About a year ago, my parents gave me some money towards a pretty expensive metal detector. At 50, I was looking for a hobby to take me into retirement, and I’d recently got into TV shows such as The Curse Of Oak Island and Mud Men on the History channel. Both are about treasure hunting and absolutely fascinated me. I learned that mudlarking – searching shores for items during low tide – has a rich history. In the Victorian era, some of London’s poorest citizens survived on what they could find on the shores of the Thames.
My workplace is close enough to the river to nip down at lunchtime, so I applied for a licence and went to try it out. Down by the water, I totally forgot that I was in the city; I could let my mind wander for an hour. There was only one problem: I was concentrating so much on hearing a bleep from my metal detector that I was forgetting to look. That is the essential part of mudlarking: concentrating on what you can see below your feet and off in the distance. I ditched the detector and went with a bucket and scraper instead.
My family and friends didn’t understand the appeal and teased me, but going alone is better. Conversation is distracting, and can also take your focus off watching for the tide coming back in. You’d be surprised how many people forget about this and get stuck down there, which is pretty dangerous. Finding items was thrilling to me. What I thought might just be a liquorice allsort was, in fact, a fish palate from the Eocene period, 55m years ago. I also found a type of clamshell, from 60m to 199m years ago. Apparently this a common find, but for an average Joe like me, it was exhilarating.
Then, in mid-September 2018, I was down at the river during my lunch break. In a pool of water, I saw what looked like the base of a bowl, or a large crab shell. It wasn’t until I picked it up, turned it around, and could see where eyebrows would have been that I realised I might be holding part of a skull. It felt human to me – like a child’s skull. Still on the shore, I took a photograph and posted it on a Facebook page for mudlarkers. Immediately my phone went crazy. Every comment seemed to say: “Yes, human”, or “Yes, child”. I rang the police.
It was odd, standing on the Thames trying to explain to an operator what I’d found. I was pretty sure that it couldn’t have been from a recent death, as I know skulls to be creamy white, and this was dark brown. Yet once the police were involved, my mind started working overtime. “Hang on,” I thought. “Am I about to become the prime suspect in a murder investigation?”
Three uniformed officers joined me on the shore, followed by a handful of CID officers. After they ignored my warnings that the tide was coming in and ruined their shoes, we went back up to dry land. The police took the skull fragment and within a few days got in touch to confirm that it was human. It would, therefore, be investigated by pathologists. Christmas came and went before they told me their investigation was complete: it was about 5,600 years old, and belonged to an 18-year-old. I’m told that only a handful of Neolithic skull remains have been found in London; it’s particularly rare to find one on the foreshore.
Although I am the finder, in the eyes of the law the Crown Estate are the owners as it was found on their land. I would have no interest in selling it anyway: what kind of person would want to buy human remains? The terms of my licence required me to get in touch with the Museum of London, and the skull fragment is now on display there. Regulations mean that they won’t display my name alongside it as the finder. However, my mudlarker Facebook friends have assured me that, in their circles, it will be known as the Bushell skull. These days I carry The Human Bone Manual with me, so I won’t have to trouble the police with what could just be animal bones.
I love that my find will help people understand more about the Neolithic age. Schoolchildren, who can’t comprehend that London was once just rivers and fields, will have their imagination sparked. They and thousands of others can now see it for themselves, free of charge, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. Aside from, maybe, my name next to it.
• As told to Grace Holliday
Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com
