As a ten-year-old child, I was scared of an Andean mummy displayed in my local museum (the Horniman in South East London). I did not ponder its humanity, the ethics of displaying it or the rights of those who might wish to reclaim it. I was just scared of it. I am not scared of human remains any more. Over many years of working in close proximity with skeletons I have never sensed that I was in the presence of something inherently sacred or holding some residue of the living. I do not believe in ghosts. However, I did have an emotional and humbling experience the first (and only) time I was allowed to hold the skull of an unidentified aboriginal Australian. The experience was partly prompted by science – the skull was recognisably different from the European skulls I was used to – and partly through association. At the time, I was nearing the end of some work for the UK Government and I had spent time studying the Aboriginal experience. I knew how those people had suffered and I knew the symbolic and sacred importance of the skull in my hand, not only to Aboriginal Australians but also to the scientific community. This was indeed a sacred object, but ironically, the sacredness I bestowed upon it came from a set of Western values – an understanding of science and history, and a wish to empathise. A lot has happened since then in terms of archaeological practice and policy with regards to human remains.