On 11 March at 2.46pm, I was browsing the archaeology shelves high up in one of Tokyo’s premier bookshops in the huge new Oasa Building overlooking the Marunouchi side of Tokyo Station; to the north lies Edo Castle, built by the Tokugawa Shoguns and today home to the Emperor and his family. The largest earthquake to strike Japan for 1,000 years – a country that endures about 2,000 quakes a year – lasted some five minutes. The building swayed, books fell from the shelves, a stand-alone book case collapsed, and fellow shoppers – better trained than me in earthquake etiquette – squatted down on the floor. There was no panic. Finally, as announcements over the tannoy system confirmed this was, indeed, an earthquake, everyone calmly made their way down the stairs and out through the exit.
The epicentre lay off the Pacific shoreline of Sendai, north of Tokyo, and about 45 minutes after the first major shock, the tsunami tore into the coast, sweeping away everything in its path. The huge wave relentlessly engulfed the tidy fields, villages, and towns along the coast. Japan is home to some of the world’s most exceptional archaeology, including well-preserved prehistoric settlements, stunning castles, and huge burial monuments. Artefacts include some of the oldest pottery and lacquer yet discovered; prehistoric waterlogged sites have yielded well-preserved organic remains, evidence of a sophisticated early civilisation.
Japan’s Neolithic started earlier and ended later than anywhere else; its pottery is the oldest in the world. Yet, surprisingly little is known of this country’s archaeology outside its own borders. When the catastrophic earthquake and subsequent tsunami struck earlier this year, among the appalling casualties were many archaeological sites and museum collections.
Hilda Petrie (1871-1956)