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Frankly, it's not that easy to know how to follow a visit to the not too distant Bigbury, the mind a veritable cauldron swirling with tales of heroic deeds and defiance against the Roman invader. Go for the smooth 'chill-out' option at Jullieberrie's or Bodsham long barrows, perhaps? However I saw those a few years back, the eye instead settling upon a group of barrows, these of the 'round' variety, situated in chestnut (?) woodland a little east of Godmersham, not far from Ashford. Yeah, that'll do. To be honest I could have chosen a number of others in an arc around Canterbury.... clearly there's a lot more to Prehistoric Kent than I've thought to date.
Anyway, leaving the A28 at Godmersham, a minor road sneeks beneath a viaduct and proceeds to snake its way this way and that... as all good country roads should do... eventually arriving at the hamlet of Sole Street. Needless to say, take care... single track leading from a pretty popular pub... need I say more? A little way beyond, 'Penny Pot Lane' heads left (north) to pass through Eggringe Wood. There is a parking area on the right, but carry on to a much larger area and park here. You'll know it's the right one since, looking to the left (south-west) you'll see two large round barrows - not that tall, but of pretty substantial area - within a clearing either side of a forestry track. Somewhat overgrown and unkempt, but hey, what can you do? And at least the trail bikers haven't destroyed them. Yet. According to Pastscape these monuments are:
TR 09665035 : 24.0m in diameter, 1.0m high.
TR 09635041 : 27.0m 1.7m
Not bad for starters. However follow the (much smaller) track into the woods to the approx north-east - albeit more akin to a stream during the official 'drought conditions' of May 2012 - and two more, with in my opinion a far superior vibe, can be visited with relative ease. Trending left, follow the track to a crossroads at a clearing. Ignore the left branch and carry on for a little while before veering left. Here, if you're lucky, competent (or whatever) the barrow at TR09965091 (according to Pastscape c27m diameter, 1.0m high) sits in a clearing. Blue bells adorn the damaged mound, birds give it all they've got - quite a bit, it has to be said - and innumerable ants turn a decaying tree stump into a shimmering mass of industry. Nice. So that's where several fierce looking soldiers ants clambering over me live, then? Belieing the not too promising forecast, great white clouds advance across the otherwise pristine blue sky in serried procession. Yeah, this is a spot to lie back and think of England. No, literally. Although if you happen to get carried away by the 'moment'...........
But wait, there's more. Returning whence I came, a short distance beyond the cross-roads... a very indistinct path leads through the trees to my right (west) to the boundary of a field. Here sits another damaged round barrow within another, much more isolated clearing, literally engulfed with blue bells today (Pastscape - TR09795069: 21.0m, by 1.7m). The feathery remains of some species of bird beside a burrow suggest the occupant isn't to be trifled with. So I don't. Sunshine streams through the fringe canopy and, just for a while, everything's all right with the world. It's good to 'recharge', you know? And Eggringe Wood is the ideal spot.
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Having read in the past - some time or other - that Bigbury had been seriously damaged by gravel digging (you can't make it up), it's consequently taken a while to finally pay a visit to this legendary site. Legendary? Well, yeah. It would appear that most authorities are happy that this is (well, probably) the place where the Cantii 'retired on the woods, where they had a strongly fortified position of great natural strength'... the words of a certain Julius Caesar in 54 BCE, the Vain One having repulsed a mobile assault by the locals near the Great Stour. Needless to say the Cantii stood no chance against the siege techniques of the VII legion during Caesar's abortive invasion of these Isles. The rest, as they say, is history. Or at least the master propagandist's version of it, helping to cement his inexorable rise to ultimate power.
To be honest it is worth coming to Bigbury for that alone.... to stand upon the ramparts and just IMAGINE what it must have been like to see the Romans advance, see your missiles bounce harmlessly off their testudo shield formation.... and realise you would most probably die this day as the siege ramp grew higher. But there is much more to Bigbury than that. Tangible remains, too, giving credence to the fact that Bigbury was probably the most important hillfort (south of the Thames) in Caesar's path. According to yer man, 'they [the Cantii] did nothing unworthy'... which of course may have been a quote designed to inflate his 'achievements'... but I reckon reflects the fatalistic last ditch defence by the local warriors... a defence which may well have contributed to the Romans' eventual retreat back across the Channel for a century. And, in all probability, it happened here. Jeez.
Needless to say I nearly don't make it here at all ... in-car navigation is not my forte. However I eventually locate Harbledown and, crossing the A2, via a bridge, park just beyond upon Bigbury Road. The 'North Downs Way' long distance path cuts through the site from here, pretty substantial earthworks, clad in a beguiling May carpet of blue bells, soon materialising within the woodland. I'm confused, however. Why does the hillside rise steeply to the south, apparently bearing an outward facing rampart? It takes a while.... not to mention much clambering about... to suss that the blue bell adorned ramparts actually represent a north-western annexe.... albeit a pretty powerful one, possibly (according to Dyer) a cattle pound? Some cattle pound! Yeah, the defences of this additional area are substantial, particularly those linking it to the main enclosure upon the western flank. Ascending this bank the penny drops... the OS 1:25K map helps, to be fair... that most of the southern defences of Bigbury, beyond Bigbury Road, are no more. However the northern, towering above the aforementioned annexe, leave no doubt that this was once a major fortress, indeed. But no match for you know who? Damn him and his dodgy haircut to blazes! Although, to be fair, the discovery of a slave chain at Bigbury emphasises that these were extreme, violent - hell, inhuman - times. We need to keep things in perspective.
Fallen trees currently lie stacked upon Bigbury... notices state that this is an official attempt to clear more of the Iron Age ramparts, the back breaking work, I believe, undertaken by volunteers of the Kent Wildlife Trust. Now although regular TMA-ers will know that I'm your archetypal 'tree-hugger', it appears that the mature examples are being spared. Hey, I can live with that. Well done Kent Wildlife Trust. Come to Bigbury and celebrate the defiance of the Britons to the invader. Yeah, sing their praises in the Mead Hall. Or failing that, the Slug and Lettuce.... that'll wind up the punters no end.
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As Mr Cane states, this excellent, deceptively small - yet powerful - hillfort is easy to find.... simply follow the B3180 heading south from the A3052 a little way east of Exeter, the enclosure well sited overlooking the estuary of the beautiful River Exe. Can't miss it (he says). Providing you refrain from following a turn-off to Woodbury and getting hopelessly lost. Stupid is as stupid does...
Anyway. Having (eventually) parked up in the large car park the scale of the defences of this hillfort are immediately apparent. It is also clear (from the information board plan) that the aforementioned B3180 is perhaps not as intrusive as I first thought, utilising the original north and south entrances to traverse the enclosure. How thoughtful. For once. The main body of the fortress is shaped roughly like a back to front capital B... with a squashed top bit beyond the road. There's also a further rampart covering the approach from the north. But enough of this technical jargon!
The southern section of the enclosure, easily accessed from the car park, appears univallate, the massive single bank complemented by a counterscarp beyond a very impressive ditch. Unfortunately ease of access is causing conservation issues here, the bank clearly suffering from the moronic attentions of 'mountain' (ha!) bikers, this despite numerous signs pointing out their endemic idiocy. No excuses, then. I block the passage of one upon the counterscarp and note the immanent lack of expression in his face. In short, Woodbury Castle is a local recreational amenity, albeit one I think (or at least hope) is substantial enough to cope. In common with the wondrous Blackbury Camp not too far to the east, Woodbury is lightly wooded (as you no doubt guessed from the pragmatic name), it being necessary to traverse the roots of some rather splendid trees in order to walk the rampart.
However, for me, the true joy of Woodbury lies across the busy B3180 [take care when crossing, please... it's rather dangerous] in the form of the 'squashed bit of the B' overlooking the estuary. This arc of the defences appears multi-vallate (I think) and is completely overgrown, fallen trees overlying the overwhelming inner bank. It seems very few come here.... the perfect spot for lunch, then.
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Given the right conditions, this is possibly one of the most enchanting prehistoric enclosures you could ever come across, all things considered. In my opinion, a truly wondrous place indeed.
As Carl notes, Blackbury Camp is by no means large. However I prefer the adjective 'compact' to 'little', for this is no minor engineering work, remaining a very powerful univallate fortress. Pieces of flint protruding through the top soil inform the traveller that the hillfort is not in fact an earthwork, which comes as something of a surprise, I guess. Perhaps this has had a bearing on the excellent state of preservation, flint obviously far more resistant to the wear and tear of the myriad visitors who walk the rampart this morning... and presumably every other Sunday. Yeah, the elderly, young mums with children, annoying people walking dogs, a very attractive young lady in very tight jodhpurs (with a 'wiggle' that suddenly becomes a little too pronounced for the good of my health... jeez - I'll say no more)... the whole community seems to be here today, engendering an aura that is perhaps far more representative of the past than the usual Gladman hillfort visit.
What is far from representative, though, is the triangular outwork protecting what was presumably the original main entrance in the southern flank. Medieval castle-heads will no doubt recognise such 'barbicans' designed to counter surprise assaults upon what was always the weakest point of the enclosure... the way in. However such an arrangement as is to be found at Blackbury is rare at prehistoric sites... in my experience, anyway. There is a twist, too, the 'barbican' defences apparently unfinished - or at least destroyed - to the south. Given the very substantial nature of these additional banks and ditch I find it very unlikely that the constructors suddenly decided 'sod this for a game of soldiers, we're offski'. Perhaps a neighbouring warlord decided it was 'now or never' and made a desperate assault before completion. Dunno. Obviously. But what grim tales has Blackbury to tell?
I mentioned at the start 'given the right conditions'. Guess I should explain. Blackbury Camp is lightly wooded, no doubt at its best when sunlight slants through a thin April canopy to illuminate both the twisted roots colonising the defensive bank and the carpet of blue bells adorning the latter's flank, rising above the great ditch. I am lucky, the overcast conditions of mid morning breaking by lunchtime to achieve just this effect. Yeah, you could well walk around Blackbury's ancient rampart in 10 minutes or less. But I'll wager you'll want a couple of hours.... given the right conditions, of course.
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Readily seen from the round barrows upon the western flanks of Cold Kitchen Hill - which, incidentally, possesses a frankly superb long barrow to the east - it would've been rude not to have dropped in before heading home. So I did. Although, to be honest, another such monument - near the Court Hill plantation across the way - was beckoning, too. Some other time, perhaps?
Parking at the spacious entrance to Dairy Farm, I peered under the hedge before sussing that an (unsigned) public footpath actually runs past the site, entering the field from the bend in the minor road a little to the south-east. It's immediately obvious that the view from on high does not deceive.... this is a very substantial round barrow, indeed, set within verdant pastureland. However herein lies the problem... literally, in the form of the bovine occupants of the field. Yeah, sadly - disgracefully - it would appear the southern flank of the monument has been seriously damaged by the clambering actions of said creatures, much of it crumbling away, in fact.
Ascending, carefully, to the flat summit of the mound to investigate further, the sight of several fresh cow pats tell their own story to these incredulous eyes. Hey, I'm well aware cows are able to climb... but, in my not inconsiderable experience, this is unique... the damage so appallingly obvious, yet preventable. Words fail me, they really do. How can the landowner not see this is wrong? I mean, HOW?
What price a simple fence to protect a priceless part of the locality's ancient heritage? This is no mere eroded, grassy bump in the corner of a field. Oh no, this is a fine, seriously upstanding Bronze Age monument, mute testimony to those who worked this land before. I return to the car intent upon asking 'why?', only to see the farmer (I presume) disappearing down the road in his tractor. Perhaps it is as well...
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Although I approached from the Chittaford cist, in retrospect Doug's nailed directions to this exquisite cist. Located immediately beside the western footings of the Roundy Park settlement - I assume the modern dry stone wall, apparently a fraction of the original thickness, incorporates a substantial volume of what stood before - the site is confusingly marked as merely 'cairn' upon my 1:25K OS map. Suffice to say that is a massive understatement. Indeed, not much of the 'cairn' survives, but a great deal of what it (presumably?) covered most certainly does... a very substantial, heavily built cist topped by two capstones. Albeit somewhat wonky ones.
The only disappointment is that I'm too much of a big lump to squeeze my frame inside... well, not without a serious risk of remaining within, nightfall fast approaching. Not a very good idea upon this wildly brutal Dartmoor hillside, it has to be said. As mentioned, the ancient enclosure stands immediately to the east, the later occupants clearly content to leave such reminders of times past intact within their Brave New World. Whether that was the result of genuine respect or downright fear of supernatural retribution is, of course, a moot point. Can't exactly ask them, can we?
Wish I had more time here. But there you are. However now I must leave and quickly find somewhere to camp before nightfall... or else the wonder engendered within the traveller by this stark, windswept landscape will quickly dissipate!
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Needless to say I was looking for the substantial Roundy Park cist... and assumed the 'cairn and cist' indicated upon the 1:25K OS map was one and the same. Wrong! But a fortuitous 'wrong', you might say. Don't mind those in the least.
Although lacking capstone, I nevertheless think this is a great little monument, occupying a fine, if typically bleak location overlooking the East Dart River. Sitting inside to (partially) alleviate the adverse effects of the inclement Dartmoor weather - OK, just a few spots of rain, but the wind is up and it's bloody freezing, clad in just my 'lowland gear' - I suddenly see the farmer approaching upon his quad bike (with trailer). 'Here we go', thinks I. But no.... the gentlemen just wants to enquire if I need assistance. Receiving a 'thumbs up' he flashes a smile in return and proceeds to career beyond Roundy Park, engaged in 'farmerly things', moving sheep and such like.
I check the map.... the skyline rising above is home to the wondrous Assycombe stone row, not to mention the equally great Grey Wethers paired stone circles... and that's just for starters. Yeah, I've been too long away from Dartmoor. However there is so much to see within these Isles. Another 'cairn' beside the Roundy Park enclosure catches my eye. Is that my original quest? As always, there's only one way to find out. [Incidentally, it is, so combine the two for a nice little excursion].
As Mr Hamhead says, the solitary tree is the key to finding this obscure site. Head for that, trend a little to the right and, with a little perseverance, an audience should be yours.
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The perimeter of Oldbury hillfort is so substantial... of such extreme length.... a 'hill city', in fact... that my only previous visit here, in 2008, merely focussed upon the well defined defences to the south. Yeah, 'I'm a lazy sod', a phrase once used to great ironic effect by Johnny Lydon when taunting the British establishment out of its own stupefaction. But, credit where due, a few years on I realise my mistake and reckon... at the very least... the bluebells might have made an appearance upon the ancient ramparts once again, earthworks which I understand could possibly - nay, probably - have succumbed to an assault by Caesar and his barbarian boneheads during the course of his self-aggrandizing trip across the water from Gaul. Why not try the whole two and a half-odd miles. Angry farmers permitting? Yeah, why not?
The enormous Iron Age fortress of Oldbury rises above the Kentish village of Igtham, famed - and rightly so - for its exquiste, moated Medieval manor house. Not that the informed passer by would know the former existed at all, if not for the name. Oldbury... hmm. So where's the 'fort, then? A dense encircling canopy of trees is the culpruit here, predominately oak, or so I understand.
Well, to cut a long story short - even with map and compass - I soon lose any sense of positionning upon this tremendous fortification. Yeah, I'm soon bewitched by the ancient forest, so I am. The defences are pretty upstanding for the most - as mentioned, very much so to the south - but have the tendency to go walkabout in places (or so it seems). Some may find woodland claustrophobic, but not I. Love it, the roots of trees clinging to rampart sheltering the aforementioned first bluebells of Spring, the wooden tentacles themselves the very epitome of Nature. I blunder into an orchard and notice the path continues, a couple noncholantly walking a dog.... beyond, the tree line is bordered by a mass of farm implements... not to mention council road signs. Hey, use an ancient hillfort as a storage depot, why don't you? Guess this must be the 'private' part, then? Carrying on along the edge of the hillside I encounter some rocky outcrops...... no, couldn't be? Aren't there supposed to be some cave dwellings here?
There are. And for a reason I can't really explain the experience completely blows me away. Overlooking a steep drop and accompanied by another fine tree with copious roots, I gaze into the black void and know I must brave the arachnids and venture inside. There is no choice. I must.... and, although well versed in crawling down the claustrophobic passages of Orcadian tombs, I begin to freak out within. What appear - at least to me - 'artificial' markings upon the left hand cave wall heighten the vibe, the darkness beyond showing the literal 'light at the end of the tunnel'. To my suprise - aren't caves damp and uncomfortable? - the ground is absolutely bone dry, powder dust, but the roof is perhaps just three foot high. Good for sleeping, then. Hey, much like my one man tent? These Neanderthal fellas (and lasses) had their world sussed, methinks. Although light beckons, the roof begins to contract to a point where I can't go on. No, really. Approx half way, I guess. Retreating towards the entrance I gaze out and am suddenly overwhelmed by a connection to what went before. Hey, the finds prove it. People sat here at a time beyond my comprehension... people of a different species, goddammit!.... and no doubt thought 'look at that bloody rain... and she's gonna kill me if I don't return from the hunt with something better than that bloody squirrel yesterday.... Mighty hunter... me. Ha!'
I sit at the entrance, beneath the overhanging rock protecting the fire... if there was one... eating my pre-packaged lunch... and wonder how I'd cope if I actually had to catch my own lunch. Yeah, I'm sure I could do it. Do or die. But how dare we be-little the people who've gone before. How dare we!! How dare we, indeed..... I sit here in awe, I really do. The birds sing, and perhaps only the distant road noise reminds the traveller this is actually the 21st century.... how can one experience such emotions in quaint modern day Kent, American tourists swarming below? I feel red raw with emotion. And mighty better for it, I can tell you.
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A retrospective check of the 'log book' divulges the slightly unwelcome fact that I last visited here back in June 2001. Yeah, doesn't time (seem to) fly? More to the point, I guess, is the realisation that the Iron Age earthworks didn't make that much of an impression upon the would-be prehistoric antiquarian back then, the - it has to be said - frankly bonkers Norman motte apparently having blown the somewhat younger mind. To be fair the incredible 80ft castle mound is peerless in its class ... if I understand correctly, second only to the one and only Silbury in the UK artificial mound stakes. Yeah, I know. There's no comparison. But nonetheless.... simultaneous plaudits and pity are due to those poor Saxon peasants who no doubt struggled to raise this monster for their Norman 'overlords'.
It therefore fair knocks me back to approach this time around from Castle Hill - that is to the north - and come face to face with towering bivallate banks... and I mean towering. Hell yeah! According to Norfolk HER records excavation has proved these to be of Iron Age origin, although no doubt 'touched up a bit' a millennium or so later. The surviving defences form a roughly east/west barrier, the original plan, although not clear to me, possibly using the loop in the River Thet (and presumably, resulting marsh?) as natural defence to other points of the compass? A sort of promontory fort, without the promontory. Or something like that. Whatever, impressive in the extreme.
Which is a lot more than can be said about the tediously puerile, pathetic reaction of a group of Thetford's yoof to a lone man daring to take pictures of this wonderful site. Vile chants - I'll spare you the details - ring out from the top of the motte.... safety in numbers. Sure, I'm intimidated by such odds. But I won't back down. Oh no, not with such wondrous evening light playing upon these ancient, and slightly-not-so-ancient earthworks. Later on I climb to the top of the motte for a rare, aerial view of a hillfort and meet another group of 'yoofs', one of whom again states a distaste toward me taking images. Why? Well, clearly (?!?) it proves I'm a pervert. Sorry... don't get your logic. Hmm. Call me what you will. But I will not stand for that. I really, really hope I'm wrong. Truly, I do... But the young man doth protest too much, methinks.
Hence there are conflicting emotions generated from a return to Thetford. Wonder at the overpowering, overwhelming nature of not only the Norman, but Iron Age defences. And sadness at what visitors to 'in-town' sites sometimes have to go through. I would therefore recommend you take a friend, just to be on the safe side. But please go. Don't let the bastards grind you down. Having said that, I found Castle Hill difficult to locate. So no change there, he says. In retrospect, make your way to the roundabout co-joining the A1088 and A1066 (Hurth Way) and look out for Castle Street - bit of a give-away, that. The earthworks will rise up to your left... parking is within a small free car park (signposted).
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Stopped off at Belsar's Hill during the course of a long-delayed visit to the wondrous Stonea Camp... and duly discovered that it was round-about here that the equally wondrous Hereward The Wake gave William the Bastard's lot a bloody nose in 1071. Or rather a damn good soaking... OK, only 'yesterday' in terms of TMA, I know, but of fundamental importance in proving The Bastard wasn't exactly 'the people's choice' as he liked to pretend. Belsar's Hill lies due east(ish) of the Cambridgeshire village of Willingham - appropriately enough within Willingham Fen - and is reached by a rather unusual, single track 'causeway' road. A causeway across what is now dry ground. At least today. Parking is available at the gated entrance to a public access green track - the fabled Aldreth Causeway leading to The Isle of Ely, once a virtually impregnable fenland redoubt. Yeah, Hereward knew his stuff. How William must have cursed. An information noticeboard relates the history... and duly throws a great big oily spanner in the works by stating that the enclosure bisected by the track is private, out of bounds. You what? Why?
However, despite copious barbed-wire, there are (currently) gaps.... and somehow I, er, inadvertently take the wrong turn, finding myself upon the circular bank of this.... well.... guess it depends on your point of view? Although nowhere near the 4m quoted from other sources, the defences are relatively upstanding - quite substantial, in fact - the morning mist - fog even - evoking an ethereal vibe. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the site is the sheer circumference... in my experience much too large to be of Norman origin, looking very much a typical Iron Age enclosure. But what better place for a Norman army besieging Ely to make its base camp, its home.... following some necessary improvements? Yeah, on balance I'm happy to go with the 'Iron Age adapted by Norman' hypothesis. It's not exactly unknown, is it?
The sun gets to work upon the mist mantle and, suddenly, I'm basking beneath a pristine blue sky. In late March? Whatever next? The enclosure actually continues to the east of the green track, again out of bounds to the general public. However once again gaps in the fence afford access. The bank here is much more denuded - shame on them - but nevertheless remains, a couple of horses looking on in that trademark combination of curiosity/fear so typical of those wonderful creatures.
I'm also far from happy with access to this legendary, lost site. The Normans got a severe kicking from the local resistance and.... I'd never heard of it. Strange that. One can only assume the ghosts of the original builders - assuming they were Iron Age - placed 'the mockers' upon the sour-faced barbarians for violating their former home. Right on!
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Will you come to the Bower?
Set a little to the north-west of the fine 'Five Knolls' barrow cemetery, near Dunstable, first impressions upon arriving at this large, univallate enclosure are not good. To put it mildly. Yeah, sadly sections of the local yoof would appear to enjoy nothing better than to drive (presumably stolen) cars within the ramparts and torch them. Or else consume plastic bags full of 'super strength' and duly dump the empty cans in piles around the perimeter. I've heard the former referred to as 'joy riding'.... but, honestly, can any occupation better betray such an intrinsic sense of self loathing than this? Or such a sense of benign resignation from the locals walking their dogs amongst THIS, as if saying 'hey, but what can you do?' Sure, it makes the traveller think... but unless you share a (in my opinion) warped Damien Hirst worldview, I'd be surprised if the instinctive visitor reaction isn't to 'get the hell outta here!' To be honest that was mine. Too far out of my comfort zone, I readily admit. Soft, middle class Essex boy that I am. However I'd recommend perseverance. For Maiden Bower is a fine hillfort. No, really. It is.
For the most part the single rampart is cloaked with a (very painful) mantle of hawthorn. Now ordinarily this would be a veritable pain in the arse - not to mention numerous other parts of the anatomy - but not here. For I am in no doubt that, without this natural 'armour', the ancient defences would be in a far worse state of preservation than they currently are. OK, rabbits are clearly a major menace, the majority of the northern-western arc having also crumbled away into a quarry... but nonetheless Maiden Bower is upstanding. And duly begins to cast its spell, sunlight breaking through the early morning cloud mantle beginning to work its magic, the unfathomably complex relationship between highlight and shade now interacting upon the rampart. Perhaps it is the knowledge that this enclosure really is the 'real deal'... people died here, horribly, too (by all accounts)... that the current destruction seems so utterly ridiculous. So meaningless, so damn pointless. Yeah, how I wish I had been endowed with some metaphysical 'ability' to somehow convince those super strength swilling youths that nihilism is a one way trip. Jesus, now I'm wishing I was... well... Jesus. Time to stop.
Yeah, there is a lot more to Maiden Bower than initially greets the eye. Such as the fact that the Iron Age enclosure apparently overlays an earlier causewayed camp. So yes. I'd recommend you do come to the Bower. And if you happen to be a local reading this... ask yourself... are you happy to put up with what is happening to your youth and local hillfort? Guess it's up to you.
TMA-ers wishing to make the trip are advised to drive to Chalk Farm on the A5 and take the 'dead end' minor Sewell road (near the White Lion pub) to park before an old railway bridge. Go through the arch, turn left and.... well.
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This wonderful promontory fort couldn't be more unlike the not too distant Maiden Bowers - from whence I've just come - if it tried.... occupying the northern tip of a wondrous chalk spur of The Chilterns, set beneath glorious beech.
To be honest there does not appear a lot of archaeology here, the cross bank, isolating the enclosure from the southern hinterland, apparently substantially amended in medieval times to serve as a rabbit warren (hence, perhaps, the name), the defences of the remainder of the perimeter probably never that upstanding in the first place. Yeah, there really was no need, not when the location posessed such natural strength, nothing more than a little scarping of the existing promontory edge deemed necessary, perhaps?
Despite the steady procession of visitors, the vibe here is excellent, the sun, streaming through the thin Spring canopy, sending shadows streaking across the landscape - like the Clappers - to contrast with the brilliant, white chalk in the most striking manner possible. Yeah, the 'Daz doorstep challenge' has nothing on this, I can tell you. Roots, twisting this way and that in a do or die effort to secure a grip, envoke images of the ancient forest in my mind, the gnarled, twisted trees they support the very epitomy of Nature, the lungs of the Earth, in turn supporting the creatures that live upon it. Including me. Ha! QED.
By far the majority of visitors arrive from the south, a car park accessible from Sharpenhoe Road. This would appear the route if you'd rather not - or perhaps physically can not - make the very steep ascent from Barton Road to the north. Needless to say I wasn't aware of the alternative at the time... but, hey, guess I probably need the exercise. Wonderful.
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Like the none too distant Gallows Hill round barrow - incidentally the wondrous Therfield Heath barrow cemetery lies between the two monuments - this seriously mutilated round barrow surmounts a small hill crowned by an iconic copse of trees. Another commonality is the negative attitude of the landowner toward visitors, or at least the casual, unannounced sort, a high set 'Private - No Public Access' sign... (or words to that effect) ... albeit consequently easily overlooked by a traveller approaching (with eyes fixed upon the knoll) along the track leading from the A505 to the south-east... making this clear.
In retrospect, upon studying the map, it is probably advisable to take the Melbourn road and approach Summer House farm from the east in order to ask permission, particularly if you wish to make an extended visit to the site. To be honest there is not a great deal to report, the round barrow, as mentioned, seriously damaged by a myriad animal burrows and much fallen tree debris.
Nevertheless an authentic vibe remains beneath the hilltop woodland, the monument consequently well worth my brief diversion from the road where, incidentally, there is a handily placed layby.
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This is a reasonably upstanding round barrow sited upon Gallows Hill - as you might expect - overlooking the busy A505 at Odsey Corner, below to the north. The iconic, attractive copse of trees engenders a somewhat 'Minning Low' vibe, although a trashed red brick building footing of some description encroaching upon the mound to the north-west, together with an ugly concrete shell of a building to the south, the latter preceded by remnants of a large fire, ensure this is (nowadays, anyway) not exactly a classic location. Not to mention aerial and large, linear compost mound to the east. Then again, I've always been a sucker for woodland, especially a tree line viewed in stark profile against a glorious early Spring sky, the viewer bathed in sunlight, perched upon a Bronze Age barrow whilst drinking tea. How very English... what could possibly be wrong with that?
Clearly nothing. Unless you happen to be one of the occupants of Heath Farm, standing below to the south, that is. Checking the map, I was pleasantly surprised to see Gallows Hill ascended by the 'Chain Walk' public footpath, said route passing literally within a whisker of the round barrow's unfenced eastern arc. So, allowing a violent shower to pass overhead, I set about attempting to make sense of the site. Suddenly a rather comical labrador appears and decides to noisily confront me. Ha! Now don't get me wrong, I like labradors - why, the Mam C used to own one, and Ceri was one day literally mauled by the cat at the top of the street, the pathetic creature. Some light relief, then. Except this dog's owner was far from pleasant, the woman seemingly a cold, acerbic mixture of overbearing pedantry juxtaposed with ignorance of the significance of her own surroundings. Yeah, she is very hostile, completely unable to comprehend why I - why anyone - might feel the need to take pictures of 'her' hill top. Apparently I'm trespassing, despite the public footpath being literally a few feet from the mound, grossly ignorant for not walking all the way down the hill to ask permission to deviate a few feet from an unfenced public path. I beg to differ, the traveller consequently only able to feel pity toward what would appear such an unhappy soul.
Needless to say I won't be rushed and, happily, my perseverance is rewarded when Nature decides to take a hand, the rain clouds duly dissipating to a pristine blue sky, the round barrow illuminated in a golden glow. A wonderful moment well worth all the aggravation. And at least the landowner's wishes are now on record, should any other member happen to be passing by. If so - and why not? - arguably the best place to park is within the layby leading to a petrol station just north-east of the Ashwell junction of the north carriageway of the A505 (hey, why not pay a visit to Arbury Banks as well?). Needless to say, please, please be careful when crossing the road... and beware of the landowner!
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Bit of an enigma, this.... apparently only (re)discovered upon its hilltop during 1993 [in retrospect the question must be, in this day and age .... how come?!?] I only became aware of this chambered tomb's existance thanks to the local archaeological trust, CPAT. Cheers, people. Consequently my frame of mind was, to be honest, more that a little 'yeah, right... we'll see' as, facing down the local farm yard dog at Ty-croes, having parked at the road's terminus [rough, but no problem here], I follow the continuing hard track, then grassy path uphill toward Bwlch Sych to the north-west. Here the fence line literally leads the traveller across the bisected remains of a Bronze Age round cairn (Carnedd Cerrig - reports of grave goods confirming authenticity) set overlooking the Afon Barog, another such monument apparently set below to the north (I can't locate it, however). The positionning is excellent, with fine views... a bonus site always more than welcome.
From Carnedd Cerrig I follow the fenceline westwards to its junction with a north-south boundary. Here, a keen, 'clued-up' eye should discern the chambered cairn surmounting the left hand crest of the green hillside rising upon the western skyline. Unfortunately my vision possesses neither criterion, so I assume the cluster of stones perched above the deep gulley formed by the Afon Y Dolau Gwynion represents the shattered remnants of the monument. Yeah, should've gone to Specsavers, then. Struggling across the aforementioned watercourse, two prostrate stones, looking remarkably like capstones, apparently confirm my assumption. Oh well. Lovely spot, worth the effort... and more, or less, what I'd expected. Time for lunch, methinks. WRONG!
Thankfully, however, the usual Gladman 'I'll just go for a wander to see what's over there' kicks in to say the day. Well, it'd be rude not to, would it not?... barbed wire fences... or no barbed wire fences. And there it is. To be frank, a rather obvious chambered cairn, sitting in a fine spot crowning the crest to the approx south. Granted, the capstones are missing - what price they sit upon the 'field clearance' I've just vacated? - but numerous orthostats remain, the whole monument pleasingly substantial, particularly so for such an obscure, Mid Walian site.
Needless to say this chambered cairn possesses just about the perfect, windswept vibe. Hell, I'd be gob-smacked if anyone - save a CPAT dude - has ever intentionally ventured here during the past two or three-odd millennia, such is the 'feeling' hanging in the air. I mean, I only arrived at the correct location by chance... or - to be fair - thanks to an overly inquisitive nature. Thanks mum. What a gift, an inquisitive nature! Reclining within the roofless chamber it seems very odd, indeed, that this monument could have been 'lost' - to the point of oblivion - for so long. Granted, these bare, high hills sandwiched between the heather-clad Y Berwyn to the east and the mighty Aran ridge, are not exactly the most popular of hillwalking destinations, despite their proximity to Llyn Efyrnwy, so beloved of tourists. But nevertheless.....
So, feeling jaded by visits to too may well known sites? Happen to be in the upper regions of Mid Wales? I have an antidote, my friends. You won't find this on your satnav. I assume, not having one of the bloody things. Or even on the OS map. But nevertheless it is here. I promise you that.
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Pumlumon.... 'Mother of Rivers', extreme Bronze Age cemetery... and all round bloody natural marvel... dominates this area of Mid Wales, not so much in profile as by sheer, green, soggy mass. Its magnetic pull is such that the previous day's visit is extended to more or less nightfall, the traveller simply loathe to waste a moment. Consequently, too late to find a place to camp before dark, I settle down for the night at the Waun y Gadair picnic area overlooking Llyn Clywedog. Surely no man-made reservoir has a right to be so damn attractive. Surely? But credit where it's due, I guess.
The morning dawns overcast, ethereal even, with occasional shafts of sunlight piercing the gloom. Noticing a small 'fort' marked upon my (old charity shop procured) 1:50k OS map above the southern tip of the reservoir, I decide to pay a 'quick' visit... no time for another apparently ancient earthwork, Dinas (yeah, very linguistically prosaic, these Iron Age inhabitants of Wales), immediately west of the car... or yet another, due south of Bryn-y-Fan. But there you are. Needless to say things do not go to plan for, like the poverbial 'just the one' in the bar, a visit to Pen-y-Gaer intoxicates... not by way of alcoholic inebriation, the progressive dulling of the senses, the somewhat comforting sensation of retraction of self awareness... but by an euphoric explosion of thoses senses - at least today, battling high winds - each straining at the leash to experience the promise of heightened perception! Ha! Time to cut the restraints, methinks, and let the spirit fly... or something like that. I really don't have the words.
A minor road leaves the B4518 and heads towards the reservoir dam, crossing the outflow, the Afon Clywedog, en route to the remains of a lead mine. Fine, if that's your bag. However if not, stay calm and carry on, the road rising steeply, and after negotiating a sharp bend, park verge side near a cattle grid. Looking back, the hillside rising immediately to the right is Pen-y-Gaer, stone rampart clearly visible, the dam lying more or less immediately below to your left. Simples. A fence bars progress upwards, but as I recall this was in pretty poor repair.... a short, grassy ascent all that is required to reach the summit of the hill, girdled by the aforementioned single dry stone rampart, collapsed, but still pretty substantial (sadly the summit cairn is cited by Coflein - and to be honest, appears - modern).
The wind is sharp this morning, but sunshine continues to periodically light up the landscape which, it has to be said, is pretty special. Ironically it is man made Llyn Clwyedog which makes the biggest impression aesthetically speaking... but the surrounding hills... chief amongst them Pumlumon itself, are not really in need of a supporting act. As for the hillfort fabric, here and there original courses of stone work appear to have survived the millennia. But, as is often the case with such sites, it is the location, the very manner with which the visitor must interact with the landscape, that leaves the most lasting impression.
Or is it that, somehow, time has left Pen-y-Gaer to enjoy its retirement in obscurity. How come?
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Here's one to which to take your kids - assuming you have any of the little blighters, of course - and chuckle whilst imagining prim Ms Wilberforce (all starchy white blouse and heaving bosom) wishing she'd never asked little Johnny what he did at the weekend.... much to the amusement of the other children in class. Ha! But, hey, I kid you not, this is what it's called. Check the map.
The monument upon Bummers Hill is actually quite an upstanding round barrow, albeit heavilly overgrown and sited behind barbed wire immediately north - and in full view of - Mutfords Farm. An adjacent farmyard of ancient, rusting cars adds a somewhat 'hill-billy vibe' to proceedings, but (thankfully... not to mention obviously) shotgun wielding country dudes are conspicuous by their absence. In fact there is no answer at the farm, so I assume no-one will mind if I go and have a little look at close quarters.
The positionning of the barrow is interesting, overlooking Little Hormead Brook to the north and the River Quin - not that 'mighty' (hence just the one 'n')... but it does the job - to the west. Other minor streams complete the water features, the presence of these perhaps a significant original factor, perhaps not?
Bummers Hill will not blow visitors away with its size, siting or vibe. No, there is a softer... dare I say it, more 'mundane' feeling in the air here, set upon a working farm in a sleepy corner of Hertfordshire. But to me that is precisely its charm. It's just... well.... here. No fanfare, no information board. Almost as if it's always been here, a part of the landscape itself. Which, if you think of it, is not that far from the truth. And, somehow, it's survived the millennia. Right on!
I approached from the north, parking in a dedicated 'field car park' set aside for visitors to the church. Reach the latter by taking Worsted Lane from the B1368, then turning right.
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Excellent little promontory fort, this, set upon a promontory (funnily enough) overlooking, but shielded by woodland from the Afon Ogwr as it reaches the Bristol Channel below to the approx west. A fine, substantial bank, preceded by ditch, provides a defensive screen to the east, steeply sloping ground doing 'the business' at the other points of the compass very nicely indeed, thank you very much. Economy of effort was clearly the name of the game back then. Intelligent people, those that designed, erected and called Fleming's Down 'home'.
Unfortunately the same adjective can not, by any stretch of the imagination, be applied to the moron who decided to have a nice, big bonfire within the aforementioned ditch, so leaving a truly unrighteous mess as grim testament to his (or her) terminal lack of mental capability. Honestly, sometimes I really can't begin to comprehend what planet some people are on. Draw your own conclusions as to the culprit, bearing in mind the site must be approached on foot....
However I guess the scars will fade... eventually... and Fleming's Down nevertheless provided a great perch for the Mam C and I for a couple of hours. We approached via the footpath to the east of the water works on the B4524, parking in a layby near the Pelican public house (incidentally very good - the pub, not the layby, unless you happen to be into such things, that is). The footpath provides a good idea of the excellent defensive nature of the western flank of Fleming's Down - yeah, just try storming that.
Sadly, though, it seems that prehistoric earthworks have no defence against South Walian pyromaniacs.
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The cluster of monuments in the vicinity of Nash Point do not advertise - or, it would appear, endear themselves to the casual visitor. This is a pity since it would seem, to gauge by the capacity of the car park at least, that there are often quite a few of the latter, particularly so during the summer months. In the absence of an information board - always handy in such popular areas, I find - it is debatable whether more that the proverbial handful have any idea that here, just a few miles from the great urban sprawl of Bridgend, can be found much of what makes the Glamorgan coastline so intoxicating to these eyes. But hey, great place to walk the dog, though....
Some may argue that a day of low cloud, drizzle and high winds may not be the most salubrious of days to go walkabout in South Wales. Maybe. However head for the coast, stick on the waterproofs... and I would suggest there is a strong case for these being precisely the optimum conditions to truly 'experience' this coastline in all its wild abandon. As with Carl, there is no need to pay the £1.50 toll to traverse the private road heading south west from Macross to the car park today. Simple things, as they say.
So, suitably 'tooled up', I literally immerse myself in the ineluctable weather and head for the first monument, Cae'r Eglwys, a little way up the road towards the lighthouse at SS91666825, that is to the right. I guess I need to point out that the 'earthwork', as marked on the 1:25k OS map, is not a certain long cairn. However Coflein appear pretty confident, and it does seem pretty difficult to explain otherwise. Unfortunately ignorance of its (assumed) function has not served Cae'r Eglwys well within this community, the grassy long mound being covered in dog excrement, coke cairns and assorted rubbish. In short, it is a disgrace, even for South Wales. A ghostly chiming of bells appears to emanate from the sea and, recalling the association with a 'church' on the site (hence the name, of course), I doubt my senses for a moment. No, it's definitely church bells! Oo-eer... But more of this later.
I head north-west towards the defile cut by the Marcross Brook, the serried strata of the crags of Castell y Dryw truly a natural wonder worth the price of admission alone (assuming you have to pay one, that is), despite the litter-despoiled environs of the water course. Hey, you mean people actually lived up there? Nah, surely not. The obvious way up is.... er, straight 'up' the eroded, steep left flank. However Carl's bridge is already long gone and the water difficult to cross, the far bank treacherous in these conditions. In retrospect I'd therefore recommend heading right up the valley and ascending the far (right hand) flank of the site. Whichever way you do it, make sure you do, since this apparently minor, obscure enclosure occupying the summit of the ridge is defended by four - I concur with Carl, count 'em - very powerful cross ramparts to the north. I'm utterly unprepared for this, I have to confess. There's also a single bank - at least partially - defending the eastern flank. Jeez. Where have you been all my life, Nash Point? Oh, here.
But mankind's puny defensive efforts pale into insignificance when I'm confronted with the glorious, lethal - bloody awe inspiring - mess Nature's made of the western and southern flanks of this former fortress, crumbling cliff lines falling sheer to rocky pavements pounded by crashing breakers. Ha! The vertigo kicks in and I may as well be upon Crib Coch or The Cuillin... one false step in these conditions will mean death. Suffice to say this is not a place for children, then. As I head toward the southern apex of Castell y Dryw, the linear enclosure not very wide at all, it has to be said (although possibly much reduced through erosion to the east?), I again hear the ethereal peel of bells coming from the Bristol Channel. Contrary to some opinion, though, it seems I'm not mad after all. Yeah, the aforementioned rock pavements hold the key to this mystery, a bell clanging away eerily upon an offshore bhoy (hopefully) warning any nearby ships to take immediate, violent evasive action. What a swizz! Needless to say said bhoy was red, not green and white....
Moving north beyond the impressive defences and crossing a stone stile, I follow the cliff-line approx north-north-west and, upon passing through a second drystone wall, follow the field edge inland. Well, I couldn't exactly head in the other direction, could I? A farm track is encountered running at a tangent with two reasonably preserved round barrows lying beside it to the left. OK, perhaps 'reasonably' is overdoing it a bit generally, but not in this part of the world. To the right of the field wall the OS map shows another, larger 'tumulus'. Unfortunately this is the monument Carl rightly describes as being more or less no more.... an almost imperceptible rise in a soggy field. However at this moment a bank of sea mist sweeps in to engulf all in clammy vapour, thus rendering the landscape as ethereal and thought-provoking as many other more extreme sites I've visited.
Nash Point. Litter strewn, uncared for? Yes. But mind blowing in the right conditions? You'd better believe it. Neolithic (probably), Bronze Age and Iron Age. Take your pick....
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English Heritage has this very obscure 'fort logged as 'the remains of a probable Iron Age univallate ridge-end hillfort, partly destroyed by quarrying' (English Heritage, National Monuments Record TL 31 SE 20). Guess I'd more or less agree with that... with the additional caveat that the site lies within woodland and barbed-wire. Consequently I found it by no means as easy to locate as it first appeared from the map. Assuming I did in fact locate it. But there you are. Perhaps it was a case of me making the evidence on the ground fit the preconception, of 'seeing' what I wanted to see? Perhaps.
Whatever does remain of the enclosure occupies a fine defensive position, protected by steep slopes falling away to the River Ash to the east, the river executing a wide loop at this point, and by a lesser, although still significant, drop to the south and west toward the artificially manipulated River Lee. The only feasible direction of attack - as you may have gathered, from the north - was defended by a curving bank and ditch. This still exists (I think, but happy to be corrected if you know better and my images are spurious!!) although it is now very denuded, overcome by woodland, riddled with rabbit warrens, littered with accumulated rubbish, bottles discarded by feral teenagers and winos. In short, it is in no way impressive. Hey, but at least it still exists. I think.
By contrast the naturally defended flank overlooking the River Ash is a joy to behold, lying beneath its canopy of trees... worth the diversion from the B1004 in itself, to be honest. Better still, combine a visit here with a sojourn at the impressive, nearby Easneye Wood round barrow and you'll have little cause for complaint (however bear in mind there is no official access to either monument, although public footpaths will get you close). Parking was a bit of an issue, so I left the car just outside of Ware at the Hollywood Road junction with the B1004 and walked the short distance back. There are worse things to do on a Sunday afternoon....
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Showing 1-20 of 367 fieldnotes. Most recent first | Next 20 |
Citizen Cairn'd....... every monument blows me away... but in particular those highland piles of stone. Visiting them, I think, helps ensure those ancient Bronze Age pilgrimages remain relevant, even in this so called 'modern age'. And hell, it makes me feel good, truly alive, on top of the world in the most literal sense... at one with Nature. If this sounds trite, perhaps it is. But nonetheless there are occasions I concur with Elizabeth I's last words... 'All my possessions for a moment of time'.
Suffice to say mine is therefore not an exercise in dryly cataloguing sites for the benefit of future generations - as much as I might try I haven't yet been able to embrace altruism to that extent - but rather an attempt to try and reconcile why I am so incredibly moved by these constructions of stone and/or earth representing a time when everything was, by all accounts, literally a matter of life and death. Yeah, just as an empty house appears to retain echoes of past humanity... the raw emotion that apparently sets us apart as a species... so does the stone circle, the chambered cairn, the long barrow and the mountain top funerary cairn. We may be able to only guess what forms the human interaction may have took - but clearly it mattered. A lot.
I make no special claim for my contributions, particularly since the majority of my earlier images are (variable quality) scans of archive prints.... and my opinions are, well... those of an enthusiastic amateur with a bog-standard education. Consequently I'd recommend visitors to TMA refrain from taking my - or anyone else's - word for anything... go see for yourself and post what you think / experienced. Yeah, make up your own mind. Be inspired, be inspiring, be magnificent (as Ian Dury once said) ... but most of all, my friends, be you! There can be only one.
In a society of computer generated fantasy, however, a word (or two) of caution. Please be aware that reaching some of the more remote upland sites in the British Isles can be potentially dangerous - even life threatening - for the unprepared. Yeah, this is not a drill. Treat the landscape and weather with the respect they deserve and you won't go far wrong. If in doubt, pop a question in the Forum. That's why Mr Cope puts up the readies to run TMA.... Thank you Julian.
So cheers... to Mr Cope for being his inspirational, confrontational self, showing that field archaeology can be FUN! - hey, who'd have thought it? ...to my sister (Mam Cymru) for using her female 'macro' vision to help me see the detail throughout an ongoing re-exploration of the South Walian uplands, albeit upon dodgy ankles etc... to my own mam for insisting 'young men should have adventures'.... and my Dad for unwittingly inspiring a profound love of high places. Oh, and to Aubrey Burl for simply being 'The Man' by blazing that trail.
Some of Gladman's other inspirations include (in no particular order.. except for Darwin):
Charles Darwin (for his peerless humanity... amongst other things...); George Orwell (the strength to change one's mind in light of new evidence); Michael Collins; Winston Churchill (for all his faults); Martin L. Gore; Richard Dawkins (much maligned, yet - by and large - helping to carry the torch of reason during an age of apathetic resignation); Shane MacGowan; Sophie Scholl; W A Mozart; Manic Street Preachers; Pat Jennings; Stuart Adamson; Will Shakespeare; Harry Hill (there's only one way to find out!); Mr Beethoven; Claudia Brucken (so Germans don't have passion?); the (Allied) generation of WW2 for making all this possible; Marc Almond (what does it take to be a man?); Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy; Christopher Hitchens; Harvey Milk; John Le Mesurier (do you think that's wise, sir?); Ralf Hutter and Florian Schneider.... not to mention anyone who has ever asked 'Why?' - the true legacy of punk. Last but not least, Gaelic beauty Karen Matheson... 'the call is unspoken, never unheard'.
George Orwell - '...during times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act'....
Martin L. Gore - 'Like a pawn on the eternal board; Who's never quite sure what he's moved toward; I walk blindly on....'
Truman Capote - 'Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavour'.
Mark Twain - 'Why shouldn't truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense'.
Frank Zappa - 'The mind is like a parachute. It doesn't work if it's not open'.
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