprehensible. From our perspective, they were indeed innocents in another Eden. Every tribe had a leader, who managed rank, power and leadership. Rank benefited himself, leadership potentially benefited the tribe. Certainly the leader knew and cared for everyone in his tribe. On his death, rank changed smoothly and without 271


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dispute, to the second-in-command. Their large brains enabled our ancestors to thrive in a world of desert, of ice and snow, of temperate and tropical forests, despite desperate struggles against the elements, starvation or cold. We are barely different from these ancestors, yet for the most part, modern humans have abandoned the environments in which we evolved. We have created environments for ourselves—city landscapes which bear little or no relationship to any natural world of our ancestors. Nevertheless, we carry an unchanged, possibly obsolete, human design into these brave new worlds. To survive in a changed environment requires a new design and, given enough time, natural selection would fit us for our new habitats—provided we don’t change them too quickly. But we are riding a breathtaking rollercoaster of change and population increase, faster now than at any previous point in our history. At such speed, natural selection has very little effect on our exploding numbers. Our ‘tribes’ have swollen to become enormous, anonymous groups in which any one person knows only a tiny, localised segment. We have become ‘civilised’. We might do well to ask how the design which fitted us for our ancient environments equips us for today’s and tomorrow’s environments? Our design for an ancient world has left us with many legacies, some of which we treasure as our ‘humanity’, others we see as flaws.

EVALUATING THE HIGHLIGHTS The two steps to erect posture seem to me to make much sense. Standing erect is common enough in some primates. The patas monkeys, for example, have this skill, and use it for monitoring the environment around them. Until their bodies adapted to this posture, it must have bgen a strain. Similarly, the first apes who remained erect must have found the posture uncomfortable. Yet they had to persist until they adapted and natural selection eased the new posture for later generations. Why would they persist with such discomfort? The selective processes would not have been pleasant. Yellowtip’s Chronicle provides an answer, though 272


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alternative answers may emerge. The young males had the incentive of increased status through managing to remain erect. Females could not have made the step without thousands of years of selection among males to prepare their bodies for the change. When they finally stood, they paid a much higher price than their males; countless females would have paid for their pregnancies with damaged bodies; this created the need for females to be supported by males in these primate troops. Taming males with readily available sex was the next vital step and must have taken place soon after standing erect, for this was when females were most vulnerable. They needed help, and a mostly monogamous system ensured that each was helped by a male—to some extent. Males who failed to support their females left few offspring to carry on their genes. I do not know the genetic change responsible for the sexual transition, but it is one that the Bonobo chimpanzee has made. Regular meat helped with lactation and the females probably had one hand free to carry home some food for the times the hunt failed. Many studies over the years have shown that modern primate males are most likely to give food to females who are sexually rgceptive. It therefore seems clear to me that these three steps were taken on the way to the Australopithecines, our first upright hominid ancestors. Standing erect also led to miming, the first stage to full human speech. Mime needed the context I have given it in the chronicle of Spearman, as only the dominant male could have commanded the attention needed to get such a revolutionary message across. Once mime was established, our ancestors had crossed a divide beyond which lay the foundations for truly human behaviour. I suspect that this led to Homo habilis, a hominid able to plan systematic communication, albeit clumsily and in the form of monologues rather than interactive exchanges. Yet a long period of miming stories was needed before selection led our ancestors to fully human sign languages. While this happened in some lines, nothing changed for the many remaining Australopithecine lines who were gradually replaced by communicating people. Homo habilis, however, picked up the changes and ran with them to take even further evolutionary steps. They developed the first important type of stone tool industry, an innovation which 273


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then started the long process—of cultural, as opposed to genetic, evolution. Yet manual skills were assimilated genetically. Throughout this period, tools were slowly being improved, though all species since the Australopithecines probably used some stone tools. Homo habilis started us on the path to technological competence. Again, the chronicle of Toolmaker has conflated some details from neighbouring eras, but it cannot be disputed that the step was taken and was a milestone on our path to humanity. I have suggested that hominids used wooden tools for vast periods before they used stone ones although there is no fossil evidence of this. It is probable that stone tools evolved firstly to create wooden tools; their use exploded with the increasing demand for wood, first for fires and then for shelters. It was probably these people who eventually began the transition to a real language of signs, at first to supplement and later to replace mime. Homo habilis were also the first to tame fire. I suggest that in taking these two steps, those particular tribes started the changes which produced Homo erectus, leaving the hundreds or thousands of other tribes of Homo habilis and, presumably, many Australopithecine tribes unaffected. Certainly Homo habilis did not become extinct until long after Homo erectus had emerged. Homo erectus was the first really versatile species. They moved out of Africa and covered the walkable world, aided by the ice ages which lowered sea levels. They spread as far as what is now China and Indonesia, traded and made their own fires. Presumably they improved their tool technology throughout, with different tool cultures emerging as individuals adapted existing technology to best utilise local resources. Technological innovation would have spread between tribes through the exchange of women and, trade, perhaps even through war. With effective human communication, there was nothing which could not be communicated and detailed teaching of skills was possible. For those who have first-hand experience of the effectiveness of sign languages, the transference of these skills will be readily accepted—for others it may be puzzling. Yet after enormous periods of signing for all communication, people were ready to take the next step to speech. Brains had now begun to divorce mental imagery from the need for whole behaviour. Whether 274


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speech emerged slowly or relatively quickly as in the chronicle of ‘Stories in the Dark’ is not important—only the process involved is significant. The development of speech, together with the technological advances of the time, was presumably the force which separated some tribes from their fellows and led them to bgcome Homo sapiens, our first true ancestors. These people were the first to bury their dead with ceremonies and must have been the first to create for their descendants the gift that many regard as our most precious, the ability to create gods. Gods can explain what we cannot, they strengthen our communities and can help us fight our enemies. With their regular appeals to their ‘god’ for advice regarding each predictable event in their lives, people designed rituals into which they fitted comfortably. Everyone felt stimulated by familiar rituals, enjoyed the imagery and sense of well-being which accompanied their participation. With increased feelings of ‘belonging’, as well as outside support, tribes could fight to win—spirits were fighting beside them. Have things changed? I remember a ditty in a Scottish nationalist newspaper I read during the war: God heard the embattled nations charge and shout, ‘Gott straf England!’ ‘God save the King!’ ‘God this’, ‘God that’ and ‘God the other thing’, ‘Good God’ said God, ‘I’ve got my work cut out’.

Of course people with all these skills made even better tools, especially those for hunting and fighting. Speaking peoples eventually became dominant throughout the world, and they alone have left descendants today. Yet many tribes never lost their signing skills and signing remains a remarkable though uncommon skill throughout our species. Thousands of years living in contact with ice sheets produced tough people. Every year they moved with the animals, as they migrated to the tundras uncovered by melting snows in summer, and back again to winter quarters where their only prey were those animals who could not make the migration far enough south. Yet there were similarly advanced tribes throughout the rgst of the world and we have no idea which environment was the source of our ancestors, though the region between Africa and Eurasia might be a reasonable guess. We do know they 275


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buried their dead with ceremonies; they discovered painting and became very accomplished at it; probably they were the first to make music with their singing. When the last ice age finally ended, these people domesticated the dog and various species of ungulates. When they colonised the new lands exposed by the melting ice, they took the first steps in agriculture and thus paved the way for societies as we know them. Let us now examine our design in some detail. It was a real challenge to decide just where to start—with the bigger picture, our physical environment and how we fitted into it? With those higher level skills, such as communication and creativity? There is one obvious starting point—our physical evolution.

THE WAY WE ARE ORGANISED Our Form and Function Our backbones finally stopped killing those adventurous enough to stand erect, even through pregnancies and rearing babies. For millions of years, those successful individuals walked for large distances every day, constantly stooping to forage from the ground, and sat cross-legged when resting. While they walked they were carrying heavy loads. The continual physical exercise strengthened the bands of muscle which hold together the vertical string of spinal beads. When we are young, we twist our bodies into a thousand forms which keep these muscles robust. Later we adapt to comfortable chairs and cars and find that we are back with our earliest ancestors, who couldn’t manage this temperamental spine. Back pain, therefore, is as much a part of our heritage as our speech and we ignore our history of active working backs at our peril. Just as important is the damage we do to our hips and knees, often through disuse. Every part of a joint that is not exercised daily becomes susceptible to the inexorable process of arthritis. By the same measure, however, our joints were not made to take serious damage—part and parcel of modern bodily contact sports. Our feet were fashioned to carry us over both rough and smooth surfaces. Yet in our concrete city environments there are 276


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only hard level floors and roads. Our feet seldom feel the shapes of natural surfaces and the muscles which control them are seldom called on to respond to uneven ground. Perhaps they atrophy—perhaps it will be irrelevant. Our ancestors grew thick, hard skin on unshod feet, almost as tough as the leather that ‘civilised’ people wrap around theirs. It would be easy to argue that shoes are designed to damage feet—for whoever saw feet with the shape of most footwear on offer? But we are not helpless models for shoe designers—we choose the shoes we wear. Podiatrists thrive on our choices! Oenstruation has been a female phenomenon from the time our ancestors were apes. Yet it was once rare. Over millions of years, most females menstruated only once or, occasionally, twice between pregnancies, perhaps every four or five years. The monthly cycle of menstruation is a modern phenomenon, not something to which women have had to adapt. It probably had little rglevance to women until they began to delay their mating age and sought also to limit pregnancies. Our ancestors did not have premenstrual tension or indeed menstrual problems; they had babies. Is this another flaw in our design, which continues to challenge us? As a young scientist I read with interest the speculations of the famous geneticist J. B. S. Haldane. He looked at the large variety of diseases which plagued ‘middle age’, from the ages at which fertility ceased in women and the full vigour of manhood decreased. He suggested that there had been no natural selection to eliminate these disorders, since our ancestors did not live long into this age class. Moreover, such diseases once may have been beneficial in removing old people who otherwise could become burdens on their tribe. I have seen nothing to suggest that these speculations were unreasonable. If they contain a grain of truth, then our evolution has given us another burden to carry. The ‘Thinking’ Legacy Mental Processes As a research student, I spent many happy hours watching the daily movements of feral chickens on a deserted coral cay off the 277


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coast of Queensland. One morning after a stormy night, a flock came upon a tree which had been blown down. The rooster immediately sent up an ‘alarm’ call, which was taken up by the hens. They gathered around the rooster, all erect, moving their heads jerkily as they oriented to every part of the changed scene. It seemed clear to me that they had detected the change in their surroundings and were examining the new structures. Each had oriented to the fallen tree, individually and as a group. This action is called the ‘Orienting Response’ or ‘OR’ by psychologists, and in ORs, learning is improved. After a while, the group resumed its foraging and slowly moved off. The next morning, the same sequence was repeated, but for a shorter period and, within a week, the group entered the area without obviously attending the changes. On another occasion, a feral cat woke and was stretching and grooming itself when another flock of chickens arrived. The same individual and group OR followed, this time for a longer period. The next day there was no cat, but immediately the birds entered the area, they repeated the OR. For over a week, until I ceased watching that area, the group followed the same orienting sequence. My interpretation is as follows. Every animal has an image or map of all of its surroundings. As it moves through its environment, it automatically assimilates the sensory details of its surroundings and checks these off automatically against the maps. If the input matches the maps, then it is ignored and the animal goes on its way. When a difference is detected, there is an immediate OR as the details of the changes are examined, and presumably evaluated. If the reconnaissance/evaluation reveals no ‘difference that makes a difference’, to use Gregory Bateson’s phrase, then the maps are slowly updated and the change assimilated. When the ‘difference makes a difference’, such as presenting a potential danger, then the ORs are retained and the place takes on special significance—presumably as a place of caution, or even fear. It is examined on each occasion, and possibly more details of the place are mapped, so that even smaller differences may be detected in future. It’s quite possible that my chickens were capable of even more complex maps. Once, my hide toppled over with me inside it while the chickens were present. Immediately they took off flying 278


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in alarm—chickens rarely fly. I was able to see that the direction in which they flew was quite different from any I had seen them take bgfore. They flew directly towards the centre of their range, to the area where they normally roosted at night. This was a single observation, and thus I may have misinterpreted the significance of the direction of flight. Yet I had the impression that the chickens ‘knew’ where they were and how to move around their area as a normal flying bird would. The point of my example is that animals’ actions may be based on mental imagery—image maps of the sequence of places through which their actions take them. Each action has a beginning and an end, and the progress from one to the other is monitored through an image sequence. Moreover, places in the sequence may also have values, even emotive values where the places are associated with danger. Presumably other places, for example where they settle for body care or rest, have other emotive properties. Certainly the idea of ‘territory’ suggests that responses to places on and off the territory have different values. These image maps have also been shown to incorporate animals’ knowledge of each other. Faces seem especially important. Many years ago, Al Guhl (and L. L. Ortman, 1953) of Kansas State University showed that disguising the faces of chickens led to more misrecognition than disguising any other part of their bodies. Moreover the maps of what they know included their sounds. Studying chickens, we soon learned that all roosters’ crows were different. However we could only detect which cock was crowing, never a difference between the crows given in different situations. We always identified the crower well before the crow was finished. The comparison with our own image of the crow had made the identification before the crow was complete. Presumably all the chickens also knew who was crowing. Attention Structure Animals attend to others with whom they have relationships. The relationship may be dominant–subordinate, or any other of the genetic relationships where there is a strong experiential base, such as that between mother and daughter, who have remained in close contact throughout the whole of the daughter’s life. Each 279


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relationship has spacing rules. A subordinate does not approach a dominant without adopting an appeasing posture. A subordinate turns aside when approached by a dominant, and this can lead to displacement when a subordinate moves from its position which is then taken by the dominant. When a dominant approaches a juvenile, the youngster may run to the relative security of its mother, or perhaps to a male who normally takes on a protective role. The important point is that in moving around within a group, animals are constantly obeying rules which define their relationships to each and every other member of the group. Again the ability to detect any inappropriate position or approach (with an OR) suggests another form of the imagery model used in examining the movements through physical space. Naturally each animal has a different emotive response to each other. Plans and the Structure of Behaviour Our cognitive ability depends on our ability to create in our minds the images, contexts, concepts and the relationships between them, to organise them and reorganise them in what we call ‘thinking’. We can understand the process only by considering how it has evolved. The key to understanding the structure of our thinking and language processes seems to be in the structure of our own behaviour generating processes. The best account I have seen of these is that of Miller, Galanter and Pribram in their book, Plans and the Structure of Behavior (1960). Planning sequences of movements is an ordinary process. When we decide to buy some food, we make a plan. First we must go out, which is broken hierarchically into standing, putting on the right clothes, locking up the house and so forth. But each of these simple statements is also broken up into sub-plans, down to levels in which each individual plan for muscle movement is organised—without actively thinking how it is done. Accompanying each plan are the images of the necessary movements. With this armoury of images our ancestors were able to plan a sequence of movements that those observing them could easily interpret. When they came to plan such sequences in a story—as a mime of something which happened elsewhere, they could do so and the observers could 280


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use the images to interpret the significance of the story. Both parts were needed for communication. Mimers and observers could create a context of place, objects and people with the story embedded in it, all inside their heads. But once the mime gave way to signs and later to words, these symbolic items had to provide the key to conjuring up and orchestrating scenes, building environments, modifying structures and relationships, all within the head, without the benefit of actual behaviour as a referent. Here, I suggest, is the foundation of our intelligence. I have argued that the first human communication was exactly that of acting out stories—miming them, incorporating the ordinary behaviour of those who had originally produced this sequence. There was an additional step—for stories had to bg planned in advance. This too was ordinary, for it was also ‘only’ behavioural planning, but it was also different, for it included a matching and adapting of previous behaviour which may have included one or more other individuals or an animal. This was a creative process. When mime gave way to signing, the process remained behavioural but involved a new type of behaviour. Fingers and hands ‘acted’ out the stories. My view is that the final hurdle to overcome before symbolism became general was in the verbs. It seemed important to keep these visibly behavioural until the last, for understanding of behaviour had always been through visible movements. Ordinary behavioural generation lay at the centre of all communication, visibly so in both miming and speech. Only this was intelligible in the beginning and the understanding developed from that point. When we make an utterance today, however, we may know what we intend to say though we have never planned the sequence of words we will use—we generate these, just as we generate the behaviour we need when we decide on doing something. Of course when we make an important speech—a monologue—we may plan the words and even body language in great detail. How closely language structures are related to behavioural structures I can’t say—I am no linguist. Kenneth Pike, in a difficult book, argued that they were similar (Pike 1967). Yet it seems that the starting point to the understanding of language must lie in the processes by which ordinary bghaviour is generated. How does 281


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this throw light on thinking processes? I suspect that these are the same as those we use in planning behaviour or monologues, for it seems that there is nothing else in our evolutionary history which provides a model of thinking. Where else could one look? Our ancestors hunted, foraged, built and changed social relationships with each other and produced technologies. All are simply behaviour, and language captures all of them in stories. My view of what this process was is not important. What is important is that we decide whether this is a process from which we may learn what happened, and examine other models of what might have happened. Then we may understand the organisation of our present intelligence and speech. For it seems to me that we can never hope to understand them by the study of only the final stages, which have become so complex that our best minds are challenged beyond their capacity. Memory, Imagination and Social Facilitation If the first human-type communication was by acting out sequences which happened outside the immediacy of the present time and place, then every action would have been monitored through the process by which normal actions were monitored, albeit out of the normal context. For the message recipient to understand the communication being acted/mimed, they would have had to bg able to elicit the same or a similar image sequence that was being generated by the actor—the communicator. But this is hardly surprising. Whenever one animal observes any actions of another, and then repeats and mimics them, it needs to understand already what the other animal is doing. This process is known as ‘social facilitation’. A common example is that of one animal seeing another feeding and joining in, or a child watching another playing with a toy and wanting to play too—often disruptively. The process would have been similar when an animal was acting out an ‘out of context’ behavioural sequence in communication. The essential point is that these ‘understandings’ of the actions of others, in or out of context, are the most likely primary source of our own ability to understand each other’s communication. Of course when communication became primarily signing— presumably at first highly onomatopoeic—the demands placed 282


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on the rgcipients increased. Today we would say that they needed more imagination and, indeed, that is the facility that had to improve—through natural selection. Those skilled in understanding, particularly as children, would have grown up to be the communicators who were able to help others less skilled than themselves. They would have high status in their group and, as we have seen, would leave more descendants. Every step in the evolution of communication away from onomatopoeia, whether in signing or by speaking, placed increased emphasis on the imagination of the recipients. We have no evidence of this long process. We see only the final stage of an evolutionary process spanning perhaps two million years. We can throw words around with the greatest facility. We have nurtured our ability to create images and influence the emotions in the words and combinations of words we use. The Origin of Consciousness? As we have seen, the ability of animals to see themselves in an environment as a whole and to react to situations in that environment is common, for example, by stalking to avoid being seen by a prey. In this simple sense, most animals are conscious of their part in any context. Perhaps the greatest step in its further development occurred when Spearman first made his mime. For now he created a previously existing context, held the attention of an audience while he portrayed it and controlled his own role and the roles of the others in it. In addition, he maintained his consciousness of his performance throughout his story. From then on, whenever a person made such a communication, they were especially conscious of the performance they were giving, looking at it critically, judging its effectiveness and seeking confirmation of this in the eyes of their audience. Human communication retains this property. Contingency Planning The growth of daydreaming or contingency planning must also be given a role in consciousness development. I am aware of my own mental life, which has always had a large element of what I call contingency plans. I look over past events, replaying them, 283


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seeking to learn from previous mistakes. I also look forward to future events and build plans for the many contingencies which may occur there. Some of the contingencies seem on reflection to be quite preposterous, yet they have been considered and plans prepared. Perhaps they are the basis of ‘Walter Mitty’ daydreams, and indeed of all of our fantasising, for they occupy an appreciable part of our waking lives. Yet we could not understand their evolution by looking only at ourselves. How could contingency planning have evolved by natural selection? I suggest that when Spearman first planned that story of the hunt, he had to remember every detail of his and others’ actions during that hunt. Only then could he assemble the first mime. For generations, then, the remembering of each sequence of actions was a prerequisite of every mime. Now it is hardly possible to remember a sequence of actions in detail without wondering whether there were faults in the sequence, faults which could be gone over and over and alternatives found—better alternatives. Thus, every fight or hunt could now be examined repeatedly to discover improvements which could then be projected into future plans and whole ranges of possible alternatives explored. What I call contingency planning emerges and, with it, a special luxury form, fantasy. I suggest that none of this could have evolved without the need to remember and plan the telling of stories of self, in monologues. Learning from analysing past behaviour was the key to its selection. I suspect also that other animals may have some of these skills, for Spearman had to have the starting capacity. But without the millennia of image development while living with mime and signing before speech, it could not have developed as ours has, and the ability to make contingency plans must have received considerable natural selection over the generations.

SOCIAL BEINGS IN A SOCIAL WORLD Relationships and Language I have repeatedly referred to the importance of attention in human and animal affairs. Presumably there was once a time 284


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when everyone earned and received sufficient attention. With vast societies, however, there are innumerable ways of attracting attention. Even those who have not earned attention can always decorate their bodies or clothes to deviate from those around them enough to attract (shocked?) attention. Children can attract attention in a thousand ways, with or without the approval of parents. We need attention and actively seek it, yet we will all remain nobodies, if contented nobodies, provided we get enough attention. Our religions attract us by offering us a caring God— who loves us—and will prove ‘his’ attention by taking us to Paradise. It’s a tempting offer. Yet we are still part of something tangible, the natural world. Nature will give us no attention, only other people (and our dog) will and, even then, it is fleeting. This is a humbling perspective but, I suspect, a sensible one. We are extremely proud of the fact that we alone of the animal kingdom can speak and we have come to use speech as our dominant means of reaching out to each other. We also use our languages most skilfully in writing and in lecturing, both monologues. In these instances we speak in full sentences; we build models of ideas, all carefully planned and produced and fine language results. Since monologues are our oldest form of human communication, this is hardly surprising; only here can we demonstrate our skills in generating language. Yet conversation, not monologue, is the most common form of communication. Here the basic form of animal communication is dominant. I have mentioned the problems of transcribing conversations from audiotapes. What is recorded is not language as we know it. There may be moments of monologue which are easy to handle but there are great segments of interaction, of interruption, unfinished sentences, overlapping speeches, with new changes of topic for no obvious reason. The words on paper look meaningless, yet you know this garbage was an exciting conversation—otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to record it. You know that the interactants emerged with new ideas and understandings of each other. They could even tell you that their lives were changed by what happened in that conversation. How is that possible? The nature of social relationships is too large a topic for proper discussion in this book, but it should be remembered that the ability to make, maintain, change and terminate relationships 285


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is something we humans did not invent, but inherited from our animal ancestors—the only thing we have added is our ability to talk. Yet we still sometimes get confused about speech in conversations, which are about servicing, or sometimes changing the rglationships between the speakers. For example, when a mother chastises her adolescent about something—his/her untidiness— the conflict quickly includes other cases of irritation—‘And you were late home again last night!’ The conversation is clearly, not only about changing the unacceptable behaviour mentioned, but the argument is one of many which will change the relationship as the youngster moves towards separation. Our societies are simply a great matrix of social rglationships bgtween people. Moreover we have to learn all of the behaviours we use in interactions to form, maintain, change and terminate any of the standard relationships in our cultures. Much of our mental lives is spent in planning appropriate behaviours for use in future interactions. Yet we seldom recognise that what we say in these interactions may be less important than how we use our non-verbal behaviour, the spacing, eye-contacting and touching, and of course the ‘tone of voice’ we use to wrap up the words. These are the oldest tools in our relationship repertoire. Interactions can take many forms, with or without words. A fight is an interaction. Here the behavioural sentences are left unfinished as blows are dodged or parried. I have said that the outcome of a fight can be a winner or a loser or a pair glowering across a new territorial boundary. The important outcome was not to be found in the meaning of the behaviour, however skilfully it was used: this was a step in the organisation of the future behaviour of the combatants. The loser may try again, but after a series of such interactions or fights, the pair have organised their future behaviours either across a territorial boundary or in a dominant–subordinate relationship. The outcomes of interactions are always social relationships. The first interactions build the relationship, then interactions change, in order to maintain the relationship, perhaps creating longterm stability. Eventually the rglationship will change, perhaps bg terminated. Any change will appear first in the behaviour of at least one of the interactants. This new behaviour may, or better, will be strongly resisted by the other—what is usually called negative feedback. If the resistance fails, then both must work 286


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towards a new set of agreements, for relationships are, among other things, sets of agreements. Change is common in many relationships. As they grow, children change their behaviour in an endless sequence, constantly forcing their parents to adapt to new relationships, usually after long and strgssful resistance. Such battles in the animal kingdom are usually fought physically—without language. Humans also sometimes let their interactions go beyond words to fights, and this guarantees a change in a rglationship. Yet fights cannot solve the complex changes usually required in human relationships. Fights are not the only form of human interactions without a need for words. People copulate every day, with or without words. Once a copulation is introduced into a relationship, the expectation that future behaviour has been organised is present, and a repeat is assumed. To halt this is as difficult as to change any relationship. Any behaviour, once accepted into a relationship, is assumed to have been accepted by both whether it is the introduction of religious or political debate into a discussion, or a copulation. Hierarchy Social animals organise their attention around the dominance hierarchy, which is designed to carry information from the top to the bottom. (Such a device lends itself perfectly to a military structure where all information is presumed to come down from ‘on high’.) Governments and all large organisations also are built on hierarchies. Information is observed from below and percolates downwards through the attention structure. There are no impediments to this downward flow, it is ‘natural’. Yet there is always a need for information to flow in both directions. The process by which the Japanese Macaque troop learned to wash sweet potatoes was slow, conservative, but highly functional. It is this slowness which is a problem today in hierarchical structures, for all members of such a structure are surrounded by and imbedded in a social and physical environment which is as likely to cause problems for those at omega levels as for those at the alpha level. Probably all functional organisations try to keep a two-way information flow, yet the scope for impediments in the upward flow is large—and also ‘natural’. Information sought from 287


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‘below’ is variable and complex. In an authoritarian society, it may only be of evidence of dissent—which must be crushed. Information in industrial firms may relate to production problems or potential room for improvement—first observed by workers. Other information may concern competition. The passage of information to the top must be clear, for decisions are made there. Rank, Leadership and the Transfer of Power The ideas of leadership and rank are inextricably linked in the minds of most readers and we make few attempts to separate them in our political thinking. Yet the difference has never been more important than today. Rank brings power to individuals while leadership provides an essential service to the whole tribe— or community. Leadership generally accompanies dominance and is far too important for only the strong to fight over. Wisdom, knowledge and long experience may also be needed, for age and a long memory were often necessary to handle a long drought or an infrequent flood; memories of how the tribe was saved last time could be important. ‘Those who forget history are likely to repeat it.’ It was probably with the domestication of animals and especially of crops that the Alpha rank changed so that useful possessions could be accumulated by the Alpha’s family. Before that, the possession of the best tools, perhaps more than one mate, priority at feeding and the snuggest living quarters were the chief prizes of Alpha rank. With domestic animals, the largest flock was a meaningful prize, while with agriculture, owners of land accumulated wealth and an affluence never previously available. With accumulated possessions, livestock and, certainly land, the property of the previous dominant stayed with his family, specifically, his son; it did not transfer to Beta as did rank. With the control of such wealth, the heir now had the power to challenge the Beta for the Alpha’s rank, and thus wield power over the tribe. Certainly inheritance is the system of transfer which is still current in the present day. Animals paved the way for the transfer of power by the inheritance of rank, but it took human ingenuity to convert the system into a formal pattern which allowed most transfers to take place without causing too 288


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much disruption to the tribe. The history of power/leadership transfer is much older than humanity and has probably always had attendant difficulties. Perhaps the simplest animal model is the stable peck order or dominance hierarchy. There the loss of the Alpha animal is usually followed by the promotion of the Beta animal. Yet a coalition of males or sometimes females can upset this easy transition, with or without fighting. Offspring of dominant animals, particularly young males, have grown up in a special environment, protected from any threats by the proximity of father or mother, so that even if Bgta took over, the prospects of ‘son of Alpha’ were relatively bright. Throughout the 10,000 years of modern human dominance of the world, inheritance of rank has proved the most successful, and peaceful, of the various ways of transferring power and status; the process has become highly formalised in monarchies and nobilities throughout many countries today, though such countries may present themselves as democracies and hold elections to legitimise the transfer. In modern states, the transfer of power from one ruler to the next is one of our greatest problems: the so-called ‘true’ democracies hold elections in which voters are influenced more by charisma and wealth than by leadership qualifications; there are many ‘pretend democracies’ where power often changes smoothly with well-oiled elections which hardly ruffle the status quo; yet when there is autocratic rule b{ individuals or small groups there can occasionally be bloodshed for there are many persecuted citizens who really care about who wields absolute power. Leadership has become a commodity to bg sold. Yet our educational system gives us little preparation for the important task of making a choice of a leader. The task is much more difficult than the one our ancestors faced. One day a student of politics will write the history of humankind in terms of our methods of transferring power from one ruler to the next, beginning with the smallest, least ‘developed’ tribes and ending with modern people in modern states. It will give an exciting perspective on human affairs and progress. Peaceful transfers have been achieved by relatively few states and fully democratic ones by even fewer. What is more impressive is that now millions or hundreds of millions of people watch and accept these transfers of power without demur, often swayed by 289


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the real power of the image-makers whose job is to sell potential leaders that only a few have chosen. Territory and Spacing The phenomenon of spacing behaviour is an ancient one, older than mammals, reptiles, amphibians and even fish. Rgmember how it got Yellowtip into his first serious trouble and thrust him into history when he crossed into Beta’s space? Think of how today we space ourselves from each other in a thousand different ways. When we walk in crowded places, we act as if we are trying to keep others from entering the space directly in front of our faces. This is common behaviour across the animal kingdom. Many years ago, some colleagues and I analysed the head positions and movements of hens in a crowded henhouse. No bird moved its head without taking into account the relative distances and orientations of the other heads around it. A dominant bird turned its head freely, but her subordinate neighbours always turned away to avoid facing her. This was not jerky, but in smooth movements which could hardly be detected without foreknowledge of who was dominant and who subordinate. I was once amused by the similarity between my henhouse and the crowded peak-hour New York subway. I never found myself in a face-to-face orientation, however closely we were squashed together. To stand eye to eye and breath to breath, with noses a few inches apart, was only possible in theory. All travellers have tales about their experiences of spatial behaviour in foreign cultures—some hilarious, some embarrassing. The distances we maintain depend on many things: the actual measurable distance; the orientation of each individual; the eye contact; our relative heights and status; our gender; and our age. Territory is one form of spacing. Yet even scientists can seem confused about the construct of ‘territoriality’. Only those who prefer simplistic terms are happy. One still hears ethologists talk of territory as ‘defended space’ and sees maps of chequerboardlike territories. I prefer to talk about ‘spacing behaviour’. The adjoining ‘territorial’ patches we see on maps are one way of looking at this extreme form of spacing and we can draw the territories of animals in this way too—I’ve often done so. Yet this 290


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takes our emphasis away from the social relationships between the territorial neighbours. They build these borders by fighting many times. At the end of the fights there are no winners or losers, but agreements about boundaries. On this side, I win, on that side you win. We cross the boundaries at our peril. We don’t need to defend the boundary, only to set up a communicative system which reminds us both that the pact remains and lets us detect when it has changed. We could just as easily represent this arrangement on a map as a network of relationships between individuals. In some human territories, for example the blocks of land on which we build our homes, the agreements are not made between us as neighbours, but with our governments which register our ownership. Territoriality here is quite different from that of animals yet, even here, we can behave as enemies resisting every intrusion. What is clear, and analogous to animal behaviour, is that we can allow entry to our ‘owned’ spaces on a host–guest basis. This means that, as a guest of mine, you are limited in where you may go and what behaviour you may use within my home. To a lesser degree I once held territorial sway over my office at the university. When a student visited me, he or she did not lean back in the chair with their feet on my table, but sat in the appropriate appeasing posture, knees together with hands probably folded on them! It was quite the reverse when my Head of Department visited me—he didn’t sit. I remember a rare occasion when the rules went out the window. A frustrated Head entered my office and flopped down on the chair used by student visitors. I was aghast. But the question, ‘What are we going to do about Smith?’ explained everything. Smith was a legendary problem student—obviously he had overstepped some boundary and the Head was in a state of despair. The usual social and spatial arrangements were forgotten. Let me give you another personal example. Long after I had completed my doctoral studies and was well established in my career, from time to time I would visit my supervisor, Professor Waddington in Edinburgh. Automatically I would head for the chair I had always used as a student—unsuccessfully. Once I entered his office determined to sit there. I entered quickly and managed to get one leg across the chosen chair. It was no use. He stood, reached 291


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out his hand, took mine, put his other hand on my shoulder in warm greeting, and firmly guided me around to sit me in one of the comfortable chairs—for colleagues—away from the desk! Each one of you has many such stories to tell of such spatial control systems. There are thousands of ways we handle the endless types of spacing and orientations in our lives. Who has seen the secretary to a great person with his/her back to the entrance door? Indeed, seldom if ever will a person of eminence face their back to the door, even if there is a great view from the window behind. With humans, the variety of forms of spacing is vast. Any model of humans as being territorial is too simplistic to have any useful meaning. Spacing on territories is not ‘an instinct’, whatever that may mean. I suspect that our capacity for spacing behaviour is genetically organised and that the forms it takes in each of our cultures are learned. They are acquired with the incredible facility with which we learn our languages. None of us remember being ‘taught’ all of these rules of spacing. I remember when my eldest son was at puberty. He came up to me from behind while I was sitting down, put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in front of me, turning his face inches from mine. I drew back involuntarily. Immediately he looked up at me quizzically, then returned to the reason he was there. The moment was over in a flash, but he had learned something, and I presume that his understanding of the rules of spacing in our society improved from that trivial event. All that was different from a thousand such events was that I had recently become aware of the complexities of our spacing and had noted it. In our early history, communities consisted of a handful of tightly-knit individuals and learning the acceptable spatial systems was as natural as learning how to eat and sleep. It is only within the last few generations that we have broken the close-knit community bonds—and then mainly in the city ‘tribes’. In doing so, the rules have changed and we have lost our natural teachers. A World of Stress and Strain Every day, we receive input of various forms, much of it social, from those around us. In the animal kingdom, such stimulation 292


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is necessary for normal functioning. Too little stimulation and individuals become distressed; too much and they become stressed. There is an optimum amount of stimulation. The effect seems to be greatest with social stimulation, and this has been well demonstrated when social animals are crowded. Many years ago, Jack Calhoun (1962) allowed populations of rats to increase in four adjacent rooms. The dominant males in the two end rooms were not crowded, but the others were and as breeding ceased, the stresses on animals were expressed in four different syndromes. The nature of these syndromes is less important than the fact that extreme social stimulation did not affect every individual similarly, but distinct syndromes emerged. Today we see the word ‘stress’ applied widely and again there are separate syndromes, for example ‘clinical depression’ or ‘post-traumatic stress syndrome’. The stimulation is social, and the range of disorders hits some of the most productive people in our communities. Among wild animals, social stimulation is administered through the dominance hierarchy and chiefly affects those lowest in rank, usually the young. When populations are high and social stimulation is severe, the effect is to disable low-ranking animals so that they are easily killed, by viruses, bacterial infections, parasites or predators. There is no room for disabled animals in nature—except in human populations, where our society takes care of them. What is this stimulation? Probably the culprit is the OR. Certainly any stimulation elicits the OR, which in itself is completely harmless. Yet too much or too little does not seem to be harmless. This susceptibility to excess stimulation we share with most other species—becoming human did not free us from its grasp. Nobodies In small tribes for millions of years we always looked up to a leader or Alpha. Yet every member of the tribe was important for some reason. Those around us knew our virtues and faults, respected us and cared about us. Everyone lived and died and was remembered only while those who cared lived. Immortality 293


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or fame did not exist. All were nobodies—but beloved and important nobodies. We all remain nobodies. Our larger and more technologically advanced society means that leaders in many fields are known more widely and may be remembered for longer, for their names are written in books. Alexander ‘the Great’ was a skilled soldier. His contribution to our history for which he is most widely known was winning battles which achieved nothing but many deaths and much pain. He and hundreds or thousands of his mimics have pillaged our world for the power and attention it yielded. They were all nobodies, yet they still inflate history books, filling young minds with false ideals of greatness. Aggression Aggressive behaviour evolved throughout the animal kingdom, presumably as a mechanism which controlled spacing. In groups, aggressive behaviour formalises a spacing control system called dominance, where the domination of space gave individuals exclusive access to various resources merely by standing in front of them. Aggression is another of these abstract concepts which is difficult to define exactly. Konrad Lorenz wrote a book which, in the original German, he called The So-called Evil, in which he attempted to show the many functions of aggression in societies. Unfortunately, it was translated in English as On Aggression, a title which may have sold many more books than the German title, but which provided a poor context for the reader. Aggressive behaviour is seldom actually witnessed in dominance systems, but it is the underlying principle on which the systems are formed. It can occur in animals, but very rarely does because, as in humans, the rules are almost never broken. We are aggressive, but because we live in social groups we are also subject to various constraints on aggression. These constraints— submissive responses, appeasing responses, may struggle for control in anonymous groups; they may sometimes break down, even in families. We often emphasise aggression as something that may be ‘biological’ or ‘genetic’—it is usually dramatic—yet we should always emphasise equally our social constraints, for these too are part of our design. We can modify, change and 294


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improve either, but the fact that both probably have a genetic basis has no relevance in determining our behaviour, for our socialisation affects both the balance between them and the conditions or social situations in which each is expressed. Lorenz accepted the functionality of aggressive behaviour. He suggested that the vicarious aggressiveness of various sports provided an acceptable outlet for violence in many people. Certainly the continuing popularity of sporting contests, especially those involving bodily contact, supports his suggestion. Xenophobia What used to bg an essential property for surviving and maintaining the supremacy of a tribe is still evident today—as xenophobia. In today’s world, is this now a flaw? We can easily be brought to hate those of another country or another tribe of any sort, whether a football team, another race or, sadly, another religion. Our ancestors needed to be prepared—always. The necessity to fight was never far away, and it seems to remain a part of us all. President Bush had no trouble persuading Americans to sanction their country’s involvement in the Gulf War, and Margaret Thatcher easily won an election after the Falklands War. As a young man, I thrilled to Churchill’s speeches, and agonised that the war would last long enough to include me. Today there are those who believe that their governments are betraying them by trying to disarm the people as part of an international plot. They organise into little tribes/armies to prepare themselves for the war they are sure will come and from which they alone will survive. There have been many recent debates about gun laws. It is not uncommon to hear ordinary men and women passionately assert that if no longer allowed to privately own and bear military weapons, then their lives would be forfeit to the impending invaders from the north—or south—or wherever. Yet there is a little of such chauvinistic behaviour in the most sober, phlegmatic, and peace-loving of us—for that is our heritage. Until we accept that there is some xenophobia in everyone, we can hardly plan a comfortable integration of peoples. Until the 1970s, Australia’s immigration policy was known as the ‘White 295


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Australia Policy’. Eventually this policy was acknowledged to bg indefensible and changed to allow immigration by people of all nationalities. There was no national referendum on this issue, probably because our inherent xenophobia would have meant no change. This xenophobia is under constant siege from our intellectual commitment to liberalism but the xenophobia often comes out on top, mainly because our governments have not realised that we need practical evidence of the benefits of liberalism more than an intellectual assertion that such a policy is ‘good for us’. Clear leadership is needed at every level in the community to create programs which foster integration. Good facilitators have the skills to prepare the plans. Our inherent chauvinism has left us with a legacy of the horrors of the Inquisition, fascism in Germany, communism in Rwssia, genocide in Rwanda, Kosovo and Bosnia and extreme forms of nationalism in dozens of countries. There is no sanity or enlightenment in any of these movements and, certainly, all are against any Christian, Muslim or Buddhist ethic which offers guidance in our relationships with our fellow people as well as our relationships with our gods. An essential stage of our evolution left us this baggage, but it also gave us the power to think in abstractions, to analyse social situations and unravel the mysteries of our world by activity we have called ‘scientific’ or ‘artistic’. Yet these liberal voices are scarcely heard above the clamour of our sporting or political contests.

REACHING OUT TO EACH OTHER To Touch and be Touched Our ancestors spent long periods stroking and grooming each other, caressing the skin and hair. We still love this fondling and seek it daily, probably without understanding that to do so is a need from our heritage. Our female ancestors held their babies against their bodies 24 hours a day and this remains the case in many tribal people today. Older siblings may have taken on part of the burden, but the baby would have had constant bodily 296


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contact, from its first stirring in the womb until it broke free from parental constraints to play with its fellows. Even then it would return regularly for stroking and contact. In our world this is uncommon. We caress only our lovers and little children. As our children grow to adolescence they must find their own stroking, or ache for it. We ignore the needs of lonely people, particularly the aged and infirm, who often live alone and unstroked in institutions where carers do their best but, for reasons of overwork or social taboo, can rarely give even a minimum of lifeengendering caresses. Perhaps the most bizarre difference between our way of life and that of our ancestors is in the world of the premature baby’s humidicrib, in some places called an ‘isolette’— appropriately named considering the potential for almost no physical contact with human skin, sometimes for months. We also have a phenomenon of cot death in what we have come to accept as a ‘natural’ way of living. Pair Bonds We still make pair bonds—relationships which were originally based on the daily availability of sex. We may think sex is for fun or entertainment, but it evolved in this way for a real function, the rearing of viable offspring. Almost immediately we added mutual grooming along with the giving and taking of food, and later the provision of other services to each other, particularly contributions to the nest or shelter. The pair bond was supported by the small size of tribal groups in which everyone knew each other and all respected the social and hierarchical constraints necessary to maintain each pair structure. Later, much later, we invented gods who provided another constraint to maintain the bonds or marriages, since we naturally sought the gods’ approval of our pairings. Children contributed to the bond since sons needed to learn the skills of their fathers and daughters those of their mothers. Both parents were therefore highly relevant to the children on a daily basis. With all of these forces operating, even weak bonds bgtween parents could usually be maintained indefinitely. The pair relationship remains a functional one. There is a division of labour between male and female and a satisfying of the needs of each other, including the need to be comforted, 297


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stroked, praised, supported and given sexual release. When all of these needs are satisfied, there is also the functional need to provide a context and some role models for the production of youngsters highly fitted to take over useful and functional roles in society. The needs of the tribe and the pair were necessarily always similar. Is this situation a continuing necessity for our survival? We have nothing in our education to prepare us for marriage and certainly nothing to help us with rearing children. Our levels of marital faithfulness vary, but neither male nor female evolved high levels of fidelity. This was provided largely by the small social groups in which we lived. It is normal across a range of species, including ours, for youngsters to try a number of mates before settling with one but, once settled, stability provides for the needs of children, who do not seem to adapt easily to changes in their parental bonds. Objections to sexual infidelity came eventually from moral and ethical arguments proffered b{ our official spiritual Dreamers. Throughout history it has been most functional for our society to build strong family units with mutual support for all members. Now we have anonymous societies which we are unlikely to abandon, yet they give few social controls over disruptions within pair bonds and make infidelity easier than at any time previously. Once a child is born into a mating, however, the tribe is always concerned. If anything is central to the evolutionary process, it is the production of highly functional children, stable emotionally and adept in life skills. Perhaps we should reward parents who rear highly functional adults— certainly they deserve our gratitude. I have mentioned polygamy but never as a central issue. Mating a single male with more than one woman remains part of many modern cultures and has perhaps always been part of the social organisation of early hominids. If it occurred, it would have been the Alpha male, perhaps only the Alpha male, who had more than one mate. I do not see, however, that this issue can be counted as one of the fifteen critical steps I have chosen to illustrate the evolution from apes to humans. The rearing of functional children today is no small task. It is not made easier by a highly profitable youth culture, managed 298


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not by parents, but by those who have a vested interest only in profit, rather than fostering any long-term societal goals of young people. ‘The family’ has a multiplicity of faces today—a far cry from our ancestors’ situation where there was one model which proved successful for survival. It is too soon to even begin to speculate on whether any of these new family units will serve the human species as well as the original. Single parents, usually widows, have always reared children, seldom easily and mostly with a struggle. In previous generations families rallied round as they still do today. Now, however, we rely more on anonymous financial support from the state rather than family ties. Homosexual pairs now rear children, as do immature single women. Advances in fertility treatments now allow post-menopausal women to give birth to healthy children. We have not yet enough experience of how effective these experiments will be in producing the sorts of adults which our societies need. Once, any youngster unable to integrate effectively into the tribe could look forward only to an early death. If families produce misfits now, however, they are supported by society, whether or not they make a functional contribution to the activities of the tribe. They are fellow humans and a burden that most of us accept must be carried—but still a burden. Our goals are humane, but unclear. We have allowed a distortion of the role of ‘father’ to creep in. Once driven by an urge for security for their families, modern fathers often make the accumulation of wealth the major component of their lives, and some are extremely good at it. I rgad that 1 per cent of people in the United States controls 40 per cent of the wealth and 77 per cent of the pretax income—this situation is probably quite general throughout the developed world. There is no way these people can use all of this wealth, yet they continue to accumulate. It is what they do best. There is a limit to the amount of security a family needs—such an accumulation of resources produces an inequality of wealth which is hardly part of a just society. Since our society is largely anonymous, the ‘haves’ do not know the ‘have-nots’ and feel no responsibility towards them as they may have done in our ancestral tribes.

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Youth—A New Evolutionary Phenomenon Throughout our evolution, there was no youth culture because the few youngsters in every tribe aspired to the adult norms rather than creating separate goals in groups of their peers. Clashes between parents and adolescents were probably present, but muted. Boys may not have accompanied their fathers on the hunt until they reached an appropriate age, but they still sat with them at every opportunity to work and practise with tools and weapons. The games children played were of the roles they saw their fathers and mothers acting out daily. Girls managed babies from the time they were strong enough to hold them. When their own turn came, they had nothing to learn about babies. They lived in close contact with their parents so they had little to learn about sex—it happened right beside them hundreds of times. Until the youth culture destroyed adolescents’ faith in the knowledge and experience of their parents, girls sought help from their mothers, grandmothers and aunts. Advice is now sought from ‘experts’, yet there is no clear understanding of what constitutes an expert. The youth culture is a product of large anonymous societies, where children are taught in large groups by specialists, not their parents, who may see very little of them. It was the aggregation of youthful peers in cities and schools that allowed a youth culture to emerge, and this provided support for youngsters in any conflict with parents or teachers. As I have said, such an aggregation is new in evolution. So too is the notion that the youth would have access to currency for material commerce—money. Yet it has bgen happening silently and adults have been organising to take advantage of a unique captive market. The way of life and values of this culture are variable, some aspects as fine as any from the past, while others seem out of touch with any real world. The young in poorer societies watch their peers enviously. For the first time in history youngsters have the means to be independent of adults, despite the fact that they still lack adult responsibilities, experience and adequate knowledge of their tribe’s values, needs and aspirations. Market forces pressure our youngsters to think, believe and belong to one of the varieties of youth culture, where millions of youngsters wear the same uniforms, listen only to the same music, 300


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read only the same magazines and books, see only the same films, and follow only the same private lives of charismatic actors, singers and writers of the culture, however banal these lives may be, however irrelevant they may be as role models for the generation. There are no great writers, scientists, philosophers, orators, artists, or thinkers as relevant role models in the youth culture and this, I believe, is its greatest flaw. The youth culture grows more distant from the society in which adults, including their parents live; in fact, the parents have ceased to bg the chief socialisers of their children. With courage we could seek to use our educational systems to prepare our young people to confront the meaninglessness of the culture which embraces them; to find exciting sources of knowledge and societal wisdom as attractive competitors; and to offer other acceptable alternatives. Ultimately youngsters will choose their own paths, but their choice should be informed.

‘WORK’ AND THE DIVISION OF LABOUR Sex Versus Gender Darwin’s book The Descent of Man had the extra component in its title, and Selection in Rglation to Sex. Darwin developed his model of sexual selection to deal with selection which created structural and behavioural forms for the different genders, comprising divisions of social labour unrelated to the primary role of sexual reproduction. He believed that sexual selection played an important part in human evolution. There are strong gender roles in our nearest relatives, the chimpanzees and, indeed, in most primates. I suspect that gender roles became crucial over the very long period when females were erect but had not yet developed strong backs. If there was hunting or prey stealing throughout this period, and I’m sure there was, then the females could have had little part in it. They were either clumsy with pregnancy or encumbered with awkward youngsters. Mothers provided the investment of time and effort for both genders in the production and rearing of the next generation. They must have bgen hardpressed to manage even this under such physical adversity. 301


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Women have always been the carers and raisers of children. To the extent that this difference is genetically based, it provides a basis for some modern divisions of labour—with the normal exceptions, for males and females are not discrete classes, but overlap in almost every character. There is, and should always be, divisions of labour based on gender, especially when we take into account the fact that men have evolved to be physically bigger and stronger than women. When I was a boy, gender roles were an unquestioned part of our culture, though the case for political equity had been fought and won before our Australian constitution was written. The case for other forms of equity has developed, especially since the Second World War. Women had replaced men in the workplace during the war but were expected to return to the kitchen when the men were demobilised. There is no evolutionary basis for the skills now needed in most modern careers. Where there is equality in ability to carry out any job, then power is probably the only justification for inequity in financial reward. The issue is not that genders should be treated equally to the exclusion of all other practical concerns, but about an equitable sharing of essential societal tasks and rewards attached to these. This should not be a political question, but a practical one. Foraging Throughout our evolution, foraging was an essential behaviour, perhaps especially for women, but certainly also for men. We began our large cultures by foraging in village markets. Then came shops, yet it is fascinating to note that the form of shops has changed—so that today, shops are designed once again for foragers—with the produce laid out for examination and selection—much as our ancient markets would have been.

INSPIRED CREATORS—‘IN THE IMAGE OF GOD’ True Believers Throughout the ages philosophers have looked forward to a Golden Age where all people would be free to embrace a 302


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knowledge-based view of the world, to enjoy the thrills of understanding which the empirical sciences offer, but also to delight in seeking solutions to the many ethical questions raised by our scientific and technological skills. Bigotry would be an unpleasant memory and all social relationships would be based on an enlightened understanding of each other’s social needs—the Golden Rule. Today we retain an urgent need to bglieve in something. We prefer a god or deity, formalised through a gathering or congregation where we can participate in the ceremonies or rituals which absorb us into a ‘tribe’ which shares and cares for its members, exclusively. We have our ancient gods, Yahweh, Christ, Mahomet, Buddha, Krishna and the families of Hindu gods; among the followers of each of these, we have a thousand cults, some as dark and degrading as others are elevating and humanitarian. Each year the number of cults—and their bglievers —grows. Scientologists compete with astrologers, satanists with clairvoyants and Tarot readers, while the various fundamentalist religions hang on desperately to their ancient dogmas, as security blankets against our rapidly changing world. Our gods can still give us enormous benefits. They give us guidance in our relationships with the god but, more important, in our relationships with our fellow humans. Religious people fought to abolish slavery, though certainly there were always plenty of conservative religious people who opposed any change, and justified doing so by their religion. The Golden Rule is not a religious rule, though religions adopt it and bless it. Our education system has lost its religious base yet has not adopted a base of belief in ourselves, in human social virtues, goodness, charity and honesty. We have not redefined ‘our tribe’ to include all of the peoples of our culture, and indeed of our world. No human is independent, however rich in possessions. Every human must give as well as receive—both service and support. There can be only one morality for a utopian society, the Golden Rule—with an inclusive definition of ‘others’. How do we fill the need to believe? The need for a god? The need to worship? The need for ritual? The need to give thanks? The need to pray for help? We do have all of these needs. We 303


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can only satisfy them in small groups of people, in congregations, where people can work together, sing together, dance together, achieve together and support and help each other. We can believe—in gods, in personal gods or in nature, for such beliefs do not have to be exclusive. We can never know about a god or gods, and being agnostic frees us of our tribal gods, yet we can look inside ourselves and find a spirituality. We face an incredible rate of change in most aspects of our societies and this produces heavy demands and stresses on us. We can accept cars, facsimiles, photocopiers and the Internet without understanding how they work—or even wanting to know. In our western culture we find an increasing demand for people to give up trying to understand how religion works and accept that a single book contains the word of the God and therefore we need not bother to understand other views. We call this ‘religious fundamentalism’ and it provides many ways to avoid thinking for ourselves. The numerous ideas in this book can easily be dismissed by simply asserting that the Bkble has already told us how Adam and Eve were created by God and there is nothing else to question or understand. The Power of Persuasion Let us suppose that we are board members for a struggling company and have decided to employ a firm of ‘consultant facilitators’ to improve company morale. Their specialists understand the sort of people evolution has produced, better than most—since their salaries depend on this understanding. They have developed skills with which to manipulate us to almost any goal. We must be brought together, to act together, to call out in unison ‘Hallelujah’ or ‘Hurrah’—to sing popular songs together, to turn and embrace our neighbours by a hug or handshake with big warm smiles for each other. Competent orators can bring us to think as one; consider how Hitler brought almost a whole nation to think as one, despite the fact that many who heard him speak could not remember what he said. The content of his speeches was less important than the oratorical skills with which he whipped up his audiences into a state of mass hysteria. 304


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To see such an effect an orator must start with constructs with which everyone agrees, good ‘motherhood’ stuff. The more of these mood-producing propositions the higher the level of acceptance and harmony reached. With such an introduction, each new step carries the group along, with relentless efficiency, to the goals of the facilitators, who return to the comfort zone of ‘motherhood’ if the movement becomes too fast for their audience. At the end of a single day, the facilitator will have moulded an audience receptive to the indoctrination which will follow, on company loyalty and enthusiasm. A similar approach can bring people to ‘declare for Jesus’. In the 1950s, ‘hot gospellers’ travelled the continents with their messages of salvation. I went along repeatedly to their meetings, trying to understand the forces they could produce in audiences. I was fascinated to see crowds cohere and move in unison, at first in large crowded halls where the audience presence was almost overwhelming and even, to my surprise, when the audience was in a large sports oval on a comfortable sunny afternoon. The techniques were those of facilitators. These techniques are well-known and used commercially everywhere. The skill of a modern orator—whether he be Mark Antony, Hitler or J.F. Kennedy—is that of our ancestral tribal Dreamer, the Shaman or spirit leader. Such a one, man or woman, can carry a group of people large or small, where he or she wills, to do things which they are surprised to find themselves doing, to love, to hate and to give. Our needs to bglieve and to cohere are ancient and fundamental. They allow us to be manipulated equally by those of pure and evil motives. Our young are infinitely more vulnerable. The Christian Jesuit fathers long ago said ‘give me a child until seven years old and he is mine for life’. Such openness was essential to our evolutionary survival—is it still so? Is it now a flaw in our design? A wise woman once told me that it was the rhythms of an orator which brought an audience to a speaker. When the speaker can touch the emotions or intellect as well as synchronise with the audience through rhythms, then perhaps we have a Hitler or a Martin Luther King. We need to understand as well as respond to such orators. 305


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Shaping and Adorning our Environment Our history has always exposed us to natural surroundings, over millions of years. This seems to have given us a need for such surroundings, even now. There is data to suggest that people convalescing from serious operations recover better and have fewer relapses when they look out on natural scenes rather than man-made vistas. Even in our vast cities we try to create gardens around us or have pictures of natural scenes inside our rooms. I sit in a city suburb, cheek by jowl with my neighbours, but my view outside is primarily of trees. I love it and perhaps it contributes to my well-being. Where do animals fit into our new concrete worlds? We domesticated animals, and husbanded them in an ongoing, caring relationship. Each animal in our herd was important to us. With modern intensive husbandry of animals, however, each individual is less important than the need to maximise the rgturn on the capital invested. If crowding causes a little more discomfort to the animals and perhaps more losses (especially of low-ranking creatures), yet increases nett income, then many feel justified in taking the extra gains at the expense of the animals’ well-being. We have probably always cared for our animals mainly because they yielded us a return, but this was once obtained while maintaining the animals’ quality of life. There is a dilemma here which now clashes with the ethical standards of this modern culture. We have eaten animals throughout our long evolution. At first these were mostly insects and small, easily caught prey. Later we ate larger prey as our hunting skills developed. The taste for animals was probably inherited because we needed animal proteins to thrive. Now, however, these tastes run up against ethical questions raised in some cultures. In addition, since we now have the nutritional skills to balance our diets without including animal protein, vegans can live comfortably while others still struggle bgtween our inheritance and their own moral dilemmas. Our technologically advanced society has created problems with agriculture similar to those in the animal industries. When we owned a small plot of land and knew how to coax the highest productivity from it, then we thought of the maximum long-term 306


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return per square metre. The land was ours and part of the territory of our tribe. Land was handed down over generations. Yet it was probably not the land we loved but the return it gave us. Modern farming, however, treats thousands of hectares together and no single hectare is ever coaxed to maximum productivity with minimum damage. It is the maximum return per unit of land, fertiliser, fuel and labour which now governs farming practices. The process turns fossil fuel into food and if the fertility of the land is depleted, it is simply a problem to be managed. The long-term cost to our lands may be considerable. Music and Craft Stories with music and, particularly, rhythm are very powerful components of our world. We have danced to rhythms for perhaps two million years. It was rhythm which allowed our speech to become more fluent. It is hardly surprising that music with strong rhythms is central to most cultures. We may still dance to music, but it is the rhythm which controls our feet and bodies. Rhythms can bring two or two thousand people to act in unison. Yet now we are conditioned to watch dances without joining in and listen to music without dancing. In western societies, our social occasions involve little physical activity—we stand and talk, and of course eat and drink. If there is music, however, our bodies sway to the rhythms, denied the dancing movements they seek. I can learn the words of a song more easily than I can learn a verse of poetry. It seems certain that we sang as soon as our vocal chords were sufficiently developed. Both singing and speaking then developed together over the millennia. Where and at what time we began to make music from instruments, I don’t know. Yet music should certainly provide the sixteenth step in our evolution.

CONCLUSION Can our design with its many legacies carry us into an exciting future, or must it keep us slaves to the gods we make and the 307


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fears and chauvinism that surround us? Must our reliance on stories deny us most of the excitement of understanding the world around us? Will our love of sex and belief that freedom is more important than responsibility prevent us from producing fine, well-prepared children who will guide our future? These seem important questions. I suspect that stories of our evolution can provide us with a different context for looking at our world and perhaps some exciting answers. These Genesis Chronicles have bgen an adventure for me, for writing them has forced me to reconsider details of many features of our evolution and allowed me to speculate, to raise hypotheses, which I gladly bequeath to others who may be excited enough to test them. Together, the Chronicles reflect conclusions which I have reached by logical examination (I hope!) of our evolutionary pathway. This doesn’t make them ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, but they seem reasonable enough to share with others and invite their criticism. They are my attempt to illustrate the major significant events in human evolution, mostly in the sequence they occurred, though I have usually suggested times which precede the dates so far recognised. I submit that the evidence found and dated in fossils is not likely to be the very first event in those periods. No doubt others will be stimulated to lively debate about where I have gone wrong in this whole adventure—it should be thus—for then our knowledge and understanding progresses. Of course I have drawn on the accounts of human evolution produced by those who study fossils. They have provided me with the approximate timeline for and the names of our various species of ancestor. I have chosen a sequence of hominids—a popular one which is even now being changed by new evidence. Bwt the progression I have presented is not likely to be changed by fossil evidence—for my contribution is the (approximately) fifteen steps through which our simian ancestors evolved to humans. Every time I read accounts of fossil discoveries, I am excited yet, limited as they are to facts and without the freedom to reach into their imagination, they leave me unsatisfied. For the questions which challenge my imagination are absent. There is, of course, also evidence from living creatures, apes which may or may not be similar to both the starting point and ourselves. In this regard, I have drawn on my life in science, and experience 308


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with a variety of animal species—seeking to understand their behaviour and social organisation. You must judge for yourselves whether my speculations offer something further which complements the available fossil account of our evolution. Studies of our evolution can never be examined completely by direct evidence—too much has been lost. Neither I nor anyone else knows the details of human evolution, but that doesn’t matter. The starting point in all scientific enquiries is to think about the problem and arrive at some hypotheses about how the problem may be organised. For example, my accounts of the evolution of human speech and the difficulties females faced in standing erect are new. I hope they may stimulate those who work in the field. From such initial points, scientists begin the exciting detective work of accumulating enough evidence to examine the hypotheses, test their robustness and seek flaws—always prepared to discard them and seek new hypotheses. For in science, all tests seek to disprove. You will notice that I have chosen to ignore some story topics which have become controversial in the past few decades and you may wonder why. I’ll use one construct, cannibalism, to explain. There is apparently strong evidence that our ancestors included cannibals, just as there have been cannibals through the history of modern people. Yet I believe that we can deal with the whole story of human evolution without leaning on this model. This does not mean that these types did not play an important part in our evolution, it only means that I was unable to find a need for these types; more than that, I could deal with each step which seemed important without them. Yet I could not produce these stories without postulating a regular conflict between tribes, particularly in the replacement of each type of hominid with its successor. I freely acknowledge that my fifteen steps from an ape ancestor to the modern family of man—whether on Fifth Avenue, New York or toiling away in the Lapis mines of Afghanistan, cannot be validated by our available scientific knowledge. However I do not accept that this is a limitation, for without the ability to draw on imagination to augment what we know, the most interesting questions could not be examined. Whatever your logical response, be it anger, frustration, pleasure or disbelief, I hope you have enjoyed a good read. 309


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Further reading Further reading

Bateson, G. (1956) ‘The Message ‘‘This is Play’’ ’, in B. Schaffner (ed.) Group Processes: Transactions of the Second Conference, New York: Josiah Macy Foundation Bradshaw, John L. (1997) Human Evolution: A Neurological Perspective, Hove, UK: Psychology Press Calhoun, J.B. (1962) ‘Population Density and Social Pathology’ Scientific American 206: 139–48 Campbell, Joseph (with Bill Moyers) (1988) The Power of Myth, New York: Doubleday Chance, Michael and Jolly, Clifford J. (1970) Social Groups of Monkeys, Apes and Men London: Jonathan Cape Corballis, Michael C. (1991) The Lopsided Ape: Evolution of the Creative Mind, Oxford: Oxford University Press Darwin, Charles (1859) The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, London: John Murray Darwin, Charles (1877) The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, London: John Murray Diamond, Jared M. (1992) The Rise and Fall of the Third Chimpanzee, London: Vintage Diamond, Jared M. (1997) Why is Sex Fun? The Evolution of Human Sexuality, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson Foley, Robert (1991) Another Unique Species, Harlow, UK: Longman Scientific Foley, Robert (1995) Humans Before Humanity Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell Goodall, Jane (1968) ‘The Behaviour of Free-living Chimpanzees in the Gombe Stream Reserve’ Animal Behaviour Monographs 3: 165—311 Goodall, Jane (n.d.) The Baboons of Gombe, Jane Goodall and the World of Animal Behaviour, a Baron Hugo van Lawick Film, Swan Productions Ltd, England Guhl, A.M. and L.L. Ortman (1953) ‘Visual patterns in the rgcognition of individuals among chickens’ Condor 55: 287–298 Guhl, A.M. (1968) ‘Social Inertia and Social Stability in Chickens’ Animal Behaviour 16: 219–32 Hediger, H. (1955) Studies of the Psychology and Behaviour of Captive Animals in Zoos and Circuses, London: Butterworth M

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Hediger, H. (1962) ‘The Evolution of Territorial Behaviour’ in S.L. Washburn (ed.) The Social Life of Early Man, London: Methuen James, J.W. (1962) ‘The Spread of Genes in Random Mating Control Populations’ Genetical Research 3: 1–10 Kummer, Hans (1968) Social Organisation of Hamadryas Baboons: A Field Study, Chicago, University of Chicago Lambert, David and the Diagram Group (1987) The Field Guide to Early Man, New York: Facts on File Inc. Leakey, Richard (1994) The Origin of Humankind, New York: Basic Books Leakey, Richard and Lewin, Roger (1992) Origins Reconsidered, London: Abacus Books Leakey, Richard and Lewin, Roger (1996) The Sixth Extinction: Biodiversity and its Survival, London Phoenix Lorenz, Konrad (1952) King Solomon’s Ring, London: Methuen Lorenz, Konrad (1966) On Aggression, New York: Harcourt, Brace & World Malthus, Thomas (1798) Essay on the Principle of Population (facs. of the 1st edn 1926), London: Macmillan Miller, George, A., Galanter, Eugene and Pribram, Karl A. (1960) Plans and the Structure of Behaviour, New York: Holt, Rknehart & Winston Morgan, Elaine (1990) The Scars of Evolution, London: Penguin Books Morgan, Elaine (1994) The Descent of the Child: Human Evolution from a New Perspective, London: Souvenir Press Morgan, Elaine (1997) The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis, London: Souvenir Press Parker, Steve (1992) The Dawn of Man, New York: Crescent Books. Pike, Kenneth (1967) Language in Relation to a Unified Theory of the Structure of Human Behavior, Glendale, Ill.: Summer Institute of Linguistics Tulloch, D.G. (1967) ‘The Distribution, Density and Social Behaviour of the Water Buffalo in the Northern Territory’ MSc thesis, University of Queensland von Frisch, K. (1947) ‘The Dances of the Honey Bee’ Bulletin of Animal Behaviour 7: 1–12 Walker, Alan and Shipman, Pat (1996) The Wisdom of Bones: In Search of Human Origins, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson Washburn, S.L. and De Vore, 1. (1961) ‘The Social Life of Baboons’ Scientific American 204: 62–71

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Index Index

aborigines 13, 103, 116, 117, 197, 199, 203, 237 Acheulian 168 adjectives 120, 175 adultery 75 adverbs 120, 175 Africa 10, 11, 16, 17, 41, 51, 60, 70, 71, 73, 79, 81, 83, 92, 112, 123, 125, 143, 164, 165, 183, 237, 266, 274, 275 afterbirth 36 aggressiveness 25, 39, 58, 76, 244, 294, 295 agreements 63, 76, 77, 115, 152, 211–13, 215, 262, 287, 291 allogrooming 71 Alpha 17–26, 28, 30, 41, 43, 45–9, 55, 57–62, 72, 74, 83–5, 87, 93, 94, 99, 102, 106, 107, 109, 112, 143–51, 158, 159, 243, 287–9, 293, 298 America 237 amphibians 8, 9, 290 antelopes 34, 41, 46, 85–7, 106, 127, 129, 131, 135 anvil 147, 211–13, 215 appeasement 20, 56, 57, 77, 202, 261, 280, 291, 294 artisans 12, 227, 270

Asia 11, 53, 123, 195, 204 attack 187–8, 190, 193 attention 20, 28, 35, 41, 44, 46, 48, 55, 56, 63, 69, 84, 85, 87, 89, 91, 95–7, 102, 103, 107–16, 126, 129, 132, 135, 136, 144–6, 149, 150, 153, 157, 159, 179, 181, 186, 187, 198, 213, 214, 216, 217, 222, 225, 235, 239, 245, 246, 257, 273, 279, 283–5, 287, 294 attention structure 69, 96, 108, 112, 114, 198, 279, 287 aurochs 184, 222, 223, 269 Australia 58, 207, 296 Australopithecines 10, 11, 15, 16, 51, 54, 71, 79–81, 83, 105, 110, 111, 273–4 Australopithecus 10, 16, 80, 123 A. afarensis 10, 11 A. africanus 10, 11 A. boisei 10, 11 A. robustus 10, 11 axe 147–9, 151, 155, 157, 167, 222 bab{ 36–9, 47, 66, 68–70, 72, 100, 219, 230, 231, 243, 252, 258, 296 baby as object 69 313

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back problems 40, 49, 66 Bateson, Gregory 103, 104 beard 17, 26, 33, 45, 125, 183 bears 28, 38, 67, 184–93, 195, 203, 204, 231, 240, 245, 272, 295 bees 12, 110 ‘between you and me, here and now’ 109, 120 bipedalism 16, 32, 42, 51, 52, 61, 62, 65, 67, 71, 78, 80 Birdwhistel, Ray 110 birth 36, 38, 41, 46, 48, 55, 69, 70, 153, 198, 236, 245, 254, 270 bleeding 44, 47, 73, 99, boar 92, 93 body language 109, 110, 197, 198, 281 bond servicing 75 bonding 39, 53–4, 71, 74–6, 109, 198, 236, 198, 236 198, 236 boundaries 11, 27, 32, 63, 76, 99, 100, 161, 260, 291 brain 35, 70, 110, 111, 166 breasts 16, 128, 181, 232, 243 Bush, President G. 295 camp 86, 93, 94, 117, 126, 127, 131, 134–7, 139, 141, 143–6, 150, 155–9, 174, 179, 181, 186–8, 190–2, 243, 209, 210, 213, 214, 216, 221, 222, 229–31, 233–6, 237–45, 250–2, 254, 256–60 canids 74 canines 17, 18, 27, 33, 60 cannibalism 309 cat 6, 28, 29, 67, 127, 130, 239, 240–2, 245, 247, 252, 253, 278 cattle 57, 269 cave 79, 126, 127, 131, 132, 137, 138, 140, 163, 174–8, 269 ceremonies 192–4, 201, 205, 215, 220, 223, 246, 261, 275, 276, 303 Chance, Michael R.A. 112, 113 chickens 57, 104, 277–9

chimpanzee 3, 9, 10, 17, 53, 62–4, 68, 72, 73, 105, 273, 301 Bonobo (pigmy chimpanzee) 73, 273 China 123, 274 chromosomes 7 clans 29, 30, 52, 53, 58, 59, 153, 160, 194, 246, 247, 269 clothes 113, 145, 165, 174–6, 178, 179, 184, 196, 220, 227, 234, 237, 252, 259, 280, 285 cocks 56, 279 coitus 48 comedy 90, 109 communication 2, 12, 13, 64, 80, 81, 91, 95, 96–8, 105, 107–12, 114–23, 165, 166, 178, 273, 274, 276, 281–3, 285 non-verbal 198 competition 5, 48, 61, 72, 97, 153, 169, 203, 288 consort 46–8, 53, 72–4, 79 consort pair 46, 53 constructs 201, 202, 290, 305, 309 contacting 69, 113, 286 conversations 96, 109, 116, 117, 119, 120, 136, 149, 175, 197, 198, 285, 286 cooking 130, 132, 136–7, 145, 150, 163, 174, 214, 218, 251, 255 crafts 218, 226, 227, 263, 307 craftsmen 167, 168, 227 Cro-Magnon 207, 264 cults 303 culture 77, 78, 81, 108, 112, 117, 164–8, 181, 266, 268, 286, 298, 300–4, 306 dancing 20, 83, 88, 94–5, 97, 101, 110, 120–1, 138, 140, 151, 156–7, 159, 186, 189–90, 194, 217, 224, 217, 224, 304, 307 Darling, F. Fraser 269 see also synchronised births

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Index

Darwin, Charles 1–6, 17, 33, 41, 51, 83, 92, 103, 125, 143, 153, 162, 173, 183, 195, 209, 219, 228, 237, 249, 264, 271, 301 Darwin, Erasmus 3 DeVore, Irven 63 digging sticks 16, 25, 31, 32, 64, 78, 84, 93, 94, 100, 101, 126, 145, 149, 163, 188 dinosaurs 8, 9 divisions of labour 12, 13, 75, 77, 270, 297, 301–2 dogs 27, 28, 49, 67, 183, 186, 188, 189, 210, 238, 240–5, 247, 248, 251, 254, 267–70 dominance 18, 19–24, 26, 28, 31, 33, 42, 43, 46–8, 52, 53, 55, 56–60, 62, 70, 72, 73, 76, 84, 85, 111, 113, 114, 144, 166, 189, 198, 199, 203, 221, 267, 273, 275, 279, 280, 285, 286-–90, 293–4 Dreamer 183, 201, 216, 238, 239, 254, 261, 305 Dryopithecines 9, 10 dung 132, 140, 156 erect 10–12, 15, 18–21, 23–6, 28, 29, 31, 33, 34, 38, 39, 42, 43, 51, 52, 54, 56, 59–62, 64–71, 75, 78, 83, 104, 112, 118, 179, 184, 189, 272, 273, 276, 278, 301, 309 erect posture 28, 34, 56, 62, 65, 69, 78, 272 Europe 11, 123, 204, 219, 266 evolution 2–5, 8, 10–13, 15, 51–2, 54, 56, 58, 61, 64, 69, 71, 74–5, 80, 82, 111, 115, 118, 121–2, 162, 164, 166, 198, 199, 202–5, 263, 266, 268, 270, 273, 274, 276, 277, 282–4, 296, 298, 300–2, 304, 305–9

exchange 13, 61, 70, 97, 98, 100, 108, 118, 121, 134, 137, 138, 147, 150, 160, 193, 215 extinction 2–3, 8–9, 17, 171, 265, 274 eyelashes 57 facilitators 296, 305 fantasy 284 fat 91, 128, 142, 165, 174, 175, 178, 179, 196 feet 32, 35, 37, 41, 42, 68, 70, 176, 189, 212, 218, 245, 276, 277, 291, 307 female technology 79 fiction 109, 119 fidelity 73, 75, 298 fire 30, 82, 123, 125–34, 136–42, 145–6, 150, 154–65, 174, 180–1, 183, 196–7, 211, 213, 214, 216, 218, 220, 222, 229, 238–40, 242–4, 250, 251, 255, 257, 259, 260, 264, 274 fire keeper 140 firemaker 153, 159–61 firewood 130–2, 137, 140, 141, 146, 147, 150, 151, 158, 159, 161, 163, 165, 215, 216, 218, 220, 222, 229, 232, 243, 260 flight 20, 28, 42, 57, 84, 188, 210, 215, 269, 279 flight distance 84, 210, 269 flint 148–60, 162, 165, 167, 210, 211, 214, 215, 217, 218, 224, 225, 249, 262 foal 112, 113 food culture 78–9, 89, 108, 112 foraging 28–30, 52–3, 80, 83, 88, 91, 94, 96, 100, 108, 117, 126, 132, 135, 139, 140, 143, 156–7, 158, 160, 190, 191, 193, 215–16, 221, 229, 231–2, 240, 244, 248, 254–5, 257, 276, 278, 302 315


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fossils 9–11, 15–16, 51, 78–9, 80–2, 122, 166–8, 171, 240, 244, 248, 254–5, 257, 276, 278, 302, 264, 274, 307–9 gender 12, 65, 66, 290, 301, 302 genes 3, 7, 10, 55, 60, 61, 74, 290, 301, 302 Germany 296 gesture 103, 120, 175 gibbons 53 gifts 127, 134, 135, 149–51, 155, 185, 201–3, 216–17, 218, 241, 245, 254, 261, 262, 266, 275 God 1, 2, 201–3, 264, 265, 275, 285, 303, 304 godmaking 171, 202–5, 207 Golden Rule 303 Goodall Jane 62, 73 gorillas 9–10, 17 grain 12, 249–63 grooming 20, 22, 30, 35, 37, 42, 44, 46, 47, 53, 71, 75, 76, 99–101, 106, 163, 278, 296, 297 Guhl, A.M. 62, 279 gum 160, 161 hair 9, 16–18, 22, 26, 28, 33, 36–8, 41–6, 65, 68, 71, 81, 125, 128, 129, 184, 190, 213, 234, 243, 251, 296 Haldane, J.B.S. 277 Hamadryas 53, 58 hammer, hammer stone 146, 151, 157 healing 93, 155, 191, 202 Hediger, H. 63, 84, 269 hierarchy 18, 19, 23, 26, 47, 52–8, 60, 62, 74, 96, 113, 198, 287, 289, 293 hips 16, 33, 34, 37, 39, 64–8, 88, 276 hominid 11, 51, 91, 103, 123, 134, 168, 199, 265, 273, 309

Homo 1, 10–13, 71, 81, 82, 99, 111, 122–4, 164, 166–9, 171, 182, 195, 200, 203–5, 207, 264, 265, 273–5 erectus 10, 11, 81, 82, 122, 123, 164, 166–8, 203, 204, 264, 265, 274 habilis 10, 11, 81, 82, 99, 111, 123, 168, 265, 273, 274 sapiens 1, 11–13, 71, 122, 124, 164, 166, 168, 169, 171, 182, 195, 200, 203–5, 207, 264, 265, 275 sapiens sapiens 1, 11–13, 171, 204, 205, 207 human communication 12, 81, 98, 107, 108, 114, 121, 123, 166, 197–9, 274, 281, 283, 285 hunters 30, 84–8, 90, 93, 99, 101, 145, 168, 174, 179, 191, 192, 210 213, 217, 222–4, 231, 241, 243, 245, 247, 251, 252, 254, 259 hunting 27–9, 32, 46, 49, 60, 75, 78, 84–8, 91, 96, 97, 101, 107, 116, 117, 121, 125, 129, 131–3, 135, 140, 143–5, 154, 158, 167, 168, 173, 174, 177, 183, 185, 190, 192, 193, 201, 210, 214–16, 218, 220–2, 224–6, 228–34, 236, 237, 238, 252–5, 257, 258, 260, 261, 263, 267, 268, 270, 275, 301, 306 hunting tactics 85, 96, 117, 185 Huxley, T.H. 6 hyenas 84 ice ages 10, 13, 123, 164, 166, 181, 195, 226, 271, 276 imagery 111, 274, 275, 279, 280 imagination 114, 181, 183, 245, 250, 265, 282, 283, 308, 309 inbreeding 6, 61 Indonesia 123, 195, 274 inertia see social inertia

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Index

infants 18, 21, 23, 25, 29, 32, 34, 35–9, 41, 44, 48–9, 52, 56–7, 65, 67–71, 78–9, 88–9, 93–4, 96, 99–101, 110–13, 117, 127–9, 136, 174, 181, 188, 230–1, 252, 253–4, 259–60, 262, 269 initiation 192 intelligence 103, 111, 114, 270, 281, 282 James, J.W. 7 juveniles 23, 28–9, 31, 34, 39, 42, 55, 64, 66, 86, 89, 100–1, 106, 112, 114, 280 Kalahari 10, 13 knapping 148, 151 knife 148–50, 154, 160, 167, 201, 217, 224, 234 knuckles 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 34, 35, 43, 44, 66, 67, 151, 155, 158, 211 knuckle-walking 67, 164 Kummer, Hans 58 Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste 4 lamps 174, 175, 178, 220, 222, 251 language 56, 80, 81, 91, 95, 103, 110, 114, 115–17, 119–21, 124, 135, 164–6, 179, 181, 197–9, 202, 204, 207, 219, 243, 261, 266, 273–4, 280–2, 284–5, 287, 292 laughter 90, 119, 129, 175, 179, 181, 217, 220 leadership 18, 58, 59, 139, 271, 288, 289, 296 learning 28, 31–2, 54, 59, 62, 75, 96, 107, 108, 129, 162, 178, 191, 235, 269, 278, 284, 292 Linnaean Society 6 Linnaeus, Carolus 3 Lorenz, Konrad 53, 74, 269, 294, 295 Lubbock, Sir J. 162

Macaque 113, 287 Malthus, Thomas 5 mammals 9, 17, 53, 57, 72, 69, 105, 290 mammoths 204, 209, 210, 213, 214, 217 Marcel Marceau 122 mare 112 mate choice 118 mating 24, 25, 27, 42–7, 61, 71–6, 97, 118, 184, 191, 229, 244, 246, 251, 269, 277, 298 meat 29, 30, 34, 46–8, 50, 60, 74, 78, 79, 84–6, 88, 93, 101, 106, 117, 128–30, 132, 134–7, 140, 145, 146, 149, 151, 154, 156, 158, 165, 174, 179, 183–6, 188, 190, 196, 201, 213, 214, 216, 218, 222–4, 226, 229, 230, 233, 235, 236, 239–43, 245, 248, 251–4, 261, 262, 268, 270, 273 Mendel, Gregor 6 menstrual cycle 72 menstruation 72, 73, 191, 277 metasignal 105 mime 81–2, 88–90, 94–6, 100, 105, 107–11, 114–15, 119–22, 166, 173 198, 199, 273–4, 280–3, 284 Miocene 9, 10, 15–17, 53 monologues 81, 107, 108, 115, 119, 198, 273, 281–2, 284–5 morality 58, 119, 181, 303 morphemes 199 mouflon 239, 268 music 181, 197, 276, 300, 307 myths 1, 119, 202 natural selection 4, 6, 8, 60, 65, 66, 74, 75, 109, 112, 122, 125, 200–2, 209, 271, 272, 277, 283, 284 Neanderthals 171, 204, 265 necks 33, 45, 46, 64, 67, 86, 104, 125, 185, 216, 230, 232 317


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negative feedback 286 neoteny 64 nests 21, 37, 39, 43, 45, 48, 49, 55, 75, 77–8, 83, 93, 97, 100–1, 131, 255, 297 nipples 36, 37, 39, 43, 69, 70, 128, 230, 232 nouns 120, 175, 198 nursing 37, 38, 89, 129, 252 oestrus 24, 25, 29, 39, 43–8, 53, 61, 71–4, 79, 269 Oldowan 81, 168 onomatopoeia 95, 111, 115, 117, 166, 175, 199, 204, 282–3 Orienting Response (OR) 278, 280, 293 Origin of Species 4, 6 ornaments 207, 218, 227 pair bonds 53, 76, 297, 298 pairs 39, 44–6, 47–9, 53, 57, 73–7, 86, 249, 286, 297, 298, 299 pant grin 105 paralinguistics 110 parasites 49, 71, 293 parturition 49, 71 peck order see rank order pigs 36, 85, 104, 126, 186, 187 Pike, Kenneth 281 play 13, 18, 24, 25, 31, 32, 39, 64, 69, 87, 88, 91, 95–7, 100, 103–8, 111, 143, 178, 218, 220, 221, 226, 228, 230, 234, 282, 297, 309 play fights 32, 104 play signal 87, 104–6, 108 polygamy 298 posture 21, 23, 28, 34, 37–8, 44, 54, 56, 57, 60, 62, 64–7, 69, 75, 77, 78, 80, 87, 222, 272, 280, 291 pregnancy 32, 34, 38, 44, 47, 49, 65–7, 72, 73, 79, 192, 301 Pribram, Karl A. 280

priests 201 primary interaction 108, 110, 120 proconsul 9 quadrupedal 9, 28, 30–2, 40, 52, 54, 60, 61, 63, 65, 66, 69, 70, 74, 80 races 16, 123, 143, 171, 204, 264, 265 Ramapithecus 10, 15, 16 range 3, 7–9, 11, 12, 16, 21, 30–2, 48, 52, 60, 62–4, 73, 74, 83, 84, 94, 96, 102, 103, 111, 115, 120, 121, 123, 125, 126, 131–3, 136, 138, 139, 147, 152–4, 156, 160–1, 171, 173, 174, 189, 190, 200, 204, 207, 210, 216, 220, 226, 229, 235, 237–9, 242, 247, 248, 261, 265, 279, 284, 293, 298 rank 20, 23, 27, 47, 48, 54, 55, 57, 59, 61, 62, 96, 106, 144, 203, 258, 271, 288, 289, 293 rank order 23, 55, 57, 289 rats 72, 293 relationships 2, 3, 11–13, 46, 52–3, 55–7, 63, 69, 74, 76–7, 96, 97, 112, 113, 118, 120, 198, 229, 244, 268, 272, 279–82, 284–7, 291, 296–7, 303, 306 religion 5, 202, 203, 266, 285, 295, 303, 304 reptiles 8, 9, 128, 290 resin 159 rhythms 83, 151, 157, 179–81, 192, 197, 305, 307 rituals 20, 192–3, 194, 201, 207, 215, 217, 221, 224, 259, 261, 271, 275, 303 running 4, 22, 25–6, 28, 42, 68, 78, 87, 93, 104, 106, 127, 129, 133, 134, 148, 154, 173, 176, 180, 185, 186–7, 209, 213, 229–31,

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Index

233–5, 241–2, 245, 247, 256, 259, 261, 271, 273, 275, 303 Russia 173, 296 Rwanda 296 savannah 10, 15, 17, 20, 28, 32, 33, 41, 53, 70–1, 90, 99, 125, 144, 154, 261 scavengers 36, 86, 185, 197, 210, 223, 228, 229, 235, 254 Scheflen, A. E. 110, 113 secondary interaction 109, 121 selection 4–8, 52, 60, 64–6, 68, 74, 75, 79, 105, 109, 111, 112, 122, 125, 164, 200–2, 209, 228, 249, 271–3, 277, 283, 284, 301, 302 sexual skin 72, 73 shaman 201, 227, 254, 256, 257, 259, 262, 305 sheep 59, 237, 239, 240, 242, 244–8, 252, 268, 269 shepherd 246, 247 shortsightedness 160, 168 shoulders 18, 19, 31, 34, 36, 45, 64, 67, 68, 86, 93, 125, 129, 139, 148, 152, 155, 171, 173, 184, 207, 230, 232, 234, 247, 253, 292 sign language 95, 103, 117, 121, 198, 243 signing 18, 36, 45–7, 81–2, 85, 90–1, 94–8, 103, 109–11, 114–22, 124, 125, 144, 147, 149, 154, 158–9, 161, 165–6, 175–6, 178, 184–5, 189, 198, 200, 202, 204, 239, 240, 242–3, 245, 261, 273–5, 281–4 sinews 159, 161, 175, 222 sketch 220, 222 slings 67, 79, 94, 100, 128, 140, 146, 167, 222, 223, 230 snake 16, 84, 89–91, 126, 128, 138, 154, 199, 228 social control 58 social facilitation 282 social inertia 55, 62, 55, 62

social insects 12 social organisations 74, 298, 309 social relationships 13, 52, 69, 76, 77, 112, 282, 285, 286, 291, 303 see also relationships socialisation 295 societies, evolution of 52, 54 sorghum 113 sow 85, 134, 187 spacing 58, 63, 69, 280, 286, 290, 2;2, 294 spears 30, 32, 33, 41, 42, 61, 64, 65, 78, 84, 87, 92, 93, 97, 100, 101, 106, 127, 128, 130, 135, 145, 146, 150, 151, 154, 156, 159, 160, 163, 165, 167, 185–9, 209–11, 213–18, 222, 223, 225, 231, 234, 235, 240, 241, 248, 253, 259, 263 specialisation 12, 13, 160, 263, 300, 304 speech 13, 92, 103, 110, 114, 120–2, 124, 165, 166, 171, 173, 178, 180–2, 197–200, 203, 273–6, 281, 282, 284–6, 309 spine 8, 16, 33, 64, 66–8, 138, 276 spirits 183, 185–7, 189, 190, 193, 194, 201, 204, 216, 220, 223, 224–6, 238–9, 241, 254–6, 259, 261, 262, 275, 305 spirituality 304 status 18, 21, 24–7, 46, 49, 52, 54–7, 60, 75, 81, 96, 97, 102, 129, 131, 132, 152, 160, 183, 186, 189, 190, 200, 203, 215, 216, 224, 227, 228, 235, 273, 283, 289, 290 sticks 11, 16, 19–32, 34, 37–8, 46, 49, 54–5, 59–61, 63–4, 67, 78–9, 83, 84, 93, 94, 100, 101, 126, 128–32, 134–7, 140, 143, 145, 149, 151, 157, 161, 163, 167, 179, 188, 221, 233, 239, 250, 251, 254, 257 319


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stone tools 12, 147, 163, 164, 166–7, 168, 179, 214, 218, 259, 273–4 stories 1–3, 11, 13, 16, 49, 65, 73, 74, 78, 81–2, 88–93, 95, 101, 105, 107–11, 113–15, 117–21, 138–9, 155, 158, 159, 162, 167, 168, 173, 175, 177, 180–1, 185–6, 190, 192, 199, 202, 203, 218, 224, 226, 229, 236, 238, 253, 261, 263, 265–7, 273, 275, 280–4, 292, 307–9 storytelling 88, 90, 107, 114, 119, 171, 180, 182 stress 252, 292, 293 structured attention see attention structure submission 19, 57, 58, 62, 162, 195, 308 synchronised births 269 taboo 116, 202, 297 technology 12, 77, 79, 123, 163–5, 196, 207, 248, 274, 282 teeth 51, 60, 83, 89, 93, 104, 136, 137, 175, 196, 241, 246 tents 141, 145, 147, 150, 163, 174, 175, 177–9, 183, 188, 191, 196, 209, 217, 229, 231–3, 250–5, 259–60, 262 territory 30–2, 52–3, 63, 74, 76–7, 198, 218, 261, 279, 290–2, 307 Thatcher, Margaret 295 thorn bushes 125, 126, 128, 141, 144 thorn wall 127, 130, 135, 138, 139 threat 26, 31, 33, 56, 61, 63, 184, 261, 289 tinder 125, 157–9, 161, 239 tools 11–12, 25, 52, 54, 59–60, 64, 71, 78, 81, 94, 100, 117, 120, 123, 132, 145–50, 152, 158–61, 163–4, 166–8, 171, 179, 187–9, 196, 204, 207, 212, 214,

216, 218, 227, 248, 259, 262, 265, 266, 273–4, 275, 286, 288, 300 totems 193, 194, 201, 203–5, 216, 238 totems, models of 189–91 trade 12, 13, 160, 161, 169, 187, 262, 274 tradition 49, 119, 205 troops, splitting/dividing 29–32, 63, 97, 160, 193, 226, 238 Tulloch, D.G. 58 Vavilov, N.I. 112 vegans 306 verbs 120, 175, 281 vertebrae 66 vertebrate 67 von Frisch, K. 110 vultures 86, 185, 210, 240 Wallace, Alfred Russell 6 Washburn, S.L. 63 water 8, 10, 31, 58, 59, 85, 93, 94, 125–7, 129, 140, 144, 150, 154, 155, 173, 210, 219, 221, 246, 250, 251, 253, 262 weaning 24, 38–9, 44, 47, 52, 59, 79, 244, 267 welfare 193 wolves 195, 228–33, 235, 236, 240, 242, 245, 247, 252, 253, 267 wordmaking 178 words 2, 57, 91, 92, 104, 107, 113, 120, 166, 173, 175, 177–81, 195, 197–200, 204, 241, 245, 281, 283, 285–7, 293, 304, 307 Wright, Sewall 8 youth culture 298, 300, 301 xenophobia 295, 296

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MORE GOOD BOOKS FROM ALLEN & UNWIN

THE SCIENCE OF LIFE From Cells to Survival S. ANTHONY BARNETT Are people only apes? Are apes (almost) human? Are women fit by their biology only for the kitchen and the nursery? Is a gene in a test tube the equivalent of a genie in a bottle? Does biology support the fashionable misanthropy which presents human beings as incurably nasty because of their evolution? The Science of Life is a beautifully written, erudite and humane book about the science of biology, about life in all its glorious forms. From the smallest microbes to the human species, Tony Barnett shows living organisms interacting with each other and the environment. He follows the development of our understanding of life and introduces us to the scientists whose imaginations have expanded out knowledge of the bkological world. And he rgminds us how exciting ideas and scientific discovery can be. He also shows how evolution has brought us to a stage where we, alone on the planet, have an urgent responsibility to protect an increasingly fragile biosphere and how, by using existing knowledge and by confronting the current popular biological myths, we can solve the problems that face us. Tony Barnett was Professor of Zoology at the Australian National University until his retirement. He is internationally known for his many researches on stress and exploratory behaviour and also for his insistence on logical and scientific rigour in biological debate. He has had many years’ experience of science broadcasting and continues to be a regular contributor to ABC Radio’s Science Show and Ockham’s Razor. SCIENCE 1–86448–610–4

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MORE GOOD BOOKS FROM ALLEN & UNWIN Also from S. Anthony Barnett

SCIENCE, MYTH OR MAGIC? A Struggle for Existence ‘We live in a scientific age.’ – a common assertion ‘The late twentieth century is the most superstitious on record.’ – an historian’s justified comment ‘Science is a form of knowledge superior to all others. It is our only source of hope for the future. Scientists can lead the way to truth about the universe, to combating destructive superstition and to preserving the biosphere. They show the way to survival for humanity.’ – a scientist’s view In much popular fiction scientists are portrayed as irresponsible magicians, emotional cripples or inhuman researchers who only care about facts and figures. But what actually is science and what use is it? Few books addressing those questions are fun to read. This book by Tony Barnett is the exception. Tony says that at the frontier of the new millennium the struggle for human survival demands a science that can bg trusted. Scientists must not only give humanity reliable knowledge of nature: they must also state clearly what may be said, scientifically, about the human species, and what may not be said. This first half of this book gives the scientific response to current hokum. Some sacred cows are shown to have feet of clay. The second half looks at the scope and limitations of scientists and their activities. It points to ways in which science can serve both truth and humanity in our present predicaments. Science, Myth or Magic? Is designed to help readers decide how they see themselves and the world and so to contribute to the continual debate leading to action that is essential in any democratic society. SCIENCE 1–86508–122–1


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DRAGON BONES The Search for Peking Man PENNY VAN OOSTERZEE At the end of the nineteenth century in China, amateur fossil hunters knew that a rgady supply of fossils could be found in backstreet Chinese apothecaries. They were sold as ‘dragon bones’, to bg ground down and made into powerful medicines. When the sources of these fossils were tracked down, they rgvealed sites rich with the rgmains of horses, rhinoceroses, elephants . . . and the ancestors of mankind. Set against a background of squabbling Chinese warlords and the Japanese occupation, a team of Chinese and Europeans worked diligently in primitive and often dangerous conditions to uncover the origins of man. What they found was one of the most famous fossils of all time—Peking Man. Penny van Oosterzee has written a riveting historical account of the discovery of Peking Man, from the excavation of one small fossilised molar to the mysterious disappearance of the fossils at the beginning of the Second World War. Penny van Oosterzee is an ecologist and science writer and the only person to win the Eureka Science Award twice. Penny has also won two Whitley Awards. Her previous books include The Centre and Where Worlds Collide: The Wallace Line. SCIENCE 1–86508–123-X


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THE SEARCH FOR LIFE ON MARS MALCOLM WALTER Foreword by Paul Davies ‘Written at the lay reader’s level and gracefully spiced with personal tales of how science really works, Walter’s insights are sound, his story compelling. A splendid book by a leader in his field.’ J. William Schopf, author of Cradle of Life ‘The search for life on Mars has moved from a pipe dream to a serious effort with reassurable prospects for success. The earliest evolution of microbial life on Earth provides the best possible clues—and Malcolm Walter, one of the world’s leading experts on this early history of earthly life, is our best possible guide for this fascinating story, full of revolutionary possibilities.’ Stephen Jay Gould Might there once have been life on Mars? Might there still be? The surface of Mars is now a frigid desert, but it was not always so. Three to four billion years ago, soon after our Solar System formed, the climates of Earth and Mars were similar. At that time there was certainly life on Earth. If it was here, why not on Mars too? Now the greatest exploration program in history is under way: the search for the origin of life on Earth, and for life beyond Earth. A veritable armada of spacecraft is unlocking the secrets of the Red Planet and more missions are planned. Malcolm Walter has worked with NASA scientists for more than a decade helping to determine where to look for fossil life on Mars. In this book he provides an insight into the exhilarating, frustrating and occasionally acrimonious world of palaeobiology as he tells the story of humankind’s search for life on Mars. Walter skilfully conveys the enormous difficulty of searching for and identifying life on another world. This is a truly inspirational account of the greatest adventure in history told by one of its most influential players. SCIENCE 1–86448–787–9


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