My parents moved down from the North to Swindon in 1957. I remember my first sight of the Downs (Barbury Castle to be exact) from the front of our new house not far from Coate Water, and even at the age of twelve having a feeling of 'coming home' (aye, a bit of a cliché I know but none-the-less true). As schoolboys, Coate Water, its banks, bushes and streams, became our playground in true Richard Jefferies Bevis style - always with the Downs as a backdrop, and always somehow beckoning.

I can remember cycling out from Swindon to Savernake Forest with school friends in the late 50s, and to Avebury and Lechlade as well but can't honestly remember how I felt about the Avebury Henge back then. In the mid 60s, as art students, Avebury, West Kennet, Silbury and the surrounding Downs were places where we'd go to visit, sketch or paint.

As for Avebury itself, the antiquarian penny still hadn't dropped. It wasn't until I'd lived abroad (without ever once returning to England in some seven years) that a homesickness for the rolling Downland of Wiltshire, and a growing interest in ancient Britain, lead me back again to Avebury. Even then it wasn't actually Avebury that lit the megalithic fuse; it was the sight of Silbury, and the walk there from Avebury along the Winterbourne that did it.

Silbury stands for me (as it does for many) as the quintessential symbol of my relationship with this land. Silbury, this wonderful ancient structure which has suffered such appalling damage and desecration over recent centuries, from tunnelling to (very nearly and very recently) a time capsule being placed at its centre, somehow points a finger at what we are capable of (aesthetically and destructively) and has probably influenced me, more than anything else, towards following a life dedicated to the protection and conservation of our heritage.