I set off optimistically after these stones, hoping that things so sizeable would be easily spotted. I was wrong. It didn't help that I didn't bring the notes below with me.
It would certainly have been a good spot - high on the hill overlooking the river valley below. But now it's a sprawling housing estate which has lost its shine. It was muggy and uncomfortable, and people do give you funny looks when you're staring in their gardens in a cul-de-sac. I suppose I could have asked for help but I could just imagine the blank expressions so didn't have the heart. Perhaps the stones are still here somewhere. If you're ever in Frome please take a look. I want them to be here. I don't want to think that people would get rid of their stones - you'd think they'd make a nice landscaping feature. This was disappointing.
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This is a true 'palimpsest' of a landscape. There are a lot of bumps, and yes, some of them are bronze age barrows. But some of them are actually the remains of a bizarre scheme from WWII: an attempt to recreate the street plan of Bristol on top of a heathy hillside, to lure the bombers away from the city. You can read more on MAGIC's extract from the EH schedule: http://www.magic.gov.uk/rsm/33064.pdf
From up here you can see for miles in practically every direction, and I am sure this is where I could see from the outlying circle at Stanton Drew.
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I popped up here with my sister at the weekend and found that by squinting wildly it was possible to discern the plume of smoke from the cement factory at Westbury - and yes, just to its right, the Westbury White Horse at its hillfort - ie the edge of Salisbury Plain just visible between the landscape of the much closer hills.
Looking in the another direction you can convince yourself you can just see the edge of the Pewsey Downs - but really you'd want a map and compass with you to be sure. With some binoculars I spotted the television transmitter on the edge of the Mendips (near Priddy) which is quite a way.. I am getting more caught up in this 'intervisibility' thing all the time.
The maze is getting a bit overgrown - so get up there and tread it :)
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Also came up here recently as the sun was going down. It is strange that this place is so quiet and peaceful yet is so close to the city. It does wonders for your state of mind. I wouldn't want to be accompanied by half of Bath of course but it is well worth discovering how to get up here.
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Finally we walked to the third circle. I realised what an elevated position this has compared to the other two. The vistas that are revealed are quite different: suddenly you can see out to ( what I now realise is the Blackdown Hills, where Beacon Batch is, and from where you can see Everywhere), and to my astonishment and delight, there was Kelston Round Hill on Lansdown – a marker which I feel more and more certain was acknowledged by our ancestors (but more on this when I can order my thoughts). Also for the first time I realised where the Cove is from this circle – you can see the wall of the Druids Arms garden. It would be so nice to be able to walk in a logical manner towards it from here, instead of back around the village. The church is so close by – superbly located to keep an eye on all three parts of this megalithic complex.
Although I didn't notice it, there is apparently a stone visible in the centre of this small circle. My companions and I were quite interested in the types of stone utilised. According to the EH smr they are 'dolomitic conglomerate' (which must be the red one with bits in), 'sandstone' (we found a clearly sedimentary rock in the main circle) and 'oolitic limestone' (holey, as you would see at Bathampton or the Rollrights), all of which it says could have been collected from within six miles of the site. In our examination of the stones we noticed that there seemed to have been a certain amount of digging around several of them in this small circle. We would liked to have put it down to rabbits, who were obviously in residence, but there was something quite un-rabbitlike in the way great clods of turf had been ripped up. If it was an unscrupulous person, let's hope they get the usual tide of bad luck that attends Messers With Stones, eh.
This circle is secluded (at least in the 21st century) but I felt like we were at the 'top table' of the Wedding. The land seems to drop gradually away in every direction; you seem to be on a little knoll especially chosen for the site. It is elegantly proportioned (though it is quite different with its stones much smaller than the similarly sized NE circle) and seems to fit its location very well.
With the cove becoming (almost) visible I was set to thinking about the functions of the different parts of the complex. Would you have gone to them all in a single visit? What routes would you have taken? It is hard to envisage such things with the village obscuring the possible intervisibility of sites and forcing you to walk the long way round.
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They say size isn't everything. Stanton Drew's Great Circle may have the second largest diameter in the country, but (on this occasion at least) it left me unmoved and I found much more to interest me in the smaller circles and the views of the surrounding landscape.
The large circle and its smaller cousin to the NE are close to the river Chew, at a point where it gets rather sinuous. Ideally I would have liked to start down by the river and walked up to the circles, up along the avenues – this is surely the direction in which the complex was meant to be approached? Not only do the avenues point you this way, but the EH magnetometer survey (linked to by Chris Collyer on the main page) revealed that the original (huge) Neolithic henge had its entrance in this direction.
If you walk as far as the fence will let you by the north east circle, you will realise that the circles are situated on quite a slope. You need to walk uphill (and curiously, not straight uphill, but across the slope to the smaller circle) to process up the avenues to the circles. It would not be easy – in fact, I think it would be impossible in the case of the great circle – to see what was going on in there until you got closer. Maybe this is deliberate. There's much to be said for conducting your affairs with an element of mystery and hiddenness (think Christian rood-screens etc). Imagine the imposing effect when the timber circles stood there (see below).
The small north east circle is (and I mean this) fantastic. Not only has it managed to retain its complete quota of stones (eight), it seems to be the most perfectly and pleasingly proportioned circle I have ever visited. The stones are huge compared to the space they enclose. They create an extremely agreeable space. My distinguished companion Nigel seemed to nurture similar warm thoughts towards these stones.
The EH magnetometer survey showed that there had been four holes in the centre of this circle – were these 'ritual pits' or the sockets for more stones, now disappeared?
{I spotted this particular circle from a plane when flying into land at Bristol airport: something you may also like to try to take your mind off your nausea}
Staring you in the face from this circle is Maes Knoll, a distinctively shaped flat-topped hill and Iron Age fort. On its left end we could see a bump (known as the 'tump'?). How much of the hill's shape is natural and how much man-made I don't know, but it surely drew the eye from Stanton Drew even in the Neolithic. I'd like to think Hautville's Quoit and the hill are in a direct line with the circle, but I fear having looked at the map this isn't true. [However, since this I've read that the the great and NE circles line up with the Cove, and the Great and SW circles line up with the Quoit]. Folklore says the Quoit was thrown from Maes Knoll, which at least connects the sites in local consciousness.
Although I didn't exercise my imagination enough to appreciate it, the main 'arena' of the Great Circle must have looked outrageous in its heyday. Nine concentric circles of pits (up to 95m in diameter) were found by the magnetometer survey. Each pit was 1-2m in diameter and it is thought that at least some of them contained massive wooden posts, as at Woodhenge. Perhaps they formed part of a building, or maybe the area was open to the sky. Whatever, the pit circles are the largest and most numerous found anywhere so far. Later of course the stones were put up at the perimeter of the circle, and that is all we can see today.
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Tootling - nah, whizzing along the cycle path this morning I could see the barrow quite well. Admittedly it looked a bit more like a mound of dirt covered in weeds from this elevated angle. But I still like it. And not only does the fantastic Kelston Round Hill stand out like a beacon on the horizon, but now I could see that in the opposite direction was the distant but distinctive Maes Knoll. It's very flat here down here on the floodplain, so it seems an unusual place for a barrow. But there's no point in trying to compete with such monumental landscape features as the Round Hill by putting a barrow on the hillside. And besides, if the people lived down here on the fertile flat bit, then I suppose that's where their barrow ought to be. And perhaps the confluence of the stream and river has its relevance too.
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It's rather a pocket-sized longbarrow this one, and almost cute with its fluffy (and spiky) summer vegetation. I would have sat down and relaxed - but the plants were so high I wouldn't have been able to see out, so I didn't. I expect it looks smaller than it once was - it is right on the field boundary and cut in two by the hedge, the eastern side being ploughed. The huge oak tree growing out of it lends a certain character to it. To get here you have to drive along little lanes through great open fields - it feels most remote, but there in the background is the drone of the motorway, only yards away really.
Its record on Magic mentions "an additional long barrow survives some 160m to the north-west. Such pairs are rare and give an indication as to the density or length of time during which areas were populated during the Neolithic period." I wasn't aware of this at the time - the other barrow is on the other side of the road, and is not indicated on the OS map. The county boundary follows the road.
As I parked the car and got out a load of cyclists began pedalling past along the long straight road. Why should I care what they thought? There's usually only one reason why someone would be popping behind a hedge in the middle of nowhere. It's probably easier to leave them to their assumptions than explain a strange interest in overgrown mounds in fields.
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At the risk of sounding like an american tourist, the horse at Uffington wasn't as big as I expected. Ok, it is quite big, but I imagined it was going to be much more chunky. Perhaps it has taken on a symbolic magnitude in my brain over the years. Or perhaps I couldn't help comparing it to the fatter Westbury horse, which I know better, which sits above its own rippley valley in much the same way.
Whatever, this is just a fantastic spot. Sitting next to the horse you get the same kind of fresh-air-in-the-brain feeling you get looking over the sea. The figure is obviously positioned right at the point where the view opens up and you can see in a huge arc (not that the horse would be visible from the east side of it). I sat there with the skylarks trilling, swallows dive-bombing and the wind whistling through the wire fence (currently protecting the grass above the horse). It may be my overactive imagination but the model gliders seem to make a whinneying noise overhead.
It seems obvious to ask where the horse is facing - why is it positioned where it is? Looking directly out there are three wooded lumps in the middle distance of the landscape. I rather thought it was built to address these, but maybe it's more general than that. I can't quite work out what these lumps are - perhaps someone more familiar with the area knows.
When you sit by the horse you are naturally drawn to the flat-topped hill below you - Dragon Hill. This is a scheduled monument so I assume that means it was artificially levelled - or was it even artificially made, Silbury-like? I felt absolutely certain that when I reached it the horse would be plainly in view - but it wasn't clear at all: just the back, hind legs and a snip of the head. It's perched so high up on the slope. I suppose it's reasonably clear from afar, but up close it's not particularly obvious.
When you're sitting on Dragon Hill you have an excellent view of the Manger, and the siting of the horse seems to make sense in terms of this weird valley - it's on its back wall (not the flatter, steeper side wall which you'd think would make more sense was the Manger not there).
The Manger is certainly a singular place even without the horse. It has amazing undulating sides, a totally flat bottom and a narrow opening. Such a weird dry valley must surely have drawn speculation from our ancestors as to its origins or 'purpose'. It's certainly an ideal stabling spot for a gigantic horse! but as for a manger, even the Uffington horse couldn't eat that much food.
The rippling sides of the manger are rough chalk grassland, but at its far end it is smoother, and on the other side of the road turns into woodland (containing springs). As I walked back up I noticed it is like a natural amphitheatre - the voices of people behind me were carrying a really long way. I liked it a lot here. I was feeling fed up and it made things seem right again.
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I stopped by here just as the sun was setting. I wasn't expecting to see much, but actually it was a pretty top spot. The sun-lit ridge of Lansdown and the barrow-shaped Kelston Round Hill made up the horizon on one side. Near the barrow on this side is a stream. This leads into the River Avon, which flows close by (unseen). An overall feeling for the landscape is a bit obscured by the old railway - though it's now a path and you'd probably get a good view from up here of the overall scene.
What made me really mad at the time was how the field containing the barrow had been divided up by horse owners, who've stuck their usual 'private property keep out' signs all over the place. I felt rather intimidated, and was sure they'd blocked off the very footpath that goes right past the barrow. However, I wasn't feeling brave enough to get shirty with them. So I didn't approach the barrow as I would have liked (and as would seem perfectly reasonable from the map). My 1:50,000 map seems to have the paths in a different place to the larger scale one, and I would probably go back armed with the latter next time, and before I start whinging to the council about public footpaths*.
I was annoyed at the time, but looking back I think this would be an interesting spot to return to. The barrow was quite big, unlike the usual vague bumps you get used to seeing, and its position in the landscape seems interesting.
*you can now cross the fields quite easily - so long as you don't mind horses nibbling at you. You just have to unhook bits of fence and rehook them behind you. I'm sure it's better than it was.
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Swanborough Tump lies at the t-junction of two long straight roads, in the edge of a wood. To be quite honest it didn't look like much, and I couldn't make out what was supposed to be the 'Tump' itself. I think you're on it as soon as you climb up from the road. This could be significant, if you look at the 'miscellaneous' entry.
An inscribed stone marks the site:
"Swanborough Tump - Swinbeorg c850
Here in the year 871 the future King Alfred the Great met his elder brother King Aethelred I on their way to fight the invading Danes and each one swore if the other died in battle the dead man's children would inherit the lands of their father King Aethelwulf."
Hardly recommended by the Plain English Campaign, I think.
(also - on my way here I was entranced by the nearby 'Picked Hill' (also given as 'Pecked Hill' on the OS maps) - if this (like its neighbour Woodborough Hill) aren't natural inspiration for round barrows - or for Silbury hill, for that matter - then I'm surely a monkey's uncle.)This post appears as part of the blog post " Midwinter Mardness" |
I like approaching sites on foot, so I parked in the village and walked. Marden is special amongst its similarly monumental friends (Avebury, Durrington..) because it uses a stream as part of its boundary; its banks and ditches only surround it on three sides. Crossing the stream and entering the henge I was fairly disgusted to see the meadow by the stream had been sold and houses are to be built on it. Surely a nationally important place should deserve more protection?
It's a further walk than you think to the banks on the far side of the monument. I felt pretty confused about their layout to start with. But when you get there look for the stile hidden up in the hedge (almost opposite the big trees, where there is a tiny spot on the road you could park in) - that's where you'll find the plan on the EH board that's in Earthstepper's photo. I then realised what a tiny proportion of the place is under the EHs guardianship.
Now I could see where the Silburyesque Hatfield Barrow had been. It was too cold to keep still, so I jumped back down onto the road and started to walk back towards the spot. A car heading for the village slowed next to me. "Can you tell me how far Marden is?" a coiffeured woman enquired. I restrained any sarcastic remarks. As she drove on I reflected on how the huge henge could go unnoticed in the modern world. I thought on: the Hatfield Barrow itself would have been a locally famous enigma, something in local people's consciousness for literally thousands of years. I felt really outraged. How could somebody just come along and ruin it?
I stood there mentally grasping for clues, trying desperately to understand what the mound would have been like. I probably looked bizarre: a shivering figure staring at an empty field. As the wind dropped and the sun finally appeared I got something of it in my mind. It loomed up in front of me. So ok, to some Marden isn't more than a few low banks and an empty meadow. But to me, just to visit the place and exercise my imagination, it was well worth it. I felt really pleased to have been in the same place where this huge mound once stood.This post appears as part of the blog post " Midwinter Mardness" |
I liked Knap Hill. It's not quite as exposed as its neighbour, Adam's Grave, which is an advantage when you're trying to eat your sandwiches without consuming mouthfuls of hair. Also, its vista is quite different. At Adam's Grave you are compelled to look outwards - outwards, upwards, downwards, east and west. You don't think to look backwards with such a view on offer. But Knap Hill's different.
At least half the time I was looking at the Downs around where I was sat - Adam's Grave and the ridge on which it lies take up a good proportion of your field of view. I was watching for people approaching, watching people climb up towards Adam's Grave, seeing them sillouetted on its back, and following with my eye the curves of the hills and those distinctive undulating chalkland valleys. So I felt that Knaps Hill's not all about Onward and Outward and Far Away (though it certainly has that) but it has the comfort of the land close at hand too.
Wherever I looked there were weird and wonderful chalkland flowers and fluttering butterflies. Wherever I sat was a spiky plant, but hey, it's a small price to pay for this view. As I walked down to the road again a flock of goldfinches flew off the thistles where they'd been feeding and flashed red and gold in the sun.This post appears as part of the blog post " Moving in circles" |
Visiting on a Bank Holiday Monday I half expected the Avenue to be swarming with people. But of course it wasn't! I think part of the reason is because only a couple of stones are immediately visible from the henge end, so people don't think to walk down it. This is definitely their loss.
I had driven from the direction of West Kennett, and parked in the little layby just where the stones start, so I had a lovely walk into the circle and back - not to deprive the NT of their new ticket-machine monies, but personally this is the route I'd recommend if you fancy a bit of peace. I don't know for sure which direction the avenue was 'supposed to be used', but I do know that the way you experience reaching the main henge with the banks rising up in front of you is much more enlightening than the sudden way you enter it from the NT carpark.
Another advantage of this direction is that from lots of directions Windmill Hill doesn't look like much, which has always surprised me considering it's the Original site, older than Avebury. But walking towards it down the Avenue the Hill looks big and important: it clearly overarches the henge. Surely this must have been a consideration when this Avenue was put up?
Another thing that struck me was the way the Avenue is bordered by Avebury Down on one side, and Waden Hill on the other. You get the impression it is nestling between them, but take away the stones - yes, it would be a natural route, but somehow the stones highlight it. I really felt that the stones weren't Competing with the landscape, they weren't imposing on it. Some of them are pretty massive, but they're nothing compared to the surrounding landscape, nor I felt were they trying to be. You know how at some sites the stones feel the centre of attention (Long Meg feels like this to me) but here I didn't think they were. Neither were they echoing their surroundings like I felt at Castlerigg. They just 'show you the way'. Probably a bit obvious as it's an avenue? But it's not an enclosing, single minded 'This Way' sort of avenue. If you see what I mean.
I'd never walked down here before and so was pleasantly taken by its curving lines - it certainly feels profoundly un roman or christian! I thought it was quite funny that some of the stones are or should be on the opposite side of the road as the S swings round - typical that the road should develop straight from A to B through them. The S-shape reinforced to me how it's not a 'This Way, People, Hurry Up' kind of device. The journey is important - it's not just about funnelling people from one place to another.
Driving back past the Avenue and out towards the Beckington roundabout, Silbury Hill quickly appeared. I admit I'd kind of forgotten about it being so close, so it was quite surprising. I remembered that Waden Hill is the hill that plays the 'Silbury Game'. Everything is so linked here; the landscape is so full of 'monuments' and each one was added (one imagines in a meaningful way) onto a layout already in existence. There's so much we don't know and can probably never know, and wandering about in this landscape is so tantalising; it's like having a phrase on the tip of your tongue but just not being able to remember it.This post appears as part of the blog post " Moving in circles" |
Sand Point is rather like Brean Down, and sticks out into the Severn Estuary just north of Weston super Mare. If you are equipped with a decent map you will easily be able to avoid paying 70p on the toll road, not to mention avoid going through the seething heart of Weston. But anyway, by the time you've driven out along Sand Bay all this will be long behind you and you can park in the surprisingly free NT carpark right at the end.
We walked out along the salt marsh and finally had to make a perilous scramble up the cliff to the top of the point, which was bedecked in various limestone grassland plants like the weird carline thistle. It was as peaceful as could be with the distant sound of the lapping waves, and the sun beating down on our heads. It really was very quiet and I felt remote from things (especially the throngs in Weston - it is incredible that two such dissimilar places could be so near to each other). The rocks are all jagged, though there are easily negotiated paths (assuming the sun hasn't got to you too much) and plenty of grassy places to sit. The end of the point is about a kilometre out, but as usual most people don't get quite this far away from their cars (or the icecream van, and who can blame them).
Returning along the top we saw some strange bumps in the ground - there turns out to be a bowl barrow here (this is where the os trig point is) and slightly to the east, the remains of a disc barrow. Disc barrows are pretty unusual; there are only a couple of hundred in the country, most in Wessex, so perhaps this would have been one of the most westerly examples? It's been suggested that they're usually burials of important women (though it's not proven).
Whatever, don't get too excited because there's not exactly a lot to see of the barrows. In fact if anything you may get confused by the nearby earthworks of a more recent motte and bailey castle. But it's a lovely place on a sunny day. And if you're into birdwatching apparently unusual migrants are often spotted from here.
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I didn't know what to expect here - I was just chasing 'tumuli' on the map. There are three in a row in the Wylye valley bottom - admittedly it's a very wide valley, but still a little unusual to find them so low down when there are so many convenient hills?
I tried to keep my mind on the landscape but had to walk through a field of curious bullocks who looked like they were going to march over en masse so I was slightly distracted. Running the gauntlet seemed worth it though when I got to the last field containing 'The Knoll'. The barrow was surrounded by fantastic greeny golden barley, rippling in waves like something in a Van Gogh painting.This post appears as part of the blog post " Visits to vague bumps in fields" |
Walking across the field to the longbarrow I realised it was much bigger than I remembered. The bump of the mound stretches out a hugely long way. Was the barrow really that long and wide, or is it
just the result of being ploughed so much? And if it is due to ploughing, well that still hints that the barrow was pretty high to begin with.
I wandered right round the end of the mound - although most of it has been left with tufty vegetation, the edges of it have still been mown at some point, which distorts your idea of how extensive the mound is. According to the information at magic.gov there are flanking ditches, from which the material for the mound was quarried, which run parallel to the long sides of the mound. These were about 3 metres wide but have been infilled gradually.
The stones are pretty enormous, and beautifully patterned with lichens and mosses against the warm colour of the stone. The capstone is quite something - about 3 by 2 metres, leaning firmly against the two uprights. I saw what I took to be claw marks on its face - maybe a fox or a badger?
It would be a perfect spot to linger (no cows when I visited though), and I would heartily recommend a visit. As you will appreciate if you read my weblog, I felt thoroughly relaxed and peaceful after being here. I realise I'm not familiar with the large stones at barrows in Cornwall or Wales (not to mention further afield) but I think in terms of actual remains in this region (ok, bar Stanton Drew and Stoney Littleton) Lugbury deserves more recognition than it appears to receive. Ok I am biased.This post appears as part of the blog post " Thoughts at Lugbury Longbarrow" |
Ok so perhaps it's gratuitous to write yet another fieldnote for this place, but I LOVE IT SO MUCH. We were up here several hours but the time just raced by. You can spread yourself out in the sun and feel supported by the weight of the huge cliff beneath you, drink in the sunshine, be lulled by the sound of the waves on the distant shore below. The ground is carpeted with gorgeous seaside plants like thrift and sea campion, but also heathy things like heather - it's a lovely mix. For such a sunny sunday the place should have been heaving with people but there was hardly a soul up here, it was gloriously calm.
This visit perhaps I was more aware of the surrounding landscape - there are so many strangely shaped hills topped with earthworks and I spotted a hill with a perfectly placed barrow. You're on top of the world - not lording over it, just excellently placed to appreciate it spreading out around you. (By the way, I was less convinced by Julian's theory about the landscape figure* - the head would be at a rather cricked angle. But maybe..)
Visit - you will not be disappointed. And if you want to freak yourself out a bit afterwards, head for (the imaginatively titled) Seatown, where you can see from the beach just how monstrous the cliff you've just been peering over really is. Also you'll deserve the beer/icecream you can buy there after your exertions.
*he is talking about the long Langdon Hill. To add to the area's hidden landscape, J. Harte in the Third Stone 29 article 'Hidden Laughter' talks of a fairy sighting on the Langdon Hill - Chideock footpath in the 1940s...
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Windmill Hill. There isn't a windmill. And to the majority of us that hurriedly guess a glance in its direction when accelerating out of Avebury, there doesn't seem to be much of a hill either. But this weekend (on my way to Jane's inspiring exhibition of paintings) I decided I'd finally pay it a visit.
Taking Julian Cope's book's advice I thought I'd walk up from Avebury. Just to save you the unnecessarily tiring confusion I suffered trying to find the footpath, let me guide you to it. I parked in the NT carpark. Just as you walk through the gate, turn sharp left and leave the rest of the tourists behind - cut down this shady footpath and at the end of it turn left onto the road. The road soon bends right, then left. By now you will have been overcome by an urge to remark on the cuteness of the village. The road turns into a path, and then into a little bridge/causeway. When it splits in two, take the right hand side, and climb over the stile to your right. Cross the field and the stiled footbridge - then you just follow the path across the fields. I'd met three people so far who cheerily answered my 'good morning's - but from this point on I didn't see a soul until I was back in Avebury.
When you finally get to it, the climb is kind of slow and shallow, but it turns into a slog - the type where you start off chatty but end up silently wondering 'aren't we there yet?' It made the walk more of a Journey really, as I had time to ponder. Arriving was quite gradual - not like the short concerted effort of getting to Adam's Grave or WK longbarrow, and there was no shock value of a sudden view. When I arrived I was alone - well, as alone as you can be amidst 100+ sheep, but they largely ignored me. It was immensely windy and cold, but sunny and clear. It should have been totally silent, but the wind was howling in my ears and I could hear a lot of noise, even though there wasn't any. If you see what I mean.
I stood on the biggest barrow and did feel at the centre of all I surveyed. Behind me the steep slopes up to the Ridgeway were enclosing, in front the Pewsey Downs pointed out to the flat landscape. I guess the hill must slope away equally on all sides, but it didn't feel like this. Maybe it was partly to do with the colours of the fields and only an illusion of this time or season.
I couldn't see Avebury for trees, but Silbury Hill stood out . Its top seemed about the same level as I was standing - again this could have been an illusion, but it was quite an interesting one.
I thought it was a strange place really - it was so empty but it must once have been a busy focus of activity. It was quite lonely really. From the top it is very much a Hill, but that's certainly not how it looked to me before I ventured up here. I suppose I'll be better equipped to pick the site out from other vantage points now? Even when I came down it didn't look like it felt, or how it was. It's quite Disguised.
Anyway, well worth it. I felt quite smug and comfy as I walked back that I'd been up there. Come back to Avebury, you should go up there too.
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I decided to walk out here from Bath, and since it was raining (I couldn't stand to stay indoors any more) I had all the footpaths to myself. It was quite a trek, so I expect most visitors would rather park their car in Stanton Prior, the hamlet south-east of the hill, and walk up from there.
It's an imposing hill really, dominating the local landscape. Next to it is a smaller rounder hill, Winsbury Hill. I tried without much success to see some 'sleeping figure' significance to the two hills. Looking back, a ridge forms the skyline on the opposite side of the valley, and I could just imagine a lookout visually scouring it for sneaky attackers (just a flight of fancy). Speaking of defence, I was amazed on the way here by the extreme steepness and depth of the combe? containing the little stream between Stanton Prior and Newton St Loe. Wansdyke doesn't seem to be fazed by it, but frankly for quite a while I wondered how I was going to cross the gap and felt like I was being funnelled further along than I wanted to be - I could see the hillfort but was basically walking parallel to it.
As I climbed the stile into the wood I was struck by the swathes of bluebells - their vivid blue a shock to the eye after the miles of green I'd walked through. Also there was lovely yellow-flowered archangel - both plants are indicators of ancient woodland. The wood is mostly oak trees. I hastened up to the flat top hoping to get a view of the surrounding countryside - maybe up to Kelston Round Hill and the fort near there. But with it raining, and the not particularly treeless hilltop, I can't really say what is/was visible and what wasn't.
I haven't yet been able to find out much about the prehistory of the site. 7Spring appears to know a lot about the Wansdyke aspect of course. The other side of the hill seems to be a recent spot for crop circle art - ooh and this faces a main road, what a surprise. If you were just passing through this part of the world you'd doubtless want to spend your valuable time at the nearby Stanton Drew or Stoney Littleton: but this place had a special 'vegetationy' calm, as I found as I strolled/slipped down the path between the bluebells on the far side.
23.08.06
It's been raining all afternoon, the sun was really low in the sky and everything was as full of colour as a Jane Tomlinson original, and all contrasty - it looked almost surreal. I've discovered the best way to arrive at Stantonbury - from the Keynsham road. It heads straight for the hill and you see it broadside - much better than sneaking up on it from one end because you appreciate its true size. Er, just a recommendation. None of the photos so far do it justice; it's just smothered with trees and looks rounded and fat.
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Thank you IronMan and hamish - this place could not disappoint. The wood anemones and violets were out in force. We walked through the gorge, climbed up the foot-shined rocks through the gap, and ended up sitting on the naturally stepped grassy area at the top. The peace was fantastic in the gorge, birdsong and the sound of the breeze in the trees and plants. It could almost have been any era, there was nothing to give it away. It was so removed from modern noise and nonsense. The view from the top was fantastic. Some other people were sat there too, but there was space enough for everybody and I didn't wish to have the place to ourselves.
One thing that struck me on the way here was the difference between the bleak Mendips landscape (open, flattish, exposed - still winter really) and the enclosed protected feel of the gorge and its woodland. Fair enough, the climate on the mendips may have been different in prehistoric times, but perhaps the difference in enclosedness (tree cover permitting) would have been the same. It's a truly 'liminal' spot, opposing the enclosed gorge and subterranean caves with the extraordinary open views across the flat (and once shimmery with water) Somerset levels. Perhaps that's of some significance (I'm sure it underlies part of the site's appeal for me).
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This hill, it has a meaning that is very important for me, but it's not rational. It's beautiful, but when you look, there's nothing there. But I'd be a fool if I didn't listen to it.
-- Alan Garner.
...I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn...
-- William Wordsworth.
Some interesting websites with landscape and fairy folklore:
http://earthworks-m.blogspot.co.uk
http://faeryfolklorist.blogspot.co.uk
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