Visited 8th March 2014
My quest this week was to visit the four West Penwithian stone circles, and the Boskednan Maidens were the last elusive stones to find. Our intention had been to park at the Men-an-Tol lay-by and walk from there to the circle. On arrival though our plans were foiled by due to a plethora of horse-boxes and 4x4’s disgorging the local hunt, and blocking up the pull in and nearby verges, and clogging the road with all the arrogance and inconsideration that only a bunch of red coated buffoons can exhibit.
Continuing up the lane we spot a place to pull in just on the left, opposite a track to a house called Dakota. A quick check of the O.S. map shows we can reach the stones from here, and then head via Ding Dong back down to Men-an-Tol, the engine house of the ruined mine providing a useful landmark with which to orient ourselves. We set off along the path onto the moors, and before long I’m delighted to spot the stones on the skyline.
Tramping across the moorland it’s a great walk, but very muddy, wellingtons again proving their worth. After walking for about twenty minutes, and fixedly gazing at either the stones on the horizon, or our feet lest we tread in a muddy bog, I look back and notice Men Scryfa some way behind us. I’m annoyed we missed it, but would rather spend more time at the circle than go back to visit it now, so as always, there’ll be another time to visit I’m sure, and it’s always a good excuse to return (as if I need one!).
We steadily climb up the ridge of the moorland, the circle temporarily hidden from view, before coming upon some stones, which I initially take for the circle, and am a bit taken aback, as it seems a lot smaller than I was expecting. It’s only when Ellen points out some more stones ahead, that I check the map and realise we are at Boskednan cairn, a nice bonus to stumble on as I didn’t even realise this place was here!
It’s been a walk of just under two miles, but the circle is soon reached, and what a lovely atmospheric place it is. The eleven stones (the nine maidens in this case coming from the magical symbolism of the number, rather than the extant number of stones), lean attractively in that romantic ruin type of way. The dun winter shades of the moor make it look as if the stones are sprouting organically from the ground. It’s still windy, but also seems surprisingly sheltered, and the circle has a warmth about it, a welcoming sheltering place atop the bleak moors.
The contrast between the Boskednan maidens and the Merry Maidens couldn’t be greater, for all the manicured perfection of the latter, here is a wild elemental place, raw, lonely and magnificent, and all the preferable for it. A truly wonderful circle.
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Visited 8th March 2014
I’d been itching to get back here all week, seeing as it was just a five minute walk away from where we were staying, however every morning I got up to be greeted by either grey rain swept skies, or cold dank sea mists. Today however I was woken by bright sunshine peeking its way through the curtains. So enticed by the thought of a barrow before breakfast, I was up and out by 8am.
Just a short walk along the top of the headland above Priest’s Cove and I arrived at Carn Gluze, and now knowing why the sea mist had vanished, blown away by a bitter wind of such incessant force it made me homesick for Orkney!
The barrow itself is big. Standing in the shadow of an old mine chimney which looms nearby, it could at first glance be mistaken for the remains of one of the old industrial buildings, or the remains of a spoil heap, which is not helped by the 19th century ‘reconstructions’ of William Borlase, which only seek to confuse the layout of the site. Climbing onto the outer stone ‘collar’, I’m almost blown off by the wind, but clambering down into the space between the dry stone walls allows me surcease from the icy gusts, and the ability to inspect the cists a bit better and write my fieldnotes.
It’s certainly an impressive place, and amazing views are to be had out to sea, looking down to the Land’s End peninsular, but I find it difficult to get a handle on this place. It is very different in layout to most barrows and chambered tombs, and the radical alterations undertaken by Borlase in 1878 obfuscate the original layout to such an extent the monument as a whole loses something for me. I’d love to see a more sympathetic modern archaeological restoration undertaken to more properly bring out the wonder of this place.
My hands are freezing by now, even in the shelter of the barrow, and I’m too cold to stay much longer, so clambering out I bid the place farewell. I’m sure I’ll be back, I’ll need at least few more visits to try and work out this place!
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Visited 8th March 2014
On previous visits we’d just parked up in the lay-by and walked down the track to the stones, but today Men-an-Tol came at the end of our circular walk over the moors.
We approached down the path from Ding Dong mine, and all was well until we reached the dip at the bottom of the hill where all the accumulated rainwater runoff from the moors had collected into a swampy morass. Ellen was a bit perturbed about crossing the quagmire but with the famous last words of ‘Don’t worry I’m sure it’s not that deep’ I strode forward and plunged knee deep into sucking mud. Fortunately Ellen was able to extricate me from the bog whilst miraculously managing not to loose my wellingtons, and we gingerly picked our way through some tussocky areas just visible above the water.
After this it was all plain sailing on the rest of the walk. The stones are so small though they’re not really that noticeable from this direction until you get right up close to them, then seeming to magically appear from the moorland in front of you. We’ve got the place to ourselves, a rare occurrence, and it’s nice to rest in the sunshine by the diminutive stones. I’d forgotten how small they were, and despite lacking the grandeur of some of Penwith’s other sites, and if you wanted to be unkind, perhaps looking a bit like a garden feature (although this is exactly the sort of thing I’d give anything to have in my garden!), there is an indescribable something to this place, that grants it a magic all of its own.
I’m pleased to see no signs of cattle damage or erosion as I walk around the stones, although today I’m too tired and muddy to squeeze myself through the holed stone. Instead I bend down and look through the aperture, loving the perfectly smooth roundness of the holed stone as I run my hand around it. I know it was once supposed to be a stone circle, but it just seems to me so unlike any other monument of that type, I do wonder. Making the hole in the stone would have needed tremendous effort, and if the monument was once a circle with the holed stone as a just a perimeter stone set obliquely to the rest, why go to all that effort? I would have expected it to be more of a feature, perhaps a portal entrance or setting within the circle, or perhaps it was the case that the hole was made later in an orthostat, perhaps after the circle had fallen into disuse. It all just adds to the enigmatic mystery of this lovely place.
So after a good long ponder, we finally set off down the track which takes us back to the lane and the end of our walk, tired, happy, and with the prospect of a nice lunch in the Kings Arms at St Just ahead of us, exactly what a day out megalithing should be!
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Visited 5th March 2014
This place has been high on my list of must see sites for ages, and I must say it didn’t disappoint. Parking up at the wonderfully named Woom Grumpus common on the B3318, the quoit is visible on the horizon from the parking spot. Wellingtons were an absolute necessity as to describe the path as ‘boggy’ would constitute a gross understatement!
Huge puddles of indeterminate depth straddled the path, but properly equipped for a change we soldier on, the walk up to the stone being just under a mile, soon though we arrive at this most perfect of dolmens. Wonderful vistas can be had from the site looking out over the sea, but skies are grey and murky today, low cloud clinging on and obscuring the horizon.
I squeeze into the chamber, but it’s a tight fit. Inside though it’s nice and sheltered, and some handy stones inside allow a perch out of the mud for me to write my fieldnotes. It’s wonderful here inside the quoit, I can hear the wind howling away around the stones, and I feel far from the mundane world, almost as if I’m about to be whisked off to the otherworld at any moment.
The four closely placed orthostats support a wonderful sloping capstone, and I can’t help but admire the economy of design, it’s a dolmen at its most streamlined. The entrance seems to be aligned south-easterly, and the granite tor of Carn Kenidjack looms away to the south in line with the quoit, and possibly the alignment continues on south to the circle of Tregeseal.
I can’t think of enough superlatives to describe Chûn Quoit, although one of West Penwith’s most iconic sites the necessity for a walk to reach it probably keeps away the casual visitor so the sense of isolation remains. A truly wonderful place, and I know I’ll be back!
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Visited 5th March 2014
Although some of the places we’ve visited on this trip to Cornwall seemed very different to my past recollections of them, Sancreed Well felt so familiar I could have been here yesterday rather than ten years ago. As soon as we drove into Sancreed I remembered the phone box you park up next to, at the side of which is the path to the well.
The path seemed very overgrown though, and I began to wonder how long it might have been since someone last came this way. The answer was obviously very recently as when we arrived at the well the small glow of a freshly lit tealight shone out at us from the gloom of the subterranean well chamber, so someone was here very recently, despite us seeing no sign of anyone around, either on the path or as we drove through the village, spooky.
The well itself is a magical place, a little verdant grotto with an otherworldly feeling as you descend the steps down to the clear cold water, your breath misting in the cave like interior. Green mosses and ferns sprout from the side walls, and no matter the antiquity of this well the tranquil atmosphere it exudes makes it ever a sacred place.
I didn’t notice any phosphorescence in the well chamber, but it probably needs to be darker to see the effect. Although nearby is a modern stone Celtic cross, this still feels a pagan place, the overhanging hawthorn tree covered in offerings. I must say the offerings left here are lovely, several pyrographed pieces of wood hang from the tree, exhibiting an artistry that must have taken some time to complete, crystals, ribbons and windchimes are also in evidence, and there is a refreshing lack of mouldy old ribbons or plastic which sometimes blight these places, it’s evident someone cares for and regularly visits the place, and if I lived down this way I would too.
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Visited 7th March 2014
The Merry Maidens are almost too perfect. A perfect circle of perfect little stones, in a perfectly mowed field, you almost feel the need to check whether inscribed somewhere on a stone is ‘copyright Disney Co.’ Beautiful but somehow superficially lacking in atmosphere, they are like the supermodel of stone circles, very appealing to look at but somehow a little vacuous underneath.
However on a day like today, with blue skies, and no-one else around (one of the advantages of coming to Cornwall this early in the year) all is forgiven. In fact I’m being a bit harsh as this is a really lovely place, just after visiting the wilder locales of West Penwith’s other circles, it all seems a bit too manicured here.
We wander around the ring though enjoying the sun, now warm on my back, and the gentle cawing of the crows in the next field, and I can see why this place is such a magnet for people, and it’s nice that after 4,000 years it draws folk still.
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Visited 7th March 2014
The Blind Fiddler is visible over the top of the hedge which borders the A30, just up the road from the Sisters at Drift. Also handily, almost directly opposite is a layby for convenient parking to visit the stone.
Once over the stile into the field the stone is satisfyingly chunky, and surprisingly tall. The sun glints from flecks of quartz embedded in the menhir, as I approach to give the stone a customary hug. The landscape is too enclosed with hedges to get a proper view so it’s difficult to see any alignments, but the Drift stones seem to be pretty much directly to the east, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a link in the past.
The top of the stone is shrouded in lichen, which wraps around its top, like a mossy blindfold, and the stone from one aspect almost resembles a hunched figure stumbling forward, like a petrified Blind Pew (although it has been said I anthropomorphise stones too much!) but standing in this lovely meadow the Fiddler has a lot of character, and deserves more attention than just a cursory glance on a hurried drive.
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Visited 7th March 2014
Shockingly on previous visits to the Merry Maidens I never knew that this place existed, yet it is literally two minutes’ walk from the parking spot for that stone circle, mind you that was in the days before I’d discovered the TMA website, and Mr Cope shockingly omits to mention Tregiffian in his magnum opus.
Today though after spending some time with the Maidens it was time to check out the neighbouring burial chamber, and what a pleasant surprise it is. A great curling semi-circle of stones for a forecourt, and surprisingly roomy chamber, make for an impressive monument. It’s a shame the road in effect cuts through the monument, and although the chamber is intact (albeit that the capstone is supported by a hardly subtle beam) when you step back you can see how the original curve of the mound is sadly curtailed. The cupmarked stone is really fantastic, at first I wasn’t sure whether it was a naturally marked stone or not, but the depressions on the stone were so deep they didn’t seem natural, it’s a great stone anyway, and I had no idea it was a replica until I’ve just read the previous fieldnotes! I also didn’t realise how close the Gun Rith menhir was as well, and totally missed out on seeing it, well just another excuse for a return visit, as if one were needed!
The way it's crouched next to the road reminds me of a slightly more battered version of Arthur's Stone in Herefordshire, but where as that place stands tall, Tregiffian seems to hunker down and sink into the road.
Tregiffian isn’t the quietest place to sit and soak up the atmosphere, as traffic regularly rumbles by, but it’s still a great place to visit, and so close to the Maidens that there’s really no excuse not to.
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Visited 7th March 2014
Ladies and gentleman of the Modern Antiquarian, if I could only offer you one tip for the future, wearing wellingtons would be it.
They were certainly needed here, the field a churned up quagmire of deep muddy furrows, but with our trusty vulcanised footwear we didn’t have to worry. We’d driven past the Drift stones several times so far this week, peeking over the top of the field as we sped past like the coy temptresses they are, and with the return of blue skies and sunny weather today was the day to make their acquaintance.
There is a small car park next to the crossroads in Drift, where we left the car before walking up the A30 (thankfully fairly quite at this time in the year) before reaching the gate to the field containing the stones. I’m a little disconcerted to see half the field swathed in polythene and obviously planted with crops, but a clear path along deeply churned tractor tracks allows us to get to the stones.
They are a fine pair, the southerly stone still providing a shelter for veritable escargatoire of snails, probably distant descendants of those mentioned by Sweetcheat a few years ago. I like the way the church tower at St Buryan can be framed directly between the stones, but it’s hard to get a clearer view of the other aspects from the stones due to the proximity of the hedgerows.
The mud sucks at my boots as I walk around the stones enjoying the sunshine, but cautious not to step on the polythene or sink up to my knees in sludge, there’s nowhere really to just chill out at the stones so once the requisite photo’s have been taken its onwards to hunt out more stones.
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Visited 5th March 2014
Since we’ve been in Cornwall on this trip we’ve been stuck under a grey murk of low cloud, but this morning looked as if it might hold something different, with scattered cloud, and yes unbelievably some blue skies to be seen. Since we’re based in St. Just it seemed a good time to search out the nearby circle at Tregeseal.
We left the car in the town square at St. Just and decided to walk, taking the footpath at the side of the church which led to the village of Tregaseal, and then with the help of an O.S. map and the unmissable natural landmark of Carn Kenidjack guiding the way, we followed the lanes up toward Hailglower Farm, having to negotiate some very muddy lanes as we neared the gorsey moorland where the circle was situated.
It’s a walk of two miles, but pleasant in the warm sunshine. Although you could drive up the lanes to get much closer to the circle, I much prefer having a bit of a walk in to a site. It makes it feel a bit more of an adventure, or like a pilgrimage, and allows you to get much more of a sense of the landscape around you, and the monument's situation within it. In this case the dominant feature of the granite tor of Carn Kenidjack, providing the focal point.
The circle must be West Penwith’s best kept secret, a fine ring of 19 stones, and I’m pleased to see they look in a pretty robust state with none of the erosion visible which was present on some of the earlier pictures posted, and also no barbed wire or nary a cow to be seen, something which greatly puts at ease Ellen’s bovinophobia.
It’s lovely and peaceful here high above the town, the sea just visible in the distance. The circle exudes an aura of peace and tranquillity and I sit within its precincts to write my fieldnotes. It’s not long though before grey clouds start to mass behind us, and within minutes they sweep over the moorland, the temperature dropping dramatically, and making it too cold to just sit around, so we press on to look for some of the other sites on the moorland, on our way up to Carn Kenidjack.
From the higher aspect of the rocky outcrop of the tor the circle can be seen on the edge of the moor, and the stones seem to have a sense of movement to them, the varying lean on the stones around the circle bring to mind the myth of a circle of swaying maidens dancing in a ring.
The wealth of sites which once were, or still are spread across this moorland only emphasize how sacred the area once was to the people who lived here, and the Dancing Stones are the jewel in the crown. It’s a shame the western circle no longer remains, but the monument doesn’t seem diminished by its loss, the stones merely dancing on proudly in their fine landscape above the mundane world, enticing you to join them for a turn.
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Visited 23rd November 2013
It’s been too long since I was last here, probably a good twelve years, and a visit on a crisp, clear winter’s afternoon is a perfect antidote to the stresses of a morning spent Christmas shopping.
Pulling in to the tiny, muddy parking spot just off the road on the edge of the field, I catch a glimpse of the mound, and something seems different, but it takes me a few minutes to work out what. The barrow is no longer fenced in, and stands proud in its field, looking all the better for it. As we approach I’d forgotten how big it was, and also the way the mound seems to slowly sag, like a deflating soufflé, and I wonder if perhaps Rhiannon is onto something with her speculative musings on the site having been named after a type of suet pudding. Whatever the case it’s a great shape, and the very definition of a ‘tump’ in my book.
I’m pleased to see the pathetic scrawling’s on the lintel are starting to fade, and duck low to ease myself into the passageway, again forgetting just how low the entranceway is. It’s good to be back inside Hetty’s welcoming embrace, as my eyes adjust to the gloom I notice how clean and tidy it is inside, not a cobweb or any detritus to be found, almost as if the place has had a spruce up. Only a small bunch of vegetation, taken from the nearby field, unceremoniously (or possibly ceremoniously, but if so it’s a strange offering!) dumped just inside the entranceway, impinges on the tidiness of the chambers, it won’t be there long though as I’ll be removing it on my way out.
From inside only the occasional drip of water breaks the quiet, along with the muffled cawing of crows from the field outside, again my memory of the place seems at odds with the reality, the passageway inside being much shorter than I remember, but I’m probably just getting the place mixed up with Stoney Littleton. I lean back in one of the side chambers and just relax, breathing in the calm atmosphere of the subterranean room, and even manage to just about see enough in the dim light to write my fieldnotes, whilst Ellen walks around the outside of the tump, the crouched entrance lintel proving a little too low for her.
Eventually it’s time to emerge, although I could have stayed there all day, so peaceful and welcoming does the place feel. Outside Ellen is confused by the enigmatic circle of low concrete posts which surround the tump, which must have been too small to be fence posts. At first I’m also baffled, but then remember other sites where such posts have been used to show the original circumference of the mound so guess that this may be the same principal here.
As we walk back to the car I keep casting glances back toward the mound, and promising myself it won’t be so long next time before I visit Hetty again.
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Visited 30th October 2013
Within five minutes of leaving Quiberon these fine stones put in an appearance on high ground looking out toward the start of the Cote Sauvage. A quick right turn off the main road brought us to a spot where we could park, but not without narrowly avoiding a gaggle of cyclists that suddenly sped out across the road in front of us where a cycle track cuts across the lane.
Pulling up on the verge I get to examine the stones more closely, a shapely pair which frame a coastal vista. This place should be twinned with Penrhos Feilw in Anglesey, it has much of the same vibe about it, albeit with a bit more room between the ‘goalposts’, but the commanding views are the same, as is the sense of the stones marking out some form of gateway, a symbolic entrance to the start of the Wild Coast perhaps?
If you carry on up the lane, as we had to in order to turn the car around, you soon come to the village of Le Manémuer, a little hamlet of whitewashed houses, all sporting pale blue shutters, which reminded me of the sort of village you’d see on a Greek island, but which sports another 6’ tall standing stone sat amongst a walled shrubbery like some gargantuan garden ornament, yet another of the many fine Quiberon menhirs.
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Visited 30th October 2013
The Cote Sauvage or ‘Wild Coast’ is just that, a meandering jagged coastline of rocky coves and cliffs pounded by Atlantic breakers, which stretches down the west side of the Quiberon penisular, just to the south of Carnac. It is also dotted with more menhirs than you can shake a stick at.
Heading along the coast of the peninsular within two minutes of leaving the town of Quiberon we had already encountered a fine pair of megaliths, and every few minutes the breathtaking views were punctuated with shouts of ‘Oh look there’s a standing stone!’, but there are simply too many to stop at each one (or at the very least to give each visit the time it deserves), that is until you reach the Menhirs Beg-er-Goalennec.
Here two wonderful stones stand on either side of the D186A, one right next to the Les Mouttes restaurant, the other right on the shoreline. Plenty of space to be had for parking here next to the restaurant, so we just couldn’t pass them by. There’s no little ‘property of the state’ marker to give the name of the site, so I’ve no idea what the stones are called until later when I manage to look them up, but I do at least think to get the co-ordinates from the sat-nav!
The more northerly stone stands uncomfortably close to the restaurant, and is a slim rectangular block, somewhat sadly diminished by having had the top five feet or so break off the menhir at some time in the past. Standing behind it and focusing on its shorter companion across the road you get a lovely view along the aligned stones and out to sea. It is busy today though, unseasonably warm weather (well it would be unseasonable in England, maybe late October is always this warm in France?) has bought people out in droves to this popular coastline, and a steady procession of motor homes drives past to obscure the view.
It’s on the shore though that I really fall in love with the place, when I stand next to the heart shaped stone and stare out to sea. The placement of the stone is sublime, along with the great shaping along the top of the menhir (probably due more to the luck of the way the stone has weathered than the artifice of the stonecutter, although you never know?) this second menhir is a bit shorter (but still taller than me, although that counts as tiny in these parts!) and is now set in concrete to keep it stable.
With the sun still warm, and the stone at my back I look out along the coast, and for a minute all the tourists, cars and caravans enjoying their day out at the seaside seem far distant and I imagine the wild coast as it would have been to our ancestors, and it’s clear why they went to such efforts to raise these stones here, the beauty of the land calls out as much to us now as it did 5,000 years ago.
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Visited 29th October 2013
Also known as Mane Groh, this is another well signposted dolmen just outside of Crucano, and right next to a lane just off the main road.
Although we are on our way back home after a hard day megalithing I just can’t pass up the little brown signs signifying an ancient monument without feeling an irresistible urge to stop. I still can’t get used to literally falling over megaliths that at home I’d be blown away by if I’d driven several hours to see a site half as impressive.
And impressive Mane Croch is. The name means ‘the sorceress’s hill’, and it consists of a T-shaped passage grave of satisfyingly chunky stones, which leads into a well preserved chamber. A couple of the capstones have been removed, almost as if someone's taken the lid off so you can look inside, where an axe head carving is visible on one of the orthostats, thanks to being handily outlined in chalk.
It’s yet another site surrounded by woodland, and a path leads off through the woods which takes in other megalithic sites, but sadly it is too late in the day to wander far this evening. We have a meander about nearby and find a jumble of stones that once may have been the remains of a now destroyed dolmen, as well as a small cist near the main site, and the path tantalisingly beckons on towards further unseen megalithic riches. Still it’s no hardship to just spend some time here instead.
Burl says it would have once been covered by a rectangular mound and is aligned toward the SSE. There are several of these types of passage dolmen in the vicinity, and they are certainly unlike any I’m used to from Britain, but having seen so many they all start to blur together and I struggle to remember which one is which but Mane Groh is memorable by virtue of a carved stone trough which sits beside the dolmen.
We have a wander in the woods nearby and come upon a lovely lake, dotted with reed beds and small islets, it sits amongst the trees, and I almost imagine a shimmering arm to emerge clutching a sword, such is the look of the place. Alas no Lady of the Lake today, but we do spot a pair of little egrets wading in the water.
What I forget until later is just how close several other monuments are through the woods nearby, particularly Caeser’s chair, which on my last visit I didn’t get any photographs of as my camera batteries had died, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t get chance to take some today. Still the dolmen is itself a worthy place to visit on its own, so I shouldn’t sound ungrateful. We have the place to ourselves and I happily poke about in the transepted chamber. The shadows lengthen as we sit at the dolmen, tired after the day’s exertions, and thoroughly old stoned out. What can you say, another superb Breton dolmen.
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Visited 29th October 2013
Another site we just happened to drive by. This place is forever known to us as the ‘picnic dolmen’ as last time we were in Brittany we also stumbled on it, and stopped off here with our packed lunch. We didn’t even know the name of the site last time, so couldn’t find out much information about it. This time we again pull in on the grass by the stones, and have a snack in the beautiful sunshine, and I manage to just make out the name ‘Dolmen de Cohouer’ from the worn lettering on the little ‘Property of the State’ stone that marks most Brittany megaliths.
Placed on the edge of a small village next to quiet rural road, the surroundings are archetypally French, a shuttered farmhouse just visible behind the dolmen, and even the sound of crickets chirping, despite the lateness of the year. It’s a pleasant place for a stop off.
The tomb itself is of a type referred to as a ‘simple dolmen’, of that same classical ‘megalithic mushroom’ type design, but longer than most of the dolmens common across Briatain. Seven orthostats support two huge capstones and provide a large light and airy chamber, which I soon install myself in.
Inside it’s very comfortable, a nice grassy floor, and the chamber interior is warm, having caught the sun for most of the day, and I just relax and enjoy being here. I could stay in the chamber all day, it’s such a great place to be. Being so close to the village there are a couple of bits of rubbish around, mostly a few empty beer cans, so I take them over to the nearby recycling bin before we leave, and bid goodbye to a fine dolmen, vowing to return again sometime bearing more baguettes and cheese!
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Visited 29th October 2013
Slap bang next to the giant is another of Brittany’s enigmatic stone settings, the Quadrilateral de Manio. Basically a large stone rectangle, with a porch type setting at one end, which would once have provided a forecourt facing to the south-east. It’s amazing to think that apparently this would have once been covered by a huge mound.
Trees surround the site preventing an observation of the wider area, and I wonder whether the menhir was erected first, or if it was intended as some sort of indicator stone for the Quadrilateral? Burl says the stones were set on a long low mound, but it’s difficult to make this out now.
It’s just about possible to get a photo of the whole of the site in shot , as long as you take your picture from the forecourted end, otherwise some manoeuvring about the trees is required if you want to take a photo from the west end.
I resort to clambering onto the low stone wall which surrounds the site in order to get a slightly elevated view, and manage to get a few photo’s between the regular procession of visitors.
The woodland setting with its dappled light, nearby onlooking menhir, and just proximity to the megalithic wonderland that is Carnac make it a special place, and although a popular site in its own right, it retains a peaceful air, somewhere to ponder on the amazing ancient remains surrounding you, away from the hustle and bustle of the tourists at the main visitors center.
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Visited 29th October 2013
The Giant of Manio, seems a friendly fella, although somewhat taciturn as he sits in his wooded glade staring out at the trees, natural markings on the stone suggestive of eyes, nose and mouth, the face looking out in the opposite direction from the Manio rectangle).
The sun filters through the trees into this lovely wooded glade, and the menhir is warm to the touch as I give the huge stone a hug, although he seems much smaller than I remember, porbably as a result of seeing the Menhir du Champ Dolent the other day. The Geant though has a lot of character. Sadly the remains of some graffitti mark his face, but for the giant this is ‘pas de problème’, he has been here for millennia whilst the cretinous scrawlings are already quite faded and soon will be gone leaving the Geant blemish free once more.
A small pile of pebbles perplexingly rests high on top of the stone, leaving me to wonder how and why they got there, the puzzle solved a few minutes later when a visiting Frenchman started throwing pebbles at the top of the menhir, attempting to land a stone on top, which apparently brings good luck if you are able to do it.
It’s a fine spot here, a great menhir which probably gets overlooked amidst the profusion of the Carnac stones, but definitely worth a visit. It’s signposted from the D196, with parking next to the riding school and a short walk up the forested track, with both the menhir and stone setting right next to each other. So if you're ever in the vicinity of Carnac make sure you pop by the Geant and say hello, he’ll be pleased to see you, and you’ll be very glad you did.
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Visited 28th October 2013
Another great find we weren’t even looking for. On our way back to the house after an afternoon at Lochmariquer we happened upon a sign to this dolmen off the C2 near La Chapelle Neuve. A woodland parking area (these places now all seeming very familiar) leads to a short walk through the trees, before another small sign guides us to the right, and into a clearing where stands one of the most perfect dolmens you could ever ask to see.
As we approach the dolmen the temperature drops markedly. Now although it is 5.30pm and evening is approaching it was noticeably warmer along the woodland path than it is in proximity to the dolmen. There is a real feeling of presence here, the atmosphere almost tangible, but not in any kind of sinister way. As I crouch in the chamber warmth returns, and it feels welcome, a thick carpet of leaves crunching beneath my feet, and the sheltering trees sighing in the insubstantial breeze.
Three orthostats support a large capstone, the chamber opening to the east and the rising sun. Much of the now denuded mound which once covered the dolmen remains and is still visible, the chamber hunkered within it, giving a good impression, almost like a cut away model, of how these places were constructed. The information board says that simple beaker like pottery was found within, and dated to between 2,400 – 2,200 BCE.
I’m in love with this place, it’s just such a perfect dolmen, like a text book representation of the form, and seemingly obscure, I couldn’t find any reference to it in the books I had with me. Dusk is starting to fall now or I would have stayed longer, but with the sat-nav co-ordinates for the site now locked in, and with the knowledge that it is a mere three miles from our cottage, I vow to return before we have to travel back to England.
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Visited 28th October 2013
Engaging in the celebrated Breton sport of randomly driving around until you happen across a megalith (not that hard to do), eagle-eyed Ellen spotted a small brown sign with the legend ‘allee couvert’ at the side of the road as we shot past, “Isn’t that one of those passage tombs?” she said, cueing a quick application of brakes and a swift reverse to the small parking spot next to some well manicured grass and a rubbish bin.
Checking the map I found we were on the D168, just north of Malestroit, but I couldn’t find any reference to this site in any of the books I had with me, even the mighty Burl didn’t mention the place, so it was with mounting excitement at not knowing exactly what we’d find that we commenced a walk along the obvious track from the parking spot into the unknown.
The path is bordered on one side by woodland, and on the other by a field, and shortly a long jumble of stones is visible ahead, and we find something far beyond expectation. The allee couverte, although ruinous, is huge, at 25 meters in length, it is the longest in Morbihan. It is also rare in having, according to the information board, a side entrance in the middle of the south wall, rather than the passage being open from the end, but in its somewhat ruinous state, it’s difficult to make out exactly where the entryway would have been. The stones protrude like spiny vertebrae, a sleeping dragon beneath the earth, the echo of the grand burial mound that must once have sat here still visible.
Once again the site is enhanced by its woodland surroundings, it has a bit of a feel of Wayland’s Smithy to it, although being totally different in design to that place. The raw size of the site also impresses, and to find it just sitting here, with no fanfare, only serves to underline just how many megalithic remains are scattered across Brittany.
I spend some time pacing around trying to photograph the site from every conceivable angle, but its sheer size makes getting everything in shot very difficult. It’s peaceful here, and conducive to spending some time, but clouds on the horizon are blowing in, the winds still gusting strongly after last night’s storm, so we know soon it will be time to move on. A poke about further down the path shows a number of large rocks lying around prone, seemingly of the same type of stone as the orthostats of the allee couvert, whether they were once part of it, or more likely a source of stone for the building of the monument I’m not sure.
I’m pleased to have come across this place, an unexpected gem of a find, and one of the reasons I love Brittany, where else could you just stumble across such a megalith?
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Visited 27th October 2013
With Merlin being a major draw around these parts, this place is signposted almost as soon as you leave Paimpont (Brittany’s version of Glastonbury) on the Rue de l’enchanter Merlin (also known as the D71). When you do reach the ample car parking though don’t set off straight into the forest, but rather cross back over the road and take the tarmac cycle path, you’ll be at the tomb within minutes.
As we park the car we again encounter a large group of foragers emerging from the forest with baskets full of fungi, who within seconds identify us as ‘Anglais’ and with a friendly ‘bonjour’ start to gesture us in the opposite direction, over the road towards the tomb. Perhaps it was the camera, notebook and copy of Aubrey Burl’s ‘Megalthic Brittany’ I was clutching that gave it away?
In a land abundant with a cornucopia of spectacular megalithic remains, Merlin’s Tomb is like one of those sad hangers on, riding on the coat-tails of a famous name, whilst lacking the ability to be impressive in their own right.
The site consists of the slight remains of a ruined dolmen, little more than two cracked stones, out from which sprouts a holly tree. A modern circular kerb of stones has been set around the dolmen, and a plethora of offerings are crammed into any available crack in the stones, or tied as clooties to the holly tree, along with written messages to Merlin which are placed around the site. Someone had also placed halved apples at each quarter point of the kerb, possibly as part of an early Samhain ritual.
Just up the path from the tomb is the Fountain of Youth, a sluggish pool, which looked as if eternal youth would arise from failing to get any older on account of having died due to contracting some virulent form of dysentery upon drinking the water.
Compared to even the lesser of Brittany’s megaliths this is somewhat uninspiring, but yet the place has a certain charisma. In a way the adoption of the site as a focal point for offerings gives the site a resonance it was probably previously lacking, and in the usual surroundings of lovely Breton woodland, with the clootie bedecked holly tree sprouting from the stones it has a certain charm.
Although I may sound disparaging this is a nice place, just diminished by the embarrassment of megalithic riches just a stone’s throw (if you’ll pardon the pun) away. Still if you’re in Brocéliande you can’t not visit Merlin can you? Just be prepared that like some other iconic tourist stops, the reality of the place might not be quite as impressive as you expect.
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Megalithic wanderer and modern day pagan.
I've always loved anything historical, particularly megalithic sites (I've many a fond memory of visits to Stonehenge in the mid 1970's as we used to stop there every year on the way to the annual family holiday down in Bournemouth, which I think started it off), and the discovery of a certain book by Mr. Cope set off an obsession in the late 1990's to see as many of these wonderful places as I can.
Enjoys walking in the wildnerness and climbing mountains (currently on the worlds slowest round of Munroe bagging), travel, playing guitar, real ale and malt whisky, historical re-enactment, fencing and wargaming (although not all at the same time!) Also adores small furry critters (particularly cats)
Spends most of the year in the megalithic desert of the Midlands, although fortunate enough to live part of the time in Kirkwall in the megalithic oasis of Orkney, with my lovely (and very patient) wife Ellen, and the cute furball that is our cat Hecate.
Favourite sites would be Callanish and Ring of Brodgar (where I was handfasted) in Scotland, Les Pierres Platts in Brittany, Havangsdosen in Sweden, Glavendrup in Denmark, and Sunkenkirk in England.
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