Woad, Tatooing and Identity

GILLIAN CARR
WOAD, TATTOOING AND IDENTITY IN LATER IRON AGE

AND EARLY ROMAN BRITAIN
Summary. This paper explores the archaeological evidence for the practice
of facial and corporeal dyeing, painting and tattooing in the later Iron Age and
early Roman period. The aim is to construct a hypothesis which explains how,
why, when and by whom such pigments were worn. Although this hypothesis
discusses woad-derived indigo, this is used mainly, although not exclusively,
as an experimental tool, as no conclusive archaeological evidence exists which
reveals the identity of the ‘real’ pigment(s). Woad has also long held a place
in the popular imagination as the source of the dye which the ancient Britons
used to paint themselves.
This paper explores the possibility that the cosmetic grinder was the
focal artefact used in body painting or tattooing, and was used for grinding
and mixing body and face paint. It is suggested that, rather than being a
‘Roman’-style tool for cosmetic application from the start, it may have begun
life as an artefact first used by the later Iron Age Britons for body painting and
expressing indigenous identities.
introduction
Described variously as pendant charms deriving their shape from the iron nose-bands
used for horses (Smith 1918); grooved pendants (Trett 1983); and a device used for grinding up
medicaments or cosmetics (Jackson 1985, 1993, forthcoming; Jackson and Thullier 1999; Stead
and Rigby 1989), the cosmetic grinder is a small cast-bronze crescent-shaped object consisting,
when complete, of two parts: a pestle and mortar. They date from the first century AD to the
fifth century AD (although Jackson (1993, 167) states that there is no doubt that the type is
Romano-British with its origins in the later Iron Age), and occur predominantly in the first and
second centuries AD (Jackson 1985, 175). Cosmetic grinders range between 5–11 cm in length
(Jackson 1985, 168). Although the pestles are generally plain, the mortars are decorated with
either knobbed, zoomorphic, phallic or plain terminals. The type is exclusive to Britain, most
commonly found in the south-east (Jackson 1985, 172); more recently, however, two examples
have turned up in northern France, assumed either to have been traded from Britain or buried
with a British immigrant (Jackson and Thullier 1999, 23–4).
Jackson interpreted the cosmetic grinder as an artefact used for grinding minerals for
eye and face paints for the ‘Roman’-style practice of cosmetic application despite the fact that
they are made in a non-Classical style and did not originate in the Roman world. His research
OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 24(3) 273–292 2005
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WOAD, TATTOOING AND IDENTITY IN LATER IRON AGE AND EARLY ROMAN BRITAIN
showed that although their associations were with ‘less Romanised’ settlements, temple and
grave contexts (Jackson 1985, 172), there was no single or restricted sphere of use. Explored
here is the idea that they were initially used for a more native practice – that they were part of
the paraphernalia used in the application of woad-derived indigo.
Five observations suggest that cosmetic grinders were predominantly a non-‘Roman’
artefact used for a purpose that pre-dates the Roman period:
1. Cosmetic grinders are found only in Britain and nowhere else in the Roman world (bar the
two recent examples from Gaul).
2. Romans had their own tool for grinding cosmetics: the stone palette, many examples of
which are found in Britain.
3. Cosmetic grinders are made in a variety of styles such that no two are alike (although sub-
types have now been identified). This is not a feature of Roman bronzes (Jackson 1985,
169).
4. Cosmetic grinders are made in a native Romano-British and not a Classical style (Jackson
1985, 168 and 170).
5. A ‘handful’ of cosmetic grinders date to before the Conquest (Jackson forthcoming and pers.
comm.)
This ‘handful’ includes grinders from King Harry Lane, Hunsbury, Gussage All Saints,
Hod Hill and Hockwold (Jackson 1985, nos. 1, 33, 59, 50–1). An example from Normanton le
Heath in Leicestershire has also been published (Thorpe, Sharman and Clay 1994, 49) that
‘suggests a late Iron Age origin for these sets’. Jackson warns us that the great majority are
found by metal detectorists and are, consequently, without context.
With an indigenous later Iron Age origin for the cosmetic grinder thus established, it is
now necessary to consider how these objects were used.
the method of woad processing

Although Hobbs (2003, 109) asserts that cosmetic grinders were not used to process
woad because it was a vegetable dye (and thus a liquid), he neglects to consider the pigment
indigo, which can be extracted from woad (Isatis tinctoria) plants. It would have been relatively
straightforward for people of the Iron Age to extract indigo from woad for tattooing. The only
ingredients needed were woad plants, water, and ammonia (perhaps in the form of stale urine).
Buchanan (1987) outlines the simple recipe as follows:
1. Chop woad plants.
2. Boil in water and leave to steep for an hour.
3. Strain liquid and keep, but throw plant matter away.
4. Add ammonia to the liquid until it reaches pH 9 or above.
5. Stir liquid in air for 10–15 minutes until blue particles appear on top.
6. Let particles settle for an hour or more and decant, leaving the sediment (or indigo) to dry
out.
7. Powder the indigo for further use.
The cosmetic grinder would have been used in the final stages of woad processing to
grind up the dried product. The woad-derived indigo would then have been in a form suitable
for use in either tattooing or body painting. The yield from woad is small (Plowright (1900)
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274 © Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2005
GILLIAN CARR
Figure 1
Cosmetic grinders from Hockwold (© Copyright The British Museum).
reports that half a kilogramme of one-month-old woad plants yields 2.4 g of impure indigo), and
thus consistent with the small amount of powder with which the pestle and mortar can cope.
It is suggested that the design of the cosmetic grinder and the decoration of the mortar
terminals relate not only to the recipe needed to extract indigo from woad, but especially to the
agent needed to bind the pigment to the body. The terminal designs include bovine and duck

© Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2005 275
heads (the binding agent in these cases being milk or egg whites, or perhaps the fats and juices
from cooking beef or duck); and also phallic designs (the binding agent being semen). The
phallic design also reflects a constituent of the recipe, i.e. ammonia, in the form of urine. A
binding agent of fat is an important consideration if the Britons, like the Gauls, went into battle
naked, as recorded by Diodorus Siculus (V, 29–30). This would have kept them insulated against
the cold.
As well as a tool for powdering woad-derived indigo, the cosmetic grinder was probably
also used as a mixing trough for the powder and binding agent (experimental work by the author
has shown that thorough mixing is required to produce a good pigment). The pointed end of the
pestle could then have been used for drawing delicate designs on the wearer, which could then
have been pricked into the skin to make tattoos, or merely left as body paint. Trett (1983)
remarked that the tip of the pestle from King Harry Lane was quite worn, suggesting that this
part of the pestle had been used for thorough grinding; Jackson (1993, 165) has also observed
wear marks on many pestles and mortars. Alternatively, the length of the pestle could have been
used to smear the mixture onto the body. The use of the cosmetic grinder, rather than fingers,
for grinding, mixing and painting emphasizes the special, magical properties which woad-
derived indigo was perceived to possess (as discussed below). At no stage did the body
paint/tattoo specialist need to ‘contaminate’ his or her skin with this powerful pigment or waste
valuable indigo powder by getting it on his or her hands.
Experiments by the author have shown that a very small amount of indigo powder (the
area of half a little-finger nail) goes a very long way when mixed with approximately a dessert-
spoonful of the binding agent: enough to block-cover a couple of limbs. However, given the
small capacity of the cosmetic grinder, perhaps intricate designs rather than block cover were
more important.
In the experiment outlined below, indigo powder was mixed with beef dripping, milk,
water, egg yolk, egg white and semen and examined for the ease with which it mixed with the
powder, the consistency of the mixture, the colour of the mixture when dry, and the ease with
which it was removed.
table 1
Results of experiments with woad and binding agents
Binding agent Colour with indigo on drying Consistency Ease of removal
Milk Grey Watery poster-paint Rubs off leaving a blue tinge

Beef dripping Steel blue-grey Grease-paint; cools to Does not dry; stays waxy; needs
shoe-polish hot water and soap to remove
consistency which
can be stored
Egg yolk Dark midnight blue/blue- Grease-paint, but more Dries slowly, then flakes/
black inky glaze moist than beef brushes off easil
dripping
Egg white Shiny grey-black glaze Watery poster-paint Rubs off entirely as a fine
powder
Semen Dark blue-black/grey Similar to egg yolk Rubs off leaving a blue tinge
Saliva Dark blue-black Watery Does not rub off readily
Water Dirty indigo blue Watery poster-paint Does not rub off readily
None Deep midnight/indigo blue Chalk powder Rubs off leaving a blue tinge

GILLIAN CARR
These binding agents produce a variety of colours from steely grey-blue, through
intense midnight blue, to black, something which varied with amount of indigo used and colour
of skin. Most effective as a body paint was the beef dripping, which cools to a consistency of
shoe-polish suggesting that, as it does not dry, it could be saved until it was next needed, unlike
the other binding agents. Some of the colours yielded were similar to those used in military
camouflage palettes. Although the modern soldier’s aim is to break up the face, make it appear
two-dimensional and obscure the outline, some colours, such as the steel blue-grey produced
by mixing indigo and beef dripping, would render the face almost invisible in certain lighting
conditions (Lt. Patrick Larkin, pers. comm.). Because indigo produces a range of light and dark
blue, black and grey colours when mixed with different binding agents, we can imagine that the
native Britons would have had a choice of colours from which to choose, depending on the
occasion (such as battle or ritual ceremony), time of day, year, or weather conditions.
There are other ways in which the native Britons could have used the woad plant to
turn themselves entirely blue, rather than making indigo for tattooing or body painting. They
could either have produced enough indigo to paint the entire body, a time-consuming business,
or they could have set up a woad vat, bath or cauldron into which a person could climb. Residue
analysis of such vessels as cauldrons is long overdue; where the procedure has been applied,
the results have been most interesting, e.g. the discovery of mead in the cauldron at Hochdorf
(Körber-Grohne 1980, 250, 1985, 121–2).
Although we do not know how the woad vat would have been set up in the Iron Age,
evidence for the medieval method has survived and has been outlined by Hurry (1930). The aim
of the woad vat was to produce a reduction reaction, which could reduce the oxidized and
insoluble blue indigo into a soluble white form, which turns blue on exposure to air. Only in
the soluble form can it bind with the protein in the skin. These bonds prevent the indigo from
being washed off skin and, indeed, fabric dyed with indigo. It should be noted that indigo powder
in the insoluble (but miscible), oxidized form will wash off, as it has not bonded with the protein
in the skin.
A person dipped into the woad vat at this stage would then be dyed blue. However, on
first emerging from the woad vat, the person would be a dirty brown colour because of the contents
of the mixture. They would only turn blue after re-oxidation, which takes a few minutes. The
spontaneous change of colour after a few minutes would have seemed a magical process to the
Britons, and would have added to the perception of woad as a magical plant. In the discussion of
fabric dyeing, Plowright (1901–2) noted that fabric turned varying shades of blue, green or grey
depending on which alkaline agents were added and depending on the length or number of times
they were dipped into the woad vat. We can assume that the results would be similar for skin.
archaeological evidence for tattooing and body painting

What evidence do we have that tattooing and body painting using indigo or any other
substance took place? There are five main sources of data:
1. Classical authors.
2. Traces of pigments or plant matter used for body painting or tattooing.
3. Bog bodies such as Lindow Man that may have traces of pigments on the skin.
4. Coin evidence for facial tattoos.
5. Paraphernalia for woad processing.

Classical authors
Some Classical authors suggest that the Britons used tattoos, body paints and dyes.
Within their writings are clues concerning which pigments were used, how they were applied,
and who used them. If it were not for these accounts we would have little idea that the native
Britons practised body painting at all: theirs is the only ‘true’ evidence we have. However,
we should be aware that Classical accounts of ‘barbarians’ and their practices were often
exaggerated to emphasize their ‘otherness’; Stewart (1995) has suggested that Classical authors
are likely to have used certain stock literary topoi or stereotypic themes to emphasize British
barbarity and lack of civilization, and body painting is possibly one of these. As Jones (1987)
reminds us, for the Greeks and Romans, to be tattooed was degrading and was used on runaway
or delinquent slaves.
Caesar reports that the custom of covering the body with vitrum, later interpreted as
woad (i.e. woad-derived indigo), applied to all Britons and not just to the civilized inhabitants
of Kent (De Bello Gallico V, xiv). However, some (e.g. Pyatt et al. 1991) argue that had Caesar
encountered other blue-painted warriors in battle, he would surely have mentioned them each
time. This is not necessarily true. Caesar may have felt that, having made his initial description
of the Britons, there was no further need to describe every new group he met.
There are also the inherent problems of translation to take into account beyond the
possible mistranslation of vitrum as woad, something which dates from the sixteenth century
when the plant was a popular source of blue dye (Thirsk 1985). Vitrum also means ‘glass’
or ‘crystal’ in Latin, suggesting that vitrum is crystalline. Caesar’s report that ‘all the Britons
dye themselves with woad, which produces a blue colour’ is a translation from the Latin:
‘Omnes vero se Britanni vitro inficiunt, quod caeruleum efficit colorem’. A better rendering,
therefore, would perhaps be ‘dye themselves with glazes’, indicating body paint, or perhaps
‘infect themselves (or ‘work into themselves’) with glass’, implying that glass was used to prick
the skin for tattooing. This latter translation may even refer to a description of a scarification
ritual.
On the other hand, it would seem that there is less room for doubt about the link between
vitrum and woad. Vitruvius (VII, 14, 2) tells us that, because of the scarcity of indigo, stucco
painters ‘make a dye of chalk from Selinus, or from broken beads, along with woad (which the
Greeks call isatis), and obtain a substitute for indigo’. ‘Woad’ was chosen as the translation of
Vitruvius’ term ‘vitrum’, as we might expect, but we are also given the Greek term ‘isatis’. Pliny
(20, 59) tells us a ‘third kind (of wild lettuce) growing in the woods is called isatis (ísatiV).
Its leaves pounded up with pearl-barley are good for wounds. A fourth kind is used by dyers of
wools. Its leaves would be like those of wild sorrel, were they not more numerous and darker.
By its root or leaves it staunches bleeding . . .’ Not only, then, is isatis, like woad, good for
wounds and staunching bleeding (as discussed later) but, when compared, the leaves of the
common sorrel (Rumex acetosa) are indeed similar to those of the woad plant (Isatis tinctoria),
just as Pliny indicated; both plants have leaves that are arrow-shaped and clasp the stem. Finally,
a closely related plant is used for dyeing. This, then, would seem to back up the link between
vitrum and Isatis tinctoria or woad.
Other Classical authors referred to ‘woad-blue Britain’ (Ovid, Amores II, 16, 39),
although the literal translation of Ovid’s viridesque Britannos is ‘green Britons’. This does not
necessarily suggest a copper pigment, as woad dye can also often give a green colour (Plowright
1901–2). Pomponius Mela (de Chorographia III, 6, 51) also mentioned vitrum, calling it a dye.

GILLIAN CARR
Pliny (Natural History XXII, ii) was the only author to suggest that a vegetable dye (glastum)
was used by the Britons to stain the body (see Appendix). He remarked that this dye made the
wearers resemble Ethiopians, which generated a minor debate over why the Romans imagined
the Ethiopians were blue. However, woad can produce a black precipitate if left for too long,
and can, therefore, turn skin black with over-exposure to the woad vat (Plowright 1901–2).
Plowright also remarked that the woad gatherers’ hands were often black after harvesting the
plant. It is likely, however, that Pliny, in discussing glastum, was merely describing a different
dye-plant altogether.
While Claudian, Herodian and Solinus seem to be describing tattooed designs, Pliny,
Caesar, Martial and Pomponius Mela appear to be describing the application of a single colour
over the whole body. Chadwick (1958, 176) suggested that it was possible that ‘the people of
Britain, and especially of North Britain, made use of a plant which, among other uses, served
as a disinfectant, and which they inserted into their wounds, thereby producing an indelibly dyed
scar’. Some such explanation would combine the previously discussed description by Caesar
with references to people ‘marked by iron’ such as mentioned by Claudian, perhaps meaning
sword wounds or branding, and also with Tacitus’ description of ‘every man wearing the
decorations he had earned’ meaning either coloured battle scars or tattoos applied to mark heroic
deeds in battle.
It is possible that vitrum and woad were believed to have magical, medical properties.
In fact, woad has anti-bacterial properties (as does urine), and can also be used to staunch
bleeding. Anecdotal evidence suggests that it also has soothing properties. To wear it into battle
would ensure that any wounds received would be less likely to turn septic and would be less
painful; it is not surprising that body dye from woad was thought to render the wearer invincible.
If we also remember that tattooing was an unhygienic, dangerous, and possibly even fatal
practice in antiquity, the use of a pigment derived from the woad plant may have rendered the
practice safer.
Pigments and plants

Our second source of evidence for tattooing or body painting can be found in
the archaeological traces of plants such as woad or other potential vegetable pigments. The
earliest example of woad in Britain was found at Dragonby. The yellow dye, weld, was also
found at the same site. As woad is not indigenous to this country, van der Veen et al. (1993)
suggested that it was deliberately introduced and cultivated for its blue dye. A total of 18
fragments (a mixture of uncharred whole seeds and fragments of seed pods) were found in a
later Iron Age pit; however, as the sampling was described as ‘unusual and outstanding for its
time’ (van der Veen 1996, 197), it may be that woad existed on other sites but has been
overlooked. Indeed, at the turn of the century, Plowright (1901–2) mentioned that the
unpublished excavation of a barrow at Sheen, near Hartington in north Staffordshire, had yielded
a considerable amount of woad-indigo in lumps and powder; however, these have not survived
and no proper account of the find has been made. Plowright suggested that the barrow belonged
to a woad dyer.
It is likely, however, that whilst macrofossil remains of woad have been overlooked in
the archaeological record through non-recognition or inadequate sampling, there are good
reasons why such remains would be scarce. The parts of the plant used for dyeing (i.e. the leaves)
are only likely to survive under exceptional preservational conditions, such as the waterlogged

occupation deposits in tenth-century York, for example (Tomlinson 1985; Kenward and Hall
1995). Fruits and seeds (as found at Dragonby) are indirect evidence for the use of the plant in
dyeing and rarely survive. Moreover, the pollen of woad is indistinguishable from that of other
members of the Cruciferae family (Allan Hall, pers. comm.), of which the humble cabbage is
also a member.
Preserved bodies
Our third source of evidence for tattooing and body painting lies in traces of pigment
on the skin of bog bodies. The warriors found preserved in Siberian permafrost at Pazyryk
(Rudenko 1970) give us some idea of what might once have been a common British medium
of decoration.
The translation of vitrum as woad was questioned by Pyatt et al. (1991), who examined
Lindow Man. Their results suggested that clay-based copper and other pigments were applied
to the body (Pyatt et al. 1991, 61). These results, together with the absence of any archaeological
evidence for woad in the Iron Age (until the excavation of Dragonby a few years later), led the
authors to suggest that woad was not the origin of the blue paint to which Caesar referred.
In their search for a copper pigment on the skin of Lindow Man, Cowell and Craddock,
in a later paper (1995, 75), suggested that ‘the amount of copper on the skin of Lindow Man is
not of sufficient magnitude to provide convincing evidence that the copper was deliberately
applied as paint, especially as the epidermis, the original surface of the skin, which would have
carried the putative paint, is lost’. So the question of whether Lindow Man indulged in body
painting remains open.
Coins and facial tattoos

The fourth strand of evidence comes from coins. In 1963, Thomas (1963, fig. 15 and
appendix II) examined the depictions of human faces with tattooed cheeks and necks found in
early Gallic coinage dating generally within the later third and second centuries BC (see Fig.
2). The various tribes to which the coins are attributed lie roughly in a broad area from the Paris
basin to Normandy and Brittany. Although it is possible that some of the marks could be symbols
added to an otherwise blank space, he remarks that ‘collectively there are enough examples to
leave little doubt that a cheek mark of some kind on a Celt was nothing very odd, at least in
north-west Gaul’ (ibid., 92). Thomas believes that it was likely that facial and probably corporeal
tattoos of this nature were employed in southern Britain at the same time; however, images of
facial tattoos on British coins have not been found.
Paraphernalia for woad processing

The final potential source of evidence for tattooing or woad-derived indigo production
lies in its associated paraphernalia. Production of powdered indigo for tattooing lies one step
further along the production line than simply the production of indigo from the woad plant.
There are, therefore, two types of artefacts to be considered: those that were used in the general
production of indigo, and those that were involved specifically in tattooing.
Potential paraphernalia that may have been used (although not uniquely associated) in
the production of indigo include the firedog, the cauldron and the strainer bowl. Those involved

GILLIAN CARR
Figure 2
Facial tattoos from Gallic coinage (after Thomas 1963, 92, fig. 15).
in tattooing include the needle or pin, possibly the razor and/or tweezers, and the cosmetic
grinder (see below).
The firedog was used to support the logs of the fire upon which the cauldron was set
to boil the woad mixture. Its bovine heads are very similar to those on some terminals of the
cosmetic grinder, a point which did not escape the notice of Jackson (1985, 168). The most
common context of deposition for firedogs is richly-furnished Welwyn-type burials, such as
those at Welwyn A and B (Smith 1911–12), Mount Bures (Smith 1852), Stanfordbury A (Dryden
1845), and Baldock (Stead and Rigby 1986).
Over half of all firedogs are found in Welwyn-type burials, and over 75 per cent
are found in ritual contexts (Saunders 1977). The bronze strainer bowl, which could have
been used for separating the woad plants from the liquid, is also found in similar contexts.
Examples include the rich burials at Welwyn Garden City (Stead 1967), Stanway in Colchester
(Crummy 1997), and Santon Downham in Suffolk (Smith 1909). If one were to suppose

that artefacts with bovine heads, such as the cosmetic grinder and firedog, were linked as
woad-related paraphernalia, then the style of the unusual metal bowls from sites such as Lydney
and Ham Hill, with their bovine-head escutcheons, indicates that they could also have
been involved in the processing of woad among other things. They could have been used for
holding several batches of a binding agent mixed with woad-derived indigo, ready for painting
the body.
Items potentially used in tattooing include the razor, which could have been used for
shaving the body and face in preparation for tattooing or body painting, and tweezers, which
could have been used for removing individual hairs. It should be noted that hair removal is
necessary for tattooing, no matter which part of the body is tattooed. Hairs can divert a needle
from its path or interfere with the flow of ink.
Also included in the paraphernalia for tattooing is the needle, some of which may have
had a dual use – for sewing and tattooing. A bone needle stained blue-green has been found at
Dragonby (Greep 1996). Other potential tattooing instruments found in Britain include the set
of three bronze ‘forks’, riveted together, from Richborough (Cunliffe 1968, 105 and pl. XLVII,
211). These are very similar to the opened out tattooing needle shown in Hambly (1925, 273).
Six thin, toothed bronze plates were found at Chalton, Hampshire (Frere 1957), similar in design
to modern Maori tattooing chisels but larger and with fewer teeth. Multi-toothed tattooing
instruments are used for designs made up of many parallel lines.
Techniques of tattooing include drawing the design on the skin with pigment
and pricking over it with a thorn or sharp object or colouring a thread with powdered pigment
and drawing it under the skin with a needle, such as was practised among the Thompson Indians
of British Columbia (Teit 1927–8). The Britons could have carried out either of these methods
of tattooing. Solinus and Claudian are the only Classical authors to hint that tattooing took place.
Claudian refers to skin ‘marked by iron’, and Solinus refers to skin ‘drinking in’ the dye. It is
entirely possible that many methods of body painting and tattooing were used at the same time.
the changing role of cosmetic grinders through time

In order to understand fully the role of the cosmetic grinder in later Iron Age/early
Roman Britain, it is necessary to consider the potential users of such an artefact and their reasons
for use.
The Roman/native dichotomy: who are we talking about?

This paper has referred to ‘native Britons’ and the ‘Roman’-style practice of cosmetic
application. These terms, along with the concept of ‘Romanization’, are becoming rapidly
obsolete in the discussion of the social processes of later Iron Age Britain onwards. An overview
of the literature of the last 15 years relating to the controversial concept of ‘Romanization’
is outside the scope of this paper, but can be readily accessed in the proceedings of TRAC,
the annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference. It will suffice here to outline a
brief theoretical discussion of the concepts of ‘Roman’ and ‘native’, or ‘Romanized’ and
‘unRomanized’.
These problematic categories have been discussed by many (e.g. Cooper 1996; Barrett
1997; Freeman 1993; Hill 2001; Hingley 1997). They have also been criticized by Webster
(1997a) as an unhelpful polarization of a complex spectrum of interactions. Such categories

GILLIAN CARR
were unlikely to have been so clear-cut. The terms ‘native’ and ‘Roman’ imply two opposing
homogeneous, static and monolithic groups with an internally homogeneous material culture
and identity; the archaeological record clearly shows that this was not the case. Identity is
complex, and does not remain static throughout a person’s life – it can and does change.
Webster later developed her theory of ‘creolization’ as a replacement for the problematic
term ‘Romanization’ and in order to place earlier work within a new framework (2001).
Creolization involves, by its nature, a discussion of hybrid identities. In order to discuss these
identities, we previously needed to label them, which inevitably led to descriptions of ‘Romans’
and ‘natives’. Roman Britain comprised a mixture of hybrid (or might we label them
‘creolized’?) and heterogeneous identities, cultures and counter-cultures.
The changing role of body art through time

At a later point in their history, cosmetic grinders appear to owe elements of their use
to both traditions. While they were indigenous in design (the terminals are described as being
‘Celtic’ or Iron Age images by Jackson 1985, 168 and 170), it has been supposed that they were
used for the ‘Roman’-style application of cosmetics, as discussed above. It is true that they were
used throughout the Roman period and have been found in association with toilet instruments
in Cheapside, London (Jackson 1993, 166). For Jackson, this association confirmed their
connection with toilet and cosmetic paraphernalia. While they may, indeed, have been used for
‘Roman’-style cosmetic application later on in the Roman period, perhaps by women, and
perhaps using mineral pigments, it must be asked why these artefacts occur in the archaeological
record only in the later Iron Age/early Roman period if we assume that body painting or tattooing
was a tradition with a greater antiquity. To answer this, we must return to the discussion of the
purpose of cosmetic grinders. They were used, it is argued here, for grinding a pigment and for
mixing with binding agents ready for painting on the face or body. These designs were either
left as painted images or pricked into the skin and turned into tattoos. Thus, we have art work
which is either permanent or easily washed off. This can be compared to the earlier practice of
body dyeing or staining, which would take days or weeks to wear off, and would not require
the use of a cosmetic grinder. A model can, thus, be put forward which describes a change in
the practice of corporeal or facial artificial pigmentation over time, from block-colour dyeing
or staining, perhaps with plants (which, incidentally, can also be performed using the juice of
red berries, many of which turn blue with the addition of ammonia in the form of stale urine)
in earlier periods of the Iron Age, to painting or tattooing in the later Iron Age/period of conquest,
and perhaps even a change in use of the cosmetic grinder to ‘Roman’-style cosmetic application
later in the Roman period. How are we to explain this change in use?
To understand clearly the change in use over time, we need to relate it to the people
who would have practised body painting, tattooing or dyeing. In earlier periods of the Iron Age,
when body staining or dyeing might have been practised using plant-based pigments, a cauldron
of, perhaps, woad, acting as a woad vat, would have contained enough liquid for immersion and
coverage of most of the inhabitants of a village or farmstead, perhaps for certain ceremonies or
for going into battle. This would also fit in with the kind of communal identity or egalitarianism
that is currently being suggested for middle Iron Age societies (Hill 1996). Later on, during the
period of conquest, it would seem that the practice changed to facial and/or corporeal tattooing
or painting, using the cosmetic grinder and, perhaps, woad-derived indigo. It seems likely that
the use of indigo powder could have been tightly controlled by a small number of people. Not

only do woad plants yield only a small amount of indigo, but the cosmetic grinder is a relatively
rare item – although not as rare as was previously thought; to date over 600 have been found
in Britain (Jackson forthcoming). The pestle and mortar elements of cosmetic grinders have
suspension loops so that they can be worn, perhaps on a thong, around the neck or from a belt.
This sense of ownership is also reflected in one of the more frequent contexts of deposition of
the cosmetic grinder, the grave (Jackson 1985, 172), although the evidence also points to no
single or restricted sphere of use (Jackson 1993, 167). It must be remembered, however, that
only a small number of all recorded cosmetic grinders have a known context, the majority of
them being odd finds or metal-detector discoveries. The depositional context of the grave reflects
the perceived ‘power’ of the cosmetic grinder: the only ‘safe’ way to dispose of it was to take
it out of circulation by burying it with a certain individual, presumably the tattooist or person
who had the right to wear tattoos, rather than passing it down through the generations.
Interestingly, other types of postulated equipment for woad-derived indigo production,
such as the firedog, cauldron and strainer bowl, are also most commonly found in graves, again
linking ownership of production to certain people. The ownership of woad paraphernalia,
including the cosmetic grinder, is likely to have been carried over into ownership of certain
tattoo designs, whereby certain families or people may have owned the right to paint/tattoo a
certain design on to the body. This design may be reflected in the cosmetic grinders themselves,
both in their terminals and bodies. The bodies are sometimes decorated with zigzag grooves,
triangular cells, or enamelled decorations in red, blue, green or yellow (Jackson 1985, 169). The
individuality of grinders is also emphasized by Jackson (ibid. and 1993, 168).
The ownership of woad processing and the recipe for making the woad vat, the
powdered woad-derived indigo, and the binding agents are all likely to have been guarded as
esoteric knowledge. Thus, to wear indigo or tattoos (or a cosmetic grinder) was to display
ownership of that knowledge to other people. Because of the restricted sphere of use of the
cosmetic grinder and the paraphernalia associated with body painting and tattooing, and because
of the small amount of pigment with which the grinder was able to cope, it is likely that this
was a minority practice or restricted to certain members of a community or was used only on
certain restricted occasions, such as tattooing at certain rites of passage. Unlike body dyeing
with a woad vat, the powder in a cosmetic grinder would only be enough to tattoo one or two
people, and the choice of who those people were was unlikely to have been a random one.
Why would people have wanted to wear face or body paint or tattoos in the later Iron
Age/early Roman period? What caused the change from body dyeing? This question can best
be answered by considering changing concepts of identity; obviously, painted or tattooed images
have the capacity to convey more information about the wearer’s identity than all-over body
staining for certain ritual, social or martial occasions. The period of conquest was a time of flux
and social change. Jundi and Hill (1998) suggest that one of the reasons why the humble brooch
became such a ubiquitous item at this time is because gender, and social and cultural identities
were becoming increasingly fluid and, after the Roman Conquest, dress and appearance and
even the brooch may have been an important way to differentiate between these identities. It
can be suggested that the cosmetic grinder was an artefact which also facilitated the expression
of identity.
There is an important difference between artefacts associated with identity creation,
expression and bodily grooming (such as brooches and toilet instruments) and the cosmetic
grinder. Face and body painting and tattooing were very definitely not a ‘Roman’ practice. As
such, it could be argued that the desire to paint and tattoo oneself in this period was an act of

GILLIAN CARR
resistance towards acquiring any kind of ‘Roman’-style or even hybrid Romano-British identity.
One may argue that to tattoo oneself was a more active form of resistance than merely painting
oneself. One can be washed off and the other cannot; this would be ideal if some Romano-
Britons moved in ‘mixed’ social circles. Body art may have acted as a private joke among the
Britons, a hidden discourse, signalled among themselves by acts such as casually rolling up a
sleeve.
There are other reasons why tattooing might have been popular as a practice at the time
of the initial invasion, battles with and conquest by the Romans. Tattooing is a proof of courage.
If a person is brave enough to undergo tattooing, then they will make a good warrior. If certain
tattoos were applied to those skilled in battle, then to courage and bravery we can add heroism.
Although tattoos may have symbolized these things to the Britons, and they might have expected
such marks of valour to intimidate their enemies in battle, to the Romans, such symbols would
merely have marked the Britons as ‘barbarians’.
Body art may have carried other messages. If we consider the use of the phallic-terminal
cosmetic grinder to powder the pigment, the use of semen as a binding agent, and the action of
the ‘male’ (pestle) and ‘female’ (mortar) parts of the cosmetic grinder rubbing together (Jackson,
pers. comm.), then we can see how male fertility and virility were also bound up in body painting
and tattooing.
If animals were painted on the body, as indicated by Solinus, then these may have been
spirit helpers or guardian spirits who would come to the aid of the wearer in battle. Alternatively,
by painting images of animals on their bodies, the Britons may have hoped to endow themselves
with the power of those animals. The zoomorphic terminals of some cosmetic grinders, such as
those which depict horned cattle or bulls, may echo these animal designs.
In summary, we can begin to build up a picture of tattooing (and, to some extent, body
dyeing before it) as a practice which was bound up in both a belief in its magical and medical
properties as well as its ability openly and visually to display and construct the masculine
qualities of the warrior (cf. Treherne 1995) such as heroism, courage, bravery, virility and
fertility. To show such symbols of male strength would have been important in times of battle
if or when the Britons went into the field naked and, from our perspective but almost certainly
not from theirs, vulnerable.
It is possible that face and corporeal painting and tattooing, perhaps with woad-derived
indigo, during the period of conquest was actually quite a short-lived practice. As most of the
cosmetic grinders date to the first and second centuries AD, and were in use until the fifth century
AD, it is possible that their use gradually changed. The unequivocal association of a cosmetic
grinder with a set of toilet instruments from Cheapside in London, dating to AD 100–120
(Jackson 1993), suggests that by this period, ‘Roman’-style bodily grooming and cosmetics went
hand-in-hand (Hobbs 2003, 109), unless the person who used these artefacts was cultivating a
hybrid identity.
This apparently rapid change in practice would not have been adopted by everyone; it
is possible that many people continued to express their identities through the use of pigments
in a more pre-Roman style throughout the Roman period. However, those who began to adopt
the more ‘Roman’-style (or, more accurately, Romano-British) practice of cosmetic application,
perhaps learned from the wives of ‘Roman’ soldiers (who may well have been from areas of
the Roman empire outside the Italian peninsula), were probably doing little more than
substituting one set of pigments and colours for another, even if the ‘designs’ on their faces were
rather different than before. Some societies who practise facial tattooing, such as the Maoris,

do it for reasons of ‘beautification’ as well as for identity expression, so the purposes of face
painting would not have changed substantially.
We cannot escape the assumption that cosmetic application was associated mainly with
women (and men of dubious masculinity in Rome, if Martial is to be believed) and, while we
cannot be sure that this was the case in Roman Britain, it is possible that the practice of body
and face painting shifted from the realm of men (or both genders) to women in this period. One
of the ways in which we can understand this is to suggest that the pigment and the artefact (and
perhaps the designs) each communicated something different about gender identity. If the
esoteric knowledge of woad-derived indigo production was in the hands of men at the time of
conquest, and men and women did not differentiate themselves along gender lines by their use
of body paint, and if the early Roman period was a time when the number of identities (including
gender identities) multiplied, women could have been distinguishing themselves and making
gender statements by the use of new pigments, and thus may have moved away from traditional
practices. This would imply that men and women both used cosmetic grinders but with different
pigments/for different purposes in the Roman period; however, as it has been suggested that
cosmetic grinders were already associated with ‘Roman’-style practices of grooming, how are
we to account for what the men were doing? If the cosmetic grinder came to be associated with
women, because they needed to grind up their mineral pigments for cosmetics (thus making the
cosmetic grinder a ‘creolized artefact’, cf. Webster 2001, an idea more fully explored in Carr
forthcoming a), the men might have begun to reject the cosmetic grinder because of its growing
female associations and the growing difference in gender identities. This is not to put negative
connotations on ‘being female’ in Roman Britain; this would simply reinforce the outdated view
of women as second class citizens in this society (Baker 2003). We have yet to comprehend
fully the cultural understanding of what it meant to be a woman in this period; it is possible,
however, that the cosmetic grinder played a role in the creation of gender identity.
conclusion
This paper questions the current assumption that the cosmetic grinder was used solely
for the ‘Roman’-style practice of facial cosmetic application as proposed by Jackson (1985 and
1993). Instead, a model is put forward which outlines the changing role of corporeal and facial
dyeing, tattooing and painting through time. It is suggested that the practice changed from
dyeing or staining in the middle Iron Age for expressing communal identities at certain
occasions, to painting or tattooing using the cosmetic grinder in the later Iron Age and early
Roman period for purposes of creating and expressing individual identity. One of the many
possible identities expressed at this time could have been an overtly indigenous one, one which
expressed resistance to the new authorities. It would thus have made sense to use a tool (the
cosmetic grinder) with stylistic origins in the Iron Age, rather than switch to a new pigment-
grinding instrument such as the stone palette.
Further, it is suggested that the role of the cosmetic grinder changed to become a hybrid
or ‘creolized’ Romano-British artefact in the Roman period when it was used by women for
facial cosmetic application for purposes of expressing gender identity.
Although such interpretations must remain speculative, more information can be teased
from the data once all known cosmetic grinders are published (Jackson forthcoming). Because
the majority of cosmetic grinders are without context, much crucial contextual information

GILLIAN CARR
PRE-CONQUEST
Body staining/dyeing
(wears off in weeks; worn in battle or at ceremonies)
Communal/group identity
Used by both sexes?
TIME OF CONQUEST
AND
EARLY POST-CONQUEST
Tattooing Body painting
Permanent Washes off
Individual identity Individual identity
Resistance
Used by both sexes?
ROMAN PERIOD
INCREASING TIME
R
ë oman ’-style cosmetic application
Gender identity
Used by women
Figure 3
Diagram of change in use of the cosmetic grinder through time
will still be missing. Regional typologies and patterns of deposition may still be forthcoming.
It may, for instance, be possible to link certain cosmetic grinder types/terminal designs with
certain age and gender groups by examining the burial contexts where available, or to date
cosmetic grinders by terminal design. It would be interesting, for example, if the phallic-terminal
grinders proved to be among the earliest, before cosmetic grinders moved into the sphere of
female use, or even if they dated to a time when women were beginning to appropriate them,
as if to reassert a male identity. It is also possible that the female equivalent was the grinder
with the (deliberately?) ambiguous and stylized bovine/crescent moon terminal (e.g. Jackson
1985, 185, fig. 7, 69); did the crescent moon make reference to female fertility and even the use
of menstrual blood as a binding agent?
One further important avenue for future research of all new grinders should include
systematic residue analysis and/or, as Jackson (1993, 168) advises, an active search for traces
of pigments by anyone who excavates a cosmetic grinder, especially if it is found in a grave.
These remain the only methods of determining the contents of cosmetic grinders and should
form part of a programme of continued study. Until then, we can but tentatively tease
information from the existing data and put forward hypothetical models.

Acknowledgements
This paper comes from a chapter of my Ph.D. thesis (Carr 2000 and forthcoming b). An earlier
draft of this paper was read at the 1998 Sheffield Iron Age Research Seminar, and the 1999 Dyes in History
and Archaeology conference in Brussels; it has been improved by helpful comments from both audiences.
I would like to thank the British Museum and The Archaeological Journal for letting me reproduce
illustrations and photographs. Thanks also to Professor Philip John from the Reading University
Department of Plant Sciences for his help in answering my questions about indigo and dyeing processes,
for checking the dyeing chemistry, and for sending me samples of woad powder; to Ralph Jackson for
discussing cosmetic grinders with me at an early stage of my thesis; to Allan Hall at York University for
checking the archaeobotany; to Chris Knüsel, Simon Stoddart and Paul Sealey for their helpful comments
and suggestions on an earlier version of this paper; and to Lieutenant Patrick Larkin for advice on army
camouflage practices and for being the guinea pig in my woad experiments.
Hughes Hall
Mortimer Road
Cambridge CB4 8RX
APPENDEX
Author and reference Date Quote
Caesar, De Bello Gallico V, xiv mid-1st c. BC ‘All the Britons dye their bodies with woad (vitrum), which
produces a blue colour, and this gives them a more
terrifying appearance in battle.’
Ovid, Amores II, 16, 39 25 BC+ ‘I can’t think this is my home, this healthy Sulmo, my
birthplace, my ancestral countryside, but wastes of
Scythia or woad-blue Britain (viridesque Britannos) or
the wild rocks Prometheus’ red blood dyed.’
Propertius, Elegies II, xviiiD, late 1st c. BC ‘Do you still in your madness imitate the painted Britons
1–4 and play the wanton with foreign dyes upon your head?
All beauty is best as nature made it: Belgic colour is
shameful on a Roman face. If some woman has stained
her forehead with azure dye, is azure beauty on that
account to be desired?’
Pomponius Mela, de c. AD 43 ‘(Britain) bears peoples and kings of peoples, but all are
Chorographia III, 6, 51 uncivilized, and the further away they are from the
continent, the more they are acquainted with its other
blessings: so much that, rich only in livestock and their
territory – it is uncertain whether as an embellishment
or for some other reason – they dye their bodies with
vitrum.’
Martial, Epigrams XI, LIII AD 98 ‘Claudia Rufina, though she is sprung from the sky-blue
Britons, how she possesses the feelings of the Latin
race!’
Tacitus, Agricola 29 AD 98 ‘Aready more than 30,000 men could be seen, and still they
came flocking to the colours – all the young men, and
famous warriors whose old age was fresh and green,
every man wearing the decorations he had earned.’
Pliny, Naturalis Historia 1st c. AD ‘In Gaul there is a plant like plantain, called glastum; with
XXII, ii it the wives of the Britons, and their daughters-in-law,
stain all the body, and at certain religious ceremonies
march along naked, with a colour resembling that of the
Ethiopians.’

GILLIAN CARR
Author and reference Date Quote
Solinus, Collectanea Rerum early 3rd c. AD ‘The area is partly occupied by barbarians on whose
Memorabilium 22, 12 bodies, from their childhood upwards, various forms of
living creatures are represented by means of cunningly
wrought marks; and when the flesh of the person has
been deeply branded, then the marks of the pigment get
larger as the man grows, and the barbaric nations regard
it as the highest pitch of endurance to allow their limbs
to drink in as much of the dye as possible through the
scars which record this.’
Herodian III, xiv, 7 AD 208 ‘They also tattoo their bodies with various patterns and
pictures of all sorts of animals. Hence the reason why
they do not wear clothes, so as not to cover the pictures
on their bodies.
Claudian II, Poem on Stilicho’s AD 395 ‘Next spoke Britain, clad in the skin of some Caledonian
Consulship II.247 beast, her cheeks marked with iron, while a sea-green
mantle giving the illusion of the swell of the ocean,
rippled over her foot-prints.’
Claudian II, De Bello Gothico, AD 402 ‘Next (came) the legion that had been stationed in remote
416–18 Britain, that had bridled the wild Irish, and, as the Pict
lay dying, had gazed upon the lifeless forms, marked by
iron.’
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Woad, Tatooing and Identity

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GILLIAN CARR

WOAD, TATTOOING AND IDENTITY IN LATER IRON AGE

the method of woad processing

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Binding agent Colour with indigo on drying Consistency Ease of removal

Milk Grey Watery poster-paint Rubs off leaving a blue tinge

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

archaeological evidence for tattooing and body painting

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Pigments and plants

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Coins and facial tattoos

Paraphernalia for woad processing

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

the changing role of cosmetic grinders through time

The Roman/native dichotomy: who are we talking about?

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

The changing role of body art through time

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Author and reference Date Quote

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Author and reference Date Quote

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

CRUMMY, P. 1997: Britain’s earliest doctor? Rescue News 73, 7.

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

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