Discovering the Detectorists

By Tom Browne

If metal detecting is something you briefly did as a child, then take another look. Social media, TV exposure and high-profile discoveries have given this distinctly British hobby a whole new lease of life.

The words to a familiar song are going round in my head: ‘I seem to have left an important part of my brain somewhere / somewhere in a field in Hampshire.’ Except, in my case, it’s a field somewhere near Colchester. And instead of my brain, it could be my heart.

I’m here at the invitation of Brentwood and District Metal Detecting Society, one of hundreds of such societies across the UK dedicated to uncovering Britain’s history, one soggy trowel at a time. This particular location (which I’ve sworn not to reveal) consists of over 140 acres of freshly ploughed fields, not far from an old Saxon graveyard and Roman settlement. Gold coins have been discovered here, although not today.

John, who’s been detecting for 40 years, shows me his recent finds: a brooch pin, a few coins, some cut pennies and various fragments. It’s one of those drizzly days that threaten to turn into full-blown rain. ‘Does that affect the equipment?’ I ask. ‘No, not at all,’ replies John, explaining that last summer’s heat wave, which turned the ground hard and dry, was far worse. By contrast, ‘water helps the signals transmit through the ground’.

Thus encouraged, I make my way across the fields, towards the ranks of detectorists (their preferred term) silently combing the earth in boots and floppy hats.

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Metal detecting is something you may remember from childhood. Poke around in most attics and chances are you’ll uncover a rusty old detector, purchased on a whim 30 years ago and then forgotten about when it didn’t immediately uncover priceless treasure. Thankfully, the 50 or so detectorists here today are more pragmatic.

‘You could be lucky and find something first time out,’ says John. ‘But you probably won’t find anything, at least nothing of any significance or importance.’ Karen, chairwoman of the society, is more blunt: ‘A good 90 per cent of the time, you pick up absolute rubbish.’

My childhood experience was pretty similar, even though our family metal detector probably saw more action than most. Still, the things that appealed to me then continue to resonate now: the joy of the unknown, the element of romance, the hope that each bleep could be the start of something extraordinary. One of John’s own finds – a medieval gold ring – currently resides in Epping Museum, and most of the people I talk to speak proudly of cherished discoveries, even if they weren’t life-changing.

Indeed, the popularity of detecting is on the rise. Social media has connected enthusiasts and given them more visibility than ever before. Big finds by detectorists, such as the Galloway Hoard or the Staffordshire Hoard, generate enormous news coverage, sending sales of equipment through the roof (‘The manufacturers rub their hands in glee whenever that happens,’ says one enthusiast with a smile). And then there’s the BBC’s recent comedy series The Detectorists, an affectionate portrayal of the hobby that’s gained a cult following – not least among detectorists themselves.

Of course, these hobbyists haven’t always been viewed with affection. Along with famous finds come stories of ‘nighthawkers’ (illegal treasure hunters) damaging Hadrian’s Wall or other sensitive sites, and many responsible enthusiasts have been lumped in with a small minority of criminals. There’s always been a certain tension between professional archaeologists and amateur detectorists; much irritation is directed towards the Channel 4 series Time Team, which lauded the work of archaeologists while often ignoring or disparaging the contribution made by detectorists.

In truth, most of the time they occupy different roles. ‘Archaeologists tend to concentrate on structures,’ one of the Brentwood group tells me. ‘They don’t often find artefacts, apart from pottery and odd bits and pieces. So if they’re excavating a Roman villa, chances are we’ll find more stuff in the fields around the villa, because that’s where rubbish was dumped. Or we uncover things that were lost in open countryside. We’re generally not on archaeological sites.’

In other words, as long as the rules are respected, the two strands complement each other. The National Council for Metal Detecting (NCMD), in particular, has done a lot to promote best practice – most specifically by endorsing the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), which encourages amateurs to report all significant discoveries (not just treasure) to their local Finds Liaison Officer (FLO). This scheme, along with proper valuation of finds, is generally seen as a success that other countries want to emulate – a workable middle ground between an outright ban on detecting (as in the Republic of Ireland) and an unregulated free-for-all.

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A great example of the PAS in action is the excavation of the Frome Hoard, a collection of 52,503 Roman coins discovered in Somerset by Dave Crisp, a member of the Trowbridge Metal Detecting Club. Leading up to the find, Dave had uncovered around 60 Roman siliqua coins, dating from the third century, in a grass field near a Roman road. Realising this was treasure, although not valuable, he first informed the farmer before phoning Katie Hinds, his local FLO. The following week, his appetite whetted, he was back detecting in the same area.

‘It was fantastic!’ says Dave, who still speaks with boyish enthusiasm about the fateful moment in April 2010. 'I got this faint signal and dug into the soil, but there was nothing there. So I dug deeper and realised the signal was coming from underneath the subsoil. When I dug into the clay, I found a bronze coin, about 100 years older than the siliquas. A bit further down I pulled out 20 more, all stuck to the clay. It was then I realised there was a pot of coins down there.’

At this point, Dave made ‘both the hardest decision and the easiest decision’ of his life: he stopped digging, covered up the hole and contacted the PAS. ‘I knew what the archaeologists really needed were the details of how the pot was in the ground and where the coins were,’ Dave explains, although he insisted on being present when the site was properly excavated – a job that ended up taking three days.

‘They weren't expecting a big pot, just a small one,’ he continues. ‘They've got lots of them in the British Museum – someone's going into town and they bury their money so they don't get robbed. I honestly thought it was going to be a beer mug full of coins. But it turned out to be the equivalent of a beer barrel.’

Dave had, in fact, stumbled across one of the largest hoards ever found in Britain, eventually valued at £320,250. And his diligence in not disturbing anything meant that experts were able to investigate why and how the hoard was buried. Too heavy to carry to the site without breaking, it’s now believed the pot was put in the ground first and then filled with coins, perhaps as an offering to the gods.

The impact of the find also changed Dave’s life. ‘I never dreamed of going on TV or anything like that,’ he says, remembering the numerous talks he’s done on the Frome Hoard since 2010. ‘It brought me out my comfort zone, and I've never gone back to it.’

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Back in Colchester, all talk of hoards seems rather remote. The rain is getting heavier, which may be doing wonders for the signals but isn’t helping my mood. There’s regular bleeping from across the field, but metal fragments and common ‘grots’ (grotty coins) are the order of the day.

Not that I should be surprised. Most of those present are just happy to be out in the fresh air and in good company. Andy, a taxi driver, originally took up the hobby as a relief from the strains of learning the London Knowledge, while Karen tells me, ‘I’d do it every day of my life if I could.’ In the words of Dave Crisp, ‘There’s nothing better than walking across the countryside at a nice, slow pace. That’s what metal detecting does – it really de-stresses you.’

I stumble back towards the camp, shielding my eyes from the rain, and in the process nearly trip over a lump of rusted metal. I bend down for a closer look. It seems pretty old to me, although I can’t tell what it is. Excited, I dash over to the nearest society member.

‘How about this, then?’ I shout, proudly displaying my find. ‘Is it valuable?’

He gives it a cursory glance before replying, ‘It looks like a scaffold clip to me.’

‘Not a Roman scaffold clip?’ I ask, a bit disheartened.

‘No,’ he says shortly, before disappearing into his tent.

Oh well, better luck next time.

To find out more about the PAS Scheme and to search its database, go to finds.org.uk

Published in Reader’s Digest, January 2019.