I promise this is my last one. Isn't tecknologie marvellous? You are looking at the Bottlebush Down terminus - yes, the one-foot-high bump running across the screen. On the skyline is the Gussage Down long barrow where the midwinter sun sets. You can zoom out and turn round to see where Mr Cope took his photo all those years ago. And you can drive north to see Berendes Beorh and south to see the round barrow unceremoniously called "Wimborne St Giles 35" right on the verge of the road. And some roadkill. Eeek.
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Pleased to see much of England's lovely lanes now available online. Especially as I'm trapped in the city studying for exams and I can top up by looking at some country side even if I can't go there yet. Sniff.
ANYWAY... this is Mr Green's famous "Pleistocene river cliff". There was a boggy spring at the base of this and a stream rose here before heading down to Knowlton. The cursus surrounds the car at this point. And I'd like to think the driver knew that.
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In case you're visiting sites in Hants and wondering what formicaant, pure joy, jimit and others are referring to, this is it. Indispensible but only as good as its sources. Refers often to PHFC (Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club, which is now published as Hampshire Studies, an annual journal), which is available at the Hants Record Office next to Winchester railway station.
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Lots of detail of the damage caused by the farm track and ploughing at http://www.magic.gov.uk/rsm/34158.pdf which concludes with the telling sentence "The piles of logs, gamefeeders and fence situated on the monument are excluded from the scheduling, although the ground beneath them is included." Kind of makes you wonder what the value of scheduling is...
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I like landscape, and I like old stuff. So here I am. A few years living in Winchester let me visit some great places and ponder the perilous existence of minor heritage sites, overlooked and sometimes abused. The resulting photos and sometimes odd notes reside here at the Archdrude's indulgence. Now I live in the outskirts of London Towne, where the outliers of the North Downs descend into a strip of sand before the clay sets in.
Fond regards,
Your uncle Robert
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